Single Parent Dad

What it's really all about

2012-01-31T23:10:00.000Z

Last Thursday I was saton a relatively busy London bound train headed on my way to PremierLeague HQ and a judging panel for the second time at the FootballLeague Awards.

I was partly engrossedin my judging pack, but occasionally dipping into the glorious guiltypleasure of people watching.

And at one of thesetimes I was truly put into a feeling of significant discomfort.

No, not for staringwhere I shouldn't – not this time – but as I watched a coupleread their red-top newspaper, I noticed that they were reading anarticle that featured myself as a case study.

Bizarre, and putting mein that will-they-won't-they recognise me quandary.

My only otherexperiences of this feeling is when I've bumped into old classmatesor ex-sports chums and wondered if I'd get away unrecognised andunscathed.

In those cases I'veoften gotten away and the answer may have been that I am a completely different person these days.

And in this particular instance, whether they weren't really reading the feature or caring enough tolook up, I wasn't recognised on this occasion either.

But I was somewhatunnerved by that short experience. A warning against the now not sobrilliant people watching.

Once off the train Iwas soon rubbing shoulders with those deemed worthy of judging theFootball League award winners. A very noble bunch.

Deciding on the BestFamily Club of the Year was good fun again, and it was great to seethe ongoing work, and brand new initiatives, of many of the FootballLeague clubs. There seems a genuine growing consensus amongst Leagueclubs to try and provide families a great value day out, and not justa game a football (not that a Football League fixture should ever bedescribed as that).

If you haven't checkedout what your local Football League club is doing for families youreally should.

Anyway, after I'dexhausted my welcome, stolen my body-weight in excellent buffet anddrank a bath-full of expensive fizzy water at Premier League HQ I wasoff for an exciting meeting with a company with lofty online aims.

Over a snazzy Thai mealin a classy part of Soho, London Town, we discussed their projectand how I may be of use to it.

I was flattered by howthey thought I could help, and my potential level of input and involvement.

Apparently I am not acomplete imbecile. And I'll settle for that.

In between thesemeetings, and on the way home, I was replying to some more intriguingemails and fielding calls from a couple of TV producers interested intalking to me based on my appearance in said paper article earlierthat day.

A very peculiar day,and one at the end of which I really enjoyed getting into bed.

That was until at 2 amwhen I was woken by my child's need for comfort as he vomited intothe toilet of my en-suite bathroom.

A graphic and physicalreminder of what my life is really all about.

It's horrible when achild is poorly, even with only minor ailments, and sometimes theactual situations you are dealing with are grossly repulsive and of awould-not-do-it-for-anyone-else nature. But that's really the point.

I got further abruptreminders - alternating ends - for good measure. As well as theclean up operation, mass wash-a-thon and the inevitable getting thebug yourself, to really hammer it home.

I hate it when my sonis being sick, and it really does knock me about, but I love the factthat it's my privilege to cuddle him and hold his hair back while hechunders, and to put his umpteenth pair of involuntary soiled pyjamasin the wash.

Though, I may have gotsome of the words mixed up in that last sentence.

Perhaps I should lay off the jokes

2012-01-24T20:45:00.001Z

I went swimming earliertoday, and surely never has a blog post opened with a lessinteresting statement.

When prompted for mythree quid to have a blast in the pool I reached for my wallet.

The receptionist issurely used to hesitation from me at this juncture, but today I had alegitimate reason. The £100 I thought I had in it (and believe me IKNOW when there's that much wonga in my possession) had gone.

I spluttered out “Isit okay to pay with a card?”

And she replied “Ofcourse.” In her best 'I hate people that do that' tone.

This meant I spent my64 lengths of the pool (that's a mile don't you know) wondering wherethe hell the missing £100 was.

Had I lost it?

Had I been secretlyrobbed?

Had I dreamed ofvisiting the cash point (it is something I regularly have nightmaresabout)?

Upon my return home aquick on-line banking visit established I hadn't gone mad, and thatyes, money had gone somewhere.

I searched around thehouse to see if I'd dropped it anywhere, or if it was in a pocketsomewhere.

But no.

I then retraced mysteps to the extreme of visiting the actual petrol station I'd takenthe money out from to see if anyone had handed money back in.

“No, not today.”Which may as well have been: “as if they would”.

Where was it then?

I must have dropped it.

Then after collectingmy son from school, I think he sensed my agitation.

“You've not seen mywallet have you son?” I asked him, kinda giving my angst away.

I got an immediatesmirk and that look of being prompted to remember something.

“Yes, I hid ALL.YOUR. MONEY. Dad.” my boy said.

It's not often I'mspeechless, and I wasn't then either, but I did take a few seconds torespond.

“YOU. DID. WHAT?”

The mood changed alittle, I remained calm, but the boy could sense he was in trouble.

We were soon in thehouse and my son was quick to hand back all my monies, to thenpromptly burst into tears.

“I feel horrible. Like I've been really naughty.” he cried.

I discussed hismotives, trying desperately not to put words in his mouth, andaffirming that yes, if he'd meant to take the money he'd be in big,big trouble.

As it was I acceptedthat it was a practical joke gone wrong, based on the facts that Ididn't need to press him for an admission, he was quick to return themoney from a place I'd would have discovered it with better searchingskills, and he did claim to have hinted at taking the money lastnight, but I was distracted doing something else and more concernedwith getting him into bed. Which sounds like me.

And it's quite possiblya case of my jovial nature coming back to haunt me. I'm not aprolific practical joker by any means, I'm struggling to think of anexample of any physical trick I've pulled, but I do like to muckabout and pull a leg or several (do we still pull legs?).

So I was torn.

Countering annoyancewith possible admiration of his tomfoolery.

I'd love to raise achild of a bright fun loving disposition, but at the same time heneeds to know there's a line, and a possible consequence for crossingit.

Hmmm.

Something to ponder.

How irritated, oramused, would you have been?

Being ready to love again

2012-01-17T14:41:00.000Z

The very night before my wonderful wife passed away she toldme:

“If I die, I don’t want you to be on your own. I’d want you to be with someone else.”

It seemed ridiculous and completely irrelevant that sheshould make such an admission. Wewere on holiday, and she was without so much as a sign of ill health, but yet onlya few hours later, I was indeed left to face a life without her.

When she’d made this statement, I’d expressed not wanting tobe with anyone else, and probably made a big joke of the potential ball-ache oftrying to find another marvellous woman whose only flaw would be falling for animbecile like me.

I really meant what I said at the time (apart from the flawand imbecile bits), though I appreciated her rational, and think it is part ofwhat real love is about.

For me a huge part of loving someone is willing them to behappy, regardless of the implications for oneself.

She truly loved me, and it was a love well placed, as Iloved her right back.

Since Samantha’s death six and a half years ago I have beenoccasionally quizzed if I was ‘ready’ to date again, and I - being thedeflective dick that I am - would usually answer with ‘I was born ready’ or‘why, has Martine McCutcheon/Britney Spears/Any member of Girls Aloud beenasking for my number?’

Life in this period of time has been about focus, or of itnot being available to me in abundance. Very much a case of having simple aims and aspirations, and naturallythese have been more about my son than me.

Putting my life – some parts of it at least - on temporaryhold, focussing all I could muster on providing a consistent and happyenvironment for my mini-colossus to thrive in.

In all honesty, and in the more thought out answers I’dprovided to timely questions of potential romances, I would say I’ve been opento the idea of a different partner for a long time. Perhaps even subconsciously from THAT night before my wife’sdeath, and with her planting it with me.

I believe I know myself pretty well. I might not be able to pick the back ofmy hands out of a line-up, but know what I am good and bad with, and whenthings are right or wrong for me.

There’s a mass of general advice for widows and widowersabout new relationships. Normallyconcerning themselves with the amount of time that should be left beforestarting a relationship with someone new, but I think such guidelines are forfolks that don’t know themselves very well, and are meant to protect those whomay make bad decisions, probably unwittingly for the wrong reasons.

“You’ll know when it’s right.” Is a cliché that fitsannoyingly better here, for me, and I am sure more many, many others.

There definitely was a period where it would have absolutelybeen wrong to start a relationship with anyone. Proved at times like when I was propositioned at a weddingand was literally left speechless and unable to articulate any responsewhatsoever such were my feelings of inappropriateness.

There was probably a bit of shock too.

But over time, while I wasn’t necessarily dating or evenletting it get much further than a thought in my head, the theoretical possibilityhad been heightening.

Yet at the same time so grew my ability to find happiness onmy own, ridding myself of dependence on others for smiles and warmth.

Seeing relationships as a possible bonus, an enhancement,rather than something I desperately needed in order to live a fulfilledexistence.

Yes, I was ready.

Born ready, some might say.

Time to get smart with our utilities

2012-01-12T13:09:00.000Z

I’ve a sister that works for thegas board, do you want to meet her?

That was always one of myfavourite daft jokes, but perhaps it now needs updating to:

I’ve a sister that works for thegas board, I only let the smart meet her.

Or maybe, just maybe, I shoulddrop it all together.

Anyway, back to why I’m writingthis post.

Since being a homeowner - overten years now - I’ve always been very pedantic with my utility suppliers. Very anal about getting the best annualdeal for my money that I possibly could.

However in recent times I’veactually concerned myself more with my actual usage, and it seems thegovernment would like us all to get familiar with the amount of electricity andgas we are using as we are using it.

Last winter I treated myself toan Owl micro-home electricity monitor, which was about £25. I was mindful of rising electricitycosts, and I actually wanted to know how much – and where – I was usingelectrical juice.

It seemed I wasn’t the only one,and I found a few others willing to share electricity saving ideas. My personal favourite was changing myfish tank from tropical to cold water. Which was a frugal move, not tight at all.

But now, with the governmentmandating that all homes will have to install smart meters by 2019, there willbe millions able to share real time data and ideas.

British Gas is placing itself atthe forefront of this initiative, and has already installed over 400,000 smart meters free ofcharge across homes and businesses in the UK.

What does a smart meter do?

Essentially it details, in poundsand pence (or in energy units if you prefer) how much energy, gas andelectricity, you are using.

If you switch your cooker on the meterwill immediately show you how much energy it is using.

Data is also stored, and thesemeters have useful menus to give you things like your day’s energy consumption.

It also means accurate billingrather than estimates, as these meters automatically send information back todirectly British Gas.

How will this help me save money?

The Energy Saving Trust estimatesthat you could save as much as 10% on your bills.

By knowing how much energy thingsuse, rather than being ignorant to their consumption levels, you are betterplaced to decide if something is worthy of being on.

You may find some electricalunits use as much energy, thus as much money, in standby as when they areoperating, digiboxes sometimes fall into this category.

I don’t carry my unit in mypocket, but have it in view casting it a glance every once in a while. I know when my son has left the –rather expensive – spotlights on in the bathroom for example.

It also helps trouble shoot, soif the unit is recording higher than you think is should be, you can find theunit pulling more power than it was perhaps designed to.

Some wasteful habits I haven’tchanged, but at least I am aware of how much they are costing me.

Don’t just take my word for it

This is a sponsored post on behalf of BritishGas, who you can also follow on Facebook.

Thank you note genius

2012-01-10T12:13:00.000Z

And modesty failure.

My child is a little reluctant to write thank you notes, infact he is a tad reluctant to write anything. Last summer I even had to write a thank you for my son’steacher myself.

As my boy has a birthday only a few days short of Christmashe is inundated with brilliant gifts from friends and family at this time ofyear.

Which in turn means he is somewhat obligated to show hisappreciate of the generosity shown by these lovely people.

I like to believe he is genuinely thankful for what he hasbeen given, but working on his grateful is an ongoing project.

However reminded of the pain that was getting him writinghis Christmas cards, and his party invitations shortly before Yuletide,plonking a pile of thank you cards in front of my mini-colossus was not top ofmy ‘want-to-do’ list.

So I had to come up with a solution.

I want folks to know that my son is grateful for theirtreasures, and also want my son to know that demonstrating gratitude is aprocess he should be familiar with and consider engaging with.

Thus we sat down and he designed a thank you card with myguidance. Rather aptly using anart set he’d received amongst his bounty of presents.

I think what he came up with was simplistically cool, not atall influenced by its great propensity to being scanned and printed withoutusing much printer ink.

So some of these were printed and folded with classmatesnames written on. Some were postedto friends and family, and some were even emailed.

Thus my child got to learn about being thankful, publishing and usingtechnology all at the same time.

He may also have learnt a lazyish solution to thank younotes, but I’m going to conveniently ignore that.

Will you be putting yourself first in 2012?

2012-01-05T16:25:00.000Z

In the aftermath of my wife dying in August 2005, one of thethings I struggled with enormously was thinking of the future.

While we were together discussing our future was somethingwe would do regularly.

We would discuss personal hopes, aims, dreams andaspirations, as well as where we thought we may live, and how our lives woulddiffer as we all got older.

Nothing was set in stone, but we had something of aspiritual rudder directing our collective ship toward shared ideals.

Then she died.

For a good while I could not think any further than my son’snext feed, or what activity we’d get up to tomorrow. And I gave very little thought to my own future.

I can remember being in a grief counselling session(provided by the rather brilliant Cruse Bereavement Care)where we discussed this, as well as the acceptance of my new reality.

There was no reluctance from me to accept that the life Ionce had, had gone, and was not coming back. Agreement was firm and swift on this.

It was also established that trying to replicate, or repair,my life as it was would ultimately lead to further heartache.

Finding someone to simply fit the ‘slot’ and ‘play the role’that my wife, Samantha, did was clearly a path better left untrodden.

This would have demeaned everyone, and I believe – as Istill do – that I totally got and felt this way, but understand why griefcounsellors feel it necessary to spend time discussing this subject – perhaps anatural reaction for some.

Anyway the future I had in my head had gone, couple this tothe numbness of grief making prolonged focus difficult, thinking about a new futurewas painful, distressing, and thus something I simply would not do.

Luckily for me – in an infinite number of ways – I hadMax. His routine and activitieskept me busy, and as time went on I did start looking further ahead than hisnext feed.

Planning became a day ahead, then a week ahead, then lookingat holidays. I even startedthinking about what I would like to do professionally alongside being afull-time parent.

It was a balance I believed I was getting right (and stilldo) I knew I was avoiding personal development, but as I don’t believe I wasusing my child as a shield or becoming overly dependant on him, I didn’t see itas problem. Seeing it more as atemporary necessity during a very critical time in my child’s upbringing.

Then at the start of 2011 I decided that I needed to takemore time for myself.

Whilst I wasn’t about to neglect my child, it was time I wasbrave enough to put myself first more often. Teaching my child more realities of the world not revolvingaround any one person.

So I started saying yes to more things.

Amongst them:

I found myself a local baby sitter, so I didn’t have to relyon family and friends.

I found a new hockey club, started training and playingagain.

I joined a judging panel for the Football League (somethingI’m doing again this year).

I discussed, explored and opened my mind to some new anddifferent media opportunities.

I joined my best friend at his village cricket club and alsomade a successful return to that sport.

I volunteered for The Food Chain at the Latitude music festival. Working the bar andraising money for charity at the same time.

I trained for and completed the Great London Swim.

I went camping and learnt to surf.

I traded our (fairly) reliable family car in for a LandRover defender and MK1 VW Caddy pick-up truck, both in need of some TLC.

I started dating.

Yeah, there will probably be more on that one soon.

But 2011 was definitely my year. 365 when I put myself first more often.

So what am I aiming for in 2012?

Starting it with a smidgen of re-assessment, a miniself-appraisal of my performance as a parent. But I don’t envisage giving myself anything stronger than a‘spend a little more time doing such and such’.

I’m confident in my parenting.

No, the big aim for 2012 is to start earning money moreseriously again.

I’m far from desolate. But would much rather be a position where I am accruing rather than –occasionally – spending my savings.

Time to address doing what I enjoy versus that whichactually pays handsomely.

Wish me luck.

Mario Kart 7 3DS competition

2011-12-15T13:09:00.004Z

Want to win a copy of Mario Kart 7 for the brand spanking new Nintendo 3DS?

I have 5 copies (yes, 1,2,3,4,5) up for grabs.

The game looks cool.

Simply Tap would like to offer all the readers of ‘Single Parent Dad,’ the chance to win a copy of the brand new Mario Kart 7-3Ds. All you have to do is tell us: If you could Simply Tap any of the Mario Kart characters, which would it be and why?

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If you could Simply Tap any of the Mario Kart characters, which would it be and why?

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Make sure when leaving a comment - and entry - that you use a valid email address so you can be contacted if you are chosen as a winner.

Winners will be chosen at random, and the competition is only open to residents of the UK.

Entries for this competition will close at midnight of Friday January the 6th 2012.

Good luck.

