I Want My Mommy

Now how do you, or more specifically I, answer that desire?

When my lovely wife died, I always knew that the hardest part would not be the immediate, but would be the time that my young son actually started to grieve for his mother.

Samantha will always be part of our lives, and I've been mindful to include her in them, through pictures, stories and even bed-time kisses.

It's a balance that I don't want to overplay, as one of my many concerns is to be too heavy with the mommy info, to have it bore or confuse our child.

I've always told Max that his mother is part of him, and that he keeps her in his heart. That way I thought I could eventually get him to grasp that his mother will always be part of his life, regardless of the fact that he won't ever get to know her.

Over more recent times Max has been extra quizzical, and in part more observant of other 'more-normal' family units around him.

He's asked more questions about his mom, and has quizzed me on who my mommy is, and what my relationship was with his mother.

Then this morning it came for an un-ignorable second time: - "I want my mommy."

I tried the - I know you do son, she's part of you isn't she.

I asked him where she was and he said "She's in my heart, but she never comes out does she dad?"

Which I think is a cross between not quite yet understanding my sentiment and his desire to have a mommy. But I'm sure he'll eventually understand what I mean, I just hope he finds this a comfort.

This is going to be a long and heartbreaking situation to watch my son go through.

I hope that one day he'll understand that his mom does come out of him, in his personality, all that he does and all that he achieves.

She gave him the best possible start in life and absolutley fabulous stock.

For now I'll just have to work harder on my 'You're like a mommy, daddy' inducing antics.

School's Out, Bummer

Our nursery has suffered from some minor, but increasing inconvenient, flooding.

It came from a rogue radiator, and some pretty shoddy workmanship by the ‘radiator-man’ apparently.

Personally if the guy’s been labelled a superhero, the very least I expect is competence, that, and the ability to wear underwear over your overalls and not look like an idiot.

After inspecting this leaky radiator, it was left propped at one end inside the nursery by radiator-man.

And guess what?

Yes.

The mucky water ran out of it.

This left the carpet and floor to some of the nursery, sodden.

After an enforced emergency nursery drying out closure this week, I’ve just received a letter to say it is much more serious than just drying out and the floor will actually need replacing.

Some nursery sessions will be provided at the school on the same site, but not all, as the school timetable will not permit them.

It is a pain for both of us. I’ll have less time to deal with my non-child rearing activities, those include the ever intensive house build, and my child will have to put up with more of my dubious company over that of his lovely nursery chums.

I imagine it is even more of a problem for other families that plan their working lives around the nursery being available. And those, that don’t have a support group on their doorstep.

Food-for-thought.

Any future existence would best be being able to deal with the unexpected. I know, ideal world and all that, but I think I’ll need to be doing stuff that can either be dropped to deal with today’s problem without serious consequence, or can still be completed, perhaps hindered slightly by the unpredicted presence of others.

A Kick In The Shins

We’ve had a bit of an issue this week.

Well actually, I’ve been nursing a bit of a bruise.

I was wrestling my 3-year-old’s clothes on earlier this week, shortly before we were due to leave somewhere for home.

He didn’t want to go home as he was enjoying what he was doing, which isn’t unusual I suppose. I couldn’t be bothered with the normally reliable - ‘should-daddy-go-without-you’ bluff. I didn’t have the patience, nor the time.

So, shortly after I’d managed to get the hooded top, shoes and coat on, my child turned to face me and then kicked me right in the shin, albeit with a lovely smile on his boat-race.

I quelled my immediate swearing desire, and instead advised my child, in the strongest possible terms, that was not appropriate behaviour.

He didn’t take me serious to begin with, and just kept up the smile and giggle. But my continued silence and disapproving look eventually broke him into tears.

After he’d agreed that he shouldn’t have kicked me, or anyone else for that matter, we quickly kissed and made up.

It’s definitely an issue of him not quite understanding the difference between playing around and unreasonable conduct.

I’m a part of that problem, as not 24 hours later; I’m play-kicking my child in the very same room, at a not dissimilar time.

Thankfully, he wasn’t quick enough to point out my misdemeanour, however happy others were to point them out to him!

Flushed Away

I love my child’s little traits. Funny things he does, or ways in which he behaves that make me chuckle.

It is even better when these traits can be used to make the routine work, to get things done quicker or, in some cases, done at all.

One of the jobs I quickly laid claim to, once he was born, was bathing my son.

Like many fathers I suppose, I enjoyed being part of the routine, and my nine-to-five meant that the most natural roles for me to fulfil were the bath, book and bed parts.

