I spoke to my mum this week, always a pleasure at SAHD Towers. We don’t always get on and she’s totally clueless about the internet and Twitter and blogging etc. The phone rang and I rushed over to the phone in the living room. T was asleep on the sofa and K was asleep upstairs so I had to move quickly lest they woke. I picked it up and mum said
‘Out of breath?’
‘Yes. Sorry I was blogging in the dining room while the kids were having a nap. Had to run across the house.’
‘You were WHAT?’
‘Blogging. You know -‘
‘With the kids present?’ she interrupted ‘Isn’t that dirty?’
I thought for a second and realised that she thought I’d said that I was dogging. I quickly put her right. I don’t do that during the day.
My mum knows not what blogging is. And I’ve wondered this week, do I really. What is blogging? What does it mean to me? I’ve heard some say its a form of therapy. Well if that’s the case, then you’re about to meet some of the most psychologically balanced men on the planet. The best of the best. The grandest of the grand. The big kahuna. At words poetic I am pathetic but let me tell you that these guys are the Coliseum. the Louvre Museum, Mahatma Gandhi, Napoleon Brandy AND the the purple light of a summer night in Spain. They’re the tops. And once again it is my pleasure to introduce… The Fatherload.
intro. by SAHDandProud
‘The Mimic Man’ and other holiday “classics”
Have I mentioned that I’m a World Record Holder? No?! Blimey, how have I managed to keep that quiet?!
You’d think, as a new Blogger, that would be the first thing mentioned in the first ever blog post to really grab people’s attention. So, why haven’t I mentioned this before? Well, it’s because my World Record is a bit rubbish.
I’m no Usain Bolt – evidence of this is when I pulled my hamstring in the dads’ race at O’s Sports Day – no, I am a World Record Holder in dancing with 300 other people (work colleagues, not a bunch of randoms brought together in some sick X-Factor type stunt!) to “Superman” by Black Lace whilst wearing 80’s gear. I bet you’re impressed, aren’t you?!! It was for charity which makes it a lot more credible.
It’s Black Lace, rather than my amazing world record, which influenced this post.
We went on holiday to Majorca in June. It was our first trip abroad as a foursome and we had a bloody great time. One of the reasons for this was due to the excellent children’s entertainment that was on offer at the hotel – 4 year old O. was in Heaven!
For those that know me a little better you will know that I am a bit of a petrol-head… Not in the I know everything about motors kinda sense, because believe me I don’t… but in the I LOVE TO DRIVE FAST sorta way is a totally different story…
Willow, perfect for any occasion
‘the head was poking out, well, they called it the head but I didn’t know what to think. I thought it must have been the smallest head in the world and quite misshapen but I didn’t say anything. For the next forty or so minutes two midwives, a student midwife and I continued to praise Charlotte and tell her to breathe (you think you won’t say it but you do… it’s uncontrollable). Then, just when the threat of ‘cutting’ was mentioned, the wife decided she’d rather tear and three or four contractions later a head popped out, it was moving which was a huge relief, “you did good girl,” I said… it sounds lame but it fitted the occasion perfectly, “it’s a girl?” Charlotte said, not hearing me correctly, “I don’t know,” I replied… then sure enough the midwife showed us it was a girl. As she was placed on Charlotte’s chest I could do nothing but smile, cry and breathe deep heavy relief breaths. Such an amazing feeling, ultimate joy and relief mixed into one. We grinned and sobbed together as we acknowledged that we had a daughter, and she was perfect.’
Advertising to Dads: the chicken or the egg
We all know that advertising is everywhere. Every company is vying for valuable consumer dollars with dwindling advertising budgets. Where that money will be allocated is determined by many factors including market size. Emerging markets are small and risky but may have huge rewards. One such market is that of dads and stay at home dads (SAHDs). As more fathers are stepping up and playing a more involved role in the family, the need for businesses to harness this market becomes greater.
T Minus 3 days and counting
This week, this time is very scary, and horrible but as equally, weirdly, exciting. You may notice the words there, lets break them down. Firstly scary, why is this time scary? Well any day now, I will be a father for the first time. I am solely responsible, as well with my partner for the health and well being of another. This child will look up to me need me to care for it, feed it, bath it, cloth it, all round be responsible for it. This can be quite a scary though, couple that that the first couple years of the child’s life it can’t actually tell me what is wrong. I’ve looked after and worked with children before but they have always been able to communicate with me verbally, telling me when they needed feeding, when they weren’t feeling well. For these reasons alone this time is scary as the ticking clock draws nearer.
Soufflé, spikes & spelling: Poo, poopy, poop . . . .
The B’s growth rate has increased in dramatic fashion.
In the last seven days, he has added at least an additional inch.
Don’t be: It’s all down to hair gel.
Yes, I’m afraid that at a little over four, The B has discovered personal grooming.
The spikes add around two-and-a-half centimetres and, perhaps more alarming, about 10 years.
Growing up fast, here.
Next stop: Tattoos.
Why Isn’t My Son Like Other Children
I’m a full-time Stay at Home Dad and I see my son at playgroups and playgrounds, toddler events and the like, with other boys of a similar age. In fact, some kids I see him with were born within the same few weeks as we’ve kept in touch with people from our antenatal classes. I see him, and I see other boys, and it seems to me if there’s a thing to not touch, my son will touch it, a thing not to be done, my son will do it. And guess what? He’s the only one. All the others play nicely and heed their parents. My little boy? Seemingly not. And this has worried me. Why isn’t my son like other children?
