As a parent, I'd worked my way through all the stages that are supposed to be hell on earth: sleepless nights, teething, separation anxiety, having your shoes filled with sick... the whole gamut. And the thing was, that despite all the hype, none of these events was quite as bad as I'd expected. Like the worst type of film - all the best bits were in the trailer, leaving my partner and I feeling slightly underwhelmed to experience the supposed horror of the real thing. It was with this (understandable) sense of over confidence that I greeted the my son's (inevitable) turning from 1 to 2. It was simply a number, I told myself. A personality doesn't change THAT much as the result of just getting a little bit older. What was the worst that could happen? After all, we're just talking about a tiny tot. HOW WRONG WAS I?
For our kids, when they are young, we are the entire world. A mindbogglingly important role. It worries me if I think about it too much. In their eyes we, as parents, have almost superhuman abilities. The power to make everything 'OK' is our most potent gift.
Nobody, and I really mean NOBODY is interested in other people's holiday snaps. They are the photographic equivalent of watching Songs Of Praise at your nan's house or uncomfortable chats with taxi drivers - something to be endured and got over with, as quickly as is humanly possible. I'm sorry to say it, but it's the same with other people's kids. We all love our own offspring, we find what they do absolutely fascinating. We talk about them endlessly. We rearrange our entire lives for them. Yet, despite all this, our kids are ONLY of interest to US. For everyone else they are (at best) dull and (at worst) actively irritating.
A Musical Vehicle. Now I'm not suggesting that musical vehicles (like those created by Vtech) were first created by sadists in a diabolical plan to bring misery into the lives of already stressed-out parents. I'm not suggesting that at all. OK, I am suggesting that this might be one possibility.
I feel like one of those highly painted ornamental figures that you see in Bavarian clocks - going round and around in circles on a pre-allotted path every morning. Some day soon I'll find myself clanging a bell and singing some indistinguishable ditty as each quarter hour strikes. Why am I wearing out the pavements? It all comes down to the time of day. Between 10 and 11 EVERY morning, I walk in circles with my son in his buggy. Why? Because this is his 'Nap-time'.
'Life is a roller-coaster' or, at least, that's what the venerable Mr. Ronan Keating once told us. I must admit I'm not a huge fan of the former Boyzone singer's work - just not my cup of proverbial hot liquid. That said, I must agree with the sentiment of his song. Life IS a roller-coaster. … Continue reading Rediscovering Mothers’ Day…
In the meantime we parents, who have enough on their plate, are beaten with (metaphorical) sticks. Trending hashtags, focusing on parenting perfection, tell us we’re doing it all wrong. Instagram images of perfectly dressed, puke free, angelic children make the rest of us sick to the stomach as we battle to dress our toddlers without WW3 breaking out. Linked-in profiles that show parents simultaneously looking after kids, pursuing an amazing career, charity work, an interesting hobby and maintaining great hair – make the rest of us feel like crap.
I briefly considered trying to wrestle the pouch from the woman, but quickly dismissed the idea. One of the issues of being a large man is that, if discovered fighting with a Miss Marple look-a-like in the Co-op, few people are likely to believe that you didn’t start it.
The only logical conclusion that any sane (and stable) person could possibly come to, when faced with this behaviour, is the president isn’t really the president at all. Don’t you see? Clearly the president is actually a 12-year-old boy, who wished to be ‘a grown-up’ using the Zoltar Fortune Teller Machine - previously seen in the hit 1988 Tom Hank’s movie ‘BIG’.
For anyone who missed it, here's the article from Woman's Own magazine, where yours truly organised a dry run of Christmas...