Earlier this week, I received an email while I was on site from our receptionist, telling me that she had signed for a package for me from a supplier.
A package? I thought to myself. All I ordered from them recently was a full license for software I already installed because the demo time expired.
I arrived at my office to discover a box:
Yes, that is the box, and that is a DVD on top of it for reference. Sorry for the blurry photos. I just used my camera phone in shitty light.
What could be in the box? I wondered.
A bubble wrap envelope? Inside a box? I thought. That's odd. Whatever could be inside?
Wait, what? An instruction booklet? Isn't this a web activation? I said to myself. And another envelope? What could be so important that it's in an envelope, in an envelope, in a box?
That is a standard 8.5" x 11" sheet of printer paper, with a website address where you are asked to enter two of the strings on that sheet, click a button, and save a file to a folder they specifically name on the web page, rendering the instruction booklet useless.
So, to recap, I received:
a box, that contained
a bubble-wrap envelope, that contained
a useless instruction booklet and another envelope, that contained
an 8.5" x 11" sheet of paper, that contained
two strings with a total of no more than 40 characters that I actually needed that contained
Am I the only one to find this incredible? I mean, could this not have been sent in a standard letter envelope, or even an email? Is it just me, or is this an example of what is wrong with the world?
So, what's your worst overpackaging story?
Also, I have posted the winners of my latest contest (the summer book giveaway).
Before we begin, some of you thought that yesterday's post was mean-spirited. Nothing could be further from the truth, and honestly, I'm a bit hurt that people would think I was being mean. Playful? Yes. Teasing? Most definitely. But there was no malice. I love my wife and appreciate that she wants to keep everyone safe most of the time; I just wish we could be less safe more often.
I turned five in June of 1979, meaning that September I would attend school for the first time. My father and I took a road trip that summer - just the two of us - to visit my aunt and uncle in northern Quebec (a more than twelve hour drive). I remember how grown up I felt, riding beside my father (in the front seat, without a seat belt, let alone a car seat - ah, the innocence of the 1970s). We stopped so I could relieve myself on the side of the road, and ventured into the brush to look for Mowgli (we had gone to see The Jungle Book earlier that year). It was one of those trips that sticks with you.
Earlier this month, I wrote about my struggle with the decision of whether or not to visit my parents in between our last visit (at the beginning of July) and our next one (sometime in late August or early September). I never want to drive more than four hours each way with screaming kids so I can sleep in an uncomfortable bed and be made to feel guilty because I don't live closer and come over every weekend, but I do want my kids to have memories of my parents.
This weekend (courtesy of an idea from my older sister), I am going to try and recreate that with Munchkin, although on a slightly smaller scale. We will drive (we considered capitalizing on the big discounts VIA Rail is offering and give Munchkin her first big train ride, but decided against it due to her not being able to use a public bathroom by herself yet) to visit my parents on Saturday, sleep over, and come back sometime Sunday. It will be good for her to get some time with my family without Buddy there to "steal" the spotlight (although to be fair my family is usually pretty good - a lot better than my inlaws - but sometimes the cute baby factor wins). This plan not only allows her and I to have some Daddy-daughter time, but it also gives MTM some one on one time with Buddy that she rarely gets right now.
We'll also try to do some daddy-daughter stuff while on the road, either through breaks at rest stations or grabbing a meal somewhere along the way. I don't want her to just remember being alone in the back seat for eight hours; I want it to be fun. Maybe my younger sister and I will take Munchkin to her first movie, or maybe we'll all go out for ice cream after dinner (something my mother always wants to do but never at a convenient time). Whatever happens, I just want to make it something special for my little girl.
What childhood memories do you have that are particularly fond or strong? Have you ever tried to recreate them with your own kids, or would you like to? And, does anyone have any suggestions for how to make this weekend special for Munchkin?
As a dad, I am often presented with opportunities for fun with my kids. See some new sugar-laden snack with questionable nutritional content? You should try everything once. Want to build a makeshift two-story house with boxes and climb into the second floor while it wobbles? It's a chance to learn about gravity.
From the above, it probably sounds like life for my kids is nothing but fun and excitement. I would like to tell you that that is the case. I would like to, but I cannot, because we live with the fun sucker.
* * *
"Daddy, can we go outside and play in the rain?"
"Sure."
"She has to wear her rubber boots and her rain coat."
"Of course she does."
Five minutes later...
"Guys! There's lightning! Come inside right away!"
* * *
"Daddy, can I watch you play your PSP?"
"Sure."
"Uhm, excuse me, what are you playing?"
"Star Wars: The Force Unleashed."
"And what are you doing right now?"
"Slicing droids in two with a light saber."
"Yeah, not cool."
* * *
"Daddy, can I taste your drink?"
"Sure."
"Wait, doesn't that have the warning label on the side that says not for children under 12?"
"Yeah, but one taste isn't going to make her mutate."
"Doesn't matter. No."
* * *
You get the picture. If there's fun to be had, MTM is right there to suck the ever-loving shit out of it.
Update: she has posted a rebuttal in the form of a photo recap of our cottage visit.
It's not that I disagree with her intentions; she wants our kids to be as safe as possible. I do too, but I also think that there's a difference between letting my preschooler taste my energy drink (which she probably won't even like) and letting her shotgun cans of diet soda every night. I think letting her run around in the pouring rain in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts doesn't mean she's going to sleep in those soaking wet clothes all night and develop pneumonia.
In the beginning, I tried to advocate for a less sheltered existence (example: I firmly put my foot down and said, "No," when the subject of bubble-wrap clothing was suggested), but it can be exhausting, especially when every argument can descend to, "Don't you want your children to be safe?" Of course I do! So now I don't even bother most of the time.
Our household can't be the only one like this. Are you the fun sucker in your house, or is it your spouse? How do you feel about being the fun sucker (or having the fun sucked)? And finally, would you let your kid play with low voltage/low current electricity for the sake of teaching them about an electric shock, (hypothetically speaking, of course)?
For the record, I ran this post idea by MTM before I wrote it. I also offered to let her read it ahead of time, but she declined.
When we left for the cottage for our week alone, Buddy was just beginning to army crawl. He would move three or four "steps" (pulls? movements?) and then just give up. While we were at the cottage for the first week, his stamina improved, and he could army crawl with some proficiency, although he was rather like a mollusc in his speed. During the second week, however, he improved his technique and/or built up more muscle, causing MTM to remark that he was way fast when we spoke on the phone.
Munchkin was never one for the so-called army crawl. She went from being a wriggly lump to "regular" crawling during a visit to my parents for Christmas when she was just shy of nine months old. The biggest challenge I remember from that time were the stairs, and only because she so loved her rubber ducks (that we kept in her bathroom upstairs). She would climb the stairs, saying "Duh!" all the while, and then promptly scurry to the bathroom and grab one from the floor or the edge of the tub. Other than that, our baby-proofing efforts were minimal: a couple of top of the stairs gates, some plug covers, and one or two cabinet locks.
Buddy, despite not having the mobility offered by four points of contact, is far more of a handful than Munchkin ever was. If it is a toy, he has no interest in it. However, if it is something dangerous or just not for children, he's all over it like a fat kid on ham (incidentally, his thighs betray his newfound love for all things starch, especially Mommy's homemade macaroni and cheese and Daddy's roasted potatoes, which he eats with such gusto it's impossible not to laugh at him).
Baby gates are rattled. Central vacuum access points are reached for. Air vents are scraped across. Foot stools and chairs are dragged across the floor randomly. An open dishwasher is cause for glee, as is an open door and any large box.
