Confessions of a Solo Daddy

Last night my two-year-old son threw the mother of all tantrums. Usually playful and happy Myles suddenly went ballistic: screaming, crying and clinging to me for dear life. I tried to placate him with cuddles, treats and then decided an early hot bath might calm him down; not the brightest move, as it turned out. First he refused to get in. Then he refused to get out. In between, he just sat in the bubbles and howled. His face grew red and snot flowed from his nose. He sobbed with theatrical intensity. I felt sorry for the neighbours – serve them right for banging around upstairs. When I gave him his favourite fish ‘Nini’ (he can’t say Nemo) to play with he tossed the plastic toy onto the bathroom floor. Since I had a bottle to heat, pyjamas to locate and other urgent chores I had no choice to leave him crying in the bath, my heart torn and yet angry – at him, at myself, at the world.

After two weeks in charge of Myles (my wife is overseas at a family funeral) I am learning a great deal about life as a single parent. Indeed, I have a new respect for single mums and dads who have do this on a permanent basis. I won’t be so shocked the next time I see an exhausted mum giving young Shantil or Deezel* a bollocking in the supermarket. In fact, I’ll probably give her a high-five. Losing your partner, even temporarily, does not double your workload as a parent – it’s more like a 1000 per cent more pressure. The simplest things – like having a shower – become a major logistical exercise. Some mornings I leave the house without cleaning my teeth. Juggling a toddler in one hand and a toothbrush in the other is just too difficult. Meals are always rushed affairs. Just as I sit down to eat Myles thrusts a book in my face. “Animals, animals!” he pleads. After a couple of mouthfuls, I succumb. My meal often goes cold on the sideboard.

Each day I wake up promising to be a better dad, more organised and calmer. Then Myles spills water down his freshly washed jumper or proceeds to fill his nappy just as we’re leaving for childcare. The clothes need to come off, nappy changed, new sweatshirt found. My daily resolution goes up in smoke. I can feel my blood boiling. It’s hard not being able to share these frustrations with another adult – or hand over Myles for a couple of minutes while you get yourself showered, dressed and breakfasted. Harder still not to be able to share the worries and the delights of parenthood – or laugh together when he starts singing along with the Phil Collins CD in the car. Don’t get me wrong, I love sharing this bonding time with Myles – especially when he gives me cuddles and kisses – but I just wish I was so much better at everything.

None of this has come as much of a surprise. With such a strong-willed and energetic child, I expected to be stressed, exhausted and frustrated; at least some of the time. But I really didn’t anticipate the loneliness and isolation associated with single parenting. I often feel that Myles and I are the last people on earth. He clings to me, but I also cling to him. They say it takes a village to raise a child, well my village has been demolished and replaced by luxury mansions surrounded by high walls. Sydney is a cold-hearted place these days. Even the parents at the local playground seem reluctant to chat while our children share the swings. People are fearful and suspicious. My close friends are either single (and childless) or have grown-up kids. We have no family in Australia. So a kind remark from a stranger, like the old lady at Bondi Bondi who said “What a handsome grandson you have!” or the local newsagent who gave Myles a toy drill, can turn my day around.

Although family members in England have been wonderfully supportive, I don’t think I could have got through the past couple of weeks without the brilliant teachers at Myles’ childcare in downtown Sydney. The Montessori Academy in King Street is Myles' second home where is nurtured, fed, inspired and truly loved. The people who look after him are all remarkable: patient, affectionate, and highly motivated. Myles really thrives in that environment and has learnt to turn on the Chipperfield (or should that be Echeumuna) charm to get what he wants. I leave him in the morning in complete confidence that he will be treated with the greatest care. Montessori Academy King Street, I salute you! My stint as a solo parent has taught me that there is nothing easy or predictable about looking after a small child, that mothers deserve far more respect than we give them and, lastly, that children produce an obscene quantity of dirty clothes. I have never done as much washing, ironing and folding in my life. Anyone want to come over and give me a hand? Thought not. Come back soon, Vina. A husband needs a wife. 

 *These baby names were sourced from Things Bogans Like, an essential road map to working-class Australia.

Why Kids' TV Is The Best

Australia’s national broadcaster has not fared well in the digital age. Like many other free-to-air networks ABC TV has struggled to compete against Pay TV, Netflix and better-funded news and current affairs channels such as the BBC, Sky and Al Jazeera. Apart from lawn bowls and women’s football the ABC has virtually abandoned sports coverage and its locally commissioned drama is also, at best, patchy. No wonder the network relies on endless re-runs of Doc Martin and Father Brown.

