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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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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."

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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.

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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.

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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).

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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 be