Archive for July, 2006
This is likely to be a rather dull post, but I want to thrash something out in my head, and here seems a good a place to do it as any.
I never quite understand those films where the father suddenly realises that his offspring’s childhood is slipping away and he’s missing it. You know the genre, the hardworking detached man is so wrapped up in his own career that he’s oblivious to the needs of his family, then some person or event makes him see the error of his ways. Mary Poppins is a prime example. The thing that bugs me is how can these people not be aware how quickly things move. Within a month of being born a baby is almost a completely different being than it was when it took its first breath. The rate of development is astounding. There’s a reason they count baby’s ages in weeks and months. Every day of a child’s life is to be savoured, because they move on so fast and they will never be that old again.
This week my new shift pattern starts and I must admit I’m a little uneasy about the whole thing. Two months ago when I was sat in my manager’s office asking to condense my hours my mind was focused on the prospect of having four days off a week. Now when I look at my rota all I can see is the three 13-hour days dragging out endlessly in front of me.
Currently Kerry works Monday though until Thursday, having Friday and the weekend off. This will obviously change when she goes on maternity leave in a couple of months, but that’s the pattern she’s likely to go back to when she goes back to work as well.
I am guaranteed every Wednesday off, but other than that my shifts are relatively random. I tend to get every second weekend off, but that’s not a given.
Because my days off are not set (other than a Wednesday) Amy is booked into nursery Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. This isn’t really a problem in itself, she loves it there – if you turn up early to take her home she often protests that she wants to be with her friends. The staff seem pretty switched on and, as I’ve mentioned before, one of the nursery-nurses lives on our row of houses.
The main reason I think I’m worried is that my days off are frequently going to coincide with Amy being at nursery and Kerry being at work. The reason I condensed my hours was in order to spend more time with my family and I have a sneaky suspicion that it’s going to have the opposite effect. On days when I’m working I’ll be out from either 7:30am until 10pm, or 9am until 11pm, which doesn’t leave much time for fatherly duties. Plus if we happen to be busy at work (which we are at the moment, I think it might be the heat) I’m going to be absolutely knackered.
I know I’m lucky. I know some fathers work those kind of hours for five or six days a week, and only get to see their kids on the weekend. But then again those types of people generally earn a hell of a lot more than I do and if I’d wanted that kind of life I’d have chosen it.
I’ve talked it through with Kerry and we’ve come up with a pretty reasonable solution. Just because Amy’s booked into nursery doesn’t mean I have to take her there. I’m planning on spending an average of three of my four days off a week with her. That’s probably usually going to be her spending two full days with me then and two mornings with me taking her to nursery in the afternoon (so they can deal with her when she gets tired, Ha!). She tends to get up early in the morning too, so I’ll still see her on the days when I work.
Unfortunately I can’t take Kerry out of her work whenever I fancy it, so that aspect is going to be more difficult. We’ll just have to make sure that we make the time we spend with each other count. After all, it will only be until the baby’s born, after that she’ll be on maternity for six months. And after that’s over there’s theoretically nothing stopping me switching back to my regular hours.
So all in all it’s probably going to turn out OK.
Amy has been playing with dolls ever since she’s been able to hold one, and loves going pretend shopping and making people better with her doctor’s kit. But up until recently it’s always been Amy changing her doll’s nappy, Amy buying cat food from the shop, and Amy making people better by forcing them to expose their belly for her stethoscope. Over the past couple of weeks however we’ve noticed that her imagination has taken a huge leap forward.
This afternoon I was told I was Sportacus from Lazy Town. To the uninitiated Sportacus is an Icelandic superhero who’s sole super power appears to be jumping up really high and doing the splits in mid air. Fortunately I wasn’t called upon to perform that particular feat. Normally of course I would have been able to do it no problem, but my back is a bit bad at the moment so I wouldn’t like to risk it. I wasn’t the only Icelandic TV character in the house though; Amy informed me she was now Stephanie, Sportacus’ pink haired sidekick. We ran around the house for a bit calling each other by our new names until she decided it was time to switch her attention to spreading my poker chips all over the lounge floor.
That wasn’t the end of it however. At one point today she informed me that she was my mummy and that I had to cry so she could sooth me. And when I put her to bed tonight she initiated the recreation of a scene from Maggie and the Ferocious Beast where two characters argue over the pronunciation of the word galoshes. She’s made an important step beyond basic pretend play and developed the ability to imagine herself in the position of someone else. In other words, she’s become a role-player! I’m very proud. It won’t be long until she’s creating her first Half Orc Barbarian/Fighter.
Whilst talking to Greg and Deb on the web cam last night I confidently made the statement that macaroni cheese was an English invention, created in the 1800’s by the British Pasta Society as a way of introducing a bland pasta dish that would suit our pallet. After extensive research on the web this morning I have uncovered that I was talking absolute rubbish. I don’t know who invented it but it appears to have been around since the days of Marco Polo. I apologise for my complete ignorance and fully intend on giving the person who originally told me this disinformation a jolly good beating, just as soon as I can remember who it was. It’s a shame, because Greg and Deb appeared very impressed by my encyclopaedic knowledge.
