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Yesterday we got our pumpkins out and carved them up in anticipation of the big day tomorrow. We decided to do them yesterday because by the time I get home from work and our family dinner was done the munchkin would have been ready for bed, and a cranky tired toddler does not make for fun with knives.
This year we had three (our original plan was for two, but last week a third wound up on our doorstep - don't ask) so we left one uncarved and let her go to town on it with non-staining markers. The other two would be carved.
Before we began, the munchkin and I sat at the kitchen table with a pad and pencil. I drew a number of pumpkin shapes and then proceeded to create various shapes of eyes, noses, mouths for her to choose from. When we had a reasonably consistent preference, we proceeded. This year, the pumpkin would have diamond eyes and "teef".
I took the smaller of the two and sliced open the top and scooped out the seeds and "guts" (aside: what is the proper term for the guts of a pumpkin? OK. According to this site it is "fibrous strands". There, don't you feel smarter now?) She really enjoyed playing with the fibrous strands as I emptied the thing.
As I began to work on the larger pumpkin, MTM and the munchkin started detailing the smaller one. I say detailing because they didn't use a knife. Warning: digression time! For those of you who don't know, before MTM was Mommy, she was a kindergarten teacher. A few years back, when we were still dating, we were going through Michael's for after-Halloween discounted items and discovered this set of pumpkin Lite Brite. The spikes are longer and have a more bulbous head than the standard variety, and it comes with a battery powered "candle" that has teeth to dig into the inside of the pumpkin. A pretty cool idea. End digression. They made three hearts, one inside the other. Most of the hammering of the pegs was done by Mommy, but she made a valiant effort.
Meanwhile, I was carving the previously requested diamond eyes and "teef". When it was completed, the munchkin smiled, and even tried to give the pumpkin a little kiss!
That afternoon, we went to a Halloween party, where there were seven kids under the age of two (it was even more chaotic than it sounds). The hostess was well prepared, with lots of good snacks (the pieces of cheese cut with cookie cutters into the shape of a bat were a big hit) and activities (stickers for decorating pumpkins was a cool idea). But the highlight, at least for our little one, was the ice and decorate your own cookies. It was here that the munchkin first learned what Smarties tasted like, and she also had her first gummy worm. Mommy was so proud.
TNS: Parenting: The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly
Today there were three stories from the news sites that I wanted to share. Each one has a different story of a parent, each with a different perspective.
The Good
This mother wrote a very personal piece that will be printed in next week's issue of Newsweek. She writes about raising her children as a working mother (sometimes single, sometimes not) and all the things she missed during that time. She also writes about the current economics of raising a family, and how many mothers are working mothers now. It is a great story and an inspiring one for those of us who may need to be reminded that things are not as desperate as they seem sometimes.
The Bad
This is the story of a father who pulled a gun on his son's football coach because he (the father) believed the coach wasn't giving the boy enough playing time. When I read the lead for this story, I was ready for a by-line out of somewhere in Texas where high school football is paramount. I expected the story of a senior whose father was concerned about his scholarship opportunities. Instead, I got the father of a six year old in Philadelphia complaining about how much time his kid was playing!
The Ugly
This is a brief article about a very unfortunate father who was killed in a motor vehicle accident while teaching his daughter how to drive. His daughter was driving the family truck when she lost control of the vehicle. When trying to recover, the truck rolled and hit a tree. I cannot begin to imagine the pain that young woman is going through right now.
The Good
This mother wrote a very personal piece that will be printed in next week's issue of Newsweek. She writes about raising her children as a working mother (sometimes single, sometimes not) and all the things she missed during that time. She also writes about the current economics of raising a family, and how many mothers are working mothers now. It is a great story and an inspiring one for those of us who may need to be reminded that things are not as desperate as they seem sometimes.
The Bad
This is the story of a father who pulled a gun on his son's football coach because he (the father) believed the coach wasn't giving the boy enough playing time. When I read the lead for this story, I was ready for a by-line out of somewhere in Texas where high school football is paramount. I expected the story of a senior whose father was concerned about his scholarship opportunities. Instead, I got the father of a six year old in Philadelphia complaining about how much time his kid was playing!
The Ugly
This is a brief article about a very unfortunate father who was killed in a motor vehicle accident while teaching his daughter how to drive. His daughter was driving the family truck when she lost control of the vehicle. When trying to recover, the truck rolled and hit a tree. I cannot begin to imagine the pain that young woman is going through right now.
TDS: Daddy-Daughter Date #3
So last night MTM went out for dinner with a friend and the munchkin and I stayed in for our own little dinner date. She and I talked it over, and we decided that I would cook dinner since most of her food was plastic and her stove didn't really get anything cooked.
Being that it was a date, I made a special dinner for her: carrot risoto, peas, and roast beef (not a real one; one of those pre-cooked ones - I would not have had time to cook one from scratch after I got home from work). We sat down and ate. She didn't really care for the beef (at this point the only meat she really eats is italian sausage, which she loves) but she powered through more than a reasonable adult serving of the risoto. I daresay it is becoming one of her favourites alongside Mommy's mac 'n' cheese. She also had some yogurt and some strawberries. In fact, she insisted on feeding me a strawberry; and let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've eaten a strawberry covered in bits of carrot risoto!
After dinner I began clean-up. As both MTM and I have mentioned, the munchkin is very interested in being a helper. Tonight was no exception. She put her highchair away for me when I was done wiping it down (she would, shortly thereafter, attempt to bring it into the living room filled with bibs and her stuffed animals, but that is irrelevant).
We then played with crafts. We glued some foam shapes on a styrofoam plate and then we drew a picture with markers. I don't think I was doing things the way Mommy does, because she kept looking at me with a look that said, You know, I kinda feel guilty taking advantage of you like this... Mommy doesn't let me toss this much stuff around.
The highlight of the night, however, came when I was goofing with the camera. See, our first digital camera was a compromise for me: I like an SLR, but MTM wanted something point and shoot, so we got a point and shoot with a lot of bells and whistles. This summer it was replaced by something solely of MTM's choosing (aside from technical specifications), which is the size of a deck of cards. For those of you who are not aware, toddler hands can hold a deck of cards quite easily.
We went upstairs and she had a bath. We wrestled in the tub (per usual) and she got water in her eyes (per usual). When it was done we got her dressed in beautiful blue sleepers that bring out her eyes and got her a bottle of milk.
We read stories (six times through Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See... twice through several others) and she began to nod off in my arms. We brushed her teeth. I sang to herpoorly, and she went into her crib without a peep, and didn't cry once. And as an added bonus, she slept eleven hours straight through the night. In fact, this morning I made MTM go check to make sure she was OK because I was so freaked that she didn't wake in the night!
Being that it was a date, I made a special dinner for her: carrot risoto, peas, and roast beef (not a real one; one of those pre-cooked ones - I would not have had time to cook one from scratch after I got home from work). We sat down and ate. She didn't really care for the beef (at this point the only meat she really eats is italian sausage, which she loves) but she powered through more than a reasonable adult serving of the risoto. I daresay it is becoming one of her favourites alongside Mommy's mac 'n' cheese. She also had some yogurt and some strawberries. In fact, she insisted on feeding me a strawberry; and let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've eaten a strawberry covered in bits of carrot risoto!
After dinner I began clean-up. As both MTM and I have mentioned, the munchkin is very interested in being a helper. Tonight was no exception. She put her highchair away for me when I was done wiping it down (she would, shortly thereafter, attempt to bring it into the living room filled with bibs and her stuffed animals, but that is irrelevant).
We then played with crafts. We glued some foam shapes on a styrofoam plate and then we drew a picture with markers. I don't think I was doing things the way Mommy does, because she kept looking at me with a look that said, You know, I kinda feel guilty taking advantage of you like this... Mommy doesn't let me toss this much stuff around.
The highlight of the night, however, came when I was goofing with the camera. See, our first digital camera was a compromise for me: I like an SLR, but MTM wanted something point and shoot, so we got a point and shoot with a lot of bells and whistles. This summer it was replaced by something solely of MTM's choosing (aside from technical specifications), which is the size of a deck of cards. For those of you who are not aware, toddler hands can hold a deck of cards quite easily.
We went upstairs and she had a bath. We wrestled in the tub (per usual) and she got water in her eyes (per usual). When it was done we got her dressed in beautiful blue sleepers that bring out her eyes and got her a bottle of milk.
We read stories (six times through Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See... twice through several others) and she began to nod off in my arms. We brushed her teeth. I sang to her
TTS: Of Sleep And Guilt
For the past couple weeks, our daughter's (admittedly far from perfect) sleep habits have degraded tremendously. We currently believe the culprit to be teething - specifically the cutting of the eye teeth ("canines"). Every nap is a battle, and every bedtime is a struggle. Unfortunately, this has made it necessary to put her in her crib crying, and leave her in her room while she wails for someone or something in an attempt to delay sleep. It also means that she awakens throughout the night, and after assessing the diaper situation, she must be put into her crib where she cries for us and sometimes falls back asleep.
Since I am the parent who works out of the home while my wife stays at home with our daughter, this situation is harder on my wife than it is on me. She has the nap battle on top of the bedtime wrestling. We have tried to get our daughter used to having either one of us put her down for the night, but generally she prefers Mommy, and when we try to force the change (to Daddy) she wails and flails and generally gets more worked up, reducing the likelihood of her settling down. So, generally my wife has to take care of that as well.
This weekend, with my in-laws sleeping over, we didn't allow our daughter to cry very much, instead bringing her into bed with us. She still wouldn't settle and on Sunday morning after over an hour of kicking and squirming I got up with her at 7am. She was exhausted and still wouldn't settle. We watched a little Finding Nemo and then she snuggled into me, leading to the following loop:
Her: "Mama... Mama..."
Me: "Mommy is sleeping. You rest here with Daddy."
Her: "Mama... Mama..."
Me: "Just relax. You're tired, baby girl."
Five seconds of silence, her breathing getting deeper...
Smack - she smacks herself in the head to wake herself up
Her: "Mama... Mama..."
Last night she wouldn't go down, even after my wife gave her some Tempera. She ended up downstairs at 8pm, 45 minutes after she was originally put in her crib. She remained there until nearly 9pm, quietly cuddled on the sofa with my wife; not asleep, but without the energy to play or do anything. It was so frustrating to watch her fight sleep.
It's just realy challenging right now. And when she is crying in her crib (like she was this morning as I left for work), I know it's necessary, but my Daddy Guilt compels me to retrieve her from her room and make everything all better. I know it's the wrong thing to do, and I generally avoid the compulsion, but it breaks my heart to listen to her.
Since I am the parent who works out of the home while my wife stays at home with our daughter, this situation is harder on my wife than it is on me. She has the nap battle on top of the bedtime wrestling. We have tried to get our daughter used to having either one of us put her down for the night, but generally she prefers Mommy, and when we try to force the change (to Daddy) she wails and flails and generally gets more worked up, reducing the likelihood of her settling down. So, generally my wife has to take care of that as well.
