Wednesday, 31 October 2012

He Just Sticks To Me Like Dried Porridge

Crunch talks being had here here today at HQ between myself and the wee man. Euphoria at winning the editor's choice award was tempered by a day yesterday of the wee man crying and whinging all day. ALL bloody day. Pick him up he cries, put him down he cries even more, he crawls off he cries, I twirl him around he cries, I accidently knock his head with my knee he cries a lot (I'll give him that one). I've never known him to be so clingy and this is quite annoying when I'm desperate for the toilet and he won't be put down. Peeing with your son on your shoulders is just absurd. So how do you solve a problem like a whiny child?

Go out. This seems to keep him happy for a couple of hours especially when baby sensory is involved. He is suddenly not so whiny when he sees Lisa and is straight away off to say hi to her. I just don't cut it for him. I need to learn more tricks of the trade I think, distraction techniques are key to a quieter day. If you have any ideas or tips then please put them on a postcard and send it to the appropriate address. I'm also stuck because it's half-term and most of the things I do to fill the void are off for the week. This is a bit of a bugger for nearly all the parents I know especially if they don't have family close at hand for extra help and conversation. The soft play places near by are filled with much older children because their parents have exactly the same idea as we the full timers have. 'How can we keep them entertained?!' 'SOFT PLAY!' we all shout at once.  

Funny Mummy this week has offered to have eight of the babies, including the wee man, round for a day of madness, mess and triple chocolate cookies (supplied by me). She has done this before and it is a bit chaotic to say the least. The wee man didn't want to join in last time and decided instead to rummage though their bins and poke their dog in the face. A truly proud moment for me.  Funny Mummy is brave to want to do this again. Who'll throw up first? Probably the wee man, sorry in advance.


Tuesday, 30 October 2012

I Take A Step Onto The Winner's Podium!

You'll never believe it. You really won't but here at One Man HQ we are in a state of shock. Like a final minute overhead kick to win the World Cup I've only gone and pulled it out of the bag. Editor's choice award? Oh yes I'll take that thank you very much. After getting demolished in the popular vote and weeping every night into my pillow and the shoulder of The Chancellor I am coming to terms with this award and now I have to deal with actually writing something profound for someone other than me. Not that I ever wrote anything profound in the first place. Can I step up to the plate? A lot of people including me are hoping that I can.

But I can't rest on my laurels drinking champagne and bathing in self adulation. I have to knuckle down and do some great writing. However to treat myself I have somehow managed to convince The Chancellor that buying an iPad is a good idea and will aid me with my writing. It just means I think that I will waste more time on the internet searching for really pointless things, or reading things when I'm on the toilet. Excited to go shopping this weekend! A revolution in toilet habits awaits.

But again I must thank everyone who helped promote me to get me noticed. Drinks on me tonight*. If you feel the need to read what I will be writing I will be on the Baby Centre UK website from the beginning on November onwards. I'm not sure of an exact day yet but I'm sure I will let you know when this happens. Then one day in the future when I'm on TV you can turn to your friend and say smugly 'See him? I was reading him before it was cool to read him.' Ok, maybe not and I can't imagine a scenario where it's cool to read my work but hey ho it's nice to dream.


*By drinks of course I mean tap water and nothing that will incur a charge on me.


Monday, 29 October 2012

The Chancellor May Well Have Been Right

Refresh, refresh, check e-mail, refresh, check e-mail, charge phone AGAIN, refresh, check e-mail for the fifth time in five minutes. You know it's been a slow day when by mid-day you're down to 10% battery left on your phone. It has actually been quite a nice day the wee man seemingly on the rebound from the bug that has caused The Chancellor and I to check for wrinkles and grey hairs on a regular basis. But last night at mid night the competition that I had been fighting it out to win closed it voting doors firmly shut. I, with a pulled hamstring and possible groin strain, limped in in fourth place in the popular vote, however the company are also hiring at least one other of the blog writers to write for them. So stupidly I am waiting with misguided hope to see if I have won the editor's choice prize. Hence why I'm refreshing e-mails etc. I think I'm a bit of a sucker for punishment. I am actually looking forward to the end of today just so I don't have to send myself demented wondering if I am a winner or not. It's like Schrodinger's Cat but my chances of winning are more likely to be dead than alive. The Chancellor thinks I have become obsessed. 10% battery power seems to suggest she is right. She'll love that. 

I would to point out that I do pay my son a lot of attention during the day, he is not banished or neglected as I, like Plankton from SpongeBob, try to take over the world. As he is the star of the blog it is in my best interest to keep the wee man alive. I have had fun this morning playing dinosaurs with him and I even managed to make rude words from his letter block set. Poo and bum being two of them. It really is a slow day, I think leaving the house this afternoon would be a good idea.

Inbox- 0. Right that's it. No more obsession. Closing down all tabs relating to this bloody competition  If I go out I may even leave my phone at home to get away from the insanity of...myself. You see this is what happens when you don't go out for a few days and the only person you speak to on a daily basis is an eleven month old child, you descend into madness like King Lear. I hope there are other parents who can testify to this. Luckily I have a full week booked in and I can unload all of my craziness onto other parents. Prepare yourself mummies... 


Sunday, 28 October 2012

What Noise Do Dinosaurs Make?

'We're going to the museum, we're going to the museum, we're going to see dinosaurs! Yay! We get to see dinosaurs!' (clap, clap, clap, all very exciting, clap, clap, clap ) You might think this is the wee man but no it's me. There is something wonderfully brilliant about going to the museum, you are suddenly transported back to when you were a a six year old boy and to when everything was big and wondrous and amazing. It doesn't change. And it seems even more exciting when you have children. In a vain attempt to cheer everyone up, this afternoon we packed ourselves into the car and tootled off the nearest free museums. I spent the drive thinking about a giant T-Rex skeleton they have and clapping to myself in my head. Yay, yay, yay!

