Does madness skip a generation?

When you start writing a blog called Slightly Mad Dad then you probably have to question your own sanity at some stage. In fact I do that most days and remember that I have to be slightly mad to be doing what I’m doing!

Of course I get quite a bit of time to watch my son play and grow on a daily basis. This got me thinking about the saying “Madness skips a generation”, where it comes from and is it really true. I punched it into Google and came up with a large number of literary references. However, the top answer was from Answers.yahoo.com and went in to a few people talking about biological and environmental factors and perhaps some medical expertise. In a nutshell they said it was just a rumour! 

With my background as a primary school teacher I always tell my students to question everything they read on the internet. This is exactly what I have done in regards to the meager amount of information I could find through “my friend Google”. In fact I decided I needed to do my own observational studies of my son to see if, in his case, madness has actually skipped a generation.

Observation 1:

H thinks he’s a dog. If we see a dog in the street or in a book or on the television he calls out “Dog!” sticks his tongue out and starts to pant like a dog. It goes beyond this though. We recently visited friends who own three dogs. When we arrived at their house H got excited because he knew there would be dogs there. Upon arrival his first action was to scream to be let into the dogs’ pen. Once we accompanied him into the pen he pushed past two of the dogs (their third - a recently acquired rescue dog backed itself into a corner as a tiny whirlwind of a human advanced upon them) and knelt down in front of their water bowl and helped himself to a drink. What could I do but take my friend’s advice, “We worm them once a month.”

Observation 2:

I once went canyon swinging in New Zealand and being a primary school teacher I did it by sitting in a chair and tipping backwards over the edge. I thought that was a bit mad. H does this already! He sits in his high chair and pushes back from the table to swing on his chair. I found him the other day almost balanced on two legs laughing happily at his newly acquired skill.

Observation 3:

H and I recently spent four days staying with my parents. If it was going to skip a generation I wouldn’t be mad at all (sorry Mum and Dad but it’s true!).

Observation 4:

He mimics his father whenever he gets the opportunity. When I talk about personal grooming he copies what I do. When I say, “I’m brushing my teeth,” he pretends to do his too. If I go to have a shave he starts to rub the side of his face with his hands and make cooing noises. The same goes for combing my hair. The worst bit is if I stop he looks at me, raises his index finger like a cricket umpire and says, “One more!”

Ok – maybe he isn’t mad for doing this but getting mimicked drives me mad. I guess now I know how my Mum and Dad feel about my youth. In fact perhaps observations 3 and 4 say more about me?

Perhaps I’ve done nothing to add to the canon on this important subject of “Does madness skip a generation?” In fact all I’ve really said is I’m definitely a bit mad and my son is too. If I’ve turned out ok so far and I’m having a good time doing it then I’m looking forward to H continuing to be a little bit mad himself.

The Apocalypse of Uncooperativeness

Please, please, please don’t get me wrong. I love being a stay at home Dad and spending lots of time with H. However, there can occasionally be moments when frustration gets the better of me and I come close to losing my cool.

This happened on Tuesday when I nearly lost it with my son. He’s been sick for a few days with a cough and I’d taken him to the doctor the day before. They couldn’t really do much for his cough but they did find he had an ear infection. You can understand then that he’d had a few off days with temperatures, hadn’t been eating and also a couple of disturbed nights.

It was just after 4pm and he needed to have his nappy changed. I hadn’t counted but there had been a few multiples of two in his nappy already during the day. He was sick of having his bottom wiped and I was getting a little sick of doing it too.

It was here that the apocalypse of uncooperativeness began.

Firstly to even try and get his pants off he wouldn’t lie still and kept flipping over onto his hands and knees and then trying to stand up. When this happens I put on some music from a wind up music box and this usually soothes H. Today though – no deal.

Finally the pants were off and we were trying for the nappy. Again though the flipping onto all fours and trying to stand up occurred. The standing up part is ok when you’re trying to get pants off. However, when there is a nappy half off with toxic substances beginning to ooze from the side we have a problem.

If music hasn’t soothed him he quite likes having something in his hands to play with. He likes his nail clippers to play with – but they’d gone over the side of the changes table and bounced under the cot. Likewise his thermometer, gone over the side. His nappy cream, his nappies, soon joined these along with the baby wipes. All that was left was the hand sanitizer cowering in the far corner and a squirming, half-nappied baby trying his best to reach it. 

Finally the nappy was off and his bottom wiped just as the music box stopped and silence prevailed. It wasn’t as if he was being a screaming, crying mess throughout this event. H was giving dad the silent squirms.

I looked at H and said to him, “You’ve unleashed the apocalypse of uncooperativeness here today haven’t you!” Although it probably didn’t come out very clearly because you try saying, “Apocalypse of uncooperativeness,” when you’re trying to pin a squirming bundle of baby down.

Somehow, eventually, how I’m not sure I managed to get the nappy back on H. I do know that the last bit of velcro was attached as he attempted to catapult himself out of my arms. I wasn’t even going to worry about the shorts for a minute and I placed him on the floor. I didn’t want to deal with him for a moment because I was getting very close to losing my cool here.

Let the apocalypse continue though thought H because he picked his shorts up, held them up high and demanded they be put on. “Nooooooooooooo!” I screamed in silent despair. I knelt down to the floor and helped him into one leg of his shorts – thank goodness he was now being cooperative!

That was his point of needing to run again and off he shot around behind me, one leg in his shorts that were now trailing carelessly behind him. That was my point of really getting one step closer to the edge of losing my cool.

“Leave it,” I said to myself. “He’s safe and ok.”

I was close to the floor so I lay down and began to retrieve items that had bounced under his cot and change table. As I stretched as far as I could underneath I realised I had made a critical error of judgment.  Never, ever, ever put yourself in a prone position on your stomach when the apocalypse of uncooperativeness is being unleashed.

Two small hands found their way into the middle of my shoulder blades and in the next moment one leg swung over my body. I had now being unceremoniously mounted like a horse. Of course to make sure a horse is under full control a rider needs a bridle and it was here that the shorts came off the leg and over my head. It was also where the silent squirms ended and a peel of laughter erupted from H.

It was here that I finally lost it. No it was not the cool that I had been so close to losing only moments before.  I lost it in laughter with my son as we both realised his moment of triumph had come over his Dad.

I also grasped that the child who was doing this was not the little boy who a couple of days before had been clingy and miserable. It was a little boy who was starting to feel healthy again and wanting to play, his apocalypse of uncooperativeness was him showing me this in the only way he knew how.  

Let’s just say I was glad I only lost it in laughter because the next hour until dinner was high octane playing before some great eating and heading off to a full night’s sleep.

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!