"Daddy, Mommy needs some plastic wrap for the baby's head!" - Munchkin, shouted as she came down the stairs (she needed it to seal the baby oil on Buddy's head since we're still fighting cradle cap over here)
"Cover your eyes!" - me, to MTM the day before Christmas Eve as we assembled the trampoline (including threading what would become an exceptionally tighly strung elastic cord through the mat), a process that took over two hours
"You have got to be fucking kidding me." - me, muttered under my breath at 11.30pm Christmas Eve as I realized (after 20 minutes of trying) that the trampoline I had assembled in the basement would not fit up the stairs; Santa ended up leaving a note telling everyone to head into the (unfinished, poorly lit, terrible environment for pictures) basement
"Memory Card Full." - our camera, to me, about five minutes into Christmas morning; cue a 45 minute delay as I booted up, checked email and blog comments, copied all the images and videos, and emptied the card
"Memory Card Error." - our camera, to me, upon inserting a new 8GB card I got on Boxing Day (who knew the Canons only supported SDHC if they had the Digic III processor?)
"You're the best Daddy in the world. I love you, Daddy. You make the best cheddar potato soup ever! I'm being nice to you so Santa keeps me on the nice list." - Munchkin, to me, during her Christmas Eve bath (well, at least she's honest, right?)
"Are these real?" - MTM, to me, upon opening my gift (at least she has her priorities...)
Now for some photos. First is the photo some of you have been asking for in the comments. Some people say that as your marriage progresses, you start to look like your partner. I don't see it:
When MTM and I got married, like many (some? most?) couples, we merged our finances into joint bank accounts, common credit cards, et cetera. This has made shopping for surprises somewhat complicated.
This year, between the economy, a new baby, and the pending repairs to our house, MTM and I decided to only do stockings for each other. We'd each get one or two presents from the kids (either one from each or a big one from them both), but no gifts from each other. (Of course, the kids get their stockings and their presents.) However, my wife had a baby this year. I had to acknowledge that, right? Right.
I decided to buy her some earrings, but not just any earrings: diamond earrings. As soon as I began pricing them, I realized I could never hide such a purchase from her. She would see the huge amount on the credit card, or the big cash withdrawl, and subsequently chastise me for spending money in a time of savings, so I went to my alternative plan.
See, every time I go to the ATM, any cash I have in my wallet (usually a small bill or two, hence why I am at the ATM) gets moved to a "no spend" spot. I have been doing this since we merged accounts (over five years ago), with the intention of making a "secret" purchase for MTM one day. This Christmas seemed as good a time as any, so I used the cash I had accumulated to buy them.
(I'm writing and publishing this before Christmas, so I'm talking about my plans instead of recapping it.)
We're opening stockings first thing Christmas morning, but I want MTM to open the earrings last, and, I don't want to be accused of breaking the rules. So, my plan is to hide them in her stocking when we take a break for breakfast and then have Munchkin tell her she forgot a present in her stocking after we've finished opening all the gifts on Christmas morning. I hope she likes them:
He lies there snuggled in my arms, fast asleep. I lean over and drink in the smell of his head, a combination of Aveeno baby wash and chamomile from the scented baby oil MTM has used to combat his cradle cap. I kiss his forehead, then his cheek, then his nose. He snorts and his eyes sleepily open. He smiles at me.
"Hi," I say, and he coos back at me. I crane my head into his cheek and make a num num num sound as I pretend to nibble on his cheek. We continue like this for a few minutes as he continues to awaken. Eventually, his coos turn to yelps and squawks and he tries to sit himself up.
I sit him on my chest, doing that half-bounce, half-jiggle that I know he loves. He looks around the room, sometimes at me, and smiles wide. I pull him to me, give him big kisses on his face, and tell him I love him. He burps, spits up a little, and smiles some more.
I adjust him so that he is lying on his stomach on my torso. He lifts his head to look at me, and again I smother him with huge hugs, kisses and words of adoration.
Then it occurs to me: one day he's going to grow up, and he's not going to want me to cuddle him anymore. He will be a "big boy" and turn his head from my kisses, offering me a hand to shake instead. Occasionally, he may grudgingly allow me a hug out of the kindness of his heart, but my time of unobstructed, uninterrupted affection is short. One day, society will tell him that it's OK to hug his mother, that it's OK for his sister to hug their mother too, and that his sister can hug her Daddy as much as she wants, but that he cannot hug his dad.
I sigh, and wonder why this is. I remind myself not to blame him when it does happen, because I was the same way. But, looking back, I cannot remember if it was my decision or my father's that we stop hugging. I remember that it was my decision to start again, when I had gotten big enough that I could overpower him into a hug (eventually he stopped fighting).
And then I wonder if maybe, if I keep up my end of it, he will never make me stop. Maybe he will grow up understanding that two men can hug each other without the implications society puts upon them. Maybe he will see that there is a double standard, and refuse to perpetuate it.
And then I resolve to not think about that time, at least not yet, and smother him with yet more affection.
Hypothetically speaking, let's say a certain father, who shall remain nameless, was working from home because of a snow storm last week.
And let's say that he took some time out of his "work day" to go outside and shovel the driveway.
And let's say that his three and a half year old daughter (theoretically she's that age) came outside to play in the snow with him.
And let's say that after about 15 minutes in the whipping wind and rapidly falling snow, he saw her face getting pretty red, but she refused his suggestion to go inside.
If that father, purely with his own flesh and blood's best interests in mind, threw a snowball and intentionally hit her in the face so that it would become wet and she would immediately want to go inside where it was warm, would that make him a bad father (for throwing a snow ball at his own kid) or a good father (for getting her inside where it was warm without her throwing a tantrum)?
