Ränt

On Tuesday I came home (from a particularly long day at work) to my loving family. After I had a few moments to settle down (read: got out of my driving in the hot sun without air conditioning work clothes and into ones not drenched with sweat), my wife made the statement no husband wants to hear:

"I was thinking about those green shelves at Ikea."

Crap.

Then, as we were driving there (in rush hour, while she fed the munchkin dinner in the backseat), I started to wonder, What is it about Ikea that is so polarizing? Why do most men loathe it while many women love it? Why do so many couples agree never to go there again? I came up with the following:

First, the layout of the store itself lends itself far more to a woman's approach to shopping than a man's. A man wants to see everything in a section, side by side, so he can select the one he wants. Women, on the other hand, want to see the final product; the completed room (with many new accessories that she can conveniently purchase there). So, Ikea gives you both, and it takes twice as long because you have to look at the same damn shelf in three different room configurations (not to mention in the shelf section). It is so inefficient.

So why don't men just let the women shop there alone? Simple: Ikea doesn't (generally) deliver, and most of the stuff is too bulky and/or heavy for their blushing bride to carry out alone. Feeling like their strength is needed, the men are guilted into the trip.

And don't get me started about the names. Lack? Billy? Bonde? Mälm? Please! And what's with the use of the umlaut? Are all the products named after failed metal hair bands of the 1980s?

Once the items are purchased, there is the ever-enjoyable vehicular reconfiguration. For those with cars and a third person, they pray that the rear seat splits. For those with vans, they wonder if they can legally drive with the middle row bench riding shotgun. Invariably, Ikea trips come on humid days, so the boxes slip through your sweaty palms as you try desperately to violate known laws of physics to make the box fit (and in a perfect world, not immediately crush you when you open the door at home). All the while, the woman is trying to help, while the man just wants to curse and do it himself.

And that motif continues once the boxes are home and unloaded from the vehicle. The man wants to lock himself in a room with his allen-key and emerge all manly with the unit complete. The woman wants the assembly to be a shared experience, something that can make their relationship grow and prosper because they "made" something together. News flash: this is not a baby, ladies. This is particle board and cheap hardware precariously connected and theoretically called furniture.

Back to our trip on Tuesday. I hate to admit it, but MTM was right: the shelves were discontinued, and there were only three units left (we wanted two). "While we were there" we also grabbed a matching table and a chair (that has since been deemed inappropriate and subsequently requiring another trip to return it). (Note that assembly was deferred until the destination room is painted.)

Thank goodness we got ice cream afterwards.

TWS: The Banes Of My Existence

When MTM and I met, she had been in two (what she considered to be) serious relationships. Earlier on than most would have expected, we talked about the two individuals, mostly in the guise of trying to learn about each other (although admittedly I had an ulterior motive: I wanted to know what these guys did to mess up so I could avoid the same pitfalls). With that knowledge, I can now safely say that a lot of the seemingly nonsensical stuff I have to handle with my wife is a direct result of her poor taste in partners (prior to yours truly, of course).

The most recent ex was an easy ghost to overcome. They met while working as servers at a restaurant. She was a college student trying to earn extra cash while he was a former sports star who got injured and had plenty of dreams but no ambition to make them a reality. Their relationship was highlighted by broken promises and failure to reach goals.

Proving I was not like that was simple. Within a few days of meeting her I learned that one of the most significant broken promises was that of a trip downtown to see a musical. When I heard that, I immediately said that I would take her to a show. That Christmas (six months after we met), I gave her tickets to see Mama Mia (the ABBA musical), which showed not only did I follow through, but I also would listen to ABBA for her. The second proof came when I told her in September (after dating a few months) that I was waiting until my year-end bonus and then I was getting a job closer to her. That December I signed up with a firm about 15 minutes from where she lived.

The other ex was her high school sweetheart. During the latter years of high school he moved to the US, so seeing each other was infrequent and problematic. When they did see each other, he would not make her the focus of his attention. She would fly several hours, only to sit on the couch and watch basketball or football or baseball. And that was if she was lucky: other times she'd be on the couch alone while he played online video games (and suddenly the success of "Project PSP" becomes that much more significant). When he visited her, he used to spend more time with his buddies getting drunk than with her.

Overcoming this ex's memory is a daily battle. They were together for a long time (five years), so the wounds are deep. Combine that with my penchant for television, and I always feel like I'm one "can you wait for commercial?" away from her throwing something large, heavy and breakable at my head. I made a huge leap forward when she got me NFL Sunday Ticket for my birthday one year (which allowed me to watch my Detroit Lions - shut up - every week) and I didn't watch half the games and told her it wasn't worth the investment the next year. (In fact, that demonstration made "Project PSP" successful.)

But despite the fact that I'm atoning for the sins of the idiots before me (on top of my own, many, many, sins), I still do it. I do it because I love her and she needs me to do it, so I do. It's nowhere near as prevalent as it was in the beginning, and with time, it will probably continue to fade. In the meantime, all I can do is keep proving that I am not the same kind of idiot she dated in the past (just a different, more sweet, kind of idiot).

TNS: Parents And Sports

The days are getting longer. The weather is getting warmer. There is a perpetual smell of fresh-cut grass from your anal-retentive neighbour who insists on maintaining his lawn at precisely the regulation length for a standard golf course green. (But I digress.) It is very nearly summertime. And with that comes the sight of parents acting like idiots during their kids' games.

Usually, the target of the venomous rage is the coach, leading some to step down because the pressure that parents put on him is too great to bear (especially for, in this case, a teacher-coach who volunteered his time).

Parents are not usually satisfied with just applying pressure and stress and anxiety, though. So in some situations, they seek legal remediation. They sue a coach for bad coaching. (Which, according to the claim, can result in disability. Hey, if you're worried about your kid becoming disabled, maybe you shouldn't enroll them in the sport!)

All too often, though, the parents act out their frustrations by physically assaulting the coach. Unfortunately, sometimes instead of the coach, they go after their own kid, like the man who punched his son in the face after a rugby loss.

It's gotten to the point where tournament organizers have to establish a zero tolerance policy on heckling the referees because things can get so far out of hand.

Sometimes, it's the coaches who go too far, like the one who was reprimanded for being too profane with the kids.

What gets lost in these stories is that every single one of them was witnessed by children. Parents and coaches are supposed to be role models for the kids, not the sideshow. Parents enroll their kids in sports to keep them active, to teach them discipline, to show them about camaraderie and teamwork. Sports can help kids develop social skills as well as physical acumen. But with the wrong personality, their parent or coach can ruin the experience.


The Brief Side
The government of China has detained 28 individuals after a family planning riot in one county. The area in question was known to violate the limit of one child per family because they clung to the "traditional" idea that more children brings more happiness.

This is an interesting discussion about how conservative attempts to oppose gay marriage are actually detrimental to heterosexual marriage because they make marriage unnecessary.

In an advice column, the adviser says, "an absent father is better than an inconsistent father".

Finally, in a story that defies explanation, a man has been banned from all area schools after he got into an altercation with a school bus driver who blocked his car in when the man used the wrong drop-off point. The man became so enraged that he shoved a female driver and then hit her with his car.