Would your child choose friendship over possessions?

2011-12-13T11:18:00.003Z

This time last year I gave my son a dilemma.

His sixth birthday was coming up, and I gave him the choice of choosing between a party for his school friends, or an extended budget for his birthday presents.

He chose more presents.

This decision left me both pleased and, every parent’s favourite-sombre-tool-of-child-chastisement, disappointed.

There was delight that I didn’t have to arrange a party, and sadness at the prospect of raising a beast more interested in prize than relationships.

Still, I’d chosen to give him, err, the choice, and he’d made his bed. Well, he hadn’t, he never does, blimey not only am I raising a materialist I’m raising an unkempt one.

I duly stuck to my word - and end of the bargain - and his present budget was increased. Effectively it meant he got a Nintendo Wii rather than a two-hour get-together with his school chums.

Which hasn’t all been bad, as the Nintendo is something he doesn’t enjoy playing with on his own, Wii gaming is always a very social experience in our home.

And I wasn’t a total scrooge we did have a family and friends bash/get-together/party-type-thing. He got a cake and everything.

This year I offered him the same choice.

And this time he has chosen to party-on with his classmates. Shame none of them are called Wayne or Garth.

I don’t know if this means he has learnt a greater value of friendship, or if there isn’t anything else he fancies from the Argos catalogue.

Fingers crossed for the former.

Guess one thing this does inadvertently teach – told you I was good at that type of teaching - is that things have a value, a price, a cost, and that there is pretty much always a choice, or a sacrifice – however frivolous – to make each time we NEED or WANT something.

Not sure I’m right to be introducing my seven year-old to financial realities rather than protecting him with a world of wonder and without restriction.

However instead of getting all confused over that, and grumpy about having to remember all his school friends’ names, send invites out, chase replies, book the party venue, advise all the food choices and special requirements, arrange a cake, party bags et al. I chose to focus on creating a spreadsheet to organise it all.

It’s a beautiful little thing.

Is that a silver lining?

Or would that lining be better made from the fabric of friendship?

Magical Christmas at Thomas Land

2011-12-08T10:15:00.004Z

We were back at Drayton Manor theme park this past weekend.

Enjoying Drayton’s Magical Christmas that takes over Thomas Land, as well as other areas of the park and zoo.

Even the Meerkats.

This isn’t the first time we’ve been to this annual event, I remember taking Max to Thomas Land when he was a toddler, and that’s who this event is really pitched at and for.

At very nearly seven years-old my son is now over his Thomas the Tank Engine obsession. Not that it stopped him enjoying a good few of the rides at Thomas Land again. The Troublesome Trucks, Cranky Crane and Jeremy the Jet.

And because the first two of those rides are a bit higher octane, and that younger families are more interested in actually catching a nice ride with Thomas.

Why wouldn’t they be?

Then it means that the queues for these rides are much shorter than usual, virtually a get-off-get-back-on scenario.

It was the same for the Ben 10 rollercoaster – the only one of it’s kind – a ride we both really enjoy, and think we rode it four times this past Sunday with a collective queuing time of about 20 minutes.

So it means families with toddlers and older ones can all enjoy the park.

My son even got a Ben 10 cup from Santa Claus (all under 9s receive a free gift).

That’s after he’d got past a surprisingly chirpy Mr Frost.

The 4D Cinema was also in operation, and although I enjoyed it, one minor gripe I’d have was that it wasn’t showing a Christmas themed film. *Entering parenting nostalgia mode* I have fond memories of watching a short animated Christmas film where it even snowed on our last visit at Christmas time *Exiting parenting nostalgia mode*.

And while I’m griping, I’d say I preferred it when they used to have a Christmas show, which you booked a time for, and all children received their free gift at its climax. Rather than simply queuing up to see Santa and his Reindeer in his grotto.

However the young children seemed to enjoy the snowy cavern and grotto, and perhaps the show passed them by previously.

Prices seem reasonable, especially if you consider against what it may cost to go on each ride individually, enter a zoo and throw in a free present. And if you book tickets for Drayton Manor online you get a more than healthy discount.

Oooh, and my one final tip is...

Try NOT to avoid the snow!

I'd never make a good teacher

2011-12-06T12:26:00.004Z

When my wife died I immediately ceased full-time employment to look after our then seven month-old-son.

It was a complete no-brainer. I'm good at those.

I wanted to provide the level of parental contact my son would have got if things had continued along our planned path rather than off on a tragic meander.

And while he was my only priority, and is still my number one priority, thoughts of what I may do for employment couldn’t be, and weren’t, ignored.

I had lots of folks suggest teaching.

“It matches well with being a parent.”

Term-time checkbox ticked.

“You are great with children.”

Yes, but does that mean I can teach them?

“There’s a great pension…”

I think we’ll leave that one there.

It’s true that I am comfortable with kids, and that – in general – I engage well with them, and put smiles on their faces. But teach? Nah, I’m no teacher.

Too easily distracted, forgetting the exact purpose for doing something. My lesson planning, and execution of such would be scarily bad.

There’s a lot of inadvertent teaching I do, especially with my own child, but actually being paid to be responsible for a child’s formal education? I don’t think so.

I don’t even know my phonics.

However my son’s school asked if I’d go in and try to get some of their reluctant readers more engaged with their literacy learning.

As someone who didn’t enjoy English at school (yeah, I know, obvious from my krass (sic) writing skillz) but now gets paid to put finger-to-keyboard, that I would be able to emphasise, and thus the children with me. Hopefully.

So a few posts ago I asked for your help, as I’d been asked to go back into the classroom.

I got some fabulous advice, and today I had to put it all into action.

Scary stuff.

My session actually went really well.

I tried to explain what sort of writing jobs I do – not really interested.

I showed them some examples of my writing – mild interest.

I showed them this video of Max and I enjoying Disney’s Enchanted Christmas at Disneyland Paris.

Respectable amount of interest (to subside my massive cringes, gosh I have such a way with words).

Then I got them to review toys that I’ve previously been sent to consider.

Really interested.

I suppose in general – and overall - I demonstrated that reading and writing isn’t boring. It’s what you are reading and writing about that adds any intrigue.

Read what you enjoy, write what you enjoy, but don't ignore the hard work that will allow either of those things to happen.

It really was good fun, there were things that worked, things that didn’t, things that could have been pitched better, but I definitely got the feeling of it being a useful exercise for some of the children.

That all typed, it isn't something I will be repeating any time soon.

Teachers, you have my respect. I just wish you’d give up with the moaning about your jobs.

Is that me moaning about moaning BTW?

Impressive.

Does your child follow the rules?

2011-12-01T10:31:00.003Z

I heart Lego.

My son hearts Lego.

The whole world* hearts Lego.

But we don’t always do what it tells us to.

One of genius facets of these building bricks is that the instructions they come with are universally understandable. Wherever you are from, if you have reasonable eyesight – a good eye for spot the difference helps – you can follow Lego building instructions.

But do you always want to?

In the summer we spent several days, and short building sessions, putting together the Lego City Police Station. That was great fun, but my son (and I) had to avoid a marathon building session, as we are forever distractible, just wanting to get on and play.

He only really ‘needs’ the figures to stimulate Lego based role play.

Perhaps this is an age thing, with him only nearing seven years old. But it isn’t much different for me in my thirties if I’m being honest.

Recently, we were sent the awesome Queen Anne’s Revenge Lego set.

My son having returned from Disney’s Enchanted Christmas at Disneyland Paris a renewed Capt Jack fan was thrilled.

Being a bit of a Pirates of the Caribbean novice myself I needed to watch the fourth epic instalment, On Stranger Tides, to grasp what had happened to the Black Pearl.

We both enjoyed the film, and then had even more to go on building this 1000 piece plus set.

Then, we got distracted.

The boy found the figures first, and started playing with them.

I joined in, and we both concluded that we needed a boat, but also accepted that neither of us was going to have the patience – at this point – to build the magnificent Queen Anne’s Revenge.

So, instead we had this mash-up.

It’s actually part Luke Skywalker Landspeeder (a semi-dismantled birthday present of my own) and all sorts of other Lego combined.

Not sure if I should be chuffed that we had fun with something we had created ourselves, rather than following instructions, or if I should be concerned by my child’s – and my own – inability to focus for longer periods of time.

What are your kids like?

Do they follow the rules?

Does Lego get built as intended and HAVE to stay that way, or are you more akin to the Newbold Lego building protocol?

*We live in our own little one.

Cleaning up my act

2011-11-29T12:43:00.003Z

No, not a post about my love of inappropriate language.

Do you really need to hear more about our swear box?

No, this post is actually about cleaning.

I know, this could possibly rival the mundaness of my words on sock wearing protocol.

And I haven’t even started it yet.

That applies to my cleaning too.

Don’t get me wrong my house is not a pigsty, as it’s only three years or so old it doesn’t really need a proper clean yet. Like Vic and Bob dispute, do bed sheets need cleaning once every three or five years?

I would say my house had been intermittently clean. I’m a blitzer.

A whirlwind cleaner than occasionally bounces round the walls of my home to the sound of loud and generally energetic music.

The problem with this technique is then my house slowly – sometimes quickly -deteriorates back to the point at which I can no longer put up with its mess.

I’ve decided I need to keep on top of it, and that my son needs to buy into this practice too.

Taking some responsibility for his general house littering and actually seeing that things don’t magically get shiny.

While I was researching the optimum time for a daytime nap I rediscovered that 2pm, and 60 minutes afterwards, is the most unproductive hour of the day for us homo sapiens.

Thus I’m going to try and regularly deploy this time to something requiring little thinking, cleaning my gaff.

Further motivation will be provided by putting areas of my house into a schedule – unsurprisingly I’m thinking speadsheet – and if I manage to get ahead of myself, I will then reallocate this time to much more enjoyable activities such as, errrrm, napping.

The boy has also been getting over his faux-phobia of vacuum cleaners.

I think it’s important to set a precedent here. That while cleaning won’t hinder the enjoyment of our home there’s a benefit to appreciating tidiness.

Leading by example perhaps he won't see cleaning as the ball ache I see.

Blimey, borinhell, I'm putting this post to bed there. Well, it is nap time.

Can a man be an efficient Christmas present buyer?

2011-11-25T10:29:00.003Z

“What are you getting Max for Christmas?”

I’ve been asked this a few times, at the times I’ve been unable to avoid the parents’ playground chatter.

“Not a lot.” Is my usual not at all Paul Daniels esq reply.

But obviously my not-a-lot, and the next not-a-lot will vary enormously, or not, not-a-lot anyway.

My son’s birthday is only a few days before Jesus’s, so I have that as an added complication/expense.

So when the folks from Idealo.co.uk set me the challenge of getting all his Christmas presents for £75 I was delighted, thinking it was great to have a budget to work to and really be forced to think hard about what he would enjoy rather than being scatter gun with my gift purchases and my wallet.

I know that Littlewoods don’t think men make frugal shoppers, but I hope I’m proof that they are misguided.

Now before reading on you must promise me that these gifts remain a secret, and that you don’t tell the boy, promise?

This is what I’ve bought and why.

1: Connect 4 (£5.95 from Amazon)

My boy loves playing games. Last year one of his relatives bought him Guess Who and he loves it. We even had a family tournament recently. During this particular competition Max learnt what a ‘Bye’ was, and I reaffirmed that no one is going to let him win. Hollow wins only seed doubt and insecurities, in my not-so humble opinion. Anyway, I thought at seven he may be ready for Connect 4 logic, or at least be barely competitive versus the might of the Newbold collective, hence including this on the list.

2: Hexbug Nano Spiral Starter Kit (£17.50 from Amazon)

We got sent some Hexbugs last year, as we did again for Halloween. A really simple concept of vibrating plastic bugs that work their way around an environment you build for them. This set will add to what we already have. Mind, I had a sock full of these bad-boys stuck down my top this week as a tickling/torture device. I think this will be a hit.

3: I Can Read Books, Spiderman, Superman & Wonder Woman (£7.92 from Amazon)

Reading should be fun, especially for boys reluctant to learn themselves. Max is in this category but he also loves superheroes. He already has one book from this series that he likes, so rather than him getting bored with it I thought I would add to his collection, and thus my stealth learning-to-read tool library.

4: Lego SpongeBob Glove World (£17.99 from Play)

Is Lego the best toy ever? I’m struggling to think of a better one. We have a good few sets here, varying in size – and cost – Max flits between the different themes and brands that Lego now comes in. However I’ve learnt – as has he – that he much prefers small sets that include mini-figures. He always builds the sets, but they then get broken down, and he ends up just role-playing with the figures. He doesn’t have any SpongeBob toys, but has enjoyed the cartoons when he’s seen them. So this gives him the characters from that series so he can go and play with them, recreate stories and make new ones. Probably going to be a SpongeBob versus Captain Jack Sparrow blood bath here at some point on Christmas Day.

5: Luke Skywalker costume (£25.50 Fun Warehouse)

As my favourite film character it’s a disgrace that my son does not own this dressing-up costume already. He also has a small collection of lightsabers, including Luke’s signature green one. I’m selling that a bit short, it’s actually the Star Wars Ultimate FX Lightsaber, it lights up – a Star Wars nerd would say ‘ignites’ – and makes sounds. It is a wonderful piece of kit, and now he has a costume to go with it. I expect to be embroiled in some sort of Jedi duel, probably over roast potatoes come Jesus’s birthday.

So my grand total for this lot is £74.86, and I am very pleased – and a little smug - with all my purchases. I hope my son will be too.

Thanks to price comparison site Idealo and in your face Littlewoods.

I'll get my cape

2011-11-22T11:12:00.004Z

I’m considering a crusade.

Giving that it is only under consideration, and that the scope and aims of my attitude changing endeavours are not clearly defined, it may turn into more of a mire gripe and a single whimpering blog post.

Which you are reading.

Anyway, I can recall way back when I was busy looking after my pre-schooler, going to play groups, swimming sessions, health visits, zoos, cafes, getting new shoes and clothes and all the other jobs and activities active parents get embroiled in.

During such times I would occasionally meet resistance or problems. Not everywhere would cater for men providing primary child care, and some people clearly struggled with the actual reality of that happening.

Folks would sometimes make comments, probably intended as compliments, but would come across as condescending. You understand that, right?

I would get to hear such delights as:

‘You could teach some mums a thing or two’

‘It’s good to give mums a rest’

These things would most often make me smile, my amusement at people’s small-mindedness and thus inability to extend their own enjoyment of life would quell my irritation from their unintentionally barbed words.

And in their defence I’ve made the lazy assumption myself, and felt terrible for it.

However, over recent times comments like this, and generalisations we see – particularly in marketing – are getting increasingly on my nerves. I guess I can blame my mounting years to a certain extent, but do I have a right to be offended and is it something that needs changing?

The ASDA uniform advert is one that gets on my nerves.

It completely ignores anyone other than mums that get involved with purchasing school uniforms. No consideration for dads or grandparents. None for children whose mothers aren't buying their clothes basically.

Way to go against my crusade ambitions by spreading it further, but hopeful its inclusion helps make my point.

Not sure I even have one, as we accept that in the majority of cases it is mothers making the uniform choices for children, but still I was vexed the very first time I watched it.

However I am glad – as I am sure my son is - that it’s only mums that go to Iceland, as their food looks like varying forms of frozen cardboard.

They’ve dropped that line recently, but it was a well renowned tagline playing to the perception that only mothers go food shopping, or are capable of doing it in a savvy way, that’s if you consider buying inexpensive frozen sawdust as frugal grocery shopping.

Or am I being too politically correct?

Is it just marketing that is appealing to the vast majority of its intended audience?

Or should – in a country with an estimated 200,000+ single dads – we be using the terms such as ‘parent’ as the default?

What do you think ladies?*

(*Did you see what I did there? And with the PC thing?)

What the heck are Skylanders?

2011-11-18T12:34:00.003Z

I consider myself hip.

I’m also delusional.

It’s a killer combo.

This year I’ve volunteered at a music festival, learnt to surf and am all too aware that Cliff Richard is still the king of cool.

It’s fair to say I have my finger on the pulse.

But when I was asked if we’d like to receive and review a brand new children’s toy and video game called Skylanders I was a little stumped.

I referred instantly to my personal Wikipedia of children’s trends and latest ‘must haves’ - my six-year-old son - and he was without hesitation like:

“Well yeah, they are awesome, get with the programme, daaaaaaaad.”

Or words to similar effect.

It was the children’s toy AND video game that had me befuddled.

Surely children’s toys and video games are two separate things?

Not so with Skylanders.

‘The amazing new video game where toys come to life’

That’s the advert tag-line, and I couldn’t better it for a single sentence description.

Yes, the characters really do come to life.

Or within a video game anyway.

