For the Kids

There's a day of my life I'll never get back. I spent the whole day stuck in a workshop on CO2 reductions.
I'd almost rather have my balls go square and fester at the corners.
The hypocrisy of an oil company trying to save the planet never ceases to tickle me, but at least I'll be safe in the knowledge that I'm doing my bit for my kids.

Our Own Little Soap Opera

Where do I start? Well, we're all falling to bits....
I've come home to a very tired and stressed wife, who on top of that is coming down with some cold bug, and has picked up some eye infection from BB.
BB has the worst green gloop oozing from both eyes. It got so bad tonight that he couldn't open them, poor lad. After many tears (not just from him!) we managed to avoid a trip to hospital, but we'll see what tomorrow morning brings. I hope it doesn't come to that.
LL is probably fairing the best of us for a change. MPLST has been working her diet to isolate the cause of his blistering up. Things are going ok, and she thinks she has pinned it down. In the meantime, he has been fine, and in the space of my 2 week trip away seems to have grown about a foot.
I'm the walking cripple with the bad back, which comes and goes without warning. Not the best when one is trying to play with the kids.

So, all in all, I guess it's a normal week for a family of 4. SS doesn't come until next weekend, so in the meantime we call all take it easy until it gets really hard.

A Mothers Day Tale

Baby bear goes downstairs, sits in his small chair at the table. He looks into his small bowl. It is empty. 'Who's been eating my Porridge?' he squeaks.

Daddy Bear arrives at the big table and sits in his big chair. He looks into his big bowl and it is also empty. 'Who's been eating my porridge?!?' he roars.

Mummy Bear puts her head through the serving hatch from the kitchen and yells, 'For God's sake, how many times do I have to go through this with you idiots? It was Mummy Bear who got up first. It was Mummy Bear who woke everyone in the house. It was Mummy Bear who made the coffee. It was Mummy Bear who unloaded the dishwasher from last night and put everything away. It was Mummy Bear who swept the floor in the kitchen. It was Mummy Bear who went out in the cold early morning air to fetch The newspaper and croissants. It was Mummy Bear who set the damn table.

'It was Mummy Bear who walked the bloody dog, cleaned the cat's litter tray, gave them their food, and refilled their water.

'And now that you've decided to drag your sorry bear-asses downstairs and grace Mummy Bear with your grumpy presence, listen carefully, because I'm only going to say this once....

'I HAVEN'T MADE THE F***ING PORRIDGE YET

Blethering Mum

What a great couple of pics! I think the one on the left reflects more how I see MPLST. The one on the right probably reflects more accurately how she feels about herself right now! Anyways.....

MPLST has started her own blog. I'll attach a link down there on the right. If you think I can blether shite endlessly, you ain't seen nuthin yet!

I look forward to catching the occasional catch up of life at home. I guess now I technically have a back to back blogger.

Baw Heid

Background:
I didn't have much to do with my old man from about the age of 6 until I was about 32. I grew up very angry towards him and on the few times our paths crossed (normally at a family funeral), I'd give him the old rubber ear. (Don't worry, my blog isn't going all soft and soppy on you)
Then, when I had SS, he asked if he could get to know her. Fatherhood must have made me lighten up, because I agreed. Since then, we've kept in regular contact, even though I can't stand the bloke.

So, anyways, tonight he calls asking me to give him a note of the family birthdays, as he lost them all in a fire recently (besides which, he's not the sharpest tool in the box). So we starts off with the LL, then BB, and SS. He even asked for the wife's. Then to top it all off, he asked for mine. I'm thirty four for crying out loud, and my own dad is asking when my birthday is!!

I'm tempted to cut him some slack, especially as I couldn't recall the wee man's DOB. He's only 6 months old though, and it's not something I've celebrated every year for a number of years as yet. It took a while for BB's to sink in, and his is really easy to remember! Perhaps I am a chip of the old block?

Let's hope not.
Baw heid indeed.

I Feel Your Pain, Son

If it wasn't for the pain my boy was in, I'd be so proud of him and he'd be the talk of the platform next week on my return to work.

Some of those dad books cover the varying types of baby/child poo. I've got a Haynes type manual somewhere which shows in great details the progress babies make in their pooing habits, right the way from the thick black treacle through the chicken korma waste product that comes from breast milk, right up to, well regular shit I suppose. I think the authors try to pitch these things at our level to suck us in.....

What those books don't tell you is just how horrible it can be watching a 2 year old boy pass a dump that a hairy arsed scaffolder would be proud of. And not just once. It's coming on for five weeks now. I swear if we lived closer to the sea, I'd issue a shipping warning every time he dropped one. On one hand, there is something distinctly manly about having a king size dump, something for the dad in me to be proud of on some weird and inexplicable level (that's an observation from MPLST by the way - I'm unconvinced myself.) On the other though, we're really not supposed to talk about shit, are we?

But the poor loon keeps passing poos of biblical proportions. He's actually torn himself now - I can't help clenching at the very thought of it. Watching your own child scream the scream of fear humans normally reserve for childbirth itself is a truly horrible experience. It seems that no amount of fruit, veg, fruit juice, prunes, raisins or other high fibre foodstuffs can soften his particular blend of cement, and hence he continues to shit bricks. Even the lactose isn't bloody working. How frustrating.

On the plus side (have you finished dinner??), when he let one go in the bath, at least it was easy to clean up! That's the voice of experience from the not too distant past! I feel the need to point this out, because at least one single mum I know disputes that dads get any of these jobs. We have all the fun apparently. (Are you still clucking like an auld hen Pops?)