The Big One
Parties, peacocks and a hostage situation
This is the latest chapter of my book The Flagging Dad, which I’m serialising on Thursdays.
Things keep breaking.
A few days ago, I sat on the toilet seat while giving the boys a bath and it snapped in two, which did little for my confidence and prompted me to cancel my request for a packet of Jammie Dodgers in the weekly shop. Then, the lock on our baby gate just flew off for no ostensible reason, so it now dangles open, unable to perform its one job.
Children smell weakness and, since it happened, the only thing Jacob wants to do is climb up the stairs. As a result, my life has been reduced to picking him up from the bottom step, moving him somewhere else, then jogging after him as he immediately toddles back over, giggling. I never thought this was how my adult life would turn out.
I used to have dreams.
Eventually, I had enough and, after wrestling him back into the living room for the 29th time one morning, I dragged the sofa in front of the door.
‘Phew,’ I said, sitting down on the sofa/barricade with a coffee, pleased with my problem solving skills. Jacob had moved on from his stair‑climbing obsession and was now happy whacking an empty milk carton on the bin, so I felt little guilt and thoroughly enjoyed not moving for a while.
After finishing my coffee, however, it dawned on me that I was effectively holding him hostage, and this was unlikely to be viewed favourably by Louise. Or social services. I shifted the sofa, Jacob slung the milk carton on the floor and immediately toddled back over to the steps and we danced our dance once more.
In more positive news, Jacob has turned one, so he is officially a toddler meaning our baby‑raising days are over. We are not going to be one of those couples that get both children to school, see some semblance of our former lives return, look back on the early years through rose‑tinted glasses, then have another one.
It is categorically not going to happen.
My mum and dad came over for his birthday, and we had a lovely afternoon. Of course, Jacob had no idea what was going on, but Joshua was thrilled to open some presents for him, and I was thrilled to sit down drinking overpriced IPA in trendy little cans while my parents did the lion’s share of the childcare.
Over dinner, Joshua began telling a (possibly fabricated) story.
‘My pet peacock lives outside, Grandad…’
My dad looked confused, then replied, far louder than necessary.
‘Sorry, Joshua, I didn’t catch that? Your pet peacock DIED?!’
A long silence followed while we hoped Joshua wouldn’t burst into tears.
‘Right, who’s up for cake then?’ Louise said, shooting a glare at my dad.
Gladly, Joshua didn’t seem to have been too affected by my dad’s morbid comment and, while we were singing ‘Happy Birthday’, he jumped down from his seat and dashed over to sit on his potty while simultaneously smashing on a flashing drumkit Louise had bought for Jacob. Now, I’m all for encouraging new hobbies but surely it goes without saying that nobody wants their child to be a drummer? What was she thinking?
The day after the party saw a considerable comedown. The children had eaten too much sugar, I had, depending on who you ask, drunk too many IPAs, nobody had slept well, and it was bitterly cold. Staying in, though, is simply not an option, so we bundled the boys into the car and drove to Thorp PerrowArboretum.
Having arrogantly turned down Louise’s suggestion that I should wear two pairs of socks despite being very, very aware of my longstanding circulation problems, I couldn’t feel my feet from the moment we left the car and kept stamping on the floor to warm them up.
We wandered around for a bit, reminisced about the last time we were here when it wasn’t sub‑zero temperatures and the bird sanctuary wasn’t closed, then sat down on a frosty picnic bench for lunch.
‘What the hell are you doing, Andy?’ Louise said as I stamped my feet under the table. ‘Stop it!’
In an act of kindness/exasperation, she then took her own thick socks off and gave them to me, along with the now familiar, ‘it’s like having three children’ snipe (I can confirm that taking the socks from your wife’s feet is not good for the male ego. Not one bit.)
Not long later, we’d all had enough and trudged back to the car. The boys fell asleep on the way back, so the only sound was the heating blaring and an occasional tut from Louise.
We were home far too early and, with the children having already napped, the afternoon was long and unrelenting. Joshua charged around, waving a toy stethoscope, shouting, ‘I am Doctor Joshua!’ while Jacob seemed intent on seriously injuring himself and requiring the services of a more qualified medical professional. When Louise clocked me checking the football scores on my phone rather than monitoring him climbing up the sofa and onto the windowsill, she was furious.
‘For God’s sake, Andy! You’re such a half twit!’
Better than a full twit, I guess?
Just before tea, I noticed Joshua had gone quiet which is usually a cause for concern and so it proved. I found him in the kitchen with his trousers down then watched in stunned silence as he pissed on a chair.
‘I’m so funny, Daddy!’
After we mopped it up, Jacob slipped on the wet floor, whacked his head, and started bawling and Joshua, feeling guilty about his part in the accident, responded by very deliberately throwing himself onto the floor and pretending to cry. I sat him down and tried to have ‘The Boy who Cried Wolf’ chat but, in doing this, lost sight of Jacob.
No prizes for guessing where I found him.
*
Thanks for reading this installment! Please do like, share, or comment about your own experiences or anything else you fancy.
I’m going to take a little pause from The Flagging Dad over the next couple of weeks as I’ve got two new posts bubbling, including a collaborative long-read with two excellent Substack writers, which has been loads of fun (and should be up soon).
Finally, for anyone in my neck of the woods, you might be interested to know that Mill Media, who run really good local papers in Manchester, Sheffield, London, Birmingham, and Glasgow, are looking to set up a new title in Leeds. I’ve signed up and think it sounds like a great idea. You can read about it here.
Cheers and until next time!
You put in advance requests for Jammie Dodgers? 🤣🤣🤣
Hell of a hook, and no worries, man, I've also broken a toilet seat or two, happens to the best of us.
Even though I was (obviously) not there, I can confirm that you definitely did NOT drink too many of those overpriced IPAs in trendy cans.
When I was a kid, we used to have a plate-glass door at the foot of the stairs. Me playing The Fall Guy by launching myself *down* the stairs probably aged my parents by ten years.