With the starter pack we were sent we got three characters, and each character is from a different family, or type, of Skylander. Much like star-signs there are earth, air, fire, water and magic characters.

Each different type has its specific benefits and are better used at different stages of this adventure and problem solving game.

It reminded me of the concept of the Lego adventure games, where you need to be a particular character in order to solve the problem in front of you.

But rather than pressing a button, here you put a physical character onto the powered portal, and they then appear within the game, and at your control.

It’s a very clever and engaging concept.

And it doesn’t end there.

Each character is equipped with a ‘brain’ - I’m guessing which is actually a memory chip - and their quests and achievements are recorded. Even more impressively your characters achievements are individually recorded on any console you use them on.

Thus you can take your characters to a friend’s house, and play with them their, and all that they do, levels they crack etc, isn’t lost when you get home.

Very, very clever.

Probably too clever to me.

My son has got into it, although at nearly seven I’m guessing he’s a little too young. Which hasn’t stopped him looking at what characters he ‘needs’ for Christmas.

And while I could be cynical at the clear and excellent merchandising and commercial concept behind it all, I’d rather point out the benefits of him having to really think about the characters he would like next.

It’s not a case of just picking the one that looks the best, it’s about him ensuring the team of Skylanders he assembles is balanced and covers all the different groups of character. Enabling him to successfully complete the quests put in front of him.

It all sounds very complex, and as an imbecile, I still don’t get it completely, but have found the parent’s guide to Skylanders very useful.

And am sure this children’s toy AND computer game will find it’s way down many a chimney this Christmas.

I doubt your kids would be disappointed.

Should dads attend the births of their children?

2011-11-15T12:37:00.004Z

The Royal College of Midwives is urging fathers to be more involved in maternity care.

But is it really us fathers that need to change?

In my experience birth partners are seen as an unnecessary inconvenience for maternity ward staff, I am sure many would prefer heavily pregnant women to arrive solo, partners dispensed with, much like in the golden age of yesteryear where everyone knew their place and even the thought of questioning a gender role would have been squashed before seeing the light of day.

Those folks need to move with the times.

For the birth of OUR son we arrived at hospital at around 3am.

I had arguments with the senior house officer (SHO) and the car park stewards both within a few minutes of arrival.

Instead of adopting my usual tactic of ignoring everyone this time I put my more combative self into action.

Now, you may argue that I was putting more stress on the birthing situation, but that simply wasn’t true. My intentions were the exact opposite, to take the stress of these necessary arguments away from my soon-to-give-birth wife.

The only stress I was adding was perhaps to myself, and to these employees who institutionally seemed reluctant to treat me as an equal. If they had just listened, read the birth plan notes, my forceful demeanour would not have been necessary, mind they probably wouldn’t have been enamoured with my aloof-self either.

After getting threw these battles I set about removing any stresses I could, making the birthing environment as calm as was possible.

I asked questions, I held my wife as she had an epidural, operated my little fan and spray on my wife’s temperature in tandem. And I encouraged light-hearted banter with the midwives.

I may also have offered a little grin/grimace/smile/wince when the contraction monitoring machine indicated one was on its little - or big - way.

Now I’m not claiming to be a hero, Max’s mom was the one going through the real pain, but I played my part, and if she could tell you, she would say that his birth would not have been the relative pleasant experience it was without my calm and controlled input.

Okay, on the inside I was in a proper panic, but none of that came out and I was delighted to make a meaningful contribution.

It something all dads should try to experience.

It saddens me when women insist their partners stay away from their births. Labelling men as useless that would make the experience worse for their attendance.

This really is very sad, and if you tell someone they are useless often enough they will eventually believe it, except me of course, I’m self-assured enough to know you are talking nonsense.

And why would you want to have a baby with a ‘useless’ dad? Men need to be empowered. Feel involved. Trust me, everyone benefits, especially the children.

I was gutted when I was sent home after my child’s birth.

“Visiting hours are over Mr Newbold.”

My sadness was not helped when I returned in the morning to discover there were things I could have helped with in the evening and to what inconvenience if I’d been slouched in a ward chair?

It pleases me to see that the latest recommendations of the RCM are to consider allowing men to stay overnight on maternity wards.

But my favourite maternity ward unwelcomeness moment was when we were gearing up to leave.

It was Christmas Eve, the ward of about ten or twelve beds had two families in them. Us and one other.

The tea trolley came round and my wife was offered a cup of tea. She didn’t want one.

I however did fancy a cuppa, but on grounds of ‘health and safety’ I was refused one. Yes, on Christmas Eve, on a near empty ward, I was refused a cup of tea.

Fortunately for me my wife had a change of heart, but by mistake ordered tea with sugar. She kindly gave it to me – much to the disdain of ward staff.

And to rub sodium into their metaphoric wounds, the same member of staff had to chase us out of the hospital to let us know we’d won the ward's Christmas raffle.

As we’d already hit the jackpot a day or so earlier, we really couldn’t care less, but it was a moment we both savoured.

Help. I'm going back into the classroom.

2011-11-10T12:13:00.002Z

I need help.

Some would say that was obvious, and that I needs lots of it, but on this rare occasion I can be more specific.

My son’s school is currently running with ‘literacy’ as its topic. All their current work and endeavours are linked by this common theme. And because of my expertise (yeah, stop laughing and clean the coffee from your keyboard) I have been asked if I would come into the school to address the children.

The purpose of my visit to school is specific, to see if I can get the reluctant readers – predominantly boys – to engage better with their literacy learning.

This is a subject I demonstrate an overt interested in. Over on the Tidy-Books blog I have written several times about helping reluctant readers.

While at high school I became reluctant to read. My strong belief is that this was due to pressure to simply improve from my English teacher.

Because I was naturally strong in maths and science I was also placed in the top set for English.

I was one of the weakest in this class.

This was made obvious to me, and English became a real chore and pain. It meant a young love of reading was eroded, almost killed.

It took many years, and my best friend to force me to read a novel, for my love of literature to return.

So, when the school asked if I could help with reluctant readers I was instantly keen to offer what help I can.

I know the premise of what I am going to talk of them will be.

Reading and writing – in isolation – is completely boring, it’s what you are reading or writing about that adds the interest.

I’m planning on attempting to motivate the children by showing examples of what you could be writing about, and what perks there are.

Getting into sporting events for free, gaining access to their favourite stars for interview, getting to test drive cars they like, getting trips to Disneyland, getting toys to review, getting VIP treatment at the cinema reviewing films and any number of things.

If you are interested in something, anything, you can read and write about it.

Reassuring children that not everyone finds literature easy, and that sometimes there will be hard work to get access to those opportunities and perks,

They also need to know it isn’t always the child with the highest scores that makes the best writer.

Computer programmes don’t make spelling mistakes, but just how much imagination do they have?

However, what I need help with is how to engage with the children and how I may structure my address.

Last year I was invited to speak to the whole school about joining a charity walk along Hadrian’s Wall.

I bombed.

The kids just sat there, motionless, emotionless, then I got a few questions at the end.

I know this is partly what kids do, I’ve watched that awful children’s programme Friday Download, and even in that ‘jubilant’ studio audience atmosphere is pin-dropping cringe worthy at times.

So, how do I take on this daunting challenge?

Do I start with a joke?

I’m guessing not.

I shall be in the classroom this time. One with eight to nine year-olds, and another with six to seven year-olds.

What will work?

And - more importantly - what won't?

Forget Lapland, get to Disneyland's Enchanted Christmas

2011-11-08T10:55:00.004Z

I’d never been to Disneyland, my son has – with grandparents – but not I.

It isn’t something I feel like I’d missed out on as a child. My parents were far from skint so we could have gone, but just didn’t. I think we were a happy family of Disney sceptics.

We would question if it is really a ‘magical’ place, or is it a land of the repressed failed actor in dodgy costumes charging a fortune for the air you breath?

Well.

It’s actually both.

But the latter thought is now miniscule and only still exists because the grumpy frugal cynic in me will never completely be suppressed. Though Disney ran him properly into a corner, and poked him with the most sparkly and pretty stick you’ve ever seen. He was also mauled by puppies.

If you didn’t follow my bragging on Twitter we spent last weekend, my son and I, at Disneyland Paris enjoying their hospitality and a first look at their Enchanted Christmas experience.

On one level I’m really uncomfortable saying it was magical, but I’m struggling to find a better word to accurately describe it.

CLICHÉ ALERT

Only a parent would understand (did I really just type that?) the experience and almost overwhelming sense of warmth and bliss you feel when your child is clearly having so much fun, and is in awe of their surroundings.

This was the first overseas trip we’d done just as a pair – we’ve always travelled with family or friends before - and I am delighted that this jaunt didn’t include a flight.

Flying annoys me. I used to do it a lot for work and ‘pleasure’, but being a 6” 2’ lummox, one that can’t stand unnecessary waiting it is never to be a process I am going to enjoy.

The excellent Eurostar service - direct to Disneyland Paris - negated the need to be stuck in an airport for longer than the physical flight to Paris takes, thus making it quicker, as well as convenient, to travel by train.

Even when you factor in a regional train to London it is still quicker, and without the stress of an airport and transfer too.

Plus you get to carry as much luggage as you want, don’t need to wait for it, and as for comfort? Well, does this demonstrate the humungous difference to plane travel?

The Disneyland station, or Marne-la-Vallee, was so close to the resort it almost makes the coaches to the hotels frivolous. It actually lands you right between the Disney Village and the parks themselves.

I think you get the fact that I liked the Eurostar. Oooh, but did I mention you can walk from London Euston to St Pancras international in less than 10 minutes, probably a shorter distance than you would have to make in a queue to your plane's air-walk-thingy.

Plus it provided some of the weekend's finest moments.

Max asked if we’d see fishes, he then harassed the lovely Disney PR people, and learnt how to play the Happy Families card game on the way home.

Yeah.

J’aime Eurostar.

As for Disneyland, that place is awesome, errr, m-a-g-i-c-a-l even.

Not at all as I expected, considering it’s full of excited children and harangued parents, it was surprisingly pleasant and with a relaxed vibe.

I didn’t experience any bad service, but this could be to do with the staff being too busy laughing at my French a la Brummie accent. Think midlands version of Del Boy.

There really is something for everyone, and by being there for a couple of days you can take the normal intensity of a theme park visit away. We spent an hour one afternoon with our feet up – until we were told off – watching Disney cartoons on a big-screen.

This was sandwiched by me ~~annihilating~~ beating my boy on the Buzz Lightyear Laser Blast attraction twice.

Hassle is also removed by having the free-to-all fast pass system for the mega rides. Cut our wait for Big Thunder Mountain to under five minutes. Yeah, I’m that sad I timed it.

The prices weren’t ridiculous, but you couldn’t say they were reasonable either, but it is difficult to put a price on the experience you get rather than the physical yield from your Euros, schilling and cents.

IT EVEN SNOWS

If you are a family in the market for a Christmas short-break this has to be infinitely better than going to see Santa at Lapland.

I have close family that did that last year, they were disappointed with the amount of money they’d spent and the lack of options once in ‘Lapland’. I wish I'd been able to recommend this brilliant alternative.

Disneyland’s Enchanted Christmas would not disappoint, you have all the magic (really need a better word) of Christmas, Santa even looks like the one from the Coca-Cola adverts, proper picture perfect, plus you have the wonderful setting and a host of unique things to do, this is on top of all the year-round attractions. It even snows.

Check us out with Santa.

We even carried a Flip movie camera around with us, and once heavily edited this footage may see the light of day too.

And if you want the logistical details of making the trip to Disneyland Paris Enchanted Christmas here they are:

For information about a family break to Disneyland Paris, call direct on 08448 008 111 or visit www.disneylandparis.com

During Disney’s Enchanted Christmas prices for a two-night three-day package including return travel with Eurostar in December 2011 start from £1087.20 for a family of two adults and two children (aged 3-6yrs). The price includes return travel with Eurostar, two nights’ accommodation with continental breakfast at Disney’s Hotel New York and three day hopper tickets for the Disneyland Park and Walt Disney Studios Park and is based on two adults sharing.

The same package staying at Disney’s Hotel Santa Fe starts from £878.40 for a family of two adults and two children (aged 3-6yrs).

What's your favourite?

2011-11-01T10:44:00.003Z

This is a question we ask each other a lot.

On the walk to school in a morning.

On the way home.

In the car.

Over dinner.

While we are watching a film.

At Drayton Manor watching Fireworks.

Basically anywhere my son is awake.

There are recurring themes and subjects, I would guestimate that ‘What’s your favourite superhero?’ to have been the most posed question in this never ending game.

And you aren’t allowed to have the same answer as last time, and if you do be prepared to answer Gestapo esq questioning, sometimes including – via epically powered headtorch – their techniques of making you speak.

I actually enjoy the challenge of ever-changing ‘favourites’ as I am not really someone who would easily, or even be comfortable, listing my favourite things.

If I’m ever asked things like: ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ I zone into a state of deep-thought crossed with moderate panic and a smidge of distraction.

It looks a bit like this:

At the end of our half-term holidays we had a debrief over a late Sunday roast dinner.

We had to choose favourites in various categories, best activity, favourite place visited and funniest moment.

And in a twist to this game, we had to guess each other’s faves.

All categories were difficult, and the fact that there was only one correct match in all our guesses was fine evidence of an excellent fun-packed week.

However I’d like to recap some of the funniest moment category deliberations.

Child: The funniest bit for me was when you (me) bashed your head on a lightshade at Pizza Hut.

Me: I didn’t even remember that.

Child: Well you wouldn’t. It was a big bash to your head.

I had to change my funniest moment.

And my trousers.

The perfect family car

2011-10-18T10:40:00.003+01:00

What is the perfect family car?

Is it the excellent Skoda Yeti?

How about the Citroen C3 Picasso?

Was it the old diesel MPV I used to drive?

All those cars have their relative merits, but this summer I decided to take a different tact.

There’s a whole mass of information and reasons for buying cars. Like practicality, drive, usability, running costs, insurance, performance, appeal and space.

And I suppose it also depends on a family’s circumstance and number.

As a gruesome twosome, I decided to look at a new formula that matched our needs, but also our personalities.

The diesel MPV never really suited us other than practically.

So, I give you our new mode(s) of transport.

Yes, I’ve doubled our vehicle library with those bad-boys.

One of them is ‘badder’ than the other. Yes, the MK1 VW Caddy (on the trailer) needs more than just the tender loving care that the Land Rover needs.

Buts that’s where another collection of bad-boys come in.

My dad is brilliant with cars, he has even built them from scratch. What he is not so good at is remaining calm when problems occur and remembering where he put everything.

Which is where Newbold Jnr and Jnr, Jnr step in.

I basically hand him things - though my practical skill is improving - and Max’s involvement brings greater calm and perspective to the whole process.

Check out our superb little grease monkey.

It’s been great fun working together, and not completely frivolous.

As these cars have basically become classics, they have now escaped the dreaded hidden cost of depreciation, and could actually end up being worth more money in the future.

We also have the added security of knowing that we can combat any repeat of last year’s atrocious weather. That Land Rover 90 would have very little problems on any given terrain.

So if we are defining the perfect family car by one that brings a family together, then we may have come up trumps, Top Trumps even.

Grieving chocolate

2011-10-11T12:18:00.003+01:00

This week includes my late wife’s birthday.

She would have turned 37-years-old.

I have written before about how I don’t see particular dates, anniversaries and whatnot, as any different to a day that doesn’t correspond to significant events in my personal history.

I even forgot our wedding anniversary this year.

But that’s just me, and I appreciate that it isn’t the same for everyone managing grief, plus I have a responsibility to handle these dates, errrr, responsibly for my son.

Having lost his mother at just seven-months-old rather than being hit massively with it immediately, his grief and loss have actually grown with time, his age and understanding.

As a baby I don’t really think he had any idea what was going on, and in his early years his understanding wasn’t really apparent.

I am blessed with a brilliant listener, someone I find it very easy – albeit painful – to be open and honest with.

Max knows his mum died and isn’t coming back.

He knows she loved him.

He knows he loves her.

He knows she gave him the best possible start in life.

He knows she will always inspire him.

He knows she will always be part of him.

He also knows she loved chocolate.

As he is approaching seven-years-old he is making more of the decisions of how he would like to remember his mum. I like to assist and guide him, but generally what he comes up with is very sweet and definitely appropriate.

This year he thought he would commemorate her birthday by buying his mum her favourite flowers and chocolate. He spoke about taking them to her grave, but I pointed out that there was little more than symbolic significance to that action. Plus his mother would have been distinctly uncomfortable at the thought of chocolate being ‘wasted’.

Thus his slightly altered plan is now to get those things, but to have them at our house, and he will personally take care of the chocolate.

“It’s what mommy would have wanted.”

