Tag: parenting

Flamingo Famous – The Final Part

Flamingo Famous – The Final Part

by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Having achieved Flamingo Fame there wasn’t much left for Kevin to do on Friday except stand still for the pats and cuddles that rained down upon him from the many students with whom he is now on a first name basis.

Everybody continued to be delighted with Kevin, including the school crossing guy who finally asked for a photograph. Except, that is, for the principal who demonstrated great enthusiasm on day one but perhaps has softened on the whole shamozzle as the week has gone on. She apparated next to us more than once and said things like “you’re still a flamingo I see”, no doubt hopeful this general distraction may soon come to an end.

As we were leaving the school on Friday afternoon a teacher walked over to us and said Kevin had made her first week. She was new, just a month in Darwin, and Kevin had helped keep her smiling all week. She said that she was previously unaware of this Northern Territory tradition but that she liked it very much. We explained we were also new and we all agreed, if not a tradition yet, Kevin should become so.

Kevin waddled home, pleased with his week’s work; a little twisted and saggy but still most recognisably a flamingo. Over Frosty Fruits on the way home Milo, ever the accountant, noted that I had promised him a week and that technically I had only delivered four days, given the Tuesday start. My mind on the apparating principal, I rejected Milo’s position, noting the spirit of the deal had been satisfied if not the precise details.

Given this argument has worked with our eldest son exactly zero times over the 8.5 year span of his life, it was not entirely surprising to see it a) not work and b) drive him into a spontaneous decline. Sensing the moment, acknowledging the very positive week we had just had, and recognising the overarching objective of Kevin’s adventure in the first place, Nicole (my wife) adroitly stepped to the plate and agreed to wear Kevin for a final fling on Monday. The children cheered, Kevin looked up from his deflated pile, shrugged his shoulders and said “why not?” Because that’s the kind of flamingo Kevin is.

So on Monday, Nicole donned the luminescent flamingo and wore it very well. The jockey legs were still miserable and flimsy, but they were perhaps slightly better proportioned to her body. It’s still unlikely anybody really thought she had ridden a flamingo to school, but it’s more possible. We did enjoy some renewed honks from passers-by, some fresh positivity from the stew of drop-off parents, and new smirks from the boys’ teachers.

Most importantly Milo and Monty were satisfied that Kevin’s adventure had come to an end. He was gently hung on his hanger, hugged once more and flung into the cupboard. So, perhaps now there really are only 510 more Kevin journeys to go.

Although as a wise friend of mine, and father of two older boys, pointed out – if he were to try to take his more grown up boys to school dressed as a flamingo tomorrow, they would never let him take them to school again. So perhaps this is Kevin’s future; as the years drift by, the boys’ attitudes to us and the public wearing of inflatable exotic birds shift, he might morph from a comforter, an ice breaker, to a threat. If you don’t go to school today I will dress up as Kevin and walk next to you! And Kevin will be pulled out of the cupboard, mouldy, patched up with emergency electrical tape, and we will shake him at the boys as a cautionary tale, as we hustle them out the door.

Who knows.

Either way, Kevin is family now and his story is not yet done.

Rest well Kevin. Great work this week.

Kevin’s final journey

Rest well Kevin

Flamingo Famous – Part 2

Flamingo Famous – Part 2

by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Very early on day 2 the boys informed me that I had agreed to wear Kevin every day for the first week of every school term for the rest of their scholastic lives. This sounds highly dubious to me but they are adamant and I have no evidence to the contrary. It is, I must admit, plausible that I wasn’t completely listening when this matter was first discussed. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, this happens from time to time because sometimes what they want to talk about is just so desperately uninteresting.

But there is a lesson here; engage fully with your children parents, give them your fullest attention, especially when you are discussing such important matters as wearing an eye-popping, inflatable costume to their school for the rest of your life.

So Milo quickly did the maths. Given Monty has just started kindy, after this week I will only need to wear Kevin 510 more times. It seems unlikely he will go the distance, given he is so vulnerable to catastrophic deflation. So it may be wise to visit Spotlight now to procure ‘son of Kevin’, before the costuming trend of ‘human riding something comical’ comes to an end, however unlikely that may seem now.

DAY 2

So with the finish line, in fact, nowhere in sight, Day 2 began rather brightly. Still a few honks from passers by and giggles from those parents who missed Kevin on Tuesday but otherwise our neighbourhood seems altogether non-plussed today about a fully grown man wearing a flamingo costume on a Wednesday morning. It is likely they still think me odd, but the repeat performance has reframed the oddness as the type that should be pitied rather than feared.

Upon our arrival on school grounds we enjoyed far more interaction and engagement from parents, teachers and students. Those who had averted their eyes yesterday today called out “good morning Kevin”, gave him a pat and asked a number questions, most of which were variations of “why are you wearing a flamingo?” I tried out a number of responses such as “Why aren’t you wearing a flamingo?” and “What do you mean I’m wearing a flamingo?” etc, most of which were received poorly by the students, who generally responded with that blank look that only children can deliver which says “I’m smarter than you think I am, you’re an idiot and I’m not impressed” all at once.

