TRS: Fire In The Hole!

On Friday night I arrived home to learn that the munchkin was more than a little out of sorts, and had been begging to go to East Side Mario's for dinner. Given that I had just spent another week feeling badly for the amount of time I was at work instead of home, we went out for dinner. While driving there, she also asked to go to Toys R Us (is it me, or does she already know how to work her Daddy?) so afterwards we took her to Zellers, which, while not Toys R Us, still has a decent toy section. (Project PSP Update: I spent an inordinate amount of time goofing with the demo unit at Zellers. So much time that later in the weekend, MTM asked me if you could play Tetris on the PSP... I think I'm wearing her down...)

Saturday morning we went to our music class again. This time was different for two reasons: first, a friend from prenatal class (and her daughter) took the same class, so the munchkin had a familiar face to run around and hold hands with. Second, we were working without a net. (For those of you who are not regular readers of my wife's blog, we are in the process of potty training.) That's right folks, we were in a library, on a carpet, without a diaper. To say I was nervous would be the understatement of the year. Nonetheless, we went for it.

After class, I decided we would take the opportunity to use the potty (we're still at the "you're going to sit on it and try, I don't care if you say you don't have to go" stage). Thinking that the door in the classroom lead to a single unit washroom, we entered. Instead we discovered a hallway with a men's room and a women's room. Great. So, I picked up my little girl, hoped no one was using the urinal, and got into a stall. We got all set up (we have a folding portable child seat insert) and she began to do her business. Then, it happened. The other stall (the one right next to ours) became occupied. And it wasn't occupied by a refined gentleman with manners and couth. No, it was occupied by a man who must have eaten a bean burrito washed down by a beer for breakfast. In between his serenade, my daughter asked me, "Daddy, what is that man doing?" I just explained he was going potty. I didn't want to make it any longer than necessary.

Because I'm a masochist nice hubby and father, after class we went to the mall (again) to shop for a Mother's Day gift. We had a specific item that Mommy had said she wanted, and so we went to get it. The women at the store loved the munchkin and thought she was so cute (I let her pick everything, and even pay with my Visa).

After a trip through Toys R Us and a run through the play area, we had another successful potty visit (with an unfortunate hand-dunk in the toilet while wiping). Two for two, people. Two for two.

As we were walking through the food court, the munchkin saw another child with a balloon. She asked me if she could have one, and I said we would try to find one later. Just then a young boy (maybe seven years old) comes up to me and says that he heard her, and if she wanted his balloon, she could have it. It was so sweet (even though the munchkin completely clammed up and wouldn't say thank you to him). I smiled at his mother and hoped that someday I'd have her experience.

We arrived home and I learned that the Lions had selected a wide receiver. Calvin Johnson or not, this is the fourth one in five years. How long before Millen realizes that to "receive" means someone must throw the ball? But I digress.

Saturday afternoon, MTM and the munchkin did a little baking (brownies, if you must know) while Daddy took some time watching the Lions screw themselves again NFL Draft.

That evening, I gave the munchkin a treat and took a bath with her. She loves this because a) there's someone else in the tub with her, and b) she gets to go in our two person soaker tub. So we're in the tub, playing with bath paints, when she decides she wants to "colour Daddy". Now, to explain to those of you (most of you, probably) who don't know, I have this on my left shoulder:

She took the paint and started filling in the sun with blue (the yellow didn't show up well on my pasty white skin). And then she did something that made Mommy rather unhappy: she asked for a blue sun on her left shoulder. So, there we were, Daddy and daughter with matching blue blobs on their upper arms.

On Sunday, we spent the bulk of the day at home, hanging around the house. At one point, "hanging around" involved spinning in circles (on the hardwood) while wearing only our big girl panties and a yellow hat that covered our head.

However, we also had one of those mortified Mommy proud Daddy moments as well. Recently, we have been letting the munchkin climb the stairs alone while we watch from the landing. She has demonstrated enough success that we feel she's safe. Anyhow, she wanted to climb up to grab something from her room, so I went to the landing and watched her. She returned to the top of the stairs holding the doll she sought and a book. She then yelled, "Fire in the hole!" and tossed the book down the stairs.

To explain: the expression ("fire in the hole") is a military term, usually used to warn one's allies that a grenade has been thrown and they should duck for cover. It was introduced to the munchkin the Curious George movie. After that, Daddy began using it whenever he would throw dolls from the first floor up to the second.

We went to MTM's friend's place for dinner. The munchkin calls her Auntie, so she (the friend) tries to be an Auntie. What did she serve for dinner? Make your own pizzas. Except that the munchkin not only made her pizza, she made everyone's pizza. This made Auntie a very popular person who got lots of cuddles afterwards.

She also did "Fire in the hole" at the dinner table with her washcloth.

But she wasn't done there, oh no. What was dessert? Make your own sundaes. The munchkin probably had half the can of whipped cream, and way more Smarties than any two year old should be allowed to have. Nonetheless, it was fun for everyone (even if the munchkin didn't sleep the whole 40 minute drive home and then had several meltdowns between the tooth brushing and getting to bed).

Finally, I usually don't talk about the morning, but this one was too sweet. I descended the stairs after my shower to find my wife and daughter on the loveseat watching television. As soon as she saw me, the munchkin said, "I saved a seat here, Daddy, just for you." I just about melted. And then when I sat down she said, "Please stay here Daddy," and I felt even worse about going to work than I usually do.

Sigh.

THS: Open Letters

Dear Baby Sleepwear Manufacturers,

If you would be so kind as to inform me, why do you insist on putting a row of snaps along the length of a sleeper as opposed to a zipper? I can understand the logic of snaps on a onesie, but on a sleeper? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get them all correct at 2am? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get them all correct when you're drunk? (And if you're drunk at 2am, well you're lucky if your kid doesn't fall off the change table, but that's a story for another time.)

Please stop using snaps for sleepers. I don't like having my daughter awaken looking like we hired Stevie Wonder as her nanny.

---

Dear Especially for Baby,

We registered for your "Wipe Warmer" and received it as a gift. We thought it would be kind to use a warm wipe on our new daughter's bottom when we changed her, and it probably would have.

Please allow me to explain a little-known scientific fact to you. When water (the primary ingredient in baby wipe fluid) is heated, it changes from liquid to gas form. This process is called e-va-por-a-tion. Now, in an air-tight environment, the vapour would condense at the lid and drip back, allowing the wipes to remain moist.

Your device, unfortunately, it not air tight. Therefore, the wipes dry out, and we are left with warm cloths that smell nice, but have little effectiveness in the cleaning department.

---

Dear Toy Manufacturers,

What is it with you and the volume? I mean, seriously, most of her toys, if they even have a volume setting, have two: loud, and deafening. My wife has taken to putting duct tape over the speakers, which works, but only until my daughter removes it. Then, she puts it on my leg and rips it off. I am running out of leg hair (not to mention layers of skin) thanks to your inability to create something at a reasonable volume.

---

Dear Safety 1st,

My wife registered for your "4-in-1 Bath Station" before our daughter was born. Its design was an excellent idea: a tub that grew with the baby by sliding two pieces apart with a safety bar built in. We received it as a gift and were quite excited to use it.

We were quite excited, until we actually used it. Using our kitchen counter as a good smooth surface upon which to affix the suction cups and set the smallest position. We then filled it with water, and watched with dismay as the water leaked out over the counter and on to the floor.

Apparently no one in your design team considered making the seal between the two sections waterproof. Thanks.

---

Daditorial #7
I have another post up over at MommyBlogsToronto. I provide my take on the recent decision by the Peel District School Board to allow community fundraising to pay for large capital expenditures such as pools. So, head on over and share your thoughts.

TDS: The Bike Post

(Yes, the first photo isn't her on a bike. I just thought she looked cute in her matching coat and boots - sue me.)

Last year at this time, we (my wife and I, that is) would tell you that our daughter was walking. In truth, looking back, she wasn't walking so much as she was unsteadily teetering about. If you had pressed us and asked if we would allow her to wander alone in our front yard (while we watched from a distance... not completely unsupervised... sheesh), neither of us would have agreed because we both knew she would fall over at the first sign of uneven terrain.

However, 12 months have passed, dear reader. And in that time, the little munchkin not only maneuvers herself with confidence and grace over all sorts of terrain, she also does so with a bike!

My parents purchased this bike for her for Christmas. In its beginnings, it was a rocking bike, with the red handle (seen in the photos) underneath the wheels. She would rock so ferociously that she could travel the length of our room in minutes (given the sliding effect). About a month ago, we flipped the rocker up (into the handle position) and let her go to town around the house. For her birthday, my parents gave her a helmet (not that we think she needs it for this thing, but more for a "good habits" thing).

Recently, we brought it outside and let her take it for a spin. At first all she wanted was for us to push her while she rested her feet on the little foot rests. We humoured her a bit, and when the Mommy/Daddy motor stopped moving her bike, she put it aside.

