Before I kick off in earnest I beg any possible readers for forgiveness that despite trying really hard I'm very likely to dip into using cliches at times as it's that sort of subject.
In addition I will more than once state the bleeding obvious ... please don't throw anything ...
I'll be honest and admit to loving with a passion taking my little lad for a walk somewhere as apart from the physical health benefit to him and to a far lesser extent me, him getting the mental stimulation too from being outside in the open air and coming across many sights and sounds that he might previously have only seen vicariously on telly and us as a general thing spending some time together (the quality is not my main concern) it's a wonderfully easy and freely available opportunity for me to pad out an activity with him which won't involve (so much) spending a concentrated and energy-sapping period of time during which the following questions repeatedly and invariably pop into my head ...
1) What educational worth is he getting out of this?
2) Is this in some way (maybe very tenuous and obscure but valid all the same) teaching him the wrong values for his future life?
3) Am I encouraging lazy and bad habits in him from him doing this?
4) Is he plain old bored?
5) Is there any chance he could hurt himself badly doing this (which I'll never ever forgive myself for)?
6) Does he seem happy in himself?
I could go on and on and on listing my other numerous anxieties but you could have a Europe-sized mountain of washing up to do and might need to be catching a bus urgently and so I'll leave you to think up a few of your own if you're keen.
The point I'm making is that what to Matty is a very simple activity can be, depending on my mood at the time as well of course, riddled with self-imposed and probably totally irrational self-doubt for me as his dad wondering if I'm doing good by him.
Alternatively and I'll perk up soon I promise I'll ponder whether I'm spending enough time with him, whether he feels loved as we do stuff together and also be panicking that once this latest thing has run its inevitable course with a child who like any other other possesses an attention span shorter it can seem than your friendly neighbourhood goldfish whether I've got something else lined up to go straight into so that there's not a vacuum ... again when I think about it for long enough during a calmer time I realise how daft I'm being for fretting so much.
All in all and when all is said and done it's just so very, very tiring and before you know it you feel drained with much of it emanating from emotional exhaustion.
However much I know this I can't help myself and for me that's the definition of being a parent which if you'd not worked it out already is what I'm wittering on about.
People who know me well enough will know that regarding self-confidence I dip my toe in the water at the quieter end of the pool as whilst I'm not showy I'm not afraid of speaking my mind too and having an opinion on most subjects.
Mixed in with a very self-critical personality anyway I guess it's inevitable a post like this would happen.
Thus please don't take some of what I say to be dead gloomy as really my aim is just to be as candid as possible ... the bottomline is that I love my little lad to bits and likewise his sister who has joined us recently.
It is the biggest cliche of all and as an ongoing thing I learn this to be the most self-evident thing there is going that having kids is a huge nay mammoth responsibility ... the best analogy I can think of is that it's like being an on-call doctor but one whose shift lasts all week (this may happen in some areas already I dunno??!) and whose pager has developed an internal fault meaning that whatever you do to it (bringing in steamrollers and state of the art precision-guaranteed bazookas to turn it off) it'll beep every few minutes with it occasionally jamming leading to there being a precious gap of a few hours.
This same doctor is then needed to be on the ball even if their body is telling them that it feels like it's just climbed L'Alpe D'Huez on a Penny Farthing and unlike with the children of other people that you've maybe babysat or spent a few hours with and had the most fun in ages as they made you feel young again it dawns on you that you can't give them back to their parents as hey you are their parent.
Please don't get me wrong as I'm in no way complaining or wanting to feel sorry for myself ... far from it.
Rather it feeds into what will by my final line in this post which is pay a heartfelt public tribute to my mum and dad and other relations who chipped in down the years begging me to eat up all my pudding and the like and put my toys away as that taught me self-discipline and say thanks so very very much for being there as I know exactly now what you went through.
My most sincere apologies too for the grief I gave you about countless bits and bobs that seemed so important at the time.
I love you mum and dad and know my lad feels the same about me as he told me so on our walk today!!
Tuesday 17 August 2010
Saturday 14 August 2010
Should I Stay or Should I Go??
For me one of the few downsides to married life when compared to my days as a young, free and single bloke is that my opportunities to be spontaneous and act on a whim are increasingly limited and a case in point will occur next weekend when Brighton and Hove Albion FC travel to play Sheffield Wednesday at Hillsborough.
I'm itching to go quite frankly as the last time I saw the Albion in the flesh was when they played Stockport County a few years back courtesy of my sister Michaela and her family as a birthday present ... the game (a 1-1 draw if I remember rightly?) was mainly memorable for a ding dong on the touchline involving a hot as lava Sammy McIlroy (the County boss at the time) who was clearly having a bad combover hair day as it might have been windy ... judging by how the ball was flying madly all over the place it no doubt was.
Whatever the quality of the game it was just so refreshing and enlivening to be back amongst the Albion faithful even if I felt mostly out of synch with the chants having not been to any home games at the old and now defunct Goldstone since the mid-90's and thus was playing catch-up songs-wise as well as watching the game.
It's all very well following a side through the media on the Beeb's Five Live, Sky Sports and in the Guardian and the like but you can never get a real sense of course for how the season is likely to shape up from cold and hard stats as much as you can from seeing the raw effort and passion put in by your heroes as they hopefully bust a gut (and heaven forbid a groin or achilles tendon) for the club ... from that you can decide whether unbridled optimism is realistic or not and go from there.
