Single Fatherhood

The missus has gone off to Europe, to work and to do some shopping along the way. Like the supportive husband that I am, I sent her on her merry way with a wave and a smile, and encouraged my daughter to do the same. Trust me when I say that it is much easier said than done. I look back upon that little episode with much pride in my accomplishment.

However, this short trip of hers has left me holding the fort. One besieged by whiny questions and a preponderance towards mischief. Diapers I have grown accustomed to. Indeed, I was the first one to change my daughter when she was born, and that duty has somehow been associated with me ever since. Food has been the perennial problem with her; she prefers play to eating, and it has been driving everyone to distraction. My wife and I had devised a tag-team/ good cop - bad cop routine to overcome the daughter's obstinacy, but now in her absence, I am forced to seek out alternate strategies. After three days, I can honestly declare that I have enjoyed limited success. Sigh.

Then there is the whole matter of cleaning up after the daughter, coaxing her to bed, getting her out of bed, and getting her to communicate in Mandarin. Yes, the last is not exactly a chore reserved for one parent, but those who know my wife will agree that I am the only one who can take on this particular burden.

The cumulative time taken for all the tasks I've listed comes up to a hefty four hours. Yes, I counted. Then there is the father-daughter bonding things that I am determined to carry out, and the time taken to transport her back and forth from her grandmother's every morning and evening. Everything adds up to approximately six hours daily. Given that I am the run-of-the-mill Singaporean who puts in 11-12 hour workdays, that leaves me with 6 hours for sleep and whatnot. As some of my friends put it, it is not exactly healthy.

Besides, I find that I have to push her bedtime past 10.30 pm to get everything in. Sigh. Looks like something has to give somewhere, and I am inclined to make the cut before someone else does it to me. Looks like it is going to be laundry.

Smell

It is ten minutes before my meeting. I am hungry for want of breakfast. I have barely glanced through the weekend's reports, and what I have seen of my people's work does not make me particularly pleased with their performance.

Despite all of that, I cannot get one thing out of my head:

My wife has just changed laundry detergent on me, and I find this new smell on my clothes ... different, slightly disconcerting, and very distracting.

The Herald I

Herald is my name of old,
From which my metier may be told.
Aneas Sylvius later on related
How the heralds were incorporated
Many years before to go on missions
Visiting princes and men of high position,
And freely passing every frontier.
To the heralds should one reverence bear,
Give them gifts and jewels and courtly clothing,
Fortify them in their lordly living,
Guide them safely and defend them,
Strictly punish whosoe'er offend them.

- epigram by Hans Guldenmundt, about 1550


Each time I consider the Herald, I find myself inexplicably wondering about laundry. Here was a man who was welcome in all the Courts of Europe. Surely he must have maintained an impressive wardrobe, no? However did he manage to keep his clothes clean? In comparison, my laundry basket is ever in a deplorable state. Of course, my wife would be less generous if she had to describe it. Nevertheless, I can honestly say that the situation is much improved over what had been before I wed her.

But, back to the herald....

Here was a man without power save what he borrowed from those he claimed to serve, without status, without means. Yet, in a tourney or upon the field of battle, he was an authority to be reckoned with. And the reason for this? His knowledge. To me, he was a true symbol of meritocracy.

Or was he?