The Chancellor's Manifesto

So after not being for 13-15 years it was a safe bet that when I visited the opticians they would tell me that I needed glasses. As part of The Chancellor's manifesto of holiday promises we had to sit in a giant supermarket getting our eyes prodded. This may sound like something you wish to do when you're on holiday but where they really get you is when you have to spend a good chunk of a mortgage payment on the glasses themselves. I will own, when they're ready, a rather saucy pair of black rimmed glasses that I must use when doing anything like writing this blog or driving or watching TV or reading a book. Basically everything worth doing.

Today thankful we have taken a break from the manifesto and have done things that have actually been fun. Most notably walking around a park until the wee man was so tired that he collapsed with exhaustion and had to be carried back to the car where he instantly fell asleep in his car seat.



 As we were out and about the wee man sported his new first ever hair cut. We took him to a proper salon yesterday afternoon and I was amazed by how he actually sat still and let the woman cut his mullet off. He now looks less like a little girl and more like a big boy. Finally. But his love for hairdressing equipment, that we needed to use for distraction techniques, has made me slightly worried. At least it will be some time until he needs to go back and as a bonus she did for free for us. So there isn't much I can moan about, which makes a change.


jpr

The Spring Rolls Were My Downfall

There is some wonderful quiet at HQ at the moment. The wee man is napping and The Chancellor is out getting her hair cut, leaving me to doss about and recover for a heavy anniversary meal we had last night. It was expensive affair both on our wallets and the my stomach but in both cases it doesn't help when you order multiple starters because you are too greedy and incapable to choose one over the other. Seeing though as we only really go out once a year now, why not make it a big one.

In other news below the fold today, my Baby Centre Blog for the week is out and ready for reading. http://www.baby.co.uk/mum_stories/is-it-wrong-to-say-no-to-chocolate/. Last week I wrote three and it nearly killed me, so only one will be submitted this week in an attempt to keep me from having a blogging meltdown. I'm intrigued to know, if you are a parent, if you feel the same way towards chocolate as I do. So if you feel the need please comment and let me know. I do feel slightly hypocritical in the subject matter as I  unashamedly eat quite a lot of chocolate, especially Yorkies. Never-the-less this isn't about me and my gluttony, it's about saving our children from global warming or something.

Also with today apparently being Wednesday this means we are on to page three of The Chancellor's long long job list. Yesterday was spent cleaning up things and sorting through boxes including the wee man's toys. As you can see he has a lot of toys. 

Treats that are included for today are eye tests and various administrative duties that need to be taken care of, all of which includes me. There isn't a Yorkie in sight. Tomorrow however is where things really start to liven up as the bathroom grouting needs to be cleaned. I'm tingling all over with the thought of that one.

jpr

Independent Feeding

It seems that the wee man is learning something new everyday. This isn't a surprise as he is at that age when he should be learning new things everyday. However give it a week and he will reciting sections of Hamlet or reeling off prime numbers up to 7879. The latest in a long list of things discovered and mastered is eating independently off his own spoon.

For a while his co-ordination was akin to a drunk man trying to eat curried chips at the end of a night out. This was usually quite funny to watch but often caused a mess on our cream carpet. The carpet in question is in a few places various different shades of baby food, requiring us to tactically re-position rugs or pieces of furniture so visitors would think we were filthy bums. After a meal I would often curse not putting down plastic and vow to do it next time. However next time would come around and again I would forget, leaving me to get the Vanish out once more or move a table a few inches to the right to cover the stain. The carpet will have to be replaced before we try and sell the play or we'll be appearing on some crap Channel 4 documentary about messy people.

But back to the wee man. He now seems to have sobered up a bit and his co-ordination is akin now to some one who has woken up after a night out and has realised he ate curried chips last night. The spoon with food on it now reaches the mouth and is devoured. This development is also another step forward for me as, I hope, he will require less spooning feeding and I can maybe read the paper as he eats by himself. I'm not sure if this will lead to us having an independent but slightly neglected child. Can you call him neglected if he is eating spinach and ricotta tortellinis? I didn't think so.

On a side note The Chancellor and I are going out sans child tonight to celebrate our four year wedding anniversary. The babysitter is booked and we will take our passports just in case the mood takes us and we decide to flee the country. Though then our babysitter might be asking us for a substantial monitory compensation package which will not inspire us to come home.

jpr

TV Addicts

So day one of The Chancellor's holiday begins and job number one begins for me. The last time I defrosted the fridge was probably a good five years ago so it wasn't a surprise to me that pack ice that the Arctic could use had formed around an unhealthy amount of the fridge. I had left it last night to begin the thawing process but this morning I was downhearted by how little ice had melted so today I've taken a hammer and a hairdryer to it. Despite my best efforts of catching the melting ice the kitchen still looks like a pipe has burst. But it makes The Chancellor happy so the job will get done.

To appease my moaning about doing boring jobs we went to look at new TVs this morning. Something has happened to the colour on ours and the picture now resembles something I saw during a night of listening to Pink Floyd (if you catch my drift) as a student. Both the wee man and I were infatuated by the TV department we visited today. We both stood goggle eyed at the giant screens hanging on the walls hoping we could leave with something new and exciting. Alas common sense did prevail as we need a new tumble dryer. If we had two income I would have insisted on getting something the size of a wall for our living room. Instead we must put up with trippy rainbow colours for a while. It takes me back.

