“Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way…”
Why am I singing Christmas songs I hear you ask? “We are but in October and Christmas isn’t for a few months yet? HAS SAHD gone MAD?” Well, its because it feels like Christmas to me. With all these blog entries for this week’s showcase I feel like all my Christmases have come at once. Or like a dog with two willies. Whichever. I’m happy. Happ-happ-happy. Ecstatic actually. After our first showcase last week I was expecting six entries or less this week but instead we have over 20 blog posts from fantastic dad bloggers from all around the world. We don’t have any from Holland but I expect that’s because they’re busy smoking weed and watching pornography. Lucky bastards.
Either way we have a bumper crop for you this week and our blog basket doth literally overflow with delights. The posts are coming to @lovedadblogs Towers thick and fast, like yoghurty vomit from a refluxy 8 month old, and that’s how we like it. Keep them coming to us, every week if you can, new posts, old posts we don’t mind. And tell your friends. Please. Shakespeare wrote ‘A man what blogs is a man alright’ and we know what he means. These are real men, real fathers, real husbands and partners. And really really good.
I’ve been struggling all week for what the collective noun is for a group of dad bloggers is, and you know what? There isn’t one. Yet. After looky looking at this mob you’ll agree that the collective noun is ‘an amazement.’ Okay, the men themselves may not be much to look at, some of them even frighten their own children and pets, but boy oh boy can they blog.
Next week is, as you may know, “International Raise Awareness of @lovedad Blogs Week” so we’re hoping that we might get a few more followers to join our merry bunch of groovy cocks and hens. Put us in your thoughts, and ask as many people as you can to follow us. We can go great places. And we will. I promise,
So, grab yourself your favourite warm brown drink, take the phone off the hook, stick the kids in the playpen, even the teenagers, and give yourself a bit of me time with this group of blogging Galacticos. You’ll thank me for it. Or your money back.
(The form to submit for the next Fatherload can be found HERE)!
musodad’s band name game
What if you were the lead singer of a band and didn’t have any ideas for a name? That’s why I’ve invented ‘musodad’s band name game’.
If you have some magnetic words at home put them into a sandwich bag. Pull out a word at a time and see if you can make a band name out of them.
Here’s an example complete with back story :
– ‘Thursday Counted’ – so what happened on Thursday and why would someone count it? Think, man, think! Right – lead singer gives up smoking and whilst down the pub with his band members, one Thursday, has a drag on one of their cigarettes. The week after they are having lunch round the lead singer’s parents when the mum asks ‘Mick, have you still given up smoking?’, Mick replies ‘yes mum’. Then Keith, the guitarist, pipes up and says ‘no you haven’t, you had a drag on one of my ciggies last Thursday down the pub’. Mick replies ‘it was only one drag down the pub on Thursday, that doesn’t count’. To which Keith says ‘No, Mick, no – Thursday counted’ and a band name is born…Phew, that was tough!
Do men prefer food or sex?
A report in the newspaper this morning says that the notion of men thinking about sex, sex, sex, on the minute, every minute, every day, no matter what their age or physical condition, is a myth. What we actually think abut, says the report, is food and sleep.
Is this true? For the past couple of hours, I’ve been keeping a diary of my thoughts to see how often sex enters them. Here are the results of my scientific study:
Location: Bed, with wife
Thoughts: ‘Is that the time? The kids aren’t up yet. Why not? Something must be wrong. Who cares? Another hour’s sleep. Yippee!’
7.55am: Bed, with wife
‘Bloody hell, the kids ARE up. It can’t be my turn again. It’s ALWAYS my turn. But look at my lovely sleeping wife, all serene and beautiful in her nakedness. Should I, eh? Should I? Should I wake her up and tell her THEY’RE HER BLOODY KIDS, TOO, SO WHY DOESN’T SHE GO DOWNSTAIRS AND MAKE THEM BREAKFAST.’