We have tried to baby-proof, but the house is far from safe. If he has to be left alone in a room for more than ten seconds, it has to be done with him in a crib or an exersaucer (fortunately, he hasn't figured out how to climb out of one - yet) or a playpen. This, of course, pisses him off mightily, and he spends the entire time of his confinement expressing his displeasure verbally (and often at exceptionally high pitches). He wants to be free. Free to explore under the furniture (and see the dust bunnies up close), to grab the sharp pointy edges, to lick the disgusting things he finds on the floor, and all we are doing is holding him back.
It is not only exhausting to chase him around the house (there is no better reminder of just how out of shape one is than chasing someone who can only drag themselves on their abdomen and still feeling tired afterward), but I have concluded that there is little point in making attempts to baby proof. Short of buying a baby-sized hamster ball (which was my punchline at the outset of this post, yet now seems to have a ring of sense to it), there is nothing that can be done to totally baby-proof a home. It's pointless.
What about all of you? Were your kids a pain in the ass a handful when crawling? Did you notice a marked difference between the girl child and the boy child (if you had both)? And finally, if baby-sized hamster balls aren't legal, do you think small doses of benadryl would slow him down a little?
The Ending On Thursday night, Munchkin called me for our regular good-night chat. She then handed the phone off to my SIL because MTM could not come to the phone. I was told that MTM had a terrible migraine, and had been driving the porcelain bus since mid-afternoon. About an hour later, my MIL called me at MTM's request so that I could determine if gravol was safe while breastfeeding (and popping codeine) because they didn't trust the local pharmacist. So, I called around, got a consensus (it's OK for short periods, but not regular use) and called back. I never heard back from them that night, and I didn't call back because I didn't want to disturb MTM if she was resting.
On Friday morning, my cell phone vibrated in the middle of a meeting. I (wrongly) thought it was another client and picked up. It was my FIL, calling from the local marina (stressed, because he was using their long distance plan) to tell me that the cottage phone had died last night, and that it would not be fixed until Saturday. Then he hung up. So, to recap: sick wife in the middle of nowhere, now without a phone (cell phones don't work up there), and no new info about her condition. Go ahead and ask me again why I'm not a cottage guy.
The Preparation When phone service was finally restored, MTM called me to let me know what her plan was. She then asked me what I had been up to that morning. I answered honestly (cleaned the bathrooms I used, did my laundry so she could do theirs without interruption, vacuumed, and cleaned up the kitchen). I later learned that my inlaws were "very surprised" that I had done all that.
Seriously, does that sound like I did a lot of work, or just that I cleaned up after myself like any adult?
The Arrival It was pouring rain, so MTM dumped Munchkin and then Buddy in my arms and unloaded the essential stuff herself, leaving me to sit on the couch and lavish them with hugs and kisses. Munchkin was equally excited to see me as I was her, but Buddy took a few minutes to warm up. However, once he did, he was smothering me with slobbery kisses and pulling my goatee. It was good wonderful to have them home.
(As an aside, I also had dinner ready for them: sausages, potatoes, and carrots roasted in the oven - Munchkin and Buddy's favourite. I wonder what my inlaws would have thought of that revelation.)
The Anniversary We spent it indoors due to the rain, with the exception of a grocery store trip to restock. However, MTM did like her gift (Season 2 of Everwood, which was an amazing show and I highly recommend it to anyone).
The Proclamation Since Munchkin has been born, MTM and I have gone out for dinner three times on our anniversary. The first time was when Munchkin was just shy of four months old. My younger sister and SIL came to watch her, and she cried so badly that we had to cut our dinner short.
The second time was the next year. My sister came to watch her again, this time solo, and again she cried so hard that we had to leave early. This time, however, she also cried so hard that she made herself vomit so profusely that we deemed that night Pukapalooza.
We then spent a few at home, without incident.
The third time was last night. All four of us demonstrated signs of gastrointestinal distress of varying severity when we got home.
I proclaimed that last night was the last time MTM and I will go out on our anniversary, because it never ends well.
The Freak While we were out at dinner, I think a teenaged girl at the next table took a photo of Buddy with her Blackberry. I saw it happening and called Buddy's name to get him to stop looking in their direction. When I caught her eye, she immediately turned and pretended to be taking a photo of her friend. I later made eye contact a few times, and each time she quickly looked away but not without showing me what I thought was a guilty face first.
I wanted to demand to see her recently taken photos but I didn't know if it was my right. What do you think? Would you have said something, or done something? I'm very curious to know.
Is there any point in posting on the Friday of BlogHer? I mean, between the absentee readers attending the conference and those taking off for a summer holiday, not to mention the typical Friday dropoff in readership, is there anyone reading? Furthermore, how many will even comment? Let's see.
Should I write about how I feel about my family coming home tomorrow? Realistically, everyone knows I love them and that I'm totally excited. I say it every year: the prospect of a week away from them is enticing, but within a couple of days the bloom is off the rose and I'm ready for them to come home. I chose to get married and be a father; it only makes sense that I would prefer that life to temporary bachelorhood.
Did anyone watch "Dating In The Dark" on Monday? I did, and it was (like many other reality tv shows) a trainwreck. I knew I shouldn't be watching, but I couldn't look away, especially not after one of the women openly worried that she would be kissing Shrek. I found it fascinating that the only couple that didn't give it a shot was the one where neither had an accent. (I also noticed that the men's portraits of the women were realistic, while all the guys felt intimidated when they saw what the women thought they looked like.)
Should I dedicate an entire post to the fact that this coming Sunday is our sixth wedding anniversary? I shared pictures last year and told the story of my day the year before that, and I don't think it's any secret I think she's awesome. But, it is an anniversary (and yes I do have a gift for her), so I'm torn.
Should I lie and write the stereotypical "husband on his own and wife coming home" post? Honestly, the house doesn't get that messy. I'm at work all day, and the only mess I make is in the kitchen, and my wife will agree that I can't stand a messy kitchen sink, so she knows I clean that up. The rest of the time I'm either on the couch watching tv or at the table on my laptop, so there's little to no impact on the majority of the house. My greatest transgression has been the optional status deemed upon the laundry hamper. Seriously.
Who's watching Big Brother this summer? We're in Canada, so we only get the primetime stuff (not BB After Dark), and I don't watch the live feeds on a computer like some people. Anyone out there a huge fan of the feeds? Are they good? Also: what do you think of the people so far?
* as in, yeah, I'm asking these questions to myself, but I still like comments
I'm still running that book giveaway at my review blog for Summer Beach Bag Books. Click over and enter for your chance to win one of five sets of books.
In addition to all the time I spent internet-less, I also had over six hours in the car alone (I drove solo both directions so that Munchkin could entertain Buddy on the way there) to think. So, between the two I got some good thinking done about a bunch of things (most of which I couldn't write down and therefore have since forgotten), one of which was this question:
How well does your online/blog personna represent you?
The question came to me as I was I thinking about a post or a comment I read somewhere (sorry, no linky love because I cannot remember the sourceUpdate: thanks to ZenMom for reminding me it was this post by Daddy Geek Boy) that talked about how much easier it is to be witty and/or funny on your own blog than in real life, or even the comments of someone else's blog, because when it's your blog you get to edit and revise and take your time - that the ability to control the environment improves one's appeal (so to speak).