This weekend, with my in-laws sleeping over, we didn't allow our daughter to cry very much, instead bringing her into bed with us. She still wouldn't settle and on Sunday morning after over an hour of kicking and squirming I got up with her at 7am. She was exhausted and still wouldn't settle. We watched a little Finding Nemo and then she snuggled into me, leading to the following loop:
Her: "Mama... Mama..."
Me: "Mommy is sleeping. You rest here with Daddy."
Her: "Mama... Mama..."
Me: "Just relax. You're tired, baby girl."
Five seconds of silence, her breathing getting deeper...
Smack - she smacks herself in the head to wake herself up
Her: "Mama... Mama..."
Last night she wouldn't go down, even after my wife gave her some Tempera. She ended up downstairs at 8pm, 45 minutes after she was originally put in her crib. She remained there until nearly 9pm, quietly cuddled on the sofa with my wife; not asleep, but without the energy to play or do anything. It was so frustrating to watch her fight sleep.
It's just realy challenging right now. And when she is crying in her crib (like she was this morning as I left for work), I know it's necessary, but my Daddy Guilt compels me to retrieve her from her room and make everything all better. I know it's the wrong thing to do, and I generally avoid the compulsion, but it breaks my heart to listen to her.
TRS: E! THS: My Sunday
Yesterday, MTM wrote about how she perceived my Sunday. Today, I shall tell you the whole story. You go there for romanticized rose-coloured glasses. You come here for the truth.
Before I delve into the weekend we need to get some background information clear. Back in the spring, my in-laws decided they were going to move into a smaller home (and while they were at it, closer to our house). So, they go out and look around and decide to purchase a new build located in a new development. By new development, we're talking that they had not cleared the trees to make way for the construction equipment to break ground.
As I said, this was spring. So when mid May arrived you can imagine our shock when they informed us that they had enlisted the help of an agent to begin trying to sell their home. I tried once to voice my position that being that their current home (at the time) was a bungalow in a desirable neighbourhood that they would have little difficulty selling it. That, combined with the fact that their move in date was December (and new builds in this part of the area are notoriously 3-6 months behind schedule), I suggested it was premature.
Their house sold by the beginning of June. They closed quickly and were moved into their (thankfully winterized) cottage (which is a 3 hour drive in good traffic) before the Canada Day weekend (July 1). To recap: in mid May they hired an agent. Before June ended they were out of their home.
As of this weekend, there was not a model home on the property. Their move in date has been pushed to March 2007 as of our last update.
So now they have to come into town for various items (previously purchased theatre tickets, doctor's appointments, et cetera) about every three weeks. At first they stayed in a hotel, but recently they started staying at our house. As MTM has mentioned, we have a three bedroom house, and the third bedroom isn't a spare - it's an office. There's a twin bed in there, and they use an air mattress (we offered them our bedroom, but they refused because they prefer their own beds). It's tight, and it's difficult with four adults trying to get ready and what not. But, they are family.
This weekend, my in-laws were staying over for two nights because a) on Saturday my mother-in-law had a hair appointment and b) on Sunday she had a gathering with a group of friends (there's like nine of them and they have known each other since kindergarten - it's pretty cool). MTM asked me whether or not I wanted to assemble the new computer hutch with her dad. I was honest when I told her that I had no problem with my father-in-law and I assembling furniture so long as my MIL was not around. You see, dear reader, my MIL has a tendency to insert herself in situations where she cannot really contribute (such as trying to tell us how to assemble furniture for which there are already detailed instructions).
However, before she left, my MIL began discussing her ideas about the rearrangement of the furniture, because, as every husband knows, the assembly of new furniture is the easy part of the job. It's the exercise of let's see what this two ton behemoth of furniture looks like over on the opposite side of the room... no, that's no good... try it over here... now, don't get angry with me, I need to see what it looks like over there! I can't visualize it the way you do... yes, I know it's heavy, but if it isn't right I'm not going to be able to live with it there, and if we don't try it there then I'll always wonder what it'd look like. Unfortunately, with two wives in the room, it makes the process twice as long. So, there we were, without the new furniture, trying to decide where everything would go. Of note: the hall tree that we were using as storage in the dining room/kitchen (didn't fit in our hall) was slotted for banishment to the basement prior to my MIL's arrival. As of 11am Sunday it was remaining in the dining room, despite my protestations. Also of note: suggestions I made in September when we were discussing this that resulted in tears from my dear wife were met with excited agreement now. And no, she is not pregnant.
My MIL left around 11am. So, with her gone all afternoon, my FIL and I hauled the two boxes of pressed wood, screws, bolts, and one lonely allen key into the kitchen and began assembly. Four hours later, the monster was complete. Folks, I am not a small man, but this thing could hold me, my wife, my child, and probably the computer as well! Of course, this made it dwarf the hall tree, and it was then banished. Sadly, with the narrow nature of our stairs, it would not fit as is. So, after spending four hours assembling furniture, there I was trying to disassemble the hall tree in the living room where the lighting is crap compared to the kitchen, while my FIL and I butted heads trying to get the right screws loosened (it had been a long day and we were both getting a little testy).
After taking it apart and getting it downstairs, my FIL voiced the opinion that it should remain in two parts. I agreed, but I had already asked MTM about that and she had planned on making use of it. Here's something that kind of got to me: when I had asked her upstairs about leaving it in pieces, my dear wife said, "No. I need it for storage." When her father suggested it, she said, "OK." Seems like when I want her to do something she doesn't want to I should get my FIL to ask her.
After dinner, my FIL fell asleep on the couch while I watched TAR. (Aside: can I tell you how glad I am that Peter and Sarah are gone? Between their dysfunctional relationship and Peter's inability to do any of the roadblocks that put Sarah at a disadvantage, it was arduous to watch them.) I heard a LOT of dragging going on in the kitchen/dining room. I went to get a soda at one point and my MIL put her arms across the entry and said that I couldn't come in there because they were "busy". I laughed and said she could not prevent me from going into any room of my house. I found that all furniture in the room, with the exception of the computer hutch, had been rearranged. When I made a comment about something, I was informed this was only temporary, and that my wife would be "trying things out" until she found what "worked". That's great news for the guy who fumbles around in the dark in the mornings.
Before I delve into the weekend we need to get some background information clear. Back in the spring, my in-laws decided they were going to move into a smaller home (and while they were at it, closer to our house). So, they go out and look around and decide to purchase a new build located in a new development. By new development, we're talking that they had not cleared the trees to make way for the construction equipment to break ground.
As I said, this was spring. So when mid May arrived you can imagine our shock when they informed us that they had enlisted the help of an agent to begin trying to sell their home. I tried once to voice my position that being that their current home (at the time) was a bungalow in a desirable neighbourhood that they would have little difficulty selling it. That, combined with the fact that their move in date was December (and new builds in this part of the area are notoriously 3-6 months behind schedule), I suggested it was premature.
Their house sold by the beginning of June. They closed quickly and were moved into their (thankfully winterized) cottage (which is a 3 hour drive in good traffic) before the Canada Day weekend (July 1). To recap: in mid May they hired an agent. Before June ended they were out of their home.
As of this weekend, there was not a model home on the property. Their move in date has been pushed to March 2007 as of our last update.
So now they have to come into town for various items (previously purchased theatre tickets, doctor's appointments, et cetera) about every three weeks. At first they stayed in a hotel, but recently they started staying at our house. As MTM has mentioned, we have a three bedroom house, and the third bedroom isn't a spare - it's an office. There's a twin bed in there, and they use an air mattress (we offered them our bedroom, but they refused because they prefer their own beds). It's tight, and it's difficult with four adults trying to get ready and what not. But, they are family.
This weekend, my in-laws were staying over for two nights because a) on Saturday my mother-in-law had a hair appointment and b) on Sunday she had a gathering with a group of friends (there's like nine of them and they have known each other since kindergarten - it's pretty cool). MTM asked me whether or not I wanted to assemble the new computer hutch with her dad. I was honest when I told her that I had no problem with my father-in-law and I assembling furniture so long as my MIL was not around. You see, dear reader, my MIL has a tendency to insert herself in situations where she cannot really contribute (such as trying to tell us how to assemble furniture for which there are already detailed instructions).
However, before she left, my MIL began discussing her ideas about the rearrangement of the furniture, because, as every husband knows, the assembly of new furniture is the easy part of the job. It's the exercise of let's see what this two ton behemoth of furniture looks like over on the opposite side of the room... no, that's no good... try it over here... now, don't get angry with me, I need to see what it looks like over there! I can't visualize it the way you do... yes, I know it's heavy, but if it isn't right I'm not going to be able to live with it there, and if we don't try it there then I'll always wonder what it'd look like. Unfortunately, with two wives in the room, it makes the process twice as long. So, there we were, without the new furniture, trying to decide where everything would go. Of note: the hall tree that we were using as storage in the dining room/kitchen (didn't fit in our hall) was slotted for banishment to the basement prior to my MIL's arrival. As of 11am Sunday it was remaining in the dining room, despite my protestations. Also of note: suggestions I made in September when we were discussing this that resulted in tears from my dear wife were met with excited agreement now. And no, she is not pregnant.
My MIL left around 11am. So, with her gone all afternoon, my FIL and I hauled the two boxes of pressed wood, screws, bolts, and one lonely allen key into the kitchen and began assembly. Four hours later, the monster was complete. Folks, I am not a small man, but this thing could hold me, my wife, my child, and probably the computer as well! Of course, this made it dwarf the hall tree, and it was then banished. Sadly, with the narrow nature of our stairs, it would not fit as is. So, after spending four hours assembling furniture, there I was trying to disassemble the hall tree in the living room where the lighting is crap compared to the kitchen, while my FIL and I butted heads trying to get the right screws loosened (it had been a long day and we were both getting a little testy).
After taking it apart and getting it downstairs, my FIL voiced the opinion that it should remain in two parts. I agreed, but I had already asked MTM about that and she had planned on making use of it. Here's something that kind of got to me: when I had asked her upstairs about leaving it in pieces, my dear wife said, "No. I need it for storage." When her father suggested it, she said, "OK." Seems like when I want her to do something she doesn't want to I should get my FIL to ask her.
After dinner, my FIL fell asleep on the couch while I watched TAR. (Aside: can I tell you how glad I am that Peter and Sarah are gone? Between their dysfunctional relationship and Peter's inability to do any of the roadblocks that put Sarah at a disadvantage, it was arduous to watch them.) I heard a LOT of dragging going on in the kitchen/dining room. I went to get a soda at one point and my MIL put her arms across the entry and said that I couldn't come in there because they were "busy". I laughed and said she could not prevent me from going into any room of my house. I found that all furniture in the room, with the exception of the computer hutch, had been rearranged. When I made a comment about something, I was informed this was only temporary, and that my wife would be "trying things out" until she found what "worked". That's great news for the guy who fumbles around in the dark in the mornings.
