Books are awesome! Nothing better than a good book!
I’ve always loved reading, as has my wife. We’ve been reading to our kids every day, as well as before bed, since they were born so they have developed a love of reading too. Our son has reached the age that he now reads to himself after we say goodnight and during the lockdownwe let him stay up late in bed to read his favourite books.
Our daughter however still much prefers to be read to than read herself, though her skills improve every day. Like all kids she’s got some particular favourites that she wants to have read to her again and again…
…and again.
I never thought I could get sick of Cat in the Hat but damn I’d like to grab that hat, pull it all the way down to his feet and then toss that trouble-making feline in a river! Our daughter loves books under the Dr. Seuss banner and night after night we work our way through her extensive library of them. Books beloved from my childhood have now become a chore to read, yet none so more than friggin Go, Dog. Go!
What a fucking pain in the arse this book is! Written by P.D Eastman under the Seuss banner it follows Dogs… er… doing things. Sitting on a house. Sitting under a house. Dogs going in. Dogs going out. You get the picture. And whilst I can appreciate that the book is good for beginning readers to read themselves, its gruelling to get through as an adult when you are reading it to your kid for the 50th time in a row.
And no one is more of a pain in the arse in the book than this fucking bird:
Annoying entitled little green bastard!
Let me set the scene. A bunch of dog are, naturally, driving their cars:
Hey dogs? Ever hear of leaving two car spaces between you and the car in front?
The dogs are approaching an intersection, going hell for leather. There isn’t a single other car on the road. There is however a prick of a bird walking down the center of the road for some damn reason instead of using the footpath:
Get off the fucking road!
Now the bird sets off the traffic light and stands there in the middle of the damn intersection, yelling at the dogs to stop! Nearly causes a multi-vehicle pile up in doing so! The sense of entitlement in this action is Karen-worthy!:
Surely this is an arrest-able offense?
Then the little fucking bastard, after causing all this hassle, walks off down the road, giving permission to the dogs to go again. Look at the expression on those dogs! You can tell they want to jump out of their cars and maul the bird to death and I wouldn’t blame them:
Oh you little turd you!
Not only should this bird not be walking down the middle of a road meant for cars, let alone standing in the middle of an intersection yelling instructions at the motorists, but why the fuck doesn’t he just fly?! He’s a goddamn bird!
I swear, if ever they invent a way for people to enter books I wont be going into a Harry Potter novel to do a ‘Voldermort’s got no nose, how does he smell?’ joke at the evil one, no. I’ll go into Go, Dog. Go! and wring that birds scrawny neck.
‘You’re a busy man.How do you make that work without either having a clone to help you out or somehow create a 36 hour day?’.
Well Michael it’s true, I am a very busy man. Between this blog, my radio show, working full time, performing househusband duties, managing my giant Transformer collection and building furniture for their shed, as well as hobby farming where I raise goats as well as ducks and chickens, boredom is something that receded from my life many years ago. Add on top of that the most time-intensive activity of all – being a father of two young children – and spare time in non-existent.
The many faces of Trev
First off – I will never clone myself. Never! Do you know how big my ego is? How much attention seeking behaviour I indulge in? I don’t need another one of me running around telling my jokes, eating my meat and vying for all the attention that should rightly be mine!
And now there’s more of me… him… us
Also I’m married. What if my wife can’t tell me from the clone? I don’t need no stinkin clone getting busy with my missus! Plus, Primus forbid, what if it turns out by some quirk of the cloning process that he is better in bed than me?! I don’t think my ego, large as it is, could take the hit of my wife saying ‘last night was the best sex we’ve ever had Trev!’ and I hadn’t even been at home!
As for 36 hour days, well manipulating the time stream to that extent is beyond even my capabilities. Sure I could take my family to Mars where the days are at least 25 hours long – I could get a lot done in that extra hour – but it seems like a hassle. It was hard enough moving my Transformer collection from one state to another without taking it to a whole other planet!
So how do I manage my busy lifestyle?
Well there are several things I do – some are time management and some are just sacrifice.
