The Jasper Chronicles

Happy Birthday! And Goodbye.

2011-08-18T20:40:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday son! Wow, it seems like just six years ago you were born. Time flies when you’re having fun, and I’ve loved every minute of it.

So you’re six, and in a few weeks heading into Grade 1. I’m blown away. It’s been a fun ride and I suspect it will only get better. Sure we’ve had our differences - typical parent/child stuff - and I know there have been times you’ve thought of me as a total jerk. The reality is... I am. But jerk or not I promise you this much: No matter what challenges we may face together, you will always be my son and I will love you unconditionally.

And hey, you’re a lovable kid. You’ve got years, decades of development ahead of you, but I can already see signs of a leader emerging. You’re empathic, caring and inclusive. Thoughtful, helpful and kind. Yeah you’re only six, and you have all the trappings of a six-year old, but there are some awesome personality traits bubbling to the surface.

It’s also time to sign-off The Jasper Chronicles for good. Honestly I’ve pretty much checked out a year and half ago, but might as well make it official. Not that there are any readers left to even notice, but this blog was never about building a readership. I’m flattered that I got the readers that I did, but no, I created this blog for you son.

I used this blog as a way to document the first few years of your life through my eyes. And while there have been some huge gaps between posts, I think I’ve been fairly successful. Particularly capturing the early years, the years you won’t remember - thankfully - because those are also the years you probably saw me naked far too often.

And just because I haven’t posted in the past year and a half doesn’t mean you’ve gotten off easy. I have hours of video and thousands of pictures stored away. Really embarrassing stuff I can pull out anytime. Stuff that would make you crap yourself; come to think if I have footage of you crapping yourself.

So that’s it. The Jasper Chronicles are done. I might start another blog one day, maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Mouth of Babes

2010-05-25T13:15:00.000-07:00

We were out for a family bike ride last week. A sunny. warm afternoon on along the seawall.

We ride past a short, plump-ish, but extremely sweet woman. "It looks like you three are having a great time."

The Boy smile back at her, turns to us and yells, "Hey! I just saw a little fat lady!"

P and I almost rode into the water.

I Just Thought You Got Anally Raped

2010-03-03T06:55:00.000-08:00

The Boy describes prison to me.

The Boy: I want to go to prison.

Me: Uh....

TB: There's food in prison.

Me: Yeah, but...

TB: They have pepperoni, and sausages, hot dogs, and chicken of course.

Me: They might, but I really don't...

TB: Yeah. It's like a restaurant. In Canada. Prison.

Me: I don't think you want to go to prison.

TB: Yes I do. Everyone likes me there. They all cheer for me and give me high-fives.

Me: Probably for the wrong reasons, but prison isn't a good place.

TB: And pizza. They always have pizza, and hamburgers. Lots to eat.

Me: Okay, so you'll be well fed. Still...

TB: And everyone gets dessert.

With all this eating, it's surprising the prisoners have any time left over to make license plates and telemarket.

Christmas - Good Time to Clean the Grease Trap

2009-12-24T22:39:00.000-08:00

We're up in Prince George for Christmas. Despite the usual anxiety associated with visiting the parents (either set) P and I do love the free baby sitting that comes along with it. It's truly win-win, our parents get 100% Boy time, and we get a break. So every visit we carve out some time for ourselves; this time was no exception.

This afternoon, after a bit of last-minute Christmas shopping we found ourselves at Mr. Jake's House of Steak, again (our third visit). One could argue the choices in downtown Prince George are limited, and they'd be right. But no, we actually kind of like Mr, Jake's.

It's grimy, greasy, and questionably prepared, but also friendly, authentic and fully licensed. And while I doubt their guarantee "the quality of our food to be the very best at prices beyond comparison anywhere in BC", it's edible.

Potato salad, served by the ice-cream scoop

The Jake Caesar

P tucks into her Caesar

20 minutes later the Original Jake Burger

I had a Chicken Burger

Prices have gone up over the years. Today's meal set us back $28

We'll be back

But I Only Got One Cheque...

2009-12-09T11:28:00.000-08:00

My first Unemployment Insurance cheque arrived today (woot!), but it will likely be my last one (poot!) as yesterday I rejoined the ranks of the gainfully employed. I am now Marketing Manager for a tech company downtown.

It comes with some mixed emotions. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited and grateful for the opportunity, but the past 10 weeks have been awesome as a Dad. The Boy and I have spend so much time together. He gets dropped off later and picked up earlier from daycare, there have been swimming lessons, bike rides, coffee shops, parks - basically a lot of him and me time. Not to mention the flexibility of freelancing/contract work would allow me to maintain the level of face time.

Yeah there would be a considerable drop in household income while I established myself, but unfettered Boy access seemed worth it. Then this position popped up.

P and I discussed, as we do, and in the end this is a good move for me. It's a new sector for me (tech), online focused (yay!), and chance to really apply my skills - so lots of opportunities for professional growth. Plus after meeting with some of the management team, sounds like a great place to work. I'm looking forward to starting later this month.

