Small Talk

The water pressure in our house isn’t great so I usually let Dylan watch something on television while we wait for the bath to fill up. Tonight I’m watching Toy Story 3 while he reads The Rise and Rise of Internal Communications. This seems like an ambitious read for someone who still confuses mum with dad, up with out and on with off, but who am I to argue?

On Tuesday I had a four-hour meeting to cover the requirements of the diploma. Over the next six months I have to compile an evidence file, complete a project and sit an exam. I’m expected to do at least two hours studying a day and it’s not clear if this includes the time Dylan spends reading the course literature. It should.

Slugs have eaten my rocket. I’m so annoyed. The Internet tells me that egg shells and beer are the solution, and last night was the test run—with a bit of luck I’ll be able to save the radishes, but I'm not optimistic.

It was our wedding anniversary this week, and Holly treated me to lemon posset with grilled figs (from Rick Stein’s Food Heroes). If you do one thing this week, try grilled figs. And start adding chicory to your salads—it's crunchy! Next week, we'll be mostly consuming eggs and beer, and at the weekend we're heading up to Three Choirs Vineyard, babyless, for a romantic night amongst the vines.

Recently, we’ve been teaching Dylan to make animal noises. He’s still dropping the first letter of woof and meow but it’s fun to watch him talking to the tins of pet food in the supermarket. I’ve always wanted to learn another language and parents who raise their kids to be bilingual knock me out—I can’t help wondering if I should be doing more? Dylan says 'quack' so menacingly his rubber ducks have migrated.

But he’s pretty good at communications. He’s posted things to my Facebook profile, sent text messages to most of the people in my phonebook and not long ago he ordered the fourth season of The Big Bang Theory using Holly’s iPad. The old guard of Internal Communications better watch out because the new generation is here and they’re fully conversant with modern media by the time they’re two.

I guess it won’t be long before Dylan's writing his own blog. I wonder what he'll say about me?

The First Rule of Tantrums is...

1. Empty your hands—throw or drop whatever you are holding
2. Clear the area—frantically swipe objects off all surfaces within easy reach
3. Hit something—preferably a parent or, failing that, a freshly cleared surface. As a last resort, hit the air around you. Try not to hit yourself but don’t hold back
4. Stomp or kick—lie down if it’s easier
5. Make a lot of noise—shouting is good, wailing is better
6. Cry—it’s like hitting parents where it really hurts
7. Move on—when you’re ready, hug and make up and then go back to playing

Hands up if you were expecting the rules for dealing with tantrums. Me too. The thing is I’m pretty new at this and I can’t pretend to have all the solutions, so I’m relying on instincts. A writer needs to know his readers, a singer needs to know his listeners and a father needs to know his son. Empathy is key.

Toddlers have tantrums. They want to do things and sometimes they can’t because parents say 'no', and sometimes they can't because their bodies, brains or both aren’t sufficiently developed. Either way, it’s frustrating for them and tantrums are the result.

So Dylan’s little stomping fits are here to stay. In fact, they're becoming more frequent and will probably get worse. I can’t change this but I can change how I respond to them. I need a way to deal with tantrums. Here's what I'm going to do:

1. I mustn’t overreact. If Dylan wants my attention so badly he’s prepared to do the flailing limb dance, it’s probably not a good idea to ignore him; but I must remain calm
2. I shouldn't try to stop him. Tantrums are as natural as crying or laughing; Dylan needs to work his way through them
3. If he throws something to the floor, I'll take it off him (unless it’s medicine or food in which case I'll try again). If he makes a mess, he can help me tidy it up when he's calmed down
4. I need to make sure he knows it’s not okay to hit another person. However, as long as he’s not going to hurt himself, I guess all other stomping, kicking or waving of fists is okay
5. I'm going to let him cry. Negative emotions are better out than in. Dylan’s dummy is part of his sleep routine; it’s not for shutting him up
6. When he’s ready to calm down, I'm going to help him, hug him, talk to him and basically let him know it’s okay
7. Holly says I mustn't, under any circumstances, treat tantrums as a drinking game. It’s not okay to keep a bottle of wine handy and have a glass every time there’s steam shooting from his ears

I don’t know if any of this will work but it's what I'm going to try for the time being. Here goes...

Nature Grows the Seed

I need to change Dylan’s nappy and he’s not happy about it. He cries when I put him on his mat so I tickle his chest to make him laugh. When I stop tickling he cries again. Tickle, laugh; no tickle, tears. This goes on for a while. His emotions are shallow like those weeds that sit on the dirt with nearly no root, and I think that maybe this is the role of the parent—to provide the right soil for the good emotions to grow deep. Ah hell.

We have radishes! We have rocket! The first of the seedlings I planted last week are sprouting and I feel an enormous sense of achievement. We also have something growing in the Grow Rack but, since the shelf collapsed, I have no idea what’s what, so it’s a lucky dip. I don’t really care, as long as it’s a lucky dip with leaves and a stem.

Easter was busy—a by-product of all those so-called employed people having time off and making me do things. Thursday night I had a gig, Good Friday was Holly’s Nan’s birthday (with Dylan running laps of the restaurant, already hyper on Easter egg), Saturday we saw Show of Hands in London, Easter Day we had lunch with my mother-in-law (after which I may have reversed into my mum’s car) followed by an afternoon gig, and then on Monday we were supposed to be heading south to see my brother-in-law and his family, although this was cancelled at the last minute. How am I supposed to pursue my goals with so many distractions? I’ll tell you.

