Tales From The Dad Side: January 2009

Strange But True

Strange Currencies - R.E.M.
The following story is completely true.

My father was born and raised in rural Italy. When he was about ten years old, his older brothers were drafted into the Alpini (WWII was going on) and taken away to a larger town for training.

One of his brothers, who was in his late teens or early twenties, met a local girl while he was stationed there. He trained by day, and by night they danced and otherwise courted. One evening, as he was walking her home, they were discussing plans for the upcoming weekend.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I won't be here this weekend. I'm going back to visit my mother."

"Oh? Where?"

"In [small town nearby]."

"Really? My mother told me when I was stationed here that I should go and visit my aunt who lives nearby. She lives in [small town nearby]. Maybe I could get a pass and go with you. I could visit my aunt while you visit your mother."

"Who is your aunt?" (It was a small town, so this question wasn't as odd as it sounds.)

For those who haven't figured it out yet, the girl's mother and my uncle's aunt were the same woman. He was dating his cousin. Of course, they stopped dating after that, but no one is sure just how "far" they got before they figured things out.

* * *
So now it's your turn: what is the strangest thing that has happened to a blood relative? I don't care about "this guy you knew" or "my best friend's sister". I want your family's weirdness. If there's enough participation, I may give a Tales From The Dad Side mix CD for the best story.

I have also posted the winner of the poster print over at my review blog.

Knowing Best

All I Know - Screaming Trees
In the interest of clarity, I would like to remind everyone reading that I am not a SAHD. I work outside my home, and only see my kids for a total of three hours on weekdays (recently that number is even smaller due to extensive site work). Therefore, this post has not been written from the perspective of someone who takes care of their kids all day long.)

For almost four years (gah! is she really that old?) now, I have lived with my daughter. I know when her "good" times are, and I know when she's more likely to have a meltdown. I can tell when she's feeling silly, and I can anticipate when she's going to need more attention. My knowledge isn't 100%, but it is reasonably complete given the circumstances.

To that end, I can tell when she's sick. I no longer rely on her tugging her ear, or a flushed face or a burning hot forehead. She doesn't need to be lethargic to the point of sloth to indicate that she's not well. It took us a while to get here, probably longer than it took MTM, but we're at that point now.

So, when people (other parents, family members, even medical professionals) say "You know your kid best," I agree. I know my daughter better than the doctor who sees her once every few months, better than the stranger off the street who ignorantly offers their parenting advice, better than well-intentioned but often interfering grandparents. However, I only agree because I have had the time to learn about her cues and mannerisms and signs.

However, with my son, who isn't quite four months old (at the risk of cliche... gah! is he really that old?) I don't have this same knowledge. Setting aside the restrictions based on his developmental stage (read: the fact that he cannot yet talk and tell me where the "owie" is), I still cannot "read" him. He sleeps in long stretches, something his sister never did (and something my wife and I are exceptionally grateful for), so the whole acting lethargic thing doesn't help. And I haven't been around him long enough to pick up on the other things.

So, when he spikes a fever or gets a cough, or has rosier than normal cheeks, everything I know about my daughter is practically useless. Sure, instincts honed from experience can help in armchair diagnosis, but ultimately I cannot make decisions with the same confidence as I would with my daughter, and that scares me. Foolishly, when we found out we were expecting a second child, I was confident in my skills as a parent. I could not have been more wrong.

This recent bout with a cold, or teething, or strange ailment yet to be discovered by modern science has shown me that I know almost nothing, but more than that, it has shown me that everyone else out there knows little more than I do. Everyone we spoke with said it was probably teething, but they couldn't be sure. It's nerve-racking: your kid is obviously not well, and nobody can tell you what to do, so you give them tempera and hope. In an era of scientific and technological development such as this, that seems so primitive.

Am I the only one who feels this way, dear reader? If you have a baby now, do you feel like trying to figure out what's wrong with them is a crap shoot? And, if your kids are older, did you feel that way when they were babies, no matter how many you had before them?

Anyone who is interested in the free poster print should click over and enter my contest today, since the contest closes tomorrow morning at 6.00am.

Safe or Happy?

Safe Place - Staind
Raising a precocious preschooler can be extremely rewarding, but it can also be trying. One of the greatest sources of frustration - both for my daughter and myself - is our restrictions on her activities. It's not that we are mean ogres who deny her any potential for joy (despite what she may have you believe), but rather that her physical abilities have, in some cases, surpassed her understanding.

For example, she knows how to answer the phone, and where the phones are in the house. The upstairs phone is relatively easy for her to access as it is on a low dresser in our bedroom, so she answers that whenever she can, and up until a few weeks ago, it was the phone she would retrieve for MTM when asked. (I feel compelled to add a disclaimer here, lest I get an admonishing comment from my wife: she does not use our daughter as a golden retriever as a rule, but will ask for help when she is feeding our son, for example.) The second phone is on the kitchen counter, close to the knife block. While she is capable of getting the phone with the aid of a stool, we discourage this practice for safety reasons.

Another example is jumping. Ever since the arrival of the trampoline in the basement, my daughter chooses to jump practically everywhere, often using a bed or table for additional height via leverage (this was learned from the handle bars on the trampoline; a practice we have also discouraged). Unfortunately, she has (on more than one occasion) hurt either herself or me (sometimes both) in the process.

As instances like those described above have become more frequent, so too has my making this statement:

My first job is to make sure you are safe, then I can make sure you are happy.

It sounds so mean, so cold when I read it like that, but she doesn't view it that way. To her, it's a statement of fact, something that is concrete and simple and comprehensible and logical.

Instinctively, when you ask many (some? most? all?) parents what is most important to them, they say that they want their kids to be happy. However, if you were to present them with the choice between safety and happiness, I doubt any of them would choose happy but unsafe.

Yet, part of me feels guilty for denying her the enjoyment she feels when she jumps, even if she does occasionally fall and cry her heart out in pain. I feel badly that I don't let her climb the countertops because I know how proud she would feel if she succeeded. It's not that I think my rules are excessive, just that I hate denying my kids anything they want.

Those of you with kids, how do you deal with the things they want to do, they like to do, that are unsafe? And how do you explain to your children that while their happiness is important, their safety takes precedence?

Remember my post about noises in the night? My wife has written her point of view.

An Open Letter

Jack-Ass - Beck
Dear (Soon To Be Ex) Husband of my SIL's friend,

Thanks a fucking lot. You lose your fucking job and get all depressed and shit, which I get. However, you decide that, instead of, you know, being a fucking grown up and actually getting off your ass and doing something about your situation, you wait until your wife (of about 18 months) goes to work one day and leave her a note telling her the marriage is over. Works for you, right?

