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All tagged theflaggingdad
Louise had booked sledging for our first activity and the boys were bouncing with anticipation. I was in similarly high spirits until I realised I'd neglected to pack my coat/any form of warm clothing for myself. As we entered the snow slope alongside other families who were head-to-toe in hats, gloves, and some (a bit keen) in full skiwear including sunglasses, I stood, shivering in my paper-thin jumper and began to appreciate why Louise deemed it necessary to organize her own birthday.
Our first stop was Joshua’s tennis class at the university - a 9 a.m. start which is exactly one hour too early. We dropped Louise off at the gym on the way and, in the car, she politely informed me that I “stink of beer and need a shower” which was rather demoralizing given I had already had one.
While Joshua is playing tennis, Jacob and I usually kick a ball around or go on an “adventure” which involves me turning into a monster while he runs along benches pretending the floor is lava. On this particular Saturday, I brought the iPad.
“I don’t like Frozen anymore, Daddy,” Jacob declared less than a week before his 100% Frozen-themed 4th birthday party.
“But you’ve loved it for the past year? Could you not just hang in there for a bit longer, buddy?”
“It’s boring. I only like animals now.”
“Can you not like Frozen and animals?”
“Don’t be so silly, Daddy.”
As if this revelation wasn’t enough of a headache, the day before the party, I was handed a shopping list so complex it felt like I was participating in a task on The Apprentice.
With the boys’ birthdays falling on either side of Christmas, life becomes a relentless stream of delivery men from November to January. Aside from one chap who I like – he calls me “my guy” and makes me feel young again – I will be glad when this period is over, and I can work from home without having to leave meetings to answer the door to men dropping off Lion King tepees.
On Friday morning, the boys burst into our bedroom, shouting, and within approximately 12 seconds, Joshua had located the advent calendars I had hidden behind an armchair.
‘They were meant to be a surprise for later,’ I said glumly as he stuffed a chocolate into his face and Jacob started tearing numerous windows open.
‘What are you doing, Jacob? It’s one day at a time. You know this.’
‘No, I don’t!’ he shouted, then had the audacity to shove a second chocolate into his mouth before starting to cry.
I struggled to open our lockers with my electrical wristband for slightly too long and started to lose my rag/did lose my rag.
‘Why is life so complicated these days? There was nothing wrong with the £1 locker system.’
Louise took my wristband from me, immediately opened the door, and looked, for a few seconds, like she no longer loved me.
We went camping near Castle Howard in North Yorkshire recently. I am not yet convinced by camping - it seems an awful lot of hassle to make yourself voluntarily homeless - but Louise spent her bonus on all the gear anyone would ever need (from a man on Facebook) and will be damned if we don’t make the most of it.
I boarded my flight, eyes drooping, and prepared a white noise playlist. Seconds later, however, a middle-aged woman clattered down the aisle with several bags and asked me to “scootch up.”
“Alright, love,” she said. “I’ve had eight drinks already. How many have you had?”
I opted not to tell her that my only fluid had been a can of San Pellegrino, part of an underwhelming Boots Meal Deal.
“We’re on a 40th. We’re from Warrington. Are you?”
“From Warrington? Or 40? Neither I’m afraid.”
Our next stop was the Jardin des Sports where Louise ordered a pair of espresso martinis. This seemed a wildly inappropriate drink given we were surrounded by badminton courts and a roller-skating class. I was also surprised as she is becoming increasingly cautious with her caffeine consumption; when I made a latte for her at 2 pm recently, she looked livid.
“I’m not drinking coffee at this time, Andy! Have you gone mad?”
We were on an early morning flight meaning 3.30 am alarms to peel two sleeping children out of their beds and bundle them into an Uber. Ordinarily, there is nothing good about being in a twilight taxi aged 35 but this was our first trip abroad since 2017 and I was feeling jovial. Sadly, this was quelled as we arrived at Leeds Bradford Airport to see an unfathomably long, snaking queue to security. Joining us at the back, a man in a Lambretta tracksuit was livid, swearing quite a lot, and saying he was willing to pay “up to £35” to jump to the front which seemed an oddly specific limit. He then stormed off, presumably to find a Jet 2 employee to haggle with.
“What did he expect?” Louise said, shaking her head. “Has he not been watching the news?”
“I know, how ridiculous,” I replied.
I had not been watching the news and I was not expecting this.
