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(For those of you who are having trouble figuring out what the abbreviations at the beginning of some posts are, I added an Abbreviations section to the left sidebar to define them.)
When I was 19 I moved out of my parents' home and went to university in a city that was about a three hour drive from my home town. My program was co-op based, so every four months I was either moving to a different city to work or from a different city back to my university town. I became very efficient at fitting everything I needed in my old Mercury Topaz (and in one instance, two suitcases that I carried myself on a train). This continued when I settled into an apartment after finishing my degree. I could pack for a weekend visit home in a bookbag. Then, I met my wife.
My wife, despite never being a boy scout, lives by the motto "always be prepared". Our kitchen has triple the cupboard space when compared to the house I grew up in, yet somehow we're always reorganizing trying to make room for that new "essential" kitchen gadget, so it can be accessible. This has also affected her packing.
When I was single, I could travel without using my trunk. I could toss the one bag in the back seat and be fine. Then, my wife came along, and suddenly we're rationing space in the back of a minivan (with the rear bench permanently removed). We have at least n+1 items (where n is the number of expected showers to be taken on the trip) of every essential type (t-shirts, pairs of socks, underpants - pants can be reused), plus at least one out of season outfit (such as a polar fleece track suit in July, or a pair of shorts in February) plus one "dress up" outfit, plus sleepwear (for climates ranging from savanna to polar). On top of all this, we have a 10L Rubbermaid bin filled with a duplicate of every product our bathroom contains, a cooler (because you never know if there will be a sale at the local grocery store), a bin filled with food (because you can't visit someone empty handed). And this is before the birth of our daughter.
Add to that a stroller, a playpen, a feeding chair, a full pack of diapers, a similar compliment of clothing (in duplicate, because let's face it, kids are messy little creatures), enough toys to stock a rural Toys R Us, and a larger cooler (necessitated by the need to bring toddler-friendly food), and you're starting to get the picture. We're feeling cramped and there's only three people in a minivan. I feel like the addition of another child (no, we are not pregnant) would require me to be strapped to the roof of the van for car trips to my parents' place.
And the problem is, this kind of thing is contagious. I'm packing as much, if not more than, she is most weekends now (and I don't even bring pajamas). I have a problem, people, and it isn't pretty. Every trip I return home and unpack my bag and put stuff back in the drawers, often not even having seen them all weekend. I bring my PDA despite never turning it on once (because I might want to look up someone's phone number). I bring my laptop (again, never booting it up) just in case. It's awful.
I need to get back to my manly roots. Next trip I'm bringing one pair of underwear, clean socks, a shirt that I will not change into unless a food accident makes it necessary, and my toothbrush. (And if I need anything, I'll just get something out of the extra bag my wife is likely to pack for me when she sees how little I'm bringing.)
TNS: Time For Family
There has been a recent barrage of columns about the topic of the time spent with family, how finding that time is challenging, and how even when parents find the time they're not spending it effectively. Today we will look at three of these news items.
First, we have an article out of Hong Kong discussing how the work environment in that country has created a culture where more and more women are unlikely to get married and have a family because they do not feel they have sufficient time in their lives to do so. Then, there is a column from a Christian publication, discussing how people are choosing to spend time with family away from church (as opposed to viewing the church as a place for family), and even how the pastors themselves feel they would prefer to spend more time with family and less on church activities. Finally, there is some advice coming from the Ozarks about how to make the time spent with your family more productive.
The Hong Kong story did not surprise me. The majority of the stories that come out of Asia involve the fact that the employment situation is far more pervasive than here in North America. Where here we have the modern trend of a willingness to work for less money in exchange for more flexible hours and/or more time off, generally our Asian counterparts are working extremely long hours with limited if any time off. Combine that with the social conditions in Hong Kong, where women are encouraged to be professionals (thanks to over a century of colonialism), and the decline in the birth rate was inevitable.
The Christian publication was an interesting read. It certainly was refreshing to hear someone (apparently) speaking on behalf of the church acknowledge that they are becoming more disconnected from their congregations and that they need to reconsider some of their approaches to get people back into the church. What surprised me was the admission that some (many?) of the pastors were faced with the choice of either being a parent (by attending a child's ball game, for example) or a pastor (by leading a service) on Sundays. If the church leaders are having trouble justifying the time spent in church, how can they expect their followers to do so?
The Ozark article was more of a series of guidelines and suggestions than an actual news or commentary. However, it was a rather lengthy treatment of the subject for a local news outlet.
The three pieces tell a similar story: that finding time for family is something that occupies the mind of many (if not all) working people. Regardless of whether that person is already married or considering it, if their job is a traditional one or even of a spiritual nature, or if they live in North America or elsewhere, there is a palpable trend toward putting focus on raising a family and acknowledging the importance of this.
Some believe that this is a reaction to the baby-boomer generation of parents, many of whom raised children in the "me-generation" period of the 1980s, where children were left home unattended and parents focussed on their own lives. Personally, I feel it's a sign of modern times. Baby boomers parents moved from the rural socio-economic realities to the urban and suburban life. Then the boomers themselves were raised in the heyday of the 1950s style housewife. Then the boomers themselves raised children without much involvement as the dual-income family became the norm. Now the boomers' children are raising kids with their own approach.
Finally, as more of an aside than a claim to cause, all of the above circumstances had one (prior to the modern instance) had one thing in common: the father was uninvolved (the hardworking farmer, the busy man with a job, one of two working parents). In the modern family model, fathers are active parents, involved with their children. And only now are families taking priority. If the correlation is more than coincidental, then it is a sad comment on the current state of gender equality.
The Brief Side
First, we have some advice for dealing with so-called "alpha moms".
Next, we have a sad story about a four year old boy who died trying to save his father from a fire. The father was asleep after consuming too much liquor and smoking marijuana.
This report is about a woman who, after losing two children in a house fire, miscarries the child she was carrying.
Here is a warning about the perils of allowing your infant children to co-sleep.
And finally, an article about a new wave of involved fathers in Japan, just to disprove my above generalization that Asian workers are spending tons of time at work.
First, we have an article out of Hong Kong discussing how the work environment in that country has created a culture where more and more women are unlikely to get married and have a family because they do not feel they have sufficient time in their lives to do so. Then, there is a column from a Christian publication, discussing how people are choosing to spend time with family away from church (as opposed to viewing the church as a place for family), and even how the pastors themselves feel they would prefer to spend more time with family and less on church activities. Finally, there is some advice coming from the Ozarks about how to make the time spent with your family more productive.
The Hong Kong story did not surprise me. The majority of the stories that come out of Asia involve the fact that the employment situation is far more pervasive than here in North America. Where here we have the modern trend of a willingness to work for less money in exchange for more flexible hours and/or more time off, generally our Asian counterparts are working extremely long hours with limited if any time off. Combine that with the social conditions in Hong Kong, where women are encouraged to be professionals (thanks to over a century of colonialism), and the decline in the birth rate was inevitable.
The Christian publication was an interesting read. It certainly was refreshing to hear someone (apparently) speaking on behalf of the church acknowledge that they are becoming more disconnected from their congregations and that they need to reconsider some of their approaches to get people back into the church. What surprised me was the admission that some (many?) of the pastors were faced with the choice of either being a parent (by attending a child's ball game, for example) or a pastor (by leading a service) on Sundays. If the church leaders are having trouble justifying the time spent in church, how can they expect their followers to do so?
The Ozark article was more of a series of guidelines and suggestions than an actual news or commentary. However, it was a rather lengthy treatment of the subject for a local news outlet.
The three pieces tell a similar story: that finding time for family is something that occupies the mind of many (if not all) working people. Regardless of whether that person is already married or considering it, if their job is a traditional one or even of a spiritual nature, or if they live in North America or elsewhere, there is a palpable trend toward putting focus on raising a family and acknowledging the importance of this.
Some believe that this is a reaction to the baby-boomer generation of parents, many of whom raised children in the "me-generation" period of the 1980s, where children were left home unattended and parents focussed on their own lives. Personally, I feel it's a sign of modern times. Baby boomers parents moved from the rural socio-economic realities to the urban and suburban life. Then the boomers themselves were raised in the heyday of the 1950s style housewife. Then the boomers themselves raised children without much involvement as the dual-income family became the norm. Now the boomers' children are raising kids with their own approach.
Finally, as more of an aside than a claim to cause, all of the above circumstances had one (prior to the modern instance) had one thing in common: the father was uninvolved (the hardworking farmer, the busy man with a job, one of two working parents). In the modern family model, fathers are active parents, involved with their children. And only now are families taking priority. If the correlation is more than coincidental, then it is a sad comment on the current state of gender equality.
The Brief Side
First, we have some advice for dealing with so-called "alpha moms".
Next, we have a sad story about a four year old boy who died trying to save his father from a fire. The father was asleep after consuming too much liquor and smoking marijuana.
This report is about a woman who, after losing two children in a house fire, miscarries the child she was carrying.
Here is a warning about the perils of allowing your infant children to co-sleep.
And finally, an article about a new wave of involved fathers in Japan, just to disprove my above generalization that Asian workers are spending tons of time at work.
TRS: Mo' In-laws, Mo' Movies, Moblogging
This weekend, my in-laws came to stay with us (yes, again). This time it was for some sort of retreat my FIL was supposed to go on.
So, they arrived shortly after my munchkin went to bed. (Aside: I apologize in advance for the inconsistent naming of my first born. Unlike my wife, who has called her "bunny" since she was in utero, I have never settled on a nick name. I call her princess, sweetheart, baby girl, principessa, or bambina. Note the absence of the name "munchkin"; she chose that for herself. Seriously. My wife used to call her that often - interspersed with "bunny" - and then one day my daughter turned to her mother and said, "I'm not your munchkin Mommy, I'm Daddy's munchkin." Now, the irony of this is that I never called her munchkin once in her life. But she feels she is my munchkin, so who am I to argue?)
Anyhow. They arrived and we settled in to watch a DVD (Glory Road - an excellent film, in my opinion). The film's portrayal of racial tensions in the mid-1960s in Texas somehow sparked some memories in my FIL, who began to recount his adventures as a member of some sort of Quaker youth movement, where he went to Harlem. My wife and I sat and listened in stunned silence as he talked of being one of three teenaged white boys wandering into a bar in Harlem at 2am looking for coke, and after seeing the bar crowd's reaction, clarified that they were indeed asking for coca cola. And how they later were befriended by a puerto rican marijuana dealer who brought them to his mother's apartment, where they were refused entry because "the last group of boys he brought home all 'did his sister' according to the mother". Sometimes, you learn a little too much.
Saturday morning we made use of my MIL's presence and dropped off the van for maintenance. (Usually, I have to bring in the van and wait for them to finish it; but since this was brake work, we decided to leave it and pick it up later.)
After lunch, my wife and I decided to go to the theatres and see a movie together for the first time since our daughter was born (The Forgotten for those interested - not a fun movie to see with an obsessive pregnant woman - she actually asked our prenatal class instructor about the possibility of fetal damage from thriller movie watching). We went to see the improperly translated Pan's Labyrinth (the actual translation of the title is "The Labyrinth of the Faun" - the faun in the film makes no claims to being the polytheistic god of nature, and in fact bows to the protagonist - something a god would never do... but I digress). The film was incredible and definitely deserved the three Oscars it won last night (art direction, makeup, and cinematography).
As the film was winding up, my cell phone rang (vibrated). I guessed it was the repair shop calling to tell me the van was ready. We had told them to call the house, but I just assumed they made a mistake. We had arranged that, in the event of an emergency, my MIL would call my wife's cell. As we exited the theatre at 3:15pm we called home to check in on the munchkin, at which point we learned that the repair shop closed at 3pm. They had called the house and told my MIL, and she "didn't know what to do". Uh, CALL US! We need a, you know, vehicle with a car seat in it.
We called the shop repeatedly and got no answer. Taking a gamble, we raced there and found the front door open. I entered to find the owners (an elderly couple) tidying up. I explained my situation, and they weren't going to let me get my van until Monday (which would have meant my wife would have been stranded since they don't open until after I start work). I pleaded, and they finally let us pay and take the van; my van. How nice of them to do me that favour.
That evening we ordered a movie on VOD (The Illusionist) which I was outvoted on, but turned out to be a half decent film. Three movies in less than 24 hours.
Sunday morning before my in-laws got up, my daughter and I watched a bit of Beauty and the Beast, in an effort to get her attached to anyone other than Curious George, which is in a perpetual loop on our DVD player. We also played with play-dough, which she used to make a "camera" and look through the eye hole to take pictures. Once the in-laws rose, we had some coffee and some breakfast, and they headed back up north (for how long, nobody knows).
That afternoon the munchkin and I went shopping. We first went to the local pharmacy that has toddler-sized carts to get me some Buckley's (damn, that stuff is hard to keep down, but it does the job). I let her get a cart, and as I turn around to lead her, I hear a crash. She has backed herself into a conditioner display and knocked over ten bottles of the stuff. As I bent over to pick up the mess, my back was turned and she disappeared into the store! I abandonned the clean-up effort and chased her down the aisle. I would soon learn that either she isn't a very good cart steerer or the cart she chose had some major alignment problems. I had to make use of the "shopper in training" flagpole on the cart to keep her from careening into aftershave and ben gay.
