Some people have lazy Sundays. People with toddlers don't. Doesn't bother me, though; instead of watching football from the comfort of my couch, I'm out playing it with my little fellas.
Hmmm, I'm about one fifth of the way to having a full team. Maybe it's time for Zoe and I to have a little chat*.
(*About me taking a trip to the doctor so that ridiculous ideas like trying for a full team become null and void...)
1. There are no kids with you.
2. Work is paying for business class.
3. There are no kids with you.
And that, my friends, is going to be me tomorrow, because I'm flying back to London on my own to catch up with old friends, drink gallons of real beer and paint the town red for a conference. I'm trying my level best to contain my excitement because I should be feeling sorry to leave the boys for a week. Oh, and to a much, much lesser extent, guilty for leaving Zoe to cope with the little tykes on her own (she forgot my birthday last year).
But the thought of being waited on hand and foot for 10 solid hours while not having to worry about Max running screaming up and down the aisles, or Tom throwing up over some lovely stewardess, is just too damn wonderful. There will be no fight with Max in the airport when it's time to go through immigration and he wants to stay on the Postman Pat ride. There will be no delaying the flight because Tom, seconds before boarding has mysteriously disappeared, only to reappear from behind the vending machine shortly after missing our takeoff slot. And there will be no cringing from the hostile stares of other passengers, all praying "Please God, don't let it be me".
Oh yes,I fully intend to make the most of this and I won't pretend that I wish I didn't have to go. I just hope there aren't any noisy kids on the flight. People are so inconsiderate, travelling with babies and toddlers. Little monsters should be put in the hold...
Max and I are best of friends. Until, that is, he gets the merest suspicion that I've picked up his toothbrush. And then the bathroom becomes a veritable war zone. It's akin to what soldiers in the trenches during the First World War called the 'daily hate'; fierce artillery barrages at set times each day.
Our own 'daily hates' erupt after morning and evening baths, when I fearfully go over the top and advance, toothbrush in hand, over the no mans land of the bathroom. While previously inexperienced and unable to resist my full-frontal attack, Max has become wiser and learned how to shield his teeth from the bombardment. He has even begun to foil the majority of my surprise attacks, as he quickly discovered that trust is often abused. As a result, the once successful Trojan Horse method has, too, been confined to history.
He nearly has me beaten. Surrender, at this point, seems almost inevitable. And Max knows it. So this is a plea for reinforcements or, at the very least, for tactical suggestions.
One of the things that makes Max special is his frequent demonstrations of affection. When I've been away from home for anything over 10 minutes, Max will come running over to greet me with a big hug and a kiss. And although even more hyperactive than me, he loves to have a cuddle on the couch.
When I went to pick him up from nursery yesterday, one of the teachers asked me to teach him not to kiss his friends. I have to admit to being saddened annoyed by this request. I think that the social barrier to uninhibited shows of affection descends far too quickly, and it won't be long at all before Max starts to think that kissing a friend is just not cool. So I'm loathe to teach him that a kiss is unacceptable behaviour. In fact, I'd rather encourage it.
I'd be interested to hear others' views on this.
Wow! Take a look at superblogger Oddybobo's photos of her boy wearing his new motorcycle helmet. AND sporting a new tatoo and buzz cut! RESPECT.
Max had a rather severe buzz cut of his own earlier this year. For Christmas I decided to try and build up some serious surfing credit, so I bought Zoe a weekend of peace and quiet at a luxury Caribbean hotel (yep, who's the greatest huband alive?). Trouble is, after a weekend alone with the boys (from which I still bear the scars), I managed to lose any credit I might have gained by accidentally shearing off Max's golden locks (#1 all over...). Zoe won't ever trust me with them again.
But forget all that - I WANT THAT HELMET!!
Today was my first miserable day back at work after a wonderful two weeks off with my boys. Moments after my boss broke the news that I was required to give up my Saturday night to go and meet some visiting dignatories at the airport, I came to the realisation that I'd far rather be at home teaching the boys how to belch and cleaning up vomit (usually in that order).
Until today, I'd always been secretly glad to have some time out at work. It was nice to have some adult conversation, get that brain into gear, and yes, I admit it, have a break from the kids. But today I really missed them. I mean really. And I realised, who cares about adult conversation? We've got a TV for that. And so what about the brain? I've done what I was put on this earth to do, so I don't need its 5th gear anymore. And as for having a break, yes they're hard work. But most importantly they're a whole lot of fun. And for some bizarre reason they seem to love me unconditionally.
So yes, Zoe, the cat's out the bag. I now know that being a stay-at-home mum isn't as difficult as it's cracked down to be and I would gladly change places. Even if it would mean sacrificing that new surf board I had in mind to pay for a maid. Because I'm not doing the ironing.
Let's face it, while we love them to distraction, babies ruin your sex life, your social life, your sanity and, to top it all, the environment.
There's an interesting post on Daddy Types about new carbon-offsetting disposable diapers/nappies which allegedly "render the disposable diaper consumption of a child for 2.5 years carbon-neutral for just £10". "Great" says Greg, "if diaper-direct CO2 were the only concern".
As I commented, the environmental guilt factor led me into being suckered into purchasing an expensive re-usable nappy/diaper system which was supposed to have minimal environmental impact. It was a major pain in the butt, but we stuck with it, smug in the belief that we'd saved a chunk of rainforest the size of Spain. Two years later, new research showed that resuables had an equivalent environmental impact to disposables, due to the energy and detergents used to clean the @$%$ things!