The wee man is currently partaking in a messy play event designed by his mum. Naturally there is now flour everywhere in the living and the wee man insists on crawling back through the flour spreading it around more and more. These things never happen when I'm in charge.

The company is already very nice though even if it comes with a jobs list the size of my arm and beyond. We already have every available slot booked up for this week including a morning tomorrow dedicated to me. I'm taking myself off for a morning of hand bag shopping and spa treatments. I may even read a glossy magazine while getting my nails done. Oooh doesn't that sound nice?


jpr  

Mini Houdini

Whenever we return from trips to visit Grandparents the wee man seems to come back with having learnt some new skills. This time is no exception and the new skills learnt mean we have to watch him even more and I didn't think that was possible.

This morning we had the wee man shut in the bedroom with us while we got ready for the day. Never one to just sit and play with a toy the wee man became increasingly interested by what was keeping him in the room. Suddenly the door had been opened and he was away heading for the stairs. Somehow the wee man has gained the strength to pull the handle and open the door. He had done this once before at our home but the doors are easier to open due to them being old and not fitting the door frame anymore. So I put his trick down to being helped by dodgy old doors. However my parents house is fairly new and the doors have yet to warp so the feat is extra impressive. Now though I can't just expect a closed door to keep him in the room. This makes things a little inconvenient and an extra bit of my last half eye will be trained on the doors to see if he has escaped.

As well as opening doors the wee man fell in love with my parent's washing machine and he worked out that when he presses the on button the machine plays a nice triad of notes, the same happens (the notes just descend) when he turns it off. So for ten minutes he stood there turning it on and off and on and off and on and off and so on and so forth. It was quite cute for the first ten seconds but grew quite tiresome and as I sat in the living room all it could hear was this major triad and him giggling. Luckily our washing machine is locked away in a cupboard and doesn't play a nice major triad.

Normally Sunday night would make us all a bit sad with the end of another weekend but with The Chancellor on holiday, happier blog posts can be expected from me this week. I might even smile.


jpr

Party Animals Part 2

Today has been a slightly different day. We celebrated my mum's 60th birthday with a surprise party at a stately house out in the country. My sister wonderfully organised the whole thing and I can't  pretend that I had a hand in any of the organisation. I did make a speech though which as you can imagine was awful and full of rude jokes. It was a very enjoyable day with excellent catch ups with family and friends.

The wee man somehow managed to get through the day having had only five minutes sleep and is now riding high on his fifth or twenty fifth wind. When he'll crash is anyone's guess but I'm sure he'll tell us about it. His ability to deal comfortably with a loud room full of people is quite extraordinary, he can handle it better than I can. When he discovers cynicism he may change but until then I will let him interact happily and explore all he wants. It's rather endearing.

In an act of elderly rebellion my father has been trying all afternoon to feed the wee man chocolate and sees it dreadful thing that the wee man hasn't experienced the delights of chocolate. Maybe I am denying him but the longer without the better. And whoever feeds him sugar has to catch him when he runs off and does laps of the streets. My father would probably fill him up with chocolate and pass him back to me and let me deal with the consequences.

For now though it's time for more cake and wine and we'll have a stab at putting the wee man to bed.


Jpr

Party Animals

One man plus family have flown south for the remainder of the winter. Maybe not for winter, for three days to be exact and I think it would be wishful thinking to think it would be any warmer only 100 miles away. Migration to warmer parts of the world, I dream, would sort all my problems out, The Chancellor would have to be informed however and that's where my plan would get shot down. She would stipulate that she and the wee man would have to come too and that would end my dreams there and then.

I digress though and back to today and for the wee man Gran and Grandpa's house is full of wonderfully exciting things including a piano and a flight of stairs. It is like a whole new universe for him. He has wasted no time in exploring and making his presence felt. The novelty I'm sure will ware off but for now the taste of exploration is keeping him entertained and it's letting me eat cakes.

We are all feeling a little tired today and it's not just from the longish drive. Last night the lads who live above us (who I've written about before) decided to have another loud and late party last night. Usually if the wee man is already asleep he isn't disturbed by the heavy footed oafs, we just are. But last night it sounded like a stampede above us with the epicenter of the party happening right above us. The wee man awoke a few times between eleven and half one in the morning and we were awake all those times plus a few more due to loud people. The last time I looked at the clock it was somewhere near half five. I was even more annoyed because it sounded like they were having such a good time and we weren't. They could have at least invited us but I get the feeling that whenever I meet them they think I'm some boring old sod not worthy of their parties. They could be right. I used to be cool.

In a side note, I have now become a battery reared blogger for Baby Centre. Blog number three has been written, published and is now ready to be scrutinised. So pop along to   http://www.baby.co.uk/mum_stories/katie-hopkins-tells-would-be-friends-youre-fired/ and feed your desire to read more things I've written. Or you can find yourself a free range blogger who is nicer and won't curse.

jpr



 

Get Busy Living Or Get Busy Cleaning Up Wee

There is a time in the day when The Chancellor has taken the wee man for a bath, I've done the washing up, laid out tea ready to start, that I get five minutes to sit and watch some mind numbing TV before we put the wee man to bed. It's a nice time as I can turn children's TV off and have a quick rest. 'Nice time' may be underselling it, 'glorious time' sums it up a wee bit better. Every now and again I will be interrupted by a half naked son who is very excited that he's escaped the clutches of his mother and the bathroom. Back I must lead him for his nightly wash which he usually enjoys immensely. Once he is actually in the bath I know I have a short time of peace as he couldn't possibly get out. Could he?