It was here that the name of this post was born. While technically not "true" moblogging (which would require me posting to this blog via an MMS message directly from my phone), all of the shopping photos came from mynew found love mobile phone.
So, after spending what we felt was sufficient time terrorizing the people in the pharmacy, we left and decided to go for ice cream. Half way to choosing from 31 flavours, my little munchkin announced that she wanted to see lobsters. This is her way of asking to go to a specific local grocery store that has a large tank full of the crustaceans. We agree to purchase ice cream at the grocery store to share with Mommy, and check out the lobsters (which, she assured me, would not "get out and scare" her).
The rest of the afternoon was spent in the semi-regular fashion many parents of toddlers enjoy: the "I'm not tired and miserable and cranky! I don't need a nap!" game. Fortunately, she didn't struggle at bedtime and slept well through the morning.
So, they arrived shortly after my munchkin went to bed. (Aside: I apologize in advance for the inconsistent naming of my first born. Unlike my wife, who has called her "bunny" since she was in utero, I have never settled on a nick name. I call her princess, sweetheart, baby girl, principessa, or bambina. Note the absence of the name "munchkin"; she chose that for herself. Seriously. My wife used to call her that often - interspersed with "bunny" - and then one day my daughter turned to her mother and said, "I'm not your munchkin Mommy, I'm Daddy's munchkin." Now, the irony of this is that I never called her munchkin once in her life. But she feels she is my munchkin, so who am I to argue?)Anyhow. They arrived and we settled in to watch a DVD (Glory Road - an excellent film, in my opinion). The film's portrayal of racial tensions in the mid-1960s in Texas somehow sparked some memories in my FIL, who began to recount his adventures as a member of some sort of Quaker youth movement, where he went to Harlem. My wife and I sat and listened in stunned silence as he talked of being one of three teenaged white boys wandering into a bar in Harlem at 2am looking for coke, and after seeing the bar crowd's reaction, clarified that they were indeed asking for coca cola. And how they later were befriended by a puerto rican marijuana dealer who brought them to his mother's apartment, where they were refused entry because "the last group of boys he brought home all 'did his sister' according to the mother". Sometimes, you learn a little too much.Saturday morning we made use of my MIL's presence and dropped off the van for maintenance. (Usually, I have to bring in the van and wait for them to finish it; but since this was brake work, we decided to leave it and pick it up later.)
After lunch, my wife and I decided to go to the theatres and see a movie together for the first time since our daughter was born (The Forgotten for those interested - not a fun movie to see with an obsessive pregnant woman - she actually asked our prenatal class instructor about the possibility of fetal damage from thriller movie watching). We went to see the improperly translated Pan's Labyrinth (the actual translation of the title is "The Labyrinth of the Faun" - the faun in the film makes no claims to being the polytheistic god of nature, and in fact bows to the protagonist - something a god would never do... but I digress). The film was incredible and definitely deserved the three Oscars it won last night (art direction, makeup, and cinematography).As the film was winding up, my cell phone rang (vibrated). I guessed it was the repair shop calling to tell me the van was ready. We had told them to call the house, but I just assumed they made a mistake. We had arranged that, in the event of an emergency, my MIL would call my wife's cell. As we exited the theatre at 3:15pm we called home to check in on the munchkin, at which point we learned that the repair shop closed at 3pm. They had called the house and told my MIL, and she "didn't know what to do". Uh, CALL US! We need a, you know, vehicle with a car seat in it.
We called the shop repeatedly and got no answer. Taking a gamble, we raced there and found the front door open. I entered to find the owners (an elderly couple) tidying up. I explained my situation, and they weren't going to let me get my van until Monday (which would have meant my wife would have been stranded since they don't open until after I start work). I pleaded, and they finally let us pay and take the van; my van. How nice of them to do me that favour.That evening we ordered a movie on VOD (The Illusionist) which I was outvoted on, but turned out to be a half decent film. Three movies in less than 24 hours.
Sunday morning before my in-laws got up, my daughter and I watched a bit of Beauty and the Beast, in an effort to get her attached to anyone other than Curious George, which is in a perpetual loop on our DVD player. We also played with play-dough, which she used to make a "camera" and look through the eye hole to take pictures. Once the in-laws rose, we had some coffee and some breakfast, and they headed back up north (for how long, nobody knows).That afternoon the munchkin and I went shopping. We first went to the local pharmacy that has toddler-sized carts to get me some Buckley's (damn, that stuff is hard to keep down, but it does the job). I let her get a cart, and as I turn around to lead her, I hear a crash. She has backed herself into a conditioner display and knocked over ten bottles of the stuff. As I bent over to pick up the mess, my back was turned and she disappeared into the store! I abandonned the clean-up effort and chased her down the aisle. I would soon learn that either she isn't a very good cart steerer or the cart she chose had some major alignment problems. I had to make use of the "shopper in training" flagpole on the cart to keep her from careening into aftershave and ben gay. It was here that the name of this post was born. While technically not "true" moblogging (which would require me posting to this blog via an MMS message directly from my phone), all of the shopping photos came from my
So, after spending what we felt was sufficient time terrorizing the people in the pharmacy, we left and decided to go for ice cream. Half way to choosing from 31 flavours, my little munchkin announced that she wanted to see lobsters. This is her way of asking to go to a specific local grocery store that has a large tank full of the crustaceans. We agree to purchase ice cream at the grocery store to share with Mommy, and check out the lobsters (which, she assured me, would not "get out and scare" her).The rest of the afternoon was spent in the semi-regular fashion many parents of toddlers enjoy: the "I'm not tired and miserable and cranky! I don't need a nap!" game. Fortunately, she didn't struggle at bedtime and slept well through the morning.
THS: The Truth About Kids TV
Today I provide you with my take on some children's programming. It isn't meant to be taken (too) seriously; it's Friday people!
Max & Ruby
The story of an overbearing older sister and her semi-brain-damaged younger brother, Max & Ruby teaches children that siblings should never get along, and that the younger ones always win.
The Big Comfy Couch
A show where everyone wears red noses, striped socks, and yarn on their heads. It teaches your child that imitating a clock once a day can be considered physical activity. (Who said television was making kids lethargic?)
The Backyardigans
A cartoon that, when a parent first sees it, immediately brings to mind a thought that begins with, "When I was a kid..." With stunning CGI and shrillshouting singing, it's a guaranteed favourite.
Mole Sisters
Narrated by a stuffy sounding british woman, it is the tale of two of the most boring characters to ever become animated.
Pocoyo
Proof that with enough computer horsepower you don't need speaking voices to make a tv show.
Rolie Polie Olie
The Backyardigans, but without the ability to render any shapes except spheres and the occasional cylinder, and where yellow is the only colour.
Farzzle's World
Pokoyo done in two dimensions, with an etch-a-sketch, while on crack.
Dora the Explorer
EVERYBODY SHOUT! IN SPANISH! WITH A BAD LATINA ACCENT! LET'S GO!
This Is Daniel Cook
Proof that sometimes, no matter how much money they pay you, being a child star will brand you for life. The intent here is to show that Daniel can do anything. The only problem is, he can't.
This Is Emily Yeung
Another example of how anything a man can do, a woman can do better. It's never too early to teach children that message, you know.
Curious George
White man without fashion sense goes to Africa and enslaves local animal. Brings home as pet. Oh wait, that's the book; in the movie, George "sneaks" on the boat to play more peek-a-boo. Yeah, that's realistic.
Max & Ruby
The story of an overbearing older sister and her semi-brain-damaged younger brother, Max & Ruby teaches children that siblings should never get along, and that the younger ones always win.
The Big Comfy Couch
A show where everyone wears red noses, striped socks, and yarn on their heads. It teaches your child that imitating a clock once a day can be considered physical activity. (Who said television was making kids lethargic?)
The Backyardigans
A cartoon that, when a parent first sees it, immediately brings to mind a thought that begins with, "When I was a kid..." With stunning CGI and shrill
Mole Sisters
Narrated by a stuffy sounding british woman, it is the tale of two of the most boring characters to ever become animated.
Pocoyo
Proof that with enough computer horsepower you don't need speaking voices to make a tv show.
Rolie Polie Olie
The Backyardigans, but without the ability to render any shapes except spheres and the occasional cylinder, and where yellow is the only colour.
Farzzle's World
Pokoyo done in two dimensions, with an etch-a-sketch, while on crack.
Dora the Explorer
EVERYBODY SHOUT! IN SPANISH! WITH A BAD LATINA ACCENT! LET'S GO!
This Is Daniel Cook
Proof that sometimes, no matter how much money they pay you, being a child star will brand you for life. The intent here is to show that Daniel can do anything. The only problem is, he can't.
This Is Emily Yeung
Another example of how anything a man can do, a woman can do better. It's never too early to teach children that message, you know.
Curious George
White man without fashion sense goes to Africa and enslaves local animal. Brings home as pet. Oh wait, that's the book; in the movie, George "sneaks" on the boat to play more peek-a-boo. Yeah, that's realistic.
TTS: The Importance of Reading
There are many parenting resources out there that agree that reading to your child is important. (Note that this last link is to a Google search for "importance of reading to your child".) I would like to draw on my (albeit limited) experience as a parent and explain what we do in this area, and why we do it.
Before our daughter was born, we selected a series of short children's books with rhyming and rhythmic patterns. Generally speaking, I read to "the baby" every night. Sometimes it was one story, sometimes more than one. Of course, my wife read too, but she also had the luxury of being able to talk to "the baby" whenever she wanted. Admittedly, I read to them not so much for the benefits of reading, but moreso to make my voice more familiar. Nonetheless, we started reading at a very early age.
When she was born, we continued this trend. We originally stayed with the same small set of short books, but quickly graduated to longer and more colourful ones as she became more aware of her surroundings. By the time she was three or four months old, our daughter had books that she definitely preferred over others. (As most children of that age demonstrate their preferences by crying when dissatisfied and remaining silent when happy, so did she with the books we read to her.) We would not only read as part of her bedtime routine, but would also read throughout the day as an activity that we could do together.
When she became more mobile and started crawling around the house, the first place she went to was the book bin we maintained in the family room. She would go over there and bang on the side of the bin (which was stored in a shelf) and cry out for one of us to pull it out. Once it was available to her, she would pull herself up on it and nearly fall inside trying to reach all the books it contained. She would toss a number of them out, tumble to her bottom, and begin to open each one and flip through (or at least as close an approximation of flipping through that an infant is capable of).
As her language skills developed, we were able to see the fruits of our emphasis on reading. It was not unusual for her to stop playing with whatever was her favourite toy of the moment, sit quietly by herself in the family room and flip through a book while babbling and pointing at the pictures (a habit both of us encouraged by asking her to identify the images). Reading wasn't just something we did with her; it was something she did for herself.
Now, at nearly two years old (gasp), being read to is something she chooses, not only at bedtime, but throughout the day. It is not unusual for her to come up to me as I enter the house after work and say, "Daddy, please come read wiff me" and then turn around and choose one or two books from her bin and climb up on the sofa, waiting for me. She will, when given a list of options, choose having a story read to her over other activities (she also chooses those other activities as well; she isn't obsessed with reading or anything). Reading isn't a chore or something she is forced to do.
Admittedly, part of our emphasis on reading is based on the knowledge we possessed. My wife used to teach primary grades before she became a SAHM. My mother was also a primary teacher. We both knew of the importance literacy played, not only in academic circles, but in other areas as well. Children who are read to tend to develop verbal skills more quickly, they tend to build larger vocabularies and are generally more capable to making themselves understood. Study after study has shown that children who are develop a love for the written word at an early age are more apt to succeed both in verbal and non-verbal assessments. Reading to your young child helps them develop not only language skills but critical thinking, analysis, and problem solving skills as well.
Before our daughter was born, we selected a series of short children's books with rhyming and rhythmic patterns. Generally speaking, I read to "the baby" every night. Sometimes it was one story, sometimes more than one. Of course, my wife read too, but she also had the luxury of being able to talk to "the baby" whenever she wanted. Admittedly, I read to them not so much for the benefits of reading, but moreso to make my voice more familiar. Nonetheless, we started reading at a very early age.
When she was born, we continued this trend. We originally stayed with the same small set of short books, but quickly graduated to longer and more colourful ones as she became more aware of her surroundings. By the time she was three or four months old, our daughter had books that she definitely preferred over others. (As most children of that age demonstrate their preferences by crying when dissatisfied and remaining silent when happy, so did she with the books we read to her.) We would not only read as part of her bedtime routine, but would also read throughout the day as an activity that we could do together.
When she became more mobile and started crawling around the house, the first place she went to was the book bin we maintained in the family room. She would go over there and bang on the side of the bin (which was stored in a shelf) and cry out for one of us to pull it out. Once it was available to her, she would pull herself up on it and nearly fall inside trying to reach all the books it contained. She would toss a number of them out, tumble to her bottom, and begin to open each one and flip through (or at least as close an approximation of flipping through that an infant is capable of).