Back in April when my bike was in rude health or in other words the frame was properly aligned and the gear indexing whirred quite merrily (a sound accentuated beautifully by the ultra-tranquil and serene surroundings of the Peak District and specifically the Snake Pass aka the plain old A57 to route planners) I cycled the 40 odd miles that separates Salford from the South Yorkshire city to stay overnight with some generous hosts in my aunt and uncle whose window view overlooks the type of countryside that if you were rendered housebound for whatever reason would make the whole experience a joy to behold and make you consider grumbling about your lot the height of bad manners.
Gruelling as you'd expect and mainly so on the ascent after the market town of Glossop with a three mile stretch of smooth but energy-sapping sinuous tarmac I surprised myself with my enthusiasm to keep on going despite having never encountered this sort of terrain in Salford where the streets appear to be suffering from some kind of pothole lurgy and the steepest climb I've found so far is close to where I live with a 15% gradient for about 150 metres or so.
I'll admit to dismounting a short way in to the first climb but from there I made Sheffield in around another two and a bit hours and was whizzing along the lumpy lanes at times like I was a sole breakaway rider in one of the Grand Tours or so I'd like to dream ... stopping off at one other point to ease some cramp in my hands (a first for me) I made very good progress and the following day despite it being hillier going back I made even better time and only got off to have a couple of bottles of Coke and even the pros take those if you watch closely.
However much your legs can be burning the buzz you get as you turn onto a flattish section and can look back on your achievement of the last two miles or so of a steadily rising hill is something I heartily recommend to anyone able to get on a bike safely.
The descent (as much a thrill as any fairground ride you could mention as you seem to freefall minus a parachute at around 35 miles an hour and I was being passed easily by more seasoned guys) into Glossop is wonderful and sets you up for the ride back into Manchester and beyond that home sweet home.
All in all I had a ball even if in hindsight it might be that that was where things started to go awry for the bike leading to a six week hiatus since the end of June waiting for the German manufacturers Focus to fulfil their national stereotype and return it promptly as good as new ... tick tock as I'm still waiting ... clearly they could learn a lesson or two from their national football side.
My faith can last til this Monday though and then I can make the decision as to whether a trip to the game is on or not ... just don't tell the wife yeah!!!
I'm itching to go quite frankly as the last time I saw the Albion in the flesh was when they played Stockport County a few years back courtesy of my sister Michaela and her family as a birthday present ... the game (a 1-1 draw if I remember rightly?) was mainly memorable for a ding dong on the touchline involving a hot as lava Sammy McIlroy (the County boss at the time) who was clearly having a bad combover hair day as it might have been windy ... judging by how the ball was flying madly all over the place it no doubt was.
Whatever the quality of the game it was just so refreshing and enlivening to be back amongst the Albion faithful even if I felt mostly out of synch with the chants having not been to any home games at the old and now defunct Goldstone since the mid-90's and thus was playing catch-up songs-wise as well as watching the game.
It's all very well following a side through the media on the Beeb's Five Live, Sky Sports and in the Guardian and the like but you can never get a real sense of course for how the season is likely to shape up from cold and hard stats as much as you can from seeing the raw effort and passion put in by your heroes as they hopefully bust a gut (and heaven forbid a groin or achilles tendon) for the club ... from that you can decide whether unbridled optimism is realistic or not and go from there.
Back in April when my bike was in rude health or in other words the frame was properly aligned and the gear indexing whirred quite merrily (a sound accentuated beautifully by the ultra-tranquil and serene surroundings of the Peak District and specifically the Snake Pass aka the plain old A57 to route planners) I cycled the 40 odd miles that separates Salford from the South Yorkshire city to stay overnight with some generous hosts in my aunt and uncle whose window view overlooks the type of countryside that if you were rendered housebound for whatever reason would make the whole experience a joy to behold and make you consider grumbling about your lot the height of bad manners.
Gruelling as you'd expect and mainly so on the ascent after the market town of Glossop with a three mile stretch of smooth but energy-sapping sinuous tarmac I surprised myself with my enthusiasm to keep on going despite having never encountered this sort of terrain in Salford where the streets appear to be suffering from some kind of pothole lurgy and the steepest climb I've found so far is close to where I live with a 15% gradient for about 150 metres or so.
I'll admit to dismounting a short way in to the first climb but from there I made Sheffield in around another two and a bit hours and was whizzing along the lumpy lanes at times like I was a sole breakaway rider in one of the Grand Tours or so I'd like to dream ... stopping off at one other point to ease some cramp in my hands (a first for me) I made very good progress and the following day despite it being hillier going back I made even better time and only got off to have a couple of bottles of Coke and even the pros take those if you watch closely.
However much your legs can be burning the buzz you get as you turn onto a flattish section and can look back on your achievement of the last two miles or so of a steadily rising hill is something I heartily recommend to anyone able to get on a bike safely.
The descent (as much a thrill as any fairground ride you could mention as you seem to freefall minus a parachute at around 35 miles an hour and I was being passed easily by more seasoned guys) into Glossop is wonderful and sets you up for the ride back into Manchester and beyond that home sweet home.
All in all I had a ball even if in hindsight it might be that that was where things started to go awry for the bike leading to a six week hiatus since the end of June waiting for the German manufacturers Focus to fulfil their national stereotype and return it promptly as good as new ... tick tock as I'm still waiting ... clearly they could learn a lesson or two from their national football side.
My faith can last til this Monday though and then I can make the decision as to whether a trip to the game is on or not ... just don't tell the wife yeah!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)