The Reboot of Religion Methodology

Each year Christmas comes around.  Now, some people could claim they are being fooled that Christmas is looming on our calendars by commercialism or religion or the fact that the chocolate industry appears in cahoots for 24 days with the cardboard door-on-a-box industry, but for me there are several tells that it could be Christmas fairly soon:

  1. People keep saying “it doesn’t feel like Christmas”
  2. It’s December
  3. I keep getting drawn to crap in the Esso service station shop.

For creationism, this is a chance when they get to shake evolutionism by the hand and by token of this, reboot their annual stories by saying “this little dude was born”.  In this case, they are not talking about the Baby Annabel or Baby Emmie, both variants of which were given to little people within my household by a jolly person (but was only jolly by virtue of the fact that she wanted to know what was in the big brown box).  I am talking about, of course, the baby Jesus Christ. 

Evolutionists, by correspondence of this, try not to appear bitter about this by giving gifts (such as Richard Dawkins books) and celebrate Winter Solstice, partaking in the large feast and biting their tongue when it comes to saying grace at the dinner table. 

After or before this, everyone embraces and takes the opportunity to swap gifts and for me, this is my favourite bit.  Not because I gain some more possessions which will shortly be available on my ebay shop (for I have never ebay’d a gift yet) but because I like to see how much thought or energy people put into gifts for others – its eye opening and it makes me grin at some of the gifts given.  It doesn’t matter if they’ve been hinted at by others first – its the sheer effort in one form or another.

So, without further ado – some of my favourites from this year:

woolyWoolly – a spider that appears on a children’s TV show called Woolly and Tig.  Monkey adores the show and loves the spider especially, so a nod was given to my Grandmother.  Come Christmas day, a smile lit up a little girls face.  Woolly has gone everywhere… well, her auntie’s, since.

My bus.  No, I kid you not.  MBW, who has for ages been telling me that she is not indulging this one, broke her vow of refusing to entertain me and entertained me… with a bus.  This one, a replica of some rolling around Wales, is a very cool little Transbus Mini Pointer Dart.  This will mean nothing to you unless you are a bus spotter or just very nerdy… but this is my bus.  I like it.first-bus-sm

Lastly, I was very impressed also by the wind up Thomas the Tank Engine toys that my mother gave me in my ‘sock’ (a family equivalent of a stocking only easier to source and keep your feet warm all day).  These have provided the Contwingent and I hours of fun racing them around the kitchen table to see which will go faster and who would win the race.


The human existence commencement

Now, far from me to back out of my fatherly duties – in fact, I like to think I get stuck in just as much as any doting father would do.

Except when it comes to nappies simply full of poo.

And when I have to get them dressed, because that takes serious effort.

But otherwise, I’m pretty hands on.

But not tonight – oh no.  Allow me to explain.  Monkey, bless her cottons, had declared in her usual tones “I need a poo”, followed by “I need to be nay-kid…” which in turn was followed by “Muuum can you come with me?”  Since tonight it was pizza, beans and bits, it was assumed (correctly) I would manage in the kitchen (no chefs hat but I’m working on that) with Nuzzle and Scratch for company and MBW would keep the Monkey company in the bathroom.

As Nuzzle, Scratch and myself are discussing the deeds of the day (Nuzzle had managed to save a mouse from a trap), we hear “Why do some babies come out the Mummy’s bottom and some need to be chopped off out of your tummy?”

The kitchen fell silent, awaiting MBW’s response.  “Because most babies are born from their Mummy’s – umm – Mini.  But sometimes if baby gets stuck or if baby is very sick or Mummy is very sick the doctors can do an operation to get the baby out quickly.”

This seems to satisfy Curious Monkey and Scratch continues the discussion in the kitchen about the deeds of the day (she devised a new way to produce a renewable fuel source that wouldn’t destroy the planet) when we hear “But then there’s the thing that needs to be snipped, what’s that?”

Silence fell quickly as we listened for a response.

“When the baby is inside the Mummy, they are attached with a cord because it feeds them but when they come out they don’t need it any more.”

“Why don’t they need it anymore?” She asked.

“Because once they are out they drink milk.”

This has once again sated Monkey and our conversation in the kitchen moves focus towards my deeds of the day (I save… I mean, I worked out a way… I mean… ok, I had nothing) when we heard “So why does some babies drink from Mummy’s boobie and some drink milk from a bottle and not from the Mummy’s boobies?”

Monkey – three and three quarters and asking the slightly difficult ones…  That is not the worst bit though, because as she got off the toilet I heard “I’ve got a little baby because I’m a little girl…”

The 4-4 timing symposium

I like Saturdays.  Saturday is my first day at home in the week when I don’t have to get up by a certain time to be at my desk and logged in to a VPN.  It is the first day in the week when the girls will look at me and know I don’t have to get dressed with any urgency unless we want to go somewhere bright and early to get a whole days worth of day in. 

In fact, I do consider Saturday to be the first day of the week – its a good day.

This morning, for example, we were listening to Gigi D’Agostina – L’amour Toujours, Monkey, Nuzzle and Scratch were taking it in turns to dance with me and just as the lyrics hit “and I will fly with you”, Monkey (who had both her hands in my one hand) crouched down slightly.  So I began to pull her up and MBW carried her on, lifting her up into the air to fly. 