Hypothetically speaking, of course.
* * *
On a completely unrelated note, Munchkin was disappointed because we were unable to make a snowman due to us being outside for too short a period on Friday. So, she decided to put our snowman kit to use inside the house:
Then on Saturday, we finally got the chance to make one:
OK, so I just got off the phone with my mother. We were trying to sort out Christmas travel plans for this year, and we have some complications due to the fact that
this year it's my inlaw's "turn" for Christmas Day
my BIL's father is very ill (it's unlikely he'll even make it to Christmas)
there is exactly one day between now and New Year's where no precipitation is expected
Basically, a whole bunch of things that are not my fault, and not under my control to change are threatening to fuck up her Christmas.
So today, of all days, after I already told you about how I'm feeling lately, she decides to ask, "Why did you buy a house so far away from your father and me?"
Fuck me sideways. I did not need to have this conversation tonight.
"Honestly Mom? Because if we bought a place closer to you and Dad, we'd be living in a much smaller house with virtually no backyard."
"But why so far away from us?"
Oh please somebody fucking shoot me.
"Mom, if we lived there, with the small house and no yard, my commute would be over an hour each way."
"But you're really good at what you do! You could get a job anywhere."
Open offer: if someone will take the phone from me now, I will sit beside you and peel off my own skin with a teaspoon. Deal?
"Yes, technically you're right mom. But I wouldn't have the flexibility I have now, and plus we'd be that much further away from my inlaws and then seeing them would take a weekend, so we'd probably see you less often than we do now."
"Why? They can travel to you. We can't travel to you."
Just. Make. It. Stop.
"Because then we'd lose two weekends a month with visits, and we need weekends for other stuff too. So, we'd be in town visiting you less."
"Oh. Really?"
Fuck it. Time for the big guns.
"You know what Mom? We could have gotten MTM's dream home: one at least 50% bigger than ours with lots of yard space and everything, for the same price we paid for this one. But, it would have been over an hour further from you. So, we didn't take it!"
"Really?"
No, not really. Yes, the housing situation was better elsewhere, but we didn't want to be in the middle of the country. We would never have actually moved there, but we considered it briefly until we realized it would add on to an already arduous four and a half hour drive to see them.
Fuck, the holidays are so fucking stressful. MTM thinks I'm kidding when I say I hope it snows like a motherfucker so we're stranded in our house Christmas Day. I would love for the phone to be out too (but not the internet... I love you all too much for that). I'm not.
Peace (and quiet). Love (of my kids). Joy (of not having to drive anywhere). That's Christmas.
Last week we had a friend of mine and his family over for dinner and to meet Buddy. (Incidentally, I met him at work. He's the project manager I mention at the end of this post.) Their boys are older than Munchkin: seven and ten years old, but very sweet kids and generally quite nice to my daughter, trying to play with her at her level (even though they clearly would prefer doing other stuff).
Before dinner, Munchkin went up to MTM and whispered, "Mommy, when we were in my bedroom, I gave [older son] a hug. And he hugged me too!" Then she rearranged the seats at the dinner table so she and the older boy sat next to each other.
Their older son has started taking guitar lessons, and he brought his acoustic with him to play some Christmas songs. Munchkin was transfixed. She started sitting on the couch watching him (on a stool opposite where she was sitting), then moved to the floor in front of him, and finally cozied up on the floor beside him (so that I had to keep telling her to watch her head as he nearly knocked her with the neck of his guitar). Then she brought out her Deedee Doodle "keytar" and began to play with him.
Throughout the remainder of the evening, Munchkin took every opportunity to side beside, nearby, or in front of their older son. She made every effort to hug him, while (hopefully unintentionally) ignoring his younger brother.
The rest of the weekend, whenever she ate a meal, she took his school photo down off the fridge (where it had been placed by MTM after we received their Christmas card) and placed it in front of her spot. She talked about him a lot, saying that she wanted to make him a package to send in the mail so he would be excited.
She's three and a half, people! I thought that I had at least a little while longer before this crap started, and when it did start I didn't expect it to be with someone seven years older than her. Fuck, he'll have his driver's license before she's even the age he is today! Seriously, like I need more grey hairs.
Thanks to everyone who gave their opinions about the soundtrack, both in the poll and the comments. I find it interesting (or would that be disappointing) that a third of the respondents chose "there's a song at the beginning?" indicating that they never even notice it.
Finally, I'm repeating this from yesterday because MTM told me it got lost after the poll: I also have a new review up for some President's Choice holiday products.
They (that ubiquitous "they" who seem to have an opinion on everything yet when you consult them for further clarification are never around) say that the cornerstone of a good marriage is communication; complete and total honesty between partners, sharing all your feelings and emotions. For the most part, I would agree. When people ask me what makes my marriage with MTM so successful, I always come back with communication and honesty.
Which makes writing this post that much more difficult.
When I say "good communication" and "total honesty", I say it with an unspoken caveat, "if she can benefit from the knowledge, or if she can offer assistance with the situation". In other words, there are times in my life where I hold things in, where I purposely don't say anything to my wife about something that is really bothering me because either she cannot do anything about it, or it's not something that affects her. I've been weighed down by a lot of stuff like that recently.
Some of it is not unique to me, like the current state of the economy (which, fortunately, will not affect my employment situation or my employer, given the business we are in) and its effect on our RESP and RRSP portfolios. (I mean, technically this sort of stuff affects MTM, but realistically there's nothing she can do about it, nor is there anything I can do about it; it's just a source of stress and anxiety.)
