Category: columns

I receive lot of comments as a stay-athome dad. Things like, “Wow. You are such a good parent. Especially with
twins. You’re doing an amazing job”. To which I always reply, “Are you crazy? You obviously have the wrong Anthony. I’m sorry, I have to go back to the corner and rock in a ball some more”.

Because to be honest, parenting is hard. Certainly more difficult than anything I’ve ever done before and I’ve travelled the world and held six-figure jobs. Most of the past four years has been a whirlwind of chaos spent unsure of what to do and ultimately just doing what I can and hoping for the best.

I don’t think I’ve done a bad job so far. My girls appear reasonably well-adjusted, intelligent, capable of reason and logic, creative and happy.

But if I’m perfectly honest I can’t claim all the credit. I have a great support network that a lot of people don’t have. Central to that network are my own parents.

They have been amazing, always ready to pitch in and help by putting my girls first in a selfless way that almost makes me feel guilty. I say almost because during sleepovers at Grandma’s I’m too busy catching up on work and sleep to feel anything other than relief.

I’m incredibly appreciative of a couple who have already spent most of their lives putting other people first. As well as having some of us kids naturally, Mum and Dad also fostered which leaves me often introducing myself as the eldest of 42.

They have constantly sacrificed and done everything they could to support all of us and even now when we’re all grown adults, they’re still pitching in to help us and our children. It’s made me realise that you never truly stop
being a parent. It’s easy for us to get caught up in ‘parents’ being people who raise kids aged between 0-18, but I want to give a shout-out to those actively involved with their ‘adult kids’ (or, in my mum’s case, sons who pretend to be adult).

Thank you to all those who have their own lives back yet are still there for us, now that we’re parents ourselves. I’ve learnt so much from my amazing parents and they’ve made me the person I am today.

So thank you Mum and Dad. If I am indeed a good parent, it’s because of the example you – my incredible parents – set. Well, when I’m not curled up in the corner rocking in a ball anyway …

As a beloved old TV show was fond of repeating, “you cannot change the laws of physics”. And just as science recognises there are simply some absolute truths of the world, we all know there are strict laws that govern children and parents.

And you don’t need a PhD in Parenting to know how true these laws are:

 

The Dawdling Principle

No matter how early you plan to leave for an event, the time allowed will be taken up by children dawdling. At this stage I could be ready to leave a full 24 hours before dance classes (which are held literally 400 metres from my house) and the girls would find a way to ensure we burst in just as they’re closing the doors. Yet again.

 

Eyes-stomach ratio

The laws of physics do not always seem to apply to children. For example their stomach is quite small physically but apparently capable of eating every chocolate or packet of chips in existence. We joke about dessert stomachs. Kids, like cows, have multiple stomachs and they’re ALL dessert stomachs.

 

The Principle of Uncertainty

In science, the Heisenberg Principle of Uncertainty tells us you can know the position of a particle OR its velocity but not both. In parenting, the Sherratt Principle of Uncertainty states you can either hear exactly what your kids are doing OR paranoia creeps up on you because you CAN’T hear what your kids are doing.

 

‘Toddler’s ear’

A little-known condition where toddlers’ hearing is distorted. ‘Toddler’s ear’ manifests by changing the meaning of our speech. For example I say “No” and they hear “ask me again in ten seconds”. See also ‘Husband’s Ear’ where the patient suffers temporary sporadic deafness dependent on situations.

 

IMP (Infant Magnetic Pulse)

Children under the age of 5 regularly emit a magnetic pulse of attraction. Curiously it’s only triggered when they have new and/or expensive clothes on, and instead of metal they attract dirt, mud, food and all other things messy. The effect can be reduced, if not totally eliminated, by dressing them in cheap or hand-me-down clothes.

 

Situationally Horrific Infantile Tantrums (note the acronym)

It’s an absolute truth that no matter how well behaved your children have been, the moment you step into public the likelihood of them throwing a loud tantrum increases exponentially. Studies conducted on the subject conclusively showed that “it was impossible to get any work done with all these damn kids crying and screaming in the scientific facility”.

