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A truly hairy problem

I’m not someone who scares easily but I recently felt my blood turn to ice. No, it wasn’t the twins using my DVDs as frisbees or finding them precariously perched somewhere. It was a simple sentence delivered by their dance teacher.

“Anthony, you need to put their hair up into buns each week.”

Now I can do a lot of things. I’m flexible, curious and my already large skillset has expanded enormously since becoming a stay-at-home dad. But one skill that eludes me is the hair.

For starters I have large, thick fingers. Secondly, unlike most of the fairer gender I haven’t been playing with hair my whole life. My curls mean I’ve always just kept it short. So no personal experience.

But Anthony I hear you cry: you’ve been home for years with the girls. Surely you’ve picked a thing or two up by now.

Um… no. Not with hair.

You see they both had short hair for ages. And even when it grew I’ve had a great support network (you rock grandma!) not to mention a routine that sees Mummy Time before work in the morning include doing the hair.

It wasn’t something I actively avoided but the few times I’ve tried haven’t been successful. And when I say unsuccessful, think Hindenberg.

In fact Rhapsody, who has inherited my curls, has registered a formal protest that she doesn’t want Daddy practicing on her anymore.

Gypsy has straight hair so I’ve been able to fashion one or two ponytail/pigtails that’ll do the job. Well as long as you don’t put it under too much stress such as exposing it to extreme exercise. Or perhaps mild exercise.

Or a light breeze.

Or movement in general.hairy

But never let it be said I’m not up for a challenge or ready to pick up a new skill. Off to youtube I went to learn how to pull hair back, where to put the clips, what to do with the pins and how to do a bun.

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! WHAT IS THIS EVIL?!?

“It’s all quite simple” says the lady with a beaming smile before frantically contorting her arms, hands and fingers into something resembling a highly caffeinated jazz hands routine then pulling them back seconds later to reveal a perfect bun.

It was like a magic trick. Especially the part where I couldn’t work out how she did it.

I suspect trick photography or a deal with the devil.

Even a slow-motion watch didn’t help. I think making balloon animals would be easier than doing my childrens’ hair at this point. Heck, I think a fusion reactor is looking less complex.

Which is why we later turn up at grandma’s wearing our GAP hoodies. With the hoods up.

Okay so maybe they DID look like they were casing the joint but at least they were trendy clothes. That counts right?

This story doesn’t have a happy ending yet. I’m still trying to learn but I’m pulling more of my hair out than putting theirs in. I actually think swimming caps may become necessary for dance classes.

Actually there’s an idea. Take the girls out of dance class and enrol them in synchronised swimming. Dancing with swimming caps is still dancing right?

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Fairytales and tears

We spent more than three hours at the doctor’s office with Rhapsody this afternoon. Why? Well thankfully the first doctor’s diagnosis of a broken arm was incorrect: it was merely a radial head dislocation (one of the bones that goes into your elbow joint popped out).

Because when my girls play Goldilocks it’s hard core.

An afternoon of intense pain for a brave (and oddly immobile – seriously she hasn’t sat/lain still for that long since… well never) little girl but after the second doctor popped it back in she was happily kamikaze again. Though a little more cuddly with daddy for awhile which was nice.

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Quick comeback

Exasperated after a very rough morning, I finally snapped “The Easter Bunny is watching. You’re being very naughty so there won’t be chocolate for you if you keep this up.”

The reply? “You’re being very cranky. There won’t be chocolate for you either.”

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For a moment I thought the worst

“We had an incident today…” Not the words you want to hear when you’re picking your kids up. However it turns out that my girls weren’t at fault. A boy bit Rhapsody over a sharing dispute.

I still found myself asking how she retaliated expecting the worst but it turns out she did everything right.

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Try, try, try

This morning, during mummy-twins time, the girls were on their ipads and asked for help with one of their games. Sandra tried to get out of it by saying she didn’t know how to do it. She then got a very stern lecture on try, try, trying new things and practicing until you can do it Mummy.

I’m still laughing.

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Aaah toddlers…

Rhapsody was having a mini-meltdown this afternoon because she couldn’t find her dolly. To calm her down I helped her look for it and found it.