As her language skills developed, we were able to see the fruits of our emphasis on reading. It was not unusual for her to stop playing with whatever was her favourite toy of the moment, sit quietly by herself in the family room and flip through a book while babbling and pointing at the pictures (a habit both of us encouraged by asking her to identify the images). Reading wasn't just something we did with her; it was something she did for herself.
Now, at nearly two years old (gasp), being read to is something she chooses, not only at bedtime, but throughout the day. It is not unusual for her to come up to me as I enter the house after work and say, "Daddy, please come read wiff me" and then turn around and choose one or two books from her bin and climb up on the sofa, waiting for me. She will, when given a list of options, choose having a story read to her over other activities (she also chooses those other activities as well; she isn't obsessed with reading or anything). Reading isn't a chore or something she is forced to do.
Admittedly, part of our emphasis on reading is based on the knowledge we possessed. My wife used to teach primary grades before she became a SAHM. My mother was also a primary teacher. We both knew of the importance literacy played, not only in academic circles, but in other areas as well. Children who are read to tend to develop verbal skills more quickly, they tend to build larger vocabularies and are generally more capable to making themselves understood. Study after study has shown that children who are develop a love for the written word at an early age are more apt to succeed both in verbal and non-verbal assessments. Reading to your young child helps them develop not only language skills but critical thinking, analysis, and problem solving skills as well.
TWS: Adventures with Chicken and Breadcrumbs
This weekend my wife's parents came to stay with for Saturday and Sunday evening. My wife decided to make chicken parmigiana. The only problem with this was that she didn't know how to make breaded chicken since she had never done it. Since I've been cooking complete meals since I was in my early teens, I was there to support her. We started talking about how we would proceed. I knew she hated coming into contact with raw chicken (germaphobe freak that she is) so I offered to fillet it, dredge it in flour, and soak it in my patented seasoned egg/milk mixture. She would take over and bread the meat and pan fry it.
As I started preparing the chicken, I asked her, "Do you have everything you need for this? Do we have enough breadcrumbs?"
She replied (without looking away from the computer), "Yeah, we've got everything."
"Are you sure? Did you check the breadcrumbs?"
"We'll be fine."
So after I finished preparing the entire bulk package of chicken (which had enough to feed five or six meals of six adults) I washed my hands and left the kitchen. No sooner had I left when I heard the unmistakable sound of someone rummaging in our cupboards and cursing under their breath. I went into the kitchen and asked, "What's wrong?"
"I thought this breadcrumb can was full. It isn't."
"OK. I'll go get some. Just start with what you have, and remember, don't be stingy with the crumbs, I'll bring home enough."
"OK."
So, out I went into the night. It was an interesting experience, shopping at 8pm on a Friday night, for breadcrumbs.
When I returned, I surveyed the first batch. Then I watched her bread the next round.
"Can I say something?" (my wife, while wonderfully patient with our child, is less so with me when I comment on her cooking... or her writing... or her HTML... or ...)
"Yes."
"You'd have more success with the chicken if you, y'know, came into contact with it while you breaded."
"What do you mean?"
"Put the chicken in the breadcrumbs. Cover it with breadcrumbs. Now use your hands to press the crumbs in."
"Why?"
"Haven't you ever breaded meat before?"
"No. My mother never let me. She just let me chop vegetables and watch."
"OK. Because if you do that, the crumbs adhere better to the meat, and..."
"And the breading will stay on, and not fall off, like my first ones?!?"
"Correct."
"OK."
I sat at the computer, and about ten minutes later I heard her exclaim, "Now that's breaded chicken."
And as an aside, when she cleaned and reorganized the kitchen cupboards on Sunday, she found two unopened cans of breadcrumbs.
As I started preparing the chicken, I asked her, "Do you have everything you need for this? Do we have enough breadcrumbs?"
She replied (without looking away from the computer), "Yeah, we've got everything."
"Are you sure? Did you check the breadcrumbs?"
"We'll be fine."
So after I finished preparing the entire bulk package of chicken (which had enough to feed five or six meals of six adults) I washed my hands and left the kitchen. No sooner had I left when I heard the unmistakable sound of someone rummaging in our cupboards and cursing under their breath. I went into the kitchen and asked, "What's wrong?"
"I thought this breadcrumb can was full. It isn't."
"OK. I'll go get some. Just start with what you have, and remember, don't be stingy with the crumbs, I'll bring home enough."
"OK."
So, out I went into the night. It was an interesting experience, shopping at 8pm on a Friday night, for breadcrumbs.
When I returned, I surveyed the first batch. Then I watched her bread the next round.
"Can I say something?" (my wife, while wonderfully patient with our child, is less so with me when I comment on her cooking... or her writing... or her HTML... or ...)
"Yes."
"You'd have more success with the chicken if you, y'know, came into contact with it while you breaded."
"What do you mean?"
"Put the chicken in the breadcrumbs. Cover it with breadcrumbs. Now use your hands to press the crumbs in."
"Why?"
"Haven't you ever breaded meat before?"
"No. My mother never let me. She just let me chop vegetables and watch."
"OK. Because if you do that, the crumbs adhere better to the meat, and..."
"And the breading will stay on, and not fall off, like my first ones?!?"
"Correct."
"OK."
I sat at the computer, and about ten minutes later I heard her exclaim, "Now that's breaded chicken."
And as an aside, when she cleaned and reorganized the kitchen cupboards on Sunday, she found two unopened cans of breadcrumbs.
TNS: Won't Somebody Think Of The Children?
As I was reading various online news sources, I came across this article. Intrigued, I did a little research and found coverage of the same story here as well as here and here. The story is about a children's book called The Higher Power of Lucky, which was published late last year and was recently awarded the 2007 Newbery Medal for Children's Fiction.
As an award-winning book, it is afforded promotion and is generally picked up by many libraries. With an increase in exposure, however, came an unexpected result: some libraries are refusing to shelf the book, and some parents are upset at their local library for making it available. The reason for this outrage over an award-winning book? In the opening page, the main character introduces her dog, who, she explains, has been bitten by a rattlesnake on the scrotum. The use of the word scrotum is what upsets people.
I sat back and thought to myself for a second. Admittedly, when my daughter refers to my privates as "a steam" (I have no idea where that came from) I feel awkward. But I also know it is my responsibility as a parent to teach her about anatomy and the proper names for various body parts, and being the only male in the house, I need to get over my issue. I understood where their initial response was coming from, as I had a similar feeling. However, I resolved that I would try to find this book for both myself (to get over my own embarrassment) and my daughter (who doesn't want to read their kid an award-winning book?) who is just shy of two years old.
Then I read something surprising: the book is intended for children age 9-12! Go ahead and let that sink in. A book that I was going to read to my toddler is, according to librarians and parents, inappropriate for kids in grades four to seven. What, I wonder, is the harm in telling a child the proper name for this body part? Are the colloquial terms preferable? Would they rather their children call it a nut sac? A ball bag? Sack? Bag? Purse for the family jewels?
Setting that aside, in most North American schools, the family studies (or health education) curriculum teaches anatomy in or around the fifth grade, or when children are 10 years old. These kids are being taught what a scrotum is in the classroom. Why is it inappropriate to allow them to see the word in fiction? Allowing them to see that a word that can produce giggles and blushing in the classroom is just another word used in a book you can read at your library goes a long way towards reducing their sense of embarrassment with the subject matter. And, any teacher will tell you that encountering words in everyday life is a key component to literacy and vocabulary building.
Personally, I think this type of censorship is just sad and delusional. I have no statistics to back this up, but I would wager that many if not most of all nine year old children have heard the word, and most of those would at least know it is part of the male anatomy. Preventing a book from being available in the local library because it has this word in it is foolish, and is simply blocking an award-winning piece of literature from their child's eyes.
The Brief Side
These are other articles I found while browsing that I wanted to share.
This is a story about a new website launched by the Ontario government, www.goodparentspay.com, aimed at shaming deadbeat parents who fail to pay family support.
This article reports on a study that found that pregnant women who ate more fish had children with higher IQ scores.
In the realm of that really happened? we have the story about a grade one teacher who has been suspended for, get this, hitting and kicking students. Apparently, the fifth graders were running a little too close to the first graders in the playground.
A report on a court decision proves that grandparents can have visitation rights. In this instance, a grandmother who was a primary caregiver for her grandson but later had a falling out with the boy's father, was granted the right to see the boy.
Finally, a polarizing article about an anonymous sperm donor from the mid-1980s who has begun to seek out his progeny.
If you have any news stories you think would suit The News Side, please email me at talesfromthedadside {at} gmail {dot} com.
As an award-winning book, it is afforded promotion and is generally picked up by many libraries. With an increase in exposure, however, came an unexpected result: some libraries are refusing to shelf the book, and some parents are upset at their local library for making it available. The reason for this outrage over an award-winning book? In the opening page, the main character introduces her dog, who, she explains, has been bitten by a rattlesnake on the scrotum. The use of the word scrotum is what upsets people.
I sat back and thought to myself for a second. Admittedly, when my daughter refers to my privates as "a steam" (I have no idea where that came from) I feel awkward. But I also know it is my responsibility as a parent to teach her about anatomy and the proper names for various body parts, and being the only male in the house, I need to get over my issue. I understood where their initial response was coming from, as I had a similar feeling. However, I resolved that I would try to find this book for both myself (to get over my own embarrassment) and my daughter (who doesn't want to read their kid an award-winning book?) who is just shy of two years old.
Then I read something surprising: the book is intended for children age 9-12! Go ahead and let that sink in. A book that I was going to read to my toddler is, according to librarians and parents, inappropriate for kids in grades four to seven. What, I wonder, is the harm in telling a child the proper name for this body part? Are the colloquial terms preferable? Would they rather their children call it a nut sac? A ball bag? Sack? Bag? Purse for the family jewels?
Setting that aside, in most North American schools, the family studies (or health education) curriculum teaches anatomy in or around the fifth grade, or when children are 10 years old. These kids are being taught what a scrotum is in the classroom. Why is it inappropriate to allow them to see the word in fiction? Allowing them to see that a word that can produce giggles and blushing in the classroom is just another word used in a book you can read at your library goes a long way towards reducing their sense of embarrassment with the subject matter. And, any teacher will tell you that encountering words in everyday life is a key component to literacy and vocabulary building.
Personally, I think this type of censorship is just sad and delusional. I have no statistics to back this up, but I would wager that many if not most of all nine year old children have heard the word, and most of those would at least know it is part of the male anatomy. Preventing a book from being available in the local library because it has this word in it is foolish, and is simply blocking an award-winning piece of literature from their child's eyes.
The Brief Side
These are other articles I found while browsing that I wanted to share.
This is a story about a new website launched by the Ontario government, www.goodparentspay.com, aimed at shaming deadbeat parents who fail to pay family support.
This article reports on a study that found that pregnant women who ate more fish had children with higher IQ scores.
In the realm of that really happened? we have the story about a grade one teacher who has been suspended for, get this, hitting and kicking students. Apparently, the fifth graders were running a little too close to the first graders in the playground.
A report on a court decision proves that grandparents can have visitation rights. In this instance, a grandmother who was a primary caregiver for her grandson but later had a falling out with the boy's father, was granted the right to see the boy.
Finally, a polarizing article about an anonymous sperm donor from the mid-1980s who has begun to seek out his progeny.
If you have any news stories you think would suit The News Side, please email me at talesfromthedadside {at} gmail {dot} com.
TRS: Not Much Excitement
Since I work in an office most weekdays (I occasionally get an opportunity to work from home), I spend little time with my little girl during the week. By the time she rises in the morning, I am long gone (although usually not without a quick, and groggy, morning cuddle). And by the time I get home in the evenings, we have maybe an hour or so before and after dinner (along with dinner itself) to play. Most of the "quality" time I spend with her (at least from the perspective of having bloggable stories) comes from the weekends. So, every Monday (more or less), I will have a post dedicated to how we spent our weekend.
This weekend my wife's parents planned to stay with us Saturday and Sunday evenings. (Digression: In the summer they closed on a new build, and promptly - and against my advice - sold their home. They moved into their cottage, three hours away by car - which had been built as a retirement residence - in the interim. [Further aside: when I met them I laughed at them when I was told they would move to their cottage full-time since it would mean they would see their kids and grandkids less. It turns out I was correct.] Their home was supposed to be ready for occupancy in December 2006. I believe they got a foundation sometime in January 2007. Subsequently, they still retain doctors and what not locally, and whenever they need to be in town they stay with us.) This meant that we were eating proper/pseudo-fancy meals (not that we don't usually, but when they come we have a more structured meal plan than normal).
Friday night we spent the evening making chicken parmigiana. It was an event unto itself; the story will be saved for a future post.
Saturday morning, after being given the gift of sleeping in by my wonderful wife, we went out to the local mall. We didn't really have anything specific to get; my wife needed to restock her Clinique products and I wanted to look at cases for my new cell phone. It wasn't really an exciting trip, to be honest.
We returned home and my wife put the little one to bed as I installed a card reader I had purchased for our computer. I then used it to transfer songs to the new 4GB memory card I received (via a promo) to use with my cell phone. With the new card, my cell took the role of my iPod (music while working), leaving it (the iPod) to be a home/van device).