On Tuesday, however, things changed. I arrived home to find her not only moving the thing by herself (although not with pedals so much as pushing it "Flintstones" style) but also following directions. Seriously people, my wife was there saying things like "turn left sweetie" and, wouldn't you know it, she turned left (although sometimes she still got confused; she was correct more than half the time). Plus, as she rode around (and around... and around...) the cars, she demonstrated amazing control: she was doing rolling turns and adjusting her direction on the fly. It was a sight to behold.

I don't know exactly when, but she has grown up a whole lot.

TWS: Being "MTM-ed"

On Monday I mentioned that I cut my leg and that the ensuing effort I went through to treat it were more of a Wednesday type thing than a Monday type thing. I will get to that in a moment.

My wife and I, like many couples, have our share of contentions. One of them has been converted into my everyday vernacular, much to her disdain. I will, on occasion, explain to her (or someone else for that matter) that I have been MTM-ed (of course, in reality I use her first name, not an abbreviation of her blogging pseudonym). When I say I've been MTM-ed, it means that I have attempted to retrieve something from its last known location, only to discover that it has been "reorganized" to a "better" place by my wonderful bride.

My first experiences at being MTM-ed occurred when we were still dating, and she spent a lot of time at what was my apartment (she kept no clothes there, slept over infrequently, and received no mail there). The day after she prepared me a dinner (in my kitchen), I went to cook my own dinner. The only problem was I could not locate the spices, the pots, or the flour. As an added bonus, she was at parent-teacher conferences, and inaccessible for the evening. After a foot-long super assorted from the local Mr. Sub restaurant, I awaited her arrival. When questioned, she explained that she had put things in the "right" place.

We moved in together on a Sunday in July. She was off for the summer, so she did most of the unpacking while I was at work. The first night I came home and played "find the utensil" and the ever-popular "if I were MTM, where would I put the plastic lunch containers?" But that was to be expected; she had done the unpacking, after all. Except that she was continuously reorganizing, and I played the same game on Tuesday. By Wednesday I was hiding various items around the kitchen, just so I had a knife to cut cheese with or whatever. The apex came on Friday, when she left for a week at her parents' cottage shortly after lunch. One would hope that she spent Friday morning packing for her trip. One would be wrong. Yes, she reorganized the kitchen again; leaving me to look the fool as I called the cottage twenty times while making myself dinner.

Her pregnancy was difficult, so she was off work for the last month. This, combined with the nesting instinct meant another round of reorganizing. Unfortunately, it was also combined with late-term hormones, which sadly affect memory. When she came home post-partum, in need of significant care because of the c-section birth, I was helpless. She would ask for ibuprofen, and I would go to the last known location of analgesics only to discover freshly laundered linens. We ended up sending my in-laws out to purchase items as we needed them, and a once we had sorted out all the new locations, we had duplicates of many household staples.

So, remember how I said I went home on Sunday evening to take care of the cut on my leg? I climbed the stairs, grabbed the first aid bin (which was not in its previous spot, but thankfully within view) and ran to our bathroom to avoid getting blood on the carpet. I got the hydrogen peroxide out and poured it on my leg (that was propped up on the edge of the tub). I reached for the roll of paper towels that had been on the side of the tub for weeks and discovered it was gone. Also MIA were the kleenex box (we had run out) and there were like three squares of TP on the roll. So I stood there, bloody peroxide running into the tub, out on to the tile, and shaking my head. I pulled her makeup drawer open and used cotton pads to mop up the mess on my leg. Then I had the fun of running (and hoping there wasn't anything on the bottom of my foot) to the other bathroom for paper towels and disinfectants to clean my mess. All this had to be done as quickly as possible, remember, because I had shown up to dinner half an hour late because the munchkin was sleeping, and didn't want to appear anti-social.

Being MTM-ed is not fun.

TNS: Bribery As A Parenting Tool

According to some parenting experts, parents bribe their children. I know, dear reader, I too was shocked to learn that parents would stoop so low as to offer rewards to their children in an effort to gain complicity in various aspects of life. It is a startling revelation.

In all seriousness, though, the article does cite some very excessive examples. They mention a Nintendo Wii gaming system (retailing at nearly $300Cdn) in exchange for a couple soccer goals, believe it or not. They also discuss that continually rewarding children with toys and other material goods can result in a sense of entitlement, where the kids expect something for any good behaviour.

Giving material rewards for certain actions or behaviours is, as most parents know, a short term solution. However, most parents will also tell you that sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war. That is the principle we work on at our house. Sure, we will occasionally offer a material good, but that is usually not a reward but a distraction on a long car ride or during a delayed doctor's visit.

We "reward" our daughter with things she would get anyways, but she desperately wants. For example, when she is particularly pleasant as she wakes up (from a nap) and calls out, "Mommy, please come get me," instead of wailing and crying, she gets a big hug and heaps of praise for being "such a big girl". Of course, even if she's crying her eyes out we still pick her up and hug her (we're not beasts, you know), but she still views the praise and cuddle as a reward.

I'm certain it's easy to sit here with my two year old and say that we will never use material goods to win a battle. However, I think that if parents are aware of the pitfalls, it can be an effective occasional tool in the parenting arsenal.

The Brief Side

Here's a disturbing legal loophole: a woman who conspired with her lover to kill her parents has made an orphan benefits claim against her murdered father's pension.

In the "unbelievably bad parenting" department: a father arrested for driving under the influence; he was caught because he fell asleep at a gas station with his toddler in the back seat.

This is a very thought provoking question: should families compensate a sibling for taking care of an elderly or ill parent?

Here is an editorial piece I completely agree with: it doesn't take a village to raise a child; it takes a parent.

And finally, in light of last week's events at Virginia Tech: some guides for handling difficult subjects with your children.

---

Daditorial #6
I have another post up over at MommyBlogsToronto. This time I discuss how Canadians pay a lot of tax, and why this isn't necessarily a bad thing. So, head on over and share your thoughts.

TRS: Class, Cards And A Cut

Saturday morning had a first in our household. My wife usually has the munchkin enrolled in a couple (or more) classes at various parenting centers and the local library during the week at any one time, and she recently put her in a music class. However, what was special was that this was on a Saturday which meant that I could bring her instead of the usual Mommy-daughter tandem.

We told her that she and I were going together, and that Mommy was staying home (since she has recently been more attached to my wife than usual). She responded with a lot more enthusiasm than was expected. In fact, as we traversed the parking lot, we had the following exchange:

"I'm very excited Daddy."

"Really? I'm really excited too honey."

"I'm happy you're hear Daddy."

Gulp. Crap; I can't go in there all red-eyed. No crying, no crying... Whew, it passed.

The music class was a lot of fun. She played with instruments (her favourite was a little egg shaker) and did the actions and sang the songs she knew. But the high point was the parachute. As all the toddlers (and a couple of the parents of the less-than-enthused ones) sat in the center, the parents circled them with the chute, raising and lowering it (its design enabling a surprising amount of velocity). It was a hoot.

Following the library class, I had arranged with my wife that we were going to the mall to shop for Mother's Day cards and have some lunch (just my daughter and I). To make the day "special" I decided to rent one of the mall strollers that she always asks to ride in instead of our usual Graco. She was so pleased to have the opportunity that she was hugging (and kissing - eww... that brought out the antibacterial wipes pretty quick) the bear that formed the seat.

As we approached the Mother's Day card section of Hallmark, she saw the card. Seriously people, they saw my kid coming a mile away with this card. (I cannot divulge any more details since the internet has prying eyes. Suffice to say, she gave this card more than a couple hugs.) She was OK with giving it to Mommy, but not so OK with the prospect of waiting several weeks. She then went on to choose for both her grandmothers (and was none to pleased when I told her that we weren't buying the sparkly My Pretty Pony card for Papa).

After our errand was done, I figured we'd do whatever she wanted to do.

"Would you like to go to Toys R Us?"

"Yes please Daddy."

En route, we came to the play area, which generally speaking is filled with a bunch of slobbering, snotty kids who missed their morning ritalin. That day it was a little less psychotic than usual, so I decided to allow her to play there when she asked. Everything was going smoothly until she decided to go down a very small slide standing up. (You see, this play area is made of foam that has been coated in a high lustre lacquer, making every surface akin to ice. However, they make the kids go in without shoes. I think they want kids to go down the slides in their socks, but that may just be me.) The problem? She didn't fall and knock herself on the head, she went down and at the end fell on her bum. She laughed, clapped, and did it again. I was fine with it (the slide was about 18 inches high across a 36 inch length... not steep), at least until I got the "disapproving holier-than-thou" stare from the mother of a much younger, barely walking, toddler who was emphatically attempting the same thing. Then I felt a twinge of guilt, until I got indignant and thought, "Hey, I have to tell my kid not to leap from the top of tunnels like some others. You're getting off easy."

We then went through Toys R Us, where, unlike Mommy, I would bring her the things she pointed to on the shelves. She would play with them for a few minutes, then put them back and move on. (I would later learn that "we" are trying to discourage this habit. Oops.)

Then, it was time for lunch. We went to Burger King (she had said she wanted a cheeseburger for lunch) and got to the cashier. Before I could speak, the munchkin piped up, "I want a cheeseburger, lady."