And some of it is unique to me, including a bunch of crap at work (both internal and external) that I cannot really get into on this blog but is producing a lot of anxious moments at the office and lingering in my mind long after I have come home (and am supposed to be focused on being a good husband and father, leaving the work stuff at work). Or the upcoming holidays, which promise to feature way more (two) visits with my inlaws than I would prefer (none).
I know that if I asked her, she would tell me that she's here to support me no matter what. But, I just feel like I would be bringing her down for no good reason. Bottom line, it's my own shit, my own issues and challenges in my own mind that are stressing me out. I feel like since she can't really help me with them I shouldn't burden her with them. But at the same time, I feel like this sort of "dishonesty" (lying by omission) is wrong, and so I feel guilty for that too. It's a vicious little cycle.
So, I turn to you, dear internets. Those of you in marriages or committed relationships: do you keep some stuff from your significant other as I have outlined above? Or do you share absolutely everything, even stuff that they really can't contribute to?
In the spirit of honesty, I have a question to ask all of you. For the past year, I have equipped every post with what I consider to be a "soundtrack" - a song that sets the mood for the post, intended to be played while reading and/or commenting. I just want to know what you think of this. (Feed readers, please click through to comment, even though you can't access the flash player from there.)
I also have a new review up for some President's Choice holiday products.
One night when I came home from work, MTM excitedly exclaimed, "Buddy found his finger!"
"What, somehow they became detached from his hand?"
"No. He figured out he can suck his thumb or his fingers instead of crying for a pacifier."
Now, for my wife, this was a monumental moment. You see, Munchkin never took to her fingers. She was a pacifier girl from a few weeks old (when we broke down against our "no pacifier" rule after realizing she had acid reflux and that sucking helped keep the acid down) until about six or seven months when we started letting her cry herself to sleep a little (she would spit out the pacifier and cry for it to be replaced, so MTM just took it away). After that, if she was sucking, it was on the boob, which was not as convenient as fingers.
Since that fateful night, Buddy has learned how to soothe himself in his crib, a fact that enables MTM to sleep more (since she's only waking up for feeds instead of comforting him too), and therefore should make us both very happy.
The thing is, I'm concerned. Neither I, nor my sister were thumb suckers, so I have no immediate experience with the phenomenon. I only have the stories from others, and those stories feature messed up teeth, and kids sucking their thumb in elementary school classrooms or at night while they sleep.
Sure, he's only a couple of months old, and there's no guarantee he's going to develop a strong attachment to thumb sucking, but I can't shake the "what if?" feeling. I'm not as worried about the financial side (braces) as I am about the social side. Kids these days have enough shit to deal with; failing to discourage him from thumb sucking isn't doing him any favours.
I know it's too early to act on this, but that doesn't stop the wheels from turning. Anyone have any thoughts or, better yet, experience with this?
I've posted the winner of the Santa Speaking Contest over at my review blog.
Last week, I was sitting in a meeting when my phone vibrated (trust me, it was not as exciting as it sounds; it was on the meeting room table at the time). MTM had sent me a text message asking me to call her when I got a chance, but indicating that it wasn't urgent.
Since it was lunch time, I excused myself and called her. I could hear it in her voice that things had not gone well that morning. She told me that while trying to clean off the van (with both kids already bundled up and inside it), she broke off a wiper blade, the driver side wiper blade. She got soaked trying to put it back on in the rain, and then Buddy pooped in his diaper and was screaming, and... and... and... She (barely) stopped herself before she broke down. I told her I'd grab new wipers (the passenger side was starting to rip too) and get home as soon as I could.
I pushed the rest of the meeting and got out of there earlier than I expected. I hit Canadian Tire, grabbed the new wipers, and installed them before coming in the house.
That is when the story went from "a shitty day" to "amazing".
(Before continuing, I need to remind you about my typical morning. Every morning before I leave for work, I set Munchkin up in our bedroom with Treehouse and milk and (among other things) ask her to take care of MTM and Buddy while I'm away.)
When the three of them came inside, Munchkin undressed herself and did her best to put her winter stuff away. She then climbed the stairs with MTM and Buddy for his diaper change. She did both of these things without being told, without being asked.
While MTM was busy with his diaper, Munchkin went and got the phone, offering it to MTM, saying, "Here Mommy. Call Daddy. He will make you feel better." When she explained that I wasn't accessible that day, Munchkin disappeared and returned with a hand-knitted (by my MIL) Santa that was MTM's when she was a child, "Here's your Santa Mommy. I know when I'm feeling sad I like to hug Pinkie that Nana made for me, so maybe you can hug your Santa that she made."
They moved to our room, and while MTM sat on the edge of the bed, fighting the tears (she was feeling exceptionally emotional; in retrospect she thinks it was post-partum hormones), Munchkin gently rubbed her back. Then, she got up and laid out an entire new outfit for MTM so she could get out of her wet clothes.
Finally, they all went downstairs for some hot chocolate and marshmallows (I don't know if that was Munchkin's suggestion or MTM's).
Most days I don't know exactly what we're doing raising kids. I mean, sure we're adults and whatever, but ultimately I don't know what "qualifications" we have to be parents. Don't misunderstand me; I don't think we're bad parents or anything, but sometimes I wonder if we're doing the right things. Then we come to an episode like the one I just related to you here, and I think to myself, "Well, whatever we're doing, we must be doing something right," because if my daughter can be that empathetic, that patient and kind and caring for the rest of her life, then I will be one proud father.