*Giving up hobbies: I have way too many hobbies. Like way too many. So some have had to be toned down and others sacrificed completely. This blog for example, has gone from an entry each week to about two a month. I’ve given up video gaming, though to be honest I think the gamer in me had run its course anyway. I used to brew my own beer and had to give that up. And I don’t farm as many fruit & vegetables as I used to, though still enough that each week we eat at least one or two things that come from the garden. I’m also a bit of a bibliophile, but reading a book for my own pleasure has been relegated to the odd 5 minutes in bed before blissful slumber.
For a while juggling being a gamer and father was so easy!
*Multitasking: Except at work where it is a requirement, I don’t schedule. Don’t believe in it. What I do do is do multiple jobs in the same room at the same time. So for example when I’m in the kitchen (with quasi-laundry attached) I might be wiping benches, preparing meals, stacking the dishwasher, loading the washing machine and unloading the dryer all at the same time (well not literally – thanks to the failure of mutation science I only have two hands).Then the same goes for other rooms and even parts of the farm – nothing like chasing off some feral goatsin the ute while you are on your way to go cut firewood in the back paddock.
Sigh… I remember when multitasking meant drinking and rocking out at the same time.
*Be Married: Dear sweet Primus let nothing ever happen to my wife! Not only because she is the love of my life, but also because she does so many chores to manage the house & kids and our lives in general. Chances are if she disappeared from our lives my children and I would be huddled round a fire in tattered clothing, eating beans from a can and hoping it would rain soon so we could wash ourselves. Our existence would be akin to those survivors of a zombie apocalypse.
Make sure you treat your wife right – romance is a lot easier than being a single parent!
*Child Labour: Those damn kids can work for their food! OK, so maybe I don’t actually deny them sustenance and or send them down mineshafts to search for coal. But at 6 & 8 years old respectively they are at the age they can chip in with the chores. Every day after school, before they are allowed to go play with toys or video games, they need to help unstack the dishwasher, unpack their school bags, put all their breakfast and lunch dishes in the sink and most importantly go feed all the animals. Not only does it teach them responsibility, but it means they are spending time with their pets. How kids can ignore a real-life dog but spend hours training a dog to obey in Minecraft is beyond me.
Wish all my chores were this cute when I was young
Of course the children love to be involved with all the constant projects going on around the farm and house too. They help plant and pick all the vegetables, which not only helps me out but makes them more inclined to eat what we grow when it come to fruition. My son loves to help out with my construction projects and is currently helping me build a display table for the Transformers shed, and my daughter loves to bake with her mother and make muffins for their school lunches.
Dig boy! Dig!
*And lastly, what I do most, is go, go, go! All day, every day. Sigh… Every. Damn. Day. I would be lying if there wasn’t part of me that would like to spend a day just lounging on the couch, eating potato chips and rewatching Deadpool movies. But if I wanted that I shouldn’t have had kids and chosen to live on a farm. Life is so rewarding, and so very, very tiring.
Sometimes I fake back injuries just so I can lie down in the emergency room for an hour and rest
So that’s what I do Michael, that’s how Big Angry Trev manages his life. And maybe I have kind of inwardly cloned myself in this one body. There is Big Angry Trev the blogger, Big Farmer Trev the hobby farmer, Big DJ Trev the radio host. And most importantly (Big) Dad (Trev) the father. Big Gamer Trev is dead and buried but I hope to resurrect Big Brewer Trev at some point and start making my own beer again. But then that begs the question – would I ever have the time to drink it?
Thank you for your question.
Got any other ‘Ask Trev’ questions?Pop them in the comments section below!
Kids. Can’t live with’em, can’t hook them up to a car battery and yell ‘FOR THE THOUSANTH TIME, CLEAN YOUR ROOM!’
Yep, as much as we love our kids they can frustrate us, especially when they show the same behaviours every day no matter what we say or what we try to teach them.
Having a 5 and 3 year old at home, dinner times could be very stressful in our household. You spend an hour in the kitchen preparing a meal that is both nutritious and tastes great, only for one of your kids to sit there with a look of pure revulsion on their face and go ‘Yuck! I hate this!’ before they have even tasted it! Meanwhile your other child has stripped off to just their underwear and is running laps around the table trying to catch the cat! It can drive you barmy!
