It’s been a while between posts, sorry about that. The last half of the year is particularly hard for me these days. Not to worry, here is something I’ve been ruminating on for months now that I finally got around to vomiting out:
So I’m a single widower with two kids. It must, at first glance, seem a sad and sorry situation. Poor guy left all alone to raise the children to the best of his abilities. On the whole I agree, believe it or not I would much prefer to have Renee here, but hey, this is how it is and no amount of pity is going to change it. I get it. Really, I do…
But I’m not some useless bloody male muppet. You can leave out the “poor guy” bit thanks.
I’m a more than capable human being (see how I didn’t feel the need to specify my sex there) that has a deep, loving connection with my children, am active and passionate about providing them with the tools to grow into caring, compassionate, thoughtful, intelligent, self aware adults; and I can cook like a bloody chef. Did I mention that they find me hilarious too? I guess that’s just assumed.
Ok, so I wash the whites and colours all together, don’t even know where our iron is and sometimes we eat out because I haven’t done the shopping, but all in all we get by pretty well.
Although I’m grateful for the many offers of assistance from friends, family and strangers, I have learnt that not all help is desirable, especially when it comes in the form of “parenting”, which unfortunately is not usually a verbalised offer as much it is an assumption of something I need help with.
Which, thankyou all the same, I MOST DEFINITELY DO NOT.
I believe I have been managing pretty well for the LAST EIGHT YEARS at this.
Unless I’m missing something due to my rose coloured parent glasses, and my children are in actual fact bad mannered, ungrateful sociopaths, (come on, what child isn’t devil spawn once in a while) I think they’re pretty good kids. Not only have they been through unimaginable loss, they have had to adapt to life without a mum and have been uprooted and moved away from everything they knew.
Yet they’re bubbly, loving, considerate little bundles of heart melting joy who are getting happier by the day; and I know it’s not just my narcissistic self talking when I say I played a fair hand in this.
I AM A GOOD PARENT. I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!
So if it’s OK with you, and I don’t mean to offend any well meaning friends and family (and strangers), but when you have that urge to “step in” or “help out” when you see me in a “parenting” moment, please bare this in mind. You putting your well meaning two cents worth in when I’m delivering some life lesson just confuses and diminishes my power as educator and ultimate authority. Even if it’s identical to what I’m saying, just don’t. I am their parent. I am their Dad. I got this.
Let me summarise and help clarify for future reference: (you may want to jot these down)
– I know I’m a single dad.
– Being male does not diminish ones ability to being up children.
– I know there will come times when I will need help.
– Even though I am male, I will ask for help at these times.
– I do in fact know my children better than anyone in this world (yes even you)
But don’t let that stop you offering to take the kids for an hour or two when the surfs up, or when it’s not, so I can go fishing. Actually, I hate vacuuming too so, yeah, pop over. Now.
And bring beer. Beer is good.