Now, I'd like to tell you that I quickly and calmly corrected her while smiling at the cashier, to say "please". And I'd like to tell you that she repeated her request more politely, and shined a winning smile, and everyone's day was a little brighter because of it. I'd like to tell you that, but I can't. The "lady" cashier? A sullen long-haired teenage boy.

That's right hippy boy... cut that hair. Even my kid thinks you look like a girl.

We sat down with our burgers and fries and had a nice lunch while sullen hippy kid occasionally looked in our direction. That's one more place I'm no longer welcome, I thought to myself.

Later that afternoon, we had our first barbecue of the season. I don't know what it is, but there's something manly about cooking meat over a fire, even if it is an enclosed fire fueled by a compressed gas being shot out thin holes in metal tubing without any charcoal or lava rocks or whatever and instead long metal "flavorizer bars". Shut up. It felt manly enough.

As we sat at the table with our knackwurst and corn on the cob, I said to my daughter, "You know, when I was a little boy I used to get very excited for the first barbecue of the summer."

She nodded knowingly, or so I thought.

The remainder of the evening included many tales from my daughter that began, "When I was a little boy, Mommy" or "When I was a little boy, Daddy".

Sunday ended up being less than eventful, thanks to the night my wife and daughter had. We spent a little time outside with the hose and a soaked toddler, and were actually invited to our neighbours for dinner. An hour before we were scheduled to head over, I took the munchkin into our room for a little nap since she had not slept well all day and would be a bear if she didn't nap. Of course, she slept right through, and I had to send my wife over alone.

About a half hour later, I woke the munchkin and we went over. As I was sitting down, I scraped my leg on one of their chairs. "Crap, that kind of hurt," I thought to myself. Then I put my hand down to feel how big the scrape was. When I pulled my hand up, it was red. I discretely asked my wife for her napkin (mine was nowhere to be seen), and bless her heart, she announced to the table, "Why do you need my napkin?"

After a few minutes of trying to stop the bleeding, I went home to care for the cut. I returned after a much longer than expected time (a story for this Wednesday) and enjoyed a nice (albeit cold) dinner with our neighbours as my daughter entertained the group with hugs and smiles.

THS: Photo Friday

Earlier this week, in anticipation of the upcoming summer season, we dug out the bathing suits and other swimwear we had from last summer as well as new items that we purchased on clearance last fall. The munchkin fell in love with one of the bikinis we purchased; so much so that we had to put it on over her pajamas for the remainder of the day. You can click on the images to enlarge them.

(Oh, and ever since my mother gave her those pajamas - green and monkeys - she only wants to wear those, meaning we my wife has been doing more laundry than usual.)

Also, we recently invented a new game. I am proud to say that safety was of the highest priority (note the helmet). I present to you: Tent Ball!

---

Daditorial #5
I have another post up over at MommyBlogsToronto. This time I talk about the day care situation in Toronto.

TTS: Will you call my name?

Before my daughter was born, if you would have asked me what was most important (aside from the obvious stuff like her and my wife being healthy, ten fingers, ten toes, and the like) I would have said that I wanted my child (we didn't know the gender) and I to have "a bond". If you pressed me further to explain what I meant, I would not have been able to explain it, other than to say that I wanted her to know me and feel comfortable with me.

The first few weeks after her birth were ripe with opportunities for this, because, as fate would have it, my wife's delivery was very difficult and culminated in a vertical incision for a caesarean delivery. This meant that in addition to making sure my wife was healing I was the primary caregiver aside from nursing. I spent many, many hours holding my daughter and talking to her while my wife rested. When it came time for me to return to work (two years ago yesterday), I left with the confidence that I had laid a good foundation.

In those early days, my daughter and I had a little routine after work (I left before she woke most mornings). We would play or sing or read for a bit, and she would eventually pass out in my arms, and we would nap together on the couch. To be clear, I wasn't just "trying to bond"; I genuinely loved the time we spent together.

That first summer, my wife decided she wanted to spend an extended vacation at her parents' cottage. Since I had eaten up all my vacation time during post-partum care, I was unable to join them. My wife sensed my panic about being apart from my daughter for that long, and I admitted that I was afraid she would forget about me. To try and help counteract the situation, she made a "Daddy Book" which was a little photo album of pictures of my daughter and I as well as some of just me. Every day that they were gone, several times (usually before sleeping), they would thumb through the book.

As time progressed, my daughter became more self-aware, and with that came the ability to communicate her desires. Sadly (for me), that meant she was able to tell us that she (very strongly) preferred her mother to me. Logically, it made sense: my wife was (and still is) a SAHM, the person my daughter saw practically every waking moment. However, that didn't make me worry any less about the bond I had forged with her.

When she was around 10 months, I had to go on a business trip (this was an extremely rare occurrence; it was my first in over seven years). I would be gone for two weeks, and during that time, my wife and daughter regularly used the "Daddy Book", and my daughter watched a DVD I had made of myself reading some of her favourite books at the time. She actually went to bed clutching the photo album some nights.

Later that spring, I broke my ankle and was home for two months. During that time, we rekindled our daddy-daughter relationship, and found a new understanding for each other. And then I returned to work, and the status quo returned, where I was rarely even a suitable replacement for Mommy.

And then, something changed. Whether it was age, or a better understanding of her world, or whatever, my daughter suddenly found me an agreeable companion again. Now, when I come home from work, she runs to greet me at the door and wants to tell me about her day. It's a great feeling, except...

Except for the fact that my wife tells me that recently, my daughter's first words in the morning, as she descends the stairs, is "I want my Daddy back" (I leave for work while they are still asleep). It breaks my heart to know that she feels this way. And I wonder to myself, is the modern father's approach to try and spend more time with their kids really the right answer? Or is what many of our fathers did (emotionally distant, generally unavailable) better for the child, since they don't "miss" Daddy so much? It's more of a rhetorical question, really. I know that being involved is the right answer, but I don't see the "old" approach quite the same way anymore.

The photos are from two years ago this week. I was perusing our image archives last night and decided to upload a couple old ones. This is the first time she wore a dress. I put her in it before we went shopping with Mommy - our first family excursion other than doctor visits.

TWS: Genesis - Chapter 3

When we left off at the end of Chapter 2, we had agreed to bump up our first date from a Sunday afternoon mall trip to a Friday night movie. (You should probably read Chapter 1 first though.)

I then ran around my apartment like a madman, cursing myself for being so impetuous. I had planned a haircut for Saturday morning, so my hair looked like crap, and Saturday was also laundry day, so the wardrobe was looking a little bare. Nonetheless, I got ready and drove out there.

We met up, and I was blown away by the natural beauty before me. She was beaming from ear to ear as she approached me. We exchanged greetings and went inside for a drink before the show. (We had arranged to meet earlier than the showtime to allow for small talk beforehand.) After the drink, I brought her back to my car to get something out of the trunk. (To those who would think poorly of her decision making skills, the parking lot was well lit, and my car was visible from the front door.) I then presented her with a children's book (The Velveteen Rabbit), explaining that flowers were a poor choice since they eventually died, and I didn't want that to happen to our friendship. (Oh yeah, baby... cue the Barry White music.)

We watched the film and went for a coffee afterwards. The conversation continued just as it had on the phone. The only difference was that we were able to make eye contact and touch each other's hands. We parted around midnight and I asked her to call me when she got in to confirm she made it home safely.

I arrived home and waited for the call. We talked until almost 6am. I got up at 9am and went out to get my haircut and do other errands. I was just sitting down when my phone rang. We talked for over five hours before I asked her what she was doing for dinner that night. When she said she was free, we arranged to meet at a restaurant for dinner.

After dinner, neither of us wanted to go home, so we went to see another movie (this time the far more mainstream and disturbingly incestuous Gladiator... let me tell you, nothing kills your groove faster than brother-sister incest). We agreed to keep our date for Sunday, and separated for the night. Again, we talked when she called to confirm her safe arrival, although significantly less deeply into the night since we were both exhausted.

We had our date at the mall on Sunday, although the bulk of it was spent in the front seat of my car looking at photos I had brought with me to share. For those of you scoring at home, that's three dates in three days.

That night while we were talking she brought up the subject of the following Tuesday (two days from then), and that it was my birthday. I had never been one to make a big deal of my birthday, and I didn't want to make her feel like she had to do something for me for my birthday, so I refused to see her on Tuesday.

On Monday night I went out with my buddy (the same one who had checked my email) to shop for an engagement ring for his girlfriend. As we were having dinner, we talked about my birthday and how she had asked to get together. He told me I was stupid and that I should get over myself. Then, my cell rang and it was my grandfather calling to wish me a happy birthday (he had gotten his days mixed up). When I hung up, my buddy laughed at me. "You so thought that was her. You're so far gone it isn't even funny. Just go out with her tomorrow."

So that night I called her and made the agreement to go out the following evening. We went out for dinner and went to shoot some pool afterwards. I made her a wager that I could teach her how to make a combination shot (cue ball hits ball #1, ball #1 hits ball #2 which goes into the pocket) in exchange for a kiss. She has, in the nearly seven years that I have known her, never made a combination shot.

