Dear Dave

  But he always does the cooking

Dear Dave,

Glad to hear you all survived Mother's Day for another year. Taking your mum out to a restaurant was a smart move - it will have thrown the attention off Liz. Just as Valentine's Day can be awkward for single people, Mother's Day is a bizarre emotional minefield for role-reversed parents. I remember, way back on Father's Day, I mentioned how the advertising and social expectation were geared up all wrong for housedads. Well, Mother's Day is worse for our partners.

On Mother's Day, traditional mums get thanked for all the unsung work they put into doing chores and keeping the household running. It's an opportunity for them to have a break while the rest of the family takes over for the day. Those mums with a househusband, however, get to feel guilty for not doing all the things that traditional mums are being praised for. Even the simple question, 'Is he taking a turn and making lunch for you today, then?' can seem threatening. Answering, 'Yes,' implies the mum does the cooking normally. Any other response is going to lead to confusion and an eventual admission that it's really the dad who does all the housework. Before you know it, the mum feels like it should be her that's gratefully making the lunch for a change, even though that's what Father's Day is for.

It is in our house, anyway. Most places, I'm guessing Father's Day isn't quite the same. You see, there's a marked difference between the sentiments surrounding Mother's Day and Father's Day. Mums get a hard-earned rest; dads get a less-than-complimentary card and some encouragement to spend the day interacting with their family. Mother's Day is to say thank you for all the work, while Father's Day is to go play football in the park. Mums are appreciated for what they do; dads are appreciated for existing.

Hardly seems fair, does it?

Mother's Day does come with more handmade gifts, though. Marie made a card at nursery, Sunday School delivered decorated crockery and Anchor Boys turned up some... well, the only way to describe them is model houses constructed out of cleaning equipment and sharp pins.

Sarah was thrilled.



Even if we had a 'normal' lifestyle it would be hard for her to know how to take being given a couple of pot scourers and a duster for Mother's Day. Since she doesn't actually do any washing up or dusting, it's particularly difficult.

While making these gifts, the Anchor Boys were asked, "What are some of the things that your mum does that you need to thank her for?"

The other children piped up with suggestions like cooking and hoovering and cleaning.

Our boys just looked confused. "Mummy never does those things. Daddy does them."

No one really paid any attention to them, however. Adults tend to suspect that my kids are mistaken when they say stuff like that. Sometimes they chuckle at the very idea, even if they know I'm a housedad. It makes me wonder how they imagine our lives operate. Do they think I expect Sarah to come home from work, make us all tea, get the children ready for bed and then scrub the toilets?

I guess so. I suppose there are plenty of families where both parents are working and the mum does come home and do those things. The hype surrounding Mother's Day actually seems to suggest that that set-up is only right and proper. Mums are heroes and saints who get us all where we need to go, on time, in clean clothes and with a healthy packed lunch. They do it out of love and duty and with only the annual promise of breakfast in bed, a handmade card and a small box of Cadbury's Milk Tray to look forward to. (Actually, there's been some inflation since our day and the handmade card and chocolates have been replaced by a massage voucher and a Nintendo DS but it's still small reward for being a supermum.)

This is all very well, but building up being taken for granted as somehow virtuous, isn't very helpful to anyone except the dads who aren't pulling their weight. It even makes life more difficult for mums who don't have a traditional role - it can make them feel inadequate for not being a domestic goddess. It certainly gets to Sarah sometimes and that's despite the fact she does the laundry and helps out a great deal with looking after the children.

I have pointed out that going to work each day and earning the money to feed, clothe and house us all is quite a big deal really but, apparently, that doesn't count. She's supposed to be taking the kids on nature walks, preparing gourmet meals, organising art projects, redecorating the lounge and removing the stain round the bath, all with a twitch of her nose.

Yep, it's not easy being a breadwinning mum. As well as having to work in a man's world, there are all kinds of societal expectations of motherhood to overcome. Sometimes it's hard to see past them:

She may not hoover, but the kids do have a lot to appreciate Sarah for (and so do I!). The truth is, though, it doesn't matter what she's contributing. She's their mum and they appreciate her anyway. Hopefully, they won't be persuaded out of that by adverts and misinformation as the years go by.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS Admittedly, the kids aren't always great at expressing their appreciation. I had to remind them all to wish Sarah a happy Mother's Day this year, for instance, so I should probably put them into training for next year. That way they'll come up with suitable gifts and be more prepared for daft questions.

Never mind, at least they had the sense to give the pan scourers to me...

