Holiday leads to digital divorce

We recently returned from an eight day holiday in Fiji. It was a wonderful time to spend with BWM and H. Being able to relax and spend time as a family along with friends who travelled with us was absolutely fantastic. To have two other families, both with young children, gave H plenty of others to play with as well.

The act of breaking the daily routines of home was quite therapeutic in many ways and H enjoyed the opportunity to get in the pool and run bare foot on the grass. It was great to see him play ‘kick a ball’ with his mate who is nearly 2 and generally see the connection that they formed over the course of trip.

Lounging by the pool under the shade of an umbrella it was lovely to pick up a book. During the trip I read Arianna Huffington’s book Thrive that looks at our connections in the everyday world as well as our digital ones. I found the ideas she was espousing quite interesting considering the issues that I was about to face.

However, it was the lack of connection to internet and telephone which was probably the best part of the whole holiday. BWM didn’t bring her phone with her and I was to be a point of contact via phone or email for her work if there were any major issues. Upon our arrival at the resort in Fiji I checked wifi availability and saw there was 24-hour free period. I decided to ignore It for now and take it up some time later in the week.

It was about 4 days into the trip and BWM asked me if there had been any emails. I replied that I hadn’t checked but later that afternoon logged on to the wifi for 24 hours free access. After checking email (nothing there) I then browsed a few stories on the web before going into my social media.

First up was checking Facebook. I initially thought that my timeline had not updated, as it seemed to be exactly the same as when we had left Sydney. However, upon closer examination it had updated – Facebook it seemed had selected the same stuff it thought I would like, ignoring the opportunity for me to see all my friends’ posts. In many ways it was like flicking on ‘The Bold and the Beautiful’ after not having seen it for months and you find the same two characters engaged in the same pouting stare off.

I checked email and the web again the next day under my 24 hour access pass. I again checked Facebook and again found my characters from ‘The Bold’ eagerly engaged in their stare off. Twitter had at least updated and I could read some news bulletins and links to information which I enjoyed reading.

After the 24 hours of wifi I got back into finding connections with my son and my wife as well as the friends with whom we were travelling. It was great not to worry about the phone in the pocket with its instant access to seemingly everything.

Yet later in the week the siren song of addiction called again and I discovered that I could get 24 hours free wifi again. I really wanted to find out how Arsenal went and also the results of a few French and South African rugby games that involved people I know. Facebook called me again and there were all these notifications blaring at me and messages from people which I couldn’t see unless I installed Facebook Messenger and…………….that’s it – Facebook you are no longer my friend!

I deleted Facebook off my phone. I still have an account though and all these emails came through the other day from Facebook telling me all the amazing stuff I’ve been missing out on.

I’m sure I’ll miss out on a few things that my friends in all the far-flung corners of the world post. I’ve friends in Europe, New Zealand, South Africa, Great Britain, North Queensland and even the Sutherland Shire to give an incomplete list. However, I know these people are friends with whom I have a connection and will keep in contact with through old-fashioned methods of communication - like email.

It’s been a week since I got rid of Facebook off my phone and I don’t feel like I’m missing out. There have been a few times I’ve reached for my phone to look at things but I’ve stopped myself and looked at my son instead. I guess I want him to see his Dad connecting with him as much as possible, not just connecting to the phone and a world he can’t yet see and understand.

To paraphrase the words of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s character to his wife in Total Recall, “Facebook – consider this a divorce!” Perhaps I’ll be back at some stage on the computer checking Facebook but for now I’m staying on a digital holiday I started during my physical one.

Postscript – I know it’s ironic that I’ve posted this on my Facebook page but if you want to comment on it please do so on the blog here or email me. That way I’m sure I’ll see it as I know I won’t be checking in on Facebook on my desktop quite so often.

Seeking Wallaby Heroes for my son

It’s a bit of a ritual in our house now that I play some music while my son has his dinner. As he was finishing his fruit I moved into the kitchen to pack a few things away. That was when I heard him scream - a scream like the one given off when Alderaan was destroyed by the dark side. I dropped everything and raced to my son as he choked upon his fruit.

