“Daddy, Are there swings and slides at your work?”

“No Honey, there aren’t.”

“Well, is there a playground?”

“No, Honey, there isn’t?”

“Then there must be loads of great toys?”

“No toys either honey.” Nearly-Four squirms uncomfortably in the car seat as she thinks these answers through.

The BFD squirms uncomfortably in the drivers’ seat as he hears the toddlers mind processing the next line of attack.  

“What about books”

“Yes there are lots of big books”

“With nice pictures?”

“Nope. No pictures at all. Why do you ask?” 

There’s silence for a moment and then the killer blow for me.  

“But there must be something fun there. That must be why you went to work all weekend instead of taking me to the park” 

And what a blow that is. Right into the heart and then turned just a little bit to increase the discomfort. There isn’t really a lot you can say to that. Not because you don’t want to. You do, and I spent some time telling her that I wish I was going to the park instead of work. I tell her that Daddy had to go to work because the big bad boss made him. I had to promise that I wouldn’t have to work next weekend, knowing full well that it was a promise I can only hope to fulfil. 

Kids of any age can’t be expected to understand the idea that sometimes, just sometimes work has to take priority. For all parents the need and wishes to prioritise their family life can sometimes have to take a backseat to occupational responsibilities. That isn’t easy but on occasion it is just the way things have to be. But it is important to try and make sure that the little ones understand you would rather be there with them. 

Nearly-Four is delighted when we find the time as a family to make a simple trip to the park. The picnic mats are brought and laid out and then beanie plays with D’Better Half in the shade of a tree while Nearly-Four attempts to bring on the long overdue heart attack in her daddy. She loves football… 

She isn’t too gone on the idea of goals and keeping within the lines. She has a game rather like Go Fetch. It basically involves her kicking the ball ahead of us and the Daddy and herself charging after the ball in a race. There is one very important rule however. Daddy must make every effort to win the race, but never actually succeed. Then when she reaches the ball it gets booted on another twenty feet and the race resumes. After a few minutes I finally get her to stop and we turn around to see D’Better Half and Beanie as dots on the horizon. Then it’s a straightforward race back to them.

At this stage I just want to collapse on the mats and rest. Not a problem says Nearly-Four. So long as we fly the kite first. 

To most people the image of flying a kite would be one of a fairly relaxed pursuit as the diamond of cloth painted like a bee dances on the breeze. Nearly-Four doesn’t fly a kite like that. Essentially she tows the kite behind her as we run back and forward across the football pitches. The kite never gets more than ten feet from the ground and only stays up until she stops running, but she loves this game. 

D’Better Half is actually taking photos now. Ones for the family album of Daddy being forced to run behind Nearly–Four trying to get the kite to rise into the air. They are to go with the photos of Daddy tripping on the football, daddy being nutmegged by a toddler, Daddy falling to his knees clutching his chest…! You know the warm family memories that these trips are made of! 

Seeing that I need a break D’Better half calls us over for a drink of juice. I lay down on the mat to catch my breath. The suspicion that my repose is about to be ruined is hinted at by the laughing of the three ladies in my life. There’s giggling building to laughter and then I find out why. Beanie has reached out far enough and is grabbing my hair to try and pull herself closer to me. Nearly-Four thinks this is hilarious. D’Better Half agrees but improves the hilarity of the moment by sitting Beanie on my chest so she can grab my beard instead.  And when she grabs the beard it is well and truly grabbed and tugged! Not to be outdone by her little sister, Nearly–Four takes this as the queue to sit on Daddy’s stomach and bounce. All this to the ongoing backdrop of D’Better Half convulsing with laughter as Daddy’s face goes first to red then to purple! 

To top it all I then get stung for Ice Creams on the way home! 

“Daddy, why do you want to go to work all the time?”

“I don’t honey, but sometimes I have to work late.”

“Daddy, do you have to work Tomorrow?”

“No Hun, tomorrow I am taking you and your sister back to the park” 

And all the world is right again in the eyes of two little girls.

Here is one of my pet hates. Christmas in the summer-time. “He’s going mad!” I hear you say, “Everyone knows Christmas is in December!” 

No, I haven’t gone quite that mad. But Christmas is getting earlier and earlier. Now before our children came along I didn’t really mind it so much. There were certain elements that I could understand needed to be kicked off early in the year, certain other elements which shouldn’t. But since our daughters arrived on the scene and in truth even a little bit when we started having nephews, nieces and God children, it has become a tortuous lead in of five months or more to the festive season. 

