Didsburydad's Blog

From the not so mean streets of M20, blog about being a dad, Didsbury and dealing with parental confusion

Archive for the tag “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”

One Down Dog You don’t come up from quickly

So there I was, flat on my back. It was dark and I was on the floor. My left hand stretched through the bars and held a pudgy, squidgy hand. My right arm stretched backwards over my head through another set of bars to another hand. I heard myself singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and humming songs, to which I only know derogatory football-related lyrics and for five minutes I was in heaven. My sciatic nerve was stretching, I was off homework duty and the football had not quite kicked off. 

Then it hit me. This quasi-crucifix position on my not quite Athletic, post post 39 body is a disaster in waiting. As my stretched right arm began to quiver and a searing pain munched its way up and down it, I came to two age-related realisations;
1. It is now 30 months since the twins were born and I was last pain free. These babies, now full-volume, negotiating toddlers are a gift – but one which pulls every joint, vertebrae and limb in a daily dance designed to test (and find weaknesses). I am now 18% cortisone and Boots’ pharmacy greet me like bartenders and ask “the usual, sir?”.
2. I have no idea how to move. It’s a bit cold and I’ve been lying flat on the floor now for 40 minutes; any hope of graceful transition to vertical disappeared 37 minutes ago. 
All of this is a drop in a choppy ocean compared to the payback a cuddle and an I Love You bring from a grinning two-year old holding open your eyelid and then adding “Wake Up Daddy, Dora on TV?”
But… For those waiting to be Didsbury or other Dads beware – there is a floor waiting for your back and the football will be over by the time you get downstairs. 

 

Next Up… Hairdressers are so passé, it’s Dog Grooming Didsbury from now on. 

Bedknobs, Broomsticks, Wayne Rooney and stretched concentration

Hell is the consolation for those who turn their backs on forgiveness. Hell and a three-hour training session delivered via PowerPoint by someone who thinks adding an exclamation mark to a sentence is comedy and showing a years old badly-taken pet picture is a way of being endearing.

They aren’t. The exclamation marks merely emphasise the inability to write a funny sentence, the dog is now a four-foot, eight stone, child menace and I am so bored I am re-running this morning’s episodes of Peppa Pig and wondering if Daddy Pig is a loveable, laid-back boar or an idiot.

As we moved on to numbers of emails etc. I imagined the cartoon animals from Bedknobs and Broomsticks beating England 2-1 in the World Cup, whilst the TV Pundits described the Hippo as “too much of a handful for Wayne Rooney and Leighton Baines”.

This is sadly the root of all daddom “Do as I say, not as I do.”

Didsbury Son’s last parents’ evening was a joy. Searching to be critical, the only notes that came back were that he sometimes drifted and was distracted. I zoned out of the rest as there was a great picture behind her but lalala – pay more attention.

I realised that this is not a character flaw, this is in our DNA; like Male patterned Baldness, the magnetic attraction of hand to trousers whilst watching TV and a mistrust of weekends with more than one immovable event.

As I look around the room at my fellow trainees, the male contingent are all doodling, gaming, reading twitter feeds or are asleep.
This debunks the lack of Multi-tasking within men. Each person here can give you a breakdown of the event despite 3 hours spent catching up on emails. It’s the ancient skill, akin to sleeping with one eye open.
At 5.30am, singing “Twinkle Twinkle” for the 5th time, it is the only way to survive.

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Shiny object / calm place / shiny object / calm place

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