I'm the king of the day

My birthday.  One year older on paper and the paper is getting older by the minute. Thankfully I still look fantastic and feel young (ish).  L'Oreal for men can do wonders.  I really can't believe that so many years have gone by, but I guess time flies when you are having fun.  Funnily enough, I haven't met the midlife crisis yet and I'm not too sure what to look out for either.

Our oldest daughter, who's now 6 years old, was so excited that my birthday had finally arrived. She started to give me clues the day before as to what I was getting - without telling me what it was of course.  Over my left shoulder, I could sense my wife trying to use the Jedi mind trick to persuade our daughter not to reveal anything, but she failed miserably.  My daughter either completely ignored the gestures or didn't fall for the feeble mind trick.  By the time the kids had gone to bed, I had some ideas as to what I might expect to see underneath the wrapping paper;

• A goodie bag from a party my daughter was at two days earlier
• Something to do with a light saber
• An outdoor toy on a string
• A tissue with dried nostril fluids
• Several kisses and hugs from all members of my hobbit family

... and of course the mandatory birthday song singing as a wake-up call.  All in all, I was in for a heck of a surprise and birthday celebration.

As usual, I was off to bed around 21.30 (9.30pm), to catch a bit of shut-eye before the big day.  I'm on the early feeding shift, so I need my beauty sleep.  Well, beauty sleep is wasted on me, as I can't get any prettier. I'm not 20 anymore and I need at least 6 hours sleep.  To my absolute surprise and delight, my 2 month old daughter, who has been waking up at 4am every morning, decided to wake up at 6am this morning. It was fantastic.  She allowed me to sleep in.  What a little star.  We went down stairs, where she had her bottle and I had mine, all while watching the first series of CSI Las Vegas.


Shortly before 7am, I was summoned by my daughter to come back to my bed, so they could wake me up singing, and give me my presents.  I went upstairs and pretended to sleep while the family prepared the birthday morning ritual.  My daughter is the only person who can actually hold a note and sing. She was singing Happy Birthday in three languages; English, Spanish and Irish - amazing or what?  Both my wife and I are strong contenders for the X-factor outtakes, so the missus was merely humming something that sounded like the theme song from "Sound of Music"(out of tune), and gave me a big kiss.  Our son completely disengaged after the first few words of the song and handed me the remote for the TV.  I love these little rituals that we have. They make you realise that you have a loving and caring family.

Anyway, that day I was the king, the president, the dictator and the ruler of mi casa, all rolled up into one person.  Heck, that's a deal we have all agreed to in my little family.  Whoever has a birthday can decide everything ... well, sort of.  I was delighted that it was finally my day to decide what to do, eat and watch.


Hang on, who am I kidding?


I'm the lowest step on the family ladder.  Even my 2 month old daughter decides more than I do.  Let me be clear, that is not necessarily a bad thing.  I'm more than delighted to serve my family, as long as I get a bit of loving in return, which I do.  Besides, I can still pretend to be king, in my mind.  Nothing wrong ever came of developing a fantasy and playing.  That was why I went off to play with Lego to build my own kingdom.


Later in the day the in/out-laws stopped by to see us, mainly to see the kids of course. We had a lovely birthday chocolate cake (with cream and strawberries in the middle) that my wife had made.  Shortly after the cake had been eradicated (no traces left), it was decided that we watch Avatar - all while I did the dishes and started to prepare dinner.


I had a nice and relaxed day.  I had the day off work. We were stuck inside due to torrential rain.  I got some nice presents, especially the three day old goodie back from my daughter and her drawing saying "I luv yuo dad".

Just because you are one year older doesn't mean that you are wiser - at least not in my case.

Married to be divorced...

...just to get our newborn registered!  That's exactly what we almost had to do.

As you might have read in some earlier blogs, my beautiful wife gave birth to an almost as beautiful daughter five weeks ago. When that happens you need to get the child registered.  That's fairly standard across the World. It will allow you to apply for a passport - obviously and it also helps if you want to get child benefit.

I still think it is silly to give kids below the age of four their own passport.  In all honesty, a baby's face changes a lot in the first 12 months alone. So, the child/baby could get arrested or could be denied entry.  Even my face as an adult changes from time to time. That's mainly because I'm getting a little more roundfaced as I'm getting older.  Sometimes my face changes as well when I attempt to grow facial hair, although I still cannot grow a full beard.  My late dad always made fun of this, and he probably still does.

One morning, after having dropped off the two eldest kids at their schools, the rest of the von Trap family journeyed into the local council office to get our newest member registered.  My wife was, as always, well prepared and had all the usual certificates copied and folded neatly in an envelope.  That should make the process quicker - we thought.  We handed the envelope to the civil servant sitting behind the greasy class partition and she "quickly" started the process.  Just as we were waiting for the document to be stamped and processed, the civil servant said that our wedding certificate was no longer valid. WTF!  I calmly explained to the numbskull that we had used the same certificate to register our two other kids, where to she said "well, that was before January 1 2007, right?" Church certificates are no longer valid, we were told. And, this comes from a country that has been manipulated and run by the Catholic church for centuries!  The only option, she said, was to get a civil marriage certificate or the wedding certificate legalised by the government/country we were married in.  That just made it so much easier ... NOT!

When we came home, I contacted my embassy, only to discover that this rule had indeed been agreed by most European countries to prevent fraud and human trafficking.

I then contacted the foreign affairs office in Denmark and discovered that I had to get our wedding certificate renewed, as they only accept certificates that are less than 4 months old.  FFS, this just got worse.

At this point, we seriously considered getting married in city hall, in Ireland, in our swim wear, (I in my speedos and my wife in her bikini) just to get this famous certificate.  Just one minor problem...we had to get divorced to get married.  And, in order to get a new certificate, I had to go to a Danish church, IN Denmark.

For personal reasons, I had to go to Denmark, so I brought the famous wedding certificate with me in order to get it upgraded.  My path would cross another civil servant again - damn it - this time disguised as a "friendly" clerk in the church office.  She turned out to be just as helpful as a kitchen sifter emptying a bucket full of water.

