SubscribeAnd, if any of my readers with their own site would like to "go pink" for the month but are unsure how to go about doing it, you can email me at talesfromthedadside {at} gmail {dot} com and I'll help you out any way I can.
TBS: Yep, You're At The Right Place
I apologize for the startling change in appearance. As I "warned" you in the sidebar a week or so ago, I have gone pink for the month of October to bring attention to Breast Cancer Awareness Month. You can learn more about the initiative at the Pink For October website.
And, if any of my readers with their own site would like to "go pink" for the month but are unsure how to go about doing it, you can email me at talesfromthedadside {at} gmail {dot} com and I'll help you out any way I can.
And, if any of my readers with their own site would like to "go pink" for the month but are unsure how to go about doing it, you can email me at talesfromthedadside {at} gmail {dot} com and I'll help you out any way I can.
TDS: 30 Month Reflections
30 months. Two and a half years. After this Sunday, my munchkin, you will be closer to three years old than two. You are clearly ready for it, however, so I am not worried (at least about you).
You no longer sleep in your crib. We went through a very brief period where we tried to put you in your crib (after you had demonstrated the ability to escape), but that coincided with your sleeping issues and resulted in several loud thumps shortly after bed time. So, we moved your crib mattress to the floor, and eventually into your big girl ("pink") room, where you now sleep soundly.
Recently, we have successfully spent Daddy-daughter time without meltdowns for Mommy. This is a tremendous step forward for us both because it means I can offer to take you somewhere and leave Mommy to her own devices without trepidation. We go to the library (for, as you call it, "The Daddy Class"), or out for breakfast. You still run excitedly to your mother when we return, but you seem to have accepted the fact that I can be a caregiver too.
During these little excursions, I am treated to conversations with you. We can talk about anything together, and you often have a lot to say on the subject, whatever it may be. However, the most significant change in this department is the introduction of the word, "Why?" into your vocabulary. You say "Why?" more than you say "Mommy" or "Dora". You want to know everything, and the reason for everything. And even if we try to shrug you off with a "because", you tenaciously grapple with the concept and resume questioning shortly thereafter. While admittedly exhausting, it is endearing (in a somewhat annoyingly repetitive way).
You have started ballet classes this month. Mommy tells me that you are the youngest in the class, but you have a reputation for being the most enthusiastic (as well as the one most enamoured with looking at themselves in the mirrors - but you can blame you, you look so cute in your ballet outfit). You're still not 100% sure about the whole concept of spending 30 minutes in a room with a relative stranger without Mommy, but you're growing accustomed to it.
An unfortunate side effect of the maturation process is the development of preferences. Sadly, I have one such item to report. In the last two months, you have developed what can only be described as an addiction to Dora the Explorer, much to both your parent's chagrin. When we take a road trip, we take a Dora video out of the library; for the days leading up to the trip, as well as the drive itself, you watch that tape repeatedly. When we have no travel plans, you know to expect Dora in the afternoon, right before dinner. (You also get extremely excited when you see Elmo because you know Elmo comes on right before Dora on weekdays, and when it's a weekend, you get very upset when Dora doesn't follow.) You answer the television (and the books), and actually jump up and down and scream when the theme song comes on. While endearing, I fear for my sanity.
You are also very interested in "writing" whenever we break out the markers or crayons. You will often ask Mommy to print names of people on the page, and then (usually beside it) attempt to copy the letters yourself. Mostly it looks like scribbles or broad strokes, but you tell us what it says as you write it, so we know you're trying.
There is a 75% success rate when you decide you want to recite the alphabet song, and nearly 100% when you decide to count to ten. Once you clear ten, however, the sequence generally becomes "eleven, chelve, firteen, fourteen, eightteen, eleventeen, fourteen..." and usually ends with a "yay!"
Every day with you is a new adventure, munchkin. You are turning into a very confident and proud little girl. Gone are most traces of the baby I once cuddled to sleep every day after work, but what replaces that baby is wonderful as well. I love you.
There is a new Daditorial up at MBT where I look at the idea of Canadian culture in a roundabout way.
You no longer sleep in your crib. We went through a very brief period where we tried to put you in your crib (after you had demonstrated the ability to escape), but that coincided with your sleeping issues and resulted in several loud thumps shortly after bed time. So, we moved your crib mattress to the floor, and eventually into your big girl ("pink") room, where you now sleep soundly.
Recently, we have successfully spent Daddy-daughter time without meltdowns for Mommy. This is a tremendous step forward for us both because it means I can offer to take you somewhere and leave Mommy to her own devices without trepidation. We go to the library (for, as you call it, "The Daddy Class"), or out for breakfast. You still run excitedly to your mother when we return, but you seem to have accepted the fact that I can be a caregiver too.
During these little excursions, I am treated to conversations with you. We can talk about anything together, and you often have a lot to say on the subject, whatever it may be. However, the most significant change in this department is the introduction of the word, "Why?" into your vocabulary. You say "Why?" more than you say "Mommy" or "Dora". You want to know everything, and the reason for everything. And even if we try to shrug you off with a "because", you tenaciously grapple with the concept and resume questioning shortly thereafter. While admittedly exhausting, it is endearing (in a somewhat annoyingly repetitive way).
You have started ballet classes this month. Mommy tells me that you are the youngest in the class, but you have a reputation for being the most enthusiastic (as well as the one most enamoured with looking at themselves in the mirrors - but you can blame you, you look so cute in your ballet outfit). You're still not 100% sure about the whole concept of spending 30 minutes in a room with a relative stranger without Mommy, but you're growing accustomed to it.
An unfortunate side effect of the maturation process is the development of preferences. Sadly, I have one such item to report. In the last two months, you have developed what can only be described as an addiction to Dora the Explorer, much to both your parent's chagrin. When we take a road trip, we take a Dora video out of the library; for the days leading up to the trip, as well as the drive itself, you watch that tape repeatedly. When we have no travel plans, you know to expect Dora in the afternoon, right before dinner. (You also get extremely excited when you see Elmo because you know Elmo comes on right before Dora on weekdays, and when it's a weekend, you get very upset when Dora doesn't follow.) You answer the television (and the books), and actually jump up and down and scream when the theme song comes on. While endearing, I fear for my sanity.
You are also very interested in "writing" whenever we break out the markers or crayons. You will often ask Mommy to print names of people on the page, and then (usually beside it) attempt to copy the letters yourself. Mostly it looks like scribbles or broad strokes, but you tell us what it says as you write it, so we know you're trying.
There is a 75% success rate when you decide you want to recite the alphabet song, and nearly 100% when you decide to count to ten. Once you clear ten, however, the sequence generally becomes "eleven, chelve, firteen, fourteen, eightteen, eleventeen, fourteen..." and usually ends with a "yay!"
Every day with you is a new adventure, munchkin. You are turning into a very confident and proud little girl. Gone are most traces of the baby I once cuddled to sleep every day after work, but what replaces that baby is wonderful as well. I love you.
There is a new Daditorial up at MBT where I look at the idea of Canadian culture in a roundabout way.
TDS: A Surprise
Yes, a second post today.
This morning I'm working at a client office that happens to be a lot closer to home than my regular office. Given that fact, I decided to take the opportunity to take in one of the munchkin's ballet classes. I didn't tell her or MTM about my plan in case something came up and I was unable to escape, so when I called her cell 15 minutes before to get directions, she was surprised.
The munchkin seemed excited to see me, and I was eagerly anticipating the cuteness that is five little girls in tutus and tiaras. Alas, it was not meant to be.
She got ready, and took two steps into the dance room before she turned around with her eyes full of tears. I knew that last week she had demonstrated reluctance and even cried, but it wasn't like this. She wept and said she wanted to go home. When the teacher came and took her into the room in her arms and closed the door, the munchkin wailed and sobbed, her little voice echoing off the walls. She got herself so worked up that the teacher passed her back out of the room.
We spent the rest of the class watching from the doorway. The teachers say it's normal, especially for someone so young. And she says she wants to come back next week, although she won't commit to anything other than watching again.
As for me? I feel like my presence made it worse somehow, that she took advantage of me being there to get out of something she felt unsure about. And that makes me feel like crap; that if I hadn't gone, things might have been different.
This morning I'm working at a client office that happens to be a lot closer to home than my regular office. Given that fact, I decided to take the opportunity to take in one of the munchkin's ballet classes. I didn't tell her or MTM about my plan in case something came up and I was unable to escape, so when I called her cell 15 minutes before to get directions, she was surprised.
The munchkin seemed excited to see me, and I was eagerly anticipating the cuteness that is five little girls in tutus and tiaras. Alas, it was not meant to be.
She got ready, and took two steps into the dance room before she turned around with her eyes full of tears. I knew that last week she had demonstrated reluctance and even cried, but it wasn't like this. She wept and said she wanted to go home. When the teacher came and took her into the room in her arms and closed the door, the munchkin wailed and sobbed, her little voice echoing off the walls. She got herself so worked up that the teacher passed her back out of the room.
We spent the rest of the class watching from the doorway. The teachers say it's normal, especially for someone so young. And she says she wants to come back next week, although she won't commit to anything other than watching again.
As for me? I feel like my presence made it worse somehow, that she took advantage of me being there to get out of something she felt unsure about. And that makes me feel like crap; that if I hadn't gone, things might have been different.
TBS: Throwback Thursday
Today I have another post where I cop-out and re-use old material because I've got writer's block and can't think of anything original share some posts from my previous blog with you. Yes, that's right, dear reader, it's Throwback Thursday again!
TRS: Slides, Shopping And Soup - A weekend recap where I write about (among other things) making soup with my daughter (Sound familiar? See Monday. I am so boring.)
TBS: Careful About Keywords - My first "keyword madness" style post, where I talk about the search strings people used to get to the blog.
TNS: What Is A Family? - One of my earlier news commentary posts, this one is about a case in Ontario where a same-sex couple was trying to have both individuals named as legal parents in addition to the child's biological father. It would be the first instance of a child with three parents. (They eventually won.)
TDS: 18 Month Reflections - The original post in the "reflections" series, where I look back at what my daughter has been able to accomplish.
TRS: Mid-Weekend Wrap Up - Yes, I did used to post on weekends occasionally. This one is a humourous look at our trip to a local fair and a rainy Saturday spent doing crafts with an 18 month old. And glue.
