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Saturday, January 19, 2013

Daddy's in charge

Tracey called me Friday to say there was a 2 day photographers workshop in Brisbane she desperately wanted to attend. Naturally, I said I had no problem with her going.

"How many kids you taking?" was the only question I asked.

"Funny," she said without a hint of a smile in her voice. I remember when she used to find me hilarious.

So at 5am this morning, having got up, given Miss0 a bottle, showered, made a coffee and snuck out onto the balcony, Tracey was waiting for my mother to pick her up to take her to the train station.

At 5.30am, the kids woke up.

"Dad! Where's Mum?" Master7 bellowed from the other side of the bed.

"She's gone to Brisbane," I reminded him.

"So can I play the DS then?" he asked. Tracey doesn't like the kids spending too much time on the electronics.

"Yes." With Mum out of the way, he knew this weekend was destined to be awesome. "Just whisper, will you? Now go away and don't wake your-"

I was interrupted by the sound of Miss0's bottle hitting the bedhead. She tossed it, grenade fashion.

"Never mind," I said, dragging my sorry ass out of bed. There was no use trying to get back to sleep. Miss0 wails like a banshee until she's taken out of the cot and set free. And because she's a climber I'm worried if we leave her too long in the cot she'll work out she can get out without our assistance.

In the kitchen I found a note from my wife, giving me my orders. I love she feels the need to include things like 'breakfast' and 'baths' on the list, and things like 'give baby food, not just bottle'. There was a bit on Agony Uncles last night which I think sums up my wife, and probably most wives, nicely - delegation, with micro-supervision.

Then mid-morning both grandmothers arrive, almost in formation, to take away Miss5 and Miss3 for the day, leaving me with only Miss9, Master7 (both attached to their iPods) and Miss0, who, like me, slept for a three hours this afternoon.  I see this as proof our parents read my blog because last time Tracey went away things didn't go very smoothly. (link - Daddy Poppins)

But things have gone much better today. When Tracey called to check up on things, Miss0 had just woken me up from my nap.

"How's it going?" Tracey asked me.


"What's that screaming?"

"Nothing. It's the telly."

"It's the baby. What's going on?"

"She fell off the lounge."

"Why was she on the lounge?"

"We were sleeping."


All things considered, I think the day went rather splendidly. Everyone fed, bathed, read to and a night of beer, pizza, Bladerunner and The Fifth Element ahead of me.

Then, after the blighters were in bed, I looked at the list and realized I hadn't ticked one final item off the list.

But that's okay, I figure they can brush their teeth in the morning. I'm calling today a success.

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About Me

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Bruce Devereaux is one of the nicest people he knows. When not at work he enjoys reading, writing, hiding from his children and not changing nappies.


His career, and if we used the term any more loosely an e might fall out, has included a gardener, a personal lender, a console operator, a stop/go man (not as big a bludge as you might think but great if you’re into sunburn, abuse and varicose veins), a cleaner of banks and pubs and, for a very brief period, a door to door salesman (until the last door he knocked on was answered by a very scary woman with tremendously hairy legs).


Bruce Devereaux currently works as a forty-five-year-old award winning customer service officer (glass statuette available upon request) for the Bank of Queensland and as a very casual employee for Corrective Services. He likes to believe he excels at both but then he has always been prone to exaggeration.


His favourite colour is green, with a picture of Dame Nellie Melba on one side and General Sir John Monash on the other. His favourite flower is self-raising.

 If you see him around town, call his wife immediately - he's probably snuck out and left her alone with all the kids.


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