I then began to (ahem) back up our DVD of my daughter's favourite movie to our computer. I may have also rendered it to AVI and then converted it to M4V format and successfully transferred it to my iPod for our next roadtrip. Then again, I not have. It depends if you're a copyright lawyer or something.
By the time I was messing with movies and memory cards, my in-laws had arrived and were entertaining my daughter while my wife prepared dinner. My sister-in-law and her boyfriend also came. It was fun for my daughter to have this many adults all cooing and fawning over her. And she didn't disappoint: she invited everyone into the bathroom to watch her use the potty, and to join her in her bathtub!
Sunday morning I drew the short straw and got up with the toddler (after an hour of being kicked in the kidneys during a failed attempt at bringing her into our bed to keep her quiet and allow her grandparents to sleep). We had about five minutes to ourselves before my in-laws descended from the second floor demanding coffee to play with my daughter while I fetched them coffee got her some breakfast.
The afternoon we spent indoors, just the three of us, as my MIL had friends to visit and my FIL had to drive her. We spent the first part attempting to construct large structures out of megabloks, only to have the toddler try and lift them (from the top) and have them collapse. Then, we began having balancing games on nesting blocks. Eventually, we migrated to the kitchen, where my wife began (with our daughter's assistance) to re-organize the kitchen cupboards. At one point all you could see was her little socked feet as she was literally ankle deep in a cupboard. I spent the rest of the evening saying, "Hon, where can I find the..."
This weekend my wife's parents planned to stay with us Saturday and Sunday evenings. (Digression: In the summer they closed on a new build, and promptly - and against my advice - sold their home. They moved into their cottage, three hours away by car - which had been built as a retirement residence - in the interim. [Further aside: when I met them I laughed at them when I was told they would move to their cottage full-time since it would mean they would see their kids and grandkids less. It turns out I was correct.] Their home was supposed to be ready for occupancy in December 2006. I believe they got a foundation sometime in January 2007. Subsequently, they still retain doctors and what not locally, and whenever they need to be in town they stay with us.) This meant that we were eating proper/pseudo-fancy meals (not that we don't usually, but when they come we have a more structured meal plan than normal).Friday night we spent the evening making chicken parmigiana. It was an event unto itself; the story will be saved for a future post.
Saturday morning, after being given the gift of sleeping in by my wonderful wife, we went out to the local mall. We didn't really have anything specific to get; my wife needed to restock her Clinique products and I wanted to look at cases for my new cell phone. It wasn't really an exciting trip, to be honest.We returned home and my wife put the little one to bed as I installed a card reader I had purchased for our computer. I then used it to transfer songs to the new 4GB memory card I received (via a promo) to use with my cell phone. With the new card, my cell took the role of my iPod (music while working), leaving it (the iPod) to be a home/van device).
I then began to (ahem) back up our DVD of my daughter's favourite movie to our computer. I may have also rendered it to AVI and then converted it to M4V format and successfully transferred it to my iPod for our next roadtrip. Then again, I not have. It depends if you're a copyright lawyer or something.
By the time I was messing with movies and memory cards, my in-laws had arrived and were entertaining my daughter while my wife prepared dinner. My sister-in-law and her boyfriend also came. It was fun for my daughter to have this many adults all cooing and fawning over her. And she didn't disappoint: she invited everyone into the bathroom to watch her use the potty, and to join her in her bathtub!
Sunday morning I drew the short straw and got up with the toddler (after an hour of being kicked in the kidneys during a failed attempt at bringing her into our bed to keep her quiet and allow her grandparents to sleep). We had about five minutes to ourselves before my in-laws descended from the second floor The afternoon we spent indoors, just the three of us, as my MIL had friends to visit and my FIL had to drive her. We spent the first part attempting to construct large structures out of megabloks, only to have the toddler try and lift them (from the top) and have them collapse. Then, we began having balancing games on nesting blocks. Eventually, we migrated to the kitchen, where my wife began (with our daughter's assistance) to re-organize the kitchen cupboards. At one point all you could see was her little socked feet as she was literally ankle deep in a cupboard. I spent the rest of the evening saying, "Hon, where can I find the..."
Welcome
Welcome to Tales From The Dad Side. Since this is the inaugural post, I should probably form some sort of directional statement to let you know what you can expect from me.
I am a married father of one daughter (at the time of writing she is nearly 23 months old). I work as an engineer outside of the home while my wife is currently a stay at home mom. I try to spend as much time with my girls, although most of the time I feel like it isn't enough.
Since I enjoy writing and web development, I have created this blog as a place for me to share stories and anecdotes from my experiences as a father, as well as to create a forum for me to discuss issues and topics prevalent to parenting or parents in general. I enjoy editorializing, so you can expect a fair bit of that from me. If you have a news piece you'd like me to comment on, pass it along in an email (my address is in my blogger profile at left).
That's really all there is to say right now. Enjoy your stay, and if you're so inclined, leave me a comment with some feedback.
I am a married father of one daughter (at the time of writing she is nearly 23 months old). I work as an engineer outside of the home while my wife is currently a stay at home mom. I try to spend as much time with my girls, although most of the time I feel like it isn't enough.
Since I enjoy writing and web development, I have created this blog as a place for me to share stories and anecdotes from my experiences as a father, as well as to create a forum for me to discuss issues and topics prevalent to parenting or parents in general. I enjoy editorializing, so you can expect a fair bit of that from me. If you have a news piece you'd like me to comment on, pass it along in an email (my address is in my blogger profile at left).
That's really all there is to say right now. Enjoy your stay, and if you're so inclined, leave me a comment with some feedback.
SFD: My Father/Son Relationship
When I was asking for ideas about theme days, one reader suggested writing about memories from my own childhood. I don't think anyone wants to have a weekly dose of my childhood; I know I certainly don't. However, occasionally I will write about it. Today is one of those times.
Growing up I had a hard time relating to my father. I believe I've mentioned this before, but he was forced to leave school at the age of eight to help out on the family farm. Subsequently, he never developed an appreciation for the artistic life or the intellectual life. Other than hard work, the only pleasures he knew were drinking, dancing, and sports. So, when he was saddled with an only son who had no interest in playing football, who would choose to (and succeed in) compete in math contests or perform jazz music, it wasn't an easy time for him.
We tried, and most of the time I felt inadequate and unappreciated. I felt like he just didn't "get me". (Of course, looking back through the eyes of an older man and a father, I now realize that every adolescent feels that way at times.) I tried to make him understand that I was receiving praise (one of the driving forces behind his desire to see me play sports was to hear the accolades of the crowd), to get him to understand what it was that I could do, and how important (I thought) it was.
Everything came to a head the night of my final concert in my high school (and in all reality my final organized musical performance, to date). I was not surprised that he chose to stay home and watch the hockey playoffs, but when I came home bearing a trophy with my name, his surname on it, I expected a positive reaction. He didn't even look up from the television. Frustrated, I left the room, and spoke little to him for a few days.
As time marched on, this memory ate away at me. It chewed at my soul and made me resent him, resent everything I had become. One day I made peace with it. I don't remember exactly when, but it happened. I know I was still angry when I left university, but otherwise I don't recall when it stopped bugging me.
A while later I was having an honest talk with my father, about the past and what not, and I commented that the one thing I disagreed with him in my upbringing was the fact that he never pushed me to get a job in high school (seriously people, I had no employment until I got a co-op job in university). His response floored me. "If you had to have a job, you couldn't be in all those bands. I knew you wanted to be in the bands, and I remembered not being able to play soccer because I had to milk the cows. How could I force you to work when I knew you would get good grades and scholarships?"
I was stunned. After years of feeling misunderstood, I learned that on some level he did "get it". Granted, it would have been nice to have him say something back then (you know, when I actually needed it). However, something was better than nothing. We're on much better terms now, although I think mainly because his expectations or what he felt was a definitive sign of "success", have changed since I was a teenager. Now it's about having a family and a house and a good job - all of which I have - and that has eased the tension.
Growing up I had a hard time relating to my father. I believe I've mentioned this before, but he was forced to leave school at the age of eight to help out on the family farm. Subsequently, he never developed an appreciation for the artistic life or the intellectual life. Other than hard work, the only pleasures he knew were drinking, dancing, and sports. So, when he was saddled with an only son who had no interest in playing football, who would choose to (and succeed in) compete in math contests or perform jazz music, it wasn't an easy time for him.
We tried, and most of the time I felt inadequate and unappreciated. I felt like he just didn't "get me". (Of course, looking back through the eyes of an older man and a father, I now realize that every adolescent feels that way at times.) I tried to make him understand that I was receiving praise (one of the driving forces behind his desire to see me play sports was to hear the accolades of the crowd), to get him to understand what it was that I could do, and how important (I thought) it was.
Everything came to a head the night of my final concert in my high school (and in all reality my final organized musical performance, to date). I was not surprised that he chose to stay home and watch the hockey playoffs, but when I came home bearing a trophy with my name, his surname on it, I expected a positive reaction. He didn't even look up from the television. Frustrated, I left the room, and spoke little to him for a few days.
As time marched on, this memory ate away at me. It chewed at my soul and made me resent him, resent everything I had become. One day I made peace with it. I don't remember exactly when, but it happened. I know I was still angry when I left university, but otherwise I don't recall when it stopped bugging me.
A while later I was having an honest talk with my father, about the past and what not, and I commented that the one thing I disagreed with him in my upbringing was the fact that he never pushed me to get a job in high school (seriously people, I had no employment until I got a co-op job in university). His response floored me. "If you had to have a job, you couldn't be in all those bands. I knew you wanted to be in the bands, and I remembered not being able to play soccer because I had to milk the cows. How could I force you to work when I knew you would get good grades and scholarships?"
I was stunned. After years of feeling misunderstood, I learned that on some level he did "get it". Granted, it would have been nice to have him say something back then (you know, when I actually needed it). However, something was better than nothing. We're on much better terms now, although I think mainly because his expectations or what he felt was a definitive sign of "success", have changed since I was a teenager. Now it's about having a family and a house and a good job - all of which I have - and that has eased the tension.
TWS: A Valentine Memory
Before we get into my special Valentine's Day edition of Wifey Wednesday, I just want to take a moment to say Happy Valentine's Day MTM! I love you to the moon and back.
The last year we were truly DINKS, before the munchkin was even a glimmer in an eye, my wife and I slipped away for Valentine's Day. (OK, technically it was not on Valentine's Day, but in honour of it, but you get the picture.) And since today is Valentine's Day and Wifey Wednesday, it seems like a good time to tell the story.
I didn't know we were about to celebrate our last romantic Valentine's Day for a while (unless you count the following year, where MTM was 7.5 months pregnant and bloated and exhausted, when we ate Chinese takeout on the couch) when I started it. But looking back I'm glad I did. I planned the whole thing on a lark and rather quickly. I booked a suite that had a view of Niagara Falls (Canadian side) for the weekend, and then asked MTM a simple question, "Do you trust me completely?"
"Of course I do. Why?"
"I'm driving you to work Friday. I'll pick you up right after school. You'll have to leave as soon as you dismiss your kids."
"OK. Why?"
"I cannot tell you that."
So after I drove her to work, I went back home (although she believed I was at a client site somewhere, only accessible via cell phone) and did laundry. I washed all her favourite outfits, chose a variety of garments suitable for a variety of restaurant styles and activities (I had jeans, sweats, dresses, skirts... you name it, I had it) and packed a suitcase for the two of us for the weekend.
I picked her up at her school as arranged, with a bouquet of roses. We got in the car and drove. Niagara Falls was about a two hour drive from where her school was, given Friday evening traffic, so we had quite a while in the car.
Unfortunately, it started to snow. A lot. So, the drive took a lot longer than expected. Instead of arriving around 5:30pm or so, we got there closer to 8pm. Famished and exhausted, we checked in and changed into some casual clothes and went out for a bite to eat across the street. It was nothing fancy, just good food.
Returning to our room, we surveyed my selection. The bath was built for two, but unfortunately did not have a view of the Falls. However, from the bed you could sit and watch them for hours. It was spectacular. As an added bonus, there was a sitting room separated from the bedroom, which allowed the one of us who required less sleep ( i.e. me) to watch some tv while the other slept soundly.
Saturday morning we rose and went downstairs for coffee. There was a Starbucks in the hotel, so we went there. I'm not sure how I did it, but I convinced MTM to get her coffee black (I think I promised to drink it if she didn't like it). She actually loved the black coffee. Unfortunately, we would later learn that she only liked Starbucks Guatemalan coffee black. Everything else needed milk. Oh well. Those two mornings she drank black coffee and read her magazines in a warm cozy room in front of a window overlooking the Falls.
We spent a lot of time, uhm, in our room. We did go to the casino, and we took a couple walks along the waterfront, but really, Niagara Falls in February isn't exactly prime tourist weather. We mostly just enjoyed getting away and relaxing. And as I mentioned, it was our last getaway before moving into this "phase" of our lives.
Happy Valentine's Day Everyone!
The last year we were truly DINKS, before the munchkin was even a glimmer in an eye, my wife and I slipped away for Valentine's Day. (OK, technically it was not on Valentine's Day, but in honour of it, but you get the picture.) And since today is Valentine's Day and Wifey Wednesday, it seems like a good time to tell the story.