I often wonder how many people visit here from a comment I left somewhere else, and what they think when they arrive. For those who aren't sure what I am getting at, while on occasion I can be thoughtful or even helpful in the comments, I am usually sarcastic or intentionally obtuse for the sake of humour. In short, my comments are typically (attempts at me being) funny, while my posts here tend to be a lot more serious. So, I am curious how many people came here looking for nyuk nyuk nyuk and left after reading a post about some parenting question. (Yes, I realize this blog is not all drab and serious, and that I have been known to be funny from time to time, but I think it is fair to say that the majority of my posts aren't funny so much as pensive or thought-provoking or verbal diarrhea.)
The interesting (at least it is to me) thing is that this is a pretty accurate depiction of my real life personality. When I'm at someone else's house (blog), I tend to keep conversation light; I use humour and sarcasm liberally to avoid saying anything controversial or argumentative, unless I know them really well or we stumble onto a topic I am particularly passionate about, at which point all humour is gone and what's left is thoughtful empathy and introspection. When I'm in a room full of strangers, I make jokes and try to keep everything funny. When I'm in my own house, I will be humourous from time to time, but I'm not a 24/7 comedian; most of the time I prefer serious subjects. (Example: I watch very little comedy on tv; most of what I watch are dramas and reality tv.)
It's the same thing in the blogosphere. When I'm new somewhere, or when I want to make "an impression", I'm funny. People like funny, or at least it's easier for them to like funny than serious. Once I get comfortable, the funny gets dialed down and the honest, sincere, more serious side comes out. (Note to anyone who feels like all I do is make jokes in their comments section: that doesn't mean I don't like you; it just means I'm not 100% comfortable there yet.)
Now for the inevitable question: what about you? Are you the same person in the blogosphere as you are in person? Do you hide parts of your character when you're online? Why? Are there parts of you that only see the light of day online? Why? I'm really curious to know how people compare to their online selves.
Earlier I mentioned that everyone else is at the cottage this week to spend some time with my inlaws while I came back home to work. This isn't a new phenomenon (see that link for links to the previous years' posts), but Munchkin is a year older and a year more aware of life and many other things.
On the Sunday morning I was scheduled to leave, while MTM was showering and all the stuff I was to bring home with me (mostly garbage and recycling because they have to pay to dispose of it up there) sat at the front door, Munchkin crawled up into my lap as I watched Buddy army crawl all over the floor.
"Daddy, why do you have to leave?"
"Because I have to go to work."
"Yes, I know. You have to go to work to make money."
"That's right."
"Well, what if I gave you all the money in my piggy bank? Would you be able to stay then?"
Oof. That was within an hour before I had to leave.
But she didn't stop there, apparently. MTM told me that later on that day Munchkin was particularly sad about my absence, and they had the following conversation:
"Mommy, why does Daddy have to work so we can have money?"
"Because we need money for lots of things, like gas for the cars..."
"Can't we just ask people if we can pour some gas from their car into ours?"
"Well, no, not exactly. Plus, we also need to buy groceries so we can eat..."
"No we don't. We can just go to Costco and eat their free samples. I'm OK with that."
"There are other things too, sweetheart."
"Like toys? I already have everything I need, and if I want something new, I could ask Santa for it. Hey! Maybe Santa can bring us the food and other stuff we need."
* * *
I don't remember the rest of the conversation MTM relayed to me, except that by the end I was not just tearing up, but actually crying. I mean, really, how could I not after that? On the one hand, I realize we are so fortunate to be able to have MTM home full time, not to mention a cottage that they can enjoy. But at the same time, these annual weeks are difficult, and not just for me, it seems.
When Munchkin was a baby, MTM brought a photo album with her to the cottage because I was terrified that Munchkin would forget me. Now, I am faced with the reality that she not only won't forget me, but that she misses me while she is there. Fortunately, she has gotten over her sadness with the arrival of my inlaws (including my SIL and her dog), but if I know my daughter, those feelings are lingering below the surface and are never far from her thoughts. And that bothers me as much as it endears her to me.
Ultimately, nothing I write here is going to change anything. I'm not going to miraculously feel OK with being away from my wife and children after writing down my feelings. I am not going to suddenly find peace about my guilt for working and how it takes time away from my family. But not every post has to be an epiphany. Not every post has to end with deep, probing questions. Some posts are just stories, and that I am OK with.
One day last week while we were eating dinner, Munchkin turned to me and said, "Mommy said I need to talk to you about something."
"What's that sweetheart?"
"When can I paint my nails?"
Wait, what?!? Did she just ask me to put nail polish on? I could've sworn she was four years old last time I checked. "Uh, I'll have to think about it, but not before you're ten."
MTM flashed me a somewhat surprised look. I flashed one back that said, You put it in my hands.
I chose the age of ten because I knew it was older than I would eventually accept. I may be foolish sometimes often, but I know enough to always aim high when negotiating to give myself some room to play with. The thing is, though, I think ten might just be the right age.
Munchkin has also asked about earrings, and I believe (she doesn't ask about earrings quite as much) we have given her the same age restriction. Yes, a lot of people (especially Italians, or so it seems) get their girl's ears pierced when they are babies, but we're not like that.
I don't judge those parents who choose to allow these sorts of things (I put them in the same category as make-up, namely things that unnecessarily accelerate the maturation process), but I definitely don't agree with four year olds wearing earrings and nail polish either.
Yes, it's all part of growing up, and it's part of "being like Mommy" or whatever. However, it's also rooted in society's innate need to ornament women for the purposes of making them more attractive. She will feel pressured to do these things soon enough. For now, I don't think she needs either. (And to those armchair social anthropologists out there: spare me the argument that certain tribes in Africa or Central America have different meanings for piercings or nail polish. We're not there, so those arguments don't apply.)
I would love to hear some thoughts on this matter. Are earrings and nail polish inherently different because one is permanent and one is temporary? Does the pain associated with piercing change things? Or are they part of the same bigger issue? Or are they not an issue at all? What do you think? And most importantly, when will (or did) your daughters (or sons) be allowed to do these things?
There is also another book giveaway at my review blog, this time for a Summer Beach Bag Books. Click over and enter for your chance to win one of five sets of books.
I have returned from my vacation, which means that this is a brand new post that you all can read. (Thanks to everyone who commented on the retreads last week. I appreciate it.) Also, some of you will notice that I visited your blogs yesterday but only commented on one post; that's the best I could do short of clicking the evil "Mark all as read" button to maintain my reader levels. I trust you understand.
I grew up in a neighbourhood that you couldn't really call the suburbs, but it wasn't exactly urban either. That being said, all of our family vacations involved one of two things: sleeping at a hotel (or motel, as the case may be) or visiting relatives (and sleeping on their floors or if we were lucky, beds). We never camped. We never went to a cottage. We always had tv and a phone and plumbing. Also, on a related note, all of our destinations were accessible by car or other land-based vehicle.
MTM, on the other hand, spent every summer (or at least part of every summer) at a cottage on the same lake. Sometimes the place where she slept (a "bunkie") had no indoor plumbing or electricity. One of their cottages was "water access" which roughly translates to, "Load all your shit into your car. Drive to marina. Unload some car contents to boat. Boat to cottage. Boat to marina. Unload more car contents to boat. Oh, and by the way, if your travel day includes rain or heavy winds, you're fucked." (Or something along those lines; I'm not that familiar with the lingo.)
When we first started dating, MTM brought me to her family's cottage (which, to be fair, isn't a traditional cottage; it's large - larger than the house my parents raised three kids in - and is well-appointed with plumbing and heating and electricity and most recently the addition of satellite tv). Unfortuantely, all I remember from that first trip (incidentally, a story in and of itself) was the somber realization that my cell phone would not work up there. To say that I am not a cottage man is an understatement of the highest order. In fact, MTM and Munchkin have gone up without me for a week at a time in 2006, 2007, and 2008.