Well, you see, your wife, obviously distraught and confused (because you never gave her any warning about this), called her friend, my SIL. And of course, after calming her friend, my SIL (who has a long and sordid history with men with commitment issues herself) calls her mother (my MIL) and tells her all about it. And, logically, my MIL turns around and calls my wife.

And suddenly, you being a pussy becomes my problem. Now I have to explain to my wife, my wife who has already heard about how terrible men, even married men, can be through her sister and her mother, why you would do something so selfish, so stupid. The fact that you can't be ~~a man~~ an adult and own your own shit and instead have to run away means that now I have to justify your inexcusable actions.

No, not all men are like you, but more men are like you than most of us normal ones like to admit. As a rule, men are chicken shits who avoid conflict when it comes to their wives. Instead of communicating with their spouse about how they are feeling, they bottle it up inside, often seeking solace in alcohol or drugs or video games or something other than what could arguably be considered constructive.

Sure, society teaches us, men, that we are to be stoic and strong and inanimate. We are supposed to be the caretakers, the providers, the hunters. To show honest emotion, let alone weakness, is forbidden and unmanly.

We're also taught that Santa Claus watches us like some judgmental geriatric voyeur.

Bottom line, you know better. You know that being honest and open and clear are necessary for a successful relationship. You knew this 18 months ago when you got married, and you knew this even before then. You chose not to follow the rules you knew to be legitimate, the ones that would ensure true happiness. You knew that your wife was your partner, for good and for bad, for richer or poorer for fuck's sake. And instead of trying to make that partnership work, you ran away like a scared little child.

Why you did this I can only speculate. Maybe even though you logically knew it was a mistake to run, you were too scared to stay. Maybe you were too weak to fight through the difficult times. Maybe you never really cared to begin with. Maybe you only got married because it was "the thing to do".

Whatever the reason, you left. You left without saying goodbye. You left without explaining yourself, without explaining your actions. You didn't give your wife the opportunity to help you, and in so doing harmed your wife more than you realized. And finally, you left some guy (and probably a few others who are dating or married to your wife's friends or friends of friends) you never even met holding the fucking bag.

Nice job, asshole.

Hugs and Kisses,
SciFi Dad

(I really have no idea why some men do this sort of thing. It is cowardly and, at least to me and the men I consider friends, incomprehensible. Sure, part of it is fear, and part of it may be the antiquated definition of what a "real man" is, but ultimately it boils down to character, or in these cases, a severe lack thereof.)

Assorted

Stories For Boys - U2
This weekend, we made yet another marathon drive to visit my parents (as well as enabling MTM and Munchkin to attend a baby shower). As usual, a whole bunch of stuff happened, but some of them are too brief to be posts on their own, and instead are better classified as anecdotes.

Spike
As I mentioned last week, Buddy had a fever, but it had subsided for more than 24 hours before we left on Friday. On Saturday morning, he spiked a fever higher than either MTM or I had seen: 102.9°F. I ran out to get more tempera, and we called a friend who is a pediatric nurse, who said, based on his symptoms (none) and the fact that 45 minutes after a dose of tempera the fever was gone that it was most likely teething.

Interestingly, this event brought forth a story from my infancy. Apparently, as a baby I was "notorious" (according to my mother) for spiking huge fevers and being fine mere minutes later. So now there's yet another thing MTM can say is "all my fault". Super.

Spew
On Sunday morning I was holding Buddy when he started to cough up a little milk. As I adjusted his position to a more upright one to avoid him choking, he puked. In my mouth. I don't believe anyone wants to read the rest of that story.

(Informal poll in the comments time: how common is this? How many of you have had this happen to you? I ask because it never happened to me with Munchkin, so when Buddy did it I was more than a little shocked.)

Stroke
While MTM was busy changing Buddy in a service centre bathroom, Munchkin and I were playing at the table. An older woman came up to me, and after excusing her interruption, said that she had been listening to Munchkin and I playing together, and thanked me for that. She ended her comment by saying, "Good job, Dad."

On an unrelated note, I bonked my head leaving the service centre... almost as if the doorway was too small or something.

Spoil
I found these online, and ordered them to be delivered to a friend's place (they live in the U.S. and therefore get much better shipping rates). They brought them to my parent's place this weekend:

Daddy's first Star Wars figure: Boba Fett. Buddy's first Star Wars figure: Boba Fett. (Munchkin got rinty dinty doo.)

I also have a review of Online Poster Printing, a poster-sized photo printing service. As part of the review I'm also running a contest for a free 16"x20" print, so click over and enter!

Noises In The Night

Til I Hear It From You - Gin Blossoms
A couple of nights ago, MTM had Buddy in the twin bed in his room with her because he was running a fever by the time I went to bed. A couple of hours later, she came in and woke me up.

"Did you turn on the dryer before you went to bed?"

"What? Huh?"

"I hear something in the basement. It sounds like the dryer is running."

"It's just the bed. The bed is making that noise."

"No, I hear something downstairs. Here, take Buddy and I'll go check."

"Don't worry about it. It's just the bed."

"OK. Whatever. I'm going to check."

A few minutes passed (I think) and she came back upstairs. "It was the dryer. It was still running from when I started it before, like, three hours ago. I think it might be broken."

"Super."

The following evening, over dinner, we had the following conversation.

"Dude, you were so out of it last night," she said.

"What? When?"

"I came in and said I thought I heard the dryer running downstairs, and you kept telling me it was the bed that was making that sound."

"Wait. What?"

"So I gave Buddy to you and went downstairs by.my.self. without a baseball bat or anything. I was so freaked out I walked downstairs looking over my shoulder the whole time."

"I see."

"And then I came back up, told you it was the dryer, and took Buddy back to his room. The bed. Pfft. You're brutal."

"Ohh... now I remember!"

"What?"

"When I went to bed last night I kept hearing this noise coming from Jane's (not her real name - our neighbour who lives in the other half of our semi) place. It sounded like someone bouncing up and down on a bed, if you know what I mean."

"Eww."

"Either that, or a really noisy rocking recliner."

"Uhm, yeah. You're not going to hear a recliner through those walls."

"Which means it was the bed."

"Eww. Was there another car in her driveway this morning?"

"I didn't notice."

(Postscript: We don't got to bed with the dryer running. MTM usually starts it so that it's done before I head up to bed. Also, we never figured out why the dryer ran for three hours that night. I think it might be the humidty sensor.)