I picked him up and immediately the kiwi fruit he had been chewing splurted out onto the black fleece jumper I was wearing. It was as if time stood still and the music of Split Enz and “History Never Repeats” washed over me from the speakers. The kiwi fruit stuck to the shoulder on my black fleece, my son sobbing in terror of what had just happened and my world became clear.

The time has come. This is Bledisloe time and I’m wearing black, feeding my son kiwi fruit and playing iconic New Zealand music. This has to stop. No longer should my 17-month-old son be fearful of the darkness. No longer should he cry because of men wearing black. No longer should kiwi fruit stick to the back of his throat but it is time for history to stop repeating.

It’s time for a new golden sunrise. It’s a time for the heroes in gold to arise and stop the ever-spreading darkness. I want my son to grow up in a world where the Wallabies are heroes. Where every boy and girl from 17 months to 17 years to 71 years of age can say they saw the resurrection of the Wallabies and the return of the Bledisloe to Australia.

I want his memories of Wallabies to great ones. I want him to talk about the events of 2014 as fondly as I mention Greg Cornelsen’s four tries (which co-incidently happened when I was about his age), about Topo Rodriguez’s try line tackle on Hika Reid which drove him back seemingly to the 22 metre line, George Gregan’s tackle on Wilson, John Eales slotting last minute penalty goals or the hand of Toutai.

I want all of these memories for him every season as we play the All Blacks. I don’t want them to be spread over 20 years. There’s a generation of Australian kids who need heroes in Wallaby gold to step forward over the next two weeks. I want him to one-day talk about the scrummaging of Slipper, the impact of Skelton, the dash of Hooper and the mongrel of Fardy. If this happens then he can talk about the vision of Beale, the dancing feet of Izzy or the way that AAC straightened through the hole. It’s not just these players it’s everyone else in the Wallaby team and all those of us who will be cheering them on this Saturday night.

It’s time for the Wallabies. In Star Wars once the scream of Alderaan had gone the side of light was able to triumph over the dark side. Sure, there were a few hiccups and three prequels about the how the dark side came to be that way. But we’ve seen them now and it’s time for the light side, the golden Wallabies to rise and return balance to the Bledisloe.

Parked in!

Last Saturday we had someone park over our driveway so that it was next to impossible to get in and out. We were lucky that when BWM came home she was able to get in because the vehicle on one side pulled out at the time. This allowed us access when we needed it. We were a little bit lucky even though it was frustrating.

A friend also posted a picture on Facebook recently of being parked in at a shopping centre. She had to wait 20 minutes while someone dropped their child off. As someone who runs her own business, which relies on punctuality with her clients, you can imagine how frustrated she was.

Quite naturally all incidents come in threes. On Thursday H and I went to Babyroo at Balmain. The carpark there is a complete mess at the momemt as they are renovating the Woolworths store. This is the only place where you can get free parking for more than 30 minutes. Naturally I had a cruise past to see if there was a spot amongst the dongas and worksite equipment.

There is also a forklift on the site and every time H sees it he yells “DIGGER!” at the top of his voice. Not only did we get to see the ‘digger’, we also bagged a parking spot. Great score! We toddled off to Babyroo and because we had a two hours free spot we enjoyed a coffee and did a couple of jobs that needed to be done. Feeling pretty good about myself I even splashed out on some flowers for BWM (I also like having flowers around the house but as a bloke I don’t tell people that).

Things were going great until we got back to the car. I had carried H in one arm and the flowers in the other so he couldn’t pull any out of the bouquet or take a bite out of them, as he is sometimes wont to do. All was good except for the large demolition truck that had parked us in. They were attempting to load the old fridges from the supermarket onto the back of the truck using the forklift.

Seeing this I was a little frustrated and placed all the items I had in the car except H. We walked around the side of the truck to see what was going on. Here was where I made the biggest mistake, or should I say bonus, you could possibly imagine.