My inlaws were out of province for the first two weeks of this July for a family party (that MTM and I could not afford to attend), which meant that the cottage was available. The first week went to a friend of my MIL's, and the second went to us (for those readers slow on the uptake, that means last week I was at the cottage, sans inlaws, with MTM and the kids). I'd like to say that my issues with the cottage were rooted in my inlaws, and that I sit before you a changed man. I'd like to tell you that, but I cannot. It was fun, but not because we were at a cottage. In truth, I'd say that it was fun in spite of the fact that we were at the cottage. No, it was just as fun as spending a week with them at home would have been. I enjoyed myself immensely, and I bonded with my kids and my wife better than I have been able to with my recent work schedule, but this trip exposed something else.
We left our house Saturday shortly before lunch. By Monday morning when we drove into "town" (I use the term loosely) for groceries I was twitching for lack of internet access (my FIL has a small parcel of 10 hours of dial-up per month through his ISP; I didn't have his passwords) so badly that I spent the twenty minutes MTM shopped in the van alternating between trying to get a data connection with my wireless internet stick and hacking password protected WiFi. By the time I was done, I had accumulated a total of 40kB of bandwidth in both directions (no successful logins). It was awful. I felt uneasy and uncomfortable, like I was missing a family member or an appendage. By the time Thursday rolled around (our agreed-upon trip to "the city" so I could cash my paycheque) I was in rough shape. I spent the entire time we were within data range on the highway reading emails and catching up with online life. When I returned home on Sunday (alone - MTM and the kids are staying up for another week with my inlaws, who arrived later on Sunday) I had to make a conscious effort to do the necessary things (groceries, laundry) before going online. I spent more time online than I care to admit on Sunday.
That's not to say that my sole issue was a lack of continuous internet access: it was the primary and easily identifiable culprit, but it wasn't the only issue. As I said at the beginning, I'm a city boy, used to city comforts. The internet was just one thing I missed.
What about you? Are you addicted to the internet? Have you ever gone without it for an extended period of time (I'm talking cold turkey here, people... not "all I had is my Blackberry to check stuff" or whatever... no connection at all)? How did you find it?
July 26, 2004 On our one year wedding anniversary, we confirm that MTM is pregnant with Munchkin. From online calculators and subsequent doctor visits, we determine a due date of late March, 2005.
August 9, 2004 The word "crib" first appears in our emails. MTM refers to a "crib set" when discussing colours for the nursery (that we are in the process of painting).
October 15, 2004 During dinner, we are discussing the weekend (where we intend to go, what we need to do, et cetera) when MTM spontaneously bursts into tears (pregnancy hormones, anyone?) and begins speaking at a velocity and pitch I am incapable of understanding. A number of deep breaths later, I am able to ascertain that she is feeling anxious because "we have not accomplished anything" in preparation for the baby (never mind that the nursery was painted, in two colours, with a chair rail). When I ask what we should do first, she says she feels like we need the bedding, so I suggest that we finish up dinner quickly and head out to the mall to start looking.
We go to the baby section at Toys R Us and begin looking. She immediately gravitates to a green gingham Classic Pooh set (green because we do not know the gender; there was a blue set as well) and we unpack it in the store for a closer look. She is pleased with the looks, and I suggest we take it home (after confirming the return policy) to check the colour match with the green paint in the room.
At home, we place the comforter on the twin bed in the nursery at the time. MTM literally jumps up and down, claps, and giggles in response to seeing the combination of the walls and the bedding. I heave a huge sigh of relief.
October 16, 2004 Lying awake in bed, we talk about the events of last night. I asked her if she feels better now that we had "accomplished something" and receive silence in response. I prop myself up on my elbow to look her in the eye (she had been resting her head on my chest) and see the tears begin to flow. Returning to the circumstances of last night (incoherence), she makes an unsuccessful attempt at communicating. A few breaths later I learn that she no longer likes the set from last night.
I suggest we return it and begin our search anew. "But then we'll have nothing!" she exclaims.
Confused, I ask if we could try going to a different store without first returning the unwanted set. She agrees and chooses a store that is an hour away (apparently capitalizing on my confusion to scam a trip to an infrequently-visited shopping center).
We get to the new store, and MTM is all smiles and excitement as she peruses their wares. She concludes that none of the over 75 designs are suitable, and asks if she can customize the bedding to her preferences. The salesman confirms that they can, indeed, do what she wants for a fee. While we are at it, we also order all the solid wood handmade furniture for the nursery as well (because, you know, in for a penny, in for a pound).
Before processing the order, the salesman asks how far along we are. We explain we are in our second trimester, and he refuses to sell us the bedding and furniture yet, just in case something happens. I calmly firmly explain that we are willing to take the risk (and that if he doesn't sell me that stuff to-fucking-day I am going to reach down his throat, pull out his intestines, and shove them in his ear) and we leave after making the deposit payment.
November 6, 2004 We retrieve the custom bedding from the store. MTM immediately places the duvet on the twin bed and jumps up and down, claps, and giggles in response to seeing the combination of the walls and the bedding. I gasp for air and feel my chest tighten. However, no further discussion about the bedding follows.
April 18, 2005 After two weeks in a cradle in our room, Munchkin is moved to the nursery (because she used to have muscle reflex reactions in the night where her arms would open wide - like for a hug - and whack her hands violently on the bars of the cradle). Before doing so, MTM packs up the customized pillow, duvet, and bumper pads and puts a receiving blanket in the crib, explaining none of that stuff is safe for a baby.
When my daughter was first learning how to speak, I would encourage her by asking in a sing-song voice, "Who's the prettiest girl in the world?" After some coaching, we had it down pat that she would answer "Me!" almost immediately after I asked it. Then one day I did it in front of my in-laws and I noticed a disapproving look on my father-in-law (which admittedly was not surprising; there is very little that my FIL approves of when it comes to me).
I asked my wife about this later, and she commented that constantly calling Munchkin the prettiest girl in the world could raise an arrogant or self-centered child. (Whether this was her explaining her father's perspective or her own was never covered.) Confused and more than a little humbled, I stopped that question and changed it to, "Who is Daddy's pretty princess?" This question, with the absence of mentioning the whole world, was more accepted.
Lately, with her language comprehension improving seemingly every hour, I ask her questions all the time. One of my favourites is "Who has pretty hair?" which I asked once when she had pigtails in. She immediately replied, "Mommy!" And that response has been very consistent. I also ask her "Who is a pretty little girl?" and she shoots back "Me!"
Recently it was commented that I use the word pretty a lot with her. It was suggested that I was putting the idea into her head that beauty was important and that I was contributing to society's excessive value of attractiveness. I countered that instead of viewing it as putting value in beauty I was attempting to maintain a healthy self image by telling my daughter she was pretty. I made no comments about how her level of attractiveness would help her get out of future speeding tickets nor that it would benefit her socially.
But it got me thinking. Am I wrong for telling her she is pretty? I praise her for other things (doing a good job with a craft or activity, using difficult words in context with reasonable skill in pronunciation, et cetera), so it's not one-dimensional encouragement. Is telling a young girl she is pretty the same as telling her being pretty is important? On the one hand, one could argue that acknowledging it is emphasizing its importance ( i.e. the argument "if it isn't important, why mention it?") However, on the other (more literal) hand, I am just telling her what I think about her; I am not taking the role of declaring society's views.
This is just one more way I am learning how much more complicated life is for a woman than a man in modern society. My sister, who teaches Women's Studies, has been suggesting this fact to me for years, but I could not grasp it. However, with trying to raise my daughter with the values and ideas I feel are important, I am beginning to see just how difficult it can be.