I’m not sure if moments like this help him, or ever will, but his very thoughtful approach to his missing mother is a tragically beautiful thing to be involved in.

He may not be four foot tall yet but the boy is an absolute colossus to me.

Bloody swear jar

2011-10-04T17:51:00.001+01:00

Okay, we don’t actually have a jar. But in theory I am being fined 20 pence every time I use a swear word within earshot of my son.

He even does a little dance, often singing the words ‘oh yeah, oh yeah’ whilst doing so.

It’s annoyingly brilliant.

No idea where he gets that character trait from.

See, I like swearing. Believing intelligently used expletives can add humour and gravitas to words and their emphasis.

Not a fan of swearing for the sake of swearing, or to mask a poor vocabularly (sic), and I don’t think bad language and children are a great combination.

But cursing has its place.

But not in our house, apparently.

I love approaching things with honesty, and while I do try to limit swearing when in parenting mode the odd ‘bugger’ or ‘bloody’ will slip out.

We have discussed swearing together, my son and I, and as always I use an honest approach. He knows a lot of ‘naughty’ words, but also that there are consequences for using them, and that many people are uncomfortable with them, and that they are unsuitable for many, many situations.

Fines for swearing is a fairly recent development, and has acted as a mechanism for other things other than cleaner homely dialogue.

It’s been a good lesson in counting. With the fixed penalty set at 20p, I often end a pretend rant at my boy with ‘and just how much has that cost me?’ And he only gets the money if he gets the amount right, so if I swear quickly enough I can end up getting away with it.

This relaxed approach is one I hope that will lead to my child having a great understanding of language, and growing up aware of ‘nasty’ words, but together with a knowledge of when and where they are – if ever – appropriate.

Based on questions he’s asked me after school sometimes, it would be incredibly naive of me – or any parent – to expect children to never come into contact with swearing, and I strongly believe that embracing offensive language will lead to a better and refrained use of it later.

What do you lot bloody think?

And is bloody, even a bloody swear word?

Have your children cost you any friends?

2011-09-27T14:38:00.002+01:00

I set myself very high standards.

Always have.

And when things matter, like parenting, then the importance of reaching those principles is heightened.

This doesn’t mean I expect those around me to reach or even have the same ideals - they’d only disappoint you unwittingly anyway - but I do like to share a lot of common ground with parents that I consider friends.

I am very lucky that my best friend, and many of my close ones, ones that have started families around the same time, have similar parenting ethics and protocols to me.

With consistency, kids’ bedtimes, discipline, freedom, reward and reprimand.

Guess that’s why we are good friends.

But, there are others.

I’m not saying I’m always right – do I really need to? – but there are practices I just don’t agree with, and it means that I become uncomfortable around others that are.

Whilst being first-class at confrontation, I don’t particularly enjoy it, or always have the energy for it, so instead of taking someone to task on something I don’t necessarily agree with, I can simply disengage.

I know that some folks are just not worth reasoning with.

(I’m probably one of them).

I don’t suppose we can predict how our friends might choose to handle parenthood however close we are beforehand, and indeed it’s the same for couples that develop huge differences of parenting opinion, and thus their relationships can suffer too.

Life would be dull if we all agreed on everything, and little fractions can actually add heat and spice to relationships, but when does that become too much?

Guess I actually haven’t fallen out with anyone because of a difference in parenting style, but I have avoided becoming too friendly with people that I suspect that may happen with given time.

How about you?

Replicating your childhood for your children

2011-09-20T10:11:00.003+01:00

When I was a child (don’t panic, I’m not about to get all nostalgic and go Joanna Lumley on you) I used to spend large parts of the school summer holidays on the coast.

My folks had a big static caravan that we would disappear to for adventures, sometimes lasting for weeks on end.

I really enjoyed being there, or certainly remember it that way.

And as well as those vague memories, I also have some more specific ones.

Generally we were outside in good weather, playing in the sea, cricket against the shed or bursting hardened cowpats with large stones.

When the weather turned to rain, we’d then huddle inside of one of the vans, drawing, playing games or – as I remember vividly – playing with my ‘caravan toys’.

There was never an exhaustive stock of options, guess that was down to space and the fact that generally toys weren’t needed all that often.

One of my favourites was a Lego garage set. Because, certainly in those days, Lego sets were much more about what other things you could create out of the bits you had.

Meaning that you'd be building a different thing every time you got it out.

My parents still have this set, it has outlived at least three different caravans that I can remember.

So, when I was offered, or we were offered, a Lego City Police Station this summer, I thought it would be nice to take this with us for my son to play with at his grandparents’ caravan.

Due to fine weather it stayed in its box for a long time. And because it is designed to be built in stages, it was a brilliant activity when the showers brought the children back inside.

It was built over a few days, and at one stage of the summer I counted six children, all boys between four and nine, playing with it together, or all role-playing around it.

The thing was a hit.

A big one.

Lego always is with us.

And this set now lives on the coast too.

I wonder if my grandchildren will be playing with both sets in the years to come.

What can socks teach children?

2011-09-15T13:12:00.001+01:00

Well, if you put them on your hands and use them as primitive puppets, then probably a great deal.

But they also have other uses.

Last year I bought my son a set of ‘day-of-the-week’ socks for use at school. I was absolutely chuffed with the fact that during the whole of the school term not once did his feet coverings not match the particular day of the week.

I'm clearly a domestic colossus.

As long as we don’t get passed socks. School socks at that.

Back to my child.

My school sock protocol helped him learn the days of the week, as well as serving as a subtle introduction to lean management principles.

And this school year I’ve taken it even further – but still sticking to experimental sock rotation – and rather unwittingly.

I was actually looking for a new set of the same socks from last year (I’m so kind like that) and when I couldn’t I had to come up with alternatives.

Not wishing to abandon my socks for particular days principle, I went for a colour-coded set.

My initial idea was to allocate a colour to each day of the week.

And it’s at this point I should probably say if you’re still reading this sock based adventure that you probably need to get out more.

Anyway, I soon abandoned this idea, as an even better one popped into the void between my ears.

And, check this out.

My son is now wearing his socks alphabetically.

How uncool is that?

He totally bought into the process, spelling out the colours and putting them in order. And now I can quiz him on what socks he wore yesterday, and thus which set he needs to find for today.

And as an added benefit wear and tear is equalised, rather than those pesky Bank Holidays and training days meaning that Monday’s socks look less thread bare than their cousins.

I should probably extend this principle to his underpants.

And book him an appointment with a child psychologist.

Timmy Mallet has nothing on me.

Back to school panic

2011-09-06T12:01:00.002+01:00

I don’t do panic.

Even when my wife lay struggling for life panic was not a state of emotion I moved into.

I don’t like it.

It leads to rash and incorrect decisions.

I really don’t see the benefit of panic.

Then again – as well as irritating - it does amuse me when parents panic over things. Tiny things. Things that really don’t matter.

Like school uniform.

I knew I needed to supplement my child’s school wardrobe before he returns there this week. But it was never near the top of my priorities, as I knew we’d survive if I didn’t, that the uniform shop would be like a cold war Russian not-so supermarket bakery aisle, and that it's a mundane interruption to our summer fun.

Plus, I am spawny. To such an extent I rock up to the uniform shop yesterday, block the masses in with my car, wander over to our school’s particular section, a part of the shop that looked like it had been very recently ram-raided, but yet I find exactly the number of items and in the right size that I wanted.

Some of the parents were properly vexed. Shouting at under pressure staff that had inevitably got orders wrong, or supplied faulty uniform.

My smug smirking probably didn’t help. I'm not sure it ever does.

Well not them anyway.

Then earlier today we were treated by the kind folks at Clarks to some new school shoes.

Instead of their reliable – but sometimes lengthy – take-a-number-and-wait-your-turn service, a timed appointment was booked with a fitting expert.

And they are experts, because however many times I’ve been shown to measure where my child’s toes are in his shoes, and how much room he has left in them, I can’t.

Okay, maybe I’m an idiot and they are simply proficient at shoe fitting, but I’m sticking with ‘they iz experts’.

This service is something they have trialled this summer after trying to come up with ways of improving customer experience, and thus reducing the stress levels of parents buying shoes for a new school term.

The manager I spoke with, as well as being a nice and well-informed individual, said he expects the success of the pilot scheme to lead to it being rolled out further across all the Clarks stores eventually. Look out for it, and save yourselves some time. Time better spent mucking about with your kids.

I know Clarks paid for my boy’s school shoes (as they’ve done in the past too), but I’d recommend them, and their genuine service, over anyone else anyway. Perhaps there are independent shoe retailers that provide equally good service and range, but I haven’t found anyone else to rival them in the mainstream.

Plus they look like they shall be doing their bit to reducing back to school panic in the future.

Children, Disney and self-loathing

2011-08-29T11:30:00.004+01:00

My son has a problem.

Well, he has a big one as I’m his sole parent, but it’s another issue I’m going to type about.

He can be very self-depreciative. Claiming to be rubbish at things, giving up on them, and yesterday he even used the cliché: “I’ve let the side down.”

I’ve decided to fix this.

You might not think it, but it’s an issue I dealt with too through childhood, and if I’m being honest (and using clichés) it’s only a problem that I’ve learnt to deal with effectively very recently.

So it took me over 30 years to put a control on my self-loathing, I’m hoping to help my boy get a grasp on his much sooner.

Observers may say it’s ridiculous for him to feel this way, after all he is clearly ace, and any feelings of inferiority are daft.

But if you feel that way, you feel that way.

Words and encouragement are great, and I am sure they help, constant reminders that he is awesome, and awesome is what he makes it, do their bit, but it seems with a six-year-old practical examples may be more useful.

That’s why I’m delighted that Disney inadvertently gave me one recently (probably not inadvertently).

I’m not going to ruin it for you, but in Cars 2 that character taking centre stage, Mater, is a person with similar issues.

Writing himself off, claiming to be stupid, incapable. That sort of shit.

However, this turns out to be complete nonsense, and he discovers that fact, so despite constantly being told how awesome he is, he finally also realises it for himself.

Now, on a a recent car journey Max – my son – asked me who was my favourite character from the film, and then – more crucially – we pondered (together I add) who we were most like.

(Let me know you’re favourite Cars character for a chance to win a Cars 2 PS3 video game.)

I said my favourite character was Mater, but that I am most like Lightening McQueen, or ‘Stickers’ as he’s affectionately nicknamed. And I decided I was most like Stickers because I can be flash, competitive, but as my late wife used to say, underneath it all, I make the right decisions and am loyal to my friends.

Then we got onto Max, and we concluded he was most like Mater, and not ~~just~~ because he’s a comparable rust bucket that cares little for appearance, but mostly because he is brilliant without really realising it, or believing it.

And as look would have it, McQueen and Mater are best mates too.

So we had a lot of enjoyable comparisons to make, and I now have my ‘go to’ nickname for my boy when he’s doubting himself a little.

My little Mate(r).

London, what a riot

2011-08-16T11:23:00.006+01:00

I am a man of bright ideas.

My brightest last week was to head to London for a few days.

With the recent disturbances this surprised a few folks, and my well-thought-through decision to go was only made at the last possible moment.

I’m not a big fan of the methodology deployed in news coverage, and found the 24 news channels making me ill last week. Sick at the deplorable actions of some, but also nauseous because they were all seemingly reporting that they did not know what was going on. It was like: here-is-the-news-although-we-are-not-entirely-sure-what-it-is. Twenty four. Seven.

My son, Max, had even been confused by the glimpses he’d caught.

“Is, that like real Dad?”

However by actually talking to a few people I surmised that travelling in the daytime to London would be safe, and we were unlikely to go to areas previously targeted by criminals.

And here’s the mild irony, at one point we were sat a stone’s throw from the completely glass clad City Hall (watching an excellent – and free – performance at The Scoop) a building that didn’t appear to have a scratch on it, despite it’s obvious anarchic activity targeting potential.

We had a great time visiting Camden, Covent Garden and were also guests to the Big Screen event organised by Empire Magazine at the O2 Arena.

Our invite came about as we are massive Star Wars fans, and the fact that this epic series of films is to soon to released on Blu-ray would be of interest to us, and you, I guess.

Anyway, in summary we had a fantastic time in London, and our capital city is still a great place to visit.

We even have pictorial evidence.

The excellent (and free) 80 Days Around the World at The Scoop.

Lego necklaces at Camden

Camden Lock

Max 'high-fiving' a Stormtrooper (completely off the cool scale). More Stormtrooper pics on Facebook.

Anthony Daniels (C-3PO actor) and a couple of movie experts explain what fans can expect to spot when watching Star Wars on Blu-ray.

Flying the flag.

Make your own hype people.

Disney Pixar Cars 2 video game giveaway (PS3)

2011-08-05T09:42:00.009+01:00

If I can prize them out of the hands of my mini-colossus, I have two copies of Cars 2 Video Game (PS3 version) to giveaway.

Shouldn't be too hard to prise them off him, especially as we don't have a Playstation 3 ourselves (though as a worthy cause would accept one), and Disney PR were kind enough to supply us with our own Wii version of the Cars 2 game.

Have to say I've really enjoyed playing the game, and since also watching the film (which I enjoyed more than Cars) I think I've related to it better.

Or it could be because I have actually had some game time, rather than ignoring it in preference to learning to J-Turn at the press launch.

So - and as I'm lazy - this giveaway is going to be simple.

Limited to UK entrants (I think the games being region 2 limits it to Europe anyway)

TO ENTER:

1) Leave a comment here stating your favourite Cars 2 character (or type Max Schnell if you don't know any)

2) Like the Single Parent Dad Facebook page (and tell me you have by leaving a comment here)

3) Tweet a link about this competition (again telling me by leaving a comment here)

NB. When leaving any comment here please use a valid & current email address so I can contact you for a delivery address (email addresses will not be shared with any third parties)

WINNERS

I will create a spreadsheet (as I heart spreadsheets) with each different entry given a random number. I will then use a random number calculator to decide the winners, who will be notified by email prior to any online declaration.

Good luck, but you're already a winner for having read this far.

And entries will close at midnight (BST) Friday, the 2nd of September (if I remember).

Do I regret the music I chose for my wife’s funeral

2011-07-27T10:05:00.000+01:00

No is the short answer.

But last week, like pretty much everyone on the planet, apart from the cool music ones who know everything ages before anyone else. I discovered Ed Sheeran. Matt Logelin probably had his back catalogue before even Sheeran has written it, such is Logelin’s music cool.

Anyway, his music is awesome.

I was working the main stage bar at Latitude (does any one else just see TIT when they read that word BTW, no? Just me then) where he played his set to a ridiculously huge crowd considering time and weather.

Thing is with music, I get obsessed with certain albums or artists, like I’ve done with Ed. My Ed.

It means I play their music exclusively for a short period in my life.

Real background stuff, but not paying a fantastic amount of attention to it.

But one of his tunes was standing out. I don’t know why. I thought it was because it had a riff from another song I like.

But after this song had played 15 or 20 times one night (yes, I said obsessive) I decided to bother to look at the title (not that obsessive obviously).

Goodbye To You.

It’s a beautiful song, even though it includes rapping.

Sheeran’s lyrics are gracious.

I can see the stars as a cold the wind greets the air

and will you think of me up there can I say goodbye to

you? and paint the stains of the teardrops down my face

or feel the chill of your warm embrace. Can I say

goodbye to you

And they got me thinking, would I have chosen this for my wife’s funeral nearly six-years-ago had it been available?

It’s quirky, beautiful, and apt – in part – but it is really about me now.

A me still able to relate to my wonderful wife through new music (to me anyway, probably going to be end up being a cover of fucking East 18 or some shit).

And that’s warming (no not the East 19 wankers).

The fact that her life hasn’t really ended. Not with me.

It never will.

When a child refuses to make a thank you card for their teacher, you........

2011-07-22T13:00:00.001+01:00

What do you do?

Do you force them to make one?

Do you buy a generic card and get them to sign it?

Do you even fake their signature?

Do you buy the teacher something else instead?

No, what you do is you make and send one yourself, from yourself. If you’re grateful for their work, why isn’t it you sending the card anyway?

Think on.

And have a look at these pictures (click to make them mossive).

Perhaps they explain it better.

Yes?

And I know, I know, if I'd called her a star and decorated it with stars there would have been a link, but I like the fact that there's a contrast. Someone will tell me it's clever. Mom? Are you reading this? Mom? Tell them off. They made me do it.

Why Darren Clarke's a hero, and I'm a prick

2011-07-22T00:26:00.005+01:00

When Darren Clarke’s wife Heather died, I thought his decision to continue playing professional golf was wrong. It is beyond me why ANYONE would want to spend their time living out of a suitcase and spending day after day on a golf course. Okay they earn telephone number money (phrase trademarked by my soon-to-be-superstar-mate Luke) but what’s the fucking point when they already have millions in the bank?

