Thursday, 16 February 2012

Our job.

The role of the mother towards her children is clear: feed, clothe and educate responsibly. We fathers tend to be somewhat different. Now that Mrs. F is working for Airbus (sort of), due to my more flexible work hours I'm the de facto fetcher and carrier. This also involves a lot of cooking (which I love), ferrying said Fingernails to various activities and dragging them around with me when I have to go off and do tedious necessities, such as the post office, bank and the rest.

I love it. Every time. As fathers traditionally have very little daily involvement in their childrens' upbringings, when we are thrust into the front line our natural position is closer to that of the grandparents - indulgent, caring yet blind-eye turning - than that of the mother, whose love, involvement and nazi-like overseeing is permanently acknowledged yet only appreciated much later i.e. when the children reach thirty or so. Mrs. F fears that if the Fingernails spent too much time in my care they would turn into obese thugs, but I'm as wary of her driving ability as she is of my parenting skills, so we're pretty much quits, I think.

Sounds like any other family, to be honest. The picture below is not of her, by the way…

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