As we stood beside her car that night, she gave me a gift bag. I resisted, explaining that I didn't want her to go to any trouble. She explained that she made it, and pushed me to open it. Inside were two origami birds and a poem she wrote for me. I thanked her and gave her a big hug which turned into our first kiss.

The next day my buddy asked, "So, how did it go last night?"

"Apparently, I got a girlfriend for my birthday."

"Nice."

---

This site has been nominated in the "Best Parenting Blog" category (along with many finer blogs than this one) at the Blogger's Choice Awards.

TNS: A Child's Rights

I had today's post all written, and then the news started to trickle in about what happened at Virginia Tech on Monday. My original post follows after the break.

While specifics are unknown at this time, what is known is that 33 people died yesterday in what is the worst mass shooting in US history. What is also known is that two of the victims were professors, leaving 31 students dead. And those 31 students were all someone's son or daughter.

Every day I kiss my daughter good bye, and I tell her to be safe and to listen to Mommy. And right now I usually feel comfortable with that because she's only two and cannot get out into the world on her own. But one day, not necessarily soon, but sooner than I would like sometimes, she will go out into the world. She will go out into the same world that has men toting guns in schools, and it scares the crap out of me.

It's terrifying to think of all the evil and harm that can make your child a victim, and if you let it get the best of you it can be psychologically damaging both to you and your child. We want to keep them safe all the time, but it really isn't possible. No matter how hard we try, random occurrances can come and undermine our best efforts.

I really don't know what else to say right now other than my thoughts are with those parents who lost children yesterday.

---

A mother is currently in a legal battle to keep her son on life support. The child, 17 months old, cannot breathe without assistance, and is unable to swallow or move intentionally. The doctors believe all higher order brain function has ceased. Most disheartening is the fact that the boy's doctors believe he is in pain. According to the article, the decision is not financial (the boy's medical care is covered), but rather sympathetic.

In general, parents have the right to decide what care is best for their children. While a slippery slope in some cases, such as some faiths that refuse blood transfusions, making surgery nearly impossible, in most cases it allows the parent control over their child's life. Unfortunately, it can also create situations where a parent does what is best for themselves instead of their child.

The boy is suffering, according to the medical professionals. He will never live an interactive, much less normal, life. By all accounts it is unlikely he is aware of who his mother is, much less whether or not she is present and/or holding him. Yet the mother, for her own sake, cannot let go. While I feel for her and respect her need to deal with her own feelings of loss and suffering on her own terms, I cannot condone what she is doing. It is, in my opinion selfish.

I hope I never have to make such a decision for anyone I care about. I was indirectly involved in such a decision five years ago when my grandfather fell ill and subsequently lost the will to live. He was given additional pain medication and all food and drink were ceased. My mother wept bitterly, claiming they were "starving him". I explained to her that while he was in fact starving, it was more humane than forcing nutrition into his body and forcing him to remain alive and in the pain he was in.

Therein lies the paradox: can a parent make the decision that is best for their child and for themselves simultaneously? In some cases, the answer most certainly is in the affirmative. However, in those such as that of this young boy, it appears the law requires some recourse to do what is best for the child when the parent becomes too involved in their own emotions to do the just thing.

The Brief Side
It's still a few weeks away, but here is an interesting discussion about the true origins of Mother's Day.

A recent study has found that abstinence classes do not stop teenagers from having sex. In a related story, prohibiting alcohol sales to those over 19 does not reduce teenage drinking.

There is a fascinating new technique, called assisted caesarean that allows the mother to be the one to remove the baby from her uterus.

Here is a useful guide about how to avoid the pitfalls of so-called "extreme parenting", or the tendency of parents to put too much pressure on themselves to make their child's lives perfect.

This is an interesting discussion about whether or not praise can become excessive when dealing with young children.

In the "read about these parents to make yourself feel better about the job you're doing department", we have a mother who wants her baby in jail with her, a mother who prostituted her daughter for crack cocaine, and a 17 year old mother who stabbed her newborn 130 times.

Finally, we have a story about what happens when teachers are not allowed to use the strap anymore: they take a group of misbehaving boys, cut their hair and put pink bows on their heads. Sadly, this is not satire.

Daditorial #4
I have another post up over at MommyBlogsToronto. This time I talk about a Toronto woman who is being deported, how it affects her Canadian born daughter, and how the Canadian government can show her a little compassion.

---

This site has been nominated in the "Best Parenting Blog" category (along with many finer blogs than this one) at the Blogger's Choice Awards.

TRS: Samples, Subways, and Strikeouts

On Friday I got out of my meeting early and went home to grab my girls and head out on some errands. First on our list was Costco, or as the munchkin likes to refer to it, "the toddler buffet". Seriously people, at one point we had to move the doll she brought that was sitting beside her in the two-seater cart to make room for all her "snacks". She had cookies (which the woman had thoughtfully given her an extra-large muffin cup of all the broken ones; easier to chew), torilla chips, mini pizzas and pineapple. But my favourite, and the funniest to watch? Ham. Yes, that's right, there we were pushing our little angel as she gnawed on a cube of ham on a stick. Nothing can make a carnivore father more proud than his little girl telling him, "This is my ham; it's not your ham," as she nibbles.

After that we hit the local mall for a bite to eat and then for Mommy to return some items. I also started a little information gathering about pricing and availability for Project PSP (a not-so-secret, not-so-covert operation to convince my wife that I should get a PSP, or Playstation Portable, for my birthday in mid-June). Don't worry, dear reader, I will keep you informed about the status of Project PSP as new developments occur.

Friday evening we watched the finale of season 2 of The Pretender (on DVD). (As an aside, if you have never watched this show, give it a chance. I got season 1 for my birthday last year, and my wife loved it so much we got her season 2 for Christmas.)

Saturday was at best restful and uneventful. I slept in (thanks to the wonder that is my wife) and then spent the morning lounging around the house. Following a busy morning of sleeping in and lounging, I ate some lunch (prepared by my wife) and proceeded to nap while the munchkin napped (and apparently after she got up, I discovered as I descended the stairs). We did get out of the house to hit the grocery store for some supplies for dinner (and to check out the lobster tank), so that was a little less lazy, I suppose.

That evening, my wife and I settled in to watch Stranger Than Fiction (a brilliant film, and one I will certainly be watching again). About midway through the movie, she shrieked very loudly and started freaking out and flailing her leg under the blanket she was cozied under.

At this point, I'm going to fast forward to Sunday evening for a moment to tell you a related story. As we were lying in bed, I said, "So, can I blog about how I thought there was a ferret under your blanket last night when you freaked out?"

"No way!"

"Why not?"

"Because if you say you thought there was a ferret under the blanket, then people are automatically going to assume it went for my anus."

"What?!?"

"Well, where else is it going to go?"

"Other than your anus?"

"Yes."

"Are you aware what a ferret is?"

"They're small and..."

"You're aware that they're like the length of a cat, just flatter and narrower, right?"

"But still, just don't say 'ferret', because then people will think 'anus', OK?"

After we both had a good laugh, I convinced her to let me tell you that story, so nobody bust my chops for not listening to her wishes, OK?

In actual fact, the reason for the shrieking was that my wife got the mother of all leg cramps. (In exchange for permission to tell you the above story, I am obligated to tell you that her calf felt like it had a grapefruit in it, which all of you will agree is not as interesting and far less funny than a ferret.)

Sunday morning we got up and informed the munchkin that we were going to Toronto for the day to ride the subway and see a baseball game. Her reaction was somewhat unexpected. She informed us that she preferred to stay home with her dolls, and that my wife and I would go to the game without her. Once we convinced her to come, she vocalized a number of concerns: that the "spaceball man" wasn't going to touch her (understandable concern; I put a highlights show on and let her see the fans in the stands and got her to realize that wasn't feasible), that the "spaceball man" wasn't going to pick her up (we explained that away) and that the "spaceball man" wasn't going to put his fingers in her mouth (apparently the "spaceball man" and the dentist are getting confused in her mind).

Once we sold her on the idea, we drove down to the subway station nearest our house and parked. As we descended the steps we explained that we would be riding a train (a first for the munchkin). She was quite enamoured with the idea, and when we finally got on the subway she was beside herself. She smiled and waved and chatted up the car ("I'm widin' the twain.") People couldn't help but smile at her. She couldn't help but move back and forth between Mommy's seat and Daddy's seat.

After a quick lunch we were off to the ballpark to catch my Tigers (yes, I am a Tigers fan; no, it didn't start last season; yes, I wore my Tigers cap the year they lost 119 games thankyouverymuch) play the Jays. It was Jackie Robinson Day, which made it easier for my wife to call the game (everyone in the Detroit outfield wore #42 in honour of Jackie). The munchkin was far more interested in resting her little chin on the railing in front of us, or running around the stadium, or sharing her snacks with the kids in front of and behind her (even the one who kicked her and I in the head) than the actual game. She enjoyed clapping when the crowd roared, and was most transfixed by an obnoxious group of drunken hecklers in the next section, prompting me to comment to my wife, "Great, she has a thing for frat boys."

