It's Only a Cough

When my son develops an ailment, of any nature, my world seems to change enormously.

I find the smallest of problems bring about a huge change in my state of mind, my energy level, and my communication skills.

I know this is true for a lot of parents I talk too, and nothing seems to sharpen thinking, yet dumb the mind, like my child being ill.

My son is generally a very well boy, often escaping the bugs that others seem only too quick to submit to.

I do not know if that is born out of luck, a good diet, healthy genes or the fact that I have tried to be sensible with what he is subjected to, not applying a cotton-wool-approach.

But when he does have the odd illness, it is like all the air is released from my balloon.

My sense of humour, the thing I rely on so, so much, takes a complete holiday, my focus on anything other than the basic routine, is diminished to nil, and my general ability to function is severely damaged.

Debilitating.

Which is ridiculous, as the rational part of me, another bit that plays a large part in my make up, tells me that a cold, cough or minor infection is under control, and will soon be dealt with.

But while I know we, or he, will soon be through it, moments like it have an incapacitating ability over both of us, for their duration.

Sometime ago Max was diagnosed as possibly picking up a form of asthma via his old man, a man who will be one year older over the weekend (I really should update my profile wotsit).

It is something he might well grow out of, but actually very common in more rural areas, such as the one we now live in.

So much so, that we virtually live in a rapeseed field, and as that crop begins to flower, I am told, by my expert chums, that it can trigger hayfever and asthma symptoms.

Junior has not been right from the weekend, well he has never been right, but you get my drift.

We were parted on Saturday, as I went to watch the mighty Walsall FC rain on the parade one of the country’s least liked football sides, enjoying a few beers either side of that game, with some friends.

When we reconvened my son’s health was a little worse, and he had not had a great night’s sleep. A common complaint amongst young asthma sufferers.

He had also developed a runny nose, and his temperature had spiked the night before, but there was no evidence of this again on Sunday.

But his inhaler seemed to only control the issue rather than put pay to it.

His runny nose dried up with the aid of some other medicine, and he is now a lot better than he was, while still not being at 100%.

He still had interrupted nights Sunday and Monday, so I kept him at home yesterday, keeping him entertained and still being able to find time to write about the delights of Oldham Athletic, and have a look at another couple of writing projects.

We had a nice peaceful day, without the normal laughs, as my humour was still on bypass and laughing in the boy seemed to induce coughing fits.

We shared a bed again last night, and while Max did not sleep without coughing completely, he had a much better night than the previous three.

So I decided that he should go off to nursery today, the ten minute walk there being a good indicator as to how well his chest was holding up.

He was fine, and we enjoyed a gently chat filled saunter round to the village school and nursery.

The nursery leader looked genuinely delighted to see him, and said without hesitation;

“We missed you yesterday, we were worried about you.”

And minus any indecision, and very matter-of-factly, my son retorted with;

“It was only a cough.”

Indeed son, I should just listen to you.

Things I Repeat, Say What? Things I Repeat

Apart from the above being one of my favourite jokes, those of an irritable ilk anyhow, I have come to realise that there are many parenting statements, or phrases, that I find myself saying a lot.

A lot, a lot, a lot, a lot.

I thought I would put together a top ten, and see if anyone else is using the same, or has their own gems of reiteration.

Here goes;

1. Calm Down –

Used on a repeat-to-fade basis, between the hours of 7-30am and 7-30pm.

2. Settle Down –

Used on a repeat-to-fade basis, from 7-30pm until shut-eye status is achieved.

3. Focus on the positive –

A phrase I use when my son points out that things have not gone exactly as he had hoped, or if his every whim is not catered for within nanoseconds.

4. You Muppet –

Useful for moments just after my son has ignored my advice of focusing on the positive.

5. What do you want to eat/wear/do? –

My mistake ridden, glib, speaking before thinking. Everyone knows you need to give kids options, otherwise their answers will never do.

6. Are you on prescribed medication? –

An affectionate phrase spoken shortly after my son has confused me with his latest request or action, often followed with;

7. You are never right –

Again, affection unbound.

