PBN: Memorable Gifts

I was six years old, and very interested in Star Wars (yes, dear reader, the SciFi thing started very early), or at least I thought I was until I opened the Christmas present. Inside was Slave I, complete with a Boba Fett action figure. The thing is, I was six, so all I knew of Star Wars was Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker and the droids and Chewbacca. I didn't know who Boba Fett was, and if not for the massive branding on the side of the box, I wouldn't have known it was a Star Wars toy.

But it was mine, and it was a Star Wars ship. It meant I no longer had to "borrow" one of the myriad of ships the three boys down the street had when we played Star Wars (which, incidentally, was every.single.day). It didn't matter if I didn't know who he was, or that the little plastic mold in the back was actually Han Solo frozen. I finally had my own ship. It would be the only ship I ever received, as my parents had neither the money nor the inclination to shower me with every Star Wars toy available.

Exactly 25 years later, I sat in the same living room on Christmas morning. Only this time instead of footie pajamas and my little sister, I was there with my wife and nine month old daughter (who, incidentally, actually was wearing footie pajamas). My wife placed a small gift in my daughter's hands and, while trying to prevent her from putting the whole thing in her mouth (or at the very least slobbering all over it), lifted the munchkin to enable her to "hand" me the gift.

I carefully unwrapped the present (after being ordered strongly advised to be cautious) and tried to focus as tears welled up in my eyes. In my hand was a plaster mold of my daughter's tiny hand, made into a tree ornament. I held it in my hand and stared at it for a moment, and then my wife passed my daughter to me and I smothered her with kisses as she pushed me away, seeking her Mommy.

What made these gifts immediately memorable? What ensured their preservation in my mind for years to come? Their promise of creating moments of joy, whether it was for a six year old SciFi Boy who just wanted to have what the other kids had, or for a father to reminisce about how big his daughter is getting every time they put up the Christmas tree and lay her palm over the tiny hand in the ornament.

---

This post is part of a Parent Bloggers Network blog blast entitled "What Makes A Gift Memorable?", sponsored by Excitations, a site designed to make gift giving fun and memorable for givers and receivers alike by offering a wide variety of "experience" gifts for all ages, interests, and budgets.

TDS: Unsure

Last night, while giving the munchkin her bath, I was washing her genitals when she said, "Don't put your fingers in there Daddy."

The blood drained from my face. "Pardon?"

"Don't put your hand on my vag!na. {something unintelligible} craft with [child of a friend of MTM]."

"Did [child] put their hand on your vag!na?"

"I'm fwimming in the baff tub."

I let it go, and waited until MTM got home to relay the story in front of the munchkin, who repeated the same basic details to MTM, as well as establishing that it happened the last time they visited.

We talked about it after the munchkin went to bed. They did a craft together in the kitchen the last time they visited. But, they also played (unsupervised) upstairs in the munchkin's room.

How are we supposed to handle this? Do we call the other parent and say "your kid is a child molester"? (That's a sarcastic rhetorical question, for those who thought otherwise.) Do we mention it to the parents at all? Do we press the munchkin for more information?

Or, do we leave it be and see if she mentions it again? To be clear, neither of us is even sure she knows what she is talking about, and that it's possible they bumped into each other and she noted the contact with her bottom. Does anyone have any thoughts?

TWS: Special Edition

Today is a special edition of The Wife Side. Instead of poking fun at my wife, I'll be taking a look at the insanity that comes with living with my MIL. (I was originally going to title this post "Origins" and imply that the insanity you are about to witness is genetic, and contributes to some of the nutty stuff my wife does, but then I decided I wanted to live.) I've told you a bit about my MIL before. She's a control freak, can never admit she's wrong, and holds everyone except herself to impossible standards. Here's some proof.

They recently took possession of their newly built home, and after the delays they encountered, it was safe to assume there was a bit of rushing on the builder's part, a few corners cut. Fools. They did not know who they were dealing with.

We went over there this past Sunday for MTM's family birthday dinner. This is what we found.

master bathroom shower - either the paint is streaky or the caulking is poorly aligned

master bathroom sink - poor caulking job

pink seems to be for paint; green is for floor divets (have yet to determine colour coding)

stairs to basement - scuffs were sanded out, leaving duller finish on steps when light shined on them

basement spare bedroom door - no idea what's wrong

spare bathroom floor - again, unsure what the problem was

spare bathroom wall - paint was not smooth

stairway wall - moulding improperly painted (according to notes)

Now, I understand that when you build a new house you want it to be perfect. However, I don't quite get the intent. Does she expect them to refinish her stairs? Redo the all the hardwood (since we all know if the divets bug her, mismatched board will too)? Sand and repaint the entire dwelling?