 

The Lyon Poo Principle

Bowel movements are intrinsically linked to travel plans. It’s true: your kids won’t need to poo until you’re just about to leave or have just left. Similarly, they will often wait until you’ve struggled to get that complicated one-piece snowsuit/ballet outfit on before declaring they need to go. 25% of our time in Copenhagen was dressing, undressing and re-dressing the girls before snowplay.

 

The communication correlation

Child volume inevitably increases whenever you’re on a phone call. As does the likelihood of tantrums, fights and all-out riots. Interestingly, the more important the phone call, the greater the likelihood of intense cacophony.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I didn’t think I’d have to worry about a boy breaking one of my girls’ hearts for
another eight to 10 years. And yet this morning, Rhapsody sat in her booster seat. Eyes downcast and very, very sad.

Her friend Todd hasn’t shown up. Again. They’ve known each other for around two years which, when you’re a four year old, is a long time. I spy a silent tear and my heart shatters.

I don’t know what to say. I offer up reassurances that I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten, that he’s probably just busy but even to my ear they sound like empty platitudes.

The silent sadness is much scarier than a screaming tantrum but there’s simply no consoling her this time. For a moment I have the urge to take her back inside, give her ice cream and sit her in front of Bridget Jones’ Diary. But life goes on and we’re running late for school.

Did I mention that Todd is our ‘Rubbish Truck Man’? And that now we’ve started school (preprep) we have a routine that means we have to leave at a set time each day? A time that means it’s touch-and-go whether the rubbish truck gets here before we leave. We’ve even been late the last two Thursdays because I was stretching it out in the hopes we’d get the wave and chat in.

But alas, this morning it’s not to be. The girls took an interest in the rubbish truck years ago and we were lucky enough to have a driver who waved each week. Then occasionally we’d go out and have a chat.

Todd always stops and makes an effort (not just with our girls by the way, but I’ve not pointed out his free love approach to Rhapsody just yet – no judgment here) and her face lights up each week with the sound of the heavy-duty mobile garbage compacter.

When we took the girls on holidays she was most indignant when she realised it was Thursday and she wouldn’t be seeing Todd that week. An anger that soon turned to sadness and her uttering, “But who will wave to Todd? He will miss me. I will miss him.”

I know it’s not a sweeping love story but it’s very real to little Rhaps.  And her pain is my pain too. But how the hell am I going to handle teenage romance pain if I’m struggling with her friendship with the rubbish truck man?

I’ve thought about the inevitable dating and even prepared my introduction for potential suitors (“Hello. My name is Mr Sherratt and I ALWAYS have an alibi.”) and I know that at some point that terrible heartbreak will affect my girls. And it hurts to just think about. And all I can do is be there and do my best. Which means next Thursday I don’t care how late we are for school.

Amongst all the paperwork I had to sign when I became a parent I didn’t realise that nestled somewhere between the birth certificates and the endless hospital forms was a franchise agreement for a Toys “R” Us megastore.

How else can I explain my house being full of wall-to-wall plastics? We used to have a double garage but now we park on the driveway as the girls and their toys have established squatters’ rights. Just about every storage space in the house has been taken over by toys in every shape and colour.

Now when I was young I had toys of course and I fondly remember my Star Wars action figures, dart gun and Ipso blocks (they were plastic blocks with lollies inside). And the tree in the backyard. And rocks. Such a simple time.
But today’s children have to have everything. Including iPads (no doubt to help keep track of their toy catalogues) and every derivation of well… every variation.

Because it’s not just the fact there are thousands of different toys to choose from – each franchise has a million variations and accessory packs.

So our twins have what appear at first to be copies and duplicates but are actually cunningly different modifications. In other words this second one has two tiny orange dots on it Daddy so it’s OBVIOUSLY totally different. I’m joking of course – my girls don’t say “totally” or I would disown them. But the bit about the nearly identical copy being passed off as a different toy is true.

And it’s not as if the twins need any more anyway (and indeed for their past two birthday parties we’ve asked people to not buy presents) but storage keeps diminishing as the toy population booms. Balls, bikes, tea sets and of course the Queen of Retail *shudder* Barbie. Now Barbie by herself isn’t a problem (no body issues in this house yet other than my own ‘abs of flab’) – it’s what she comes with. Accessories. Clothes. And more accessories. It’s a plethora of little weapons that will inevitably embed themselves into my feet at 3am because the concept of “putting stuff away” is foreign to anyone under the age of 37 apparently.