With the wee man strapped to my back like some primate we dodged past the many children that swarmed round the place, hyperactive and loud. The parents probably regretting loading their children up with too much sugar had let them loose on the general public hoping they would use up all that lovely refined energy before home time. I wonder how far they would fly if you stuck out a nonchalant leg, no one would know it's a pretty dark place. No, shouldn't be mean one of the little buggers would probably kick me in retaliation  The dinosaur section seemed the busiest bit with little children tediously shouting away but there looming out of the darkness was the fantastic T-Rex, how exciting. The wee man didn't seem at all interested instead fixated on the giant TV screen next to us. Product of our generation me thinks. It made me happy none-the-less. There's that six year old boy again.

So after a while seeing dead things and stuffed things and really really scary things we all returned home tired out by our family outing. The wee man even managed to bag a toy dinosaur for himself which I may or may not spend my time playing with, I mean he's too young for it, right? And it would only seem right to play with it. RUAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH GRRRRRRRRRR RUAAAAAAAHHHHH!

Saturday, 27 October 2012

Has This Really Happened Or Has The World Ended?

I said in this blog yesterday that I hoped and prayed our fortunes would change in terms of sleep. The night before last we had been up for five hours from mid-night until five in the morning trying to calm a very upset wee man. A truly dreadful night. But I must have sacrificed the right goat or virgin yesterday because last night the Gods smiled on us. After watching some maniac end the world The Chancellor and I collapsed into bed so insanely tired that I was asleep before I could imagine scoring the winning goal in the World Cup final. The next thing I know I am awake and being told that it's a quarter to ten in the morning. Doing some rudimentary sums I realise that I've been allowed to sleep for nearly twelve hours. It's like being a student again. 

But with extra time in bed the wee man is extra hungry and has extra energy to tell me all about it. There is a healthy amount of whinging but after twelve hours sleep I am immune. I do yearn though for the days when he can say in his most polite voice, 'Daddy I'm a dash hungry this morning. As I have a penchant for eggs could I have a boiled egg? I only need one egg because one egg is an oeuf.' Ho ho ho. I love crap jokes.

An extended sleep time has brought a hint of civility to the day. The wee man earlier sat quietly leafing through the news review of last weekend's copy of The Observer, looking for inspiration I like to think to the answer to twelve across of the cryptic crossword. As he dives into the paper trying to eat it I realise that this isn't the case. Shame. But we all feel a lot better from the extra few hours of rest and I would love to think that it will happen tonight but deep down know that this won't happen. Bask in the civility while we can because it won't always be like this. I have a dream image of the future where we all sit around on a Saturday afternoon with a different section each of the newspaper occasionally making a frightfully droll comment on the state of country. No harm in dreaming.




Friday, 26 October 2012

The 50th Post

Well that's the half century up on the score board. I'm not sure where fifty days has gone, as Sandy Denny (my favorite female singer) says 'Who Knows Where The Time Goes'. I think that should be the motto of every parent. But I've only got another three hundred and fifteen posts to go until I've reached my target of one post everyday for a year and then a lucrative book deal, a movie which grosses millions and world domination. Johnny Depp to play me in the film version maybe? Jude Law? Am I being a bit adventurous? I don't think so.

So it is only fitting that a landmark post is about not sleeping. In honesty I wonder out of a whole years worth of posts how many of them could be about not sleeping, the number would probably be quite high. But to keep you lovely people happy I have to vary it every now and again. Last night was slightly different than the normal ten minutes of no sleep. We got five hours of no sleep. Five hours. FIVE HOURS. Five hours mainly of crying, which makes those long minutes and hours in the dark seem much longer. However I'm surprisingly chirpy this morning, I don't think it has hit me quite yet the coffee is seeing to that. Though I feel for The Chancellor this morning as she trudged off to work in the dark of an autumnal morning. The wee man finally went to sleep at five this morning and The Chancellor's alarm went off sometime after six. Poor Chancellor, I'm sure I will hear all about it tonight no doubt. I have sympathy as I used to go to work after getting three hours or so sleep and it is awful. I was a zombie standing there living off Lucozade and coffee. My job didn't require much in the way of mental exertion whereas The Chancellor's job requires her to be switched on nearly all of the time. Poor Chancellor. Tonight I hope for a change in fortunes.

I hope you have been entertained for fifty days and maybe have looked at something in a slightly different way than you normally would. I certainly have. Another three hundred and fifteen days? How different will we all be by the time that comes around. Wouldn't be surprised if I'm in Mexico or father to number two or three which would make everything even more complicated as I won't get any peace ever again. Sigh.


Thursday, 25 October 2012

A Big Thank You

First off today a big thank you. Thank you to everyone who shared, commented, liked, tweeted and the rest to make me the winner of this competition. You all have been brilliant and there are places for you on my campaign team when I run for political office in a few years time. Alas as of this morning I am floundering somewhere between third and forth which is rubbish but the current winner has apparently got two long running blogs so she has plenty of supporters  I might not have won the popular vote but there have been plenty of people who haven't won the vote but still made it into power, Putin, George Bush jnr, Gordon Brown...Oh wait this isn't a list I want to be associated with.

In honesty I am proud to be the only male blogger on the shortlist of a very female-centric website and I think a Father's opinion is just as valid and important as a Mother's. So a moral victory for One Man and a Wee Bairn and for all Dads out there who want a voice when it comes to parenting. Don't despair my avid readers the blog will continue unabated and hopefully go from strength to strength after a bit of exposure. To be doing this for less that fifty days and still get nominated for competitions is something to cheer and will give the blog a big lift. So again many thanks for all your time and hard work.

But back to reality I have a child who may or may not have been slightly neglected after all this. He seems happy with it all despite vomiting still and having a cough that makes him sound like a sixty year old smoker. We have made it to only one group this week and I feel on the verge of tears at points after many a long day stuck in doors trying to recuperate. Cabin fever is rubbish and I wish the sun would come out for a couple of hours at least. I have an afternoon at it all to look forward to today!


p.s- If you are still interested to vote the website is  and it runs until Sunday.

Wednesday, 24 October 2012


'Dddeeeeeeeedddddeeeeeeeeeeeeee' If you don't know what that is that's me tooting my own trumpet. Remember that competition I applied for? Well I got through to the final shortlisted five. That certainly helped me feel better after being so ill yesterday. The top five are now up against one another in a fight to the death Mad Max style. If you are an avid reader and have voted for me then thank you. However if you haven't I'm coming for you but until I find your address please visit this address and vote for me, Jamie Robinson

Now as of this morning I've already fallen behind somewhat being forty four votes behind the leader who obviously has more Facebook friends than I do or has paid off more people than I have (can I say that? Ok allegedly). I would run a campaign of negative comments but I know noting about my rivals and I have no platform to air my campaign of lies. Damn.

