Diary Of A Bad Dad
You can call me the Grinch if you like, but I’m glad Christmas is over. It didn’t start too well on Christmas Eve when Toddlernator the Terrible decided for the first time in his short life he would stay up the entire night. Seemingly unconcerned whether the fat fella with the white beard and red coat came down our non-existant chimney or not, T the T gave me and Mrs T a sleepless night.
I say sleepless we got a few minutes here and there. Mrs T was “enjoying 40 winks’’ at 6am when T the T laughingly decided it was time to get up.
Leaning over, he tried to prise his mum’s eyes open, cheerily shouting “wakey, wakey.’’ His sleepless night didn’t seem to affect him and he was soon joyfully bounding around the house as if he’d had his usual 10 hours or so. Not so me and Mrs T who were like a pair of zombies as the kids gleefully ripped open their presents.
T the T is obsessed with trains in general and in particular Thomas the Tank (another T the T!) Engine and was delighted with his Thomas jim-jams, puzzles and books.
“I know,’’ I suggested to Mrs T in a break in our yawning competiton, “next Christmas Eve shall we just buy him a ticket on Nene Valley Railway? One way, of course.’’