TRS: Slides, Shopping And Soup - A weekend recap where I write about (among other things) making soup with my daughter (Sound familiar? See Monday. I am so boring.)
TBS: Careful About Keywords - My first "keyword madness" style post, where I talk about the search strings people used to get to the blog.
TNS: What Is A Family? - One of my earlier news commentary posts, this one is about a case in Ontario where a same-sex couple was trying to have both individuals named as legal parents in addition to the child's biological father. It would be the first instance of a child with three parents. (They eventually won.)
TDS: 18 Month Reflections - The original post in the "reflections" series, where I look back at what my daughter has been able to accomplish.
TRS: Mid-Weekend Wrap Up - Yes, I did used to post on weekends occasionally. This one is a humourous look at our trip to a local fair and a rainy Saturday spent doing crafts with an 18 month old. And glue.
TDS: Happy Thoughts
As we navigate the uncharted waters of parenting a toddler, MTM and I try a multitude of ideas. Some of them work; some of them don't. And some of them provide us with entertainment.
When the munchkin was regularly having a hard time going to sleep by herself (she still has trouble on occasion, but the situation has dramatically improved since then), MTM came up with the idea of getting the munchkin to brainstorm a list of things that made her feel happy. The premise was that if she had "happy thoughts", she would be more calm and thus likely to fall asleep.
Sometimes, the items were simple and expected, like "Mommy cuddles" or "playing with my cousins". Often, they were related to recent events (i.e. the night we returned from a visit to my parents, she would mention watching tv with my father and cuddling with my mother). Once in a while (especially at the beginning) she would try and outsmart us by saying "sleeping wiff Mommy and Daddy in the big bed" in the hopes that we would take the hint and stop forcing her to sleep in her own crib.
Last night, after exhausting all her tickets, she called for me. After clearing it with MTM, I went upstairs and cuddled my daughter in my arms. I praised her for notfreaking out and having a complete meltdown crying and suggested we think of things that make her happy. She immediately went through the expected list and then said something that surprised me: eating.
I wonder how much that had to do with the fact that we had my SIL over for dinner last night, so MTM served dessert (poached pear and chocolate fudge) and the munchkin ate more than her fair share.
When the munchkin was regularly having a hard time going to sleep by herself (she still has trouble on occasion, but the situation has dramatically improved since then), MTM came up with the idea of getting the munchkin to brainstorm a list of things that made her feel happy. The premise was that if she had "happy thoughts", she would be more calm and thus likely to fall asleep.
Sometimes, the items were simple and expected, like "Mommy cuddles" or "playing with my cousins". Often, they were related to recent events (i.e. the night we returned from a visit to my parents, she would mention watching tv with my father and cuddling with my mother). Once in a while (especially at the beginning) she would try and outsmart us by saying "sleeping wiff Mommy and Daddy in the big bed" in the hopes that we would take the hint and stop forcing her to sleep in her own crib.
Last night, after exhausting all her tickets, she called for me. After clearing it with MTM, I went upstairs and cuddled my daughter in my arms. I praised her for not
I wonder how much that had to do with the fact that we had my SIL over for dinner last night, so MTM served dessert (poached pear and chocolate fudge) and the munchkin ate more than her fair share.
TNS: The Pumpkin Case
A tragic news story has been evolving in Australia and New Zealand over the past couple of weeks. Unfortunately, links to some of the earliest details have been deleted by the hosts, so I will use a time line from a BBC News piece for your reference.
September 10 - last sighting of the mother of a toddler in New Zealand
September 13 - toddler arrives in Australia with father
September 15 - toddler is abandoned at a train station by an unknown man; child is dubbed "Pumpkin"
September 17 - man who left Pumpkin is identified as child's father; realize father had flown to LA immediately after leaving daughter
September 19 - woman's body found in trunk of car parked at toddler's family home
September 21 - reports surface of father's previous conviction for assault; details show history of domestic violence towards both wife and child, then two years old
Since then, there have been sporadic reports about the hunt for the father and how the child is being reunited with her grandmother who will likely adopt her.
As I read the accounts, stories of the toddler crying for her mother, the domestic violence revelations, the discovery of the body and later the grisly confirmation, I was at a loss. How could a man kill his wife? How could he abandon his only child at a train station? It made no sense to me. I looked at my daughter and wondered just how I could get myself to a point where I would be willing to do such a thing, and I couldn't see it.
Sometimes, this world is more disturbing than I care to acknowledge.
The Brief Side
First up, we have an open letter to what I believe to be a fictitious obnoxious sports parent. It's a very good read.
In an ending to what can only be described as a bizarre story, a family has been ordered to bury a mummified baby that they had retained as an heirloom for generations. According to the current holder, the baby was the child of a great-great uncle who could not afford DNA testing to confirm paternity.
Researchers in the Netherlands have found that children who are raised by a lesbian couple are equally well-adjusted as those in more traditional families.
In spite of research like that mentioned above, the Christian Right called a summit to try and organize a campaign to get gay marriage banned in Florida. According to the report, one speaker described how gay marriage would lead to to other "aberrant forms of marriage", such as "polygamy pot lucks". Am I the only one to miss the connection between homosexuality and polygamy?
I've also posted a new Daditorial about a woman who was told that nursing her son at the YMCA pool was offensive to others by pool staff.
September 10 - last sighting of the mother of a toddler in New Zealand
September 13 - toddler arrives in Australia with father
September 15 - toddler is abandoned at a train station by an unknown man; child is dubbed "Pumpkin"
September 17 - man who left Pumpkin is identified as child's father; realize father had flown to LA immediately after leaving daughter
September 19 - woman's body found in trunk of car parked at toddler's family home
September 21 - reports surface of father's previous conviction for assault; details show history of domestic violence towards both wife and child, then two years old
Since then, there have been sporadic reports about the hunt for the father and how the child is being reunited with her grandmother who will likely adopt her.
As I read the accounts, stories of the toddler crying for her mother, the domestic violence revelations, the discovery of the body and later the grisly confirmation, I was at a loss. How could a man kill his wife? How could he abandon his only child at a train station? It made no sense to me. I looked at my daughter and wondered just how I could get myself to a point where I would be willing to do such a thing, and I couldn't see it.
Sometimes, this world is more disturbing than I care to acknowledge.
The Brief Side
First up, we have an open letter to what I believe to be a fictitious obnoxious sports parent. It's a very good read.
In an ending to what can only be described as a bizarre story, a family has been ordered to bury a mummified baby that they had retained as an heirloom for generations. According to the current holder, the baby was the child of a great-great uncle who could not afford DNA testing to confirm paternity.
Researchers in the Netherlands have found that children who are raised by a lesbian couple are equally well-adjusted as those in more traditional families.
In spite of research like that mentioned above, the Christian Right called a summit to try and organize a campaign to get gay marriage banned in Florida. According to the report, one speaker described how gay marriage would lead to to other "aberrant forms of marriage", such as "polygamy pot lucks". Am I the only one to miss the connection between homosexuality and polygamy?
I've also posted a new Daditorial about a woman who was told that nursing her son at the YMCA pool was offensive to others by pool staff.
TRS: Return Of "The Daddy Class"
Way back in the spring, the munchkin and I went to a couple classes at our local library. Shortly after we started (late April), they broke for the summer. This past weekend, we made it to another session.
It was supposed to be a "storytime" for toddlers, but in the end it was actually 30 minutes of singing action songs and one story. The munchkin didn't seem to notice however, as she repeatedly said to me, "I'm really happy you're here Daddy." (Which, of course, brought both feelings of joy as well as guilt - that she considers me taking her to the library to be monumental.) She had a blast, despite the challenge of dealing with the reality of three puppets for 12 children, and the sharing that necessitated.
Afterwards, we went to do some groceries for the soup I would make on Sunday. By that point, her early rise had gotten to her, and for the first time she demonstrated her "terrible twos" in public with me parenting solo. I would like to say that I handled it perfectly, that I knew just what to do and say. I'd like to say that, but I cannot. Instead, my mind was filled with thoughts like What the hell is wrong with you? You're never like this with me! I'm Daddy, the mega blocks, reading, occasional bath companion! I'm not the deal-with-a-moody-kid parent. That's your mother. Outside my head, I merely threated with a ban of Dora from the television if the behaviour didn't improve. It didn't.
I brought her home frazzled, and dumped her with MTM while I did a few shots of Jack Daniels sat on the couch in a semi-comatose state.
After an all-too-brief nap, we went out as a family to do some errands, where the munchkin found the perfect book for her, a book she would carry proudly through the store. It was pink and had a green bunny on it. You can see it above.
We hit East Side Mario's for dinner on Saturday night, at the request of the munchkin. And after her bedtime, MTM made use of the new clippers we purchased (the primary reason for the errands) and actually cut my hair to three different lengths, and made it look presentable. (Previous attempts always resulted in the "ah screw it, I'll give you a [one length] brush cut.")
Sunday morning I got up extra early with the munchkin (I had slept in on Saturday) and when MTM finally got out of bed I started making my beef and barley soup. I enjoy cooking, and generally speaking during the week I am either too late or too tired after work to prepare anything of substance. So, on weekends I try to make meals. In recent years I have discovered a talent for making various soups (my best being the aforementioned beef and barley and a potato cheddar concoction I invented last fall) so once the weather turns I go into large-soup-batch mode.
And, because life isn't fair, while Haley-O was welcoming someone into her home, I was welcoming someone into mine. Why is life unfair, you ask? She was welcoming her new baby. I got my in-laws. Again.
It was supposed to be a "storytime" for toddlers, but in the end it was actually 30 minutes of singing action songs and one story. The munchkin didn't seem to notice however, as she repeatedly said to me, "I'm really happy you're here Daddy." (Which, of course, brought both feelings of joy as well as guilt - that she considers me taking her to the library to be monumental.) She had a blast, despite the challenge of dealing with the reality of three puppets for 12 children, and the sharing that necessitated. Afterwards, we went to do some groceries for the soup I would make on Sunday. By that point, her early rise had gotten to her, and for the first time she demonstrated her "terrible twos" in public with me parenting solo. I would like to say that I handled it perfectly, that I knew just what to do and say. I'd like to say that, but I cannot. Instead, my mind was filled with thoughts like What the hell is wrong with you? You're never like this with me! I'm Daddy, the mega blocks, reading, occasional bath companion! I'm not the deal-with-a-moody-kid parent. That's your mother. Outside my head, I merely threated with a ban of Dora from the television if the behaviour didn't improve. It didn't. I brought her home frazzled, and dumped her with MTM while I After an all-too-brief nap, we went out as a family to do some errands, where the munchkin found the perfect book for her, a book she would carry proudly through the store. It was pink and had a green bunny on it. You can see it above.