I didn't know we were about to celebrate our last romantic Valentine's Day for a while (unless you count the following year, where MTM was 7.5 months pregnant and bloated and exhausted, when we ate Chinese takeout on the couch) when I started it. But looking back I'm glad I did. I planned the whole thing on a lark and rather quickly. I booked a suite that had a view of Niagara Falls (Canadian side) for the weekend, and then asked MTM a simple question, "Do you trust me completely?"
"Of course I do. Why?"
"I'm driving you to work Friday. I'll pick you up right after school. You'll have to leave as soon as you dismiss your kids."
"OK. Why?"
"I cannot tell you that."
So after I drove her to work, I went back home (although she believed I was at a client site somewhere, only accessible via cell phone) and did laundry. I washed all her favourite outfits, chose a variety of garments suitable for a variety of restaurant styles and activities (I had jeans, sweats, dresses, skirts... you name it, I had it) and packed a suitcase for the two of us for the weekend.
I picked her up at her school as arranged, with a bouquet of roses. We got in the car and drove. Niagara Falls was about a two hour drive from where her school was, given Friday evening traffic, so we had quite a while in the car.
Unfortunately, it started to snow. A lot. So, the drive took a lot longer than expected. Instead of arriving around 5:30pm or so, we got there closer to 8pm. Famished and exhausted, we checked in and changed into some casual clothes and went out for a bite to eat across the street. It was nothing fancy, just good food.
Returning to our room, we surveyed my selection. The bath was built for two, but unfortunately did not have a view of the Falls. However, from the bed you could sit and watch them for hours. It was spectacular. As an added bonus, there was a sitting room separated from the bedroom, which allowed the one of us who required less sleep ( i.e. me) to watch some tv while the other slept soundly.
Saturday morning we rose and went downstairs for coffee. There was a Starbucks in the hotel, so we went there. I'm not sure how I did it, but I convinced MTM to get her coffee black (I think I promised to drink it if she didn't like it). She actually loved the black coffee. Unfortunately, we would later learn that she only liked Starbucks Guatemalan coffee black. Everything else needed milk. Oh well. Those two mornings she drank black coffee and read her magazines in a warm cozy room in front of a window overlooking the Falls.
We spent a lot of time, uhm, in our room. We did go to the casino, and we took a couple walks along the waterfront, but really, Niagara Falls in February isn't exactly prime tourist weather. We mostly just enjoyed getting away and relaxing. And as I mentioned, it was our last getaway before moving into this "phase" of our lives.
Happy Valentine's Day Everyone!
TNS: Catholic Adoption Agencies And Same-Sex Couples
This week's article comes from Scotland, where legislation is being considered that would force all adoption agencies, even those run by the Catholic church, to deal with same-sex couples. Refusal to do so would result in the closure of the agency.
Since the article does not claim otherwise, I will make the assumption that the agencies are all privately funded (which would be, in my opinion, a logical conclusion, since the government would simply remove funding instead of forcing them to close).
The Catholic agencies do not take funding from the government; in effect they are a private organization, albeit a private organization with strong religious ties and a specific belief structure guiding them. They place children in single parent homes, in homes where the parents are not Catholic; both are circumstances contradictory to Catholic doctrine, which states that a man and a woman are married for life (only extreme circumstances qualify for annulment - divorce is not recognized by the Catholic church) and that this is the only means by which a child may be brought into this world. Admittedly, this is a more progressive stance than one would expect from a Catholic agency.
However, if they are willing to place a child with a single person, why are they against a same-sex couple? Realistically, how difficult would it be to prevent the agency from knowing a candidate for adoption is homosexual? A few visits, some basic paperwork, and that's it. So basically, they will consider a closet homosexual, just not one who is openly gay, which seems rather foolish to me.
They claim that it is their right to freedom of religion that allows them to discriminate against gay and lesbian couples. Their belief structure deems these unions unholy and as such, forcing them to place a child with such a couple would be contrary to their beliefs. However, where does one draw the line? What of orthodox faiths (Christian, Jewish, or Islamic) where interfaith (or even interracial) marriage is sacrilege? Should an Islamic organization be allowed to deny a child to a couple where the man is Jewish and the woman Christian? What if the couple were a black woman and an asian man? Would this be reasonable? Almost certainly, even the Catholic agency's representatives would agree this is unjust. Thus, while freedom of religion is a great and democratic and civilized freedom, it is not a shield against accusations of discrimination. And in this case, the Catholic church is discriminating, based on sexual orientation.
Another aspect (as mentioned in the article) to this situation is the reality that such a staunch position from the Catholic agencies (that they would rather close than comply with the law) serves to undermine the purpose of the agency: to benefit children. If the Catholic agencies close, there will be fewer avenues for children to find homes, leaving more of them orphaned. Ultimately, the Catholic agencies refusal to contradict their faith proves where their priorities lie: that an orphaned child is less important than the tenets of their faith. And, that a child is better off as an orphan than with gay parents.
Sadly, as with many religious groups, no application of logic will sway them from their cause. And in this instance, they are punishing innocent children because of a belief they hold.
The Brief Side
Since tomorrow is Valentine's Day, here are some thoughts about the ever-popular "date night" concept for parents.
And in the "sweet merciful crap I hope this isn't true" department, apparently Jessica Simpson wants to adopt.
This is an interesting study. It looks at not only family income but also the pressures economic factors put on parents, and how these two things affect children's cognitive skills as well as their social and emotional abilities.
There is a new initiative that would require couples to have children within three years or their marriages would be annulled. An interesting counter argument to the belief that marriage is for heterosexual couples to have kids.
Finally, we have a series of stories about parents who shouldn't be parents. You should not drug your kids so you can attend a party nor should you let a molester with HIV watch your kids nor should you leave your children in a freezing car while you go tanning, and you should never poison your kids either.
Since the article does not claim otherwise, I will make the assumption that the agencies are all privately funded (which would be, in my opinion, a logical conclusion, since the government would simply remove funding instead of forcing them to close).
The Catholic agencies do not take funding from the government; in effect they are a private organization, albeit a private organization with strong religious ties and a specific belief structure guiding them. They place children in single parent homes, in homes where the parents are not Catholic; both are circumstances contradictory to Catholic doctrine, which states that a man and a woman are married for life (only extreme circumstances qualify for annulment - divorce is not recognized by the Catholic church) and that this is the only means by which a child may be brought into this world. Admittedly, this is a more progressive stance than one would expect from a Catholic agency.
However, if they are willing to place a child with a single person, why are they against a same-sex couple? Realistically, how difficult would it be to prevent the agency from knowing a candidate for adoption is homosexual? A few visits, some basic paperwork, and that's it. So basically, they will consider a closet homosexual, just not one who is openly gay, which seems rather foolish to me.
They claim that it is their right to freedom of religion that allows them to discriminate against gay and lesbian couples. Their belief structure deems these unions unholy and as such, forcing them to place a child with such a couple would be contrary to their beliefs. However, where does one draw the line? What of orthodox faiths (Christian, Jewish, or Islamic) where interfaith (or even interracial) marriage is sacrilege? Should an Islamic organization be allowed to deny a child to a couple where the man is Jewish and the woman Christian? What if the couple were a black woman and an asian man? Would this be reasonable? Almost certainly, even the Catholic agency's representatives would agree this is unjust. Thus, while freedom of religion is a great and democratic and civilized freedom, it is not a shield against accusations of discrimination. And in this case, the Catholic church is discriminating, based on sexual orientation.
Another aspect (as mentioned in the article) to this situation is the reality that such a staunch position from the Catholic agencies (that they would rather close than comply with the law) serves to undermine the purpose of the agency: to benefit children. If the Catholic agencies close, there will be fewer avenues for children to find homes, leaving more of them orphaned. Ultimately, the Catholic agencies refusal to contradict their faith proves where their priorities lie: that an orphaned child is less important than the tenets of their faith. And, that a child is better off as an orphan than with gay parents.
Sadly, as with many religious groups, no application of logic will sway them from their cause. And in this instance, they are punishing innocent children because of a belief they hold.
The Brief Side
Since tomorrow is Valentine's Day, here are some thoughts about the ever-popular "date night" concept for parents.
And in the "sweet merciful crap I hope this isn't true" department, apparently Jessica Simpson wants to adopt.
This is an interesting study. It looks at not only family income but also the pressures economic factors put on parents, and how these two things affect children's cognitive skills as well as their social and emotional abilities.
There is a new initiative that would require couples to have children within three years or their marriages would be annulled. An interesting counter argument to the belief that marriage is for heterosexual couples to have kids.
Finally, we have a series of stories about parents who shouldn't be parents. You should not drug your kids so you can attend a party nor should you let a molester with HIV watch your kids nor should you leave your children in a freezing car while you go tanning, and you should never poison your kids either.
TRS: Visiting The Grandparents
This weekend we decided to head back home (for me) and visit my parents. We try and get there as often as possible since my mother isn't well enough to make the 4.5 hour drive to our place.
So Friday, like most times we plan this trip, I worked a half day and came home to pack the van quickly so we could get on the road in time for the munchkin's nap. This (we hoped) would allow for a portion of the trip to be spent basking in the quiet glow of a sleeping toddler. Thirty minutes later, she awoke from her "nap". Great, I thought to myself.
Fortunately, we had planned for such a situation. When we bought our van nearly four years ago, it came automatically with a VCR. The company was phasing out the old VHS systems for more modern DVD systems, and they were installing them as stock in all vans (otherwise we would never add such a feature). The added bonus for this package is that it has auxiliary RCA inputs. Couple that with the video iPod I got myself last year and the iPod A/V cable that turns the headphone output into (drumroll) RCA outputs, and you've got some adventure for a Mommy who isn't totally clueless in the electronics department and a Daddy who loves him some electronics integration and is a bit of a control freak when it comes to hooking things up (who also happens to be the one driving). It honestly wasn't all the painful. Once we sorted out the volume issues (having speaker volume controlled by the van and output volume controlled by the iPod made for some tweaking) we were able to listen to crystal clear mp3 audio (without the $500 direct car connection kit) and even more importantly (and more cool) watch videos (of the munchkin as an infant) from the iPod. I was pretty impressed with the battery, since I expected it to drain rather quickly. However, not using the backlit display for the video meant that the battery life was identical to music playback. That was exciting, at least for me. (OK, OK. Enough geekspeak for now.)
We stopped halfway to allow little legs to stretch and little bladders to empty. While we were there, MTM grabbed a coffee and some timbits for the second leg of our journey. As we were rolling out of the rest station parking lot, MTM exclaimed, "Oh my goodness, Munchkin, what are you doing?!? Chew, chew, honey." I turned around to see my daughter, my (usually) angelic faced daughter, attempting to grin with an entire timbit in her mouth, while gripping two others in her hand. Since I wasn't in the back seat, this was not my doing (although admittedly it had all the earmarks of a Daddy-guilt inspired fit of overindulgence). I'll leave it to MTM to clarify in the comments what the toddler was doing. I will say that the remainder of the trip passed reasonably well (not quite without incident, but nothing too horrific), until we got off the highway.
As we rolled off the exit ramp, I called my parents to give them the heads up that we were arriving. No sooner had I hung up the phone did I begin to feel the.mother.of.all.leg.cramps. This wasn't a normal "ow... that's mildly uncomfortable" cramp. This was a "suck in air through your teeth and speak in monosyllabic staccato sentences to your wife that you're not dying (at least you think you're not) but you're pulling over on the gravel" cramp. I swear to you, I have never had such a bizarre cramp. It started along my inner thigh and spread across my quad. I was limping back and forth on the side of the road for a good five minutes trying to rid myself of that thing.
We eventually did arrive at my parents' place, had dinner (pizza from my favourite local pizza place that we rarely have anymore) and settled in for the night. Well, it was a little easier said than done, as the munchkin decided to abandon the good sleeping habits she developed during our last visit and wail uncontrollably in her playpen. Given her history of puking we were more than a little fearful of letting her cry it out, and poor MTM got stuck in bed with her for over two hours. (In my defense I did try and take over, but that just resulted in more crying and a complete meltdown, so we let her have her way.)
Saturday morning, despite not getting down until well after her bedtime, our beautiful daughter awoke at 6am. At 6:20am, she tugged the heartstrings of her grandfather by calling out into the darkness (from the cozy confines of being between Mommy and Daddy), "Please come get me." My father, who apparently is attempting to run for sainthood, got out of bed and collected his pumpkin, closing our door behind him.
Nearly two hours later, MTM and I emerged from our room to discover that not only had she been fawned over by her grandfather (who plied her with cookies and raisins as well as banana) but Grandma had also arisen and had taken it upon herself to change a poopy diaper (something my mother rarely has the energy to do). Apparently, at one point during the process, my mother said to the munchkin, "OK Munchkin, Grandma has to go get you a diaper," and my daughter looked at her, smiled, and said, "No Grandma, there's a diaper right there," pointing to one on the sofa that MTM had left out.
Later that morning, while my mother slept, we took my father to Costco for the first time. The man did not know what to do with himself. Four bottles of Tums for $10? Two litres of olives for $5? (Uh, Dad, will you eat that many olives?) Tomato paste by the case? All that cheese? (Have I mentioned I'm Italian?) It was a blast. We also stopped at a grocery store next door so MTM could buy $4 boxes of fake plastic grass. When I tried to explain that I could buy a whole bag of, you know, real grass seed for less money, she didn't follow. Or I didn't follow her. Who knows.
