Half Way There

When I was at primary school, I distinctly remember being told that life expectancy for men was three score and ten. I also distinctly remember thinking that the year 2000 seemed as distant as a diplidocus. I wanted to be a policeman when I grew up and to play for Scotland, yet my footballing ability never quite matched my footballing ambitions. I even remember checking in my wardrobe, under the bed and even out in the linen cupboard on the landing for monsters, ghosts and bogey men before I went to bed. I longed to be 17 so I could drive, 18 so I could drink in a pub, and well....old enough to shave and have a hairy chest too.

Driving is ok. Family cars are boring though.
Drinking is ok, but over rated (those who knew me as a youthful twenty something will be spitting out their coffee at this point)
Shaving sucks.
I have the chest hair of a pubescent boy.

All of that counts for nothing I have come to realise. What's important when your 7 is playing football for every waking moment. And 8, and probably 9 and 10 too. Girls start to creep in about 11 I think. Kissing them, and in front of all your mates too, becomes more important than life itself. By the time you're a teenager, you'll shag a barber's floor if it'll get that particular monkey off your back. For a long while, ones footballing ambitions are matched only by his sexual ambitions, and ones ambitions and ones capabilities seem destined never to align on both fronts.

But what's important when you're 35? Well, I don't bloody know because technically, I've only been 35 for about an hour and a half I think. I've spent the day of my 35th on an oil rig, working for an absolute tit (and I have worked for many but we're talking Jordan here) of a man. I even bought the mars bars and coke for the lads, as is the unwritten rule. So, no cards (with good excuses too!), no beer and £30 down? Way to go Shaunie Boy.
To top that off, MPLST is at a wedding today. Not the kind of wedding where one is secretly glad to be offshore, but one of good friends, and I'd much rather have been there. Oh, and whilst I'm moaning, I'm out here for Chrimbo too this year!! Should have been a bloody bobby.

But I digress. The same teacher who told us about three score and ten, also told us that, statistically, at least 1 out of our class wouldn't make adulthood. He wasn't wrong either. It's a damn shame it was one of the good guys (it always is). So, it's not all bad - there are worse places to be than oilrigs.
I reckon I can settle for being a 35 year old husband, and a father of 3. For now, at least! I've not been to the docs yet!

By the way, the monster was cunning. It wasn't in the linen cupboard or the wardrobe, it was in the bloody bed right next to me for 10 years. Some boys are slow on the uptake.

Bollocks To That

My good lady (the one who's gone and binned her boys for the weekend) and I have often considered whether or not we have contributed sufficiently to the population. We remain unsure.

Until now. The end result of one weekend as a single dad of 3 is that I'm calling the docs on Monday morning!

Who's the Mug?

I can't believe that's nearly a month already. Where the hell did it go?

MPLST is off with the girls this weekend, leaving me with our boys. We revelled in leaving the toilet seat up this morning, but this afternoon we picked up SS so even that's out the window now. I'm already tired and crabbit, can't wait til Sunday!

Anyways, I was going to blog endless poor little me crap, but I'm not in the mood. SS's mother has gotten under my skin yet again. I shall take my shoot the bitch attitude elsewhere and return in a better frame of mind hopefully.

A Picture of Health and Happiness

For a change only mum and dad are suffering this week. And that suffering is related to the aging process more than anything else, so there are no bugs, rashes or the like affecting us for a change. Of course, given that BB returned to playgroup after the Easter break just last week, no doubt he'll bring something home to share very soon.

LL's skin seems to have sorted itself out. No wheat intolerance and not dairy intolerance. He is growing like a weed, but the stubborn wee shite won't eat a thing unless it has cream cheese mixed in with it. Apart from getting whiter and blonder, and prompting lots of questions to his parentage, he is in fine fettle. He occasionally sleeps all night too, but very occasionally! The sooner we get his room finished the better in my opinion.

BB has stopped screaming blue murder every time he goes for number 2's. He's stopped holding onto them for as long as well, which in turn makes every day better. Trust me, a constipated 2 year old is harder to live with than any pre menstrual woman I have ever known! Infact, a couple of nights ago he surprised us by wondering to his potty, dropping this trousers and leaving our living room with an odour resembling a cattle farm. It's all progress though, as he is still on the drugs to keep him regular. The eyes are fine now too.

Mum is off doing her turn at playgroup for the first time this morning leaving me with the bambino (who is now sleeping hence the update in the blog).
We are off to London this weekend without the kids.
Goodluck grandma. Don't call before 11am please.

Men, Babies and Toddlers

It's a known fact (between my ears at least), that men don't really do babies until they are toddlers. Women get all emotional when they are born - even if someone else is having the baby! Men don't quite understand, and probably never will, why women refer to little pink (or occasionally brown) bundles of wrinkles as "cute" or "gorgeous" or perhaps even "beautiful." The bare facts of the matter are that babies are eating, shitting and sleeping machines. Few are pleasant on the eye, and most look the same for the first 3 months anyway.

Toddlers, on the other hand are brilliant. Despite the lack of milk in my moobs, I have a function in the life of the toddler. He can be thrown around all day long. We can do puzzles together. We can even hide in the corner of the garden and have a sneaky biscuit together and not tell mum. We can go out an play on our bikes like proper kids. It's brilliant.

I've really noticed a difference in BB this week. I know it won't last long, but the tantrums are ever decreasing, and more often than not he will actually do what he's told. He's walked for miles without argument. He's showing the kind of affection to his little brother that would bring a tear to a glass eye. Mornings are easy, bedtimes are fun. He even ate a pile of greens the other night because dad "made them crunchy."

If I can spend the next two and a half years training the wife to this high standard, we'll live happily ever after....