“DIGGER! DIGGER! CAR! CAR!” H screamed in excitement as he saw them loading the fridges. The poor guy trying to lever the fridge in with his crowbar though someone had run over a child behind such was the vocal noise from H. I now had a battle on my hands as H desperately tried to wriggle his way free so he could see the forklift and the truck better.

After a minute or so of trying the guys trying to load the truck realised that it wasn’t quite fitting. The man who nearly dropped his crowbar in fright came over and asked if we wanted them to move because they had parked us in. Before I could reply H let rip at him again, “DIGGER! DIGGER! DIG! DIG! DIG!”

“Mate, this is the best entertainment he’s had all day,” I replied. “You guys do your work and we’ll watch because it keeps this young bloke happy.”

He moved away to try and reload the fridge obviously perplexed by the reply he’d got. It took the guys three goes and nearly another ten minutes to wedge the fridge onto the back of the truck. They ripped into it with sledgehammers and crowbars and gave the old fridges a good old belting. Eventually they got them wedged in much to the relief of the three workers plus the forklift driver.

However, there was one person who was not happy. H looked at the truck as it drove off and the forklift as it was parked up like someone had ripped away his favourite thing in the whole world. Now that we were no longer parked in I tried to put him in the car. H was not having a bar of it and put himself in a plank position so that he couldn’t be buckled into his seat. Eventually he relented but it cost me my sunglasses as his new toy – I got those back when he had his dinner a couple of hours later!

The third incidence of getting parked in seems to have been the best one. H got entertained like you wouldn’t believe and my upper body and core got as great a work out holding the excited wriggling H as the guys hammering and crowbarring! We will just have to see now where our next car park adventure takes us!

There are times I hate* being a Dad

It was 3.42 on a Friday afternoon as I lay flat on my back in what was the remnants of my man cave surrounded by duplo, cars, balls and other assorted toys. The tv was blaring a song from Play School. I blinked my eyes and above me loomed H with a trail of thick yellow snot oozing from his left nostril and a wooden hammer in his hand.

“This is it.” I thought to myself. The bitter taste of defeat stung the inside of my lips.

“He’s beaten me. I’ve had enough. Where’s BWM? Come home and save me!” I screamed silently to the world.

I needed to move or I was going to wear the hammer in H’s hand. I could see his hand twitching upward and I braced. His hand held still though and he dropped forward putting both his knees into my ribs and flopping on top of me for what turned out to be a sooky-la-la cuddle with his dad. I reached for a tissue and he raised his head but the booger was gone – no doubt somewhere on me.

No longer could I feel defeated. Here was my son at the end of the week exhausted and wanting to cuddle into his dad because he was sick. We’d been to the doctor twice in the week and I hate taking him to the doctor. I’m not sure if H hates it? Although he does scream the house down before turning around and attempting to open the surgery door so he can leave (lucky he’s not quite tall enough yet!). From that point on he’s usually all charm until the doctor goes near to him again. Then the screaming starts anew! Yes, I hate being a Dad who is going to the doctor with his son.

I must admit I truly hate seeing my son sick. He’s had swabs that have said he’s had a flu virus and rhinovirus (a cold) as well as conjunctivitis. His nose has been a constant eruption of snot and his eyes weren’t much better for a couple of days. I know that him getting sick means he is growing his immune system and he’ll be better off for it in the long run. It doesn’t mean I can't hate it.

While I’m on my train of hate here - I really hate seeing my son ignore his food when it’s presented to him. I’m not talking fruit or vegetables. This is a kid who helps himself to the fruit bowl if we accidently leave it within reach and vegetables disappear from his plate and into his mouth as if by magic. No it’s his proteins. He’ll pick away at his chicken nuggets, sausages, fish fingers and such like. I’ve even watched him pull stuffing out of ravioli so he can eat just the plain pasta. I'm a man and I want to see my son eat his meat! I know he’ll get there but I still hate it.