First Born

One - U2
My mother was one of five sisters in her family. She had no brothers. When I was born, my grandmother called my grandfather (my mom's parents; my father's mother was in Italy) and told him the news (she was at the hospital; he was at their house watching my older sister). He proceeded to walk up and down their street (the same street he had raised his five girls on) and sang, "It's a boy! It's a baby boy!"

As a child growing up, I heard that story more times than I can count; not just on my birthday, but other times as well. It was used to drive home the fact that I was not only my father's first born son, but also my grandfather's first born son. Because of this, I was very close to my grandfather. When I was little, I used to walk over to their apartment and watch sports with him. He used to explain not just the teams, but the rules of the games, and the strategy behind what they were doing. As I got older, I still visited with him, sometimes to watch sports, sometimes just to talk. He even lent me his car when I needed it.

MTM only has one sister, and no brothers. So, when we found out the baby she was carrying would be a boy, our Buddy, I was quite excited about the prospect of my son having the same experience I had being the first born son to two men. I even went so far as to make the comment that he was my FIL's first born son.

My FIL looked at me as if I had two heads when I said that.

It's not that he doesn't love Buddy (or Munchkin for that matter). It's obvious that he does. In fact, he's more likely to be the one to take Buddy when he's crying or needs consoling than my MIL (who is, far and away, the more nurturing of the two).

But I have the feeling that it isn't the same situation as between my grandfather and me. I know that people are different, and see things in different ways from one another. I get that. But at the same time, I can't shake the sense that the problem isn't Buddy, and it isn't my FIL (directly), but that it's me: that my relationship with my in-laws, or at a minimum how they feel about me, is affecting how they feel about my kids.

I worry about this a lot. My parents are far away; an occasional weekend visit for my kids. They are also unwell, and in all likelihood, will die before MTM's parents. My in-laws are relatively local. They're not walking distance (and let us all pause for a moment and offer thanks to our deity of choice for that small miracle), but they are close enough. And, they will probably outlive my parents. All these facts combine to the fact that my in-laws will be the prevalent grandparents in my children's lives, and I just want my kids to grow up with fond memories of their grandparents like I have of mine (my maternal grandparents, that is; I never met either of my father's parents).

The situation with my in-laws is not as bad as it used to be, but nowhere near as good as I (or for that matter, MTM) would like it to be. I try to make the best of it, but my in-laws have long memories, and hold grudges, and think that ignoring (and therefore saying nothing) is akin to tolerance, making it difficult. I would hate to think that our relationship has affected their relationship with my kids, their grandchildren.

How do you find people you are tense with treat your kids? Are they able to separate the two, or are your kids an extension of you? Does it change matters if the person is a relative?

Nutshell

Life, In A Nutshell - Barenaked Ladies
Yesterday was a really shitty day at work. (Without getting into it, let's just say that at one point expletives were being rained down upon me by someone who forgot that I told him - repeatedly - that I was unavailable today, and he had booked a group of people to do some work that was impossible without me. That was only one part.) It was the kind of day that, when I was single, I wouldn't even go home after work. I'd go somewhere else - a pool hall, a bar, a coffee shop - alone and seethe.

But I can't do that anymore, so I went home. When I got there, the house was empty, and I had a few minutes to get out of my work clothes before MTM and the kids came home from Munchkin's preschool class. Almost immediately after arriving, she noticed that Buddy had a fever and, combined with the copious amounts of vomit ("not spit-up, vomit," she told me) he produced at preschool, she was concerned.

A call to Telehealth later, she was off to our doctor while I was left with Munchkin and dinner duty. They got back with orders for tempera and cautious optimism from the G.P. just in time to eat with us.

After cleaning up, I took Munchkin upstairs to start her bath (with intentions of putting Buddy in at the end). As I was finishing her part, I reached for a towel, and the whole rail came down, hitting the tub and chipping paint into the bathwater. So, out came Munchkin and I rinsed out the tub (because we couldn't postpone Buddy's bath since he had oil in his hair for cradle cap treatment). Of course, after initially being happy in his solo bath, Buddy began to wail before I could wash his hair (the one part I had to do), and of course, the water softener recharged the night before, making the act of rinsing a million times more difficult.

By the time both kids were dressed in their pajamas and Munchkin was in bed, I was spent: physically, emotionally, and psychologically. I snapped at MTM, and felt shitty about it after. I dumped Buddy in his high chair and tried desperately to settle him with music from iTunes instead of holding my sick baby like he needed, just so I could get five minutes of "me time" on the computer with email and blogs. I was, in short, a shitty husband and father.

But, that's life with kids in a nutshell. If your needs get met, it happens after you have taken care of your kids, and even when they are met, sometimes you still feel like shit after because of how you handled everything. You spend what seems like interminable days running on empty, somehow finding the will to not only get your ass out of bed in the morning, but take care of the innumerable things you need to in order to make sure your family is provided for. When it's over, you look back and wonder how you accomplished even half of what you did.

Or is that just me? What are your thoughts?

(The Slow and Painful) Death of a Nap

I'm Not Sleeping - Counting Crows
Munchkin turns four at the end of March. That means that in September she will start Junior Kindergarten, and since our local school has full day Kindergarten every other day (as opposed to half-day every day, like both MTM and I had), this also means that the days of Munchkin taking an afternoon nap are numbered.

Now, I'm sure some of you with similarly aged children are thinking, Oh boo hoo for you SciFi! My kid hasn't napped at all since they were six weeks old! (or whatever). However, to you I say: shut up. My kid needs her nap. She goes to bed at 7.00pm most nights, and gets up around 5.00am. No matter what time we put her to bed, even as late as 9.30pm, she still gets up between 5.00am and 5.45am. She needs that recharge midway through the day. We need her to have that recharge midway through the day.

For a little more than a week now, ever since we registered her for JK, MTM has cut out the nap. The first few days were pretty normal, aside from some additional eye wiping after I got home from work. However, as the week progressed, and we saw no delay in wake up time, she became more and more emotional, clearly overtired. On Sunday, we actually tried to have her nap, but after 20 minutes of trying, she called down saying she was done.

Last night, everything came to a head. After failing to listen to the same instruction several times, I raised my voice and made her sit on the couch. Of course, this started the waterworks, which subsided but were still somewhat present during dinner.

(At this point I feel like I should introduce myself. Hi, I'm SciFi Dad, and I do stupid shit. A lot.)

During dinner Munchkin asked for her vitamin. So, I got it out for her and played "try to grab it". She smiled half-heartedly. Then, I pretended to eat it and hid the pill under the lip of my plate, out of her field of view. Her face contorted and she began to sob. I mean, sob. She was all snotty and gasping for air as the tears streamed down her face.