So what brings out the Scrooge in me? Some people say the Scrooge factor is never far from the surface. I disagree with them on this. I just feel there is an appropriate timescale for the warm and fuzzy Christmas feeling to kick in. I don’t really fancy the idea of doing my Christmas shopping in the early year sales and having them wrapped and ready for people. There are people I know who have their entire shopping list completed already. Not only that but the presents are wrapped and they are starting on the cards “straight after the holidays”.  I can appreciate that there may be occasions that necessitate the very early purchase of some presents but not everything on your list. 

What brought out the No-Christmas-Till-December feeling in me is the mid year cycle of programming on the Children’s TV channels. I can only assume that because the TV channels purchase the series of cartoons or Children’s TV programmes in advance and then repeat them, they end up with the Christmas episodes hitting the screens in July. Just as the kids start their summer holidays. Maybe it could be classed as unfortunate when the odd programme is like this but the past few weeks has seen almost all the programming on certain kid’s channels having Christmas trees, decorations and Fat Men from the North Pole checking lists!! 

To aggravate the problem the advertisers have cottoned onto this. They seem to increase the advertising punch at this time, knowing that the average child will now see a toy they want and say “I would like that for Christmas” instead of “That looks good” (I know, these are VERY polite children. The average child just “WANTS THAT!” or simply adds it to their list of required items somewhere on page four!). 

Then you read of shops that are starting to sell their Christmas merchandise. They are being very responsible, they say, as they deck the isles with boughs of holly. Please note that the Back to School section is clearly separated from the Christmas Grotto by the Halloween Skeletons and Pumpkin Lanterns! 

 “We have to stock it early because of the Internet, that’s it, the Internet is the problem. People buy stuff on there all the time”, they say. At least I think that’s what they say as the CD drifts a subtle Carol or two in our direction. 

“No one makes you buy the stuff”, says another as they down another glass of profit driven Celebratory Egg Nog. True, no one makes you buy it. But try telling a three year old how many days there are between now and Christmas and you are under a bit of pressure. 

So you get the kids home and lock the door hoping against hope that the questioning of “When are we getting the tree?” will stop soon. Then the postman kindly delivers the catalogue through the post-box. And there, staring up at you is a happy Dad in a happy jumper with reindeers on, standing in front of a Christmas tree with their happy family. Before you can react the toddler has seized the book with both hands and is seeking out mammy and a red pen in order to mark the things we absolutely must have. 

At least when I get into work I will have a few hours of peace and quiet from this midyear Christmas madness. I open my email and read the status reports, see the questions about why you need a day off to take your child to the doctor and delete the ones labelled “Can I just ask a favour!”

Then you open the mail from the Committee. 

“Please advise us as to your attendance at this year’s Christmas Party. Responses and Deposits by Friday please.”

There is no escape. It’s everywhere. 

It’s like a snowball effect as it rolls down a hill. It starts with one Christmas tree in one sitcom shown in July and before you know it parties are being booked, presents are being bought and kids are counting down the days to December 25th. 

It just seems to me that there are many other things kids are missing out by looking forward to the festive season. Like those long summer holidays they will miss once they are in the workforce (unless they become a politician!), the Autumn gathering of conkers and running through the fallen leaves and even Halloween which is  merely another day to mark of the calendar. In my ideal world no one would be allowed to mention the C Word until December 1st. And if you had to in order to get bookings for parties then you should do it in plain lettering with no seasonal pictures. But sadly it is very far from that. 

Incidentally, as of today there are 130 days to go. Let the Panic Begin!!

“Silly Daddy” – That is Nearly-Fours latest catchphrase. Currently it is used a few dozen times every day. It’s not particularly insulting. Nor is it something that I would get bothered by. But it is the sheer array of things I am apparently being blamed for by a toddler that is amazing.

Let me explain that this sudden surge in the number of times I was referred to as Silly Daddy started a few weeks ago. It has always been there on occasions when I have tried to be silly in order to make her smile. However recently it is almost as if my name has been officially changed.

A few weeks ago, Silly Daddy was dressing Nearly-Four for school and managed to put her shoes on the wrong feet. This error was spotted almost immediately and the shoe to foot relationship was immediately rectified. And I graciously accepted the Silly Daddy references about that. 