Strangely, as we pulled out of the parking lot to head back home, I noticed MTM twitching in the backseat. (Oh, did I forget to mention that the area of town where the Costco is located is also where you can find a Homesense and other decorating stores?)
We spent the afternoon indoors, mainly because it was a very cold day. the munchkin caught up on her sleep with a nearly two hour nap while Mommy also caught up on lost sleep from the week, joining her. Meanwhile, I prepared a roast beef for dinner, thus ensuring that at least for one weekend my father didn't have to cook (he usually cooks for us when we visit).
After dinner, the munchkin had her bath and then somehow caught a second wind. After declaring that she needed to put on her winter coat (and then doing so in such a way that the coat was on upside down, thus making her hood look like a dinosaur tail) she began to play with a small butler's table my parents have. She would lift up the four sides, then applaud herself. Of course, this would prompt everyone else to cheer and applaud too. What was funny was, every time she would applaud, she would turn around the room to make sure that a) everyone was watching her and b) they were all clapping for her.
Unfortunately, all that praise and excitement did little to tire her, and she spent another evening alternating between wailing in her playpen and cuddling in Mommy's arms for a couple hours before drifting off into sleep while cradled by MTM.
Sunday morning she again awoke extremely early, and again my father took her and played with her while MTM and I slept. We eventually rose and showered, since we had planned to have lunch with my sister (who lives about halfway between our place and my parents).
We arrived and had a nice lunch. I really didn't visit with anyone except my brother-in-law because he had a problem with MS Excel that he needed my help with. So, I spent the visit the way I spend most days... fiddling with something on a computer. According to MTM, the munchkin had a blast hanging out with her cousins, while she and my sister had some nice heart to hearts about decorating (hopefully saving me from some discussions).
The drive home was tense, mostly because after another brief in-car nap, the munchkin was miserable. She wanted Curious George and nothing else. Of course, the Curious George DVD had not made it on to the iPod yet, so we were basically screwed. To add to the fun, when we arrived home we learned that she had peed through her diaper on to her carseat, and that to wash the carseat meant uninstalling it - a task MTM was unwilling to perform because the seat was so difficult to install initially.
When we finally got her changed, the munchkin just sat on the couch, basking in the phosphorescent glow of the television, watching her favourite monkey, while MTM and I attempted to unpack and restore our home to order.
One final little anecdote before I leave you for today: while feeding the munchkin dinner, MTM noticed that the kitchen table wobbled. So, I was sent into the basement to retrieve a wrench to tighten the screws. I brought up my ratchet set (mainly because I'm lazy and those things work better than wrenches) and opened it up. the munchkin was immediately drawn to the large shiny box and wanted up. We handed her a couple tools and let her "help" me tighten things. She was pretty cute there.
So Friday, like most times we plan this trip, I worked a half day and came home to pack the van quickly so we could get on the road in time for the munchkin's nap. This (we hoped) would allow for a portion of the trip to be spent basking in the quiet glow of a sleeping toddler. Thirty minutes later, she awoke from her "nap". Great, I thought to myself.
Fortunately, we had planned for such a situation. When we bought our van nearly four years ago, it came automatically with a VCR. The company was phasing out the old VHS systems for more modern DVD systems, and they were installing them as stock in all vans (otherwise we would never add such a feature). The added bonus for this package is that it has auxiliary RCA inputs. Couple that with the video iPod I got myself last year and the iPod A/V cable that turns the headphone output into (drumroll) RCA outputs, and you've got some adventure for a Mommy who isn't totally clueless in the electronics department and a Daddy who loves him some electronics integration and is a bit of a control freak when it comes to hooking things up (who also happens to be the one driving). It honestly wasn't all the painful. Once we sorted out the volume issues (having speaker volume controlled by the van and output volume controlled by the iPod made for some tweaking) we were able to listen to crystal clear mp3 audio (without the $500 direct car connection kit) and even more importantly (and more cool) watch videos (of the munchkin as an infant) from the iPod. I was pretty impressed with the battery, since I expected it to drain rather quickly. However, not using the backlit display for the video meant that the battery life was identical to music playback. That was exciting, at least for me. (OK, OK. Enough geekspeak for now.)
We stopped halfway to allow little legs to stretch and little bladders to empty. While we were there, MTM grabbed a coffee and some timbits for the second leg of our journey. As we were rolling out of the rest station parking lot, MTM exclaimed, "Oh my goodness, Munchkin, what are you doing?!? Chew, chew, honey." I turned around to see my daughter, my (usually) angelic faced daughter, attempting to grin with an entire timbit in her mouth, while gripping two others in her hand. Since I wasn't in the back seat, this was not my doing (although admittedly it had all the earmarks of a Daddy-guilt inspired fit of overindulgence). I'll leave it to MTM to clarify in the comments what the toddler was doing. I will say that the remainder of the trip passed reasonably well (not quite without incident, but nothing too horrific), until we got off the highway.
As we rolled off the exit ramp, I called my parents to give them the heads up that we were arriving. No sooner had I hung up the phone did I begin to feel the.mother.of.all.leg.cramps. This wasn't a normal "ow... that's mildly uncomfortable" cramp. This was a "suck in air through your teeth and speak in monosyllabic staccato sentences to your wife that you're not dying (at least you think you're not) but you're pulling over on the gravel" cramp. I swear to you, I have never had such a bizarre cramp. It started along my inner thigh and spread across my quad. I was limping back and forth on the side of the road for a good five minutes trying to rid myself of that thing.
We eventually did arrive at my parents' place, had dinner (pizza from my favourite local pizza place that we rarely have anymore) and settled in for the night. Well, it was a little easier said than done, as the munchkin decided to abandon the good sleeping habits she developed during our last visit and wail uncontrollably in her playpen. Given her history of puking we were more than a little fearful of letting her cry it out, and poor MTM got stuck in bed with her for over two hours. (In my defense I did try and take over, but that just resulted in more crying and a complete meltdown, so we let her have her way.)
Saturday morning, despite not getting down until well after her bedtime, our beautiful daughter awoke at 6am. At 6:20am, she tugged the heartstrings of her grandfather by calling out into the darkness (from the cozy confines of being between Mommy and Daddy), "Please come get me." My father, who apparently is attempting to run for sainthood, got out of bed and collected his pumpkin, closing our door behind him.
Nearly two hours later, MTM and I emerged from our room to discover that not only had she been fawned over by her grandfather (who plied her with cookies and raisins as well as banana) but Grandma had also arisen and had taken it upon herself to change a poopy diaper (something my mother rarely has the energy to do). Apparently, at one point during the process, my mother said to the munchkin, "OK Munchkin, Grandma has to go get you a diaper," and my daughter looked at her, smiled, and said, "No Grandma, there's a diaper right there," pointing to one on the sofa that MTM had left out.
Later that morning, while my mother slept, we took my father to Costco for the first time. The man did not know what to do with himself. Four bottles of Tums for $10? Two litres of olives for $5? (Uh, Dad, will you eat that many olives?) Tomato paste by the case? All that cheese? (Have I mentioned I'm Italian?) It was a blast. We also stopped at a grocery store next door so MTM could buy $4 boxes of fake plastic grass. When I tried to explain that I could buy a whole bag of, you know, real grass seed for less money, she didn't follow. Or I didn't follow her. Who knows.
Strangely, as we pulled out of the parking lot to head back home, I noticed MTM twitching in the backseat. (Oh, did I forget to mention that the area of town where the Costco is located is also where you can find a Homesense and other decorating stores?)
We spent the afternoon indoors, mainly because it was a very cold day. the munchkin caught up on her sleep with a nearly two hour nap while Mommy also caught up on lost sleep from the week, joining her. Meanwhile, I prepared a roast beef for dinner, thus ensuring that at least for one weekend my father didn't have to cook (he usually cooks for us when we visit).
After dinner, the munchkin had her bath and then somehow caught a second wind. After declaring that she needed to put on her winter coat (and then doing so in such a way that the coat was on upside down, thus making her hood look like a dinosaur tail) she began to play with a small butler's table my parents have. She would lift up the four sides, then applaud herself. Of course, this would prompt everyone else to cheer and applaud too. What was funny was, every time she would applaud, she would turn around the room to make sure that a) everyone was watching her and b) they were all clapping for her.
Unfortunately, all that praise and excitement did little to tire her, and she spent another evening alternating between wailing in her playpen and cuddling in Mommy's arms for a couple hours before drifting off into sleep while cradled by MTM.
Sunday morning she again awoke extremely early, and again my father took her and played with her while MTM and I slept. We eventually rose and showered, since we had planned to have lunch with my sister (who lives about halfway between our place and my parents).
We arrived and had a nice lunch. I really didn't visit with anyone except my brother-in-law because he had a problem with MS Excel that he needed my help with. So, I spent the visit the way I spend most days... fiddling with something on a computer. According to MTM, the munchkin had a blast hanging out with her cousins, while she and my sister had some nice heart to hearts about decorating (hopefully saving me from some discussions).
The drive home was tense, mostly because after another brief in-car nap, the munchkin was miserable. She wanted Curious George and nothing else. Of course, the Curious George DVD had not made it on to the iPod yet, so we were basically screwed. To add to the fun, when we arrived home we learned that she had peed through her diaper on to her carseat, and that to wash the carseat meant uninstalling it - a task MTM was unwilling to perform because the seat was so difficult to install initially.
When we finally got her changed, the munchkin just sat on the couch, basking in the phosphorescent glow of the television, watching her favourite monkey, while MTM and I attempted to unpack and restore our home to order.
One final little anecdote before I leave you for today: while feeding the munchkin dinner, MTM noticed that the kitchen table wobbled. So, I was sent into the basement to retrieve a wrench to tighten the screws. I brought up my ratchet set (mainly because I'm lazy and those things work better than wrenches) and opened it up. the munchkin was immediately drawn to the large shiny box and wanted up. We handed her a couple tools and let her "help" me tighten things. She was pretty cute there.
TDS: My Daughter's Favourite Expressions
To be honest, I had written a post for today but it'll have to wait until next week due to technical difficulties surrounding video manipulation and processing. Trust me; it'll be worth the wait.
In the meantime, I'll just share some of my daughter's favourite expressions of late. I hope that's sufficient.
In the meantime, I'll just share some of my daughter's favourite expressions of late. I hope that's sufficient.
- I had a good seep (sleep) Mommy
- Want cuddles wiff Mommy
- Thank you Mommy for cooking dinner
- I need my favourite song (People Watching from the Jack Johnson Curious George soundtrack)
- I love you too, Daddy (that one melts my heart)
- I'm typin' you a letter, Daddy
- Good for you, Daddy (said while I am uh, indisposed, since we say it to her when she uses the potty)
- Would you like some coffee, Mommy?
TWS: Painting Our Apartment
Since you all love stories about my suffering interior decorating, I thought I would tell you about the first time MTM got to choose paint colours.
It was the fall of 2001. MTM and I had moved into our basement apartment the previous summer, and were quite enjoying our time together. Then, one day our landlords asked if they could have an inspector come in to our apartment as part of a home valuation they were having done to refinance their mortgage (I think that was their reason; it's not important to the story). Being thenaive easygoing tenants we were, we agreed and thought nothing more of it.
The inspector informed them that the basement apartment was not done to code. Specifically, the drop ceiling that they had installed would not provide 30 minutes of burn time necessary for fire separation between two family dwellings. So, they had to either a) toss us out on our asses (we had a lease) or b) fix the ceiling. Thankfully (well, not exactly) for us, they chose the latter. Putting in a drywall ceiling instead of a drop meant that the ceilings would be raised by six inches or so, which is always a bonus for a basement apartment. However, that meant six inches of exposed unfinished wall. In exchange for our co-operation during the renovations, the landlord agreed to repaint all the walls to the colours ofMTM's our choosing (he was a self-employed professional painter by trade).
I won't go into the fact that aside from paying for one dinner out the evening he hadn't finished our kitchen, we got no compensation. Even when he was painting our bedroom we had to stay with friends and not a hotel. That's still a sore spot. Anyhow; back to the story.
We had four rooms to choose colours for: kitchen, living room, and two bedrooms (the bathrooms had to stay white since they were already drywall ceiling). Since my only contribution to the colour discussion was "contractor beige goes with everything", MTM was more or less on her own to choose whatever she saw fit. And since MTM was still revelling in the whole "I don't live with my mother anymore; I can choose whatever colours I want without anyone telling me what to do" phase, she did not seek outside advice on choosing paint colours.
Let's start with the good. She chose the same shade of blue for both bedrooms. It was (hell I'm no expert at describing colour) what I would call a cross between royal and sky blue: soft but warm; a really good choice for a bedroom/office. Fortunately it matched the sheets and duvet cover we already owned. For the living room she went more neutral with pale yellow/beige. Our furniture at the time was a collection of items I had inherited from my parents' basement and things I had added as I needed them. There wasn't really anything to match to. It was pretty good.