We got tired of nagging our kids about some of their behaviours, and realised that everything we were doing was negative and reactive. So we decided to change tack and go proactive and my word it has made a world of difference!
How have we done this? Something very simple – The Star Chart System.
The concept is very simple. We assign each of our children 3 goals – one for the daytime, one for dinnertime and one for bedtime. These are printed out and stuck on the wall. Whenever one of our kids achieves one of these goals they get a star sticker that they put up on their chart. When they have gotten 7 stars for that particular goal then they get a prize!
His & Hers Prize bags
Now I know that sounds somewhat like bribery and perhaps at a basic level it is. But it is more about changing your child’s mindset. Instead of it being about the negatives associated with doing the wrongthing, its focusing on the positive’sassociated with doing the right thing.
Stickers!
As for prizes, it needn’t be anything lavish, especially if you are giving them out reasonably often. For kids it can be mainly about the excitement of getting the prize rather than having it. Each of our kids has a prize bag full of stuff and none of it cost more than $2 or $3. A quick trip down the toy and stationary isles of discount stores like The Reject Shop and you will find plenty of pencils packs, sticker sheets, fairy wings, army men, bubble wands and other assorted tat that will keep your kids occupied for an hour or two before they break it or lose interest.
The beauty of The Star Chart System is that you can adjust it to the every changing needs of your child. For instance with our 3 year old daughter we found that achieving 7 stars meant that she would lose interest as it was too long a timescale between tangible rewards. So we shortened her chart to she only needed to achieve 5. By doing so she was getting more prizes and thus became far more interested in the whole process. Admittedly she still struggles with her bedtime goal so we have reduced that to she only needs to get 1 star for a prize in the vain hope we can get a decent nights sleep. And of course, when they achieve their goal you put a line through all the existing stars and begin all over again until the desired behaviour becomes ingrained.
The kids charts after a couple of months
We also found that by having special stickers for the final square on their charts, they worked harder towards getting that last one done so that they could put up a frog or bear sticker instead of a star. Tweak the system as needed.
When it came to dinnertime, after only a month both our kids were achieving their goal on a daily basis, the chart working where months of nagging had not. But again, the beauty is you can change the chart. So instead of our son having to ‘Try all the food on my plate’ and our daughter ‘Stay in my seat and use my fork‘ we changed both to ‘I will eat all the food on my plate’. And I’m pleased to say that most nights both our kids are now achieving this! It has made perhaps the most stressful part of our evening as parents into something so much more positive and relaxed for the whole family.
So if you are sick of nagging your kids, and your kids are sick of getting nagged, give The Star Chart System a whirl – you will be glad you did!
Got any comments about the above? Would love to read it in the comments section below!
Of course, that main fear, that overriding fear, that fear that can knot your stomach like a cats-cradle is that something will happen to your kids. You enrol them in swimming lessons because you fear them drowning, you hold their hand when crossing the road because you fear them being hit by a car, you give them a big kiss and cuddle, not long after having to tell them off doing something naughty, because you fear that they will feel you don’t love them.
But there is another fear, a fear that you seldom think of but is there all the same, you fear not being able to be there for them.
Without going into details that I don’t consider I have the right to share with the wider public, the clan I come from has experienced extreme heartache this century. We have had parents lose their child – the most horrific thing that I can ever imagine happening to anyone – and conversely we have had young children lose a parent. Both scenarios have caused more heartache and loss than I could ever put into words here.
It is the second scenario that right now sits at the forefront of my mind, and is causing a level of fear I have seldom encountered in my life.
Once I became a parent, my life became secondary to that of my son and a few years later also my daughter. I exist and my purpose on this planet is to care for, look after and love my children. That’s my job and to me there is nothing else that comes close to being as important. To this end there are a lot of things I don’t do that I either used to and don’t anymore, or had never done and now never will. I don’t get blind drunk or take drugs because that would impair my ability to care for my kids. I don’t do dangerous things that might result in me going to hospital or stupid things that might result in me going to jail as that means I won’t be at home to look after my little ones. I look after myself primarily so I can look after them. I figure I have no right to put myself in a scenario that would take me away from them.
