Taking my elbow off the brakes

Dear Dave,

Ah, the perfect Father's Day:

A long lie, a cooked breakfast and an afternoon spent dozing in front of the British Grand Prix. Then some quality time with the Xbox, followed by a couple of beers and a film featuring explosions, giant robots and Megan Fox. Meanwhile, the children tip-toe around quietly, being polite to each other and clearing up after themselves.

This is the life...

Not my life, unfortunately, but, hey, I can dream. Marie's attending a birthday party and so I'm writing this surrounded by yelling three-year-olds at the softplay.

Great.

Still, at least there's cake and these days I don't usually have to go into the ball swamp myself. I can shove Marie through the entrance of the giant maze of ramps and netting, and then retreat to a safe distance. I can drink a cup of coffee and make use of the free wi-fi while remaining oblivious to her dare-devil antics dancing on tottering piles of squishy shapes.

It might be worth checking on her later but there are plenty of adults about. After years of crawling through large PVC pipes to rescue her from foam-filled disaster, I'm more than happy to stay in the viewing area and let her fend for herself for a while.

Besides, the bruises haven't entirely faded from last time I was here, a fortnight ago.

It was the turn of Scary Karen's younger son, William, to have a party. With him and his brother in the softplay, I thought I should keep a closer eye on proceedings than normal. (They're the only pre-schoolers I know who've been banned from gymnastics classes for bringing power tools.) They were the least of my worries, though. I'd just followed Marie up to the top of the apparatus when Karen got carried away doing a Tarzan impression. Letting rip with a ululating cry, she swung across the cargo net on a rope and then let out a shriek as she went flying and body slammed me. I yelled and we both fell backwards and went head-first down an enormous slide in a tangle of limbs and cleavage. She was on top. I think I may have screamed.

The rest I've blanked from my mind. The next thing I remember is staring up at a circle of wide-eyed toddlers and then crawling away to the café, whimpering quietly to myself...

On the whole, it was not a pleasant experience. Oddly, however, it was less sore than the only time I've been down that slide voluntarily:

When Fraser was small, I encouraged him to have a go, only to realise as he disappeared that this meant he was at the bottom and I was still at the top. We were a couple of minutes of clambering apart. There was no telling what trouble he might get himself into in that time. To catch up with him quickly, I had no choice but to follow him down the chute. Undaunted, I launched myself in. After all, how bad could it be?

Within half a second of beginning my descent, I regretted my decision. I was hurtling to my demise in a highly-polished, neon red tunnel of doom, and I didn't even have headroom to sit up and see where I was going. In an instinctive bout of self-preservation, I stuck out my arms to slow myself down.

My speed barely altered and I had to spend the rest of the afternoon with my elbows dipped in a couple of Slush Puppies to soothe the friction burns they suffered.

Ow. Fear, and a need for control, brought me pain. I'm not doing that again.

Although...

I can't recall ever having seen this happen to a child. They just whoosh down. More than that, it doesn't matter whether they come out laughing or crying, they're back for another go within minutes.

There's probably a metaphor for life, parenthood, faith, marriage and/or bull riding there if you can be bothered to look for it.

Hmmm.... Bearing this in mind, maybe I've been a bit hasty. Maybe I should stretch my boundaries a little and live life more to the full... I think I'll go have another shot on that slide while Marie is still small enough for me to sneak into the softplay on the pretense of looking after her. Who knows? It might be fun.

If you hear a distant, terrified scream, you'll know it's me. Hopefully, this time, it'll be due to the slide and not Karen...

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS Happy Father's Day! Here's wishing you more than a mildly insulting card and a badge which reads, 'Best Dad Ever!'. Put your feet up. You deserve it.

A father's day

Dear Dave,

What are you doing for Father's Day?

Ooh, déjà vu! Is it really a whole year since I last asked you that question? I suppose it must be (unless the people who make novelty cuff-links, amusing bottle openers and amiably insulting greeting cards have taken over the world and made the event quarterly in order to flog more tack).