The Bowels Of Hell
…Here’s the cold hard fact of nature: women civilize men. Without you ladies I am convinced we would all be running around in the streets like a bunch of feral animals. There are very few bastions of 100% pure manhood, untouched by a woman’s influence in the western world. But any such environment quickly degenerates into what can only be described as a festering cesspool. The men’s room is just such an environment. I don’t know why it’s like this. Maybe it’s because all the peeing on wall-mounted urinals reminds our limbic-system reptile-brains of marking our territory. Maybe it’s because it’s the only place in the world where we don’t have a woman telling us what to do and how to do it, so we rebel in the extreme. The cause is irrelevant. The salient point to this blog (and the point that you ladies are critically missing because you don’t live in our world) is this:
THE MEN’S ROOM IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE PLACE FOR SMALL CHILDREN…
Mother’s little helper
I never used to like the word ‘cute’. I always reacted to its use in the same way that people much politer than myself react to a certain other C word being casually dropped into conversation, but things have changed since Dylan came along and this week he did something undeniably cute. ‘Endearing’ doesn’t describe it, nor does ‘adorable’. ‘Sweet’ is definitely out of the question – and I still think of that as an S word. No, Dylan has started doing something very cute. He’s taken to fetching Kate’s glasses for her when she’s finished in the shower.
Until recently his fetching and giving habits were random at best and we have become used to feigning delight at receiving such items as pegs, junk mail and crumbs from the toast he has previously swiped from us. Now, however, it seems a lot more targeted – he’s seen that Kate goes for her glasses after the shower and has learned to save her the trouble. He also fetches her watch. Good lad!
Glue sniffing 101: Bostik for beginners
Chatting about chain letters during the previous post got me thinking about other dangers, real or otherwise, that I remember from childhood.
There was the aforementioned corruptive correspondence, and the other ever-present peril, strangers bearing sweets.
Then, as I recall, there was glue sniffing.
Do people still do glue sniffing?
I’m not sure.
You don’t hear a lot about it these days, that’s for certain.
The 1980s, though, it was massive back then.
I have an ulterior motive for bringing this subject up, I’m afraid, because the other day, you see, I myself indulged in a little light glue sniffing.
Humility, Sacrifice, and the Longest Weekend Ever
What makes a true father is a father who doesn’t achieve complete humility, but strives for it realizing that failure occurs, but the win comes from learning in the experience. A true father is one who sacrifices all he can, realizing that it will sometimes seem like punishment, but the rewards far outweigh the negative side effects. Lastly, a true father is one who realizes that he will never be the greatest father of all time. What matters is that he tries and gives his all in everything, regardless of the possibility of failure. Giving his personal all is giving all for those he gives it for.
Desire Be My Destiny: the Beginning
The day-by-day creative journey of a stay-at-home dad writing a romantic noval and wondering if he can possibly take it seriously.
This is how it began. My sister Anna, a brilliant and witty writer, suggested to her highbrow book group that they should try to write a romance novel according to the guidelines published by Mills & Boon. Not as easy as it sounds, apparently. Encouraged by the gleeful agreement of her friends, Anna created a finely judged opening paragraph and sent it off for others to write the next installment. No one did.
So she sent it to me. And, intoxicated by the stylistic possibilities that are simply not offered by my usual literary output of potted biographies of Russian sopranos and press releases on Bedfordshire’s latest social housing project, I took up the gauntlet. The idea is that we will take it in turns to develop the story, in full view of you, dear reader.
We are taking this project seriously, but I am already acutely aware that writing about simmering desire with one’s own sister might be possible only with tongue tentatively in cheek.
Like this? Read more…
Disco disco disco… coop of chickens?
We do lots of endurance activities with the children. Most of these involve outdoors activity of some sort. In the case of swimming, the exertion on my part is quite high- I have to drag him to the car, drag him to the changing rooms, have a fight to get him changed and then stop him escaping before the lesson starts.
Last night however we entered a new realm of endurance activity with the boys first school disco. Badged as a family fun evening, there was a disco and then a few token games with some stickers as prizes. There is no other word for it, the event was harrowing.
The Sadness Ghost
Gus said he just couldn’t stop feeling sad. He has a little tray full of plastic figures he has been collecting called Toonz. He has about forty of them. He looked at us and said, “What is the point of collecting things if I’m going to die? What will happen to them, if I’m dead?”
The conversation continued and Gus repeated that he didn’t want to be sad anymore and that he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
FAMILY COMES FIRST a.k.a. The challenges of being a working dad.