Eventually, we calmed her down enough to get her to see that the vitamin was not, in fact, in my stomach. However, she was still sort of half-crying a half an hour later as MTM brought her upstairs for bed (at 6.30pm).

No, that isn't a typo. We put our preschooler to bed at 6.30pm last night, and it didn't make a difference; she was up at her usual time. At this rate, we're going to be eating dinner at 4.00pm like my grandparents used to.

This is the part of the post where you, dear reader, chime in and tell me that eventually she'll start sleeping in later to recapture that lost sleep, that she won't just continue on this vicous cycle of moody afternoons and meltdown-filled dinners. It has to end sometime, right?

Defining Success

Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There Is A Season) - The Byrds
When my father immigrated to Canada (50 years ago this year), he had a few goals (which, depending on how much he's had to drink before he starts the story, vary somewhat). The three most often mentioned goals are:

get married (Done.)
all his kids receive an education (that's what this post is about, sort of)
take a trip to Hawaii (not yet, and unfortunately as his health deteriorates, becomes less and less likely)

Goal number two was, without exaggeration, his definition of success as a parent. He really didn't care about much else as long as all three of us went to school. We all did, totaling five degrees between us (and we all ~~hope~~ believe that someday my little sister will finish her dissertation and make that number six).

For my dad, a farmer from Italy who left school during grade three so he could work on the family farm, education held a special place. It's probably part of the reason he married my mother, an elementary school teacher at the time. So, for him, having kids who were educated was paramount. It doesn't matter that we have approval-seeking issues, or resentment for how we became house servants. We were educated, and therefore he did his job.

Whenever I hear him talk about this now, I begin to wonder: Is this a generational thing? How will I know if I am successful as a parent?

While I don't think my father's perspective is identical to that of other parents of his generation (although I do think it is pretty common among European immigrants), I think that a lot of parents of his generation had similar views. I also know that I don't.

Of course, if my kids want to pursue a future where education is necessary, I will help them and encourage them to the best of my ability. I will also admit to hoping that they strive for careers that will allow them to support themselves financially (while money is not everything, having too little of it can be a burden). However, my goals neither begin nor end there.

I want them to grow up knowing that I love them, that I am proud of them, and that they can depend on me. I want them to be happy; happy with themselves, with their lives, with their partner (if they choose one), with their childhood. I want them to have a healthy self esteem without being arrogant, and a sense of security. I want them to be brave enough to take chances, yet wise enough to know when the reward is not worth the risk. I want them to know that it's OK to have regrets, that it just means they made choices and left some things behind as they moved forward. I want them to grow up knowing that depending on someone is a sign of strength and confidence, not weakness.

To put it succinctly, I want them to be prepared for the real world, so that they can make the choices that will help them achieve their goals, because their goals are what matter.

Keyword Madness X

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For - U2
Regular readers know that every so often I ~~get writer's block~~ ~~cop out on writing a real post~~ go through my Google Analytics archives and collect some of the weirder keyword hits (and believe me; this site gets all the crazies). Today is another one of those times. (Aside: can you believe this is the tenth edition?)

As always, these are unedited search strings that brought people to this site.

drunk and high quotes for best friends
"Dude... you're like, the best friend ever! I mean, like, you are so... wait, are those brownies?"

dora explorer satan
Preach, my brother.

shes my neighbour and shes naked
Good for you. Why are you reading blogs instead of continuing to peep?

muskrat tree ornament
Uhm, try this guy.

colors of phlegm and what they mean
I'm not sure, but I believe pink phlegm is about breast cancer, white phlegm is about domestic violence, and red phlegm is for AIDS awareness.

bob skates for adults
Maybe you should consider "big boy" skates, eh?

cake for tales from dad's side
Now that is a novel idea! All you lazy ass readers are just commenting here... where's my cake, damnit?

panties hubby stories
Next.

sci-fi show about woman dieting with sunglasses
No such thing; women who diet don't wear sunglasses.

wanted lady 65 plus to fuck tonight
Not here. (And also? Ew!)

dad gave daughter a haircuts as punishment
OK dude, that's just harsh.

stupid things dads do
pretty much everything

catholic + "when to sit and stand"
Silly heathen! You forgot about all the kneeling.

pumpkin decorating rastafari
So pumpkin carving is really big in the islands?

surprise! 1-in-25 dads not the real father
Surprise! 75% of all statistics are made up.

poem for a father who is mad at a teenager
There once was a man from Nantucket
Whose daughter said nothing but "fuck it"
He got really mad
And then he felt bad
And then she told him to suck it.

munchkin soup
We do not eat Munchkins around these parts, mister!

my dad is bugging me to get a job
Well, then maybe you should get up off your lazy ass and get a job.

diaper rash three year old red circle
You know, if there's a three year old red circle on your ass, I think diaper rash is the least of your concerns, but maybe that's just me.

what can i use to stop my daugther from driving mother crazy
Sedatives? Duct tape? A Wii?

what to write in a christmas card to dad i never talk to
Dear Dad: I'm sorry I cut out my tongue to be like Picasso. My bad.

Previous Editions
Volume I
Volume II
Volume III
Volume IV
Volume V
Volume VI
Volume VII
Volume VIII
Volume IX

Not So Common

Tell Her About It - Billy Joel
"Daddy, can I help you pack your lunch this morning?"

"OK sweetheart."

"OK. You just put everything out, and I'll put it all in the cooler."

"Uhm, sure."

"Oh Daddy! Your water bottles aren't full! I will fill them!"

"But honey, they're big and heavy. I don't want you to drop them. Can we do them together?"

"OK Daddy."

"OK, so the water bottles are full. Go ahead princess."

"OK Daddy. First I put the bottles in at the side, like you taught me, so there's enough room for the other stuff. Then I put all the food in. Then I put the ice packs in. Then I put the lid on. I like taking care of you."

*    *    *
"What's wrong Daddy?"

"I just had a really long day at work today, sweetie."

"Would you like a Munchkin hug?"

"Sure."

"Daddy, does your head hurt too?"

"Actually, yes it does."

She climbs around my back and begins scratching my head.

"I know that when you have a bad day at work that your head hurts, and I know that this makes it feel better."

*    *    *
"Daddy?"

"Yes princess?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm unloading the dishwasher."

"Can I help?"

"Sure."

"OK. You stand there, and I will bring you everything."

"Well, OK, but not the forks and spoons and stuff."

"Why not? I can get them!"

"Because there could be sharp things in there, and I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

"Oh. OK Daddy."

*    *    *
I have mentioned before that I think my daughter is a remarkable child. One of her strongest traits is her selflessness; she is always thinking of ways to help, to make things better for anyone, and usually will act on those impulses. It is an attribute both MTM and I admire and encourage.