Finally, note that today is the last day I am accepting entries for the Santa Speaking Contest. Thanks to everyone who has entered so far.
Those who are interested in listening to a recording of last night's Secondhand Radio show (where I was Karl's guest) can visit the show's recordings page and either listen online or download the mp3. It's Episode 16.
A while back, Avitable posted an interview he did a couple of years before. At the end of it, he offered to ask questions of anyone who wanted to be interviewed. I foolishly signed up, indicating that the process would either be insightful, or the equivalent of shoving a microwaved burrito up your ass.
1. If you were single and childless, would you be self-sufficient, hip and trendy or would you be lying in a gutter drunk off your ass? I don't know if I've ever been "hip", but I'd definitely be OK. The biggest changes would be that I'd have a condo instead of a house, and that I'd probably own every gaming console, a couple of awesome televisions, and a whole bunch of high end audio-video equipment. (Of course, my life would be empty and devoid of nagging meaning too.)
2. Give me three reasons that we shouldn't send Celine Dion back across the border in a pine box. I believe murder is illegal in Nevada, so that's one... and, uh, I don't think you can mail a dead body, so that's two... and uh, umm... we don't want her back.
3. If you had to give yourself a blogger name and a blog title that didn't include the words "dad", "father", "parent", or anything representative of that, what would they be and why? The first blog title I came up with was "thoughts, opinions, and things better left unsaid", but since I took that as my tagline, I owe you a new one. Let's go with "I Hear In Colour" for a title, and Wintermute as a pseudonym.
4. Do you think if your wife met me she would be horrified and ban you from the internet forever? Nope. I have others in my life who most perceive to be "terrible" or "incorrigable" or whatever, but she knows that there's a reason I hang out with someone or consider them a friend, so she'd give you the benefit of the doubt. And I believe that when confronted with the opportunity of meeting someone and being normal or outrageous, you choose normal.
5. Who's hotter? Miley Cyrus, Dakota Fanning, or Jamie Lynn Spears? I checked, and for the record, all three are under 18, so, eww. I guess I got my burrito after all.
Want to be part of it? Follow these instructions: 1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me." 2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions. 3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions. 4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post. 5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
I have a new review up for an amazing service: a personalized call from Santa! There's also a contest there (probably only of interest to those of you with kids), so click over and enter.
The first girl (the one who sent me a bag of rocks), tracked me down again shortly after I had finished school. We exchanged emails for a day, and promptly fell off the face of each other's earths again.
Three years later, she contacted me again, asking for my phone number so she could call me. By this time, I was already dating MTM and we were quite serious (I had moved to a basement apartment at the end of her street, where she lived with her parents). After a long talk with MTM, we agreed that the best thing to do was for me to call her (so she didn't know my number) and explain (very politely) that I wasn't interested in maintaining a friendship with her in any form because she was a reminder of a difficult time in my life that I would rather forget.
I called her one evening, with MTM by my side. We caught up, mostly her telling me what she had been up to since we last saw each other. The only fact that sticks out is that she was living with a guy, but was unhappy in the relationship ("He's a flake," she told me). At one point, I mentioned MTM, and then asked her (MTM) a question. I think the girl didn't realize she was right there, because she was taken aback by this, and almost immediately got off the phone.
* * *
The story of the second girl, the one who left yours truly in a puddle on the floor, offers a far more interesting epilogue.
For years, even after MTM and I were together, I wondered what became of that second girl. I no longer sought her affections, and even though I was very happy with my relationship with MTM, I still needed closure. I needed to know why she ended things like she did. Was it something I said? Was it something I did? Did I embarrass her? Was she ashamed of me?
One night, I googled her name. I found it on a company's website, so I fired up my gmail and sent a quick email to the "info" account. I never heard back.
About a year later, I googled her name again. Her Facebook profile was the first hit. Of course, like any intelligent person, her profile was "friend only", meaning that all I could see was a Simpsons avatar she had created for herself. I paused, and debated whether or not to add her as a friend. After two days of inner monologues and talks with MTM, I finally sent her a friend request with a brief note.
She accepted the request, and immediately sent me a note indicating that she barely remembered me. (Ouch.) I replied, jogging her memory a little. A couple of months passed, and she sent me a reply where she asked me if I was still playing the sax. (So she actually did remember something.) Again, I replied.
And that's it. Nothing more. No explanation. No nothing.
Part of me thinks (or at least wants to think) that she does remember me, but she was playing it cool because she's not attached and I'm married with two kids (although at the time this transpired MTM was pregnant with Buddy, so I only had one kid), perhaps protecting her ego. But another part of me wonders, Was I that forgettable? I mean, it's not a matter of self esteem (not anymore anyways; at the time she ended things... well, that's a completely different story), but it is bruising to one's ego to be told that someone who you always wondered about, someone who you felt so strongly for, someone who you thought you shared something special with, forgot you.
Logically, I know that these experiences have made me into the person I am today. I know that they taught me stuff about relationships and helped me learn about myself and women in general. But somewhere in the recesses of my mind, it still hurts to feel forgotten.
I also have something that may interest some of you. Tonight, at 10.00pm EST I will be on Secondhand Radio with Secondhand Karl. The call-in number (for those who want to talk to Karl and/or me is 724.444.7444, and the call ID is 23738.
For those of you not familiar with Talk Shoe, it is an internet radio site where you can listen to talk shows and participate in an accompanying chat room (each show has its own room, so you're only chatting with others who are listening) and interact with the people on the show. You can sign up for a free account ahead of time, or you can join and listen as a guest.