So when your wife dies, leaves you with two children to care for, logic – to me – suggests that your priorities are them, and thus you stay with them, all the time.

What I didn’t realise at the time, was that prioritising your children doesn’t automatically have to mean YOU provide the childcare exclusively. In fact some of the bravest decisions made by parents are to realise their children are better off being cared for in a way that doesn’t necessarily involve them inherently.

I judged him from afar, without any real facts, and, being totally honest, all with a falsely smug ‘it’s-not-what-I-did’ attitude.

What a prick.

When my wife Samantha was taken, I decided to give up work, people close to me queried the decision.

“You’ll need something to do."

Err, yes, raise my boy perhaps?

“You’ll never find an employer like that one.”

So fucking what, like I’m ever going to have money problems. I’d shovel shit if I had too*.

Yes, those pricks.

Can’t believe I did the same.

Prick.

So last weekend, on Monday actually (I was volunteering for the Food Chain at Latitude Festival over the weekend), when I discovered Darren Clarke had won the British Open. It topped an already brilliant weekend.

I’d read a colourful interview with Chubby Chandler (Clarke’s agent as well as many others) in the Guardian last week, he was constantly being asked who he thought would win the Open. After running out of the obligatorys ‘there’s a lot of players that could win’. He eventually said “What a story it would be if Darren Clarke won the British Open.”

Well, Chubby it’s no story, it’s Mr Clarke’s new reality.

And I was chuffed for him.

His boys.

His late wife, Heather, most definitely a huge part of it.

And his new fiancee.

Mr Clarke has his shit together for a widower.

Kudos dude.

If I thought he’d give a flying fuck, I’d send him an apology.

But if you are reading this, and happen to know his sister’s dentist’s dog-walker's babysitter's best friend on Facebook, be sure to pass my message on.

*send offers of shit shovelling to nevergoingtofuckinghappen@iwasbeingrhetoricalorshouldthatbeironicwhatevsnothappening.gov.uk

I'm no pushover

2011-07-07T16:14:00.001+01:00

One of the things I like to think I am as a parent is consistent.

That’s one of the benefits of raising a child alone, is that there isn’t two parents trying to stick to the same protocols and policy, while all the time being ‘played’ by their offspring.

Would I say that I’m strict?

Depends on how you define it, I am very laid-back but there is certain behaviour I simply won’t tolerate.

However, I am not very shouty and aggressive, it just isn’t my style. In my opinion children don’t respond well to it, and at times even turn that approach to their advantage, selling themselves as hard done to.

No, I’m more a you-don’t-do-that-and-here’s-why kinda parent.

But sometimes a practical demonstration is necessary to make my point.

At a park a few weeks ago I caught my delightful son pushing over a toddler. Not pleasant viewing, and not behaviour I really want to see or expect.

I went to investigate - the toddler was okay if just a little confused - and I asked my boy to explain himself.

“We were playing dad, but he just kept hitting and hitting me.”

It was at this point I pointed out that he needed to take this child’s age into account, and while I wouldn’t expect him to just take a beating, he needs to know that there are better ways in dealing with a situation like that.

“But, but, but……” He protested.

Which I interrupted and asked: “Right son, you know when we’re sometimes playing and you get overexuberant and hit me harder than I would like you to?”

“Well, yes.” He replied.

Shortly before I pushed him over.

“See. Not nice. And certainly not appropriate.”

I think he was a tiny bit shocked by my actions, and for a moment I was worried that I was using unnecessary force to make my point, and I may have physically hurt him.

I hadn’t as the ground was soft, and indeed his own actions hadn’t brought the even younger toddler to any harm.

Junior was soon off playing again, without incident, and we left the park friends.

And I hope that he’d learnt something.

And that the ‘something’ wasn’t ‘don’t push toddlers over within the eyesight of his father’.

Surviving the supermarket

2011-06-27T13:26:00.002+01:00

As a single parent every domestic chore is my responsibility. Whether it’s cleaning, washing, ironing, or trawling the Internet to check the authenticity of nude Britney Spears photographs, they all have my name on.

One of the things I dislike doing most is supermarket shopping. I know it’s a virtual necessity today, but like filling my car with diesel, I see it as an irritating interruption to the rest of my life.

So, I’d thought I’d share my tips for surviving the supermarche.

1) Think exit not entrance

When arriving at the supermarket don’t fight and scrounge for a parking spot as near to its entrance as possible, think about how you are going to leave. It’s a false perception that being close to the doors of a supermarket is of immense benefit. It’s normally the busiest area, and thus slows you down. I always look for a spot that has a short exit path, and is also very near a trolley store. Often supermarkets have alternate exits that very few people use. I have a keen eye for them, and in general it means my exit from them is a much more pleasant and quieter affair.

2) Have a list

Always, always have a list. Even if it is just the key items you’ll be screwed without scribbled on the back of your hand. I have developed a system at home of developing a shopping list. There’s a wipe board on the back of my pantry, I write on it when we are out of something I don’t buy every week. Max even chips in, sometimes with little drawings.

The system doesn’t work brilliantly, and I still forget stuff – I even forget stuff when I have it on the list in front of me – but I reckon it means I forget fewer items than I would without one, and, more importantly, it means I don’t buy more stuff than I actually need.

3) Take earphones

I always plug myself into music when shopping. It deters other people from talking to you and thus slowing you down, especially if you sing along to Olly Murs or Chesney Hawkes, folks tend to leave you alone.

4) Sarcasm is your friend

Isn’t it always? Are you sick of being asked: “Could I interest you in this?” or “Do you need help with your packing?” Sarcastic replies like: “I don’t know, but I’m not going to let you try” and “I have no idea, I haven’t even started it yet.” help quell my irritation.

5) Ignore the offers

My iPhone comes in useful again here, where it turns in to my calculator. Retailers have a nasty habit of changing the way prices are displayed and comparable. The place this is most often prevalent is the ketchup section. The biggest item is not always the best value. Have a healthy scepticism towards ~~everything~~ offers. And don’t worry about working out the best deal, everyone else in the supermarket already thinks you’re a dick because you’ve been singing JLS out loud anyway.

6) Pick your queue wisely

The shortest queue may not always be the best option. Look out for the numpties so unable to add and subtract that they need to separate their shopping to pay from different sources. These dicks also tend to have five pence off discount tokens, which of course they don’t produce until their shopping is complete, which leads me neatly to.

7) They are going to ask you for money, have it ready

It amazes me the amount of people, who having stood admiring their conveyor belt of crap slowly moving past the till, are then seemingly surprised when asked for money. They then obviously ferret about in their bag looking for a card for ages, and then a loyalty one, much to my irritation. My conveyor belt loading protocol includes having my payment method ready in my back pocket. I’m like Clint Eastwood with it.

8) Arrange your shopping

Have a relative plan of how you are going to arrange what was loose shopping into whatever you are taking it home in, bags, boxes, whatever. I am not terribly anal with this, I just tend to load the conveyor belt by weight, grouping items that won’t crush each other together, or at least having the heavier items at the bottom of bags and the lighter for delicate items on the top.

9) Don’t go to the supermarket

My top tip for supermarket shopping is not to do it. I’ve found online grocery shopping a brilliant experience. And some of the delivery slots cost as little as £3, and with the price of fuel, I think I may struggle to make a specific visit to the supermarket and back for much less. It also fantastic for adding items that you may have forgotten on your first look in the fridge or pantry. It's a myth that they always send you out of date crap, I've never had a bad experience in two years of on-line grocery problem and isn't that what a freezer is for anyway?

I don't like Father's Day

2011-06-16T21:57:00.003+01:00

Some folks seem to think that as a single parent dad, Father’s Day should equate to being like Christmas for me, but I detest it and wish it didn’t exist.

It isn’t because I’m sad at being around to celebrate them each year, when at the same time my child’s mother isn’t around to enjoy Mother’s Day.

I just think a predetermined day, where convention says we ‘celebrate’ dads actually says ‘fatherhood, we acknowledge your existence, here, have a card with you name on proclaiming you the greatest.’

It’s so robotic.

Totally banal.

It’s bollocks.

Every day is Father’s Day.

And if it isn’t, you’re doing it wrong.

Sometimes it’s the smallest of gestures, at the most random times, that make me feel loved and appreciated as a daddy.

I don’t need a greatest daddy mug, really, I don’t. I already have one.

Because he’s shit at hiding things, I am aware of a couple of gifts that I assume will be presented to me this Sunday. Which is great, if it’s sweets, as I’ll accept any excuse for receiving products of Swizzles Matlow.

With my child only being six-years-old I am grateful when he goes to any effort making a card for me, Father’s Day or otherwise, and I certainly don’t want him to think he is doing anything wrong by getting me something.

But I do want him to know that it doesn’t matter, and that I know how much he loves me, and he can demonstrate that however and whenever he likes.

You do it without even knowing Buster.

And that’s what’s beautiful about being a dad.

I don’t need a card.

I don’t do cards.

I will be seeing my own dad on Father’s Day, but this is more because my mother has abandoned him for a few days, and left alone for too long he can get malnourished. And I wouldn’t like that to happen.

Because I love him.

Which I hope he knows, despite the fact he won’t be getting any laminated cardboard with his name on.

I want to be Jenson Button, sort of.

2011-06-13T21:05:00.011+01:00

Isn't Jenson Button just swell?

Watching Button win the Canadian Grand Prix last Sunday, taking out Hamilton and Alonso in the process, was something I really enjoyed.

I like going fast in cars.

So heavy is my right foot that I now choose to drive around in an underpowered diesel. The idea being to take away the daily temptation to drive quickly.

It was advice I heeded from the Police after accruing 11 penalty points on my license some years ago.

That typed, I do still like to take the opportunity for controlled maverick driving when I can.

So, when representatives of Disney Pixar asked me if I'd like to take part in a day promoting the upcoming release of the Cars 2 video game, I said quickly said oui.

The event itself was held at Northampton International Raceway, where the premise was that we were trying to recreate moves in real-life that are present in the game.

This involved three main exercises. Drifting, Slalom and – my favourite – mastering the reverse J-turn.

They were all great fun, but reversing a car at speed then performing a 180º turn to continue off driving in the same direction is totally awesome. And proper cool.

Check it out.

Apparently it is considered a military manoeuvre. The idea that if you are ambushed from the front and sides, you can always go backwards, and this technique enables the quickest possible getaway.

I have considered trying it out of my parking spot at Tescos. It's a good job I do most of my grocery shopping on line.

The first Cars film is not my favourite Pixar creation, I have even had a pop in the past at how it ended, but it is still a kids' movie I enjoyed watching, and therefore its sequel is something I wanted to learn more about.

Cars 2 sees Lighting McQueen, together with his side-kick Mater, head overseas to enter the World Grand Prix. They then find themselves embroiled in an international espionage plot.

The video game, whilst encompassing locations used in the movie, is actually set after its conclusion. You choose a character and enrol at C.H.R.O.M.E (Command Headquarters for Recon Operations and Motorized Espionage) a spy school where you can hone your spy and driving skills, whilst competing with others in that process too.

I was a smidge concerned about these very cute characters now having heavy artillery upgrades, that it wouldn't sit comfortably with the general innocence of Disney Pixar stars. However, the missiles, rockets and bombs give the game a similar feel to that of Mario Kart, rather than anything more sinister.

But that's where the comparison ends, this game has so much more going on. The cars are not static, they are as their film counterparts, proper characters. Each of the 25 you can select move in their own particular way, as well as having specific dialogue and relationships with different characters in the game.

They have also considered the multi-player aspect in great detail. All areas of the game are playable by four players from a single console, which means that there is no dull waiting around for gamers, and it also leads to friends enjoying the game together in the same room, rather than playing against faceless folks of the interweb.

The Cars 2 video game is out on the 22^nd of July in all the major gaming formats, and I've been promised a couple of copies to give away, so keep your eyes peeled for those.

But in the meantime take a look at this Jenson Button wannabe.

What a plonker. He looks like he's about to be fired out of a cannon.

Tennis Star Greg Rusedski's WEB TV SHOW - top tips for dads

2011-06-10T13:59:00.015+01:00

Former tennis-pro and now stay-at-home dad, Greg Rusedski was joined by Rob Williams, the chief executive of the Fatherhood Institute, to offer their top tips for being a great dad.

Despite my healthy scepticism I actually enjoyed this short WEB TV broadcast, and that the information and advice offered - by Rob Williams in particular - was actually very relevant and useful.

They discussed:

How the sharing of maternity leave has been welcomed by more fathers than anticipated
Top tips for approaching an employer if you want to spend more time with your family
Embracing technology to enable more flexible working, and thus a better work and life balance
As well as what they are planning for Father's Day and answering questions from viewers

The programme is available in full below.

I should really know better

2011-05-17T19:48:00.002+01:00

Being widowed at 28-years-old is thankfully not something that will happen to many people.

My son is also in the uncommon place of not enjoying a living mother in his formative years.

And because of this reality, our reality, I am acutely aware that gender stereotypes can be wrong, not only that, but that they can be a little upsetting too.

Or at least, I should be.

In the winter months I took to the hockey field again, and now as a *coughs* senior *coughs* player, part of my self-appointed purpose is to encourage and coax along the younger members of any side I turn out for.

Taking advantage of my natural mannerisms, I mainly use positive abuse to achieve this.

One lad, let’s call him Jack (well, it is his name), was improving week on week and working harder and harder in each game.

This resulted in his usually pristine kit being absolutely filthy after one match.

My quip to him, intended as a backhanded ‘well done dude’, was:

“Your mom is going to absolutely love you.”

The moment those words left my lips I was regretting them, and I was angry with myself.

The lad’s face had changed too.

It had changed to that of my own son.

I don’t know what actual reaction I got because all I could visualise was the deflated expression Max gives when someone has made the incorrect assumption that his mom is waiting for him at home.

It’s difficult sometimes when folks assume that we are a 2.4 family, and I have some idea of the feeling my boy must have when someone makes an all too innocent remark that doesn’t really have the intended impact.

Not great basically.

He deals with these moments very well, generally without saying a great deal, and I am convinced it is often to save embarrassing other people, rather than him feeling he can’t point out his mother is dead.

A fact I should always pay great respect to. If there’s anyone he should be able to look at for understanding it is me.

I’ve beaten myself up over these words, and rightfully so.

Jack’s dad does his washing.

Netmums review: Lego Games Ramses Return

2011-05-11T14:07:00.004+01:00

“Would you like to review some Lego, you’ll be compensated for your time?”

“You had me at Lego.”

Yes, I’ve joined the Netmums team of bloggers reviewing products relevant to us and hopefully you.

The main reason I signed up was Lego, and the fact that compensation actually translates to payment.

We love Lego.

We always have it on the brain.

Quite literally.

We were sent a Lego game for our appraisal. The game being called Ramses Return, you may have seen an advert for it on the tellybox, it’s embedded below if you haven’t.

Like with all Lego it is enjoyable to put together, and we had a small fight over who would do that. Once set up the board is very small, which has its benefits, but I wouldn’t suggest this is a game you can play whilst in transit, as you may end up hunting for pieces from it.

Perhaps really good on a train journey when you have a table, but perfect for a quick game at home when children’s attention spans aren’t enormous.

The premise of the game is you have to be the first to collect three different treasures before the mummy catches you.

It’s aimed at children seven and over, but the retired company director amongst our midst of testers struggled a little with the rules.

Which is not necessarily a bad thing. Lego actually encourage you to engage with your game further, play it your way, they suggest alternative rules but encourage you to come up with those of your own too.

This particular game requires good memory, and involves a little bit of sneaking, so pretty good for the innocently competitive family.

We actually already own and enjoy a Lego game called Robo Champ, which is essentially a more complex version of Beetle Drive.

Both of these products I happily recommend and have not been disappointed by.

Lego has a growing series of games, nicely sorted by their age range on the Lego Games website. So there's probably a theme and a type of game to appeal to everyone.

Lego have it licked.

I like making my child cry

2011-05-09T14:31:00.000+01:00

As a single parent dad one of the things I concern myself with is providing my child with an emotionally balanced upbringing.

I am mindful to provide a variance in the way that situations are handled, not always being tough and hard, but conversely not consistently taking the softly-softly tact.

My calm approach to almost everything can come across as a little cold and matter-of-fact at times. But that doesn’t mean I am emotionless, nor do I wish to suppress my child’s ability to engage with his feelings.

I am actually very comfortable with a child crying, and often see it as a good thing. Christ, that makes me sound evil, but I don’t mean it that way and will try to qualify that statement a bit.

When a child cries because they are hurt, physically hurt, then of course, there is no satisfaction, other than the fact that if they are making a row then at least they are still conscious.