However, at some point our praise and encouragement has to become so commonplace as to seem hollow or meaningless. Realistically, if she is as selfless as I have portrayed (and while you only have my word to guide you, rest assured that is the case), and each time she behaves in this manner I reinforce it by telling her I appreciate what she's doing, or that I am proud of her for being so nice to others, eventually those words lose their impact, don't they?

To frame it another way, how do I, as her parent (and therefore teacher), continue to emphasize that even though for her this behaviour is common, it is no less incredible, no less important? Thanking her and telling her I'm proud seems so insufficient compared to what she is demonstrating.

Things I'll Never Understand About...

I Don't Want To Think About It - Wild Strawberries
My Son

how sometimes he will wake up from a nap completely inconsolable; even "the boob" won't soothe him, and other times he will happily stay where he slept for hours smiling
how someone so small can make so much laundry
how he can swallow his own puke (seriously dude... that's going to win you some massive bets in university if you can keep it up)
how he can crap with such force as to have the spray reach his shoulder blade

My Daughter

how she can listen to the same song on repeat all night, and the same CD in the car (thankfully not on repeat) for more than a year
why she can't wear the same clothes for more than one hour without changing them, and never into something she's already half-worn, either, always something new
how she can create intricately detailed narratives about her fake adventures with Deedee Doodle, yet when I ask her what she did today, she replies "I don't know."
why every single article of clothing (including, but not limited to, socks and eyeglasses) must be removed in order to have a bowel movement

My Wife

how she can put ketchup - in massive quantities - on just about anything; for MTM ketchup isn't a condiment, it's a food group
how she can watch really rude women yelling at crappy parents for an hour every night of the week on tv (crap shows like "Nanny 911" or "Supernanny" or "Nanny Who Will Fuck You Up If Your Kids Don't Talk With A British Accent" or whatever)
how she can make such a huge mess in the kitchen; I walk in sometimes and ask, "How many were in the Viking raiding party that came through here?" and she'll be all, "I was just boiling some water!"
pretty much everything else

This Is The Meal That Never Ends...

Food Party - Barenaked Ladies
Every evening it's the same thing: we sit down at the table as a family of four, each with a proportioned serving of whatever we're having for dinner in front of us. We eat, and talk, and then both MTM are sitting with empty plates (sometimes after a second helping) and Munchkin appears to have barely touched her food. We then spend another 20 minutes or more in strategic negotiations (eat three more carrot sticks, one more potato, and you're done... no, a meatball doesn't count as a carrot... yes, a whole piece of potato, not just a bite...) before the meal is declared done.

The reasons for her slow pace vary from night to night. Sometimes it's because she gets distracted by Buddy (who sits in his high chair during dinner now), or by the conversation we're sharing. Other times something is "missing" from the table (napkin, washcloth, utensil, a different beverage, whatever) that she needs to locate. We've tried to enforce rules about not goofing with Buddy during meals, or not leaving the table, but she's pretty adept at circumventing the rules without breaking them (it is admittedly, quite impressive).

The thing is, I have no interest in 45 minute meals (that's just table time, and does not include cooking or cleanup) every week night. Between trying to get stuff done around the house, cleaning up from dinner, baths and bedtime routines, we can't afford that much time. But at the same time, I don't want to rush her eating (both from a psychological perspective, where meal time becomes this stressful period, and from a physical one, because eating too quickly can cause digestive issues).

We've toyed with the idea of a timer (we tried a 30 minute one last week), where if she's not done we leave her alone at the table, but she's likely to just quit dinner if we're not there prodding her. And while it's easy enough to say "she can go to bed hungry one night", we know from experience that a poor dinner results in either a big before bed snack (a child cannot live on apple sauce and yogurt alone) or a very early wake up (which for a girl whose normal wake up is 6.00am means very early).

So I come to you, internets. What do you do with kids who dawdle through dinner? Does the whole family sit ad nauseum until every last morsel is gone? Do the kids get left to finish dinner by themselves? Do you set timers? Do you have other rules?

I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who commented on my delurking day post yesterday. While we didn't reach our unofficial goal, it is now the second highest commented post on this blog. (Also, technically, there's no reason you cannot comment there today if you missed it yesterday. Just sayin'.)

Pick The Lies - Volume Two - Results (and Delurking Day)

Before we get to the post, today is Delurking Day. That means if you always read but never comment (i.e. lurk), today is your day to come forth and make yourself known to me, your faithful host (i.e. delurk), and if you're already a regular commenter, today's just another day to comment. Last year, we saw 20 comments. I would love to get more than that this year. (Hey! Here's an idea: what if our unofficial goal is most comments ever? That would mean we have to get more than the day I introduced Buddy, which was 47. So let's make our goal 50 comments.) So, if you read, please comment today.

Black & White Lies - Triptaka
I would like to thank everyone who took the time to enter the little contest I ran over the weekend. Apparently, I am getting really good at lying, since this time no one got all three lies, meaning that ~~professional SciFi Dad contest winner~~ Mr. Lady, with two correct, is our winner. Honourable mention goes to Renee, the only other person (including MTM, who only got one) who got two right.

Now, on to the truths and the lies:

1. When I was in my elementary school choir, the choir director told me to "just mouth the words" for our concert.

Status:TRUE
Sadly, this is 100% true. I was ten years old, and she wasn't even nice about it.

2. I ran for student council president in university on the platform of vowing to dissolve student council if elected because I felt it was elitist.

Status:FALSE
I often joked about this, but never actually went through with the campaign. Instead, I ran the school paper (even going toe to toe with the administration on some issues).

3. On a family vacation to Ottawa we took a tour of the embassies. There was a newly constructed one that our guide did not know, but I was able to identify by its flag.

Status:TRUE
I was nine years old. As the tour bus came upon the embassy, the guide fumbled, and apologized saying she didn't know what country this was. "It's Kenya," I yelled from the back of the bus. "Apparently, according to the young man in the back, this is the Kenyan embassy," she told the group.

4. During a fundraising dinner for a marching band I was in, each member of my family (eight of us) won a door prize. There were 20 in total, and over 200 guests.

Status:TRUE
I played in a marching band in high school. To make the dinner (tickets were not cheap) feel like less of a cash grab, they had door prizes. My mom, dad, two sisters, BIL, grandparents and myself all won.

5. In highschool I was voted most likely to find a cure for cancer.

Status:FALSE
That was one of my best friends in high school (who went on to do genetic research). I was voted most likely to split an atom with his bare hands.