---

If your need for news still has not been satisfied (and if not, boy do you need a hobby), you can head over and read my latest Daditorial where I look at gun violence in light of the recent events at a Toronto high school.

TRS: Jump, Jump, Jump

On Friday I came home to discover that MTM had purchased Oreo cookies for a recipe she planned on making for Saturday's dessert. Much to the munchkin's (and my) excitement, the recipe called for fewer cookies than Mommy purchased, so the after-work snack on Friday afternoon was Oreo cookies and milk (a first for the munchkin). Much fun (and mess) was had by all.

After dinner, my wife settled in to do some more priming in the munchkin's future bedroom while I tried desperately to recapture my youth by watching Volume 1 of Voltron. (And, to those of you who would chastise me for watching television while my wife painted, let it be known that I did indeed repeatedly offer to assist, but knew better than to force my help upon an already flustered woman.)

Saturday morning, I got up with my little munchkin so my wife could sleep in. After some half-assed parenting dozing in front of Treehouse, we had a little breakfast and Mommy joined us. The rest of the early morning was spent doing stuff around the house in preparation for visitors we were expecting for dinner.

Since my wife needed more time to paint, I took the munchkin to the mall for some shopping, fun, and lunch. We went to our usual haunts: Toys R Us, the play area, the food court. (Sometimes it feels like we always do the exact same things at the mall when we're there just the two of us. She seems to enjoy the routine, so who am I to complain?

We came home with something. It was something really big (and yes, I cleared it with my wife, thankyouverymuch). Last weekend, while visiting my parents, their local Toys R Us had a Little Tikes air-filled jumping apparatus (the munchkin calls them "jumping castles") on display. It was a huge hit with her, and was on sale. I wrestled with buying it, but ultimately decided against the purchase.

Then, our weekend flyer had a different model on sale at the local store. The fire was rekindled and I again debated the purchase. We talked about it, and concluded that if it could fit indoors, it would be a good investment for the winter days when it was too cold for outdoor activity. We measured and concluded that neither design we had seen would be suitable. Undaunted, I went online and found one that a) would fit and b) was preferable since it had four walls (the other designs all had three walls and a slide, meaning the thing was more likely to get dirty and there was an increased probability of someone falling out).

While the munchkin napped, I set it up (uninflated, since I had no idea how loud the blower would be). When she came downstairs, half asleep, I flicked the switch (and after fiddling with the GFI unit they included) the thing started to inflate. Her face was confused at first, and then the four pillars rose, creating the walls, and she clapped excitedly. She climbed inside and began to hop up and down, saying "Jump, jump, jump" as she did so.

Later that afternoon, friends of ours came with their two daughters. The three girls jumped in the castle (box? cage?) and ran around the yard while the parents caught up on lost time. (We live over an hour apart now.) Dinner was good (the Oreo dessert was impeccable), and afterwards we settled in for some dress-up time with all the discount costumes MTM has acquired. And, after all the girls were in their jammies for the night, they all jumped on our bed while the four parents surrounded the bed and caught errant toddlers as they flailed about.

Sunday morning was my turn to sleep in, and I abused that privilege made the most of it, sleeping in past 10am for the first time since my daughter was born. After a lazy morning, an early lunch, and a nap, we foolishly went to Ikea.

That's right, we went to Ikea on a Sunday afternoon. Me, who doesn't like crowds or densely filled parking lots and has anxiety issues in full stores, went to I-K-E-A. Brilliant, no? Well, that wasn't even the most frightening part of the day. That came when I learned that sometime while I slept (I suspect), aliens came and replaced my wife with a doppleganger. How do I know this, you ask? We came out with a receipt for less than $3 total. From Ikea. With my wife. I nearly passed out.

Then, after I had passive-aggressively wedged my van out of the insanity that is the Ikea parking lot and into the left turn lane we left Ikea, my wife discovered the store that Satan built a Super Walmart (because, you know, regular small-business-killing Walmart just isn't big enough) across the way, and demanded asked to go there. Sweet merciful crap, people! I'm willing to bet that place has its own orphanage for children that get lost and left behind there, that thing is so big. Fortunately, all three of us were kind of "shopped out" from Ikea, so we didn't spend too much time there.

Although I fear that MTM knowing about this new monstrosity means I will be asked to return there someday. Pray for me.

TBS/THS: Keyword Madness

Now that this site has been up and running for almost over three months (has it really been that long?), I finally have enough search hits to make a post about the more entertaining ones. I swear that these are all search strings that brought people here.

my daughter stepped on a nail...does she need a tetanus shot?
Probably not, but why did you come to a daddy blog instead of WebMD or even Wikipedia?

max & ruby...where are their parents
Good question. Maybe this is the source of Max's inability to form a coherent thought?

ikea leaf canopy instructions
Step 1: put everything back in the bag
Step 2: return to Ikea before you feel the need to commit homicide

using the word partner instead of wife or husband
Maybe John likes being called "the little lady"... has that ever crossed your mind, you insensitive pig?

daniel cook reaction emily yeung
"I know nothing of the terrible accident that is about to befall Emily; especially none that involve a horrifying turn of events with a ninja."

bicycle panther toddler follow attach
This cannot end well.

single dad three different marriages?
Interesting. If a man has three wives, can he really be considered single?

stories of pastors who masturbates in service
Next.

fighting over who makes kids to daycare
I'm no biology expert, but I think both parents make the kids that go to daycare.

biscuit recipe tim hortons
Dude, seriously, if you ever find this please let me know.

importance of reading 2007
I would say that being able to read the year is fairly important, especially since recognizing four digit numbers isn't exactly Wuthering Heights.

toddler falling backward hit back of head on concrete bathtub
It's all about the detail. If the toddler had fallen forwards, or if the tub were porcelain, then you're good to go. But that combination? They might have an "ouchie".

the humor side of diaper changing
There is nothing funny about the post-five-days-of-constipation diaper. Nothing.

google bob the builder goes mad
OK. I'll go google that right now, although there better be something about the pumpkin headed guy and a sledge hammer.

---

There is also a new Daditorial up where I look at how to handle the baby shortage Canada is expecting to face.

TTS: Potty Training

As regular readers of my wife's blog are aware, we are in the process of potty training our daughter. Since I don't tend to give blow-by-blow accounts of our daily life (since I see so little of my daughter during the week... that's why you get that big recap every Monday [or Tuesday, depending on the week] folks) I decided to scribble down some thoughts and ideas about the process here.

Wait For Them
The best advice everyone gave us was to not panic about age or timing or anything of that sort, and instead look for cues from them that they are ready and interested in potty training. Our story is probably more common than you would think. In preparation for the transition, my wife purchased a package of underpants (Curious George, of course). She washed them with our regular laundry, and the munchkin was "helping" fold the clothes when she came across them. She asked what they were, and my wife explained that they were panties for her (the munchkin) and that when she wanted to wear them instead of a diaper, she could. My wife further explained that this also meant she had to use the potty since the panties did not hold urine like a diaper. As one would expect, she immediately wanted them.

Be Consistent
The biggest hurdle, especially in the beginning (and double-especially for fathers of daughters) is going out in public. It's easy to have them go before you leave the house (to ensure the car seat remains dry) but you have to be ready to deal with the bathroom at the mall or restaurant or wherever. Putting a toddler in panties at home and a diaper in public is confusing to them and ultimately will result in them wanting a diaper all the time. Parents need to stick to routines when not at home. (This applies not only to potty training, but to many aspects of parenting.)