'I neeeeeeed YOU' Imagine me being American, having a beard and wearing a big hat. I need you my wonderful readers of my blog to not only vote but to share and get everyone you know to vote. I know you're probably busy but this is a worthy cause, also I don't mind how you do it (my ethics are flexible). I said a few days ago I would send out subliminal messages but instead I will just be brash and in your face. VOTE FOR ME, VOTE FOR ME, VOTE FOR ME. Please.

I must wait until Sunday to discover my fate which is going to be an excruciating wait, The Chancellor is already on the verge of killing me. I might even block the website from laptop in the hope of not letting myself go round the bend. But I think that has already happened. 'I neeeeeeeed YOU!'


Tuesday, 23 October 2012

I am Very Sick, Please Send Money

Here at HQ we are all feeling very sorry for ourselves. No one more so than me. I am rattling around the house groaning like some Dickensian ghost and the wee man is crawling around whinging like a Dickensian chimney sweep. Bet the Chancellor is happy to be at work today. If you want to know I have something like man flu only a billion times worse and there has been throwing up involved. Awful.

If any of you want to help donations are being taken at the NSPMP (Nation Service for the Protection of Miserable Parents), I am the only member of this particular group so large donations would be greatly appreciated. Please, help a miserable parent today, you might just save a life or at the very least some sanity. I don't accept cheques by the way only cold hard cash, or instant bank transfers. Thank you, your support is greatly appreciated. Also I am the wee man's trustee so any gifts of money sent to him will find its way into my bank account where it will be mysteriously spent on bright and shiny things. Again thank you.

I tried to rest my head and my eyes this morning but everywhere I tried to relax I had a small hand poking me in the face or a thumb up my nose. There is no way I'm going to be able rest properly or truly feel sorry for myself until The Chancellor returns home. I mean I feel sorry for myself now but there has to be someone here to hear it for it to be a real moan. I am counting down the hours and minutes.

So as I go off into the Tyneside fog to take some anti flu medicine that won't work please give generously to the NSPMP because I shouldn't have to suffer by myself. I will also accept gifts of food if anyone is in the area. Thank you and I hope I am still here tomorrow to moan at you some more.


Monday, 22 October 2012

Quiet Son It's Time For Homeland!

Up and down, up and down, loads of crying, up and down, a big sigh, up and down, up and down, loads more crying, and finally collapse onto the sofa thinking all is good. Oh no. More crying, up and down, up and down and eventually three hours later he is asleep. We haven't had a night like that for a LONG time which makes it all the worse. You can't explain to a crying child that you are missing an enthralling episode of Homeland. I sneak five minutes while The Chancellor tries her tricks, why is Brody chasing some guy into the forest, what is going on?! Arghhh, I need to watch it!!! Don't tell me what happens, please! Back to reality and a mixture of things made last night teeth, a horrible virus that caused all the vomiting and a baby passed himself.

At the same time as we calmed one child, poor old Multi Dad and Multi Mum were having a worse time of it across town, with the variety of problems inflicting four children. I really shouldn't complain my problems must seem insignificant compared to theirs. But last night was an image of what it would be like to have another child seeing as I can't remember what it was like the first time. It did though all coming flooding back to me. Did we really do this every night for four to six months? I can't let this happen again. Vasectomy? Bit extreme probably, but it would put my mind at ease.

Back to Homeland and the cliffhanger last week, Saul and the memory disk?! My God Americans can write them. This is why I was so excited for a night of great fantasy TV. If anyone gives away the plot, your punishment is to spend three hours with a crying child. We may try again tonight, I hope things can return to normal. The life luckily has returned back to the wee man's face and he is heartily eating his lunch after a couple of days of eating nothing. That is at least one of many worries I can relax about. Ear plugs and subtitles tonight is the way forward.


Sunday, 21 October 2012

My Poetry Is Better Than Keats'

Oh Calpol you are lovely and pink,

When he is ill you are my son's favourite drink,

You make the world seem happy and bright,

even though I was covered in sick again last night.

There you go my Ode to Calpol. Worthy of Keats himself no? Last night we had night two of Linda Blair-esque vomiting. Once more as The Chancellor was due to go out with some of her girlfriends, the wee man sent back all his evening bottle and chunks of unidentifiable food all over me, the sofa and the living room rug.  Good times. Well not quite. Now we have two rooms that smell vaguely like sick and inevitably we will never be able to have visitors again. Next weekend may and probably will involve me pushing around an industrial sized carpet cleaner around the place. Good times and fun for me. Despite regurgitating the contents of his stomach on me the wee man still managed to sleep all through the night which was wonderful for The Chancellor and me.

That wonderful pink stuff Calpol has saved us a wee bit though. Back when I was a wee nipper this stuff was packed full of sugar which is why I downed it like fizzy pop. This day and age it isn't quite as addictive but still gives us a couple of hours of happy baby. As I write this the wee man is happily opening his mouth for another round of the magic pink stuff, who wouldn't it's wonderful stuff and worthy of an awful poem. If I had it my way I would let him drink from the bottle if it got him better, but The Chancellor and social services would say no. They're probably right. Hail to Calpol for giving me a couple of hours of peace and quiet.


Saturday, 20 October 2012

Look At Me Dad I Can Walk! But Dad Is Out Buying Wine.

Not sure where to start today with so much happening. But maybe I should start with the most important thing. To coin a phrase 'One giant step for man...' The wee man decided to take his first steps today as I went out to shop for wine. Top man. To progress onto the next level we've always coaxed him with things he shouldn't or can't have. To get him to crawl we placed our laptop on the other side of the room and because he always coveted it and its bright and colourful screen he tore across the living room just so he could bash away on the keys. This time though he walked towards a blond woman, take form this what you will. With our friends from home up for the day and night they were entertaining the wee man which of course he loves as he was able to flirt away at his hearts content. With our teacher friend's hands held out he was released and took some proud steps towards her. I have tried numerous times to get him to walk to me and he hasn't budged, put an attractive blond woman in front of him and he is away. Despite this he is now well on his way to being even more naughty and cheeky than he is now.