We hit East Side Mario's for dinner on Saturday night, at the request of the munchkin. And after her bedtime, MTM made use of the new clippers we purchased (the primary reason for the errands) and actually cut my hair to three different lengths, and made it look presentable. (Previous attempts always resulted in the "ah screw it, I'll give you a [one length] brush cut.")
Sunday morning I got up extra early with the munchkin (I had slept in on Saturday) and when MTM And, because life isn't fair, while Haley-O was welcoming someone into her home, I was welcoming someone into mine. Why is life unfair, you ask? She was welcoming her new baby. I got my in-laws. Again.
TDS: Yesterday's Lunch
Yesterday around 10:30am my phone rang at the office.
"Good morning, SciFi Dad speaking," I said powerfully and briskly.
The caller paused, ever so slightly, and then I heard, "Hi."
"Hi sweetheart," I say as my voice changes from business mode to Daddy mode. "How are you?"
"Daddy, would you like to have lunch wiff us at your office?" (Clearly phone pleasantries are something we need to work on; she's all business.)
"Sure, that would be fine."
Thud, thud, thud... I hear her running, and then say to MTM, "He said sure! Yay!"
MTM took the phone from the munchkin and she and I ironed out the timing and details. By the time we were done, this is what she found at the front door:
They came, and the three of us sat around one end of my desk and had a pretty good lunch. The munchkin didn't eat much, despite a plethora of options:
Flashback Friday
I have just two posts for you from last year. (Interestingly, both timestamped within a minute of each other; can anyone say "inspired"?) Both are about my daughter's rapid development: the first is about her first "big girl" meal, and the other is about her language. (Warning to my wife: these posts will bring out more than a little nostalgia and likely some tears.)
TDS: I'm A BIG Girl... Sorta
TDS: Yes, Yes... I Get It
I also have a new Daditorial up where I look at a class action lawsuit resulting from the conditions in Toronto Public Housing. I also have a couple updates to earlier Daditorial posts there as well.
"Good morning, SciFi Dad speaking," I said powerfully and briskly.
The caller paused, ever so slightly, and then I heard, "Hi."
"Hi sweetheart," I say as my voice changes from business mode to Daddy mode. "How are you?"
"Daddy, would you like to have lunch wiff us at your office?" (Clearly phone pleasantries are something we need to work on; she's all business.)
"Sure, that would be fine."
Thud, thud, thud... I hear her running, and then say to MTM, "He said sure! Yay!"
MTM took the phone from the munchkin and she and I ironed out the timing and details. By the time we were done, this is what she found at the front door:
They came, and the three of us sat around one end of my desk and had a pretty good lunch. The munchkin didn't eat much, despite a plethora of options:
Flashback Friday
I have just two posts for you from last year. (Interestingly, both timestamped within a minute of each other; can anyone say "inspired"?) Both are about my daughter's rapid development: the first is about her first "big girl" meal, and the other is about her language. (Warning to my wife: these posts will bring out more than a little nostalgia and likely some tears.)
TDS: I'm A BIG Girl... Sorta
TDS: Yes, Yes... I Get It
I also have a new Daditorial up where I look at a class action lawsuit resulting from the conditions in Toronto Public Housing. I also have a couple updates to earlier Daditorial posts there as well.
TTS: Kid Nation
For those who taped/PVRed Kid Nation and have yet to watch it, please be advised that there will be discussion of last night's episode. If you don't want it spoiled, you are best to stop reading now.
As regular readers of this site and my other blog know, I spend a fair bit of time each week scouring the web for news items to comment on. For the last two months or so, I have been seeing many commentaries about CBS' Kid Nation and how it exploited the kids. One site in particular, A Minor Consideration has launched an all-out assault on the network. However, since the show had not yet aired, I held off on reading the details of these pieces.
Kid Nation takes 40 children ranging in age from 8 to 15 and places them in a New Mexico ghost town. Alone. With no adults (well, except for the camera crew, the host, the production staff, the on site medical team, the psychologists, the off-camera chef supervising the kitchen...) The challenge set before them is to "make the town work", to create a society.
Without going through the episode frame by frame, here are some scattered thoughts on last night's show. (None are based on any spoiler information; just speculation and guessing.)
And as a complete aside, was I the only one who was struck by some of the stereotyping or parallels? We have a leader from Texas who is short sighted and wants television while the rest of the "country" knows they need out houses. We have a short-tempered person of Irish descent from Massachusetts who is also the rational leader. And we have a diplomat from Washington. OK, maybe that was just me.
As for the claims of exploitation? According to reports, the kids worked from 7:00am to 9:30pm or later most days. Child labour laws in the U.S. limit working hours to 10 per day, five days a week. To circumvent this, CBS called it a summer camp (although it was held in April and May) and said they were recording the events. However, they also paid the kids $5000 each to appear. It should be noted that the website leading the campaign is run by Paul Petersen, a former child star who played Jeff Stone on The Donna Reed Show. The site has a very anti-Hollywood slant to it.
Is Kid Nation a television show? Obviously. Is it a summer camp? Arguably, yes. But let's say for the moment that it isn't, just for the sake of discussion. If the same conditions had been created as a social experiment for a psychological or even political study, run by a university, would we be so up in arms? If this was a research project and not a television project, would we consider this to be child labour? While having kids work such long days is foreign to most of us, it should be noted that in less developed rural communities, especially during harvest and planting seasons, such circumstances are typical. Therefore to say that it is unreasonable is, in and of itself, unreasonable.
Personally, I think it will make a fascinating experiment. Sure, some kids will opt out just as Jimmy did this week. No amount of profiling beforehand can predict how someone will react; someone opted out of the last Survivor the night before they got shipwrecked (that's why they started with 19). But some will flourish. Some will learn something about life or about themselves. And at a minimum, they all have an experience they won't soon forget.
Edited to add: for those who missed the premiere and wish to see it, CBS has said they will put the episodes online for viewing. Check the Kid Nation website for more details.
As regular readers of this site and my other blog know, I spend a fair bit of time each week scouring the web for news items to comment on. For the last two months or so, I have been seeing many commentaries about CBS' Kid Nation and how it exploited the kids. One site in particular, A Minor Consideration has launched an all-out assault on the network. However, since the show had not yet aired, I held off on reading the details of these pieces.
Kid Nation takes 40 children ranging in age from 8 to 15 and places them in a New Mexico ghost town. Alone. With no adults (well, except for the camera crew, the host, the production staff, the on site medical team, the psychologists, the off-camera chef supervising the kitchen...) The challenge set before them is to "make the town work", to create a society.
Without going through the episode frame by frame, here are some scattered thoughts on last night's show. (None are based on any spoiler information; just speculation and guessing.)
- Jimmy, the 8 year old from New Hampshire who quit: "I'm not old enough for this," does not sound like an 8 year old's thought. I suspect one of his parents was enthusiastic about the opportunity and the other thought he wasn't old enough. An interesting example of how much impact one can have on their child.
- Laurel, the 12 year old from Massachusetts (and leader of the green district) and Sophia, the 14 year old from Florida will go head to head at some point. Both are used to being listened to, and one has to back down. I expect that, with the "district" terminology, that the town council can be forced to call an "election", and that Sophia is being set up to do just that.
- Greg and Blaine, the two older boys, are not going to have as easy a time as they expected. They will learn that just because you're bigger and stronger and older (and arguably wiser) doesn't mean you're going to be followed.
- Mike, the 12 year old from Texas (leader of the red district) will probably be the first evacuation. His abrasive personality will get him so disliked that they have to remove him.
- Michael, the 14 year old from Washington freaks me out. No 14 year old boy should be capable of both diplomacy and motivation.
And as a complete aside, was I the only one who was struck by some of the stereotyping or parallels? We have a leader from Texas who is short sighted and wants television while the rest of the "country" knows they need out houses. We have a short-tempered person of Irish descent from Massachusetts who is also the rational leader. And we have a diplomat from Washington. OK, maybe that was just me.
As for the claims of exploitation? According to reports, the kids worked from 7:00am to 9:30pm or later most days. Child labour laws in the U.S. limit working hours to 10 per day, five days a week. To circumvent this, CBS called it a summer camp (although it was held in April and May) and said they were recording the events. However, they also paid the kids $5000 each to appear. It should be noted that the website leading the campaign is run by Paul Petersen, a former child star who played Jeff Stone on The Donna Reed Show. The site has a very anti-Hollywood slant to it.
Is Kid Nation a television show? Obviously. Is it a summer camp? Arguably, yes. But let's say for the moment that it isn't, just for the sake of discussion. If the same conditions had been created as a social experiment for a psychological or even political study, run by a university, would we be so up in arms? If this was a research project and not a television project, would we consider this to be child labour? While having kids work such long days is foreign to most of us, it should be noted that in less developed rural communities, especially during harvest and planting seasons, such circumstances are typical. Therefore to say that it is unreasonable is, in and of itself, unreasonable.
Personally, I think it will make a fascinating experiment. Sure, some kids will opt out just as Jimmy did this week. No amount of profiling beforehand can predict how someone will react; someone opted out of the last Survivor the night before they got shipwrecked (that's why they started with 19). But some will flourish. Some will learn something about life or about themselves. And at a minimum, they all have an experience they won't soon forget.
Edited to add: for those who missed the premiere and wish to see it, CBS has said they will put the episodes online for viewing. Check the Kid Nation website for more details.
TDS: The Nap
Most weekday mornings, my alarm wakes me up at 5:33am (yes, precisely 5:33am; I cannot set my alarm to a time with minutes ending with a multiple of 5) with talk radio (and if that fails, my light-sleeping wife ensures my exit from the bed with a good shove and/or kick). (Aside: I get up that early so I can ditch the office by 3pm most days; this allows me more time with my kid.)