There Will Be Accidents
No matter how many times you put them on the potty, there will inevitably come a time where either the child holds it in or you forget your 90 minute interval (we used 90 minutes; some people use more and less frequent time spans). For us it has happened a few times, generally when the munchkin is distracted. When it does happen, try as best as you can to shrug it off, and whatever you do, don't freak out or make them feel ashamed. It is part of the process, and they need to know that if it does happen again, their parents will not be mad, will not yell, and will take care of them (just like they always do).

Be Patient
The transition from daytime-only panties to diaperless nights might take longer than you expect. We are currently at a stage of panties all day, occasional naps in panties (other times a pull-up), and a diaper at night. She generally keeps dry during the naps (in panties or pull-ups) and for the most part (surprisingly), recently she has been waking up with dry diapers. But we're not rushing anything. I suspect we will graduate to a consistent panties-except-at-night stage next (my guess is a couple more weeks) and following that, I have no timeline.

Praise Them
This is a huge deal for them, and it is not an easy task to accomplish. Every victory, no matter how small it may seem in the grand scheme of things, is nonetheless a victory. We still clap and cheer every time urine goes in the toilet and leaves the panties or diaper dry. I still get calls at the office letting me know that a diaper was dry when we woke up, and I take the time out of my day to tell my daughter that I am proud of her and that she is doing such a great job.

These points are by no means the only concepts that are important. They are merely the ones that I have discovered as we journey through this process of leaving diapers behind. Please feel free to share your thoughts on this subject in the comments.

TNS: The Brief Side Takes Over

This week's crop of news stories was plentiful. It was so plentiful that I decided not to feature any one item and instead have made the entire post a "Brief Side" style post. As a caution, there are some particularly gruesome stories this week.

First up we have two stories with a sad commonality. On Mother's Day, a woman left her baby at a fire station (something permitted under Florida's "Safe Haven" law). She returned the following Tuesday to reclaim her child. (According to the law, the mother has 30 days to do so.) In Japan, a father made use of a drop off box and left his preschool aged son there. The box was set up to allow for anonymous abandonment of infants, not toddlers.

New Zealand has tightened up its restrictions on child abuse. According to the report, parents can spank or use "inconsequential" discipline. What has been outlawed, you ask? Beatings with lumber, electrical cables and riding crops (items that were used but resulted in recent acquittals) are no longer allowed. Amazingly, some people felt this was allowing the police to intrude too far into their homes.

The next time your kid does something to piss you off, remember it could always be worse. Consider the story of the 17 year old in Japan who beheaded his mother, then left her torso on the family futon while he brought her head to the police in a backpack.

In a decision that sounds like a death knell for society but in actual fact is a victory for equality, Maryland law now allows for a birth certificate to state a child has no mother (it effectively allows for a blank space instead of a mother's name). It makes a clear statement that paternity laws apply equally to men and women (since historically unknown fathers have resulted in a blank space under the "father" heading). The case in question involves a woman who acted as a surrogate for a man who used his sperm and a donor egg.

An important factoid for Canadians who know little about US gun laws: an infant can have a FOID (firearms ownership ID) card. Apparently, babies can own guns; they just can't buy them. Well thank goodness for that. Maybe now we won't have those pesky 10 month olds slobbering over the lugers.

Here are two very disturbing stories about fathers. First, a man has been sentenced to 10 years for punching his infant daughter (who is not expected to live until her second birthday). Second, a father allegedly put his two month old baby in a microwave.

I usually don't link to letters to the editor, but this one was too interesting not to pass along. The author argues that turning a child against their parent constitutes child abuse.

In a frustrating decision for men everywhere, a divorced man's appeal to have his child support payments nullified because one of the two children he is supporting is not his biological child has been denied. The state law dictates that child support decisions can only be nullified in cases where the paternity was in question. Since the decision came as part of a divorce settlement and not a paternity test, the man is responsible for the support. To summarize: because he trusted the woman he was divorcing he now has to pay to raise another man's child. Am I the only one who sees a lot more paternity tests being called for in divorce settlements because of this?

Finally, it took a while, but finally a news item came across my screen that left me speechless. Try and follow this story if you can: a 28 year old man is accused of having sex with a seven year old girl he babysat, as well as having sex with his mother in front of the child. I've got nothing.

---

Due to the overwhelming landslide in yesterday's poll (100% Yes from all five of you that responded, ahem), I will continue to let you know about Daditorial posts here. This morning there is a new one up about a year round schooling plan from the TDSB.

TRS: Victoria Day Weekend

Yes, it is Tuesday. No, this is not a news article post. We spent the Victoria Day weekend away at my parents, returning home Monday afternoon. I took Monday off, so this is my weekend recap. I don't know what I'll do for the rest of the week, so all of you routinated readers out there, get ready to deal with uncertainty for the week. My apologies to you and your therapists.

a video iPod: the essential toddler equipment

The radio in our minivan (yeah, I drive a minivan) has been acting up lately, and of course it decided to completely crap out for our road trip (cumulative drive time: nearly nine hours) this weekend. It was not fun. Thankfully, we have the most practical toddler equipment known to mankind: the video iPod, loaded with the Curious George movie. The munchkin was one cool kid, kicking back, watching her movie on the little screen. She was so stoked to be able to hold the television in her hand.

swinging in the backyard

We arrived in time for dinner, and enjoyed a laid-back meal with my parents and sister (the adults got pizza from the neighbourhood place we always get pizza from... ahh, nostalgia) while the munchkin got made-to-order pasta courtesy of her grandfather.

Friday night's bedtime routine opened with the whiny chant of "I wanna go home". You can read all about the weekend's sleep adventures over at MTM's place.

a girl and her grandfather

Saturday morning we dragged, kicking and screaming woke my sister early and went out to do some errands. After driving to the wrong plaza in search of Linens 'N' Things (the bane of my existence), we finally found the devil's playhouse the store and made our purchases (as well as fueled my wife's fertile imagination for a redecoration of our bedroom, for, you know, when we're done the munchkin's new room and need something to keep us busy).

We spent the afternoon hanging out in my parents' backyard, mainly because the weather was so poor we didn't want to risk going anywhere. The munchkin didn't mind, however, since she got to ride in a swing.

Saturday night's attempt at sleep was worse than Friday night's.

the girl can climb, people

Sunday morning we all got up early to torment my sister to go out for breakfast for a belated Mother's Day celebration. The munchkin ate nearly all her egg, a good amount of her pancake, and two breakfast sausages. I was such a proud carnivore father as she belched. We stopped on the way home at a playground on the water. It was bitterly cold as the wind whipped across my skin (I was ill-prepared for such a mild weekend), but we learned that the munchkin is quite an accomplished climber.