Once again, I'm not sure what I want. Computer games or DVDs would seem like the obvious answer but I still have more stuff to entertain me than I have time to fill with entertainment. This year, I'm not even getting left in peace because two of the children have clashing social engagements in different parts of town. Sarah and I will both need to be on escort duty. I'm going to spend the afternoon with a dozen five-year-olds, six trampolines and a bouncy castle. What could possibly go wrong?

Since this Father's Day won't be a chance to relax, maybe it should be a time to reflect on fatherhood. I've been a dad for eight years now. It wouldn't hurt to think about how it's been and what I've learnt.

If nothing more, it would be nice to have some words of wisdom to pass on to any prospective fathers I meet. After all, no one else is much good at preparing them for what to expect. It's a common refrain among parents of young children that nobody warned them about X, where X can be one of any number of things from a list which includes: the broken sleep, the hard work, the endless snot, the constant crying, the tedium, the isolation, the vomit, the penury, the lack of free time, the risk of personal injury, the arguing, the projectile poo, the teletubbies, the reduced opportunity for sex, the loss of sanity, the laundry and the effort involved in putting suncream on a wriggling (and increasingly slippery) toddler.

The newbies have a point. These topics tend to come up at playgroup where everyone has children already but they're much less likely to be mentioned in any detail in other situations. When we announced that Sarah was expecting Fraser, the most people with kids would say was, 'It will change your life.' We should maybe have taken a hint from their nervous laughter and the manic gleam in their eyes but then what did we know? If they had told us the whole truth, I'm not sure what we'd have done differently anyway. We might just have been a little more prepared.

I can't blame them, though. Now I have older children myself, I know that failure to talk about the less pleasant side of parenting isn't dishonesty.

Not exactly.

There's an element of self-preservation for a start. Parents don't want their problems thrown back at them and they quickly learn that those without offspring are seldom awfully sympathetic to their woes - having kids is seen as a lifestyle choice these days. 'Well, you were the ones who wanted to have children...'

There's also a certain amount of accentuating the positive - the smiles, the hugs, the love and the laughter. Lots of parents have made the choice and are thus predisposed to be pleased with the result. Even in those cases where an accident has happened, parenthood is a long-term prospect, so for sanity's sake, it pays to look on the bright side.

That said, the biggest factor in all of this is memory. It's very easy to lose track of how demanding babies can be. Life moves on rapidly with small children around. They get bigger, learn to talk, go to school; the nappies and tantrums and sleep deprivation fade away...

These issues combined make it hard to know what to say to new fathers but here are my thoughts:

Being a dad isn't difficult but it can be very hard. There are whole years that I don't clearly remember and others that I'd rather forget. Then again, I'm thankful I haven't missed out on the experience of being a parent. It's changed my outlook, attitude and priorities. I wouldn't give up my children for the world and I'd protect them with my life. They are part of me. I love them very dearly...

...even if they're totally ungrateful and treat me like a slave.

The tension between the rewards and trials of parenthood is best exemplified by our decision to have Marie. Sarah wasn't entirely well, we had our hands full with two boys under four, I still had depression and we were broke. It wasn't a good time. Nonetheless, our family felt a child short and it was important to us that they were all close together in age. We went ahead but when we revealed she was on the way, people reacted differently than with Fraser and Lewis. They weren't sure whether they were supposed to celebrate with us or commiserate. Almost everyone asked if she was planned.

It was a crazy decision but it was the right thing to do. We're so very glad we have her. She's sweet and funny, awkward and stubborn, and a hundred other things. And she's ours.

I'm looking forward to helping her and the boys grow up. I'm also looking forward to helping them move out. I don't know whether to go play football with them in a minute or go and lie down. I want to pass away surrounded by a horde of grandkids but I'd happily pass up on babysitting them all when they're small. There are days when I wonder what I'm doing; there's never a minute when I can imagine doing anything else. I'm content but just a little bit tired...

It can feel wrong admitting to these conflicting emotions but they're only natural. For all that being a dad is great, it also takes dedication. Perhaps the best advice I can give is that fatherhood can be confusing sometimes... and that's OK.