But there is one market sector where the ABC is pre-eminent: children’s television. For millions of parents all over Australia, like me, ABC Kids is an absolute godsend. Peppa Pig, Dinosaur Train, Ben & Holly’s Little Kingdom, Mike The Knight, Thomas And Friends and The Clangers have been a vital part of my 18-month-old son’s upbringing – along with healthy doses of horseplay, outdoor fun and reading books. Like most kids of his age, Myles is obsessed with The Wiggles a show which has more bright colours and cheesy dance routines than the Eurovision Song Contest. When the Hey Duggee theme song comes on Myles goes into full James Brown mode, stomping his feet madly and waving his arms around in total abandonment. He couldn’t be happier.

Psychiatrists warn about the dangerous impact of television (and other screen exposure) on young minds. In Australia the recommended daily dose no more than two hours – the American Academy of Pediatrics says babies and toddlers should watch no television whatsoever until they turn 18 months. Although these guidelines are presently under review, children’s TV is often depicted as a type of malicious electronic nanny. That is not the experience in our household, where Myles watches small but intensive segments of his favourite programs before heading back to his room to play with his toys, ride his trike or just run down the corridor laughing.

Unlike the vacuous mental floss that adults endure each evening on the free-to-air networks, the shows on ABC Kids are mostly stimulating, well written, fast-paced and grounded in old-fashioned moral values. Programs such as The Octonauts and Dirtgirlworld are highly educational, dealing with issue such as species loss, pollution, sustainable agriculture and the importance of recycling household waste. Sesame Street and its offspring the hilariously madcap Furchester Hotel teach about the importance of tolerance in a diverse, multi-cultural and multi-lingual society, while Fireman Sam, another Myles favourite, demonstrates the need for personal heroism in order to preserve community life. Set in the fictional Welsh seaside town of Pontypandy, the program features the unflappable Sam, his fire tender Jupiter, the accident-prone kid Norman Price and Italian café owner Bella Lasagne. The original idea for the series was developed by two retired firefighters from Kent.

Some of the shows on ABC Kids are clearly designed to appeal to adults as much as their offspring. Few fathers will fail to identify with Daddy Pig, the well meaning but ineffectual head porker from Peppa Pig, now one of the world’s most successful entertainment brands for tiny tots. Some of the episodes have an absurdist comic tone similar to that of the early films of Jacque Tati. I particularly enjoyed the episode when the children have a furious argument during International Day. “What is going on?” asks Madame Gazelle, the class teacher. “America, Russia, Spain and Greece won’t share the sandpit,” explains a pupil. The well-horned teacher gives the class a right ticking off: “Is this how you think the countries of the world behave?”

But adults will struggle to penetrate the alien world of the Clangers, a community of knitted beings that live on a blue planet, communicate in high-pitched whistles and whose only interest seems to be eating soup. The ubiquitous Teletubbies, a fixture on our screens since 1997, presents a similar challenge for anyone over four years old. Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Laa Laa and Po, the four asexual protagonists, spend every episode saying “hello” and “bye bye” to their audience, with only short breaks underground to eat Tele Custard. Is this the kiddies’ version of Seinfeld? 

Despite its paper-thin narrative Teletubbies has been the subject of great controversy over the years. The nonsensical babble spoken by the Teletubbies has been condemned by psychiatrists and early learning experts. In 1999 Tinky Winky was falsely “outed” as a gay role model by the Reverend Jerry Falwell because the male figure is purple (the colour of Gay Pride), has a triangle on his head (another Gay symbol) and carries a women’s handbag. The Polish Ombudsman for Children Ewa Sowinska was also worried about the handbag and ordered a full investigation, but Tinky Winky was eventually declared fit for Polish consumption. 

First launched as a stand-alone channel in 2001, ABC Kids has survived many challenges, such as the withdrawal of government funding, management indifference, network amalgamations and constant time slot changes. There was much fanfare when Play School turned 50 last year, but that show, however worthy, represent steam-age children's entertainment. The atmosphere is like a Sunday school class – wooden and patronising. Clever, informative and gorgeously illustrated programs, often using the latest CGI techniques, such as Mike The Knight, Ben & Holly's Little Kingdom, Dinosaur Train and The Octonauts demonstrate that with a little imagination, and humour, children's television can match adult program-making in every department. And the kiddies'  tunes are so much better than ours.