The Secret Diary of a 3 Year Old

MONDAY

Had a dream that I ruled the world. Everyone did exactly what I said and I got away with absolute murder. It was just like when the grandparents look after me.

TUESDAY

When Mummy dresses me I look awesome but when Daddy does it he just grabs whatever’s nearest. The slovenly shite he threw me in this morning was so mismatched and undersized I half expected him to bundle me into a wheelbarrow and start shouting ‘penny-for-the-guy’ at passers-by.

WEDNESDAY

Got kicked in the face by some bellwhiff on the slide queue. Top lip was caked in black mud. Daddy asked if I was doing Movember. Fuming.

THURSDAY

If it takes 10,000 hours of training to become an expert, today I became a virtuoso at clothing avoidance.

FRIDAY

You know what I love doing? Speaking at normal volume across the opposite side of a busy soft play from Mummy and then getting annoyed that she can’t hear me.

SATURDAY

Finally went on the Gruffalo trail! Was giddy with excitement as we arrived at the deep, dark wood and I’m singing the song and we start walking and even though we don’t see anything for a while, that’s fine because it helps establish the necessary tension for a big reveal later on so we keep on walking and I get a bit tired but I’m still smiling because I badly want to meet the Gruffalo and his mates so we keep on walking up hills and through mud, laugh at another family who are singing about being on a bear hunt (wrong book, douchebags) and keep on walking and I’m wondering why we still haven’t seen fuck all, not even one of the peripheral characters to keep me interested, and then I think I spot him but Daddy explains that’s just an old man having a piss so I get a bit upset and Daddy keeps saying he can see him on the horizon but it’s all lies so we keep walking and I’m about to give up and run into a bush and then WE SEE HIM! So we start running and I fall over into a puddle so I’m crying and soaking wet but Daddy shouts that we’re nearly there so I jump up and we’re running again till we get right up close and see this absolute joke of a Gruffalo that looks more like Brian Blessed so I give him the finger and shit my pants in protest.

SUNDAY

Sang a rousing rendition of happy birthday to Mummy. Her birthday’s in September but that’s not the point, is it?

🤓 I’m doing a UK stand up tour this Autumn! Get tickets here.

Comments

The Time I Screamed at my Kids

Before my kids arrived I swore I’d never shout at them. But choosing how to approach parenthood before your kids are born is like a caterpillar deciding what kind of butterfly they’re gonna be while they’re still building the cocoon. ‘I’ll still do loads of charity work, of course. And I’ll be REALLY nice to moths too, even though they’ll probably hate me because I’ll be so bloody gorgeous.’ Theory and reality are like sugar and shit. I’ve raised my voice to my kids more times than I can count. Often just to shout ‘STOP SHOUTING!’ which I’m aware doesn’t set a great example. ‘You should NEVER shout at your kids.’ And that’s fine. In theory. Because everything’s fine in theory. The Slimfast diet is a piece of piss until day two when you’ve had three hours sleep and someone offers you a Wagon Wheel. Of course, I never WANT to shout at them. I love them more than words can describe. But those you love are also the ones blessed with the innate ability to boil your piss q

We Have a Winner!

Ladies and gentlemen - some news! One recipient of my newsletter is now the 'lucky' (ahem) winner of an exclusive gig from me IN THEIR HOUSE! And that person is... Lyn Morter! Well done, Lyn! (Btw, if anyone from Ofcom is reading, you can check the legitimacy of this result via the Facebook Live video I did last week.) When I informed Lyn that she'd won she simply said, 'I've never heard of you' and 'How did you get my phone number?' so I'm sure that will be a great gig for everyone. (Only joking. She was thrilled.) Thanks to all of you for entering. But what now, Sam? I hear you screaming at your smartphones. Well, I'll be taking things a wee bit easier through August, spending some much needed time with my family after all the touring. But just like that former Governor of California of Austrian descent, I'LL BE BACK (sorry) in September with more blogs, videos and general waffle. I'm also heading b

The Time I Smeared Shit on the Duvet

My wife and I developed our parenting systems through trial and error. One of the earliest rules we’d introduced was that if it was after 5am and one of the babies became unsettled, we wouldn’t waste our time trying to get them back down in their cot - we’d just bring them in with us. After a nice cuddle in our bed, they’d normally settle back down, barring the occasional impromptu fanny gouge or affable bollock kick. (Babies are the most violent sleepers on the planet, easily capable of committing GBH in the middle of reaching for their dummy.) Our twins were six months old. I was fast asleep. At least, the deepest sleep you can get once your kids arrive. My pre-kids sleep used to be the nocturnal equivalent of deep sea diving. Nowadays I’m lucky if I can submerge my toes in a puddle. Early on, my sleep was lighter than a Ryvita biscuit who’d been having it off with a helium canister they’d met on Tinder. Everything woke me up. Some nights I’d just lie there, bewi

Sam Avery

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