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
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.



Last year at this time, we (
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).
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.
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:
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.
After our errand was done, I figured we'd do whatever she wanted to do.
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.)
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.
Sunday ended up being less than eventful, thanks to the 

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.
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.
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.
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
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.)
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.
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).