Of course, now I have a skydiving ticket. It’s for this Sunday.
“Who me? I’m not worried! Do I LOOK worried to you?!”
A gift from my wife for my 40th birthday. I can’t blame her as when I was in my twenties I really wanted to go skydiving and have always professed it’s still on my ‘to do before I die’ list. But the timing really does suck. 10 years ago I would have literally leaped at the opportunity and 20 years from now, when my kids are grown up, it would breathe some life into the old duffer I had become. But right now, as the Househusband who spends all his days looking after his two kids, all I can think of is ‘What’s gonna happen to my kids if something goes wrong?’
Yes, I’m aware I might be coming across a bit of a coward here who is just making excuses but it’s not really that. Yes I’ve developed a problem of heights that I didn’t have when young and that’s not helping my anxiety much. But then I’ve Bungy Jumped and gone on helicopter rides and stood on the edge of cliffs so I can deal with it. And yes, I’ve never liked the idea of death much, as an Atheist I don’t believe in an afterlife so when you go that’s it. But as much as I don’t want to experience it, I’ve never massively feared death and would lay down my life to protect my family without a single moment’s hesitation. I will say that the fact there were 5 skydiving deaths in Australia last year and two of them were at the exact venue I will be doing my dive at has given me a serious case of the willies though.
So then exactly why am I so scared about this Sunday? It’s the idea that if something goes wrong (and let’s face it – it does happen) that I’ll never see my kids again. I’ll be separated from them forever and they will have to grow up without their Dad. My beautiful children – my son who loves cricket and fishing and video games and Transformers won’t have his old man around to help him learn to ride his bike without the training wheels, how to operate the pedals on a manual vehicle, how to stand up to bullies and be a good man. My daughter, who has a giant mass of near-untameable blond curls which stand out from her head like the afro of an angel, she will no longer have a Dad to teach her about animals, take her for piggy-back rides and later threaten any boys that get interested in her when she gets older. Yes they will still have their mother and could not ask for a better one, but they will have lost their other parent, their Dad who makes their lunches and cooks their dinners and gives them neck-rides and tickle fights and a million kisses and cuddles each day.
So more than heights, more than actual death, more than anything else the idea that I won’t be there for my kids anymore has gotten me filled with fear. There are times I feel almost paralyzed by it, or like I will break into tears. This past week I’ve had trouble sleeping, I’ve been moody and snappish and morose. After doing so well with cigarettes for so long I’ve been smoking a pack a day, which is really stupid as that is one thing that will guarantee your kids lose you sooner rather than later. I’ve been drinking more than a few beers each evening to try and knock me out come bedtime. Given my attitude, my wife is probably wishing she had given me an experience that wouldn’t cause such stress – a night in a 5-star hotel with a steakas big as my head, some ancient scotch & a large cigar followed by a night of passion would certainly have been a nice way to welcome me into my fourth decade without the prospect of becoming the dimensions of an oversized pancake. Save the skydiving for when my kids don’t need me anymore.
Of course our children are unaware of what is going to happen on Sunday, I don’t want to worry them. They probably think things are great right now as I’ve been taking lots of extra time to play with them, been giving them little treats each day and, even moreso than usual, just picking them up at random times to shower them in kisses and warm hugs and tell them how much I love them. Because deep in my heart I know there is the possibility, however unlikely, that these are my final chances. After all, all it takes is one strap to break or chute to tear and dear old Dad is a splat on the ground. Of course I could just not do it, I have that option. But what can I say, as well as being a Househusband I’m also an idiot male that never backs down from a challenge and never chickens out. I just hope that male pride doesn’t kill me. Thank Primus that a mate has decided to do it with me; Brendan – I’ll do my best to not hold your hand on the flight up but I’m not making any promises.
So what do I do in these last few days before the jump? Well I guess I just gut it out and try to keep the paranoia under control. It doesn’t help to have a very active imagination and I’m even making my wife sign a form I wrote acknowledging my wish for assisted suicide if I end up in a permanent coma or am permanently paralyzed and can never move again (a horrific fate worse than death for someone as active as me – every moment would be hell). But I need to remember that hundreds of these jumps happen all the time and that resulting deaths are few and far between. Even moreso I need to remember that I am Big Angry Trev and I will kick skydiving’s arse!
