I know my husband is more than capable of minding the fort, but I still couldn’t hide my surprise when I returned after a couple of days away to find four walls intact and minimal evidence of small fires.
“We had great craic here at bedtime,” my husband announced worryingly. Even more worrying still, I discovered two melodicas and an accordion at the bottom of the duvet, but I said nothing because in the scheme of marital crimes, you could be doing a lot worse than finding a melodica in your bed after a few days away.
I had to bail on my family due to commitments up the country during the week, so Daddy had been flying solo the last few days and generally thriving. I read an article once (code for, I watched a TikTok) that said in order for your partner to parent fully, they need to do so in your absence.
Speaking from my own experience, I would have to say this is most definitely the case.
My husband can parent no problem, but when I’m in the vicinity, I automatically step in as our three-year-old comes straight to me with picklers like opening yoghurts and re-adjusting his sunhat.
I know my husband is more than capable of holding the fort and probably secretly relishes the prospect on some level, so I toddled off feeling sad at leaving my little guys but also safe in the knowledge that though the washing mountain would be terrifying upon my return they’d all have had a good time, which is surely the main thing (depending on the size of the washing mountain, obviously).
When I opened the front door after three days away, I tried not to focus on the debris in the sitting room but instead on the fact that the kids were happy and healthy and they were all wearing socks — albeit mismatched, but all toes were covered.
The hugs and kisses made my absence from them feel all the more prolonged, and I squeezed my three-year-old so tight that he had me begging for clemency before I surveyed the damage in the house.
Sure enough, it was clear they had fun — dare I say, too much fun. The Play-Doh on the TV screen and outdoor toys inside — including a basketball net and tricycle — were dead giveaways that my husband has cemented his status as the cool parent for the foreseeable future.
Our two kids love their dad but it’s safe to say they view us as fulfilling different roles in their lives. Daddy for craic, Mammy for survival, I say on nearly a daily basis and when I do, my tongue is nowhere near my cheek.
Gone be the day that Daddy in charge meant a dinner of microchips and frozen deep-pan pizza. As any child of the ’80s and ’90s will tell you, the news of mammy going away for a few days was always a welcome one because chances were you could convince most Irish fathers at the time that school didn’t happen on Fridays and prank calls to child welfare hotlines were a totally legitimate pastime.
Of course, Daddy being in charge is not synonymous with a free gaff, but it can still mean different codes of behaviour are in place because values differ depending on the individual parent holding the house keys.
In our home, for example, while Mammy places importance on tidying up after ourselves, Daddy always insists that kids won’t remember a clean and tidy floor but will remember squeezing toothpaste all over the bathroom sink and proceeding to pour fairy liquid down the toilet ‘just to see what happens’.
As I tried to reorganise the house on my return, I did my best to ignore some inexplicable happenings — a broken table lamp proved a mystery until my husband announced that he stood on it the day before. ‘How do you stand on a lamp?’ would be a logical next question. But who am I to try when I have been a guardian in absentia for the last 72 hours?
The biggest enigma is our three-year-old’s missing milk bottle. Let me admit to being completely unbothered by the fact our eldest still takes a bottle at night, as I also enjoyed a midnight milk well into primary school. Recently, a friend said his bottle should ‘be long gone’, which is surely worthy of a WhatsApp blocking, but for the fact this same friend has an incredible wardrobe I may need to dip into for some future formal event.
Eventually, after two hours of looking, the milk bottle turned up in his playschool lunchbox, as Daddy was unaware that though we are not ashamed of Ted’s nighttime buidéallín habit, we keep it within the family. Other than outing us for our son’s clandestine bottle habit, though, the hubby didn’t do much in the way of garnering unwelcome attention.
When I gently probed as to what the three-year-old had for dinner, I was reliably informed he enjoyed a bowl of cornflakes because, Daddy explained, it was breakfast time in Sydney and, therefore, a totally legitimate culinary choice. It’s hard to argue with this pretty on-point time zone logic.
I changed the baby’s clothes with a downplayed sense of immediacy — because, as so often is the case when I am not at home, Daddy has turned to the bag of newborn clothes collected with Vincent de Paul in mind and chosen a vest and play suit ensemble that the baby hasn’t worn since day two on the maternity ward. Still, the constricted look is very much that of a Dublin footballer, so Daddy could have done a lot worse, and besides, for craic levels he’s hard to beat, and for that, we salute him.
- Julie Jay is on a nationwide tour of her new stand-up show, ‘Julie Madly Deeply’.
- Details at: www.juliejaycomedy.com