These steps have made up significantly for last night. As is always the way when The Chancellor goes out for the night without me something always comes up which means I have a really crap night. One night at the start he had colic which meant him crying for three hours straight. I crumbled that night being by myself but have toughened up now often just turning the monitor off. Anyway after a grizzly day I was very excited for a night in by myself with the wee man tucked away in his cage. But how plans are spoilt. As The Chancellor is about to leave he does a Linda Blair and vomits excessively all over the floor. Messy. So messy and annoying on so many levels. The Vanish comes out and there I am scrubbing away at undigested pasta stars that litter the floor. Not what Friday nights are made for. So The chancellor heads out after all is cleared away and the wee man is finally asleep. Then half an hour later it happens again but all over his cot. The horror, oh the horror. So everything needs to be changed, sheets, clothes and more than likely carpets. And I am by myself. the horror. Half an hour later all is clean and I collapse on the floor nearly crying. The house by the way smells bad. Really bad.

The moral of this story is quite clear, never have children. They stink, literally. But then they walk and that's pretty cool.


Friday, 19 October 2012

Do You Remember Another Level? This Has Nothing To Do With Them.

Here at the sparkling, amazing and Bauhaus-esque One Man and a Wee Bairn HQ (my dining table, laptop and upturned bottle of ketchup from eggy toast this morning), I have decided to take this blogging lark to another level. Yes another level, are you excited? Are you waiting with baited breath to find out what this other level is? Has it got anything to do with that awful boy band Another Level? Thankfully no. With the help of The Chancellor (proof reading and critial eye) I sent off my application this morning to a certain baby related website who are running a competition/job search for new bloggers. I will only mention their name if they promise to give me loads of free stuff so for now re-arrange Centre UK Baby and see what you get.

Being Super Cynical Man I don't expect to get through to the shortlist which will be published on the website. If by some magical bit of magic I do get through then it will be there for all you lovely One Man and a Wee Bairn readers to vote for. So if I it does appear on the website then expect lots of posts which have small subliminal messages that might say something like VOTE FOR ME, VOTE FOR ME, VOTE FOR ME. Not quite subliminal but sod it I want the job. My pitch may go something like this, 'I can put an end to world hunger, economic instability and anything else you want as long as you vote for me' Surely that's all Obama has to say to win the election.

I can't do all this however with a word from the star of the show. Mamamamamamama. There you go, sort of a word. The wee man has the ability to change these blog posts quite quickly mainly depending on how much sleep he gives me. The less sleep the more time it takes me as I'm still catching up with myself and I'm not awake until sometime in the afternoon. VOTE FOR ME. Also half the stories I have told wouldn't have been possible without the wee man so maybe just maybe I will give him some money in the future in royalties.  However I have already made deals with him that involve me buying him a car and paying for a round the world trip in exchange for good behaviour so I won't make myself bankrupt. VOTE FOR ME!


Thursday, 18 October 2012

Yes Miss, Sorry Miss, I Won't Do It Again Miss

'Can you keep your talking to the end of the session please!' That's me told isn't it. Well not just me but Irish Mummy and Scottish Mummy too, as it was the three of us chirping away. However they don't even notice being told off but she is looking mainly at me in a very stern way so I'll take the bullet. I didn't think you could get told off at these baby groups unless your baby is causing so much havoc that things are being broken or other children are bleeding because of your child. It's like being back at school again but instead I'm paying £4.50 for the privilege. Anyway I softened the blow of a public telling off with a goat's cheese and pesto sandwich with some mums. And it was really quite tasty (the food). I'm lucky the mums I know seem happy enough to sit and chat away with me being there, just like one of the ladies. Which takes me to last night.

'You make a good wife' The Chancellor joked to me on more than one occasion yesterday evening. 'Thanks' I reply with just the merest hint of sarcasm. Without really noticing it we have taken on fairly obvious gender stereotypes but in reverse. The Chancellor will come home and take over the childcare as I wash up, hoover, and make a start on dinner. She also claims that I've started to nag about things, closing the doors to keep heat in, that kind of thing but this completely untrue. I only advice for the good of the house. I don't prescribe to these stereotypes, obviously, but  if I still had my golden locks of longish hair then with a quick glance I would be a woman. Also I'm just that pretty.

Maybe if I was doing this twenty years ago I may get some looks from people but no one cares anymore and some men do go to these groups as well as me. She then later that night asked if I feel emasculated by our change in circumstances. Grabbing my crotch, spitting to the side and grunting I reply of course not, I am still 100% man. Probably. Though I do love how our new washing up liquid doesn't make my hands dry out and still keeps them silky smooth...


Wednesday, 17 October 2012

When Will My Hand Stop Shaking?

Coffee, coffee and more coffee. Loads and loads of coffee. So much coffee I was beginning to shake. This kind of intake leads to serious addiction. After enduring a 'difficult' night with the wee man The Chancellor and I must have looked interesting this morning. Sleep deprivation is so painfully awful and we have been lucky enough that we have endured only one night of it after a few weeks of him sleeping through the night. But there is always tonight.

During our regular Wednesday sensory class, I was struggling to stay awake, yawning and wishing I could go and fall asleep in the inviting looking ball pool across the room. Could I? Would anyone notice? I could pretend that if I don't see them they can't see me. I would probably have been banished, never to be seen at any baby groups again. On the opposite end of the spectrum the wee man charged around like he had had twelve hours sleep plus all my coffee. 'How are doing this?' I ask him as I have to stop him from eating Lisa's iPod docking station. 'You had the same amount of sleep as I did and it doesn't even bother you.' Flagging doesn't even begin to sum it up for me by the end of the session. I will be ready and waiting at the door for The Chancellor tonight that's for sure.