Tall Tales: The Time I Rode a Dragon
This is the story about the time that I rode a dragon. I was only about 8 or 9 years old, and we were driving home from Theodore Roosevelt National Park (I grew up in North Dakota). I was also wearing a pink shirt that day (this comes into play later). In order to get home, we had to drive through the Badlands. Now everybody knows that they are called the Badlands because only bad dragons live there.
Daughter: “And some good dragons, right daddy?”
Absolutely not. Then they would call it the Mostlybadbutalittlebitgoodlands, and that’s not what they call it.
The Other Milestones
As parents, we celebrate all the milestones that bring our children acclaim: first crawl, first words, first steps, but we often forget to celebrate some of the lesser-known milestones. Although these milestones seem almost uninteresting at first, when mulled over, they, too, represent a great accomplishment in our child’s lives. These milestones also can even bring excitement to our lives as parents.
As parents, our hopes and dreams bloom with our children, but celebrating these milestones raises a toast to us as parents as well. These accomplishments not only reflect an important step in our child’s development but also an important stage in the fine art of parenting them.
As you reach one of these all-important milestones, as I have, it is cause for much celebration. Whoop it up, oh great fathers and mothers, you are doing a great job.
Kinesiology – Part 2
Continuing from Kinesiology – Part 1, this send and final installment looks at the geekology of the Vitruvian Man.
The Birds, The Bees and the Bow Cheeky bow wow…
So… you know that dreaded moment in the life of a parent when he/she has to have that little chat with the kiddo and explain certain truths of life… Little things like “if kids come from mum’s belly how did they GET in there?”… For THAT I would be prepared… hell… I even had the discurse rehearsed in my head (I wanna be a cool daddy… so I decided I would never lie to the kiddos in things ) but NOTHING could have prepared me for what happened…
Mommy’s Night Out – Benefit Concert
Those of you who know me well, know I’m a horrible singer. Ms. Duck wouldn’t even let me join the chorus in elementary school. I had to play viola in the orchestra! It’s scary to think my singing soothes my baby girl.
I think her first sentence may be “quick to the point to the point no fakin, cookin MCs like a pound of bacon” because I sing that song to her a lot. On to the playlist:
Ice Ice Baby – Vanilla Ice
Living on a Prayer – Bon Jovi
Paul Revere – Beastie Boys
New York, New York – Frank Sinatra
Wanted Dead or Alive – Bon Jovi
Of Dark Knights and sleepless nights
I recently completed an Xbox game that, it’s fair to say, I became a little obsessed with. The title in question was the excellent Batman: Arkham Asylum and as well as enjoying every last minute of it, I realised that there are a few at-best tenuous parallels that I thought I could draw between it and being a parent.
First of all, it is quite literally set in a madhouse – speaking on behalf all parents everywhere, I don’t feel I need to elaborate on that particular point. Next up are the hidden secrets, the like of which you find in a number of video games. In this one, the Dark Knight’s tricky old foe, The Riddler, has hidden little question mark trophies all over the island that is home to the asylum. Cheeky little scamp. Some of them are in hard-to-reach places which reminds me of the way in which Dylan does the same thing with his dummies. I’ll often be on some mission or other in the house when, out of the corner of my eye, I will spot one of them in a random place.
Recipe Shed: Six Hour Aromatic Roast Shoulder of Pork
I could have posted half a dozen recipes for this week’s Recipe Shed. A roast dinner is as important to Sunday to us as feathers on a chicken. Come to think of it, I rather like my chicken sans feathers. But I’m not plumping for a fine-featherless friend this week. Instead, I’ve chosen this sensational shoulder of pork dish. The meat is so tender and succulent, it pulls away in strips; the crackling is as crisp as Walker’s finest. And the flavour is as aromatic as a lady in a bath. It is stupdendous.
We have a healthy (or unhealthy depending on your perspective) attitude to bacteria in this household. I’m a firm believer that the modern worlds obsession with cleaning and use of bleach etc has a detrimental effect on our susceptibility to sickness later in life. Add in the fact that we have a dog and quite honestly you can’t hope to keep a baby in a perfectly clean environment.
Today is my birthday. In lieu of gifts, please just send cash*. Birthdays have always been a weird day to me. Growing up in the Midwest and having a birthday mid-November, as a kid I always associated my birthday with the first snow of the season. Maybe that’s why I hate snow. As for birthdays, my opinion is mixed.
Baby’s Got Bump!
I am not one of those people who thinks Kim Kardashian’s “assets” are worth talking about. In all honesty my bizarre inclinations are for necks and ankles. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know the answer. But that isn’t really what this post is about. If you want to know what really puts steam in a man’s stride, if you want to know what taps the primitive monkey-brain at its most instinctive level, if you want to know what triggers those subconscious hormones that make smart guys stupid (and make stupid guys more stupider), I’m here to tell you that there is nothing in the world sexier than a woman who confidently and comfortably wears her pregnancy well. You can keep your J-Lo junk in the trunk, or your Fergie lovely lady lumps. I’ve got ridiculously gorgeous woman walking around the house these days with an ever-growing baby-bump, and I feel like a teenager watching Olympic girl’s beach volleyball. RRRAWRR!!
Ok, I admit I lost it a bit there, but come on. If you have never walked around the (‘once proud’) market town of Oldham, then let me save you some time wondering whether you should add it to your list of ‘places to visit before I die’.
Unless that is you want to but cheap flimsy imported shoes, disposable lighters, weed tins, annoying yapping dogs, plastic soldiers that ghost crawl across the ground without getting anywhere fast , toys that work for a maximum of one hour, surgical bandages (Oldham is officially the home of the tubular bandage!) make-up which would turn Linda Evangalista, into a pantomime dame, dodgy fags, dodgy handbags, dodgy watches or knocked off sat nav’s.