6. When I started university, I could not operate a PC (or a Mac for that matter). I called 5¼" disks floppy disks and 3½" disks hard disks.

Status:TRUE
We never had a home computer growing up. I had used a Commodore 64 in elementary school, but that's it. All my high school papers were done on a typewriter. Seriously.

7. On one of my first dates with MTM, I made a huge scene at a restaurant, including standing up and slamming things.

Status:TRUE
It was my birthday. She wanted to pay, even though she was living at home and had no money. I refused. She insisted. I stood up, pulled out my most recent ATM statement, put it on the table and pointed to the balance. "I'm paying for dinner." She was too stunned to argue.

8. When I was eight, I slept with a stuffed animal: Zipper The Cat from The Get-Along Gang.

Status:TRUE
Yep. Not much more to add.

9. I once ran into a friend from high school at Reagan Airport in Washington during a layover on a business trip.

Status:FALSE
Never happened. I did have a couple of layovers at Reagan when flying to North Carolina though.

10. My mother once helped me hide a minor accident from my father, including arranging and paying for all the repairs while he was at work.

Status:TRUE
I was 17, and she didn't drive. She needed me to have a car (my parents let me drive the older one because I drove my mother everywhere), so she hid it from my dad.

11. When I was in university, if a fight broke out at a club, I used to step in between the two guys, put my hands on their chests, and say, "Next guy who throws a punch deals with me."

Status:TRUE
I had promised a friend to stop fighting. I decided if I wasn't allowed to fight, no one else would be either. Strangely, no one ever took a swing at me.

12. When I was five years old, I opened the door of a car that was going 100km/h (55mph) while not wearing a seatbelt.

Status:TRUE
It was 1979 (hence the no seatbelt). My father and I were driving to northern Quebec to visit my aunt. At a side of the road pee stop, I had filled my pail with rocks from the shoulder (for their driveway which was gravel, something completely unique to me). When my father noticed the pail of rocks in between my feet, he told me I shouldn't have done that. So I opened the car door to empty the pail. My father reached over and closed the door while swerving and yelling.

For those interested, here are a few statistics about the answers:

the most believable lie was the Reagan Airport one (#9); only Mr. Lady got that one
the most unbelievable truth was the one about breaking up fights (#11); almost 60% of you thought that was a lie
the second most unbelievable truth was the one about the date with MTM (#7), which means more of you thought I was a pansy than an asshole
seven of you got none right; eight of you got one right; two of you got two right

I also have a review up of a new book called The No Cry Nap Solution.

Pick The Lies - Volume Two

The Lies That I Believe - Thornley
In an effort to make things a bit more "light" around here, as well as give something back to all of you who read and comment, I thought I'd run a little contest. I did this before, and it was well received. Hopefully this will be too.

Below is a list of statements. Exactly three of them are false; the remainder are all true. Your job is to identify (by number) the three lies and leave a comment with your entry. The first person to correctly identify all three lies will win a personalized Tales From The Dad Side mix CD. If no one gets all three, the first person with two correct will be the winner. If none of you get at least two of the lies, I'm not making a mix CD.

When I was in my elementary school choir, the choir director told me to "just mouth the words" for our concert.
I ran for student council president in university on the platform of vowing to dissolve student council if elected because I felt it was elitist.
On a family vacation to Ottawa we took a tour of the embassies. There was a newly constructed one that our guide did not know, but I was able to identify by its flag.
During a fundraising dinner for a marching band I was in, each member of my family (eight of us) won a door prize. There were 20 in total, and over 200 guests.
In highschool I was voted most likely to find a cure for cancer.
When I started university, I could not operate a PC (or a Mac for that matter). I called 5¼" disks floppy disks and 3½" disks hard disks.
On one of my first dates with MTM, I made a huge scene at a restaurant, including standing up and slamming things.
When I was eight, I slept with a stuffed animal: Zipper The Cat from The Get-Along Gang.
I once ran into a friend from high school at Reagan Airport in Washington during a layover on a business trip.
My mother once helped me hide a minor accident from my father, including arranging and paying for all the repairs while he was at work.
When I was in university, if a fight broke out at a club, I used to step in between the two guys, put my hands on their chests, and say, "Next guy who throws a punch deals with me."
When I was five years old, I opened the door of a car that was going 100km/h (55mph) while not wearing a seatbelt.

The contest is open until 6.00am Monday morning (that's January 12 2009, for anyone looking for a technicality) . I will post the answers, along with the winner, later that morning.

Pride (and Shame and Guilt)

Pride (In The Name Of Love) - U2
In the comments section of Tuesday's post, a couple of readers noted that similarly aged babies in their lives were not doing the same things Buddy was doing. It was not my intention to boast about Buddy's accomplishments so much as it was to document what stage he was at, although I can see how some would take it that way.

The thing is, I've already been through this before. Munchkin was, and is, a remarkable child. Sure, she hit some developmental milestones later than peers (I'm specifically thinking about not crawling until nine months), but overall she was that kid: the one people respond to with stunned silence because she responded like a little adult. The one who everyone called smart because she could remember minutiae about events long since past. The one who could rationalize like a lawyer, finding any technicality or loophole. (Note that I am not intending to brag, to turn this post into "look how fucking awesome my kids are"; I'm just stating facts, at least as I see them.)

I wrote about it before (note that the preceding link is to a post that is over two years old, from the time before time, when I had a different blog with few, if any, readers), but I think I want to tackle this topic again from a slightly different angle.

In truth, I intentionally omitted some of the stuff Buddy is doing from that post. I left them out for a host of reasons: concern that the post would be seen as bragging, embarrassment, fear that people would accuse me of lying or stretching the truth, and just plain old humility.

Over the holidays, Buddy started doing some incredible stuff, and when we got together with friends, I'd get to talking about those things. Sometimes I'd go into great detail, probably too much detail, and afterward MTM would, without fail, chastise me for it. She would say that I was bragging about Buddy, that I was implying other children weren't great.

I, however, have a different view. When kids are older, like say toddlers or preschoolers, you can talk about the stuff they do without hitting developmental milestones or markers. For example, when asked how Munchkin is doing, I can say that she's taking (and loving) ballet, that she's in a preschool class, and that we're gearing up for JK in the fall (my wife is a teacher; we've been "gearing up", or talking about Kindergarten since birth). But, when you ask me about Buddy, I talk about size (everyone wants to know height and weight) and then stuff he does, which are inevitably developmental milestones.

