Part 1 - Facial hair confuses babies.

Well, it does!

You find a kid whose dad or other family members (normally male) are normally clean shaven and present it with some hairy dude instead. Once they've overcome the initial "Shit the bed, what the hell is that!" reaction, they generally either stare at you in disbelief for a while or sit on your lap for an hour or two prodding your face and trying to either work out what the hell is going on, or work out whether the fuzzy stuff can be pulled off.

Depending on the strength of the child, sometimes it can: this is painful. Oh, and don't wear an eyebrow piercing when you meet a new baby for the first time, that's very painful indeed.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, I've no idea. Why have I started writing this? Damned if I know, but it beats writing that report I'm meant to be doing.

I am a Dad.

There, is that a good place to start? Possibly: although it sounds a lot like a confession. It's like joining Dad's Anonymous: lots of strange men in a room confessing to having an uncontrollable urge to play with kids toys.

"Hi, my name's Gav and I like to play with my son's Thomas the tank engine train set and I can name all the characters in Kung Fu Panda." (which is possibly one of the best films ever, and certainly not something I'm ashamed of).

I'm certainly not ashamed of having kids either. Kids are cool. See the world through a child's eyes and try and be jaded or unhappy, not normally possible. For example, there are few places outside Jurassic Park where a car can be halted in its tracks by a dinosaur, or where Peppa Pig can whoop Spiderman's arse. How cool it is to live in a world where virtually anything is possible given the bounds of an imagination unlimited by peer pressure, or the influences of the grown up world.

Virtually everything to a young child is interesting, sometimes even their parents.

I'm really not sure how to describe this thing really, as, as I write this, I'm really not entirely sure where it's going. Perhaps it's quantum writing, capable of going in many directions simultaneously, a bit like my thought processes. I suspect it's going to be a little random though. I've certainly been accused many times of having a bit of a butterfly brain, and occasionally the memory of a stunned goldfish. Both of these are I suspect true, but since the advent of children, those particular observations seem to have become even more accurate and the combination of butterfly and goldfish is not a good one. Particularly on a Monday morning. This phenomenon is apparently known as Baby Brain, most parents are carriers.

Children have a marked impression on you; your alertness, and by extension probably your sanity, whether you like it or not, a term often applied is Baby Brain.

I've been a parent for nine years now, and what follows (I've cheated and looked ahead) is a list of observations / notes / rules / thingies based on my own slightly skewed and sleep deprived grumpy status. These whateveryouwanttocallthems are not absolutes by any means, and are based mainly on my own experiences as a parent of four kids aged nine and under (two of each sex), uncle to five more aged eighteen down, godfather to a couple more, and random visiting friend / honorary uncle to a few others. A few friends / colleagues / family have also had input into this due to various stories that have been swapped over the years, usually with a glass of something alcoholic in hand in a sort of mutual "Oh smeg, what have they done now?" session.

I like kids, they're fun. If nothing else, they provide a good excuse to get out the Lego and build all the stuff you didn't know how to construct when you were five. As a middle aged man, you suddenly develop the skills to build a Millennium Falcon, or a bridge over the cat. I couldn't do that when I was six! (Our cat was a grumpy bastard too and didn't like the idea of the Golden Gate bridge in Lego.) Who needs the instruction manual when you've got a child's imagination and adult hands?

Talking of instruction manuals, there is no instruction manual to a child, although God only knows how much we as parents could do with one sometimes. I suspect my kids wish for the same thing too though, or at the very least a remote control that has a "shut up dad" button, or perhaps a "standby" or "off" switch. Other buttons could also include "stop embarrassing me", "not that story again", and "how about you tidy your bloody room" and a "for pity's sake put some pants on when I have friends around and you need a shower." (That last one hasn't happened yet, but I suspect it's only a matter of time...)

Each child appears to be born knowing exactly how to wind up their parents, but not always knowing how to fully communicate with them.

Each parent is merely a grown up (allegedly) version of the same thing, so the confusion obviously flows both ways.

(Or possibly all ways if we're still doing quantum here, in fact Quantum Parenting is quite a catchy title. I think I'll use it. There it is, back up the top, you probably missed it on the way in as I've only just changed it.

So, if parenting can be quantum (although I suspect given my utter failure of A-level physics I've used the word incorrectly, but you know what I mean), does that mean that an alternative me somewhere is always right? I'll have to tell the wife that. Woo hoo! Quantum Gav is the ultimate Dad and husband. Hope he's enjoying himself the bastard.

Now, back on track, you'll probably need to pop back up to the other side of the brackets. Up there a few lines. Read that bit, and then re-join the main thread of the conversation below, if there is one. Ready? Go.)

Both parties hope to get through life without screwing each other up too much and coming out as friends a bit later on, usually when the child has turned into a parent themselves and the now grandparent can sit back and try not to laugh too much or perhaps too openly, while their own children proceed to cock-up another generation of the family.

Is everybody sitting comfortably? Grand, I'll just pop out and make a cup of tea then. Back in a mo.

