I have a talker. The kind of talker who could just keep on talking ‘til the cows come home. Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. She would first talk to the farmer about bringing the cows home – and somehow persuade him that she’s the best person for the job - then talk to said cows until every last one was safely in their barn. She likes a good chat. But with all that talking comes a whole lot of questions – all aimed in my direction.
We all need to pause. No, I don’t mean chill out or have some me-time or anything like that. I mean pause. Or Le Pause to be more precise. In fact, I should have started this column by saying ‘we all need to be French’
The other day I had a realisation that my child’s friend’s mother’s friend’s sister’s neighbour had made a parenting decision for one of my kids. Yeah, I know! Imagine being the kind of parent that goes around making parenting decisions for kids they have never met, and quite likely never will. Outrageous, right?
I had a funny thought the other day. Imagine if the Emergency Services had a major change in policy and decided they would no longer respond to our emergencies but henceforth would wholeheartedly react to them ...
Sometimes I think about Dads. Not like that! Come on people, lift your minds out of the gutter. I mean in a caring way. A compassionate way. It’s just a part of what I do. Working with them, that is. Not randomly thinking about them. This is getting awkward – let’s move on. My point is that sometimes I think about Dads and I wonder how they are managing to be the Dad that they thought they would be, or the Dad they had dreamed of being, or any kind of Dad at all. I used to think that it was us Mums who had the short end of the stick but nowadays it’s looking more like the men who are under pressure to be the kind of parent that even I don’t understand.