Hope you get a chance to doze off in front of the telly on Sunday afternoon but whatever you're doing, have a great Father's Day.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS Of course, along with this reassurance, I should probably point out that being a dad is fun too. I've learnt all sorts of skills. I can listen to three conversations at once. I can get by on six hours of sleep a night on a regular basis. I can explain almost anything in a way a three-year-old can understand. I can Riverdance along the street, identify cuddly toys in the dark and play Snakes and Ladders without dice. In short, I'm prepared for anything...

Well, mostly anything:

We had to enlist the aid of a new babysitter the other night and Marie kicked up a huge fuss at the thought of someone she didn't know looking after her. Then Tina arrived and Marie was suddenly delighted at the prospect of a fresh victim to show all her possessions and tell all her secrets. She grabbed Tina by the hand and whisked her off for a tour of the house complete with extensive commentary. When I went to check up on them a few minutes later, they were both sitting on Marie's bedroom floor. As I entered the room, Marie was very earnestly informing Tina that, "Some adults don't wear underpants. They have to wash their trousers more often."

There is no advice that can prepare a dad for moments like these.

But he always does the cooking

Dear Dave,

Glad to hear you all survived Mother's Day for another year. Taking your mum out to a restaurant was a smart move - it will have thrown the attention off Liz. Just as Valentine's Day can be awkward for single people, Mother's Day is a bizarre emotional minefield for role-reversed parents. I remember, way back on Father's Day, I mentioned how the advertising and social expectation were geared up all wrong for housedads. Well, Mother's Day is worse for our partners.

On Mother's Day, traditional mums get thanked for all the unsung work they put into doing chores and keeping the household running. It's an opportunity for them to have a break while the rest of the family takes over for the day. Those mums with a househusband, however, get to feel guilty for not doing all the things that traditional mums are being praised for. Even the simple question, 'Is he taking a turn and making lunch for you today, then?' can seem threatening. Answering, 'Yes,' implies the mum does the cooking normally. Any other response is going to lead to confusion and an eventual admission that it's really the dad who does all the housework. Before you know it, the mum feels like it should be her that's gratefully making the lunch for a change, even though that's what Father's Day is for.

It is in our house, anyway. Most places, I'm guessing Father's Day isn't quite the same. You see, there's a marked difference between the sentiments surrounding Mother's Day and Father's Day. Mums get a hard-earned rest; dads get a less-than-complimentary card and some encouragement to spend the day interacting with their family. Mother's Day is to say thank you for all the work, while Father's Day is to go play football in the park. Mums are appreciated for what they do; dads are appreciated for existing.

Hardly seems fair, does it?

Mother's Day does come with more handmade gifts, though. Marie made a card at nursery, Sunday School delivered decorated crockery and Anchor Boys turned up some... well, the only way to describe them is model houses constructed out of cleaning equipment and sharp pins.

Sarah was thrilled.



Even if we had a 'normal' lifestyle it would be hard for her to know how to take being given a couple of pot scourers and a duster for Mother's Day. Since she doesn't actually do any washing up or dusting, it's particularly difficult.

While making these gifts, the Anchor Boys were asked, "What are some of the things that your mum does that you need to thank her for?"

The other children piped up with suggestions like cooking and hoovering and cleaning.

Our boys just looked confused. "Mummy never does those things. Daddy does them."

No one really paid any attention to them, however. Adults tend to suspect that my kids are mistaken when they say stuff like that. Sometimes they chuckle at the very idea, even if they know I'm a housedad. It makes me wonder how they imagine our lives operate. Do they think I expect Sarah to come home from work, make us all tea, get the children ready for bed and then scrub the toilets?

I guess so. I suppose there are plenty of families where both parents are working and the mum does come home and do those things. The hype surrounding Mother's Day actually seems to suggest that that set-up is only right and proper. Mums are heroes and saints who get us all where we need to go, on time, in clean clothes and with a healthy packed lunch. They do it out of love and duty and with only the annual promise of breakfast in bed, a handmade card and a small box of Cadbury's Milk Tray to look forward to. (Actually, there's been some inflation since our day and the handmade card and chocolates have been replaced by a massage voucher and a Nintendo DS but it's still small reward for being a supermum.)

