Dads Can Do Shit Too

Look at the state of this….


“Hey kids, your mum cooks right? Bet your dad doesn’t? Bet he sits on his ass looking like a crap, Rab C. Nesbitt tribute act, huh? Eating pizza, drinking beer and failing, because he’s a dad and not a mum? Dads are shit! SHIT! DADS SUCK BECAUSE THEY HAVE NO VAGINAS!”

I may be a tad oversensitive about this issue, but it really bugs me. I hate people asking if i’m “babysitting” my own children. I hate people saying things like “I’m sure Mummy can fix that for you” when i’m sat with the children and she’s out changing the oil in the car.

I once, while out and about with my brood, genuinely heard an old woman in a bus queue say “I expect it’s takeaway tonight then!” when The Short Ones told them they were having a daddy day as mummy was working. I took great pleasure in telling this octogenarian arsewit that we were headed to the shops whilst out to pick up some nice prosciutto to pep up the lasagne I was making.  I honestly don’t think she believed me.


As a man, i’ll never be able to appreciate what it’s like to live in a society which has for years been dominated by my gender, at the expense of female rights. I won’t argue with that. I will say though that on this subject, the great sexism pendulum has swung toward men and stuck there.

That said, the main reason we papas are constantly told how shit we are is because we live in a world where we’re expected to be out winning bread. I’m not sure where one wins bread, if i’m honest. Maybe a really shit village fete?  I digress…


The point is, world, that Dads can do shit too. Marital Unit, bloody wonder that she is, set off for work at half seven today. She’s a nurse, so she is out there right now, caring for the sick, being amazing. While she does that, i’ll be home. I’ll tidy the kids rooms, with their involvement because I believe in teaching them to keep their own shit together, of course. I’ve already made them breakfast, they’ll have a nice, healthy lunch later and then I might take them out for tea. We’ll head to town on the bus, grab a bite and then go watch guys in costumes beat piss out of each other at the cinema, because my kids have been raised to know the difference between reality and fiction and Captain America: Civil War is in town and looks incredible.

I’ll parent the shit out of today and i’ll do all of it while being a big, useless, penis-having dad, ’cause #DadsCanDoShitToo.

Six Weeks Of Screaming

Thursday the 6th of August, 2015. 11:05am.

Nearly three weeks of the school summer holidays have passed and as I am blearily jabbing at the keyboard to pen this piece, the children are screaming. I’m not sure why, if i’m honest. One of them screamed about something, which made the other one scream, then they just started screaming at each other. It’s what I call the “Perpetual Emotion Machine”, a non-stop cycle of childish anger which cannot be stopped, only redirected towards any hapless adult (yes, me) who might be foolish enough to intervene*.


Sipping at my second energy drink of the day and wiping the blood from my ears, I find myself browsing Facebook to see post after post of the same old shit. “Lush day with my babies, LOVE Summer hols”, “Another great day out with my family. XOXO”, “OMG BESTEST TIME WITH BESTEST PEOPLE!”. Status after status of gushing, luvvy-wuvvy happiness. What am I doing wrong?

I adore my children and we’ve had some great days out (and in) over the past few weeks. We’ve watched a bunch of films, eaten enough sweets to leave a trail of sugar from here to Terabithia, been to a frankly fantastic animal park (Axe Valley, well worth a look), all sorts of shenanigans.


That being said, you can’t do it every day. Thanks partly to my useless appendages (you can read that tale of woe here), some days you have to just sit. Other days, you maybe have to get some housework done. There are days, my darling children, when you have to entertain yourselves for an hour or two so that shit get’s done. You’d think i’d asked them to build a rocket and pop to the Moon for some cheese.

So, as the children whirl past in one of those cartoon clouds of dust, scrapping and yelling at each other, I wonder again what have I done wrong? Facebook is full of happy families who’ve never had a bad day and are always smiling big ol’ smiles like the freak show from the Black Hole Sun video. Are they better than us?

No. They’re just less honest. Everyone has bad days but they don’t post those on Facebook. You see the picture of the angelic wee child baking with mummy, but you never see the picture of said child drawing a big hairy arse on the wall in Tippex while mummy downs a litre of Pinot Grigio. You see a status update saying “Daddy/daughter time! X” with your friend’s wee girl riding her daddy like a pony, but no-one posts “GET THIS WEE SHIT OFF OF ME!” with the same sweet little angel bouncing on her daddy’s head while he tries to sleep off a migraine.


If you’ve ever felt like you’re screwing it all up just because Prissy McPerfection has posted yet another picture of her perfect family baking perfect cakes in Perfectville, don’t sweat it. The day after that, her kids smeared her Audi in shit and then set fire to the dog. She’s just never going to mention it on Facebook. Chin up.

* That’s rather clever, isn’t it? Perpetual Emotion Machine. That should be on an array of child’s clothing, wouldn’t you agree? It is now. Go HERE to buy some. NOW!