Why her?

On Sunday evening after a very long day hosting family and friends at our home, the cutest one cut her finger. When I say cut her finger, I'm understating it. The doctors called it a partial amputation, which means its still attached, but that cut was damn deep. 

We're not really sure what happened. The beloved was cleaning one part of the house, I was vacuuming and the eldest pair were playing with and looking after the cutest one, and doing a brilliant job too I might add. They think that she got her finger caught in the door as it was closing, but we're still not 100% sure. Whatever it was, it was just an accident. Stuff like that happens from time to time. It certainly wasn't their fault in anyway shape or form, and I had to reiterate this over and over to my daughter who was extremely upset and blaming herself. When things like this happen, there is no point in blaming someone, or converting your own fear and shock onto anyone else. All it does is make a dreadful situation worse.

The cutest one was in a bad way, my daughter was in a bad way, I was in a bad way. I don't like blood, especially free flowing blood, especially from the cutest one. I felt helpless, I felt nauseous.. My little darling was in dreadful pain and I couldn't do anything. I couldn't make it better, I couldn't sooth her, just hold her and try to stem the bleeding. I hate being helpless when my family is suffering. There is no worse feeling. Your stomach sinks, you feel light headed and often panic starts to creep up upon you.

The beloved, shaken, but cool in crisis, rushed with the boy (a dependable calm lad) to hospital. She rightly decided I was no use whatsoever to her and that I should calm the eldest daughter. In some strange way it was good for me that she was so upset, because it took my mind off my own fears and concerns for the cutest one and focused me firmly on the needs of the eldest. She needed me now. I could help her. I could calm her. Even if I couldn't help the cutest one I could help another of my children. Hugs, cuddles, hair stroking and soothing, reassuring words. I can do that, and I did, and it worked.

A short time after they left a phone call from the boy explained that they had already seen a doctor, and were waiting for specialists. All good. Reassuring, to some extent, but at that stage I was starting to hate myself. I should be there. I should be listening to the doctors. I should be holding my poor baby. Damn helplessness! The beloved is more capable than I, and I had already done my fair share of emergency visits with the boy's asthma attacks. Now I was experiencing what she may have gone through. The fear of separation from your ill child, the constant worry of the unknown. 

A couple of hours after they left its a pleasant surprise to hear a key in the lock. I'm off the couch in an instant, and blabbing stupid questions to the beloved who is carrying the cutest one. If I had taken just a moment I would have noticed the little ones face; she was happy. Smiling away as if she didn't have a care in the world. Happy to see me, happy to see he big sister, and somewhat curious of the blue bandaged 'boxing glove' on her hand, but happy. Relief is such a cleansing emotion, its like all the fear is being washed away. With her beaming little smile, everything is better. 

The beloved tells me that everything should be ok, but the cutest one has to go to surgery the next day. I guess I expected as much so it doesn't surprise me. But we both agree that she'll take the little one, as I'm liable to lose the plot when then give her anaesthetic to knock her out. She's right, I'd be a mess. Even thinking about it now (she's currently in surgery), I'm glad I'm not there and I'm distracting myself with writing this and worrying about how to convey my emotions rather than the emotions themselves. Of course I should be there, for the wife, for the little one. But I'm not and I also feel like I'm betraying them, and not supporting them. Sure there are logical reasons to be at home, like the practical stuff of picking the other two up from school and going to footy training. Things that just keep happening regardless of what life throws at you. And that's really it. Life is like that. Shit happens, bad shit, but it doesn't stop the world from moving, it doesn't stop time, and it doesn't allow you to mope. You have responsibilities, and one of the keys to our marriage being wonderful is that we both work together to handle whatever life throws at us. This time, and for good reasons, I'm the one trundling on with those things that need to be done, and the beloved is the one dealing with the crisis. 