8. One or none? –

A question I pose when my son stretches the boundaries of reasonableness. When he demands two ice creams for example, I reiterate his options ‘one or none?’ (Can be used in conjunction with number 3)

9. You know the drill/we do this every day –

Reminding him that the routine is well established, and thus moaning about it will just lengthen the process

10. I love you –

Something I say to my boy, everyday, lots, and while he is responsible for this action, I am not holding it against him.

So there is my ten, I am sure to be revisiting this list, and probably have missed a few.

But, more importantly, what are yours?

St George's Day Gaffe

It is St George’s Day here in England, Blighty, the home of the dragon slayers.

This has very much been a passive day up till now, one of little national recognition, no national holiday, no significant coverage of commemorative activities, that sort of thing.


There has been a growing voice of discontent with this, but I think we have not really thought it through, and the way we celebrate, or do not celebrate St George’s Day, is typically English.

And, as such, is brilliantly apt.

Understated, unbrash, non-garish, and with all the hallmarks of our wonderful stiff-upper-lip-get-on-with-it attitude.

Tis us.

And in cases where local councils and towns, have tried to encourage more spirit and celebration of this day, some have been marred by right wing extremists, which then gets fantastic coverage, as the media feasts, and makes merry with its apparent glut of misery and hatred.

That just highlights two things of society here that I strongly feel we should NOT be proud of.

That all typed I think it is nice for children to learn about St George, and in our particular case, I am pretty sure he will enjoy worship status from my son, after all he is a dragon slayer.

He would slice Ben 10’s head straight off, no bother.

To that end, it was nice to see that the nursery was decked out with St George Cross bunting, and looked set to use it for the day’s theme. Mind, I hope they do not come home with swords or jousting wotsits.

Sadly, the bunting also triggered my foot-in-mouth tourettes.

The door to the nursery opened, and one of the nursery staff came out to welcome today’s clients up the stairs, and without engaging brain, establishing if I had a good enough relationship with this particular carer to make a joke, I said;

“Oh, you’ve obviously come as the dragon.”

Woopsy.

I thought it funny, as did some of the other parents, totally over the kids heads, my humour is obviously advancing.

This particular nursery worker was less enamoured with my quip, or was at least pretending to be unimpressed with it.

However I won her round by pointing out it was better than me suggesting that she had come as St George himself.

He has a beard, right?

Anyway, she will have to get used to it, as I am sure there is no cure for my condition.

Nor would I take it if there were.


In honour of St George, all those of these isles, even those who only share a border with England, why not enter my Nintendo Wii competition, dead easy, and there are only six days left to enter.

Looking Back

Over my shoulder, I can see that look in your eye.

My apologies, chose not to resist that one.

We have lived somewhat of a nomadic existence since my wife died. First living with my parents, then experimenting co-habiting with my sister, briefly back to my folks, then into rented accommodation while the house we now call home was built.

Home is the important word in that sentence, as while we have always been together, and been each others’ home, we have not had that 100% comfort of living in a place we did not expect to leave, even in the relative short-term.

Everywhere has been a stop-gap, a step along the way, somewhere that was fit for purpose, but only in the shorter term.

This place may have also headed that way dependant on many things. Cost being one of those, and also place. As while we have only physically moved around 20 miles from our martial home, we are a million miles away in terms of environment, feel and neighbourhood.

But now, it looks, and certainly feels like we are not going anywhere fast.

I am not saying we will never move, as we can not say what tomorrow will bring, but this certainly feels like our place now.

And to that end we need to put more marks on it. Make it say it is ours.

We have been here since July last year, so nine months, but it has still been taking shape in that time, and there are still tiny snagging jobs to do. However since Christmas it really has been ‘finished’.

All the rooms have worked out really well, better than anticipated in many cases, and have our overall stamp on them.

We have a great big chair-and-a-half in the living room, which my son and I ward others away from. His room has perfectly fitting furniture, a cool book shelf, a space theme and various different bed spreads that turn it from Ben 10, to a Walsall fan’s room.

The garden is brilliant too, we have a trampoline, a climbing frame, vegetable patch – presently growing potatoes and strawberries – a barbecue, and some garden furniture.