TNS: Paternal Rights
Today I read an article about a man who was involved in a court battle for custody of his biological son. The five month old child is currently under the care of friends of the mother, who signed legal documents giving them custody because she felt she was unable to raise a child and did not know who the father was. The man has since been proven through testing to be the biological father.
This raised a question that I find myself wondering about often. That being, if a couple has no legal relationship (married, common-law, et cetera) then the father of a child seemingly has no rights. On the one hand, it makes perfect sense: the mother carries the child for nine months. It is her body that gets reshaped and her organs that get readjusted. On the other hand, each person contributes equally to the child. The mother is no more the child's parent than the father, in spite of the additional burden she faces. In a case where the mother is either unable or not interested in raising the child as the primary caregiver, and the father is so inclined, the choice would seem obvious.
I can relate to this. When my father first immigrated to Canada he settled in another province and got married. The marriage was awful, but they persevered and had a child. When their daughter was four they divorced, and my father got custody of the daughter by default (the mother did not contest). Since work was drying up where they were, my father planned to move to another province and asked his mother-in-law (his family was all back in Italy) to watch the daughter until he got settled. She agreed under the condition that she would raise the daughter until my father remarried and as such could provide a mother for the child.
For the next three years, my father drove twelve hours each way every long weekend and holiday to be with his daughter. During this time he met my mother, and they began dating. From the outset he made it clear that he was not spending any holidays with my mother, and fortunately she understood. Eventually, they got engaged and his daughter came to live with him. When they got married, that daughter called my mother "Mom" from that day forward. Two years later, she got herself a little brother, and became my big sister. My father was fortunate, because, unlike the case above, the mother granted custody (by not contesting).
But what of other fathers? The Canadian court system has a strong tendency to award custody to mothers in cases where custody is contested, regardless of the specific family conditions. In our society, women are the caregivers and men are the breadwinners (in families where both are not breadwinners). Certainly there are some fathers who are primary caregivers for their children; Chag is a stay at home dad and Metro Dad has been the main caregiver for his daughter (his wife's job is not as flexible as his). However, these men are the exception, not the rule.
At the risk of sounding cliche, fathers are parents too. A custody battle between guardians and biological mother would not be as uncertain - the mother would assumed to be granted custody (with an admittedly broad assumption that she isn't a recovering heroin addict or something). Why then, would a father's rights be any different? Sometimes (as in this case) the fathers are at a disadvantage because they are not directly responsible for gestation.
I, for one, hope this man wins his battle to gain custody of his son. While I feel for the current guardians and I understand their position, I believe this man should have the right to raise his child if he wants to. Perhaps I'm biased, but I believe my sister (and my entire family) benefited from her father wanting to raise her.
This raised a question that I find myself wondering about often. That being, if a couple has no legal relationship (married, common-law, et cetera) then the father of a child seemingly has no rights. On the one hand, it makes perfect sense: the mother carries the child for nine months. It is her body that gets reshaped and her organs that get readjusted. On the other hand, each person contributes equally to the child. The mother is no more the child's parent than the father, in spite of the additional burden she faces. In a case where the mother is either unable or not interested in raising the child as the primary caregiver, and the father is so inclined, the choice would seem obvious.
I can relate to this. When my father first immigrated to Canada he settled in another province and got married. The marriage was awful, but they persevered and had a child. When their daughter was four they divorced, and my father got custody of the daughter by default (the mother did not contest). Since work was drying up where they were, my father planned to move to another province and asked his mother-in-law (his family was all back in Italy) to watch the daughter until he got settled. She agreed under the condition that she would raise the daughter until my father remarried and as such could provide a mother for the child.
For the next three years, my father drove twelve hours each way every long weekend and holiday to be with his daughter. During this time he met my mother, and they began dating. From the outset he made it clear that he was not spending any holidays with my mother, and fortunately she understood. Eventually, they got engaged and his daughter came to live with him. When they got married, that daughter called my mother "Mom" from that day forward. Two years later, she got herself a little brother, and became my big sister. My father was fortunate, because, unlike the case above, the mother granted custody (by not contesting).
But what of other fathers? The Canadian court system has a strong tendency to award custody to mothers in cases where custody is contested, regardless of the specific family conditions. In our society, women are the caregivers and men are the breadwinners (in families where both are not breadwinners). Certainly there are some fathers who are primary caregivers for their children; Chag is a stay at home dad and Metro Dad has been the main caregiver for his daughter (his wife's job is not as flexible as his). However, these men are the exception, not the rule.
At the risk of sounding cliche, fathers are parents too. A custody battle between guardians and biological mother would not be as uncertain - the mother would assumed to be granted custody (with an admittedly broad assumption that she isn't a recovering heroin addict or something). Why then, would a father's rights be any different? Sometimes (as in this case) the fathers are at a disadvantage because they are not directly responsible for gestation.
I, for one, hope this man wins his battle to gain custody of his son. While I feel for the current guardians and I understand their position, I believe this man should have the right to raise his child if he wants to. Perhaps I'm biased, but I believe my sister (and my entire family) benefited from her father wanting to raise her.
TDS: Uhm, Sweetheart, That's Daddy's Spleen
Anyone know if Baby Einstein makes a toddler version of Gray's Anatomy (the book, not the smutty tv show)? You know, like with the clear plastic pages that show the different systems of the body?
Last night when I got home from work, the munchkin and I were horsing around on the floor. (Basically, I would tackle her gently to the ground then kiss her exposed tummy and back as she rolled around -- apparently my goatee makes this a tremendously satisfying tickling experience.) Then, she wanted "Munchkin's turn", so I rolled over on to my stomach and put my head down. She pulled up my t-shirt and started kissing for like two seconds, and then started looking for my belly button. I tried to explain that it was on the other side, but she kept looking.
Before dinner she was crawling through Mommy's legs, and then Daddy's legs. One time, mid-way through Daddy's legs, she decides to stand up. Unfortunately, she has not cleared Daddy yet and, how do I put this... in Austin Powers terms, she missed the twig but head-butted the berries.
After dinner she said, "Shoulders... Daddy..." Which means, "Put me on your shoulders, please, Daddy." So I did, and she proceeded to bang my melon like a bongo, pull on my ears (all the while making me aware that she knew these were "e-oh-rs") and try to pull the edges of my mouth up to my eye balls.
This morning I was sleeping in because I have an early meeting that is a lot closer to home than the office. So, when she wouldn't settle, MTM brought her into our bed to try and get her back to sleep. See, the munchkin's arms aren't all that strong yet, so she uses her legs to maneuver herself in our bed. Unfortunately, that usually results in a heel to the spleen or kidney for Daddy as she uses him for leverage to cuddle into Mommy more closely. Either that, or she nuzzles into Daddy (aww...) and begins to clap, intermittently smacking her hands together and slapping Daddy in the face (oww...)
So yeah, if anyone can get me a book to help prevent such experiences as these, I'd be most appreciative.
Last night when I got home from work, the munchkin and I were horsing around on the floor. (Basically, I would tackle her gently to the ground then kiss her exposed tummy and back as she rolled around -- apparently my goatee makes this a tremendously satisfying tickling experience.) Then, she wanted "Munchkin's turn", so I rolled over on to my stomach and put my head down. She pulled up my t-shirt and started kissing for like two seconds, and then started looking for my belly button. I tried to explain that it was on the other side, but she kept looking.
Before dinner she was crawling through Mommy's legs, and then Daddy's legs. One time, mid-way through Daddy's legs, she decides to stand up. Unfortunately, she has not cleared Daddy yet and, how do I put this... in Austin Powers terms, she missed the twig but head-butted the berries.
After dinner she said, "Shoulders... Daddy..." Which means, "Put me on your shoulders, please, Daddy." So I did, and she proceeded to bang my melon like a bongo, pull on my ears (all the while making me aware that she knew these were "e-oh-rs") and try to pull the edges of my mouth up to my eye balls.
This morning I was sleeping in because I have an early meeting that is a lot closer to home than the office. So, when she wouldn't settle, MTM brought her into our bed to try and get her back to sleep. See, the munchkin's arms aren't all that strong yet, so she uses her legs to maneuver herself in our bed. Unfortunately, that usually results in a heel to the spleen or kidney for Daddy as she uses him for leverage to cuddle into Mommy more closely. Either that, or she nuzzles into Daddy (aww...) and begins to clap, intermittently smacking her hands together and slapping Daddy in the face (oww...)
So yeah, if anyone can get me a book to help prevent such experiences as these, I'd be most appreciative.
TTS: But Who's In The Movies?
As I sat at our home computer, archiving digital images and videos to backup DVDs, I wondered to myself, if people don't have children, what do they take pictures of? I got my answer today.
I have been going through some old home movies from my childhood. They were taken by my uncle who passed on about five years ago. My mother's sister (his widow) gave his 8mm projector and a few reels of movies to my brother-in-law. He watched them once with my sister and put them away. With my recent interest in making home movies and collecting old photos and slides and transferring them to DVD, I asked him to lend me the equipment and films.
There were a total of six reels: three small ones and three large. Two of the three small ones were from Christmas 1978 - I was four, my sister three, and we had a baby cousin who was born the previous April. The other small one was from my second birthday in 1976. One of the large reels was a compilation of a whole series of events: Christmas 1977, my sister's and cousin's baptisms, plus random visits.
As I got the projector working, the munchkin became interested in watching movies. The three of us would sit downstairs in our unfinished basement watching the two foot wide image on a wrinkly white sheet. What I found amazing was that, despite the thirty year time lapse, she was able to identify most of the adults (my parents, my grandmother, some of my aunts). It was really fascinating to watch her identify them.
The other two reels were vacations they took. Each reel was about thirty minutes, and maybe two of those minutes were of people. The remainder was filled with boats, trees, signs, and cars. The munchkin and I ended up making shadow puppets instead of watching the movie when those reels were on.
But it got me thinking: back in the seventies, few people had video recording devices (unlike today, where every digital camera can produce VHS, if not DVD, quality video). Of course, of my mother's five siblings, the one who was childless had the disposable income to purchase the camera. So, without any children to record, what would they do to make use of this investment? They recorded their family. However, they didn't live with their families, so they also recorded their vacations.
The problem is, with one person running the camera, that left one person in front of it, usually waving. Not exactly compelling stuff. So, they did the next best thing: they recorded nature. Unfortunately, I can't tell the difference between Niagara Falls 1978 and Niagara Falls 2006. And a forest looks big and green, no matter what year it is.
So I guess what I learned is that without the munchkin running around doing cute stuff, my movies would be pretty boring too.
I have been going through some old home movies from my childhood. They were taken by my uncle who passed on about five years ago. My mother's sister (his widow) gave his 8mm projector and a few reels of movies to my brother-in-law. He watched them once with my sister and put them away. With my recent interest in making home movies and collecting old photos and slides and transferring them to DVD, I asked him to lend me the equipment and films.