To those of you with daughters: do you tell them they are pretty often, and if so, do you think you're emphasizing attractiveness as important by doing so? Do you consciously avoid telling your daughter she is pretty because of how society has evolved? And to all women: when a man (spouse, parent, relative, stranger) calls you pretty, do you take it to mean they think appearance is important?
Today's song is shared in the form of a video. I strongly encourage you to listen/watch.
Originally published May/July 2007.
On Tuesday I came home (from a particularly long day at work) to my loving family. After I had a few moments to settle down (read: got out of my driving in the hot sun without air conditioning work clothes and into ones not drenched with sweat), my wife made the statement no husband wants to hear:
"I was thinking about those green shelves at Ikea."
Crap.
Then, as we were driving there (in rush hour, while she fed Munchkin dinner in the backseat), I started to wonder, What is it about Ikea that is so polarizing? Why do most men loathe it while many women love it? Why do so many couples agree never to go there again? I came up with the following:
First, the layout of the store itself lends itself far more to a woman's approach to shopping than a man's. A man wants to see everything in a section, side by side, so he can select the one he wants. Women, on the other hand, want to see the final product; the completed room (with many new accessories that she can conveniently purchase there). So, Ikea gives you both, and it takes twice as long because you have to look at the same damn shelf in three different room configurations (not to mention in the shelf section). It is so inefficient.
So why don't men just let the women shop there alone? Simple: Ikea doesn't (generally) deliver, and most of the stuff is too bulky and/or heavy for their blushing bride to carry out alone. Feeling like their strength is needed, the men are guilted into the trip.
And don't get me started about the names. Lack? Billy? Bonde? Mälm? Please! And what's with the use of the umlaut? Are all the products named after failed metal hair bands of the 1980s?
Once the items are purchased, there is the ever-enjoyable vehicular reconfiguration. For those with cars and a third person, they pray that the rear seat splits. For those with vans, they wonder if they can legally drive with the middle row bench riding shotgun. Invariably, Ikea trips come on humid days, so the boxes slip through your sweaty palms as you try desperately to violate known laws of physics to make the box fit (and in a perfect world, not immediately crush you when you open the door at home). All the while, the woman is trying to help, while the man just wants to curse and do it himself.
And that motif continues once the boxes are home and unloaded from the vehicle. The man wants to lock himself in a room with his allen-key and emerge all manly with the unit complete. The woman wants the assembly to be a shared experience, something that can make their relationship grow and prosper because they "made" something together. News flash: this is not a baby, ladies. This is particle board and cheap hardware precariously connected and theoretically called furniture.
Back to our trip on Tuesday. I hate to admit it, but MTM was right: the shelves were discontinued, and there were only three units left (we wanted two). "While we were there" we also grabbed a matching table and a chair (that has since been deemed inappropriate and subsequently requiring another trip to return it). (Note that assembly was deferred until the destination room is painted.)
Less than two months later, I posted this:
On Tuesday (of last week) I suggested that we could hit a large mall that coming weekend because I wanted to grab some headphones that I found there (and weren't at the chain's local store). Plus, I knew MTM likes to shop there, so I figured it would be a win-win.
On Wednesday, MTM said to me, "Maybe while we're out that way, we could go to Ikea."
Did I mention this mall has the unfortunate reality of being near an Ikea? Oops.
"That table and chair aren't going to work. The chair's a different shade of green, and the table is too low."
OK. Seems reasonable.
On Thursday, MTM said to me, "Maybe we'll return the shelves too."
What? The shelves too? The shelves that I awkwardly carted through the self-serve area, twice (so we could, you know, confirm that the two we already had were actually being discontinued)? The shelves I hauled out to the van and reconfigured the seats to accommodate (while not endangering the life of our daughter)? The shelves that I then navigated through the mess of crap in our garage (including, but not limited to, the desk you so adored and now cannot fit in our basement) and placed on blocks to avoid water damage? Those shelves?
"Yep."
On Friday, after our adventures at the local mall, when my bad ankle was good and swollen (and also weakened), we reloaded them back into the van. (And when I say "we", I mean I carried them while MTM stood nearby gasping every time I came within a yard of anything.) In the process, I tripped over the hose and twisted my bad ankle.
On Saturday, we pulled in just as Ikea was opening. I unloaded the van to a cart, took the receipt, and went inside alone while MTM parked. I took my number, and by the time it was called, MTM and Munchkin had joined me. As I approached the counter, I said to MTM, "Why don't you go grab a cart? I'll meet up with you."
When I reached the counter, the woman asked, "Reason for the return?"
"My wife is insane and decided these weren't 'the right green'."
"You shouldn't say that in front of her."
"Why do you think I sent her to get a cart?"
In the end, she took it all back, and put everything back on my VISA (some of it had been paid with a gift card, from a previous return - no seriously) which was nice.
Then, we left with more furniture (sadly, I am not kidding).
Sharing time: what's your worst Ikea experience? (Also: how tiny does Munchkin look in those pictures?!?)
When we returned from Buffalo last weekend, we crossed over the border and met with a customs officer who had, shall we say, an issue with her attitude. She was one of the CO who probably dreamed of a more exciting life - like driving a cab - but was so horribly under qualified that she ended up sitting in a toll booth collecting no tolls and using the implied threat of a body cavity search to make others feel inferior. This is the story of our encounter.
Now, before I begin I should tell you some facts. I was born and raised in a border town. As a teenager I would head over to the U.S. the same way I would go downtown in my own city. It was not a huge deal. I have circumvented the duty laws in more ways than I can count - even going so far as to install a car stereo in a parking lot to avoid paying duty. When I was in university, I did a co-op work term in a different border town, and used to come home via U.S. interstates because it was faster (not to mention I got to hit duty free twice a weekend - something useful for a then-smoker like myself). To say I am familiar with the process is an understatement.
MTM, on the other hand, was having an anxiety attack in the back seat as we rolled over the bridge. All she kept saying was, "I hope she doesn't talk to me," over and over.
Anyhow. On with the story.
Me (handing her our three birth certificates): Good afternoon.
Customs Officer: Is there anyone in the vehicle with you sir?
Me: (Nope. I handed you three birth certificates in the hopes that you'd assume at least one of them was me - even though two were women, one bearing my last name.) Yes. My wife and daughter are in the back.
CO: Can you open the window or the door so I can see them?
(MTM opens the sliding door to our minivan.)
CO: I'll need to see some photo ID.
Me (palpably feeling MTM's panic through the fabric of my seat): All of us? (Because, in case you're not so good at math - wait, you're a customs officer, so that goes without saying - my daughter is two and a half; she isn't old enough to drive or have a photo on her health card.)
CO: Just the driver will be fine.
Me (handing her my license): Here you go. (Why did you refer to me in the third person - as "the driver" - when grammatically you should have used the second person singular? Oh right... customs officer.)
CO: How long were you in the U.S.?
Me: Two days. (That's right baby. No $50 per person, per day limit for us.)
CO: Value of all goods purchased?
Me: Around $600 (at this, my VISA audibly whimpered)
CO: Any alcohol or tobacco?
Me: Yes.
CO: Value?
Me: $50
CO: And that was...?
Me: One bottle, one case of beer.
CO: What else did you buy?
Me: Clothes, toys, and food. (We'll leave out the low grade weaponry, drugs smuggled in the heads of the Curious George dolls, and copious amounts of Cherry Coke.)
CO: When exactly did you arrive in the U.S.?
Me: Friday morning, around 9am. (See? We knew you weren't any good with math.)
CO (handing me back all the ID): Thank you.