However, eventually we were surrounded by a group of 5th and 4th graders (one of whom was in Milo’s class) who were examining Kevin’s puny legs. One of them (Ollie) asked the standard question and just as I was mustering an underwhelming answer his friend (name unknown) stepped in and said “Oh, I know. My mum told me it’s because Milo is starting a new school and so he made his dad wear it.” Ollie then looked at Milo and said “Milo, you’re flamingo famous.” Milo grinned. The system is working.

DAY 3

I can’t tell you how disinterested everybody is in Kevin today. He is decidedly commonplace. Only the dogs are still titillated by our presence as we walk to school. The plovers who foolishly build their nests in the middle of school ovals for some unknown ridiculous reason don’t swoop us. The occupants of the passing Hiluxes and Landcruiser Troop Carriers don’t even steal a look sideways as they pass. The only interaction we received on the walk was a “sick ride” from a returning parent, which we enjoyed.

However, it must be noted that Milo skipped some of the way singing “I’m flamingo famous” which warmed Kevin’s plastic heart.

By the end of the day Kevin’s batteries were running low. His head was lolling back and forth like he had some sort of Flamingo vertigo, his healthy rump was emaciated, and those tiny helpless legs were scrunched up like deflated wedding balloons. We’ll need some fresh batteries tomorrow morning before Kevin’s final adventure… until April, apparently.

Waiting for Monty

Flamingo Famous – Part 1

Flamingo Famous – Part 1

by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 4 Comments

There is no amount of parental guilt that cannot be expunged by wearing an inflatable flamingo costume for a week.

This week the boys started their new school in Darwin. Milo in particular was not well pleased with this life development and so he, with the enthusiastic support of his giggling brother, devised something of a quid pro quo. Like an elderly resident negotiating an above-market price during a compulsory house acquisition, Milo secured a silver lining to his gathering, monsoonal storm clouds; those being a new school, in a new city, in a new state, in an entirely new climate.

For the first week of school I must drop them off and pick them up dressed as a bright pink flamingo.

Now, before we go on I must describe the outfit to you, because it is important. Inflatable, it is in the popular style of a human riding something, or something riding or carrying a human. That is, I am enveloped by a bright pink inflatable plastic flamingo. My legs slide into the costume and are designed to appear as the flamingo’s legs. There are separate, utterly disproportionate legs that dangle helplessly either side of the flamingo’s bulging body. Those withered little legs are supposed to be mine, such that I am riding the flamingo, whose name is Kevin.

Kevin has some nice flourishes; a little floppy yellow crown, a rather flamboyant pink tu-tu and a gold beak which matches the shiny tassels on my paralyzed legs. The inflation mechanism is actually rather ingenious. Lodged in Kevin’s back is a battery-driven fan pump which operates constantly, sucking air into the pink plastic sack which, when fully inflated, forms Kevin’s body. A simple tie mechanism around the waist keeps most of the air in, although his face and beak deflate immediately whenever any air escapes, giving him the appearance of a drunk, or a narcoleptic.

Anyway, the thought processes here are very interesting and, I think, far more sophisticated than simply the hilarity of forcing your dad to dress like a flamingo for a week might first appear. Or perhaps I’m over-thinking it.

Their request is definitely not punitive; they know well-enough that dressing like an exotic, brightly-coloured bird in public is leisure for me. There is definitely an element of something to look forward to. On the last evening of the holidays Milo morosely sobbed that the only thing that could make him happy the next day was Kevin. The flamingo may also be shielding or distracting them from the understandable trials of being the new guy; Milo needed to wee during the walk to school but would not let Monty and I walk on and let him catch up (which would not be a problem because the flamingo is not easy to walk in) – “wait for me or I won’t get to walk with the flamingo” he yelled desperately.

But I think the most ingenious aspect of Milo’s plan is that Kevin is an unmissable, unexplainable, unforgettable year 3 ice breaker. There are limitless ways this conversation can shake out, here’s a few:

“Hi Milo, it’s nice to meet you. Is your dad insane?”

“Yes, I think he is. Should we have lunch together?”

“Yes I would like that.”

…

“Hi, nice to meet you. Did you come to school with a flamingo?”

“Yup.”

“What’s his name?”

“Kevin. My name’s Monty.”

“Hi Monty, I’m Indi – do you want to paint something with me?”