Speaking to a mum of three during the session I asked her 'What age was worst for you?' 'Definitely when they're two.' 'Oh dear, really?' I asked my heart sinking. And then she reeled off a whole list of reasons why I have bad times to come and that I should enjoy it now for the future looks bleak. She told me that her daughters have decided to just not sleep now and because they can get themselves out of bed and walk it all just falls apart. I tell her that she is not selling it for me to have more children, in fact I think I might just start investigating boarding schools now and seeing what the minimum age for enrollment is. Next time I'm not talking to her, I flat refuse, from now on I only want to talk to people who don't know the stages to come. We can be friends in a vale of naivety and denial, lots and lots of denial.


Tuesday, 16 October 2012

A Liberating Moment With A Bouncy Ball

There are some moments, doing what I do, when you chuckle with such childish glee and excitement.  Making forts for one makes you revert to being a small boy again and there is such pure joy hiding under sheets suspended from between chairs. The wee man is of course still a bit too young to really understand what is happening and why there is a sign that says 'No Girls Allowed'. 

Yesterday I was so excited when I cam across an old party bag containing a rubber bouncing ball. It shimmered and gleamed in front of my eyes saying to me 'You know you want to throw me around especially outside.' I really wanted to and soon got bored of chucking it at walls of the house, so late in the afternoon I hurried the wee man into the pushchair and off I went to the park. Such childish excitement. I even kept it in my hand all the way down to the park. But I had to be careful and couldn't let anyone see me hurling it into the ground seeing how high I could get it. So I passed by other parents smiling at them, as I do, and as soon as they were out of sight checked the coast was clear and hurled it as hard as I could into the ground and watched with such delight the red ball flying off into the air. Oh the unbridled joy. The wee man wasn't even watching instead eating his sock so I left him for a moment and threw it again and again until someone came into view. When they did I popped it back into my pocket and turned back into the responsible adult that I obviously am. If only they knew how much fun I was having.

The ball is now my new super favorite thing and will keep it in my bag from now on in case I get a moment when no one is around and I can be a child once again. I'm looking forward to the day when the wee man is older and I can do these things with him without fear of mockery. If you think you are too mature for such things then you are wrong and you should go and buy yourself a rubber ball and regress to a former life. It's incredibly liberating!


Monday, 15 October 2012

That'll Be A 9 For Technique And A 0 For Artistic Merit

A couple of weeks ago I was very manly and used a screwdriver to put up a new stair gate. I could feel the testosterone surging as I worked with tools for the first time this year. The sweat was pouring from my brow and I felt justified in taking a break after 5 minutes of work to read The Sun and eat a Greggs pasty. Anyway much to my amazement the gate stayed up and it performed its telos of keeping the wee man from opening all the cupboard draws. The Chancellor and Funny Mummy often take the piss out of me and say I can not perform DIY, I showed them, in your face. 

Yesterday however the gate broke and the blame was squarely placed on me. Giving The Chancellor an extra hour in bed I was up at the ungodly hour of 7 o'clock on a Sunday with the wee man. As he tore around the living room hyperactive as ever and with me half awake I tripped over him and went flying into the gate. There were various cracks as chunks of plastic snapped off flying off as I fell. The gate 'sort of' works now but you have to lift it and turn it at just the right point for it to marry with with the coupling and even then the coupling is damaged. There was little sympathy for me as The Chancellor awoke and I tried my best to convince her that it still 'sort of' works. It didn't help me that the gate makes an awful noise as you swing it open and shut. By the way I'm ok if anyway wants to know. The fall was pretty embarrassing and I'm glad that the only witness was the wee man, of course I could have blamed him for the whole thing but the Chancellor would never have believed me.

I have a future now in being a tester for such products, I now know the structural integrity of stair gates and how much weight they will bare and it's not much. But I will keep it up to a). prove to people I can work with tools and b). it is now a monument to my masculinity and no one can take the piss again. Think I might go and buy a saw and spend the rest of the day cutting things up but I'll have to keep an eye on the wee man and keep an eye on what I'm cutting...


Sunday, 14 October 2012

Here In My Car

This weekend has been new car seat weekend. The Chancellor and I have a habit of spending far too much on items and the wee man's new car seat is no exception. We feel a bit daft now. But it looks great and that is all that matters (apart from the safety stuff). Anyway, said car seat has been sitting around for a while and we have only gotten round to sorting it and putting it in the car. You could tell from the blank expression on his face that the wee man loved it. But he quickly realised that he could see my face in the rear view mirror and I quickly realised that I need to keep my eyes on the road more. Otherwise we will quickly be seeing how good in crashes it really is. I can't play peek -a-boo cover my eyes and expect to remain on the road. Also if I'm mucking around in the driver's seat there is a strong probability that I will get pulled over by the Police then The Chancellor will shout at me, continually and for a long time. So it's in best interest to behave.

Seeing the wee man in his new chair make me think about how quickly 11 months have gone and how much he has grown up. Ask me what happened in the first 6 months of his life and I would really have to think about it hard because it has all just blurred into one giant lump of fuzzy memory. The human mind has to do this to your early memories so that you will continue to have more children. If you remembered it all then I suppose the world would have a much smaller population. Our friends Multi Mum and Dad seem to coping well with the arrival of two more little creatures to their family. Multi Dad did admit that they had a few awful nights with sleep deprivation and I don't envy him but my time will come again but not for a while.

Until then I will enjoy the fact that the wee man sleeps through the night (at the moment) and the crying seemed to stop somewhere around 6 months but I can't be sure of that. Of course now that I've said that I have jinxed it all and can expect nothing but bad times. But he did look ace in his new car seat.



Saturday, 13 October 2012

Mr Muscle

What is the first thing you think of doing when you have a couple of hours to yourself? Go on have a think...Do you want to know what I did? You probably don't but I'll tell you. Cleaned grouting in my kitchen. Yep when Saturday comes and the wee man has a mammoth two hour nap I clean grouting with an old nail brush. Rock and bloody roll. The Chancellor and I have these moments every now and again when we realise certain rooms in our house haven't been touched for a LONG time and we obsessively storm through the room in a vain attempt to feel less dirty. Admittedly our kitchen now looks amazing, all thanks to me naturally, and we could quite happily eat off the windowsill and counter tops. The floor is another matter and I will tackle that when I have more energy and when I'm really bored.