She could not find our certificate on the computer, despite it being the church where we got married. She then said my wife would have to come to Denmark too to get registered as a resident.  Interesting!  Do they suggest that we leave our newborn alone in Dublin? Remember, you can't travel without a passport, and to get a passport you need a birth certificate... Alright,  I've always tried to be diplomatic and understanding, but in this case I had to tell the lady a few truths about the IT systems they were using and her inability to provide alternative solutions.  These were truths the church haven't heard since the dark ages (the language of mordor), letting my dark side shine through.  Obviously, it didn't help at all and I was no further in my quest to get our daughter registered.

My dear mum heard my heartfelt story and stepped in to help her son.  Within 40 minutes, she had secured me a new wedding certificate and processed the payment to get the document legalised.  Now we just had to get the certificate legalised by the Danish Foreign Office, and pay to have this done of course ... I even had to pay for the postage stamp to send the certificate back to me!

Within 7 working days, the "new" certificate arrived.  It looked exactly like the one I sent them, with the only difference that it now had a small A5 sized stamp on the back.  Hopefully the Irish civil servants accept this one.  Something tells me that they will be looking for something else, e.g. video footage of the wedding, letter from priest, blessing for local parish priest - anything to delay the process further.

We can only keep our fingers crossed, hoping everything is in order, so we can get our daughter registered and get her a passport.  We are relying on civil servants.. Lord have mercy on us.

... and they didn't accept the new marriage certificate!
The legalized and stamped certificate arrived as promised. We travelled far distances across town to get our daughter registered.  Yes, back to the house of evil civil servants and their medieval processes.

My wife joined the queue and were soon face-to-face with a glazed looking male.  He starred at the newly stamped certificate, with the Danish seal on it, and passed it back ."No good!".  "It doesn't state it's a CIVIL Marriage certificate." he said. My diplomatic wife attempted for a long time to remind the civil supervisor muppet that we had done EXACTLY what they asked us to do. She also suggested that he should contact the Danish embassy since they were not accepting the Danish Foreign Affairs office stamp.  We should have known that he wasn't going to be of any help, so I contacted the Danish embassy instead, hoping they would be able to assist.

BTW, we did ask the question if we could re-marry to get this process completed, whereto the civil drone said we would be breaking the law! We would have to get divorced first to remarry. However, we could also be charged for tax fraud since we have been registered as married for years which means we have been taxed as a married couple... But, he wasn't following the legal EU directive himself!

So, I persuaded the assistant ambassador to write a letter to the Uber-clone, stating that our wedding certificate in fact was a legal civil document.  We just received that letter and now we just have to see if that letter is good enough as well.  All these obstacles just to get our daughter registered!

My wife went to the registration office, again, walked up to the hatch and spoke to the same "helpful" civil servant again.  She showed him the legal wedding certificate (again), the birth confirmation form from the hospital (again) and the newly acquired letter from the embassy.  Drumroll please.

Believe it or not, we finally managed to get her registered.  3rd time lucky as they say.  Now, off to the passport office. Let's hope they are not on strike!

There and back again, by misses hobbit

Stay-Work-At-Home-Laundry-Cook-Driver-Dad...

There's no denying it, I’m a loving and caring husband, and you should know it from reading all my previous blogs.  This notion of men not helping out in the house is nothing more than a myth - at least in our household.  My hands are so well cared for ever since I started to use the Fairy dish-wash soap (the one with built-in moisturizer that pampers your hands and leaves your dishes feeling squeaky clean).  Basically, I'm an all-in-one wonder dad - if you ask me of course.

- click here for more information

Being an at-home-working-dad has given me an insight into the daily tasks required to keep the household going, on top of the traditional duties such as cleaning and cooking and more importantly ALL the kids’ daily rituals and after school activities.  I have no idea how my wife manages or has the energy to go from activity to activity. She has done so for several years now.  On top of that, she's breastfeeding every 2-3 hours, with the exception of when I wake up early (4-5am) to feed the baby.

Despite having two kids already, it’s still not easy to adapt to having a new addition in the family.  So to show my support, I took a few days off work, and worked from home a few days too, to look after the other two hobbits as much as possible.  Mind you, this in itself is a full-time job, because the missus is often stuck in a breastfeeding trance, so most of the day-to-day duties fall upon me too - I know, you feel sorry for me.  I've started to sing "go down Moses...let my people go" and "jump down pick 'o bale of cotton", which my wife doesn't find amusing. I just find it natural to sing these songs.  A man can only take so many strokes of the whip (unless he's into that stuff).

So, for the past 4 weeks, my involvement in the daily routines increased from bringing our daughter to school, to also bringing our son to school.  His school is a 30 minute drive from our house, on the motorway, so it is a fair distance. He goes there 3 times a week and 3 hours per day.  It is too far to go back, so I spent the time in the lovely Malahide village - home of the notorious yummy mummy gang, who have their headquarters in the local Starbucks.  I was sitting there one Wednesday trying to work while our son was in school, when the place was suddenly invaded by buggies, screaming kids and lactating women. Women and kids were all wearing the latest gear, and most of it could pay for our car.

To make the situation more complex and perhaps disturbing was that staff in Starbucks knew them all and started to prepare the various variations of coffee; skinny slim decaf columbian, hot coco made with soy milk and rye scones.  What ever happened to a normal cup of Joe?

My work laptop was being squirted with juice, crumbs, coffee, breast milk and baby pooh.  Not sure I could handle much more of this.  But, just as quickly as they had emerged from their gold plated SUV's, just as quickly did they vanish.

Later in the week, while dropping off our son at school, my daughter and I were waiting in the car for a few minutes, letting the traffic in the cul de sac calm down.  Suddenly, one of these bling-bling SUVs pulled up and parked in the middle of the street. Out jumped a yummy mummy dressed to kill in DKNY, Armani and D&G sun glasses.  She was dropping off her son to school that he was not in the slightest interested in going. He grabbed the nearest pole to resist entering the school. The mother started pulling his legs causing him into a vertical position.  She then attempted to trick him and picked him up to hug him,  while one of the teachers took the kid from behind trying to lift him into school.  As she gently pulled the kid away from the mother, he desperately clung on to his mum's DKNY shirt. All of a sudden the mum's shirt ripped open and revealed her right boob!  The mother "calmly" buttoned her shirt, fixed her sunglasses and pretended as if nothing had happened.  I quickly rolled up the window trying to suppress my laughter, but then my daughter and I looked at each other and we both burst out in hysterical laughter.