…

“Hi Milo. Boy, that flamingo costume your dad’s wearing must be a real sweat box. Welcome to the tropics. How are you finding it so far? Would you like to share one of my lamington fingers?”

etc etc

And it must be said Kevin worked a treat on day one. Here are some highlights:

  • myriad honks from twin-cab utes on the walk to school;
  • the school crossing guy neighed at us and then said he thought I was a pink horse;
  • countless smiles, pokes, prods and slaps from confused but delighted children;
  • one child asked if I was a big sausage;
  • a smiling Darwinian yelled “that’s a bloody ripper” out his wound-down window;
  • The boys both smiled, giggled and held their heads up high the whole way to school;
  • Monty cuddled Kevin first, then me, at the end of the day; and finally…

After we had dropped Monty we walked with Milo towards his classroom. On the way we noticed a local news station filming inside the school for the evening news. I spotted the school principal and went to change course away from the camera. She walked directly up to me and said “No, what you need to do is walk in front of the camera’s view.” And so we did. Welcome to Darwin.

More to come.

Kevin

An ode to Monty at five

An ode to Monty at five

by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 1 Comment

Monty’s library selections last week were as follows:

  • The Bird Atlas by Barbara Taylor
  • Handbook of Australian, New Zealand and Antarctic Birds by PJ Higgins
  • Encyclopaedia of aquarium and pond fish by David Alderton
  • The sausage roll maker by Sophia Young
  • Finding Australian birds: a field guide to birding locations by Tim Dolby
  • A beginner’s guide to terrarium gardening: succulents, air plants, cacti, moss, and more! by Sueko Katsuji
  • Bug: the ultimate gardener’s guide to organic pest control by Tim Marshall

Yes, at five he has developed a wide range of interests and hobbies suitable for a forty-three year old.

With Christmas on the horizon Monty’s mind has turned to what treasures he might receive. Thus far he has humbly requested the following: a terrarium building kit, a guide book for building ponds and a recipe book that might teach him how to make curries.

Yes, Monty had burgeoning cooking skills; he loves to experiment in the kitchen and the ‘Monty salad’ is famously polarizing in our family – cucumber (roughly chopped), ripe tomatoes (diced), 100s and 1000s and finished off with native violets freshly picked. The perfect accompaniment to any meal.

Monty’s palate matches his hobbies; he guzzles home-made kombucha, loves coffee foam and enjoys nothing more than tucking into a big bowl of mushrooms.

But he has a restraint uncharacteristic of a five year old. Last Halloween he Trick or Treated for one and a half streets before declaring “I have enough” and walking home. Half-muffins are routinely left on plates ‘for later’ and a box of Tic-Tacs will last all year.

He shows no such restraint with his hair however, which is currently pink with a long plait dangling down over his face. His hair, he declares, will not be cut until it is well beyond his bottom. Recently, while swimming in the local pool, a girl paddled over to Monty and asked him why his hair is pink; “because it looks awesome” he replied and paddled away. Touché.

Monty loves birds and currently goes nowhere without his ‘Birds of Australia’ guidebook under his arm and his binoculars slung around his neck. Whilst visiting his grandma last week Monty pointed out the birds printed on her dining room chairs are not Sulphur Crested Cockatoos (as has always been presumed) but are in fact the lesser known Major Mitchell’s variety.

He loves sloths, puzzles, National Geographic documentaries, eating herbs and kale directly from their plants like a goat, and his favourite records are (in order): The Kids are Coming (Tones and I), Graceland (Paul Simon), Welcome to the Madhouse (Tones and I).

Monty does not want to learn how to ride a bike. We have been out together four times with his new bike, evocatively named the GT Stomper. On each occasion he has hoped the bike might propel itself forward without the requirement for him to pedal. On our last such fruitless effort I displayed some sub-par parenting and, in a frustrated tone, said something to the effect of “why did we buy you this bike if you don’t want to ride it?” As Monty wandered off in the direction of the car he calmly called over his shoulder “I dont know. I didn’t ask for it.” Which is completely true.

This is a hip dude at the peak of his game who knows what he likes, what he doesn’t like, and what he has no time for. All critical life attributes that most of us take decades to work through.

He’s off to a great start.

Home foils

Match Report 2: Hellratz vs Wyld Stallyns

Match Report 2: Hellratz vs Wyld Stallyns

by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

The Hellratz started the match with 4 players, a classic Alpha move. In fact for a brief period there were more grandparents in attendance than players. Milo arrived 5th and so strolled directly into the starting 5 (after hugging his grandma).

Hellratz were without Stretch for this one, but with the Wyld Stallyns small, slashing line-ups the analytics probably would have pointed to extended rest for the lanky rim protector anyway. In his place we welcomed back Smilez, another junior member of the squad growing in confidence week by week. Don’t let the perpetual smile fool you, he is ready to do whatever is necessary to get a Hellratz W, including cuddling the opposition.

