#EpicFail Daddy

Ok we know each other well enough now to know I did not start my Saturday with hope and optimism, but more with coffee and survival! We were meeting my in-laws for coffee and cake at a nearby garden centre, so I was ready by the time my in-laws pulled up. We had the usual car journey where my kids beat each other up, and complained that “He touched me!” and “She breathed on me!” By the time we arrived 25 minutes later, I was a wreck and in need of straight coffee beans, scrap the water, I needed pure caffeine and fast!

I can sum up the garden centre by saying coffee, cake, terrorising fellow café guests, my son having a melt down at the toys, and then we left. Things were so bad my wife drove home whilst I rocked and dribbled in the passenger seat. My wife stopped at a farm shop for me to get a yummy lunch and impress her. I was determined to regain happiness in my home, and spend nearly twenty hard earned pounds on the yummiest lunch this side of Dorset. I was prepared to show the TV chefs how to do lunch, and in my mind nothing could go wrong. Of course we both knew this was going downhill, the question was how fast?

As we got back I put the mega farm sausages, full of flavour, in the oven to gently gain a suntan, and exude flavour by the bucket loads, and I was not disappointed. I got the fresh sour dough farm bread out and put it on the table, with posh crisps and sauces and placed them onto the table. My son was now leaving dribble on the floor so I asked him to get the rest of the family before he drowns us in drool. My family arrived like race cars to the table, and then it went down hill. My son asked whether we had ‘normal’ bread, then my little girl decided the bread looked pretty ‘disgusting’, so I broke out the handmade farm crisps. This was my chance at redemption, and after the first crisp both my kids asked for ‘normal’ crisps. Maybe I should go back and tell the farm shop did they know they were selling ‘weirdo’ food, and did they do normal?

I had put two different size sausages in the oven and when I broke them out I was praying for rejection, and all the sausages would be my wife’s and mine. No such luck, but remember we had small child size, and man size, and guess which was rejected? Yes people, all the man size were snapped up faster than tickets for a music concert. The poor small ones were chilled and put in the fridge like left over food Christmas evening, looking sorry for themselves. So lets sum up, after spending nearly twenty pounds on yummy lunch, the only thing that was snapped up was the expensive man sausages. Onwards and upwards I announced the annual trip to town to purchase the Christmas tree, which was greeted with “I will stay at home” from my little girl, and went upstairs to my son who informed me that I could strap his shoes to his feet whilst he packed the contents of the house, to go on what looked like an epic road trip of biblical proportions. We whittled it down to a small rucksack, rather than the multiple suitcases he was planning and put him to the front door.

To get my little girl down we shouted upstairs “We will buy you sweets!” Ok, so I lowered my standards but I was a desperate man. However, there was nothing, not even movement. I tried shouting a few times to go upstairs and found she had headphones on. Having removed the cans from around her ears, she said if I was willing to buy sweets then she would come. Oh thank you princess, you really are doing me a favour! Having picked up a little shopping we went and choose the Christmas tree, to which the seller announced it would be £25. My little girl was enraged and kept on announcing she would not pay the £25, and she would spend one pound, and pocket the change. I kept explaining to my eight year old tight fisted financial accountant that one pound would not buy a tree, and if it did we would need a magnifying glass to put the star on the top.

We left for home, with the tree on my shoulders. As we got near home I met a friend, and we chatted for a while, and he upped the romantic ante to a whole new level. He announced it was his wedding anniversary and was cooking his wedding night meal. Whoa there tiger, having seen my wife’s facing gushing with near tears, I was also near tears because I cannot remember what I had for dinner last night, let alone my wedding night meal. This friend had set a standard that I fear only the elite romantics could match, and I was in big trouble next year. Whilst this was going on, I was racking my brains back to my wedding day so hard that I did not feel the kids kicking seven bells out of the Christmas tree. I looked down to see most of the tree on the floor, where the kids were using their boots to kick the tree in. My son I could imagine doing it, but my new so called ‘financial adviser’ was also giving the tree a good hiding! I explained that I spend £25 that my financial whiz-kid announced was overspending on a massive scale, yet my still so called whiz-kid had managed to make £24 of the tree fall on the floor. I said my good byes to Mr. Romantic and left for home, with a tree that was now looking very peaky, and had a touch of men’s baldness to it.

As we got home my kids helped dress the tree, whilst I stood back and remembered not only what my tree looked like tens minutes ago, but also my wedding day. If you were there, can anyone remember what we had for dinner, if so you would be saving my marriage and the romantic score board come next year!

Have a great week everyone. As for what happened to the tree, join me next week!