GrumpyDaddy

Some sort of normality has returned to our household today. After nearly a week and a half of ilness both the twins are back at school today. That said, I'm still expecting a phone call at some point to come and bring Pat¹ home. Not that's he's really ill anymore, but he's in complete mard-arse² mode thanks to a week at home.

In the true style of parent blogging I'm going to moan about my lot. I've no real reason to, the fact I can sit here spending time to blog shows I'm a privilaged person, but parent blogging is all about moaning about stuff. In a moment I may start moaning about stuff I have no real training or expertese in such as the methods used to teach reading at school or the design of buggies, or some other stuff I know nothing about.

We've reached quite a milestone recently with the twins starting school. I have no idea how four and a half years have passed so quickly. Both Pat and Kitty have launched themselves into school with great enthusiasm and are really enjoying the experience.

Seeing them start school is an emotional experience. For most parents its the same I expect. It is the end of an era. An era that began with feeds through the night, then nappies galore, first steps, potty training and garbled talking. Starting school feels like the cut off point between infants and children. And a change to a different kind of parent.

Our youngest son recently turned two and is empbracing his third year with gusto. Far from the cliched terrible twos he's instead the same funny smiling boy he always has been. Yes he's a little more definite in his opinions but on the whole he's the happiest person I've ever met.

While his favourite playmates are his older brother and sister his favourite unrelated friends are spiders. Here in Dorset we have an astonishing spider population, they surround all the windows of our house and every space in the garden. I never saw anywhere near as many spiders as I have since we moved to this part of the country.

And our little boy completely adores them. He cheerfully waves to them when he sees them "Ello pider" he says. He'll happily stand at the window for twenty minutes watching a stationary spider - occasionally offering an "Ello" or asking me to come "pider look, daddy, pider look".

Our youngest has reached that delightful age where he's really working hard on learning to speak. Not that he's been a quiet boy until now - oh no - he has a fine set of pipes on him and has always been very vocal. I say vocal, what I mean is very very loud. I blame my wife.

But anyway, he's now learning words and manages a few new ones every day. Here at home he's increasingly able to tell us what he wants without having to point. Being typical proud parents we're delighted with his cute little voice and the many things he can now say. And like many proud parents we're somewhat deluded by our little monkey's language abilities.

Today should be a happy day. If Lanie had lived she would be celebrating her 37th birthday today. Her gorgeous twins and I would probably have made her a cake and took her somewhere special for dinner. I like to believe the alternate-worlds view of cosmology partly because it means somewhere that's exactly what is happening right now.

And meanwhile in this universe my wonderful Jo and I are planning a very special birthday for the twins next week, with our ridiculously cute baby Will, who doesn't exist in that alternate reality. It seems every universe has its own unique pain and suffering, but also has unique gifts things that make us so very happy.

Maybe there's even an alternate universe where Lanie can read this blog post and knows that I miss her so much and wish her a wonderful happy birthday.

I've just driven back from town with my three year old daughter where we went to get a birthday card for a friend of hers and some groceries. Out of nowhere Kitty started the following conversation, which I though was well worth relating to you verbatim...

Our three year old (almost four) twins play some strange games at times - but that's childhood imagination for you. One of the joys of being a daddy at the moment is listening to the bonkers things they talk about when making up their own worlds to play in.

Sometimes it's sad too. The other day I heard my daughter playing with some Peppa Pig characters and the conversation she added went something like this:

"What's wrong"?
"Oh I'm just a bit lonely."
"Why?"
"My mummy died and now I'm on my own."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, just a bit sad."

I suppose that's a good thing really, she's already able to discuss and understand the major turning point in her young life. But hearing that kind of thing in their play brings a tear to my eye.

It's Sunday morning and I'm watching my three little children bomb around the room as though it isn't fuckinghell o'clock. Of all the things about fatherhood I find difficult it's the early and noisy starts that are hardest to bear.

To be honest I'm not really cut out to be a parent. I'm too selfish. I'm also a night owl, feeling more creative in the small hours and semi-comatose before 11am. I love solitude and quiet. While some people - my wife included - recharge their batteries by spending time with friends I gain strenght with peace and quiet. Peace and quiet is not something available in a house with three children under four.

Many men probably feel the same about fatherhood. That's why so many supposedly young and hip fathers end up buying a shed to hide in as soon as possible. Some fathers may read this post and wonder what on earth I'm on about.

I recently received the official wedding photos for mine and Lanie’s wedding. I won’t bore you with why it’s taken over three years for me to receive the photos we paid for - at least I have them now and that’s that.

The pictures made for difficult viewing as you’d expect. Lanie died within six months of those photos being taken and every bit of them is drenched in sadness because of that. However I’m glad to have them, both as a memory of an astonishingly important and wonderful event and because I really don’t have as many pictures of Lanie as I’d like. One day the twins will want to see these.

Another reason the pictures were hard to look at was the complete cock Lanie and I made of the wedding. Getting pregnant with twins really messed up the plans for the dress. We got the music badly wrong and made a terrible job of making our guests feel welcome. And I was so nervous I spent the morning puking. Lanie and I would laugh about all these weeks later, but I still feel embarrassed that we didn’t mingle properly with our guests - sorry once again folks.

Being the father of twins imbues one with a certain amount of cockiness. After all - those early days together saw me as their sole carer having been cruelly widowed. And so when I hear couples talk about how hard it is to look after their one child I tend to inwardly snort with derision. “You want to try it with twins,” I think, “On your own, while your heart has been ripped out.”

But the truth is that no matter how well prepared you are, how much you think you’ve seen and done it all, the second time around is still difficult even for a couple. The twins didn’t walk properly until they were 15 months old. This was laziness on their part - they cruised for months - but thanks to our narrow house there was no gap that required them to let go of a wall to get anywhere. By the time they decided to give “look no hands” a go they were already experts at it. There was no phase of falling over, no wobbliness, all nice as simple.

Today marks a watershed in my life as a parent. For the first time I've taken a pair of scissors to our son's hair. His beautiful curly locks are no more. And while I've done a decent job of his first haircut (if you don't look at the back of his head) it's quite a sad day.

My good lady wife is already sad that our little munchkin's curls have gone and she's not even seen my efforts yet - the twins are having their afternoon nap.