It still sucks to be waiting at home, waiting for a phone call to tell me everything is fine. Where's that damn phone call?

waiting

waiting

It came some 2 hours after the cutest one went into surgery, whilst I was revisiting the dreaded pumpkin soup (anything to distract myself). In the end we think all went well as no one said it went badly. Oddly no doctor spoke to the beloved before the cutest one was discharged, but I guess we'll find out more in a couple of weeks when the bandages come off. 

Plan B, don't leave home with out it

The school holidays finally ended and the two larger ones headed off to school on Monday. Don't get me wrong, I'm not using 'finally' out of desperation because I didn't enjoy it, because I did, more so from the little people's point of view we didn't really do that much due to my knee injury incapacitating me somewhat. So they were just a little bored. We didn't even play another game of monopoly, although moved on to Sorry and a few others instead.

We did manage one more significant activity; a trip to the the Scienceworks, a children's science museum located in Melbourne, some 70 kms from home. The kids were particularly excited because there was a Wallace and Gromit inventions exhibition on and they were rather keen to take a look.

The first thing you need to before going on an outing is to make sure that the thing/place you're going to go to is open. Tick. The second thing is to try and get excited children to get ready. I'm a firm believer in them taking responsibility for themselves. Heck their 7 and 10 and know how to get dressed and brush teeth etc. Still there is a significant effort on my part to strongly encourage them, usually via applying my dulcet tones to a higher volume than normal. Of course the snuggly small one can't do these things for herself (and she still has no teeth to brush anyway) so whilst urging my other charges on, I had to prepare the cute one.

Most her preparation is pretty obvious; nappy, clothes and dummy. Then recheck clothes to ensure she has enough to be warm; do I need her beanie? What about a coat? And then of course there is the packing for her. So much stuff to take including nappies, bags for used nappies, wipes, spare clothes, a bib, toys, change mat, dog collar...hang on what the heck is that doing in the nappy bag? Bloody kids....where was I? Food, bowl, spoon, pusher, blanket, spare plastic bags for god knows what, spare dummy, dummy chain, baby bjorn and probably other stuff I forgot.

Oh and always have a plan B, but more on that later.

"Have you got your iPods?"

In this day and age its easy to entertain older kids whilst going on a drive. Sure there are always books (for those that don't get car sick), car games like eye-spy and car cricket, and small toys with which they can play, but this is the age of handheld electronic device, and its brilliant; namely because it shuts them up.

When I was a child car trips were something a bit like this:

iPods and the like mean those days are over!

When we arrived at Scienceworks we found it just a wee bit busy. As we carefully tried to shark a car space we noted that the line we all the way around the building. That's a damn lot of people! It's ok, we'll get in, I'll just keep looking for that car park. er, no? No car parks within at least 500 metres, well stuff that, time to unveil plan B.

It's important to be able to quickly summarise the situation and make a call, otherwise arguments and kids getting upset (and noisy) will happen. And nobody wants that. So we made a call. That's right we. I've found the best way to deal with my kids in these situations is to lead them to the decision you want to make, but get them to think they are making it. So I involved them in the decision making process, all the while driving toward our new destination, the Museum. Even though it was another 20 minutes or so in the car, and there was no Wallace and Gromit exhibition there, it wasn't a difficult decision to lead them them to. "Do you want to go ALL the way home without having done anything?" "We could go to the Museum, it's not that far." "And there's a really good ice cream shop right by there." and so the decision was made, and the best thing was that I got to get some awesome Tiramisu ice cream, and yes that was always part of my plan B. Having a plan B is very important, because it aids in avoiding the upset children (and strangely often leads me to having nice ice cream).

So we did the museum thing, we got ice creams, we had lunch in a lovely park (in the drizzle); and we went home again. All in all a great day out. Thanks plan B! You're a life saver.

Oh and one thing, think really hard about the types of outings you might go on, because if you ignore the fact that its school holidays you could be in for a rude shock. Never go to Scienceworks on school holidays. Lesson learned.

Me time, where art thou?