And as I pulled away I noticed a small box taped to the outside of her booth with a sign hand printed in black marker that read, "Please help pay for my surgery. I need to remove the pole from my ass."
What about you? Any good customs stories (airport, road borders, whatever: they're all the same) to share?
Addendum It seems we have some new visitors from the U.S. customs office who are taking exception to this post. Just for the record, I am Canadian, and this occurred on the Canadian side as I was re-entering. I had valid birth certificates (which, in 2007, were sufficient for re-entry) and was well under the limits as far as duty goes. My issue was with how she spoke to us; regardless of whether or not she was having a bad day or a difficult one, I was courteous and respectful (verbally; in my mind was a completely different story) and expected at least similar treatment in kind. The bottom line: just because you are in a position of power doesn't mean you have to be condescending.
It's summer, which means that sometimes you tune into your favourite tv show only to find an episode that you've already seen. I am on vacation from work this week, and I've decided that instead of not blogging during periods when I am on vacation, I would republish some older posts, with a few edits/revisions. Since I am on vacation, I will be an infrequent (possibly completely absent) visitor to your blogs over the next week.
Sometimes children can truly amaze you. Today, my dear wife was taking a shower while Munchkin was down for a nap. Midway through the shower she awoke screaming. I let her be for a few minutes to see if she would settle herself, and when she did not I put on my brace and walked hobbled over to her room.
I went in and smelled that she had gone poo. I explained to her that I could not carry her from her crib to her change table, and that when I took her out of the crib she needed to walk over to the change table and wait for me. When I put her down she walked over to the change table and faced me with arms outstretched. I lifted her up and explained that she needed to be still while I changed her. She lay motionless for the entire change, none of her usual squirming. When I removed her diaper I asked her not to put her hands in it; she replied by folding her hands on her chest.
When the change was done, I explained to her that I could not carry her back to our room, and that she needed to walk there by herself safely. I put her down, and she walked - past the open office door (where there are many fun things to play with) and the open staircase - to our doorway. She stopped there and waited until I got close to her, and then she proceeded into the room, climbed up on our bed and waited for me to get into it before cuddling next to me.
This was probably the best behaviour she has demonstrated during a change in weeks (at least from what I can tell; this was my first change since I broke my ankle - I usually hear more struggling from Mommy). I just found it so incredible how she understood and followed my directions.
Epilogue Munchkin was 15 months old, and I was recovering from a broken ankle when I wrote this post (probably one of my first ten). She had a fair sized vocabulary of signs, but her verbal list was limited to Mama, Dada, animal sounds and maybe five other words. It still amazes me how much she understood and how well she listened.
What things have your kids done that really surprised you (either in a good or not-so-good way)?
I think after this comic, Neglectimommy won't be published as frequently. I'm starting to struggle with ideas and I don't want the concept to be come too repetitive or stale. (Note to self: add newly adopted little brother "Oliver". That should work out well.) As always, I welcome feedback (even if it's accusing me of something completely untrue); if you don't like them, I'll stop publishing them (although I'll probably keep making them because my wife loves them so much).
Without further ado, I give you Neglectimommy Volume 5: Getting Help:
Do you want to know how much Munchkin appreciated all of your questions? She asked me if I had all of your addresses because she wants to invite all of you to a princess tea party. She made Disney Princess invitations for the "girls" and plain yellow ones for the "boys". She then set up all the cups and saucers and little plates she had. Thanks again everyone.
Leanne Toots wants to know if she'd like to come to ChoccyWockydoodah on Saturday with her and Josh which poses more problems than the obvious booking of flights at such short notice because we're not even going to choccywocky at the weekend and I've no idea where she even got the idea we were!!! I do want to go to ChockyWocky
Ask her does she even like the cake or does she just put up with it to get the frosting, I've tried asking mine and can't get a straight answer. I think she doesn't want to hurt my feelings:) I love cake!
MTM What is her favourite thing to do in the summertime? Go swimming!
mamatulip What does she think about having a little brother? [Gestured two thumbs up] I love having a little brother. I love him. He's the best baby ever.
Russ Mr. B wants to know: How do you deal with your little brother playing with your toys? I just wait for him to let go, and I just ask Buddy, "When you're finished, can I please have a turn?"
Single Parent Dad If girls are made of all things nice, sugar and spice, what do you think boys are made from? Uhm, boys are made of work. (MTM asked for a clarification, "What do you mean?" "Boys work to make money." "Oh, what are boy kids made of?" "Boy stuff like Star Wars.")
smiles4u Who is your favorite Disney Princess? Ariel.
What do you want to be when you get big? A dentist where my cousins live so they can come to me.
What is your most favorite game? Chutes and Ladders.
Who is your best friend? [a friend whose parents were with us in prenatal class]
How many times can you hop on one foot? 57 (with one session of holding on to the kitchen table for three or four jumps)
What is your favorite song? Part of Your World (from The Little Mermaid).
Mandy What's your favourite book? My favourite book is... this is a hard one... The Little Mermaid.
Who makes your favourite breakfast and what is it? Daddy's Special Eggs (scrambled eggs with shredded cheese and small pieces of summer sausage), and you make it, but not every morning because you go to work.
If you and Buddy could go on a trip to any place, where would you go? The Disney Princess Castle.
Gwen What character on TV do you dislike the most? Why? Swiper, because he swipes everything.
Which character on TV do you like the most? Why? The Doodlebops because they're the funnest show ever because they do concerts and I went.
If you could live in a book, which book would you pick? Why? The Little Mermaid, because I love Ariel. But I don't like Ursula, so that's where we have to put a line.
Dee What's the best thing at the zoo? The splash pad.
Which flavor of ice cream is the best? Vanilla.
When is your favorite time of the day? The afternoon.
How does superman fly? He has magic.
Where is the best place to play? The park.
Why does it snow? Because that's the season!
What's your biggest responsibility as a big sister? To keep a close eye on my brother.
Who asked the hardest question? Nobody.
ZenMom Hi Munchkin, Great picture! :) I'd like to know: What your favorite book and why? The Little Mermaid, because she's a mermaid and I love imaginary people.
I have a question to ask her: why did you like my picture so much?
Adelas Please describe what Daddy does during the day. (ditto for Mommy). Daddy: Work, work, work. Mommy: Help Buddy do stuff and pick him up when he's crying.
What is your job? (meaning what is Munchkin's job - open to interpretation whether she thinks of "what I'm supposed to do" aka chores, or of a "reason for existing"!) My job is to make sure my brother is safe when Mommy's gone, like when she goes to the basement or when she goes poo or pee in the bathroom.
What is the job (raisin d'etre) of an elephant? A bug? A banana? Elephant: to feed itself! Bug: to climb up things and to be smart. Banana: nothing.
Do you have a lovey? Tell us about it! Pinkie: she's a dog and she's pink and my [grandmother - MIL] made her for me.
What do you think school is like? Learn stuff and learn how to paint and learn how to draw and learn how to print your name.
Shelle-BlokThoughts What is the coolest thing about your Dad? You Mom? Your Brother? Daddy: you have the metal Boba Fett that I gave you for your birthday. Mommy: she can teach me how to cook as I grow up. Buddy: he can jump and say "Mama" and "Dada".
James (SeattleDad) I would love her perspective, so "What is the meaning of life, Munchkin?" Uh, I don't know.
And also what is your favorite kids book? My favourite book is The Little Mermaid.
daniel When your little brother gets old enough to go to preschool, what advice will you give him? Tell him to listen to the rules, and that's it.
Kristin and Co. If you could be any animal in the world, what animal would you be? A zebra!