The most noteworthy aspect of the Stallyns unit in the early going was their coach. Some people might say his approach was somewhat more direct and forceful than is required for the world of under 10s basketball.. But those people would be losers. Coach Stallyn knows where he wants his squad to be and Coach Stallyn is prepared to make the aggressive, outlandish, arguably abusive public pronouncements required to get them there. Coach Stallyn was wearing red bike shorts under his other, also athletic shorts and a Woody Harrelson-esque tank top which suggested he had just come from his game, or was on his way there after dealing with the upstart Hellratz. Although I fear it was neither.

The Hellratz quickly established their groove, raining buckets on the Stallyns like there had been an explosion in a nearby bucket factory which caused many of those buckets to be flung into the air, only to shortly thereafter rain down on people standing around in the nearish vicinity.

Although I did not attend training this week in either a journalistic or ‘hanging around waiting for my son’ capacity, it is clear the theme of the week was pivot foot. One, two, sometimes seven times the Hellratz propped and pivoted, this way and that, flouting the three second rule, bamboozling the Stallyns. “Take it! Take the ball Keith!” Coach Stallyn would yell with increasing ferocity. But Keith could not take the ball. He slapped helplessly at air as Smoov and The Big Fundamental pivoted around, sometimes in a full circle, before making the perfect pass for The Magic Man or Pocket Lightning to finish in the lane.

Towards the end of the second half Milo found himself the recipient of one such pass; a crisp, wrist snapper from Smoov. In a classic example of Squircle Offence Milo was perfectly positioned somewhere towards the middle of the key with his back to the hoop.

He was wide. open.

In one smooth motion Milo spun around and caressed the ball into the air. Up, up it went with an atypical sideways rotation. The crowd gasped, Milo held his breath, Coach Stallyn yelled and then, just as it reached the climax of its journey, I am pretty sure the ball looked at me and winked before splashing through the twine.

Well, the roof of the stadium literally turned into confetti and tumbled down upon us all as the multiple grandmas roared in unison, the disgruntled siblings looked up from there ipads and smiled and even Coach Stallyn nodded with a you did good look of respect. The rest of the Ratz, intuitively understanding the gravity of the moment turned towards Milo and celebrated with him, The Big Fundamental even reaching down to give him a cuddle at the free throw line. Delightful stuff.

The second half saw the Stallyns increasingly ignore their coach’s carefully considered directives “Run! Make Space! Help him! Spread out! Run!”, and they did so to their detriment. Due to their lack of running, space making, helping, spreading and running the Hellratz ran riot. It must be said Milo missed several defensive assignments in the second half due to his skipping and double arm windmilling but he can be forgiven for this week only. He will need to quickly put that swish behind him and look to next week as the match-ups get tougher, and the coaching more nuanced.

One small postscript; in the dying stages, with the game well under control there was a moment of exasperation between The Baby Faced Assassin, not known for gesticulation or indignation, and Magic Man. Magic, dribbling at full speed on a fast break missed an opportunity to feed the ball to the Assassin for an easy lay-up and instead faded out of bounds and hurled the ball into the side of the backboard. Magic Man, to his credit, acknowledged his error, but this is something we will need to keep an eye on in coming days and months.

Final score, Hellratz 26 – Wyld Stallyns 10

Subscribe for more Hellratz updates as the summer season hots up.

Match Report 1: Hellratz vs The Deadly Dojo

Match Report 1: Hellratz vs The Deadly Dojo

by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Welcome everybody to another season of Hellratz basketball. The team looks rested and feisty after a short break and ready to take on the challenges that await them in this shortened summer season. There’s no doubt the Hellratz surprised a lot of pundits during the long, arduous winter season, during which undershirts and in-game tracksuit pants abounded, but there will be no surprises this time around. Everybody knows what the Hellratz are about and the whole league will be out to knock them from their lofty perch.

Critically the front office has done a wonderful job of keeping the group together so we will be running it back as they say, with the same line-up that the loyal group of sideline-parents and disgruntled younger siblings in attendance against their will have come to know and love. By way of quick recap here is the unit on hand for round 1:

The Magic Man – Audacious, competitive. Never saw a shot he didn’t like, or couldn’t make.

The Big Fundamental – All foot-work and focus. Not afraid to put his body on the line for the Hellratz.

Baby-faced Assassin – Smoothest jump-shot in the comp. Heart rate oscillates between 55 and 57 bpm.

Smoov – Sideline parent favourite. Effective, unpredictable style. Hyper cool flowing hair.

Stretch – Intimidating length, calm and reliable. A feared inside presence.

Pocket Lightning – His age is a mystery. Legend has it not yet 5, but absolute electricity across the pine.

The Boss – Representative player and coach. She demands excellence and receives it.

The Prodigy – Assistant coach, mentor, hype-guy.

Milo – The protagonist of this story, and one of the junior squad members. Given the Hellratz rookie squad is under 10s Milo has a full 5 more seasons to compete at this level. He and Pocket Lightning are undoubtedly the future of this franchise and, pending injury and general disinterest, could form a special combination for years to come.