I do not have, by anyone's definition, an extensive history of relationships. I never really dated until I reached university, and since I met my wife within two years of graduating, logically that leaves a relatively narrow window of time. I do, however, have a story about the one who got away, the source of the "what if?" question many people have.
It was 1994. I was in my second year, and I had discovered IRC (old school irc, accessible via a terminal session in unix) as a source of entertainment (and arguably addiction). I befriended a few female students from US schools, and eventually became quite serious with one. She came up after Christmas, and again for Valentine's Day (note that it was now 1995). I flew down in May, already knowing that the long distance thing wasn't working for me. When she emailed me after my return, I misinterpreted a message as a suggestion that we should break up, and readily agreed. She immediately flipped out, but we broke up anyways.
She took it pretty hard. She still sent me a birthday present which was a hat, a CD, and a small bag of rocks that "made her think of me". I started avoiding her emails and phone calls.
In the midst of a break up and midterms, one night I found my way back to IRC, where I saw someone from a (relatively) nearby school that my friend attended. I asked them if they knew my friend, but she did not. However, we carried on with a conversation that continued into the early morning.
For the next month and a half or so, we exchanged emails, chatted, and eventually shared phone numbers so we could talk. I racked up a massive phone bill calling this girl: one bill was over $900 (almost double what my textbooks cost for a semester), but I totally thought she was worth it. I was in a band at the time, and I even wrote a song for/about her.
Then, she left the country to visit her sister overseas. The phone calls, now international, were virtually stopped (I think I called once). Her sister wasn't online (remember, this was 1995; home internet was costly and not a standard service unless you were a university student or a geek), so emailing and chatting was out. We survived exchanging letters and post cards.
Shortly after her return, my term was ending. So, I arranged for my sister and father to come and take the bulk of my stuff home for me, and I boarded a train to visit her. (Quick side story: on that train, I rode beside this tiny elderly woman. When we arrived at our destination, she said to me, "You're such a nice boy. Why do you dress the way you do?" She asked this because I wore a bandanna, had mutton chop sideburns and a goatee, and wore what could be called "classic grunge" attire.)
I arrived knowing that while I was certainly in love (or at least as in love as a 21 year old guy can be in less than three months without ever having met a girl), she could only admit to feelings. We had talked about emotions, and the possibility of a relationship. We acknowledged a strong connection, and a desire to be close.
Our chemistry was not instantaneous. Instead it grew over the course of our time together. By the time I left, however, we were a couple in my mind: we went on dates, we slept together, we even did groceries and laundry together. I told her I was in love with her, and she said she was falling too.
The first time I called her after I got home, she asked me to stop calling her, and said that the week we had spent together was a mistake.
I cried. I wrote her a huge letter. I made her a mix tape (again, people, it was 1995) of songs of love and despair and anger. But, I didn't call. (As an aside, today's song was on that mix tape.)
I buried myself in books. I read, and read, and read. One of the books I read was The Art Of War and I was inspired to get my first tattoos. At the time I didn't connect the two events, but looking back on it now, I have to admit that I was probably influenced by my state of mind (most likely making myself "different" so that I was no longer the guy she dumped). That is not to say that I regret the tattoos, just that sometimes we revise our histories to suit our needs.
And then I wrote. I wrote a novella, in the third person, using only pronouns, detailing our entire relationship (if you could even call it a relationship). What I remember most about that (sadly, now long gone despite many attempts to locate a backup on floppy) piece was that each chapter opened with a verse or series of lines from a song that served as a prologue, something that now, over 13 years later, I still do.
I took a job in that city (where she had lived and gone to school) two years later. I tried looking her up, and even walked around her old apartment and the neighbourhood it was in. Every time I rode the subway, or went shopping, or hit a club, I looked for her face but never found her.
To be continued; tomorrow's post will serve as an epilogue.
Today's post will be significantly shorter than my regular ones. Why? Read below.
Yesterday I worked a 13 hour day, on a project that I despise, for a client who is an asshole, using a controller that I loathe with the fury of a thousand suns.
And I'm OK with it.
I left the house shortly after Munchkin woke up in the morning, and returned home with only enough time to bathe her and tuck her into bed. After that, I had to do yet more work since the site I was at did not offer internet access. I finally sat down to eat dinner at around 8.00pm, with a sore back and more than enough fatigue.
And I'm OK with it.
I was late because the man I was working with, who was supposed to arrive at 8.00am, called me at 9.15am, and didn't actually get to site until well after 10.00am.
And I'm OK with it.
I'm OK with it because this man called me and apologized for being late, because he had accidentally fallen asleep in a chair in his 18 month old son's hospital room, where they had taken him at 3.00am that morning because his breathing (which, he told me, has been an issue for this little boy since birth) became ragged. He couldn't leave his kid's side.
How could I, of all people, not be OK with that?
(Yes, his son was fine, and was discharged. Apparently the breathing issues are similar to asthma, but it's more complicated than that. According to his dad, he's OK now, though.)
OK, so maybe I'm not quite that bad, but I'm certainly not in the running for "best".
As I mentioned last week, I'm not one for many friends. I have a small handful of people that I am social with because, for one reason or another, they befriended me. The remainder of people are either work acquaintences or people MTMmakes me hang out with is friends with. Today I'm going to talk about three of those people (the ones that are mine, that is).
On Friday night, I went out for dinner with a guy who I met while working as a co-op student in Montreal. We reconnected when we both landed in the GTA, and went out fairly regularly on weekends until I hooked up with MTM (in my defense, his idea of "going out" was "go to clubs and hit on women all night", which wasn't at all conducive to keeping a girlfriend). Since then, we've seen each other sporadically at best.