And then there was the kitchen, where she chose yellow. Afterward, she would explain that the chip of sample colour she had looked more like a butter yellow, and that that was the colour she wanted. I was driving home from work the day they finished painting when my cell phone rang:
"I'm so sorry. Please don't be mad. Please don't be mad."
"What's wrong? Are you OK? What happened?"
"I didn't think it would look like this. I really didn't. I swear."
"What are you talking about?"
(sobbing)
"OK. I'm almost home. I'll see you soon."
I walked in and my eyes literally hurt from the brightness of the wall that greeted me (our apartment entered into the kitchen).
"What do you think?"
"It looks like someone peed on the walls."
(sobbing)
We would later conclude that urine wasn't an accurate description of the colour. I was the one who coined the term we would (and still do) use for the colour: post-it TM note yellow.
This is the reason we have seven miniature paint cans of blue, eight of green, and three of yellow in our basement from the time we painted our house after we moved into it. I had to paint a minimum of one square meter of wall in a colour for her to assess it before moving on to another.
And you want to ask me why I don't like interior design?
It was the fall of 2001. MTM and I had moved into our basement apartment the previous summer, and were quite enjoying our time together. Then, one day our landlords asked if they could have an inspector come in to our apartment as part of a home valuation they were having done to refinance their mortgage (I think that was their reason; it's not important to the story). Being the
The inspector informed them that the basement apartment was not done to code. Specifically, the drop ceiling that they had installed would not provide 30 minutes of burn time necessary for fire separation between two family dwellings. So, they had to either a) toss us out on our asses (we had a lease) or b) fix the ceiling. Thankfully (well, not exactly) for us, they chose the latter. Putting in a drywall ceiling instead of a drop meant that the ceilings would be raised by six inches or so, which is always a bonus for a basement apartment. However, that meant six inches of exposed unfinished wall. In exchange for our co-operation during the renovations, the landlord agreed to repaint all the walls to the colours of
I won't go into the fact that aside from paying for one dinner out the evening he hadn't finished our kitchen, we got no compensation. Even when he was painting our bedroom we had to stay with friends and not a hotel. That's still a sore spot. Anyhow; back to the story.
We had four rooms to choose colours for: kitchen, living room, and two bedrooms (the bathrooms had to stay white since they were already drywall ceiling). Since my only contribution to the colour discussion was "contractor beige goes with everything", MTM was more or less on her own to choose whatever she saw fit. And since MTM was still revelling in the whole "I don't live with my mother anymore; I can choose whatever colours I want without anyone telling me what to do" phase, she did not seek outside advice on choosing paint colours.
Let's start with the good. She chose the same shade of blue for both bedrooms. It was (hell I'm no expert at describing colour) what I would call a cross between royal and sky blue: soft but warm; a really good choice for a bedroom/office. Fortunately it matched the sheets and duvet cover we already owned. For the living room she went more neutral with pale yellow/beige. Our furniture at the time was a collection of items I had inherited from my parents' basement and things I had added as I needed them. There wasn't really anything to match to. It was pretty good.
And then there was the kitchen, where she chose yellow. Afterward, she would explain that the chip of sample colour she had looked more like a butter yellow, and that that was the colour she wanted. I was driving home from work the day they finished painting when my cell phone rang:
"I'm so sorry. Please don't be mad. Please don't be mad."
"What's wrong? Are you OK? What happened?"
"I didn't think it would look like this. I really didn't. I swear."
"What are you talking about?"
(sobbing)
"OK. I'm almost home. I'll see you soon."
I walked in and my eyes literally hurt from the brightness of the wall that greeted me (our apartment entered into the kitchen).
"What do you think?"
"It looks like someone peed on the walls."
(sobbing)
We would later conclude that urine wasn't an accurate description of the colour. I was the one who coined the term we would (and still do) use for the colour: post-it TM note yellow.
This is the reason we have seven miniature paint cans of blue, eight of green, and three of yellow in our basement from the time we painted our house after we moved into it. I had to paint a minimum of one square meter of wall in a colour for her to assess it before moving on to another.
And you want to ask me why I don't like interior design?
TNS: Family Prisons
This week's story comes to us from a prison Spain, where family cell units have been made available to inmates to raise their children inside the prison. The Spanish penal system does not have the gender segregation that the North American penal system has, which creates an environment where inmates can become pregnant while in custody. In this prison, parents are permitted to live with their children in the evenings in larger cells with a double bed and a crib, and during the day the children are in preschool or daycare programs. Once a child is three they are removed from the prison and placed with family members or into a foster home.
On the surface, allowing a child to become familiar with his or her biological parents is a logical course of action. However, if, at the end of the child's third year, the child is then taken away from these parents, is it really in the best interests of the child? In the article, the parents are serving a ten year sentence, meaning that when the boy is three he will be taken and raised by others. What impact will this have on the boy? As mentioned here last week, a Canadian court recently decided to ban a biological father from seeing his son for one year, to allow for a period of "familial calm" to enable the adoptive parents to establish a bond with the boy.
Leaving the terminal nature of the parental relationship aside, is it reasonable to expect a child to spend the first three years of their life behind bars? That child will not go to the zoo, will not see a farm or a park or a river. The child will not experience Mommy and Me at the library. How much of a typical life will this child be denied so that their parents can enjoy the privilege of raising them in the evenings?
People who are in prison have been placed there by society for violations of rules that society has established are for the benefit of all members of society. We all live in the same society with the same rules; prisons are for those who will not (or cannot) follow them. The basic premise behind prison is the isolation of the inmates and the subsequent denial of freedoms it entails. If you want to see your family, don't get put in prison. If you don't want to get put in jail, don't break the law. It isn't a complicated system.
By allowing the inmates to marry and have children and then raise those children inside the prison, the government is placing the needs and rights of the parents above those of the child. They are putting a priority on the rights of people who have already lost certain rights because they broke the law over those of innocent people who have committed no crime. If the Spanish government insists to have gender-integrated prisons, it has to be ready to handle the offspring resulting from that decision. However, raising those children inside the walls is not the answer; certainly there is a social adoption system in place that is ready and willing to accept these children if the inmates' family are not.
The Brief Side
For anyone who thinks the warnings from their local police force about not leaving cars idling unattended in their driveways are silly: read this story. A woman went out, started her minivan, and put her three-year old son into his car seat. You can guess where this is going. Fortunately, her husband reacted quickly and chased down the stolen van in the other family car.
It seems to be a day for kids in cars. First, we had the above theft. Next up: one mother leaves her kids sleeping in car to dance at club while another mother is sentenced for leaving her 2 children in car while she went to a casino.
A proposal in Texas would allow for the authorities to punish parents who skip parent-teacher conferences in a hope to encourage more parental involvement in their children's education.
A debate is brewing about people going to India for surrogate mothers, where the practice is far less regulated and far less expensive.
Finally, we have some research that finds that fathers can suffer from postpartum depression.
On the surface, allowing a child to become familiar with his or her biological parents is a logical course of action. However, if, at the end of the child's third year, the child is then taken away from these parents, is it really in the best interests of the child? In the article, the parents are serving a ten year sentence, meaning that when the boy is three he will be taken and raised by others. What impact will this have on the boy? As mentioned here last week, a Canadian court recently decided to ban a biological father from seeing his son for one year, to allow for a period of "familial calm" to enable the adoptive parents to establish a bond with the boy.
Leaving the terminal nature of the parental relationship aside, is it reasonable to expect a child to spend the first three years of their life behind bars? That child will not go to the zoo, will not see a farm or a park or a river. The child will not experience Mommy and Me at the library. How much of a typical life will this child be denied so that their parents can enjoy the privilege of raising them in the evenings?
People who are in prison have been placed there by society for violations of rules that society has established are for the benefit of all members of society. We all live in the same society with the same rules; prisons are for those who will not (or cannot) follow them. The basic premise behind prison is the isolation of the inmates and the subsequent denial of freedoms it entails. If you want to see your family, don't get put in prison. If you don't want to get put in jail, don't break the law. It isn't a complicated system.
By allowing the inmates to marry and have children and then raise those children inside the prison, the government is placing the needs and rights of the parents above those of the child. They are putting a priority on the rights of people who have already lost certain rights because they broke the law over those of innocent people who have committed no crime. If the Spanish government insists to have gender-integrated prisons, it has to be ready to handle the offspring resulting from that decision. However, raising those children inside the walls is not the answer; certainly there is a social adoption system in place that is ready and willing to accept these children if the inmates' family are not.
The Brief Side
For anyone who thinks the warnings from their local police force about not leaving cars idling unattended in their driveways are silly: read this story. A woman went out, started her minivan, and put her three-year old son into his car seat. You can guess where this is going. Fortunately, her husband reacted quickly and chased down the stolen van in the other family car.
It seems to be a day for kids in cars. First, we had the above theft. Next up: one mother leaves her kids sleeping in car to dance at club while another mother is sentenced for leaving her 2 children in car while she went to a casino.
A proposal in Texas would allow for the authorities to punish parents who skip parent-teacher conferences in a hope to encourage more parental involvement in their children's education.
A debate is brewing about people going to India for surrogate mothers, where the practice is far less regulated and far less expensive.
Finally, we have some research that finds that fathers can suffer from postpartum depression.
TRS: Superbowl Weekend
This weekend is a testament to my bravery. Yes, in all humility, I am a brave, brave man. You see, dear reader, I did something no one in their right mind would do. I assisted in the migration of two blogs from the template format to the layout format; and not just any two blogs, but the blogs belonging to two of the most particular women on the planet. This is my story.
Earlier this week, there was a problem with comments over at Oh The Joys. After figuring out a workaround I explained that I suspected the problem was the fact that she had switched to New Blogger but had not yet changed her template to the layout style. She admitted to being afraid of the migration. Since I had been hearing similar comments from other sources, I wrote up a quick guide and offered support to her whenever she decided to take the plunge.
Friday morning I fiddled around a bit with the one key item that worried Joys, and demonstrated how to accomplish what she wanted. Little did I know that this would be the impetus she needed to make the migration. Later that afternoon, she contacted me asking for some assistance with some minor tweaks and after a little while (during which I was "super Dad" - chasing my little toddler around our main floor while intermittently checking my Gmail chat for queries from Joys), she was reasonably content (I have found that she is never truly "satisfied") with the new look. One migration down, one to go.
Saturday morning I got to sleep in past the munchkin's 6am wakeup, and once I was up we got ourselves showered and hit the mall for a couple miscellaneous items as well as to get ourselves out of the house for a bit. While we were there, MTM went into The Children's Place, a children's clothing store, where she found numerous items on sale. She grabbed a couple hats (both green) and a couple fleece sweaters (one green, one pink and blue - as an aside, the munchkin has since informed us that she does not like the pink and blue one at all so we're returning it).
We arrived home from the mall in time for the munchkin's nap. After allowing her to model the new clothes, we got her down and settled in front of the computer for the big migration. The first thing we see when we log in is a warning that Blogger would be down for maintenance at the exact time we were online. This almost frightened MTM away from migrating at all, but I coaxed her by allowing her to play with a test blog I had used during my migration. Once she was comfortable with the process, the munchkin awoke from her nap (of course), so I was given the fortunate duty of watching my toddler while I assisted in the blog migration. (It seems to be a theme for me this weekend, not that I'm complaining.)
The initial migration to layouts is painless, especially if you've spent the last hour fiddling and previewing all the options, so that went over fairly well. As she had followed my directions, she opened up each text file and started creating her new widgets. Some of the text files were discarded in favour of new widgets (as I suspected they would), mostly of her own doing. Aside from the occasional uncertainty about whether or not to include something in a text box, she migrated the bulk of her content over herself, proving my theory that with a little guidance, the migration isn't all that difficult.
Then, she started to customize the colours. And the fonts. And the layout. Folks, in all honesty it was easier to shop for linens at Homesense than to do this. Why is that, you ask? Well, because my wife knows I cannot sew, so (heh... I made a pun) if "exactly what she has in mind" isn't on the shelf, it's acceptable to say, "Oh well," and pat her on the shoulder consolingly. Not so with blog layouts people. Not so. Apparently, some vicious rumours have been started about my abilities with this stuff, and as such my wife decided she would have "exactly what she had in mind" with her blog.
The next two hours went something like this:
Munchkin: Daddy please play puzzle.
Me: OK sweetheart that was very nice asking.
MTM: Oh Boo. (our profanity in front of the munchkin)
What's up?
When I change the colour of the sidebar title, my date title changes too.
Yeah. They're the same font colour in the template.
Can't they be different?
Munchkin, please don't throw your puzzle.
(whining)
Yeah, they can be different. Just let me get on there for two minutes.
[Two minutes pass]
OK now you have a "Sidebar Title Color" and a "Date Title Color"
Thanks sweetie. You're the best.
No! Want Mommy cuddles!
I'm sorry sweetheart, Mommy is busy. Do you want Daddy cuddles?
Mmm hmm.
[I pick her up.]
See Mommy email. (everything done on a computer is "email")
[we walk over to the computer]
Hi bunny. Mommy is fixing her blog.
See baby munchkin movie. (she enjoys watching the videos I post on my blog)
Not right now sweetheart. Mommy can't show you movies.
Want movie! (crying)
[we walk away from the computer]
Down please.