As for The Boy, that part still makes me sad. It's not like he'll be suddenly ignored, we'll just spend less time together. On the other hand, I'll have the income to be able to buy him lots of shiny things, because if anything can fuel the onslaught of unnecessary gifts, it's guilt.

Okay That's Picky

2009-11-24T13:59:00.001-08:00

Most kids are somewhat fussy eaters, and The Boy is no different. He loves vegetables - broccoli, spinach, beets, asparagus, brussel sprouts, to name a few - but has trouble with meat. He'll eat a hamburger but not steak. Ham, bacon but not pork. Turkey sausages but not turkey. Chicken strips in restaurants but not homemade. Sushi but not fish.

Yesterday at daycare things took a turn toward the weird. For his morning snack I packed him one of his favourites - peanut butter and jam sandwich. According to his teacher he sat down, looked at his placemat and started crying.

"What's wrong?!?"

"I don't like my sandwich."

"I thought peanut butter and jam was your favourite?"

"It is, but I don't like the container. It's different."

Eventually he stopped crying, but wouldn't touch his sandwich. Yes I admit I grabbed a different container, but come on little dude, it's only a plastic tub!

Sigh...

That Deserves a Lump of Coal

2009-11-04T11:12:00.000-08:00

Me: Let's go buy Breakfast with Santa tickets.

The Boy: Awwww man! If I have breakfast with Santa I'll fart!

I'm sure there are a lot of upsides to being a Department Store Santa. Kids farting on your lap is probably not one of them.

Safety First?

2009-11-02T21:54:00.000-08:00

Since the late 80's or so, car manufacturers have installed rear door child-safety locks in most of their cars. They come in various flavours, but they all do the same thing - prevent the door from being opened from the inside. The idea is to stop junior from fleeing the car at inappropriate times, like say driving down the highway at 110 km, or driving past a collision between a toy delivery van and ice cream truck.

So a month ago when The Boy stepped up from a car seat to booster seat I activated the safety locks in our car. Then I got to thinking, just how safe are those locks?

Yes it's true, the locks can stop your kid from bolting the car when you least expect it, but what about a situation where you actually want, or need, your kid to get out by themselves. And that's the real question isn't it? If you got in a crash and your door was stuck shut, how would your kid get out of the car?

Whether you choose to use these locks or not really depends on you, but after thinking it through I'm on the side of the prevention through education instead of prevention by restraint (like those stupid kid leashes - but that's for another day).

A week after using the locks, I deactivated them. And so far I haven't had a problem with The Boy getting out when he shouldn't.

Light a Match!

2009-10-16T20:56:00.000-07:00

The Boy is pooping upstairs when suddenly, "My eyes are watering!"

"Well if you hurry up you can get out of there." The Boy has been potty trained for well over a year now, but to this day a little piece of me still jumps for joy whenever he wanders into the bathroom by himself. Now the problem is getting him off the pot.

Seems he has discovered the best reading room in the house already. A "big job" for The Boy can last 20 minutes or more, as he likes to settle in with a couple of books.

"You done yet?"

"Not yet."

"Seriously, its been a long time. You must be done."

"Not yet."

"Even Dad doesn't take this long."

"Not yet."

My beautiful, beautiful boy. He's got a taste for garlic and shits like an adult.

Nice.

The Upside to Unemployment

2009-10-15T20:37:00.000-07:00

So I've been a Laid-off Dad for a couple weeks now (Not to be confused with THE Laid-off Dad, an excellent read if you're so inclined). A few observations.

What's surprised me the most so far is how busy I am. And not the "cross legs in opposite direction while watching daytime TV" type of busy, I'm actually busy. Between reconnecting with my network, errands, housework, and a bit of consulting I barely have enough hours in the day. How the hell did I manage to get everything done while working full-time is a mystery.
I'm shocked at how messy the house is. You'd think with me being home a lot the place would be neater, but I think it's actually messier.
I have yet to figure out what to tell The Boy when he draws me a picture and says, "You can put this up in your office Dad."
I don't miss my old job.
This year I will NOT have to wear a Halloween costume to work. Halloween 2009 will be celebrated the way it should be, in my underwear eating mini-chocolate bars.
I'm taking The Boy to swimming lessons. I used to think "What parent could possibly take their kids to lessons during the week?!?" The answer: parents like me.
But the absolute best part of being unemployed full-time - I get to spend way more time with The Boy. He gets dropped off at daycare later and picked up earlier. Sometimes we walk and check out the neighbourhood along the way, or stop for a hot chocolate on the way home. It's awesome!

Turn Down The Suck

2009-10-09T19:01:00.000-07:00

P emails me last week. "The Wiggles are coming."

"You're joking right?" After a couple of minutes I send a follow-up, "Well, you can go."

The Wiggles embarrass me like no other children's group can. It's not necessarily the way they dance, or even the music specifically, there's just something about how it all comes together that makes me want to eviscerate myself. But The Boy would probably enjoy himself, and P seems to tolerate them, so I set aside my musical pride long enough to buy two tickets.

P's clearly the bigger parent here. She's not a Wiggles fan, but willing to sit through it for our son's enjoyment. And she's not alone, as the procession of mini-vans in the parking lot would seem to indicate.

