Guest Post: My Proudest Moment As A Dad

It’s a proud thing being a parent. After all, it was you who helped to create this kicking, screaming, vomiting little ball of wonder.

And it’s brilliant showing off your baby to all who take an interest. “She’s got your eyes, hasn’t she”, they’d say.

To which I may reply with my eyes closed and arms outstretched: “Who said that?”. Very juvenile humour I know, mostly under-appreciated by Mrs. B.

But this juvenile humour, I can only assume, is what’s helped me bond so magically with my two girls, 5 and 7.

I’m not going to lie – I wanted a boy. At least one. Mainly because I worried that I wouldn’t be able to share the same interests as two Barbie-loving girls.

I couldn’t have been any more wrong. They love sports, climbing trees, camping, hiking etc. How stereotypical an assumption of me. But it’s not this alone that has made me so proud.

Hopefully it doesn’t come across narcissistic, but what makes me proudest is their developing sense of humour – which is identical to ours.

We constantly play jokes on our two. Only the other weekend we got them all dressed up in the belief that they were going out for a surprise, only to turn around at the next roundabout and arrive back home.

Our youngest refused to leave the car, demanding that she got her surprise. “Wasn’t a little trip up the road enough of a surprise? How ungrateful.” I told her. You should have seen the girls’ faces.

We had only returned home so quickly to grab her inhaler, but it seemed great fun to incorporate that into the belief that their surprise was simply a little trip up the road.

We’re not cruel, I promise. They did get their surprise trip to the giant indoor play centre. They’re just so easy to prank.

And it was this little episode that led to my proudest moment, the whole purpose of this post.

I genuinely didn’t believe the two of them were capable of payback. I’ve never seen them do it before.

But this time was different. This time the disappointment they felt was so intense that they hadn’t simply forgotten about it. They wanted payback for our trickery – a la Liam Neeson.

They know my morning routine and it runs like clockwork. It’s not a OCD thing, it just seems the logical order to do things.

I wouldn’t have to spin around on the spot 30 times if the order was broken, fearing that I’ll go bald if not. It’s nowhere near that bad – I only spin 20 times.

1. Wake up and make a cup of tea. 2. Take the dog out for a walk. 3. Read my emails and watch a bit of BBC News. 4. Have breakfast. 5. Shower and get ready. 6. Brush my teeth then head off to work.

Probably very similar to most men in the mornings.

I was so unsuspecting and that’s why I loved what happened so much. Please also bear in mind that they left mummy alone. It was me upon whom they sought vengeance. I guess they saw me as the orchestrator of the previous day’s joke.

If I have one weakness, it’s spicy food. For some reason my body can’t tolerate so much as a korma.

It physically hurts my mouth and throat and makes me feel sick if anything spicy infiltrates my face. It’s a horrible sensation and the only thing that helps is milk.

I had completed steps one to five of my morning routine. All that remained was step six, brushing my teeth.

I thought there was a problem with the toothpaste to begin with, but within seconds my mouth, throat and lips were completely on fire. My eyes were even burning.

I’ve recently had laser eye surgery as well, which was cut-price through a vouchers website (I couldn’t afford that normally), so I did worry for a moment because everything was a blur through the streaming, plus it actually hurt too.

I didn’t attribute any blame to the kids to begin with, instead apportioning it to Mrs. B. I did notice the pair of them in hysterics as I frantically sought the milk, however.

This is where things got even worse for me. As I gulped the milk at what felt like a litre a second, the sensation didn’t get better, it got worse.

The little buggers had only poured chilli sauce into the milk as well.

It took an eternity to recover – it felt like I’d swallowed the sun. However, when I regained enough composure, I turned to them, still bent over the kitchen worktop, and asked if they had anything to do with it.

To which our eldest replied: “Yes daddy. You shouldn’t have tricked us yesterday, should you.”

My world was turned upside down. I tried to laugh as best as my contorted, chilli-ravaged face would allow but excessive coughing prevented the laugh that my body wanted to expel.

“Mummy helped us too”, piped up our youngest. I did wonder how they’d reached the chilli sauce located on the top shelf.

It was their idea though and that’s all that mattered, regardless of mummy’s involvement – for who the favour was returned.

I gave them both a high-five, told them how brilliant I thought their trick was and saw them off as mummy took them to school.

They returned from school later that day to find that all of their toys had disappeared, now aboard a shipment destined for underprivileged children in Africa.

Mummy’s payback had to wait a few days, but when she did eventually ask me to make her a coffee, the gravy granules were ready.