"no sanks"

That afternoon, we hit the carnival in search of corndogs. We first presented the munchkin with the various alternatives for rides (all two of the toddler-friendly ones), to which she replied, "No sanks". (As an aside, we're still not sure if she was rejecting the placing of her safety in the care of a semi-toothless tattooed smoker, the ride's poor craftmanship and questionable security, or just the general lameness of the whole idea.) Then, we saw him and we knew what we had to do. There was a game. It was a crooked game, I was certain. But the game had Curious George dolls hanging from the rafters. I knew what had to be done. I asked, "What do I have to do to win one of those?" gesturing to the red-shirted primates. I was told I had to get at least six balls in the window. So, I laid down my $10 for seven balls, and began throwing. I hit all seven.

clinging to the prize her Daddy won for her

There is something totally primal, so completely illogical, yet beautifully prideful, about winning a carnival game for your child and acquiring the poorly crafted stuffed animal they desire. It's something that some moms may not get, but all dads will appreciate. That feeling of triumph, of seeing the look of joy in your child's eyes and knowing that you won that, not just walked into Toys R Us and paid the pimply faced cashier the $24.99 plus tax on your VISA, is indescribable.

Sunday night saw the worst bedtime of the weekend. It involved diarrhea and driving aimlessly (although thankfully not at the same time).

On Monday we drove home. I crashed for a nap in the afternoon and we went to the park to play for a while. Not much else.

Finally, before you go, if you could take the time to answer one question for me I would be most appreciative. Until now I have been posting notifications about new Daditorial entries at the end of my posts here. I just want to know how many people want me to keep doing this. Thanks in advance for participating.

THS: Photo Friday #2

Before we get to today's post, I have a brief update to my post from yesterday. About twenty minutes after publishing the post, I got a call from my wife. She called to tell me that the munchkin no longer wanted the CD, and was asking for Pablo again (as she mentioned in the comments as well). We talked and agreed that the munchkin was too young to have carte blanche at a toy store, so I stopped and got the Pablo in question on my way home and we gave it to her (we'll return the CD another day). Upon receiving it (after an eternity was spent extracting it from its packaging), she exclaimed, "It's what I've always wanted!"

First up, we have a really old photo of the munchkin that looks nothing like her, but is virtually guaranteed to make you laugh (click to enlarge):

Next up I have a brief homage to Oh The Joys, abuser of the Photoshop thought bubble (again, click to enlarge):

Finally, we have a video (with sound, for those of you who surf with the volume muted). In all seriousness, we're not bad parents. She did not hurt herself doing this, honestly:

---

Another Daditorial
If cute photos and video of my kid aren't your thing (and if they aren't, then what are you doing on a daddy blog?!?) then you can go read my latest Daditorial, where I discuss the idea of an egg freezing service for women.

TDS: Shopping With A Toddler

A couple of days ago, the munchkin made another milestone: she had a bowel movement in the toilet went poo-poo in the potty. In the interest of praising her for this monumental occasion, we decided to take her to the mall last night to let her choose a toy.

Breaking News! I have a PSP! I have a PSP! But I don't, sorta. Film at 11.

Before actually heading out to the mall, we explained what we were doing and why we were doing it. Since she has recently been saying, "I want to go to the mall. I want to go to Toys R Us and see the Backyardigans. I will take one home. I will take home the blue Pablo. He is my favourite," we thought this would be a slam-dunk easy decision. When we asked her what she wanted, she immediately confirmed that she wanted the blue Pablo (he's wearing a sailor suit and sings when you press his belly).

After getting ourselves ready and making it nearly to the mall parking lot, I opened my big mouth jokingly asked if she was sure she wanted Pablo, or if she would prefer Spider-Man. The look of daggers from my wife told me I had made an error. The munchkin immediately started asking for a Spider-Man, even when reminded of her initial choice of Pablo. (It would prove to be of no matter in the end, however.)

I dropped them off at the door (because it was raining) and went to park the van. By the time I found them, they were set in front of the Fisher-Price CD station. They had not made it to the Backyardigans, nor to the Spider-Man. In fact, she had no interest in seeing either.

With a little prodding, we made it to the Backyardigans display, where she half-heartedly poked at a couple of the characters. I then took a sleepy looking Pablo off a higher shelf and showed him to her. She immediately said, "No, I don't like that one. I don't like it," and asked to leave the area.

We went to see Spider-Man, but there was no interest there. She continually repeated that she didn't like that Pablo.

We tried returning to the Backyardigans one last time, and all she would say was that she didn't like that Pablo. We decided to leave the store empty-handed, saving the gift for another time. But as we passed the CD station, she wanted to stop and listen to the music. She ended up getting the FP Disco dance party (oh joyous day).

Shopping with a toddler, at least my toddler, is an interesting experience. For weeks we have been stopping and looking at the same Pablo and for weeks she has said that she wants to bring him home. Then, when presented with the opportunity to do so, she changes her mind and comes home with kids covering music that was so bad the style has never resurfaced.

Now for the film at 11. A store had a promotion for PSPs where you get a discount if you buy a game at the same time as the console. Since PSPs never go on sale, promotions like this are the only way to get a deal, so we jumped on it. Now there is a PSP inside the walls of my house, but my birthday isn't for another four weeks. So, I have a PSP, but I don't.

TWS: Wedding Reception Music

It seems like this weekly segment should be renamed "The Wedding Side" instead of "The Wife Side", doesn't it? Well, forgive my writer's block for one more week, please.

My wife and I are both musicians and avid music lovers. We sing and play music all the time, so choosing just the right music for our wedding was a big part of the planning exercise. Today I will tell you a little about the songs we chose for our reception (since the organist at the church royally messed up and we don't talk about that anymore).

Beautiful Day - U2
This was the song we used to introduce the wedding party (and ourselves) at the opening of the reception. We arranged with our MC to time the introductions such that we entered the room just as the chorus was belted out. We are huge U2 fans, and it was our most beautiful day, so it made sense.

Fly Me To The Moon - Frank Sinatra
Prior to our wedding, we did two sessions of ballroom dancing classes. Of all the dances we learned, we liked the fox trot best. (I preferred the music for the fox trot above all the other stuff we did.) One day I suggested this number for our first dance, and MTM was appalled: how could a song about her making me want to get so far away from her (to the moon) be romantic?!? I then took out my fake book and had her read the lyrics. Done and done.

In My Life - The Beatles
We used this song for the father/daughter and mother/son dance (we did a "joint" song for this one).

With A Little Help From My Friends - Joe Cocker
I had loved this version ever since I first heard it as the theme to The Wonder Years. When we listened to the lyrics, it worked perfectly for our wedding party dance.

You Can't Lose Me - Faith Hill
In an effort to be more even, my wife chose this song especially for her and her mother to dance to. I thought it was a nice touch, even if it was country music, and Faith Hill at that.

All I Want Is You - U2
Since we're all about balance, we closed the night with the same band that opened it. I will always remember the feeling of relief as that song played, and I knew that the rest of my life was starting.

---

In case any of these songs are not familiar to you, or if you just want to have the auditory experience, below is a playlist of the songs I just wrote about.

TNS: Holiday Child Care

In case you have been living under a rock for the past week or so, there is an active news story about a kidnapped toddler in Europe. The British child was taken from her parents' hotel room in Portugal while her parents were dining nearby. To clarify, the three year old child was left alone, sleeping, in the hotel room while the parents went for dinner.

While some people may defend their actions saying that hotel-provided babysitting can be questionable, ultimately the reality is that the parents decided to leave their child unattended.