And even more frightening... where does she plan to live while their house is under reconstruction?!?

TNS: Different Season, Same Stupidity

In August, I took the time to talk about leaving kids in cars in the summer heat. Fast forward to this weekend, where a bylaw enforcement officer in Ottawa is trying to be a nice guy (an anomaly itself) by looking inside a vehicle to check for a parking slip that may have fallen off the dash. Instead of seeing a slip of paper, he sees a small hand move. Minutes later, at around 11:20am, police arrive and remove two children, an infant and a toddler, from the freezing car.

Continue reading at Daditorial

The Brief Side

According to researchers in the UK, stay at home dads provide a lower quality of intellectual stimulation than their maternal counterparts. Hopefully, one of my SAHD readers can offer a counterpoint.

In New Zealand, a study has found that fathers are equally as likely to suffer from postnatal depression as mothers.

Here's an information piece about the benefits of dads learning how to talk to their children.

Researchers have found that, at least in fruit flies, attractiveness is hereditary, and passed from father to son.

Apparently, removing their tonsils may not be the best thing for children. Kids with their tonsils have fewer doctor visits, according to the study.

Finally, here are some tips on how to avoid spoiling kids during the holiday season.

TRS: Mommypalooza '07

Today is MTM's birthday. So, before you go any further, click over to her place and wish her a Happy Birthday.

OK. Did you do that? Good. Now we can continue.

This weekend was Mommypalooza. Since MTM and I have been dating, her birthday has always been a multi-day event, not a just special day. In the past, we've had surprise parties, multiple evenings out (some with groups, some just the two of us), and many special occasions. When the munchkin came along, the celebration aspects didn't change; just the way in which we celebrated it.

A big part of our tradition is that we always put up the tree that weekend. So, on Thursday, we assembled our new (85% off last January... yeah baby, super deal) pre-lit tree:

In the past, putting up the tree and lights was an arduous event (actually, that's a TWS in itself), so we usually do lights one day and ornaments the next. This year, we learned the ways of the pre-lit tree, so it may be the last time we spread the tree over two days.

On Friday, after putting on the ornaments, MTM was craving all-day breakfast, so we went to a local diner (of her choosing). To say it was forgettable is an understatement. We're still looking for a good all-day breakfast place (and by good, we mean someplace that actually serves what's on their kids menu instead of allowing us to order mac 'n' cheese for the munchkin and then, after she's all stoked, finding out that they don't have any).

On Saturday, the munchkin and I did groceries for Mommy's special dinner in the morning. Then, we went to the mall as a family for MTM to pick up some last minute gifts for herself (I totally copped out on the present shopping this year, allowing her to buy whatever she wanted). Then, we came home and I made MTM's special dinner (steaks fried in a cast-iron skillet with homemade bearnaise sauce, steamed rice and veggies) followed by the munchkin's dessert choice (chocolate swirl cheesecake... "wiff whip cweam").

On Sunday, we went to my inlaws place for MTM's special family dinner (roast beef, yorkshire pudding, and all the trimmings). The munchkin had a blast playing with all MTM's old toys that my MIL kept (and refuses to let the munchkin take to our house... but that's a story for another time). And as an added bonus, I accumulated enough entertainment value for a special edition of The Wife Side this Wednesday, featuring my FIL's wife.

Today, I'm working on site, so no special lunch is possible. However, we are going out to dinner as a family (yes sweetheart, after you open your gifts).

---

I've also got a new Daditorial up today, where I take another look at a problem I did back in August.

TRS: Another One?!? Yes.

Since I don't want to spend another Monday talking about Santa parades, I'll tell you about our latest one today.

What? You guys went to yet another Santa parade? Are you serious?

Why, yes I am serious. Thanks for asking.