What floored me was the fact that we spent five or ten minutes catching up on the important details (he'd gotten married since we last saw each other; my news was Buddy) and then the rest of the time was just talking like we used to (when we weren't trolling for chicks, that is). It amazed me how quickly and easily we slipped back into our old mode: him pitching ideas for new technology products, me telling why it was technically impossible to achieve what he envisoned (yeah, my role in the friendship is "the killjoy").
On Saturday night, my best man came over with his wife and two daughters for dinner and to meet Buddy (they had sold and moved homes right after his birth, and then we had to find a date that worked for both families). We see them at least one or two times a year, if not more. Our wives get along famously, and our kids are close enough in age that everyone has someone.
On Sunday, my wife and I had a big talk about cutting friends out. She's recently been through a trying period with a close friend, and I have been of the opinion that the actions of her friend (not calling after offering to spend Thanksgiving with us when she found out my inlaws weren't until MTM broke down and called her Friday night) warranted an end to the friendship.
She countered with the fact that I was sending a Christmas card to a friend (from high school, whose wedding I was in) who I haven't spoken with in over a year, and am silently seething about. He and I exchange emails every few months, but the last few have always been initiated by me. So, I figure this time it's his "turn". If he wants to know about me or my life, he can write me a fucking email. I did it for him. (The Christmas card is more of a passive aggressive "fuck you, my wife had a fucking kid and you didn't even know because you're too fucking wrapped up in your own fucking life to think about me anymore". SciFi Dad: petty and profane.) He's this close to being cut off; the card, with my son's picture inside, is his last invitation to contact me. (In the interest of completeness, I will say that everything changed when he married someone who I don't think likes me very much. However, wife or not, he at least owed me the decency of an explanation that she hates my fucking guts and he's chosen her over me instead of just not writing.)
Three friends (out of maybe six or eight total, for what it's worth), three very different relationships. The guy from Friday night doesn't email me for two years suddenly wants to grab dinner and I'm all for it. Another (the one from highschool) doesn't and I'm ready to cut him loose. I never really gave it much thought, but after being prompted by my wife (wives are really good at that prompting shit, yo) I realized it boils down to expectations. If we were never that tight, I can forgive, mainly because I can be really bad at getting back to people sometimes. But, if I've put in the effort, because I do it so infrequently, if you can't be bothered to reciprocate, I won't stick it out.
It probably goes back to my adolescence (it seems like everything goes back there for me), when I spent years trying to make people my friends. I'd forgive transgressions, I'd accept being cast aside or ignored or even humiliated just for the chance to have a friend. Then I left home, went to university, and decided not to let that happen anymore.
I'd like to say I'll miss this friend, but in truth we haven't spoken since his wedding (September 2005) and haven't emailed in over a year (September 2007). I've tried, time and again, to connect (both our parents live in my hometown still) to no avail. I'm done trying. I even exchanged some messages with his younger brother (who contacted me after thinking he saw me at a restaurant one night; it wasn't me) where I told him I was pissed (and that MTM was pregnant at the time), and my friend still hasn't gotten in touch with me (even though I know his little brother told him about our exchange). At some point you've got to read the writing on the walls, you've got to make a clean break, and I think we're approaching that point rapidly.
Two years ago (almost to the day) I wrote about an employment opportunity that presented itself to me (the pertinent part is near the end of the post). About a month after that, I posted an update about it.
To summarize the story for those too lazy who don't read the links, the opportunity was with a large US-based engineering firm that was opening a Toronto office. In the end, I wouldn't even interview with them and was convinced to "hear them out" over a steak dinner one evening. The sticking point was travel; a typical project would involve two weeks somewhere in the US gathering design information, two months in Toronto designing and developing, and another two weeks back in the US for installation and commissioning - so basically I would spend one out of every three months out of the country.
This week, a headhunter cold called me (as in, my resume was never sent to this person, at least not by me) with an opportunity. After five minutes of general chit chat, I figured out it was the same company I had dealt with two years ago. I explained this to him, identifying names (so he knew I wasn't bullshitting) and even going so far as to quote an email I sent to the headhunter I was dealing with back in 2006, detailing my issues with the travel demands. The current headhunter said things were different at that office now, and convinced me to "hear them out" (notice a pattern?) and said they would call me that afternoon.
The same guy who bought me steak two years ago called me, admitted that he had asked around about me to mutual contacts, and said he was interested. This time, he said, travel would be different. Instead of weeks on end in the US, I'd be in-province (but still overnight) for two or three nights every other week, and I'd have some work that was close enough to not require overnights (but was still a two hour drive each way). We ended the conversation with the understanding that I would send an updated resume that evening, and we would have more discussions the following day.
That night I went over all my notes and emails from 2006, and the memories flooded back. The interviewer (my potential boss) made some (let's call them "politically incorrect") remarks that made me uncomfortable. There was a clear message that everyone eventually ended up in California. And then there was the travel: sure, I wouldn't be gone for two weeks at a time, but I'd be gone for several nights every other week. I emailed my resume and indicated that I didn't think the current opportunity was a good one, but that he should keep me in mind for the future. (Technically I had no interest in going there, but I didn't want to burn any bridges.)
He immediately fired back a response indicating that travel meant a better salary, and asked what my salary expectations were if I would be expected to travel two or three days a month. (Up until this point, none of our conversations centred around money.) I replied, politely telling him that at my present stage of life I was not prepared to travel as extensively as I knew the company would prefer, nor was I ready to relocate. I acknowledged that they were capable of significant financial compensation, but would expect more from me as an employee than I was prepared to offer. (Basically, I had to be more direct because letting him down easy didn't work.)