Match Report

Well, the Deadly Dojo looked sharp in the warmups. Despite their legendary focus and professionalism, the Hellratz couldn’t help but take an envious look down the court. Really nice Dikembe-era Hawks-like uniforms, and multiple flash haircuts including undercuts, mini-mullets and arguably even a squirt or two of hair gel. The Hellratz unis are mining-industry orange interspersed inexplicably with multiple shades of blue. Yuck.

Smoov aside (whose style is irrepressible), top to bottom utilitarian haircuts under the Hellratz hoop. Deadly Dojo won the early instagram battle.

Once the ball was tipped (or gently passed in from the sideline as is the practice of our times) it was clear there is to be no season 2 hangover for the Hellratz. The Magic Man took over early, relentlessly dribbling this way and that through the entire Deadly Dojo squad, launching high arching bombs from all corners, delivering his signature ‘come and get it’ hand-gesture celebration. The Baby-Face Assassin, looking passive and possibly asleep swished everything he touched, involved team-mates with crisp passing and suffocated his man on defence.

When he wasn’t comparing heights with Milo (he has grown a little in the off season) Pocket Lightning was everywhere, leaving little tracks of fire behind him as he burned around the court, stealing, dribbling and generally terrorising everybody. Pocket Lightning’s signature moment came in the period shortly after the half time siren had sounded. Deadly Dojo’s power forward had not heard the siren, was delighted to see a wide open lane appear in front of him and dribbled apace towards the hoop. Pocket Lightning, giving up three quarters of a body length in height, pursued and harassed him for 15 seconds, achieving a held-ball while everybody else had already sat down for half-time water and Minecraft chat.

Interestingly, not content to rest on their season 1 success, The Boss and The Prodigy have implemented two significant tactical amendments to the summer game plan. Firstly, in the half court the Hellratz have adopted the legendary 90s Bulls-era triangle offence. However, the structure has been astutely modified to better suit the Hellratz style of play. Rather than a triangle they form more of a flattened squircle around the three point line which moves and oozes this way and that until somebody decides to jack up a shot. Borderline unstoppable.

Secondly the Hellratz have taken on a straight line Uruk-hai inspired defence, with devastating effect. They form a straight line, spread out across the width of the the court just their side of half-way. There they lie in wait for the opposition to dribble tentatively forward. As soon as the poor ball handler crosses that half-way line there is no going back. The Hellratz descend, hollering and waving their arms around, and amidst the ordered chaos the ball-handler is overwhelmed, generally flinging it to The Magic Man or Pocket Lightning who finish things off at the other end. It is like a half-court trap with more terror, and may revolutionize basketball.

Well, the second half was more one way traffic. The Big Fundamental took over as he usually does when energy begins to flag and discipline evaporates. Fundamentals deliver in the 39th minute as they do in the 1st. Jump shot, lay-up, jump shot, including a beautiful swish from 15 feet into the opponent’s hoop. The Big Fundamental was somewhat dismayed by his oversight but he needn’t have been, it was yet another glorious display of technique and focus.

Any opportunities that the Deadly Dojo briefly identified in the second half were hunted down by the prowling pair of Stretch and Smoov, and snuffed out by superior length and athleticism.

A final note on our protagonist. It would appear Milo has de-prioritised tucking his arms inside his singlet for warmth this season and is starting to deliver on his significant potential as a feared defensive stopper. His focus and increased confidence were notable, involving himself with timely passing and smothering, demonic efforts on the defensive end. Milo scored two baskets in his debut season and is hungry for more this summer. Based on what we saw in game one, Milo would be a strong overs bet and the future is bright.

Final score, Hellratz 33 – Deadly Dojo 10

Which shows length and switchability on the wings will beat sweet haircuts and classy uniforms every day of the week.

Subscribe for more Hellratz updates as the summer season hots up.

Parenting is not a spectator sport

Parenting is not a spectator sport

by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

People choose to take on the role of full-time parent, long or short-term, for all sorts of reasons. People are also lured back to their careers for all sorts of reasons; money, boredom, stage of life, morning teas. One important reason that I think is not discussed or acknowledged enough is the basic human need for compliments.

Children are generally not great at delivering positive feedback. The meals I deliver day in and day out to my boys are always critically evaluated. As they chew, they hold their little fists out perpendicular to their bodies like mini Caesars of Rome. My teeth clench, my eyes widen in anticipation and my heart sinks as their little thumbs plunge downwards. Sometimes I am rewarded with a horizontal thumb and very occasionally I get one that briefly hovers around 10 o’clock before settling back at the 9. My dancing is the subject of derision and scorn, Monty now thinks I am only the third best Lego builder in the house (he is not right about that) and last month Milo said I look ‘okay’ but I would be much better looking if I had hair.