Unfortunately, the munchkin's internal clock gets her up around 4:30am most mornings, regardless of the day of the week or how late she went to bed. So, between 4:30am and 5:33am I am treated to the never-ending calls for a parent (usually MTM) from her bedroom. Since I am not the stay-at-home parent who subsequently benefits from the nap opportunity, I am often overtired and sometimes grumpy upon my arrival home from work.
One day last week, I came home and, knowing MTM had ribs for me to grill, lamented that I was exhausted and would probably crash early that night. MTM countered with an offer I couldn't refuse: take the munchkin to our bedroom, put on Treehouse, and take a nap.
Sadly, the munchkin never got the memo about my nap.
"Daddy, I will sleep wiff you." (Followed by 15 minutes of her rooting around in the covers and pillows to find a comfortable position that would allow her to a) press on my bladder, b) remain hidden by the blankets and c) watch tv.)
"Daddy, are you asleep?" Not when you ask me every three minutes, sweetheart.
"WAKE UP!" Whew, thanks for that, munchkin. I nearly rested.
"What is Dora doing Daddy?" My guess is probably checking The Map, yelling, or staring blankly at the camera waiting for a response to a question.
Finally after nearly an hour, she said to me, "Where's Mommy? We should go find her."
Thinking I could dump her on the couch downstairs and sneak a little cat nap in, we came down just in time to hear MTM holler from the kitchen, "Dinner!"
Perfect.
There's another Daditorial up over at MBT. Today I look at the recent decision to "close" community centres on Mondays.
Unfortunately, the munchkin's internal clock gets her up around 4:30am most mornings, regardless of the day of the week or how late she went to bed. So, between 4:30am and 5:33am I am treated to the never-ending calls for a parent (usually MTM) from her bedroom. Since I am not the stay-at-home parent who subsequently benefits from the nap opportunity, I am often overtired and sometimes grumpy upon my arrival home from work.
One day last week, I came home and, knowing MTM had ribs for me to grill, lamented that I was exhausted and would probably crash early that night. MTM countered with an offer I couldn't refuse: take the munchkin to our bedroom, put on Treehouse, and take a nap.
Sadly, the munchkin never got the memo about my nap.
"Daddy, I will sleep wiff you." (Followed by 15 minutes of her rooting around in the covers and pillows to find a comfortable position that would allow her to a) press on my bladder, b) remain hidden by the blankets and c) watch tv.)
"Daddy, are you asleep?" Not when you ask me every three minutes, sweetheart.
"WAKE UP!" Whew, thanks for that, munchkin. I nearly rested.
"What is Dora doing Daddy?" My guess is probably checking The Map, yelling, or staring blankly at the camera waiting for a response to a question.
Finally after nearly an hour, she said to me, "Where's Mommy? We should go find her."
Thinking I could dump her on the couch downstairs and sneak a little cat nap in, we came down just in time to hear MTM holler from the kitchen, "Dinner!"
Perfect.
There's another Daditorial up over at MBT. Today I look at the recent decision to "close" community centres on Mondays.
TNS: Mini-Edition
I feel like crap today. I've been fighting a cold for a couple days now, and it's presently kicking my ass. Fortunately, I collect news stories throughout the week, so at least I have a little something for you to read today. Hopefully I'll be back tomorrow with better content.
The Brief Side
According to some recent studies in the area, a bedtime routine should be started at a very early age.
An interesting story comes to us from New York, where a breast feeding mother has requested longer breaks during an examination to allow for pumping or feeding.
Researchers in California believe that a three year old is capable of introspection, an ability previously believed to occur at four or even five years of age.
From the UK, a column about the mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship and the difficulties it can produce.
Finally, Japanese fathers have the opportunity to take a daddy exam that will supposedly get them more involved in their children's lives.
The Brief Side
According to some recent studies in the area, a bedtime routine should be started at a very early age.
An interesting story comes to us from New York, where a breast feeding mother has requested longer breaks during an examination to allow for pumping or feeding.
Researchers in California believe that a three year old is capable of introspection, an ability previously believed to occur at four or even five years of age.
From the UK, a column about the mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship and the difficulties it can produce.
Finally, Japanese fathers have the opportunity to take a daddy exam that will supposedly get them more involved in their children's lives.
TRS: Happy Birthday Nonu
This weekend was my father's birthday, so we decided to make the 4+ hour drive back home to spend it with him. We left on Friday after lunch (as usual) with an attempt at getting yours truly a little nap by employing gravol. It did not work, and as soon as we hit a rest station, MTM and I swapped spots and I finished the journey in control of the vehicle (sometimes being susceptible to motion sickness is a very bad thing).
The highlights of Friday evening included a pizza dinner (we try to make our visits less stressful on my parents by ordering in one night) and (yet another) trip to the local dollar store (where the munchkin came out with yet more "treasures" courtesy of my father - at least this time it was a toonie and not a $20). However, our biggest surprise was that the munchkin went down without.a.fight. Seriously, MTM was in and out in two minutes, and no one thought she was out for good, but she was.
As an added bonus, the munchkin slept in past 7am on Saturday morning. As regular readers of our blogs know, sleeping is (to put it mildly) an issue in our own home, let alone when we travel (where it borders on nightmarish). So, to have her go to bed nicely and wake later than usual is an unheard of treat.
Saturday morning, my mother and MTM had hair appointments, so the munchkin and I dropped them off before going shopping. (In truth, the dropping them off was more than a little stressful, complete with an anxiety attack from me. But rather than drill into that, I will gloss over and say that I was more than slightly unhinged for the bulk of the morning.)
We went to the grocery store to purchase (among other things) a birthday cake for my dad. He decided to allow the munchkin to choose his cake. I had to clarify three times that I did indeed want "Happy Birthday Nonu" on a Disney princess themed cake. She was beside herself with excitement.
After retrieving my wife and my mother from the salon (where, among other things, I learned that my mother had made a significant error in her pain medication and subsequently was beyond incoherent and was actually shrieking at one point while getting her hair dried) we went home for lunch (and sending my mother to bed to sleep it off).
While the munchkin and MTM napped, I picked up my sister and did a couple errands (where I actually ran into someone from high school who I haven't seen since 1993) before getting dinner started. As I did last weekend, I made a roast beef dinner (I'm getting too much practice making that meal) for everyone that was a hit.
No visit home would be complete without the unnecessary showering of gifts upon the toddler. My sister gave the munchkin a microwave that beeped and whirred and lit up when it ran. The two of them spent the better part of Saturday afternoon irradiating various items (most of which were never hot enough, yet too hot to touch). My mother gave her a Curious George bath doll that blows bubbles (courtesy of our trip to Buffalo). She loved bathing with George, even if the post-bath maintenance required MTM to behead and dismember the doll to remove all the bubble solution and trapped water.
On a completely unrelated note, the Lions are 2-0 for the first time in what feels like decades (although it's actually like 3 or 4 years) and accomplished this by being the Vikings (something they hadn't done in the last 10 meetings).
The highlights of Friday evening included a pizza dinner (we try to make our visits less stressful on my parents by ordering in one night) and (yet another) trip to the local dollar store (where the munchkin came out with yet more "treasures" courtesy of my father - at least this time it was a toonie and not a $20). However, our biggest surprise was that the munchkin went down without.a.fight. Seriously, MTM was in and out in two minutes, and no one thought she was out for good, but she was.As an added bonus, the munchkin slept in past 7am on Saturday morning. As regular readers of our blogs know, sleeping is (to put it mildly) an issue in our own home, let alone when we travel (where it borders on nightmarish). So, to have her go to bed nicely and wake later than usual is an unheard of treat.Saturday morning, my mother and MTM had hair appointments, so the munchkin and I dropped them off before going shopping. (In truth, the dropping them off was more than a little stressful, complete with an anxiety attack from me. But rather than drill into that, I will gloss over and say that I was more than slightly unhinged for the bulk of the morning.)We went to the grocery store to purchase (among other things) a birthday cake for my dad. He decided to allow the munchkin to choose his cake. I had to clarify three times that I did indeed want "Happy Birthday Nonu" on a Disney princess themed cake. She was beside herself with excitement.After retrieving my wife and my mother from the salon (where, among other things, I learned that my mother had made a significant error in her pain medication and subsequently was beyond incoherent and was actually shrieking at one point while getting her hair dried) we went home for lunch (and sending my mother to bed to sleep it off).While the munchkin and MTM napped, I picked up my sister and did a couple errands (where I actually ran into someone from high school who I haven't seen since 1993) before getting dinner started. As I did last weekend, I made a roast beef dinner (I'm getting too much practice making that meal) for everyone that was a hit.
No visit home would be complete without the unnecessary showering of gifts upon the toddler. My sister gave the munchkin a microwave that beeped and whirred and lit up when it ran. The two of them spent the better part of Saturday afternoon irradiating various items (most of which were never hot enough, yet too hot to touch). My mother gave her a Curious George bath doll that blows bubbles (courtesy of our trip to Buffalo). She loved bathing with George, even if the post-bath maintenance required MTM to behead and dismember the doll to remove all the bubble solution and trapped water.On a completely unrelated note, the Lions are 2-0 for the first time in what feels like decades (although it's actually like 3 or 4 years) and accomplished this by being the Vikings (something they hadn't done in the last 10 meetings).
TDS: Video Friday
Today's post will be light on words, heavy on motion. I have three videos from the summer to share.
Up first, remember when I wrote about Simcoe Day I said my father gave the munchkin $20 to spend at a dollar store, and she came home with a whistle that sounded like a goose?
Next, when MTM and the munchkin went to the cottage for a week, we learned that the munchkin, like her Mommy, is a little fish:
We also learned that she isn't quite ready to kayak:
Up first, remember when I wrote about Simcoe Day I said my father gave the munchkin $20 to spend at a dollar store, and she came home with a whistle that sounded like a goose?
Next, when MTM and the munchkin went to the cottage for a week, we learned that the munchkin, like her Mommy, is a little fish:
We also learned that she isn't quite ready to kayak:
TDS: Her Big Day
This morning, while I was in the front hall getting my stuff ready to leave for work, MTM asked me to tell the munchkin where they were going today. I paused and pushed aside all my pre-work thoughts and realized that I had completely forgotten the big day. I came back into the living room and slumped down on the sofa, and the munchkin crawled into my lap.