There were a total of six reels: three small ones and three large. Two of the three small ones were from Christmas 1978 - I was four, my sister three, and we had a baby cousin who was born the previous April. The other small one was from my second birthday in 1976. One of the large reels was a compilation of a whole series of events: Christmas 1977, my sister's and cousin's baptisms, plus random visits.
As I got the projector working, the munchkin became interested in watching movies. The three of us would sit downstairs in our unfinished basement watching the two foot wide image on a wrinkly white sheet. What I found amazing was that, despite the thirty year time lapse, she was able to identify most of the adults (my parents, my grandmother, some of my aunts). It was really fascinating to watch her identify them.
The other two reels were vacations they took. Each reel was about thirty minutes, and maybe two of those minutes were of people. The remainder was filled with boats, trees, signs, and cars. The munchkin and I ended up making shadow puppets instead of watching the movie when those reels were on.
But it got me thinking: back in the seventies, few people had video recording devices (unlike today, where every digital camera can produce VHS, if not DVD, quality video). Of course, of my mother's five siblings, the one who was childless had the disposable income to purchase the camera. So, without any children to record, what would they do to make use of this investment? They recorded their family. However, they didn't live with their families, so they also recorded their vacations.
The problem is, with one person running the camera, that left one person in front of it, usually waving. Not exactly compelling stuff. So, they did the next best thing: they recorded nature. Unfortunately, I can't tell the difference between Niagara Falls 1978 and Niagara Falls 2006. And a forest looks big and green, no matter what year it is.
So I guess what I learned is that without the munchkin running around doing cute stuff, my movies would be pretty boring too.
TRS: Adventures with Daddy
Today, MTM went to a baby show, leaving the munchkin and I alone all day for the first time since my fracture (sounds too much like a mental problem) broken ankle. In an homage to Bill Simmons of Espn.com, I am providing a running diary of today's events.
9:00am
MTM begins itemizing various parts of the munchkin's routines. Of note:
1. She usually keeps a cup of snack crackers in the diaper bag.
2. There is a tub of broccoli in the fridge for her.
These will come up later in our day.
9:40am
Mommy leaves for the show. The following fifteen minutes are peppered with the following conversation:
Munchkin: Mommy... wurt... home... later...
Daddy: Yes, Mommy is working. She will be home later.
Munchkin: Daddy... fun... sopping... pesent... Mommy...
Daddy: Yes, you are going to have fun with Daddy. We are shopping for a present for Mommy.
Munchkin: Mommy... wurt... home... later...
10:00am
Arrive at Futureshop to return a pair of bluetooth earphones my mother purchased for herself but did not like. She gave them to me for my iPod, but they a) don't stay plugged in when my case is used and b) they crush my skull. I explain this to the cashier. She, in between cooing and chit chatting with the munchkin, explains that because the purchase was made with VISA she must give me store credit (a gift card). She asks if it's OK. I begin to wonder if at some point in the last five minutes I stopped looking like the bulky computer geek I am, since to look at me anyone would assume I would have no problem spending money at Futureshop.
10:15am
While browsing in the headphone aisle, the munchkin informs me that she wants bunnies (little organic cheese crackers). Having left the diaper bag in the van, I explain that she can have some once we are back in the van.
10:20am
We purchase new headphones and a present for Mommy (can't give out details, since Mommy snoops!) She repeats that she wants bunnies as I put her in her car seat. I go to the diaper bag. There are no bunnies. Apparently "usually keeps a cup of snack crackers in the diaper bag" means "usually keeps a cup of snack crackers in the diaper bag, but not today since I put them on the kitchen counter, hidden behind the dirty dishes and the fruit bowl."
10:30am
We arrive at the mall and high tail it to the central elevator since the magazine shop that sells crackers is on the upper level. We discover the central elevators are out of service, and join the caravan (literally, we're talking five moms with strollers) going to the department store with an elevator.
10:40am
After waiting for a second elevator (stroller moms can be pushy) we arrive at the magazine shop. My options are salty cheddar squares or Ritz cheese sandwiches - sodium or fat? Decisions, decisions. I get both. She rejects the cheddar squares, and after sampling one, I don't blame her. So, we're strolling the mall nibbling on little cheese sandwiches.
10:50am
We learn that while Claire's has many fun products for little (and big) girls, it is not intended for people with strollers.
11:05am
We arrive at the indoor playground at the mall. She immediately runs off, and I am left to navigate the foam floor with a less than 100% functional ankle. Fun times. At one point, she is crawling into a place when a larger, older boy pulls her aside to get in front. She stands up and slaps him across the head. Now, I am torn. In my head I'm going, "Hitting: bad; standing up to pushy rude older boys: good". I decide to tell her to apologize to the little boy; hitting is more wrong than defending oneself is right, apparently. We'll teach her to stand up for herself without resorting to violence.
11:25am
We leave the play area and decide to head to a restaurant for lunch instead of the food court, thinking it would be less hectic. I order and get everything set up. (Aside: Man, how brutal is it to try and co-ordinate a lunch with a stroller, highchair, toddler and food on a tray? I have a newfound respect for moms who do it more often than I.) As I am taking out her food, the munchkin says, "bokli". I smile... my little girl doesn't ask for my fries, but rather for the broccoli. I open the container. Hmmm... it's raw. I didn't know the munchkin was eating raw broccoli. Oh well. I offer a piece to the munchkin. She puts it in her mouth, frowns, and spits it into her hand. She then offers it back to me saying, "All done!" Apparently, the presence of broccoli in the fridge does not mean it is ready for consumption. It just means there's broccoli in the fridge.
As we're eating a teenaged boy walks behind the munchkin five times, and each time he kicks her highchair. And each time he does this, he says nothing. And I have to keep reminding myself hitting: wrong, because I'm so irked I'm ready to plow this kid.
11:55am
We pack up and leave the restaurant. The munchkin has indicated that she is finished eating, in spite of an obvious lack of actual consumption. (She did eat cucumber and peppers and some fries. But really, it wasn't a good lunch.)
11:57am
The munchkin informs me, "eat, more, pees". So, out come the crackers again.
12:10pm
I wrestle with a decision of whether or not to buy MTM a magazine as a surprise. On the upside: the cover promises an interview with McDreamy from Grey's Anatomy, slow cooker recipes (she had recently said she wanted to use the crock pot more), and Halloween crafts. On the downside: the magazine is Good Housekeeping, I don't want to be accused of imposed domestication or anything. I decide to take the risk and buy it, but that the munchkin will give the gift to Mommy, hence softening the blow.
12:15pm
We make our way to one of the department stores to go home. She has been rubbing her eyes, her "tell" that she is tired.
12:20pm
As I am fishing her coat out of the bottom of the stroller, she reaches out to me. I ask her if she needs a hug. She nods. We spend the next five minutes with her cuddling with me on a mall bench as women walk by and sigh, and I begin to think that I'd have been married a lot sooner if I carried around a little kid that cuddled me.
12:30pm
The munchkin is asleep before we leave the parking lot.
12:45pm
The munchkin awakens as I take her out of the van, in spite of my exteme efforts.
12:50pm
I change the munchkin's diaper and give her a sippy cup of milk. We read a few stories and she intermittently takes very small sips. (We are weaning her off bottles; she gets 8oz at bed and 8oz first thing in the morning. She drinks little milk from sippy cups right now.)
1:10pm
I put the munchkin down in her crib, with music, and head downstairs.
1:13pm
The munchkin begins to cry. The cries escalate. I have been instructed that this is common, and to just wait it out, that she will eventually cry herself to sleep.
1:20pm
Still crying.
1:30pm
Still crying, although she occasionally goes silent for 1-2 minutes at a time.
1:35pm
I cannot take any more and go upstairs. Her fine golden hair is matted to her head, and her beautiful blue eyes are swollen with tears. I take her up, and we go sit and cuddle while her breathing settles. She asks for books. I read her one. She asks for milk. I get her sippy cup. She asks for more books. I read more.
1:50pm
I put her back to her crib. She is screaming before I can even get out the door. I go downstairs as she continues to wail.
2:00pm
Still crying as I empty the dishwasher.
2:05pm
I begin to panic that she is not going to nap at all, so I break MTM's cardinal rule and take her into the twin bed in our office. She curls into my armpit and falls asleep immediately.
3:20pm
I awaken. My left arm is trapped under the munchkin with my left hand sticking up out of the covers and bent awkwardly. It is ice cold and horribly numb.
3:35pm
The munchkin awakens. Her first words to me are, "Love... Daddy..." followed by a kiss. These are the moments being a father is all about.
3:45pm
We are having a snack in the kitchen when my cell phone rings. It's MTM, telling me I can bring her to the show if I want. I say OK and hang up.
3:46pm
The munchkin says, "talk... Mommy... wurt..." So, I dial MTM on the cell, and while it's ringing the munchkin says, "Mommy... pesent..." I tell her that it's a surprise, and she nods. When I hold it up to the munchkin she says, "Mommy... prize..."
4:10pm
We arrive at the show, carrying yummy Kernel's popcorn for Mommy. We are greeted by a little friend of the munchkin's (his mom is the woman who organized the show), and she runs off. She spends the next hour dancing on the Baby Salsa stage and playing in the toy room, only occasionally coming to MTM for a hug, much to her chagrin.
5:15pm
As we are driving home, the munchkin says, "Mommy... wurt... home... soon... big... hug... love... Mommy..."
5:30pm
We arrive home and the munchkin has some dinner. OK, actually she has some dinner! She eats an adult portion of pasta, plus a side of cooked broccoli, plus a ton of blueberries, plus a yogurt! She had a feast. Apparently, she needed more lunch.
6:00pm
We settle on the couch for a few books before bath time and bedtime, knowing that the baby show has just ended.
6:15pm
As we hit landing on our way upstairs for a bath, Mommy comes through the door! She immediately wants to hug her and give her the magazine (which she loved - whew).
9:00am
MTM begins itemizing various parts of the munchkin's routines. Of note:
1. She usually keeps a cup of snack crackers in the diaper bag.
2. There is a tub of broccoli in the fridge for her.
These will come up later in our day.
9:40am
Mommy leaves for the show. The following fifteen minutes are peppered with the following conversation:
Munchkin: Mommy... wurt... home... later...
Daddy: Yes, Mommy is working. She will be home later.
Munchkin: Daddy... fun... sopping... pesent... Mommy...
Daddy: Yes, you are going to have fun with Daddy. We are shopping for a present for Mommy.
Munchkin: Mommy... wurt... home... later...
10:00am
Arrive at Futureshop to return a pair of bluetooth earphones my mother purchased for herself but did not like. She gave them to me for my iPod, but they a) don't stay plugged in when my case is used and b) they crush my skull. I explain this to the cashier. She, in between cooing and chit chatting with the munchkin, explains that because the purchase was made with VISA she must give me store credit (a gift card). She asks if it's OK. I begin to wonder if at some point in the last five minutes I stopped looking like the bulky computer geek I am, since to look at me anyone would assume I would have no problem spending money at Futureshop.