In a desperate attempt to redeem myself in their eyes I offer you this: During the 18th century it was the fashion for young aristocratic Englishmen to take a grand tour of Europe, particularly Italy. These young men were influenced by their travels and became known as macaronis for their dandyish clothes and foreign affectations. As a natural evolution the word macaroni soon became used to describe the elaborate hairstyles that these young men sported. This is why (and here comes the payoff folks) when Yankee Doodle came to town when riding on his pony, he stuck a feather in his cap and called it macaroni. Of course you are already aware that the Doodle in Yankee Doodle comes from the German word for simpleton. The British sang the song in order to ridicule American colonists, the Americans then adopting it as a form of self-defence.
On another macaroni related note. We had macaroni cheese for dinner tonight. I had the meal all ready for when Kerry got home from work. How do you like them apples Greg?
As a result of an email conversation about Marmite and various other culture specific foodstuffs Greg has very generously sent us a massive parcel overflowing with various American goodies. Things I am particularly excited about are: the Curious George Grape Jelly jar you can use as a glass afterwards (I will overlook the fact it should be called Grape Jam, not Jelly), the Tabasco and Habenero sauce, and the Kraft Macaroni and Cheese (purely for the fact that one of my favourite Barenaked Ladies tracks mentions Kraft Dinner). Despite being absolutely delighted at Greg’s generosity, I can’t help feeling that I should have started an email conversation about cars or even property. That would have been perhaps more financially rewarding.
I’m now in the process of putting my own food parcel together. I’m consulting with my sister who spent five years in Atlanta to see what items she most missed while she was in the USA. Unlike the more benevolent Greg however I’m also planning to sprinkle a few items that could be described as acquired tastes. He doesn’t like marmite, but I’m convinced he’ll come around once he has a few pounds of twiglets inside him.
I think it was the email on Wednesday telling me I’m officially in my third trimester that finally made me start planning for the baby coming. I know we have most of what we need from when Amy was born so I haven’t been thinking about it, but then I realised I’m only going to get bigger and time is running out.
I hit Boots on Saturday with my mum and dad and managed to get most of my list in one go so I feel better now. Or so I thought, until I started stripping the wallpaper from the spare room on Sunday. I only wanted to see how easily it came off, and got a bit carried away. I’d have done the rest but I knew I’d get into trouble if it involved moving furniture.
Amy has been enjoying the preparations. She has been helping herself to her old newborn clothes for her dolls, although we have had to keep stealing them back when she’s not looking. She also told me that I’d broken Grandma and Granddad’s room when she’d seen my decorating skills. I haven’t told her we’re doing her room yet…
“Ladies and Gentlemen†William shouted above the uproar, “will you kindly shut up an’ listen to me? I’m goin’ to tell you how to win the war. Now listen.†He said, “an’ I’ll tell you all about these gases an’ suchlike. They’re†– he studied his notes with frowning concentration – “Per-sis-tent! That’s what they are. Per-sis-tent. Well, that’s what it says here. It mus’ be right, mus’n’t it, if it says so here? An’ there’s one – well, it’s got a long name, I won’t say it to you ‘cause you cun’t understand it, an’ it smells like pear drops. It says so, I tell you. Shut up….No, I’ve not got any pear drops. I never said I’d got any pear drops. Why don’t you listen when I’m givin’ a lecture? I wouldn’t give you any if I had either, not with you not giving me any of your liquorice all-sorts last Saturday. You had got some. You were eatin’ ‘em. Shut up about pear drops. I never said a bomb was made of pear drops I said it smelt of ‘em….Well†uncertainly, “p’raps it is. P’raps it is made of pear drops. No, it doesn’t say so here….Well so are you anyway….I didn’t. I said the bombs smelt of ‘em….It say’s so here….I dunno….All right, if you don’t want to listen, don’t. I don’t care….No, I’ve not gotter bomb. Shut up about pear drops. I’m tellin’ you how to win the war….Well, you gotter know what bombs smell like to win a war, haven’t you? I do know what I’m talkin’ about….I never said they dropped pear drops, I said they dropped bombs. I said the bombs smelt of pear drops….I dunno why they smell of pear drops….Listen,†he pleaded, hastily scanning his paper, “I’ll tell you somethin’ else if you’ll listen….†But the meeting was breaking up in disorder.
William and the Air Raid Precautions (1939). Richmal Crompton.
There is evidence that unborn babies in their third trimester respond to sounds from the outside world. Furthermore there is a theory they begin to get used to and therefore bond with the sound of their parents voice. When Kerry was pregnant with Amy I read the bump P.G.Wodehouse every night. This time I’m reading Just William. If my children turn out to share my passion for English comic novels from the beginning of the last century then I will be entirely to blame.
The reading sessions usually take place at around 10pm when we’ve gone to bed and are usually accompanied by giggling by me and snores from Kerry. Just as I’m unable to contain my mirth at the text Kerry is unable to restrain her narcolepsy and invariably falls asleep. Still, at least the baby is listening.
Amy was stood on the toilet seat watching me shave.
“There we go†I said as I scraped the last of the foam off my face, “all done.â€
“No Daddy†she said, “There’s still hair up your noseâ€
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