Michell Dear Muchkin,
You are an amazing young artist and you write your letters so well. What do you like to draw and color more, people or animals? P.S. Keep up the good work. People, because I can't even draw animals.
Heather What would you do if you were Queen of the World? I would go to the park every day, and go to the khlav khalash stand every day and get khlav khalash and that's it.
Did you know that there's a new Disney princess movie coming out before Christmas! It's called the Princess and the Frog. I'd love to know what you think of the trailer.
http://www.apple.com/trailers/disney/princessandthefrog Yes, I knew about it. I loved the preview. I don't know if I will go see the movie. Is there any thunder? (Daddy doesn't know.)
Have you seen a movie at the theatre before on the big screen? If you have, did you like it? No I never went to the big theatre.
Dan Heinrich Which would you prefer, another little brother or sister or a puppy? Why? [Big smile] I would choose a baby sister. (Aside: her original answer was "pet", but when we explained she could only choose a puppy, she changed it to sister.)
Before we get to today's post, I'd like to thank everyone who asked questions yesterday. You guys made my daughter feel so important; it was awesome. I'll close comments on that post later today (probably before I leave work, so anyone who wants to ask questions has until around 3.00pm EDT today) so that I can get her to answer all of them before bed tonight, and will likely post the answers tomorrow.
As I mentioned Monday, we drove down to visit my parents this past weekend. Since we sometimes have difficulty keeping Munchkin occupied (without reosrting to four or more hours of Disney Princess movies), MTM decided to try an idea she saw on another woman's blog.
Now, before I continue, I want to state for the record that I love my wife, and I appreciate the efforts she goes to for our children. She is an awesome mother, and our kids are lucky to have her. (Yeah, it's that kind of post. Sit back and enjoy.)
The idea was "travel bingo", which, for those not in the know is bingo, except instead of the squares being chosen by randomly drawing balls or whatever, they have items one would see on a road trip (such as business signs like McDonald's, road signs like a specific speed limit, or types of vehicles like moving truck or convertible). For Munchkin, she put the word and an image to promote literacy but acknowledging that she cannot read the longer words yet. This was a fine idea except (and you knew there was an "except" coming):
She introduced the game after we had remarked - repeatedly - on our last trip that we were so lucky to have Munchkin in the back seat with Buddy to entertain him. Of course the smartest thing to do is give her something to distract her from him.
She waited to give the game to her until the final hour of our trip, after Buddy was d.o.n.e. and was freaking out and screaming, which is the ideal time to give Munchkin more reasons to ignore her baby brother.
Munchkin is four, so her reading skills aren't exactly what one would call "well honed", so she relies on images to guide her (naturally). Unfortunately, that means she would only accept a red convertible, a UHaul moving truck of a specific style, or a police car with black body and white doors. Also, she's four, so her response time meant that she usually missed the item in question if it was passed going 100km/h (also known as the speed limit on the highway we take for 99% of our trip).
The game quickly became all-consuming, with Munchkin pestering us to find her the items on the card. At one point, we diverted from our usual route just to drive by a police station (which, incidentally had tons of cop cars parked out back so that Munchkin couldn't see them and therefore refused to accept the fact that we'd passed a police car).
The final straw came when MTM said, "Oooh! That police station has a fire station next door. I'll put a fire truck on her next card!"
"Her next card?!?"
What things have you done as parents with good intentions that just didn't play out the way you expected?
There's yet another review for those interested. This time it's some of the PC 1000 Tastes of Canada products.
(The pictures are of a rainbow (lower right), a baby spider (lower left), a spider and web (lower middle) and a mango (upper right), FYI.)
To be clear, this is an opportunity to interview my blog-famous daughter, Munchkin. I originally suggested this idea to another blogger, but she never ran with it, so I'm taking it for myself. A few clarifications:
She is four years old. Please keep that in mind when asking her questions.
She is actually aware of what I am doing here, so she's expecting questions. Don't let her down people. Ask a lot of questions, please.
Any question that would identify her or any one in our family will be ignored.
Otherwise, any question is fair game. Obviously, I will publish her answers in another post.
We went to visit my parents again this weekend to celebrate my nephew's birthday (which was actually June 20th, but this was the first weekend we could all get together around that date). It was fun, and went better than our last visit, although admittedly that one wasn't hard to top.
Munchkin enjoyed seeing her cousins and even got to sleep over at their place again Saturday night. (She also received two ear-piercing scream inducing gifts from my parents because my mother insists on purchasing gifts for all grandchildren at every birthday despite our protestations that it makes the birthday kid feel less important: one was an R2D2 action figure, and the other was a Disney Princess musical jewelry box with Sleeping Beauty spinning inside when you open it. Say what you want about her upbringing, but at least it's not slanted one way or another.)
Buddy was more friendly with everyone, especially my father who said to him on several occasions this weekend, "Grandpa go miss you when you go." (My father has a thick Italian accent and doesn't speak with perfect grammar, but the message is never lost.) Buddy also happily showed off his newest skill - blowing kisses - to everyone's delight.
* * *
My father turns 75 in September (right after Munchkin's first week of school) and in August he celebrates 50 years in Canada. Obviously, both these events need to be celebrated. Early October has birthdays for Buddy, my sister and my niece, as well as Canadian Thanksgiving. Since my sisters and I have such tight schedules, we booked the dates we will celebrate as a group this weekend. The problem is that there's a pretty big gap between now and when we're celebrating my dad's dates, which begs the question of whether or not we (MTM, me, and the kids) make another trip in between.
My kids love visiting my parents: not just because they can watch Playhouse Disney (Dear Rogers: why the fuck won't you make Playhouse Disney available on your cable system?!?) or they get to stay up late or have treats. They love my parents and love seeing them and doing stuff with them. At the same time, their activities there are limited. Neither of my parents are in very good health, so they cannot do much with the kids besides hold them while watching tv and telling them stories. In fact, my father said to Buddy this weekend that he wished Buddy was born sooner, because now he (my father) is too old to play with him the way he wants.
On the one hand, I feel like I want my kids have at least some memories of their grandparents. I know logically that at this age Buddy will remember nothing and Munchkin may or may not recall fragments, but somehow I feel like I need to lay a foundation or something. So many kids never get to see their grandparents (like me - I never met my father's parents because his dad died when he was a kid and his mother never left Italy and we couldn't afford to fly to her) that I feel like I should make every effort to get them together.
At the same time, I feel guilty for forcing my family into a car for nine hours or more to spend the weekend not "doing" much of anything except talking and watching tv. It puts a strain on MTM (she has to pack for the kids because she knows what their daily needs are better than I do, she has to deal with makeshift sleeping arrangements and diaper changing locations and what not, etc.); it is difficult for me to deal with all the baggage from my childhood as it comes up over and over; it can be difficult for the kids to be pulled from the familiar and thrust into the unknown. It's not easy to make the journey, and often it's stressful due to a lack of appreciation and/or consideration from my parents.
* * *
As much as I want to say it has nothing to do with it, part of my inner conflict is the fact that my inlaws are so close. My MIL sees the kids at least once or twice a week because she watches Munchkin while Buddy and MTM go to a class. We get together with them for holidays if we're not going to visit my parents. My kids know them a lot more than they know my parents, and that bothers me. It bothers me because I want them to know my side of the family, but also because of the difficult relationship I have with my inlaws.
(Aside: I know that it can never be "equal" as long as we're so far from one set. I'm not striving for equal, or even "fair", just not completely lopsided and fucked up.)