One of our close friends, the one we went to London to see, brought Max a cherry tree when he was born, and that has safely been transported from our old home, via its temporary custodians, my parents.

And it is those types of touches we now need to make.

I have recently bought some artwork, to supplement the stuff I got for my 30th, and we also had some pieces from our first home. Samantha’s own creations amongst them.

And I am considering a commission for an idea I had, but just need to run the numbers a few times in my head.

Yesterday I got a rug, and I am on the look out for a nice wall clock, and something else to hang on the wall, other than paintings, prints or pictures.

Ideas most welcome. I have looked at cuckoo clocks, moose heads and some other sculptures, but have yet to be convinced.

But the real point to this post is my presentation of my own pictures.

Since Samantha died I have hauled and backed up as many images as I could get hold of, without assembling them into any order. Others have given me pictures they had taken, nice ones that they thought I would like, especially to show Max as he grows up.

I did consider an acrylic montage of Sammy pictures, but dropped that idea as being a bit of a trashy tribute, one that would quickly age.

Instead, and inspired by a post over at Modern Single Momma, who herself had been accidentally prompted from random sources, I put together and ordered a mosaic, that work out really well, incredibly well, they sent two in error, so the second will be up at my sister’s.

The mosaic is 36 photos, including all of my close family, and some of our great friends. There are a couple of shots of the house build, and a couple of scenery shots of places important to us.

Not so trashy, in my opinion.

Now I am putting together a, sort of, hall of fame gallery, along my landing, and stretching into my bedroom.

I think it will be nice to have a set of changeable photos upstairs, so not to be in the faces of everyone that visits us, just those welcome enough to get permission to go up a floor.

And I love our landing, it is one of the favourite parts of our home, and I am often brought to raise the corners of my mouth as I go to it, so will now perhaps have an even broader beam.

So, it was time to filter through all my photos, and make my initial choices. Not easy. But once the gallery exists I can remove, replace and swap as necessary.

I have bought six frames, which each hold three 5” x 7” traditional photos, so I need SEVERAL 18 images by my reckoning.

And the image below has to be one of them.

I believe this is the last shot I have of Samantha, or the last quality one at least.

This was taken the day before she died, and she was so, so happy.

You can see it.

This image always makes me smile, pained a little, as always, but I CAN NOT look at that image and be glum.

Impossible.

Being a fun shot, it is also one that my boy definitely relates to, for reasons a short further scroll will uncover.

I hope this idea flies like all my others seem to have done, and that it further puts an Ian and Max shaped stamp on the place.

You Say Jump, I Say How High

I do not know where you stand on the whole bribery to entice quality behaviour thing, I stand slap-bang-in-the-middle of it, sometimes.

And, boy (girl, or hermaphrodite) does it work.

Check it out.

In other news, we are back from a week away on the Welsh coast. We had a great break, albeit hindered at times by inconsistent weather, but that only gave us motivation to go and do things inside rather than on that lovely coastline.

I am delighted to return to read many reviews, and positive feedback on Christine Coppa's new book Rattled! I eagerly await my copy.

I hope to get a lot more entries to my Ninendo Wii competition we can not have Dan winning, I do not remember them having video games in The Good Life.

Get your entries in.

Will somone please think of the children chickens?

Want To Win A Nintendo Wii?

COMPETITION EXTENDED UNTIL THE 15th OF MAY 

- GET YOUR ENTRIES IN!

The global financial squeeze has probably refocused the majority of people to look again at their own financial situation, and where possible, save money.

I know this applies to all sorts of people and families, even those that have actually seen their own economic situation improve, by means of a reduced mortgage rate and lowered VAT.

It is no bad thing to be looking at ways to buy more effectively, and that means getting what you want at the best possible price.

And while we need to be buying at the best possible price, it is also good to know we are buying the right thing, and that is where my partner for this competition comes in.

Price comparison website Ciao offers just this facility. By comparing prices and allowing customers to leave reviews for the items it compares, it gives you all the information you will need in one place.