Labels: father's day, housedad, marriage

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  eBay comes to us all

Dear Dave,

"They want fireworks?"

"Yep," said Rob, sitting across the table from me. "And not just a couple of rockets and a sparkler. They want our names written in flame."

"Oh, goodness." As his best man, I'd gone round to his flat for the evening to chat about the impending celebrations while his fiancee, Kate, was at my house, receiving wedding wisdom from Sarah. "Are you going to arrive in a vintage car to the sound of bagpipes and then be ushered in for caviar nibbles and the gentle melody of a string quartet?"

"Something like that. Kate's parents have pretty much given up on her brother ever settling down, so this is their one chance at wedding glory. Money's no object and it's all going crazy. Have a look at this catalogue."

He handed me a glossy brochure which was at least half an inch thick and I began to flick through it.

I glanced at my stopwatch. "You've only got a minute left, by the way."

"I'm thinking."

"Don't think too long," I said, "or I'll rip your arms off and feed them to you."

"OK, OK, I'm a little out-numbered here. You won't be laughing so hard when it's my turn to play the Genestealers."

"We'll see. Forty-five seconds."

Well, we told the women-folk we were going to chat about the wedding but the table wasn't exactly spread with seating planners. It was covered with squared, cardboard tiles representing the interior layout of a derelict spaceship. Up one corner, a handful of little plastic figures marked where Rob's space marines were cowering in fear from an imminent assault by my encroaching horde of four-armed, slobbering aliens. We were playing Space Hulk. Littered amongst the bits of board were counters, dice, snacks and beer.

I didn't feel too bad, though. We'd mentioned the wedding on occasion and at least I was looking at a catalogue. It appeared to be entirely full of outlandish cakes, however. Each was oddly evocative of a three-way collision between a fairground ride, a flower arrangement and a confectionery shop.

"Gah," said Rob in frustration. "I'll move this guy here and put him on overwatch. And move flamer guy along..."

"Thirty seconds."

"And then my last guy will panic and shoot blindly down this corridor while swearing loudly."

"Fine," I said, handing him some dice. "You need a six."

He rolled a five. "Do I get any bonuses for the swearing?"

"No, but you've got two more shots and fifteen seconds to take them."

"OK," he said. "Give me the dice."

"I just gave you the dice."

"No, you didn't. Give me the dice."

"You just rolled one of them. Look. Here." I picked two dice off the table where he'd put them and handed them to him again. "Three seconds." He flung them down and they ricocheted off a tub of Pringles, bounced and flew up in the air. One landed in a jar of salsa dip and the other danced off the table and disappeared under the sofa.

The stopwatch beeped.

We looked at each other and then both leaned forward and peered into the jar. "Chunky," I said. The dice was beginning to sink but it clearly showed a two. "Better go find the other one. You need a four."

"You were rushing me," he muttered as he got down on his hands and knees and started poking around under the furniture. "Did you see where it went?"

"The dice are your responsibility during your go." I turned my attention back to the catalogue. "There really isn't anything in here but cakes... Oh, my mistake, here are some swans."

"Technically, it's now your go," he said, his voice somewhat muffled from beneath the table. "Want to come help me look under here?"

I munched on some Pringles and sucked spicy tomato from a numbered cube. "It's not my go until that shot is resolved. Is there anything in this catalogue other than cakes and swans?"

"The swans are cakes, too," Rob said, emerging somewhat dustily from his search and handing me another, even glossier, brochure. "THIS catalogue is for the nuptial livestock."

"You're kidding..." I took the book from him. "You're not kidding. Tell me you're not planning a release of live butterflies."

"Nah. I was thinking more along the lines of some white doves. Someone lets a couple go every so often and that's our cue to pull out a pair of Uzis and shoot at each other in slow motion while various bits of scenery explode."

"A John Woo theme," I said, rubbing my chin. "Interesting. How's that sitting with Kate's parents?"

"They're not so keen. Mike's up for it, though."

"He's just humouring you. When it comes to the actual day, you'd better be taking things seriously. You've picked the wrong minister to mess with. Any sign of doves and he'd whip a shotgun out of his robes and fill them with buckshot before we got a chance to move. Then he'd get on with the service as if nothing had happened. You know it's true."

Rob considered this for a moment. "It is, isn't it?" he said, slightly nervously.

"Uh-huh," I nodded. "And don't think you're done when the wedding's over. He'll grab you by the shoulder every few months, look you in the eye and ask you if you're keeping your vows. It's part of the on-going customer service."