Yesterday we went to another small-town parade in a neighbouring community. Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond my control, I have no photos to share of the grand event. However, I will share the highlights:

• 50% of all marching bands played "When The Saints Go Marching In" - I don't know about you, it was always my favourite carol as a kid
• Spider-Mom - a woman (complete with ponytail) dressed as Spider-Man rode on a flatbed while cradling a sleeping toddler... but the more interesting thing was the juxtaposition of her somewhat substantial bosom underneath the padded "muscles" of the costume
• the woman beside us who forced her kids to sit in the snow banks... without snowpants... even after they asked to leave
• a Nativity scene with an inverted star on top (fortunately, it was only an outline and not an actual pentagram... but the effect was sufficiently entertaining nonetheless)
• the animal control board had not one, but two vans... nothing says "Merry Christmas" like "Hi... we're the people who will trap your dog if you leave it off leash"
• the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Christmas special float... complete with the Burl Ives snowman and the "Bumble"... but no friggin' Rudolph

I think that gives you a clear enough picture.

TWS: The Inlaw Story - Chapter 4

This is Chapter 4, the final chapter, of a multi-part story about my inlaw situation over the past year and a half. I strongly suggest reading Chapter 1, Chapter 2 and Chapter 3 (if you haven't already) before continuing.

Side note: the original draft of their "holiday update" letter contained no mention of my broken ankle, but did mention minutiae such as the step by step progress of their new home and who they saw on a trip out west. MTM read it (because they asked her to type it) and she commented about the lack of reference to my ankle, so they added a line about it.

Christmas approached, and MTM and I held firm with our plan to remain at our house and serve Christmas dinner there. My inlaws (who usually spend the holiday at the cottage) were welcome to join us, but we were not traveling for the munchkin's first Santa-aware Christmas. Once they decided they were coming (and miraculously offered to pay for the turkey), my SIL voiced a desire to sleep at our place as well even though she lives a thirty minute drive from our home. She did, and then had the gall to complain about our lack of space (she slept on the living room floor) - apparently when I buy a home I need to house my family plus my inlaws comfortably in their own rooms!

Further insult came the week before, when my MIL called MTM to inform her that my SIL was getting "a little more" than everyone else "because she had a rough year" (she was in a car accident and totalled her car). Apparently caring for an immobilized husband for two months AND housing her parents for half a year doesn't count as a rough year. Admittedly, it was disgusting; while in most households the 21 month old would be the one showered with gifts, in ours we had to tell that same 21 month old they had to wait while Auntie opened several gifts because she had so many more than everyone else.

Spring came, and with it more visits. By this point, MTM had made snide comments about the costliness of their visits, and my FIL begrudgingly cut her a cheque for groceries. (Bear in mind that these are the same people who wrote up an invoice for us to reimburse them for groceries they picked up the week the munchkin came home from the hospital - to the penny.) It was so awkward we just stopped asking for any kind of financial consideration.

The most ironic moment came when my father was asking me how things were going, and I said that my inlaws would be returning that week, so it would be tough. "What do you mean? Your MIL comes with dinner, right? It's a little break for you and MTM." When I clarified that his assumptions were incorrect, he didn't believe me until he confirmed the details with MTM. Our next trip, he took MTM aside and said, "Here's a pan of pasta al forno, and I made some extra sauce because I know your family likes more tomato than ours. That way, next time your parents come, you don't have to work so hard." MTM was in tears.

By this point, it was palpably tense whenever the subject of my inlaws came up. They sensed this and occasionally stayed with friends in the area instead of us, all the while complaining about one thing or another - usually the lack of time with the munchkin. We passed the one year mark (remember it was supposed to be six months) and wondered if they would ever leave.

Summer came, and my MIL had MTM doing groceries for her every time we planned a trip up north. I put my foot down and said we were not bringing anything that we weren't getting reimbursed for (unlike previous years) and my FIL grumpily accepted the terms. (Why did MTM have to grocery shop? Because my MIL was unwilling to drive into town and buy groceries that she deemed unacceptable if she had the GTA options via MTM.)

The final straw came at Thanksgiving when my MIL asked MTM to bring dinner for everyone Friday night because she was too busy packing (because packing for a move that you knew was coming for over a year is far more taxing than the day-to-day life with a toddler) AND to bring the mashed potatoes as well. To word it another way: we just spent the last 15 months living at your house, never bringing anything nor lifting a finger. But now that you're coming to our place, bring a complete meal and contribute to Thanksgiving too.

That Tuesday they moved into their new home.

THS: Video Friday #4

I've got two videos for you today, and not much else.