To promote this service, Ciao and myself are offering you the chance to win a Nintendo Wii, which are great fun, and a more active way to enjoy video games, have a look at the competition details that we are running together;

With the credit crunch in full swing, more of us are moving online to ensure parents find the best deals on our must have goods. A really important part of making consumer choices is knowing we have got the best deal but also easily have access to feedback from others on the goods we are looking to buy. What’s great for those surfing the web is that sites like Ciao.co.uk are now not only offering crucial price and user review information, but will pay their members to review products.

Ciao and Single Parent Dad have partnered to offer one lucky reader a Nintendo Wii. To win, all you have to do is create a login on Ciao.co.uk and post a link to a product you have reviewed. Your review must contain 120 words and can be in text or video form. Once you have done at least one full product review, post your Ciao user name and a link to your review in the comments section on this blog post.

If you would like to double your entry, you can enter for a second time by providing back links to this site from your own blog quoting the words ‘ Single Parent Dad is offering readers a Wii’ and Ciao.co.uk.

The competition is open to all UK readers and deadline for entry is midnight of the 15th May. A winner will be selected at random (hopefully by an agreeable toddler).

It really is that simple, subscribe to Ciao and enter a product review, giving me the details in the comments on this blog post, and to double up your entry – to have two pieces of paper in the hat, or similar – use that backlink (a link to this post) within a post on your own blog, and that will automatically show up here too.

Good luck, with both your saving, and winning here.

Christine Coppa's new book Rattled!

The delectable Christine Coppa, who writes the terribly glamourous Storked blog, for, eeerrrmm, Glamour (my wife’s favourite hand-bag sized glossy), has something very exciting happening this week.

Her book, Rattled!, is out.

In shops and everything.

Available for the lazy, like me, here.

This is a book about Christine’s journey into successful single parenting, after living a life into which unplanned children do not usually fit, and the surprising way that a life can become so rich after being so, so, scary. Inspiring for everyone, not just parents.

It is a hilarious, yet poignant, account of how a single girl who had everything, a great job at a top women's magazine, an apartment in New York City, must-have handbags, brunches with the girls, and even a cute guy, getting her life Rattled! by getting unexpectedly pregnant with said cute guy, who himself soon vanished.

Her work is getting glowing reviews, and Coppa herself is off on a whirlwind promo book signing and reading tour, and as I am the numb-nut that never got round to asking her some interview questions to post here, I am having to go for a bit of improv.

This is how I think it would have gone;

Wow, your own book published at 26, you must be very pleased?

I’m 28 don’t you know, but pleased none the less.

In a nutshell, what is it all about?

Usually the nuts, can we talk about my book?

Of course, is it good and that?

Seriously dude, you are an awesome interviewer.

So perhaps it was no bad thing, that we did not get round to sorting it out. For a real interview and feature, in The Times no less, have a look here.

I am very much looking forward to receiving my copy.

Very excited to read Christine's story and about the arrival and impact of JD.

Split Personality Disorder

One of my favourite bad-taste gags has always been;

I am a schizophrenic, and so am I.

Bill Murray delivers it much better.

The problem now being, that the joke is somewhat upon me.

I am in parenting mode approximately 90% of the time, by my quick finger-in-the-air calculation, I do not need to have my son around to be in this mode, if I go to the football, or Max goes off to nursery, I am still in parenting mode, just awaiting our physical reacquaintance.

I will call it parental-standby-mode.

When in this state, both standby and full-on versions, I like to think, that while my mood is generally jovial, my language is as eloquent as it gets – for me – and cursing is minimised.

I am very proud of my record around the boy, for reasons that I will probably come to.

As a parent I get the respect of others, my opinion is valued – I hope – and I am confident and comfortable being the best father I can possible be, without overstretching myself, of course.

I am laid back, yet consistent, and sure in my decision making - generally. I go to toddler groups, I paint, I bake fairy cakes, I bounce on the trampoline, I garden, I dance, I sing, I swim, I walk, I go to farms, I visit museums, I push swings, I cook, I look after other kids, I seek guidance, I respect others, I read, I listen, I tease, I feed, I bathe, I repair, I praise, I reward, I discipline, I ignor, I focus on the positive, I encourage, I comfort, I nurture.

In my humble opinion; I am a ‘nice’ person.

Then there is the other ‘me’.