10:15am
While browsing in the headphone aisle, the munchkin informs me that she wants bunnies (little organic cheese crackers). Having left the diaper bag in the van, I explain that she can have some once we are back in the van.
10:20am
We purchase new headphones and a present for Mommy (can't give out details, since Mommy snoops!) She repeats that she wants bunnies as I put her in her car seat. I go to the diaper bag. There are no bunnies. Apparently "usually keeps a cup of snack crackers in the diaper bag" means "usually keeps a cup of snack crackers in the diaper bag, but not today since I put them on the kitchen counter, hidden behind the dirty dishes and the fruit bowl."
10:30am
We arrive at the mall and high tail it to the central elevator since the magazine shop that sells crackers is on the upper level. We discover the central elevators are out of service, and join the caravan (literally, we're talking five moms with strollers) going to the department store with an elevator.
10:40am
After waiting for a second elevator (stroller moms can be pushy) we arrive at the magazine shop. My options are salty cheddar squares or Ritz cheese sandwiches - sodium or fat? Decisions, decisions. I get both. She rejects the cheddar squares, and after sampling one, I don't blame her. So, we're strolling the mall nibbling on little cheese sandwiches.
10:50am
We learn that while Claire's has many fun products for little (and big) girls, it is not intended for people with strollers.
11:05am
We arrive at the indoor playground at the mall. She immediately runs off, and I am left to navigate the foam floor with a less than 100% functional ankle. Fun times. At one point, she is crawling into a place when a larger, older boy pulls her aside to get in front. She stands up and slaps him across the head. Now, I am torn. In my head I'm going, "Hitting: bad; standing up to pushy rude older boys: good". I decide to tell her to apologize to the little boy; hitting is more wrong than defending oneself is right, apparently. We'll teach her to stand up for herself without resorting to violence.
11:25am
We leave the play area and decide to head to a restaurant for lunch instead of the food court, thinking it would be less hectic. I order and get everything set up. (Aside: Man, how brutal is it to try and co-ordinate a lunch with a stroller, highchair, toddler and food on a tray? I have a newfound respect for moms who do it more often than I.) As I am taking out her food, the munchkin says, "bokli". I smile... my little girl doesn't ask for my fries, but rather for the broccoli. I open the container. Hmmm... it's raw. I didn't know the munchkin was eating raw broccoli. Oh well. I offer a piece to the munchkin. She puts it in her mouth, frowns, and spits it into her hand. She then offers it back to me saying, "All done!" Apparently, the presence of broccoli in the fridge does not mean it is ready for consumption. It just means there's broccoli in the fridge.
As we're eating a teenaged boy walks behind the munchkin five times, and each time he kicks her highchair. And each time he does this, he says nothing. And I have to keep reminding myself hitting: wrong, because I'm so irked I'm ready to plow this kid.
11:55am
We pack up and leave the restaurant. The munchkin has indicated that she is finished eating, in spite of an obvious lack of actual consumption. (She did eat cucumber and peppers and some fries. But really, it wasn't a good lunch.)
11:57am
The munchkin informs me, "eat, more, pees". So, out come the crackers again.
12:10pm
I wrestle with a decision of whether or not to buy MTM a magazine as a surprise. On the upside: the cover promises an interview with McDreamy from Grey's Anatomy, slow cooker recipes (she had recently said she wanted to use the crock pot more), and Halloween crafts. On the downside: the magazine is Good Housekeeping, I don't want to be accused of imposed domestication or anything. I decide to take the risk and buy it, but that the munchkin will give the gift to Mommy, hence softening the blow.
12:15pm
We make our way to one of the department stores to go home. She has been rubbing her eyes, her "tell" that she is tired.
12:20pm
As I am fishing her coat out of the bottom of the stroller, she reaches out to me. I ask her if she needs a hug. She nods. We spend the next five minutes with her cuddling with me on a mall bench as women walk by and sigh, and I begin to think that I'd have been married a lot sooner if I carried around a little kid that cuddled me.
12:30pm
The munchkin is asleep before we leave the parking lot.
12:45pm
The munchkin awakens as I take her out of the van, in spite of my exteme efforts.
12:50pm
I change the munchkin's diaper and give her a sippy cup of milk. We read a few stories and she intermittently takes very small sips. (We are weaning her off bottles; she gets 8oz at bed and 8oz first thing in the morning. She drinks little milk from sippy cups right now.)
1:10pm
I put the munchkin down in her crib, with music, and head downstairs.
1:13pm
The munchkin begins to cry. The cries escalate. I have been instructed that this is common, and to just wait it out, that she will eventually cry herself to sleep.
1:20pm
Still crying.
1:30pm
Still crying, although she occasionally goes silent for 1-2 minutes at a time.
1:35pm
I cannot take any more and go upstairs. Her fine golden hair is matted to her head, and her beautiful blue eyes are swollen with tears. I take her up, and we go sit and cuddle while her breathing settles. She asks for books. I read her one. She asks for milk. I get her sippy cup. She asks for more books. I read more.
1:50pm
I put her back to her crib. She is screaming before I can even get out the door. I go downstairs as she continues to wail.
2:00pm
Still crying as I empty the dishwasher.
2:05pm
I begin to panic that she is not going to nap at all, so I break MTM's cardinal rule and take her into the twin bed in our office. She curls into my armpit and falls asleep immediately.
3:20pm
I awaken. My left arm is trapped under the munchkin with my left hand sticking up out of the covers and bent awkwardly. It is ice cold and horribly numb.
3:35pm
The munchkin awakens. Her first words to me are, "Love... Daddy..." followed by a kiss. These are the moments being a father is all about.
3:45pm
We are having a snack in the kitchen when my cell phone rings. It's MTM, telling me I can bring her to the show if I want. I say OK and hang up.
3:46pm
The munchkin says, "talk... Mommy... wurt..." So, I dial MTM on the cell, and while it's ringing the munchkin says, "Mommy... pesent..." I tell her that it's a surprise, and she nods. When I hold it up to the munchkin she says, "Mommy... prize..."
4:10pm
We arrive at the show, carrying yummy Kernel's popcorn for Mommy. We are greeted by a little friend of the munchkin's (his mom is the woman who organized the show), and she runs off. She spends the next hour dancing on the Baby Salsa stage and playing in the toy room, only occasionally coming to MTM for a hug, much to her chagrin.
5:15pm
As we are driving home, the munchkin says, "Mommy... wurt... home... soon... big... hug... love... Mommy..."
5:30pm
We arrive home and the munchkin has some dinner. OK, actually she has some dinner! She eats an adult portion of pasta, plus a side of cooked broccoli, plus a ton of blueberries, plus a yogurt! She had a feast. Apparently, she needed more lunch.
6:00pm
We settle on the couch for a few books before bath time and bedtime, knowing that the baby show has just ended.
6:15pm
As we hit landing on our way upstairs for a bath, Mommy comes through the door! She immediately wants to hug her and give her the magazine (which she loved - whew).
TNS: Family Dinners or Family Talk?
There is an interesting article about a study that found that children who have family meals are less likely to try drugs, tobacco, or alcohol. The study also found that the children's academic performance can benefit as well.
I find that many of these studies are too focused and fail to recognize the broader scope of what they are studying. In the case of family dinner having a correlation to reduced substance abuse and improved academics, I would suggest that there is a greater force at work than mealtime.
Families who eat together, in general, are families where the parents and children interact with each other. For us, we view dinner time as an opportunity to socialize (albeit right now the socialization aspect seems to be derived mostly of comments such as "don't throw mashed potatoes at Mommy" or "sweetheart, water goes in your cup, not broccoli") and spend time together.
Granted, the study looked at teenage children and not toddlers like my little girl. While teens have far more busy lives between school, friends, extra curricular activities and what not, this does not preclude parents from talking to their kids.
This is why I am trying to develop a strong social foundation with my daughter. We rarely have the television on when she is awake (and those who know me know how much I love my tv), choosing instead to read with her or practice her speaking (as of yesterday she can tell you her full name, where we live, and what streets you turn on to get to ours). We encourage imaginative play (such as making breakfast) or creative play (such as colouring and crafts) and talk about what she is doing. We go for walks and play outside, always discussing what she is up to and whether or not something is fun. This need for open dialog is why we have our Daddy-Daughter Dates, something I really hope we continue doing into her adolescence.
While eating together is an important part of family life, it certainly is not going to prevent your kids from trying pot. Talking to your children, making them feel like people instead of subordinates or even worse, dependents, is going to go a lot further in helping your child become the best person they can be.
I find that many of these studies are too focused and fail to recognize the broader scope of what they are studying. In the case of family dinner having a correlation to reduced substance abuse and improved academics, I would suggest that there is a greater force at work than mealtime.
Families who eat together, in general, are families where the parents and children interact with each other. For us, we view dinner time as an opportunity to socialize (albeit right now the socialization aspect seems to be derived mostly of comments such as "don't throw mashed potatoes at Mommy" or "sweetheart, water goes in your cup, not broccoli") and spend time together.
Granted, the study looked at teenage children and not toddlers like my little girl. While teens have far more busy lives between school, friends, extra curricular activities and what not, this does not preclude parents from talking to their kids.
This is why I am trying to develop a strong social foundation with my daughter. We rarely have the television on when she is awake (and those who know me know how much I love my tv), choosing instead to read with her or practice her speaking (as of yesterday she can tell you her full name, where we live, and what streets you turn on to get to ours). We encourage imaginative play (such as making breakfast) or creative play (such as colouring and crafts) and talk about what she is doing. We go for walks and play outside, always discussing what she is up to and whether or not something is fun. This need for open dialog is why we have our Daddy-Daughter Dates, something I really hope we continue doing into her adolescence.
While eating together is an important part of family life, it certainly is not going to prevent your kids from trying pot. Talking to your children, making them feel like people instead of subordinates or even worse, dependents, is going to go a lot further in helping your child become the best person they can be.
TTS: Enough? Too Much?
Last night when I got home from work I sat down and opened the mail. In it was a statement from the RESP we have set up for the munchkin. (For non-Canadians, an RESP is a Registered Education Savings Plan - an investment account that is designated for education purposes.)
For those interested, the Government of Canada has a grant program called the CESG (Canada Education Savings Grant). In short, they add to your child's account (20% of the first $2000 annually, to a maximum of $7200 over their lifetime). There are additional percentages for those whose household incomes are lower than specific thresholds.
We chose to set up a family plan, which means that all our contributions are available to all our children. This allows us to just contribute to one account instead of trying to make sure we are always fair in our distribution. (The CESG money, however, is still limited to $7200; anything above that is retrieved by the government - say if one child doesn't pursue post secondary education.)