It's been over a week since my last blog post and in all honesty, for the first time I've not had time. So here I am early on Sunday morning typing away whilst the wee ones and Lord Vader are blissfully asleep.

So yes, the last week has been busy, why I hear you ask, quite simply because it has been school holidays which means I have all three of the little people at home. Originally I had thought that due to having an infestation of small people, I might actually have more time to myself, mainly because the eldest two are pretty self contained and really enjoy playing with the cutest one. However once again my optimism has been misplaced.

"Dad can we play a game?"

"Dad can you do drawing with me?"

"Dad can we watch <insert movie/tv show here>?"

"Dad can you read me a story?"

"Dad I'm hungry, can I have something to eat?"

and of course,

"Dad, where's the baby?"

are daily questions. Nay, often they are hourly questions, and there are a lot more besides. The great thing is that I love doing all these and many more things with the kids, just perhaps not all the time, and not without respite. Keeping the little people entertained has become my temporary job. Yes it is lovely to see the older pair all the time but really is it asking too much to have a tiny amount of personal time during the day? Apparently, yes, yes it is.

Therefore my days have been filled with monopoly, boggle and other board games, children's TV (which for those of you who know me isn't a bad thing), Dr Who repeats (see immediate past bracketed comment), fetching and preparing snacks, including force feeding the boy fruit which he abhors, trying to palm the cutest one off onto the elder ones (with only moderate and short lived success), and all the while trying to keep house in order and get dinner on table to satisfy she-who-has-begun-to-don-a-black-helmet. Speaking of which and with reference to my last post, yesterday I apparently put the towels in the linen cupboard the wrong way; and here I was thinking I had not only been folding the towels in the right way but was continuing the right thing by actually putting them away too, but alas no. Most of the above list (pre-towel tangent) has been fantastic fun, other than not being able to get my accustomed me time. I like me time. I like it a lot. I like it so much I have been known to take a days recreational leave from work (the paid variety) to do nothing at all but stuff I want to do, as opposed to using it for errands, jobs, looking after sick children and even holidays. Me time is really important. It gives you a mental and sometimes physical refresh and prepares you for the rest of the day, or winds you down when you need it.

However there is a certain monotony to playing monopoly every day, so to break things up I planned or rather thought about, because planning implies dates, schedules, activities etc, taking the kids on outings. Perhaps a trip to the cinema, or the science museum for example. We managed one such outing, mini-golf, and it was enjoyed by one and all, especially me because I won; I don't believe in mollycoddling the children and letting them win because losing is a valuable lesson in coping with things not going your way and can may instil the fire in your belly to try harder next time and beat the "old man", oh and the boy had already beaten me three times in a row at monopoly and I don't like losing. And yes I'm sure there is an argument to support letting them win, something about confidence, but meh, I'll ignore that for now.

Unfortunately a knee injury whilst playing basketball (whilst on me time, a regular, planned, weekly me time which is very different to extra bonus me time) has meant that outings have been postponed until I can walk properly. Yet every cloud has a silver lining and I once again got to practice becoming a martyr and because my darling elder children are compassionate they take pity on their father and willingly help at any opportunity. However She-with-new-found-respiratory-problem is too wily; more martyrdom practice necessary for me. Anyway it looks like I'll have opportunity to get my revenge on the boy and defeat him in monopoly.

There's a right way and a wrong way to do things

Here I am in week 4 of my full time parenting experience, its just before 10 in the morning, the little one is asleep and I should be doing some folding. Meh! I can do it later.

The wondrous wife has long tried to instil in me that there are two ways to do things; the right way (her way) and the wrong way (any other way). There are no shades of grey, just right or wrong. Pretty simple. Even a mere male with a tendency to be rebellious and somewhat difficult could understand that, right?