Now though the wee man is bigger and has worked out how to free himself from the formally high white walls of the bath. He's like Tim Robbins in The Shawshank Redemption, finally managing to extricate himself and find freedom. One of the last bastions of caging him has gone. Now he has discovered he can do this, this will be what happens every night at bath time. My window for crashing on the sofa for five minutes will be significantly shorter as he will probably stay in the bath for thirty seconds then decide enough is enough and that door will open and I will see that little face grinning at me. 

After he is brought through for changing he tries he darnedest to stay naked and often just urinates on the floor before we manage to get a nappy on him. This infuriates both me and The Chancellor and it requires me to get the Vanish mousse out and scrub away at the carpet for five minutes. Can I get a quiet five minutes?

There is luckily one place that is still too tricky to get out of and that's his Alcatraz cot. If it isn't the high bars that will keep him in it's the moat I have dug circling it. He'll have to swim pretty quick if he wants to make it out of his room. But even the cot has a shelf life and the day will come where I have to put a bolt on the outside of the door. Top parenting I think.   

jpr

Children And Communists

Parents (including myself) can be a bit daft sometimes. I put it down to sleep deprivation and day dreaming of the life we used to have. This daftness makes us make decisions that in hindsight are rubbish and you come home after thinking that a better plan should have been made.

As I have told you with it being half term, parents (again including me) are racking their brains to come up with things to do. However when you have an active and pestering child pulling at your leg you have to think fast and inevitably you decide to go to places that are family friendly, simply because it will shut your child up. Now as all the other parents have a fussing and annoying child making them rush their decision everyone goes to family friendly places and they tend to get very busy. You might wonder why this surprises me.

The logic surely must be; let's go somewhere that won't be horribly loud and full of obnoxious children. OK the challenge is there. So what do I do yesterday go to a family friendly place which is horribly loud and full of obnoxious children. I had hoped no one would have had the same idea as me but that was wishful thinking and I quickly realised I'm not as smart as I thought I was. Parents on mass seem to think and work as one unit, the communists of the parenting industry.

I and Funny Daddy only lasted an hour and this included a coffee after we had let our children get knocked over by seven and eight year olds. Today I've been thinking about where we could go and after eliminating all family friendly places the only place I could think of to go was a field. Here I could let the wee man go free and he could run and meet cows and do stuff of that ilk. Poor show from me but I only have another two days to fill until The Chancellor is off for a week. This brings with it a fresh hell as she has a jobs list the size of my arm of things that need doing and with which I must be involved. Swap you?


jpr



    

Ramblings Of A Phiosopher

First off today baby Centre seem to want to mess with my inbuilt time clock and try to convince me that it's Wednesday today. Is it? This is because they published my next blog today instead of what I think is tomorrow. http://www.baby.co.uk/mum_stories/can-you-have-a-naughty-child/. I had to actually open up the calender on my laptop to make sure what day it was.

But can I be sure it's Tuesday? Can I be sure of anything anymore? Am I sitting here writing this or am I some dreamed up imagination of someone else? Is this bacon sandwich in front of me really bacon or is it horse or human? I could go on all day, as I did a philosophy degree and my head is filled with so many pointless and abstract ideas that at times it has almost exploded, but I won't. As you can probably tell blogging has now become such a staple in my daily diet that I'm thinking of hooking myself up permanently to the laptop so I can stream my thoughts out through the ether of the internet. I believe Power Lifter Daddy can aid me there were with surgically implanting a USB port into my head and fitting me with a longer life battery.

On a note away from scary dystopian worlds, some time ago I asked you the readers to send in postcards with ideas of things I could do this week for half term. I asked this as a bit of joke and I never expected anyone to take the time to send one. But you what I got one. A family member I will call Artistic Cousin sent a wonderful postcard which cheered the wee man I right up. So thank you very much. The wee man has picked one with naked women on to send back. Everyone else who hasn't one has now got something to try and better. I'll be waiting.

jpr    

The Marlboro Man

Yesterday afternoon as I lay on the sofa recovering still from this dreadful gastric bug, The Chancellor took the wee man to visit some of our friends. It had been a while since we had all been in the same room at the same time and it was a shame that I had to miss it. But I would have been in some trouble had I passed around what had infected me.

On her return The Chancellor regaled tales of how the wee man is now by far the loudest child in the group and that he is by far the naughtiest or willful depending on if you can admit to having a naughty child or not. I spoke of this subject the other day but with me out of action this weekend The Chancellor has finally seen what he is capable of and how he probably needs two parents on hand all the time.

She said that she didn't actually get to have good chats with people because she continually had to apologise and dash off to stop the wee man from doing something destructive or rescue him from situations he had gotten himself into. He even at one point managed to lead one of his little friends astray by teaching him how to climb onto a table. There is a running joke within the group that the wee man will be the child who gets all the other children into trouble. I have this image of all the boys as teenagers and the wee man passing out cigarettes behind the school while listening to alt rock. Though this sounds suspiciously like something I did. But this isn't about me. I feel bad for him that he's been given this label but on the other hand I can see why.

There is a fine line between willful and naughty and there is also a fine line between letting him explore the world and letting him do everything he wants. Right now I'm beginning to work out how to get the balance right and I'm failing miserably. This kind of decision making is what leads to parents getting grey hair.

