Posted on
01 April 2010, under
Fatherhood; More Fatherhood articles...
Daaaadddy...
Do you ever find yourself telling the postman too much information, or maybe find yourself talking to that irritating old neighbour for longer than you have ever thought possible? Have you ever picked up the phone and enjoyed having a gentle bit of banter with a wannabe salesman, or even worse had a conversation with the Jehovah’s Witness that knocked on your door? If the answer to any of these is a shamed faced yes, then you have become a Stay at home for way too long Dad.
My Wife comes from fairly stereotypical Irish Catholic stock, there are no donkeys with hind legs in her village, but I can often out-talk her when she comes home from work, such is my need to communicate with an adult, even her. Of course having been stuck with only the kids to talk to all day, my speech patterns are now slightly shouty, quite fast, and do not contain words with more than two syllables. For example:
Wife: How’s your day been?
Me : You would not believe what Kaede drew today, Kaede go and get your Mum that drawing, you know the one the one of you transplanting your brothers head with an aliens one, the Teacher frowned but I think she has made a great use of colour especially where she has added extra eyes coming out of his belly, Oh and Jehovah John popped over today, hell of a nice bloke, I think they get a bad rep to be honest, got lumbered with Mrs Collins wanting to know if she still needed to know her postcode if she was using the interweb to look up a knitting pattern, daft old bat, we’re having Spag Bol for dinner should be ready in 15 minutes, I fancy a glass of wine do you fancy a glass of wine, let’s have a glass of wine.
And breathe.
The phrase ‘You need to get out more’ was invented for people like us, people who have found themselves in this role-reversed situation. We do need to get out more, but where? Your traditional Mum has it a lot easier when it comes to this kind of thing. They have the ability to stop and chat with a perfect stranger who also has a child, for half an hour without any problems at all. Any attempt by a Dad at this type of behaviour would be met with suspicion at best, a kick in the crown jewels at worst. Nope, inane meaningless chatter in the middle of the street is not for us.
I think it was only when one of the Mum’s from school noticed me talking to myself under my breath on a constant basis that a pity invitation was thrown my way. She told me about the local playgroup held on a Tuesday morning at the local church, and said she was sure my two year old would love it. Wiping away tears, caused by the sudden gritty wind and not gratitude, I accepted the invitation and started to plan for the big day.
First of all I had to decide what pair of jeans to wear. I don’t know about you, but I tend to keep 3 pairs of the same style, all in varying states of disrepair. The newest ones are obviously the special occasion’s pair, clean with unfrayed hems they can almost pass as trousers. Once these are about 5-6 months old they go into category two. The crinkle marks round the pockets are permanent, the back of the hems have started to fray, but they are still good for the school run. Another 4 months of use then leaves them in the third category, rips in obscene places but still good for gardening, odd-jobs, and hiding in the loft with a tinny or four.
I decided on the second level of cleanliness, mainly because that involved not changing, and it also gave me the chance to improve my appearance at any future social function on the off chance I didn’t blow this one. I managed to find a clean T-shirt without a swear word on it, and I was set.
Nate had decided he wanted to wear his sister’s old pink boots though; no amount of persuading or bribing could get them off him. I decided to use it to my advantage, maybe it would make me seem in touch with my feminine side? I’m not sure why I thought this was a good thing, but I didn’t have much choice anyway, so off we went.
I really don’t want to scare anyone off from attending one of these things, that wasn’t in my remit, but it was an unmitigated disaster on a gargantuan scale. Opening the swing doors and knocking a small girl over was not the entrance I was looking for, treading on her twin brother as I tried to stand her up also didn’t help. Once all the crying that accompanied my grand entrance had subsided, we tried to mingle.
The pink boots turned out to be on the wrong feet, so instead of looking progressive I looked like someone who didn’t know his left and right. These had to come off before he was allowed on the play area anyway, which only led to more tears and a sulking son sitting in the middle of the floor with two different socks on. It was odd sock Friday you see, a tradition I had invented to mask the end of the clean clothes cycle, when that’s all I had left.
He eventually calmed down and started to play with the other children, which was better than I was doing. There seemed to be a 10 yard exclusion zone around me, can’t say I blame them though to be honest. The Mum who had invited me wasn’t there so I was getting nervous smiles instead of welcoming ones. The pressure of starting a conversation in that environment got the better of me, so I just watched Nate playing.
I then noticed that Nate had developed his own exclusion zone, which could only mean one thing. We have a Code Brown situation. We need nappies, wipes, STAT. All of which I had left at home in the shoulder bag that I had considered too tatty to bring. Oh well, at least it gave me the excuse I needed to leave. We did the walk of shame or in his case the wiggle of squishiness, and went home.
I do still think that getting out and meeting with the Mum’s is a good idea, it’s boldly walking through church hall doors that’s a bad one.
Jamie Harding is a Freelance Writer, Blogger and Stay-At-Home-Dad. An ex-publican, he has swapped listening to everybody else’s problems to dealing with his own, named Storm, Kaede and Nate. He has been known to use humour to hide the glaring gaps in his knowledge. Currently in his third year of house-husbandry, and is surviving every minute.
Jamie's Guide to 'Routine & the Stay-At-Home-Dad'...
Jamie - Accepting House-Husbandry...
Getting Out & the SAHD...
Read the 10 Survival Tips for the Stay-At-Home-Dad...
For a full range of FATHERHOOD articles please visit our archive here...
Back to top ^