The first one was taken on Saturday at our local parade. It's the munchkin's first experience with hot chocolate (of course in a Timmy's travel mug - but it was homemade). She seems to enjoy it.

The other one was taken earlier this week, while we were writing our letter to Santa. My apologies for all the fades; she kept moving in and out of the frame (not to mention MTM calling her by name).

---

Yesterday, we put our new Christmas tree up (new because we got it like 90% off last January, and it is pre-lit, so I no longer have to light the tree twice - a story for another time) and tonight we're decorating it. I'm sure I'll have photos to share on Sunday or Monday.

TTS: Balance

Despite my occasional complaints, for the most part I am very fortunate to have the employment situation I have. The reality is that it is one part my company, one part the size (exceptionally small), and one part me. I can work from home if I want, and I flex my hours to maximize my time with the munchkin awake time, all in the name of maintaining a balance.

At my last review, I plainly stated to my boss (i.e. the owner and therefore the only boss) that I would continue to work there as long as:

1. they paid me enough so that MTM could remain a SAHM
2. they didn't try to mess with my work/home balance

That brings us to today. Call it "football flu" (the Lions get national coverage today), call it a mental health day, or call it what you will. The bottom line is I have taken the opportunity presented to me by my schedule (no need to be at any of the various job sites I've been frequenting lately) and will not be going into the office. More specifically, I will not be working today, at all. Today is a day to watch the munchkin's ballet class (hopefully with more success than last time), and spend some time with my girls cozied up on a snowy day.

Officially, I'm taking a sick day, citing a cold that won't go away. But the boss probably knows that I'm not too sick to work (given last week when I was a wreck yet somehow managed to juggle an insane workload), but he won't say anything about it to me. My working situation is all checks and balances: they push, and run me into the ground; and then I take a day to adjust the perspectives and reacquaint myself with the finer points of Dora and playing Tim Horton's drive-thru.

TWS: My New BFF

On Monday night, MTM went out for an appointment, which left the munchkin and I home alone. Since Monday is MTM's birthday, she suggested to me (because I'm so distracted by work) I thought that we could make a birthday card for Mommy.

So, we set out to make a card. I went into the craft cupboard (yes, we have an entire unit dedicated to crafts), pulled open the drawer of our paper storage unit that holds shades of blue (MTM's favourite colour) and let the munchkin choose the paper.

Once we were done the front (sorry, I cannot give anymore detail than that since prying eyes are reading), the munchkin started to "inscribe" it. Unfortunately, she chose a darker shade of blue and a multi-coloured pencil MTM gave her. Those two facts, combined with toddler writing strength, meant barely visible lines on the card. But I had an idea.

I went into MTM's scrapbooking cart (which is actually a cubic meter of even more craft stuff) and pulled out a silver paint-pen. I shook it up, and gave it to the munchkin. At first, she couldn't get much ink out, but then she got the hang of it. And then she left the page and wrote on the kitchen table. The wood kitchen table. With permanent paint-pen.

I ran to the sink, wet a paper towel, and wiped. Crap. No effect.

"OK sweetie, would you like to watch Treehouse?"

"Why?"

"So Daddy can figure out how to clean this before Mommy comes home and decides to ditch him."

"Otay."

With 4 Square blaring, I rush to the poisons and after contemplating ingesting some so as to avoid the pain and suffering I was sure to experience at my wife's hands looked at my options. Bleach? No. Dish soap? No. Mr. Clean Magic Eraser? Let's try.

And, literally like magic the table was clean, and the finish was unharmed.

Mr. Clean and I are BFFs. No one shall ever disparage his name in our household again. He sits atop the hierarchy of fictional people with Boba Fett and Spider-Man now.

Anyone know where I can get an action figure of him?

TNS: Nuclear Family Not "Necessary"

The old cliche of "staying together for the sake of the kids" is being proven to have an effect opposite to the desired one. Researchers have found that a nuclear family isn't necessarily what's best for children, despite the long-held belief that children in single parent homes fair poorly when compared to those living in traditional homes with a mother and father. According to the research, financial standing and love yield more positive results.

Continue reading at Daditorial

The Brief Side

From Arizona, where grandparents can be granted visitation rights in a divorce hearing, a decision was handed down that found the grandparents cannot use those rights to prevent a custodial parent from moving out of state.

An analysis of other parenting studies has found that fathers influence values for their daughters.

A new study has found that kids with ADHD have slower brain development than similar children who do not suffer from the disorder.

