Paul Davidson
Weeknotes 086: When Mama was teeny-tiny I gave her a bunny.
Overheard in the greengrocers:
“What’s pesto?”
“It’s an Italian sauce that’s, erm, from Italy”
Lovely stuff.
After a morning trying unsuccessfully to show off that big stick at forest school again, Piglet and The Chef hit up TKMaxx. Unsupervised. We own more plant pots and cushions now. Piglet was responsible for QA, vetoing colours and laying on each cushion before purchase. With room left in the boot they went to the zoo1. Treacle—like me—is tough to buy presents for. Her nugget-and-hay-ice-cream-cone treat is ignored, which has annoyed Piglet.
To separate the toddler from the ungrateful guinea pig, we had a cheeky mid-week babysitting scheduled and returned to the scene of our last midweek crime. Distinctly less hungover this time. And we got to take a video of the dinosaur digger eating a building to soothe Piglet.
She came back late because we were at our first ever parents’ evening(!). We’ve already met the Type-A extroverts of the PTFA and The Chef has been added to a WhatsApp by one of the keen mams. So keen, that she signed up as a school governor before her kid starts. I’m unrepentantly glad people like this exist, because they make the world move. Without them much of the invisible glue of society isn’t there. And I’m equally glad it’s not me.
No sooner had we recovered from the shock of Piglet getting ready to head to uni, when nursery opened their doors for drop off for the first time since Covid. The parents all got to look sheepishly at each other as we were led by the hand by our toddlers. Everyone is so giddy about it.
This article on Dad rage is excellent. It brought to mind one of Robert Heaton’s (also excellent) dad posts, where he expressed the frustration of managing interactions with a small human. The natural conclusion, to me at least, is to use the anger and frustration to switch the 50s gender roles. Instead of asking mam to nag and dad to blow up as a last resort, get dad to be the base level nagger. Nips the anger off and frees mam from one of the multiple unasked jobs that society piles on her. I’m immensely lucky to be in the cohort of dads where these conversations are happening, and that there’s more than a few role models from the generation above. I don’t think my dad was as fortunate. If you didn’t click the article link yet, please do. It has a hell of conclusion on the parents’ journey.
Contra dad rage, we’re experiencing toddler rage. We might have to bring bedtime forward because we’re living through nightly meltdowns. Every time we’ve experienced a sustained bout of tantrums in the past, she’s unlocked a new level of life a week or two later. The curiosity for what’s coming is getting us through the week.
Related to curiosity, being in the office has been better than working from home for the casual causal productivity of helpful interruptions. And, as one of the first into our office, I can run around opening blinds and windows before anyone else thinks to use the lights and air con. It’s made for a warmer office, but I’m the only warm-blooded one and everyone is noticeably happier for the outside in. It’s even nice enough for lunch at the nature reserve to watch the bunnies sunbathing and the beekeeper do whatever it is that beekeepers do. And when the interruptions aren’t helpful? There’s always good cover versions (via Tom MacWright).
I’m ending weeknotes stiffly. Piglet was shipped to Lǎolao and Lǎoyé’s for the weekend while The Chef was at work and I prepped for her upcoming birthday party by ripping up the last of the decking and laying the paving stones. We fit a cheeky child-free meat, cheese and wine at Carruthers & Kent in the evening. I’m going to need a bath on this one though.
Pets at home.↩︎