No! In our house, Daddy gets the biggest slice!
Some people think I play favourites with my two sons. There are certainly valid reasons for this perception.
For instance, I tend to speak to my 7 year-old elder son, L, with a more gentle demeanour, but only because he is such a sensitive boy who can sometimes take things too much to heart.
I also admittedly talk about L a lot more to outsiders – a practice that merely reflects his burgeoning achievements (at school, in sports, even at home), owing to his conscientiousness and general desire to appease those in authority.
My six year-old son L is turning seven next month. Last year, I was the official organiser of, and the entertainer for, his birthday party – an event that was held in our backyard with 30 of his friends and cousins (plus his then four year-old brother).
Now, son, let me tell you something about this “Game”.
This year, however, I have been dumped from these duties by my wife. The list of grave errors from 2012 that led to my dismissal in 2013 is pretty long, although most were honestly unintentional.
For instance, I didn’t know that one was suppose to fill the pinata with lollies and goodies. I genuinely believed that the lion-shaped papier-mache that I bought for last year’s party came with all the sweets already pre-loaded. Of course, I only realised my momental mistake when the kids finally smashed the pinata wide open, only to be greeted with nothing but air. What greeted me afterwards were 60 hostile eyes from the children, as well as plenty rolled-to-the-back-of-the-head ones from the parents. Continue reading
My dear wife was recently away in Connecticut and New York for 10 days. If you ever wanted to get as far away as geographically possible from Sydney, you go to Connecticut and New York. When she first dropped this bombshell, the woman said it was for work, that she needed to put in some “face time” with the big honchos in the head office and build some relationships.
- Who put all this crap in my basket?!?
I don’t know whether she realised it at the time, but she was feeding me the very same line that I feed her whenever I go away on some overseas junket. Judging by the hours she spent writing up her long shopping list, I wasn’t even sure where she was going to find the spare minute to put in any “face time” with colleagues, let alone build any relationship. Continue reading
Every night between 10.30 and 10.50, I perform a task. It involves tiptoeing into my six
No, no, no Mr Joggin Dad, you’re doing it all wrong, wrong, wrong!
year-old son’s room, carefully carrying my sleeping first-born in an upright position to the bathroom, with his head resting on my shoulder. Once there, I pull down his pyjama pants and sit him on the toilet so that he can do his night-time relief – something he rarely fails to do even though he is usually still in dreamland. I then carry Prince #1 back to his room, tuck him into bed snuggly, and repeat the whole exercise with Prince #2, my precious four year-old second son.
“You know, you shouldn’t do that! You should allow your children to learn to visit the toilet at night by themselves“. Continue reading
Ever since our two boys L and C arrived on the scene, I have rarely managed to talk to my wife like we used to B.C. (Before Children). Back in those days, our conversations were spontaneous and fun. Most importantly, they went back and forth in a coherent sequential string.
Enter the Children!
Everybody, talk at once
Now that they are 6 and 4, going on to 16 and 14, my wife and I can’t for the life of us converse in a normal human way when these little ones are around.
To begin with, there is no eye contact. This is because our attention is constantly diverted by the boys’ needs, be it gluing together their cardbard ninja swords or breaking up their no-holds-barred ninja fights. Even during those brief moments when our eyes do meet, I know hers are preoccupied trying to see through mine, so that she can keep a watch on the mischief the kids are up to behind my back. Continue reading