Stop. Stop it. Just stop. It’s amazing how, now you have moved through the ages from three to four, the word stop is appearing more regularly in our lives. Some of it is just a repetition of that same word, at the same time, for the same reasons. When you are naughty! There are other times when we use the word; I, Dad, uses the word, because I want you to stop; to stop growing. To stop, stop being my baby, my little girl. Four is a good age. Stay four for the rest of your life. Stay young enough that you want to hug me, want to cuddle as we sit watching TV; want to tell me how much you love me. It’s an
Dad Archive
“I don’t like it. Why don’t you like it? I don’t like it.” It’s a simple enough conversation, played out with a two year old, who doesn’t quite have the language development to articulate what she really wants to say. Yet they are four words I try my hardest to stop Lauren from actually saying. Sure there will be things that she won’t like, but it should never be the default position – as it often is with kids – with unimaginative adults; for me. I was/am terrible at proclaiming my dislike for something. Look, textures, colour, squeamish sensation it leaves – all come before taste in deciding if I will try something. If I think I’ve once had something similar before, it means that
How could I have know when I woke up this morning, that I would spend most of my lunch hour stood across the other side of a post office counter looking at myself? That my usual actions – those of a forgetful, last minute as always type of present buyer would bring me directly in to contact with my own moment of serendipity? As I slowly inched towards the counter, I noticed the cashier’s name badge read Chris. Nothing strange in that I thought, not even if the cashier wasn’t male. Where it took a turn for the unexpected was from the point I placed my parcel on the counter. “That’s me” the other Chris said. I followed the line of her sight to the
As I sit here listening to Daphne “Change” (great track by the way, you’ll love it – or at least I will try to encourage you to love it), it’s starting to occur to me that change is somewhat dominating our lives at the moment. We watch a cartoon called Humf, where the main character this morning proclaimed his sheer delight at the fact he could change his mind on the things he likes. Obviously the lyrics of the record I’m listening to are all about people changing their minds – I even opted for a beer from the fridge, when I had initially gone to the kitchen for a glass of wine before I started to write this. But then those examples of change
I was once told that through sport, I lived a double life. I disagreed. My view was that what I did was no different to how others involved in amateur sport lived their lives. I had a decent job, a part-time hobby and a dedication to the sport I played. But then if I introduced myself to anyone new. Told them what I did. How I made my living; where I would be on a Friday night – what I would then be doing on a Saturday morning – a lack of understanding would permeate through the rest of our conversation. They simply refused to believe me. The job meant working at different European sites. The hobby was as an events reviewer for DJ Magazine.
… Eat bubbles! A simple statement – said by you to Hooch our dog, as she chased around the garden after a bee. A bee so engorged by a feast of nectar from our neighbour’s garden, that it could barely lift itself above and beyond the snapping jaws of the chasing hound. There is clearly context to this episode – for Hooch likes to eat, or at least pop bubbles as they float around the house – blown either by you or the machine that gives amusement to you both. They can’t taste nice. We did buy bacon flavour bubble liquid, though I’m not sure if that’s advisable for either of you. So as Hooch tried in vain to capture, and then eat the partially
The intention of the letters up to this stage has been a way of introducing you to us, to your world – to try to explain how you came to be with us. The intention of this letter is to try to offer you some guidance, to explain to you the importance of family – and to explain why family means so much more than just us, your parents. I’ve never been great with my extended family. There is no negative reason for this, it is purely because I am lazy – I tend to get in touch with people when I need to, rather than just to keep a steady flow of communication going with them. Family members are different. It appears that even
Dear Lauren, Fear is a strange sensation that comes in many forms. It can be a unifying bond between us, as you look to me for comfort and protection. You are usually the root cause of my fear, whilst your fears come and go; change and return without good reason. There are times when you have no fear at all – like when you run to the top of a flight of stairs, or tap dance on tables. Then there are times when Hooch runs towards you and you cower, expecting her to knock you over – only looking out from behind your hands when she has long since passed. On the very next pass you will throw your arms out to catch her –
Dear Lauren You may never read this. Given the fact that you can’t read and that by the time you can, this blog may no longer exist. However your Mum asked me to write something to you when you were born, as a keepsake of who we are, and how you’ve changed our lives. Admittedly I’m a mere 21 months behind schedule with this, but that’s nothing for me. I am an open procrastinator. One of the finest you will find. Actually, that’s a lie. Give me a deadline, tighter the better and I will produce the goods to an exemplary standard. Give me an open brief, a jaunty wave of the hand and tell me to go off and do something – and chances