With MTM staying home we are on a tighter budget than we were before the munchkin came along. However, we have made attempts to contribute as much as we can afford. For example, the child tax benefit (the infamous beer and popcorn money) was never in our monthly plans, so we place that in the RESP every month. We have combined that with the assistance of grandparents and aunts and uncles at Christmas, birthdays, et cetera.
Here's the thing: I don't know if what we are doing is enough or too much. MTM went to university away from home; she paid for tuition and books with summer and weekend jobs while her parents paid for her living expenses. (For her teacher's college year, she paid for everything.) I was fortunate enough to attend a co-op program (also away from home), which, combined with scholarships, enabled me pay for all my expenses without assistance from my parents. MTM graduated with some student loans; I graduated with none.
We both have siblings who did things differently. My sisters lived at home for undergrad, and my parents contributed portions of their tuition and books in addition to allowing them to live rent and board free. MTM's sister followed a similar method to MTM.
The question I wrestle with is whether we are doing the right thing by planning to pay for as much of our childrens' education as we can afford (in an ideal world, we would pay for all of it - but we are not on pace to make that happen). Should we aim to pay for the tuition and books but leave the living expenses to the child? (There are several schools that are a commuter train away, allowing them to live at home.) Should we assume the cost of living burden and leave them to cover the education costs?
I did it on my own, and while it was difficult, I feel that I benefited from it. I was able to learn such important skills as budgeting and making the ever so tough need versus want decisions. Will paying for her education deprive her of those opportunities? How much should we help her out, and how much should she fend for herself?
Anyone who is willing to share their thoughts on this matter is welcome. Please leave a comment and tell me what you think, and if you have children, what you are doing.
For those interested, the Government of Canada has a grant program called the CESG (Canada Education Savings Grant). In short, they add to your child's account (20% of the first $2000 annually, to a maximum of $7200 over their lifetime). There are additional percentages for those whose household incomes are lower than specific thresholds.
We chose to set up a family plan, which means that all our contributions are available to all our children. This allows us to just contribute to one account instead of trying to make sure we are always fair in our distribution. (The CESG money, however, is still limited to $7200; anything above that is retrieved by the government - say if one child doesn't pursue post secondary education.)
With MTM staying home we are on a tighter budget than we were before the munchkin came along. However, we have made attempts to contribute as much as we can afford. For example, the child tax benefit (the infamous beer and popcorn money) was never in our monthly plans, so we place that in the RESP every month. We have combined that with the assistance of grandparents and aunts and uncles at Christmas, birthdays, et cetera.
Here's the thing: I don't know if what we are doing is enough or too much. MTM went to university away from home; she paid for tuition and books with summer and weekend jobs while her parents paid for her living expenses. (For her teacher's college year, she paid for everything.) I was fortunate enough to attend a co-op program (also away from home), which, combined with scholarships, enabled me pay for all my expenses without assistance from my parents. MTM graduated with some student loans; I graduated with none.
We both have siblings who did things differently. My sisters lived at home for undergrad, and my parents contributed portions of their tuition and books in addition to allowing them to live rent and board free. MTM's sister followed a similar method to MTM.
The question I wrestle with is whether we are doing the right thing by planning to pay for as much of our childrens' education as we can afford (in an ideal world, we would pay for all of it - but we are not on pace to make that happen). Should we aim to pay for the tuition and books but leave the living expenses to the child? (There are several schools that are a commuter train away, allowing them to live at home.) Should we assume the cost of living burden and leave them to cover the education costs?
I did it on my own, and while it was difficult, I feel that I benefited from it. I was able to learn such important skills as budgeting and making the ever so tough need versus want decisions. Will paying for her education deprive her of those opportunities? How much should we help her out, and how much should she fend for herself?
Anyone who is willing to share their thoughts on this matter is welcome. Please leave a comment and tell me what you think, and if you have children, what you are doing.
TRS: CTG - Part 3: Sunday
This is part three of a three part post about my Canadian Thanksgiving weekend. Part 1 covered Friday, and Part 2 covered Saturday.
5:30am - the munchkin awakens whining for Mommy
5:35am - we realize she isn't going to fail to notice us in the bed twelve inches away
7:00am - we realize she isn't going to fall back asleep this morning
Thus begins day three of my Canadian Thanksgiving Odyssey.
As I am leaving the room, half asleep, arms full of toddler, Paddy (Paddington Bear), Twissy (Chrissy - a doll) and bitties (blankies), MTM says to me, "One of the kids was up all night - I kept hearing the toilet flush." (The kids she was referring to were my niece and nephew.) Cue ominous music.
Remember when my sister called yesterday and said that my niece had gone through a bout of the flu? My nephew spent Saturday night puking and eventually dry heaving. Poor little guy. MTM got up around 8:15am, and once briefed on the situation, made the decision that we would leave immediately. We abandoned all hope of showers (the shower was downstairs with the puking nephew) and packed up and left within the hour. As we were leaving, my sister informed me that her stomach felt "a little off" (and I would later learn that her husband's stomach did not fare much better).
As of this writing, we have not experienced the effects of this flu bug, but we anxiously await 48 hours from now, given the timing between my niece (patient zero) and nephew's attacks. Pray for us.
Sometimes, bad things are a blessing. Because we hastily left, the munchkin was still sleepy and actually managed to crash hard for the first two hours of the journey home. And anyone driving with a toddler will tell you that sleeping hours are sacred hours.
We stopped on the road for lunch. Unfortunately, McDonald's was the only thing around, so the munchkin got McNuggets. She loves nuggets, because she can dip nuggets. She dipped them in ketchup. She dipped them in honey. She dipped them in honey-mustard sauce. She dipped them in strawberry yogurt.
We arrived home and discovered that some mighty winds had removed much of the foliage from our meager tree and placed it on our lawn. So, after unloading the car we raked them up and played in them. The photo above is from this afternoon.
All in all, it was a far more eventful few days than I had expected, but it was fun, despite the absence of leftovers (we left everything since we didn't know who had breathed on what) and the pending viral threat.
5:30am - the munchkin awakens whining for Mommy
5:35am - we realize she isn't going to fail to notice us in the bed twelve inches away
7:00am - we realize she isn't going to fall back asleep this morning
Thus begins day three of my Canadian Thanksgiving Odyssey.
As I am leaving the room, half asleep, arms full of toddler, Paddy (Paddington Bear), Twissy (Chrissy - a doll) and bitties (blankies), MTM says to me, "One of the kids was up all night - I kept hearing the toilet flush." (The kids she was referring to were my niece and nephew.) Cue ominous music.
Remember when my sister called yesterday and said that my niece had gone through a bout of the flu? My nephew spent Saturday night puking and eventually dry heaving. Poor little guy. MTM got up around 8:15am, and once briefed on the situation, made the decision that we would leave immediately. We abandoned all hope of showers (the shower was downstairs with the puking nephew) and packed up and left within the hour. As we were leaving, my sister informed me that her stomach felt "a little off" (and I would later learn that her husband's stomach did not fare much better).
As of this writing, we have not experienced the effects of this flu bug, but we anxiously await 48 hours from now, given the timing between my niece (patient zero) and nephew's attacks. Pray for us.
Sometimes, bad things are a blessing. Because we hastily left, the munchkin was still sleepy and actually managed to crash hard for the first two hours of the journey home. And anyone driving with a toddler will tell you that sleeping hours are sacred hours.
We stopped on the road for lunch. Unfortunately, McDonald's was the only thing around, so the munchkin got McNuggets. She loves nuggets, because she can dip nuggets. She dipped them in ketchup. She dipped them in honey. She dipped them in honey-mustard sauce. She dipped them in strawberry yogurt.
We arrived home and discovered that some mighty winds had removed much of the foliage from our meager tree and placed it on our lawn. So, after unloading the car we raked them up and played in them. The photo above is from this afternoon.
All in all, it was a far more eventful few days than I had expected, but it was fun, despite the absence of leftovers (we left everything since we didn't know who had breathed on what) and the pending viral threat.
TRS: CTG - Part 2: Saturday
This is part two of a three part post about my Canadian Thanksgiving weekend. Part 1 covered Friday, and Part 3 will cover Sunday.
When we stay at my parents' place, the three of us share a room (MTM and I in a bed, the munchkin in her playpen). This room barely fit a twin bed, dresser and desk when it was my room as a kid, so space is at a premium.
Saturday morning, the munchkin awoke at 3am and remained in a state of fussiness until around 5am. Fortunately for me, she wanted only Mommy, so I got to sleep (somewhat) during that time. Unfortunately, that meant that at 7am when she decided it was time to wake up, I had to get up with her so MTM could get a bit more sleep, allowing her to approach the level of consciousness of a functioning human being.
So, we (the munchkin and I) got up and were greeted by Nonu (my father). This almost immediately prompted a request of "tookie, pees" (cookie, please), which was granted (post haste, of course). While I got started on the stuffing for the turkey, they watched cartoons (and intermittently attempted to catch some F1 qualifying - but when that happened, the munchkin would tell Nonu, "No, no, no" until he returned the tv to Treehouse).
While I was grating carrots, the phone rang. It was my older sister (who also lives out of town), calling to say they would be late because my niece and nephew were still sleeping. Why were they still sleeping? Because my niece had been up the previous night (Thursday night) with stomach flu. Cue ominous music.
Eventually, they went downstairs to play with an old electronic keyboard and my father's Gazelle (you know, the Tony Little infomercial thing). Meanwhile, Daddy is upstairs stirring dried bread into a pot of carrots, onions and celery boiling in butter (wow, that makes stuffing sound awful), when he is treated to the following exchange...
My Father (thick italian accent): you want to go upstairs?
Munchkin: No!
My Father (laughing): you want to go see Daddy?
Munchkin: No!
Repeat this another five times over ten minutes for effect.
Finally, with the stuffing made and put away for later and the munchkin's breakfast under preparation, Mommy saunters into the living room to much fanfare, hugs, and cuddles. Meanwhile, Daddy is still making oatmeal and smells like "poultry spice" (aside: I know not what is in this sacred bottle, save that it contains rosemary and thyme, and that no stuffing in the history of mankind - according to my mother - has been made without it). It's good to be the Mommy sometimes.
We spent the bulk of the day hanging out with family; playing in the backyard, talking, et cetera. Well, I spent more time in the kitchen making dinner, but I did get to visit. Yes, that is correct, dear reader, I prepared my first single-handed Thanksgiving dinner. (In the past I have been part of various teams - MTM and I, my sisters and I, my father and I - but I had never done it alone. Now, I have - and I have little interest in doing so again.)
We capped off the evening with some exciting news: the Detroit Tigers had defeated the New York Yankees in the ALDS - something no one had thought they were capable of!
When we stay at my parents' place, the three of us share a room (MTM and I in a bed, the munchkin in her playpen). This room barely fit a twin bed, dresser and desk when it was my room as a kid, so space is at a premium.