"Do you know what is happening today?" I asked her.
"No. Where am I going?" she replied.
"Today you get to go to your ballet class," I told her.
"I will be a good listener wiff the teacher. And I will be nice to the other girls," she said with enthusiasm. "And I will show my teacher how to do this," she said as she raised her left arm and did what I can best describe as a toddler version of the old Arsenio Hall "woot woot" gesture he used to start his show with. "Will there be music?"
"Yes, there will be music."
"Will they play my favourite song?" (Aside: for those who do not know, her favourite song is People Watching by Jack Johnson from the Curious George soundtrack.)
"No, I think there will be different music."
"Oh. OK. I will bring my salsa tots music."
So there you have it: while I am sitting in a conference room executing a factory acceptance test protocol for a sewage pumping station (it's even more glamourous than it sounds) MTM will be watching the munchkin as she starts ballet. I had originally planned to be there for it, but forgot to write it in my planner. Realistically, it doesn't matter, since this testing was scheduled before that, so I would not have been able to make it.
But that doesn't change the way I'm feeling right now. This is yet another event that I am unable to witness, unable to share in. Tonight I will come home (of course, later than usual due to work) and hear all about it. She will show me what she learned and tell me about her teacher, and the room, and the costumes (this place has dress-up tutus and what not) and how she ran to Mommy afterward (hopefully without any prior tears). And I will smile, and tell her how proud I am and how she's growing up.
And then, after she goes to bed, I'll probably cry a little.
Throwback Thursday
I only have a couple posts from this week last year:
The Principle - one of the original "Wife Side" posts
I Measure My Love... - where I write about my grandmother's passing
The 2006 Canadian Census data has been released by Stats Canada. There are some interesting results that I take a look at in my latest Daditorial.
"Do you know what is happening today?" I asked her.
"No. Where am I going?" she replied.
"Today you get to go to your ballet class," I told her.
"I will be a good listener wiff the teacher. And I will be nice to the other girls," she said with enthusiasm. "And I will show my teacher how to do this," she said as she raised her left arm and did what I can best describe as a toddler version of the old Arsenio Hall "woot woot" gesture he used to start his show with. "Will there be music?""Yes, there will be music."
"Will they play my favourite song?" (Aside: for those who do not know, her favourite song is People Watching by Jack Johnson from the Curious George soundtrack.)
"No, I think there will be different music."
"Oh. OK. I will bring my salsa tots music."
So there you have it: while I am sitting in a conference room executing a factory acceptance test protocol for a sewage pumping station (it's even more glamourous than it sounds) MTM will be watching the munchkin as she starts ballet. I had originally planned to be there for it, but forgot to write it in my planner. Realistically, it doesn't matter, since this testing was scheduled before that, so I would not have been able to make it.
But that doesn't change the way I'm feeling right now. This is yet another event that I am unable to witness, unable to share in. Tonight I will come home (of course, later than usual due to work) and hear all about it. She will show me what she learned and tell me about her teacher, and the room, and the costumes (this place has dress-up tutus and what not) and how she ran to Mommy afterward (hopefully without any prior tears). And I will smile, and tell her how proud I am and how she's growing up.
And then, after she goes to bed, I'll probably cry a little.
Throwback Thursday
I only have a couple posts from this week last year:
The Principle - one of the original "Wife Side" posts
I Measure My Love... - where I write about my grandmother's passing
The 2006 Canadian Census data has been released by Stats Canada. There are some interesting results that I take a look at in my latest Daditorial.
TWS: Conversations
while in bed
Me: Can I ask you something?
Her: Sure.
Me: Do you ever yawn so long that saliva drips out of your mouth on to your pillow?
Her: No.
Me: Yeah, me neither.
Her: I mean, I drool in my sleep.
Me: That's different. I do that too.
Her: laughing
over dinner, eating leftover ribs
Her: So what do you think?
Me: They're all right. I mean, I'd eat them again if you made them, but I'm not going to ask for them. You know what I mean?
Her: Yeah. I threw out the recipe this afternoon.
Me: Maybe now I can write another "swing and a miss" post.
Her: No! That wasn't a "swing and a miss"!
Me: But neither of us liked them, and you threw out the recipe.
Her: I made my own sauce. That has to count for something.
Me: OK. Good for you - you made a sauce you'll never make again that neither of us liked.
Munchkin: More ribs, please.
Me: Can I ask you something?
Her: Sure.
Me: Do you ever yawn so long that saliva drips out of your mouth on to your pillow?
Her: No.
Me: Yeah, me neither.
Her: I mean, I drool in my sleep.
Me: That's different. I do that too.
Her: laughing
over dinner, eating leftover ribs
Her: So what do you think?
Me: They're all right. I mean, I'd eat them again if you made them, but I'm not going to ask for them. You know what I mean?
Her: Yeah. I threw out the recipe this afternoon.
Me: Maybe now I can write another "swing and a miss" post.
Her: No! That wasn't a "swing and a miss"!
Me: But neither of us liked them, and you threw out the recipe.
Her: I made my own sauce. That has to count for something.
Me: OK. Good for you - you made a sauce you'll never make again that neither of us liked.
Munchkin: More ribs, please.
TNS: A Degree In Homemaking? Not For Men.
Yes, I am posting this early today. (In fact, earlier than the timestamp which I fudged.) I will be off line all day at a sewage pumping station (no really).
A Southern Baptist seminary has introduced a new program that culminates in a bachelor of arts degree in humanities with a concentration in homemaking. The program is only available to women, however. The same school is currently facing a lawsuit from a former professor whose contract was terminated because she was "a mistake" according to court documents. The president of the seminary has a history of fixating on the less-woman-friendly messages in the Bible, such as the fact that wives should submit to their husbands, and that a woman's role is to raise children.
Setting aside the obvious misogyny in the program, as well as the value of a post-secondary education in household tasks geared towards preparing to be a housewife, the prohibition of men from the courses is what bothers me most.
This is yet another example of how society is biased towards fathers. (Bear with me; the leap isn't that hard to see.) While the course load includes traditional homemaking, a large portion of it is based on child-rearing. Excluding men from learning how to rear a child (regardless of what foundation that content is based upon) only serves to perpetuate the idea that women raise kids, and men are either providers or absent. Today's fathers want to spend more time with their kids; they want to be the parent they wished their fathers were (in many cases). To tell them that, according to their school, men shouldn't learn about child rearing is disheartening and disappointing.
Yes, it is atypical for a man to be the primary caregiver of a child, even in today's progressive world. However, to say that men cannot have the opportunity to learn about it is just wrong.
The Brief Side
There is an interesting perspective on how to deal with parenting situations (such as a sick child or a doctor visit) in the workplace. On a somewhat related note, a recent survey has found that working dads want more family time.
According to researchers from New Zealand, children who watch more than two hours of television a day are at a greater risk of developing attention problems as teenagers.
Remember the toddler who was kidnapped in Europe that I wrote about in May? Her mother has been named a suspect in the investigation now.
Research has proven something many parents have suspected for years: food additives (such as colouring and preservatives) can make kids more hyper.
I also have a new Daditorial posted, where I look at what responsibility a school bus driver has after a close call last week in Milton.
A Southern Baptist seminary has introduced a new program that culminates in a bachelor of arts degree in humanities with a concentration in homemaking. The program is only available to women, however. The same school is currently facing a lawsuit from a former professor whose contract was terminated because she was "a mistake" according to court documents. The president of the seminary has a history of fixating on the less-woman-friendly messages in the Bible, such as the fact that wives should submit to their husbands, and that a woman's role is to raise children.
Setting aside the obvious misogyny in the program, as well as the value of a post-secondary education in household tasks geared towards preparing to be a housewife, the prohibition of men from the courses is what bothers me most.
This is yet another example of how society is biased towards fathers. (Bear with me; the leap isn't that hard to see.) While the course load includes traditional homemaking, a large portion of it is based on child-rearing. Excluding men from learning how to rear a child (regardless of what foundation that content is based upon) only serves to perpetuate the idea that women raise kids, and men are either providers or absent. Today's fathers want to spend more time with their kids; they want to be the parent they wished their fathers were (in many cases). To tell them that, according to their school, men shouldn't learn about child rearing is disheartening and disappointing.
Yes, it is atypical for a man to be the primary caregiver of a child, even in today's progressive world. However, to say that men cannot have the opportunity to learn about it is just wrong.
The Brief Side
There is an interesting perspective on how to deal with parenting situations (such as a sick child or a doctor visit) in the workplace. On a somewhat related note, a recent survey has found that working dads want more family time.
According to researchers from New Zealand, children who watch more than two hours of television a day are at a greater risk of developing attention problems as teenagers.
Remember the toddler who was kidnapped in Europe that I wrote about in May? Her mother has been named a suspect in the investigation now.
Research has proven something many parents have suspected for years: food additives (such as colouring and preservatives) can make kids more hyper.
I also have a new Daditorial posted, where I look at what responsibility a school bus driver has after a close call last week in Milton.
TRS: A Daddy-Daughter Date
On Friday night I made a plan. In order to get MTM some much-needed sleep-in time, and to get me some one-on-one time with the munchkin, we (the munchkin and I, that is) would have a daddy-daughter date.
So, on Saturday morning, I got up and showered and got the munchkin (who came out of her room while I was in the shower) dressed and made our way to a diner for some breakfast. (MTM had seen this diner and suggested we try it.) As we rolled up to the darkened restaurant (despite it being 10 minutes after the posted opening time), the munchkin said, "I don't want to eat here." I agreed, and we turned around to go back to our usual place (the one mentioned in the above linked post).
As we were driving there, she informed me that she wanted sausage and eggs - but not with broccoli and onion. I informed her that she could have her eggs however she wanted. She replied that she wanted broccoli on the side (but was still not interested in onion). I explained that broccoli wasn't a breakfast food, so they wouldn't have it there. "Oh," she replied.
We got there, and got our table set up. When the server arrived, the munchkin very politely asked for apple juice (she even said please) and then for sausage and eggs and broccoli. It's good to know she listens to me.