Well, maybe not. You see towels should be folded in a particular way so that they economise space in the cupboard and look nice too. Apparently there aren't two ways to fold them, just the one. The baby should have growsuits as pjamas, not as going out wear, and she should have a new outfit everyday as well. Whites and lights are not the same thing when washing clothes. Quiche should use 4 eggs and 1/2 a cup of cream regardless of what the recipe says. You see recipes are only right when the beloved sanctions them to be right. Most recipes are wrong. Unfortunately the apprentice full time parent who is not the magnificent cook that the beloved is needs quite specific instructions, sort of like what a recipe provides, to be able to produce something new, different and tasty (because apparently pizza, nachos, burgers, parmi and meatballs can't be on a rotating menu, that's not the right way to feed a family). However after many, many, many years spent watching (apparently) and learning (apparently) from the master I should have absorbed at least some of her brilliance. For example I should know about the 4 eggs and 1/2 cup of cream for quiche and ignore the recipe that says 2 eggs, 1/4 cup of cream and 1/4 cup of milk, because it is wrong.

The expectations about doing things the right way have caused me a fair bit of stress, and I often feel like Commander Jerjerrod to the beloved's Vader:

I shouldn't feel like that, but I do. When she comes home from work having an asthma attack and wearing a black suit with imposing black mask and helmet I get a little intimidated!

Expectations are interesting things, and everyone's are different. Lord Vader expects that I WILL do everything the right way, I expect that I won't. Partly because I don't have the experience or knowledge that that Lord Vader does when it comes to full time parenting, and because frankly I'm the sort of person who not only doesn't like to be told there is only one way to do things but enjoys being irritating and doing them the wrong way. I suppose those two aspects of my personality just make me a glutton for punishment. But I think I'll soldier on, because I fundamentally don't believe in right or wrong, I believe in adapting to circumstance. I figure as long as the kids are happy and healthy then I'm most of the way there.

I hope that in late January when my journey as a full time parent is going to come to an end that I'll be able to apply the immortal words of ol' blue eyes to myself:

I'm going to start right now, by folding the towels my way!

NOTE: The quiche I spoke about earlier, was a sweet potato quiche served with a green salad. The eldest daughter loves quiche and promptly gave it 10/10 (a standard for any quiche she is served), the littlest one chomped it quickly and was very pleased, and the boy, who dislikes quiche at the best of times rated it an 8/10 and said it was the best quiche he had ever had. Oh, and I did it the right way, 4 eggs and 1/2 a cup of cream. I call that a win-win scenario, the beloved accused the boy of bias, but she too liked the quiche.

Reflections

It's Sunday night, the end of week three of this full time parenting gig and I wondering where three weeks have gone. I honestly have no idea. Week one was all about trying to cope and trying to learn a few of the many ropes in this caper. Week two was about trying to catch my breath a little and see if such a thing as routine existed. I guess week three was a consolidation of all that I had learnt. 

On routine:

It's a pretty vague concept when it comes to the littlest ones. Yes they eat, crap, play and sleep. Although not necessarily in that order. 'Play' for example is real a very loose term and includes; me going for a run with baby, going to the shops, taking the dog for a walk, watching TV, going to lunch with mates, vacuuming the house, actual play, and frankly anything at else at all which happens whilst the little angel is awake when she isn't eating. 

As an aside, amusingly when speaking of routine, I just had to take a break from the blog because she woke about half an hour after she went down for the night, and I had to resort to rewrapping and rocking. A pertinent example of routine. 

Some of you may be wondering what my 'routine' day is like. It goes a little something like this:

7am - wake and then wake the ravenous hordes of children. Feed 'em, organise 'em, make lunches etc

8:30am - suit up to fight the winter chill and if its not raining, walk the blighters (sometimes with the dog) to school. If raining, take the the soft option and drive.

9am - get home 'play' with the little one

10am - nap time (for the cute one, not me) and usually start on some chores and/or do something for myself

11:30am - "I'm awake now Dad, get me out of this damned cot! NOW!". 'Play'.

12pm - What to make for lunch? Oh, you're hungry too? Followed by 'play'

1:30pm- Time for the best of the breast (bottled, not mine! I like to think of it as Evian for babies). She scoffs that down, and then soon after its afternoon nap time.