However when my boy cries because of the way he feels, because he is in touch with something that makes him sad, then – in a way – I am happy.

Being able to feel, and to embrace sadness means that his highs are so much better than of those who feel indifferent regardless of what is going on in their lives.

Living life numb is no way to be, and I don’t want that for my boy.

That’s why I rarely tell him to ‘stop crying’, even when he is being ridiculous.

At times like that, I try to get him to focus on whether his level of upset is justified. Like not getting what he wants from a gift shop at the end of a great day out is not really going to threaten his very existence.

Lately he has also taken to trying to ‘tough-out’ physical bangs. All too quick to declare himself fine from a fall, or knock, when really he is in pain. Then I see it as my job to reassure him it is totally okay to be hurt, declare it and weep if necessary.

Then there is when he gets a little sad.

I do like to remind him that crying is a positive feeling too, and when dealing with a sad situation – which he often has to – then it is very much appropriate.

So that’s why his crying makes me happy.

Amongst other things.

Turning up

2011-04-27T22:54:00.003+01:00

“You always come to these parents lunch weeks.”

It shouldn't take a rocket scientist to work out why. As a single parent I am not left with a whole lot of options.

I do try to attend as many of the school functions as I can, and can bear.

Thing is they are generally very dull, and I do fear that I will actually lose the will to live during one of them.

It is also very difficult to gauge an event's importance and the impact my attendance, or non-attendance, might have. Often notice comes at short notice and in the form of simply a title and a time.

I think they should come graded like films.

* = If you have absolutely nothing else to do.

***** = Miss this and scar your child for life.

These events are all very nice – in theory – and I do appreciate that they are infinitely more important to a child whose sole recent purpose has been to contribute to them.

Which is why I always try to turn up.

The second thing I do is to make my presence obvious.

Thereafter I just concentrate on surviving them.

I want my child to know that what he is up to is important to me, but I also think there is some mileage in not always being able to turn up.

It's a delicate balance, I suspect a young child will only see it as you not being interested or being further down your priorities than whatever is preventing your attendance. But it also expands a child's mind to know that the world is bigger than their school walls.

I am a parent that is rarely missing, and I hope it is my repeated attendances that my son retains happy memories of, rather than stowing away the few times I am unable to turn up.

Conversely I witness and ponder the exact opposite in other kids. The genuine thrill in a child because their parents have finally turned up to one of their gigs, and I do wonder if those children will hold on to those thoughts rather than dwell on the persistent absences.

Sadly due to a prior commitment I am unable to take up an invite to a mock wedding this week, which won't be the only one I'll be avoiding.

Both hopefully * ranked events.

Ben 10 arrives at Drayton Manor

2011-04-27T12:33:00.006+01:00

We were amongst the lucky throng that were invited to Drayton Manor Park last week, to the unveiling of their brand new Ben 10 rollercoaster.

And I say we were lucky, some of us were luckier than others.

No sooner had we walked in and the kids were greeted with goodie bags, bags that included these well cool Ben 10 tops.

Such was my envy I did consider asking the three amigos to write a review, but for fear they’d do a better job, I dropped the idea.

To title it proper and that, Ben 10: Ultimate Mission rollercoaster is the first of its kind in Europe, launching riders forwards on their first tour of the 180m track, hitting speeds of 55kph and a g-force of 3, before returning travelling backwards along the same route.

That’s the blurb and it really did surprise me how good a ride it is, especially considering it is for children. Over 1.2 metres and they are free to ride it on their own.

Max was borderline height but after seeing it run a couple of times, he was never going to go on it alone.

He was a little apprehensive.

Mind that could be down to Chip and Pin’s – or whatever they are called – celebratory dance routine. A duo dancing to a medley of car alarms is not for everyone. I would have let Four Arms, Thunder Chops or whatever the characters are called open it, but they'd booked these two lovely chaps of Britain's Got Talent fame to dance it open.

But the ride is definitely not for the faint-hearted.

The ride, like few others, is also trying to engage riders in the queue. What is normally a laborious process of shuffling along an irate galvanized maze, is actually seemingly designed to be part of ‘the ride’ or ‘experience’.

It actually works (a bit), there are interactive touch-screens that let you play with Ben 10’s Omnitrix, models of the various aliens, and screens looping various Ben 10 footage.

We both enjoyed it, as we did the rest of the park.

I like the fact that while it has all the things a high-octane theme park is expected to have, it also has a zoo. Having the animals to go and look at can act as a great pace changer, and is also a great place to go when the ride queues are at their peaks.

So, in summary, Drayton Manor is awesomer than it was before.

Cash for kids

2011-03-25T10:55:00.003Z

When do children begin to get the first idea of the value of money?

My parents may well argue that they are still to find the answer to this question.

My boy hasn’t demonstrated a clear understanding in this area yet. When I let him go to the school disco alone recently, he recited an interesting take on how the money system works in his mind.

“Yeah dad, I know. I give them money, they give me what I ask for and some money back.”

Yes, that is how the tuck shop will operate, but he thought this was an everlasting cycle, and not that his money would eventually diminish to nothing.

Bless.

Mind, I was very proud of him as, pleading poverty, he had got one of his friend’s parents to buy him a drink, and he still had 50p in his pocket.

The force is strong in this one.

But I’ve been thinking of how I may gently evolve his Finance 101.

The first thing I did was to take all his liquid cash, in his various piggy banks, count it up, then asked him to spend it all.

Obviously he enjoyed that process, but for me it was all about showing him that he had exhausted his funds, hopefully increasing his understanding, and maybe making him think more about his purchases in the future.

There was some pain in that, and I have perhaps over used the line “well if you had any money,” since.

I think I now need to introduce pocket money, and the possibility for him to ‘earn’ a little more if he wants to.

Despite my perceived benefits of this, I am also mindful of over monetizing life, and producing a child that won’t act to order unless he has negotiated remuneration.

I have a memory of my own folks introducing pocket money, in lieu of the simple yes/no system they were operating previously. We were also able to earn extra cash for doing certain things like mowing the lawn.

We were actually paid by the hour, which was another good lesson I learnt.

Never pay anyone by the hour.

I don’t plan on getting all stern on this, strictly adhering to him having to pay for everything he wants, I’ll let him continue to freely benefit from the food and water that I provide, but hopefully he’ll start to get the drift.

The Football League Awards

2011-03-16T20:43:00.003Z

This Sunday the winners of The Football League Awards 2011 will be announced.

I know this, as I was invited to help them decide which Football League clubs should be short-listed for one of their prestigious awards.

Due to the last minute pull out of Floella Benjamin, or similar, The Football League were short of a judge for their Family Club of the Year award deliberations.

An invite to the judging panel duly came my way, one I quickly accepted, and I soon found myself presiding over which of the country's Football League clubs makes the best effort when it comes to making watching football a great family affair.

This is a subject of great interest to me. As a football fan, and I mean football fan, not the razzmatazz and perceived celebrity of the game's megastars, I was very interested to see what league clubs – including the one I support – were doing to encourage families to enjoy the experience of being football fans.

Like all other forms of entertainment, football has to recognise that it has competition. And not necessarily in the form of other sports.

The Football League clearly gets this as an organisation, and thus likes to recognise the efforts of its clubs in this area.

Going to watch football can be a brilliant experience for families. Especially now. The facilities today are greater than they have ever been, and clubs countrywide are clearly making an effort to make sure the experience is as enjoyable, economical, accessible and as engaging as it can be for families.

There were many great entries for this award, and it was very difficult to narrow them down to a short-list, but these are who we narrowed it down to:

If you've not considered taking your family to a game of football at your local Football League club you really should. They all have excellent websites, full of information, and you really should go and check them out.

Following a side as a family is great, as is making friends with people who are doing the same. Even when clubs are not doing well on the pitch the togetherness of fans and community is fantastic.

Going on your first away day, or any away day, can be a brilliant day out – even when ending in defeat.

I know football is not for everyone. And I as much as anybody am getting completely turned off by the glamour of the 'big teams', the Premier League and televised football in general. But going to a game, a good game, supporting a club close to you, that in turn are doing their bit to support you and your community, is something many can enjoy.

So, do you support your local footie club?

Am I a different person?

2011-03-09T12:42:00.003Z

When my wife died I went to see a grief counsellor. If I am being honest, I went to see this person to add legitimacy to my prolonged absence from work.

I felt 100% unable to return to my employment as my mind was a complete mess, my focus was incredibly limited, and quite possibly I would have made decisions that could have put staff, if not certainly paperclips, in jeopardy.

However to add some science to this state of mind I took my GP’s advice to go and seek some grief counselling.

It was a process I reluctantly say I ‘enjoyed’. It was certainly of immense benefit, and I can’t praise enough the voluntary work of those involved with Cruse Bereavement Care.

My particular councillor was all about the tough love, telling me how it was, holding a genuine concern for my wellbeing, but zero interest in indulging any feeling sorry for myself.

An approach I admired.

With their help I came up with a plan of sorts, some principles that I thought would help me deal with the ongoing grief cycle.

One of those was letting go of the life we had, and not seeking a ‘replacement’ for Samanatha, not looking to replicate what we had or were on our way to achieving, instead to realise today was a new start, and tomorrow is for the making, my making.

That sounds like complete bollocks, but it’s true.

Attempting to identically replicate what I had previously is dangerously unhealthy in my opinion, and would effectively in part say that my life is some sort of real-life Aerofix with every part changeable or paintable, which is the real bollocks.

Samantha had an incredible impact on my life, not only physically, but also on my hopes, fears and dreams. She still does. To paraphrase Jack Nicholson ‘she (still) makes me want to be a better man.’

I am not saying I wouldn’t like to be with someone else, and that another partner has not been a possibility over these last five-and-a-half years, but I am saying that would have taken me in a different direction, not back along an old route.

They would have taken me their own way, and still may.

I have also become mindful of lazily putting myself back into other positions of comfort, in fact I am buoyed by the fact, that some previous comfort zones actually make me feel decidedly uncomfortable now.

Towards the end of last year, triggered by bumping into some old pals, I decided it might be enjoyable to rekindle my hockey-playing career.

Much as I owe my late wife for teaching me a lot, I also owe team sport a great deal. It teaches leadership, conversely being a team player, how to formulate friendships, how to behave in defeat as well as victory and many, many other things.

I could have picked the phone up to someone at my old club, but no, I decided to join a new club. Not only one more geographically convenient and with an excellent junior section my son might want to join at some point, but one forcing me through the process of having to prove my ability again as well as gaining the respect of possible new team members.

Some of my old teammates got wind of this, and reaction was mixed. There are those that clubs, even amateur local ones, are for life, and no matter what you should never turn out for another side. Then, there’s me.

I’ve been playing for my new team since the New Year, and this last weekend saw the inevitable happen. I played against my old club.

Yes, add ‘turncoat’ to my ridiculous collection of clothes.

Interestingly, even though I ‘knew’ a few of the opposition not one of them recognised me. Which could have something to do with long hair replacing spikey, and bum fluff now covering my giant red hamster-like cheeks.

Or am I a completely different person today?

In any case it was not a game I enjoyed. The opposition were not very well tempered and the actions of one (getting himself sent off for sustained petulance) ruined the game for everyone really.

I would have enjoyed it, as I have been since my return to the hockey field, and really it had nought to do with the personal significance of this fixture, or indeed me.

But all more support for my principle of looking forward with appreciation and not back longingly.

And who knows where it may take me, I am now certified for use in Europe after all.

I have 19 hoodies

2011-03-04T14:22:00.001Z

I know this, as I have just counted them.

Apparently having a triple wardrobe, two double wardrobes and a single full of clothes can be considered excessive.

I should also mention my coat collection is currently sprawled across another double wardrobe in my hall, hooks in my pantry and my staircase banister.

Oh and a couple in the back of my car.

The clothes I do have are pretty well organised. Types are sorted, as in all my t-shirts are together, all my shirts are together – both segregated further by long and short-sleeve denominations- and all are sorted into colours.

All this and I still look like shit.

I don’t actually buy clothes all that often, but when I do I tend to splurge, get a tad carried away, and obviously don’t throw any of my older stuff away.

You may call me a hoarder, but I am clearly suffering from Disposophobia. It is a disease, a serious condition effecting literally me, and it has no remedy.

Well, I say that, but while I can’t glug pills for it, I could actually get off my sweet hind and just sort my togs out.

See, I do wonder what percentage of my clothes I actually wear, perhaps there’s my motivation? I could put all this data in a spreadsheet?

But no, I have come up with a simple plan, a practical exercise, and it is just acting it out that is proving a smidge unattractive.

My genius idea is to clear one of my wardrobes completely, and as I wash and iron clothes, that I have obviously worn, to then put them in this wardrobe.

I would then pick clothes firstly from my newly assigned clothes home, only going over into my excess garments area when I simply can’t find a stitch to wear, darlings.

Then after a predetermined time, I could send all the clothes not in the primary apparel zone to the ~~fashion police~~ charity shop.

Obviously I also need to add a 'seasons' factor, as I would be a complete dick if I threw all my shorts away prior to our inevitable blistering summer.

Or, most likely, I could do nothing at all and wait for one of my family members to get so pissed with me that they sort all my stuff out for me.

Either … or really.

Have you gone nuts?

2011-03-01T22:13:00.003Z

For whatever reason I get a few invites and requests from various PR companies. Some of these are to events they are holding, product launches, round tables, that sort of jazz.

Most of which are inconvenient, many are of absolutely zero interest.

However a very professional, yet personal and clearly communicated approach, from a PR company organising a Nutella event was one I agreed to attend last week.

That and it happened to be held at Stockley Farm, which was very conveniently located half-way to where we were actually headed on our school holiday adventures that day.

Nutella is not a food stuff that I have ever previously consumed in this country. I type that as it is something I have had quite a lot when on holiday in Europe. On ski-ing holidays I particularly remember spreading it on various breads, enjoying it, but never seriously considering it for my diet at home.

But as I have only really regularly eaten breakfast in adulthood for the last 18 months or so I guess Nutella owners Ferrero will not be losing any shut-eye.

The event itself was very good. My son had a blast making new friends first thing over facing painting and what not, while us bloggers were giving our opinions as we listened to talks from a child development expert and a nutritionist.

All interesting if not devastatingly enlightening.

Then we were rejoined by our little treasures to prepare some Nutella including recipes guided by some bloke off of the telly.

We shared a table with the lovely Beckicklesie who came to my aid on more than one occasion when it came to complex world of spoon identification.

The milkshake and the tortilla wrapped banana we made were surprisingly delicious. I actually really like the taste of Nutella, but I'm not sure I'll get into the habit of eating it.

Not really sold to us as something you would have every day, but an option to add to your breakfast repertoire.

And if you are looking to cut out salt, and not concerned about adding more sugar to your diet, it is a definite winner.

What about you? Do you ever wake up to Nutella?

P.S. Nutella is not a 'chocolate spread' and is predominantly made from nuts, hazelnuts, a fact that had completely escaped me, despite its moniker.

P.P.S. I am that stupid.

What does your child call you?

2011-02-23T10:51:00.000Z

In my non-humble opinion there is a fine line in the relationship between being your child’s parent, and being their friend.

It is my strong belief that there is room for you to be both and that if you can demonstrate being a good parent and a good friend at the same time this has to be a good thing.

My boy has taken to calling me ‘mate’ quite a lot recently.

“You okay mate?”

“Come on mate.”

“Fancy a lightsaber fight mate?”

I know exactly where he got it from, as it is a term I use with him a lot.

Fortunately he doesn’t mimic all my language.

Thing is when he first started referring to me this way, I was cringing a smidge, and asking him to call me daddy instead.

“But you are my mate, mate,” he protested.

I countered with the ‘I’m your daddy too’ argument but to no avail.

My language can become incredibly habitual and repetitive, my language can become incredibly habitual and repetitive.

Since this change in reference I have become more aware when I am using the word ‘mate’ but as my brain always lags my speech it is not something I feel I can correct.

But do I need to?

‘Dude’ is also a word I commonly use when generically referring to folk, and my son, though in his specific case he is actually a proper dude.

Mind not sure I’d like him sounding like Jessie J.

Other children I know, and spend time in the company of, clearly use language that I have introduced to them. And a two-year-old calling me ‘dude’ is actually more than a little giggle worthy and cute.

So I am really not so sure why I took an initial exception to being called ‘mate’.

It’s a hell of a lot better than ‘china’. A term I carried as an irritating tic for a time.

And the most important thing is my boy knows precisely who and what I am.

His chum, and also his parent.

Perhaps I should just get him to stick to calling me Socrates.

Always give your best

2011-02-02T14:37:00.004Z

“It’s all that we can ask.”