Other man duties during my stint off included bringing our daughter to horseback riding, theatre school and gym - all on different days and far from home of course.  It takes almost two hours each event, so I spend time working on my blog or playing with my iPhone.  Funnily enough, I'm most of the time the only husband/man at these events, much to the amazement of the yummy mummies. I can see them stare at me with utter disbelief because I don't "participate" with supporting comments and other gestures to my daughter.  I just let her do her stuff at her own pace and she really loves it.  She's sooooo proud every time and talks for hours about what she did that day.

It's not easy being a "single parent", looking after two maniac hobbits with millions of activities to do.  The car is being seriously tested in regards to mileage and my cleaning skills have improved immensely (BTW, My wife doesn't consider cleaning a woman's job). By the time I get to sit down with my cup of Joe in the sofa, it's almost 20.30. That's when my wife looks at me with begging puppy eyes wondering if I could give her some neck massage.

In bed by 21.30 and up at 04.00.  Blimey, yesterday morning I folded the clothes and prepared pancakes well before 07.30 - I actually had to re-heat the pancakes as the rest of the family didn't come downstairs until 09.00  By then I was already changing to go outside to mow the lawn.

Who cares about expensive gyms, when you can be on the go for 12 hours daily.

Eyes full of sand

I've always helped out with the nightly feeds, despite how painful they might be on the body, as you are tired.  You just have to abstain from engaging with certain late night activities, such as going to the pub, drinking too much alcohol and/or staying up late to watch a movie.  It's as simple as that!  That is why many parents stay home (become anti-social in some people's eyes) during the first 8-12 months of their baby's life.  We just don't have the energy.

Monday morning was my first night feed, having spent the two previous nights trying to help my wife with the breastfeeding - and no, this is no moment to get all sexual, it is simply a matter of me helping to place the baby in her arms, so the baby can feed easily.  However, the Dolly Parton Syndrome effect on my wife is a pleasant sight at 2.30 in the night.

Anyway, I woke up at 4.45, gently lifting the little princess up and walking downstairs.  It was amazing how quickly I memorized the nightly feed ritual; coffee, blankets, remotes, baby bottle and of course the main star herself.

She was starving and I had barely seen the intro of "The Mummy" before she had finished her feed.  She savored the last 20ml, while staring around the room, as I was watching the movie.

When she had emptied her bottle, which made me proud to see, I gently placed her on my shoulder to make her burp.  Sweet lord.  This can be a scary moment for any parent, as you are not sure what to really expect.  The baby has a number of options available:

1. Projectile milk covering you, the sofa and parts of the wall  - generally anything in front of the baby
2. Enormous fart, that warms the palm of any grown man, and makes you wonder if that hurt
3. Hiccups, which in worst case could lead to option 1
4. Burping sounds, which in some cultures is a symbol of excellent food.

My daughter chose the last option, thankfully, but the sound and quality would make any teenage boy envious.  My eardrum was ringing for several minutes after that experience, but I didn't care.  I've seen "The Mummy" a few times already, so I knew the dialogue.  

The innocent little angel simply smiled, after releasing what must have been, the World's loudest baby burp.  It is a delight to share such moments with your child.  I can only imagine how amazed her friends will be at the first parties, when getting older.  After that performance, she fell asleep on my shoulder.

It is bizarre to wake up so early, mainly because you are amazingly awake.  Sitting in front of the computer at 05.30, listening to the first birds chirping and seeing the first rays of the son, is actually a magical moment.  There's absolutely no point going back to bed.  The other two kids are going to wake up soon anyway, so I might as well keep going.  

I better get going - bread is almost done baking, I have to prepare breakfast for the kid, make their lunch boxes too and prepare the next load to be washed..  Good morning, where ever you are.

Night of 1000 squeaks

The girls arrived back to the house, finally, Friday afternoon.  Amazingly, it was less than 48 hours after our little baby girl was born.  How women does it I have no clue?  Squeezing a melon sized baby out must be (and is) the most painful thing I could imagine.  Despite that, my wife walked calmly to the car less than 2 days after her ordeal and when they were released.

Perhaps walking is not the right term here.  She waddled slowly towards the car.  We waited for the green pedestrian light to come on, but we still didn't make it across the street in one go.  But, we were in no rush and I had brought a backpack with supplies, just in case we had to camp overnight.

It was wonderful to have the whole family together again, despite the hurdles we know lies ahead of us; sleepless nights, nightly feeds, diaper changes, bellybutton changes and of course the ever lasting sterilizing bottles.

Of course, most of the family invaded our house that evening, welcoming home our daughter, which is a great way of celebrating; laughter, alcohol and good company.  The house was full of joy since late afternoon and late into the night.  We should have known better!

Slightly intoxicated from the wine and beer, I laid down on my pillow looking forward to a nice long sleep.  Did I not learn from our two first kids?  Was this still a weird surreal dream about having 3 kids?

Any parent of young kids must understand that kids have no respect for hangovers or the fact that you have not had your full beauty sleep.  Well, beauty sleep would take way too long for me, and I would not get any prettier.

Having a new person in your house, especially a baby, reduces your capability of falling into deep sleep.  You know, the sleep where you fight off giant ogres, dive into the unknown abyss or simply floating in space totally relaxed.  For what ever reason, all your senses are alert and you'll hear if the baby farts, breathes slightly faster or whines a bit.

Our first two kids were born 5 and 6 weeks early, and were kept in ICU (Intensive Care Unit) for two weeks, so having our little baby home after just two days was a VERY new experience to us.

Approx. 30 minutes into my dazed journey across the plains in Never-ending Story, I was pulled back to reality, as our little baby squeaked.  Strangely, I managed to get out of bed, stood in the middle of the bedroom very confused, looking for where this new sound was coming from.  The pain shot through my shin, as I walked straight into the corner of our bed, blindly looking for our baby's bed.  I finally arrived, only to find my wife sitting with her, breastfeeding.  Like a zombie, with only one instinct left working in brain, I limped back to bed, having no difficulty returning to the adventures of Sebastian - 01.28

01.37 - My dream quickly changed, I was now being chased by Ring Wraiths, expect their screams sounded more like muffled mouse sounds.  Soon, I was awaken by a stinging pain in my left arm, and woke up with a scream, only to find my wife sitting next to me saying it is my turn to hold her.  I wonder if that was the pain Frodo felt when he was slashed with the morgul blade?  I just felt the pain from my wife's knuckles!

