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I have succumbed to the temptation. All those people who have been passing around interviews made it look interesting, so I figured I'd join in. Mama Tulip has so graciously provided these questions for me to answer, so answer I shall.
1. Explain your moniker....are you into science fiction? Are you a Trekkie?
Yes, I am into science fiction, and have been since I was a kid. I'm more of a Star Wars than a Star Trek fan, though. My office has a shelf with action figures (still in original packaging, of course), including both Fetts and the three Darths (excluding Tyranus). I've also got Star Wars Lego and Pez dispensers up there.
2. When you think back to life before you became a father, what is it that you miss the most?
Sleep. Our daughter has never been the sleeps through the night type. For some perspective: I generally wake up at 5:30am (the beauty of flex time allows me to work from 6:30am to 3pm and spend more time with my family), and by that point she has usually cried out and wound up in between us.
3. Did you attend college or university? If so, what did you study?
I went to university and studied electrical engineering.
4. How did you meet your wife? Did you know right away that she was 'the one'?
This will almost certainly spawn another post for The Wife Side. We met online, and I knew she was "the one" within about two weeks (during our first "real world" date).
5. Name one book and one artist/band that has been highly influential for you.
The book would have to be The Art of War by Sun Tzu. I read it and within weeks had two tattoos from it. The band would have to be U2. I have been listening to them since before Joshua Tree, and have found that their style followed my tastes well. When I was into guitar rock, they were putting out Rattle and Hum. When I was getting into the club scene out came Pop (a sorely underrated album, in my opinion). And when I got "back to basics" they came out with All That You Can't Leave Behind.
The way this MeMe works is if you want to be interviewed by me, let me know in the comments or via an email (see my profile), and I'll come up with five questions for you.
TDS: Happy Birthday, Munchkin!
I'm posting this a little earlier than usual (although the post time will not reflect this) so I can spend her birthday with her.
Today, you, my baby, turn two years old. (If we want to get all technical about it like my mother used to, you don't turn two until well after your bedtime; sometime after 10:20pm this evening. But since I have done nothing like your grandmother thus far, why would I start now? You're two today, princess.) You are no longer my baby girl, no matter how hard I try to cradle you in my arms (with your heel awkwardly digging into my ribcage as you struggle to escape).
Singing And Music
As our challenges with the radio in the van continue, you have developed into quite the little trooper. You sing many of the songs your mother and I sing to you, by yourself and without prompting, including:
You have clearly chosen your favourite song, People Watching, from the Curious George movie soundtrack. You demand that it be put on repeat in the living room, to the point that it becomes white noise. You also will do whatever damage is necessary to get your feet on the floor when the song is coming up in the movie so you can dance to it. (You even pointed out that it has a reprise later in the film; something your mother and I never discovered.)
Pseudo-Literacy
As your mother the primary educator will agree, the first step to literacy is reciting memorized passages. This, my daughter, you have begun to do on a frequent basis. Your general routine is to have a book read to you once, and then you "read" it back to the person (usually several times). Your memory and detail-oriented retention are both a source of pride and panic for us. We obviously are proud of everything you accomplish. However, if you're remembering in such vivid detail at two, how are we going to pull the wool over your eyes with anything in the future?
Alphabet
As well as memorizing the stories of several of your favourite books, you have recently begun to identify specific characters in everyday print. Specifically, you can easily pick up M (for Mommy), D (for Daddy), J (for your name), N (for your maternal grandmother), A (for your cousin's name) as well as a host of other letters. You have started to try and recreate these in your daily use of markers, and while the majority of the marks are illegible, watching you in the process shows us that you know M is "up-down-up-down" and D has a basic loop structure. Unfortunately, this isn't good enough for you and you easily get frustrated with your lack of precision. (Sadly, it seems you have inherited a fine eye for detail from both your mother and I.)
Emotional Maturity
Thanks mostly to your mother, you have been given the vocabulary and the encouragement to use it. You will now tell us if you're feeling sad, or excited, or happy. You often tell me "I missed you, Daddy. You was at wurt (work)." And when you feel like melting my heart, after I say, "Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you," you will reply "I love you too, Daddy".
Language
Your words are being spoken far more clearly than ever. Many strangers no longer look at us with blank faces when you speak to them, and instead smile at your precocious nature and answer you. In addition to clarity, you have also discovered some colloquialisms, in all likelihood picked up from your father. Among my favourites are your instinctive (and rapidly spoken) "No way!" when you know something is wrong, "No sanks (thanks)" when you are declining something (usually food) and unfortunately, "Jesus" (which you chose to name a the Barbie on your MP3 player; no matter how hard I tried to convince your mother that you said "Cheeses", she knew the truth).
Like I said, you are no longer a baby, no matter how much I sometimes try to pretend you are. And watching you grow and learn and figure things out is far more pleasurable than I ever imagined it to be. Happy Birthday, Munchkin. Mommy and Daddy love you very much.
If any of you would like to wish her a Happy Birthday, I have setup an email address for her to receive them at. You can email her at bunnymunchkin {at} gmail {dot} com.
Today, you, my baby, turn two years old. (If we want to get all technical about it like my mother used to, you don't turn two until well after your bedtime; sometime after 10:20pm this evening. But since I have done nothing like your grandmother thus far, why would I start now? You're two today, princess.) You are no longer my baby girl, no matter how hard I try to cradle you in my arms (with your heel awkwardly digging into my ribcage as you struggle to escape).
Singing And Music
As our challenges with the radio in the van continue, you have developed into quite the little trooper. You sing many of the songs your mother and I sing to you, by yourself and without prompting, including:
- The Wheels On The Bus (complete with actions)
- If You're Happy And You Know It
- Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
- People Watching
You have clearly chosen your favourite song, People Watching, from the Curious George movie soundtrack. You demand that it be put on repeat in the living room, to the point that it becomes white noise. You also will do whatever damage is necessary to get your feet on the floor when the song is coming up in the movie so you can dance to it. (You even pointed out that it has a reprise later in the film; something your mother and I never discovered.)
Pseudo-Literacy
As your mother the primary educator will agree, the first step to literacy is reciting memorized passages. This, my daughter, you have begun to do on a frequent basis. Your general routine is to have a book read to you once, and then you "read" it back to the person (usually several times). Your memory and detail-oriented retention are both a source of pride and panic for us. We obviously are proud of everything you accomplish. However, if you're remembering in such vivid detail at two, how are we going to pull the wool over your eyes with anything in the future?
Alphabet
As well as memorizing the stories of several of your favourite books, you have recently begun to identify specific characters in everyday print. Specifically, you can easily pick up M (for Mommy), D (for Daddy), J (for your name), N (for your maternal grandmother), A (for your cousin's name) as well as a host of other letters. You have started to try and recreate these in your daily use of markers, and while the majority of the marks are illegible, watching you in the process shows us that you know M is "up-down-up-down" and D has a basic loop structure. Unfortunately, this isn't good enough for you and you easily get frustrated with your lack of precision. (Sadly, it seems you have inherited a fine eye for detail from both your mother and I.)
Emotional Maturity
Thanks mostly to your mother, you have been given the vocabulary and the encouragement to use it. You will now tell us if you're feeling sad, or excited, or happy. You often tell me "I missed you, Daddy. You was at wurt (work)." And when you feel like melting my heart, after I say, "Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you," you will reply "I love you too, Daddy".
Language
Your words are being spoken far more clearly than ever. Many strangers no longer look at us with blank faces when you speak to them, and instead smile at your precocious nature and answer you. In addition to clarity, you have also discovered some colloquialisms, in all likelihood picked up from your father. Among my favourites are your instinctive (and rapidly spoken) "No way!" when you know something is wrong, "No sanks (thanks)" when you are declining something (usually food) and unfortunately, "Jesus" (which you chose to name a the Barbie on your MP3 player; no matter how hard I tried to convince your mother that you said "Cheeses", she knew the truth).
Like I said, you are no longer a baby, no matter how much I sometimes try to pretend you are. And watching you grow and learn and figure things out is far more pleasurable than I ever imagined it to be. Happy Birthday, Munchkin. Mommy and Daddy love you very much.
If any of you would like to wish her a Happy Birthday, I have setup an email address for her to receive them at. You can email her at bunnymunchkin {at} gmail {dot} com.
TTS: Language Comprehension
A while back I wrote a post about language development, where I talked about the various ways children develop language and communicate. Today, I'm going to talk a bit about comprehension. I'll start with an anecdote.
When I broke my ankle a while back, there was a transitional period where I was sort of OK, sort of not OK in terms of general mobility and balance. One morning during that time, my wife was in the shower and my daughter (a little over 14 months at the time) was napping. She awoke and began to cry for Mommy, telling her that she had a poo in her diaper. Feeling particularly brave that morning, I got up and hopped to her bedroom with the walker that I was using. I went into her room and found her standing at the rail of her crib. Her face lit up when she saw me (it was probably the first time in over a month that I was in there).
I approached her crib and explained, "Sweetheart, Daddy's leg still has a boo boo. When Daddy takes you out of your crib, I have to put you down. Then, you walk over to the change table. Daddy will pick you up over there and put you on the change pad and change your diaper. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
I lifted her out and carefully placed her on the ground. She walked across her room (ignoring the open bedroom door) and stood, arms raised in the universal toddler symbol for "pick me up", waiting for me to hop over. I lifted her up on the table and again explained, "You need to stay still for Daddy. His balance isn't very good right now and you need to co-operate for me, OK?
"OK."
She was far more angelic than she usually was (diaper changes were a wrestling match at that time, based on what I heard emanating from her room when my wife changed her), and the change was messy but painless. When I finished the change and snapped up the onesie, I said, "OK sweetheart. We're all done. Daddy is going to put you on the floor, and I want you to walk to Mommy and Daddy's room. Don't go anywhere else, please. OK?"
"OK Daddy."
I put her down, and she promptly walked past the office (which had all her toys strewn about) and the bathroom (which was always a place for fun) and went into our room. She stood just inside and turned to me, waiting for me to catch up.
The point of the story isn't to make you coo about how sweet she was (although she was, and still is, such a sweet kid). It's that she had a vocabulary of maybe ten words at the time, and that's including "moo" and "baa" (animal sounds), yet understood complex phrasing and instructions.
Long before they can communicate it to you, children can understand what you are saying. Before many parents realize it, children are listening to every single word their parents say. They may not comprehend everything initially, but they can get the gist of what is being said from tone and volume. In fact, some form of comprehension is necessary before the child can begin to communicate. Without the understanding that the utterances you produce are a means of conveying information, the child will not try to speak themselves.
All too often, parents get caught up in having their child communicate with them, either through speech or through baby sign language. In the process, they fail to realize that it is a relationship, and even though they are not receiving the positive feedback they are seeking (in the form of imitated signs or utterances) their child is still trying to understand them. Talking to your child, even if they cannot talk back to you, is crucial. Encourage communication by communicating. Speak with the belief that they are understanding you, and want to talk back.
Along with this concept is the realization that your child understands what you are saying, even if you're not talking to them directly. To this end, don't talk about what you perceive to be your child's shortcomings in front of them; use some discretion and discuss your concerns with friends or family when the child is sleeping, or when you are away from your child. Otherwise, you will inadvertently undermine their confidence.
Children hang on their parents' every word when they are developing their comprehension skills. Awareness of this fact and efforts to exploit it to their advantage is a way parents can help their child grow.
When I broke my ankle a while back, there was a transitional period where I was sort of OK, sort of not OK in terms of general mobility and balance. One morning during that time, my wife was in the shower and my daughter (a little over 14 months at the time) was napping. She awoke and began to cry for Mommy, telling her that she had a poo in her diaper. Feeling particularly brave that morning, I got up and hopped to her bedroom with the walker that I was using. I went into her room and found her standing at the rail of her crib. Her face lit up when she saw me (it was probably the first time in over a month that I was in there).
I approached her crib and explained, "Sweetheart, Daddy's leg still has a boo boo. When Daddy takes you out of your crib, I have to put you down. Then, you walk over to the change table. Daddy will pick you up over there and put you on the change pad and change your diaper. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
I lifted her out and carefully placed her on the ground. She walked across her room (ignoring the open bedroom door) and stood, arms raised in the universal toddler symbol for "pick me up", waiting for me to hop over. I lifted her up on the table and again explained, "You need to stay still for Daddy. His balance isn't very good right now and you need to co-operate for me, OK?
"OK."
She was far more angelic than she usually was (diaper changes were a wrestling match at that time, based on what I heard emanating from her room when my wife changed her), and the change was messy but painless. When I finished the change and snapped up the onesie, I said, "OK sweetheart. We're all done. Daddy is going to put you on the floor, and I want you to walk to Mommy and Daddy's room. Don't go anywhere else, please. OK?"
"OK Daddy."
I put her down, and she promptly walked past the office (which had all her toys strewn about) and the bathroom (which was always a place for fun) and went into our room. She stood just inside and turned to me, waiting for me to catch up.
The point of the story isn't to make you coo about how sweet she was (although she was, and still is, such a sweet kid). It's that she had a vocabulary of maybe ten words at the time, and that's including "moo" and "baa" (animal sounds), yet understood complex phrasing and instructions.
Long before they can communicate it to you, children can understand what you are saying. Before many parents realize it, children are listening to every single word their parents say. They may not comprehend everything initially, but they can get the gist of what is being said from tone and volume. In fact, some form of comprehension is necessary before the child can begin to communicate. Without the understanding that the utterances you produce are a means of conveying information, the child will not try to speak themselves.
All too often, parents get caught up in having their child communicate with them, either through speech or through baby sign language. In the process, they fail to realize that it is a relationship, and even though they are not receiving the positive feedback they are seeking (in the form of imitated signs or utterances) their child is still trying to understand them. Talking to your child, even if they cannot talk back to you, is crucial. Encourage communication by communicating. Speak with the belief that they are understanding you, and want to talk back.
Along with this concept is the realization that your child understands what you are saying, even if you're not talking to them directly. To this end, don't talk about what you perceive to be your child's shortcomings in front of them; use some discretion and discuss your concerns with friends or family when the child is sleeping, or when you are away from your child. Otherwise, you will inadvertently undermine their confidence.
Children hang on their parents' every word when they are developing their comprehension skills. Awareness of this fact and efforts to exploit it to their advantage is a way parents can help their child grow.
TWS: The Wedding Binder
In the two years my wife and I were together before we got married, we went to a number of weddings. In several of them, we were asked to "help out" and in others she was in the wedding party. Through these situations, we learned a lot about what not to do to the people who volunteered to help us, or who were in our wedding party. None of it was really earth-shattering, but had they used a little forethought, it would have made for a smoother experience for us.
For example, at my friend's wedding, we were asked to transport the flowers from the church to the reception. No big deal, right? Well no, except for the fact that we drove in my Monte Carlo (blessed be its name, may it rest in peace forever and ever, amen) and the floral arrangements were over two feet tall and didn't fit in my trunk (and my buddy knew better than to expect me to put flower pots on my leather interior). So there we were, running around the church parking lot, begging guests with vans and SUVs to transport the flowers. Another time, my wife was in the wedding party and was taken to the photos location in a limo; I was to retrieve her after the photos were done. Unfortunately, no one told me where the photos were, and I couldn't get to my car and follow the limo. And since I wasn't from the city where the wedding was, well, let's just say it was an unpleasant way to spend an afternoon (especially when you include the fact that my wife was sweating in taffeta waiting for me).
It's no secret that my wife and I are organized people. So, it should come as no surprise that we were quite organized for our wedding.
At the rehearsal dinner, we went to each wedding party member, immediate family member, and "helper" and provided them with an individualized itinerary for their day. It included the times we needed them at specific locations (down to fifteen minute intervals), addresses, maps, and various notes, and covered from the photos before the service up to and including the order of speeches at the reception (of course, if someone was "done" after photos, their itinerary ended there). People who were giving rides to others had lists of who they were driving, and those in need of lifts knew who to seek out. Admittedly, it may have been a tad excessive, but we genuinely thought it was being thoughtful and reducing confusion.
The day of the wedding, my younger sister discovered that the itineraries were only the tip of the iceberg. She came to me, somewhat distraught, and said that she had left her schedule at her apartment, but that she thought it was the same as my older sister's, so I shouldn't worry. What did I do, you ask, dear reader? Why, I smiled at my little sister, walked over to a binder I had nearby, pulled out a second copy of her itinerary and handed it to her. Yes, I had a binder, tabbed into sections with everyone's itineraries. Also included in there were copies of our speeches, notes for the DJ and reception hall, and other items. At various times throughout the day, something would be unclear or forgotten, and there I was, wedding binder in hand, ready to clarify the problem.
At the brunch the following day, a couple cousins who were getting married the following summer were quite interested in seeing "the binder".
My little sister actually made a joke about it in her reception speech, calling us "a bit insane". I retorted in my speech that "you all knew what you needed to do and where you needed to be, didn't you?"
OK, maybe it was a bit insane.
For example, at my friend's wedding, we were asked to transport the flowers from the church to the reception. No big deal, right? Well no, except for the fact that we drove in my Monte Carlo (blessed be its name, may it rest in peace forever and ever, amen) and the floral arrangements were over two feet tall and didn't fit in my trunk (and my buddy knew better than to expect me to put flower pots on my leather interior). So there we were, running around the church parking lot, begging guests with vans and SUVs to transport the flowers. Another time, my wife was in the wedding party and was taken to the photos location in a limo; I was to retrieve her after the photos were done. Unfortunately, no one told me where the photos were, and I couldn't get to my car and follow the limo. And since I wasn't from the city where the wedding was, well, let's just say it was an unpleasant way to spend an afternoon (especially when you include the fact that my wife was sweating in taffeta waiting for me).