I found myself apologizing to this man, practically a stranger, because he and I had different perceptions of what "acceptable" amounts of travel were. He didn't know me; he knew my skill set and what other clients thought of my work. What he failed to realize is my job is what I do for eight hours a day. There are another 16 that I spend away from it.
The older I get more time passes, the more I realize what is important to me is not necessarily important to others. I know a lot of people, people I would call good friends, who are gone for weeks at a time for work. They leave their wives and children and live in hotels and work crazy hours. For now, I am exempt from such a life not because of what I do, but because of who I do it for. My employer may not be perfect, but they don't make me leave my family either, and that counts for something.
A while back, I wrote about my daughter's fears as they related to movies and television. At the time, we were trying to convince her to give Disney's Cinderella a try, and it failed miserably.
This past weekend, I suggested we watch Disney's Beauty and the Beast on DVD (MTM owns this movie as it is one of her favourites), and miraculously, she agreed.
At first, she was quite uneasy. She sat pressed up against me, watching the screen intently. We (MTM and I) offered words of encouragement, explaining what was happening (especially when the Beast was initially on screen), and eventually Munchkin calmed down enough and started to enjoy the movie. By the end, she was dancing around the living room, doing pirouettes and graceful steps with a huge smile on her face.
She made some interesting comments during the viewing, however:
"Yay! Now she's Belle!" - said at the opening of the dance sequence when Belle first wears her signature yellow dress; a sign of the power of the Disney marketing machine that Belle wasn't "Belle" until she was a princess.
"It's not a happy ending." - said despondently when the Beast appears to die after being stabbed by Gaston. During the previous fight sequences, we told her not to worry, that the movie had a happy ending.
"I'm happy that Beast is hurting Gaston." - said during the aforementioned fight sequence. This one got a shared look of shock and concern between MTM and me.
That utterance from my beautiful, wide-eyed, innocent little girl sent my mind spinning. This movie was actually her first exposure to physical violence. She had seen magic spells before, but never two individuals striking each other violently. Rationally, she was trying to express relief at Gaston's failure to kill the Beast. However, it is possible that she was expressing a sense of retribution, that the "bad" Gaston was reaping what he had sown by getting his ass kicked by the Beast.
This isn't going to be the last time one of our children sees that sort of thing. The Disney princess movies are littered with fist fights and even worse, and I won't even get into the stuff marketed at younger boys. It presents a serious challenge to us as parents: how do we teach our children that physical violence is inappropriate, that they should never strike another child, when their heroes succeed by doing that very thing?
And to complicate matters even further, what about when violence is the only answer? While it is noble to teach them to never strike another child, and to walk away when they are hit, that doesn't cover the (quite likely) scenario where the assailant pursues them. What are we supposed to tell them to do if they cannot outrun their attacker? Is hitting OK then?
In the end, this is parenting in a microcosm: we set out to conquer a fear of movies with actual conflict, and in succeeding we introduced a whole new dilemma of the appropriate response to physical violence.
I also have a review of Rock 'N Learn DVDs up at my review blog, for those interested.
We interrupt your regularly-scheduled daddyblogging to bring you some thoughts on the current state of Canadian politics. If you're not familiar with the Canadian Parliamentary system, you can read about it at Wikipedia.
On Monday, the leaders of the Liberal, NDP, and Bloc Quebecois parties (the three opposition parties that hold seats in the House of Commons) signed an agreement that would see them form a coalition government in Canada by presenting a vote of no confidence and then informing the Governor General that they were prepared to form a government rather than sending Canadians back to the polls for the second time since mid-October. The agreement would bind all three parties until June of 2010 (18 months), when the Bloc's obligation would expire, leaving the Liberals and the NDP in a smaller coalition until June of 2011. The proposed cabinet would be made up of 18 Liberals and 6 NDPs, with Liberal leader Stephane Dion as Prime Minister until May of 2009, when the Liberal Party is scheduled to select a new leader.
For the first 18 months of the coalition, it would hold a majority (163 seats). After that, it would hold fewer seats than the Conservatives (the Bloc would take 49 seats with them, leaving only 114 to the Conservative's 143).
The move was precipitated by an economic forecast presented by the Conservative government that included no economic stimulus for a sagging economy. The coalition has indicated that in addition to the proposed cabinet, they also have an economic stimulus package prepared.
The Conservatives and their supporters are calling this "a coup", "undemocratic" and "illegal". None of this is true. Everything that is being done is within the laws of Canada, and specifically follows the rules of the Parliament of Canada. They claim that to be Prime Minister one must "win" an election. However, with only 143 out of the 308 seats (and less than 38% of the popular vote) in the House of Commons, they did not "win" the October election, instead being granted the right of a minority government by the Governor General.
Minority governments are formed with the understanding that they will have to work with one or more of the parties in opposition, that co-operation is necessary to make government decisions. The Conservatives are in their second minority government since 2006, and during that time they have chosen to declare much of their legislation as "matters of confidence", effectively daring the Liberals to either bow to their will or call an election (which polls indicated would give Conservatives a stronger minority or even a majority). Political pundits have referred to Prime Minister Harper as a bully, vengeful, and mean-spirited.
