Paul Merrill has learnt many lessons since giving up work to look after his sons
SWAPPING the workplace for domestic duty can be a steep learning curve for blokes
When Paul Merrill decided to give up work to become a house husband
a year ago, he looked forward to bonding with his three boys (then aged
12, nine and five), getting in a few rounds of golf and de-stressing.
But the reality was very different. Here are his blunders, listed as a
warning to brave men contemplating such a move
THINKING I COULD HANDLE THE LOSS OF STATUS
OK,
so I didn't miss getting home from work at 7pm to find only the dog was
pleased to see me, but at least I'd spent the day managing a team of
professionals and holding a position of authority. I'd made important
decisions, held meetings with clients and lunched at trendy restaurants
where napkins weren't made of paper. Now the important decisions
involved whether my youngest was more likely to eat Dora the Explorer or
Wiggles yoghurt (neither, as it turned out) and if I could get away
with giving him the bolognaise sauce that had sat in
the fridge for a week
the fridge for a week
HOPING THE KIDS WOULDN'T NOTICE MY LITTLE BLUNDERS
There
are some errors I did make only once - putting uncooked bacon in their
packed lunches because I thought it was ham and mistaking antibacterial
wipes containing bleach for moist toilet tissues while treating the
five-year-old. Oh, and forgetting to fill in a note from school giving
permission for the middle child to go on a three-day excursion. With
each one, you see a look in their eyes that says, "Mummy wouldn't have
done that." Then Mummy gets home, is informed and confirms she has,
indeed, never done that
DUSTING OFF THE GOLF CLUBS
I'm
not saying I ever thought housework and looking after kids was easy,
but I assumed there'd be a nice round-of-golf-sized hole in my day once
I'd cleared away the breakfast things and before the afternoon school
run. What else would there be to do? Sadly, my golf clubs soon had dust
on them. I quickly learnt the six hours between 9am and 3pm are sucked
into a time warp and actually last about an hour. And that's with all my
crafty timesaving measures, such as taking dirty clothes out of laundry
baskets, refolding them and putting them away in the kids' drawers
NOT FOLLOWING WASHING MACHINE INSTRUCTIONS
As
I unloaded the washing machine during my first week, I wondered what
had prompted my wife to buy so many pale pink items (including underwear
for me) and why on earth we had a cashmere sweater small enough for a
Barbie. My other error was not checking pockets for sticks of stringy
cheese - and then shoving the newly washed load into the tumble dryer.
The resulting aroma was far from the 'summer meadow' promised on the
washing powder box. It was more like 'summer cheese repository abandoned
for several weeks'. A coping mechanism I developed for when I'd
forgotten to hang out school uniforms was to microwave them dry. One
tip: don't do it for white shirts; they tend to crisp up and go brown
GETTING CAUGHT UP IN THE POLITICS OF THE SCHOOL GATE
Far
from being a happy place where children skip into the arms of their
adoring mothers, the school gate is a seething tangle of warring gangs
and rival tribes, all of whom will be suspicious that a man has entered
their midst. If you chat to one, you'll be blanked by others because her
little boy hit their little girl. Also, there will be: a) the sexy mum
with the short, denim skirt and hoop earrings, who the others resent for
looking like a hooker; b) the shouty one whose parenting technique is
about who can bellow loudest; and c) the bitchy gossip who gleefully
spreads destructive rumours. They all get on about as well as Japanese
fighting fish in a jam jar. I found my best bet was to hover at the edge
of the playground, quietly beckon the kids over, bundle them into the
car and speed off without a backwards glance
COOKING THE KIDS HEALTHY FOOD
As
the old proverb probably doesn't go: You can lead children to chopped
carrots with a hummus dip, but you can't make them eat it. No, porridge
doesn't need honey if it contains bananas and sultanas, but my children
knew if they staged a hunger strike for long enough, I'd crack long
before Mummy ever would. And once I gave in, there was no going back. It
then became a case of making sure the pizza boxes were buried deep in
the recycling bin and that a few strands of carrot peel were placed next
to the sink for effect before Mummy came home from work
IMAGINING IT WOULD BUY ME SEX
One
morning, I read a newspaper article that said women who work full-time
and then have housework to do are too tired for sex. So, that day, I put
on and hung out two loads of washing, vacuumed and dusted upstairs and
downstairs, cooked the kids' dinner, did the shopping and cleaned the
kitchen until it was spotless, so there would be nothing left for my
wife to do. By the time she came home from work, I had long since
collapsed on the sofa and didn't wake up until morning
VOLUNTEERING AT SCHOOL
This
will come about when a friendly mum asks you if you might be able to
help out with some classroom reading. When no excuse comes to mind
quickly enough and you agree, you'll find yourself firstly conscripted
as a classroom assistant, then put in charge of the Christmas fete and
fundraising auction, co-opted onto the P&C, made coach of the
under-7's soccer team and assigned lollipop lady duty outside the school
twice a week for a minimum of four years. Your reward will be a small
footnote of thanks on one of the weekly school newsletters and to be
hated even more by all the mums for showing them up
EXPECTING MY MATES TO TREAT ME THE SAME AS BEFORE
Until
I gave up working, I had no idea how much of my conversation with mates
at the pub was all about, well, work - from drunken co-workers and
deals gone awry to the best places for power lunches and that new
account I'd just won. The one rule was: you don't talk about your kids,
because that's boring. But that was my job now. Had I become boring?
Also, your job defines who you are: "This is Peter, he's an architect."
Now, for me it was: "This is Paul, he cleans the toilet and irons his
wife's skirts - badly
WAITING FOR A FEW WORDS OF THANKS
When
I worked in an office, I was paid money every month and sometimes given
a bonus. If I did something good, people patted me on the back and,
from time to time, I was promoted and given a shiny new title. Now I was
putting in longer hours and working directly with the 'clients', but my
work was invisible. On the (admittedly rare) occasions I slaved for
hours in a hot kitchen to whip up a delicious dinner, the kids would
begrudgingly pick at it for a while and then ask if there was "anything
else". I learnt never to describe any meal as "good for you" or
"healthy", as to them that means 'inedible'. No one noticed the swept
floors, fresh linen or clean oven… just as I had never noticed them in
the past