My zombie "skills" kicked in again, and I crawled towards the baby's bed - leg was in too much pain and I had no use of my left arm.  Using my Ray Meare's survival skills, I used my remaining limbs and teeth to get into a standing position, and grabbed the little wonder.  Quickly, as she calmed down, my heart melted just by looking at her.   01.49

This was going to be a long night indeed.  But, keep in mind, this was all new to us, so every like squeak or fart from the baby, and we would come to her rescue.  Natural parent instincts I guess, but in hind side, probably slightly over worried.  She's fine and we know it - just difficult not to react.

So, the first night of being reunited with the family, my wife and I had probably 3.5 hours sleep each.  At 06.55 I was gently woken by our oldest daughter "whispering" in my ear that she was hungry.  Wow, had I really slept for 16 minutes straight?  A new day started by making breakfast for the two oldest kids, as if nothing had changed.  Somehow, my wife managed to get another 2 hours of sleep, which she fully deserved.

No Pain, No Gain!

Big Moment - Part 2 ... continued from Part 1.

If you haven't read Part 1 yet, then you need to do so, as this will give you some useful background information in regards to the tense moment we were going through.  Just do it!  Click above link.

The amount of medical staff around my wife's bed in the delivery ward had increased from 4 to 10 within minutes of the nurse claiming to have seen the foot of the baby.  At this point, I was starting to feel slightly lightheaded and was VERY unsure about what the next few minutes and/or hours would bring.

This is not exactly something you learn in the pre-natal classes or in any "What to Expect, When Expecting" book.  You have to learn it the hard way.  Some of the nurses had just started their career, so they were equally white faced and fretting.  This in turn caused the midwife to turn into Nanny McPhee, in regards to facial expressions, causing the young nurses to panic.

While the nurses were freaking, there were 3 people looking under the sheet between my wife's legs, discussing what to do.  Thankfully, one of the senior consultants made a decision to get her into surgery immediately - no time to spare.

I was trying to help, but was constantly in the way, as I was lying in teal position under my wife's bed.  The midwife suddenly grabbed me by the neck and pulled me against the wall - "Pull yourself together man, we need everyone to be CALM!"  Then she did a summersault over the bed, and started to push the bed down the corridor towards the elevator.  Man, she was like the woman from Matrix ... expect she was old, wearing a doctors coat, nerd glasses and smelling like a chemistry.

As we arrived at the elevator, we had to wait for the fecking thing.  I was frantically hitting the button on the wall, until some clever nurse inserted her emergency lift key.  It still amazes me that we had to take the elevator to the surgery room.  Couldn't they have had the delivery ward and surgery room on the same floor?  It reminded me of the scene in "Mr. & Mrs. Smith" where they are in the elevator listening to background (elevator) music, just before the action happens.

I was dragged up the stairs by some energetic fitness freak of a nurse, not considering I haven't done any exercise for 7-8 years - other than the Wii - so my face was quickly turning red.  She placed me on some silly little bench outside the Operating Room (OR).  The OR was not even ready, so now the group of people surrounding my wife had grown to 20, including the cleaners.

An innocent anesthetics assistant was trying to give my wife some liquid to drink, but my wife made it perfectly clear that she did NOT want it.  His face went from cheerful to somewhat distraught.

The next few minutes went by very quickly - at least for me.  The OR doors were closed and locked.  I was not allowed in, simply too many people and too much pain.  However, I was at that moment in time cursed for being able to hear, and the sounds made the "Saw" series sound like Disney;  Foul language, screams, doctors raised voices, flashing lights and shadows walking past the glass door.

Out of the mist created by the warm OR, came a nurse walking towards me.  Her eyes had seen things no man should ever see, and she gently asked me if I was ok.  Of course I wasn't.  Couldn't she tell that I was an emotional wreck, biting frantically at the bench, while peeing my pants and crying?   Anyway, I stood up and smiled, "Yes, I'm ok, thanks for asking.  Can I have some water please?"

Suddenly the OR went silent, the doors were unlocked and opened.  The doctor came over to me and said congratulations.  My wife had given birth to a little girl.  I shook the doctors hand hard, but soon realised that he was still wearing the gloves he had used during the procedure!

I was escorted into the OR, where I was greeted by my wife and gave her a kiss.  Then we were handed the little bundle and I cried (again) when I looked our new daughter in the eyes.  Thankfully she looked like my wife.  Despite the ordeal my wife had gone through, she still managed to look gorgeous - even with her legs strapped to two poles.  I smiled at her and said "We did it.  Where can we get a pair of those poles for our house", and winked.  That made her laugh.

Can I just say, all this happened in less than 20 of arriving to the hospital!  My nerves just can handle this anymore - no more kids.

I was asked to go to the ward and wait.  The girls would be rolled down as soon as they were ready.  My wife was of course offered the traditional cup of tea and toast - I didn't get anything.

The nurse on the ward asked me to change the baby!  What clothes and which diapers?  In the panic and rush, my wife had grabbed the wrong bags and as a result we had nothing for the baby.  As soon as my wife arrived, I kissed her again and had to go home to get clothes - under strict orders by the nurse.

On the way home, I cried again, making my helmet all misty, overwhelmed with emotions.  It is not easy becoming a dad again.

----------- You can also read:

• Night of 1000 Squeaks - the first night with the baby in the house
• Eyes full of Sand - my first night feed

Ready or not, here I come!

The Big Moment - Part 1

The day we had been waiting almost 9 months for had finally arrived, and like the previous two deliveries, we were not ready.  Lets face it, you can never be ready for the actual moment of your child is born.  It doesn't matter how many books you buy/read, how many hours you spend on Google or how many pre-natal classes you attend, you will never be ready for the actual time.

For some women, contractions / labour can last 24 hours, but I would assume that most women "only" have contractions in average around 10 hours before the action.  This is not easy to comprehend for us men, as we don't feel pain, but it looks fairly painful.  It would probably be like getting flicked on the testicles every 3-8 minutes, according to my lovely wife!  Not sure if that explains it and not sure how she would know how painful that actually would be.  NOTHING compares to that!

According to her (our) doctor and her chart, her due date said that we still had another two weeks to go, but my wife is always early; 5 weeks early with our daughter and 6 weeks early with our son.  Why this one would come on time is beyond me.

