If the story I am about the tell you was made into a Quentin Tarantino type film, it would no doubt begin in reverse; with a coffin being lowered into the ground, a framed photo of me on top while my entire family stand around and ponder what could have taken such a perfect physical and mental human specimen so early…also John Travolta and Uma Thurman are there. Overdramatic? Sure. But how the large thumping vein on my forehead didn’t explode and send me to an early grave from the following story, I will never know. Let’s start at the beginning…
Delete Google from your bookmarks, throw away that Encarta 95 that you’ve been holding on to, and burn your 32 book set of Encyclopedia Britannica. All of these items rendered useless, and can now be replaced quite simply with my 12 year old…who has a fucking answer for everything. Maybe “answer” is the wrong word, sometimes it’s just muffled heated discussions that she appears to be having with herself and on occasion referencing slow ways in which I should be murdered. Read more »
Just over 3 years ago now I wrote my first ever piece for a friend’s movie blog, all about what watching a movie was like with a newborn (if you’re interested the link is -—>HERE). It’s hard to believe that was so long ago, now here I sit like a young J.K. Rowling on my diamond encrusted couch producing scriptures that change people’s lives and fill my pockets with gold.
Looking back and reading the piece I was surprised about two things; 1) The fact that it’s practically a Play School script; no mention of genitals or my sex life anywhere, and 2) Three years on I don’t think watching a movie has become any easier. Let’s discuss… Read more »
Having just dropped Iggy at kindergarten and Juliet at school, here I find myself sitting on my bed with my computer staring at photos of the kids on our wall, feeling a sense of sadness. Why the hell am I sad? Am I sad that I suddenly have 6 hours to complete tasks I’ve been putting off for weeks? Am I sad because the house is clean and nobody is here to destroy it? Upset because there isn’t anyone in the house that I need to remind to piss every 2 hours? WHY. AM. I. SAD?
To combat this ridiculous emotion I have decided to make a list of things that I have done or we as parents will be able to do now the kids have gone back to school.
I haven’t watched, read the synopsis or seen any advertising for the Academy Award winning film 12 Years a Slave, but my guess is it’s about a stay at home dad who lives with his wife, 2 kids and dog. Following him through the drama of everyday life, it covers life’s big problems; everything from his wife’s unrealistic expectations of his shopping abilities to the entire house’s distaste for emptying the rubbish bin. Most days he finds himself in the kitchen washing dishes and mumbling such catchphrases under his breath like “how the fuck are there 11 dirty cups since last night” and “how in living shit does it take 17 utensils and 3 electrical appliances to make a sandwich?”
Inspired by my assumption of the movie’s plot, and for the good of stay at home parents everywhere, I have decided to pen letters to each member of my family in order to vent my frustrations, dog included. I hope they don’t take it the wrong way as I have no intentions of going back to a real job (my old boss never let me nap during Mister Maker), I just need to get some things off my chest.
I remember 8 years ago when I lived in my best friend’s pocket, and he in mine. I would wake up on his couch on a Saturday morning and the hardest decision we had to make that day was if beer was a breakfast food or not. Now I have a 3 year old that lives in my pocket and I in turn in hers…and these days breakfast almost never involves beer. Sure there is a 12 year old getting around here too but she is way too cool to be living in anyone’s pocket…why do I keep talking about pockets? What I’m trying to get at is now that I’m home all the time, my best mate is a 3 year old. I know what you’re thinking; “Steven you’re supposed to be her parent not her best friend.”, please…I’m not trying to take her to a nightclub, slamming tequila shots and trying to help her pick up, I just mean we spend the majority of our week together. What I struggle with most is activities that keep her entertained and happy, but aren’t so boring that I can’t stay awake.
What I would like to do is give you a run down of a standard day in our house. Ok so it’s likely a mash up of a few days into one to make for a better story, but I can never actually remember what day it is anymore anyway…what is it like Sunday? February?
So it begins… Read more »
Do you ever have that feeling where you think becoming a member of your family could have been a huge mistake? Like maybe you should just dial it back a few years, maybe move back in with your old roommate and start living on beer and oven-bake potato wedges again? No you’ve never thought that?…yeah me neither, pretend I didn’t say anything. I’ll tell you something though, if you really want to test your dedication to your family, book a 6 week trip to America so you can spend 42 days within a self inflicted 10 metre radius of each other. I don’t think the rest of my family are really the issue, I’m pretty sure I’m the type of person that is fun to be around for about 6-8 hours a day. Enough rambling, onto the trip. Read more »
So my mum came over the other day in tears. Having recently found my Instagram account and getting a bird’s-eye view of me being a champion parent, she had come to the realisation that her skills as a mother were flawed and begged me to forgive her for 30 years of failures. Dad and her were even considering battling the barricades of menopause and a vasectomy to see if they could have another child, hoping that this time I would mentor them and give them the opportunity to be truly exceptional parents. “Mother, rise from your begging knees and pull yourself together”, I said in my most condescending tone. “For an undisclosed sum of money I will teach you the ways of a good Instagram parent”. Read more »
Not much excites a child like the prospect of a birthday party, especially their own. I asked both of my kids to list 3 of their favourite things; in order of preference, with 1 being their absolute favourite; and I quote…
Juliet (11 years old)
3. “Rolling my eyes at my parents when I know I’m wrong but don’t want to admit it”
2. “Putting away washed clothes in a manner that respects the garment”
1. “Birthday parties”
Iggy (3 years old)
3. “Did you say Birthday party Dad?”
1. “Birthday parties”
Undeniable results in favour of birthday parties, I’m sure you would agree…
When it starts getting close to their birthdays I am known to get just as excited as they do. I love hyping them up because I want them to have amazing memories of being a kid. Juliet usually chooses a sleepover these days over a party because she’s at the great age where staying up all night is as rebellious as it gets. Unfortunately in 3 years she’ll be smoking cigarettes out of her bedroom window and stealing alcohol from me to get the same rush. The last party we had for her was I believe her 8th, which coincides with the anniversary of the time I gave up baking birthday cakes for the remainder of my life…another story, another time. Read more »
I was visiting a local mental health facility recently, seeing if they had any vacancies, when I noticed that the entire east wing of the building was dedicated to parents who had taken their toddler shopping and never recovered. It’s a little known fact that attempting to shop with a toddler is equivalent to 11 years of intravenous drug abuse. I went to a local Westfield to interview some struggling parents and tried and attain some information on just how bad the situation is. Of the zero people I interviewed, 98% never recovered from a 30 minute walk through Kmart…startling made-up statistics. Read more »