"He'll get on well with my future mother-in-law... Are you going to have your turn?"

"Oh, yeah." I'd forgotten about the game. Rob's under-the-sofa shot had hit (allegedly) but I was still in a strong position. As the alien player, I also didn't have to race against the clock. I took my time. "I'm going to move this slavering monster with big teeth up the corridor while your guy shoots at it..." Rob rolled some dice and then swore. "...until his gun jams. Then these other slavering monsters with big teeth..." I moved a counter into his marine's line of sight, flipped it over and replaced it with three plastic figures. "...are going to use their enormous claws to turn him into mince." I rolled some dice. Rob rolled some dice. I banged my head on the table.

Rob smirked as he removed my three Genestealers from the board. "What are the chances of you rolling a total of eleven on nine six-sided dice?"

"I don't want to think about it," I said, in between bangs. "Tell me what you're expecting me to do for the wedding."

"You're best man. You've got to organise the stag night for starters."

I moved some more little plastic aliens. They all got shot or flambeed. "Are you sure that's wise?" I replied. "My idea of a good evening is going to the cinema, having a couple of drinks and then grabbing a bag of chips on the way home."

"I was thinking more of a weekend than an evening," said Rob, starting his go. I reset the stopwatch.

"See. I'm just bound to get it wrong. If I'm in charge of a weekend, we'll end up knitting."

Rob wasn't having any of it. "Take us go-karting, or something. Come on. A weekend away from the kids! Must be tempting."

I contemplated a couple of days with a group of younger, salaried blokes whom I didn't know very well. It's the kind of situation I cope with much better if I have my three small human shields running round me. I couldn't really say no, though. "OK, I'll look into it," I sighed. "When's the wedding going to be, anyway?"

Rob shrugged. "Not sure. After the baby's born, definitely. Kate's getting big already and she doesn't want to look like a fairy that's swallowed a blimp in the photos." He paused in the middle of moving one of his pieces and looked worried. "Just don't tell her I put it like that, all right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it..."

My mobile rang and I answered it. "No, this isn't Kevin... Nope, I don't know anyone called Kevin. You've got the wrong number." I hung up. "That's the third time today. It's different people phoning up to offer this guy job interviews. I've had a couple of texts as well."

"Don't think I'd hire someone who got his phone number wrong on his CV," said Rob without glancing up from the board.

"Tell me about it. Two minutes left." He continued dithering over his marines. My eyes wandered around the room. The walls were stacked floor to ceiling with books, games and objects of geeky desire. It was like a rift in space and time had opened and half the stock of the local Forbidden Planet had fallen through. "It's a shame your study's going to have to go," I said. "What are you going to do with all this stuff?"

Rob looked at me blankly.

"Er..." I said. "This flat currently only has one bedroom. You're going to need two bedrooms. You have four available options: the kitchen, the bathroom, the lounge and this room. I would advise against the kitchen or the bathroom and your big telly is in the lounge. If, however, you were to replace the desk over there that's covered in computer equipment with a bed, this room would make quite a nice bedroom."

"Don't be daft," he said, concentrating once more on his marines. "A bed wouldn't fit in that space."

"True. You'd need to move the bookcase full of Deep Space Nine videos, the Lego Star Destroyer and the life-size cut-out of Lara Croft to fit a bed in, but you wouldn't need quite so much space for a cot. You might want to leave a decent splatter radius, though. Cleaning vomit out of Lego is a real pain - you have to use a toothbrush. One minute."

I was hoping I'd distracted him enough but he made sure to finish moving before he replied. His surviving marines had almost escaped and had thrown up a wall of flame behind them. My remaining Genestealer turned into a pile of ash and teeth.

"Hadn't really thought about it," he said. "Won't the cot be in our room?"

"For six months or so. Maybe longer. Depends whether you ever want a sound night's sleep again... or if you're planning any more."

Rob choked on his beer. "Give us a chance. It's months before the first one arrives."

"Three months. Might be less. It'll take you that long to off-load all this stuff on eBay." He looked horrified but I pressed on. "You could always move house instead but that's going to take time as well and, if you're faffing with mortgages, you're going to need to consider how much of the next few years Kate is going to be on limited pay. Or if she's going to be off for as little time as possible and you're going to be home. Or if you're both going to work and you have a wadge of nursery fees to find. How many children you're intending to have will affect all the calculations. Better start thinking."