A few days later I made a far more serious fashion faux-pas. I put her summer dress on the wrong way round. Now in my defence there isn’t a lot of difference from one side of it to another. There’s no tag and no labels on the front. But I made a mistake. However this time I didn’t spot it. Nor did Nearly-Four or D’Better Half. In fact it was only when she was in Montessori that one of the teachers noticed and fixed her up. For this I was labelled a Very Silly Daddy.

Since then everything has been caused by Silly Daddy. If not caused by me then the term is used to explain some basic piece of information to me that everyone should know. Explained to me by a toddler!

If it rains then its Silly Daddy because we get wet, or the car gets wet or the ground gets wet. Nearly-Four has a fall in school and when she comes home its Silly Daddy that made her fall. If she has a pain in her tummy it Silly Daddy that is asked to make it better.

If Daddy explains how to do something, Nearly-Four will look imploringly at D’Better Half and seek assurances from her that Silly Daddy, that auld codger, actually knows what he is talking about.

And to make sure I know my place beanie is in her walker laughing at me every time that Nearly-Four says the words Silly Daddy. No I’m not paranoid. They are laughing AT me! 

So Silly Daddy is becoming a fixture in our household. Which is one thing but when the local shop assistant, or the person at the cinema ticket office is told I am Nearly-Fours “Silly Daddy”, I do begin to wonder just how far the term will extend. Will I be introduced to her teachers as “Silly Daddy”? Will Silly Daddy be bringing her to her Scouting or Guides in years to come? Will Silly Daddy be told to behave himself and not frighten away future love interests? Will I be known as Silly Granddad? Is my headstone going to read Silly Daddy!!! 

Even so, being a Silly Daddy is far from the worse thing I can be. I can still make my princess’s smile and laugh and turn a frown or a sulk into a smile. The sulk disappears when I tell her I can see the smile starting to appear at the side of her mouth and get her to try and look for it.

I can still make her tummy better. If I can just discover why a tummy rub eases all ills I could patent it and make my fortune with Silly Daddies miracle tummy Rub!
Apparently I can heal cuts and bruises to. Silly Daddy Kisses can make a bruise on the elbow or a graze on the knee all better. The stubbed stinky toes require not only a Silly Daddy Kiss but also a feigned grimace and collapse because of the stinky toes!

And best of all I believe Silly Daddy is still good to cuddle up to and fall asleep on.

If those are the payments for being called Silly Daddy then that is fine with me.

Summer holidays are now complete and while D’Better Half and myself may realise this, Nearly Four is determined to drag them out until sometime near Christmas!

As a perpetual hater of travel on planes with toddlers, I refuse to consider holidays where flights are concerned. We have agreed to take holidays by ferry until the girls are big enough to drag their own small bags behind them as we run through airport arrivals halls. That’s our logic anyway but it does tie in with getting to see our family members in the UK quite well. So this year, once again it was a “trip on the big boat to see your cousins and uncles and aunties” that Nearly Four was presented with as her holiday.

In the weeks leading up to the trip the excitement built. At one point it seemed as if I would have to hire a bus in order to accommodate all the family and friends that Nearly Four decided to invite along. In the end the four of us squeezed into the car and headed for Rosslare in late May. I don’t drive a particularly small car (Scenic) but after spending a number of hours the previous night packing, unpacking and repacking the car and then figuring out what could be squeezed into the car as well as the boot, I came to the realisation that no matter how big the car, I will always have the same car packing problems.

The requirements of what to bring seem to expand to fit the boot space available plus 20% (give or take, it’s not an exact science). Then, once your relatives hear you are visiting them you are suddenly asked if you wouldn’t mind picking up a box of one thing or a packet of another. No problem you think, until you realise after you have everything in the car with nice cubbyholes provided for all family members travelling, that there are still four bags of things to be brought over. No point asking why you didn’t include them in the “luggage” as you are the one that put the luggage together. So the car stuffing, that’s right it’s not packing any more, gets one more revision.

The boat itself is something that Nearly Four loves. The BFD isn’t quite so enamoured by walking around the boat in circles as she shows you the passing sea from every window she can find. The gentle sway takes me about half an hour to get used to but Nearly Four seems to have automatic Sea Legs. This time we went outside as the weather was lovely and sound found ourselves on the very top of the boat having a good look around. Getting back to D’Better Half and Beanie and they were hit by a barrage of words spluttered from nearly four, each word racing ahead of the next one, as she tried to cram in everything she had seen in the past twenty minutes into a twenty second conversation.

