Tag Archives: Dad

Win! Five perfect Father’s Day gift books, plus 20 per cent discount for every reader on a personalised book that dads and kids can read together

 

I’m passionate about reading with and to my children and not for altruistic reasons! Once they’ve learned to read, the whole world opens up to them – such as reading the instructions on a make-it-yourself toy or how-to-play-a-computer-game. The more they can read, the less I have to help them. Cue pub time. 

But as many of us know, it is notoriously difficult to get boys, especially, to read. And even more difficult to get dads – especially those with proper, stressful, hard-day-at-the-office jobs – to find the time, let alone the inclination, to read with their children.

Well, I’ve got a solution – one that will flatter the dads, engage the kids, and become a family heirloom. A perfect present for Father’s Day, in fact.

Five of my readers can win a Love2Read personalised Father’s Day book, plus everyone gets a 20 per cent discount. 

I’ve written about Caroline Edwards’ Love2Read business before, when I trialled this gift for Mother’s Day. I’m still basking in the adulation received from my wife, stacking enough Pink Tickets to spend more time than is healthy in the pub.

Now the mums amongst you who read this blog can benefit too (and dads – just subtly show this post to your Other Half).

Dads will love being the star of the bedtime story, so Love2Read has come up with the perfect Father’s Day gift in the form of a unique, personalised book. Its range of books can be personalised by adding ten photos and text to the pages e.g. “My dad plays golf”, “My dad likes cars” or “My dad loves me”.

All you have to do is upload 10 suitable photographs of Dad or Grandpa into a virtual book at www.love2read.co.uk and add some simple text. Your book will be printed and sent to your home address within 10 days. Titles include: My daddy…, Our dad…and My grandad…

The books are themed around National Curriculum keywords and are designed to stimulate the child’s interest in books so that they really want to read. No software is needed, the website is easy to use and you can even save your book as you go along if you need to come back to it later.

I’ve teamed up with Love2Read to offer five of my readers the chance to win a fantastic bespoke Father’s Day book plus a 20 per cent discount on what I reckon is a perfect Father’s Day gift.

To be in with a chance of winning, all you have to do is add your funniest anecdote about your dad (or the father of your kids) in the comment box below.

If you don’t want to enter, you can still get a 20 per cent discount by typing in the promotional code CRHD2012 on the Love2Read website.

It’s valid until June 11, which is the last day for orders to ensure they arrive in time for Father’s Day.

For further information and to see the range of books on offer please visit their website at:  www.love2read.co.uk .You can also find  love2read on Twitter and Facebook

• Closing date for comment entries is this Friday, June 8, to give you time to create your personalised Father’s Day book in time to receive it for the Big Day.

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I’m often asked: ‘Would you like another baby?’

'Where's he going now?'

They say women forget the pain of childbirth pretty darned quickly, otherwise no-one would be insane enough to go through it again. Except for masochists.

Well there is an equivalent for dads. OK, it’s not quite in the same league as pushing a melon out through a keyhole, but it still qualifies in terms of Sentimental Memory Loss Syndrome.

It pertains to the issue of Having Another, as in the question I am often asked: ‘So, are you guys going to have any more kids? Would you like one?’

Now as the oldest of four boys and the father of two sons, I’ve always fancied having a daughter. Yes, I have a 10 year-old stepdaughter, but she is Very Much Not Mine. She has her own dad. She likes it that way; he likes it that way; and I Very Much Like It That Way.

But a daughter of my own? That’s a different question. The answer, even at the knackered and groaning age of 48, is often ‘Yes’, depending on how much I’ve had to drink when the question is occasionally curve-balled my way.

Sobriety soon dissuades me of this fantasy, for the simple reason that I know Mother Nature doesn’t let you pick and choose (though I read an appalling report last week that some doctors actually terminate girls on request in one part of the UK).

Anyway, I’d  quite like a daughter, yes. And actually, depending on what mood I’m in, I wouldn’t even say No to another boy for the simple reason that mine aren’t babies any more and I actually really, really liked them when they were.

Oh how the mind plays tricks on you!

On Saturday, I had a short and very sweet – but ultimately utterly exhausting – dose of reality of what having a very little ‘un around is like.

I guess I’d never truly experienced it before because when my lot were babies, I was at work. I never got to see the havoc a Motivated Mini can wreak on an adult life. But I experienced it yesterday.

My stepdaughter’s dad came over to ours to collect the Light of His Life and with him he brought his one year-old son (my stepdaughter’s youngest, baby brother – pay attention at the back!)

‘Why don’t you take Daisy out for an hour? I’ll look after Freddie,’ I suggested.

The last time I saw a man move that fast was when Usain Bolt broke the 100m record. Out the door he shot, leaving me and my two sons literally holding the baby. He stepdaughter’s real dad’s baby!

Except he wouldn’t be ‘held’. The boy is a force of nature. He’s just learned to walk, he’s just learned to bark commands, he’s just learned to ignore any and every instruction that involves the word ‘No’. And like a pocket-sized Ranulph Fiennes, he was off to explore this strange new world he’d been dropped into.

The stairs were his first mountain to conquer, then the bedrooms, then every thing that wasn’t nailed down in the bedrooms, then the kitchen, then the vegetable rack, then the plug sockets.

My lads tried to herd him like Collies around sheep, but it was to no avail. Little Freddie wanted to see and know and touch and taste everything.

It was wonderful to see how caring my sons were to this strange, super-motivated little rugrat creature who was carefully deconstructing the carefully deconstructed world they’d built for themselves.

But for all the situation’s Aww Factor, I had never felt so on edge. Partly because he wasn’t ‘mine’ (Heaven forbid anything happen to him on MY watch) but mainly because I’d forgotten how child-safe our flat used to be when ours were as little as Fred – and how utterly unsuitable and DANGEROUS it was to a just-walking-semi-crawling one year-old.

So when his dad and sister turned up, I handed him back quicker than the Jamaicans pass the baton in a relay race.

Would I have another baby?

Nah, nope, not on your Nelly. I’ve done my bit.

'Can you let me go, I want to stick my fingers in that plug socket'

 

 

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My son’s the new Gerald Scarfe. What do you reckon?

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Sometimes it helps if you remember how old your parents are…

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Well, it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it? Well, isn’t it???

I had good intentions when I bought my dad a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label Whisky to mark his 75th birthday.

It was a particularly poignant occasion because the day before his birthday last year, my mum died.

This year, then, I wanted to make it extra special and as he is a fan of blended malts, spent a small fortune on the beloved Blue.

I even had it inscribed: ‘Happy 75th, Dad. Love Keith.’

I couldn’t wait to hand it over to him when I visited between Christmas and New Year. I watched in eager anticipation of a tear wiped from his eye at the wonderful gesture and loving thought his eldest son had put into this special present.

And then he tore off the wrapping.

Opened the presentation box.

Read the inscription.

Looked up at me.

And said…

‘But I’m 74. Born December 22 1937.’

Oh!

Well, at least it will save me a few quid next year – because he refused to open it and has put it away in a safe place until he actually does reach three-quarters of a century.

Let’s hope he lasts that long!

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