Now that statement is bollocks.

Absolute bollocks.

Almost as much as: ‘I want to see you giving 110%’.

You can ask for whatever you want dickheads. You probably won’t get it, but you can actually ask for anything.

Consistently acting at one’s best is not something I strive for, nor expect from my child.

This trait is commonly termed as ‘being lazy’, but I prefer to call it 'discerning use of one's personal resource'.

‘All that I ask is that you give your best.’

Oh, that’s alright then, all you are asking is for me to put myself to optimum use to achieve the maximum and best possible outcome I can. Yes, I see now, you are asking for very little. I’ll get on with then, I wouldn’t want to DISAPPOINT you.

I know folks, parents in particular, commonly intend use of such a phrase as gentle encouragement and acceptance for when their child is shit at something, or not expected to complete a task successfully.

But effort for the sake of effort leads to burn out and a perception that somewhat unimportant tasks suddenly have immense significance.

Little picture thinking. Totally unnecessary pressure.

I see it in children all the time. The ‘OK-so-I-did-brilliant-at-that-putting-every-effort-in-I-could-but-what-does it-mean-and-what-now’ face.

It’s perfectly acceptable to be pants at some things, and in which case why waste your energies at them? Especially if it makes you sad, and you are learning nothing.

My ethos is you should always calculate how much to assign to a task, based on possible outcomes, what you may learn and put to other use, as well as where success could lead to. Success is not automatically a good thing.

I am a huge fan of leaving something in the tank.

Having that extra capacity to go to on occasion, when the situation really, really calls for it.

As a sporting analogy, this often leaves an opponent unsure, and at times of the given misbelief they have done enough to win. The element of surprise, guile and cunning should not be underestimated.

And I think I would be doing my child an injustice if I taught him to ignore these subtleties.

And I am all about the subtle.

When I say to my child: “You could do better.”

I want him to know I mean it, rather than for it to be a criticism.

Life is all about being positive, and this stance mustn’t be confused with not giving things a try.

Experience is vital for growth, and I am acutely aware that pain in one area can lead to enormous delight in another.

That being typed, you won’t catch me sweating over it.

Honey, I'm home

2011-01-27T22:33:00.002Z

This week I made a relatively rare foray into our nation's wonderful capital.

I do enjoy London, but the best part is always coming home.

My flying visit was brought about by an invitation from The Football League. I was asked to join a judging panel for one of their upcoming Football League Awards.

Football, and League Football, is something I have been interested in for the last twenty years. So a chance to visit Football League HQ, and see what clubs up and down the country are doing, that may earn them the honour of Family Club Of The Year, was one I jumped at, on at least jumped on a train for.

It was a very smooth day, dropping my son at school, spending a very good day in London, making all my connections back, and arriving home just in time to put my lad to bed.

He was hiding when I returned, he'd primed his grandparents to tell me he'd got tired and already gone to bed.

So I did the best faux panic I could muster at finding an empty bed, to encourage his appearance.

His little face popped out from behind a curtain, and soon afterwards he was giving me a huge hug.

Then:

“How was your day daddy?”

Sometimes he can be so considerate. To the point, that while it feels lovely for him to say such things, I turn them back on him.

I really don't want my son to worry about me, and have said many times 'that's not your job dude.'

It's probably unrealistic of me not to expect him to be interested in what I am doing, and not to care a thought for my well being.

Perhaps it's common for single parents that children automatically fill part of the role typically filled by a partner? Or maybe it isn't limited or any more prevalent in children when a parent is missing.

Would be interested to hear what the case is in your house.

In the long run I think it is a huge positive that he gives a shit. And expresses himself genuinely and actual cares for the person he lives with. I hope that forms part of his future.

With our relationship sometimes being so intense, my son becoming insular as a result, is a concern at the other end of the scale.

Suppose it is all about balance, and not really being able to know, or influence, his characteristics and capabilities.

He is who he is.

And I, for one, think he's ace.

More movie widowers

2011-01-24T21:55:00.006Z

Whilst I am considered a movie heathen by some cruel-cinematic-know-it-all, I actually like to get to the cinema a lot, and I have vastly increased the amount of films I take in at home.

I'm still no expert, I don't pay enough attention to know if the direction was any good, or generally who made the film. I like some Tarantino, think Wes Anderson is a genius, and like everything I've watched from Christopher Nolan (but I did have to google him again, having forgotten his name).

But I do note when a movie's star is a widower.

And these seems to be an abundance of them.

Here's a list of my favourite fictional widowers, but I've got a couple more I could now add to that ensemble.

Cobb, played by Leonardo DiCaprio in Inception, of the aforementioned Nolan, is awesome. I mean sure, he's a bastard, criminal type. But the way he portrays his lost love is really powerful for me, the film was great, but his performance and character really took my breath away. I was proper moved. Silenced in fact. Forabit.

Denzel Washington played real life hero, and widower, Frank Barnes in Unstoppable. Which incidentally is the most factually incorrect film title since A Perfect Getaway. He has grown up kids, so while I could draw a future comparison, there wasn't great affinity, just acknowledgement of which box he ticks in the marital status section of his car insurance forms.

Then only last week I managed to squeeze in a viewing of Tron: Legacy. Now I went to see that not knowing a lot about the film, basically only that Olivia Wilde was in it wearing a tight outfit. I was sold. But again, this resonated as it essentially a tale of a handsome widower and his beautiful son against the world. I mean, heeellllllloooo. I'm not even sure if the film was any good, but damn straight, there's some cheesy lines in it I will be stealing for use with my son and aide.

There were some more I spotted over Christmas with an abundance of films on TV. Harry Stamper (Bruce Willis) in Armageddon and Dr Robert Neville (Will Smith) in I Am Legend to name a couple. But neither would get near my current faves.

But are there any more I'm missing, that may make it?

Travelling abroad with children

2011-01-12T13:57:00.003Z

Do you think taking children, particularly young ones, abroad, is a good idea?

This is a subject I disagreed on with my late wife.

She was a big fan of holidays overseas, not that I wasn’t, but I thought such holidays would not be worth the hassle when you have a baby in tow.

“How old will they have to be then?” She asked.

“I reckon about ten.” Came my considered reply.

There was obviously some sort of confusion, as Samantha went and booked a holiday to the Canaries, planned for when Max would be 10-months-old, and not nearly at high school.

Bless her.

Sadly, she never got to go on that holiday, but I did. And as it turns out, it was the low point of my grief for her, but therefore, and positively, also included the point at which I decided the only way was going to be up.

Max and I have travelled abroad twice since. To celebrate a significant family birthday, and a holiday that was really no more than giving all the grandparents an opportunity to travel abroad with their grandson.

I didn’t really enjoy either.

We’ve been asked to join friends abroad, and also family, but while I’ve considered it, I’ve ultimately decided not to travel.

If we’d have been the classic 2.4 nuclear unit, and I’d have continued to work a Dolly Parton I could see the point, as it being the chance for a family to enjoy uninterrupted time together.

But we aren’t.

I love our trips within the UK, visiting the coast, London, Yorkshire, friends, and the very occasional hotel opening.

Max loves staying in hotels, perversely especially the Linton Travel Tavern types.

In my head I have plans to take him ski-ing, and also to Disney, but I am in no rush to do either. Preferring to wait to ensure he gets the best out of them.

But recently I read a post about taking children to New York, which got me thinking.

Which parts of the world would I like my child to see?

I loved my visit to New York, but never really considered it for taking my boy. But now I think about it, we love visiting London, so why would NYC be any different? Well apart from the time difference, the accents, and not having a friend’s doorstep to arrive at.

Would be quite apt actually, as it was the next place I was planning on surprising Samantha with.

I’d love to go surfing with him in San Diego. We could visit Sea World, and I remember that they were very proud of their zoo.

Italy was becoming my favourite place to visit in Europe. Rome is the only place in the world that has surpassed my expectations, everywhere else has always left me a little underwhelmed, and a little ‘is that it?’

I like travel, experiencing new places, and people, coupled with being a cultural cameleon, I would make a perfect replacement for Alan Wicker.

Ou est la fuckin plage?

He says that, right?

Yet I have no yearning to strap a rucksack to my back and head off into the Andes, or the beaches of Thailand for months on end.

All these places interest me, and bumming around is a personal speciality, but there isn’t much desire within me to go visit them.

They are only places.

Bad language and children

2011-01-04T21:00:00.003Z

I heart swearing. Positively love it.

If used in the right fucking context, swearing can add great emphasis and colour to conversation.

I've heard the argument that it masks a poor vocabulary, and that it is vulgar and offensive. And although there is some swearing that I do find offensive, or perhaps more so, uninteresting, I don't agree with that as a blanket statement.

I swear well.

Well when you curse as much as I do, occasionally you are going to get it right.

However when my son was born, or not long after, I took a vow to curtail the colour in my language for fear of his first word being arsehole, or bollocks.

This was tough as previously I would swear in front of anyone, all the live long day. My mother, mother-in-law, the vicar, I'm struggling to think of who I wouldn't swear in the company of.

But I did really, really well. Switching off the swearing when my son was in earshot.

My philosophy has changed a bit of late, and here's why I know:

Me (ironing what looked like a barely used school tracksuit): “Son, do you even wear this tracksuit at school?”

Max, nonchalantly: “Only when it's pissing down dad.”

Whoopsy.

I didn't even bother asking where he had learnt that word, I knew.

More importantly though, my son seemed to understand that he'd used a 'naughty' word, but in my sole company it was no big deal. In fact when I asked him to repeat it, when I was regaling the story to family, he wouldn't.

And that's why I think it is good to swear in front of children, and then explain why people find it offensive, and in what type of situation it really isn't appropriate, like the classroom.

Letting him watch Family Guy with me over Christmas may have been a little too far though.

But again, this was a good opportunity to explain the gravitas of that type of swear word, and how in many, many different situations it is offensive, and that as a parent I wouldn't tolerate that 'strength' of swear word in conversation from my child, unless in exceptional circumstances I suppose.

I also side on the autocratic parenting side. There are occasions where simply telling a child they can't do something, that you do at will, sends a positive message.

Reminding my child who is boss, is not something I like to do with regularity, but it is definitely something I do when deemed necessary, and this could also be a chance to do that.

He has also come home from school and asked me what the words wanker and gay mean, so I guess by being the one who actually introduces him to vulgarity, then I am in control of the situation, rather than at the mercy of the foul mouthed herd of the playground.

But what about you lot? What do you think? Have you ever called your child a prick? Or took your darlings to task over their language?

Favourite conversations of the week

2010-12-03T10:51:00.004Z

In the car on the way to a swimming lesson

The boy: “Dad, is Cheryl Cole real?”

Me: “Eh?”

The boy: “Is Cheryl Cole real?”

Me: “Errm, well she does spend a lot of time in my imagination, but yes, she is real.”

The boy: “Is Simon Cowell real?”

Me: “Yes, Simon Cowell is real?”

The boy: “So is everyone from the X Factor real?”

Me: “I know it’s difficult to believe son, but yes, those people are all certified human beings.”

A decent pause.

The boy: “Is Barry Chuckle real?”

On the way home from school

The boy: “Dad, did you know that Father Christmas isn’t real?”

Me: “No, what makes you think that?”

The boy, all-matter-of factly: “He isn’t real.”

Me: “Who delivers all the presents then?”

The boy: “Jesus Christ.”

Me: “What? You mean to tell me, on the night before his birthday, bearing in mind he is getting on a bit now, Jesus H Christ delivers presents to children all over the world?”

The boy: “Yes, he must do. Because Father Christmas isn’t real.”

A decent pause.

The boy: “Daddy, does Jesus Christ like mince pies?”

The school run, over.

2010-11-30T20:45:00.004Z

I get accused of not taking plenty of things seriously enough.

My child's education.

Work.

And my personal hygiene.

I take all these accusations as compliments.

However one thing I take ridiculously seriously is road safety, or more particularly my child's safety when we are pedestrians.

Shouting is not my style, not in general, and not when it comes to parenting. Remaining calm, sometimes cutting, can be infinitely more powerful than simply raising the volume.

But when it comes to crossing the road and staying safe, I'm as serious as cancer, when I say rhythm is a dancer.

My decibel level gets decidedly higher when my child does something that I feel puts his well being in danger. And at the very height of my 'training' he used to know that when I said 'heel', like you would to a dog, that I meant it.

There was always a jovial twist on it, but the message of taking personal safety seriously was there, and I believe it is one well heeded.

But on our daily wander to and from school I see things that concern me greatly, and predict it is only a matter of time before a child is twatted by a car.

Some kids just seem completely unaware of the danger of walking into a road. And often the excitement of meeting up with a chum, means that they put themselves in situations they really shouldn't.

Parents often bawl and shout, but I've not seen a single one explain why they are angry with their children, when, in fact, it should be themselves they are angry with. The pricks.

There's also folks that insist on driving to school, when it is totally within reason that they should walk. Or certainly park on the outskirts of the village and wander in.

With the weather as it is. Snow, putting everyone in a state of panic, this situation is heightened further.

I also take extra precautions when walking in the snow, crossing the road to the side least likely to be mounted by folks that don't seem to understand that brakes don't work on ice.

A good practice I reckon. And today evidence to support my protocol was witnessed.

Folks clouting each other, one on the way back from dropping their child at school, and the other on the way to pull right up to the school gates as possible.

There was pandemonium in the street, well, as much as a dozen people could create.

All hot air and nonsense over nothing, which I turned my back on and continued our walk on to school. I did take a bit of time to explain to my child, that's why we cross the road at certain points, that would possible appear unnecessary to him. Furthering that the crash was totally avoidable, if folks weren't obsessed with getting as close to the school in their chosen mode of transport as they are.

Luckily, and I mean that, no one was injured today, but I do seriously consider it a matter of time before someone is.

I hope I'm wrong.

Films I really should have watched by now

2010-11-21T10:17:00.004Z

As I get older, and grumpier, I find less and less on the television that I want to watch.

Perhaps I should give it up, and read more, but having rekindled my love for reading novels, I still habitually like to watch television in the evening, if only over the top of my notebook.

Thing is there is generally very little I want to watch on.

And now, I have even managed to run out of box sets and films I had queued up.

This year, or over the last 18 months, I have watched complete series of The Wire, The Sopranos, The Thick of It and Flight of the Conchords as well as the first few seasons of 24.

I have also watched Inglorious Bastards, after having it ‘in stock’ for about 10 months. And there are several other films, older ones, that I have heard people wax lyrical over, that I, for whatever reason, never got round to watching on the big screen. But have now on the little one.

They include: The Kite Runner, One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, Blood Diamond, In The Loop, Damned United, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Happy-Go-Lucky, This Is England, The Wrestler, The Pursuit of Happyness and Deathproof.

And now, having been bereft of any movie material, I had a bit of a splurg on everyone’s best money sapping friend, Amazon.

Et voila.

I also bought a Smokey and The Bandit box set, and a copy of BMX Bandits, the latter to take part in a podcast on Lee and Dan’s Midnight Movie Club.

Good Will Hunting is another ‘classic’ I have yet to add to my pending library, as is Brokeback Mountain.

But what others am I possibly missing?

Answers on a postcard, or failing that, in the comments here.

(BTW, I can’t abide horror films)

Not interested in my child's school work

2010-11-17T21:48:00.004Z

I am not a very good liar, which is one of the reasons friends consider me straight.

'The straightest man I know' is actually a copyrighted phrase by Dan Hughes, circa October half-term 2010.

Sometimes this trait serves me well, and at others, it leaves me wishing I had never even opened my mouth.

It was my son's parent consultation earlier this week, and it started like this:

Teacher: 'Well, do you have any questions, concerns or want to have a look at your son's work?'

Moi, glibly: 'No.'

Teacher: 'Right, err, well........

I could have pretended, made stuff up, asked all about Key Stage 1, but my answer – no – to that question, was genuine.

I don't have any concerns about my son at school, nor would I wait for a scripted scheduled opportunity to ask questions of the school or his teacher. Plus, only a week ago we'd enjoyed an afternoon at school where he shared all his school work with his attentive father.

The truth is I don't give a shit about how he does at school. I really just want him to be happy there.

And with his personality, I think that is a philosophy that will backhandedly get the most out of him.

The teacher went on to say how together my son is at school, very knowledgeable of the world around him, how he is confident, always willing to contribute and offering ideas and opinion clearly of his own mind.

None of this surprised me, but it was pleasing to hear.

I went on to explain to the teacher that if he did excel at a certain discipline, arithmetic or literacy for example, that I would ask the school to spend less time on these subjects with him, rather than push him in areas he is clearly already adept in.

Broaden his mind, not centering it on the subjects he happens to be 'good' at.

