Children & babies · fun · General parenting · Home and Family · Love · Marriage · mental health · relationships · sacrifice

Tin Happy Years

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When one hears the word “Tin”, what generally springs to mind is a tin of flaked tuna, a singleton’s serving of chunky vegetable soup or some sugar-free baked beans. A gloopy cocktail of syrup, in a negligible amount of fruit, a fat-free, caffeine-free, everything-free Coke Zero or maybe even a G&T in a slimline can, if you’re really posh. Princes, Campbell’s, Heinz, Coca Cola or Gordons & Schweppes – whatever marketing masterpiece your tin of choice is encased within, at the end of the day, it’s final fate is as of any other cheap, rusty, hollow Tin Can, that is – cracked open, used and emptied, before being slung into the giant gob of a bacteria-infested, creeping crawling cesspit of a recycling bin.

So when my Other Half threatened to buy me a gift of some “Tin” to mark the, quite frankly, miraculous occasion of our Tenth Wedding Anniversary, you can imagine I was less than impressed. Do I look like I need another sodding Tin Can in my life? Do I not fork out enough money improving the condition of your heart with beans, beans, the more you eat the more you fart? And can I infer from this ever so subtle hint, that tonight’s “Three Tin Can Course” banquet is a notch up on the fare I usually provide? It is indeed hard to fathom how on earth this ghastly metal managed to make it’s way to the top spot marking the Big 10. Why “Tin” has traditionally been chosen to represent the tenth year of a successful marital union is quite simply beyond me. Could it be as trivial as a play on words – tin, ten, ten, tin? Or is there a more subtle hidden irony that Simple Women like me will Never. Ever. Get?

Apparently there is some logic behind the Ten Tin Conundrum. Tin is a soft and malleable metal with a low melting point, which when cast, becomes strong to create a protective coating for other metals. The crème de la crème of Tin does not tarnish or rust, thereby maintaining an untainted and highly polished finish. Tin represents durability and protection and according to ancient civilisations, wisdom, balance and kindness. Without Tin, they say our lives would be lacking mercy and a sense of morality, and our relationships would be much sterner and harsher. “They” are clearly a lot cleverer than I. However, now we’ve cleared up the truth about Tin, its privileged position commencing the Conjugal Double Digits should start to make sense, wouldn’t you think?

So when my Other Half threatened to buy me a gift of some “Tin” to mark our ten years of Holy Matrimony, perhaps this was in fact less of a threat and rather more a well-considered, meaningful act of sincerity and love? Could it be that He truly understood the significance of such a milestone in our lives together thus far? Was his hard and strong outer shell melting away to reveal a soft, molten inner core, gushing with the purest of love? Well, had I actually received said “Gift of Tin”, then I might have believed it. But let’s not get carried away. As with any anniversary, birthday or special celebratory day, at our ripening old age, there is always an air of disenchantment on the horizon. And on this particular occasion, our Tenth Wedding Anniversary (in case you didn’t realise), disregarding the disappointing lack of Tin Gift, not only was I physically as SICK AS A DOG but I was also embroiled in “women’s stuff”, of which I shall spare you any further details. Needless to say, there was disappointment all round. In fact, “disappointment” is a total understatement. This, combined with running around after Three Terror Tots in a Spring heatwave like no other, was enough to send us both over the edge. And apparently, it was my fault. It was all my sodding fault.

“If it’s not a migraine, it’s illness. If it’s not illness, it’s your monthly do. And if it’s not your monthly do, it’s chronic fatigue. In fact Dear Wife of Ten-Tin-Can-Years, it is so Gd’dam “coincidental“, you couldn’t have planned it better yourself. Or could you? For it seems just too “typical” that, on each and every opportune occasion such as this, something always gets in the way of a “Good Time”. Which leads me to question, Dear Wife of mine, is there ever a Good Sodding Time for anything more meaningful than shovelling up shitty nappies and continuing to hum nursery rhymes in solitude to oneself, after ten years of marriage and three kids?”

And breathe. If you’ve read my post The Seven Year Itch, you’ll realise that nothing much has changed in three years. And if you’ve also read my post The GR, you’ll know that with a miserable cow of a wife for 10 years, He is well within his rights to be pretty damn peeved. So having found other ways to pacify Him, such as food, complements and other unmentionables, let’s now remind ourselves of why we’re here discussing love, life and Tin in the first place. Three happy kids, three happy homes, a zillion happy holidays, seven happy cars, a loving family and a bunch of happy-clappy friends = Ten Happy Years. Now stop complaining and crack open an ice cold Tinny.

 

 

Home and Family

Super Dad

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When it comes to Father’s Day, it’s a given that Mum has it all sorted. From the carefully crafted words on the card, to the subjectively selected jumbo box of mum’s favourite chocolates for “everyone” to enjoy. There is no need for the Father of this generation to write a polite list of requests as to the order of the day, to make gentle hints weeks in advance about the length of his lie-in or to buy his own presents. Today’s sensitive new-age man need not make his own breakfast in bed, bake his own cake or scrub his own feet today. No, he has a loving and caring woman to do all that for him.

Forget the kids in all of this. Let’s face it, aside from Mum raiding their piggy banks to sub the Super-Hero present she picked up yesterday from the local pound shop, what do kids actually have to do with Father’s Day? Aside from jumping all over him, screeching their very own tone-deaf rendition of, “happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Daddeeeeeeeee, happy birthday to you” in his ears, thereby interrupting his long-awaited lie-in, it’s their job to forget all about this meaningful day, until the next time Mum reminds them to #benicetodaddy, PLEASE, EVEN IF JUST FOR TODAY, at roughly five minutes intervals throughout the day.

Once again, it’s Mum’s job to ensure that the day goes smoothly, that Dad is suitably spoilt and that the kids are forced into displaying exemplary behaviour, whilst smiling for the selfies. If He has a Super-Wife, then the lucky fellow may even have a surprise table booked somewhere involving chocolate and deep-filled apple pie and ice-cream. If, like my Old Man, he has a sub-standard Wife, then he’ll have to make do with a packed lunch of soggy tuna sandwiches and a packet of out-of-date crisps, from the rarely seen depths of the “treat” cupboard. Some treat indeed.

However, before the day turns into a total let-down for #thebestdaddyever, let’s reinforce what’s real and true about today. Today is a reminder of all the wonderful Dads out there, some who are with us and some who sadly are not. The Dads who work hard each and every day to provide a world for their precious brood. The Fathers who love and cherish their children like no other. And the Men without whom our lives would simply not be as full (not to mention smelly.) Happy Father’s Day to all you old farts. Today is going to be awesome (Mum’s promise).