She'll be apples

It's often said, punkin, that the apple falls not far from the tree. This is, in my opinion, a bit of a ridiculous thing to say. I mean, how far could the apple get? It's not like they have legs, or the keys to my car.

The truth of the saying, however, apparently, lies in the idea that ones children tend to be quite like oneself. Quite how this happens is a bizarre process, and one that I'm not yet entirely comfortable with. Every time you turn around and giggle at me with a particular glint in your eye, I see your mother. Often when you're stamping your foot and saying "No, Daddy, it's NOT bedtime it's morning time I want to watch Diego", I can see and recall my own frustration as a young child.

So we, as hip and groovy 21st century parents, try to work with you to come to some mutually agreeable solution (also because you're astonishingly stubborn - again with the apples) to achieve our goals. Which are goals that you would have too, if you had a bit more of a long range vision and, I dunno, an idea that maybe Mum and Dad would like to have a bit of a snooze too.

The strange thing is, that as we've progressed, we've noticed that this negotiation strategy actually works. That, f'rinstance, reading you "ThomasBook!" one..... more.... time... can result in immediate cessation of hostilities, and, subsequent to correct application of little blanket, big little blanket, blue blanket, green blanket and big blanket, in the correct order and permutation, actual sleep. Before 11pm. This concept is almost alien to your parents.

There is other news, although it's a little early to be bouncing around, but the issue around your dad being underemployed appears to have resolved itself, however, to beleaguer another well known phrase, it never rains. (This is Australia, that's the end of the phrase. It just never rains.)

Your dad now appears to be what's known as "overemployed", a situation that is taking a little getting used to, but should place us in a good position for our Next Major Purchase. More on that later, suffice to say that the relationship between the "real estate boom" and the "housing affordability crisis" appears to depend on how many houses one owns. In your parents' case, this figure is zero, hence we are firmly in the Crisis section of the populace, and seriously considering Whittlesea at this point in time.

Not really.

Epping is a chance, but.

Love you

Love you

One poke over the lion.

Not that I'm saying, punkin, that you should be a lion tamer. Or a zookeeper. You don't have to live up to any paternal expectations where your choice of career is concerned. I know that my mum (your grammy) always said that she just wanted me to be happy. Naturlich, that is almost exactly as infuriating as it sounds, particularly where one is asking for advice, but it turned out, as with many things your various grandparents (see also: step grandparents, grand step parents, great grandparents, great grand step parents, great step grandparents etc) said to me over the course of my 34 years on this planet, to make much more sense when I got older.

Not that, you should understand, that I'm saying you don't understand stuff until you're ancient like me. Certainly, you understand a great many things. Like, frinstance, that one shouldn't get this close to a lioness unless a) she's asleep and b) there's about 3 feet of perspex between you and her.

Love you,

thanks for the card, and the whizzbang cordless screwdriver

Missing Link

P1040451
Originally uploaded by billyjoebob

So, punkin, as you've probably figured out by now, I'm not at home. I'm in the wonderful, cosmopolitan city to your north, known by most as Sydney. I'm here for work, so I can at least feel like I'm doing something positive, but I miss you and your mum so very much that at times it seems to be not at all worth it.

When you rang me last night (to tell me that you were eating a rice cake), I felt my biceps contracting, wanting to reach through the ether and hold you. When I kissed you goodbye before dawn on Monday, you woke up ever so slightly, smiled, said "Daddy", and lay your hand on my face. I know, now, how it is that people can walk away from their kids and loved ones to go on business trips. They do it by steeling themselves, and by making lots of phonecalls home.

Also, in your father's case, by buying a new videogame to play in the work-furnished beige anonymous apartment.

I'll not be gone as long as I'd originally thought, and will be home to share the weekend with you the weekend after next. Of course, in the timescale of a two year old boy, that is about 4000 years, so I'm glad that I have photos of you and get to talk to you often.

Not, it should be said, that you really "get" the whole concept of telephones yet. The number of things you DO get is still astonishing us every day, most notably you have recently been showcasing your ability to count to ten (although you're not quite at the point of remembering ALL the numbers ALL the time, you DO hit the important ones. Fives are your favourite.)

We also keep finding out stuff that you already know, that we haven't taught you. Just the other day, we were at your MaMa and DadDad's house, and you pointed at the TV screen and said "castle" (rightly). The feeling of pride that got me was almost overwhelmed by the sense of confusion. As parents, I think that one makes an assumption that our child learns only what we teach them. This is clearly not the case.

You're also learning about social networks. You're fascinated by babies, to the point of asking us if we can go and visit your mate Finn (who is a tiny wee bebe). You also have friends at daycare that you know by name, and demand to see fairly often.

I'm sad that I'm going to miss two weeks of your constant changes. I'm sad that I have to be away from you.
I'm happy, though, that being away from you is making it possible for me to provide a more stable base from which you can grow, and learn, and play and eat.
I'm glad that I'm able to feel within myself that I am becoming the most important thing to be for you.
and I

Love you.