Cognosco

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:

• 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.

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.

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.

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 the ladies 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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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).

this is about as close as we got to the Easter Bunny

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:

• 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"

On Saturday we got up bright and early and went to Ikea to look for "a few" miscellaneous items. We came out with:

• 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 Ikea 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.

making a birthday card for our friend

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 singing poorly. 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.

dancing in our party dress

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 and prevented 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.

showing off the back of our pretty dress

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).

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.

Curious George before the plastic surgery

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.

Curious George after the plastic surgery

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 th