It's no secret that my wife and I are organized people. So, it should come as no surprise that we were quite organized for our wedding.
At the rehearsal dinner, we went to each wedding party member, immediate family member, and "helper" and provided them with an individualized itinerary for their day. It included the times we needed them at specific locations (down to fifteen minute intervals), addresses, maps, and various notes, and covered from the photos before the service up to and including the order of speeches at the reception (of course, if someone was "done" after photos, their itinerary ended there). People who were giving rides to others had lists of who they were driving, and those in need of lifts knew who to seek out. Admittedly, it may have been a tad excessive, but we genuinely thought it was being thoughtful and reducing confusion.
The day of the wedding, my younger sister discovered that the itineraries were only the tip of the iceberg. She came to me, somewhat distraught, and said that she had left her schedule at her apartment, but that she thought it was the same as my older sister's, so I shouldn't worry. What did I do, you ask, dear reader? Why, I smiled at my little sister, walked over to a binder I had nearby, pulled out a second copy of her itinerary and handed it to her. Yes, I had a binder, tabbed into sections with everyone's itineraries. Also included in there were copies of our speeches, notes for the DJ and reception hall, and other items. At various times throughout the day, something would be unclear or forgotten, and there I was, wedding binder in hand, ready to clarify the problem.
At the brunch the following day, a couple cousins who were getting married the following summer were quite interested in seeing "the binder".
My little sister actually made a joke about it in her reception speech, calling us "a bit insane". I retorted in my speech that "you all knew what you needed to do and where you needed to be, didn't you?"
OK, maybe it was a bit insane.
TNS: Recording Home Movies In Public
Today's story comes to us from Ireland, where a mother is outraged about a video taken at a public pool. Apparently she saw another parent recording their child while her own daughter was participating in a swimming lesson. When she brought it to the attention of the staff and subsequently city council, she learned that the actions were allowed, albeit with proper identification and permission from the staff.
I can see both sides of this discussion. On the one hand, as a parent who worries about his child's safety, I would be just as mortified as the mother if I saw someone recording my daughter's dancing class or mommy and me swim time. (Realistically, I would probably have been more aggressive, demanding the recording be erased in front of me, or else destroying the media myself.)
However, as a father who has been known on more than one occasion to record play time at the park, I feel it is somewhat alarmist. I have visions of recording ballet recitals or soccer games in my future, so that my daughter may enjoy them just as I have enjoyed recordings of my concerts from high school.
The question is, whose expectations are more reasonable? From a purely analytical standpoint, if a parent brings a child into public, they are exposing their child to a multitude of potential dangers and threats. For every dad holding a camcorder at the local tee-ball field, there are countless windows and rooftops from which a predator can, with the use of optics, capture images of their child. (And suddenly the number of agoraphobics inexplicably spikes.) Can a parent really protect their child from being recorded or photographed? Can it be argued that parents "take their risks" every time they allow their child out in public?
On the other hand, should someone be allowed, in a public place, to record their family experiencing that event for their personal use at a later time? Realistically, even the best videographer will capture the image of incidental people out of the focus of the subject, and if someone is that concerned, they can avoid the camera.
What isn't really covered in the article is how the person was operating the camera. Were they taking sweeping images of the whole pool and all its participants, or was he capturing their own child, save for the occasional arm or leg or head of another? My suspicion is that in this case, it is the latter, and in that instance, he was, I believe, well within his rights to record.
However, that doesn't mean I wouldn't take my daughter out if he showed up at my pool with his kid and a camcorder.
We have a whole lot of brief side this week, folks.
First up, some advice I think many of us will find useful: how to teach young children how to listen.
AAA and Parents magazine have tested and compiled a list of the best family cars.
If you want to get into hot water, try challenging the ever-powerful mommy lobby group. One restaurant posted a sign saying that misbehaving kids are not welcome. Surprisingly, the owner got more positive than negative feedback.
An interesting discussion about bonding and its benefits talks about how physical contact and emotional support can prevent the onset of mental illness later in life.
Here's a story about a lesbian mother who is against homosexuals being allowed to adopt. The reality is it isn't that shocking; she just wants the court to overrule the decision made allowing her then partner to adopt her child (they have since split up and the ex wants visitation rights).
This is more of an editorial piece than a news item, but I felt it was worth reading. The basic message is that a family is a family regardless of whether the kids are adopted, or the parents are remarried and are step-parents, or whatever.
And getting back to study results, family roles are changing in dual income families. According to the article, men are changing diapers! I for one, was shocked at this groundbreaking revelation. Why, the next thing you know they'll be cooking meals or giving baths!
Finally, a fascinating look into some statistics over the last forty years or so. Apparently, modern moms spend more time with their kids than the mothers of the so-called "glory days" of the American housewife, yet still feel like they're not spending enough time with their offspring. Also, fathers are spending almost three times as much family time as they were back then.
I can see both sides of this discussion. On the one hand, as a parent who worries about his child's safety, I would be just as mortified as the mother if I saw someone recording my daughter's dancing class or mommy and me swim time. (Realistically, I would probably have been more aggressive, demanding the recording be erased in front of me, or else destroying the media myself.)
However, as a father who has been known on more than one occasion to record play time at the park, I feel it is somewhat alarmist. I have visions of recording ballet recitals or soccer games in my future, so that my daughter may enjoy them just as I have enjoyed recordings of my concerts from high school.
The question is, whose expectations are more reasonable? From a purely analytical standpoint, if a parent brings a child into public, they are exposing their child to a multitude of potential dangers and threats. For every dad holding a camcorder at the local tee-ball field, there are countless windows and rooftops from which a predator can, with the use of optics, capture images of their child. (And suddenly the number of agoraphobics inexplicably spikes.) Can a parent really protect their child from being recorded or photographed? Can it be argued that parents "take their risks" every time they allow their child out in public?
On the other hand, should someone be allowed, in a public place, to record their family experiencing that event for their personal use at a later time? Realistically, even the best videographer will capture the image of incidental people out of the focus of the subject, and if someone is that concerned, they can avoid the camera.
What isn't really covered in the article is how the person was operating the camera. Were they taking sweeping images of the whole pool and all its participants, or was he capturing their own child, save for the occasional arm or leg or head of another? My suspicion is that in this case, it is the latter, and in that instance, he was, I believe, well within his rights to record.
However, that doesn't mean I wouldn't take my daughter out if he showed up at my pool with his kid and a camcorder.
The Brief Side
We have a whole lot of brief side this week, folks.
First up, some advice I think many of us will find useful: how to teach young children how to listen.
AAA and Parents magazine have tested and compiled a list of the best family cars.
If you want to get into hot water, try challenging the ever-powerful mommy lobby group. One restaurant posted a sign saying that misbehaving kids are not welcome. Surprisingly, the owner got more positive than negative feedback.
An interesting discussion about bonding and its benefits talks about how physical contact and emotional support can prevent the onset of mental illness later in life.
Here's a story about a lesbian mother who is against homosexuals being allowed to adopt. The reality is it isn't that shocking; she just wants the court to overrule the decision made allowing her then partner to adopt her child (they have since split up and the ex wants visitation rights).
This is more of an editorial piece than a news item, but I felt it was worth reading. The basic message is that a family is a family regardless of whether the kids are adopted, or the parents are remarried and are step-parents, or whatever.
And getting back to study results, family roles are changing in dual income families. According to the article, men are changing diapers! I for one, was shocked at this groundbreaking revelation. Why, the next thing you know they'll be cooking meals or giving baths!
Finally, a fascinating look into some statistics over the last forty years or so. Apparently, modern moms spend more time with their kids than the mothers of the so-called "glory days" of the American housewife, yet still feel like they're not spending enough time with their offspring. Also, fathers are spending almost three times as much family time as they were back then.
TRS: Errands, Eggs, and an Encounter
We had a lot of adventures this weekend, dear reader. So, some of the events may not have their typical detail-oriented treatment you have come to expect from yours truly. I trust you will understand.
On Friday night I arrived home and almost immediately turned around to head out with my girls to do some errands. First, we had to head to Costco so I could look at outdoor chairs, and subsequently explain to my wife the concepts of permeability and water resistance. (She found chairs she liked because they would "let the water run through" and she could leave them outside all summer. I had to point out the absence of holes in the chairs. In all fairness, it had been a long week for her.)
After that we hit the pet store nearby. I had heard many tales of this magical pet store, where the kitties come to the windows ("but they won't get me, Daddy") and play with you. We spent quite a while staring at the kitties until a woman with a beautiful golden retriever came over and my munchkin nearly scaled my leg like a ferret to get away from the dog. It was a little frustrating that the woman did little to dissuade her over 60lb "puppy" from jumping at our daughter. (Why do some pet owners not get that no matter how well behaved or "child friendly" their animal is, some people are still uncomfortable?)
We capped off our evening of errands at the local mall, where we dropped cash on no fewer than four DVDs for the munchkin. (In our defence, one was a recently "back to the vault" Disney DVD (The Little Mermaid), one was an absolute necessity (a Paddington Bear video), and the other two were rarities). Oh, and we made a second attempt at visiting the Easter Bunny. Supposedly, there was near contact between the munchkin's hand and his, although I never saw it.
Saturday found us spending the day indoors, thanks to unfriendly weather. We spent the morning lounging around the house, watching television (aside: am I the only one who actually feels part of their brain oozing out of their ear when they watch the Teletubbies?) reading books and playing with toys. It's nice to spend time like that sometimes, just taking it easy with nothing really on the agenda.
In the afternoon we did our easter eggs. We used a colouring kit that came with a white crayon and six colouring cups with little dye pellets. When we first watched the munchkin "draw" on the eggs with this crayon, neither my wife nor I believed the wax would hold to the shell since she was so little and pressing so faintly. However, when they were done, we were pleasantly surprised. The only negative thing I can say about it is that you get so much capacity with the six colours that doing a dozen eggs (eight of which made it to colouring stage; four were lost to cracking and provided some lunch) seemed inadequate. But doing more seemed wasteful.
After we put the munchkin down, the wife and I did something we have never done before. You see, I have been cooking since I was ten or so (seriously; one day maybe I'll tell you about my childhood, or as I remember it, my training as a housewife). Subsequently, I've learned how to cook from instinct more than from recipes. I just know how to cook stuff, I cannot recall portions or amounts or ratios. A couple weeks ago she tried a new meatloaf recipe that both of us disliked. When I asked her why she did this one, she explained that she didn't have my recipe. So, Saturday night we sat at the kitchen table, her on one side with all the seasonings, me on the other with a bowl of ground beef. I asked for amounts of ingredients, and she added them after noting them on a paper. Some items were added two or three times to get the right proportions, but in the end she had a documented recipe for the meatloaf (which we ate Sunday for dinner, and she was pleased with). You can get the recipe on my wife's menu plan for this week.
Later that evening, we watched Gridion Gang, starring The Rock, my wife's newest favourite actor. She continues to marvel at his past as a wrestler ("He's just so likeable"). We really liked the film; it will probably be a purchase in the near future.
Being theladies man lucky guy, I am, I got to spend Sunday morning with five girls/women/females (not sure of the PC way to collectively refer to five females ranging in age from 19 months to over 30 years). My wife, the munchkin, and I met up with Ali and her two girls at a reptile zoo. While we spent the majority of the time chasing after our respective bunnies, it was cool to finally meet a blogger in real life. Our munchkin was a bit under the weather at first (she's fighting a cold) but she did enjoy dancing with Ali's girls in the empty theatre (which was far and away the favourite item at the zoo). And even though we didn't stay long enough to satisfy the lone male's desire to see a live feeding (all we got was some lame salad eating iguanas), it was still a good time. (And for those of you who are wondering, yes, she is as cool in person as on her blog.)
After we went our separate ways (Ali's little one was threatening to rub her eyes out she was so sleepy), we went shopping for rubber boots. We eventually found not just rubber boots, but green rubber boots that have frog faces on the toes, and a matching raincoat. We had to negotiate the munchkin back into her sneakers and spring coat just to get her home!
Upon returning home, we had another first: the munchkin used paints with brushes for the first time. Initially, she was very hesitant and just blotted the paper with the brush (of which there were four... one for each colour... how prepared it my wife?) but eventually she was whirling and swirling and having a grand old time.
That evening, my in-laws arrived again. The munchkin was excited to see them (and has not even learned that they will return again in six days for her birthday), and they to see her, so that was nice. And, as I mentioned above, my meatloaf was a success, so all ended well.
On Friday night I arrived home and almost immediately turned around to head out with my girls to do some errands. First, we had to head to Costco so I could look at outdoor chairs, and subsequently explain to my wife the concepts of permeability and water resistance. (She found chairs she liked because they would "let the water run through" and she could leave them outside all summer. I had to point out the absence of holes in the chairs. In all fairness, it had been a long week for her.)After that we hit the pet store nearby. I had heard many tales of this magical pet store, where the kitties come to the windows ("but they won't get me, Daddy") and play with you. We spent quite a while staring at the kitties until a woman with a beautiful golden retriever came over and my munchkin nearly scaled my leg like a ferret to get away from the dog. It was a little frustrating that the woman did little to dissuade her over 60lb "puppy" from jumping at our daughter. (Why do some pet owners not get that no matter how well behaved or "child friendly" their animal is, some people are still uncomfortable?)
We capped off our evening of errands at the local mall, where we dropped cash on no fewer than four DVDs for the munchkin. (In our defence, one was a recently "back to the vault" Disney DVD (The Little Mermaid), one was an absolute necessity (a Paddington Bear video), and the other two were rarities). Oh, and we made a second attempt at visiting the Easter Bunny. Supposedly, there was near contact between the munchkin's hand and his, although I never saw it.Saturday found us spending the day indoors, thanks to unfriendly weather. We spent the morning lounging around the house, watching television (aside: am I the only one who actually feels part of their brain oozing out of their ear when they watch the Teletubbies?) reading books and playing with toys. It's nice to spend time like that sometimes, just taking it easy with nothing really on the agenda.In the afternoon we did our easter eggs. We used a colouring kit that came with a white crayon and six colouring cups with little dye pellets. When we first watched the munchkin "draw" on the eggs with this crayon, neither my wife nor I believed the wax would hold to the shell since she was so little and pressing so faintly. However, when they were done, we were pleasantly surprised. The only negative thing I can say about it is that you get so much capacity with the six colours that doing a dozen eggs (eight of which made it to colouring stage; four were lost to cracking and provided some lunch) seemed inadequate. But doing more seemed wasteful.
After we put the munchkin down, the wife and I did something we have never done before. You see, I have been cooking since I was ten or so (seriously; one day maybe I'll tell you about my childhood, or as I remember it, my training as a housewife). Subsequently, I've learned how to cook from instinct more than from recipes. I just know how to cook stuff, I cannot recall portions or amounts or ratios. A couple weeks ago she tried a new meatloaf recipe that both of us disliked. When I asked her why she did this one, she explained that she didn't have my recipe. So, Saturday night we sat at the kitchen table, her on one side with all the seasonings, me on the other with a bowl of ground beef. I asked for amounts of ingredients, and she added them after noting them on a paper. Some items were added two or three times to get the right proportions, but in the end she had a documented recipe for the meatloaf (which we ate Sunday for dinner, and she was pleased with). You can get the recipe on my wife's menu plan for this week.Later that evening, we watched Gridion Gang, starring The Rock, my wife's newest favourite actor. She continues to marvel at his past as a wrestler ("He's just so likeable"). We really liked the film; it will probably be a purchase in the near future.Being the
After we went our separate ways (Ali's little one was threatening to rub her eyes out she was so sleepy), we went shopping for rubber boots. We eventually found not just rubber boots, but green rubber boots that have frog faces on the toes, and a matching raincoat. We had to negotiate the munchkin back into her sneakers and spring coat just to get her home!Upon returning home, we had another first: the munchkin used paints with brushes for the first time. Initially, she was very hesitant and just blotted the paper with the brush (of which there were four... one for each colour... how prepared it my wife?) but eventually she was whirling and swirling and having a grand old time.
That evening, my in-laws arrived TTS: Real Parents...
Laural tagged me for the "Real Moms" MeMe that has been making the rounds in the blogosphere recently. However, since I am by no means a Mom, I cannot speak with any knowledge on the subject, so I have taken the liberty of making it about "Real Parents".
Real parents know their child or children. They know their favourite book (usually by heart). They know what food they are most likely to eat at a restaurant. They know how to talk to them so that the child understands what is being said, and they know how to translate what their child is saying into words others can understand. They know their bedtime routines, and their morning routines and their little idiosyncratic routines.
Real parents know their child best; even when others offer advice, real parents know the right answer. They know what works and what doesn't. They know when to negotiate, and when to stand firm. They know when to offer help, and when to let them fend for themselves.
Real parents know that their children love them, and real parents know that they love their children. And they know that will never change.
I'm not going to "tag" anyone specifically, mainly because all the people I know have already done this. If you haven't, and want to, consider yourself tagged, leave me a comment here, and I will go visit.
Real parents know their child or children. They know their favourite book (usually by heart). They know what food they are most likely to eat at a restaurant. They know how to talk to them so that the child understands what is being said, and they know how to translate what their child is saying into words others can understand. They know their bedtime routines, and their morning routines and their little idiosyncratic routines.