According to the AP, the income gap has grown between black and white families in the US in recent years.

New research has found that a stable home life can prevent early puberty in girls.

TRS: A Tale Of Two Cities

This weekend, because we are insane great parents, we took the munchkin to not one, but two Santa Claus parades. Combining that with our tree lighting adventure (which, if you haven't read yet, go read it now), whenever I blow my nose it's coming out egg nog I'm so full of Christmas friggin' cheer.

It was a study in how two cities do the same thing differently.

On Saturday, we attended our local Santa parade:

"Let's get this show on the road, people!"

Which, as we learned last year, is a little bit on the nonsensical (read: craptacular)side. In addition to a couple small marching bands, a bunch of dance academies, and one more than slightly disturbing self-defense class (complete with demonstrations that included leg sweeps and men screaming the word "ATTACK!" - nothing says celebrating the birth of your saviour like physical assault) we had:

Chewbacca (returning from last year's successful engagement)

creepy colonially dressed guy with chipmunk head

Yoda

goth witch

and

Darth Vader (who, much to my entertainment, was actually shorter than Yoda)

On Sunday, we got ourselves geared up for the equally commerical (but in a non-threatening, child-appealing way) Toronto Santa Claus Parade.

That parade had many excellent marching bands (each of which got the munchkin up and dancing, even when they were just doing a cadence between songs):

There were also some amazing floats:

Yahoo's "Tribute to indoor online isolation" (wait, that mocks those of you who read my blog, so nevermind)

Clifford

the Coca-Cola Polar Bears

Mr. Potato Head (a conflicting emotion welled up with this one - it is amazing, but it is also courtesy of Walmart)

Santa

Overall, a fun time was had on both days (but for very different reasons). Would we do it again? I don't know about Toronto... being pummeled with Cadbury Mini Eggs (they were tossed by "celebrity clowns" - I took one in the head) was not fun, and it took every fibre of my being not to inflict a throat punch on the people shoving us in the throngs of trying to get back on the subway afterwards. But, we'll see.

THS: Anatomy Of A Screwed Up Tree Lighting

On Friday night, we went to our town tree lighting ceremony. The profundity of the stupidity of the execution of this plan can only be properly conveyed with an illustration:

To be clear (for those unable to process my mad skillz), we met at the unlit tree, then proceeded to "march" en masse up the sloped Main Street to the clock tower. At this point some creepy bald guy our mayor led us in carols, out of tune and ill-paced to the marching band (which thankfully made it impossible to determine just how far out of pitch he was). Then, they lit the fracking tree, while we were all still several hundred metres away. (And they did it with those low-lux diode lights that don't glow worth a crap.) Then they had us march back and witness the tree in all its glory:

That's right: we walked away from the tree to light it.

I walked away, muttering to myself that I would write the following letter:

Dear Mayor,

Having been subjected to your immeasurable ineptitude in co-ordinating the tree lighting ceremony of 2007, I hereby offer my services as an electrical engineer, free of charge, to enable you to power the tree from closer than 300m away. To explain my plan, it involves an extension cord and an outlet. You will "ceremoniously" plug the damn thing in and we will all shield our eyes from the reflection of the star off your bald head.

Sincerely,

SciFi Dad

TWS: The Inlaw Story - Chapter 3

This is Chapter 3 of a multi-part story about my inlaw situation over the past year and a half. I strongly suggest reading Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 (if you haven't already) before continuing.

Things became quite heated one day in October when I came home laden with two 18L water bottles (and a slowly healing fractured ankle) to a front hall full of luggage and shoes, despite their arrival more than an hour earlier and my previous requests to keep the front hall clear so I don't trip. That day I stumbled over a bag, and went over on my bad ankle. Fortunately, no damage was done (to the ankle or the water bottles) but the look on my face probably said volumes.

Let's call that "event one".

Two nights later, my SIL invited herself for dinner to see her parents before they went to stay at a friend's house for the subsequent evening (having felt like they were spending too much time at our place). On her way home, she stopped at a nearby grocery store, and when she exited the parking lot got into a pretty bad car accident. She would be fine (stiffness and minor bruising from the seat belt), but the car was a write-off. She called us and MTM went to the scene while I got hold of my inlaws' friends to tell them about the accident. When they heard the news, they turned around and came back to our house. Meanwhile, my SIL had come back to our place (after being checked out at the hospital) and whined for her boyfriend. So, he came too.