So, I quickly did the maths today, and I reckon I’ve bathed my 3-year-old over 600 times, and for approximately the last 250 I’ve had to reassure him, that neither he or his collection of bath-time-buddies, will get flushed down the plug hole.

There’s no panic when he’s in the bath, and I haven’t actually found out what would happen if I physically let the water run out to prove my theorem. But taking out the plug will guarantee getting my boy to his feet.

Recently though, as my child has virtually dropped his day time nap, he’s been pretty tired during bath-time so I haven’t had to resort to ‘pulling-the-plug’. I still take comfort in the knowledge that it would work if necessary, evident enough as he hung to me like a monkey tonight as I lent down towards the plug hole.

As it happens I did put one of his other traits into sound effect tonight. I told him I was going to enjoy having him read stories to me, in his ever-so-comfy bed, quick as a flash, he’s in bed ready to negotiate the number of tonight’s tales!

Thursday Already, You're Kidding Me

I can't believe it is Thursday evening.

This week seems to have flown by.

I supposed there has been an awful lot going on at, or because of, our self-build project.

There is a mountain of information still to be processed and jobs to be done, but as things like service connections are made and bathroom suites ordered, the fantastic thought of us having our own home looms gloriously close.

Circumstances aside, I feel like I've lived a nomadic existence for the last two-and-a-half years. Living between family, and then in a rented place while our house is built.

I've also never been 100% convinced that we'd end up actually in our self built home.

Just because if we'd got our estimates wrong, or incurred more costs when building, then financial constraints would have meant sale of, rather than occupy.

But, fingers couldn't be more crossed, we are going to be in the ball park of the budget figure, and we can be fairly certain it will soon become our permanent home, or next home at the very least, what's permanent anyway?

Max has decided his room is to be red, although he's previously laid claim to three of the upstairs rooms in the house, so quite which one will end up red is anyone's guess at this moment in time.

My little boy getting involved like that is brilliant, and I have plenty of ideas for his room in the house, again these will be dictated by cost and budget, but the most important thing is that he and I shall have a proper home again.

A home, where our new life can continue to unfold to our liking

Is It Your Day Off?

Has anyone else noticed that the evil, that is the huge corporate-supermarket-conglomerate, has obviously implemented, as a renewed effort, the 'pretend you know the person at your till, and are genuinely interested in them' initiative.

Some may pass it off as people being nice, I'm not having that.

Because of my fairly sporadic existence, and the very fact that I don't live near a supermarche, I visit various establisments, at differents times of the week and day.

No matter where you are and what time it is, the people on the till seem to have all taken happy pills and are prepared to take an interest in you, and if you're not too forthcoming with your recent life history, prepare yourself for theirs.

Today was no exception, except that this time, the lady, and I'm giving her the benefit of doubt here, serving me, chose to waddle into the murky waters of assuming a stereotype.

"Your day off today then?"

I did think about a 'what do you mean by that - blow the fish well and truly out of the filthy water, reply option, but settled for my usual 'whatever' response.

Well actually I said. "No, this is my life."

It had the desired effect and that was the end of our conversation, obviously minus the lobotomy deposited, have you got a pointless points card? Do you want one? Are you collecting vouchers? Routine.

If my days off do ever become about shopping, cleaning, ironing, site visiting, contracting landscape gardeners, conducting phone interviews, and sorting out stuff for the post Easter holiday nursery return, then I may well book myself in for one of those branded lobotomies.

After all, those through the process seem so happy!

Partied Out

And not even in a good way. Well, actually, that’s a lie.

When my child got invited to one of his nursery chum’s birthday party, I was delighted.

It’s all part of the plan for us to be part of the village life, which seems to revolve an awful lot around the school.

Being a party where a few from the village were invited, means that it’s a good opportunity for me to network, and further infiltrate the social circle.

Our répondez s'il vous plaît was duly sent, and I thought little more about it, apart from obviously what to get for the lad whose birthday it was.

Then in a moment of clarity, I realised that one of Max’s long standing friends has a birthday around the same time.

And, yes, you’ve guessed it, his party was today too.

After a minor panic attack when I thought I may have to choose between the two, I worked out we could quite plausibly make both. Bonus.

So after trawling a few toy shops over Easter we were well prepared today. I’d even asked what each child would like, or more specifically, what they were in-to.

Now my child is all party bagged out, both parties were very good affairs. The children all behaved wonderfully, which in itself is a miracle based on the way they are fed and revved up at these children’s play centres.

Which incidentally is the way to go if you want to avoid excessive effort, lingering guests and a mountain of tidying up.

I shall have to remember that for the future, that’s if I ever actually sort out when to celebrate my child’s birthday.