Real parents know their child best; even when others offer advice, real parents know the right answer. They know what works and what doesn't. They know when to negotiate, and when to stand firm. They know when to offer help, and when to let them fend for themselves.
Real parents know that their children love them, and real parents know that they love their children. And they know that will never change.
I'm not going to "tag" anyone specifically, mainly because all the people I know have already done this. If you haven't, and want to, consider yourself tagged, leave me a comment here, and I will go visit.
THS: Disney Parent Blogs
In order to make any sense of this post, I strongly recommend you read about Disney's new parenting site.
The following is a list of blog ideas for the new Disney Parentpedia. It has been built from meeting minutes stolen from the Disney world headquarters.
Single Mom Corner
Author: Sarabi
Concept: After the death of her mate, Mufasa, Sarabi raised her son Simba on her own.Could be used as a vehicle to promote upcoming Disney Daycare project.
Status: Rejected. Apparently she had little to do with Simba's success, which is more due to a meerkat and warthog.
Discipline Through Song
Author: Mary Poppins
Concept: Advising parents how to use falsetto singing and prop-based dancing to raise their children.
Status: Rejected. Nobody needs more Mary Poppins, not even us.
The Family Business
Author: Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl
Concept: The Incredibles, a family that works together all day long fighting crime, shares the secrets for keeping their children in the family business.
Status: Rejected. Secret identities unknown.
Dads Raising Daughters
Author: King Triton
Concept: Triton, being (apparently) the single father of seven daughters, certainly should have some advice for other dads.
Status: Rejected. One child changed species; remainder appear vapid and/or brain damaged. Consider alternate approach for raising special needs children.
Cleaning Tips
Author: Cinderella
Concept: Prior to her marriage to Prince Charming, Cinderella was responsible for home maintenance at her step mother's chateau. She would share tips and tricks for housecleaning.
Status: Rejected. Believe princess can no longer relate to proletariat. Consider retooling for Mrs. Potts.
Finally, there's this MeMe making the rounds where you're supposed to list seven songs that you currently can't get enough of. No one "tagged" me for it, but since it's Friday (also known as "take it easy day") I thought I'd put out my list.
The following is a list of blog ideas for the new Disney Parentpedia. It has been built from meeting minutes stolen from the Disney world headquarters.
Single Mom Corner
Author: Sarabi
Concept: After the death of her mate, Mufasa, Sarabi raised her son Simba on her own.
Status: Rejected. Apparently she had little to do with Simba's success, which is more due to a meerkat and warthog.
Discipline Through Song
Author: Mary Poppins
Concept: Advising parents how to use falsetto singing and prop-based dancing to raise their children.
Status: Rejected. Nobody needs more Mary Poppins, not even us.
The Family Business
Author: Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl
Concept: The Incredibles, a family that works together all day long fighting crime, shares the secrets for keeping their children in the family business.
Status: Rejected. Secret identities unknown.
Dads Raising Daughters
Author: King Triton
Concept: Triton, being (apparently) the single father of seven daughters, certainly should have some advice for other dads.
Status: Rejected. One child changed species; remainder appear vapid and/or brain damaged. Consider alternate approach for raising special needs children.
Cleaning Tips
Author: Cinderella
Concept: Prior to her marriage to Prince Charming, Cinderella was responsible for home maintenance at her step mother's chateau. She would share tips and tricks for housecleaning.
Status: Rejected. Believe princess can no longer relate to proletariat. Consider retooling for Mrs. Potts.
Finally, there's this MeMe making the rounds where you're supposed to list seven songs that you currently can't get enough of. No one "tagged" me for it, but since it's Friday (also known as "take it easy day") I thought I'd put out my list.
TDS: It's Not Easy
Tuesday night, as the regular readers of my wife's blog know, it was Daddy's night in while Mommy went out.
Normally, I'm not at all reluctant to take care of my daughter. I like to think that I'm pretty good at the whole "taking care of my kid solo" thing, especially when I read and/or hear other horror stories (like the father who will call his mother to "come visit" whenever his wife leaves him alone with his kid). However, this time I was nervous. Between the recent time change (lousy farmers) and the two year molar that never seems to come in, my munchkin has been one big ball of "Mommy cuddles. Want Mommy cuddles. WANT MOMMY CUDDLES!"
It started out poorly. I arrived home from work to discover them cuddling in our bed. I was greeted as follows: "Hi Daddy. Come in bed please. I have Mommy cuddles. You stay over there." Great. I don't even get a hello kiss.
After dinner was over, we told her that Mommy would be going out, and Daddy would be taking care of her. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. She planned out what books I would read, and where I would read them. We waved good bye to Mommy and went upstairs to read and watch Treehouse.
After five minutes she announced that she was hungry. Uncertain as to the protocols for this (there's a set time after which we don't feed her for fear of puking when she cries - unfortunately that time seems to change with my wife's whim, like many things in my life) I called my wife on her cell and got the green light for some grapes. My daughter, ever the aware child, immediately concluded I was talking to her mother, and demanded to speak with her. After a brief chat wherein she told her to remind me to cut the grapes in half (duh), she hung up. I handed my daughter the bowl of cut grapes. She took one piece and gave it to me to eat. She picked up the second one and said it had a bruise. I tried to explain that it wasn't a bruise (it was the point where the stem was connected), but she insisted I cut it off. She then announced that she wanted to go back upstairs (note that no grapes were consumed).
We returned upstairs and goofed around with my cell phone's digital camera. We took pictures of her feet, and even let her run the video camera (she took it from me after I started it, then tried to "press the button" that stopped the recording). I've included her video at the bottom.
The remainder of the evening went relatively well (save for when the phone rang; it was a solicitor, but no matter what I said, she insisted it was Mommy, and began to cry because I wouldn't let her talk to the strange woman offering me "free fresh beef" - I'm not making that up). She tried to return to the main floor "to see Mommy", and when I explained that Mommy wasn't home, she then asked for a snack (knowing full well that snacks were downstairs - not yet two and already trying to manipulate me... what I am I in for?) A few more meltdowns around the basic theme of "I want Mommy" and I told her it was time for bed.
We brushed our teeth, got changed into our pajamas, filled her crib with books, cuddled, tucked her in, had a stall-tactic ("one more kiss"), and went to bed. She slept like an angel.
I went downstairs and sat in silence for a while. I know in my head that this is a phase, and the result of our family's reality (that my wife is a SAHM while I work out of the home). But it doesn't make it hurt any less when you feel unwanted. Sure, I know she loves me, and she will occasionally ask for me to play with her, but generally speaking I have to bait her (such as last night with a bath with me in "the big bathtub"). And then times like this morning, where we tried to let her cry it out for 30 minutes at 5am: when I went in to her room, she stood up, arms outstretched... as soon as I picked her up, she said "I want to see Mommy". No joy for seeing me, no "Hi Daddy", nothing. And I know I'm the adult, and not supposed to let it affect me, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
For those who are curious, she is saying "...by myself. I hold it by myself. No Daddy. Not your cell phone."
Normally, I'm not at all reluctant to take care of my daughter. I like to think that I'm pretty good at the whole "taking care of my kid solo" thing, especially when I read and/or hear other horror stories (like the father who will call his mother to "come visit" whenever his wife leaves him alone with his kid). However, this time I was nervous. Between the recent time change (lousy farmers) and the two year molar that never seems to come in, my munchkin has been one big ball of "Mommy cuddles. Want Mommy cuddles. WANT MOMMY CUDDLES!"
It started out poorly. I arrived home from work to discover them cuddling in our bed. I was greeted as follows: "Hi Daddy. Come in bed please. I have Mommy cuddles. You stay over there." Great. I don't even get a hello kiss.
After dinner was over, we told her that Mommy would be going out, and Daddy would be taking care of her. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. She planned out what books I would read, and where I would read them. We waved good bye to Mommy and went upstairs to read and watch Treehouse.After five minutes she announced that she was hungry. Uncertain as to the protocols for this (there's a set time after which we don't feed her for fear of puking when she cries - unfortunately that time seems to change with my wife's whim, like many things in my life) I called my wife on her cell and got the green light for some grapes. My daughter, ever the aware child, immediately concluded I was talking to her mother, and demanded to speak with her. After a brief chat wherein she told her to remind me to cut the grapes in half (duh), she hung up. I handed my daughter the bowl of cut grapes. She took one piece and gave it to me to eat. She picked up the second one and said it had a bruise. I tried to explain that it wasn't a bruise (it was the point where the stem was connected), but she insisted I cut it off. She then announced that she wanted to go back upstairs (note that no grapes were consumed).
We returned upstairs and goofed around with my cell phone's digital camera. We took pictures of her feet, and even let her run the video camera (she took it from me after I started it, then tried to "press the button" that stopped the recording). I've included her video at the bottom.
The remainder of the evening went relatively well (save for when the phone rang; it was a solicitor, but no matter what I said, she insisted it was Mommy, and began to cry because I wouldn't let her talk to the strange woman offering me "free fresh beef" - I'm not making that up). She tried to return to the main floor "to see Mommy", and when I explained that Mommy wasn't home, she then asked for a snack (knowing full well that snacks were downstairs - not yet two and already trying to manipulate me... what I am I in for?) A few more meltdowns around the basic theme of "I want Mommy" and I told her it was time for bed.We brushed our teeth, got changed into our pajamas, filled her crib with books, cuddled, tucked her in, had a stall-tactic ("one more kiss"), and went to bed. She slept like an angel.
I went downstairs and sat in silence for a while. I know in my head that this is a phase, and the result of our family's reality (that my wife is a SAHM while I work out of the home). But it doesn't make it hurt any less when you feel unwanted. Sure, I know she loves me, and she will occasionally ask for me to play with her, but generally speaking I have to bait her (such as last night with a bath with me in "the big bathtub"). And then times like this morning, where we tried to let her cry it out for 30 minutes at 5am: when I went in to her room, she stood up, arms outstretched... as soon as I picked her up, she said "I want to see Mommy". No joy for seeing me, no "Hi Daddy", nothing. And I know I'm the adult, and not supposed to let it affect me, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
For those who are curious, she is saying "...by myself. I hold it by myself. No Daddy. Not your cell phone."
TWS: I May Have Had The Plate, But...
At the end of April, 2006, I fell down the stairs while carrying my daughter. She was completely fine, however I was left with a fractured fibula and dislocated foot. After some surgery where they put a plate in my leg and a couple of nights in a hospital bed, I was discharged.
I spent the next two months living primarily on the second floor of my house. During the month of May I left twice for fracture clinic appointments (where I went from surgical cast to fiberglass to neoprene boot) and in June I left slightly more often, making a couple attempts at going into my office (which was on the second floor of an elevator-less building) and a few more clinic appointments (where I graduated to a splint).
During that time (the months of May and June) my wife and daughter were my only solace. My daughter, being just thirteen months when it all happened, was just excited to have me at home all the time. It was my wife that bore the brunt of the situation. Sure, my sisters came to visit for weekends sometimes and helped. And my in-laws came occasionally to watch our daughter while my wife tended to me (or other errands). But the bulk of, well, everything, fell on her shoulders.
She was the one who set alarms to wake up and give me pain medications because I was too drugged out to administer my own meds (and this was when our daughter was still doing at least one middle of the night feed per evening).
She was the one who fed the munchkin, bathed her, and put her to bed before cooking our dinner and carting it upstairs (usually in two or three trips) to eat with me in front of the television.
She was the one who had to clean the kitchen, do the laundry, put out the trash, and generally maintain the house.
She was the one who had to sponge bathe me because I was too scared to hop around in our shower and the bath chair we had made me nervous.
She was the one who had to help me use the bathroom.
She was the one who had to entertain a blossoming toddler knowing that her partner was upstairs, within earshot and unable to join in.
She was the one who had to deal with someone who, since the age of 19, had decided that depending on someone, on anyone for anything, was a sign of weakness.
She was the one who had to hold her breath every time I descended the stairs on my bum, hoping that I didn't come down too quickly.
She was the one who had to listen to me tell her that every day I spent in bed I died a little inside.
She was the one who, through all this, was going through weaning our daughter from the breast.
I didn't appreciate her enough for it at the time. I tried to thank her, but no words or actions seemed adequate. She sloughed off my praise and argued that I did the same for her when our daughter was born and she was recovering from the c-section. But I didn't. It was nowhere near the same degree nor duration.
No matter what happens for the rest of our marriage, I will always "owe her one". And even though we don't keep score, I do.
Thank you, sweetheart.
I spent the next two months living primarily on the second floor of my house. During the month of May I left twice for fracture clinic appointments (where I went from surgical cast to fiberglass to neoprene boot) and in June I left slightly more often, making a couple attempts at going into my office (which was on the second floor of an elevator-less building) and a few more clinic appointments (where I graduated to a splint).
During that time (the months of May and June) my wife and daughter were my only solace. My daughter, being just thirteen months when it all happened, was just excited to have me at home all the time. It was my wife that bore the brunt of the situation. Sure, my sisters came to visit for weekends sometimes and helped. And my in-laws came occasionally to watch our daughter while my wife tended to me (or other errands). But the bulk of, well, everything, fell on her shoulders.
She was the one who set alarms to wake up and give me pain medications because I was too drugged out to administer my own meds (and this was when our daughter was still doing at least one middle of the night feed per evening).
She was the one who fed the munchkin, bathed her, and put her to bed before cooking our dinner and carting it upstairs (usually in two or three trips) to eat with me in front of the television.
She was the one who had to clean the kitchen, do the laundry, put out the trash, and generally maintain the house.
She was the one who had to sponge bathe me because I was too scared to hop around in our shower and the bath chair we had made me nervous.
She was the one who had to help me use the bathroom.
She was the one who had to entertain a blossoming toddler knowing that her partner was upstairs, within earshot and unable to join in.
She was the one who had to deal with someone who, since the age of 19, had decided that depending on someone, on anyone for anything, was a sign of weakness.
She was the one who had to hold her breath every time I descended the stairs on my bum, hoping that I didn't come down too quickly.
She was the one who had to listen to me tell her that every day I spent in bed I died a little inside.
She was the one who, through all this, was going through weaning our daughter from the breast.
I didn't appreciate her enough for it at the time. I tried to thank her, but no words or actions seemed adequate. She sloughed off my praise and argued that I did the same for her when our daughter was born and she was recovering from the c-section. But I didn't. It was nowhere near the same degree nor duration.
No matter what happens for the rest of our marriage, I will always "owe her one". And even though we don't keep score, I do.
Thank you, sweetheart.
TNS: Delaying Divorce And ADHD Misdiagnosis
Today I will be covering two articles I found this week.
First, there is a proposed law in Tennessee that would require couples with children to wait up to 12 months before divorcing. In the proposal, any married couple with a child under the age of 15 would have to wait a year after filing for divorce before the process could be finalized. For those with children between 15 and 18, the period is reduced to six months.
The theory behind the proposal appears to be that a child is better served having two parents who no longer want to be together than to live with two (theoretically) happier parents who do not live together. However, many studies have shown that children are affected by the moods of their parents. Is a child really better off in a house where two people have at a minimum lost affection for each other, or at the other extreme, have tremendous animosity toward one another? Or would they be happier in homes where the parents have moved forward to living their own separate lives?
Divorce rates are high; according to an online reference, in the US more than half of all marriages end in divorce. However, forcing couples that have already spent time deciding to get a divorce to stay together for another year is not the answer. Realistically, if someone is in a marriage that begins to show signs of trouble, they may even be more likely to file for divorce prematurely in such a legal climate, since the procedure takes so long. Instead of forcing couples who are already on the road to divorce to remain married in the hopes of a reconciliation, what would be more effective is a series of court-ordered couples therapy sessions. For example, a couple would not be able to finalize their divorce without a minimum number of hours of therapy logged.
The other article I wanted to talk about today comes from the UK, and raises a question I have raised myself: is bad behaviour over-medicalized as ADHD? The article cites statistics that ADHD drugs have tripled in use since 1993, and that one in 20 children is thought to have one form of ADHD or another.
ADHD diagnosis is not a medical test. It is a subjective identification made by assessing the child by a series of questions. The subjectivity of the identification process makes it prone to error, even by trained professionals. The problem is that many medical professionals are using the questionnaire without proper training or understanding of the disorder and are subsequently misdiagnosing many children. For instance, I am not a medical professional, but following the instructions in the above assessment criteria I determined that my daughter has type 1B ADHD. However, I I don't think she has ADHD; she is almost two years old and is a toddler. She interrupts us all the time. She cannot focus on anything. However, according to the diagnostics, the "symptoms" have to appear before the age of seven. Every child exhibits these traits before the age of seven!
Some of the identifiers for ADHD can easily be misunderstood. Many young children have a hard time waiting their turn. Most kids I know would avoid homework if their parents didn't force them to do it. A lot of kids forget or get easily distracted. And using terms such as "often" only complicates the matter. What is "often"? Is it three out of four instances? Is it more frequent? Is it at least half the time? None of this is covered in the clinical diagnostics.
As one expert in the article states: ADHD is a serious disorder, the key word being disorder. Disorders are not environmental. A child with ADHD isn't hyper at school but an angel at home, or vice versa. The symptoms are pervasive; they impact every aspect of the child's life.