On the subject of hating things – I’m really not a big fan of losing. After a loss I’ve been known to be moody and grumpy for hours, days and weeks at a time. And that’s just after a game of scrabble with BWM! It’s even worse when my rugby teams lose as we did on the weekend (although a couple of them still scraped into the finals I still hate the fact we lost the games. Making it worse too was the one team which won missed out on the finals by not getting a bonus point – that’s definitely something to hate!). Needless to say there will come a time in my son’s life when I’m going to have to teach him how to lose. I won’t hate doing that but I’m definitely not looking forward to it.

Finally though I’ve saved my biggest hate of all for the caboose of the hate train. The one thing that I really, Really, REALLY hate about being a Dad! It’s the fact that I’ve had to break a lifetime habit of leaving the toilet seat up. Quite simply I hate having to put it down all the time!

Now I’ve had my dummy spit I know it really isn’t that bad. If that’s all there is that I dislike about being a dad then in the words of my mate The Dunph (who stole the quote from the Simpsons) “You’re the richest man I know.”

*I originally didn’t want to use ‘hate’ in this blog post. However, the sub-editor in me wanted to get people hooked with the headline so I struck out dislike, aversion, distaste, repugnance, abhorrence, displeasure and all the other synonyms I could find and went with the four letter word.  Isn’t the headline all about getting you to read it anyway!

Back Lessons

 It’s not much fun being a stay at home dad when your back has gone. It’s made this week pretty horrible because I realise how much I do with my son and how much I love doing it. Because of my back injury I sustained on Monday morning I was able to use the week to teach H the valuable lesson, there is no use crying over spilt milk, as well as learning something important myself. How does that all relate you ask? Shall we go ‘back’ in the story?

How did I do my back? Long story short – 5 years ago I put my back out closing the door of the front loader washing machine and since then I’ve had a few times where I’ve tweaked it. Since that moment I’ve always had a fear of doing laundry. How did it happen this time? Did my infant son beat me in a wrestling match? Was I showing him a cool new acrobatic trick? Was I doing laundry? Not directly - I was bending over to help him get off his tricycle. 

Why though was he on his tricycle? It was because we had been at the dry-cleaners (laundry – I told you so!) dropping in some washing for BWM. Now of course going to the dry-cleaners was on the list of jobs to do that day but I had planned to go in the afternoon. That’s why I was taking him off his tricycle in the morning.

Why did we go early? Simply it was because H had done a runner with his bubble maker around the front of the house and fallen over and taken a good chew on the pavement. This had naturally made him upset and amidst all the tears and the bleeding from the mouth on my clothes I needed to find a way to calm him down. That’s why I put him on his tricycle.

Why had he done a runner around the front of the house with his bubble machine? H was doing a runner with his bubble machine because I wouldn’t let him get upset over his morning milk he had just spilt. Actually, he wasn’t getting that upset. In fact I was stopping him from help clean it up! However, H’s way of cleaning up involved climbing onto the bench seat and attempting to lick the milk up which had just been spilt. To distract him while I cleaned up I gave him the bubble machine.

Of course how was the milk spilt you ask? I had turned on the bubble machine.

I never thought about how much physical interaction I have with H. I know that there’s lots of it, but when you can’t do what you usually do, you realise exactly how much there is! When I did my back I was barely able to pick H up for almost two days. It’s a tough ask when you’re infant son comes up to you with his arms outstretched wanting to be picked up and you can’t do it. In fact the best way I could interact with H during this time was simply lie down on the floor and let him use me as a climbing frame!

This week has also made me realise how lucky BWM and I are in having great support around us from friends and family. My timing in injuring myself couldn’t have been worse because BWM was scheduled to head to New Zealand for a few days of work. Our friend Sarah and my father-in-law Paul both came over to help look after H. Georgina and Kate who kept themselves on stand-by 24/7 in case help was needed. BWM’s boss also told her to make sure she looked after me and that she didn’t need to go if I needed her at home (it did take a lot of persuading on my behalf to show her that I was ok and she could go!). I know too that if I had rung others and asked for help then it probably would have been forth coming.

By not crying over the spilt milk I really learnt how lucky I am to live in a community that cares for our family. However, if I could go back, I think I may just let H help clean up as it could have helped avoid me learning this in such a painful way!