And above all, I just need to keep lavishing the love on my two kids, so that if something does happen that’s what they remember of me – a Dad who loved them with every fiber of his being and always will.
Got anything to say about the above? Pop it in the comments section below.
Edit:Just thought I’d pop this in. It’s the day after writing this blog and I am feeling soooo much better. Writing the above was very cathartic, really helped me vent my paranoia and thus work through it to get past it. I’m feeling ready and raring for the jump – watch this site for the upcoming video soon!
Is there any parent out there who doesn’t have trouble getting their kids to eat healthy? Or getting them to eat everything on their plate?
The little buggers always seem to have their tastebuds geared towards sugar, or if not then selectively whatever you don’t have to hand. And if, like me, you have two of them at home it can be double the frustration as what one likes the other hates. It makes feeding them a nightmare!
Well, while dinner times might still be an onerous chore for their mother and I, I have at least figured out a way to get them to eat their lunch with nary a complaint every single day. No, I haven’t given in and let them have junk food, I have discovered the Power of the Platter!
Yep, no more making sandwiches they only eat half of. No more trying to get fruit down their gobs only for them to whine “I don’t wanna!” By giving them a wide selection of tucker to choose from, making sure it’s all near bite size and letting them pick what they eat first and at their own pace, I find they end up eating most everything! Plus when they get bored of one ingredient, you just swap it out for another with minimal fuss.
Let’s have a look at a platter I made for my son:
And now one for my daughter:
To ensure they are getting all the nutrients their little bodies need I always make sure to put in:
(Cubed Cheddar Cheese, Sliced Tasty Cheese, Occasional tub of Yoghurt, Glass of Milk)
*At least one kind of meat
(Sliced Ham, Sliced Chicken, Tuna)
*At least one kind of plain cracker (even plain ones are seen as a treat!) and/or piece of non-white bread.
I also find that it pays to put in one (cheap) food that you know they are not really keen on. For my kids that’s sultanas – they don’t hate them but don’t really love them either. By putting that on their plate and then ‘letting them off’ from eating it, it gives them a feeling of ownership in deciding what they do and do not consume from their platters. That sense of control means they eat the rest more eagerly without it seeming like a chore to them.
By following this pattern, and changing up the ingredients used, it’s turned into a very effective way of getting a bit of everything my kids need to eat into their bellies each lunchtime without it becoming a major battle. I hope it works for you too!
Got any other tips on how to get kids to eat healthy? Would love to read them in the comments section below!
So here I am, six months into my new career as Househusband. And I have started having dreams.
No, not the recurring dream I’ve had for the last 15 years, where I am in a toy store finding all these rare Transformers, but whenever I get to the checkout my basket is empty. Nor the dream where all the girls I went to High School with think I am now unbearably sexy, but my car breaks down on the way to the orgy. Not even the dream with all the flying teeth, the marmoset and the repeating accordion music.
No, in these dreams I have gone back to work.
Dreams where you are at work AND still in your pajamas are just the worst!
The dreams are all pretty much the same. I’ve slunk back to my old place of work in order to take up the career I left behind. I’m trying to do the best I can at my job, whilst anxiously trying to avoid the gaze of my bosses – which come to think of it is what I was always trying to do when I actually did work there (and every other place I was ever employed).
I know what is behind these dreams. It’s not a desire to go back to my old career – its guilt.
That’s right, guilt. I stay at home while my wife goes off to work and it’s getting to me.
I’m wondering if other Househusbands experience this kind of guilt. Perhaps it dates back to the cavemen. The caveman went out during the day, defending the home from sabre-toothed tigers and clubbing huge hairy mammals into submission to bring back for the cavewoman to skin and cook up. And thousands of years later my man instincts are telling me that I should be the provider, making sure there is meat on the table for my woman and offspring. Certainly the few male friends I’ve made since we moved up here have manly jobs – most of them work in the mines. They break rocks while I play dollies with my daughter. Yes I have big plans on how to make money out of our farm, but those will take years to bear fruit. Does that make me the equivalent of an unemployed drummer, living off his girlfriend while he assures her that ‘one day our band is gonna be big baby!’?