I’m also a Dad. This is the MOST important job I have. This job is the one that is the most mentally and physically exhausting but it is also the one that is the most rewarding. Did I feel great when I got an offer letter for a new job with a larger salary? Yes, but it was not as rewarding as when Sierra asks screams “UPPEE DADDY UPPEE DADDY” the second I get home. Was watching my business grow over the past year rewarding? Yes, but not as rewarding as watching Sierra grow 10x faster. Do I miss making films and sculptures regularly? Yes, but not as much as I enjoy making finger paintings or Elmer’s glue and pom-pom collages with Sierra. Becoming a father changes you in many ways and you need to find a way to make all the pieces fit. I have not given up my career or my art work but I have realized what is truly important in my life and learned to prioritize as best I can. As Adam Sandler once said in his dying breath in 2006’s Click… “FAMILY COMES FIRST.”
Part 2: How to Handle a Bully: Sometimes hitting back is necessary
Last week in Part 1 of the Bully Debate, we discussed what might define bullying, touched on the idea that all bullying may not be bad and some signs to watch for if you think your child may be bullied. This week I’d like to offer some tips on how to help your child handle a bully. But before we get into some scenarios, I’d like to touch on something that may not go along with popular opinion; Sometimes, it may be necessary to fight back! Yes, agree or not, there are situations where I feel self-defense is needed to ward off a bully.
Addy’s First Birthday
Hand Cut Sign… …Check.
Homemade apple crisp in half pint jars with ribbon… …Check.
Chocolate chip cookies… …Check.
Assorted Baguette Sandwiches… …Check
A beautiful & happy wife because you made all of the aforementioned things and more… …Check.
Yes, ’tis true, my wife and I worked our butts off to put together this Martha Stewart Oasis in the middle of the park. And it was worth every second. We had a great small group of friends and family with us on what turned out to be a perfect Fall day.
One Year ago I was in a birthing pool with my wife, I reached down to feel a silky soft head… moments later a tiny little person came out of the water and up to Mommy’s Chest, my arms wrapped around her… I looked, there was the girl I have been waiting to see, there she is… My Adeline, Our Honey Honey. Happy Birthday from your Daddy.
5 Things Dad Should Never Do In the Kitchen
Let me say, I don’t know of a single case where a family has ever keeled over and expired because of a man doing any of these things. In fact, most of the time, the family probably gets along just fine for years without ever noticing.
Then, occasionally, someone does notice and an alarm will go up, so even distant neighbors pause behind their windows and wonder what sick biohazard stuff dad’s been up to in the garage.
In the interest of domestic tranquility and general hygiene, consider these five tips on kitchen and cooking mistakes you might want to consider breaking.
1. Do Not Taste Food with Your Fingers Now, at first it seems reasonable that those pointed things on the ends of your hands were custom built for the job of dipping into food, to check flavor or doneness. However, its come to my attention that some people think men do not wash their hands nearly enough. Or, they do not know where those hands have been. Therefore, it’s unwise to slip them into the pot or serving dish for sampling. Especially more than once.
Dinner Time Troubles
Dinner times are pretty much the hardest part of the day. Aly who will be 4 in a month is a real pain at dinner time.
I can’t remember the last time she actually sat and ate all her dinner without using her fingers or actually eating a good amount of it. Some days she’ll only eat a small portion of her meal and other times it will take 30-40 mins to actually eat it.
We normally eat dinners as a family including Mia who is 1 and in the dining room not the living room, there is also no TV in this room. Often its also a meal she has asked for or the same as we have but still no luck. Things like pasta she’ll still use her fingers and get in a right mess.
Lunchtimes she is normally pretty good with her sandwiches and crisps etc. With Aly going to Primary school in the summer we worry that if she has school dinners or if they have a Christmas meal she’ll get in such a mess.
We’ve tried a reward chart and that worked for a short while but she got used to that and gave up.
“Mind + Body + Fun = 3D Fit” (Vlog)
This was my first foray into vlogging, a performance of some of one of my 3DFitLife inspired poem. Check it out…
Angels in the NHS we Thank You
At the moment it is impossible to put all of the events of the last seven days into words. It is hard to believe it’s just seven days and not seven weeks since E & I were born. The extremes of emotion, the stratospheric levels of stress and the huge peaks of elation along the way just seem too overwhelming at this moment in time.
