There’s one type of post that fills up my newsfeed a lot.
I’m not talking about adverts for raspberry ketones, threats
to copy and paste this status -or-you-will-die-in-7-days or even pictures of
cats.
No, I’m talking about the mum posts. You know, the ones that
go on about how awfully fantastic and amazing mums are, how our job is the
hardest in the world and how we never get a break from our horrible annoying
kids. Those ones.
I often wonder why there aren’t quite so many dad ones and I
think there are three possible reasons why.
1) Dads are all rubbish.
2) Dads don’t like to shout about how fantastic they are as
much as mums.
3) Dads aren’t as good at making memes.
But whatever the reason, I would like to just take a moment
to acknowledge how hard dads all over the world work. Yes, I know, mums are the
ones who tend to run the whole household, have 30 things in our head at once,
organise the meals, pack for holidays, take the calls about the kids being
sick, sort babysitters, arrange all the doctor’s appointments, write the lists,
make sure everyone has clean clothes and food in their bellies… BUT, let’s not
pretend that just because we do all that, dads don’t do anything.
There’s one particular dad I know. He leaves for work around
7 and works a long day. He arrives back home, gets straight into the most
full-on part of the childcare: the time of the day where the kids are
screaming, fighting and refusing to do anything you tell them. He does most of
bathtime and bedtime and puts up with his grumpy wife who has run out of
patience by the time he gets home. He eats
his tea, then carries on working for a few hours before hitting the sack and
getting up with his alarm at 6.
He’s an Assistant Headteacher (with responsibility for Maths
throughout the whole school) who is also a full-time Year 6 class teacher. The
school has recently come out of Special Measures, and the kids are “spirited”. He
is under pressure from the Government, the Governors, the Council, the rest of
the Senior Leadership, the parents, the kids, the Academy, the media and Ofsted.
With SATS coming up he faces the task of getting a bunch of feisty, lazy 11-year-olds
to do well in tests that will reflect badly on him and not them if they don’t.
As the sole breadwinner in our family, he feels the pressure
of providing for 5 people. That’s five human beings to feed, clothe, transport
and the rest. And we don’t come cheap.
He also does nearly all the DIY, including fixing, glueing, putting
together many, many IKEA flatpacks, refilling screenwash and mowing the lawn.
As a husband, according to society, he’s supposed to be the
ideal modern man, taking responsibility for his share of the housework and
childcare well as buying me flowers, chocolate and perfume at every opportunity
and running me baths. I don’t expect this, but I know I do put him under
pressure sometimes to be a “good husband”. And while I sometimes fall into the
temptation of criticising him to others, I know he has barely spoken a bad word
about me over the years.
As a deacon at our church, he’s responsible for overseeing “technology”;
the running of the PA and recording system, the website and producing publicity
for church events. He sometimes leads services, regularly leads Bible studies
and occasionally preaches.
Now, this isn’t a complaint; we see all these things as
blessings and privileges, and on the whole my husband enjoys them. And I’m
conscious that there are many men who have harder jobs, work longer hours and
are under more pressure. The point is that us “supermums” are often partnered
by a “superdad”. And just because a superdad doesn’t always shake the clothes
out before hanging them up or clean the shaving stubble up from around the sink
doesn’t make them any less super.
Let’s appreciate them for a change. Instead of bandying
around “useless men” jokes, let’s recognise that there is an army of fathers
and husbands out there with their noses to the grindstone for other people. We’re
honoured enough to know many of them ourselves.
Now who’s going to make the meme?
You know you always hear that statistic about how a child
costs 3 trillion pounds to raise until their 18th birthday? Yes.
Well, I never understood how that was possible until the last 5 years
(*disclaimer: I still don’t think it’s possible if you’re not paying for
childcare costs and/or don’t buy every single child-related item from Mamas
& Papas).
