The Sharp Edge of the Inner Circle

I walked away from Tuesday’s playgroup annoyed with the child who had so aggressively pushed Austin into the steel gate. I walked away from Thursday’s a signatory to the bank account.

What ever happened to see-saws and finger painting?

Still, I remain philosophical. Little Shover Boy will get his comeuppance and I don’t mind doing my bit to keep the Thursday group ticking over.

And perhaps like Austin, so skinny and mild-mannered, I was also an easy target. For the past three weeks I’ve been arriving early to open the hall and set out the toys. I also recently bolstered the take from a cupcake stall by raffling off a voucher I’d secured from our local celebrity pastry chef, Adriano Zumbo.

The one thing I didn’t do is attend last week’s AGM, but then it is important to maintain some sort of work-life balance.

Or is that just a Gen-Y thing?

The irony, of course, other than the fact that I can go to the beach when Gen-Y are at the office, is that it has taken the best part of ten months to be fully accepted by the playgroup’s inner circle. And that two of the best friends I’d made in the meantime upped and moved to another group closer to home just as I was getting drawn into the cake stall fundraiser.

Now I’m going nowhere, but at least I’ll have a say on how we spend the funds so stylishly raised. And Austin does so love those ride-in police cars.

The Street Party and the Sullen Calf

Yesterday was the day of the annual Moore Street street party. Leichhardt Municipal Council kindly closed off a section of the road, a barbecue was fired up, corks were popped and young children took to the tarmac, for once devoid of cars, in a variety of ride-on vehicles.

Then they took to it with chalk.

In the midst of all of this mischief-making and love-thy-neighbouring, Austin made the most of the art table set up by the mum across the street and painted a picture I call The Sullen Calf.

I wouldn't read too much into this, though. There's not much point. Depending on its orientation, it could also easily be either The Galloping Grasshopper or Noah's Technicolor Ark.










Regardless, it's certainly a big milestone. Though not his first painting - that came at last Tuesday's playgroup - it is the first to be painted on a surface I could bring home.

Most of his debut work was done on the table. Some also fell across a doyley. The rest on a wee lad called Charlie.

A wee lad who thankfully has a very understanding mother.

But now I know what to expect. And, after his street party success, there's every reason to expect he'll make a beeline for the paint station when we return to playgroup tomorrow.

Until last week he hadn't even noticed it was there, so it will definitely make a welcome change. I just hope the roller coaster isn't offended.

And that Charlie is better prepared.

The Simple Pleasures Of Public Transport

I'm delighted to have discovered a new fine-day activity. As an at-home parent, you can never have too many. In this case I'm also embarrassed. This one should have been obvious.

Pack the boy into the Baby Bjorn, hop on a bus for the 10 minute ride to the Queen Victoria Building, take a leisurely stroll among the suits and the shops and, using this to progress towards Circular Quay, catch a ferry back to Balmain East.

Strapped into the carrier, Austin can face forward, catch new views and interact with those warm enough to respond to his waves, smiles and babbles.

On the ferry he loves to stand at the stern and watch the water rumble and foam. There are new faces too, and yesterday I caught him looking up in what appeared to be amazement as we passed by the Opera House.

Simple pleasures that have until now been denied my young lad.

What's more, even with two of these under our belts in the past week, Austin has still only had three rides on a Sydney Ferry since we arrived back from London in January.

Okay, they're no longer the same well-run company with the perfect safety record, but it's still the best way to see the city. And if you're not engaging with the harbour, you're really not in Sydney.

Sure, Dad, but three in seven months?

It's natural for parents to focus on the advantages of taking the car; so much so that you can easily forget the fun kids have on public transport. There are people to look at, sights to see, tickets to hold and buttons to push.

I should know. My Mum bused us everywhere as kids and I didn't get my licence until I was 20. Friends used to tease me about becoming a bus driver and at least one Christchurch pal still thinks this might one day happen.

This extensive experience is yet another reason why we should have hit the town earlier. I'm making up for it though - yesterday I purchased a ten trip ferry pass, so Austin can rest assured that there are at least another nine such adventures on the cards.