As for adult feedback, I assure you the only time adults-in-public ever notice your parenting is when your child has opened a box of spaghetti and is making pasta angels on the floor of aisle 3, or when they hold up the ice cream queue by asking for 5 samples, including the rainbow twice… just to be sure.

No, during the day your moments of parental pride are almost always achieved alone. Yes! Negotiated Milo’s birthday party list down by 4 without causing any playground fallout. Yes! Managed to brush Monty’s hair while convincing him it will not impact his long-term ambition to have dreadlocks. Yes! Convinced Milo for the 7th straight week to go to Coding Class while he begged for a week off only to hear what a great time he had afterwards. Yes! Super-glued Monty’s water bottle lid back together for the 3rd time. Yes! Found and returned 12 Minecraft books to the library the day before they are overdue. Yes! Resolved an argument over the last banana by eating it myself.

Fist bumping yourself gets boring, and your knuckles get sore.

The workplace has all sorts of structures and systems in place to ensure people are regularly given feedback and praise for their work. Admittedly these compliments are often bland and meaningless, but that steady, nurturing flow can usually be relied upon in some form, and it is good for morale. But expecting or delivering compliments for positive, creative, effective or just brave parenting is largely taboo. Parenting is seen as an expected, almost universal skill, and the day-to-day grind of its execution nothing remarkable. To receive thanks or acknowledgement is one thing. But to receive a compliment for your skill or perseverance is, I think, something else altogether.

Last week I was standing at the supermarket check-out with Monty, loading our groceries onto the conveyor and discussing the relative merits of chicken wings versus chicken thighs, while I simultaneously rebuffed his varied requests for chocolate, Chupa Chups and New Idea Magazines from the evil end-cap of temptation. Mid-load I looked up at the 18 year old check-out chap, who was sporting a nice wispy moustache and a passive expression (as is the style du jour), to say hello and without warning he said to me “you’re a really good dad.”

“Thanks” I said. But, caught off guard, I had teared up a little. He noticed this, found it weird, and we continued the rest of the transaction in silence. But his compliment had lodged itself in my cerebral cortex, and was perhaps more resonant than any I have received during 20 years of structured feedback sessions in the office. As Monty and I walked back to our bicycle, I squeezed his hand and grinned.

Parenting is confusing, confounding, confuddling and sometimes even contorting. It is a constant work-in-progress, with each day filled by numerous little wins and a roughly equal number of little losses. It is generally impossible to know if you are winning. I think therefore that when we witness good (or even slightly better than competent) parenting we should all be more comfortable delivering compliments; to friends, family and to strangers with children in the airport security queue. Especially to strangers with children in the airport security queue.

All humans need compliments; and perhaps at certain moments white-knuckled, solo child-wranglers need them more than most. So, if an opportunity arises, be free and loose with a parental compliment. It will be more impactful than you think.

Thanks Bradley
Half-assed answers to reasonable questions

Half-assed answers to reasonable questions

by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 2 Comments

When your baby is tiny they ask no questions. As they grow into something slightly more human-like they begin to notice the inconsistent, confusing and weird world around them and look to you, their all-knowing oracle, for guidance and explanation.

Their first questions are like this; “Daddy, where is my foot?”

You say “oh my darling”, show them, maybe give it a little tickle, and feel smug that you know where all the major limbs are on a human body and they do not.

Then without warning, one day, while eating a Cruskit with peanut butter… “Daddy, what’s a soul?”

“Huh?” you say, spitting out the bit of Cruskit that you had fished up off the ground absentmindedly and popped into your mouth. And so it begins, the deeply humbling realisation that you know almost nothing about anything.

For the last few months I have been noting down the quite reasonable questions Monty has been asking me, questions for which a fully-formed adult human should have a reasonable response, and questions for which I have, unfortunately, been providing entirely half-assed answers. Here they are:

“Daddy, why does the teaspoon float on the water?”

“Well, you know it’s because the void space in the spoon is displacing more volume of water than, you know, it’s own volume. Yeah, so, surface tension. You know?”

…

“Daddy, how does a sleep apnea device work?”

“Well, it gives you more oxygen which helps you sleep.”

“How does that help you sleep?”

“Well, oxygen is pretty good isn’t it? I mean, particularly good for sleep right? So, that’s how it helps you sleep.”

…

“Daddy, what is that little plastic circle thing on your COVID mask?”

“It’s a filter.”

“What is the rest of the mask?”

“Oh, that’s also a filter.”

“Well, what’s the plastic bit for?”

“Um, that’s to get air in… or out.”

“Right.”

…

“Daddy, why are prawn tails good for chickens to eat?”

“Well, calcium. Yeah, it’s the calcium in the prawn tails and that’s good for chickens. Pretty sure that’s what it is.”

…

“Daddy, why are those clouds so low?”

“Umm, it depends on atmospheric conditions… you know, temperature, pressure and maybe, you know, altitude.”

…

“Daddy, why is the iced tea so foamy?”