On a slightly different note there is an extra Baby Centre Blog out today. http://www.baby.co.uk/mum_stories/the-loneliness-of-the-stay-at-home-parent/. The regular Wednesday one will be out this week too.

jpr  

Teeth

In my time writing One Man I don't think the subject of teeth has been given a prominent enough place. They are perhaps the greatest source of discomfort for the wee man and affects everything from sleeping to eating via everything else. The wee man in actual fact hasn't had any new teeth for quite a few months, making our life a little easier. This is because, apparently, children stop getting teeth when they start walking. Something to do with their bodies using the calcium for their bones rather than teeth. Once their bones have become strong enough for walking they start getting teeth again. Bet you didn't know that.

Right on cue though teeth are now appearing all over the wee man's gums causing him all sorts of bother and making him drool over everything in the house, leaving the our place looking like something from the film Alien. At least I suppose he doesn't have acid for blood.

The teething gels are now back out of their boxes and being used beyond their maximum. But it makes you think why as a race we haven't evolved to a point where we are born with a full set of teeth. Do we really need all this tedious mucking around and pain? The wee man isn't even near a full assortment of them yet and we have a long way to go before he isn't chewing everything he can get is hands on. I do have sympathy for him as it can't be nice having your gums burn and ache and there being nothing you can do about it. Maybe this is why you don't remember anything until you are closer to three or four. Who wants to remember feeling like crap for quite a few months.

Soldier on we must and I can always use my own kind of numbing agent to get through the crying. When he was much younger I was tempted to use a finger of whisky on his gums because I thought the teething gel was doing nothing for him. I'm sure a fine single malt was what my parents used on me and it did me no harm apart from now I own a good collection of single malt whiskys. Maybe I'll just stick with the teething gel.


jpr  





  

Gastric Jamie

Things here at HQ have taken a turn for the worse. The man flu I was moaning about the other day has turned into full blown gastric flu. The wee man hadn't been so well the past few days having some appallingly offensive nappies and being generally miserable. It appears that his gastric bug has now found a better place to call home in the form of me. Aren't I the lucky one?! It has not been a nice morning for me and I don't intend to remove myself from under my blanket until at least mid-afternoon. Luckily The Chancellor is here to keep the wee man from shouting in my face and she can be the custodian of his dreadful nappies today.

We did have plans for doing lots of things this weekend including seeing friends buts that's looking more and more unlikely as the minutes and the trips back to the toilet pass by. Nice. So I think I have spoken too much about this illness and feel I may be loosing you my dear reader. I mean who wants to hear about gastric flu, especially on a Saturday morning?

The Chancellor having taken the wee man out to run his batteries down has returned home with some lovely things to make me feel better. The wee man on the other hand came home with destruction on his mind and promptly bashed at the laptop and broke it to the point where every time I press a number key a load of different programmes start up. He did this while I was buying train tickets, so you can imagine my annoyance but he just walks off unaware of the trail of destruction he's leaving in his wake.

And as I write he's running around carrying with him a couple of baking trays and bashing them together creating a really really ungodly sound. The sad thing is I can't move so I have to put up with the bangs and crashes. I'm not sure which is worse being stuck with a loud toddler unable to move or spending a fair amount of your morning in the toilet. I'll give you the answer tomorrow.


jpr

The Other Lady

I could, if the chance arose, make a very good career from looking awkward. After yesterday's rather successful Valentine's fun this morning we had to endure another round of lovey dovey rubbish at the hands of our regular Friday group.

If your thing in life is listening to Lionel Ritchie while being covered with paper hearts and cuddling up with your child's favorite teddy then this was the group for you. Unfortunately it isn't what I tend to do with my time. I'm not a macho man by any means but even the the husband of the group leaders commented that this may not be something I would enjoy. He was indeed right. The Chancellor on the other hand would have loved it seeing as she can't get enough cuddles from the wee man. Luckily for everyone The Chancellor is off work for a week the week after next so she can spend the whole time never letting him out of her arms.

While she is hugging him to death I intend to make a prison break and get of the house for longer than ten minutes.

The other day I was talking to a guy who I know in our local supermarket. He asked how things were going and I told him that it spoke volumes that the highlight of my day is when The Chancellor comes home and I can come to this supermarket by myself for ten minutes  He replied that that doesn't sound too good. I told him that the worst bit wasn't how pathetic that sounded but that I'm spending a small fortune on visiting the supermarket every night. Sainsbury's is now the other lady. I give her £10 every night for ten minutes of gratification and false love. This is just false economy. My friend laughed at this but I could see in his eyes that he thought I was mental. I wanted to tell him "Just you wait until you have children" but the lad is young and I didn't want to fill his night with depressing thoughts of the future. I'm just not that mean.

I think what I need is a hobby then I wouldn't feel the need to walk round the same aisles night after night. I can see in your minds that 'loser' is the word that is circling in your head. It's OK I think that too.

jor

Voi Che Sapete Che Cosa E Amor

There's nothing better (or worse) than a good commercialized day when you're told to feel something profound. You'll be pleased to know that today my body does ache, alas not with the burning embers of passion for The Chancellor but with the end of man flu that I'm still suffering from. To make up for a few years or so of standing up against 'the man' and not buying into Valentine's day, I went to a nice upmarket food hall this morning and got various things to treat The Chancellor with tonight.

I would like to point out that our wedding anniversary is only a week or so away and my excuse for not getting The Chancellor anything on Valentine's in the past is that I will treat her to things on our anniversary. More often than not I bypass the anniversary and say I will treat her on her birthday a couple of months away. This system roles on and on until the next year. A vicious cycle.