In no way am I intending to claim that this situation is deserved; nor am I pleased about the situation. A child has been taken, and that child is likely very frightened (at the best case scenario; the worst, well, I prefer not to speculate).

Regardless of the outcome and the circumstances, this situation was far less likely (if not completely impossible) had the child been left in the care of an adult, or if the parents had remained in their room with their daughter. Yes, they were on holiday, and yes, parents have the right to a "break". However, doing so at the expense of their child's safety was irresponsible parenting. If they questioned the quality of the care provided by the hotel, they should have found another hotel.

Personally, I feel uncomfortable leaving my sleeping toddler in the house while I go to the garage to put out garbage, let alone remain outside the home talking to a neighbour (on more than one occasion I have politely declined conversation, explaining my daughter was alone in the house). To leave her in a foreign country in an unfamiliar hotel room is unthinkable.

For the sake of the child, I hope this story does no end tragically. Unfortunately, with each passing day, that result seems a more remote possibility. It seems to be a hefty price to pay for a childless dinner.

The Brief Side
First up this week is an interesting point/counterpoint style column where two women discuss the concept of purity balls; with a focus on their effectiveness and whether or not the concept is socially reasonable. (For those who are unaware of the idea, it involves preteen girls dressing up - such as for a prom - and going to a semi-formal dance with their fathers as escorts, where they take a vow of chastity until marrige. They tend to be performed with significant Christian undertones.)

A teacher staged a fake gunman attack on a school trip for a group of sixth graders. For those who (like me) assumed it was a misguided attempt at teaching a lesson, it wasn't. It was a prank.

A mother brought her child back on a school bus and forced her to fight another student, telling the child it was time they learned to deal with their own problems. (The other student had been picking on the child.)

In a mortifying story, a mother beat her child to death because the toddler was apt to become tongue tied. The mother had been heard referring to her child as a "retard".

According to recent research, about 40% of infants watch television before three months of age. The number climbs to almost 90% by the time they reach two years.

Finally, I was shocked to learn that pet medicine is not for kids. Who knew?

---

Another Daditorial
If you're looking for more news coverage, I also wrote about the power of mommy bloggers and their impact in marketing.

TRS: Mudder's Day

Friday night I arrived home to a just-waking-from-a-nap toddler, which made my plan of wrapping our Mother's Day gifts slightly more complicated. However, once I mentioned the wrapping of presents, she jumped off my wife's lap and scurried up the stairs with me. Wrapping with a toddler can be an anxious experience, especially for a perfectionist like myself. And given that, even without a toddler constantly pulling out reams of tape and grabbing at stuff, I am not the best wrapper of gifts, this was a challenge. However, we did manage to cover everything (mostly with a thick layer of tape) so in the end it all worked out.

Here is our handiwork. The pink letters where written by me to show what letter she was trying to make. (And they look so crappy because I was using a marker that had the tip bitten off... eww.)

Afterwards, we did a little comparison shopping and a couple attempts at getting a price-match deal. It didn't work out because of the nature of the deal and the price-match rules. That was followed by a trip to the mall "so we could buy somefing at Toys R Us", according to the munchkin. (PSP update: it's pretty much a forgone conclusion that I am getting the PSP for my birthday; we were trying to see if we could swing a good deal for one on Friday. Yay me and my incessant whining persistence.)

Saturday morning we went out to Zellers to get a trellis and came upon a craft table. They had an employee there who was running a little Mother's Day card making station with markers and glitter and foam shapes. It was such a great idea. The munchkin had a ton of fun making a card (it was more of a wall-hanging since Daddy someone forgot to fold it before she started) and a tissue paper flower.

Later on, we headed downtown to check out the family dance party being put on by Bunch. In truth, it wasn't really our type of thing, neither my wife's nor mine nor the munchkin's (in fact, she spent the majority of the weekend telling us she didn't like the dance party). I think she would have enjoyed it if she were a bit older, or with a peer who she knew well. However, I must make one note: they had a break dancing demo followed by lessons for all interested kids. Some of the kids getting lessons were around the munchkin's age (two years). I don't know about the rest of the parenting world, but when I take my kid to an event, the number one thing I'm looking for is lessons in doing something, if, when done improperly, can result in spinal injuries. But maybe that's just me. The highlight of the afternoon was the five escalator ride to the toy department at the Eaton Centre Bay. (That's right, not the event that cost us $25 to get in, the toy store.)

That evening, I began preparations for Sunday dinner (so that I could spend more time with my wife and daughter and less time in the kitchen). My wife asked for "twice baked potatoes" which in english means "hollowed out potato skins with mashed potatoes covered in cheese". She suggested I bake the potatoes (step 1) and let them cool, so I did. Unfortunately, cooled baked potatoes do not make for nice hollowed out canoes. They make for an anxiety fueled tossing of the destroyed potato shells across the kitchen (not literally, but they made an excellent splat against the patio door in my head) and repeated calls for guidance and assistance. I ended up making a casserole instead (which, incidentally, was a pain in the ass since mashing cold potatoes is damn near impossible).

Sunday morning I got up with the munchkin so that Mommy could get some well-deserved extra sleep. Meanwhile, I made pancakes and bacon (actually, I was all set to make them when my wife arrived earlier than our planned breakfast time, so I made them while she cuddled with the munchkin). Of course, the making of pancakes is (again) not my specialty (you'd think my wife would pick things for me to cook that, you know, I knew how to cook... but I digress) so the bacon was all stuck to the bottom of the pan by the time I remembered I was making it. Cue anxiety freak-out number two of the weekend. I wanted everything to be perfect, and even though no one would care that the bacon was a bit over done, I still got mad at myself. It's something I need to work on (more). In between all this, my wife opened her presents (and apparently loved them).

After Saturday evening and Sunday morning in my bare feet on the tiles, my ankle was killing me, and since my slippers no longer fit (everything got all screwed up with shoes after the break) I was ready to try anything. So, in the middle of Mother's Day, my family went to the mall to buy Daddy some Crocs. After a couple futile attempts to find a colour other than navy, black or khaki, we came to a place with children's Crocs. And not just children's Crocs, but green Disney Crocs. And they were half off if I was willing to get boring, same as my wife's black ones there. How could a Daddy say no?

Munchkin feet are significantly smaller than Daddy feet.

After the mall, we went for ice cream. Well, not technically ice cream, but "soft serve". (Am I the only one who finds it disconcerting that they cannot call it ice cream, or use any dairy type term when describing it? Maybe I should stop asking these questions.) Of note, the only one of us to spill on the table? Not the munchkin, and surprisingly, not I.

We came home and spent some time outside while I grilled the flank steak for dinner. The munchkin ran around in her new Crocs, loving every minute of it.

We had a nice family dinner, and some horseplay in the living room before sending our toddler off to dreamland and settling in downstairs to watch Dreamz give Earl the most one-sided victory in Survivor history.

THS: Mother's Day Card Rejects

In honour of Mother's Day this Sunday, I thought I would share some of the less-popular Mother's Day card inscriptions that have been suggested over the years.

Mothers Teach Us So Much
Thank you, Mom, for everything
you taught me.
Without your lessons
I would never have learned
the value of
emotional blackmail,
or the power of
using guilt as a weapon.
Happy Mother's Day.

