Don’t worry for those who know me, I’m not harbouring a secret Van Morrison crush. This song however, is a favourite of my Mum’s, and always reminds me of her relationship with my Dad. As it’s Father’s Day, I’ve shelved the illustrated post that I’m working on for a day as I wanted to post a special blog for the men in my life. Both of them will Have Been Told Lately, but just to remind them that I still love them. Apologies if it’s a touch gushing, but I’ve got some good ‘uns in my life.
First of all, papa J. Despite his current pseudonym of Grumpa due to a penchant for his own space and golf, we’ve always had a special bond. We drive each other mad, fight like none of my other siblings do with him, because we know when the sun sets on that debacle life will move on and we’ll still love each other as much. You know how most girls are supposed to marry their Father? Not actually of course, because that’s all kinds of wrong, but we’re supposed to seek our mate based on our Father’s personality? That would be impossible for me, as it would be like marrying myself. My Dad and I are two infuriating peas in a pod, me minus the goatee for now. Still not sure about that Grumpa. I believe this makes an easy segue into talking about Wolf.
We didn’t meet in the most glamourous of circumstance. Oor Josie will vouch for this. It was all a bit messy, it involved some considerable alcohol consumption by both of us. An ID check by me to ensure he wasn’t as young as he looked. I don’t think many fairy tales start that way. But there was something about Wolf, baby faced and shy. I don’t want to say opposites attract here as that would make me haggard and loud mouthed…
Five years to that day we got wed. It was everything I hoped it would be, a sunny October’s day, in a barn with drinking and dancing. We knew we wanted a baby now, this was the start.
By the way, calling him Wolf isn’t to protect his identity. That’s what I call him, and being the nice boy he
conceded after much nagging agreed to being called this because that’s how he is. Just a good man. Hirsute, having pointed ears and sharing the same first name as a baby faced actor who portrayed a teen wolf, how could I call him anything else? I always knew he’d be a good Dad, a cack handed one mind, but patient and calm. The perfect antithesis to a vaguely neurotic, hyperactive mother. I am the girl that had to be removed from her own fifth birthday party for some ‘quiet time.’ Wolf only really exists in ‘quiet time.’
When the tumultuous day came, and we were announced to be parents to our boy, Wolf remained quiet and strong. Only the look in his eyes faltered- a mixture of unbelievable pride, complete shock and being overwhelmed by the enormity of how it had all come about. All through Rufus’s stay in hospital, and to this day he does actually take every day as it comes. He doesn’t waste hours fretting, googling, fretting. He just waits. And that pisses me off sometimes, because I, well I, just can’t do that.
If you haven’t already switched off by this point, don’t fear, I don’t spend my days starry eyed with love and awe over Wolf.
We I start fights, domestic drudgery gets in the way. He’ll eat noisily, neglect to communicate some vital piece of gossip, smell funny, NOT ANSWER HIS PHONE. Ahem, you know. Just stuff. We might not tell each other we love each other. He may well call me a mental bitch. I may well get very annoyed at being called out on that. But as a Father and husband, Wolf takes care of his pride. And he has a little more than some others to contend with. Rufus and his additional extras, medicines, feeds, physio, therapeutic play, being a little like his Mum with his mood swings. Me and my inability to be anything like a domestic goddess. Definitely more domestic sluttery in this house.
And Rufus loves him. I’m not talking some small show of eye contact here. I’m talking a full on man crush. Stroking his beard, trying to attract his attention the minute it’s not fully on him. It’s filthy and a little embarrassing, frankly. And I am not jealous. Much. Wolf has taken on 2 days childcare now as I’ve put my nose back to the grindstone, and is a far more capable housewife than I. If he’d have come home and ask what was for tea when Rufus and I were home alone, he would have been met by a banshee barely stopping herself searching out the carving knife to suggest giving him a roasting. And yet I come home to a happy baby (mostly) and some plan for food, if it’s not already made. Bastard.
So Happy Father’s Day to papa J, and a special Happy Father’s Day from a cub to his daddy. It’s been you two from day one, let’s hope mini-est D might take Mummy’s side.