I am not trying to dismiss all cases of ADHD as absurdity. It is a very real disorder with very real problems. However, it is my belief that it is, more often than not, misappropriated to explain away poor behaviour by parents who do not want to accept the fact that what they are doing is ineffective. If a child misbehaves, instead of trying to look at causes for restlessness and hyperactivity at school (such as say, letting them watch television from the moment they get home until thye go to bed) it is far easier on the parents' ego to say the child has a disorder - that it's not their (the parents') fault.
Here is a list of parenting "don'ts" that everyone should read, not because they are particularly groundbreaking or helpful, but because the author genuinely believes this to be advice instead of common sense. The article opens with, "I wish I'd had a copy of such a list when I was parenting youngsters." But then goes on to include such tips as, "Don't throw things, especially at your children" or my personal favourite, "Don't drink excessively or use illegal drugs". Crap, so sharing crystal meth with my toddler isn't being a good parent? Man, those standards are impossibly high. (Pun intended.)
A somber reminder that parents need to teach their child to call 911 in case of an emergency. A six year old boy lived for two days in his family's apartment with his father dead on the couch. He was told never to leave home without permission, but was never taught to call 911.
A new bill would criminalize leaving a child unattended in a car in Florida. Apparently, at the present time, Florida law has more severe punishments for leaving animals in cars than children.
Finally, we have this report, which has found that children wearing superhero costumes are more likely to be injured. Here's what I want to know: how did the study to produce this report get funding, and how can I access some of that money to do my own research on statistical probabilities of getting laid while wearing a Star Trek uniform at an American college?
First, there is a proposed law in Tennessee that would require couples with children to wait up to 12 months before divorcing. In the proposal, any married couple with a child under the age of 15 would have to wait a year after filing for divorce before the process could be finalized. For those with children between 15 and 18, the period is reduced to six months.
The theory behind the proposal appears to be that a child is better served having two parents who no longer want to be together than to live with two (theoretically) happier parents who do not live together. However, many studies have shown that children are affected by the moods of their parents. Is a child really better off in a house where two people have at a minimum lost affection for each other, or at the other extreme, have tremendous animosity toward one another? Or would they be happier in homes where the parents have moved forward to living their own separate lives?
Divorce rates are high; according to an online reference, in the US more than half of all marriages end in divorce. However, forcing couples that have already spent time deciding to get a divorce to stay together for another year is not the answer. Realistically, if someone is in a marriage that begins to show signs of trouble, they may even be more likely to file for divorce prematurely in such a legal climate, since the procedure takes so long. Instead of forcing couples who are already on the road to divorce to remain married in the hopes of a reconciliation, what would be more effective is a series of court-ordered couples therapy sessions. For example, a couple would not be able to finalize their divorce without a minimum number of hours of therapy logged.
The other article I wanted to talk about today comes from the UK, and raises a question I have raised myself: is bad behaviour over-medicalized as ADHD? The article cites statistics that ADHD drugs have tripled in use since 1993, and that one in 20 children is thought to have one form of ADHD or another.
ADHD diagnosis is not a medical test. It is a subjective identification made by assessing the child by a series of questions. The subjectivity of the identification process makes it prone to error, even by trained professionals. The problem is that many medical professionals are using the questionnaire without proper training or understanding of the disorder and are subsequently misdiagnosing many children. For instance, I am not a medical professional, but following the instructions in the above assessment criteria I determined that my daughter has type 1B ADHD. However, I I don't think she has ADHD; she is almost two years old and is a toddler. She interrupts us all the time. She cannot focus on anything. However, according to the diagnostics, the "symptoms" have to appear before the age of seven. Every child exhibits these traits before the age of seven!
Some of the identifiers for ADHD can easily be misunderstood. Many young children have a hard time waiting their turn. Most kids I know would avoid homework if their parents didn't force them to do it. A lot of kids forget or get easily distracted. And using terms such as "often" only complicates the matter. What is "often"? Is it three out of four instances? Is it more frequent? Is it at least half the time? None of this is covered in the clinical diagnostics.
As one expert in the article states: ADHD is a serious disorder, the key word being disorder. Disorders are not environmental. A child with ADHD isn't hyper at school but an angel at home, or vice versa. The symptoms are pervasive; they impact every aspect of the child's life.
I am not trying to dismiss all cases of ADHD as absurdity. It is a very real disorder with very real problems. However, it is my belief that it is, more often than not, misappropriated to explain away poor behaviour by parents who do not want to accept the fact that what they are doing is ineffective. If a child misbehaves, instead of trying to look at causes for restlessness and hyperactivity at school (such as say, letting them watch television from the moment they get home until thye go to bed) it is far easier on the parents' ego to say the child has a disorder - that it's not their (the parents') fault.
The Brief Side
Here is a list of parenting "don'ts" that everyone should read, not because they are particularly groundbreaking or helpful, but because the author genuinely believes this to be advice instead of common sense. The article opens with, "I wish I'd had a copy of such a list when I was parenting youngsters." But then goes on to include such tips as, "Don't throw things, especially at your children" or my personal favourite, "Don't drink excessively or use illegal drugs". Crap, so sharing crystal meth with my toddler isn't being a good parent? Man, those standards are impossibly high. (Pun intended.)
A somber reminder that parents need to teach their child to call 911 in case of an emergency. A six year old boy lived for two days in his family's apartment with his father dead on the couch. He was told never to leave home without permission, but was never taught to call 911.
A new bill would criminalize leaving a child unattended in a car in Florida. Apparently, at the present time, Florida law has more severe punishments for leaving animals in cars than children.
Finally, we have this report, which has found that children wearing superhero costumes are more likely to be injured. Here's what I want to know: how did the study to produce this report get funding, and how can I access some of that money to do my own research on statistical probabilities of getting laid while wearing a Star Trek uniform at an American college?
TRS: Shopping and Sugar
On Friday after I got out of work a little early, we went to the mall to blow some cash shop. While we were walking around the mall, we discovered some bunny paw prints on the floor. In those paw prints were instructions to finding an Easter Bunny display. We asked the munchkin if she wanted to go see the Easter Bunny, and sit on his lap. She said that she wanted to ask him to bring her an Easter basket. So, we walked over to see him. Unfortunately, the sight of a six foot tall bunny with a disproportionately large head struck fear into her little heart and she clung to Mommy for dear life (as Daddy sat back and captured the moment with his trusty mobile phone).
Last weekend my parents gave my niece $20 to spend on her little March Break vacation she was taking with a friend and their family. My parents, ever the ones to be fair, also gave $20 to my nephew and to my munchkin to buy themselves something. So, we decided to take the opportunity and let our little one shop, more or less for real. We took her to the toy store in the mall and essentially let her run loose. If she chose something that was outside her budget, we explained it was too much money, and she put it back. At various points during the one hour shopping excursion, she had decided upon:
Ultimately, she chose the mp3 player and the small ball, and her bill came to $19.36; just under the budget. She was so excited to have her own radio. Sure, it plays ten seconds of six songs. Sure only one song plays each time you press the play button. But it has buttons; four of them, to be exact. And they all do something. We had to negotiate keeping it out of the crib that night, she loved it so much.
On Saturday we got up bright and early and went to Ikea to look for "a few" miscellaneous items. We came out with:
AfterIkea threatened to bankrupt me we left Ikea, we went to get some lunch. It was at this point that we realized it was St. Patrick's Day, and that we had failed to dress our little one in green (her favourite colour) and had forgotten to give her a new green hat we had for her. Once we had lamented that sufficiently (because, you know, you have to lament when you forget something, right?) we went to seek solace the only way three girls people can: we shopped for shoes! Oh glorious day. If I ever thought shopping for shoes with my wife was difficult, I no longer think so. You see, dear reader, shopping for shoes with my daughter means we have to confirm that a) the shoes meet her approval b) the shoes meet her mother's approval and c) the shoes meet her mother's pricing approval (since apparently there is some upper threshold of pricing above which is "just too much" for children's shoes). I am happy to report that we escaped left the store with shoes for the munchkin and a pair of board shoes for yours truly that were so cheap I had to have them.
We returned home for an afternoon of college hoops interspersed with "Daddy please put on Treehouse." Good times, I tell you. After a little while of that game, we decided to head upstairs for even more fun by adding the three of us cuddling in bed to it. Allow me to explain something to my limited male readership: NCAA weekend #1 + wife + toddler + pile of books + three stuffed animals = no basketball coverage. In the end, my munchkin was so cranky that we decided to try a nap. And in my infinite wisdom, I decided to nap with her. What followed was over an hour of this:
"Mommy cuddles." sob
"Mommy is downstairs. Please try and have a rest, sweetheart."
"Go downstairs wiff Mommy." wail
"Please try and have a rest, sweetheart. Then we can go downstairs."
I even tried singingpoorly. What I learned is that I sing "Fly Me To The Moon" entirely too much to my kid: she was singing along with me! I eventually acquiesced and we went downstairs to find Mommy.
After dinner, Mommy decided to surprise us with green milkshakes! The little munchkin was so excited to have a green beverage (and to mooch from her mother and I, who had different flavoured ones, compared to her vanilla). I think she had more sugar in that dessert than she had in a while, but it was a hoot to watch.
Then, all hopped up on food colouring, we did something we had never done before. We all piled into the munchkin's Snap-Up tent. All.three.of.us. We lasted maybe five minutes before the air got to us (no, nobody farted) and we had to evacuate. It was fun, but I doubt we'll be repeating the experience anytime soon.
After her bath, the three of us sat in bed andprevented me from catching five minutes of hoops read stories and cuddled. And then, something wonderful happened. You see, the little munchkin isn't one for having her teeth cleaned, let alone flossed, so my wife developed this "dentist" character who speaks in a high pitched voice with a snooty British accent. She always opens with "Hello, my pretty" as a cue that "the dentist" has arrived, and it always gets a giggle and a wide open toddler mouth. So, there we were, all in bed horsing around, when my daughter goes, "Hello, my pretty" in toddler-speak with a faux-Brit accent. I laughed so hard I nearly fell out of the bed. I couldn't catch my breath to the point where my daughter was actually concerned for my well-being, and my wife had to calm her and tell her I was OK. Then we got her to do the voice a few more times and I bust a gut laughing at her again.
After the munchkin was safely tucked away in bed, my wife and I sat down to watch The Departed. All I really have to say about it is this: it certainly deserved the Best Picture Oscar. It was well written, well acted, and excellently shot. We thoroughly enjoyed it. As a little bonus for me, I caught the last half of The Fountainhead on AMC. I had forgotten how good that story was, and now have the book on my list to re-read one of these days.
Sunday was pretty tame by all accounts. I slept in, courtesy of my wonderful wife, and after a lazy morning we went to a birthday party for a little friend of the munchkin's (who, coincidentally, is a daughter of a good friend of my wife's - isn't it amazing how those things work out?). The munchkin absolutely loved getting dressed up in her "princess dress" and and going to the party, where I think she ate her weight in watermelon, canteloupe and cupcakes. She was so hopped up on sugar that she didn't sleep for the whole 45 minute drive home afterward, and instead decided to disrobe of anything she could (while still remaining in her car seat).
this is about as close as we got to the Easter Bunny
- a tool kit
- a Thomas the Tank Engine train (the green one, Percy)
- a toy laptop
- a toy remote control
- a flashlight
- a toy mp3 player
- a large ball
- a small ball
Ultimately, she chose the mp3 player and the small ball, and her bill came to $19.36; just under the budget. She was so excited to have her own radio. Sure, it plays ten seconds of six songs. Sure only one song plays each time you press the play button. But it has buttons; four of them, to be exact. And they all do something. We had to negotiate keeping it out of the crib that night, she loved it so much.
this is her new "mp3 player"
- a leaf canopy
- three circular lime green rugs
- a wooden train set
- a shoehorn
- a whole bunch of new ideas that will invariably cost me more money at some future shopping date
After
making a birthday card for our friend
"Mommy cuddles." sob
"Mommy is downstairs. Please try and have a rest, sweetheart."
"Go downstairs wiff Mommy." wail
"Please try and have a rest, sweetheart. Then we can go downstairs."
I even tried singing
dancing in our party dress
Then, all hopped up on food colouring, we did something we had never done before. We all piled into the munchkin's Snap-Up tent. All.three.of.us. We lasted maybe five minutes before the air got to us (no, nobody farted) and we had to evacuate. It was fun, but I doubt we'll be repeating the experience anytime soon.
After her bath, the three of us sat in bed and
showing off the back of our pretty dress
Sunday was pretty tame by all accounts. I slept in, courtesy of my wonderful wife, and after a lazy morning we went to a birthday party for a little friend of the munchkin's (who, coincidentally, is a daughter of a good friend of my wife's - isn't it amazing how those things work out?). The munchkin absolutely loved getting dressed up in her "princess dress" and and going to the party, where I think she ate her weight in watermelon, canteloupe and cupcakes. She was so hopped up on sugar that she didn't sleep for the whole 45 minute drive home afterward, and instead decided to disrobe of anything she could (while still remaining in her car seat).
THS: Curious George Speaks Out
What follows is a transcript from a never-aired edition of VH1's Behind the Words: Curious George.
A ragged George sits, facing an unseen interviewer. He takes a drag of a cigarette and after exhaling, begins to speak.
George: I was born in the jungle. I had a good life there. I ate bananas, I hung out with friends. I even had a name. It can't be spoken in your language, but a rough translation of it would be, "he who can throw feces with great accuracy".
Narrator: But that ability couldn't save George from what was about to happen.
George: So one day, I'm resting on a pile of leaves after a few bananas when all of a sudden I feel this sharp pain in my hip. Just before I pass out I see a dart sicking out of my ass, and a blur moving towards me. Yeah that's right, they did me like that, with a tranquilizer dart. And it wasn't The Man In The Yellow Hat either. He couldn't hit water falling out of a boat.
Narrator: George awoke to find a shirtless Man In The Yellow Hat standing over him.
a hazy, out of focus recreation shows a tall man in a white tank top and yellow pants standing over a cowering monkey strapped to a chair
Man In The Yellow Hat: Your name is George.
George: I am Shit Thrower.
The Man In The Yellow Hat throws water on the monkey
Man In The Yellow Hat: Your name is George.
George: I... am... SHIT THROWER!
The scene fades out as a loud shriek is heard. When the scene fades back in, a defeated monkey is shown, head hanging low, still strapped to the chair.
Narrator: It took several days, but The Man In the Yellow Hat finally won.
Man In The Yellow Hat: What is your name?
George: I am George.
return to George facing the unseen interviewer
George: After that, I did what they wanted. I rode a bike. I flew a kite. I was their trained monkey. They kept me locked up and never let me talk to anyone.
Narrator: But then one day, he got an idea.
George: They used to reward me with activities. One day, they gave me a puzzle to assemble, figuring I was too stupid to be able to put it together. So I swallowed a puzzle piece. I thought if they believed I was in danger they'd take me to a doctor, and I was right. They took me to the hospital to have the piece surgically removed. I tried to tell the doctors I was being held captive, but no one would listen.
Narrator: After that incident, George was determined to escape.
George: I tried everything: train, dump truck, and even a hot air balloon. Nothing worked. I would escape into the forest, and they would bring me back. I would get to a new city and they would find me and bring me back.
Narrator: And every time George did something, they wrote a book about it, and made money from its sales.
George: I have not seen one red cent from those book sales. Cheap bastards never paid me anything.
Narrator: Eventually, the market went soft, and the books didn't sell.
George: I'm still not sure why they kept me alive after they stopped selling books.
Narrator: But then one day, a call came.
George: They wanted to make a feature film, starring me.
Narrator: The only problem was, they felt his look wasn't right for the big screen.
George: So they asked me how I felt about plastic surgery. I said I would do anything as long as I didn't have to live like this anymore, and if I didn't have to work with The Man In The Yellow Hat. They agreed.
Narrator: There were seventeen surgeries in all. Facial reconstruction, rhinoplasty, cheek implants, and many others.
George: I was in pain for weeks. I was popping so many vicodin there wasn't enough room in my stomach for bananas.
Narrator: Eventually, the surgeries healed, and the pain stopped. But the vicodin didn't.
George: They figured out that when I was on vicodin, I wasn't as likely to run away. So, they kept slipping them into my bananas.
Narrator: When George finally arrived on set for the filming, he learned that just like everyone else in his life, the movie producers had lied.
George: I get there, and who's the first person I see? The Man In The Yellow Hat. I tried to run, but all the vicodin in my system just made me sit there and piss on myself.
Narrator: And so they filmed the movie with George hopped up on vicodin. But George got the last laugh.
George: The last scene? The one where we fly in the rocket? That wasn't planned. I bribed the prop guys to fuel the rocket, and figured I'd get away once and for all. But the Man In The Yellow Hat got in at the last second. My lawyer tells me I'm not supposed to talk about what happened when the rocket landed.
Narrator: No one knows what happened when the rocket landed. The Man In The Yellow Hat has not been seen since he left the museum, and George insists that he knows nothing of his whereabouts.
cut to scene of George playing peek-a-boo with a large yellow hat in front of a mirror as the screen fades to black
A ragged George sits, facing an unseen interviewer. He takes a drag of a cigarette and after exhaling, begins to speak.
George: I was born in the jungle. I had a good life there. I ate bananas, I hung out with friends. I even had a name. It can't be spoken in your language, but a rough translation of it would be, "he who can throw feces with great accuracy".
Narrator: But that ability couldn't save George from what was about to happen.