She looked slightly stunned by this but laughed and went doolally with adrenaline for a few minutes.

I like Saturdays.

The commuter thesis

I think I have narrowed down my 5 worries or so. 5 is an arbitrary number and it might change – just bear with me.

1. I will have to re-educate myself and everyone else required in how to fold the new chair and listen to their bellyaching about how good the old chair was. I won’t care about the old chair if I’m given a chance to like the new one.

2. Travel. I will have to learn how to travel everywhere in a new style and way. This means ramps, buses, trains, the lot. I will need to learn my coping distances with the seat and how long before I want to transfer.

3. Speed. I am used to my ability to rocket off when I need to. I am used to being able to go really fast downhill. This could change and probably will change. This is the hardest thing for me to accept.

4. The girls. I don’t want Monkey, Nuzzle and Scratch to feel like they don’t recognise the chair, to get hurt by new chair or be afraid of it. Unlikely but they don’t really like kittens either so you never know.

5. MBW. I want her to be happy with my choice, with something she will have to look at, push, lift, fold and unfold. She has to put up with my sullen moods as I understand everything I worry about before penning it into this blog. I am glad she came along with me to the first try because as she got to feed in to the chair too – how it looks, colour, position, how I look. I think the MBW factor is always underestimated in new posterior transportation shopping. It shouldn’t be.

5 thoughts there. What have I forgotten? Probably lots but those kept me awake last night and the night before.


This morning I made breakfast – veggie sausages and hash browns.  Monkey, Nuzzle and Scratch all decided to join in and shovelled my breakfast down their traps quicker than I could find a knife and fork and say “do you mind?”

But thats not the issue.

I had a little bit of sausage left on my plate that Monkey was eyeing up – I nodded to her and said “go on – since you’re my best friend.”

“Thank you,” she replied, “but you’re not my friend.”

Shattered world by Evelyn Patrick

Shattered world - this is my world.

This was news to me – my world is pretty much shattered already.  I didn’t know what to say.  I had to pull myself together.  “Why?” I asked – not overly sure I was going to like what was coming.

“Because you’re old.” She replied, in a tone that was matter of fact and not up for messing about.

“Wait… so that means… no. What about Mummy?”

“Mummy isn’t old.  Mummy is my friend.” The reply came from a mouthful of sausage – clearly this conversation is guilt free.

“So, if I have a party, do I invite my friends then?” I asked – this is now curiosity – its not going to get much worse.

“No.  You don’t have any friends,” comes the response.  It could get worse.

“Who do I invite then?  Do I just sit there on my own?”

“No.  You can invite DadDad.  He’s old too.”

Nice.  Memo to self – Monkey is not to organise my future parties.  And I do have friends.  And I’m not old.

I’m not.

Early translations

This morning was one if those mornings where I had company in the form of Monkey. I like these kinds of mornings provided that it doesn’t end in a tantrum when I step out the door to go to work.

So, I’m just finishing having a wash this morning when I hear some foot steps come into the bathroom. “Daddy, I want to be comfortable, hold Charlie Bear.” pipes a little but firmly set in its mission Monkey. She wanders off for a moment and returns with a towel, which she drapes over the little pink chair that is left over from last nights toilet training marathon. She recovers Charlie Bear from me.

I’m brushing my teeth when I hear… “… now you didn’t stayed in your bed no and I’m very interpointed in you Charlie Bear.”


“You went to sleep nicely and you get one sticker on your chart.”

Safe ground here – sticker charts for bed time.

“And today you must be good and help me and not throw pammies and you will not go in the naughty corner.”

Pammies? Ok, this is two words now. I’m confused.

“Monkey? What’s interpointed?” I ask.

“When I not happy with Charlie Bear.” she says, looking me bang on in the eye.

“And what’s a pammy?”


“You told Charlie Bear not to have one, a pammy?”

“Huh Daddy? I told him not to cry and scweem.”

Paddy. Got it.

“Can I lie on the floor in the front room and you make me a sausage roll Daddy?” she asks. This is not breakfast. She wants wrapping up in a fleecy blanket tightly so that she’s like a sausage roll. I can handle that without any further explanation.

I finish getting ready, with a bit more chatter. As I’m leaving she signs to me that she loves me and to have a good day. That needed no translation.

Anatomy for beginners, from a beginner

I was just finishing getting dressed this morning when the bedroom door nudged open and in walked Monkey.  Two things to note here: she was holding her Yoyo and she didn’t knock.

“Daddy,” she said, “you have a willy.”

I’m a bit worried already.

“And I haven’t.  And Mummy hasn’t too.  And Nuzzle and Scratch don’t have one too.”

“That’s correct”, I reply.  This is difficult ground – one wrong answer and before I know it we could all be answering questions about why I can wee standing up…

“And that means we’re girls and we run the world and you don’t, no.”

Hold up – what….

The World - I don't run it.

The World - I don't run it.

She walks out, singing now… “Who runs the world, girls – who runs the world, girls, not Daddy no – who runs the world, girls…”

I’m a little confused now – was she defining that I am in the back seat when it comes to running the world?  Beyoncé has questions to answer, here.