We're Ready To Go, Well The Bags Are

It is edging ever-closer to the time of our first five-day-parting.

My fingers are well and truly crossed for a smooth exit later today. We’ve prepared as much as we can, and I expect no problems tonight.

As long as it’s early enough, I think Max will be fine, and I’ll be too worried about him to worry about myself.

Add to that my Sister, who I’m sure will enjoy looking after him, although I eagerly await to see what tales he tells her and how many bedroom stories she has to read. My guess is at least three, each night.

It seems to have taken an age to get to this point this week. Having to be organised is not really my forte at the moment, or even since Samantha passed away.

My levels of concentration we’re not the best before hand, but they were significantly better than my current levels of focus. I guess I still come through the tests as a completer-finisher.

Lists have become an essential part of my life, which in itself is strange as my late Wife was a huge advocate of lists. There were always many a list dotted around our home.

The main difference is that my lists probably start incomplete, due to my lack of list experience. But passport is on this one, so I guess this journey is at least going to get passed Birmingham Airport.

Wish us luck.

Max & Paddy

Remember that we said toodle-pip to, errr, Pip. Well, I thought Max handled the whole thing very well.

That was until he left nursery for the weekend.

Triggered by Pip going home with another lucky sole, Max became instantly inconsolable.

When I say instantly I actually mean, there was a delay of around ten seconds, but as his father I knew at the beginning of that ten second protocol, the end would be tears.

I thought the nursery leader would follow suit, but she turns out to be made of stern stuff. As I typed before, I think this is a good, albeit sometimes hard, lesson in sharing.

Hopefully this week he’ll appreciate that it isn’t his turn, and maybe he could even ‘help’ decide who’s turn it is.

We had a repeat performance at bed-time. He politely explained that he wanted Pip, and dismissed all his other soft play creatures, one by one. That is, until I stupidly suggested Paddy, his 4ft teddy bear.

Max & Paddy, went to bed tucked in, and he’s been with him for the last couple of days. The picture above shows them having a nap together and also that my son is happy to give the majority of his bed up for the right fluffy companion.

You're A Man, Right?

Earlier this week I put some generous backspin on my slow metamorphism into the female form.

Generally being the only man that regularly drops his child at the village nursery, I am sometimes targeted for the ‘jar opening’ jobs, designated for men only, or women who fear not, how butch they look.

As I walked back to my car, I was joined by one of the mothers, for a little chat, or so I thought.

When we made it to the road outside the school gates, where our cars were parked, I was innocently asked “One of my tyres is a bit flat, do you think I’ll get it to the garage?”

Subtlety is not really high on my list of qualities, but perhaps female genetics allow it to breed easier.

Now we both knew the answer to that pointless question, and I duly ended up having to find the jack, the spare wheel and the locking nut – the later only possible after a phone call to this particular lady’s husband.

It’s been a long time since I changed a wheel, and I do actually enjoy doing jobs that make it more obvious I am a male, than not.

I was taught the basics of car maintenance by my father, and can change wheels, oil and windscreen wipers with relative ease.

Seriously, not having these basic skills is a little scary. I mean, a flat tyre can occur at any place and time. And I know if you’re a member of the AA or similar, that you’ll always get home, but if you like getting out of a pickle sharp-ish, then these are a necessary.

Anyway, it was nice to demonstrate more masculine proficiency this week, and boy I needed it.

Friday was a night out with the parents, or more specifically 15 women, of one of our parent and toddler groups. There wasn’t much hammering up of dry-wall at that.

It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time

And I think it still is, but that don’t make it any easier.

You’d think that the prospect of a short Ski-ing trip and a break from the normal chores of being a single parent dad, would fill me full of glee.

Which of course, it does. The problem is it also fills me with dread and, I suppose, some separation anxiety.

Nearly a year ago I was invited to go on this short trip, by a fellow football supporter, whom I hope is on the path to becoming a good friend of mine.

I was very grateful for the invite, and thought it would be good for me - another step in my ongoing rehab, so to speak.

The big picture is I need, and my son needs, a life of our own. Being able to spend healthy time apart, has got to be part of that.

Max regularly goes to his grandparents for overnight stays, and I’ve done the odd weekend without being with him. I’m very proud of his behaviour and how he enjoys these nights away.

I’ve always told him what’s going on, and seem to have cracked a formula that leaves him happy, basically not leaving just before bed time is a good start.

This time he is again, well briefed. But as he enjoyed our little sledging experience last year, he is not too chuffed that he’s not coming skiing this time.

I’ve told him this is more of a scouting trip and that we’ll be able to go skiing together soon, maybe even next season – Max will then be four.

My promise of a big surprise when I return will hopefully tip his mood into the positive. The novelty of being looked after by his Auntie and Grandparents, should also carry some favour.

I’m going to miss him. But at the same time, can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing if I wasn’t with him.

Anyway when I said I was going to miss him tonight, he said “Why don’t you just call me Dad?”

Will do son, problem solved.

Toodle Pip

So, our visitor’s time was up.

The mood was decidedly split in our household this morning.

I was relieved, that we’d managed to have the nursery’s mascot here for a week without garrotting it or similar.

Max was, well, a tad less excited about Pip’s return to her normal home.

With gentle help, and sometime little reminders, Max has looked after this stuffed animal rather well. He’s dressed it, took it, as promised, to our building project, and even asked to have it with him at night.

He’s obviously grown quite attached to it.