The me that does not really know where the line of decency is, the me that swears like a tourette-riden-angry-groundworker, the me that seeks attention by shouting and doing the inappropriate, the me that irritates, mocks and insults, the me that drinks to excess, the me that can disregard peoples’ feelings, the me that appears to care about very little.

This me would make an infinitely more interesting character on Skins.

He comes out when the reigns of parenting are unshackled.

He does not need a drink to be this way, just needs to know that he is without direct responsibility for his child for the duration of at least one night.

Both these personalities are happy folk, yet ridiculously different from each other.

My genius sister, and some of my other close friends, actually see my happiness, and grotesque, ratios in the later state, as proportionate. The more abusive I am, the happier I am too.

I do not disagree.

It is my odd nature.

Since I lost my wife, I have had to find my happiness in other things, and I very much see my period as a husband, and all-to-short-stint as a 2.4 family, as my peak time.

It may always be that way.

But I am definitely not unhappy with my lot, how could I be?


Other suggest the absence of my wife, means that my behaviour is not controlled, or reigned-in, as perhaps it was in those days.

In part I agree.

My wife, was not suppressive of my behaviour, I genuinely believe she loved me the way I was, or am.

She would more so give an opinion I respected, when needed, as mine had become a little skewed.

It would sound like she was shouting at me, but trust me, that is what was really happening.

The much more important thing she did, was to take care of my inner-puppy.

The one that, while completely daft, desired attention, and a figurative stick to fetch.

That puppy did not die with her, even though he did take an extended holiday.

I am not saying I need to change anything, or I seek a remedy to this situation, I really do not see it as a problem, more an observation of the growing divide in the two existences I seem to lead.

Who knows, it may even be a healthy way to live.

At times, it certainly seems so to me....

Or 'us'.

Hangover Detectors

My child seems to have one of these built in.

It is not an upgrade I ordered, and it is one I could well do without.

On Saturday, we went our separate ways as I went Ape, and he went off with his grandparents, my folks.

It was a friend’s birthday, and in my wisdom I had offered to provide temporary accommodation, and sustenance, for 12 guests. Yes, I really am that daft nice.

The boy went off without trouble, after we had enjoyed the company of our best friends overnight on Friday.

I prepared the chicken casserole, and got the house into a more suitable dormitory format.

Then went off to enjoy jumping, swinging and sliding between trees, check me out here, but more funnily check out a classy zip wire dismount by my ever-so-elegant sister.

We had a fantastic time, and my stew and crusty bread was just about the perfect comfort food after a surprisingly exhaustive clamber through the trees of Cannock Chase.

Sadly I have yet to learn that I am now completely rubbish at consuming alcoholic beverages, well, consumption is not so much a problem, as dealing with the aftermath is.

The drinking started in the comfort of my home, and after we had watched the sun set, and a few others had joined us, we had a little wander to our local pub, giving the immediate economy a decent bonus for an hour or two.

There was more supping on our return, and after around only six or seven hours in bed, I woke feeling a little nauseous, but in time to watch the Malaysian Grand Prix.

Damp squib that was.

I had the morning to relax, during which we had an ongoing debrief with my various house guests as and when they surfaced from the four corners of my proving flexible abode.

In between I trotted around the house at my leisure, cleaning a bit, and guiding others that had been generous enough to provide a hand.

Eventually I was left alone for an hour or so, in which time my drinking damage symptoms seemed to take over, I contemplated taking to my bed for a bit, but ultimately thought that I would be better just going to bed early, rather than attempting to catch 60 minutes in the middle of the day.

I even managed to reacquaint myself with my returning phone, and upload a few movies to Vimeo.

Junior came bounding back, full of his own adventures, and things to show and share with me. I had also forgotten that I had asked my folks to pick up some petrol for my lawn mower, so I could give my garden a much needed spruce.

Now, I would say the majority of the time, when in the company of close relatives my son enjoys their company, to the point that he sometimes even asks me to leave.

However, when I have drink-related-body-recovery-disorder my stock shoots, and no-one else will do.

Plus he also whines for activities not normally conducive with the aforementioned crippling condition.