Now we had six adults plus the munchkin in our three bedroom house. We couldn't let my SIL sleep on a couch, and since my inlaws weren't offering up the bed in their room, we gave them (her boyfriend slept over too) ours. MTM and I slept on the loveseat and couch, respectively. That's right, my inlaws let their daughter sleep on a couch instead of paying for a hotel that night. But the cherry on top of the night, the part that sticks out the most, was my MIL's statement to convince everyone it was time for bed: "We need to go to bed, everybody; [SIL's boyfriend] needs to get up and go to work in the morning." All I could think was, Not to mention the poor schlub - yours truly - who has to get up early and drive him there, and then go to work himself.

Let's call that "event two".

The following visit was for Halloween. During the evening, my FIL uttered something offensive and hurtful about my daughter. He didn't mean it to be, but anyone who had been told the narrative agrees that it was beyond inappropriate, and coming from her grandfather it was nearly horrifying. I waited for someone to say something (my SIL had also invited herself to our house that night - an unfortunate side-effect of their visits, since she then used it as an excuse for a free meal and a way to avoid the three hour drive to see her parents) but no one did. I left the room and went upstairs. When MTM came up, she apologized for what he had said, but the damage was done. I was literally beside myself with rage. I effectively said they were no longer welcome in our home and refused to negotiate.

That was "event three".

MTM never told them about my ultimatum per se, but my visage and mood around them changed dramatically after that Halloween. I had no interest in being the kind host. They could disrespect my wishes and me all they wanted, but disrespecting my wife or my child was unacceptable. I would tolerate their presence only because they shared genetic material with MTM, but I didn't have to be nice about it.

As November came to a close, MTM's birthday approached. One day I came home to find MTM in tears. It seemed that my MIL was no longer coming for her birthday because of the tension between them and myself. Setting aside the obvious solution of them staying at a hotel, I called and extended the olive branch. However, my MIL knows how to work a situation. It took several calls and me more or less taking all responsibility for everything in order to convince them to come.

THS: Video Friday #3

Today I have a couple of videos to share from last Saturday morning.

First up is a clip from the opening of Dora, when the munchkin realizes that the clouds have parted and heaven has descended upon earth she gets to eat a special breakfast while watching Dora:

Second (and last) is a clip of her trying to read a board book with infant mittens on:

That's all for today. Have a good weekend.

---

My wife tells me that if I don't remind you every.single.day that some of you will forget that I am the guest dj this week over at Cynical Dad. So, head over and see some of my picks.

TDS: The Sweetest Thing

Thank you to everyone who commented on yesterday's post. I appreciate your support.

As for today, this is another one of those, "listen to (read) this story about how cute my kid is" type posts. Deal with it.

Last night, while I was driving in the van with the munchkin, I started hacking up a lung coughing quite violently.

"Bless you, Daddy," came the call from the back seat.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"You need some coughing medicine. I will give you some of mine."

"That's OK honey, Daddy needs to take Daddy medicine, not kid medicine."

"Otay."

"But Daddy and Mommy are very happy that you're such a thoughtful little girl."

"Sank you. When we go home, I will take care of you. I will help you feel bedder, because I love you."

"Oh that's so sweet. You're the best."

"You're the best too, Daddy."

TTS: Feeling Guilty

Warning: today's post is significantly more whiny than my usual content. So, for those of you with little to no tolerance for that sort of thing, you have been warned.

Last night I came home from work, and between my work "issue" (which sadly has not improved), my current workload (current resource planning sheets have me slotted for 80 hours per week between now and Christmas), the fact that I am still sick, and the previous night's events, I was of little or no use to my family. I slumped into the desk chair and caught up on email (I'm currently working at a remote site without internet access) and after that took the munchkin upstairs so I could get out of my work clothes.

We "played" upstairs for a bit. I use the term in its loosest possible sense, since really all that happened was she brought various dolls in for "Daddy Dates" and then lie down in my lap, all while I was semi-reclining in our bed.

We came downstairs, had some dinner, and after emptying the dishwasher (it seemed to require less energy than playing with the toddler) I crashed on the sofa while she enjoyed her imaginary play with dolls and an infant bathtub MTM brought out for her.