2pm - Er, what am I going to make for dinner? Not soup. Start preparing dinner, or realising that I need to go to the shops. Squeeze in necessary chores not yet done so beloved doesn't produce a wash board frown after she returns from work when casting an appraising eye about the place.

3pm - "Oi! How did I get in here again Dad!", and soon after walk up to school

3:45pm - go to supermarket if necessary (usually)

4pm - 6:30pm - either preparing dinner if not yet done, more housework if not yet done, kids after school activities such as footy training, footy game, swimming or guitar, cartoons or recorded Dr. Who with kids, or threaten older children to do homework. 

5pm - if at home, little one has a 30 minute power nap

6:30pm - dinner

7pm - clean up

7:30pm - coax school kids into showers, and then bed

8:30pm - coax littlest one into cot, and then collapse and watch TV

So there it is routine as a full time parent. 

On cooking:

After the veggie soup debacle on day one, I've gone back to what I know how to cook; homemade pizza, burgers, nachos and chicken parmi, and I went out on a limb and made spinach and chicken curry. I'm pleased to say all meals have been happily received by the children, and even the beloved has enjoyed them although did lament that most could be considered 'take-away' style. Still if the kids are happy then so am I. Thankfully the beloved has continued to produce her culinary brilliance for at least half of the dinners.

On time away from work:

I honestly haven't had much of a chance to reflect on not doing paid work, because, well, I've been thoroughly wrapped up in and enjoying the time I'm having with the small fry. I'm relearning parenting. There is a whole other side to it which I was very aware of, but had never experienced for any prolonged period before. It's very much like on the job training for something you thought you knew about but quickly realised that you are a novice. My wife is going to love reading that.

The path to martyrdom

As I mentioned in my last post the eldest daughter and then the beloved were both laid low with illness. Well last week it was my turn.

I woke feeling not quite right and 5 minutes later my bowels confirmed that I wasn't. Being unwell and with the enormous responsibility of looking after the small and ridiculously cute one I was at a point where I was going to do the unthinkable; ask the wonderful wife to stay home. Cue dramatic music:

Shock Horror Sound Effect [LoudTronix.me] by Haraash

However to ask, nay beg for help from she-who-is-all-knowing-and-can-be-just-a-bit-condescending-to-the-mere-novice, is a pain even crueller than the one in my guts. So I sucked it up like the princess I was.

To say my day was unpleasant would be an understatement. It was shit (in way too many ways). The cutest one did what she does best; looked cute, crawled, smiled, giggled, and generally took a completely unsympathetic view of yours truly. It wasn't the most interactive day as I moaned pathetically on the couch whilst watching her play, or watching her scratch my eyeballs out, or listened to her cry as she was hastily placed in her cot whilst I made a mad dash to have some private time.

At least she slept well during the day, which meant I slept well during the day too.

I managed to get a few of the necessary chores out of the way but really did not much at all.

When you have a stomach complaint, there are two things I strongly recommend avoiding. The first, preparing and then feeding (after seriously sterilising oneself, because the worst result is getting her sick) a baby with mushed up food. The second, changing a nappy which has a little steaming and nauseating present held within it. Both these things lead to a strong desire to allow what little is left in your stomach to erupt.

Sometime after her lunch, and prior to me picking up the other two kids from school it got the better of me, and erupt I did. The little one didn't even make it to the cot, just crawled to the doorway of the bathroom and witnessed her father dearest violently expelling the feeble contents of his gut. She thought it hilarious and laughed and giggled whilst I gagged. I felt a little like Trent from Total Drama Island:

I have almost forgotten why I started this post, so I had better cover it now. Essentially those experienced with full time parenting are well known martyrs. Whenever they are feeling poorly they soldier on regardless of their ailment; it is a noble calling to be a martyr. Simply they have no choice. They're not upto it, yet there is no option so they carry on. However nobility can corrupt. When there is an opportunity martyrs will go to great lengths to promote their martyrdom without actually suggesting they are being martyrs. They begin to do even more than what would normally be done, let alone the bare minimum.