Mothers Give Valuable Lessons
When I was six years old
I gave you a vase made from a paper tube.
You crushed it in front of me
And told me only diamonds would do.
I cried; you laughed
And said gold was good too.
Then I grew up and married
a gold digger like you.
Happy Mother's Day.

A Mother Protects
Thanks for taking
that murder rap for me.
Sorry it was
your third strike.
Happy Mother's Day.

Mothers Do What Is Right
You told the cops about the crack
you found inside my jeans.
Thanks to you now I know
what "intent to sell" means.
And now I'm behind bars
for at least six (or life).
Now I know how you felt
being some bastard's wife.
Happy Mother's Day.

Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers out there. I hope you have a great weekend.

---

Another Daditorial
If you're in the mood for something more serious, I have yet another post up over at MommyBlogsToronto. The article deals with the rugby player who was badly injured during a game, and how his family is calling for charges against his attacker to be dropped.

TTS: Imitative Play

I recently read a blog post where the author lamented the purchase of a plastic shopping cart. They were concerned about encouraging commercialism (this was aside from the issues they had with brightly coloured plastic toys... apparently they had ventured into parenthood with the noble plan of wooden toys only).

I commented that I thought there was nothing wrong with the shopping cart (I even indicated that we owned the same one), since it was a mechanism to imaginative and mimicking play. We shop at a large grocery store, and generally speaking we use a cart to achieve this task. Our daughter rides in the cart, and knows this is part of our weekly routine. When she is home, she puts her dolls in the cart and loads it with food or other items (just like her Mommy, she can never go to the "grocery" store without coming home with something that isn't foodstuffs), pretending to be doing her own shopping.

Grocery shopping isn't the only parent action she imitates. She has prepared many a meal for us on her little play stove, and regularly bakes us treats in its oven (replete with warnings that such items are very hot and should only be held with an oven mitt). She sits down at a keyboard we have given her (cord removed) to type email, or to "work like Daddy". She digs in the garden alongside Mommy and shoveled snow with me this past winter. She tucks her doll into a play crib at night, leaving her a book and kissing her on the head just as we do for her.

Imitative play is part of development. A child makes sense of the world around them by trying out activities they see others (usually their parents or older siblings) do. Would a toddler want to cook a dinner if they only knew of food coming from delivery people? Probably not. (In all likelihood, they would pretend to be the pizza guy.) By pretending to be someone else, by doing the things that person does, they gain an understanding (sometimes rudimentary, sometimes deeper) of the situation.

The act of pretending also allows them to expand their imaginations. Many items in our home have been used as phones, or television remotes. Pots become bowls, plastic lids become plates, and just about anything (including used tissues) becomes food. Whatever the child needs, they can imagine something into that item. It is a skill worth developing and encouraging.

TWS: Wedding Planning

In lieu of an actual story with a beginning, middle, and end, I will instead provide a few anecdotes about the planning of our wedding. Mostly it's just venting about stupid stuff, but it does give some idea to just how remarkable it is that my wife and I survived the event planning long enough to actually get hitched.

The Open Bar
When we were just engaged, we started talking about the wedding in broad general terms. One area (actually, I think the only area) that I took a firm stance on was the open bar at the reception. I am of Italian descent, and at an Italian wedding guests don't pay for anything. With a little convincing, my future wife was on board.

Fast forward a couple months to actually deciding the details of the reception and discussing it with my mother-in-law. She laid out her ideas and their respective budgets, and none of them had an open bar. We calmly explained that we had already decided on an open bar, but my MIL does not comprehend the meaning of decided, so we had to continue to discuss and reaffirm the open bar for months.

It actually got thrown back in our face as a way we "excluded" them from the planning weeks before the date, and there was still bitterness stemming from the fact that they were contributing (not as much as we were personally, but they admittedly did contribute) but could not dictate the cash bar.

The Guest List
We were attacked from both sides on this issue. My grandmother wanted me to invite all her relatives (which, on their own, would have nearly doubled the size of the reception). And my MIL complained that I had too many cousins (despite the guest list being 70% bride, 30% groom).

The Invitations
We opened the invitation as follows:
Multi-tasking Mommy
and
Sci Fi Dad,
Together with their parents,
Invite you to...

My in-laws argued that it should have read:
Father-in-law and Mother-in-law
Invite you to the wedding of their daughter,
Multi-tasking Mommy
to
Sci Fi Dad...

We tried to explain that in our opinion that style of invitation was for when the bride's parents were hosting (and paying for) the whole shindig, and since we were ponying up the bulk of the cash, we were the ones doing the inviting. That didn't go over well (I think mainly because they wanted people to think they were paying for the whole thing).

The Maid Of Honour
Also known as my sister-in-law, she was several years younger and far less mature. Whenever a conflict arose between us and my in-laws, she would immediately take their side and actually argue that we were being unfair to my MIL because "she really likes planning weddings and stuff".

It was during this time that I vowed, no matter what foolish idea is tabled, to stand by my MIL during any and all planning activities for my SIL's wedding. I will be my MIL's rock, her champion, ensuring that her voice is heard, because, you know, "she really likes planning weddings and stuff".

It may sound like I'm bashing my in-laws, and to a degree I am. However, they were the ones who were local, so they had more opportunities to get on our nerves. My parents were (and still are) a four hour drive away, so getting into it with them wasn't as easy. Also, my parents and I had much more defined boundaries in our relationship than my wife and her family did, thanks to a foolish threat my mother made when I was nineteen. Perhaps one day I will share that story.

TNS: Paying Pedophiles

A study is being performed out of the University of Toronto and the University of Lethbridge, funded by the Canadian Mental Health Association, that will pay convicted pedophiles to look at clothed images of children and discuss their sexual and emotional reactions.

The Canadian government is paying sex offenders to look at pictures and talk about how it makes them feel. They expect a group of individuals who have been incarcerated and released for a crime that requires dishonesty and the ability to conceal their true feelings to suddenly be helpful in the process of identifying themselves and their peers.

Yes these individuals have served their time and endured their punishment. Their "debt to society" is paid. However, no matter how one views this matter, these people are being paid for being pedophiles. A more prudent approach to the study would be to use individuals already in the penal system on a volunteer basis. Not only would renumeration not be necessary (their "reward" would be the participation in the study, time spent away from normal prison life) but these individuals are (for the most part) more recent offenders and as such more in touch with that aspect of their psyche.

The Brief Side
First up is a very long but also very thought-provoking discussion on artificial insemination, particularly its impact on the role of fathers in a modern world.

This is a very entertaining piece about nanny poaching, as well as a look at the argument that illegal immigrants are doing jobs most Americans would not do.

A very sobering tale of a father who forgot his infant in a car. The stomach churning starts when they talk about how the motion sensors were activated but the father manually disabled them thinking they were nuisance alarms.

In a (small) victory for fathers' rights, a Saskatoon man has won the right to visit his infant son. He was denied because the birth mother gave the baby up for adoption and denied the child's paternity. (DNA testing proved he was the father.)

Finally, here are some tips to improve the safety of your backyard playground.

---

Another Daditorial
If you're in the mood for even more news, I have yet another post up over at MommyBlogsToronto. The article over there deals with a developmentally delayed 12 year old girl who was molested and given drugs with her mother's knowledge and consent.