We actually made it to the sixth inning, far beyond either my wife's (first) and my (third) prediction. When it became clear we were leaving, the munchkin melted down (thanks to it being a good two hours past her nap time), but was asleep in the sling before we left the stadium. She crashed until we were already on the subway back to the van. By the time we were driving home, the Jays had won the game (damnit).

---

Compliments of Laural, this site has been nominated in the "Best Parenting Blog" category (along with many finer blogs than this one) at the Blogger's Choice Awards.

TRS: Daddy-Daughter Date Day

Originally I was going to tell you about my special "date" last night, but then I realized there was more to it than just last night to tell you about. My whole day (relatively speaking) was unique.

Yesterday morning my wife and the munchkin went for a play date at a friend's house that also happened to be near my office. So, after a morning of play with a little friend they came to visit me at work for lunch.

My wife called me from the van to come help her bring everything up (my building has no elevator). When I got downstairs, the munchkin was just waking up from a driving-induced cat nap. But when she saw me, her face lit up and she announced, "Daddy, I'm having lunch wiff you!"

We sat around my desk and ate. I propped her up on a thick binder (just like Curious George in one of his stories) and cuddled her throughout the meal. We tried to use my white board, but Mommy said the smell was too strong (next time we're bringing kid-safe dry-erase markers) and ended up drawing on some paper. It was a nice diversion in the middle of the day.

After work, my wife had a dentist appointment with a new office. Since we're getting ready to bring the munchkin soon, I brought her in at the start of the appointment to let her sit in the chair, take a ride, and just get familiar with the office, equipment, et cetera. (This was all my wife's idea; I take no credit for the amazing forethought.) She took to it really well (she loved riding the chair), and she was the darling of all the hygienists in the office.

Since Mommy's appointment took place over the dinner hour, I took the opportunity to take my little girl out for a daddy-daughter date. We went to a local restaurant, where she dined on macaroni and cheese and I stupidly tried to have ribs (hey, it was the special) while feeding and maintaining a toddler. It went beautifully. She ate very nicely (I think I counted four pieces of pasta on the table, one on the floor) and was very interested in a young baby (maybe four months old) at the next table.

"Daddy, baby's cwyin'. I draw him a picture."

"Daddy, baby's cwyin'. I give him some my apple juice."

"Daddy, baby's cwyin'. I share my doll wiff him."

She was so sweet.

Following dinner, we made a quick stop at the pet store where she looked at (but did not get too close to) the cats available for adoption. It is remarkable to me that she constantly reminds both herself and I, the whole time we're there, that the kitties "can't get her", yet asks to go see the kitties at least once a day.

I love spending time with her, just the two of us. It's nice to have family time as well, don't get me wrong. But there's a different dynamic when I'm the only parent around. Sure, part of it is the fact that I get all the affection. However, it also allows us to get to know each other a little bit better.

Daditorial #3
I have another post up over at MommyBlogsToronto. With all the recent media attention, I had to talk about seat belts on school buses.

TTS: Natural Consequences

Today's topic is that of natural consequences as it applies to raising children, particularly in the area of discipline and behaviour management. I have recently discussed this topic in the comments sections of other blogs as well as in email discussions with fellow bloggers and decided to dedicate a post to it.

At this point I will state for the record that I am by no means an expert in child psychology or parenting. Everything I state here is my opinion and should be taken as such.

The basic principle of natural consequences is that the parental response to a behaviour or event is one that is logically connected to the act it is in response to. In other words, it is a result that "makes sense", even to the mind of a young child.

For example, assume you have a toddler who prefers to use their markers on the wall instead of the nice white sheet of paper you provide them. A natural consequence of this would be that if they draw on the walls that the markers are taken away for a period of time. For the purpose of illustration, the opposite type of response would be to put the child in a "timeout" or yell at them.

Part of natural consequences, especially for younger children, is the explanation of the cause and effect relationship. As you are taking the markers away, you explain that the markers are for use on paper, not walls, and that when they are used on walls they are taken away.

There is a potential pitfall in applying this logic unilaterally. With certain behaviours, natural consequences can become revenge. For example, if a child bites the parent and the parent, assuming the natural response, bites back. Of course this is unacceptable parenting. If the biting was done maliciously then it definitely needs a response, but not biting the child. (I don't have a good natural consequence for biting. If someone else does, please suggest it in the comments.)

An example from our own lives is how we handle projectile food at mealtimes. It seems every toddler goes through a food throwing phase, and our daughter is no exception. What we did was we would discourage the behaviour verbally during the meal, but leave the mess. At the end of the meal (dictated by her asking to be cleaned up and cuddled), we would get a cloth and begin cleaning the floor, much to her frustration. As she whined and/or cried, we explained that we could not clean her and let her on the floor when it was so dirty. We would clean it, and explain that if she hadn't thrown her food, that she would be cleaned and cuddled by that point. She still throws food occasionally, but nowhere near as often as before.

Children learn better from physical examples such as cause and effect than they do from verbal explanations, especially at an early stage of development. Telling your child not to take off their mittens as they play in the snow because they will get frostbite is not as effective as showing them that the consequence of taking them off is that they have to go inside.

Daditorial #2
My second post is up over at MommyBlogsToronto. This time I look at the rejected ad for the Toronto Blue Jays featuring Frank Thomas in a pillow fight with some boys. You can read it at Daditorial.

TWS: Genesis - Chapter 2

When we left off at the end of Chapter 1, I had received an email that said we may become friends, but not romantically involved.

Restraining myself from doing my instinctive "just walk away" which I normally did when I encountered someone with that sort of initial reaction, I calmly emailed a reply. In it I clearly stated that all events she was concerned with were in my past and no longer a part of who I was. I had different friends, lived in a different city, et cetera. I ended the reply with the comment, "oh, and for someone who wanted to 'take it slow', you sure brought up the word 'romantic' pretty quick".

The rest of the day I couldn't focus on anything at work. I waited for emails that never came. Certain that I had either completely blown it or at the very least pissed her off something fierce, I went home. Shortly after the dinner hour, my phone rang. It was her.

We talked well into the night again. We came to an understanding about my past, her reaction, and my subsequent comment (which she admitted was quite effective in bringing her down to earth). We learned more about each other and just generally chatted about everything and anything.

The next day at work I went to the one guy in my office (there were less than 40 at the time) who went to the university she went to (who was also a good friend - we had just spent an evening a few weeks prior picking out stereo equipment, which in men's relationship terms is like bra shopping). I asked him if he knew anyone with her first name (we had not exchanged last names yet). He replied that he knew three: one not very well, one well enough to talk to, and one that he lived with in residence who he knew really well. In an effort to identify if she was one of the three, he gave me a question. If she answered yes, she was the one he knew really well.

That night, we spoke on the phone again. I asked her the question early on in the conversation, and as soon as I did so there was a very long silence, followed by her asking "Whyyyy?"

"Apparently that's a 'yes'. Do you remember someone named Rob?" (name changed)

"No."

"Rob Rossini?"

"No."

"Roberto Rossini?"

"You know Roberto!?!"

It was then that I explained how I knew this mutual friend. I told her about how we worked together, and she told me stories from university life that I could (and would) later use to humiliate him.

The next day she was returning to the town where she went to teacher's college for convocation. This meant no email (or phone contact, presumably) for a couple days. However, that night she called from a friend's house, somewhat drunk. We talked for a little while, but she wasn't really coherent enough to carry a conversation that was up to our normal standards, and rather than have her be the one on the phone at a party I let her go.

Friday evening she returned home and called me. We talked for a long while, mostly about her convocation and the upcoming street festival in her neighbourhood the next day. She would later tell people we met at this street festival since at the time meeting online was not as common.

Early the following week, we made arrangements to meet in real life, figuring we were both comfortable enough that the other person was neither crazy nor a serial killer (thanks in no small part to having the friend in common). Our plan was to meet that coming Sunday (15 days after our original online encounter) at a mall near my apartment that was one of the largest ones in Canada. We could walk around, talk, and she could shop.

As the week progressed, we continued our little routine of email through the day and phone calls that lasted into the morning hours. On Friday night we were talking on the phone when I pulled out the paper and checked for the show listings at a theatre that was halfway between our locations (I lived in the southern part of a west end suburb while she was northeast of the city). I found something short and suitably artistic (Cirque du Soleil's Journey of Man at an Imax theatre).

"Are you doing anything tonight?"

"No."

"You want to go see a movie?"

"Uh, OK."

And just like that, we had our first date arranged; two days before the originally scheduled one. We agreed on the showtime, the theatre, and where to meet.

I will conclude this story next Wednesday in "The Wife Side".

TNS: Accommodating Parental Needs

Two stories are up for discussion today, both centred around the question of what should be considered reasonable in the area of accommodating the needs for parents in special circumstances.

First, we have a lawsuit that has been filed by a teen mother who claims her school's attendance policy is biased against teen parents. The mother missed a significant number of classes to care for her young son while he was ill. She was charged with truancy, and in her state this translated into punishments including fines and suspension of a driver's license. The charges remained despite the mother producing a doctor's note confirming the child's illness.