Saturday morning, the munchkin awoke at 3am and remained in a state of fussiness until around 5am. Fortunately for me, she wanted only Mommy, so I got to sleep (somewhat) during that time. Unfortunately, that meant that at 7am when she decided it was time to wake up, I had to get up with her so MTM could get a bit more sleep, allowing her to approach the level of consciousness of a functioning human being.
So, we (the munchkin and I) got up and were greeted by Nonu (my father). This almost immediately prompted a request of "tookie, pees" (cookie, please), which was granted (post haste, of course). While I got started on the stuffing for the turkey, they watched cartoons (and intermittently attempted to catch some F1 qualifying - but when that happened, the munchkin would tell Nonu, "No, no, no" until he returned the tv to Treehouse).
While I was grating carrots, the phone rang. It was my older sister (who also lives out of town), calling to say they would be late because my niece and nephew were still sleeping. Why were they still sleeping? Because my niece had been up the previous night (Thursday night) with stomach flu. Cue ominous music.
Eventually, they went downstairs to play with an old electronic keyboard and my father's Gazelle (you know, the Tony Little infomercial thing). Meanwhile, Daddy is upstairs stirring dried bread into a pot of carrots, onions and celery boiling in butter (wow, that makes stuffing sound awful), when he is treated to the following exchange...
My Father (thick italian accent): you want to go upstairs?
Munchkin: No!
My Father (laughing): you want to go see Daddy?
Munchkin: No!
Repeat this another five times over ten minutes for effect.
Finally, with the stuffing made and put away for later and the munchkin's breakfast under preparation, Mommy saunters into the living room to much fanfare, hugs, and cuddles. Meanwhile, Daddy is still making oatmeal and smells like "poultry spice" (aside: I know not what is in this sacred bottle, save that it contains rosemary and thyme, and that no stuffing in the history of mankind - according to my mother - has been made without it). It's good to be the Mommy sometimes.
We spent the bulk of the day hanging out with family; playing in the backyard, talking, et cetera. Well, I spent more time in the kitchen making dinner, but I did get to visit. Yes, that is correct, dear reader, I prepared my first single-handed Thanksgiving dinner. (In the past I have been part of various teams - MTM and I, my sisters and I, my father and I - but I had never done it alone. Now, I have - and I have little interest in doing so again.)
We capped off the evening with some exciting news: the Detroit Tigers had defeated the New York Yankees in the ALDS - something no one had thought they were capable of!
TRS: CTG - Part 1: Friday
This is part one of a three part post about my Canadian Thanksgiving weekend. Other parts will follow.
Since we were going to my hometown for Thanksgiving (herein TG), I worked from home Friday so that we would be able to leave right after lunch (in synch with the princess' nap).
I realized that I have never actually explained what it is I do for a living. So, allow me the luxury of a digression to do that. I am an engineer, as I mention in my profile. If you would ask most of my family what it is that I do, they would respond "works with computers". And while technically that is accurate, it's sort of like saying someone is a "businessman".
My field is industrial controls and automation. Basically, I write programs to control machines for various purposes. I take these programs for the machines and tie them in (the technical jargon is integrate) them with other more common programs like Excel or make them available on the web. I will put it like this:
Now, back to our regularly scheduled Daddy blog.
We awoke Friday morning and I decided I would make breakfast for everyone. So, while MTM showered and my princess watched herself on a DVD I made (she loves watching herself!) I went downstairs and prepared eggs ala Daddy: eggs scrambled with mozzarella cheese and fried bits of summer sausage. MTM and the munchkin descended and we ate. The munchkin ate (by volume) probably double or triple her normal breakfast. She just kept saying "Yummy" and (of course) "Ketch-UP!"
I then went up to begin working (I had made up some hours Thursday night - just in case a superior is reading this). She would intermittently come in and ask for "my turn", which, loosely translated meant, "Daddy, get your lazy butt off the computer so I can play my video game".
After lunch, we loaded into the van and headed to my parents' place. We got maybe five to seven minutes from home before she fell sound asleep. She didn't wake for over TWO hours! It was great! MTM got some cat naps in too, although she doesn't sleep well in a moving vehicle.
We arrived in time for dinner. My father had promised us stew and polenta. Unfortunately, he failed to mention that he refuses to make polenta because the smell makes him sick (it was a staple for him growing up, and he cannot stand the stuff anymore) - the rest of us, on the other hand, absolutely love it. So, I was left to make it. Now, making polenta is simple to instruct but difficult to describe. You boil water (easy enough) and add a little salt. Then, you add the ground cornmeal (easy enough) and boil until it thickens. But, what nobody tells you is that polenta, in liquid form, is like molten-freaking-lava. It bubbles and spits and plops everywhere. So I'm cooking it and my hands are becoming large welts because of the polenta projectiles. When I go to remove the pot and pour the contents on to a sheet for setting, my mother decides to come in and chit chat while resting her hand where I want to put the pot down. See, my parents have these pots from the fifties, where there are no heat resistant handles; the handles are made of the same metal as the rest of the pot! So there I am, holding the pot with a tea towel (oven mitts? who needs those?) with the afore-mentioned corn lava spitting everywhere, and my mother is oblivious to my winces and yelps and little "I've got a hot pot and the heat is being passed through the towel" dance. Finally, I got the polenta finished and dinner was had.
That night we unveiled the munchkin's Halloween costume for my parents because they would not see her that night. They got quite a kick out of it. I'll post some pictures once Halloween has passed. (We're trying to keep it a surprise for everyone for Halloween!)
Since we were going to my hometown for Thanksgiving (herein TG), I worked from home Friday so that we would be able to leave right after lunch (in synch with the princess' nap).
I realized that I have never actually explained what it is I do for a living. So, allow me the luxury of a digression to do that. I am an engineer, as I mention in my profile. If you would ask most of my family what it is that I do, they would respond "works with computers". And while technically that is accurate, it's sort of like saying someone is a "businessman".
My field is industrial controls and automation. Basically, I write programs to control machines for various purposes. I take these programs for the machines and tie them in (the technical jargon is integrate) them with other more common programs like Excel or make them available on the web. I will put it like this:
- If you live in Toronto, my programs make sure you get water when you turn your tap.
- If you live in some areas of the Regional Municipality of York, some of my programs make sure that when you flush your toilet that whatever is in there a) goes away and b) doesn't return.
- If you drive a Windstar or a Freestar, my program had a hand in some of the body construction.
- If you eat Premium Plus (aka "saltines") crackers, my programs "make" them (until the ovens; someone else did those).
- If you smoke (and please, if you do, QUIT NOW) du Maurier, sadly, my programs made those too.
- If your doctor uses vaccines from Sanofi (Aventis), chances are my program made the water that is mixed in there.
Now, back to our regularly scheduled Daddy blog.
We awoke Friday morning and I decided I would make breakfast for everyone. So, while MTM showered and my princess watched herself on a DVD I made (she loves watching herself!) I went downstairs and prepared eggs ala Daddy: eggs scrambled with mozzarella cheese and fried bits of summer sausage. MTM and the munchkin descended and we ate. The munchkin ate (by volume) probably double or triple her normal breakfast. She just kept saying "Yummy" and (of course) "Ketch-UP!"
I then went up to begin working (I had made up some hours Thursday night - just in case a superior is reading this). She would intermittently come in and ask for "my turn", which, loosely translated meant, "Daddy, get your lazy butt off the computer so I can play my video game".
After lunch, we loaded into the van and headed to my parents' place. We got maybe five to seven minutes from home before she fell sound asleep. She didn't wake for over TWO hours! It was great! MTM got some cat naps in too, although she doesn't sleep well in a moving vehicle.
We arrived in time for dinner. My father had promised us stew and polenta. Unfortunately, he failed to mention that he refuses to make polenta because the smell makes him sick (it was a staple for him growing up, and he cannot stand the stuff anymore) - the rest of us, on the other hand, absolutely love it. So, I was left to make it. Now, making polenta is simple to instruct but difficult to describe. You boil water (easy enough) and add a little salt. Then, you add the ground cornmeal (easy enough) and boil until it thickens. But, what nobody tells you is that polenta, in liquid form, is like molten-freaking-lava. It bubbles and spits and plops everywhere. So I'm cooking it and my hands are becoming large welts because of the polenta projectiles. When I go to remove the pot and pour the contents on to a sheet for setting, my mother decides to come in and chit chat while resting her hand where I want to put the pot down. See, my parents have these pots from the fifties, where there are no heat resistant handles; the handles are made of the same metal as the rest of the pot! So there I am, holding the pot with a tea towel (oven mitts? who needs those?) with the afore-mentioned corn lava spitting everywhere, and my mother is oblivious to my winces and yelps and little "I've got a hot pot and the heat is being passed through the towel" dance. Finally, I got the polenta finished and dinner was had.
That night we unveiled the munchkin's Halloween costume for my parents because they would not see her that night. They got quite a kick out of it. I'll post some pictures once Halloween has passed. (We're trying to keep it a surprise for everyone for Halloween!)
TNS: Parental Responsibilities
Before I begin, in case you didn't know it is officially fall in southern Ontario. On Monday I cut my grass in shorts. On Tuesday MTM asked me if we could turn on the air conditioning (we didn't, but it was hot). On Thursday (today) I had to scrape ice off the windows of my car. Ice, not frost, ice!
But I digress.
In my electronic travels, some stories have come up that have gotten me thinking. First, there is a school in Manhattan that is now giving the parents of late children detention. Then, there was a city council member in Charleston, SC who, in the heat of the moment, said that some parents should be sterilized. He later tried to explain that his intention was to open a dialogue.
As a parent, I am painfully aware of the responsibilities I now have because of my daughter. (I often joke that you are as old as the number of people that are screwed if you die: a single person is younger than a married person, DINKS are younger than a couple with a child, et cetera.) I know that I have to take care of her and teach her and make sure she is fed and clothed. I know that without the guidance my wife and I provide, she will never learn to share, she will never learn to say "thank you" for a gift.
But what about people who seemingly do not know this?
In the case of the school, it would seem that tardiness has become such an issue that the school officials needed to do something to try and curb the problem. In reality it is the parents' responsibility to ensure their child is awakened, fed, and dressed for whatever activities they are going to perform. When my daughter has a gymnastics class, for example, we know that the onus is on us (generally my wife, since I am at work when the class is going on) to get our little girl ready. We're the ones who make sure she's there on time, and that she isn't wearing the pretty dress she wore for photos. In our case, we pay for these classes, so if she misses one, it's our lost money. In the case of public school, there is no impact on the parents if the child is late (since it is the state's money that is wasted) so perhaps giving late parents detention will help.
The sterilization comment is a far more complicated matter. For those that didn't read the linked story above, the councilman made his comments in response to a store robbery perpetrated by a group of children in the age range of 9 to 14 years. The robbery occurred around 9pm on a Wednesday. The councilman implied that a potential response to crimes committed by children is to prevent their parents from having more children.