A large proportion of our family, predicted that it'll be a boy.  And, my so-called physic sister-in-law was adamant that it was going to be a boy, and had actually used spiritual forces and a gold ring to foretell the gender - and, he was going to be born only 1 week early.  My prediction was that she was going to go on or shortly after Easter and that it would be a girl.

Wednesday morning when I was getting ready to leave the house, after the breakfast feeding frenzy of our two kids, my wife said that her stomach was a little bit sore and that she needed to relax.  It was my duty to call in cavalry, my mother-in-law who "luckily" lives nearby.  She came over to the house to lend a hand with the kids while I was at work.

Shortly before lunch, I received a phone call at work from my disstressed mother-in-law, saying that my wife was in pain and she needed an ambulance.  In the background I could hear my wife cursing like "The Exorcists" and asked if I could talk to her.  I quietly explained to her that having a baby during business hours and during the week is not really an option, and she ensured me that she was fine and just needed to rest.  Sorted!

...but no, it wasn't sorted!

Close to 15.00 (3pm) I received another call from my mother-in-law, who this time was in a frantic panicky stage, screaming "he no good, he go!".  Who the hell was he and what had happened?  After some translation in my head I understood that it had to be my wife she was talking about.  I briefly spoke to my beloved wife, and she informed me that they had called an ambulance, as her pain was getting stronger.  Oh, and by the way, the water had broken.  What water?  The shower pipe? What?

Then it struck me.  The aquarium glass had broken.  Damn it.  I had just cleaned it.  Thankfully my wife clarified the situation, and it was actually her water that had broken, meaning she was preparing to poop the baby.

My initial reaction was somewhat subdued and I was just wondering where the water had landed, and how easy it would be to clean up.  Instead of asking, I agreed to meet my wife at the maternity hospital.  While having her contractions, water breaking, keeping her in panic mode mother calm and waiting for the ambulance, my wife actually informed me that she had cancelled the horseback riding and gym for the kids!  How on earth did she manage to think of that?

Shortly after, I was driving on my hog (my Vespa scooter) to the hospital, ready to participate in the delivery of our 3rd child.  When I say participate I of course mean lending my hand and arm for physical abuse and my ears would absorb all the negative language.  The man's role in most deliveries is simple. You need to act as United Nations between two stressed and hostile nations; one side your beloved wife who hurl verbal abuse at the medical staff when they touch her and on the other side the medical team trying to assist my wife.  You need to use all your political skills to negotiate a successfully delivery.

While waiting, I was nominated the award for "Worst Timing Ever".  because I had left the office in a rush, and had waited for the ambulance, I never got a chance to go to the toilet to pee.  I Simply had to go and legged down the corridor.  38 seconds later I was back in the war zone.

Minor glitch in the overall plan - the baby was lying in a breeched position, which is not really ideal for giving birth and will often require a C-section..However, despite all the doctors and nurses best efforts to , time was not on our side and my wife was giving birth to our third child.

For you ignorant people out there, a baby is meant to be born head first, so when the nurse says "I see a foot!", then you know it is NOT the ideal delivery scenario.

...more to follow in Part 2.

Quick vote

My wife is due in the next few weeks, expecting our third child, and we are of course very exited.  As with our previous kids, we do not want to know the gender of the baby until it is born.

The most important thing for us us that are having another baby and that the baby is healthy.

Many new parents want to know the gender, and I can certainly understand their reasons why.  Knowing what to expect in regards to gender will allow parents to buy clothes and nursery equipment in either pink or blue.

Our first child was a girl and our second was a boy.

What do you think our third child will be?

Did you know the gender of your first child?

My Ace of Cake

When I first met my wife many moons ago, she was not well skilled in the kitchen - or anywhere near the kitchen for that matter.  I'm not being male chauvinistic, but she was just a disaster when it came to cooking.  It was clearly something she hadn't tried before, and probably never wanted to try either.  She just hadn't been in a kitchen before - at all.  It was like watching a blind person using an iPod.  I blame her parents of course, for this lack of marriage preparation training.  Kitchen navigation is one of the core lessons to teach your daughter.

I remember the first time she had to cook, or help me prepare dinner.  I asked her to boil the potatoes while I picked up a friend from the airport.  2 hours later, when we returned to the apartment, there was a strange smell of burnt soil.  The flat wasn't huge and the kitchen tiny.  What was causing these strange fumes?  And more, where were the potatoes?  I quickly spotted the pot where I had placed the potatoes and noticed that the bottom was covered with a thick black crust.  Mystery solved. She had burnt the potatoes.  When I asked her what had happened with the boiled potatoes, I got this evil stare and a quick reply "Boiled potatoes?  I had to put water in the pot?  You didn't give me clear instructions!".  I left it at that, no point arguing over burnt spuds, and ran to the local chipper to get fries.

Looking back, I strongly believe she had invented a new technique for making homemade chips / french fries. A technique that will be fully appreciated and worshipped when the planet runs out of water.  Then all the master chefs will come running to her for advice.

Despite the early failures in the kitchen, my dear wife has become a very good chef and makes lovely dinners.  I normally made dinner every night, before we had kids.  But because kids needs to eat early, she started to cook dinners during the week and I'll cook in the weekends.

Her interest in cooking / baking has taken her down different avenues, opened new doors one could say.  She is particularly fascinated by baking birthday cakes for the kids - even when it is not their birthday!  Not just any kind, but cakes that are shaped like princesses, dogs, balloons, etc.  If you have seen the "Ace of Cakes" TV show, then you'll know what I mean.

This is a skill she has been perfecting over time and she can now make the most amazing birthday cakes.  She is making fantastic cakes for the kids' birthdays and they love them.

Now, I fully support and appreciate these creations, but her determination and stubbornness when making these wonders are often scary.  She spends weeks planning the design, and investigates various techniques on the internet.  Lately, she has resorted to YouTube to get tips and hints, showing her how to make the perfect icing coatings and home made decorations, etc.

However, when the cakes are being made hell breaks lose.  The kitchen looks like a war zone; flour everywhere, ALL baking utilities are out, bags of spices scattered around, decorative figures standing in line prepared for battle and the MacAir is running YouTube and other baking sites.  The entire house smells of exotic spices and freshly baked cakes.