The wee man was up bright and early today to spread his own special kind of love. This would have been bearable had it not been for me being able to smell his gift before I had even opened his door. My head sunk with visions of what would be waiting for me. My suspicions were confirmed as his levee had indeed broken and what would have been a routine morning required a full scale clean up job and a full change of clothes for him. I managed to coerce him back to sleep for half an hour but it wasn't long before the shouts of "Hey" came from behind that white door. He did though have plenty of hugs for his mum which always melts her heart especially as she hadn't seen him yesterday due to her being sociable. But she is due home early today where there will be halfhearted romantic preparations under way. She's very lucky isn't she?!

If you have a partner who is as unromantic as me then I'm sorry. I do have some single friends but to go out with them you will be required to like wildlife in remote locations and hard liquor. Or hard liquor in remote locations. Either way you're probably best to look in Newcastle on a Saturday night. Happy Valentine's Day y'all!

jpr

It Really Is A Magical Place

Good afternoon one and all. First of all a shout for you to go over to another website where i'm allowed to voice my various opinions unedited (sometimes I get edited but still). http://www.baby.co.uk/mum_stories/your-children-are-doomed/. This week's post is a little dark but the subject is one that i'm very interested in exploring. So whatever you do don't believe what's on the internet, you never know who's writing and that's including me. I could be some deranged, maniacal, power hungry super villain who writes this in a darkened room while eating Morrison's saver cookies and drinking cup after cup of coffee. Wait...

Tossing this rose tinted view of myself out of the way I can tell you what things I have been doing today. Many many years ago there was an advert I saw which came on at Christmas time. The lyrics went thus; "There's a magical place, we're on our way there, with toys in their million, all under one roof, it's called Toys R Us". I loved this advert but for some reason I was never taken which made me sad. So to rectify a tattered childhood I took the wee man this morning. And let me tell you dear reader it is indeed a magical place. While I ran around leaving the wee man in my wake I tried to think if I had EVER been in my life and I couldn't remember. So i'm guessing I never had, which must be some sort of crime against being a child.

The wee man was belatedly spending a voucher his Auntie S. and Uncle P. had given him at Christmas, so I felt it important to spend the voucher for him. So much choice, I spent a good twenty minutes carrying a Buzz Lightyear with me, just because I like Buzz Lightyear. But this space ranger wasn't filling the wee man with much interest. It wasn't until we reached the In the Night Garden aisle that he really showed some interest. Now this is the wee man's favorite show and it's completely nuts but I can write a few blogs on that the craziness of that show.

Anyway we now own Iggle Piggle (see above) and he is quite sweet if a little trippy. If anyone watches this programme and knows what the hell is going on please contact me. The wee man is now napping with Iggle Piggle in his arms, I claim therefore that I've made an excellent parenting decision.


jpr

That Way Madness Lies (Half Term)

It's not often I get to write this so early in morning but the wee man has collapsed already after a morning of stories and songs at the local library. The class is generally designed for older children but the wee man has a great love for books and thoroughly enjoyed the group, as did I. So here I am sitting in the gloom of another grey day in the North East of England. I can't even remember the last time I saw the sun but it was probably in my former life.

Already I'm thinking about next week. This is because next week is half term. The dreaded half term. For parents who have children of a certain age these breaks in school, along with summer holidays, are the worst weeks there are in the year. During this time no groups run and you are forced to go places you would not normally go. You even start to find the education value in places where there probably is none. Surely I could teach the wee man maths and probability skills at the casino? Or teach him social policy and equality at strip bars? Or the science of fermenting hops at the pub? Though I could just imagine how much fun the wee man would have at the casino with all the lights, noises and people to talk to. They should run family days.

In the past there have been meet ups with other parents but with returns to work and other reasons these meet ups have become rarer and rarer. So the wee man and I, like The Lone Ranger and Tonto, embark on our solo adventures looking for friends or at the very least people to talk at.

I have started looking at my week in the form of a timetable, breaking each day down into the two part blocks. So I have ten blocks to fill and already in my mind I have filled one and half for next week but I need to fill at least half of them to stave off foot rot and cabin fever. Any suggestions can be put on the back of a postcard and sent to us. Though if you do send a postcard can you make the picture something interesting and fun. A whimsical card perhaps with a funny pun or boobies, though then the wee man won't be able to enjoy eating that as it will have to hidden from sight. The reading of a postcard could fill at least a tenth of one block. Thank you.

jpr

  

The Wee Man's Top 5

After I read High Fidelity, when I was much younger, I got really excited by top 5s. Everywhere I went I would write down lists of top 5s, from my favorite books through to my favorite LP records. They were for no one else to see, just for my own amusement. So in a nod to back street record stores and Nick Hornby here the wee man's top 5 favorite things to do.

1). Turn the TV on. After watching The Chancellor and I do this for a while, he quickly worked out what the big button on the TV was for. Now it's the first thing he does when he comes into the living room. He will go over and turn it on and then turn it off or he will turn it on and walk out of the room (he's like a teenager already). Or more annoyingly he will turn turn the TV off at a critical moment of a programme I'm watching. I inevitably start shouting at him to turn it back on but he just walks off.

2). Today he worked out how to turn the lamp in his bedroom on and off. Now he will stand in his room, with a big grin of his face, for five to ten minutes amusing himself as the light comes on and off. A seminal moment perhaps like he's just discovered fire.