Curious George before the plastic surgery
Narrator: George awoke to find a shirtless Man In The Yellow Hat standing over him.
a hazy, out of focus recreation shows a tall man in a white tank top and yellow pants standing over a cowering monkey strapped to a chair
Man In The Yellow Hat: Your name is George.
George: I am Shit Thrower.
The Man In The Yellow Hat throws water on the monkey
Man In The Yellow Hat: Your name is George.
George: I... am... SHIT THROWER!
The scene fades out as a loud shriek is heard. When the scene fades back in, a defeated monkey is shown, head hanging low, still strapped to the chair.
Narrator: It took several days, but The Man In the Yellow Hat finally won.
Man In The Yellow Hat: What is your name?
George: I am George.
return to George facing the unseen interviewer
George: After that, I did what they wanted. I rode a bike. I flew a kite. I was their trained monkey. They kept me locked up and never let me talk to anyone.
Narrator: But then one day, he got an idea.
George: They used to reward me with activities. One day, they gave me a puzzle to assemble, figuring I was too stupid to be able to put it together. So I swallowed a puzzle piece. I thought if they believed I was in danger they'd take me to a doctor, and I was right. They took me to the hospital to have the piece surgically removed. I tried to tell the doctors I was being held captive, but no one would listen.
Narrator: After that incident, George was determined to escape.
George: I tried everything: train, dump truck, and even a hot air balloon. Nothing worked. I would escape into the forest, and they would bring me back. I would get to a new city and they would find me and bring me back.
Narrator: And every time George did something, they wrote a book about it, and made money from its sales.
George: I have not seen one red cent from those book sales. Cheap bastards never paid me anything.
Narrator: Eventually, the market went soft, and the books didn't sell.
George: I'm still not sure why they kept me alive after they stopped selling books.
Narrator: But then one day, a call came.
George: They wanted to make a feature film, starring me.
Narrator: The only problem was, they felt his look wasn't right for the big screen.
Curious George after the plastic surgery
Narrator: There were seventeen surgeries in all. Facial reconstruction, rhinoplasty, cheek implants, and many others.
George: I was in pain for weeks. I was popping so many vicodin there wasn't enough room in my stomach for bananas.
Narrator: Eventually, the surgeries healed, and the pain stopped. But the vicodin didn't.
George: They figured out that when I was on vicodin, I wasn't as likely to run away. So, they kept slipping them into my bananas.
Narrator: When George finally arrived on set for the filming, he learned that just like everyone else in his life, the movie producers had lied.
George: I get there, and who's the first person I see? The Man In The Yellow Hat. I tried to run, but all the vicodin in my system just made me sit there and piss on myself.
Narrator: And so they filmed the movie with George hopped up on vicodin. But George got the last laugh.
George: The last scene? The one where we fly in the rocket? That wasn't planned. I bribed the prop guys to fuel the rocket, and figured I'd get away once and for all. But the Man In The Yellow Hat got in at the last second. My lawyer tells me I'm not supposed to talk about what happened when the rocket landed.
Narrator: No one knows what happened when the rocket landed. The Man In The Yellow Hat has not been seen since he left the museum, and George insists that he knows nothing of his whereabouts.
cut to scene of George playing peek-a-boo with a large yellow hat in front of a mirror as the screen fades to black
TDS: Spring Has (Temporarily) Sprung
A couple of nights ago, we finished dinner earlier than usual and decided to take the opportunity presented by the unseasonably warm March weather and go outside for a walk to get the mail. (For perspective, this was the first post-dinner excursion since a mid-December wagon ride that took upwards of a half an hour to bundle the munchkin for.)
So, we dressed her in her fall/spring jacket and boots, put on a warm (bunny) hat, and set off for the mailbox at the end of our street. The air was warm and a little moist from all the snow thawing everywhere. The sun had not set but was not hanging very high in the sky either. We crossed the street to get to the sidewalk on the other side and began our slow trek to get the mail. Along the way we stopped to look at sidewalk paintings, puddles, melting snow, and piles of sand from a season of snowfall.
But what was remarkable to me was, when walking behind my daughter, how much she had changed. When we last had her in that coat in October, it hung low on her - maybe around the middle of her thighs. Now, as she walked, I could see the pockets on the back of her jeans. Her little legs appeared longer because of the shorter jacket, and her gait, while somewhat awkward because of the boots, was far more assured than the one she was sporting the previous fall.
And as we walked, we talked about everything we saw (although admittedly mostly about the paint on the sidewalk, even long after we had passed it) and I realized how much her vocabulary has improved since we last explored the neighbourhood as a family. My baby wasn't my baby anymore. She was my little girl.
We got home and took out the sidewalk chalk. Armed with a piece in each hand (as she is apt to do with markers, crayons, and if we'd let her, paintbrushes) she set to work making marks on the driveway. Last fall, she was able to make short, one centimeter marks on the pavement. Now she was making lines and hoops and scribbles. She quickly grew tired of the chalk, and returned to the garage in search of other activities, emerging with a ball and a hybrid riding/push toy that we got at a garage sale last May.
As we played a variation of sidewalk soccer with a zamboni, our neighbour came out with his daughter (about seven months younger than ours) to make the same trip to get the mail. Upon their return, they joined us for some outdoor play. Eventually her older brother (who recently turned four) came over as well, and the three kids played while the three adults tried desperately to make sure no one ate the muddy snow, licked the sandy ball, ran out into the street, or sat in a puddle.
We stayed out there for nearly an hour, playing in the driveway and talking about nothing in particular. I watched my daughter try to grasp socializing with someone significantly younger than her, who couldn't speak or respond to most of her requests or suggestions, and then try to keep up with someone much older than her. She would sometimes grow frustrated and try to claim all toys as her own, as kids often do, and she sometimes would play by herself. But she also tried to play with the other kids. And I marveled at how aware she has become of the world around her in such a short time.
So, we dressed her in her fall/spring jacket and boots, put on a warm (bunny) hat, and set off for the mailbox at the end of our street. The air was warm and a little moist from all the snow thawing everywhere. The sun had not set but was not hanging very high in the sky either. We crossed the street to get to the sidewalk on the other side and began our slow trek to get the mail. Along the way we stopped to look at sidewalk paintings, puddles, melting snow, and piles of sand from a season of snowfall. But what was remarkable to me was, when walking behind my daughter, how much she had changed. When we last had her in that coat in October, it hung low on her - maybe around the middle of her thighs. Now, as she walked, I could see the pockets on the back of her jeans. Her little legs appeared longer because of the shorter jacket, and her gait, while somewhat awkward because of the boots, was far more assured than the one she was sporting the previous fall.
And as we walked, we talked about everything we saw (although admittedly mostly about the paint on the sidewalk, even long after we had passed it) and I realized how much her vocabulary has improved since we last explored the neighbourhood as a family. My baby wasn't my baby anymore. She was my little girl.We got home and took out the sidewalk chalk. Armed with a piece in each hand (as she is apt to do with markers, crayons, and if we'd let her, paintbrushes) she set to work making marks on the driveway. Last fall, she was able to make short, one centimeter marks on the pavement. Now she was making lines and hoops and scribbles. She quickly grew tired of the chalk, and returned to the garage in search of other activities, emerging with a ball and a hybrid riding/push toy that we got at a garage sale last May.
As we played a variation of sidewalk soccer with a zamboni, our neighbour came out with his daughter (about seven months younger than ours) to make the same trip to get the mail. Upon their return, they joined us for some outdoor play. Eventually her older brother (who recently turned four) came over as well, and the three kids played while the three adults tried desperately to make sure no one ate the muddy snow, licked the sandy ball, ran out into the street, or sat in a puddle.We stayed out there for nearly an hour, playing in the driveway and talking about nothing in particular. I watched my daughter try to grasp socializing with someone significantly younger than her, who couldn't speak or respond to most of her requests or suggestions, and then try to keep up with someone much older than her. She would sometimes grow frustrated and try to claim all toys as her own, as kids often do, and she sometimes would play by herself. But she also tried to play with the other kids. And I marveled at how aware she has become of the world around her in such a short time.
TWS: Reception Hall Fun
When my wife and I got engaged in early May of 2002, and scheduled a wedding date in July of 2003, I wrongly assumed that we would have a little bit of engagement bliss before we got into the thing I was terrified of actual planning of the wedding. Little did I know that booking things like a hall and a church and a DJ were such pressing matters, not to mention other things. This is the story of how we determined where our reception would be held.
Like any couple, we were in full "wedding mode" at that time of our lives. Friends and relatives were getting married at an incredible pace, and many of them were locally celebrated. This allowed us tocritique check out various banquet facilities and halls and choose based on more than a visit with the manager. We ate the food, we saw how much liquor the bar had at last call, we saw how special dietary needs were handled by the servers, et cetera.
One location was a particular favourite. It was Italian (we both agreed an Italian meal was preferable even though I am the only one of Italian decent) and we had thoroughly enjoyed our meal there. Plus, it was very close to a couple hotels (a necessity since the majority of my side was coming from out of town). So, after checking out a bunch of places in a variety of areas of the city, we settled on this particular Italian place and went in to start talking about the details.
We chose our meal, our linens, our house wine and agreed on a per-head price. Everything was settled in a matter of maybe an hour. They had everything we needed and all we had to do was say "yes" or "no". I heaved a huge sigh of relief, looked at the calendar (it was early July) and felt satisfied.
In November I was driving home from the plant I was contracted to work at (it was a 45 minute drive without traffic; over an hour on most days) when my cell phone rang.
"Hello?"
muffled sobs, interspersed with heaving and sniffling
"Hello? Who is this?"
more sobs
"It's me."
"Sweetheart? Are you OK? Are you hurt? What's going on?"
"No." sob "I am not OK." sniff, snort
"Ohmygod ohmygod... what happened?"
Wailing sobs, coupled with deep heaving
"Are you OK? Are you hurt?"
"I'm," sniff, sniff "not," sniff, sniff "hurt."
"OK. Do you want to hang up?"
"OK."
"I love..."
click
"you."
The remainder of the drive was torture. Was she OK? What was going on?Is dinner going to be ready? What would I find when I got home?
I parked my car and walked into our apartment. She collapsed in my arms in a heap of tears, snot and swollen eyes. She calmed herself enough to let me take off my coat and boots, and then the profanity started.
"What's going on?" I asked.
more profanity
"Hon, please tell me what is going on."
uncontrollable sobbing resumes
"Oh no! Please stay calm. Please stay calm."
"Our... hall... is... Chinese!"
"What?"
"They... sold... to... a... Chinese Restaurant."
"You're kidding."
"I can't believe this. It's my wedding. Why are they doing this to me?"
"In all fairness, I don't think they are doing this to you..."
in a voice so demonic I still cannot believe it came from her, "What?"
"Nothing."
So I listened to the voicemail from the hall (not much there) and then listened to her detail the phone conversation she had with the manager/owner. I called the hall the next day and talked to them candidly. I explained that I had no interest in sweet and sour chicken parmigiana, and wanted out. All that remained to discuss was our deposit. I agreed that we would come out and meet with the new owners along with the ones we dealt with. We met and talked, and despite their best efforts, we wanted a clean break (mainly there was just no trust anymore, and we needed to get out) so we (fortunately) got our deposit back.
"Now we don't have anything," she sobbed as we sat in the parking lot of the hall we had just canceled.
"We have everything we had this morning, just no hall."
"But the hall is everything."
"It's OK. We'll be OK." (I may or may not have been rocking back and forth at this point.)
So there we were, in the middle of November, without a hall for our midsummer wedding, in a town where booking a year in advance is considered last minute. We started to call around, and many of the places were booked. We began considering alternatives neither of us wanted (outdoors, atypical locations such as private school dining halls) and then one day, on a lark, my wife called a place that labeled itself a "ballroom" not a "banquet hall". They had a room available, and as luck would have it, the menu was Italian! We went in to have a look.
We started to talk, and explained the whole story about the other hall. (They knew all about it since it was well known "biz" news.) They presented us with their meal options, and I immediately realized we were going to be in over our heads. My stomach sank, as I'm sure my wife's did. But then something amazing happened. The owner asked, "So, what did you have at the other place?"
And we explained what we had, and what our per head cost was going to be.
"You guys have been through a lot. I can do that for you."
We stammered a little and asked for clarification. What we had arranged with the other place was cheaper than anything on their menu, and the comparable package on their menu was around 40% more. We learned that they would give us their equivalent meal, at the other place's price. To summarize, we got a better meal, at a ballroom (with two story ceilings and a chandelier) for the same price as our original hall. (It also had better hotels even closer than the other place). And on top of that, they didn't charge us for some incidentals (like upgrading the house wines to ones that were several dollars more per bottle) when our final invoice came!
Like any couple, we were in full "wedding mode" at that time of our lives. Friends and relatives were getting married at an incredible pace, and many of them were locally celebrated. This allowed us to
One location was a particular favourite. It was Italian (we both agreed an Italian meal was preferable even though I am the only one of Italian decent) and we had thoroughly enjoyed our meal there. Plus, it was very close to a couple hotels (a necessity since the majority of my side was coming from out of town). So, after checking out a bunch of places in a variety of areas of the city, we settled on this particular Italian place and went in to start talking about the details.
We chose our meal, our linens, our house wine and agreed on a per-head price. Everything was settled in a matter of maybe an hour. They had everything we needed and all we had to do was say "yes" or "no". I heaved a huge sigh of relief, looked at the calendar (it was early July) and felt satisfied.
* * *
In November I was driving home from the plant I was contracted to work at (it was a 45 minute drive without traffic; over an hour on most days) when my cell phone rang.
"Hello?"
muffled sobs, interspersed with heaving and sniffling
"Hello? Who is this?"
more sobs
"It's me."
"Sweetheart? Are you OK? Are you hurt? What's going on?"
"No." sob "I am not OK." sniff, snort
"Ohmygod ohmygod... what happened?"
Wailing sobs, coupled with deep heaving
"Are you OK? Are you hurt?"
"I'm," sniff, sniff "not," sniff, sniff "hurt."
"OK. Do you want to hang up?"
"OK."
"I love..."
click
"you."
The remainder of the drive was torture. Was she OK? What was going on?
I parked my car and walked into our apartment. She collapsed in my arms in a heap of tears, snot and swollen eyes. She calmed herself enough to let me take off my coat and boots, and then the profanity started.
"What's going on?" I asked.
more profanity
"Hon, please tell me what is going on."
uncontrollable sobbing resumes
"Oh no! Please stay calm. Please stay calm."
"Our... hall... is... Chinese!"
"What?"
"They... sold... to... a... Chinese Restaurant."
"You're kidding."
"I can't believe this. It's my wedding. Why are they doing this to me?"
"In all fairness, I don't think they are doing this to you..."
in a voice so demonic I still cannot believe it came from her, "What?"
"Nothing."
So I listened to the voicemail from the hall (not much there) and then listened to her detail the phone conversation she had with the manager/owner. I called the hall the next day and talked to them candidly. I explained that I had no interest in sweet and sour chicken parmigiana, and wanted out. All that remained to discuss was our deposit. I agreed that we would come out and meet with the new owners along with the ones we dealt with. We met and talked, and despite their best efforts, we wanted a clean break (mainly there was just no trust anymore, and we needed to get out) so we (fortunately) got our deposit back.
"Now we don't have anything," she sobbed as we sat in the parking lot of the hall we had just canceled.
"We have everything we had this morning, just no hall."
"But the hall is everything."
"It's OK. We'll be OK." (I may or may not have been rocking back and forth at this point.)
So there we were, in the middle of November, without a hall for our midsummer wedding, in a town where booking a year in advance is considered last minute. We started to call around, and many of the places were booked. We began considering alternatives neither of us wanted (outdoors, atypical locations such as private school dining halls) and then one day, on a lark, my wife called a place that labeled itself a "ballroom" not a "banquet hall". They had a room available, and as luck would have it, the menu was Italian! We went in to have a look.
We started to talk, and explained the whole story about the other hall. (They knew all about it since it was well known "biz" news.) They presented us with their meal options, and I immediately realized we were going to be in over our heads. My stomach sank, as I'm sure my wife's did. But then something amazing happened. The owner asked, "So, what did you have at the other place?"
And we explained what we had, and what our per head cost was going to be.
"You guys have been through a lot. I can do that for you."
We stammered a little and asked for clarification. What we had arranged with the other place was cheaper than anything on their menu, and the comparable package on their menu was around 40% more. We learned that they would give us their equivalent meal, at the other place's price. To summarize, we got a better meal, at a ballroom (with two story ceilings and a chandelier) for the same price as our original hall. (It also had better hotels even closer than the other place). And on top of that, they didn't charge us for some incidentals (like upgrading the house wines to ones that were several dollars more per bottle) when our final invoice came!
TNS: Hate Speech
What do the terms "natural family", "marriage", and "family values" have in common? If you guessed that they are all terms used by the Christian right to describe what their faith views as traditional, or that all terms are used by homosexual activists trying to explain why the "mom, dad and kids" family model is outdated, you would be correct. However, according to a recent US Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals decision these terms are all hate speech.
Hate speech legislation is enforced to allow discretion when considering freedom of speech. For example, racial or homosexual epithets could be covered under free speech, but are not because of the commonly accepted offensiveness of the terms. Hate speech is used to prevent individuals from using the shield of free speech to spread hatred and animosity. Apparently, the term "marriage" is now in the same class as the one Ann Coulter used or the infamous "n-word".