But I can’t just buy Barbie and her seemingly endless wardrobe. Nooooo. I have to get her friends, her boyfriend, her sisters and her entire family (including a horse). Basically I’m supporting her and her complete network. Somewhere along the line I have become Barbie’s pimp. Except I’m driving a CX7 while Miss Mattel gets around in a Ferrari! Which I paid for.

I should point out my girls don’t ask for all this stuff. They just keep getting it anyway. In fact in over four years they’ve each only asked for one specific toy. And they didn’t get it (hey, don’t look at me – I was away, I still feel bad
about it and Santa became the scapegoat). Most of this problem comes from having wonderful friends who have contributed out of good intentions. In fact on their third birthday party the girls received so many presents we
put half of them aside. And then forgot about them.

On a completely unrelated note is it bad to “re-gift” presents to your own kids? I’m asking for a friend of course.

Maybe it’s time the girls got acquainted with the Joy of Rocks …

I recently travelled to China and was amazed at how children are treated over there. Chinese parents are a lot
more tolerant and, for the most part, let the kids do what they want. There’s no helicopter parenting in Guangzhou.

I asked my interpreter friend about this and she informed me of a Chinese philosophy of children having two states: one of innocence which is followed by one of understanding. Once they hit the latter state they’re subject to very strict discipline and expected to accept responsibility virtually overnight. But during the former parents tend to
pamper, indulge and have very few rules. Kids are allowed to be kids with virtually no parental discipline. You’re probably reading this shuddering at thoughts of anarchy and toddler revolution, but the kids aren’t actually too bad at all. If I’m honest there appeared to be fewer tantrums than what we have here.

I was particularly struck by the tolerance shown by non-parents. At one point I was in a restaurant and two children were being a bit boisterous. Louder than would be acceptable in our culture, but there no one batted an eyelid. Not the businessman who was obviously on a deadline. Not the young lovers right next to the ruckus. Not even the cranky old man who was impatient with the waitress but didn’t give the squabbling siblings a second glance. How delightful. Yet such a contrast from our attitudes. And it left me wondering if we overparent. And what else was done differently elsewhere. I remembered my shock in Copenhagen when attending a parent gathering how the mothers left their infants in their prams in the backyard. In the snow. 10 below zero. They were rugged up but we’re talking very cold and very young. But apparently it’s standard in Denmark. Mind boggling to me.

During trips I’ve seen Polynesian parents spend little direct time with their toddlers once they start walking, preferring to ensure their kids spend most of their time with their peers, learning and exploring from and with each other. We talk about attachment parenting but this could only be described as DEtachment parenting.
What else is out there? Well I did some more research and discovered that traditional Bulgarians will spit on
stranger’s babies (or at the very least pretend to) and make a wish that birds will defecate on the kid. Apparently too much praise for a child will make the devil jealous and draw his attention to the baby in question. Oooookay.

In the Yucatan, children as young as two are hunting and helping with hardcore household chores. I don’t know about you but there’s no way I would have let my girls near my dishes at two, let alone a weapon. And returning to China, most kids are toilet-trained between six and nine months. Yes, the country that produces the most disposable nappies has very little use for them, preferring to put the kid in crotchless pants and holding them over toilets. Apparently kids are conditioned – often by cues as such as whistling – to control themselves very early. And while accidents inevitably happen, parents make no fuss and don’t even raise their voice let alone enforce discipline. All of which hastens learning. Calm understanding and letting the kids be kids. I’ll be honest and admit I don’t know if I
could do it anywhere near the level I saw in China and it’s partly my temperament, but a lot to do with our culture and customs.

But I wonder if I could take some of these lessons and ideas and introduce the concepts into my parenting? After all, my twins are now four. That’s more than old enough to send them out hunting and foraging for my dinner, apparently.

I grew up a very curious soul. And I’ve always ac tually looked forward to having curious kids. I couldn’t wait
for them to start talking an d ask ing questions so I could show them the world an d how it works.