3). Try to get into the toilet. One thing I haven't done yet is put a lock on the toilet. There just aren't enough hours in the day. The wee man is still fascinated by the toilet and he gets VERY excited when he manages to get into the bathroom and before I can get there in time he is already lifting up the seat and trying to get in. This results in him needing a full decontamination which he does not like.

4). Eating the bottoms of shoes. It doesn't matter which shoe or how dirty the shoe is, they get eaten. Again decontamination is necessary and again I get an ear full from him.

5). Hiding. This generally happens when I ask him to come to me for a nappy change etc. I ask him to come to daddy and gesture to him to come to me. He will shuffle backwards, grinning all the time, and crouch down behind something, his favorites are chairs and the hi-fi speaker in our living room. I ask again and just hear a giggle. Eventually after what seems half and hour and with me now very bored I have to retrieve him which he finds very funny. I think he has me wrapped around his little finger.


jpr

 

The Day That Just Keeps On Giving

Survival was the key word today. Sunday's are The Chancellor's lie in day and I woke to the wee man shouting away alerting me he was ready to start his day. Lucky me. As soon as he is released from his cell he is away, it's like he has been injected with adrenaline. It doesn't take long for him to warm up. This is usually far too much for me to handle especially on a Sunday morning. But this morning I woke with that dreaded feeling of man flu. My throat had pretty much closed up and I had that achiness in my limbs that makes standing up difficult.

But get up I did and I left, cursing, the Chancellor to a nice warm cosey bed. I only managed an hour up before I unleashed the wee man on a still sleeping Chancellor and begged her to let me go back to sleep again. She duly obliged as she can never turn away the wee man's smiling face. She is a quite wonderful wife. I returned to my cocoon, feeling very sorry for myself, for another couple of hours.

On my awakening I was told it was time to shower as we were leaving for a children's play area within the half hour. Doesn't this day just keep on giving. In the end though a very nice time was had with friends despite me feeling like I had been beaten across the face with a frying pan. The loud older children however were not so nice and some just stand there looking at me like I'm some kind of ogre.

I have managed to come up with ingenious techniques of getting them to leave me alone, they generally involve easing them out of the way with my leg or telling them to shoo. I'm not being responsible for other people's children and I get creeped out by them staring. I'm always reminded of those girls in The Shining or Children of The Damned.

In the end I survived and am now back at home hunched over my laptop trying to warm myself with a hot drink. I am a true trooper and surely I must deserve a medal. Yes?


jpr

My Moral Obligation

I try on my weekends to limit my interaction with children. I will allow the wee man some time because, well he is my son and I have a moral obligation to spend time with him on weekends. Plus The Chancellor makes me. But beyond the wee man my tolerance levels for small and loud creatures are minimal. We were invited today to a children's play area for the birthday party of the wee man's godparent's daughter. This is something we would not miss even if it was held in a children's play area.

Now if you happen to spend a great deal of time at these kids of places, like I do, you will know they are busy, loud and by the end of your time you're more in need of a nap than your child is. So weekends at theses places are even worse. 'Bursting at the seams' seems like the appropriate phrase to use and it was bursting at the seams with children. After a false start with the wee man needing to be escorted from the premises because of ill behavior, I returned and finally found a quiet corner to sit with men and let The Chancellor chase the wee man around until she collapsed on the floor in exhaustion. An hour later she was close to just falling asleep in the middle of everything. After I finish writing this I am away for a snooze, I've had far too much stimulation for one day.

Tomorrow we are doing it all over again with a trip to another children's play area with Spreadsheet Mummy and family. Not only will it be very nice to see them as they are good friends but The Chancellor informed me that they sell AMAZING scones at the place we are going and she has promised to buy me one. She can once again do all the running about again and I will just sit there and chat with a coffee and a cream scone, that seems very fair.

So happy birthday to E.M.W. your party has made me more tired than the ones I used to go to as a student. Only trouble now is at my age it takes twice as long to recover. Cheers.


jpr

    

My New Friend

In a bid to reconcile our artistic differences the wee man and I have had a morning of naff pop songs, bright lights and lots of Chinese based fun. Well they tried to claim Chinese, one song they played sounded suspiciously like J.S. Bach but played on vaguely sounding Chinese instruments. I was tempted to alert them to their cultural mistake but I feared I would be thought of as a nit picking jobs worth and then I would have been excluded from the group for not being fun enough and being a bit of a twat. But you don't go to these groups for real life, you go to numb your mind while your child runs themselves out of energy. Seeing as the wee man is only just napping now, it's safe to say he had a lot of energy to burn off.

So I kept my mouth shut about the music and used my social smile which I bring out at such events.The Friday group we go to makes me interact with new people. No one I know goes so I am forced to look people straight in the eye and open my mouth. These are such difficult things for me to do for long periods.

But interact I do and I have even made some friends, shock horror. Because I am a man I am often seen as a bit of a novelty and people start talking to me about why I have decided to do this full time. Plus some women keep asking me if I will be friends with their husbands. It's like they're some sort of dating agent for their spouses. I tell them that I'm happy to meet up with other dads but fear those dreadfully awkward moments when we are introduced and we have to admit that we need our wives' help to make friends. And so would begin the "So do you like football?" lines.