I ordered my breakfast and in an effort to a) be somewhat responsible with her nutritional intake and b) distract her while we waited for our orders, I asked for a fruit cup.
What followed amazed me. We spent the next 45 minutes, literally, "hanging out". I don't mean I did everything in my power to prevent a meltdown. I don't mean she played independently while I read a book. I mean we.hung.out; like two regular people having a regular breakfast. We talked about the meal, about our plans for afterwards, about the people in the restaurant, about stuff. It was incredibly rewarding to sit there and actually converse with my little girl. We both had a blast.
After breakfast, we went to the grocery store, partly to kill time to give MTM more time to herself, and partly to get a few things. We came out with a roast beef that I planned to make for dinner, as well as some just-for-MTM type stuff (ketchup chips and some new chocolate mint gum). On our way out, we decided to grab some flowers for MTM. Since the munchkin was choosing, we came out with emerald green shasta daisies - obviously fake, somewhat obnoxious, but 100% munchkin in terms of taste.
We got home to discover that MTM had been able to fall back asleep, and had only risen 30 minutes prior to our arrival (thank goodness for the time-killing grocery run). After a lazy period of lounging around reading the weekend flyers, MTM showered and we all packed up for Mastermind, our not-so-usual toy store.
We wandered (MTM solo and I with the munchkin) and looked at all the toyswe were so obviously not buying that day available. The munchkin found the ball bin, which meant I got the pleasure of chasing utility balls in a crowded toy store while trying to keep one eye on a toddler on a Saturday morning. We migrated to the back, where we discovered a car and track toy system with a motorized truck and "off-road" style terrain. The munchkin enjoyed this immensely, probably owing to the fact that we have no motorized cars in our house, and the number of battery operated toys in general is very low.
Unfortunately, during a 2.1 second lapse in attention from yours truly, the munchkin put the truck (still running) up to her ear to hear it (you can see where this is going). She began screaming, and I looked down to see her fine hair wrapped around the driveshaft. I immediately turned it off and started to unwind. She was calling for MTM, so I let her take over and I tried to calm her by reading a book. In the end, we left what I would guess was an inch of hair bunched on the truck, and MTM later found a long lock of hair on her shirt that must have been ripped out in the process. The munchkin was a little shaken, but otherwise fine.
The rest of the weekend passed without much incident. My roast beef was a surprise hit (MTM loves it, the munchkin rarely eats meat other than hamburger and sausage) as the munchkin devoured quite a bit. My trademark carrots (MTM's favourite) were also a success, as I had to surrender all the carrots on my plate to the munchkin (much to MTM's chagrin, who usually poaches one or two off my plate). Sunday saw my in-laws stop bytoo early in the morning and stay for lunch, meaning I had to miss the pregame shows for kickoff Sunday. But, the Lions won (how rarely will I say that this season?) so all was good.
Yes, she ate fruit for breakfast (OK, maybe just grapes)
As we were driving there, she informed me that she wanted sausage and eggs - but not with broccoli and onion. I informed her that she could have her eggs however she wanted. She replied that she wanted broccoli on the side (but was still not interested in onion). I explained that broccoli wasn't a breakfast food, so they wouldn't have it there. "Oh," she replied.
...and mostly sausage, bacon, and eggs
I ordered my breakfast and in an effort to a) be somewhat responsible with her nutritional intake and b) distract her while we waited for our orders, I asked for a fruit cup.
she got a flower from the florist when we got some daisies for Mommy
After breakfast, we went to the grocery store, partly to kill time to give MTM more time to herself, and partly to get a few things. We came out with a roast beef that I planned to make for dinner, as well as some just-for-MTM type stuff (ketchup chips and some new chocolate mint gum). On our way out, we decided to grab some flowers for MTM. Since the munchkin was choosing, we came out with emerald green shasta daisies - obviously fake, somewhat obnoxious, but 100% munchkin in terms of taste.
this is what MTM found on her shirt after "the car incident"
We wandered (MTM solo and I with the munchkin) and looked at all the toys
this is the offending toy... so tempting... so dangerous...
The rest of the weekend passed without much incident. My roast beef was a surprise hit (MTM loves it, the munchkin rarely eats meat other than hamburger and sausage) as the munchkin devoured quite a bit. My trademark carrots (MTM's favourite) were also a success, as I had to surrender all the carrots on my plate to the munchkin (much to MTM's chagrin, who usually poaches one or two off my plate). Sunday saw my in-laws stop by
Ink
Surprise! A weekend post, just to keep you all on your toes.
A little while ago, Mother Bumper posted a photo and story of her tattoo, and followed that up with links to other people's posts about the same subject. I originally pointed her to a post I did back in April where I shared one of my three (that the munchkin had decided to imitate on herself with bath paints while in the tub with me one night) but have since decided to dedicate an entire post to it.
I have three tattoos in total. The first two I got were chinese characters, each about an inch in diameter. I got them in the same session. The third was significantly larger (around 3-4 inches in diameter) that I got the following year. I have wanted to get more, but MTM doesn't really care for the ones I have, much less the idea of me getting additional ones. So, I am left with three.
The story starts back in the summer of 1995. I read The Art of War, by Sun Tzu that summer, and was so impacted by a statement in it that I got my first two tattoos in August of that year. In Book V, point 5 (Please allow me a brief digression: The Art of War was written, as all Chinese literature of that time, on bamboo. The rods were strung into books, which were rolled. The books were stored collectively as a single volume. So, when I refer to Book V, point 5, I am referring to the fifth rod of the fifth roll of bamboo rods.) states, "In all fighting, the direct method may be used for joining battle, but indirect methods will be needed in order to secure victory." Specifically, the analysis from the author of the translation I read mentioned the importance of balance between your two types of forces: your æ£ (pronounced cheng) or normal/expected and your 奇 (pronounced qi) or odd/unexpected. This translated well into my engineering life, and helped me understand the man I was becoming. Because I am right handed, as well as at the time I had several piercings in my left ear, I got the cheng (æ£) on my right and the qi (奇) on my left.
The third one, I designed it myself (actually using a computer designing tool called AutoCAD). It is a simplified twelve pointed sun with the twelve signs of the western zodiac placed between the twelve points of the sun. I was really into astrology at the time, and always felt that my sign (Gemini) really suited me. The funny story is when I got it done the artist looked at the design and quoted me $250 (for two and a half hours - it was 1996). It ended up costing me $80 - it took 30 minutes - because (and I quote) "drawing on me was like drawing on paper". Apparently she expected to be told to stop, wait for breaks, catch my breath, whatever. She just inked for 30 minutes straight and I just sat there. She was pretty impressed.
Finally, to give some sense of perspective to the left arm, I also have an image of the two tattoos together:
I hope you enjoyed this brief foray into SciFi Dad, the person.
A little while ago, Mother Bumper posted a photo and story of her tattoo, and followed that up with links to other people's posts about the same subject. I originally pointed her to a post I did back in April where I shared one of my three (that the munchkin had decided to imitate on herself with bath paints while in the tub with me one night) but have since decided to dedicate an entire post to it.
I have three tattoos in total. The first two I got were chinese characters, each about an inch in diameter. I got them in the same session. The third was significantly larger (around 3-4 inches in diameter) that I got the following year. I have wanted to get more, but MTM doesn't really care for the ones I have, much less the idea of me getting additional ones. So, I am left with three.
The story starts back in the summer of 1995. I read The Art of War, by Sun Tzu that summer, and was so impacted by a statement in it that I got my first two tattoos in August of that year. In Book V, point 5 (Please allow me a brief digression: The Art of War was written, as all Chinese literature of that time, on bamboo. The rods were strung into books, which were rolled. The books were stored collectively as a single volume. So, when I refer to Book V, point 5, I am referring to the fifth rod of the fifth roll of bamboo rods.) states, "In all fighting, the direct method may be used for joining battle, but indirect methods will be needed in order to secure victory." Specifically, the analysis from the author of the translation I read mentioned the importance of balance between your two types of forces: your æ£ (pronounced cheng) or normal/expected and your 奇 (pronounced qi) or odd/unexpected. This translated well into my engineering life, and helped me understand the man I was becoming. Because I am right handed, as well as at the time I had several piercings in my left ear, I got the cheng (æ£) on my right and the qi (奇) on my left.
The third one, I designed it myself (actually using a computer designing tool called AutoCAD). It is a simplified twelve pointed sun with the twelve signs of the western zodiac placed between the twelve points of the sun. I was really into astrology at the time, and always felt that my sign (Gemini) really suited me. The funny story is when I got it done the artist looked at the design and quoted me $250 (for two and a half hours - it was 1996). It ended up costing me $80 - it took 30 minutes - because (and I quote) "drawing on me was like drawing on paper". Apparently she expected to be told to stop, wait for breaks, catch my breath, whatever. She just inked for 30 minutes straight and I just sat there. She was pretty impressed.
Finally, to give some sense of perspective to the left arm, I also have an image of the two tattoos together:
I hope you enjoyed this brief foray into SciFi Dad, the person.
THS: Bears
Usually when I am telling something funny on this blog, it comes from something that my wife or my daughter has done. That's not to say that I don't do silly things that make me look foolish. I generally spare myself the indignity. Today, I go against that trend.
When MTM and I were first dating, I had a lot of free time. She was a newly graduated Kindergarten teacher, and she lived over an hour away in normal traffic (longer during rush hour). So, I did what any normal Canadian male would do: I took up craft painting. No seriously.
Being prone to patterns and repetition, I decided to "enroll" her in a collection: the SciFi Dad Bear Collection. I purchased small wooden bears from Michael's, and painted them to look like me from various episodes of our relationship. Each came with a "certificate of authenticity" (again, seriously), partly because I was worried she wouldn't recognize the image I was trying to recreate in wooden bear and acrylic paint.
The first one she got was this:
He was called "Tough Guy" because that's what she called me when I wore that sleeveless shirt. If MTM were writing this, she would tell you to notice the details: the earrings (yes, I had that many when we first met) and the tattoos on the shoulder.
Another one was this:
He represented our first dinner date (our second actual date).
Then there was this guy:
"First Date Bear" was his moniker. Note the spiked hair (pipe cleaners) that was cut the next morning.