While I can somewhat see the offensive tone of the term "natural family" since it implies that those which do not follow the traditional heterosexual model are unnatural, the other two terms baffle me. For one, the term marriage is a legal term recognized not only by the Christian church but also the majority of governments of the world (albeit in a different language). Certainly recent changes in legislation allowing for same-sex marriages in certain areas indicate that it is a term shared by both the heterosexual and homosexual communities. The biblical definition of marriage may be antiquated, but the concept of two individuals creating a legally recognizable union cannot be considered hateful.
The term "family values" has been abused by the Christian right. They use it to cast a blanket around a collection of ideas, some of which are unrelated to the modern world's concept of a "family". "Family values" refers to having a heterosexual couple in the home (unrelated) and raising the children to accept Jesus as their Lord and Saviour (unrelated), but it also refers to teaching children basic moral principles (related), providing proper support such as housing, food, clothing (related) and ensuring the child's safety from inappropriate media (depending on the media in question, related or unrelated). To claim that the term is hate speech is to allow the abused term's usage to stand unquestioned, since anyone trying to counter the argument would have to use the hate speech to make their point, and as such potentially tarnishing the argument. For instance, consider how I referred to a racial slur at the beginning of this commentary to avoid using it at all.
To declare these terms hate speech is a step in a direction that has no specific limitation. If "marriage" is hateful, so must "husband", "wife" and even "spouse", as well as derivatives from the term such as "married". Following the logic, terms such as "wedding", "bride", and "groom" cannot be exempt either. If "family values" is a term of hate, then how long before "family oriented" or "family friendly" are labeled as such?
Admittedly, it is important to curb the growing trend of the Christian right to define a family using the biblical frame of reference. The modern world simply doesn't follow the biblical model anymore. However, taking common terms and phrases from their argument and making them hate speech is not going to stop the discussion. It's only going to change the words they use. And in the meantime it is going to prohibit people from making impassioned arguments to the contrary.
The Brief Side
First, we have a bill to legalize second parent adoptions. The concept is simple: in today's world, many children are raised by one parent with someone else (such as a grandparent or partner) supporting the parenting. This bill would allow these "secondary parents" the same rights as the primary parent via adoption. Unfortunately, the conservative right sees this as an attempt to legalize homosexuals adopting children.
Next up, we have two articles that look at the children of illegal immigrants arrested in raids who are left with day cares and babysitters and the people who are left to care for them.
Here is some useful advice about how to save money when expecting a baby.
Finally, in the "not fit to be parents" department for this week we have:
If you have any news stories you think would suit The News Side, please email me at talesfromthedadside {at} gmail {dot} com.
Hate speech legislation is enforced to allow discretion when considering freedom of speech. For example, racial or homosexual epithets could be covered under free speech, but are not because of the commonly accepted offensiveness of the terms. Hate speech is used to prevent individuals from using the shield of free speech to spread hatred and animosity. Apparently, the term "marriage" is now in the same class as the one Ann Coulter used or the infamous "n-word".
While I can somewhat see the offensive tone of the term "natural family" since it implies that those which do not follow the traditional heterosexual model are unnatural, the other two terms baffle me. For one, the term marriage is a legal term recognized not only by the Christian church but also the majority of governments of the world (albeit in a different language). Certainly recent changes in legislation allowing for same-sex marriages in certain areas indicate that it is a term shared by both the heterosexual and homosexual communities. The biblical definition of marriage may be antiquated, but the concept of two individuals creating a legally recognizable union cannot be considered hateful.
The term "family values" has been abused by the Christian right. They use it to cast a blanket around a collection of ideas, some of which are unrelated to the modern world's concept of a "family". "Family values" refers to having a heterosexual couple in the home (unrelated) and raising the children to accept Jesus as their Lord and Saviour (unrelated), but it also refers to teaching children basic moral principles (related), providing proper support such as housing, food, clothing (related) and ensuring the child's safety from inappropriate media (depending on the media in question, related or unrelated). To claim that the term is hate speech is to allow the abused term's usage to stand unquestioned, since anyone trying to counter the argument would have to use the hate speech to make their point, and as such potentially tarnishing the argument. For instance, consider how I referred to a racial slur at the beginning of this commentary to avoid using it at all.
To declare these terms hate speech is a step in a direction that has no specific limitation. If "marriage" is hateful, so must "husband", "wife" and even "spouse", as well as derivatives from the term such as "married". Following the logic, terms such as "wedding", "bride", and "groom" cannot be exempt either. If "family values" is a term of hate, then how long before "family oriented" or "family friendly" are labeled as such?
Admittedly, it is important to curb the growing trend of the Christian right to define a family using the biblical frame of reference. The modern world simply doesn't follow the biblical model anymore. However, taking common terms and phrases from their argument and making them hate speech is not going to stop the discussion. It's only going to change the words they use. And in the meantime it is going to prohibit people from making impassioned arguments to the contrary.
The Brief Side
First, we have a bill to legalize second parent adoptions. The concept is simple: in today's world, many children are raised by one parent with someone else (such as a grandparent or partner) supporting the parenting. This bill would allow these "secondary parents" the same rights as the primary parent via adoption. Unfortunately, the conservative right sees this as an attempt to legalize homosexuals adopting children.
Next up, we have two articles that look at the children of illegal immigrants arrested in raids who are left with day cares and babysitters and the people who are left to care for them.
Here is some useful advice about how to save money when expecting a baby.
Finally, in the "not fit to be parents" department for this week we have:
- a father who steals his son's girlfriend
- a mother whose baby tested positive for meth at birth
- a father who told his toddler son to stab his mother
- a mother who imprisoned her children for two months
If you have any news stories you think would suit The News Side, please email me at talesfromthedadside {at} gmail {dot} com.
TRS: Daddy Learns His Place
This weekend we planned a trip to visit my parents. As a general rule, my sister (who has two children of her own) and I try to avoid visiting on the same weekends since my parents' house is quite small. (Of course, holidays and birthdays are exceptions to this rule.) Unfortunately, with my wife long out of teaching, we were unaware that this weekend marked the beginning of March Break, so my niece and nephew (and their parents) were visiting at the same time. This put nine people (plus my other sister, who lives in town but comes for dinner when we're there, making us a nice even ten) in a 900 square foot bungalow. To say it was cramped would be like saying fitting three people in the backseat of a Sunfire is mildly uncomfortable.
As per our usual routine, we departed shortly after lunch on Friday and hoped for a blessedly long nap, as the drive is quite long - over four hours - and my munchkin, while a wonderful child, is not the best traveler. She fell asleep before we hit the major highway, and my wife and I began talking. We talked about blogging, about a new project I am starting up (don't worry, I'll let you know about it when it is time), and a myriad of other things. As we passed the off ramp for my sister's place (which approximately marks the halfway point), I realized that our daughter had been asleep for over two hours. I immediately called for my wife (who rides in the back with the munchkin) to verify that the toddler was still breathing. Thankfully, she confirmed she was.
The remainder of the ride passed without (toddler) incident, thanks in no small part to my previous efforts of transferring Curious George from DVD to the iPod (although I have a synch issue with audio and video that I need to resolve). As we approached my parent's exit we were forced off at an exit about 13km before by road flares and flashing police cars. We participated in a very.slow.moving caravan that added an hour to our trip as we snaked through the backroads of the county and finally rediscovered civilization.
After greeting and cuddling and playing with her grandparents (and having some specially made pasta from her grandfather), the little munchkin kissed everyone good night and went to bed with Mommy (about an hour later than her usual bedtime). After about twenty minutes I checked in and found her still wide awake and unwilling to part with my wife. So, I decided to drive my sister home (the other would arrive in the morning) and hop up to her apartment to use her internet connection. After feeding my comment notification addiction visiting with my sister for a bit, I returned home to discover my wife still in bed with a wide awake toddler. We were now over two hours past the munchkin's usual bedtime.
I took over the head rubbing and back rubbing duties while my wife got herself ready for bed (she was tired, and it looked like getting the little one down was an all-night affair). So I settled into the bed and my daughter sweetly faced me, lying very close to me.
"Your breath is hot, Daddy."
"Is it? I'm sorry. Is it stinky too?"
"Mmm hmm."
She reached out and touched my face at this point.
"Your nose is hot too."
"OK."
"I'm hot. Please take off my pee-jamas."
"No sweetheart. You'll get too cold. We're leaving your pajamas on."
"Hug your neck, Daddy."
"OK, sure."
She half-climbed me and wrapped her little arms around my neck as best she could. I melted.
"I love you Daddy."
OK, then I melted.
"I love you too sweetheart."
She let go and turned away from me.
"Please wub my back, Daddy."
I began to rub her back. Within minutes she added...
"Please sing Happy Clap Your Hands."
I stopped rubbing her back and began to sing.
"If you're happy and you know it..."
"More."
I stopped singing.
"More what sweetheart?"
"Please wub my back, Daddy."
"You want me to sing and rub your back?"
"Mmm hmm."
So I proceeded to sing while rubbing her back. As I am doing this, she is, while lying on her side, clapping her hands, shaking a fist, shouting hooray, et cetera. It was quite the sight.
Finallymercifully my wife returned. My little angel then turned to me and spoke. I was expecting a thank you, or maybe a kiss. Instead, I got:
"Mommy here now. You can go."
Ouch. That kind of stung. But before I could respond, she added:
"Seep wiff Mommy. You seep on couch."
Niiice. At least I know my place.
She finally fell asleep over three and a half hours after her usual bedtime, and spent the whole night in between us in our bed.
She awoke shortly after her normal wake-up time on Saturday morning. My father, as usual, took her and allowed my wife and I some glorious sleep-in time. When we finally arose, we decided to shower and hit the local mall to allow the munchkin some free reign (which could not be obtained outdoors thanks to the massive thaw that made the world a combination of concrete and mud puddles) before lunch.
My sister and her family came for lunch. Afterward, my wife and daughter enjoyed an extended nap while I spent some time talking with my older sister. It was nice to catch up without everyone else around (some were out shopping, some were napping, some were watching television). I really appreciated the time we spent.
That evening was a complete repeat of the evening before, with an added session of tandem massaging in a futile attempt to get my daughter to sleep. Eventually she was able to fall asleep at get transferred to her playpen. However, this was short lived. She ended up in our bed and I wound up on the couch since I knew I had to drive home Sunday, and getting kicked in the ribs wasn't helping (nor was my snoring apparently making it easy for my wife to sleep).
We awoke, and again my father watched the munchkin (and my niece and nephew) while the parents slept. When we finally got out of bed, we packed up and began the trip home. Fortunately, there were no traffic snags, and we returned home without incident.
"What? We're staying here all weekend? I'm outta here!"
The remainder of the ride passed without (toddler) incident, thanks in no small part to my previous efforts of transferring Curious George from DVD to the iPod (although I have a synch issue with audio and video that I need to resolve). As we approached my parent's exit we were forced off at an exit about 13km before by road flares and flashing police cars. We participated in a very.slow.moving caravan that added an hour to our trip as we snaked through the backroads of the county and finally rediscovered civilization.
A little cuddle with my father
I took over the head rubbing and back rubbing duties while my wife got herself ready for bed (she was tired, and it looked like getting the little one down was an all-night affair). So I settled into the bed and my daughter sweetly faced me, lying very close to me.
"Your breath is hot, Daddy."
"Is it? I'm sorry. Is it stinky too?"
"Mmm hmm."
She reached out and touched my face at this point.
"Your nose is hot too."
"OK."
"I'm hot. Please take off my pee-jamas."
"No sweetheart. You'll get too cold. We're leaving your pajamas on."
"Hug your neck, Daddy."
"OK, sure."
A little cuddle with my mother
"I love you Daddy."
OK, then I melted.
"I love you too sweetheart."
She let go and turned away from me.
"Please wub my back, Daddy."
I began to rub her back. Within minutes she added...
"Please sing Happy Clap Your Hands."
I stopped rubbing her back and began to sing.
"If you're happy and you know it..."
"More."
I stopped singing.
"More what sweetheart?"
"Please wub my back, Daddy."
"You want me to sing and rub your back?"
"Mmm hmm."
So I proceeded to sing while rubbing her back. As I am doing this, she is, while lying on her side, clapping her hands, shaking a fist, shouting hooray, et cetera. It was quite the sight.
Finally
"Mommy here now. You can go."
Ouch. That kind of stung. But before I could respond, she added:
"Seep wiff Mommy. You seep on couch."
Niiice. At least I know my place.
She finally fell asleep over three and a half hours after her usual bedtime, and spent the whole night in between us in our bed.
"I know there was a camera in here before... I wonder where it is now. Wait... what was that flash of light?"
My sister and her family came for lunch. Afterward, my wife and daughter enjoyed an extended nap while I spent some time talking with my older sister. It was nice to catch up without everyone else around (some were out shopping, some were napping, some were watching television). I really appreciated the time we spent.
That evening was a complete repeat of the evening before, with an added session of tandem massaging in a futile attempt to get my daughter to sleep. Eventually she was able to fall asleep at get transferred to her playpen. However, this was short lived. She ended up in our bed and I wound up on the couch since I knew I had to drive home Sunday, and getting kicked in the ribs wasn't helping (nor was my snoring apparently making it easy for my wife to sleep).
We awoke, and again my father watched the munchkin (and my niece and nephew) while the parents slept. When we finally got out of bed, we packed up and began the trip home. Fortunately, there were no traffic snags, and we returned home without incident.
THS: Literature Review
Today I will take a look at some children's books that, for one reason or another, are somewhat questionable choices for children. All images are far too small to view in their displayed resolution, so please click them to view a larger, more easily readable size.
Frosty Friends
Excellent advice for a child. Don't be frightened of the wolf, he's just a dog... a dog who is not domesticated and can maul you to pieces; And while you're at it, put your finger in his mouth to touch his tongue... you know, to make the mauling part easier.
Baby Farm Animals
Here we have a heartwarming episode of barnyard fowl trying to drown other barnyard fowl. Lovely.
The Giving Tree
"Then you will have money and you will be happy." Let's ignore the poor gramatical construction of this sentence, shall we? OK. What a wonderful message to teach children; money can buy you happiness (and if not, destroying the one thing that has been good to you all your life, like say, your parents, will definitely do the trick!)
Love You Forever
Ah, everyone's favourite stalker mom tale. Setting aside the obvious separation issues this book describes, instead let's talk about a man who can remain sleeping while an elderly woman "sneaks" into his bedroom, picks him up, and rocks him like an infant. Does this man have chronic fatigue syndrome? Is he aenemic? Hopefully, we don't have the sequel, "Fire At The Narcoleptic's House".
Panda Bear, Panda Bear, What Do You See?
OK, this book isn't bad. I just like to answer for "Black Panther, Black Panther, what do you see?" with "I see the white man oppressing my people, keeping us unemployed and out of proper housing. I see the black man rising from the tyranny." (If you don't get this, please go read this).
Frosty Friends
Excellent advice for a child. Don't be frightened of the wolf, he's just a dog... a dog who is not domesticated and can maul you to pieces; And while you're at it, put your finger in his mouth to touch his tongue... you know, to make the mauling part easier.
Baby Farm Animals
Here we have a heartwarming episode of barnyard fowl trying to drown other barnyard fowl. Lovely.
The Giving Tree
"Then you will have money and you will be happy." Let's ignore the poor gramatical construction of this sentence, shall we? OK. What a wonderful message to teach children; money can buy you happiness (and if not, destroying the one thing that has been good to you all your life, like say, your parents, will definitely do the trick!)
Love You Forever
Ah, everyone's favourite stalker mom tale. Setting aside the obvious separation issues this book describes, instead let's talk about a man who can remain sleeping while an elderly woman "sneaks" into his bedroom, picks him up, and rocks him like an infant. Does this man have chronic fatigue syndrome? Is he aenemic? Hopefully, we don't have the sequel, "Fire At The Narcoleptic's House".
Panda Bear, Panda Bear, What Do You See?
OK, this book isn't bad. I just like to answer for "Black Panther, Black Panther, what do you see?" with "I see the white man oppressing my people, keeping us unemployed and out of proper housing. I see the black man rising from the tyranny." (If you don't get this, please go read this).
TTS: Language Development
My wife and I are very fortunate to have an extremely communicative daughter. From quite an early age she was making attempts to express her thoughts to us. We expedited the process with a baby signing class that enabled her to get her basic point across, but ultimately she strove to speak.
At first her "words" were infrequent utterances that only my wife or I could identify. However, our daughter quickly discovered the subtleties of language and began to literally obsess over pronunciation (I have a three minute video where she only deals with the word "button" over and over).
Eventually, she got on a roll and new words were popping up every few hours (or at least it seemed that way). But that time was slow in coming. For a long time she was working with a new word every week or so, and even then many of them sounded the same. (There was a time where I could not differentiate between her requests for Mama and monkey - her Curious George doll.)
Here's the thing: when we got together with parents of similarly-aged (or even older) children, they would say that their child wasn't talking at all, and then over the course of a visit, I would hear the child trying to speak. When I pointed this out to their parent, they usually responded with something along the lines of either "that's not talking, it's just one word" or "everything they say sounds like that".
As parents, we are the first and greatest source of information for our child. We are also their guides in this world. They follow our lead. Every child begins speech with the same basic consonant sounds (usually): b, d, p, and m; generally coupled with either a lazy "uh" or "ah" vowel sound. It's up to us to a) try and process what they are saying and b) encourage them to try and talk to us as much as possible.