As a strongly left-leaning voter, I have to admit I am pleased at the prospect of a left-dominated government (the inclusion of the Bloc isn't exactly what I had in mind, but in today's Canada, aligning with the Bloc is almost a necessity). However, I fear that:
The Governor General will ignore their coalition proposal and instead call another election. This is within her legal powers; she gets the final call. If another election is called, I worry the Liberals will lose support for forming the coalition.
Harper will prorogue Parliament before the no confidence vote can be called next Monday. Since Parliament only has to legally meet once a year, Harper could "suspend" Parliament until sometime in 2009 in an effort to weaken support for the coalition. This would allow him to see who the next Liberal leader is, as well as limit the amount of time the Bloc is involved.
Dion will use this coalition as a means of reviving his leadership. He was a bad choice, part of an "anyone but him" mentality from two opposing camps at the last leadership convention, and needs to go.
The coalition will last for 18 months, and then is replaced by a Conservative government. Anyone who thinks Harper will let the Liberals and NDP run Parliament with only 114 seats is fooling themselves.
I can only hope none of my fears are realized.
The bottom line is simple: most (arguably all) of the world is in an economic recession, and most of the world's governments are spending money to bring their economies around. By doing nothing substantive (selling assets to hide losses is not a plausible long term course of action), the Conservatives have backed themselves into a corner. The coalition, while not ideal, is willing to act now to stem the tide. Yes, spending money will increase the deficit, but doing nothing while more and more Canadians lose their jobs, their homes, their self-sufficiency, is worse than incurring national debt.
Regardless of how the next week plays out, we are watching an interesting time in Canadian political history.
(As an aside, to those who would present the 62% of all Canadians did not vote for the Conservatives argument, the popular vote is not part of the Canadian voting system. It means nothing, and should not be used as justification for the coalition. What is more significant is the fact that the coalition is acting in what it believes are the best interests of the country.)
On Saturday night, MTM and I (only) were invited to a potluck dinner with friends from MTM's high school days, most of whom I have met at previous parties. We arranged for Munchkin to spend the night with my in-laws (which, incidentally, made her exceptionally happy) and planned to bring Buddy with us (with the hostess' knowledge and approval) since the choice was either to bring him, or have MTM leave within a few hours to pump (she skipped one feed last week to go to the mall and came home in agony).
I have mentioned before that I am a bit of a lone wolf. I prefer no company (other than my family, of course) to a crowd. My wife knows this, and, with her blessing, I didn't go. MTM and Buddy went, and Munchkin got her sleepover, and I spent the night home alone.
Of course, a night by myself was blissful. No baths to give, no crying to settle, no wives to nag me no tv sharing.
(As an aside, and on the off chance the hostess is reading this, the reason we gave was that I was run down and not well. That was also true; however I have been "not well" for a while, and honestly could have "sucked it up" and gone. The truth is I didn't feel up to going to a party where I could identify most of the people, but knew none of them. I meant no disrespect by my absence.)
It's nothing against her friends, who are genuinely nice people, but the reality is that I didn't go to school with them, and they have these parties to catch up with friends. Most of the other couples all married their high school sweethearts, and so almost everyone at the party had history except for me. By not going I actually did MTM a favour, because she wouldn't have to worry about me not having fun, or sitting in a corner alone.
For reference, as I mentioned in that post I linked to above, I maintain few friendships. To this end, MTM and I rarely have visits with friends of mine. I would say that most of the time we visit with others, it's because of the connection MTM has with one or both of those people. I don't harbour any resentment for this fact; I'm just saying it in case someone thinks, Asshole, you probably force her to be nice to your friends, why can't you be nice to hers!
The thing is, I struggled with the decision to not go. I felt like I was letting MTM down by not going, that I wasn't supporting her in her social life. I also felt like I was being rude by not accepting an invitation. I wavered back and forth over my decision, only concluding that I would stay home an hour or so before it was time to leave. And still, looking back on this days later, I don't know if I made the right call.
(In the end, it didn't matter whether or not I went. MTM came home and jabbered my ear off told me all about it; I felt like I was there listening to them talk about fetishes and feces.)
What are your thoughts on this sort of thing? Do you always go out with your spouse's friends, or do you take a night off and let him or her go on their own?
Today, you turn two months old, and unlike last month (where I posted this letter four days late), this month I'm right on time. Aren't you proud of your old man?
You are still a champ at feeding, although it seems a little too much sometimes. You seem to lack the "I'm full" sensor that most humans are equipped with, instead relying on a massive collection of bibs and cloths to collect your regurgitated meals. However, you are still growing, so whatever you're puking up you obviously didn't need in the first place.
Sleeping has become more of a challenge than in your early days, mostly owing to a visit we paid to your grandparents, where you slept with Mommy most of the time. You got used to it, and now breaking you of that habit has been difficult.
You have begun to focus your eyes on people, specifically faces (as most babies do around this age). You seem to recognize us (Mommy and me), as you will linger on our faces longer than others. The unfortunate side effect of this is that now you know when Mommy is around, and have begun to demonstrate (rather adamantly, I might add) a strong preference for her. (Dude, I totally get it: I prefer her to me too.)
You have started babbling, albeit inconsistently, when you are happy. You get that wide mouthed toothless grin, and you start to make noises when we tickle you, or when you're looking at your mobile.
Your latest fixation is the Christmas tree. If you are in a position to see it, and it is lit, you will sit contentedly for hours (or until your sister knocks your chair and distracts you), cooing and smiling.
You are changing so quickly, little man. It's imperceptible, and I cannot properly explain it in words, but you're different. Your face, your movements, your strength are all so different than just 30 short days ago. I'm just happy to be along for the ride, bearing witness to the wonder that is you, my beautiful boy.
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