Daddy Grimace & Mime

Today was our first and last session of 'Baby Bounce & Rhyme'. It was truly awful.

And it wasn't just me who thought so. If it was I'd persevere. Austin summed up his lack of enthusiasm at around the halfway point by walking over to the door, looking back at me and reaching up for the handle.

And then there was the cutting glare the teacher gave me at the end.

Whatever, lady. It's not my fault I can't sing and my kid would rather be outside. If you want to hold an audience, maybe you should replace some of the nursery rhymes with a few more book readings.

Harsh but fair. The content (29 minutes of songs and just one story) was clearly targeted at the younger end of the 0-2 year age group the class is supposed to serve. And, despite this being week two, word had already got around.

Only three of the 20 kids were on their pins.

Between this and the sea of cushions on the floor, which might as well have been a mine field, there was no fun to be had for Austin. For me, just the painful realisation that I've forgotten the words to almost every nursery rhyme and envy for those 17 mums with children so young they didn't wish for anything more than jiggling and hand clapping.

I should have opened the door for my son, ran after him and cheered as we fled. If I had, in years to come I'm sure he'd greet this tale with a bellyache that captured the hilarity of the moment while showing pride for the way his old man had handled it.

Alas, parenting is not a Steve McQueen movie. Suck it up and trust your child is enjoying it, if not also developing as a result. It's about experiencing the rewards that come from putting them first and you outside of your comfort zone.

That is, of course, unless they hate the things that take you outside of your comfort zone. And that's why next Tuesday we'll be heading to the pool instead. Well, that or Bunnings.

Back In The Pool

There are some things I've come to really hate about school holidays. The hoards of children and parents, mainly, and that they always flock to the places Austin and I like to go.

It's like everyday is the weekend. Except that Kate is at work.

This school holiday there is a flipside. My mate Softy (not his real name; he's a lawyer and afraid of any unwanted publicity this blog may bring) has three days off work to look after his five year old boy.

Softy & Son were at the Leichhardt Park Aquatic Centre this morning for junior's holiday swim class. This gave Austin and I a reason to take a dip somewhere other than Ian Thorpe Aquatic, and for the first time since he learned to walk.

This made things interesting.

Put on his feet in the paddling pool he instinctively looked to take some steps. Of course he did, standing still is boring and he doesn't know how to swim. Problem was, he couldn't quite make it work in waste-deep water.

Step, step, splash. Step, step, splash.

But within 15 minutes came one of the moments that make at-home parenting the rewarding thing it is. My boy figured it out. And then he was off.

Off faster than Dad could 'bum shuffle' with out-stretched hands.

Before I knew it Austin was en route to deeper waters; his adventure ending only when the water level rose above his chin, making necessary a parental intervention. But that's what laps are for, and many of these were done.

More tomorrow were it not for 'Baby Bounce & Rhyme' at the Balmain Library.

Talk about losing your inhibitions. Today the London tan, tomorrow I'll have to sing in public. Wednesday is vaccination day, however, so all I'll have to do his give him a cuddle.

I just hope that Tuesday's sing-a-long will be as short-lived as Wednesday's tears.

From One Extreme To The Other

Another day, another playgroup. Another playgroup, another toy obsession.

On this occasion, two. Thankfully.

He certainly mixes things up, I'll give him that, but the end result really was an emotional roller coaster. The axe was one thing, but yesterday he wandered around for what felt like an hour with a pink comb in his hand. To make things worse, I'd chosen to dress him in a striped cardigan.

We might as well have named him Stefan.

Still, it was hilarious - particularly when he approached one of the mums who was sitting on the carpet, babbled as he showed her his comb and then wandered behind her as if contemplating his first cut. Bless.

There were lows, too, none more so than the moment when another of the mums offered him a mirror to replace his comb. I know! The gumption!

As before, the spell cast by Toy One actually lasted for 15 to 20 minutes. Then he became charming. Prince Charming, actually.

One of the little girls had dressed up in a princess dress and Austin was following her around the room carrying a pink slipper. Even if I wasn't his dad I would have stopped to admire his technique.

And the slipper must have fit because the two of them then played happily for quite a while. Still, she was a bit older so I must remember to talk to him about that.