I felt like such an ass, such a failure as a father and husband as I sat there, barely able to stay awake. Rationally, the sick/overworked/under-rested combination should provide me with a free pass, but who ever said being a parent included rational thought? My sole success for the evening was that I was able to avoid crying in front of my daughter; I held that off until she went to sleep - for the first time in her big girl bed - and I was downstairs (working... sigh).

I know sometimes I set impossible goals for myself, especially when it comes to my girls. I want to be the provider, the protector, the caregiver. My wife is sick right now, and I couldn't help her at all. I barely did anything with my daughter, who is also sick, and when she went to bed I sat in front of the computer to try and figure out how to bend space and time get some headway in my workload.

Post Script: sadly, blog reading has fallen in priority right now. The only reason I'm still blogging is because of NaBloPoMo and my inability to admit failure. Please know that I will try and read as much as I can, and comment where possible. Bear with me.

TNS: An African-Centric School?

When I first heard the idea, I thought I had mistakenly gone back in time and to a different part of the continent. An African-centric school, where the students and staff would all (ideally) be black? Isn't this something another generation struggled against forty years ago? They had a word for it (segregation) and another word for the abolition of it (integration). Haven't we moved past this as a society? Didn't we make a clear enough statement in our last election on the subject of segregating schools (admittedly that was on religious instead of racial grounds, but segregation is segregation).

Apparently not.

Continue reading at Daditorial

The Brief Side

Here is an interesting column about separated parents and the pain they can cause each other.

For those parents of younger children, here's a piece that looks at getting kids to give up their lovey.

According to a recent study, Indian men believe family planning is women's business. Because, you know, men have nothing to do with babies being made.

I'm truly speechless (and regular readers know how great a feat that is) about this next piece, so I'll just let the headline talk: Mother Sent Stripper To School As Treat (FYI - for her 16 year old son).

TRS: A Slow-Starting Weekend

On Friday night, MTM had a girls night out, leaving the munchkin and I for a daddy-daughter date. This time, we decided to go to the mall. The only problem was: MTM forgot to mention that someone had picked up the damn mall and shaken it like a snow globe the mall had undergone some major construction, relocating the food court. I called her twice, but she didn't pick up her cell, leaving me to randomly wander around the mall (why would they bother to redo the maps?) until I located sustenance:

After that, we went to Toys R Us. Later that night, while lying in bed, MTM would ask, "So, what did she say at Toys R Us?"

"Why?"

"She keeps telling me Uniqua is her best friend. She doesn't even watch The Backyardigans anymore."

"Oh."

"Why?"

"Nothing."

"You didn't buy her Uniqua?"

"Maybe."

Saturday morning, I let MTM sleep in and got up early with the munchkin. I went to the kitchen to prepare "Daddy's Special Eggs" (aka eggs filled with stuff your mother rarely lets you have), and I came out to find this:

thankfully, she isn't a boy

Once we were fully clothed breakfast was ready, we settled in for a little Dora and eggs:

After it was decided we had rotted her brain sufficiently for one morning, we read some books. The only problem? She had decided to wear her hat, scarf and infant mittens that are too small for her:

"Daddy, I can't turn the page."

We had a lazy Saturday, eventually getting out after her nap to do a little shopping and grab dinner at ESM's. Unfortunately, it was literally the worst dining experience we have ever had. The only silver lining is this proof that she is indeed Italian:

who doesn't love bread soaked in soup?

Sunday was a blur. Another lazy morning followed by a mall trip that included too many Dora clothing items:

those would be Dora pjs and Dora socks

It ended with me crashing on the couch with the same damn cold/flu/virus/germ/whatever that has been kicking my ass for a week or more now.

And this week I have no opportunity to take a sick day. Yay me.

In case you didn't catch it over the weekend, I'm the guest dj this week over at Cynical Dad. Go check out my choices.

TNS: Remember Them Too

Today, in many places across the country, life will be put on hold for a moment at 11am. The shoppers in malls will stop and fall silent, pedestrians will pause wherever they are, and churches will be filled with people bowing their heads, but not to God. It is the time we, as a country, pause to reflect upon the good fortune we have as Canadians living in a free and democratic society; courtesy of the men and women in the armed forces who have given their lives in war. Poems will be read, hymns will be sung. Tears will be shed, and bells will be rung.

And somewhere, a child will be missing a parent they hardly knew, but can never forget.

Continue reading at Daditorial

The Brief Side

A father will finish a book started by his son. Why won't the son finish it? He was killed in