One woman today was very friendly to me today chatting away and being interested, then she even came to sit next to me as the group started and continued to talk to me. Being SUPER CYNICAL MAN I wanted ask her if she was confusing me with someone else or partially sighted. But in truth it was very nice to meet someone interested in the wee man and I and what we get up to even if she was trying to set me up with her husband. The gist of it was that he was tall, dark and handsome with a love of the arts and music. I'm sold then.


jpr

 

You're Grounded

When you spend all your time with someone things can get a wee bit strained at times with your relationship. I spend nearly all my time with the wee man even weekends when the Chancellor wants to have family fun time. By Friday all the fun and joy that I started the week with have been whittled away and I am in no mood to have family fun time at the weekend.

This week has seen the wee man and I having a number of domestics even some in public, which is rare, and I can't tell you how many time I've grounded him. My frustration with him has hit new levels especially when stuck in doors.

The boredom sets in for him when he is stuck at home for prolonged periods of time and this leads to naughtiness and tantrums (from both him and me which doesn't help). And this therefore leads to me thrusting the child in his mum's arms when she returns home from work and me locking myself away in the bedroom. She claims I am grumpy with her as well but I am grumpy in general as she hasn't seen the kind of day we have had and what he can now get up to. The mum's I know, who do varied levels of childcare, all have each other to talk to and go to in times of need but as a dad it would be weird if I went off on a long tirade and for all I try I'm not a mum. So The Chancellor has all the pent up craziness to deal with. Poor woman.

I have attempted to fill all the spare days but they all now require running the wee man's batteries down. And this is either an expensive task or one that requires spending most of our time outdoors and at the mercy of the winter weather. Plus there is only so much you can do in a week. Some funny people have suggested I invest in a giant hamster wheel but I don't think think this is such a bad idea. If anyone out there is an engineer then please I will commission you for the wheel to be built and attached to my wall. I'm sure someone must have done it before.


jpr

The Crying Months

Just to start off today, as I write this one of my neighbours is hammering and drilling into the wall that adjoins our properties. The wee man doesn't seem bothered, he's having a nap in the next room but it is driving to new levels derangement. So whatever I write today might be filled with more errors than usual just because I can barely hear myself think. Sorry.

First point of order as usual on a Wednesday is the Baby Centre blog. http://www.baby.co.uk/mum_stories/my-new-parent-phobia/.

The picture used is of the wee man some time ago during the crying months. He was not a happy chap when he was a newborn and spent most of his time crying when all the other babies sat happily just staring out into space. I never liked these babies. Even at such a young age they seemed smug about their existence, they had already found their existential being so to speak. I hated them and resented the parents even more for getting sleep and having a nice child. One of my friends Funny Mummy had the same thing with her son and he used to cry nearly as much as the wee man. But luckily for all of us they both chilled out, accepted who their parents are and are now best mates and don't cry that much anymore. They just fight for toys instead. It only took 15 months or so.
 
Back to the picture and because the wee man found life so hard in those early days I have a lot of pictures of him like this. Cannon fodder for the teenage years when I can guilt trip him into doing things for me. I will say "Look at this picture, you were a right shit back then and I just had to put up with it". Revenge. I wonder how many parents would claim to have a Machiavellian streak running through them in order to get their children to do what they want them to. I have fairly flexible morals so I have the guilt trips lined up already. I also plan to run into his room at half four in the morning, wake him up and cry in his face for an hour or two. Revenge.


jpr


  

You Can Drive My Car

First off today one extra bit of campaigning. I mentioned last week that I wanted One Man to be a powerhouse of blogging activity. We have here at HQ a chance to play in the big leagues with the MAD blogging awards. I want to win. Not only to get recognition for the blog but the finalists get to go to a swanky  ceremony where they have promised booze, dancing and singing. They have sold it to me very well.

Now you will be pleased to find out out that One Man got onto the initial list of nominations for a number of awards. But so did lots of other blogs. So if you really really really like One Man and a Wee Bairn I am asking for your nomination. I know this is shameful of me but it will take thirty seconds out of your day. http://www.the-mads.com/vote/. This is where you can nominate me. You'll also be pleased to know that after much poking and prodding The Chancellor finally nominated me. If you vote for me you will be saving the soul of one very tired stay-at-home dad. Thank you.

So with that bit of cold calling over with we move with a hop, skip and jump onto today. The wee man never fails to amaze me sometimes. Every now and again he will do something that looks so instinctive you wonder where he learnt it. Last week the wee man was sitting flicking through a book and listening to some nursery rhymes. While Old McDonald was on he said at the correct time "ee i ee i" but failed with the "o". I have tried to get him to do this again but it just seemed to be a one off.

Today while we waited in the car for a group to start, I brought him into the front seat with me. He grabbed the wheel with both hands and started making a "brrrrrrrrr" sound. Nearly fifteen months old and he wants to drive a car. It does amaze me how he must be picking up by just watching and listening to me. Therefore the one thing I have to get a grip on is my language as I often forget he is around and I let off a tirade at the television.The dictum of 'Do as I say, not as I do.' won't wash with him. And he'll repeat whatever I say how ever much he wants getting me into trouble. Now none of us want that, do we?


jpr    

Poor Old Wee Man

The wee man is a resilient child. Not only does he keep getting up after crashing off various bits of furniture, he has to put up with some harsh weather conditions. With our rain cover swimming somewhere in the North Sea, probably closer to Norway than England by now, the wee man is learning to put up with getting wet from the rain. We've being avoiding the outdoors at the merest sight of a grey cloud but sometimes you get caught out. The wee man doesn't moan he just lies there in his pushchair wincing every time a droplet of rain hits him. His silence fuels my guilt and I end running through the rain to get him undercover. As I am unfit, this brings on minor chest pains and makes my face turn a wonderfully bright shade of red.