Beanie wasn’t amused. I could tell because she was looking at me as if to ask why we were disturbing them. If she had been able to speak I imagine the conversation would have gone something like this:

“What are you doing? Weren’t you told to take her away and keep her busy? Look, I love my big sister and I understand that this is quite an exciting experience for her. Look I am excited too. Yayyyy! Happy. Now, we are on a boat. Great. I can tell because it rocks nicely from side to side and occasionally up and down. 

“Sorry, am I boring you, only you look a bit green suddenly? Oh it’s the rocking and swaying, is it. Don’t notice it myself. Back to business. My simple point is, on land I require three things. Feed me, Change me and let me sleep. On a boat I require three things. Can you guess what they are? Very good, the same three things! 

“Now be a good Daddy and bring Big Sis there for another trip around the boat while I try and catch forty winks”.  So Nearly Four and myself went on another walk and found the shops and those crazy machines where you pump in money and try to grab a soft toy with a claw that is obviously too big. But it keeps her happy so you do it.

The holiday was great and the families were all thrilled to see Beanie who smiled and gurgled for everyone. We even managed to get a decent photo of the two girls together. And now we are home and we are all back in the swing of things. Well almost all of us. Nearly Four tells everyone she is still on her holidays and is counting down to her next boat trip. By that stage beanie will be toddling around as well. That probably means twice as many laps of the boat.�
It’s a good job the relatives are only a short boat trip away in the UK!

I am convinced my daughter runs on batteries!! There can be no other explanation. It has to be a set of those long life cells that keep on going. She just never, ever stops. We were at a wedding recently. After a four-hour drive on the morning of the ceremony we clambered out of the car and stretched our legs in the church car park embracing the fresh Donegal air. That’s when Nearly-Four decided to turn the switch to “ON”.

“Where’s the princess, Daddy?”
“Is that her?”
“What will she be wearing?”
“Where’s the Prince?”

The non-stop questions continued as we took our place in the church. Nearly Four made certain everyone said hello to her and she happily smiled and giggled as everyone waved back. Then the church went quite and the music started and everyone turned to see the bride’s arrival. Nearly Four strained her neck to see and the excitement was clear to see.

“There she is, Daddy. There’s the princess!”

The bride made her way to the altar and met her groom and as soon as the both sat down, Nearly-Four broke the immaculate silence with the following statement: “Can we go home now, Daddy?” Where exactly do you hide in a church? Fortunately those nearby who heard what she said saw the humour in it. For the duration of the ceremony she was well behaved, despite one walk to go to the toilet and an element of general fidgeting around.

Back at the reception and the batteries kicked into full gear. Nearly Four chatted to everyone, drew pictures for people, smiled and joked with people and then realised that quite a lot of Daddies friends have, just like Daddy, never really left their childhood behind. She had a wonderful time generally playing hide and seek with people Daddy normally sees in meeting rooms at work! There are some of them I can barely face in a meeting this week without seeing them pull a silly face to make a toddler run away laughing.

But when the music started, Nearly Four came into her own. Daddy was commandeered and dragged to the dance floor and at the start was on his knees dancing with his daughter. Surely this can’t last for long, I thought. I was wrong. Soon I wasn’t to treat her like a baby but I had to stand up and dance with her properly. Not long after that I had to pick her up and dance around with her in my arms. And this continued for hour. She showed no signs of wilting, unlike her father who was on the verge of collapse.

Nearly Four continued like this until past midnight, long after many grownups had retired or conceded defeat and were sitting taking well-deserved rests. Even at that stage it was a begrudging admission of tiredness that allowed us to take her from the dance floor. Nearly Four fell asleep with a minute of her head hitting the pillow.

Now this level of activity may be down to the day that was in it, but I can honestly say she is always like that. She just keeps going. Never stopping to even catch breath. She seems to have an endless well of energy. If ever there was someone living the motto “Live when I’m alive, sleep when I am dead”, then it’s her.

And it’s great to see. I will never discourage her from that level of activity and involvement in everything. To see her exploring and discovering as she plays is wonderful. To see her imagination flourishing as she develops new games and creates stories around the simplest moments is magical. To see her enjoying every single moment of the day and sharing her fun and laughter with everyone who wants to be a part of her games is inspirational.

I truly hope that she never loses this sense of fun and enjoyment or the energy to enjoy it. I only hope that I can find a reserve of youth to allow me to keep up!