RICHARD IRVINE
DOUBLE TROUBLE FOR A FIRST TIME DAD OF TWINS Revealed: My recipe for solo childcare success
The cost of living a mediocre life means Victoria occasionally works at the weekend, which leaves yours truly in charge of two very energetic offspring.
Initially a challenge, I’ve hit my stride now and feel more than capable of creating an entertaining day of fun, laughter and chicken nuggets.
I feel it’s only fair I share my blueprint for success.
We start at 7am with breakfast, which is a handful of Shreddies accompanied by a single Weetabix in a honey jus served in a bath of ice-cold milk.
Sometimes it’s porridge, or maybe just Weetabix, but the key ingredient is the honey, and they’ll refuse to eat anything which isn’t covered in it.
This fuels them for the construction of multiple dens around the home, which involve all the cushions available, along with towels, sheets and discarded cardboard.
A few hours pass, nobody’s dressed, and makeshift tents litter the house.
It might be impossible to gain access to certain rooms, doorways are blocked, but the key is to remain calm, congratulate them on their ability to construct so many dens of varying sizes, and suggest putting everything back.
Nobody will listen to this, another hour will pass, and now I’ll shout. But this won’t work, so I’ll be forced into promising a Happy
Meal, just to get out of the house.
After the deep-fried beige food, the day can go in two directions, depending on the weather.
If the sun’s out, it’s off to a big local park on the bikes, where I get to chase behind, watch them narrowly avoid dogs, walkers, trees, ponds and anything else likely to cause serious injury.
If it’s raining, it’s time for trusty soft play. I take some headphones to block out the screaming, and a flask of coffee, and they leap around in a world of foam.
If I’m up to the challenge of arguing over whether they should have more crisps, chocolate and magazines, it’s off to the supermarket to do the shopping.
Then it’s home, where they can argue over who wants to watch what on the television, while I prepare pasta with a vegetable tomato sauce. The key is to cook it for far longer than reasonable, reducing everything to mush, so Emma can’t push courgettes or peppers off her plate onto the table, saying she doesn’t like them.
They’re more likely to eat something nutritious if I mix in cream cheese, thereby satisfying their demand for anything full of fat.
By this point, mummy’s usually home, but the hard work’s not over yet. Now I’ve just got to explain why the house looks like it’s been burgled, the twins’ clothes are filthy, and I’ve given them Mcdonald’s again.
After the deep-fried beige food, the day can go in two directions, depending on the weather