But not before I explain why it is that he can't have an axe.

The Pleasures of Playgroup

If your child is going to spend the first 20 minutes of playgroup working the room wielding a toy, you'd like to think it wouldn't be the plastic axe.

First impressions, as they say.

The edges weren't sharp but, if swung with the vigour he applies to the hammer and peg set at home, there'd most certainly be tears. A lump or bruise too, I imagine.

I experience nerves with each new child he approaches. More prominent though is trust. He's not one of those kids who instinctively endangers others (and, believe me, those kids exist); nor one who has ever even accidentally hurt another child.

After a while, my trust turns to pride. It's great that he is so warm and proactive with others. And I love that he does this with a bit of edge and attitude.

This is usually - and thankfully - a little less edgy than the axe. In one of our earlier sessions he walked around with a rubber snake dangled around his neck. It would have been a display wasted on an audience in his country of birth. Here there's respect for a wannabe Steve Irwin.

And, in a room of strange mums, it was priceless.

An Austin In Awe

Yesterday Austin met his hero. His face beamed with a smile as big as Texas.

It wasn't at Melwood, Liverpool's training ground; nor, thankfully, in the lobby of Melbourne's Crown Casino Hotel where Tom and Katie are currently staying. And, no, it wasn't his Dad.

Those who read the June 24 post won't be surprised to learn that the boy and I were instead on a visit to the Balmain Library.

Yep, talking to one of the librarians.

To be honest, it's a bit embarrassing that this was the first time we'd popped in. Based in the old Town Hall, it makes fantastic use of this grand old building and includes not just a selection of children's books but also an impressive toy library.

Tipped off by one of the mothers at playgroup, we were there to check out the library's new reading group for zero to two year-olds, 'Baby Bounce & Rhyme Time'.

A similar group runs at one of the local book shops, but Austin's obsession with pulling books off shelves and redistributing them around the room means this is not an ideal environment.

Best his exposure is contained to pre-loved volumes. At least for now, and definitely when he's not confined to his stroller.

Of course, being Balmain the inaugural session of Baby Bounce is already booked out. Places are opened up a week prior to each class, so at 9.30am sharp next Tuesday morning the library switchboard is guaranteed to light up like it's a breakfast radio phone-in competition.

If we make it, great. If not, rhymes are for wimps. I'll just let the boy loose in the kids section. Or let him talk to the librarian.

Boys Own Fun

Yesterday afternoon was almost perfect. After Austin’s sleep we hopped into the car with Bruce Springsteen and drove to Bunnings.

It was Austin’s first time and, as all Bunnings customers do, we had a very important purchase to make.

This was a pair of Cyclone heavy duty loppers with bypass cutting action and non-stick SK5 blades. These are essential for chopping up the palm fronds which regularly – and spectacularly – fall onto our garden.

They come with a 10 year warranty, but I’d like to think they’re made to last; something Austin will grow up seeing in the shed, coming to use in his chores and eventually inheriting along with my extensive collection of English football scarves and Dad’s Army DVDS.

Come to think of it, there’s really no reason to bequeath him anything else.

But that’s a long way off, touch wood, so back to Bunnings and our boys own adventure.

One of the fundamental Bunnings rules is that, regardless of time constraints or what you actually came for, you can’t leave the store without browsing every aisle. And, with the lad strapped to my chest in the Baby Bjorn, that’s exactly what we did.

He was enjoying it immensely, I was getting ‘good on you son’ looks from middle aged men and, then, jack pot. We wander into the tool section and find precisely what I also needed: a pair of Stanley 150mm diagonal cut pliers. These are very important things and, though I’m not sure when I’ll next be called upon to cut some electrical wire, it's satisfying to know I’ll be ready for the task.

That, by the way, is not an open invitation.

A Day In The Life

I guess there’s a faint chance that someone will stumble across this blog because they actually do want to know what it’s like to be a stay-at-home dad, rather than how much I hate car salesmen.

‘Be Prepared’, Baden-Powell said, so here it is – the official record of a reasonably typical day with the Clark boys:

6.00am
Kate wakes me up looking surprisingly ready to go to work. She is. I see Austin on her lap and reach out to touch his face. The real Austin is in his cot so, recognising this sign for what it is, I get up and make a strong coffee.

