A DAD'S LIFE:Christmas came and went but holidays dragged on, writes ADAM BROPHY
I LAY in bed counting them last night. Eighteen days’ holidays the brats just had. One of those years the calendar conspired to grant them maximum freedom, a year their break went on so long, Christmas was a speedbump in the rear view mirror by the time they dragged their groaning arses back through the school gates.
Now that the Bing Crosby-tinted glasses are well disposed of, the resolutions have grown wings for another 12 months, and there is quiet in the house for a few hours, I can cast my mind fully back on the “magical experience” we have all just endured en famille. All of us. Together. Wrapped inside these four walls. With nothing to do but eat, drink and spend. With the joy of the festive season alive inside us all.
I asked the elder to unload the dishwasher a few mornings back. This is her job, her assigned task on school mornings. As all routine was, at that stage, a part of history, she went into hurt and offended mode at my daring to expect her to pull herself away from World 6 of Super Mario Bros when she had only two lives left.
The argument that followed took about as long as it would have for me to summon a potter’s wheel and create a full new set of kitchenware. It was pointed out that the Mario Bros were her current best friends due to her parents’ generosity.
“So?”
It was also pointed out that due to a relaxing of regime, she had not had to complete the dishwasher task for a fortnight.
“So? Like you’ve had anything else to do?”
When I attempted to make reference to the state of the play area, that it was a stoner student’s bong pit, and she could do with carting her toast crusts to the kitchen bin, I was accused of blaming her for everything. Everything like? Just everything.
Before things hit Def Con 4, she drags herself kitchenwards. But negotiations haven’t stopped. She’ll do the top shelf if I work the bottom. That’s a good deal because I get the cutlery and pots.
“Do it all child.”
“What about if you do the cutlery, just that?”
I’m exhausted and set about some breakfast. The only problem is finding a space on the kitchen table. Every inch of surface is covered in cards because apparently it is against the law to bin them for a minimum of six weeks. We’ve had Christmas and three birthdays in the last month. Everywhere I look, Hallmark is ridiculing my age or Santa is winking at me. Is anybody more misery-inducing than Santa in January?
I push the younger’s farmyard animal collection three inches north to land the cereal bowl. Where there are no cards, there are plastic cows. The movement is picked up by the younger’s radar. She is in the hallway, ensuring no inch of space there is uncovered, that her menagerie is evenly spread.
“Noooo! That’s their exercise yard. They need their exercise.These are cows and sheep.”
“They don’t exercise, they won’t be racing. They’re for eating.”
“No, Daddy! They are exercising. We don’t eat cows.”
This makes me chuckle, but I have no intention of pushing all the buttons first thing in the morning. Her animals have her bedroom floor, the playroom floor, the hall floor and the kitchen table. Her animals don’t pay rent.
“Give your sister a hand with the dishwasher.”
“Yeah, help me here.” The elder is on her second plate. Younger struts from room, recognising she’s on a hiding to nothing.
I chew my toast and assess the elder’s indignation as she starts on mugs. She is moving at pace now, so I know she is over this battle and considering her next moves. I inquire about the holidays and the impending return to the classroom. She loved the former but is looking forward to the latter.
For a moment I think there may be a spontaneous gesture of gratitude for all that’s been laid on the past two weeks. The moment passes. She’s back to requests.
“No, you can’t have another sleepover tonight. No, you can’t have biscuits for breakfast. Coffee? No. Wine? What do you think? I’m not bringing you to the cinema, we went yesterday. Maybe we can go to the pool. If you and your sister tidy your room. Yes today. Yeah, I love you too.”
I take my coffee back to bed and spear my right foot on a shepherd’s staff. I apologise and dream of school.