Twas a great day in fairness. Kids up at 5.30, duck dinner in the in laws in cork around 4 pm.
Got the 12 days of xmasbrew dog box beers. Up Limerick.
Roll on the Tipp match next year TFK abu
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We go again
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Day 3
Oldest lad wakes up roaring crying at 5am.
Inconsolable, says he has sore mouth.
Sticking fingers down throat as he bawls.
Wakes up younger lad with his howls.
We decide everyone will get up.
Older lad still roaring but complies based on promise of “‘medicine & toys.”
Give him a Kate McCann style, double dose of Junior Broncho Stop.
Begins to calm down and distracted by toys.
Intermittently sulking and saying “sore mouth”.
Talking to life partner about what to do.
Will we need to ring care doc?
Will we he be referred for a Covid test?
Decide to see if he’ll have some weetabix nicely softened by milk or is his throat banjaxed?
Pop him off my lap to my life partner on play mat and head to kitchen.
Getting weetabix when I hear an unmerciful roar from life partner.
Turns out “sore mouth” was more like “sore belly”.
He’s projectile vomited into her hair, all over the play mat (thankfully some rubbery type material) and on a load of children’s books. Lucky escape for me though.
It’s 6.35am.
He’s almost immediately fine.
“Mouth no sore now daddy”, he says, as I peel off his puke stained pyjamas top.
He eats the weetabix.
The forgotten about younger fella has weetabix too.
The three of us have toast.
Life partner works on clean up operation in other room & heads off to wash puke from hair.
Time passes, boys play with toys, little guy has mini nap at 8.45.
We realise they’ve been up since 5.
So we have lunch at 10 like a bunch of total muldoons.
Boys go for middle of the day naps at earlier time of 11.
Sitting in a tired daze at 11.15 and decide to have some chocolate fudge cake with Haagen Dasz salted caramel ice-cream.
Oldest fella wakes up before midday.
“Little bit hungry daddy”, he says.
The crèche doesn’t reopen until Monday 4 January.
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Hes banjaxed from drink
Wtf were you doing feeding him maltezers?
We might hold off on that play date in St. Anne’s for a few days so, pal.
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I was having a lovely day there and was just flicking through the channels. Then up comes stupid fucking horse racing from leopardstown
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If it’s any consolation I’ve just eaten 6 Mikado caramel biscuits with my coffee.
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Outstanding display of empathy. Deserving of a nice reply imo
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It’s Christmas pal… it’s nice to be nice.
Tough station.
My favourite cigarette used always be the one after a vomit clean up. Where you stand outside at whatever time of the day it was, thinking about the old times of pinting and smoking and how did it come to this.
I’d always take the last drag and wonder to myself…
‘I don’t know how I do this’
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A pox on Stephen’s day television
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Watch the soccer
These single kid parents don’t know how handy they have it.
As parents who have more than 2, I don’t know how they do it.
Some have said having 3 is pretty much the same constant madness as having 2. Not sure I want to find out myself. Maybe if I was 31 rather than 41.
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Is it 2.5 kids you have?
Just the two for him now that I’m in Cork full-time
And the white picket fence
The island is the new picket fence.
2 is enough for any sane person.