One of the beauties of Twitter is finding and connecting with people with whom you’re often in the same boat.
Slumped on the sofa at 5.30am of a Saturday, with all hope of a lie-in after a hard week’s graft cruelly dashed, it’s always comforting to scan through the 140-character missives of fellow bleary-eyed parents hooking themselves up to caffeine drips in readiness for the day ahead.
But as the kids have got older, I’ve noticed that they’re not merely content with masterminding severe sleep deprivation – they’re also now doing a nice line in unwitting self-esteem bashing and generally confusing the life out of me.
In fact, some of it has been so withering and baffling as to be worthy of trophies. So, from the past few months alone, here are my particular favourites from the Mackintosh household:
The ‘Werthers Original’ Award: “Daddy, did you have Christmas when you were little… in Victorian times?”
The ‘I Wish…’ Award: “Daddy, you know your office? Does it have a big curly slide and a ball pool?”
The ‘Erm, Ask Your Mother That One, Son’ Award: “Daddy, I know you’ve said I came from Mummy’s tummy… but how did I get there?”
The ‘Pass My Pipe and Slippers’ Award: “Daddy, you do know you’ll never, ever, ever be young again, don’t you?”
The ‘Done Up Like A Kipper’ Award: “Daddy, I’ve got a deal for you – if I do a really big wee, you can take me to the toy shop and buy me a fire engine… okay?”
The ‘Could Do With Wayne Rooney’s Money’ Award: “Daddy, where has your hair gone? Did you leave it at work?”
The ‘Don’t Bother With The X Factor’ Award: “Daddy, you are the worst singer in the world. Please stop, it’s hurting my head.”
The ‘Hive Of Industry’ Award: “Daddy, I’m going to move out and get a job… when I’m 34.”
The ‘Get Yourself Out Of This One, Dad’ Award: “Daddy, you know on Christmas Eve you said that red light in the sky was Santa coming and we had to get to bed? Was it not just an aeroplane?”