The Bald and the Beautiful

We all long for it! Those long days at the beach, sipping at a refreshing drink while the kids are playing in the sand. The sun is of course shining, and life is generally good; however, as with any short-lived dream it must come to an end … for the grown-ups!

Kids have a fantastic way of disqualifying anything that does not “concern” or, dare I say, “suite” them. It’s at times almost unheard of how “they” live their life to the fullest making us (as parents) work as their personal butlers. Being spoiled often comes to mind, but believe me … it’s more than that!

Parenting is hard, and diplomacy a child’s game! Being a parent takes the skills to know when to negotiate and when to stand firm, and believe me you don’t have time to hold hour long meetings. We’re talking split-second decisions made by an ambushed soldier. As a parent you’re the perfect mix of Mahatma Gandhi and John Rambo, and Mother Teresa and G.I. Jane.

Parenting is an ongoing and evolving process that takes years. Jesus supposedly “left home” around his thirties. Thirty-something is a lifetime worth of diplomatic relations and covert operations, but don’t be fooled. It doesn’t stop there. You have to make sure they fly right too once they leave the nest. Not forgetting when you are on your death-bed and your children are looking for reasons to lay their hands on whatever is left …

Life as a parent is living your life as a beach chair where your kids constantly fight for a place in the sun (on your lap). I am a father of three, and we’re only two (my wife and myself). If you’re at the beach, and there’s only two chairs at your disposal you know you’re in trouble. Someone will always be grumpy and fight for a spot in the sun! Who ever said parenting was easy!? Help!

I dag når vi spiste kveldsmat satt vi og pratet som vanlig er når man er samlet rundt bordet. Samtalen gikk, og ungene gjorde seg ferdige med maten. Det vil si at noen spiste opp, mens enkelt mindre borgere tuslet rundt og maste … som vanlig er. Til kveldsmat i dag var det grøt, laget på lett og skummet melk som i seg selv er en historie for et annet forum …

Uansett, mens vi satt der fikk vår mellomste smurt inn hendene sine med fuktighetskrem hvorpå vår eldste løp ut for å hente en annen krem. Det er da vår minste begynner å tyte om at hun også skal ha krem. I sin iver forsøker selvsagt pappa og meddele at hun ikke trenger noe krem. Svaret man får er jo ikke alltid gitt, og i dette tilfellet heller overraskende:

Jeg snakker ikke til deg, jeg snakker til mamma!

Vår lille verdensborger med den i overkant smarte måten å svare sine egne foreldre på er snart 3 år og er selvsagt like morsom hver dag. Ofte er det vanskelig å forutse fremtiden, men jeg kan med sikkerhet si at denne blir en sta liten kverulant … akkurat som sin far :p