When you have a child you have no time to do anything. I have lost count of the amount of times I've come back in from the garden saying that I desperately need a couple of hours to sort it out, do weeding and pruning. But the seasons have passed by extraordinarily quickly and somehow we are into Autumn. Cleaning is the same, all you get time for is a tertiary hoover and maybe a quick spritz of an anti-bacterial spray. Hence why with a spare two hours today we stormed the kitchen.

As I have been writing this the Kraken has awoken and is currently pulling apart the travel section of the newspaper, that The Chancellor was reading. Paper is now strewn everywhere most it it ripped or covered in drool. More mess to tidy on top of all his toys that cover the carpet just waiting for me to break my ankle on. It's hard to believe I haven't been in A&E yet from a toy related injury. I wonder what the stats are for parents who have gone to hospital because of a toy truck or plastic balls. I'm not looking forward to the Lego days.


Friday, 12 October 2012

What A Difference A Day Makes

What a difference a day makes. 24 little hours. Yep what a difference indeed. At some point during the night I returned back to my own universe. If you read yesterday's post you will understand, if you didn't then I need to point out I can NOT travel to alternate universes. Though that would be pretty cool if I could.

This morning there was no 'one hour extra' in bed. No sun as I pulled back the curtains. And no gentile breakfast. Instead the wee man decided to wake earlier than normal, gale force winds and rain raged outside like some post-apocalyptic world and breakfast time was much less relaxed. Fussy fussy fussy baby. My super cynical senses were right. I knew it. I could make money with this ability you know.

But it's Friday and that means swimming day which the wee man loves and I have become increasingly adept to changing in the same room as five other women. There is no shame anymore of my slightly protruding belly which has increased in size since I quit work.To tell you a secret I enjoy the swimming with the wee man and if it leads to him making me loads of money in the future then great. Friday also means two days with The Chancellor. This is good news for all of us, the wee man has his mum around and I can eat properly and go to the loo without interruptions  Wait a super cynical senses tell me though that I will probably be forced to do some jobs that aren't that fun or interesting, food shopping for one. There is no getting out of these jobs. I could fain illness but I had a flu jab yesterday so that wouldn't work. No. I will be cheer up even if the world outside is miserable. Bring on a busy supermarket on a weekend, I'm ready. The Chancellor might even allow me to buy a bottle of wine this weekend, that would be something wouldn't it?


Thursday, 11 October 2012

Who Are You? And What Have You Done With My Son?

It's one of those days today. One of those very strange days where everything that is happening is nice. I seem to have woken up in an alternate universe. The day started with the wee man giving me an extra hour in bed, followed by a very lovely breakfast of scrambled eggs. He of course didn't make the eggs and if he had done that would have been pretty impressive and I would be blogging about that instead. Then after that the wee man charmed the pants off all the people in the waiting at the doctor's surgery. For twenty minuted he reeled off his best stand-up routine smiling and chatting with babababas and deedeeedeedeees and bobobobs. Oh how the old dears cooed over my lovely son. 'He's so lovely' One woman says. What's wrong with this picture?

Being SUPER CYNICAL MAN I have a natural inbuilt distrust of life and expect a bad thing to happen to balance out the good thing. But so far today it has all been nice things. Don't get me wrong I'm not complaining but I keep looking round my shoulder to see if someone is playing a trick on me. Maybe the wee man can be my sidekick and he could be called 'SLIGHTLY LESS CYNICAL, THAN SUPER CYNICAL MAN, BOY'. Has a ring to it. no?

I would be more than happy to stay in a universe where being a parent is all smiles and joy but alas we don't live in this world. Which is why the good times are amazing in our universe because they are measured up against the hard and difficult times. My super cynical senses though are telling me there will probably be an exploding nappy or a sleepless night ahead of me. But until then I will bask in some cheer and an afternoon of low maintenance child care, if there is such a thing...


Wednesday, 10 October 2012


Cheers from the rooftops, cheer in the streets, cheer to your neighbours and cheer to anyone you can find to cheer to, Cbeebies has returned to my TV. Due to some technical jiggery pockery and something about re tuning my TV set I lost Cbeebies for a couple of weeks. Now I'm not an advocate of letting your children watch large amounts of TV but there are some things in life that just make things a wee bit easier, especially when you're frantically trying to make lunch or dinner and your child is fussing away.

So after I had re tuned my TV Cbeebies wasn't where it was supposed to be and this made me very upset as I probably get more enjoyment out of those colourful and mend bending shows than my son does. Half the time he doesn't even really notice the TV on, except for Countdown and our favourite afternoon lady. But last night as I cruised through the channels while The Chancellor was taking an age in the bathroom before bed I found it sandwiched between the adult channels and BBC Parliament. Please don't glean from this that I was watching the adult channels, I was merely seeing what my free view box had to offer. Honest.

I'm not sure why my little box decided to move a children's related channel to where it did, maybe it has a black sense of humour, who knows but there it was shining like a beacon in the night. CBEEBIES! It called to me out of the gloom of my living room. I have never known a channel to have such an affect on me but that is the whole point I suppose. Like with the nursery rhymes I spoke of a while ago this channel has a hypnotic affect on both child and parent and I get lost in the songs and movement as much as the little man does at times. With certain shows I can leave him watching it as I put some washing on and when I come back he is still there, glazed eyes. He NEVER stays still any other time. It is The Box of Neglect, but like everything has its use. The wee man is asleep at the moment and I still have Cbeebies on in the background. There is something very wrong with me...



Tuesday, 9 October 2012

Ch Ch Ch Ch Changes

If you are a parent every now and again you get five minutes to stop and think about how your life has completely changed. You smile to yourself as you reminisce of those long and wonderful meals out or those uninterrupted nights of watching classic movies that can go on into the wee hours. The golden days as I like to call them. I had my five minutes today, well it was more like an hour of just sitting in my car. I wasn't driving or stuck in a traffic jam. I was just waiting. The wee man had just dozed off as we parked up and he needed a nap anyway and any movement out of the car would have woken him.