It then turned into a full meltdown because”*I* wanted to find it!”

*sigh

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Your sister, your friend

Dear Baby Girls,

Today the three of us were dancing and, for a change, you didn’t notice when I sat down. So you continued to dance, holding hands and smiling at each other. You both looked so very happy.

I hope you realise how lucky you are to have a sister. She’s a built-in best friend. Later in life this will mean living with your own personal hairdresser, stylist and confidant. Continue reading “Your sister, your friend”

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Tasmanian torture

We’ve just has the strangest holiday. And that’s saying something. When you’ve travelled as much we have you tend to think you’ve seen it all and you’re prepared for anything. Heck we even checked the Australian government website for safety warnings because even though Tasmania isn’t another country, it certainly feels like it sometimes.

We were looking forward to peaceful meadows, lovely scenery, amazing food and giving thanks for David Boon. But instead this family getaway left me a fragile, mental wreck.

Not because Tasmanians drive in the middle of the road until they’re right on top of you like a modern day game of chicken (though they do).

Not because Tasmania has speed signs that say “End 80 zone” but don’t tell you what the new speed is so you’re unsure whether you need to speed up or slow down (though they do).

Not because there’s so much roadkill we saw more dead marsupials than live ones (though we did).

No, this trip was defined by screaming tantrums.

For some reason, Rhapsody’s trip across the Tasman transformed her into a monster. I know I sometimes make fun of my twins but they’re good girls most of the time. But suddenly drop-of-a-hat tantrums were the new thing. Especially when we jumped in the car. Distractions didn’t work (in fact they often made things worse). If they both had a toy or iPad then she wanted Gypsy’s – even if they were identical. She would scream, cry and sometimes start hitting and kicking her sister. Sometimes if she didn’t have a reason to scream, she’d make one up.

At one stage we were on a highway when she suddenly declared she wanted four pink socks. In the middle of nowhere. Of course we tried to calmly say we didn’t have any on us and reason with her but that just set off another explosion.

And the screaming just gets louder the longer it goes on. She was like some sort of crazed football commentator as one side is about to score: just getting louder and higher and louder and higher.

At one point I thought she’d stopped until I saw dogs on the side of the road in pain and realised she’d just gone up so high she’d exceeded the level of human hearing. Sadly for us – but happily for the local fauna – this octave didn’t last long.

My wife handled it pretty well for the most part. She has this ability to just tune out and not hear when she wants to. It’s like the next step of evolution. It would also explain some of our conversations around the house.

But I digress. Mostly because my traumatised brain doesn’t want to remember those Tasmanian road-trips. Which is a shame. Because once we reached our destinations they were amazing. Tasmania is simply stunning. We climbed down ancient caves, we found a platypus in the wild, we climbed mountains (if you accept ‘driving up’ as ‘climbing’), we saw Australia’s oldest bridge and what must be Australia’s longest public park slide, we fed giant salmon and trout, we visited old bakeries and chocolate factories, I saw the Brisbane Heat defeat the Hobart Hurricanes… Most of the touristy stuff. It was incredible in patches.

However these amazing flashes of brilliance were bookended by the unending screams of a wailing banshee out of Dante’s Inferno. Seriously, it was like an ice pick in the brain and I started eyeing off the many, many vineyards we were passing wandering if they made/had hard spirits there too.

It’s not as if our girls haven’t travelled before. We had a white Christmas in Denmark and though the flight wasn’t great the holiday was. And like most people of the Western world, they’ve been to Las Vegas.

But this trip was insane. Every time we went somewhere it descended into chaos, leading me to one inescapable conclusion: Rhapsody has developed an allergy to cars.

Or Tasmania.

Or maybe she just REALLY loves pink socks.

And just FYI, the phrase “Daddy is like America – he doesn’t negotiate with terrorists” doesn’t work on three-year-olds.

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WANTED: recognition for parenting as a job

We all have friends who don’t understand how difficult parenting is. And even those friends who KNOW it’s not all Ellen/Oprah and tea often fail to appreciate just how intensive this 24-7 job is. And it is a job make no mistake. It’s just like no other job on the planet.