The actual process making these creations can take anything from 1 hour to 2 days - it all depends on the icing and design - or so she says.  For safety reasons (my safety), I retreat into the living room, out her reach, as I would otherwise get run over by a runaway (flying) bowl.  She curses, screams and sweats during the ordeal.  Sometimes I wonder if she is related to Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde.  Dough flies into the living room. It gets stuck on the TV closely followed by a pack of butter.  Calmly, I scrape off the dough and butter, while I dial the local parish office to get connected to the baking exorcist.

I have tried to assist her at times, despite how silly this might sound, to provide her with support.  But, more often than not, she has already been absorbed by the dark baking powder force, and she gives me the store of the flaming eye and utter words that I cannot repeat here.  I love it when she speaks dirty, but not when she bites kitchen utensils and spins her head.

Honestly, I never expected this transformation to happen.  When I fell in love with her, she was dressed in black and wore black eye makeup - black was her colour.  The first time we went to the pub and we had to go home (drunk of course) she was literally lying on the road outside the pub, attempting to stop a taxi.  Now, she's throwing baking rollers, bowls and ingredients around the kitchen ... or at me.

The creations are, as I mentioned earlier, amazing.  Our kids love them and all their friends are clearly jealous when the cake is presented, and feuds starts when cutting the cake, as they all want part of the decorations.  Some parents have even asked her if she could make a birthday cake for their kid's birthday.  Thankfully she has declined.  None of her friends should have the same cool cakes as our kids and I'm not sure my nerves would last too long anyway.

- cakes below are from our daughter's 6th birthday; cats 'n dogs theme

 

Cats n' Dogs

It was the time of the year again, where our daughter was going to celebrate her birthday.  This time she would turn six and us parents wept quietly before we went to bed.  Our little baby was getting older, again, and so were we.  At least I don't have gray hairs - yet.

She had decided the theme and she was also determined to invite the entire class - again.  All kids were delighted to be invited again to my daughter's birthday party.  They clearly remembered last year's smashing success, and were dying to party hard again.  27 Kids under the age of six were invited.  Deep inside, I wished that only 3 could come.  I still haven't recovered mentally from last year's party. My ear drums are still bleeding when watching plane take off and land.  The old metal band Man-O-War would be proud of the noise levels we reached last time.

Theme: Cats & Dogs (wonder if it would be anything like the movie)
Time & Location: Our house, after school Friday (please note, this event has already happened, so no need to show up next Friday)

My wife loves to bake birthday cakes, and this would be no exception.  And this time she was determined to give "Ace of Cakes" a real run for their money.  She started to plan the cakes two weeks before the actual event, by researching cake dough, icing techniques and designs. The final design and result can be seen here.  I have to admit, they look fantastic. And no, we don't take orders ... yet.

The big day finally arrived, and our daughter was so excited.  While she was in school, we decorated the house and prepared the food; chicken nuggets, fries, sausages, fish fingers and juice - the usual urban combat meal.

As the time drew closer, we (parents) got nervous too. I probably peed 16 times before the kids arrived.  It was as if I was sitting an exam.  Our daughter was dressed as a cat. My wife made the catsuit and the face paint.

Mayhem started bang on time, with the first cats and dogs arriving to the house.  Within minutes, the noise level in our suburban neighborhood had gone up 5 Db.  22 kids arrived (out of 27) so it was an excellent turnout.  The majority were dressed like either cats or dogs, except one weirdo kid who came dressed as a knight!

It wasn't long until all the neighbor kids were staring weird at our house because of all the screams.  Some even knocked on the door asking if they could participate and others attempted to bring their pets to the party. They totally misunderstood the theme.

One parent attempted to offload all his kids, not only classmates, but siblings too. One father even tried to get his 7 week old baby to crash the party, but I had to draw the line somewhere.  We were not stocking baby milk and we were not too keen on holding a baby while minding 22 lunatic pretend animals.  So, he left crying.  Another parent, whose child has all kinds of allergies, pretended that he did not have allergies anymore. He said he could have everything he wasn't allowed to have.  Imagine if the kid ended up a glucose overdose attack?  Paramedics would think we were mental patients, living in a house full of kids pretending to be animals.

As the party progressed, my wife had organized the usual party games; piñata, musical statues, face paint, bubble disco and of course the birthday song.  But, nobody anticipated or expected the last party game - least of all me.  My lovely wife had planned a "fantastic" game she made up called dog catcher.  This game doesn't need any introduction and should not be attempted without supervision by trained parents (like us)!  As soon as my wife said "GO", the signal for the "dogs" and "cats" to run, 20 kids sprinted around in the house hoping not to be caught by the dog catchers that were catching the dogs with tiny fish nets and putting them into tents.  The noise level and screams went though the roof. My wife just stood there giggling and cheering. She was having a blast. Our real dogs started to whine because some kids' high pitch screams went straight through their nerve system.   My ears started to pop uncontrollably and my heart beat faster.  I felt like screaming too, but I think most kids would have cried if I did.  This game went on for about 15 minutes. By then glasses and eardrums had cracked within a 1 mile radius.

Finally, the end emerged like God send.  Parents started to collect their kids and we slowly started to clean up the mess left by the animal invasion.  For all the food on the floor, we simply let in the dogs and then that was done.

The "funny" thing is that we cleaned the entire house in advance, but why?  It is not like the kids would judge how clean our crib was.  Anyway, within 7 minutes, the house looked like if someone had pulled the pin in a grenade - juice, food and party decoration all over - hovering in mid air due to the speed the kids ran in circles around the house.

When the last kid was collected, and our kids were in bed, we quietly sat in the sofa enjoying the sound of silence.  I finished a bottle of wine within 15 minutes and fell asleep.  Never again, but that's what we said last year.

The main thing was that our daughter had a fantastic day, and she loved it.  And, all her classmates still talk about her fantastic party 3 months on.

We had to have another party the following day, for the family only, which obviously was going to be a lot more relaxed.  Our daughter wanted gumbo, and she was going to help cooking it. She is after all six years old you know.

Caught in the Act 2

Back in October 2008 I posted a blog about me getting caught on CCTV for littering.  I fought the law and lost €150.  Back then, my wife found it extremely amusing that I was actually caught in the act and that they had CCTV footage of me doing the crime.

Times have changed and we learnt from my mistake...or have we?