On the one hand, the young mother's first responsibility is to her child. Acknowledging this, the mother stayed home from school. She was, in effect, being punished for being a good mother. If this mother was an adult in the workforce, and had lost her job because she had to take leave to care for her ill child, working parents everywhere would be outraged. But this is not a woman in the workforce. This is a teenager in high school.

The suit calls for the school district to amend its rules for teen parents. But what is the school to do? If the mother is not attending classes, she cannot be granted credit for them. Aside from independent study, which itself is problematic for the majority of students, how can a school system educate a student who is not present, and unable to work on their schoolwork at home because of a sick child?

A more reasonable approach would be leniency with the punishments for truancy when a sick child is involved. Expecting preferential treatment in the academic side of things would not serve the young parents in the least.

Next, there is a mother who is calling for the state to take action because she feels she is being discriminated against. Because of her son's disability, she has been unable to find him daycare. Her son has cerebral palsy and requires the use of a wheelchair, but this is not the issue. The issue is that her son is 11 and requires assistance with his pants when using the washroom. The daycares she has spoken to inform her that they cannot care for him in that manner because of child protection laws.

At issue here is the child's age combined with their needs. Most daycares will assist toddlers with the washroom, especially during the potty training phase. But performing the same tasks on a preteen is problematic. The laws that have been put in place to protect children from sexual predators should not be so rigid as to prevent a child from receiving care. There should be some form of parental consent to accredited caregivers (along similar lines to the consent given to nursing home workers) that would allow the daycare to take this boy in.

The Brief Side
This is an interesting (albeit overly brief) discussion about the four basic parenting styles that allows every parent the opportunity for a little introspection.

Here is an article that explores a little bit into the decline of romance after the birth of a child. It also offers some suggestions to improve the situation as well as some discussion about the differences between men and women.

Some parents would rather write a cheque than do school fundraisers because of the amount of time it takes to help out. At first glance the parents seem lazy, but when you read about the effort required, it makes a bit of sense.

A recent phenomenon involves parents taking their families with them on business trips instead of pining for them in hotel rooms. The article looks at one man in particular who brought his wife and infant daughter with him, and how the hotel accommodated their needs.

Finally, when I look back upon all the life lessons my father taught me as a toddler I remember things like kicking a ball, climbing a tree, and jumping off a swing. I missed out on the proper use of an assault rifle.

TRS: Easter Weekend

Like many people, I had Friday off from work. To everyone's surprise (especially after Friday's less than well-received post), the Easter Bunny ended up visiting our house a full two days early because we weren't going to be home on Sunday morning. He left a complex scavenger hunt, starting on the munchkin's change pad and taking her around the house collecting eggs and clues (including one under a bed that was so far back she couldn't reach it in spite of some cute attempts and grunting). It ended at her little picnic table with a fuzzy chick basket filled with gummy bunny heads (try not to think about it too long... the rabbit giving severed heads, that is) that were too tough for the munchkin to eat, as well as some other fun items.

After successfully negotiating some candy for breakfast (alongside actual breakfast... we're not that horrible) we packed up the family (and 75% of everything we own) and left on our trek to my homeland. As we rolled out of the driveway, my daughter informed us that we were going to the city where my parents live, and that my father would be giving her chocolate, cookies, and raisins. Excellent.

Our first stop was Tim Horton's, where I got brown hot water. (Aside: I drink my coffee black. That means I do not have the luxury of masking the poor taste with sugar or cream or "flavour shots". So when the coffee sucks, it sucks. I would love to be able to say that I will never buy Tim Horton's coffee again, as this is not the first time this has happened, but sadly I cannot. You see, my daughter is addicted to their breakfast sandwiches, especially on long car rides. And any parent will tell you that when you find something to make a child happy on a car ride, you run with it, even if it means Daddy drinks sucky flavourless coffee.)

With the statutory holiday, traffic out of the city was a breeze. We made really good time and the munchkin slept for a good portion of the first leg. We made it to a rest station for some lunch, where she placed her standard fast food order (Is it wrong that she has, at the age of two, a standard order? I don't think so because we travel so often that fast food at rest stations are a basic reality, but maybe this is just cognitive dissonance.) of chicken nuggets and a cheeseburger. She doesn't eat anywhere near a reasonable amount of either, and any time none of us have one of the options (for example, if all three of us get burgers) there is much weeping and gnashing of teeth. So, my wife and I have an understanding: the munchkin gets a cheeseburger, and one of us has to get chicken nuggets so the little mooch can get her heart's desire.

We rolled into town in the middle of the afternoon, allowing my parents time to hang out with the munchkin while I unloaded everything my house contained our luggage from the van and got our room set up. When everything was ready, my daughter discovered something in my father's bed: plants. (He was growing seedlings for the garden when the sudden cold snap forced them indoors.) She brought me to them, and had me sit her on the nightstand to get a better look. Our conversation went a little bit like this:

"Daddy, what's that?"

"Those are plants, sweetheart. One day they will grow into, uh... Hey Pop! What are these on your bed?"

"Tomato."

"They will grow about this (hand gesture) big, and there will be tomatoes on them. When we come back in August, you'll eat tomatoes from these plants."

"But they're green."

"Yes, they are green now, honey. But they will grow into tomatoes."

"They are green."

"Hey, look over there! Do you see that?"

Sci Fi Dad: Master of Diversion and Distraction. Like a ninja, only without the ability to wear those thong sock thingies.

That night we kept her up a little later than usual, allowing her to visit with my sister's friend and her new (at least to us) boyfriend. Since the munchkin was unfamiliar with him, (and I have slowly started the subliminal messages that all men that are not her father or grandfathers are the purest form of evil in the hopes that I will not have to spend her adolescence on my porch in a rocking chair with a shotgun... oh crap did I just say the quiet part loud and the loud part quiet?) she was a little shy at first. But by the end she was sharing snacks with him and even kissed him on the cheek (note to self: time to start shopping for a good outdoor rocking chair).

We tried something new with the sleeping situation. This time, instead of a play pen, we used an inflatable toddler bed in the hopes that she would be more comfortable and thus more willing to sleep there instead of with her heel dug in my kidney in between us. It worked until about 3am, and after a few hours of blissful uninterrupted sleep for my wife (due to my daughter's discovery that Daddy is warm, and not a heat sink like her mother) she awoke and announced that it was time to go into the family room. When informed that this was not the case, she threw a tantrum, pushing just the right Daddy guilt button, and forcing me out of bed with her. At 6am. On a weekend. The love I have for this kid, I tell you...

After a bit (read: long enough that I was up and not likely to sleep if I went back to bed) my father got up, and the munchkin got her cookies and her raisins as she sat on his lap and watched Curious George on TMNOD. Mommy eventually got up and then she had to leave to go see the hairdresser (she sees my mother's hairdresser ever since she "tried him out" and really liked his work), and my father left to do some errands. This left a sleep-deprived Daddy and an overtired clingy munchkin who wanted nothing but "Mommy cuddles". Fun times.

After a bit, I negotiated her into the room for a nap. She would not stay in her bed, so I had to wedge myself in the six inches of space between the bed and her mattress and hold her while she dozed. Unfortunately for my spine, I too fell asleep, and awoke 30 minutes later with the mother of all leg cramps and pins and needles everywhere else. I finally got myself out of the position, only to see her peering at me, eyes half open, as if to say "You think you're leaving me here? Puh-lease!" So I picked her up and lay her on my chest as we enjoyed another hour of sleep together.

That afternoon we opened her birthday gifts from my parents and sisters. She particularly enjoyed the gift bag filled with clothes, which she literally pulled out each item and tossed it behind her in one fluid motion. But her favourite was the green frog raincoat with matching green rubber boots. Now she can run in the rain more often. She also spent a lot of time playing with her older (10 years old) cousin, who loves playing with her because she's like a live doll.

After dinner, we got her into her pajamas and let her run around in the hopes she would tire herself out. She horsed around with my BIL who at one point had the following discussion with her:

"I'm going to eat your toes."

"No!"

"OK then, I'm going to bite your bum."

"No!"

"If I can't eat your toes or your bum, what can I bite?"

(Without missing a beat) "My cousin!" (as she pointed to her 10 year old cousin who was nothing short of spectacular to her that evening)

I'd like to tell you that Saturday night's sleep went better than Friday's. I'd like to tell you that she slept like an angel in her toddler bed and let us all sleep in. However, I'd also like to tell you that I convinced my wife to let me have the 50 inch widescreen and the Nintendo Wii. Let's just leave it at that.

The drive home was blissfully quiet, as the munchkin slept for over two hours during the first leg. At the rest station she discovered the buttons on the pop machine, but was dismayed when she learned that the letters on there only went to "F", and that you could only type in one letter and no more. However, that didn't stop her from banging on them the whole time Mommy was in the washroom.

We came home and played outside a bit. My parents had given her a little baseball set (which herein shall be referred to as "spaceball" in munchkin-speak) that started out as a tee-ball setup. So, the three of us were out there in sub zero temperatures playing tee-ball on our frozen front lawn. Of the three of us, who do you think did the classic "hit the tee, making the ball flop forward" thing? If you guessed my wife, you'd be right.