For a start there’s no paid overtime. Heck, sometimes you’re lucky if you get a lunch break. You have to organise your own health plan. You are on-call ALL THE TIME. There isn’t a point where you get to knock-off, just temporary relief if they sleep or you have an amazing partner (or hired help). There are no financial bonuses for a job well done. In fact there’s often no recognition of your amazing feats at all.

And intensive? It’s downright unrelenting. There are no holidays – just your job in different locations. And no, you don’t get sick days: you have to suck it up and work through.

Have you ever wondered what such a job would read like as an advertised position? What sort of Selection Criteria it would have?

SC1 PROVEN ABILITY TO PERFORM MULTIPLE DIFFICULT TASKS SIMULTANEOUSLY. ADDITIONALLY APPLICANT MUST BE VERY FLEXIBLE AND ADAPTABLE.

SC2 PROVEN ABILITY TO PERFORM UNDER PRESSURE. APPLICANT MUST BE ABLE TO BE PATIENT AND EVEN-TEMPERED, POSSIBLY FOR YEARS ON END. SLEEP DEPRIVATION EXPERIENCE WOULD BE SEEN AS ADVANTAGEOUS. DITTO TORTURE EXPERIENCE.

SC3 HIGH-LEVEL NEGOTIATION SKILLS. DEMONSTRATED ABILITY TO INTERACT WITH RIDICULOUSLY STUBBORN CHILDREN REQUIRED. MIGHT SUIT THOSE USED TO DEALING WITH AUSTRALIAN POLITICIANS.

SC4 SUPERHUMAN TIME MANAGEMENT SKILLS. THE APPLICANT MUST BE ABLE TO EFFICIENTLY UTILISE ALL 24 HOURS OF THE DAY. SLEEP OPTIONAL.

SC5 DEVELOPMENT PLANNING AND IMPLEMENTATION EXPERIENCE (VERY HIGH LEVEL) FOR EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL DEVELOPMENT PROJECT MANAGEMENT ON HIGHLY INFLUENTIAL SUBJECTS. MUST BE GOOD ROLE MODEL, GREAT TEACHER AND WISE ELDER. THE ABILITY TO ACCURATELY PREDICT THE FUTURE WILL ALSO BE LOOKED UPON POSITIVELY.

SC6 DEMONSTRATED ARTISTIC ABILITY. ARTS AND CRAFT PREFERABLE. CAPACITY FOR AMAZING IMAGINATION ESSENTIAL. PROFICIENCY FOR UTTERING SENTENCES SUCH AS “WHY YES, THAT *IS* A GIRAFFE WITH A SNOOGLEHORN AND NOT A ROCK AT ALL” A MUST. ACTING ABILITY OBVIOUSLY ALSO REQUIRED.

EXPERIENCE AT ANY/ALL OF THE FOLLOWING WOULD BE ADVANTAGEOUS: CHEF, PSYCHOLOGIST, DIPLOMAT, REFUSE HANDLER, NUTRITIONIST, INSOMNIAC, TEACHER, REFEREE, SAFETY OFFICER, SPORTS/MUSIC/DANCE COACH.

MUST BE WILLING TO FORGO – OR AT LEAST DOWNWARDLY PRIORITISE – HAVING YOUR OWN LIFE.

Is it any wonder there are no licensing law requirements to be a parent? Who could satisfy this sort of application? Hardly any of us at all. Well, maybe an anal retentive type-A sociopathic insomniac but even then only if they had experience.

A parent has so many responsibilities it’s not surprising that sometimes some of us have doubts about whether we’re doing a good job. We have to be so many things and it feels so very important to get it right. It’s our children’s future after all so the stakes are high.

But just how realistic is it for us to be so versatile? How many jobs in the real world would dare to ask for so much across so many spectrums?

This is why ancient civilisations raised children using the entire community. Less pressure, more specialisation and more support.

So if you’re feeling overwhelmed and having doubts about your ability as a parent, please don’t despair. No matter what the media tells you there is no such thing as a perfect parent. I don’t think any sane person reading this will be able to fulfil ALL the criteria. But if you do? Well then email me – I may have a position open for you.