My daughter is past the stage of encouraging communication, but many readers of this blog have younger children, and to them I offer the following advice:
Children have a lot to say. It's up to us as parents to help them get their message across.
At first her "words" were infrequent utterances that only my wife or I could identify. However, our daughter quickly discovered the subtleties of language and began to literally obsess over pronunciation (I have a three minute video where she only deals with the word "button" over and over).
Eventually, she got on a roll and new words were popping up every few hours (or at least it seemed that way). But that time was slow in coming. For a long time she was working with a new word every week or so, and even then many of them sounded the same. (There was a time where I could not differentiate between her requests for Mama and monkey - her Curious George doll.)
Here's the thing: when we got together with parents of similarly-aged (or even older) children, they would say that their child wasn't talking at all, and then over the course of a visit, I would hear the child trying to speak. When I pointed this out to their parent, they usually responded with something along the lines of either "that's not talking, it's just one word" or "everything they say sounds like that".
As parents, we are the first and greatest source of information for our child. We are also their guides in this world. They follow our lead. Every child begins speech with the same basic consonant sounds (usually): b, d, p, and m; generally coupled with either a lazy "uh" or "ah" vowel sound. It's up to us to a) try and process what they are saying and b) encourage them to try and talk to us as much as possible.
My daughter is past the stage of encouraging communication, but many readers of this blog have younger children, and to them I offer the following advice:
- when your child utters things to you, assume they are trying to speak
- get them to say things to you several times, and repeat it back to them
- whenever you're talking to them, don't use "baby talk" - teach them proper pronunciation
- if you're having trouble understanding, get them to touch or point to the item in question (since most early words are nouns)
- narrate your day to them; for example, when bathing them itemize their body parts as you wash them, or identify each food they are eating
Children have a lot to say. It's up to us as parents to help them get their message across.
TWS: Meet The Parents
In honour of their third visit in three weeks, I have decided to write about the first time I stayed at my in-laws' cottage.
It was the August long weekend. I had met my wife the previous June, so we had been together for a couple months. We drove up in her car since I did not know the way (and believe me, it is no easy task to find this place). This allowed me to keep a close eye on what I had believed would be my saving grace that weekend: my cell phone. You see, my wife explained to me that I could not, under any circumstances go out wandering in the bush by myself. I shrugged it off and said that I'd have my cell phone with me and if I got lost I could just call for help. For the last thirty minutes of the drive, my cell phone said two words to me, over and over, "No Signal". It was around this time I started to hear the banjos from Deliverance in my head.
We rolled down the dirt road (that was a far more of an uncomfortable slope than I was used to) and approached the building. I can call it a building because the place is bigger than the house my parents raised three kids in. I would later learn it stands as a testament to how far one man will go to convince his wife to live in the middle of nowhere for their retirement. (Aside: they're never moving up there full time.) It was beautiful. It was scenic. It was picturesque. Of course, I have to take my wife's word for all that - I was still staring at my cell phone and realizing that there was a definite chance my future FIL could kill me and dispose of the body and no one would ever know.
You have to understand something about SciFi Dad. I grew up in the city. I mean, the real city. My parents' house isn't really located in a suburb, just a residential area of a city. And we were across the border from a very big city - one that was the murder capital for a while. Going there was my idea of adventure, not running into the woods and hoping nothing ate me. Crazy people shoot at you for a reason; animals just eat you because you're fleshy and slow moving.
Once I came to terms with the fact that I was completely dependent on my wife for the weekend, and that without her I would surely die (because we both knew if I wasn't with her my in-laws would have left me out in the bush to be eaten by the fishers) we went inside.
A few events stand out from that first weekend. I'll never forget that my wife, in an effort to force us to bond, left her father and I to make up the futons for us to sleep on while she went to get ready for bed. This allowed the following to happen:
FIL: "So should I make up one bed or two?"
Me: "Uh, two, sir."
"Because I know you don't have two bedrooms at your apartment."
Silence. Awkward, painful, silence.
"So two beds then."
"Yes sir."
If my memory serves me correctly, I did not allow my wife to use the bathroom by herself the rest of the weekend.
The next wonderfully fun anecdote from that weekend came the next morning. I awoke to learn that my snoring had kept.everyone.awake. So now on top of being the asshole who was sharing a bed with their daughter, I was also the guy who kept everyone up all night. Nice. I slept the last two nights on the screened in porch on an air mattress. From the vantage point of the present, the only solace I have in looking back at that story is that now my MIL sleeps on the same air mattress in our office whenever they stay at our place.
And to put afoul smelling cherry on the whole experience, the septic tank began to leak. It wasn't full (the cottage was only a couple years old) but something went wrong and there was a brown hole on the property with a less than amiable smell emanating from it. And since it was August and there was no a/c, the windows remained open.
To recap:
and I still married her... does that give you a sense of how amazing that woman is?
It was the August long weekend. I had met my wife the previous June, so we had been together for a couple months. We drove up in her car since I did not know the way (and believe me, it is no easy task to find this place). This allowed me to keep a close eye on what I had believed would be my saving grace that weekend: my cell phone. You see, my wife explained to me that I could not, under any circumstances go out wandering in the bush by myself. I shrugged it off and said that I'd have my cell phone with me and if I got lost I could just call for help. For the last thirty minutes of the drive, my cell phone said two words to me, over and over, "No Signal". It was around this time I started to hear the banjos from Deliverance in my head.
We rolled down the dirt road (that was a far more of an uncomfortable slope than I was used to) and approached the building. I can call it a building because the place is bigger than the house my parents raised three kids in. I would later learn it stands as a testament to how far one man will go to convince his wife to live in the middle of nowhere for their retirement. (Aside: they're never moving up there full time.) It was beautiful. It was scenic. It was picturesque. Of course, I have to take my wife's word for all that - I was still staring at my cell phone and realizing that there was a definite chance my future FIL could kill me and dispose of the body and no one would ever know.
You have to understand something about SciFi Dad. I grew up in the city. I mean, the real city. My parents' house isn't really located in a suburb, just a residential area of a city. And we were across the border from a very big city - one that was the murder capital for a while. Going there was my idea of adventure, not running into the woods and hoping nothing ate me. Crazy people shoot at you for a reason; animals just eat you because you're fleshy and slow moving.
Once I came to terms with the fact that I was completely dependent on my wife for the weekend, and that without her I would surely die (because we both knew if I wasn't with her my in-laws would have left me out in the bush to be eaten by the fishers) we went inside.
A few events stand out from that first weekend. I'll never forget that my wife, in an effort to force us to bond, left her father and I to make up the futons for us to sleep on while she went to get ready for bed. This allowed the following to happen:
FIL: "So should I make up one bed or two?"
Me: "Uh, two, sir."
"Because I know you don't have two bedrooms at your apartment."
Silence. Awkward, painful, silence.
"So two beds then."
"Yes sir."
If my memory serves me correctly, I did not allow my wife to use the bathroom by herself the rest of the weekend.
The next wonderfully fun anecdote from that weekend came the next morning. I awoke to learn that my snoring had kept.everyone.awake. So now on top of being the asshole who was sharing a bed with their daughter, I was also the guy who kept everyone up all night. Nice. I slept the last two nights on the screened in porch on an air mattress. From the vantage point of the present, the only solace I have in looking back at that story is that now my MIL sleeps on the same air mattress in our office whenever they stay at our place.
And to put a
To recap:
- city boy in the woods
- unflappable thoughts of Deliverance
- "One bed or two?"
- sleeping on the porch
- warm air + septic problems
and I still married her... does that give you a sense of how amazing that woman is?
Five Reasons Why I Blog
I have been "tagged" by Haley at Cheaty Monkey to write five reasons why I blog. I normally don't do these "Meme" tags, but this one felt like something I could handle. So, without further ado:
1. I enjoy writing and I don't get enough opportunities to do so at my job. So, I take the time each day to bang out a post about being a dad.
2. It gives me a chance to interact with other people, usually parents, and exchange ideas about various subjects. I appreciate hearing what other people think about what I'm saying.
3. It offers me an opportunity for critical thinking and debate. It gives me a soap box to climb up on and rant.
4. It allows me to experiment with my writing. I can be funny or serious, analytical or journalistic. It's totally up to me.
5. My wife enjoys reading my posts and I like making her happy (sappy, but true).
I'm not going to "tag" anyone to do this, but if you feel like it, go ahead and write about it on your blog and post a link in the comments. I'll link to your post.
Haley-O
Laural
1. I enjoy writing and I don't get enough opportunities to do so at my job. So, I take the time each day to bang out a post about being a dad.
2. It gives me a chance to interact with other people, usually parents, and exchange ideas about various subjects. I appreciate hearing what other people think about what I'm saying.
3. It offers me an opportunity for critical thinking and debate. It gives me a soap box to climb up on and rant.
4. It allows me to experiment with my writing. I can be funny or serious, analytical or journalistic. It's totally up to me.
5. My wife enjoys reading my posts and I like making her happy (sappy, but true).
I'm not going to "tag" anyone to do this, but if you feel like it, go ahead and write about it on your blog and post a link in the comments. I'll link to your post.
Other People's Reasons
Haley-O
Laural
Feed Changes
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If there are any questions or concerns with these changes, please email me at talesfromthedadside {at} gmail {dot} com and I will try and resolve them.
If you have been experiencing problems with this site's feed recently, please try unsubscribing and then subscribing again to the Feedburner url above. This may resolve your issue. You can subscribe to this site's feeds directly using one of the buttons near the bottom of the left sidebar, or from my Feedburner page.
If there are any questions or concerns with these changes, please email me at talesfromthedadside {at} gmail {dot} com and I will try and resolve them.
TNS: The Economics of Marriage
Recently, David Cameron, the leader of the Conservative party in the UK announced that if elected his party would provide tax breaks for married couples. The response from the Labour party (that is currently in power) stated that marriage is not the whole answer. A discussion of recent census data has found that fewer than one in four households contain a married couple with children. The suggestion is that marriage is being seen as something the well educated and wealthy are able to afford. All three articles, in some form or another, dance around the argument that a married couple is better equipped to raise children, and that single parents are producing offspring that are creating society's ills.
The first article claims that 70% of young offenders are raised by single parents, and that children of single parents are 75% more likely to fail academically. The fact that the parents are single means that the children are more likely to be left unattended, or expected to fend for themselves. They are also less likely to obtain parental support when the first signs of trouble in their studies presents itself. However, creating tax breaks for married couples is not going to solve this problem. Instead of putting funding into tax breaks, they should consider more social programs that would compliment the parenting the single parents are doing and allow the children more adult-supervised time.
Cameron also argues that the fact that nearly one half of all common-law unions that produce children end before the child's fifth birthday, compared to the one in twelve ratio for married couples, is proof that society needs to encourage marriage. However, the statistic fails to acknowledge what percentage of those other 11 marriages are happy, nurturing homes. Just because a child is in a home with two parents of different gender (the UK does not recognize same-sex marriage, so all married couples are of different gender) does not mean that home is going to produce a happy, non-criminal, non-violent child. I would argue that the above statistic is nothing more than a testament to the fact that getting a divorce can be expensive.
I am married. I have been married for more than three years. I happen to live in a country where there are certain tax benefits to being legally married. However, many if not all of those tax breaks are also extended to common-law marriages. The current landscape as far as same-sex unions and the federal taxation system are still hazy, but same-sex common-law marriages are recognized for federal taxation purposes. None of this played into my decision to get married. I love my wife and did not need a piece of paper or a minister's order to make me commit to her. We decided to get married mainly because she wanted the wedding, and the legal aspects of having the same name and other benefits (such as social acceptance). I didn't marry her to save a few bucks in the spring.
A more interesting discussion is started by the third article. Marriage is an expensive undertaking. Simply going through a small civil ceremony (and thus forgoing the fees for the church, the hall, the people who sing at the church, the people who play music at the hall, the food at the hall, the people who plan the food and the singing and the hall and the church... I digress) still requires some financial undertaking, as does the unfortunate but still common dissolution of the union if it comes to divorce. Also, unless the individual is above a minimum economic threshold, tax breaks are not a major consideration.
The concept that everyone pairs off and gets married is slowly dissipating. Humans are genetically conditioned to pair bond. We are social creatures, and seek out another's company, not necessarily a legally binding documented union, but still a pair bond. Offering lower taxes in an effort to encourage more marriage is foolish and treating a symptom, not a disease, like looking at a "rusty nail problem" when someone steps on one and gets tetanus. If a person gets tetanus from stepping on a rusty nail, does it make more sense to spend money making sure there are no nails to step on, or treat the tetanus? Certainly eliminating all rusty nails from the world is a noble idea in a vacuum, but I feel it would make more sense to treat the tetanus problem.
The Brief Side
Here is an interesting look at how two people with different parenting styles approach raising children. The message is to find a way to make the divergent styles work together, not force one parent or the other into submission.
I completely agree with this editorial about discipline coming from good parenting, not corporal punishment.
Something of use for many of us: tips for traveling with young children.
Finally a few stories to remind us that no matter how horrible we think we may be as parents, there are always those out there who do a much better job at terrible parenting. Apparently a mother coached her children to act mentally challenged to enable her to collect welfare. More disturbing is the fact that this isn't a recent phenomenon: her son continued the practice for more than twelve years! And then there's the mother in Denver who sold her infant for a down payment on a car. Finally, there's the foster parents who wrapped up a three year old cocoon style and put him in a closet while they went away for the weekend to a family reunion. The boy died.
If you have any news stories you think would suit The News Side, please email me at talesfromthedadside {at} gmail {dot} com.
The first article claims that 70% of young offenders are raised by single parents, and that children of single parents are 75% more likely to fail academically. The fact that the parents are single means that the children are more likely to be left unattended, or expected to fend for themselves. They are also less likely to obtain parental support when the first signs of trouble in their studies presents itself. However, creating tax breaks for married couples is not going to solve this problem. Instead of putting funding into tax breaks, they should consider more social programs that would compliment the parenting the single parents are doing and allow the children more adult-supervised time.
Cameron also argues that the fact that nearly one half of all common-law unions that produce children end before the child's fifth birthday, compared to the one in twelve ratio for married couples, is proof that society needs to encourage marriage. However, the statistic fails to acknowledge what percentage of those other 11 marriages are happy, nurturing homes. Just because a child is in a home with two parents of different gender (the UK does not recognize same-sex marriage, so all married couples are of different gender) does not mean that home is going to produce a happy, non-criminal, non-violent child. I would argue that the above statistic is nothing more than a testament to the fact that getting a divorce can be expensive.
I am married. I have been married for more than three years. I happen to live in a country where there are certain tax benefits to being legally married. However, many if not all of those tax breaks are also extended to common-law marriages. The current landscape as far as same-sex unions and the federal taxation system are still hazy, but same-sex common-law marriages are recognized for federal taxation purposes. None of this played into my decision to get married. I love my wife and did not need a piece of paper or a minister's order to make me commit to her. We decided to get married mainly because she wanted the wedding, and the legal aspects of having the same name and other benefits (such as social acceptance). I didn't marry her to save a few bucks in the spring.
A more interesting discussion is started by the third article. Marriage is an expensive undertaking. Simply going through a small civil ceremony (and thus forgoing the fees for the church, the hall, the people who sing at the church, the people who play music at the hall, the food at the hall, the people who plan the food and the singing and the hall and the church... I digress) still requires some financial undertaking, as does the unfortunate but still common dissolution of the union if it comes to divorce. Also, unless the individual is above a minimum economic threshold, tax breaks are not a major consideration.
The concept that everyone pairs off and gets married is slowly dissipating. Humans are genetically conditioned to pair bond. We are social creatures, and seek out another's company, not necessarily a legally binding documented union, but still a pair bond. Offering lower taxes in an effort to encourage more marriage is foolish and treating a symptom, not a disease, like looking at a "rusty nail problem" when someone steps on one and gets tetanus. If a person gets tetanus from stepping on a rusty nail, does it make more sense to spend money making sure there are no nails to step on, or treat the tetanus? Certainly eliminating all rusty nails from the world is a noble idea in a vacuum, but I feel it would make more sense to treat the tetanus problem.
The Brief Side
Here is an interesting look at how two people with different parenting styles approach raising children. The message is to find a way to make the divergent styles work together, not force one parent or the other into submission.
I completely agree with this editorial about discipline coming from good parenting, not corporal punishment.
Something of use for many of us: tips for traveling with young children.
Finally a few stories to remind us that no matter how horrible we think we may be as parents, there are always those out there who do a much better job at terrible parenting. Apparently a mother coached her children to act mentally challenged to enable her to collect welfare. More disturbing is the fact that this isn't a recent phenomenon: her son continued the practice for more than twelve years! And then there's the mother in Denver who sold her infant for a down payment on a car. Finally, there's the foster parents who wrapped up a three year old cocoon style and put him in a closet while they went away for the weekend to a family reunion. The boy died.
If you have any news stories you think would suit The News Side, please email me at talesfromthedadside {at} gmail {dot} com.
TRS: A "Chef Munchkin" Weekend
For the first time in three weeks we had a weekend free of my in-laws (they are coming tomorrow - and sadly, no I am not kidding).
My weekend got started a little earlier than usual this time because Thursday afternoon until early Friday most of the province was inundated with a melange of precipitation. Inside a four hour span we saw snow turn to ice pellets turn to freezing rain turn to regular rain. So, I worked from home Friday. It ended up being more leisurely than had I spent the day at the office, but I still had some work to accomplish. Nonetheless, my wife got an uninterrupted shower, and I got a few more hugs and kisses than I am accustomed to in a normal work day.