TRS: Discovery At The Zoo

I will admit in advance that I am not 100% this morning, thanks to a cold that finally completed its rounds through our house (I had successfully avoided it for more than a week, but succumbed late last week), so please excuse any grammatical, spelling, or other errors you find today.

Friday afternoon was spent doing some gardening outside. Technically, my wife did the gardening as I sort of wandered aimlessly around the yard trying to keep up with a freshly-napped toddler (as opposed to the sick and overtired Daddy) but nonetheless we were all outside. It was during the third exercise of chasing the munchkin across the lawn with handfuls of earth that I decided we needed to get her some sand to play in.

That evening after dinner, I was reading a little online when my wife called down (she was upstairs) in a panic. I quickly hopped up the stairs to find my wife sitting on the floor with her hand in between my daughter's legs. My perplexed look told her I needed more information, so she explained that the munchkin had just recently used the potty and since it was close to bedtime, she decided to just put her in the pajama bottoms she was wandering around the house in and skip the panties/diapers until bedtime. This would have been a fine idea, except for the fact that my daughter had a bowel movement, and these pajama bottoms were the only pair we owned that are wide-legged and do not have elastics at the ankle.

To be clear, I was standing there watching my wife hold a handful of poo through my daughter's pajamas. I followed the instructions completely (my wife is far better in bodily function emergencies than I am) and we got her in the tub without an incident.

On Saturday morning, we all got up early and I packed the munchkin into the van to do some errands (our music class was not on this week). First, we went to Home Depot to get some sand and some asphalt caulk. (What, you didn't know that stuff existed either? Fortunately I have my wife to ensure I never have a time where there isn't "something" that needs "fixing" around the house.)

After that we went to the grocery store to grab a few items, including some hot dogs for the BBQ for lunch that day. Unfortunately, my daughter finally got the "you're two years old" memo this weekend. This means she decided it was no longer necessary to listen to her mother and I, which in turn meant that we left the grocery store and went straight home instead of doing other fun things I had planned. She got her first of two time-outs that morning (for something else), the other coming on Sunday. Prior to this weekend, she had only had one time-out in her life.

Once we were all happy again (about 30 seconds after she was allowed to stand up) we all went outside to play in her sand table. Well, actually the munchkin and I played while Mommy hovered with a broom and dustpan collecting the errant sand. (OK, not exactly hovered, but she stayed back, avoiding the "icky" wet sand as much as possible.)

After a fine lunch (of hot dogs) we packed the family and headed out to the zoo. Being members, we can just decide to go for a short visit without worrying about the admission or anything. Our game plan for this trip was to take the "zoomobile" (a hideous diesel powered unpadded train system without any semblance of a suspension system) to the outer region of the zoo and visit the Canadian Domain.

We had been near the entrance to the domain previously, but had always been scared off by the foreboding "steep hill not recommended for strollers or wagons" signage. So this time we took the sling and backpack and made a go of it. Sadly, the amount of effort required to exit the area was worth nowhere near the lameness of the animals there. (Seriously people, if I want to see a raccoon, I will leave kitchen garbage in a plastic bag on trash day.) Sure the grizzly bears were cool, or at least they would have been if they weren't lethargically lying in the sun.

But all was not lost at the zoo, my dear reader. I made my most exciting discovery ever while there. You see, I am somewhat of a mullet afficianado, always on the lookout for new and interesting ones. Saturday I saw something I will never be lucky enough to see again: I saw a hybrid faux-hawk/mullet. It was a thing of beauty, people. The gooey spiky faux-hawk, juxtaposed with the semi-feathered mullet (I saw it from behind, the only real way to appreciate a mullet) was a sight to behold. I wanted to touch it, but my wife wouldn't let me. Nor would she allow me to photograph it for posterity.

Oh yeah, we also saw the orangutans at the zoo. They were cool and breastfeeding and stuff, and one of them fell on their head.

For dinner, we fell victim to the recent increase in mentions of Lone Star at someone else's blog and ended up there for some tex-mex cuisine. The munchkin was her polite angelic self, thanking the server and asking with her please and thank yous.

Sunday morning the munchkin and I got up and hung out downstairs while Mommy slept in a little bit. We had some juice and cereal and apple while we watched Treehouse (specifically Tipi Tales, the oddly subtitled "Gift From The Red Man" with disturbing animatronic puppets that blink but for some unknown reason have two inch thick rods protruding from their wrists instead of less obvious puppeteering techniques).

The afternoon was spent outdoors playing with a variety of toys until the early morning wakeup finally caught up with yours truly and I took a nap upstairs while they continued to play outside. My in-laws were in town, so they arrived in time for dinner and spent the night at our place.

THS: A Life Of Miracles

Today I realized that I am lucky to still be alive on the planet at this time. No seriously, it is a miracle that I am here today, alive and with (reasonably) complete mental faculties, because my parents sure aren't responsible for this fact.

My daughter wears a bike helmet (that could protect her from a 20 km/h impact) as she pushes her tricycle along our driveway with her feet. I dragged my tricycle up the front steps to our porch and promptly rolled it over the edge, falling head first, helmetless. I tried to violate the laws of physics by starting a bike ride with only the back wheel in contact with the road; I fell backwards and wound up unconscious.

My daughter cannot descend any stairs without asking for someone to unlock a gate. At six months I careened my walker down the stairs, laughing the whole way. Once I even used an old cardboard box to "toboggan" down our stairs (and into a closed door at the bottom of them).

My daughter is constantly supervised by a wonderful mother. I was left to my own devices, so that one day I decided to see what "colour" the lights were inside of a stove fuse. I took a light socket that was on a cord, the end of which had a plug, that my father used as a portable light. I screwed in the fuse, and plugged it in. After my father had put out the family room carpet (that had caught on fire from the flame created by the 120v/15A circuit I connected) he left the room with the open (and live) socket lying on the floor.

My daughter rides in a five-point harnessed car seat, installed by the local police to be at the perfect angle in the event the car spontaneously, I don't know, does a backflip or something. Me? I rode home from the hospital in my mother's arms in the front seat. When I was five I rode shotgun without a seatbelt for a 15 hour drive to northern Quebec. At one point I actually opened the front door of my father's mint green 1973 Gran Torino fastback as we were going over 100 km/h. (Man, I miss that car.)

Maybe my parents were a little too laid back. Maybe modern parents are a little overprotective. There's a fine line between being safe and being insane, and I think sometimes we flirt with that line a little.

---

Another Daditorial
If you're in the mood for something more serious, I have yet another post up over at MommyBlogsToronto. This time I look at a student who is being punished for posting false stories about teachers on a social networking site. The father is complaining the school is being too harsh, and I disagree.

TTS: Missing, Frightened, or Worried?

Recently, my daughter has adopted a new expression: "I want my Daddy back." She says this almost every day that I am away at work, sometimes repeatedly, sometimes turning it into a full-blown tantrum. She begs to talk to me on the phone or to actually visit my office (a 30 minute drive from my house) regularly.

Strangely, when I finally am home she wants little to do with me, and only wants to cuddle with my wife. Sure, when I arrive I get a big hug and a few "I love you, Daddy" or "I missed you Daddy", but ultimately she wants her mother. It seems like she only wants me in the house.