There seems an obsession that if children, even at really tender ages, show an aptitude for one of the three Rs, that they are pushed, and pushed hard to be better at them.

I appreciate that children need to be stimulated at school in order to enjoy it, and avoid boredom. But rushing them in narrow, albeit traditionally valued and intrinsic disciplines, means that you are only delaying the point at which disinterest occurs. Either when a child plateaus or when there is literally no higher level for them to go to, last year of each school they are at for example.

There's also the case of children then losing confidence as new subjects are introduced, when suddenly they are no longer top of the class.

Schools' motivation for pushing children must also come into question, as I have heard all sorts of stories from 'educational professionals' such as a child that achieves a certain 'level' early can have that result counted the year they achieve it, as well as the year they should have, thus producing better overall results for an education establishment.

My view is not common, certainly not on our playground, but I couldn't be more genuine about it.

Parents argue with me that if Max was really good at the core subjects my opinion would differ, and thereby, by doing so, demonstrate how they do not know me at all

The only possible set of circumstances I might look at pushing him in core skills, is if I thought he was unhappy because he was struggling with them. But that's unlikely to happen as I see it, and even in those circumstances, I may focus on why he gives a shit about being good at skills that are useless on their own.

It's all about what you do with what you've got, rather than simply what you've got.

It is for me.

And to emphasise my point I always use the analogy of Stephen Hawkin.

One of the world's greatest minds.

And precisely where would he be without his techno, and thus his ability to process his knowledge to great use?

Great minds are fucking pointless on their own.

Mommy saturation point

2010-11-16T21:29:00.003Z

I'm not exactly sure of the timing, but pretty soon after my wife passed away I threw myself into the stay-at-home parent arena.

Parent and toddler groups, music sessions, soft play groups, baby swim sessions, library story times, I was there, at them all, with my boy.

At a lot of these places I found myself the only man.

This was a novelty for me, and for a lot of the children. I remember being a magnet for some kids at these groups, and played with an awful lot of children as well as my own.

As intimidating as it was, and as fragile as I was, I didn't ignore the other parents, or put more accurately, the vast sea of mothers I was sailing amongst.

I was desperate to discover any 'mothering' type behaviour that, as a man, might not occur to me without prompt.

Such was my self-immersion in these groups I even got invited to social events linked to them. Whether out of sympathy, social awkwardness or a genuine enjoyment of my company I don't know, didn't care either. I still went out 'with the girls' on my voyage of discovery, and mini-crusade to prove myself as a parent.

When Max started school, if anything, this sort of thing and my involvement within mommy circles intensified.

My motivation this time round was to make sure that my son's opportunities, particularly his social ones, were not limited. It was important to me that folks felt comfortable in my company, and thus would be happy to send their children into my care, as they would be to take my son into theirs.

I sought acceptance, and approval I suppose.

Thing is, I struggle with the triviality that I've found prevalent when socialising with groups of parents, now I'm saying parents, but I mean moms.

OK, it is all relative, and what I find non-consequential, others may find the same thing a near life or death occurrence.

There's also the fact that I am sure many women would find the company of a group of men as annoying and the conversation non-consequential and uninteresting.

However when I was included on a round-robin text message about missing pencils, that was enough for me.

I am still cordial with all these people, but I have curtailed my socialising. Sending my child on his own for tea with families, when I would have joined him previously.

Turning down the opportunities to go out and socialise with the school group of moms.

This has of course back-fired to an extent, as it has increased - hopefully temporarily – the triviality.

I am now getting texts that say:

'did you get my text?'

and

'you don't text any more'

I can think of better uses for 12p.

Plus I am being mithered a bit for turning down the nights out.

But still, shit like that only furthers my resolve, and acts as proof that I have taken the right action, and that indeed, my tolerance levels have been exceeded.

I concede that I need to handle this delicately, but for my own sake feel that there really is no going back.

Question is, how do you explain all that without offending people, undoing all the ground work that has granted my boy the social opportunities he now has?

Tidy Books

2010-11-11T10:52:00.007Z

A few years ago a saw an advert in the back of Practical Parenting that struck a real chord with me.

It was for a children’s bookcase.

A bookcase that children store their books in facing forward, showing off their beautifully illustrated covers rather than their terrible efficient but equally unexciting spines (Mr Men books aside, that actually spell Mr Men when collected together).

This is a method of storing and displaying books I have seen used in libraries but could not recall seeing in a home, but I thought it looked really cool, and having had one for a few years now, I still do.

However I am not really allowed near it without the correct authorisation, as my son has become very protective of his bookcase.

That is another charming trait of Tidy Books products, they really do encourage children to engage with their books, and take responsibility for them, I’ve experienced it first hand.

Really by chance I have ended up working with Tidy Books, helping them with the Tidy Books blog, Twitter and Facebook pages.

Geraldine, the creator of Tidy Books, is one of the nicest and most genuine people I have come into contact with, and having taken a decision five years ago to only work with projects and people that yielded me enjoyment as well as sustenance, I am delighted to still be working with her and Tidy Books.

With people considering gift buying for Christmas, Tidy Books are really popular, as their desirability as elegantly simple products that offer real longevity is heightened.

As an incentive UK readers of this blog are offered a 10% discount on all Tidy Books products. Bookcases, The Bunk Bed Buddy and Tidy Box.

All you have to do is use DISCOUNT CODE SPD10 when making your purchase, and 10% will be deducted from your total. Go and check out their excellent range of products here.

Tidy Books have also recently launched in the US, and are also available as far a field as Australia.

SO over half-term

2010-11-03T11:38:00.004Z

Last week was holiday time for children here in the UK. Schools, certainly the ones still controlled by local government, split each school term with a weeklong holiday. These are lovingly referred to as half-terms.

I think they are great.

My child certainly seems to need a break after a six, seven or eight week stint at school, and I love having a week to ourselves.

That typed I am finding them increasingly hard work, and the word holiday is not really applicable to me, in a sense I’d like it to mean anyway.

This is partly my own doing, as I don’t allow the necessary time for work related tasks, and attempt to plough through a normal working week incorporating activities and days out with little concern to running out of time.

My work is deliberately flexible, as I seek opportunities to suite circumstance that both suit my skills, my availability and my ethos. But the knowledge that I can work in the middle of night when necessary is perhaps a false comfort, as the reality of doing so leaves me underperforming, and probably not fully enjoying other things.

Last week was gloriously hectic, but I think I did actually plan too much and we would both have benefitted from more sedate time at home alone.

A highlight of the week was having three quarters of my favourite internet family visit us, and our introduction to Geocaching.

The kids were in charge of getting us into the right place.

Dan was in charge of scaling trees to finds the caches.

And I was in charge of health and safety.

What could possibly have gone wrong?

But all the activities of last week left me completely whacked, noticeably so to me and others. And I feared another funk of summer holiday proportions.

However, with a much more relaxed 48 hours I feel I am returning to a happier even keel.

Hey, I've even found the energy to blog about it.

Some numpty sent me a free washing machine

2010-10-22T13:53:00.004+01:00

Out of the multitude of emails this blog seems to induce from public relations executives, I occasionally get some I actually read, and very, very infrequently I am fortunate enough to actually get offered stuff I can be bothered to respond for.

And whilst I have never yearned longingly after white goods for Christmas, don’t laugh, one of my mates actually once bought his fiancée a new washer for Christmas. That didn’t go down very well. Worked out ok for me though, I ended up going on their ‘honeymoon’ with him.

Anyway, with an aging washer/dryer, not really ideal for our present home, the offer from Appliances Online to send me one of their washing machines was most welcome.

Their website is superb. I usually find the endless specifications coupled with various comparison tools an absolute headache to ensure you end up with the most relevant machine. Often relying heavily on other customer reviews.

In this case, while all those knobs and whistles are there, they also have video explanations of their products. Not the most gripping viewing, but for a pseudo geek like me, most useful when making my mind up.

I ended up with a Zanussi ZW14791W

Which I must say I have since found excellent. And despite the price tag not being relevant, my inner ~~tight bastard~~ savvy self couldn’t find it elsewhere any cheaper.

The service provided was excellent, booking a delivery time, notification 24 hours before of an actual time slot, then even a call from the driver 20 minutes before the thing arrived.

Have it.

It washes really well, as I would expect, and I can demonstrate that with the most deliberate experiment I performed of only putting one of my child’s grubby socks in the wash.

Washed on the most economical setting (which ideally I would prefer this to say scratter, scumbag or tightwad but hey) this is the difference.

They even call afterwards to check all is ok, well actually that’s what they say they are doing, but they eventually try to sell you an extended warranty, but if, like me, that’s not your thing, just let them know that at the outset and they’ll make a note not to waste their time offering it to you.

Is ignorance bliss when you're five?

2010-10-14T20:01:00.005+01:00

The 14^th of October is a significant date in British history.

On this day in 1066 The Battle of Hastings was fought. Battles were so much more efficient back then, as was personalised tapestry, obviously.

However many years later, but on the same day in October, my wonderful wife, my son's fabulous mother, was born.

As she loved them, the celebration of her birthday was always a tumultuous affair. She yielded much enjoyment from presents, surprises, well wishes and the attention a 'loud' birthday can bring.

And those around her, that loved her, obviously got great pleasure in her happiness too. Not least of all me.

My son never got to share one of his mother's birthdays in the flesh, although he was a huge part of her last birthday celebrations, her 30^th.

She was six months pregnant with him, so technically, he was at one of her parties, albeit as a foetus.

The growing question though has been how to handle them since her passing.

To me anniversaries of her birthday, her death and other significant dates in our lives are no big deal, I even managed to forget our wedding anniversary this year.

They are simply another day, today I love her no less, and think of her no more, than I will tomorrow.

However I am aware that this isn't the same for everyone, and as I try to help my boy manage his grief for his horrendous loss, today gave me a dilemma.

Do I tell him today would have been his mother's 36^th birthday?

I am not sure why, but it felt like the right thing to do this morning.

Most likely as he is getting to the age where he will work out that I am keeping things from him.

And however well intentioned my shielding is, interpretation by him could possibly lead to mistrust and worry about what else I am not passing on.

I also think he has the ability to accept things for what they are, face reality, feel sad about things, but act with acceptance and understanding.

He didn't quite gloss over the fact today, he most certainly acknowledged it, but it wasn't long before I was getting his breakfast order and quizzed on who I preferred. Indiana Jones or Jesus Christ being my 'either or' this morning.

The walk to school was a pleasant one, and he was clearly in good spirits going into school. I chose not to tell his teacher or any of his peers. I didn't want them checking 'he was OK' all day, rather treat him like normal.

Concern for my child while at school is never zero, but today it was a little higher than usual, and I envisaged his mood possibly being a little sombre at home time.

That wasn't the case at all.

He was the third kid out of the door today, with a huge whacking smile on his beautiful boat race.

I got a squeeze, and obviously his school bag and lunch box a few seconds later.

Our saunter home was joyous, not least at all because two Justice League DVDs had arrived, recommended to me by Mr Hughes in light of me revealing I think most of children's television is awful.

I was tempted to call these impromptu items gifts on the day of his mother's birthday, but didn't, fearing creating a beast, and setting a dangerous precedent.

Who knows, next year may be very different, but today has been anything but sad.

Super boy even managed to swim a length of the pool tonight, a whole 25 metres.

Have some of that.

His mom couldn't have asked for a better present.

Although, I'm sure she would have tried.

Do you actually like kids' telly?

2010-10-07T21:50:00.003+01:00

When my son was a pre-schooler/toddler/infant*(delete as appropriate) I accepted that television programmes that he might engage with would be shit, or at least I wound find them shit and be irritable watching them.

I wasn't wrong.

With the exception of The Fimbles, there wasn't a show minus a character that I didn't want to cave their head in.

Some that have even survived from my childhood. Like Postman Pat. His incompetence at his job appals me, and is not entertaining at all, he's just a twat. No wonder the Royal Mail is on its arse.

Balamory seemed to be a Scottish haven for the inept, and its replacements, Me Too and In The Night Garden, absolute gash.

There was the occasional programme I could tolerate, I could even stomach Big Cook and Little Cook in the right mood, but I did have to sing my own words for the theme tune to stop myself from smashing the television in.

Then my son's choices 'matured' to cartoons, and eventually to Ben 10.

Ben Tennyson, to me, is tripe. Written to a formula and re-branded every 20 minutes so children worldwide, in stereo, can continually ask for the latest alien, Four Arms, Monkey Butler, Bollock Ache or whatever nonsense name they come up with at the money printers.

Star Wars has always been of common interest, but I can't really take to the cartoon version, although it does mean I ask a lot of questions, to which my son has to articulate answers about Jedi heritage and so on.

Horrid Henry, Tracy Beaker, I ignore with aplomb.

I find Deadly 60, with Steve Backshall, superb. We really enjoy that together. My boy loves wildlife, as do I, well the brutality at least, and both find this gripping, and it will prompt all sorts of discussions between us.

The boy has taken to ChuckleVision of late. You know, to-me, to-you, that sort of stuff. Except they don't seem to do that any more. Paul Chuckle does a rather irritating 'da da da da da da da' stopping-his-brother-in-his-tracks thing, but I do smirk at some of it.

After bath time we tend to sit and watch The Simpsons, which I know is not a children's programme, and I am sure there are many parents that would not judge that as age appropriate for a five-year-old.

But discussing our favourite episodes, and subsequently my son doing impressions of Homer mimic Stephen Hawking are moments I properly treasure.

Total Wipeout has sprung up on CBBC, and we have laughed at daft folks falling off stuff in tandem.

But it really is hit and miss what we both like.

So what kids' shows can you stomach, and which ones have you wanting to liquidise your eyeballs?

Giggle minute

2010-10-06T14:02:00.006+01:00

In an attempt to get over my post holiday funk I've been watching clips from the interweb that generally make me smile.

Then I pondered if I, as a complete imbecile (copyright Dan Hughes 2009), would be able to stitch together a minute's worth of my favourite skits.

Et voila.

It seems I can.

Quite a few I couldn't lay my hands on, like Stephen Hawking's visit to Moe's Tavern in The Simpsons, but there are other personal classics that I could.

No nudity, but there is ample swearing, so probably not best for those with tender earoles.

What would your 'Giggle Minute' look like?

Praising destructive behaviour

2010-10-01T12:41:00.004+01:00

Generally when children break things, material things, is it or a good or a bad thing?

During the school summer holidays my boy created quite a catalogue of destruction, yet some of it left me positively beaming.

I don't remember ever being praised for breaking anything as a child, perhaps I was and I don't recall, but there are a couple of things my lad put into the BER category (Beyond Economical Repair) that I hope he remembers my reaction to forever.

The first was a 21” diameter plant pot, and I know its exact size as I tried to source a replacement.

I bought my boy a new bike this summer. He had outgrown his old one, and I spotted an ideal place to buy a bigger version (they did trade-ins) and an opportune place to encourage him to learn to ride a bike without stabilisers.

The place was where my parents have a static caravan.

The site has a decently sized grass hill, that I deemed brilliant for teaching a five-year-old to ride their bike.

All was going swimmingly, the hill was steep enough for him to not really have to peddle, thus concentrate on balancing, and, much more importantly, save me the bother of actually having to push him.

Such was his progress I went to fetch his grandparents to watch him ride from the top to the bottom of this hill.

My boy, confident from his recent improvements, set off.

Getting quicker, and quicker, and quicker.

And at the same time my dad was saying: “He does know how to brake? He does know how to brake? He does know how to brake?”

You can see where this is going right?

Yes.

Straight into that plant pot.

Make that newly obliterated plant pot.

I ran down the hill heart in mouth.

He was OK.

The plant pot was not.

We tried to salvage her.

But she ended up still being BER.

After checking he was OK I told him how brilliant he had been to the point of impact, and that I bet he couldn't do it again.

His face changed. From not being sure, thinking he was in trouble, to one of a cheeky smirk and confidence. He even went and had another go straight afterwards, albeit after familiarisation with the workings of brakes.

I hope I reacted in the right way, not overly concerning myself with apportioning blame. Blame I wholehearted accepted and absolved him from.

But more so focused on the excellence of actually now being able to ride, and crash, a bike.

The second destructive act I cheered him for was when he split a polystyrene body-board in half.

Again something borne out of his summer improvements.

Last year he wasn't really interested in surfing waves, more so being knocked over by them.

But this summer he cracked it, riding a body-board all the way to the beach, hence running out of water, and thus breaking a board in half.

My reaction?

“Wow son, that was absolutely awesome. Look how far you went? You are brilliant.”

And again his face changed.

I explained to him that I remembered doing similar as a child, much older than him though, and that it just meant he needed a more robust board.

A board we already had.

One he was on. Merrily surfing to the shore, about two minutes later.

What can I say?

He's a smasher.