“Well that’s because you shook it up and, umm, sent all the air bubbles out of it and, umm, into the foam.”

…

“Daddy, what’s that slippery ultrasound stuff for?”

“Umm, well, it helps the machine see through your skin I guess, or helps the wand slide back and forth. One of those… or both.”

…

“Daddy, how does a tornado get formed?”

“Low pressure. Yup, the low pressure forms a cone thing, with wind. And that’s a tornado.”

…

“Daddy, how do frogs breathe through their skin?”

“Well, it’s all about permeability isn’t it? Wait, frogs breathe through their skin?”

…

“Daddy, what was before the Big Bang?”

“Huh? … oh hey, do you want ice cream?”

…

More to come.

E does not in fact equal MC x 2
The irresistible trap of mini-golf parenting

The irresistible trap of mini-golf parenting

by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I challenge you to play mini-golf with a child and not give them tips on their game. Like singing the chorus to Informer by Snow, or saying no to an arancini ball, it’s impossible.

My brother and I, who would both like to think of ourselves as relaxed, non-obsessive dads, recently played a round with our four boys, and by the third hole we had both fallen into the irresistible trap of mini-golf parenting.

The problem is little children suck at mini-golf. They hold the club around the wrong way, they constantly forget if they are left, right or one handed, they swing wildly and aggressively with absolute disregard for Newton’s Second Law of Motion, they mix their grips up so their hands are crossed over like they’re in a straight-jacket, they push the ball along like they are brooming leaves, they constantly stand directly in front of each other, they take absolute liberties with the ‘club-head away from the edge’ rule, and sometimes it just seems they have completely forgotten the basic premise of the game. They suck.

And an adult can only abide such mini-golfing atrocities for so long.

We restrained ourselves for three holes but eventually a supportive parent seeks to correct and improve via unsolicited feedback; in a gentle and constructive manner of course.

“Hey, maybe look at the ball while you are swinging aggressively in its direction.”

“Have you thought about pointing the club away from your foot?”

“Weren’t you right-handed a minute ago?”

“Woah, probably would be easier to hit the ball if your hands weren’t crossed over like an octopus.”

“Why are you standing on top of the concrete Statue of Liberty?”

“Isn’t the hole that way?”

“Did you not see your cousin standing directly in front of you as you were bringing your club head back like a champion wood chopper?”

“Did you not see your cousin bringing back his club head like a champion wood chopper? Why are you standing directly in front of him?”

“Do you remember the basic objective of this game?”

“Do any of you care about your handicaps?”

We told ourselves the feedback was for them, not us. They would certainly enjoy themselves more if they played a little better, right? Then they would have more fun! Yes, fun is the objective. There is no chance any of them are going to join the Vegas mini-golf tour with its lucrative powdered orange juice endorsements and its all-you-can-eat frankfurter buffets, right? So what else is there but fun?

Well, they did not appreciate our feedback.

By the 5th hole they were grumbling and telling us to be quiet and by the 7th we had a full mini-golf mutiny on our hands.

“Yes I prefer playing with one hand!”

“No I don’t want to line up my club head perpendicular to my shoulders!”

“You’re not a mini-golf professional anyway so what do you know?!”

“You are the worst dads we have ever had!”

etc etc

To avoid a complete walk off we agreed to withhold our constructive feedback for the rest of the round, and for the most part we did. We focused on our own scores and passively watched them bumbling around the course; spanking their balls onto the footpath, brooming this way and that for 12s on par 2s, periodically whacking each other in the shins, helicoptering their clubs around single-handed, playing holes backwards and some of them not at all. Not once did any of them even attempt one of the 7 classic putting grips as laid out in the PGA handbook.

Their scores were atrocious and barely warranted tallying. But I must admit they did appear to be having a lot of fun.

So, now I can’t shake the slightly uneasy feeling that my mini-golf feedback may not in fact be confined to the hallowed astro-turf greens of the Holey Moley links. It is decidedly possible that we are constantly dispensing enthusiastic, perhaps over-earnest advice that is at best unnecessary, and at worst unwanted. It is possible we are diminishing their fun.

It seems unreasonable and unfair that parenting should be so complicated, that even our best-intentioned efforts could prove counter-productive. So what are us parents to do?

I think, in fact, that simply being there on the mini-golf fairway with them is the best our children can hope for, and the most we should expect of ourselves. And if they choose a lifetime of mini-golf mediocrity, and they never get to taste the sweetness of a free frankfurter buffet, then that is their misguided choice to make.

Mini-golf mutiny
A rugba league road trip with a 5 year old

A rugba league road trip with a 5 year old

by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I don’t know why I support the Canberra Raiders, I think it’s a childhood disease of the blood. Objectively, there is not much to like about this life choice: disappointment, cold fingers and luminescent colours that look good with nothing. But I do, and I fear I have passed this disease onto my five year old. And like all genetic family quirks that we hand down, I feel a confused combination of shame, regret and elation.