Almost on the 2nd year anniversary of my litter fine, my wife drove our daughter to horseback riding, on a cold Saturday morning.  Our son and I were sitting in the kitchen, finishing our breakfast, when suddenly I received a text message (SMS) on my phone.  I don't get that many text messages, so I ran over to check it.  It was from my wife, and it said "I've just been clocked speeding.  How much is a fine?".

Somewhat amused, I replied back that she had it coming with her Schumacher tendencies.  It's just a miracle she hadn't been caught before.  Now it was my time to gloat and laugh - much easier when you are not face-to-face with the person that is.  If she would have been anywhere near me, she would probably have punched me several times or bitten me.  But I was in a safe distance of approx. 14 miles.

I hate to admit it, but my wife suffers from road rage syndrome, which affects many female drivers.  It is a condition that we have worked hard to surpress, but it is difficult for me to monitor her progress, when she has the car most days.

Symptoms of RR syndrome are (warning, they may have ALL symptoms):

• They don't let ANYBODY in, in front when merging
• They develop foul language and words, that even a builder would fear
• They require extra thick front windshields and side windows, to protect against flying objects (objects targeted against fellow drivers)
• Any passenger, 18+ years, will have to accept verbal abuse and take the blame for certain actions
• They are NEVER wrong

So, I decided to call her as well, just to rub it in some more.  She picked up and she wasn't amused.  Strangely, I could hear she was still driving, which made me wonder (and ask of course) if she didn't know it was illegal to use the mobile while driving, unless you have a car kit.

We actually don't know if she was clocked or not, as it has been almost 5 months and we haven't received a fine yet.  It took more than 4 months for me to get my fine, so there's still time for them to collect - but don't tell anyone.
- so much for saving money!

As for me.  I'm just delighted that I now have something on my missus.  We are both smooth criminals.

In love with the revenue office (IRS)

The last few months, well since February 2009, were extremely tough in regards to our economy.  Not only the country's economy, but also my family's vault was slowly getting closer to the critical lower limit.  It is not like we were in minus (red numbers).  However, we had to adjust our spending - simple as that.  A few of my previous blogs have explored that in some detail and talked about our alternative methods of saving money.

• Going on holidays during a recession
• Changing the house during a recession
• Going Green and saving money

Every expense was questioned and some of the more luxurious items like Sky Movies/Sports were cancelled.  We even consolidated TV, Phone and Broadband, which is something that I since regret.

Despite our best efforts, we were finding it tough to stay above the void of debt, but we were managing.  Since our son was born in 2005, we had been applying for various grants to support his needs.  Every application was rejected for some reason, so we had almost given up.  We agreed to try one more time.

A couple of days before Christmas, we received a letter from the Revenue.  It stated our household income year by year since 2005.  We didn't think more of it, and filed it in the pile.

Then, on the 23rd of December, we received another letter from the Revenue Office.  I opened it and could hardly believe my own eyes.  A cheque was staring back at me and the blood was slowly draining from my head.  I couldn't believe it.  The Revenue had finally approved our application. We had received a cheque covering what they should have paid us in support since our son was born.

Sorry, but FUCK ME we were absolutely delighted and over the moon.  I can honestly say that I at that moment kissed the envelope and ran to my wife.  We hugged and laughed. We couldn't believe our eyes.

Just in case, I rushed to the bank and deposited the cheque immediately.  Christmas was saved and we could pay off our credit card debt.  You have no idea how cool that felt.  The money is gone, but it went to a good cause, and we are now relaxed again.

Go for it.  I'm sure there are tax reliefs out there that you are entitled to, but not informed of, so start applying.

The real X-factor (Jedi mind trick)

My family and extended family celebrate individual birthdays with good food and drink.  We meet up in the house of the birthday person to celebrate the day.  Thankfully these events are mainly scheduled during the weekends.  This tradition has been going on for at least 12 years now, so it is something that has become an important part throughout the planning of the year's activities.  It is almost up there with New Year and Christmas.
...and, it helps me remembering all the birthday dates.

For some reason this year, the grand father decided to go away for his birthday, celebrating his birthday with his wife - a somewhat intimate and quiet birthday celebration for the elderly people.  Nothing wrong with that, but it might not be the best idea considering the tradition we have going and the high expectations of a free dinner. In their case at Loco Che's house.

When my 5 (almost 6) year old daughter got wind of the fact that her grand parents were deserting us and the party, to go abroad for a long weekend, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

She promptly contacted them and told them off.  Not only did she tell them that it was inappropriate to leave on holidays, but it was totally unacceptable to leave during a birthday.  "This is not the way we do things around here", she explained.  So, she kindly informed her grand parents that they had been X'd out of the calendar and the family.  It was their own fault.  They ditched the family tradition, so the family ditched them.

I think the grand parents were taken back, how honest and direct my daughter was. Tell me about it! I live with her 24/7, and I have felt her wrath a few times. It is not pleasant.

Shortly after, the family was invited to celebrate grand dad's birthday.  Another free meal, nice food, alcohol (for me at least) and a lot of good laughs.  Happy birthday grand dad.

Usut mikisuaraavoq, talliunnaranilu - visit to Greenland

(fair play to you, if you can translate the greenlandic words)

Back in '79 - '80, my parents decided they wanted to be a host family to a teenager from Greenland. Back in those days Greenland was ruled by the Danish government. It was our last colony.

Please note that most nations such as UK, Holland, Portugal, all had their share of colonies, but for some bizarre reason the Danes went as far North as possible, and found the coldest piece of rock and claimed it as theirs.  Rumour has it that Iceland should have been named Greenland and vice versa, but some old fart made a mistake on some maps and the names were permanently swapped.  No wonder Denmark never "discovered" and owned other colonies around the World.  We did have some islands in the Caribbean, but we sold them!

Anyway, we had this teenager living with us for 3 months, hoping to help her learn Danish.  To be honest, 3 months is not enough time to learn Danish, especially not the dialect we use in my hometown.

The 3 months passed by quickly and she went home again.  As my parents had volunteered to host a language student, we were invited to visit her village in Greenland.  So, along with 4 other families in our community, we left for Greenland for a two weeks holiday.  As previously mentioned, this was in the early '80s, so Disneyland Paris was not an option and not many of my friends had been on an airplane.  I was as a result the coolest kid in my class - at least for two days.

