IT'S A DAD'S LIFE:Easter holidays – even the poor dog is looking forward to the sound of the school bell, writes ADAM BROPHY.
THE YOUNGER wakes me up with a nudge to the right eye. She’s looking at me with concern. It’s obvious something is on her mind. I don’t want to get up but she’s not to be trifled with, she expects attention.
“Whassup hun?” I wonder if I can manage a conversation while still sleeping.
“Daddy, do you know how high I can count?”
“Pretty high, I’d say.”
“To the end,” she says nodding wisely, then checking her thumbs as if to ensure she has her figures right. Then off she goes, chanting proudly all the way to 39.
“What’s after 39?” I’m dumb enough to ask. She stares at me blankly. “Forty,” I tell her.
And she’s off again. When she gets to 49, sense has hit. “49, that’s the end all right. Well done.” And I forage deep into my pillow, it is after all 6.45am.
“So,” she says, “You die when you’re 49.” Ah, crap. I’m tempted to say she’s right, that we have adopted a sort of strategic Logan’s Run attitude to life just to avoid inconvenient questioning early in the morning, but I can’t quite bring myself to follow through.
Instead, we launch into another discussion, where this whole exercise had been heading all the time I’m pretty sure, about how most people don’t die until they’re really, really old. It’s been on her mind recently. This time she seems to have got it. “So, you don’t die until you’ve done all the numbers?” That’s right. “How many numbers are there?” Way more than 49. “Count them, Daddy.” The theory of infinity I cannot do, so I give up, rise and pour her a bowl of Cheerios.
The day stretches long. I refuse to scour the internet for ways to entertain the kids over the holidays. Why, instead, doesn’t someone produce a useful site on how to survive the terminal boredom that comes with doing all the things we’re expected to do while the kids are on holidays?
The missus won’t let me park them in front of Nickelodeon for 12 hours at a time, with breaks for chocolate, so we have to do things. If there’s one thing I hate having to do, it’s things.
For the sake of this article I have succumbed and checked the BBC website for suggestions. They’re all reasonably valid (mini sports day in the park, have them help prepare the picnic, have them make up and perform some sort of show, pull together old photos into an ,album etc). But that’s assuming that you are talking about engaging in these activities with rational beings.
No matter what activity we suggest or develop, it boils down to one beating the other around the head with whatever utensils are provided. So far we have avoided chainsaw juggling but I might slip it into the agenda.
These demands can be managed at the weekends. For two days you can throw them together with friends or family, bring ’em to the pool or park or cinema, run them ragged safe in the knowledge that they’ll be back messing with the teacher’s head come Monday morning. Two weeks though, that requires innovation.
The situation is not helped by both parents working at home. We have a continual battle for work time anyway, which can be broken down to fighting over who thinks their job is more important than the other’s.
When things get bad we throw in how much or little money each has made in the previous month to assert superiority. It’s as if we have earned not just sweet cash but also freedom from entertainment duties. During the holidays that lit laptop screen and the four words “You have unread mail” are blessed relief. Once the door is closed, fire up Facebook, eBay and Amazon and away we go.
The dog too is traumatised by the break. In the past seven days she has been plaited, tied up, masked, dressed in a babygro and bathed with a family of dolls. All she wants is the sound of a school bell and a walk where she isn’t forced into a BabyBorn buggy for the duration.
The house is a pit. Their toys have spread to every available surface, dress-up clothes strewn in every room, CDs and DVDs out of cases, (they're too young to be listening to Jane's Addiction so why is Ritual de lo Habitualprotruding from a mound of play dough?) paint, crayons, paper, books, comics, my petrol receipts glued to today's newspaper. Everything everywhere.
Easter holidays.
Jesus probably arose to avoid the kids.