Then came:
"Yellow Ski Jacket Bear". That yellow ski jacket was the first article of clothing she helped me shop for (and subsequently the brightest item I owned at the time - my wardrobe was mostly blacks and dark colours).
Finally, she received:
"Wedding Bear". As previously mentioned, I gave this to her when I proposed (it was holding the ring). Michael's had stopped carrying the bears in late 2000, and she had received her last one in early 2001. She thought they were all gone, but fortunately I saved one for my proposal (in 2002).
For those that are curious, here is the complete collection:
My blogging friend AndreAnna over at Diary of a Diapering Madwoman is raising money for Autism. Please go read her post and show her some support.
Finally, for something a little less embarrassing to me, you can head over and read my latest Daditorial, where I talk about the Ontario Liberal's proposed Family Day.
When MTM and I were first dating, I had a lot of free time. She was a newly graduated Kindergarten teacher, and she lived over an hour away in normal traffic (longer during rush hour). So, I did what any normal Canadian male would do: I took up craft painting. No seriously.
Being prone to patterns and repetition, I decided to "enroll" her in a collection: the SciFi Dad Bear Collection. I purchased small wooden bears from Michael's, and painted them to look like me from various episodes of our relationship. Each came with a "certificate of authenticity" (again, seriously), partly because I was worried she wouldn't recognize the image I was trying to recreate in wooden bear and acrylic paint.
The first one she got was this:
He was called "Tough Guy" because that's what she called me when I wore that sleeveless shirt. If MTM were writing this, she would tell you to notice the details: the earrings (yes, I had that many when we first met) and the tattoos on the shoulder.
Another one was this:
He represented our first dinner date (our second actual date).
Then there was this guy:
"First Date Bear" was his moniker. Note the spiked hair (pipe cleaners) that was cut the next morning.
Then came:
"Yellow Ski Jacket Bear". That yellow ski jacket was the first article of clothing she helped me shop for (and subsequently the brightest item I owned at the time - my wardrobe was mostly blacks and dark colours).
Finally, she received:
"Wedding Bear". As previously mentioned, I gave this to her when I proposed (it was holding the ring). Michael's had stopped carrying the bears in late 2000, and she had received her last one in early 2001. She thought they were all gone, but fortunately I saved one for my proposal (in 2002).
For those that are curious, here is the complete collection:
My blogging friend AndreAnna over at Diary of a Diapering Madwoman is raising money for Autism. Please go read her post and show her some support.
Finally, for something a little less embarrassing to me, you can head over and read my latest Daditorial, where I talk about the Ontario Liberal's proposed Family Day.
TTS: Raising Her Religious
I wrote this post a year ago next week, after I got back from my grandmother's funeral. I never posted it because my wife was uncomfortable with the subject matter. In the last year, we have talked a lot more about it, and she has agreed to have it posted.
Last week we attended my grandmother's funeral back home. As I have mentioned in the past, my grandmother was a devout Roman Catholic. Subsequently, her funeral also included a mass (a complete RC service, with communion and the whole nine yards, for those who don't know). This was the munchkin's first exposure to a church service of any sort. She enjoyed the music, mostly (and the fountain outside the church).
The return home, and to the parish I once attended regularly, got me thinking about raising a child in a particular faith. I should provide some history before I continue.
I was raised in what I would call a fairly religious environment. Being Italian and Roman Catholic made sure of that. I was educated in the Catholic system for both my primary and secondary grades. I went to mass every Sunday, as far back as I can remember. I was the overhead projector operator (the method used at our church to show people the hymns and prayers to be sung/spoken) by the time I was ten and was a reader by fifteen. My mother and grandmother were also very active in the church. There was even at time when I was younger that I believed I wanted to become a priest.
Then, as a part of my academic requirements at my high school I took a survey course in various world religions. The basic concept was we spent a week or two on each of the organized religions, including the various sects of Christianity, to gain an understanding of the "religious world around us". Being an inquisitive student and an individual with a talent for finding patterns and relationships in seemingly different items, I quickly saw parallels between the three monotheistic faiths (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam). I formed this theory (that many, many people have posed before and since) that Yahweh, God, and Allah are all the same entity and that the three faiths are more alike than different. I spent a lot of time pondering this concept, weighing it against the Catholic doctrine that only those who accept Jesus Christ as their Messiah will be granted access to the Kingdom of Heaven, unable to reach a clear conclusion. Logically, as we are taught to do when matters of faith were unclear, I went to my parish priest. I posed my question and was told, unequivocally, that I should not be thinking of such things.
At that time in my life, I was beginning to realize that I was not cut out for a lot of the life my parents had dreamed of for me. I was not going to be a doctor (too much blood), I was not going to remain in my home town (needed space from my mother); I was becoming the person I am today. That person was/is unable to follow something blindly. If I can think about something and play devil's advocate with myself and discuss it with others, then that's OK. The Roman Catholic faith was not conducive to such perspectives. (To put it in a more blunt manner I used to use: "I cannot be a member of a club that does not let me think".)
Now, I am not a practicing Catholic. I attend mass for funerals and weddings, but I do not receive communion nor do I recite the prayers and responses, despite remembering every aspect. I sit and stand and kneel like everyone else in the church, mostly out of respect for their faith (and the sad truth is, at my grandmother's funeral, I was seemingly the only one who knew when to sit and stand and kneel). I am not an atheist, but rather more of an agnostic. I am open to the possibility of the existence of a higher being, but I am equally open to there being no such deity.
A brief summary of MTM's religious history: she was raised in the United faith (a sect of Christianity) but was not pushed into as active an involvement as I was. She attended services occasionally as a child (usually the major holidays such as Christmas) but has since stopped attending. She is still a Christian, insisting that we get married in a church (we got married in her United church, mainly because a) we were getting married in her home town and b) a Catholic wedding would have required her to convert and go through Catechism classes). I believe the United Church's requirement for marrying us was that we would raise any children with Christian values (but not necessarily baptize them), but to be honest I don't recall specifically.
Which brings us to the present. The munchkin has never been to church. To be more explicit, we have never had her baptized. In truth, this is my fault. When MTM and I were talking about children, she said she felt they should be baptized, but United not Catholic. I had no issue with this, but commented that if we were going to do that we should be taking them to church and teaching them about the faith. She did not see us becoming a weekly churchgoing family, and has not brought up baptizing the munchkin since she was born. I think if I could tell MTM I believed in God and that I was not an agnostic, that she would want the munchkin baptized and that we'd be occasional attendees at the local United Church. However, I cannot tell her that I believe in God, and she does not want to make me do something that I don't believe in.
I have no issue with the Christian faith. To paraphrase my sister, "the basic precepts of Christianity - love one another, treat everyone as equals, et cetera - are great; it's just the fundamentalists that screw it all up". I try to live with Christian values, at least the ones I feel are important. And I know many people of other faiths who do so as well. We teach our child these values.
Here's the thing: I am very conflicted about whether or not we are doing the right thing by not baptizing her. On the one hand, I am of the opinion that even if there is a God/Allah/Yahweh that they do not judge mankind by the ceremonies they participate in. If my daughter lives a good life she will get into Heaven regardless of whether or not she gets baptized. On the other hand, are we doing her a disservice by not exposing her to organized religion? Should we take her to services once in a while, even if I'm not 100% sold on the ideas being presented?
Realistically, as she gets older, she will make these decisions for herself. And one day, if she asks me to come to church with her, I will do it gladly. I just have to figure out what the right answer is for the meantime.
Throwback Thursday
I have a number of old posts to share this week, partly due to the fact that I completely forgot to repost any last week, and partly because it seems at this point last year I was on a bit of a roll. Almost all the posts I have today are posted to The Thinking Side (one is a recap), so it looks like those readers looking for something light are out of luck.
TTS: The More Things Change... - talking about reconnecting with some of my old friends
TTS: Grandparents - reflecting on grandparents
TRS: Labour of Love - a recap of last year's Labour Day weekend
TTS: "Luff" - a response to another parent blogger's call for posts about love for one's child
TTS: Battling Ghosts - for those looking for some background about SciFi Dad, this is a good place to start (in fact, of all the posts I put up today, this is the one I recommend the most)
TTS: Just Venting - where I put a different perspective on some compliments we receive about our daughter
Last week we attended my grandmother's funeral back home. As I have mentioned in the past, my grandmother was a devout Roman Catholic. Subsequently, her funeral also included a mass (a complete RC service, with communion and the whole nine yards, for those who don't know). This was the munchkin's first exposure to a church service of any sort. She enjoyed the music, mostly (and the fountain outside the church).
The return home, and to the parish I once attended regularly, got me thinking about raising a child in a particular faith. I should provide some history before I continue.
I was raised in what I would call a fairly religious environment. Being Italian and Roman Catholic made sure of that. I was educated in the Catholic system for both my primary and secondary grades. I went to mass every Sunday, as far back as I can remember. I was the overhead projector operator (the method used at our church to show people the hymns and prayers to be sung/spoken) by the time I was ten and was a reader by fifteen. My mother and grandmother were also very active in the church. There was even at time when I was younger that I believed I wanted to become a priest.
Then, as a part of my academic requirements at my high school I took a survey course in various world religions. The basic concept was we spent a week or two on each of the organized religions, including the various sects of Christianity, to gain an understanding of the "religious world around us". Being an inquisitive student and an individual with a talent for finding patterns and relationships in seemingly different items, I quickly saw parallels between the three monotheistic faiths (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam). I formed this theory (that many, many people have posed before and since) that Yahweh, God, and Allah are all the same entity and that the three faiths are more alike than different. I spent a lot of time pondering this concept, weighing it against the Catholic doctrine that only those who accept Jesus Christ as their Messiah will be granted access to the Kingdom of Heaven, unable to reach a clear conclusion. Logically, as we are taught to do when matters of faith were unclear, I went to my parish priest. I posed my question and was told, unequivocally, that I should not be thinking of such things.
At that time in my life, I was beginning to realize that I was not cut out for a lot of the life my parents had dreamed of for me. I was not going to be a doctor (too much blood), I was not going to remain in my home town (needed space from my mother); I was becoming the person I am today. That person was/is unable to follow something blindly. If I can think about something and play devil's advocate with myself and discuss it with others, then that's OK. The Roman Catholic faith was not conducive to such perspectives. (To put it in a more blunt manner I used to use: "I cannot be a member of a club that does not let me think".)