I was around 8 years old and flying for the first time.  I don't really remember much of the 5 hour flight, and my parents are still refusing to talk about it.  Perhaps that's why my mum is still scared of flying.  To make me even more of a celebrity in my class, I also flew in a helicopter for the first time.  Unfortunately that experience caused me to be deaf for two days solid, because  I was sitting on the side of the engine. So, all I heard for two days was the engine!!

One thing to know about Greenland is that the sun shines almost 24 hours a day, well, at least 20 hours, which is brilliant for us kids and annoying for our parents.  The most amazing thing about Greenland was seeing the Northern Lights - the sky shimmering and full of colours.  It cannot be described well enough. It has to be seen first hand.

My dad packed the only thing he needed to pack, which was the handycam and the camera - both items top of the range back in the '70s.  Neither survived long into the '80s, but we still have the film from the cameras.  Brilliant to watch...and yet scary.

So, what was there to see in Greenland beside icebergs and mountains?  Not much really, but that wasn't the point either.  We stayed in something that looked like a giant wooden train, with bunkbeds.  It was absolutely hilarious to watch my slightly overweight dad, with a beerbelly, climbing up.  My mum was terrified that it would break. She was underneath him.  I shared a sofabed with my sister.

This was an educational trip, in many ways. It was a trip where we were to get to know Greenland and its culture.  Looking back at it, it was actually a really cool trip.

We were lucky to have a local guide, who drove us to all the sights that had been organised for us. He had a Volkswagen van; one of those with sliding doors.  On Greenland, when it rains and the snow melts, loads of water runs down to the sea, through the villages.  As a result, the council had been clever enough to build these gigantic ditches, which were 4-5 feet deep. The ditches were covered with a dark green algae during the summer.

One day, after arriving back to our wooden train house, I was very eager to get out of the van.  Agile as I was, being 8 years old, I jumped out of the van, completely forgetting about the ditches.  Without a sound, my well known ninja style, I slid down the ditch. I was instantly covered in the green algae.  My dad, who hadn't seen me disappear, started to shout for me. He was getting agitated because he couldn't find me and because I didn't answer.  Either way, he was getting slightly impatient.  Suddenly, he heard my faint cry and looked down the ditch. There he saw his favorite son (only son by the way) covered in green algae. He immediately jumped in to get me out.  He too slid in the slippery algae and landed on his butt.  Despite the embarrassing situation we found us in; two tourists sitting on our butts in an algae covered ditch,  we started to laugh.  My dad picked me up and he got me out - dripping green sticky algae from my white hair.

Other cool adventures from our time in Greenland occurred when we were being introduced to various local foods.  Some were more disgusting than others, but for some reason kids don't always mind trying these new culinary experiences. Perhaps it helps when your parents are very enthusiastic and force you to try these.  As a result, my sister and I tried following local snacks:
(It was an experience alright, and I would try them again.)

• Freshly caught whale skin, against all Greenpeace rules. It is fairly chewy and salty.  It reminds me a bit of mild licorice.
• Freshly caught fish eyes. It reminds me mostly of a grape, with the exception that when you chew it, it is very salty, it has no flavour and the  consistency is as snot.
• NOT freshly caught fish, but wind dried sardines (same style as the ones you can buy for your pet!), with bones and eyes . Darn little pieces get stuck between your teeth.

My parents bought special equipment for the trip, just like I would do today, to ensure that we would be able to survive in the wilderness.  So, my parents invested in two sleeping bags for us kids.  But, these were not standard sleeping bags, but surviver sleeping bags.  Apparently, you could sleep in freezing conditions, down to -50 degrees. We put it to the test one night.  We were sailing overnight to another local village with a local ferry. We kids slept outside in -20 C degrees.  It was probably more like -10, but for the sake of the story, it was freezing Antarctic conditions.  We survived 6 minutes and legged it back inside.  We were no fools.

The locals took us fishing one day in small little motorised boats.  The boats only had enough room for 7-8 people.  The water was calm, dark blue and the icebergs were huge.  If only 10% were over the water, then I would hate to see the remaining 90%.  We were close enough to see large ice pieces falling off the actual ice cap, which was frightening.  It didn't make it any better when the guide said that we weren't getting any life jackets because if we fell into the water we wouldn't survive for long!!  Still, we went out fishing and stayed out for several hours, catching enormous cod fish and sea cucumbers (disgusting looking creature).

My sister and I also adopted a sled dog.  Well, it turned out it was a wild dog, but we cared for it anyway. We named it dosebier (can beer in German).  What we didn't know was that wild dogs are shot and the shooter gets a reward.  So, our dog didn't live that long, but we loved it as long as we had it.

There are two things that I still clearly remember; one embarrasing and one scary - you choose which is which.  They both happened on the same day funnily enough.

We were out sightseeing in mother nature, probably 50-100 kilometers from the nearest residential area, walking in the mountains and the snow.  Suddenly I had to do number 2.  When you are a kid, it just happens and you got to go NOW.  My dad looked around for trees, but there are no trees on Greenland - at least not where we were.  He spotted a church and we ran towards it, hoping the priest would have mercy on me.  Running is probably exaggerated, as it is difficult to run while you are squezing your checks together, trying to avoid an accident. Keep in mind, we were a long way from being able to change clothes too.  Anyway, we made it to the church, but there was nobody there!  Resourceful as my dad is, he quickly ripped off my pants, exposing my arse to nature (and the freezing wind) and placed me on a bin outside the church.  It was metal, so my poor checks were bitten by the cold rim, but I was relieved.  All we needed now was paper!!!!

Later that same day, we were out sightseeing on the glacier, and the guide told us about the Bitches Ditch (glacier crevasse), which is where unfaithful women were dumped ages ago.  Basically, they fell 20 meters down an icy void, only to be greeted with freezing water.  No way to escape.  And, who had to film into the crevasse with the family's first camera - my dad!  He was lying on his belly, while filming the frozen death trap.  My mum and us kids were begging him to step away from the edge. If it hadn't been for my earlier church experience, I would have blinked with the brown eye all over the glacier.  My dad slid away from the edge, back to safety and smiled at us with a victorious sparkle in his eyes.

All in all, it was an amazing experience visiting Greenland, and I would love to go back with my own family.  I know it will be difficult to persuade them, given that there are no amusement parks or sidewalk cafes, but it is a wonderful place to go.

- just don't adopt a dog and stay away from the local fish market.

(BTW, the title means 'you have a small penis, and it will never get bigger)