Cakes, Snakes and Good Nintentions
I don't know about you, but I've long since stopped being excited about birthdays. After my 21st, they soon lost their lustre - even my 30th came and went relatively unheralded. (In fairness, I was a very new parent at the time and had far more important things to worry about!)
This year's been a bit different, however, largely thanks to the uncontainable enthusiasm of my daughter.
Her Countdown to Dad's Birthday started about two weeks ago, when first the penny dropped that I'd be getting a bit older. From that point it was all about 'how many sleeps' to the big day, liberally garnished with secretive whisperings and sneakings about. Soon her little brother was in on the act and then my wife ... then a couple of days before the big day came the moment when my girl snuggled up against me and asked if I was excited about my birthday.
And I found myself saying 'Yes'.
It was impossible to stay cynical in the face of such exuberance, and come the day itself she did a great job - breakfast in bed while I tore into the presents, for example. She even made me a cake:
You can work out my age from the candle arrangement ... The jelly snakes were a 'surprise' - last week she'd told me she'd be making the cake itself, but that I'd have to have 'just icing. We don't have any lollies. No lollies at all. Sorry.' Fast forward 20 years and she'll have her own party planning company ... because she'll make a godawful secret agent.
Meanwhile work's become a casualty of the open deadline. Everything I have a time limit on has now been completed, leaving hours of free time to work on unsolicited projects I've had back-burning so long the bottom of the pan's melted. Unfortunately I've been ... well, lacking in discipline, shall we say? It's not helped that I'm getting very good at Wii Sports Golf, nor that my son's got a new Star Wars video game that he needs lots of help with. Where do the hours go?
So from next week, and in the absence of an editor to do it for me, I'm setting myself strict project deadlines. Come next Friday, I want to see results!
Right then, I'm off to build my boy a virtual lightsabre. Good Dad.
This year's been a bit different, however, largely thanks to the uncontainable enthusiasm of my daughter.
Her Countdown to Dad's Birthday started about two weeks ago, when first the penny dropped that I'd be getting a bit older. From that point it was all about 'how many sleeps' to the big day, liberally garnished with secretive whisperings and sneakings about. Soon her little brother was in on the act and then my wife ... then a couple of days before the big day came the moment when my girl snuggled up against me and asked if I was excited about my birthday.
And I found myself saying 'Yes'.
It was impossible to stay cynical in the face of such exuberance, and come the day itself she did a great job - breakfast in bed while I tore into the presents, for example. She even made me a cake:
You can work out my age from the candle arrangement ... The jelly snakes were a 'surprise' - last week she'd told me she'd be making the cake itself, but that I'd have to have 'just icing. We don't have any lollies. No lollies at all. Sorry.' Fast forward 20 years and she'll have her own party planning company ... because she'll make a godawful secret agent.
Meanwhile work's become a casualty of the open deadline. Everything I have a time limit on has now been completed, leaving hours of free time to work on unsolicited projects I've had back-burning so long the bottom of the pan's melted. Unfortunately I've been ... well, lacking in discipline, shall we say? It's not helped that I'm getting very good at Wii Sports Golf, nor that my son's got a new Star Wars video game that he needs lots of help with. Where do the hours go?
So from next week, and in the absence of an editor to do it for me, I'm setting myself strict project deadlines. Come next Friday, I want to see results!
Right then, I'm off to build my boy a virtual lightsabre. Good Dad.
posted by Pete Kempshall at 10:30 AM
2 Comments:
Are you really 1171 years old...?
I wear it well, don't I?
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