If you've seen your partner doing something similar to the below, and then responded with something similar to the below, then you've been played by a martyr:

"Honey you shouldn't be washing the dog. You haven't been well, here let me do that."
"Honey, you shouldn't be washing the windows. You haven't been well, here let me do that."
"Honey, you shouldn't be painting the house. You haven't been well, here let me do that."
and so on. I'm sure you can see the patterns. Firstly, tasks that have been left alone for a period of time are suddenly important enough to do, and secondly the non-fulltime parent ends up feeling guilty and does those jobs that don't need to be done. The martyr wins. Jobs that have been put off are done, and the martyr didn't have to do anything more than get the ball rolling.

So getting back to my day: I dragged myself out of the house with giggling happy baby tucked under one arm and picked up the kids and came straight home, and this is where I made my final mistake. I asked the kids if they could look after small fry whilst I died in a convenient corner. My children, being caring, loving and when necessary, selfless, assessed the situation in an instant and insisted I rest and assured me that they would only wake me if they needed me. So I crawled back into bed, feeling dreadful and knowing once and for all I had failed at being a martyr.

Martyrdom is about gaining a moral superiority over your non-fulltime parent partner. To do it successfully the martyr must elicit sympathy, must go above and beyond, use guilt to achieve those jobs that have been hanging around for an age, and must never, ever, ask for help.

Whilst my road to martyrdom started well when I resisted temptation to ask my wife for help, it was pretty much downhill from there. I didn't go above and beyond by landscaping the front yard or some such task, I didn't elicit sympathy, and ultimately I asked for help. I have much to learn.

Just a typical week

Week one of this gig is done and I can happily say this fulltime parenting caper is like any normal job; there are pretty standard things that happen day to day, and things that you need to do each week. 

Monday: Well I wrote a whole post about it here so I won't bother going into it again.

Tuesday: Eldest daughter spent wee hours of the morning purging contents of her stomach. This resulted in her staying home from school, and myself looking after a sick 7 year old and a very happy baby. At lunch got the call from school that the boy isn't feeling well, so off I go to pick him up. I suspect shenanigans, he denies it, I cock an eyebrow, he vehemently denies it, my eyebrow raises even further, so that it no looks like my receding hairline isn't receding on my right side, "Dad. I'm telling the truth. I'm not feeling well.". Ok, ok, so I take him home, any further eyebrow cocking and my bald spot/patch/acreage would have been covered. Certain chores not done, but I figure I'm going ok as everyone still alive. 

Wednesday: Everyone still alive. Boy off to school. Eldest daughter still home, but a bit perkier, baby still happy. Must be doing something right. Managed to watch a quarter of footy too. Wife too tired on returning home from work, but she gets to make the satay chicken I lined up to cook; she decided to stay home and make dinner and avoid taking the kids to swimming. I was even nice and took small fry with me so at least she wasn't going to be pestered with her underfoot.

Thursday: Both school kids off to school. Wife on death's door. 9:45, get the call from school. Daughter not well. Deep sigh. My girls all home. Wife unsighted, daughter looking very well (although pale) for someone sick and full of last nights parmi. Baby, happy. I'm liking the consistency there. Finally finished that footy match which I started watching on Monday. Get more token chores done, kids love the homemade chicken parmi's, wife absent from dinner.

Friday: Curriculum day at school. Daughter 1 successfully negotiates one day of school for the week. At least she's looking much better (to be fair, she has that weird illness, liking school, so she's quite upset she missed so much). At least the beloved has beaten off the Reaper and has gone into work, she even makes dinner, this could be a trust issue about my cooking though.

Saturday and Sunday? Well they are shared parenting, so I won't count them. So that's my working week. Obviously it was just a typical week and I should expect more of the same. Shouldn't I?