on-lookers laughing hysterically and pointing at me. It was also at that point that my dance partner threw up all over my shoes. I got my coat and exited the battlefield with my white flag raised.
Where did last night get me? It reminded me how easy being married is. It got me poorer, it got me embarrassed and it got me a hangover. And it got me in trouble with my parents because for some reason I left my sick-encrusted shoes on the kitchen table.
I am missing my kids more than I am missing my wife. I mean my ex-wife. But I must confess that I wasn’t particularly missing the kids first thing this morning when the doorbell rang and Jack and Sean turned up on my parents’ doorstep. My first official single dad act was to try not to run to the loo and throw up within the first two minutes of the kids being there.
Only having my kids for the odd evening and weekends will take some getting used to. The general rule is that I get the kids every other weekend but we have agreed that, over and above the formal requirement, they can come and stay with me whenever they want. If this morning was anything to go by, that won’t be very often. Still, things picked up as the morning went on. They played on the PS4. Maybe not the quality time the child psychologists might have in mind, but there isn’t a PS4 at my ex’s so that’s one reason they’ll want to come to my parents’.
The other reason they will want to come is to see the dog. Yes, my wife gets the house, the kids and the best car. I get the mortgage and the German shepherd puppy. Albus is his name, after Albus Dumbledore. If you don’t know who he is, then where have you been for the past ten years?
I made some progress on goal one today – getting a new place to live. My parents threatened to throw me out if I didn’t get off my arse and start sorting my life out. Well, it may not be the proactive progress I might have wanted, but I am one step closer to getting a place of my own – even if it might be a park bench.
Sunday 30 th March
Living with my parents isn’t easy. Having your old bedroom back more than twenty years after you left home and sharing the house with your parents is a big change from having your own kids, house, garden, telly and wife (yes, in that order). This significant step backwards in my life has taken some getting used to. I have to remind myself to abide by my parents’ rules while in their house. Rules like washing up straight after a meal rather than when there aren’t any clean dishes left in the cupboard, and cutting my toenails in the bathroom, not in front of the telly. Talking of the telly, I also have to make sure that the next time I watch Playboy TV when everyone else has gone to bed, I turn the channel back to BBC before I turn the TV off. Mum is still getting over the embarrassment of having her Women’s Institute friends thinking she watches porn.
Having me as a lodger isn’t easy for my parents either, especially at their age. They are both approaching their seventies. They are physically fit but my dad had a hip replacement last year and needs the other one doing too so he is temporarily less mobile than he would want to be. Mum could probably still climb a mountain faster than me and both of them can drink faster than me.
Before I moved in, they were very set in their ways. Theyhad a routine for what rooms in the house they would sit in at different times of the day (kitchen in the morning, conservatory in the afternoon, front room in the evening). Meals were served at one o’clock and six o’clock and after dinner they would listen to The Archers then move from the radio to the telly in time to watch the soaps. They would go to bed straight after the ten o’clock news.
Except for a short but explosive teenage stroppy period, I have always got on with my parents. We don’t do cuddles and all that stuff, but pre-divorce, I used to go round there once a week with the family, have dinner, play board games and
Where did last night get me? It reminded me how easy being married is. It got me poorer, it got me embarrassed and it got me a hangover. And it got me in trouble with my parents because for some reason I left my sick-encrusted shoes on the kitchen table.
I am missing my kids more than I am missing my wife. I mean my ex-wife. But I must confess that I wasn’t particularly missing the kids first thing this morning when the doorbell rang and Jack and Sean turned up on my parents’ doorstep. My first official single dad act was to try not to run to the loo and throw up within the first two minutes of the kids being there.
Only having my kids for the odd evening and weekends will take some getting used to. The general rule is that I get the kids every other weekend but we have agreed that, over and above the formal requirement, they can come and stay with me whenever they want. If this morning was anything to go by, that won’t be very often. Still, things picked up as the morning went on. They played on the PS4. Maybe not the quality time the child psychologists might have in mind, but there isn’t a PS4 at my ex’s so that’s one reason they’ll want to come to my parents’.
The other reason they will want to come is to see the dog. Yes, my wife gets the house, the kids and the best car. I get the mortgage and the German shepherd puppy. Albus is his name, after Albus Dumbledore. If you don’t know who he is, then where have you been for the past ten years?
I made some progress on goal one today – getting a new place to live. My parents threatened to throw me out if I didn’t get off my arse and start sorting my life out. Well, it may not be the proactive progress I might have wanted, but I am one step closer to getting a place of my own – even if it might be a park bench.
Sunday 30 th March
Living with my parents isn’t easy. Having your old bedroom back more than twenty years after you left home and sharing the house with your parents is a big change from having your own kids, house, garden, telly and wife (yes, in that order). This significant step backwards in my life has taken some getting used to. I have to remind myself to abide by my parents’ rules while in their house. Rules like washing up straight after a meal rather than when there aren’t any clean dishes left in the cupboard, and cutting my toenails in the bathroom, not in front of the telly. Talking of the telly, I also have to make sure that the next time I watch Playboy TV when everyone else has gone to bed, I turn the channel back to BBC before I turn the TV off. Mum is still getting over the embarrassment of having her Women’s Institute friends thinking she watches porn.
Having me as a lodger isn’t easy for my parents either, especially at their age. They are both approaching their seventies. They are physically fit but my dad had a hip replacement last year and needs the other one doing too so he is temporarily less mobile than he would want to be. Mum could probably still climb a mountain faster than me and both of them can drink faster than me.
Before I moved in, they were very set in their ways. Theyhad a routine for what rooms in the house they would sit in at different times of the day (kitchen in the morning, conservatory in the afternoon, front room in the evening). Meals were served at one o’clock and six o’clock and after dinner they would listen to The Archers then move from the radio to the telly in time to watch the soaps. They would go to bed straight after the ten o’clock news.
Except for a short but explosive teenage stroppy period, I have always got on with my parents. We don’t do cuddles and all that stuff, but pre-divorce, I used to go round there once a week with the family, have dinner, play board games and
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