Jetlag is a cruel beast. A big fat mumma of a cruel beast.
I land back in Manchester on Saturday feeling like I've just been dunked in a vat of sleep juice. And it's straight into a full day of running around manically with the kids. Lily and Lawson are round as well. So it's double the excitement. Cunningly - I offer to take the kids to see Toy Story 3. This is a masterstroke - it's dark in the cinema. I can sleep. Ahhhh - sweet precious jetlagged sleep. Like the dead.
Two hours later and I'm in the middle of an impromptu dance-off between Lily, me and Fintan at the front of the cinema whilst Buzz Lightyear performs a quick tango with Jessie in the background. Hmmmmm. Things have not gone to plan. My head is wobbly and I wonder what sleep was.
Later that night - Sarah and I attempt to watch a film together and for the first time in my life (as Sarah points out) - I actually fall asleep on the couch. This is shocking. This is a sign of "man weakness". Men just don't fall asleep on couches. Not unless drink is involved. Large buckets of alcohol. Ashamed of my failings - I head to bed.
At some point in the night, Fintan falls out of bed with a whacking great thud. I run in. And there he is. Still snoring on the floor and now wedged underneathe his bed. I pick him up and he never even breaks snore. That's my boy!
Sunday - and I attempt to lawn mower my way through a thick jungle of vegetation. The grass is so deep out back that there are lost units from Iwi-Jima still hiding in the scrub. I wade into it - narrowly avoiding a Fireman Sam Firetruck and a toy saucepan. Neither of which would do much for my blades. Fintan shouts directions on a constant basis.
"Stop Daddy STOPPPPPP!"
"Carry on Daddy. Carry on!"
He starts digging next to our little Mexican Banditto Gnome by the apple tree.
"What are you doing Fintan?"
"I am digging for treasure in the Temple of the Sun."
Ok. So now everything's perfectly clear. When the hell did Fintan learn about The Temple of the Sun? In fact - what the hell is the Temple of the Sun?
"Fintan? What's the Temple of the Sun doing in a garden in the outskirts of Chester?"
"Carry on Daddy..."
We will never know. One of life's great mysteries - until Baldrick and the Time Team pay us a visit.
Somehow I survive an insanely brain-mushed week and make it to the Bank Holiday. We're off to Dublin to see the rellies. This combines nicely with nursery handing over "Rosemary" the teddybear. We have to take her everywhere and write up her diary for the week. I am a little confused at this. Since when were teddy bears ever female? - Boo Boo - nope, Winnie? nope, Baloo - nope, Yogi - nope, Big Ted? Little Ted? Let's face it - woman bears just don't cut the honey mustard. How the hell they ever pro-create I'll never know. There must have been a Mrs Big Ted to make Little Ted after all (assuming they're related).
So...I manage to leave her on the floor in nursery within five seconds of being handed her. This is not a good start. Surely to God I shouldn't be put in charge of something as important at this? Kids easy. Bears...very very complicated - bears have issues!
We get a picture of Rosemary and Fintan at John Lennon Airport and somehow convince Ryanair that it's a good idea if she flies the plane as well. The pilots offer to take Declan for us and have him sitting up in the cockpit as well - Sarah and I see our chance. We consider making a bolt down the emergency exit slides and a mad dash across the runway - but the temporary insanity abates.
And Lo - we make it to Dublin and we are having a fantastic meal at Deborah's house - and the kids are happy at nana and grampa's house - all tucked up in bed - and then there's a call...and Declan is giving his best impression of the exorcist - and vomiting all over the place by all accounts and Fintan is shivering with a high temperature and not very happy at all.
So we head home to take on dual sick baby duties. I opt for the elder - thinking - this will be a cinch. Late in the night Fintan cuddles up to me. It's a lovely moment between man and boy. A bonding between father and son. I smile to myself in my half comatose sleep. This is great...this is what life is made for...this is...soggy...
"Fintan - you're wet. You're wet!" Oh crap - he's just peed all over me in his fever. And I thought he was cuddling up to me. Nooooo - he just wants to get warm!
I lie in bed shivering for a bit and the Wonderpets theme tune rolls round in my head repeatedly. I can't get it out. I can't shake the bloody theme tune! "And Ming Ming too...we're wonderpets and we love you..."
Eventually I nod off and wonder what joys the new dawn will bring...
Just after dawn I find myself lugging a single mattress down the stairs and into the garden and begin scrubbing it down with fairy liquid and water. I rest my hand on the swing and climbing frame in the garden where I've set up the mattress. My hand comes back brown and sticky - I panic for a second...nope - not poo. Paint. Whooppee. Paint. I forgot the frame just got painted.
Later - I head back into the house and notice a stain on the floor by Declan's bed. I inspect it up close. Sniff. Seems all clear. Now for the test dab. Hmmm sugary - syruppy. Calpol. 13 maybe 14 hours old. I should be in CSI. These skills become second nature to a dad.
Three days previous, I had a a nasty incident with a work shirt and some marmite - for a second I made the most amateur parenting error of all time - the test dab and lick. Never - never under any circumstance test dab and lick anything that is brown. Just ask my dad - only a few weeks before, he came into the kitchen, picked up a rogue brown pellet and said the immortal lines..
"Has Declan been at the Chocolate Buttons again?" As he held up offending article for close inspection.
"No dad. He didn't have any buttons today..."
Never has a poo been dumped in a bin quicker. Ever.
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