Before this started, I was a little wary about spending so much time at home with Holly—I’m sure it’s written somewhere that married couples aren’t supposed to see each other outside weekends, holidays and retirement. The truth is it’s been great. Without her support, I wouldn’t have had time to sort out our insurances and Wills, set up an ISA for the redundancy money, finish ‘Fallen Angels’ (for another short story competition), serve gammon poached in Perry with Nigel Slater’s luxury cauliflower cheese, read various Internal Comms white papers, book a trip to a Festival of Writing, and investigate a couple of local writers' circles for one that suits the needs of a stay-at-home dad. Not bad for a week’s work.

The downside is that Dylan has grown used to having us both at home. Sometimes this is manageable—when I’m working on the computer I split the screen so I can write on one half and Dylan can watch Peppa Pig on the other. But he craves attention, particularly from the busier parent, and we’re seeing a lot more tantrums and telling offs. Last night, he ping-ponged from one end of the house to the other, deliberately testing boundaries to see what he could get away with. In the space of ten minutes, Holly and I both shouted at him more than once, and his naughtiness didn’t stop until I took him to the high street. Twice as many stay-at-home parents should mean half as many opportunities to be naughty, surely? I’m learning it doesn’t work like that.

Clearly, until Holly goes back to work, we're going to need better soil. Ah hell.

Daddying for Dummies

I’ve been trying to take his dummy off him since we got up. This isn’t going well. And then, shortly before breakfast, he gives it up of his own free will. I place the dummy out of reach and watch him run across the room to retrieve a dummy he has hidden under his high chair on some previous occasion. He smiles with his eyes and chomps victoriously. Day one belongs to Dylan.

It’s been a while since my last post, longer than I intended. My final week in work was patchy and inglorious because I caught Dylan's flu. I hobbled in for my last day, still feverish, still with a temperature, and managed to stay long enough to hand over my laptop and receive my parting gift—a wine decanter—before Holly steered my hacking cough home to freedom.

The following week, I conceived and wrote a short story, ‘The Baby’, which I’ve entered into a competition. I intend to write and submit entries to all the short story competitions I can over the coming year. This is my new challenge: win a short story competition, or have a short story published. It's important to dream short.

The weather has been unseasonably good. I’ve built the Grow Rack (a kind-of greenhouse) and installed a water butt. I’ve cleared the debris (broken glass, a rusted bike frame etc.) from the rear of the shed—a gift from the previous owners. I’ve pruned the trees and given the swing a permanent home. I’ve planted seeds: basil, sage, rosemary, tarragon, coriander, courgettes, spring onions, radishes, rocket, four types of tomatoes and four types of lettuce. I’ve re-potted the strawberries and planted lavender and rhubarb. I don't have green fingers but I want Dylan to grow up with a working garden. At the moment he's obsessed with the watering can, and it's me who has to keep refilling the damn thing.

Holly doesn’t go back to work until the middle of May, so we’re splitting the housework. I’ve taken over the weekly shop, ably assisted by Dylan who has his own shopping list (flour, dates, linseed etc. - whatever he can throw in the trolley). I’m also doing all the cooking, which has given me the opportunity to try making some new things: onion rings (yummy), onion bhajis (not bad), balsamic syrup (fantastic on lettuce and goats cheese salad—I hear it’s also good on ice cream) and Gordon Ramsey's Stir-Fried Duck with Noodles.

Dylan likes having me at home. Whenever he hears me coming, he yells 'Daadddyyyy' and comes charging out to meet me. He yells the same thing for Holly. In the past week, we’ve been to the park, library, playgroup and soft play, and next week we're going swimming. Dylan still empties the saucepan drawer into the washing machine but he’s not stupid. A few days ago he wanted me to pick him up but I was busy and refused. Seeing a glass of cordial on the worktop, he reached up and said ‘juice’, so I bent down to give him a drink. He immediately threw his arms around me and held on tight, forcing me to pick him up. If he’s this devious at twenty months, what's he going to be like at two?

I know: terrible. Bring it on.

Dylan v. Daddy

(Photo by Clifton Photographic)

Contenders

Dylan: boy, 20 months
Daddy: man, 35 years

Background
I’m being made redundant. After hours of soul searching and scenario planning, Holly (my wife) has decided to go back to work while I retrain to pursue an alternative career

The Challenge
The redundancy money will only last a year. During this time I need to raise Dylan, support Holly, take care of housework, tend to the garden and successfully complete a Diploma in Internal Communications

Start Date
It was supposed to be 24 May, following my last day in the office, but it’s actually today. Holly’s upstairs with a fever so I’ve stayed home to look after Dylan. He's been ill and still has a nose like Niagara Falls. He treats me like a giant handkerchief

End Date

When I return to work or when the money runs out, whichever comes first

Purpose of the Blog
To record my progress, setbacks and successes as a stay-at-home Dad
To entertain and inform my wife and anybody else who is curious, including those family members who think our plan is doomed to failure

And Finally...
I love my boy. More than chocolate and playing guitar and sleep. And I'm pretty sure he loves me. What could possibly go wrong?