‘Get out and do some manly work ya bum!’
All sounds very misogynistic I know, but I don’t think that’s exactly where my brain is coming from. It’s not that I have any problem with my wife working. I don’t feel that she should be at home – it’s I feel I should be out working. When I was the one working, my wife still had income coming into the family home via maternity leave pay. I’ve gone from an annual 6 figure income to a 3 figure one – not exactly a ‘pay off the house’ wage. On the upside it’s helped me keep away from cigarettes, no way can I justify spending my wife’s hard earned money on cancer sticks for myself. On the downside, it means that financially we rely on her completely, which my subconscious tells me is not fair on my beautiful bride.
Maybe it’s a ‘not having a job’ thing. I’ve either being doing educational courses or working (or often both) since I was 16. To not be studying and to not be going to a place of employment – it’s great but again… those dreams.
‘Protect me from the nightmares with your cuteness Mr. Milo!’
Part of me is telling my subconscious to shut the hell up. That I enable my wife to be able to work. I make her coffee every morning and pack her lunch. I take care of the kids and the house while she is out and then cook her dinner every night. I make sure she has clean clothes to go to work in, though the one job I always still ask of her is folding and ironing – I’m pretty crap at both.
But then another part of me is saying that that part it is full of shit. My wife could easily make her own coffee & she could go to a cafe during her lunch break. We could get babysitting for the kids on the days they are not at preschool. We could share the cooking, washing and general household chores. That part yells that my wife could still work without me being at home, that I’m just making excuses.
So what is the answer? I don’t know. I certainly can’t go back to my old career – it was in another state and we aint moving again any time soon. Our new location is so remote there are very few jobs to be had and even if there were there are no dedicated daycare facilities for the kids up here. And this farm actually does take a lot of looking after – 120 acres does not just care for itself.
So maybe I need to feed the part of me yelling at my subconscious some rare steak, some raw eggs and a few beers so it can beef up and drag my subconscious into my brains equivalent of a back-alley to kick seven shades of shit out of it. Maybe I need to not be a deep-down misogynist and realise we are not cavepeople and it doesn’t need to be me subduing the sabre-tooth tiger. Maybe I need to take the long view and remember that when both our kids are at school in a couple of years I’ll be in a position that I can bring money into the household once again.
Or maybe I need to stop whining, stop the self-guilt and be grateful for how good I’ve got it.
Are you a Househusband and experienced these feelings? Or maybe you can shed light on this kind of existential drama? Would love to read it in the comments section below!
I just wanted to write you a quick note, apologizing for the fact that the way I live my life doesn’t seem to meet with your approval. Maybe I should have explained myself properly at the time, but let me make it up to you by doing so now.
When I came through your checkout, it was during the last part of a very long day. My family lives on a farm a good 40 minutes from the nearest town we can do a decent shop in – your town. So when I take my kids there, it usually means we do a BIG shop so as to not have to return soon. We had already spent the day suckling at the big-business teat and engaging in crass commercialism – having visited Bunnings for plants, Harvey Norman for electronics, Aldi for the first lot of groceries, Big W for toys and Subway for lunch with their mother who works in your town. Our energy was low and our finances were lower by the time we got to the checkout of your store for the second lot of consumables.
So no, I didn’t have the energy to give a detailed answer when you said to me “So, you are the babysitter today huh?” I must admit, it never occurred to me looking after my own children was babysitting, I just thought it was being their dad. But anyway, my answer of “No, I’m the househusband” seemed to upset you. I guess you expected that a decently dressed male looking after two kids mid-afternoon was just experiencing an aberration to his usual routine. You must have thought that it was a one off and that the next day I would be back pouring cement or desexing camels or some other manly career. The idea that I look after my kids (no – it’s not babysitting) every day didn’t resonate with your idea of the world.
