The Uncool Dad addresses the pressures of being a child
A few weeks ago, the Missus and I were walking past the British Museum on our way home from visiting my parents in Fitzrovia. End of term was fast approaching for the kids and we were having a conversation about what to do with them over the summer holidays. Now being a few weeks back, I can barely remember the full details of the conversation (to be honest, I can barely remember if I had my daily movements this morning let alone a conversation we had four weeks ago) but it was about how other parents at the school make their minions do extra lessons, extra tuition and the mysterious art of Kumon (what the fuck is Kumon?!) outside of the hours that they already put in at school. I don’t know about your minis but after a full day at school, our younglings are cream crackered!
Continue reading “Letting Children Be Children”
The Uncool Dad’s thoughts on the inevitable and impending conversation with his kids
My eldest son is 12. 13 this year. Next month actually. He’s a handsome chap (despite a terrible hair do) so I regularly take the piss and tease him by asking him about the girlfriend that he doesn’t have (supposedly), much to the dismay of my sister and the missus who think I’m going to give him a complex. It’s just a bit of banter. But he’s a cheeky bugger so I let him have it.
After putting it on him for a bit, he’ll usually try to shift the heat onto his sister by bringing up a boy in her class. But Daddy knows all about him.. Continue reading “Having “The Talk” with your kids”
Caution: Cheesey 80’s Music Reference Points Ahead..
Despite having this blog up for only a little while, I’ve stepped away and came back to it a few times already. ‘Time After Time’, I’d come back to writing and would feel ‘Under Pressure’, especially after reading other people’s blogs to create a decent logo to slap across the top of my one’s forehead.
A lifetime ago at the tender age of three, my parents used to own a greasy spoon cafe where I would stand on tables and sing “Bad” by Michael Jackson. Kick, point and d*ck grab included. I have no recollection of this although my Dad will religiously tell the story to anyone that will listen. “Every Breath You Take’ doesn’t have to be to bust my balls, Dad 🙈😂 Maybe it’s ‘The Power Of Love’ that makes him want to talk about me regardless of if he’s embarrassing the crap out of me.
Rewind to two week ago when I was arsing about on Instagram ‘All Night Long’ when an image of the “Bad” album cover popped up and instantly something clicked. Michael Jackson Bad.. The Uncool Dad.. hmmm. Continue reading “I Went Back To The 80’s For A New Blog Logo!”
The Uncool Dad and family hit up Northala Fields for some Hill-Fili time
A couple of weeks ago I went to visit my older two kids. As you might have guessed, they don’t live with me and due to ‘logistical difficulties’, I haven’t been able to see them much recently. Flanked by the Missus, our youngest little panda and my sister (our pilot for the day), we took them out to IKEA in Wembley for some meatballs (not the best meatballs but the kids love them).
Being an on the fly visit, I hadn’t planned what we were going to do after we had gotten our munch on. My sis recalled all of the times we had driven past Hangar Lane, seen a bunch of tall hills and been like “WTF IS THAT?!”
HILL-FILI TIME, THAT’S WHAT!
Continue reading “The Hills Are Aliiiive.. With The Sound Of The Uncool Dad Complaining”
There’s bloggers that win awards – they’re consistent in what they do, they slog it out and constantly grind to put the best into their blogs/vlogs. These guys post two to four times a week, they’re always up to date with the latest in parenting trends and happenings. Some of them even get paid for it!
And then there’s writers like myself. So self-conscious about what to share that I end up over-sharing at times if not at all, fussing too much about quality over quantity that I end up not writing for almost two months (ok to be fair, I’ve been frickin’ busy with fundraising with the Missus for charity and helping her organise her brand Three Little Pandas’ first birthday party whilst cramming in end of tax year admin and.. well, you know.. working and keeping the kids alive and shit). In the time since my last post, I was also pretty ill before we travelled abroad (and lo and behold, I’m ill again since we got back). Trying to write when you’re ill is an absolute bitch. The long and short of it is that I don’t deserve an award of any type for writing by my standards.
Anyway, I’ve won a fucking award!!! Continue reading “Mystery Blogger Award”
The Uncool Dad Recounts The Birth Of His Youngest Son In Tribute To His Missus
Some weeks back on the 8th of March was Women’s Appreciation Day. In all honesty, I completely missed it but it was a day to celebrate the lives and importance of women, the progress made to advance equality for women and to assess the challenges that still remain.
I do appreciate my Missus. She’s easily the best thing that’s ever happened to me (yep, even better than new Star Wars, the return of the Original Nike Air Max 1 shape, Calpol syringes and Pot Noodle). She gives me drive to get out of bed in the morning. And yes, dealing with her can be like stepping on lego barefooted sometimes but I couldn’t imagine life without her. Most importantly, she’s strong enough to put up with my bullshit (and there’s a lot of bullshit).
So this week, I’ve decided to write about the birth of our youngest as promised in a previous post. Continue reading “Oi, Your Mum!”
“Gahhhhhhhh.. I swear, the next person who thinks it’s ok to jump across the front of the pram is gonna get their ankles taken out”, I cursed with my teeth clenched whilst pushing the pram along the busy streets of Central London. The missus however, shakes her head, flashes that smile that I fell in love with before chuckling to herself then linking her arm with mine.
Clearly I’m over-reacting and she knows it. But she’s better than I am – things like this don’t really bother her. I on the other hand am all about etiquette for the most part. Like a typical Londoner, I hate my personal space being invaded. When my son is buckled into his pram, it becomes an extension of me, so jumping over the front of my son’s ride let alone getting too close to it leaves a taste in my mouth worse than drinking orange juice too soon after brushing your teeth. Continue reading “The Ballache of Pushing a Pram Around Central London”