THS: "Eggs" Rated

Another celebrity sex tape is about to be released, and the timing of it, at least for one of the participants, could not be worse. According to a press statement, an adult internet site will be releasing an x-rated video starring Paris Hilton (in her third of who knows how many more videos) and the Easter Bunny.

For Paris, the release comes at a time where her popularity is waning. Celebrity gossips everywhere barely even acknowledged her recent attention-seeking breast augmentation. However, for the Easter Bunny, with Easter just a couple days away, the timing is horrible and potentially damaging.

According to reports from individuals who have seen the leaked tape, the Easter Bunny does not appear on camera very much, however there is almost no denying that the furry hand in certain frames is his. From off camera, he can be heard to say "those are two fine looking eggs you got there" and even more disturbingly, "tell me how much you like my 'carrot', bitch!"

Paris Hilton's publicist released the following statement: "Yes, Ms. Hilton and the Easter Bunny did enjoy each other's company. However, we believe that this is yet another blatant ploy of the Easter Bunny's to piggy back on someone else's celebrity. It's how he became famous in the first place - what do eggs and chocolate have to do with the celebration of the resurrection? Nothing; that's what. He has ridden coattails to get where he is, and now he's riding Paris to try and become more popular."

The Easter Bunny could not be reached for comment.

TDS: Running In The Rain

On Tuesday evening we were out when I looked out the window and saw very dark clouds looming overhead. I mentioned to my wife that it appeared our choices were as follows:

• leave immediately
• be legally bound to begin collecting male/female pairs of animals

By the time we got the munchkin clothed and got to the doors, it appeared the first choice was no longer an option. Rain was pouring from the sky, pelting my hoodless head as I tried in vain to keep my daughter dry running to the van. When we were all settled in our seats, I heaved a sigh of relief and my daughter spoke.

"I want to run in the rain," she said.

"What was that, sweetheart?" my wife asked.

"I want to run in the rain, please."

My wife looked at me, and I shrugged. I gave a non-verbal cue that I was OK with the idea.

"When we get home you can run in the rain."

For the five minute drive home the munchkin sat in the back of the van, muttering to herself that she would soon run in the rain. We pulled in the driveway and I formed a plan which I communicated to my wife.

"You go open the house up, and I'll let her run in the house."

Idiot.

I took off the five point harness (including the buckle that requires far more manual dexterity than I am generally capable of) and pulled her out of the seat.

"Please put me down."

I obliged, and no sooner did her little blinking Barbie sneaker covered feet hit the pavement and start off in the direction opposite of the house (that would be in the direction of the road). Startled, I quickly closed the van door and ran after her. Apparently either she has learned to avoid the road or she heard my footsteps behind her and went into avoidance mode, because she immediately cut to the right.

We did several laps around the van while my wife laughed on our covered porch. She joined us, and the three of us ran around our van while the rain poured down upon us. Then, I got an idea. I went into the garage and got the umbrella we clip on to her wagon and opened it. She found it too heavy, and just let it rest on her head like a hat as she ran around the van a few more times before we called it a night.

We went inside, all three of us literally soaked to the bone. And as I mopped my head with the front of my tee shirt I thought to myself, "That was awesome. We should do that every time it rains."

I love my kid.

There's More?
The more observant readers may have noticed the new link in the sidebar. As of today, I am writing for Mommy Blogs Toronto. I will be writing a regular column/blog over there called Daditorial, which will be similar to my The News Side posts you see here on Tuesdays. (No, I'm not a Mommy. And no, I don't live in Toronto. But I write a blog, and that's good enough for them.)

TWS: Genesis - Chapter 1

Last week I mentioned that my wife and I met online, and that I'd have to tell the story sometime.

It was a Saturday afternoon in late May, 2000. I was in my apartment watching the NBA playoffs after a busy morning of sleeping in and doing nothing when a voice came over the apartment intercom.

"Attention residents: we will be conducting a test of the fire alarm. Please ignore any alarms until further notice."

Temporarily evicted, I hopped in my car and drove to my office, the only other building I had unlimited access to that was air conditioned and did not come with the requirement of social interaction (for which I was in no mood at the time). A few weeks earlier, I had listed myself on an online dating site. A couple brief glimpses of hope had been quickly dashed by realizations of a lack of teeth (seriously) or of sufficient vocabulary to hold a conversation with my then four year old niece (again, seriously). Undaunted, I did my typical search: female, within two years of my age, within 30 miles of my house, online now (the online now was a way of a) determining who was serious about the system, and b) seeing if I could establish a conversation/chat).

A profile caught my eye, and I sent an indicator that I was interested. When it was reciprocated, I sent a brief message over the system, introducing myself and elaborating a bit on my personality. I surfed for a while longer, and eventually left, without having received a reply.

That evening I went out with a friend who lived about five minutes from my office. After dropping him off (my night to be the designated driver), I went back to the office (no, I did not have internet at home at the time; I worked in software and had no need for it since I had no interest in being on the computer during my limited off hours) to check for a message. I received one, and replied back. I offered my email address (since it was easier to check than the system) and headed home for the night.

I spent most of Sunday afternoon exchanging emails with this woman. The "hook" that more or less ensured she would be curious about me for a while? She mentioned she was working on a project for teacher's college about literacy, to which I replied, "OK, whole language or phonics?" Given that she knew I was an engineer by that point, I knew it would pique her interest.

On Monday we exchanged emails here and there while I worked. At the same time all this was going on, I was also in the process of considering a change in employment (and location - the position I was considering was in California). That evening I was working on the application and I needed some information from an email they had sent. So, I called a friend to open my email account and check the message. As he was doing so, he informed me that I had several new email messages from the woman's pseudonym. Excited, I hung up the phone and drove to an internet cafe (which was a lot closer than my office) and logged in.

In one of the earlier emails, I had offered to exchange phone numbers to ease the conversation. She refused, being too concerned about privacy and taking it slow. However, in one of Monday evening's emails she asked me to send my number so she could call me. I replied, and we were both online at the same time, exchanging emails real time, when I suggested I leave and drive home so she could call me. We arranged a time and I left.

She called at our arranged time, and we talked for several hours. It was comfortable. It was familiar, despite the "newness" of it all. We agreed we would take things slowly and see if we could be friends before considering anything else. Never being one to shy from brutal honesty, and also sensing that she was someone who may not appreciate learning some of my past mistakes at a future date, I shared some of the darker stories from my earlier life. These are things I was not, and am not proud of, but are nonetheless things from my past that I cannot erase. I wanted to be upfront about it in case it was a "deal breaker" for her. We hung up and I went to sleep, eventually.

Tuesday morning (the next day), I arrived at my office to an email from the woman. In and among other items from our phone conversation, she made the statement that while she and I may someday become friends, she could not see herself being romantically involved with someone who had my past.

Since it is quite long, I will continue this story next Wednesday in "The Wife Side".

TNS: Daycare Makes Bad (But Verbal) Kids?

Today's story comes from a study done by the National Institutes of Health (NIH) in the US. According to the research, kids from daycare are more likely to display problem behaviours in the sixth grade. The study also found that the same children had superior vocabulary in the fifth grade. What can be easily missed, and was ignored in the several versions of this story (based on information from the Associated Press), was the fact that the variances are within normal ranges. In other words, the daycare kids aren't demonic behaviour problems while their homecared counterparts are angels.

This study has been carried out over a number of years, and created a significant amount of controversy in 2001 when it published its first findings (that children in daycare were more problematic in kindergarten). The study still finds this to be true at the sixth grade level.

The first issue I take with the study is the definition of care: more than 10 hours a week (the duration is reasonable) with someone other than the mother. This means that if both parents work, but trade off shifts so that one of them is always home, or if the couple is one where there is a stay-at-home dad, then this is considered "daycare". Apparently, fathers aren't primary caregivers, despite being parents. Also, the study differentiated between so-called "good" daycares and "poor" daycares. I wonder where the care of a father falls?

Setting aside the gender bias, the study found a stronger correlation between the quality of the care provided and the behaviours than between the daycare/homecare difference. In other words, it isn't a child in daycare that is more likely to be a discipline problem in school; a child in a poor daycare is. That distinction is not widely reported in the coverage.

The bottom line is that children who are not properly supervised as preschoolers are more likely to have problems adjusting to the supervision and structure of school. It doesn't matter if they are cared for by their mothers, or their fathers, or a daycare. It's the quality of the care they receive that influences their long-term behaviour.

The Brief Side
This is a story about a nurse with Munchausen by Proxy, who kept her children on liquid diets and used other methods to doctor shop.

This article is sure to spark some debate: it questions whether mothers of young children should be in the fighting divisions of the military.

Here's an interesting article that explains toddlers learn by eavesdropping. What is most fascinating is it isn't only verbal or conversational eavesdropping, but also emotional eavesdropping. I highly recommend this one.

This study has found that children with ADHD are more likely to develop substance abuse problems.

And finally, am I the only one to whom it never occurred that if you need more passenger space in a car, put your kids in the trunk?

TRS: Munchkinpalooza - Part 2

This is part 2 of the weekend. I recommend you read part 1 first.