And then a few minutes later the second unpleasant surprise for you occurred. You put through a little Transformer toy – a $5 Autobot from the latest movie to come out – and went to hand it to my 4 year old son with a smile and a “Here you go”. He took it, looked at it, then handed it back to you and said “No that’s for my dad”. The look you gave me said it all as you took the toy back and bagged it with our groceries. Not only did this guy you were dealing with not have a job, but he was buying children’s toys for himself?! Freak alert, freak alert! No wonder you didn’t make eye contact with me or speak again for the remainder of our transaction.
So yeah, I had better explain myself.
“Please yer Honor, I’m not a bad guy! Just a victim of circumstance!”
I worked for a department for SIXTEEN YEARS lady! Sixteen years of damn hard slog! And for nearly the past 5 years my wife had looked after both our home and our two children she gave birth to during that time. She wanted to resume her career and I needed a break from mine so we moved states and swapped roles. Now I’m the one looking after our home and children while she goes to work – is that OK with you? I also look after our 120 acre farm and animals if that makes it more socially acceptable. Oh, and I’m self-teaching propagation so hopefully one day both my wife and I can make a living out of it and set up our own plant nursery. Perhaps in your eyes I should be content with saying into a microphone “Clean up in isle 3”.
Not an appropriate vocation for men it seems
Why is it that, even in the 21st century, a woman is applauded for taking on a career yet a man is still treated like a leech if he takes on the role of homemaker? Could you explain that to me Ms Checkout Lady? Since I’m such an unemployed bum I obviously have the time to listen.
As for buying that little $5 Transformer, well yeah, you’ve got me there. It was for me. However before we came to your store we had been to a different one where my son had gotten a $20Transformer and my daughter a $20My Little Pony. I’d also bought a relatively expensive thermos for my wife ($45 but it was in her favorite colour which makes it OK) so that I can make her soups to take to work for her lunch. So no, I wasn’t splashing out on myself while the rest of my family did without. And guess what? I’ve got THOUSANDS of Transformers at home! That’s right – literally thousands! Been collecting them since I was seven years old and I intend to open a museum one day! So if I restrained myself to buying a little $5 one then for me that is pretty damn good. And the toy says 6+. Well I don’t know how good your maths is since you just scan everything, but 39 is definitely on the plus side of 6!
‘Oh Drift, you’ve caused more trouble for me than you ever did the Decepticons’
Why the severe judgment for what I spent that piddly amount of money on anyway? I wasn’t buying myself booze or smokes. I wasn’t buying myself chocolate or sweets or junk food. I wasn’t betting it on a horse or sticking it in a pokies slot. I wasn’t earmarking the money to buy weed or pills or get a blowjob in some dingy back alley. I was buying a little toy. Out of all the things I could be spending money on – a teeny action figure should rate pretty low on the objectionable scale.
So I’m sorry Ms Checkout-Lady from Woolworths (I won’t call you a ‘checkout chick’ since it’s mildly sexist and you looked way too old to refer to as a chick anyway) that my lifestyle choices offend you. I’m sorry you found the way I go about my existence unsettling to the point you wouldn’t speak or make eye contact with me. But you know what – I LIKE my life! I like looking after my kids. I like tending to my farm. I like making meals for my wife. And yeah, you better bloody believe I like Transformers! And none of this is going to change any time soon.
So if the way I live still offends you, then next time don’t try and make small talk. Just shut your damn mouth and bag my f*cking groceries.
‘Woolworths, the Judgy people, with fresh judgement’s on you’
Got something to say about the above? Would love to read it in the comments section below!
There are certain laws of the universe that one considers immutable – one of the main ones I have always had no reason to doubt is cause and effect. If you do A, then it will cause B to happen. If you throw a ball in the air, it will come down again. If you stick your hand in the fire, it will be burned.
So if you have a room in which you use nothing but cleaning products, then ergo that room should be nothing but clean!
Seriously, why the f*ck are bathrooms exempt from the rules of cause and effect?! I’ve tidied plenty of bathrooms plenty of times but before today, in my new role as househusband, I’d never cleaned one before. Oh sure it looks clean enough, but when you get up close the friggin things are filthy!