Yesterday The Chancellor and I decided it was a good idea to take the wee man up the coast line for a run around on the beach. Seeing as it was freezing and the wind almost took the wee man with it we didn't spend too long on the beach. But the wee man loved the chance to keep running without anything to stop him. He even managed to pose for his first album cover. You know the ones where the artist is staring out into space looking all serious and far away? (look above). With that as his first album cover he is definitely going platinum and therefore paying for my retirement in a villa just outside Florence in the Tuscan hills.

But if he's going to survive in such inhospitable surrounding like the North East he's going to have cultivate at least a thicker layer of fat. I could though give him a helping hand though by buying him  new rain cover. Though he can buy it himself as he has more money than both myself and The Chancellor.


jpr 

The 150th Post

Yes indeedy One Man and a Wee Bairn has reached the celebrated 150th post. This means, obviously, that I've written a post everyday for 150 days. I wasn't entirely sure, when I started, how long it would take for me to give up. Luckily the wee man and the things we do give me plenty of ammunition to write with otherwise I would be banging my head off the keyboard and wishing I hadn't started this. To say writing this blog has been cathartic is an understatement and I have really enjoy chronicling the time the two of us have spent together. I hope in years to come the wee man, who will be a young man and then an old grumpy sod, will enjoy reading about our adventures together. Anyway enough blubbing.

There has been a case, in the last few days, of mistaken identity for the wee man. He has been following me around saying 'mum mum mum mum'. On the one hand it's great that he's expanding his repertoire of language but on the other have I lost that must of my masculine side that I can now be considered a mother?

I have had conversations with him that go something like 'I'M YOUR FATHER! I'M NOT A WOMAN! I HAVE A PENIS'. Then I say 'dad' to him over and over and over and over again. He looks at me like he knows what I'm saying but ten minutes later we're back to mum mum mum mum.

If you follow socio-stereotypical roles he is right I suppose. All his other friends have their mum's with them so it would make sense for me to therefore be his mum. But I will continue my campaign of brain washing and by the end of the month I will having him saying 'daddy is the best'. Which of course is the truth. I of course will keep you informed on which form of brain washing works the best.

Until then, thank you for reading for 150 days and I hope you continue reading for another 215 days, unless I have died because of blood loss from tapping away at a keyboard for too long.


jpr





 
 

Escapology

I endured yesterday one of those parenting moments that puts a strain of your heart and sends an almighty shock through your body. The drive home from our swimming class doesn't take too long 15 minutes or so but it does require driving on some very fast and very dangerous roads. The central motor runs through the heart Newcastle and is a useful thoroughfare but it was also designed by a complete idiot. Lanes appear out of nowhere and cross one another and most drivers have no idea where they're going leading to mass confusion and annoyance. 

All was going well on our drive home until we hit the Tyne Bridge which is the start of the motorway. The wee man decided that he was bored of sitting in his car seat and one minute he was fussing in his seat and the next minute he was crawling around the back seat of the car, free of restraints, having a great time. Panic took over as we hit 60mph and with nowhere to pull over we had to drive on Newcastle's worst road system with me keeping the wee man back with one arm. As you would imagine he was a bit annoyed about not being allowed to climb through to the front seat. 

Not only is it a stress to have a child so unsafely positioned in a moving car but if the police had seen me trying to keep back a child with one arm while driving then I could have been in some trouble. Eventually we found a place to stop and as I melted in my seat the wee man sat up on the back seat and preceded to giggle at me. I told him in no uncertain terms that he can never do that to me ever again, unless he want s to visit me in hospital after I've had a heart attack.

The inquisition quickly turned to how he got out and the eyes of the chorus quickly turned to me. I'm trying to claim he is the reincarnation of Harry Houdini rather than admit I didn't quite strap him in properly. Though the latter is the most probable. I suppose you learn from your mistakes, next time we go out I will be using duct tape to keep him in his seat.    

jpr 

TFI Friday

As we plod steadily with heavy legs towards the end of the week, it is no understatement when I say that I'm done, finished and monumentally broken. The wee man and I have only been out  a couple of time due to builders and the arrival of new furniture. This has meant very long days and I ran out of new super fun things to do with a toddler by Tuesday morning. The result of my uselessness at amusing a child was boredom for both of us followed by clinginess and tantrums, again by both of us. As soon as the Chancellor is home tonight I am going to go and hide myself in the bottom of my wardrobe as far from children as possible and revel in the darkness and silence.

Next week though there are no builders here nor are any pieces of furniture being delivered. Yesterday I had been given one of those really useful time slots by the delivery company. "We'll be there sometime between eleven and four". I realise that it could have been worse, they could have said between nine and six. If they had said this then I would have cried. So I suppose I should be thankful. But finally they delivered the wee man's new wardrobe which had been ordered sometime last century but due to inept companies has only just arrived.

After coercing the delivery man to help me unpack it despite his insistence that he wasn't allowed to be helpful in any way, I introduced the wee man to the latest addition to his bedroom. He stood for a moment or two, unsure, trying to work out what was new in his room. You could hear the cogs turning in his head. Eventually curiosity was too much for him and he started opening and closing the draws trapping his hand every time he did this. I have mentioned he's a smart boy haven't I? I'm sure he'll get the hang of these things one day. He has all weekend to practice with his mum.

And on that note I have only four hours to go then I'm saved.


jpr