It was officially Sydney’s last day of winter yesterday and it was a beautiful one, around 26 deg. My weekends are pretty simple really, I try and relax (impossible) and usually take the children to Sydney’s Botanical Gardens where my daughter typically finds a new friend to play with, amuses herself with her kite, feeds the ducks and eels (yes eels) or chases bubbles.
Here she is running up towards the park.
There is a usual cross mix of families that come to these gardens on any given day. I find that the ‘standard’ family (what is standard?) generally do not want to be interrupted by my daughter during their own weekend ‘family time’. I acknowledge and respect that. By default my daughter generally lands up playing with other children of single parents. I am sure that’s because we are both simply grateful for some ‘time out’.
‘Keep running around dear daughter, yes, keep running, faster and faster’.
Yesterday I experienced ‘suburban family visiting the city’. You can spot them from a mile off, lots of food in cling film, Crocs, an overuse of Disney branding, large floral hair accessories and a pram worth more than my car. They were feeding the ducks when my daughter asked if she could play with their children.
The mothers first comment was:
‘How old is your daughter?’
Me, ‘Hello, how are you? She’s three and a half’.
Her, ‘Oh, Madison-Lee-Jane is three. My daughter is a lot taller than yours and she’s younger. She’s very tall and quite advanced for her age.’
Me, ‘errmmmm, yes’, I said, frowning (I so need botox).
I felt very sad looking at my small ‘challenged’ daughter grinning at me inanely in her cheap $15 dress from China and chocolate all over her face.
I’ve never really understood these ‘milestones’ figuring that should my children not be walking, eating solids, speaking, writing or anything that I/my doctor would consider ‘normal’; then there may be a problem and I’ll flag it appropriately.
Besides my daughter isn’t a midget and I believe she is reaching all the correct milestones.
Anyway, I took a look at the father, he looked like a right wanker. A sweeping statement I know, but I could tell, I’ve dated 80% of them.
His ‘tall’ three year old then threw the ducks bread into the water but it landed on the grass instead. (ha! She’s not that clever afterall). My daughter politely picked it up off the grass and gave it back to her. Wanky Dad snatched it out of his daughters hand and proceeded to throw it, by himself, to the ducks. Selfish prick. His wife, clearly embarrassed (well you married him love, suck it up sunshine, you both have Crocs on), pleaded with him to give a piece of the bread to the kids so they could join in the fun. He eventually relented and gave each child, including my daughter, a piece of bread no larger than 2mm square.
Who did he think he was Mr Bumble from Oliver?
‘Please sir, can I have some more?’.
What a miserable bastard.
Talk about milestones.
I felt like saying to the mother;
‘Your daughter may be taller but your husband is still stuck at the emotional level of an eight year old’.
…………..but I didn’t.
Some days I am very grateful to be by myself.
On another note, it’s Father’s Day today, so I was going to paint a moustache on my face to celebrate. Unfortunately this doesn’t seem to be required as it appears that I am quite capable of producing one myself naturally these days.