Right, just a wee note to start (see that's how good I am at this burbling. An entire page or so of rubbish, and then I finally start, well apart from the bits in brackets), a disclaimer if you will.

All of the weird shite that follows is entirely from my own head, not some list copied off the interweb. I'm not sure whether that makes it better or worse but it is at least original...

... or stupid...

... or both.

Okay then, to business - allegedly - although there may be occasional interludes when my brain decides it's had enough numbers, or I've had to ask the kids what number comes next. You will be able to spot these as there will be judicious use of brackets, rambling paragraphs or just general stupidity (who is in no way affiliated with General Observations below; different battalions probably.

Mmm... brackets...)

Quantum Parenting - General Observations

(which is the same as Major Thoughts only more senior, often with stranger facial hair and more medals, and still not in the same battalion as General Stupidity who was court martialled for arming the carrier pigeons with machine guns. The idea never really got off the ground...)

Right enough brackets. Observations time :

1.            The wonderful thing about kids is that they constantly surprise you.

2.            The horrible thing about kids is that they constantly surprise you.

Look at that, not even at number 3 and I'm interrupting myself already, what a surprise. Talking of which, surprise is a horrible thing in a parent's world sometimes. There are nice surprises like your four your old son suddenly realising that he can ride a bike, and equally there are nasty surprises like when you realise the aforementioned small boy hasn't been told how to use the brakes.

This is a far more scary experience when you're in a car with a teenager trying to teach them to drive... ask my father. I made his hair go white, my brother made it fall out...

3.            Whenever you are carrying something awkward, heavy, or that obscures your view in any way, there will be a small child directly in front of you. Occasionally they will be joined by a cat, dog or hamster in a ball, depending on your house pets. Budgies and fish don't tend to get involved. Well, not more than once anyway.

4.            As soon as you sit down for something to eat, especially if hot, a child will need to go to the toilet, and will not be old enough to do it on their own.

5.            Do not open your private stash of chocolate unless the kids are asleep. Chloroform may be necessary, as children can hear chocolate from about half a mile away (although the sound of chocolate apparently doesn't make an echo, usually because it's just been eaten).

6.            Children cannot hear you if the TV is on.

Okay, before I get the ladies jumping on this one. Yes, I know it applies to blokes as well, but kids really do turn into Zombies. At least we're zomming out to something cool like a film or Red Dwarf, not Dora the sodding explorer (as she's now known in quite a few places I understand.)

I'm the map, I'm the map, I'm the map, I'm the map – aaaargh shut the hell up. Can you say 'amigo'? Ola Amigo.

Can you say shut the smeg up, can you? Hey?

Aaaaaaaaaargh!

Sorry, just exorcising a few demons there. I promise you I don't do that at home, unless of course the wife's still watching it after the kids have gone to bed...

Good grief, not even 7 yet...

7.            If you have just started your ablutions, a child will appear at the door wanting to go to the toilet, usually with their lower limbs crossed in desperation, and a hand jammed between their legs in an attempt to keep stuff in. Often without success.

8.            You as a parent will have absolutely no idea what they need to do for their homework. All teachers speak a different language that is translatable only by other teachers, children under eleven, or Google.

Okay, time for a little rant here (again, no surprises there). I'm relatively educated. I'm no Oxford don, poet laureate or Stephen Fry, but what the hell exactly is an adverbial phrase or a subordinated conjunction? Am I meant to know? Is this something that six year olds routinely trot out during conversation in the playground?

- well of course Mr Cook suggested it was an adverbial conjecture, but Toby and I soon put him right. It was actually a conjectural adverb. Oh I know, teachers, eh, they're almost as bad as parents, don't know a thing, aha haha -

Do the dinner ladies join in over a spoonful of mashed potato to take the piss out of the unsuspecting parents who lurk outside, unaware that their evening is about to be ruined by a subjunctive pronoun? I suspect that being a wannabe writer I should probably know, but thank God for Google.

On top of that, even maths is getting scary. Little phrases like "number lines" and "number bonds" get bandied around. Now I'm not boasting here, but as an engineer of sorts I can rearrange an equation with the best of them, but simple addition and subtraction is now suddenly beyond me as they use these line and bond thingies to do it. And my daughters think I'm dense (although I suspect that won't change much for a few years if ever).

I suspect they may be right. Although I think I can still work out my own density. Apparently it's 'very'.

Now then where were we, oh yes, still in single figures... easily distracted...

I've probably got ADAD, which is like ADHD, but older, with Baby Brain, kids and fewer hyperactive moments.

9.            Phrases that your parents used on you when you were a child will trot effortlessly from your own tongue as a stressed parent...

"Do you do that at school?"

"Shut the damn door, were you born in a barn?"

"You can't cry; there's no blood".

As soon as you have trotted out the tired old chestnut, you will feel ashamed. And if your own parents are present they will laugh at you.

10.       Children's shoes and dog poo are magnetically attracted.

Woo hoo, double figures.

To be continued...

(which sounds like a threat, my kids probably think so at any rate...)