[she sprints into the living room, I run after her]
Oh Boo.
What was very interesting to witness was how the munchkin dealt with not being center of attention. Usually when both of us are home one of us is with her while the other is either joining in or off doing something else. This was a rare occasion where MTM and I were involved in something and the munchkin was asked to be patient and wait. She did not handle this very well, I am sad to report. It looks like we'll be putting her in some child-only programs (right now everything she does is Mommy and Me) when she gets a little older, so she can learn that she is not the center of the universe all the time.
Saturday night we spent a bit more time tweaking the blog andfinally settled down to watch another one of the four DVDs I picked up previously: Capote. While not as exciting or funny as last weekend's choices, I certainly enjoyed it. I found it interesting to learn that Harper Lee (author of To Kill A Mockingbird) was his research assistant for the early part of his information gathering for In Cold Blood.
Sunday morning I paid for my Saturday morning sleep-in privileges with a 6am wakeup call. Nice. Weslept hung out on the sofa and watched Curious George for the millionth time, until she elbowed me in the spleen and said, "Munchkin's hun-ger-ee." While she nibbled on frozen blueberries and banana I fixed the things MTM off-handedly mentioned (during Capote) that were bugging her. (As an aside, the two blogs I worked on this weekend were based on the same Minima template. MTM's has a lot more customizations done, but they are the same basic framework: a testimony to what you can accomplish with a little CSS.)
When MTM woke up, she told the munchkin that we were having a Superbowl party. Immediately, the munchkin said we needed a cake for the party. After some discussion, they decided that they would make a blueberry cake. So, while I watched a little of the hours and hours of pre-game, they baked diligently in the kitchen.
By the time the cake was in the oven, it was time for lunch, and after that the munchkin went down for a "nap". I use that term loosely, since any child who sleeps for fifteen minutes after a 6am start cannot call that a "nap". Regardless, she got out of bed and remained miserable for most of the afternoon. The only highlight was when she decided to dress herself in some costumes and dance to the Curious George soundtrack again.
We closed out the afternoon watching the pre-game entertainment, which featured what the munchkin called a "dragon" (it was in actual fact an alligator). We would be told to watch for the dragon, as she was certain it would come back during the introductions. Sadly, it never did.
She saw the kickoff (and the amazing return for TD that ensued) and shortly thereafter went to bed. I watched the bulk of the game while MTM intermittently sat beside me for a few series and then left to do stuff on the computer. All in all, a pretty interesting Superbowl weekend with my girls.
Earlier this week, there was a problem with comments over at Oh The Joys. After figuring out a workaround I explained that I suspected the problem was the fact that she had switched to New Blogger but had not yet changed her template to the layout style. She admitted to being afraid of the migration. Since I had been hearing similar comments from other sources, I wrote up a quick guide and offered support to her whenever she decided to take the plunge.
Friday morning I fiddled around a bit with the one key item that worried Joys, and demonstrated how to accomplish what she wanted. Little did I know that this would be the impetus she needed to make the migration. Later that afternoon, she contacted me asking for some assistance with some minor tweaks and after a little while (during which I was "super Dad" - chasing my little toddler around our main floor while intermittently checking my Gmail chat for queries from Joys), she was reasonably content (I have found that she is never truly "satisfied") with the new look. One migration down, one to go.
Saturday morning I got to sleep in past the munchkin's 6am wakeup, and once I was up we got ourselves showered and hit the mall for a couple miscellaneous items as well as to get ourselves out of the house for a bit. While we were there, MTM went into The Children's Place, a children's clothing store, where she found numerous items on sale. She grabbed a couple hats (both green) and a couple fleece sweaters (one green, one pink and blue - as an aside, the munchkin has since informed us that she does not like the pink and blue one at all so we're returning it).
We arrived home from the mall in time for the munchkin's nap. After allowing her to model the new clothes, we got her down and settled in front of the computer for the big migration. The first thing we see when we log in is a warning that Blogger would be down for maintenance at the exact time we were online. This almost frightened MTM away from migrating at all, but I coaxed her by allowing her to play with a test blog I had used during my migration. Once she was comfortable with the process, the munchkin awoke from her nap (of course), so I was given the fortunate duty of watching my toddler while I assisted in the blog migration. (It seems to be a theme for me this weekend, not that I'm complaining.)
The initial migration to layouts is painless, especially if you've spent the last hour fiddling and previewing all the options, so that went over fairly well. As she had followed my directions, she opened up each text file and started creating her new widgets. Some of the text files were discarded in favour of new widgets (as I suspected they would), mostly of her own doing. Aside from the occasional uncertainty about whether or not to include something in a text box, she migrated the bulk of her content over herself, proving my theory that with a little guidance, the migration isn't all that difficult.
Then, she started to customize the colours. And the fonts. And the layout. Folks, in all honesty it was easier to shop for linens at Homesense than to do this. Why is that, you ask? Well, because my wife knows I cannot sew, so (heh... I made a pun) if "exactly what she has in mind" isn't on the shelf, it's acceptable to say, "Oh well," and pat her on the shoulder consolingly. Not so with blog layouts people. Not so. Apparently, some vicious rumours have been started about my abilities with this stuff, and as such my wife decided she would have "exactly what she had in mind" with her blog.
The next two hours went something like this:
Munchkin: Daddy please play puzzle.
Me: OK sweetheart that was very nice asking.
MTM: Oh Boo. (our profanity in front of the munchkin)
What's up?
When I change the colour of the sidebar title, my date title changes too.
Yeah. They're the same font colour in the template.
Can't they be different?
Munchkin, please don't throw your puzzle.
(whining)
Yeah, they can be different. Just let me get on there for two minutes.
[Two minutes pass]
OK now you have a "Sidebar Title Color" and a "Date Title Color"
Thanks sweetie. You're the best.
No! Want Mommy cuddles!
I'm sorry sweetheart, Mommy is busy. Do you want Daddy cuddles?
Mmm hmm.
[I pick her up.]
See Mommy email. (everything done on a computer is "email")
[we walk over to the computer]
Hi bunny. Mommy is fixing her blog.
See baby munchkin movie. (she enjoys watching the videos I post on my blog)
Not right now sweetheart. Mommy can't show you movies.
Want movie! (crying)
[we walk away from the computer]
Down please.
[she sprints into the living room, I run after her]
Oh Boo.
What was very interesting to witness was how the munchkin dealt with not being center of attention. Usually when both of us are home one of us is with her while the other is either joining in or off doing something else. This was a rare occasion where MTM and I were involved in something and the munchkin was asked to be patient and wait. She did not handle this very well, I am sad to report. It looks like we'll be putting her in some child-only programs (right now everything she does is Mommy and Me) when she gets a little older, so she can learn that she is not the center of the universe all the time.
Saturday night we spent a bit more time tweaking the blog and
Sunday morning I paid for my Saturday morning sleep-in privileges with a 6am wakeup call. Nice. We
When MTM woke up, she told the munchkin that we were having a Superbowl party. Immediately, the munchkin said we needed a cake for the party. After some discussion, they decided that they would make a blueberry cake. So, while I watched a little of the hours and hours of pre-game, they baked diligently in the kitchen.
By the time the cake was in the oven, it was time for lunch, and after that the munchkin went down for a "nap". I use that term loosely, since any child who sleeps for fifteen minutes after a 6am start cannot call that a "nap". Regardless, she got out of bed and remained miserable for most of the afternoon. The only highlight was when she decided to dress herself in some costumes and dance to the Curious George soundtrack again.
We closed out the afternoon watching the pre-game entertainment, which featured what the munchkin called a "dragon" (it was in actual fact an alligator). We would be told to watch for the dragon, as she was certain it would come back during the introductions. Sadly, it never did.
She saw the kickoff (and the amazing return for TD that ensued) and shortly thereafter went to bed. I watched the bulk of the game while MTM intermittently sat beside me for a few series and then left to do stuff on the computer. All in all, a pretty interesting Superbowl weekend with my girls.
TNS: UI Benefits for Single Parents
Welcome to a special Thursday edition of my regular Newsday feature. Today we have a number of quick hits as well as a loop to close, so the main story's treatment is somewhat more brief than usual.
This story comes from the UK, where some discussion has been raised about the subject of unemployment benefits for single parents. A more thorough statistical report can be found here. Of concern is the current legislation that enables many single parents to remain on unemployment benefits until their youngest child is 16 years old. The suggestion is to reduce that age to twelve. There has already been some adamant opposition to the plan.
While providing social assistance to single parents is a laudable enterprise, the situation in the UK has (according to the above articles) created a situation that encourages parents to remain on unemployment benefits and subsequently lower the standard of living for their entire family. The bulk of employment in the UK will provide a better standard of living than the one that can be achieved on social assistance. By forcing parents to seek employment when the youngest child is twelve, the parent will have four additional years of employment in their lifetime. This allows for increased contribution to public pensions as well as an increased potential to amount savings that could be used for post-secondary education for their children. And since the minimum age for a "latch key" kid is ten (at least that's what I believe it is here in Ontario), there is no need for additional child care expenses.
Personally, I was shocked to learn that the age of 12 was such a concern. The majority (if not all) of children are in some form of an education system (and it is safe to assume that those whose parents are unemployed are likely educated in the public system). This means that the child is in school all day from the age of six. What need does a parent have to be home all day when their child is at school? Of course, there are benefits to having a stay-at-home parent, but this is a luxury not even dual-parent families can afford at times. Why should the government be forced to enable this through social assistance? I just cannot understand the apparent sense of entitlement being displayed, particularly in the articles opposing this suggested move.
Closing The Loop
A while back I wrote about a Saskatchewan father who had sought custody of his biological son after learning that the child's mother had given the boy up for unofficial adoption (the mother denied knowing the identity of the baby's father at the time of birth; the biological relationship was confirmed with a paternity test). According to this update, the courts have decided to ban the father from seeing his son for one year, to allow for a period of "familial calm" to enable the adoptive parents to establish a bond with the boy.
The Brief Side
First, we have a story about a same-sex couple that has successfully been raising a child. More interesting is the fact that the couple are both males where the daughter is female.
On the other side of the coin, we have a story about a mother who has been charged with numerous counts of child endangerment as well as contributing to the delinquency of a minor. What did the woman do? She had a "coming home" party for her teenage son, where she served beer and allegedly had sex with at least one minor. She apparently also sent 12 kids home in one vehicle, which crashed en route.
A very disturbing story comes from Arizona where a pedophile pretended to be 12 years old and attended several schools as a student in an effort to lure children into abuse.
A very sad report from Africa, where a town believes it is "cursed" because so many of its young women and children (some as young as 10 years old) are becoming single mothers as a result of rapes.
This story comes from the UK, where some discussion has been raised about the subject of unemployment benefits for single parents. A more thorough statistical report can be found here. Of concern is the current legislation that enables many single parents to remain on unemployment benefits until their youngest child is 16 years old. The suggestion is to reduce that age to twelve. There has already been some adamant opposition to the plan.
While providing social assistance to single parents is a laudable enterprise, the situation in the UK has (according to the above articles) created a situation that encourages parents to remain on unemployment benefits and subsequently lower the standard of living for their entire family. The bulk of employment in the UK will provide a better standard of living than the one that can be achieved on social assistance. By forcing parents to seek employment when the youngest child is twelve, the parent will have four additional years of employment in their lifetime. This allows for increased contribution to public pensions as well as an increased potential to amount savings that could be used for post-secondary education for their children. And since the minimum age for a "latch key" kid is ten (at least that's what I believe it is here in Ontario), there is no need for additional child care expenses.
Personally, I was shocked to learn that the age of 12 was such a concern. The majority (if not all) of children are in some form of an education system (and it is safe to assume that those whose parents are unemployed are likely educated in the public system). This means that the child is in school all day from the age of six. What need does a parent have to be home all day when their child is at school? Of course, there are benefits to having a stay-at-home parent, but this is a luxury not even dual-parent families can afford at times. Why should the government be forced to enable this through social assistance? I just cannot understand the apparent sense of entitlement being displayed, particularly in the articles opposing this suggested move.
Closing The Loop
A while back I wrote about a Saskatchewan father who had sought custody of his biological son after learning that the child's mother had given the boy up for unofficial adoption (the mother denied knowing the identity of the baby's father at the time of birth; the biological relationship was confirmed with a paternity test). According to this update, the courts have decided to ban the father from seeing his son for one year, to allow for a period of "familial calm" to enable the adoptive parents to establish a bond with the boy.
The Brief Side
First, we have a story about a same-sex couple that has successfully been raising a child. More interesting is the fact that the couple are both males where the daughter is female.
On the other side of the coin, we have a story about a mother who has been charged with numerous counts of child endangerment as well as contributing to the delinquency of a minor. What did the woman do? She had a "coming home" party for her teenage son, where she served beer and allegedly had sex with at least one minor. She apparently also sent 12 kids home in one vehicle, which crashed en route.
A very disturbing story comes from Arizona where a pedophile pretended to be 12 years old and attended several schools as a student in an effort to lure children into abuse.
A very sad report from Africa, where a town believes it is "cursed" because so many of its young women and children (some as young as 10 years old) are becoming single mothers as a result of rapes.
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