It's not like I say, "My kid can do this and this and this and isn't he amazing and awesome and just the most incredible baby in the history of babies?" I talk about how amazing it is to watch him grow, and I mention what he's doing at the moment that I find fascinating. I love watching my kids develop. I think it is a remarkable experience to watch them change and learn and adapt and apply what they've learned. And, I like to celebrate their accomplishments, I like to revel in them and I like how it makes me feel, as their parent, to bear witness to these (admittedly small, in the grand scheme of things) victories.

In short, I am simply a proud Dad.

Why do I sense, at least from the bulk of society, that I am supposed to be ashamed or feel guilty for being proud? Is pride the same thing as vanity now? Is it arrogance too?

Personally, I see nothing wrong with talking about our kids, at least with other parents or friends who ask about how our kids are doing. I think sharing their accomplishments and my personal sense of wonder with their growth creates a special bond, and provides an honesty and openness often lacking in modern conversations.

Of course, this begs the question: is there a line between pride and bragging? What distinguishes being proud of your kids from claiming they are superior to other kids? Is there something inherently wrong, or inappropriate, about admitting you are proud of what your children can do? I am genuinely interested in what your thoughts are on this matter, so please comment.

Sleeping With Music

Rockin The World - Doodlebops
Growing up, I fell asleep in silence. When I was an infant, my crib was in my parent's room, and since my father required an inordinate amount of quiet to sleep (seriously, when we were kids, he would come out of his room yelling if we spoke above a whisper while he slept before his afternoon shift). Later, I shared a room with my younger sister, and we never had a radio or the like in our bedroom. Eventually, I got my own room (and my own single-speaker cassette player) and yet I still never slept with music on.

When we moved my daughter into her crib (and subsequently her own room) MTM used music (one of those some Zamfir wannabe plays the pan flute accompanied by a harp in a wooden glen near a waterfall with birds chirping in a tree nearby type things, except more mellow) to help Munchkin sleep - part of it was to drown out ambient noise from us moving about, part of it was to make her room feel more safe. MTM would turn off the CD as she was going to bed.

Her musical selections changed, first as MTM experimented with various CDs, then when Munchkin became old enough to request specific songs. Her first choice was the soundtrack from the Curious George movie. After a few nights, she started calling down, asking us to replay her favourite song on the disc, so we eventually switched to one song on repeat. Her current choice for relaxation is the song at the beginning of this post. No, I am not kidding.

Regardless of the original purpose, music has become an integral part of our bedtime routine. One night she wouldn't listen to MTM and kept goofing with Buddy's CD player (which, incidentally, is identical to hers), so I warned her that if she did it again I would take away her CD player (implying that we needed it for Buddy's room in case she broke his). Of course, being three years old and near bedtime, she did it again, and I removed the CD player without her knowledge. When she went to bed that night, she noticed the CD player was missing, and had a meltdown. We discussed the situation with her, and returned the player. She hasn't touched his CD player since.

The other recent change to her music routine is that now the CD plays all night long. Munchkin has an issue with closed doors, originating (we think) from when she wouldn't stay in her crib at bedtime and we had to close her door to keep her safe. So, she sleeps with her door open, and will freak out if MTM closes Buddy's door when he's crying in the middle of the night. In an effort to reduce the effect of his crying on her sleep, MTM leaves the CD playing through the night (more to help soothe her back to sleep after a crying fit from Buddy than to actually drown out the crying itself). Personally, I don't think the music makes much of a difference.

So, here we stand, with a preschooler who sleeps with a song on repeat all night long, like some broken hearted teenager, not to mention one running a CD player for over ten hours every night. I'm not as concerned about the energy wasting (although, truth be told, I do wonder just how much it costs to run that thing every night) as I am about the long-term effects. Will she ever learn how to sleep without music? Will she be one of those kids who listens to their iPod as they sleep, potentially at unsafe volumes, thereby harming her hearing? Will she become uneasy with complete silence, always needing music to fill her mind? Is this something she'll grow out of?

(For the record, Buddy also sleeps with a CD on all night, although his isn't music: it's more like the sound from outside a dance club (sort of a mix of an ultrasound heartbeat and banging a sheet of metal with a pole). I have no idea why he doesn't get music.

I'm curious about how others with small children handle this. From a personal standpoint, I know friends who use music to soothe young babies, but not so much for preschoolers and older. Is playing music to get kids to sleep common? Does it ever stop? What methods do you, my readers with small children, use?

Buddy At Three Months

What A Good Boy - Barenaked Ladies
Dear Buddy,

Remember last month, how I went on and on about posting this on your actual two month birthday? This month? Not so much. ~~Almost a week ago~~ Today, you are three months old, and what an amazing three month old boy you are!

Physically, you are far stronger than your sister was at this age. As I mentioned yesterday, you are rolling over from tummy to back. However, you are also doing (what I believe is called in yoga circles) the cobra position (or "the lazy man's pushup", if you will) for extended periods (i.e. more than 30 seconds), and are trying to perform sit-ups or crunches when reclined.

Your comprehension vocabulary has expanded not only in terms, but also languages, as we have started a little bit of ASL (like we did with your sister). You understand certain words such as "milk", "fun", "Mommy", "Daddy", "Munchkin", and your own name. In ASL, you are beginning to pick up the signs for "more", "milk", "diaper change", "finished", and "bath", although at this point your facial responses are hit and miss.

Speaking of baths, I am pleased to report that you no longer cry during bath time, thanks to ~~my mad parenting skillz~~ the fact that we've started bathing you with your sister. I don't know if it's just the larger tub, or the fact that you can spread out better than in the baby tub or the bucket, or your sister's ~~accidental kicks and attempts at drowning you~~ presence, but whatever it is, it's working. Now, you would sit in the tub and soak (and splash) for hours if we could maintain a decent temperature.

You may have the same hearing impairment that your sister has, since you also seem to like my ~~tone deaf, completely intolerable~~ singing. Your current favourite is I Got You (I Feel Good) by James Brown. (Yes, there are videos. No, I will not subject you to them here.)

You continue to grow and change every day, my little friend. You are showing the beginnings of a personality and character, and I am simply amazed. I am so very proud of you, for all the accomplishments you have made, and for all the ones you
will make.

If you haven't heard, there is a roast of Tanis (aka Redneck Mommy) over at Cynical Dad. Part one went up yesterday, and part two went up today (and includes yours truly).

Returning

Time of Your Life - Green Day
When Munchkin was born, MTM had a very long and difficult recovery. I was off work for more than two weeks, and after that I was working part-time, from home, for another week and a half or so, in order to be able to take care of MTM and the baby.

In anticipation of this, I started to ration vacation days as soon as we found out MTM was pregnant with Buddy. Part of this included getting permission to roll over existing days from 2007 to October of 2008 (company policy was that 2007 vacation days expired on July 31, 2008).