Still, good lessons all round. I suppose there have been some lessons in responsibility, sharing and community.

I wait to see if they’re tears tonight, when we actually leave Pip at nursery.

If not, and it is a success, maybe I could finally take back his library books rather than constantly re-checking them out!

Money For Nothing, And The Chicks Are Free

Half-term is always a good time to un-earth a bargain means of entertainment.

It’s even more of a challenge now, as more often than not, places now seem to want recompense for my child’s admission.

Places that used to be a bargain aren’t quite as cost effective when you have to pay for both yourself, and your offspring.

That’s why getting to know the locals, in particular those with kids, literally does pay.

I’ve never been too bad at finding places to go, or people to go with, but always keep my ear to the ground for a good day out, at days-in prices.

Today was no exception; we were off to Northycote Farm, a small farm, with a café.

However if you go with a gang, that would usually be at toddler group, you get the added bonus of loads of kids, some being older ones.

The older kids seem to suddenly make the idea of taking a walk around the grounds of a farm infinitely more interesting, to a toddler anyway.

“Charlie can do loads of things, can’t he Dad?” Stated my child - of his new found seven-year-old-superhero.

“I think if he eats his lunch he’ll be able to carry trees.” A bold statement, based on the fact Charlie had only managed to drag several large branches around during our woodland walk in the morning.

But it does demonstrate the importance of children, to, children.

The older one actually enjoyed the attention, and played up to his role. And Max loved putting him through his paces.



Which both made a simply walk in the woods, much more fun than that.

We've Got A Visitor

When I arrived at the nursery door today, sheepish as usual, in that, I always expect to hear of Max’s latest wardrobe failure, and my growing locks might need shearing. I got the same usual cheeky ‘oh-dear’ look, but the story was very different.

“What’s he done now?” I asked. “Nothing, he’s been brilliant.” Was the reply from the still grinning nursery leader.

Then it came. “You’ve got a house guest.”

Alarm bells city central. My immediate thought process couldn’t get passed ‘they can’t pass off a live animal on me without warning, can they?’

My mild panic attack subsided and then I tried to get the details off Max. ‘What you got son?”

“I’ve got Pip, Dad.” He replied.

When I then asked what we were supposed to be doing, with this stuffed rabbit and a basket of predominantly pink clothing, he had to ask one of the nursery staff for assistance.

Apparently, they have two rabbits at the nursery. Bramble, a boy, who lives at the nursery. And Pip, a girl, that makes house visits to all the children, in turn.

Oh, nice, and very cute, I suppose.

Max looked up for it anyway, albeit Pip and the basket were soon in my hands. Together with a photo album in his take-home nursery treasures bag.

“Max wants to take Pip to the building site,” The nursery leader claimed. “Can you take a few pictures of them both there, for this album?”

No worries actually. I’d been promising to get some shots of Max on site, for his friends at nursery, for some time, perhaps this is their gentle reminder -and a little penance for me.

After all, Pip is a girl and, I’m sure, will be wearing one of her pink outfits for our site visit. That won’t get any reaction from the builders at all!

Hand It Over Son, I'll Get Rid Of That Nasty Thing

I was drawn to a news story of toddlers being included in a campaign by the Food Standards Agency to reduce EVERYONE’S saturated fat intake.

The FSA is concerned that the average saturated fat intake of us Brits, is too high, and as such we should all be looking to reduce it.

It's not all down to the individual though, and they are working with people in the food industry to bring saturated fat levels down in foods generally.

They are still advising everyone to look at changing diet to reduce bad-fat intake.

The information and advice has been deemed ‘quite sensible’ by the nutritionist expert quizzed in this story, but is has also been asserted that there is no hard evidence to back up these suggestions - when talking about toddlers specifically.

I’m confused, not difficult I admit, but I’m again flummoxed by this information and campaign.

As a parent that is trying to ensure my child has a balance diet, and in that, I mean, he doesn’t have too much of anything, but not really excluding too much either. The aim being to have a child that while he has a balanced diet, is also relatively easy to fill, in any given environment or set of circumstances.

I know a few parents that have taken healthy eating too far, which means it can be difficult to feed their children at times, and also when they are introduced to the ugly but sweet food groups they gorge like Homer Simpson at doughnut time.

That said, I think it’s a better situation to be in than if your children knows who Ronald McDonald is and what the latest offer is at Unlucky Fried Kitten.

I still think I can be a little ignorant of what is in certain things, and the potential damage it can do. The advice is so confusing, and, I’ve found, that often the people charged with giving advice do not know anymore than those asking.

I can remember going for an umpteen month check with Max, armed with a few queries I’d clocked up - the main one concerned milk. At the time I was concerned that Max wasn’t getting enough iron, as he was reluctant to chew anything that was rich in it.

My idea was to keep giving him formula milk, until he consumed more iron in his food.

The health visitor gave me the standard ‘I’ve never been asked that before’ look, before saying “I’ve never been asked that before.”

In fairness we then went through Max’s diet, she commented on how varied she though Max’s diet was, and that I should just carry on with what I was doing.

Alarmingly, she did also mention, that in certain circumstances, they’d even advised parents to continue to feed their children from the more dangerous food groups, if, and I quote, that is all they can get them to eat.

I wish the FSA every success with everybody.

However, I will maintain a state of busy confusion and hope to keep the location of my sweet stash a secret, for the sake of my child, and in a wider context, the nation.