Thus cue lots of requests to bounce on the trampoline, and lots of equal-and-opposite suggestions of more tranquil activities.

The compromise was the pre-arranged gardening, and after a false start - my son actually cried when I went to fetch the lawn-mower, that is as much as he desired my company - we filled the afternoon with outdoor maintenance.

Now I know, he may have been feeling a little anxiety, as we were parted for the evening before, but it is never normally an issue.

Still, I was able to comfort him, and also get out of dragging the heavy-grass-cutter over the difficult gravel at the side of my house, quality silver-lining son.

And I was finding if I was doing stuff, I actually forgot how rough I was feeling, when I sat still for any amount of time I started to suffer again, so the not-to-strenuous was good, and it also kept us of the trampoline.

Max was very helpful, as he was delightful.

He watered our potatoes and strawberries.

He helped make a minor amendment to his climbing frame.


And I am sure his cuteness helped in my coaxing of the neighbour to give our drive hedge a nip-and-tuck.

So, actually, when I typed I did not need his hangover detection, it turns out……..

I really did.

I Got My Snazzy Phone Back......

....So I can make videos again.



I have also discovered Vimeo, much more agreeable than that YouTube, well sort of.



Have a look at the first video I managed to put together on my phone, complete with new main board, and new EIEIO number.




Trainee Rockstar Gets Cocky At The Playground from Single Parent Dad on Vimeo.

That's What I Said

One of the most important facets of my professional life was managing change.

As well as having overall responsibility for the day-to-day running of all site operations I was also accountable for improving efficiency in all areas.

Even though I did not really enjoy my job that was probably my most favourite part.

Saving money from your overhead yields a direct increase in the amount of profit the company makes.

Simple stuff.

I used to enjoy lecturing salesmen who had brought all their ‘profit’ to the business, regularly waxing lyrical on sales not automatically producing profit. And that some sales, were not sales at all.

“I’ve sold 200 of xyz at 35% profit,” The nitwits would often say.

“We’ve still got 800 pieces of xyz in stock that cost £££ and continue to cost £££ you’ve made nothing but a mess yet clever clogs.” I would reply.

I was adorable.

In order to become more efficient, as well as constantly looking at ways to reduce our fixed costs, I would also be looking for better ways of doing things.

Dreaming and designing new systems is one thing, but implementation, and getting acceptance and efficient operation of these new arrangements is really where the trouble would start.

I have seen a lot of brilliant ideas turned to crap, just based on the fact that staff resisted them and ultimately contributed to their failure wilfully.

I was never one to get too deep into understanding the mechanics of the psychology around change, I leave that stuff to clever folks like Kurt Lewin, but I did understand, and see in action, his three-stage process.

Unfreeze – Change – Refreeze.

Getting people, or numbers as I liked to affectionately call them, to buy into any project and believe in its ideals was absolutely key.

I always knew when I had successfully completed the process, perversely when I would slag off, or criticise, the changes we had just made.

If the staff agreed with me, I had failed.

If the staff quoted back to me, ideally without realising, stuff I had BRAIN WASHED enlightened them with, earlier in the process, it meant I had succeeded.

I used to get a wicked satisfaction by calling bluffs like that.

I would make a good, well not good, that is the wrong word, perhaps great, yeah, great evil genius.

Life is forever changing and evolving, and I would not say I am someone who actively seeks change, but feel I would come out at a higher percentile of those able to deal with it.

Parenting is just like that, and children accepting change and then getting on board with it and quoting you back is also an ongoing process, it certainly is for us.

There is much more cuteness about children, and they way that they tell you things you already know, or have been trying to instil into them since their very creation.

Like tonight, we went to the chip shop for tea, our guilty pleasure, and I was educated on our journey home by the fruit of my loins.

He was checking that we had ordered and got all we had asked for, or more specifically, checking that we had got all he had asked for.

Sausage, chips and mushy peas was his balanced request.

I said we had got all that, but that the chips we had were for me.

“No Daddy,” Max claimed.

“They’re for both of us, It’s called SHARING.”

Is it indeed?

And the glow I got from that one tiny moment in our father-son relationship, eclipses any and all of the moments similar from my professional carer.