‘Soap SCUM?! Since when is soap scummy? It doesn’t conduct phone scams does it?’
Why are they filthy? HOW are they filthy?! I took a look at all the products we have in our bathroom:
SCENTED SOAP
FOAMING CLENSER
ANTISEPTIC LISTERINE
FACIAL SCRUB
BODY WASH
Look at all the words contained within! Those are words associated with cleaning. It should be the cleanest damn room in the house!
And the bath! How can the bath be filthy?! You fill it full of hot soapy water and then drain that straight down a damn plughole! I come out cleaner after being in the bath, the kids come out cleaner after being in the bath – why doesn’t the bath come out cleaner from being within itself?!
It’s bloody madness is what it is! I spent over an hour cleaning the bathroom today and I still have the floor to mop!
Well, enough of that – I’m not going to be suckered twice! From now on I’m hosing the kids off in the yard, the wife can shower at work and as for me, well I’ll just stand downwind of people as a courtesy. Because a world where soap makes things dirtier just doesn’t make sense to me – it seems to be a joke played by a capricious universe that just wants to f*ck with my househusband brain.
Go to hell Bathroom – you porcelain-toting bastard you!
Have you encountered this freak of household nature yourself? Tell us about it in the comments section below!
After 16 years of being a department employee, Big Angry Trev has retired to his country estate up in the mountains to embark on a career of plant propagation. Only one problem with that…
… his wife has gone back to work full time which means he needs to care for the house as well as their two small children.
This is the first of many tales about his new career as a househusband.
Treat others the way you would like to be treated.
An axiom to live by, one I have tried to embody but by no means have ever been its poster child.
With the wife going back to work its put me in the new position as househusband, a relatively unfamiliar role. Being a bit lost at sea I thought perhaps I should go with “what I used to wish my wife would do for me when I was the breadwinner” and go from there.
I remember what I always wanted. It consisted of:
Bacon, eggs & coffee in the morning
A packed lunch
A big dinner waiting with a cold beer for when I get home
A bit of peace
A shag
If I remember correctly, sometimes I used to get a coffee.
Now my wife’s proclivities are not quite the same as mine but I thought the ‘do unto others’ angle worth perusing. To this end in the first week I did the following:
In the mornings
I made my wife a cup of coffee just the way she likes it.
I packed her lunch for her which changed daily but always included:
– Two types of fruit
– A variety of biscuits
– A drink such as a can of cola or a flavored breakfast milk
– A sandwich that always contained at least one form of dairy, meat and/or egg
– Occasionally a thermos of soup
I then made the children’s breakfast and generally kept them out of her hair as she prepared for the day. Then it was kisses goodbye and well-wishes for the day ahead as she drove off.
In the evenings
Dinner was always on cooking when she arrived home, and always a recipe I knew she enjoyed.
A glass of chilled wine was held in my outstretched hand.
The children awaited her – clean, fresh faced and eager to tell her about their days activities. Sometimes they held flowers we had picked for her that day.
After dinner I would whisk the kids off to bathe whilst she watched her evening shows.
When the children went to sleep I had my ‘bedroom eyes’ on and something sexy underneath my dressing gown in case she needed some ‘stress relief’ from her hard day.
Omelette made from organic, free range duck eggs- Mr Perfection over here!
Of course, that was me in the first week of being a househusband. So far in the second week:
She got a glass of half-flat wine on Monday, and only then because there was some leftover from a bottle on the weekend.
Tuesday the kids and I slept in so she had to make her own damn lunch.
Wednesday the kids were filthy because they had been traipsing around the farm with me while I fixed a pump at the creek and we ate red meat because that’s what I wanted.
No hot dinner at all waiting Thursday as I needed her to bring home groceries to make it.
Today on Friday the sexy underwear got put back in the bottom draw, since it seems to have caused more bemusement than arousal over the last fortnight
Big Angry Trev’s version of ‘subtly seductive’
So the first lesson I have learned as a Househusband is:
“It’s easy to start with perfection, but impossible to maintain it”
Hmmm… maybe this gig won’t be as easy as I first thought.
Got something to say? Would love to read it in the comments section below!