So I sat and I waited and I watched the clouds pass by above and thought about how even the most menial things in my life are now a struggle. One day last week I didn't get my lunch until six o'clock in the evening, there just wasn't a break in the day to sort something out. I made up for it by the time six o'clock came around by eating most of the house very quickly.This next menial task I won't go into too much detail about but going to the toilet has become very difficult. The wee man can't be trusted to be alone in a room by himself as he likes to chew on my laptop cable and he is far too curious to join me in the bathroom and he seems to be really interested now with gushing water. You get why I have problems. I used to put him in a sit in car which he used to really enjoy but now just screams and tries to climb out. My new tactic is to fill the bathroom with about ten toys but that doesn't by me much time. Those Tenna ladies pants are looking more and more appealing.

I'm not naive to fact that this isn't going to get easier, if anything it will get a lot harder. There was a time when I could stay out of sight and undisturbed in the bathroom with The Guardian crossword and sports section for an unspecified length of time. Oh those golden days...


Monday, 8 October 2012

Be Careful What You Tell Your Children

The Chancellor told me a story the other day that has stayed with me since. It regards one of her colleagues and her two children who are older than the wee man somewhere around four and six. When the children are being naughty or being told to do something by their Mother their Father, in a show of unity, tells them they have to do as their Mother tells them. This seems like a fair comment which is pretty straight forward and probably one that I will tell the wee man in the future. However the children are not stupid, far from it. When their Father won't do something, take them out somewhere for example, the children will call their Grandmother. They ask her, in a their nicest and sweetest childish voice, to tell their Father to take them because if she does tell him he will have to do it. This is because he made the mistake of telling his children 'Do as your Mother says'. Poor guy. Poor poor guy. He really is. I bet he didn't see that coming. Hoist by his own petard. His children have just outflanked him with a fantastic strategy which is very very clever. I bet they glance at each other with a devilish look, pitchforks hidden just out of sight. Where do you go from there? Can you claw it back after being so amazingly out thought?

With this in mind it is becoming increasingly obvious to me that the wee man will be smarter than me and probably The Chancellor. This scares me slightly. I know we are still a few years away from these kind of antics but I feel I have to act now to deal with this type of precocious talent. Maybe try and increase my IQ by a few points. But even being nearly one year old he has his own little tactics of either getting what he wants or getting out of the things he doesn't want to do. He has quickly realised the affect he has on his and our world. I'm a soft touch for wanting a quiet life and The Chancellor is a soft touch because she just wants to cuddle and kiss him. I don't think we stand a chance in the future, there is no spine in our team, no defensive midfielder!

What does make me slightly happier is that all the babies I know laugh at their parents when they are told 'NO' when doing something wrong. The wee man isn't the only child with a pitchfork hidden behind his back...


Sunday, 7 October 2012

Pica Boo

You may remember, if you read this blog regularly  that I joked in one entry about the wee man probably having pica. Now if you're a parent you will know that all babies and young toddlers stick everything in their mouths, this is a given. As these things are passed from child to child it annoyingly leads to your children always being ill and you always being covered in a layer of slimy drool usually on a jumper that has just been washed or which is 'Clean on' as the The Chancellor says. 

Anyway what happens when you discover your child has taken a GIANT bite out of cardboard book or you find him eating cork from the back of a coaster. Is this just cute exploration of the world or have we got ourselves a bit of a problem? Am I going to have to incorporate electro-shock treatment into our daily routine? The major problem with this is that we are trying to save money on our energy bills and a sudden surge in electricity would get me into trouble with The Chancellor. 

Maybe I'm just over thinking it, maybe all children have a pica child inside of them. After all the Latin meaning of the word pica is magpie which is very apt for the wee man as he loves anything shiny or anything that any other baby has, bell, rattle toy etc. The thing that confuses me is that cardboard and cork aren't even tasty things even if you season them with salt and pepper and mixed herbs. He has turned his nose up once at salmon and lemon risotto which is vastly superior to cardboard and cork. Maybe he knows something I don't, maybe in a few years time we will all be eating cork. Seeing as we will all be screwed in a decade or so for food, maybe it would be a viable option? Maybe though I should just get out of the house more and stopping obsessing about cork.


Saturday, 6 October 2012

I Need a Hero...Oh I've Found One

As of this morning I have a new hero. His name will be Multi Dad. Last night Multi Dad's wife (Multi Mum) gave birth to their second set of twin girls. So now they have four children all under the age of two. If it were possible I would write this standing up as a tribute them.

I applaud you Multi Dad for not

a). having a nervous breakdown

b). running off and hiding in a cave somewhere (which is what I probably would have done)

or c). throwing in the towel and ending it all there and then.

You may think I'm diminishing Multi Mum's role in all this but as this blog is from a man's point of view I will focus on Multi Dad. But well done Multi Mum. I have no experience of giving birth to anything except passing a large poo but I've watched birth and it looked pretty hardcore so two is extra impressive.

Anyway whenever I feel stressed now or worried about the wee man I will think about Multi Dad and what he must be going through with four children. Newborns are strange little creatures who seem so fragile and incapable of anything other than primitive acts. The idea of going back and doing it all again even with another one makes me feel tired. But to do it with two newborns and two who are eighteen months old is just beyond the realms of what I can comprehend. In Thus Spoke Zarathustra Nietzsche spoke of the Ubermenscsh which translates loosely as the Super Man or Above Human. Multi Dad you are now indeed Above Human and all I can say is well done good luck and I hope you have a good range of single malt whiskys available to you.


Friday, 5 October 2012

There Is a Job Going As My PA

There are a great many days and weeks, like I have spoken often of in this blog, which are so boring you want to hit your head off of a door frame in a hope of sparking some flame of imagination. You eek out any job you do no matter how mundane or short it is. There is a wonderful scene in the TV show Friends where Ross is on sabbatical and Joey asks him what he has done today. Ross reels off five things he has done and Joey laughs and claims that would be a weeks worth of jobs for him. Anyone who has had a period of not working will understand this. Today on the other hand has been so busy I'm only just getting lunch and it's half past four in the afternoon.