I wasn’t going to be a parent who used “just because”. I was going to educate and elucidate. But it turns out that toddler questions aren’t the great learning exercise I expected. And while they do indeed have an insatiable curiosity, it’s often applied to mundane things.

“Daddy why does the moon change shape?” is interesting. “Daddy, why are cornflakes orange?” is not as interesting not to mention a lot harder to answer. In fact it’s all too frequently a great challenge answering questions from those incapable of wiping their own bottoms.

I’ve discovered there are roughly three ways to answer a toddler question. Take the following query for example:
“Why is my reflection upside down in a spoon Daddy?” You really have three options.

a) Because concave surfaces reflect inversely
b) Because the spoon is curved.
c) Magic!

Now, I know most of you are thinking option b) but that is a trap. Because their immediate follow-up question will be “why?” and you will probably have to resort to a) or c) anyway.

Nothing is straight forward and “Why?” is currently the bane of my existence. Those three little letters often leave me exasperated. Not because they’re being asked but because they’re being asked beyond the point of being able to provide an answer.

You can explain how things fly (lift force) and why they fall (gravity) but how do you respond when they ask WHY does gravity sucks things down? Or WHY solids can’t pass through solids?

You get to a point where they’re asking the why about principles/theories/laws that we simply accept. It’s also – scientifically speaking – the point at which your mind just explodes.

One of these days they’re going to ask “why are you hitting your head against the wall Daddy?” Just because honey. Just because.

It’s 3am and I’m plodding down the hallway answering the call of a crying child. I comfort her and get her back to
sleep and thankfully the twin doesn’t wake during the process. I shuffle back to my own bed like a zombie and collapse on the bed.

As I try to get back to sleep I can’t help but wonder “haven’t I already done this dance before?” Didn’t we already get through the sleep problem stage? But of course, this time their interrupted sleep is from a cough and although it’s not their fault, it’s as if we’re back to them being infants and Daddy being awoken every half hour or so. Sleep-deprivation is not a welcome flashback or happy memory.

But it made me think (a week later when I was actually vaguely conscious again) that this parenting gig is a bit misleading. It’s supposed to get easier as we go, isn’t it?

We all know that signing up for babies includes night time feeds, crying and sleep deprivation early on. But they grow out of that right? Well, yes, but you can’t foresee the unexpected such as sickness. And it never really stops.

Secondly, I’ve noticed it doesn’t actually get easier. Things don’t really get better, they just change. For example, when they’re young and you can’t work out why they’re crying non-stop you wish they could talk so they could tell you.

Then, in a perfect be-careful-what-you-wish-for moment, they learn to talk. And talk back. And they talk non-stop. And you sometimes wish they’d just be quiet.

When you’re housebound with babies that can’t move themselves, you wish they’d start crawling. Then you blink and they’re running in different directions and you can’t keep up and you’re thinking about leashes and longing for the days they couldn’t get out of the lounge room under their own steam.

In fact, just about every time I’ve started to relax into a routine, the twins have changed and once again I’m chasing the game.

I could go on and on but it boils down to them having phases. They grow, they change and we adapt (in theory). But man it just makes things harder, doesn’t it?

I asked my parents about when it started getting easier and they could start living their lives again and they replied “Well, you’re still asking me questions this minute, aren’t you?”

They’re very funny my Mum and Dad. But they’re also wonderful. They’ve stuck by me through thick and thin. They’ve loved me unconditionally even when I was being troublesome. They’re STILL putting up with me and their non-stop support has made the person I am today. And I’m someone who loves being a parent.

I know it’s easy to focus on the tantrums and frustrations but for every twin-fight there’s at least two cuddles. There are nose rubs, impromptu dances, made-up songs and surprise pounces. I delight in the wonder in their eyes and the curiosity of their minds. Sharing new experiences with them and showing them the world is simply incredible.

So, while I have bleary eyes rather than answers, I’m trying to remember the bigger picture. They’ll keep growing and becoming even more independent. And there’ll come a time when they don’t want their Dad in their lives every minute, so perhaps I should be careful what I wish for.