The shutters of denial went down behind Rob's eyes. "I thought we were supposed to be discussing the wedding. Your go."

I shook my head for any number of reasons. "You've as good as won," I said. "Set things up for a re-match while I go to the toilet. We can talk kilts when I get back. But just because you can fob me off, don't think you can do the same with Squirtle. He, she or it isn't going to go back in for a few days while you get round to auctioning off your Magic: The Gathering cards and Bobba Fett lunchbox."

Rob grinned. "You're just jealous I have them."

"Well, yeah," I said, heading out the door, "but that's not the point."

I left him to it. As I was washing my hands, I caught the distant but unmistakeable sound of an electronic rendition of The Ride of the Valkyries turned up loud enough to hear above traffic and three wittering children.

"Did my phone go?" I asked when I returned to the room.

"Yeah," said Rob, putting the last of the plastic figures into place. "It was for Kevin. I told the woman I was his parole officer and that I was wondering where he'd got to, too. I don't think she'll be bothering you again."

"Cheers." I sat down and reached for my beer and a pile of dice. "Now it's time to snack on fiery death, big-teethed alien scum." I went for a warm-up roll. I got five ones and a splattering of salsa.

"Or maybe not..." I added.

* * *

Hope you're keeping well, Dave. Everyone I meet at the moment seems to be suffering from something. Lewis is croaky from a sore throat, Fraser has an infection (don't ask where), Marie's been exposed to chickenpox and Sarah has come into contact with scarlet fever.

I'm just feeling nervous.

If we all get through this week without seeing a doctor, I'll be amazed...

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: blokesnight, marriage, sickness, stuff

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  Games night

Dear Dave,

I don't get out much. It's partly because it's an effort getting a babysitter and partly because by the time the kids are in bed I'm too tired to go out. Then again, it's not like I went out much before we had kids. I'd rather settle down in front of the TV anyway. Having kids is merely a handy excuse to surround the TV with gadgets.

This being the case, my social life is somewhat limited, but every so often a couple of friends, Mike and Rob, come round to play computer games and we blast each other to pieces while failing to talk about anything very significant. Mike's the minister at our church. He's around fifty and has two kids but they've left home. Rob lives round the corner. He works in the IT department at LBO. I did some of his training and he now has my old job, meaning I feel both sorry for him and somewhat responsible. He's not quite thirty yet.

Sarah has been having to work late again so I organised something for the other night. Rob arrived just after the kids were in bed and made straight for the beer. I asked him how his week was going and he launched into the details of a technical problem he was having trouble with. Vaguely familiar acronyms and jargon spewed forth from his mouth for several minutes. I nodded and smiled. It was like listening to Fraser witter on about Pokemon but I cared slightly less. I drank my own beer and then suggested to Rob that he replace the flux capacitor and then reverse the polarity of the neutron flow. He wasn't impressed.

Mike arrived. I asked him how his week was going. He shook his head. "Three funerals and a finance meeting," he said gruffly. "Let's shoot things."

I handed him a beer and ushered them both up to the lounge. "Watch out over there," I said, pointing to a discoloured section of carpet. "There's a damp patch." Rob began edging nervously round it. I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry - it's not radioactive or anything." He didn't seem reassured but found his way to a seat and we launched into a game of TimeSplitters 2. (We can't play Wii Sports anymore because Mike's been banned for breaking light fittings on two separate occasions. He kept taking it all a bit too seriously).

Everything went as normal for some time: we discussed the weather and football, we drank beer, we moaned about the news and every so often someone got shot. We briefly attempted to make sense of the Scottish election results but then turned our attention to inventing plausible explanations as to why Alex Salmond has a pair of slugs where his eyebrows should be. This kept us amused for a while but, when the ideas began to run low, Rob changed the subject in an unexpected direction.

"So what's being a housedad like?" he asked.

For the past seven years, Rob has been doing his best to ignore the fact that I'm a full-time parent. It's like I'm on some kind of indefinite holiday and he's always hopeful I'll be back at work on Monday. The closest he'd previously come to expressing interest was to say, without a hint of irony, "It must be nice to sit at home all day eating biscuits." I looked at him in astonishment.

Showing greater presence of mind, Mike took advantage of the distraction and fragged me at close range with a shotgun before asking, "Blue line, then?"

"Er, yeah," said Rob, turning to him in surprise. "How did you...?"

Mike shot him in the head with a missile-launcher. "Professional hunch," he said. "Are you still playing, Ed?"