However, this "solution" fails to acknowledge the fact that parents have limited control over their children. A parent can teach their child the difference between right and wrong. A parent can explain that you do not demand money from a cashier using a BB gun and threats. However, laying the entirety of the blame for all illegal actions committed by a child at the feet of the parent is illogical. Influences such as teachers, the media, and their peers contribute to a child's behaviour. Regardless, at least some of the cause for the children's behaviour can be traced back to the parents.
What can be done with parents who do not take the responsibility of raising a child seriously? Should the state be allowed to prevent these parents from having more children? Certainly not. However, what are the alternatives? Separation? CAS (Children's Aid Services) is set up to keep children from harm and has a mandate to keep children with their parents whenever possible. So, if a parent gives their child three square meals and a roof and clothing, and doesn't abuse them physically or emotionally, CAS is not going to get involved. Education? There are many programs available, but if the parent hasn't taken the responsibility to raise their child, what are the chances they will take a parenting class to heart?
Society can combat the problem by attempting to reach the children themselves through school and social programs, but that does not make the parents accountable for their failures. Are there really any repercussions for bad parenting? I would love to hear any comments or ideas out there.
But I digress.
In my electronic travels, some stories have come up that have gotten me thinking. First, there is a school in Manhattan that is now giving the parents of late children detention. Then, there was a city council member in Charleston, SC who, in the heat of the moment, said that some parents should be sterilized. He later tried to explain that his intention was to open a dialogue.
As a parent, I am painfully aware of the responsibilities I now have because of my daughter. (I often joke that you are as old as the number of people that are screwed if you die: a single person is younger than a married person, DINKS are younger than a couple with a child, et cetera.) I know that I have to take care of her and teach her and make sure she is fed and clothed. I know that without the guidance my wife and I provide, she will never learn to share, she will never learn to say "thank you" for a gift.
But what about people who seemingly do not know this?
In the case of the school, it would seem that tardiness has become such an issue that the school officials needed to do something to try and curb the problem. In reality it is the parents' responsibility to ensure their child is awakened, fed, and dressed for whatever activities they are going to perform. When my daughter has a gymnastics class, for example, we know that the onus is on us (generally my wife, since I am at work when the class is going on) to get our little girl ready. We're the ones who make sure she's there on time, and that she isn't wearing the pretty dress she wore for photos. In our case, we pay for these classes, so if she misses one, it's our lost money. In the case of public school, there is no impact on the parents if the child is late (since it is the state's money that is wasted) so perhaps giving late parents detention will help.
The sterilization comment is a far more complicated matter. For those that didn't read the linked story above, the councilman made his comments in response to a store robbery perpetrated by a group of children in the age range of 9 to 14 years. The robbery occurred around 9pm on a Wednesday. The councilman implied that a potential response to crimes committed by children is to prevent their parents from having more children.
However, this "solution" fails to acknowledge the fact that parents have limited control over their children. A parent can teach their child the difference between right and wrong. A parent can explain that you do not demand money from a cashier using a BB gun and threats. However, laying the entirety of the blame for all illegal actions committed by a child at the feet of the parent is illogical. Influences such as teachers, the media, and their peers contribute to a child's behaviour. Regardless, at least some of the cause for the children's behaviour can be traced back to the parents.
What can be done with parents who do not take the responsibility of raising a child seriously? Should the state be allowed to prevent these parents from having more children? Certainly not. However, what are the alternatives? Separation? CAS (Children's Aid Services) is set up to keep children from harm and has a mandate to keep children with their parents whenever possible. So, if a parent gives their child three square meals and a roof and clothing, and doesn't abuse them physically or emotionally, CAS is not going to get involved. Education? There are many programs available, but if the parent hasn't taken the responsibility to raise their child, what are the chances they will take a parenting class to heart?
Society can combat the problem by attempting to reach the children themselves through school and social programs, but that does not make the parents accountable for their failures. Are there really any repercussions for bad parenting? I would love to hear any comments or ideas out there.
TDS: Random Stories
Today's post is just a collection of brief anecdotes.
Discharged
As of 3:30pm Monday I was discharged from all health care providers for my broken ankle (actually fractured fibula and chipped tibia) suffered April 30 of this year. The final clearance came from a second physiotherapist who took over my case to help me get more dorsiflexion (i.e. allow me to bend my foot up towards my shin). I'm now on a daily regimen of stretches, but I don't have to make any more appointments or pay the outrageous parking fees at the local hospital.
Visitors
Yesterday, I had a couple visitors stop by the office. MTM had some errands to run down around here, so she brought the munchkin in for a quick cuddle, which is always good for a pick-me-up. Apparently she told Mommy she was going to give Daddy a "big hug" when she went to "wurt". She did. (As an aside, I think I need to give MTM more time to herself so she can SLEEP... yesterday she brought me a "gift": a framed 5x7 of her and the munchkin, that I had already received as a gift from her previously. Yikes! Mommy is losing it!)
Little Things
Sometimes it's the littlest things that bring them the biggest pleasure. About once or twice a week I write the munchkin a little note and leave it on her highchair in the morning before I leave for work. When she sees these notes, apparently her face lights up, and recently she's been saying, "Note... Daddy... wurt... lucky girl... " (MTM would say "What a lucky girl you are, Daddy wrote you a note," when she found them.) She carries it around all morning like some sort of treasure. I can't wait until a) she can read them herself and b) she starts leaving me notes!
Daddy's Helper
So I'm cutting the lawn and the munchkin comes out. Knowing that if I don't involve her in some way she's going to want to run the weed whacker (lawn edger) herself, I ask her to "help" me by holding on to spare battery for the edger. Well, you'd think I asked her to hold a live bunny. She smiled and cradled that 18V brick like it was a baby. She followed along behind me (much to Mommy's chagrin), getting grass everywhere. That lasted until we worked our way around to the side of the house and she could see her slide in backyard. Then, there wasn't so much interest in Daddy as there was the slide. I found the battery on our jungle gym later that afternoon.
Discharged
As of 3:30pm Monday I was discharged from all health care providers for my broken ankle (actually fractured fibula and chipped tibia) suffered April 30 of this year. The final clearance came from a second physiotherapist who took over my case to help me get more dorsiflexion (i.e. allow me to bend my foot up towards my shin). I'm now on a daily regimen of stretches, but I don't have to make any more appointments or pay the outrageous parking fees at the local hospital.
Visitors
Yesterday, I had a couple visitors stop by the office. MTM had some errands to run down around here, so she brought the munchkin in for a quick cuddle, which is always good for a pick-me-up. Apparently she told Mommy she was going to give Daddy a "big hug" when she went to "wurt". She did. (As an aside, I think I need to give MTM more time to herself so she can SLEEP... yesterday she brought me a "gift": a framed 5x7 of her and the munchkin, that I had already received as a gift from her previously. Yikes! Mommy is losing it!)
Little Things
Sometimes it's the littlest things that bring them the biggest pleasure. About once or twice a week I write the munchkin a little note and leave it on her highchair in the morning before I leave for work. When she sees these notes, apparently her face lights up, and recently she's been saying, "Note... Daddy... wurt... lucky girl... " (MTM would say "What a lucky girl you are, Daddy wrote you a note," when she found them.) She carries it around all morning like some sort of treasure. I can't wait until a) she can read them herself and b) she starts leaving me notes!
Daddy's Helper
So I'm cutting the lawn and the munchkin comes out. Knowing that if I don't involve her in some way she's going to want to run the weed whacker (lawn edger) herself, I ask her to "help" me by holding on to spare battery for the edger. Well, you'd think I asked her to hold a live bunny. She smiled and cradled that 18V brick like it was a baby. She followed along behind me (much to Mommy's chagrin), getting grass everywhere. That lasted until we worked our way around to the side of the house and she could see her slide in backyard. Then, there wasn't so much interest in Daddy as there was the slide. I found the battery on our jungle gym later that afternoon.
TDS: Daddy-Daughter Date #2
This morning, my princess and I took a trip to our favourite breakfast nook again, leaving Mommy free to sleep, rest, or whatever. It started off a little rough (a lot of crying for Mommy as we got our things together) but by the time we were on the road we were quite excited for some waffles and fruit (and custard).
We arrived and got seated at what seems to have become "our" table (we sat there last time as well). I ordered the waffles (and a side of bacon for the Daddy) and we got down to business: discussing the fair from Friday night, and in particular the fact that all the animals were eating or sleeping while we looked at them. She was a little angel while we ate, not "making noise" (lately she fancies going "Ah! Ah! Ah!" at the top of her lungs in public, and then informing us that it is "noise"). She had tons of fruit, favouring the plums this time. And as a bonus, there were no awkward incidents like last time (when she saw a parent smack their baby and then looked at me quizzically).
In an effort to maximize Mommy's alone time, we went shopping. When told we were not going home but rather shopping, She immediately asked "Mommy... come." I explained that Mommy couldn't come because... (because I didn't have a reason other than to give MTM a break... because... hmmm... Ah ha! because we were going shopping for a present for Mommy). The munchkin accepted this answer so off we went. Unfortunately, the first store we tried was closed (did I mention we left for breakfast at 7:30am on a SUNDAY?) And the only one that was open was a big box home improvement store, which did not sell Mommy presents, at least not for this Mommy.
We returned home empty handed. But, that didn't stop her from saying, "shopping... present... Mommy..." to her mother upon arrival. So, she isn't exactly Fort Knox with surprises yet.
And, apparently Daddy didn't do a very good job with the post-breakfast wipe-up, as Mommy said she smelled custard on the princess all day!
We arrived and got seated at what seems to have become "our" table (we sat there last time as well). I ordered the waffles (and a side of bacon for the Daddy) and we got down to business: discussing the fair from Friday night, and in particular the fact that all the animals were eating or sleeping while we looked at them. She was a little angel while we ate, not "making noise" (lately she fancies going "Ah! Ah! Ah!" at the top of her lungs in public, and then informing us that it is "noise"). She had tons of fruit, favouring the plums this time. And as a bonus, there were no awkward incidents like last time (when she saw a parent smack their baby and then looked at me quizzically).
In an effort to maximize Mommy's alone time, we went shopping. When told we were not going home but rather shopping, She immediately asked "Mommy... come." I explained that Mommy couldn't come because... (because I didn't have a reason other than to give MTM a break... because... hmmm... Ah ha! because we were going shopping for a present for Mommy). The munchkin accepted this answer so off we went. Unfortunately, the first store we tried was closed (did I mention we left for breakfast at 7:30am on a SUNDAY?) And the only one that was open was a big box home improvement store, which did not sell Mommy presents, at least not for this Mommy.
We returned home empty handed. But, that didn't stop her from saying, "shopping... present... Mommy..." to her mother upon arrival. So, she isn't exactly Fort Knox with surprises yet.
And, apparently Daddy didn't do a very good job with the post-breakfast wipe-up, as Mommy said she smelled custard on the princess all day!
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