So I thought I would just say a few overdue thank you’s. To pay tribute to the Angels we have been fortunate enough to meet in the last 7 days who have helped us along on our journey. As is the convention with the naming of angels I will only use their first names.
Above all of the other Angels we have met, Archangel Nahid stands above them all. Thank you for working tirelessly for 4 hours at the end of a 16 hour shift to stop K’s internal bleeding. Thank you to you and your team for “saving” my wife. Thank you for taking the time to explain to me what was happening so that I could keep frightened family and friends informed. We will never ever be able to thank you enough.
10 things I learned in New Zealand
9. Don’t lean forward on an automatic flush toilet; I learned this very valuable lesson in Singapore airport, if you are sitting for the performance as it were and lean forward for say extra leverage then there is a chance the toilet may flush all by itself. Then really it becomes a bidet doesn’t it? It is also a mighty shock to the system when you have been on a plane for 13 hours with a baby and are knackered I can tell you.
The REAL Perk of Being a Dad
I see a lot of tripe in the ‘blogosphere’ (shudder), especially when people talk about fatherhood. Really soppy things like ‘my heart swelled ten sizes when she took her first steps’, and ‘ooh, being a father has so wonderfully changed me, now even my trumps smell like Febreze’. The worst is ‘I’m trying to be a good father, but I just keep failing.’ Oh, boo hoo. You’re better than you think y’are, just deal with it.
Puke. Those soppy things may be good for some people, but they just make me chunder everywhaah.
I’m here to tell you the biggest perk of being a dad, and it’s nothing to do with that gorgeous snot bubble that little Billy just blew out of his left nostril.
The biggest perk of being a dad is suddenly having your eyes opened to all the hot mums.
Will I ever not be worried?
Whilst I am not going to bore you too much with my mating habits, I will just update you on progress. The rutting season has begun again and whilst all is well I do feel like some poor pathetic stag, you know one of those scratty one with mangey antlers and emaciated legs that has been upstages by a newer more flexible model.
When did I get this old? I think I creak and groan more than the bed does during passionate sex. Seriously at any point during love making there is a possibility of a limb falling off or a fracture to a bone happening. Throw in an organ failure and we will be about right.
Don’t even talk to me about the grey hairs and odd eyebrow furniture. I swear down my eyebrows have started to produce these ridiculous hairs that resemble the steel cables that hold the Golden Gate Bridge up in San Francisco.
The Perfect Storm
You can read all the books you want and plan till you’re blue in the face, but you’ll never truly be ready. In our case we were about as well prepared as a couple could be. After a pre-term labor scare at 29 weeks the nursery was put together in a flurry as we were propelled along by a wave of panic. We had the baby class under our belt, the showers had been thrown, and everything with assembly required had been thrown together with only a few choice words being uttered. For 6 weeks M had to stay close to the couch, nearly succombing to cabin fever as I tried not to let the household chores completely consume me.
Just as we were about to completely lose our minds the storm passed and the pregnancy reached the magical 37 week mark. There were no more eggshells to walk on and we could finally breath again. M enjoyed getting out of the house and returning to work and it felt like things were finally “normal” again. Now it was…
the “fine.” caught my attention as i worked on my second cup of coffee while cleaning an alligator cup with a chipped lip, i have yet to throw it away because it’s h.’s and a.’s giraffe is in good shape. we tease h. that she needs to stop eating plastic alligators. she has no idea and smiles – oh, to be that clueless. i mean innocent.
“a., stop it, she said you can have it. she just didn’t want to be grabbed at.” i am guessing that was the case by the grunts, squeals and predictable nature of their sisterly exchanges.
“no, that’s fine.” she says with a huff and walks towards her room. which, by the way, she has been going to, locking the door and listening to music when she gets upset. a good strategy to cope with anger, but she is four, and that was the second “fine”, i may be willing to let one go, but a second? i think it’s time to see what’s going on. there are three words that work their way behind my eye balls and claw at my optic nerve “whatever, sure and fine”.