Saturday morning I got to sleep in while my wonderful wife played with our now two-year old girl (I can no longer, in good conscience, call her my baby). When I finally arose, we sat around the living room reading the weekend flyers that come in the Thursday paper (which we were unable to review earlier thanks to Friday's festivities). We handed some of the uninteresting ones to the munchkin while Mommy reviewed the Michaels and Sears and Daddy got to drool over the Future Shop and Best Buy.

After that, my daughter crawled up on the sofa, pulled the blanket over both of us, nuzzled into my side and said, "Watch football wiff Daddy, please." Thankfully, we have the NFL Network on demand, and I put on the highlight reel for the 2006 season. She soon tired of that and asked for Treehouse, which I happily obliged (it's Munchkin-palooza all weekend when it's her birthday, folks). She stayed there, snuggled next to me drinking her milk, for a good half hour.

We then went to the grocery store to get some last minute items for Sunday's dinner. On the way home, the munchkin announced:

"I don't like my name."

"You don't?" asked Mommy.

"No. I don't."

"Really?" asked Daddy.

"My name is Steve."

So, in the interest of being honest, the whole "Steve" thing isn't totally random. A few years ago, my wife came home and was telling me about a new coworker. In the beginning she called him by one name, and in the end she called him by a different (but similar sounding) name. When I called her on this, she said she knew his name was the second one. In an effort to tease her, I said I didn't believe her, and that when I met him I would call him Steve (a name that sounded nothing like either name she had used). I would later use the name Steve at random, sometimes even as a nickname for my daughter. Apparently it stuck.

After some lunch and a much longer than normal nap, we got to work on a banner for my FIL's birthday (which is actually the same day as my daughter's, but we were celebrating it on Sunday because of scheduling conflicts). I rolled out the paper, got the brushes and paints, and set her to work. To the shock of both my wife and I, she began talking about what she was painting, unprompted:

"This is our house," she said as she made a large blob in a primary paint colour that was very similar to our house's brick colour.

"This is a snake," she said as she drew a long wavy line in green.

"This is a tree. And here are some apples. This is a giraffe, Daddy. Here is its leg."

I stood in awe as the look on my wife's face (the educator with the knowledge of whether this was cool or expected at her age) told me I was witnessing something special. All of a sudden, she was two years old.

We then tried (somewhat in vain) to introduce alternate musical styles to my daughter's Jack-Johnson-only repertoire. The theme was broadly labeled "jazz":

That night we went out for dinner to celebrate her birthday. She ate all the meatballs from two bowls of italian wedding soup from East Side Mario's! Plus, the look on her face as the servers all came and sang to her was priceless. It was somewhere between any second I am going to burst into horrified screams and dude, what are you guys smokin'?

After dinner, we put her in the tub and tried out a new toy. Unfortunately, the concept of singing dolphins terrified her, and she wept pitifully (I am not over dramatizing this in the least) before we removed the offending marine mammals from the bath. She later consented to kissing one of them (the green one, of course) but repeated over and over as she went to bed, "The dolphins no sing, Daddy. No singing."

That night, when I went upstairs to go to bed, I crept into my daughter's room (as I always do) to check and make sure she was covered. She turned her head towards me as I covered her.

"Shh... sweetheart, go to sleep. It's just Daddy," I said as I rubbed the back of her head.

A few seconds later she said, "Sanks, Daddy."

"Shh... you're welcome sweetie. Time for sleep."

She then mumbled something.

"Shh... sleep time," I replied.

"Please go now," she said

So I slowly walked to our room, a little more sad than I was when I got upstairs. I figured I had at least a few more years before my daughter would so easily dispose of my presence.

Sunday morning it was my turn to be up with the munchkin, and thankfully she slept in until 7:30am (more than an hour later than normal). We got up, and while Mommy blissfully slept, Daddy blissfully sat with his little munchkin nuzzled into his side, watching a family movie I had made for my wife's birthday.

Then, after lunch, my daughter asked for me to clean her up and cuddle her. She asked me to play with her, which mostly involved rolling around on the floor cuddling and lying with blankets and pillows. It was so nice to spend that time with her.

Time for a little digression. This weekend really showed a marked change in my daughter's attitude toward me. She (apparently) talked about me all day Thursday. On her birthday (Friday), she was somewhat more affectionate, but also really distracted (and understandably so). However, on Saturday and Sunday it was like she was a different kid. She asked for me to do stuff when my wife was readily available. She wanted cuddles, and asked me to hold her. She kissed me more, and just generally wanted to be around me more than she has recently. It was such a welcome change.

My in-laws arrived in the middle of the afternoon to celebrate her birthday (and my FIL's, which falls on the same day). They would be staying with us for another two day stint. They gave her a doll crib with linens matching the new bedding for her "big girl bed" (no, she is not moving there yet; my wife is just insanely well-prepared for the event). My MIL also made a blanket for her, as well as a matching smaller one for the doll crib. My sister in law gave her a pink tutu and dancing shoes (which, according to the packaging, also work as "boat shoes" interestingly enough).

TRS: Munchkinpalooza - Part 1

When I started to write my recap for this weekend, I quickly realized it would be a mammoth-sized edition. So, I am posting the first part tonight. The remainder will come on Monday sometime.

As I mentioned earlier, Friday was my munchkin's second birthday. I took the day off work so we could spend it together as a family. The way I see it, she's only going to be young enough to make spending the day with her feasible for a few years, so I want to make the most of the opportunity.

She awoke at her usual 5am timeslot, and somehow found her way to sleep in between us until almost 6:30am. At this point, we turned on my wife's nightstand lamp and got my daughter to sit up.

"Wow! My friends have presents for me!"

We had set her four favourite stuffed animals in the rocking chair in our room, each with a special gift for her. Curious George had a yellow sundress with, of course, Curious George on it. Elmo had a sheet of Elmo stickers. Paddy had the complete Paddington Bear television series on DVD (aside: we also learned that our Paddy, with his blue hat and red coat was backwards; the munchkin didn't recognize him as Paddy until we told her because the DVD box had a red hatted, blue coated bear). And Chrissy had a dress that matched my daughter's birthday dress.

As my wife and I showered and got ready, the birthday girl sat and watched the adventures of Paddington Bear (which, as an aside, were thoroughly British and somewhat strange, I must say). She also wound up in the shower with yours truly, something I rarely get to do during the week.

We got dressed and put her in a pink "birthday girl" hat and pink flower lei, and went out to our favourite breakfast nook for a treat. Mommy got the waffles with fruit and custard while the munchkin and I stuck to the traditional eggs and fried meats (she actually ordered for herself, more or less, by announcing "I need some sausage, lady" to the server). The place specializes in fresh fruit based breakfasts (like Mommy's waffle), and for her birthday they brought her an apple cut into a swan with a sparkler on top. They even sang Happy Birthday to her. It was really sweet.

After breakfast, we came home and gave her our presents (she is still so young she didn't realize we would have presents for her, so she was actually surprised by this). The biggest hit, by far, was the cash register. It beeps and has flashing lights and even has a credit card swiper. Second place went to a yellow hat, something she has been asking for since January. Everywhere she goes, when she sees a hat, she tells us that she needs a yellow hat. So, for an excessive amount of shipping fees (more than double the cost of the hat itself), we got an actual yellow hat from the Curious George store.

Once we had opened all the presents, it was time for some lunch and a little nap. She awoke rather quickly (30 minutes later) and I tried to convince her to sleep a little more by bringing her into our room and letting her cuddle with me in the rocking chair. She ended up falling asleep on me for another 15 minutes. It was a nice treat to have her there, although at the same time I couldn't help but think that she was growing up so fast and that cuddles like this were going to become more and more rare. It was bittersweet.

We got up and got her into her party dress. Soon, one of her little friends showed up and they played together while the Mommies talked (and the Daddy kind of flitted back and forth). It was funny; my wife had all these activities and games planned, and really all the kids wanted to do was play in the tent with the balls and eat yogurt covered raisins until they were all hopped up on sugar and were able to scale the walls of the house. (They also chowed down on more healthy snacks like watermelon and cheese and crackers.) Nonetheless, the two of them had fun with each other.

Her second friend arrived a little later (the third invitee had called earlier in the day to inform us that they were not going to be able to arrive because of illness), with her baby brother (six months) in tow. The munchkin immediately gravitated to him, asking to have him put on her lap, kissing him, gently caressing his hands, hugging him, you name it. It was so sweet to see how much she loved that little baby boy.

Finally, it was time for the cupcakes. The munchkin licked all the icing off of hers, then gave it to Mommy and took Mommy's cupcake. She proceeded to lick all the icing off that one as well before nibbling at the cupcake a bit.

Since she had been grazing all afternoon, we decided to postpone the dinner out at East Side Mario's to Saturday. We ended the evening with the three of us having a mini ice cream cone and singing Happy Birthday one more time. We got her ready for bed (taking a few extra minutes with the toothbrush). As I kissed her goodnight, she said to me, "I had a really fun day with you, Daddy."

I had a really fun day with you too, sweetheart.