Then, MTM actually gave birth to Buddy, and her recovery was far better than last time. I stayed home for a couple of weeks, and, because she didn't need me, I went back to work earlier than expected. As a result, I had accumulated a fair number of vacation days.

As Christmas approached, my workload increased, my stress levels increased, and my fatigue increased. I was exhausted, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally too. After a brief discussion with my wife, I decided I would take extra time off for this holiday: instead of my usual (take vacation days for whatever working days exist between Boxing Day and New Year's Day), I took more than two weeks off. Technically, the first two days I was working from home, but most of that was more about monitoring emails for problems than actual work; I was at neither my office nor a job site starting December 19.

Until today.

Yes, some parts of it were stressful and difficult, and there were treacherous driving conditions on occasion, and I saw my inlaws ~~more than I wanted or needed to~~, and there was joy and there was magic. But most importantly, there was time for Daddy-daughter dates, for ~~hurling my first born down an icy slope~~ testing out a new toboggan, for cuddles on the couch, for family naps and family dinners (both in and out). There were opportunities to capture firsts, something that (at least) I as a work out of the home dad often miss, and a chance to spend time bonding and getting reacquainted with a son who had started to treat me as a stranger.

Yet, at the same time, there is something to be said for routine, for the way things usually are, as well. Being at home 24/7 (relatively speaking; of course we left the house almost daily) was foreign to me, and required more from me than I had expected. It's not that I didn't enjoy the time at home (I most certainly did), but rather that I missed some of the opportunities my employment offers me (such as relatively uninterrupted access to the internet). I cannot say for certain whether or not I could handle being a SAHD; I think if I were doing it from the beginning I'd have my own routines and rules and structures that would make my experience easier for me (not to mention dramatically different from how my wife does it), but I can say that living in my wife's SAHM world for the past two weeks has given me a new appreciation for my situation.

Finally, I would like to share a developmental milestone that I had heard rumours about but never witnessed personally until this holiday:

I also have a review of Cascade All-in-1 ActionPacs up today.

Conundrum

We Are Family - Sister Sledge
When I was a kid growing up, Christmas was always exactly the same: we'd get up at an ungodly hour, open presents, play, go to church, then gather for a family dinner. The only variation was whether we had dinner at our house or my aunt's: it was always with my mother's family since all my father's relatives were overseas (except for one sister who lived over 12 hours away by car). As we time passed, my older sister got married, but since my BIL's family always celebrated Christmas after midnight mass (old-school Roman Catholic, as opposed to our new-school Roman Catholic), the only change in our routine was that we opened presents after church instead of before so that my sister and BIL could sleep before coming to us. (Eventually, we started celebrating separately from my aunt, for a whole host of reasons not pertinent to this story.)

When MTM and I started spending Christmas together, things were not so simple to adapt, since both our families did exactly the same thing (minus the church part, which my family had stopped doing a few years back). We started out by traveling before Christmas Day to one side or the other (my family lives out of town, hers spent Christmas at their cottage), staying until Boxing Day, and then driving to the other side. Then, when Munchkin was born, we decided that it was important for her (and all our kids for that matter) to wake up Christmas morning in their own bed, that Santa came to our house, and wasn't tracking us from dwelling to dwelling.

The first year we did this, Munchkin was 21 months old and my inlaws were staying with us because their house wasn't built (aside: that Christmas is documented here). My SIL slept over with us, and everything went exactly as everyone (except my mother) wanted it to: early morning presents, family dinner, et cetera.

The next year, we opened our stockings Christmas Eve morning (because we wrap every.single.thing in our 30+ item stockings and they literally take hours to open), did a Christmas luncheon and opened presents with my inlaws later in the day and then had our own (i.e. just the three of us) Christmas morning on Christmas Day before loading up the van and driving to my family (complete story here).

This year, our plan was to spend the weekend before Christmas with my family, then Christmas Day and the 27^th with my inlaws (the 25^th was to be just the six of us since my SIL was out of town and the 27^th was an extended family thing for her side). There was talk of a Boxing Day thing with my inlaws (including my returning SIL), but I shot that down because three days in a row with my wife's family would have been too much for all of us.

Unfortunately, the weather had other plans. The new plan was Christmas Day with my inlaws, then drive to my family on Boxing Day (the 27^th had since been canceled). Originally, we were keeping this from my mother in light of her previous reaction (see link above), but MTM spilled the beans accidentally on Christmas Day, making the call early on Boxing Day morning to make our second cancellation (snow, followed by ice pellets, following by freezing rain, followed by rain does not good driving make) that much more difficult. We ended up driving on the 27^th partly due to reasonably good weather (warm temperatures, some rain, and lots of fog) and partly due to the fact that my sister and her family were doing a day trip that day.

When MTM called her mother to tell her we'd arrived safely, my MIL was upset that we had gone. Apparently, after the bad weather on Boxing Day, she had suggested we travel to them on the 27^th for a big family dinner with my SIL and her boyfriend, and MTM had said she'd consider it if we were in town. The feeling of disappointment was understandable, however, what she said to MTM during that call (that it was "their year" for Christmas, so we should have stayed in town for dinner with my SIL on the 27^th - bearing in mind that we spent Christmas Day with my inlaws) was what triggered a myriad of emotion from MTM.

Long story short, Christmas is complicated around these parts. My side is pretty set and will be identical every year (at least until my younger sister finds someone). MTM's side is more difficult because my SIL travels to her boyfriend's family too, making co-ordination necessary. We have formulated a plan that would define a set schedule for our (MTM, the kids and me) whereabouts every year that we will propose to both sides after the holidays are over. It is our hope that by making our routine consistent every year, it will make the holidays easier.

(For those who are interested, our plan is as follows: dinner with my inlaws on December 23^rd, sleeping over at their place that evening, having a "Christmas morning" on Christmas Eve, then spending the day with them and heading back to our place after dinner. After our Christmas morning on Christmas Day, we would drive to my family and have dinner with them, spending a couple of days there. My MIL gets her nose out of joint about the fact that we sleep at my parent's place but not at hers - because we live 35 minutes away - so we added the sleepover at their place to appease her. However, never getting Christmas Day dinner with us may present a problem, as will the fact that this plan means they cannot travel to the cottage Christmas Eve, unless we adjust our schedule back one or two days, which may or may not be feasible depending on my work schedule.)

I know everyone has challenges when sharing themselves with both sets of grandparents at the holidays, or birthdays, or Thanksgiving, or whenever, but it feels like our situation is unnecessarily more complicated than most. Is that the case, dear internets? What do you do to appease everyone?