…then there was the isolation. This feeling didn’t start with being at home alone with the child, though. No, it started when I began taking her out to meet other babies in the world. And the isolation was due to the simple fact that SAHDs are just not welcome in the world of SAHMs. There is a word to define this, and that word is discrimination.
My baby was about eight months old when I first decided to take her out into the world of other babies. Finding local programs was not the difficult part — there were plenty of opportunities around libraries and other organizations. The hard part was dealing with the fact that no matter where I went, I was completely shunned as a parent. It was like my eyes were opened to the exciting world of raising a child, followed quickly by the disappointment of learning that most at-home mothers just couldn’t deal with a real father being in their presence during “their time.”
Floydsdad in Turkey 2011
We touched down in Bodrum at 1.45 am, laden with scent, cigarettes for Mrs.FD, a tad blurry on account of the Stella /JD combo, and with the kids wide-eyed on account of the industrial amounts of sugar they had consumed over the past 6 hours. The travel diet came back to haunt us around 15 kms before the end of our bleary eyed transfer, with a minibus full of strangers, as the youngest tipped the contents of the duty-free carrier bag onto the floor, and then tipped the contents of her stomach into the bag. I leapt into action with a fluent Turkish instruction to the driver, ‘We need to stop !’ ( it was more slow motion English, than fluent Turkish, but you get the drift). And so after a 5 minute stumble in the darkness of a Turkish wood, we resumed our journey with me holding a knotted carrier bag at arm’s length in the front seat, and the driver, still smiling politely, holding his head out of the window on account of the strange smell !
I’ve been thinking recently that when I attempt to return to some form of paid employment, when my daughter starts school in 2014, I would have been out of the workforce for 5 years. I’ve wondered if employers view stay at home parents who’ve been so for a considerable length of time as having been out of the work for so long that they’re pretty much unemployable in comparison with people who have not been out of the workforce for so long, or if the skills you develop being a full-time parent are transferable to the world of the office. I was thinking about how the interview for my dream job could go.
It’s just not as cute when it’s someone else’s kid’s snot
Dinner guests are over. You’re sitting in the living room after the meal and their 2 year old little angel toddles over, finger deeply planted in one nostril and a viscous strand of green, bacteria-laden snot trailing out of the other and tracing the kid’s track back a good 20 feet. The free hand swipes across the unoccupied nostril layering a fresh coat of slime over an already thick green crust. Hoping not to encourage her to come over, you do your best waiter impression and avoid eye contact at all costs. But she’s coming anyway. Her arms go wide. She smiles and two thick cords of snot stretch from upper to lower lip. Her parents think it’s just so cute that she wants a hug from their friend. You, on the other hand, are trying to remember whether you had your flu shot yet this year.
Worrybomb loves to draw and enjoys going to her pre-school. She will draw on anything left lying around, but she knows to ask first when its Mummy’s diary, not to mention borrowing Mummy’s glasses!
Like this? Read more…
Why You Should Let Your Kids Make Choices
We are the enforcers of bedtime. We manage their schedule, plan activities, and control when the TV is on and what to watch. With this amount of parental micro managing, it comes as no surprise that our young children start to challenge our stranglehold of control and power.
Best and Worst of the Weekend
As soon as we took the Disney World exit, we saw the sign for Disney World and Ben yelled Donald Duck! Then for the next 10 minutes, he laughed, pointed out all the buses and firetrucks and shouted “yaaaaaa, woooooo.” All that “woooo”ing woke up Abigail. Now that she was awake, she needed to eat. She let us know in her own special way.
Add the silly songs CD to the mix and I’m convinced we had one of the loudest cars in Disney World. I was either gonna laugh or cry from the noise. I decided to laugh and take video so I could share it with all of you. This went on for a few minutes until we got to the hotel.
This One is for Babble
I didn’t make your list, but thanks for the opportunity to nominate myself for a runner-up award! Actually, I’m compiling a list of the best parenting sites. You didn’t quite make the Top 100 list, but feel free to send your buddies to vote for you (daily) in the prestigious Not Quite Made the Top List category!
And this one is for Klout. For telling me I’m influential about goldfish.