So now I'm faced with the question: do I drag my wife and kids along the highway for an additional trip that we really don't need to compensate for some emotional need that I can't properly articulate, or do I leave that weekend alone and make use of it as a "free" weekend to catch a baseball or pretend football CFL game or a zoo trip? Do I put my stuff aside and just enjoy a weekend as a foursome, or do I try and encourage a better bond with their grandparents?
Thoughts? Opinions? I'd love to hear either (or both), please.
For all the hip-hop enthusiasts in my readership who are also parents, check out my review of Mee Wee: kid-friendly hip-hop.
Way back when I had only been blogging for a couple of months, I learned that someone found my site using a disgusting search string, and I wrote a post about it. A little while later, I had accumulated enough weird search strings to make up a post. Thus Keyword Madness was born. Now, every couple of months or so, I go through my Google Analytics archives and collect some of the weirder keyword hits (and believe me; this site gets all the crazies). Today I share my 12th volume (since moving to this blog).
As always, these are unedited search strings that brought people to this site.
my husband removed his testicle Wait, he removed his own testicle? By himself?!? What the fuck is wrong with him?
learn from my stupid mistakes Uh, OK.
fork failure 141 perhaps after 141 failures, it's time to admit defeat and just use a spoon
tempra and gravol at the same time? You really want them to sleep, huh?
gril sith zoo sex Wow; barbecue, Star Wars AND animals? You win the most fucked up fetish award, man.
abba patio canopy instructions the unspoken tragedy of declining record sales
my dad doesn't want anyone to sleep at my house how do i perswade him to let my girlfriend sleep over tell him otherwise you'll do her in the backseat of his car, without laying a sheet down
the mind reader reads my thoughts before i think them Let's think about this for a moment: how can the mind reader is "read" your thoughts before you think them? Technically, wouldn't he be planting that thought in your head?
how to change the behaviour of 3 year old from egoistic to friendly sharing buddy Pavlov had some ideas. I've also heard good things about this thing called "allowing your kid to grow up".
siblings don't speak to me I wouldn't either after what you did, bastard.
my daughter fell out of my bed, and hit her head on the side table maybe it's time to move that side table?
will bed bugs go in to ears?+i have a smallbaby I was going to say no, bed bugs will not go in your ears, but if you have a small baby, well, that's a completely different matter. Actually, I'm surprised they haven't eaten your brain by... You know what? Nevermind.
stocking feet rape shoes honestly, if you're looking for rape shoes, please don't come here
echogenic foci sucks baby echogenic foci are dark spots on an ultrasound; I think it is unlikely that they would become something that could suck your baby in (like a black hole)
why dad will not wash the plates because if he leaves them in the sink long enough his wife will give up fairies will come and clean them
Finally, there was a common thread in a number of the search strings this time: play with yourself ways to play with yourself can you play with yourself when you have your period if you are a boy how do you play with yourself in bed is it okay to play with yourself when pregnant ways to play with yourself for girls what is it called when you play with yourself OK, listen: nowhere in this blog do those three words appear in sequence. However, that act, despite what your religion may have told you about hairy palms and the like, is perfectly normal and natural. As for when and how you perform it, that is at your discretion.
I have a brief matter of housekeeping before we get to today's post. Some of you (at least one person emailed me within an hour of my usual publish time) may have noticed that I didn't post yesterday, which is a testament to my habitual nature (as well as your need for routine). Yesterday was Canada Day, which is a statutory holiday, and a long time ago I decided that I would typically post on "working days" only (to avoid feeling pressured to post on the Monday of a long weekend).
Of course, next week I'm taking vacation time, and will probably lapse in my posting again. However, none of that has been decided yet.
Every night before I tuck her into bed, I tell Munchkin that I love her, and that no matter how old she gets or how big she gets, she'll always be my little girl, my special little girl. And every night after that, Munchkin asks me, "Daddy, are you getting up for work tomorrow morning?"
* * *
Yesterday, MTM found the one mall that was open on Canada Day, and with the threat of rain looming in the forecast, we decided to do some shopping. We ended up at Ardene (which is a store that could essentially be renamed Tweens 'R' Us), where Munchkin spent 20 minutes shoppinglike a woman slowly and meticulously for hair accessories for school. We also happened upon a great deal on a generic (i.e. not Disney Princess, My Little Pony, or other) backpack that is just about the size of her (but apparently the teacher told MTM they need "real" backpacks, not little ones), complete with a cell phone holder place for her glasses.
* * *
I've actually been off work since Friday. We were supposed to go to a wedding for a friend of MTM's on Saturday and stay over for two nights (returning Monday), and with the holiday Wednesday, I just took the two days off. However, all four of us had varying degrees of a chest cold, so we opted out because every configuration we tried either involved more than five hours (of driving time) in a car with two sick kids or MTM becoming engorged because of time away from Buddy. Bottom line, my answer to Munchkin's question above was, "No," for quite a while.
* * *
Most nights these days MTM ends up in the twin bed in Buddy's room because he's still getting up in the middle of the night to feed and she doesn't want to disrupt my sleep. On the nights where I don't have to get up for work the next morning, Munchkin has learned that she can crawl into our bed with me and snuggle until her parent-legislated 7.00am wake-up time. (Incidentally, she has also figured out that Daddy is a very sound sleeper and is generally groggy at 3.00am, so she has occasionally climbed into our bed - with my semi-conscious permission - on "work days" as well.)
This vacation saw her waking up with me every morning. When we travel later this month (both to visit my parents and the inlaws' cottage), she will sleep with me while MTM and Buddy bunk up (again, for breastfeeding and uninterrupted sleep reasons).
* * *
My little girl is growing up. She was mature enough to rationalize with when choosing her backpack that getting a light pink Disney Princess one ("with a bow Daddy... a bow) wasn't as practical as a dark coloured one (in terms of keeping it clean). She thought about outfits and matching and options when choosing her hair accessories for the fall. She turned to MTM at one point during the shopping trip when I had gone off to check out cell phones alone that she "missed her father".
I say that she'll always be my little girl, and in a way she always will, but in other ways she's already shedding that moniker.
And while I'm not saying I expect the day to come soon, nor do I expect it to come before Buddy is sleeping through the night (fuck, I hope not), but at some point Munchkin sleeping with me will become weird, strange, awkward, inappropriate. It's that fine line between dads and daughters: they'll always be your little princess, always able to wrap their arms around you and give you a kiss, but a some point the differences in your gender become a consideration. I know that day will come. I just don't know when it's coming or if I'm ready for it.
At what age does it become wrong for a father and daughter to sleep in the same bed? When does it stop being sweet and start being creepy? I know the answer isn't four (or at least I don't think the answer is four), but I don't know what it is. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this.
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"I was thinking about those green shelves at Ikea."
First, the layout of the store itself lends itself far more to a woman's approach to shopping than a man's. A man wants to see everything in a section, side by side, so he can select the one he wants. Women, on the other hand, want to see the final product; the completed room (with many new accessories that she can conveniently purchase there). So, Ikea gives you both, and it takes twice as long because you have to look at the same damn shelf in three different room configurations (not to mention in the shelf section). It is so inefficient.
And don't get me started about the names. Lack? Billy? Bonde? Mälm? Please! And what's with the use of the umlaut? Are all the products named after failed metal hair bands of the 1980s?
And that motif continues once the boxes are home and unloaded from the vehicle. The man wants to lock himself in a room with his allen-key and emerge all manly with the unit complete. The woman wants the assembly to be a shared experience, something that can make their relationship grow and prosper because they "made" something together. News flash: this is not a baby, ladies. This is particle board and cheap hardware precariously connected and theoretically called furniture.