Jobs to be done in the morning, lunch with a friend and then swimming. But that's not all my blog reading friends, I am even going to be uber social tonight and am going out with other Dads. We aim to talk like men do but will no doubt quickly take the conversations back to our children very quickly. Always seems to be the way.  So tomorrow I will be hungover and tired after a long week and will no doubt get no sympathy from The Chancellor. However I have been promised two hours of unadulterated alone time this weekend and before you say it it does not involve naked woman, either in person or on screen. More than likely I will clean some rooms and I might just might be able to do The Guardian quick crossword but that might have to wait until later in the night or when the call of duty calls.

Also as it's Friday it would only be right to share that the wee man has learnt how to dance and shake his hips. This is very endearing to watch but he is a long way off being as good me and my one dance move. He could out dance most revelers in the clubs of Newcastle if we could bring him out but that wouldn't be difficult with some of the people who go out on Friday night. Until tomorrow.


Thursday, 4 October 2012

Something Different

Something a little bit different today if you can indulge me.

I was informed yesterday evening of the death of an old friend. Sad news as our two families had been close ever since I can remember and we as friends had lived in each others pockets for a good decade. He died while travelling abroad of a suspected heart attack, which is very strange as he was still a young man, he was only months older than myself. It had been a number of months since we last spoke as life and time invariably takes you off in all sorts of different directions. But I can imagine picking up right where we left off.

It's amazing what you can remember from your youth, houses, gardens specific moments in time and you forget actually how old you are. This may sound strange but you tend to live only in the present and maybe in the last couple of years and you forget there was a whole life before the present that has shaped you to become what you are now. I don't have to think too hard to remember a decade ago and further back maybe two decades, the exact places and times I first heard a certain album or what I wore or the first place I smoked and exactly how I felt. The memories are still there they are just under a bit of dust that needs to be blown away. There are a lot of memories of this friend that have come back to me since yesterday. I challenge you today to think of something or someone you might have forgotten, if you concentrate hard enough it's amazing what comes back to you. I hope to travel north to Edinburgh for the funeral this weekend and pay my respects to his parents who were like a second set of parents to me at one point in time.

Anyway sorry for the not writing the usual load of nonsense, normal service will be resumed tomorrow.


Wednesday, 3 October 2012

Doctor, Doctor My Wife Is Sick...

Today I have a very ill Chancellor at home with me. It took a Herculean effort from myself to get her to stay off for the day. She is a slave to a perfect record of attendance and is a true hero, so when she is loosing her voice and sounds like an elderly Geordie man there is something wrong. She has just reminded me that she hasn't had a day off sick for four years. True hero. This all means that today I have another person to look after today, luckily The Chancellor doesn't need a nappy change nor does she throw up on my shoulder and trousers. Silver lining and all that.

I am popping out though this afternoon going with Funny Mummy's husband to a soft play area and will leave her filled with horrible mucus and a sense of self pity. Seeing however as she is a stickler to doing jobs and never being able to sit still the house will probably be cleaned from top to bottom before I come back. The wee man and I will also have to be sneaky in watching our favorite afternoon programme. We will ship The Chancellor off to the bedroom with a big smile and lemsip just before our lovely lady appears on TV. We can't miss her even for one day... Again, sorry, I'm digressing.

The Chancellor will get some cracking home care, as good as anything you would find in the NHS, which obviously translates to waiting half an hour for a glass of water and wading through loads of beaucracy in order to get a biscuit. She is a lucky lady. Maybe just maybe I will stretch to rubbing her feet but there will be paper work involved and the promise of getting something in return probably money or wine. Again she is a lucky lady. Get well soon love.


Tuesday, 2 October 2012

Musical Madness

If you put nearly thirty children plus parents into a very small room what do you think happens? Madness occurs for a good hour, that is what happens. Today I have been along with my friend, I will call her Funny Mummy (Funny haha not 'Hey look over there! That woman is really funny looking' kind of funny) to a new musical group. It was pretty over subscribed and I got to know the people around me quite intimately as we were squeezed in like sardines. From the first minute the wee man is on it, bopping up and down and flirting with the various mothers around him. He gives this look of 'Hi ladies how's it going?', in his mind he probably sounds like Barry White and follows the line with a wink. You may think I'm daft but he is seriously smooth. Well he was until he started sticking his tongue out and attempted to lick everything.

But fun was had by all even Funny Mummy who has not slept much in recent days and is one bad cup of tea away from killing someone. We are there for you but if you leave your child with me for the afternoon you must sign a legal document that says you will come back and collect your child because I can't handle two children. I can barely manage one.

Sometimes the louder and crazier the group is the better and it gets out all those angry feelings you have been feeling in the days before. Also the woman who ran this specific group today was very funny and very cheerful which is quite infectious. The wee man has certainly woken up in a better mood. And as I write he is standing, shouting and smiling at a rather lovely TV presenter who pulls letters from a wall (If you're in the UK you know what I mean). She is rather lovely and looks great today...... Anyway I digress...What was I saying? Something about children?


Monday, 1 October 2012

Stairway To Accident and Emergency

There is always something. Something that can mame or kill or which can be broken. But I suppose if you are a neurotic parent then EVERYTHING can mame, kill or be broken even bubbles. The Chancellor is fairly neurotic and sees the many many hazards in life even if they don't exist yet. She is the holistic mother, if you will. However there are some hazards that even I agree seem terrible. 

The next thing, that we realised this weekend, that has had to be added to the long and laborious list of things that are dangerous are stairs. We have been lucky in the respect that we live in a downstairs flat which has no stairs so the wee man has never encountered them before. So it was all very new to us too and we stood hesitantly behind him as he sat at the bottom of my parents stairs looking wistfully up in the distance. It came as no real surprise, as he has no fear, when he began climbing, at first slowly and then fairly quickly as on his second attempt he reached halfway. Once the technique was down there was no stopping him. Every now and again he would stop turn and grin knowing he was doing something profoundly brilliant. And it was brilliant but  it is very scary how mobile and strong he has become in such a short period of time.

He is now going to be known as Edmund Hillary and I can be his Tenzig Norgay and we together can scale the many heights ahead but it won't be long before he out runs me very quickly. In a different age I would be packing him off into a giant ship encouraging him to discover new continents. For now he can roam his Grandparents house which is probably like a brave new world for him anyway.