Now, I am not a practicing Catholic. I attend mass for funerals and weddings, but I do not receive communion nor do I recite the prayers and responses, despite remembering every aspect. I sit and stand and kneel like everyone else in the church, mostly out of respect for their faith (and the sad truth is, at my grandmother's funeral, I was seemingly the only one who knew when to sit and stand and kneel). I am not an atheist, but rather more of an agnostic. I am open to the possibility of the existence of a higher being, but I am equally open to there being no such deity.
A brief summary of MTM's religious history: she was raised in the United faith (a sect of Christianity) but was not pushed into as active an involvement as I was. She attended services occasionally as a child (usually the major holidays such as Christmas) but has since stopped attending. She is still a Christian, insisting that we get married in a church (we got married in her United church, mainly because a) we were getting married in her home town and b) a Catholic wedding would have required her to convert and go through Catechism classes). I believe the United Church's requirement for marrying us was that we would raise any children with Christian values (but not necessarily baptize them), but to be honest I don't recall specifically.
Which brings us to the present. The munchkin has never been to church. To be more explicit, we have never had her baptized. In truth, this is my fault. When MTM and I were talking about children, she said she felt they should be baptized, but United not Catholic. I had no issue with this, but commented that if we were going to do that we should be taking them to church and teaching them about the faith. She did not see us becoming a weekly churchgoing family, and has not brought up baptizing the munchkin since she was born. I think if I could tell MTM I believed in God and that I was not an agnostic, that she would want the munchkin baptized and that we'd be occasional attendees at the local United Church. However, I cannot tell her that I believe in God, and she does not want to make me do something that I don't believe in.
I have no issue with the Christian faith. To paraphrase my sister, "the basic precepts of Christianity - love one another, treat everyone as equals, et cetera - are great; it's just the fundamentalists that screw it all up". I try to live with Christian values, at least the ones I feel are important. And I know many people of other faiths who do so as well. We teach our child these values.
Here's the thing: I am very conflicted about whether or not we are doing the right thing by not baptizing her. On the one hand, I am of the opinion that even if there is a God/Allah/Yahweh that they do not judge mankind by the ceremonies they participate in. If my daughter lives a good life she will get into Heaven regardless of whether or not she gets baptized. On the other hand, are we doing her a disservice by not exposing her to organized religion? Should we take her to services once in a while, even if I'm not 100% sold on the ideas being presented?
Realistically, as she gets older, she will make these decisions for herself. And one day, if she asks me to come to church with her, I will do it gladly. I just have to figure out what the right answer is for the meantime.
Throwback Thursday
I have a number of old posts to share this week, partly due to the fact that I completely forgot to repost any last week, and partly because it seems at this point last year I was on a bit of a roll. Almost all the posts I have today are posted to The Thinking Side (one is a recap), so it looks like those readers looking for something light are out of luck.
TTS: The More Things Change... - talking about reconnecting with some of my old friends
TTS: Grandparents - reflecting on grandparents
TRS: Labour of Love - a recap of last year's Labour Day weekend
TTS: "Luff" - a response to another parent blogger's call for posts about love for one's child
TTS: Battling Ghosts - for those looking for some background about SciFi Dad, this is a good place to start (in fact, of all the posts I put up today, this is the one I recommend the most)
TTS: Just Venting - where I put a different perspective on some compliments we receive about our daughter
TNS: The Importance Of Sleep
Recent research at Sacre-Coeur Hospital in Montreal has found that children who sleep at least ten hours a night perform better at school. The study found that students who got less sleep were more likely to have cognitive and behavioural problems. Another researcher in Belgium has found that mobile phones are causing problems in the sleep patterns of adolescents. A third study has found that half of parents struggle with bedtime, and that this leads to reduced amounts of sleep.
As a parent of a toddler who will sometimes forgo her nap, rise at 4:30am for the day, and occasionally refuse to go to her bed at night, I am all too familiar with the problem of a lack of sleep.
Continued at Daditorial
The Brief Side
New research has found that a more structured routine can help preschoolers who suffer from ADHD, as opposed to using drugs.
According to orthopedic professionals and emergency room data, backpacks can be dangerous for children - both the contents and the excessive weight on their spines can cause problems.
There are allegations that China uses forced abortions to police its one child per family law. On a related note, that same one-child policy may lead to a shortage of care for the elderly.
A five year old drove his drunk mother home. But it's all good. "He's a good driver," the mother says.
As a parent of a toddler who will sometimes forgo her nap, rise at 4:30am for the day, and occasionally refuse to go to her bed at night, I am all too familiar with the problem of a lack of sleep.
Continued at Daditorial
The Brief Side
New research has found that a more structured routine can help preschoolers who suffer from ADHD, as opposed to using drugs.
According to orthopedic professionals and emergency room data, backpacks can be dangerous for children - both the contents and the excessive weight on their spines can cause problems.
There are allegations that China uses forced abortions to police its one child per family law. On a related note, that same one-child policy may lead to a shortage of care for the elderly.
A five year old drove his drunk mother home. But it's all good. "He's a good driver," the mother says.
TRS: Labour Day Weekend In Pictures
On Friday morning we got up bright and early to make the drive to my in-laws' cottage. Yes, the same in-laws that have been often spending one or more nights with us since last summer. What can I say? Both MTM and the munchkin absolutely love it up there (in spite of the lack of cell service and internet download speeds above 24kbps) so we go.
As an aside, the aforementioned internet speeds mean that I have not read a single blog since Thursday. If you have been looking for a comment from me, know that if I have one to give it will come soon.
Unfortunately, without getting into too much detail (you can read more about it if you wish), I generally don't have the most pleasant of experiences up there. So, this recap will be mostly images and very brief anecdotes.
On Saturday morning, MTM and the munchkin made oatmeal for breakfast:
After that, they decided to go for a boat ride. Unbeknownst to the munchkin, my FIL had decided to give her the Curious George "water fun" doll (properly outfitted in a life jacket) that we had purchased in Buffalo (at an insane clearance deal) for him to give her. So, when she arrived at the boat (and was lowered in by the strap on the back of her life jacket):
She clung to him tightly the whole trip (apparently - I stayed on shore and played Madden 08 on my PSP) and that continued when she got back to the dock (excuse the linebacker look she's sporting; she really has a neck, I swear):
She dragged a grocery bin around for the remainder of the morning:
That afternoon, MTM and the munchkin went with the in-laws to see the fish at the local fishing derby while I stayed home (partially at my own accord, partially to avoid my MIL getting flustered at a change in plans) and did some maintenance on my FIL's new laptop (that I ordered, received, and configured):
On Sunday, after a lazy morning, we all (yes, including me - I'm as shocked as you are) went to the beach:
I don't know whether MTM or the munchkin enjoyed it more:
Although admittedly cleaning up required more effort than I expected:
We came home on Monday, and after not eating any dinner (theoretically due to not having a bowel movement since Thursday), the munchkin arranged a picnic for us, at her office. As the imaginative play continued, we learned that there was a surprise guest at this picnic: her sister "Callis" (or would that be Callous?) No, this is not some form of announcement.
We did finally coax her into eating something:
It was a long weekend, and not just because of the day off work. In addition to the "stuff" associated with being trapped in a building with my in-laws, the munchkin decided to wake up between 4:30am and 4:50am every morning (although she did go to bed rather well, so things are improving at that end). However, with my general persona non grata status, I was able to gain a reasonable amount of prowess with Madden 08 (although at one point my PSP froze; I think it may have been the reality check mechanism - my Detroit Lions were up 55-3 at the half).
As an aside, the aforementioned internet speeds mean that I have not read a single blog since Thursday. If you have been looking for a comment from me, know that if I have one to give it will come soon.
Unfortunately, without getting into too much detail (you can read more about it if you wish), I generally don't have the most pleasant of experiences up there. So, this recap will be mostly images and very brief anecdotes.
On Saturday morning, MTM and the munchkin made oatmeal for breakfast:
"Nope. Still needs more raisins."
After that, they decided to go for a boat ride. Unbeknownst to the munchkin, my FIL had decided to give her the Curious George "water fun" doll (properly outfitted in a life jacket) that we had purchased in Buffalo (at an insane clearance deal) for him to give her. So, when she arrived at the boat (and was lowered in by the strap on the back of her life jacket):
the unveiling of the George
She clung to him tightly the whole trip (apparently - I stayed on shore and played Madden 08 on my PSP) and that continued when she got back to the dock (excuse the linebacker look she's sporting; she really has a neck, I swear):
"and I will love him, and hug him, and call him George"
She dragged a grocery bin around for the remainder of the morning:
this is George's "boat"
That afternoon, MTM and the munchkin went with the in-laws to see the fish at the local fishing derby while I stayed home (partially at my own accord, partially to avoid my MIL getting flustered at a change in plans) and did some maintenance on my FIL's new laptop (that I ordered, received, and configured):
this is the only photo MTM took at the fishing derby; it was that exciting
On Sunday, after a lazy morning, we all (yes, including me - I'm as shocked as you are) went to the beach:
a shovel in each hand
I don't know whether MTM or the munchkin enjoyed it more:
"No, Mommy, raking the sand won't produce the desired effect"
Although admittedly cleaning up required more effort than I expected:
did we mention the heavy clay amounts at the beach?
We came home on Monday, and after not eating any dinner (theoretically due to not having a bowel movement since Thursday), the munchkin arranged a picnic for us, at her office. As the imaginative play continued, we learned that there was a surprise guest at this picnic: her sister "Callis" (or would that be Callous?) No, this is not some form of announcement.
a picnic at "her office" for "her sister"
We did finally coax her into eating something:
the only thing we could get her to eat at dinner: a butter tart
It was a long weekend, and not just because of the day off work. In addition to the "stuff" associated with being trapped in a building with my in-laws, the munchkin decided to wake up between 4:30am and 4:50am every morning (although she did go to bed rather well, so things are improving at that end). However, with my general persona non grata status, I was able to gain a reasonable amount of prowess with Madden 08 (although at one point my PSP froze; I think it may have been the reality check mechanism - my Detroit Lions were up 55-3 at the half).
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