My wife explains it away by saying that she misses me. Early in the day (when she is more emphatic about wanting wants her Daddy back) my daughter is well-rested and sociable. When I return home in the evening, she is overtired and fussy, leading her to only want her mother (the more familiar parent, the primary caregiver).

But I wonder if there is a deeper meaning, something perhaps more primal is showing through. Traditionally (and in our family), the father is the larger and stronger of the couple. From a purely instinctive perspective, I am the more likely "protector". I wonder if she is frightened about something, and having me "around" makes her feel safe. It would make sense that she does not necessarily need me to physically hold her, just be in the house.

Another possibility that has occurred to me is that she is afraid I will not return. She is only two years old, so the pattern of me leaving for a workday and returning for dinner may not be consistent enough when you consider that weekends are every five days. Maybe she is worried that I will not come back and is expressing that.

In an effort to figure this out, as I was holding my daughter this morning for a cuddle before heading off to work, I said to her, "You know that Daddy comes home every night, right? You don't have to worry." She replied, "No Daddy, don't make me sad." (She repeated this several times.) And then, "Don't make me angry, Daddy. Don't go to work." She stopped at this point and just nuzzled. I was content to let it pass instead of working her up any further.

Regardless of whether she just misses me, is frightened, or is worried that I will not return, it leaves me with a huge serving of "Daddy Guilt". And while logically I know that I am doing the best I can, and that someone has to work, and that having me work allows my wife to remain home as a SAHM, it does not make me feel any better about leaving them every day.

TWS: An Offer She Couldn't Refuse

Five years ago this week I was living with my wife in the basement apartment we shared. We were effectively living like a married couple except that we had separate bank accounts. Why is this important? Because a few weeks prior to this I began the process of slowly extracting cash from my personal savings account to make a large purchase that would change our lives. You see, I "knew a guy who knew a guy" who knew a jeweler, and that jeweler was Italian, and was not fond of taxation. So, we did business in cash, and my withdrawal limits combined with my wife's tastes meant I needed to start extracting the cash far in advance of the actual purchase.

My original plan was to propose on the May long weekend, at her parents' cottage. Well, not at the building itself, but rather at a point on the water that she really liked. Unfortunately, as with many plans, this one was not meant to be. My grandfather fell ill, and it appeared unlikely he would live until the end of May. Combine that with the knowledge that I was his first born son (my mother is one of five girls), and that he really liked my wife, I decided to expedite the process and propose at a special spot near our home in early May, so that when we went to my hometown the following weekend for Mother's Day we would be engaged and could tell him before he passed on.

I knew exactly what to buy because we had gone once or twice earlier in the year to look at rings and see what she liked. I even had a clipping from a flyer (obtained at a friend's wedding) with an image. So, I went to the jeweler about a month ahead of time, specified the ring and chose the stone. After extracting all the necessary funds (and repeatedly going into banks to convert the stacks of twenties into fifties and hundreds to reduce the volume of bills) I finally purchased the ring on a Tuesday. I had to keep it in my side table until Saturday since proposing midweek was impossible given the location I had chosen.

Saturday morning I got up early and hit the local grocery store to get provisions for a picnic lunch while MTM slept. I picked fresh prosciutto, mozzarella and crusty rolls for sandwiches as well as some strawberries for dessert, and had it all packed away in the fridge by the time she woke up.

We drove to a park near my old apartment. It was somewhere that was special to us because we had spent many afternoons there when we were first dating; picnics and walks (in the rain, no less) and just hanging out talking on a park bench. She probably knew something was up, but I didn't really care. It's not like proposing was going to be this world changing realization for her: she knew it was going to happen sooner or later.

After the lunch, I reached into the duffel bag we brought the blanket and other stuff in and pulled out a hand-painted jewelery box that I had done (I did not make it, but I did paint it). Inside was a wooden bear dressed in a tuxedo, holding a small ring box. (Digression time, people... while we were dating, I used to paint wooden bears for her. The bears were all painted to look like me at various events or times in our relationship: our first date, her birthday, a particular outfit she liked, et cetera. Sadly, the store stopped carrying them before I was done with ideas. However, I did have the foresight to hang on to one, unpainted, for this occasion.) You can guess what was in the box.

Excited, I placed the ring on her finger, and after a few moments of admiring it, she wanted to get back home (we lived a good 45 minute drive from the park) and tell her friends. (I had also made plans for dinner that we needed to change for.)

The whole ride home, no one answered their phones. She must have made 20 calls from her cell phone on that drive, leaving obscure voicemails telling people to call her.

We got home, changed, and went out for a nice steak dinner. When we got home she finally had some calls to return so she could tell someone the news.

The following weekend we went back to my hometown for Mother's Day. We told my grandfather the good news and his eyes welled up with tears as he hugged both of us closely. That was the last time we saw him, as a couple of weeks later he passed away.

TNS: Assisted Reproduction

In Montreal, a mother has frozen her eggs for her daughter to use in the future. The child, now seven, has Turner's Syndrome, a chromosomal anomaly that usually results in early-onset infertility.

It is an interesting topic for discussion, but hardly worth the label ethical decision assigned by the article. Now, if the mother were to force her daughter to fertilize and carry one of her eggs to term, then that would be a subject worthy of debate. However, since ultimately the daughter will decide whether or not she wants children, and subsequently whether to use her mother's offer as a donor or some other source, the issue is moot.

Or so I thought.

While researching this article, I found another that discussed how Canadians were traveling to the US to find egg donors because Canadian law prohibits paying the egg donor. In an ironic twist, it is not illegal to sell eggs; just buy them.

It is a complicated matter, to be sure. Human eggs are, more or less, half of what is needed for life. It could be argued that doing so is selling humans. However, using that logic it could also be argued that every time a man masturbates he is committing murder, making the argument lose its luster rather quickly.

Assisted reproduction is a reality for many people in this day and age. People have the right to seek out alternative means of having children, and those helping them or providing the means for them deserve to be compensated.

This presents the mother's decision in a very different light. Since she cannot know what decisions the Canadian government will make regarding assisted reproduction between now and the time her daughter is of child bearing age, her decision takes on another tone - that of someone trying to prepare for her daughter in a country where it may be difficult for her to become a parent.

The Brief Side
According to a recent study, there are increases in tooth decay incidents for baby teeth. The blame is placed upon the sugary snacks preschoolers are fed, and the fact that parents aren't brushing their young children's teeth enough.

An eye opening story about just how early kids can learn about emergency measures comes from Alaska, where a toddler called 911 when his mother collapsed. Apparently, he learned it from a children's book his grandmother sent him.

This article discusses both the benefits and drawbacks of co-sleeping and is an interesting read.

Just when you thought you had seen it all: a couple seeks to adopt a baby on MySpace. Supposedly they are super kewl and like, totally !ncr3d!b73 people.

Finally, some very important information: children need their fathers. I know, I was shocked too! And get this: fathers are supposed to say "I love you" to their children. If you don't believe me, read it for yourself.

---

Daditorial #8
I have yet another post up over at MommyBlogsToronto. Today I am discussing a doctor's claim that two thirds of parents are doing a poor job raising their children.