This is all very well, but building up being taken for granted as somehow virtuous, isn't very helpful to anyone except the dads who aren't pulling their weight. It even makes life more difficult for mums who don't have a traditional role - it can make them feel inadequate for not being a domestic goddess. It certainly gets to Sarah sometimes and that's despite the fact she does the laundry and helps out a great deal with looking after the children.

I have pointed out that going to work each day and earning the money to feed, clothe and house us all is quite a big deal really but, apparently, that doesn't count. She's supposed to be taking the kids on nature walks, preparing gourmet meals, organising art projects, redecorating the lounge and removing the stain round the bath, all with a twitch of her nose.

Yep, it's not easy being a breadwinning mum. As well as having to work in a man's world, there are all kinds of societal expectations of motherhood to overcome. Sometimes it's hard to see past them:

She may not hoover, but the kids do have a lot to appreciate Sarah for (and so do I!). The truth is, though, it doesn't matter what she's contributing. She's their mum and they appreciate her anyway. Hopefully, they won't be persuaded out of that by adverts and misinformation as the years go by.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS Admittedly, the kids aren't always great at expressing their appreciation. I had to remind them all to wish Sarah a happy Mother's Day this year, for instance, so I should probably put them into training for next year. That way they'll come up with suitable gifts and be more prepared for daft questions.

Never mind, at least they had the sense to give the pan scourers to me...

All I want for Father's Day is...

Dear Dave,

What are you doing for Father's Day?

I keep getting junk email advertising all kinds of bloke-oriented toys and gizmos that I might want my family to buy me as tokens of their appreciation for my very existence. Remote control items seem to be the thing this year - cars, helicopters, dragonflies, boats, you name it. There are plenty of other bits and bobs on offer as well, from Sat Navs to football playing robots to little fridges to keep beer in. Bizarrely, one company even thinks I might find some digital calipers useful. Even more bizarrely, the only use I can think of for digital calipers is to measure the internal diameter of my nostrils. (I've spent so long around small children, I suspect I'm going native).

Besides gifts, I've also had suggestions for special Father's Day trips I might fancy. There's a deal on at the zoo, for instance, giving a slightly reduced entry fee for families if you eat at the restaurant. Big whoop.

The problem is that none of this advertising really seems to speak to our situation. It's all along the lines of 'Remember to take time out from work. Relax, play and celebrate your family. Spend some quality time with them. Oh, and drink some beer.'

I get to play with toys all the time, however. We have at least three remote control cars in the house already - one only turns right, one is supposed to turn both ways but only turns right and the other is broken and doesn't turn at all but is a model of Mario on a kart so we can't get rid of it. I already have small children to watch play football badly. I don't care what temperature my beer is. None of the stuff really appeals. (Although I might be tempted by some remote control, football playing beer. I still wouldn't care what temperature it was, though).

As for taking the kids for an exciting day out to the zoo... That would be rewarding hard work with more hard work.

Sarah has a similar problem when Mother's Day rolls round. All the advertising involves children thanking their mum for the sweat and tears she's shed looking after them all year. It's a time for mums to put their feet up while someone else makes Sunday lunch. This just makes Sarah feel guilty for never making Sunday lunch. She'd just like a bit of appreciation for being her.

That's another story, however. The question is how to mark Father's Day. I'm not even wanting any games or DVDs - between renting and the ones I've got already, I've more entertainment available than I have time to fill. Which, I guess, pretty much suggests the solution. Even the kids managed to work it out without prompting. What I could really do with is some peace and quiet.

This Father's Day the children are going to show their gratitude for all I do by leaving me alone for a change. Sarah's going to take them to the zoo and I'm going to stay here and put my feet up. I'll take some time out from work. I'll relax, play and celebrate my family being somewhere else. I'll spend some quality time with the Xbox. Oh, and drink some beer.

Have a good one.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS Three weeks and seven plumbers later, the leak is finally fixed. There's a good chance we'll have to move out while the damage to the walls is repaired but for now we've just got three large air-blowers cluttering the place and making the house sound and smell like a laundrette.


A big, blue, blowy thing.

I want to take one of these along to a convention of stylists and do a Crocodile Dundee. "That's not a hair-dryer. This is a hair-dryer."