7.00am
Austin’s turn to get up. This time he is both real and happy to see me. We celebrate with his morning bottle, followed by playtime.

8.00am
Breakfast. He works his way through Vegemite toast while I whip up some cheesy tomato scrambled egg. Apple follows, and all is consumed with zero fuss and minimal mess. I did, however, forget to have Austin practice his spoonmanship (part of our plan to get him feeding himself), but thankfully the day has two meals left in it.

9.15am
We also have a plan to halve Austin’s morning sleep to one hour. My strategy is to carve 15 minutes off each end for the next three days before going all the way. I’m sure the parenting books would agree, but there’s also a bit of self-interest involved – I also have to transition myself from two hours of ‘me time’ to just the one. It’s easy to get sucked into a few games of Stick Cricket and I’ll be in trouble with Kate if I don’t make the bed. Austin clearly understands where I’m coming from. We’ve spent the past 45 minutes playing. This eventually becomes me holding his hands while we walk around the house and, as if by magic, he heads into his nursery at precisely 9.15.

9.16am
Austin is showing all the signs of going straight to sleep. I make another coffee then, remembering that I am a house husband, use this hit not to surf the net but rather to mop the floors, empty the dishwasher, do a load of laundry, bring in the rubbish bins and call the car dealership to confirm our delivery date.

10.45am
Having showered and dressed with sufficient urgency, I enter the nursery on schedule to find Austin half-awake. As he's just a few days away from an even shorter sleep period, this is a very good thing. He now goes straight into the stroller and off to the playground, then to the supermarket. I use pedestrian crossings where possible and look both ways before crossing the road.

12.30pm
Lunch time. Today I’m attempting his first all finger-food lunch – another part of the plan to have him feeding himself. I quickly realise how much comfort there is in feeding your child a certain number of ice cubes of homemade infant meals. I overcompensate by giving him a few bits of pretty much everything I can find: celery, cheese, sausage, tomato. This is followed by pumpkin and peanut butter sandwiches (separately) and, for desert, grapes, mandarin and banana. I guess he’s not too young for tapas, as everything apart from the celery is given a fair go. Not bad for a chap with two teeth.

1.15pm
Time for his afternoon sleep so I decide to knock off my one outstanding chore. Every few days we top-up the collection of Austin’s frozen pre-made meals. Today's creation is mashed potato with salmon, peas, onion and parsley - an English classic but also good for brain development.

2.00pm
It can be a risk to leave my own lunch until the second half of Austin's sleep, but luck is on my side and I easily get through what's left of last night's pasta and an episode of the X-Files. Miraculously, I’ve never seen this one before.

3.15pm
I get Austin up. He’s been awake for 15 minutes but happily talking to himself. We read a story, have a sing-song and he works through most of his afternoon bottle. Then his arms rise up. This is not a gesture of affection but my cue to hold them so he can go for a walk. Indeed he does, and we stroll for the best part of 30 minutes around the house, out into garden and then a victory lap back around the house.

4.40pm
My turn to lead they way so he's into the stroller for a 6.5km run around Blackwattle Bay, past the Fish Market and over the ANZAC Bridge back to Rozelle. This enables me to convert 'play' time into 'me' time, but he does seem to enjoy the fresh air and harbour views.

5.15pm
Dinner. After his tapas lunch I decide to skip the finger food and opt instead for a jumbo serving of the potato-salmon dish. Austin loves it, and also races through his pear and yoghurt. This time I remember to let him take every second spoonful. This is messy and unproductive but a step in the right direction.

5.30pm
That step in the right direction has resulted in much more than the usual amount of food on the floor. I get down to clean it up and Austin begins laughing. I wipe his face with a wet flannel. Austin stops laughing. We call it even and begin a post-meal play session.

5.54pm
Kate arrives home and Austin crawls towards the door to meet her. This does the trick as his mother gives him a cuddle and then a bath.

6.45pm
Stumps are called and, following a bedtime story, we put Austin to bed and head for the gin deck.