"What?" I'd re-spawned and was standing around waiting for ballistic death to come find me. Oddly, I was no longer looking through my character's eyes but I could see him from a third-person perspective and he was getting larger.

Then I realised I was looking at Mike's corner of the screen.

It was my turn to get an explosion between the eyes. "Would you stop that?" I said.

"You can't talk and shoot at the same time?"

"Not when a friend is sharing about how his life has changed forever."

"What?" said Rob. "What do you mean my life has...?" I shoved an enormous gun between his shoulder-blades and pulled the trigger. "Hey!"

"So..." Mike let the pause linger as Rob's character re-appeared close at hand. Sensing what was coming, I charged over to get in range. Nonchalantly, Mike said, "Are you going to get married then?"

Rob stammered. "Er..." Mike and I both let rip at what seemed like the same moment and a hail of bullets turned Rob into sushi. Unfortunately, Mike was credited with the kill.

"That's not fair," I grumbled, banging the controller against my head in frustration. "And neither's that," I added as he shot me as well. "I'm annoyed now. I'm going to hunt you down and batter you to death with that shotgun."

"I want to see you try... What were you saying, Rob?"

"Er... I hadn't really thought about getting married. I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

"What do you mean?" said Mike.

"It's a bit of a commitment."

I snorted. "You've bought a house together, you live together, you sleep together, you're going to have a baby together. You've merged your CD collections! Exactly how much more of a commitment do you think getting married would be?"

"There's a bit more to being married than that," said Rob defensively.

"I don't know..." I said and went postal with a flamethower. "There's a public declaration that you're going to make things last but there's actually quite a lot less denial."

"How do I know it's going to last?" said Rob, turning crispy.

"If the two of you decide that it's going to last and always work to achieve that, then there's a good chance that it will last," said Mike.

"It's got to be worth a shot, hasn't it?" I added. "Let's face it, you're married already, apart from the legal safe-guards in case it doesn't last. What have you got to lose?"

"I don't want to rush into anything," said Rob, running round a corner into proximity with a proximity mine I'd left lying around. He swore. He blew up.

I laughed for at least two good reasons. "At the point you two got a mortgage together, you were still playing Tomb Raider Chronicles - that's six years and an entire console generation ago! Think how long that's been. Glaciers get together and laugh at how slowly you move."

"Well," he muttered, "there's the expense as well."

"I'll waive my fee," said Mike.

"Sarah still has her dress. Wouldn't take much to make it fit Kate."

Mike nodded. "And the Millennium Centre is cheap to hire."

"I'll do the catering," I said. "I've had plenty of practice with birthday parties. Cocktail sausages and Hula Hoops for everyone. Fraser and Lewis can get a production line of cheese sandwiches going. Marie can help decorate the cake. You don't mind bright pink icing peppered with chocolate buttons and fingerprints do you?" Rob scowled at me. "What? It'd be a talking point."

Mike calmly sniped us both. "I think what Ed's trying to say is that the party doesn't have to be expensive and shouldn't stand in the way of the getting married part."

"Maybe... You still haven't answered my question, Ed. What's it like being a housedad?"

I thought for a moment. Mike took the opportunity to batter me to death with a brick. "Well," I said, re-spawning far away. "The hours are long, the holidays are rubbish, the pay's a joke and there's heavy exposure to toxic biological waste. On the plus side, there's plenty of fresh air, exercise and hugs, relatively little stress, strong job satisfaction and an army of amusing minions. You also get to play Hungry Hippos and call it work."

Rob perked up. "Really?"

"Yep," I grinned. "And Mario Kart."

He shot me a sideways glance. "Really!?"

"Yep."

He looked suddenly suspicious. "Is that why you're grinning?"

"No, I'm grinning 'cos I've stuck an explosive mine to your crotch and you haven't noticed."

He had just about enough time to say, "No way!" before his corner of the screen erupted.

I feigned a wince. "That's got to smart."

Time ran out and the game ended. Mike had won by an absolute mile but at least I'd beaten Rob by a point. I did a little dance to celebrate. Unfortunately, I stepped in the wet patch and had to go change my socks.

Rob cheered up a bit at that...

We had some more beer and the conversation returned to normal. It was a good evening. I don't think Rob knows what he's got himself into yet, though. I might let him look through some of these letters, if that's OK with you?

Hope you're well and staying sane. Marie's convinced that you live in this computer. Have you got any photos of you and the family I can show her?

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS Slug suggestions welcome.

Labels: blokesnight, computer games, housedad, marriage

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