That night, we decided to do take out. Since the munchkin wanted pizza and Mommy and I were feeling like Chinese, we decided to compromise: she (the little one) would make her own pizza (on an english muffin) while Mommy and I got take out. Ironically, the munchkin preferred the sweet and sour pork (which was a lot better than usual - year of the pig?) and General Tso's chicken and most of the pizza was discarded.
After dinner, I decided to get in on the "cooking with munchkin" action that Mommy has patented. Being stupid ambitious, I decided to make a strata with her. (To explain what I mean when I say strata, I mean a traditional lasagne made with flour tortilla instead of noodles.) I had already prepared the meat sauce, so that part was done. We stood her on a kitchen chair and while I did the meat layers, she did the cheese layers. There was a little more cheese around the edges of the pan than I expected, but overall it was a fun experience. We froze the strata and will serve it Tuesday to my in-laws. (I think I'll let them try it first, you know, to be a good host and all that.)
The next morning the munchkin and I got up at an ungodly hour (I will only say that the first digit on the clock was less than seven) and proceeded downstairs to allow Mommy some extra sleep as she has been feeling under the weather lately. Mornings like this one (where my wife is still sleeping) are always difficult for me. How do I entertain a toddler while not making any noise whatsoever? I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I took the easy way out for the first part and just put on the tv. Once I had woken up enough to be a better functioning parent, we turned off the tv and tried to play with her Little People, but that only worked until she found the minivan. You see, the playground has a switch on the bottom to disable to music and sounds. The van does not. And my wife has radar ears. Eventually we settled on finger painting, where I tried to demonstrate how to mix yellow and red to get orange to no avail (she just wanted to smear the paint - imagine that!)
Once Mommy was awake, it quickly became apparent that it was going to be a Daddy-Daughter day, so after a lazy morning and a nice long nap, I packed up the munchkin and headed over to a friend's house. We met them way back in pre-natal class. They were the first ones to give birth and we were the last. Our daughters are around six months apart, so it's only recently that they can play together unsupervised.
Anyhow, we went over there so that the munchkin could play with her little friend (and her little friend's baby brother whom she loves to bits and pieces) while I did some PC maintenance (remember the CD I was looking for?) When we first arrived, she was a bit "off". Either she was missing Mommy, or she was still groggy from her nap, or both. Regardless, as I sat on the couch and fiddled with the laptop, she clung to my side. She was wedged in between me and the back of the sofa so deeply that I had to consciously hold myself away from her slightly to avoid crushing her. And every time I pulled back from the laptop to allow some process to complete she climbed up and wrapped her arms around me saying "Daddy cuddles". Sure, it was manufactured by the strange surroundings, the absence of Mommy, and the recent awakening from a nap. But it still felt great to be wanted.
She eventually settled enough to go and play with the kids so that I could leave her with them (the daughter and the mother) while I went upstairs to establish VNC (remote control) connectivity between the home PC and the new laptop. Once that was done we decided to head out to the mall to kill some more time.
When we arrived at the mall, my daughter said the words I always dread to hear: "Daddy, want to walk in mall." Why do I always dread to hear them? Because it means she's going to hold on to the stroller while I push it and try to maintain the trifecta of a) not running into anything (a feat for me with a stroller), b) not running her over (something I have already done once - albeit slight), and c) actually accomplishing something at the mall (difficult in light of a and b). You see, to make a stroller stable they make the base wider than the body. This means that the wheels are further apart than the bars that run along the sides. So when a toddler with arms about as long as a standard tablespoon tries to hold on to the stroller, the wheels inevitably get in the way. Combine that with the bizarre stagger every kid does when walking indoors in snow boots and you've got a recipe for disaster.
Amazingly, we were able to traverse the mall in this manner on a Saturday afternoon without incident. I negotiated her into the stroller so we could go through Toys R Us (her birthday is coming up at the end of the month and I needed to do some of my mother's shopping for her) and then successfully bribed convinced her to remain in the stroller with a chocolate chip with sprinkles flavoured muffin that her mother never lets her get.
Saturday evening my wife and I watched Invincible, which, despite being a Disney flick, was actually quite enjoyable.
Sunday morning was another test in my "what can you do with a toddler that keeps them quiet and doesn't rot their brain" skill set. That morning involved markers, crayons, and lots of paper.
The three of us did another round of shopping in the late morning, where we found some of the items I failed to pick up on Saturday. The munchkin fell asleep on the drive home and we transferred her to the little dish chair we keep at the front door - she slept for almost an hour, fully bundled for the elements!
Later that afternoon, my wife and the munchkin made some biscuits for dinner while I took a little break and watched some of the NCAA games that were on. We also spent some time with Mega Bloks.
Finally, as we were enjoying our Sunday evening dinner of biscuits and chili (where we were sampling the third or fourth new biscuit recipe of the year) I asked my wife:
"So, do you scour the web looking for biscuit recipes?"
"I've always got my eyes open. I'm just not always looking."
And suddenly many aspects of my marriage began to make a whole lot more sense.
My weekend got started a little earlier than usual this time because Thursday afternoon until early Friday most of the province was inundated with a melange of precipitation. Inside a four hour span we saw snow turn to ice pellets turn to freezing rain turn to regular rain. So, I worked from home Friday. It ended up being more leisurely than had I spent the day at the office, but I still had some work to accomplish. Nonetheless, my wife got an uninterrupted shower, and I got a few more hugs and kisses than I am accustomed to in a normal work day. That night, we decided to do take out. Since the munchkin wanted pizza and Mommy and I were feeling like Chinese, we decided to compromise: she (the little one) would make her own pizza (on an english muffin) while Mommy and I got take out. Ironically, the munchkin preferred the sweet and sour pork (which was a lot better than usual - year of the pig?) and General Tso's chicken and most of the pizza was discarded.
After dinner, I decided to get in on the "cooking with munchkin" action that Mommy has patented. Being The next morning the munchkin and I got up at an ungodly hour (I will only say that the first digit on the clock was less than seven) and proceeded downstairs to allow Mommy some extra sleep as she has been feeling under the weather lately. Mornings like this one (where my wife is still sleeping) are always difficult for me. How do I entertain a toddler while not making any noise whatsoever? I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I took the easy way out for the first part and just put on the tv. Once I had woken up enough to be a better functioning parent, we turned off the tv and tried to play with her Little People, but that only worked until she found the minivan. You see, the playground has a switch on the bottom to disable to music and sounds. The van does not. And my wife has radar ears. Eventually we settled on finger painting, where I tried to demonstrate how to mix yellow and red to get orange to no avail (she just wanted to smear the paint - imagine that!)
Once Mommy was awake, it quickly became apparent that it was going to be a Daddy-Daughter day, so after a lazy morning and a nice long nap, I packed up the munchkin and headed over to a friend's house. We met them way back in pre-natal class. They were the first ones to give birth and we were the last. Our daughters are around six months apart, so it's only recently that they can play together unsupervised.Anyhow, we went over there so that the munchkin could play with her little friend (and her little friend's baby brother whom she loves to bits and pieces) while I did some PC maintenance (remember the CD I was looking for?) When we first arrived, she was a bit "off". Either she was missing Mommy, or she was still groggy from her nap, or both. Regardless, as I sat on the couch and fiddled with the laptop, she clung to my side. She was wedged in between me and the back of the sofa so deeply that I had to consciously hold myself away from her slightly to avoid crushing her. And every time I pulled back from the laptop to allow some process to complete she climbed up and wrapped her arms around me saying "Daddy cuddles". Sure, it was manufactured by the strange surroundings, the absence of Mommy, and the recent awakening from a nap. But it still felt great to be wanted.
She eventually settled enough to go and play with the kids so that I could leave her with them (the daughter and the mother) while I went upstairs to establish VNC (remote control) connectivity between the home PC and the new laptop. Once that was done we decided to head out to the mall to kill some more time.When we arrived at the mall, my daughter said the words I always dread to hear: "Daddy, want to walk in mall." Why do I always dread to hear them? Because it means she's going to hold on to the stroller while I push it and try to maintain the trifecta of a) not running into anything (a feat for me with a stroller), b) not running her over (something I have already done once - albeit slight), and c) actually accomplishing something at the mall (difficult in light of a and b). You see, to make a stroller stable they make the base wider than the body. This means that the wheels are further apart than the bars that run along the sides. So when a toddler with arms about as long as a standard tablespoon tries to hold on to the stroller, the wheels inevitably get in the way. Combine that with the bizarre stagger every kid does when walking indoors in snow boots and you've got a recipe for disaster.
Amazingly, we were able to traverse the mall in this manner on a Saturday afternoon without incident. I negotiated her into the stroller so we could go through Toys R Us (her birthday is coming up at the end of the month and I needed to do some of my mother's shopping for her) and then successfully Saturday evening my wife and I watched Invincible, which, despite being a Disney flick, was actually quite enjoyable.
Sunday morning was another test in my "what can you do with a toddler that keeps them quiet and doesn't rot their brain" skill set. That morning involved markers, crayons, and lots of paper.
The three of us did another round of shopping in the late morning, where we found some of the items I failed to pick up on Saturday. The munchkin fell asleep on the drive home and we transferred her to the little dish chair we keep at the front door - she slept for almost an hour, fully bundled for the elements!Later that afternoon, my wife and the munchkin made some biscuits for dinner while I took a little break and watched some of the NCAA games that were on. We also spent some time with Mega Bloks.
Finally, as we were enjoying our Sunday evening dinner of biscuits and chili (where we were sampling the third or fourth new biscuit recipe of the year) I asked my wife:
"So, do you scour the web looking for biscuit recipes?"
"I've always got my eyes open. I'm just not always looking."
And suddenly many aspects of my marriage began to make a whole lot more sense.
This Is Organization?!?
The following occurred this afternoon.
Me: Hon, where would I find the antivirus installation CD?
My Wife: In the basement, on top of the card table, in a green copy paper box. It might be underneath the table, but I'm pretty sure it's on top.
Me: OK.
Five minutes later I returned with my CD, having found it in a purple diaper box under the card table.
Me: Hon, where would I find the antivirus installation CD?
My Wife: In the basement, on top of the card table, in a green copy paper box. It might be underneath the table, but I'm pretty sure it's on top.
Me: OK.
Five minutes later I returned with my CD, having found it in a purple diaper box under the card table.
THS: Stupid Things Parents Do
As parents, we do a lot of things that can only be described as stupid. Sometimes, those things are necessary for our child's health. Sometimes we do them for our child's safety. And sometimes, we do them to entertain ourselves. But in the end, we can only acknowledge that on some fundamental level, they are stupid. This post is a tribute to some of those things.
First up we have the administering of gentian violet. When our daughter was a few weeks old, we discovered that she had developed thrush. For those of you unfamiliar with thrush, it is effectively a yeast infection (yes, that kind of yeast infection) but in the mouth. And if you're breastfeeding, as my wife was, then it is transmitted to the mother's nipples as well. There are other treatments, but the best (according to both doctors and pharmacists) is gentian violet, which is a very potent purple dye. For a couple weeks, everything she wore, everything she spit up on, everything we wore was purple. Fortunately, most of it did come out.
First up we have the administering of gentian violet. When our daughter was a few weeks old, we discovered that she had developed thrush. For those of you unfamiliar with thrush, it is effectively a yeast infection (yes, that kind of yeast infection) but in the mouth. And if you're breastfeeding, as my wife was, then it is transmitted to the mother's nipples as well. There are other treatments, but the best (according to both doctors and pharmacists) is gentian violet, which is a very potent purple dye. For a couple weeks, everything she wore, everything she spit up on, everything we wore was purple. Fortunately, most of it did come out.
Next, we have a little bit of daddy engineering. One of the features of a nursing pillow we had was that it could be used as a baby seat. So, we put our daughter in it and had her facing her Mommy. Unfortunately, she slowly slid down, unable to keep herself in her little seat. So, we devised a plan: I would put a package of diapers and rest that against the headboard of our bed. Then I would jam the pillow up against that. What happened? She put her feet on top of the diaper pack and began to slide again! So, I put a second pack on top. That's how she sat.
Finally, well let's just let the video speak for itself. (Except to say that my wonderful wife was the one taking the video and mid-recording rotated the camera from portrait to landscape orientation, making even more fiddling required by yours truly to make it watchable.)
TDS: The Evolution Of Attachment
When I was a young child, I had a yellow blanket that was maybe two feet by three feet in size with a satin edge around it. I called it "my piece", and used to fall asleep by rubbing the satin edge under my nose. One day the blanket disappeared. Apparently, my father decided that it was not something for a little boy to do (I was three or four at the time), and he took it.
The following spring, my younger sister and I made a terrible discovery: the blanket was not missing; it was being used to insulate some sprouting lettuce plants my father was growing in the backyard. I remember the horror we felt as we pulled the blanket, now covered in mud, from the earth. I don't remember what happened to the blanket after that, except that I never saw it again.
Our daughter was never a very good solo sleeper. She could nod off in a moment if in our arms or cuddled against our bodies in our bed. Falling asleep alone in a crib was very difficult for her. We did some reading and found that if we encouraged attachment to some object (such as a stuffed animal or a blanket) that it could become a source of comfort in the night, and be used as a surrogate for us.
The first item was a small (maybe one square foot) blanket with a stuffed lamb head in the center. It was compact, and soft, and easy for her to grasp. It never really took.
After this failure, my MIL got an idea. In late summer, she took one of my wife's old bathrobes and made a stuffed dog (aside: from a pattern she had used for a stuffed dog for my wife some thirty years earlier), christened Pinkie because the source robe was a faded pink. In an effort to encourage attachment, my wife used to carry the dog around with her all the time and right before bed would rub it on herself to try and transfer some of her scent to make the dog smell more familiar. It worked. Pinkie became a steady fixture at bedtime.
Later that fall, our daughter began to develop skills that enabled her to seek out objects (she wasn't crawling yet, but was able to grab at items). One such item that rapidly became a favourite was a small stuffed Paddington Bear that my wife and I had purchased in a clearance sale years ago. We actually had two (figuring one would make a good gift). Eventually, Paddy and Pinkie were jockeying for position in the crib. It's important to note that we never made any efforts to encourage an attachment to Paddy. We figure it grew out of two factors: one, he was smaller than Pinkie and thus easier to hold/hug; and two, he was brightly coloured while Pinkie was more pale.
For Christmas that year, my MIL gave our daughter a second Pinkie (so we could wash one while not losing the dog). However, looking through today's eyes, the more important gift that Christmas (also from my MIL) was Chrissy, a doll (named for Christmas). It was our daughter's first human-looking stuffed toy, and she took to her very quickly. Within a week Chrissy was a staple in the crib, alongside Paddy and Pinkie.
As time progressed, Pinkie became less and less important to our little girl. One day we left Pinkie downstairs and went up for bed. She didn't protest at all, and went to sleep with Paddy under one arm, and Chrissy under the other. That was almost a year ago now, and many new toys have come and gone, but Paddy and Chrissy are still tops in her heart. The only shift is that since the summer it seems Chrissy is the penultimate (Paddy used to be number one).
I'm not worrying about her attachment to these things. She'll put them aside when she's ready to. And if that doesn't happen until a point when her grandparents (either my in-laws or my parents) are concerned about it, I don't care. It's not our place as parents to police and administer how our children deal with emotions and fears. She'll outgrow it eventually. Until then, I'll do my best to hunt down Chrissy and Paddy every night before bed, as asked.
Pinkie
Our daughter was never a very good solo sleeper. She could nod off in a moment if in our arms or cuddled against our bodies in our bed. Falling asleep alone in a crib was very difficult for her. We did some reading and found that if we encouraged attachment to some object (such as a stuffed animal or a blanket) that it could become a source of comfort in the night, and be used as a surrogate for us.
The first item was a small (maybe one square foot) blanket with a stuffed lamb head in the center. It was compact, and soft, and easy for her to grasp. It never really took.
Paddy
Later that fall, our daughter began to develop skills that enabled her to seek out objects (she wasn't crawling yet, but was able to grab at items). One such item that rapidly became a favourite was a small stuffed Paddington Bear that my wife and I had purchased in a clearance sale years ago. We actually had two (figuring one would make a good gift). Eventually, Paddy and Pinkie were jockeying for position in the crib. It's important to note that we never made any efforts to encourage an attachment to Paddy. We figure it grew out of two factors: one, he was smaller than Pinkie and thus easier to hold/hug; and two, he was brightly coloured while Pinkie was more pale.
Chrissy
As time progressed, Pinkie became less and less important to our little girl. One day we left Pinkie downstairs and went up for bed. She didn't protest at all, and went to sleep with Paddy under one arm, and Chrissy under the other. That was almost a year ago now, and many new toys have come and gone, but Paddy and Chrissy are still tops in her heart. The only shift is that since the summer it seems Chrissy is the penultimate (Paddy used to be number one).
I'm not worrying about her attachment to these things. She'll put them aside when she's ready to. And if that doesn't happen until a point when her grandparents (either my in-laws or my parents) are concerned about it, I don't care. It's not our place as parents to police and administer how our children deal with emotions and fears. She'll outgrow it eventually. Until then, I'll do my best to hunt down Chrissy and Paddy every night before bed, as asked.
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