Monty’s first Raiders game was about a month ago. We sat in the sun, the Raiders scored constantly, there were flame throwers, a big horn going off all the time, the lady behind us gave Monty a voucher for free chips, green wigs and fairy floss. We even had an ice cream. This was an inauthentic experience and, I fear, a desperately dangerous manner in which to commence a relationship with the ‘Green Machine’.

So last week when I was discussing the possibility of travelling to Parramatta for the Qualifying Final Monty’s ears pricked up. “Ooh is that rugba league dad?” he asked, using the correct pronunciation, “the Green Machine? I’d like to come!” Well, what can you say to that? I asked Milo if he too would like to come. He looked at us both with a smirk that said enjoy yourself losers, replied “No” and returned to his book.

So off we went; a bright Friday afternoon full of promise. We packed light to remain nimble – 12 Dr Seuss books, the educational boardgame ‘Sum Swamp’, two soft blankets, three stuffed toys (Slothy, Grogu and Blue Bear), A3 paper in a variety of colours, and two lime green jumpers.

We arrived mid-afternoon at a salubrious purveyor of temporary accommodation in central Parramatta, our dwelling for the evening. I will protect the modesty of this establishment by withholding its name but certainly crimes have been committed there; both reported and un-reported. As we opened the door we were greeted with what I initially thought to be the whiff of stale cigarettes, but then soon after more accurately identified as stale urine. All of the various door and drawer handles came loose when you pulled gently on them, the beds were so concave you could play that marble game where it spins around and around endlessly, we had a beautiful view of the carpark and I wouldn’t even let Monty set foot in the bathroom. But he loved it.

“Ooh I love our hotel dad. I think this is the best hotel we have been in. Oh, my bed’s better because I have a beautiful view out the window (NB. of the carpark) but yours is better because you are in front of the TV etc etc.” Which of course goes to show, all of life’s rich experiences are deeply contextual.

We played some hide and seek, which is stressful when you don’t want your child to touch any of the soft furnishings. I terminated the game after I tried to hide under the ‘desk’ and it collapsed – like when you have half assembled some IKEA furniture using only the dowels – and we struck out to find food and rugba league.

After a quick meal on Church Street we joined the various lime and yellow tributaries that were flowing together to form a stream towards the stadium. Monty was well below the surface of this stream and clung tight to my hand. The sun was dropping and soon Monty, with his unique perspective, noticed the giant fruit bats that inhabit the skies of Sydney every evening in the warmer months, swooping and gliding. Captivated, he began to count as they drifted past, eyes glued to the sky, and the next time he looked down we were standing at the foot of the gleaming, disco-lit stadium. “woah – this is different to Canberra Stadium dad!” he exclaimed. Umm, yup.

We navigated our way up the stairs and through the cavernous walkways, Monty skipping ahead to explore and steal views of the grass and the lights. Eventually we arrived at our seats and I quickly realised a key flaw in my planning. I had purchased seats in the front row, which also happened to be directly behind a television camera. Monty could not see over the barrier without assistance, and even then the camera obscured 90% of our view. We were banking on multiple tries in the left corner, I mean right in the corner, to ensure we had a view of anything. Parramatta was running our direction in the first half, and those who happened to watch the game will know that we got our wish.

As we approached half time Monty, who had been on my lap for an hour or more, was less sitting on and more clinging to me. He looked somewhat overstimulated, and I could see he was starting to tune into the general restlessness of the great green mass that swayed around us. “It’s a bit noisy dad.” he said. I agreed and asked whether he would like to go home at half time. After a moment of consideration he agreed that might be a good idea because afterall we could still watch it on TV, or maybe Hey Duggy (which he charmingly calls Hey Doggy), or maybe read Dr Seuss.

So as half time arrived I levered us up out of our seat, enjoying the exquisite sensation of blood once again flowing unencumbered through my femoral arteries, and picked our way through the crowd. Around us middle aged men had taken to their feet, looking down forlornly, self consciously smoothing their jumpers with their hands as they wondered if lime green was, in fact, as flattering as they had always believed it to be.

The bats had evidently arrived where they were going, so the skies were clear as were strolled back to our luxurious dwelling. Only once were we the recipient of drive-by yelling “better luck next year!”, but I sensed at least a sprinkling of genuine sympathy to it; I think that’s what you get when you are accompanied by a little green person with angelic blonde ringlets.

Back at the hotel I was not surprised to learn we only had three television stations, and none of them were showing the rugba league. Probably for the best. So instead we watched Ben and Holly’s Little Kingdom (I am 100% sure the first time it has ever been enjoyed in that room), read some Dr Seuss, brushed teeth (I brought the toothbrush to him) and fell very swiftly to sleep.

A rugba league roadtrip for the ages.

A somewhat obscured view