So right now P and The Boy are at the concert while I sit in a near-by coffee shop. The show will probably be great, and The Boy will have the time of his life. yet here I sit sipping an Americano.

Yup, I'm a little man who can't look past my personal tastes for my son's benefit. But you know, despite rationalizing it, I'd still rather stick a screwdriver in my ear.

I Suppose That's Possible

2009-09-26T09:30:00.000-07:00

The Boy: When I grow up I'm going to have boobies.

P: Well...

TB: My Brother (his imaginary one) has boobs.

P: He does?

TB: Yes he does. He has huge boobs (gesturing arms length from his chest).

That would explain this picture.

Your Child’s Future!

2009-08-27T13:46:00.000-07:00

Have you secured it yet? Your children’s future? I’m not talking about saving up for university tuition or preparing your will (both good ideas by the way), I’m talking about their digital future.

My co-workers gave The Boy got his own domain as a baby gift. While I’ve haven’t activated it yet, it’s up-to-date, parked and waiting. Yesterday I signed him up for a Gmail and Twitter account. Today I’m going to secure FourSquare, MySpace, Flickr, Yelp, and YouTube. Who knows if these technologies will be relevant in a few years, but if they are The Boy will have accounts in his own name.

Parenting in the digital age – whew!

If Everyone Jumped Off a Bridge...

2009-08-19T15:44:00.000-07:00

As parents we're always trying to teach our kids to think for themselves. After all, peer pressure can lead to all sorts of trouble - drugs, smoking, relaxed fit jeans - but maybe parents are actually the problem.

Preschoolers can resist pretty much anything parents throw at them, so how do get them to listen?

"John is wearing hat, don't you want to?"
" See, everyone else is wearing pants."
“Look. Suzy has sunscreen on.”

We use peer pressure.

How are kids going to learn to think for themselves if they spend their formative years being told to be like everyone else?

Four!

2009-08-13T14:00:00.000-07:00

The Boy turned four-years old today. This is the first birthday where he truly understands it’s a special day, and he’s super excited. Although the day got off to a rocky start.

P and I made cupcakes to take to his daycare.

The Boy: Dad, will you come to my cupcake party?

Me: I can’t, sorry. I have to work.

TB: [tears welling up] Mom, can you come to my cupcake party?

P: I’m sorry honey. Mom and Dad have to work. But all your friends will be there.

Fortunately he manages to hold back the tears, but seems genuinely sad. “He’ll get over it.” P says as she leaves.

We all those memory nuggets from our childhood that stand out. Events big and small that for no apparent reason stick with us forever – I hope this isn’t one of those memories for The Boy, “Hmmm… it would be a shame to commit Dad to an old folks home, but he did miss my 4th-birthday cupcake party…”

Yeah, he won’t remember the bike we’re giving him tonight, or the big-ass party we threw him last Saturday. He’s going to stick me in a home because I didn’t break-cake with him today. Great.

Happy Birthday Son! Let’s talk before I write you out of my will.

Creepy But Cool

2009-08-05T14:22:00.000-07:00

Won't make me start drinking Evian, but I love the execution.

Booty Call

2009-07-16T09:55:00.000-07:00

It's 5:00 AM. The phone rings.

"Hello?"

"..."

"Hello?"

"... hello?"

"Can I help you?"

"Uh... what's your cheapest rate for an escort?"

"You really have the wrong number."

--click--

Classy. But I guess in these recessionary times everyone's looking for a bargain.

Grad

2009-07-07T21:40:00.000-07:00

Last week The Boy's daycare held a graduation ceremony for the kids moving onto Kindergarden.

The daycare is run by the local Polish Catholic Church, so I don't know if this is a Polish tradition or a Catholic one, but it apparently when a child graduates they are presented with a phallic balloon.

I can only imagine what kids get for graduating University.

Uh...

2009-07-05T10:19:00.000-07:00

Me: You're a very bright boy.

The Boy: Mommy's bright too. Me and Mommy are bright. Not like you, you're dark.

Me: Well, I am darker than you. (I'm Chinese).

Five minutes later...

Me: Can I have a kiss goodnight?

TB: No.

Me: Why?

TB: Because you're dark. Not light like me and Mom.

Me: So I don't get a kiss?

TB: Nope, because you're dark.

I should force him to watch Michael Jackson's Black and White video. He might not learn about tolerance, but the video is so awful he'll never do it again.

Throw the First Punch

2009-06-20T20:50:00.000-07:00

Like most parents, we've taught The Boy to play nicely and not fight.

- Don't hit back
- Use your words
- Tell them to stop
- Walk away
- Tell the teacher

All good lessons, but now I'm worried he's becoming spineless.

We hear the stories from daycare, "John hit me." "Rowan said he was going to punch me in the face." "James pushed me over."

"What did you do about it?"

"I told him to stop, then told the teacher. He got in trouble." Lately playdates go the same way. "Dad, he pushed me" or "Mom, he won't share."

I'm worried. If The Boy never learns to fight his own fights, he's going to get destroyed in school, and as an adult.

At what point do you suggest to your child they fight back? I am so close to telling him, "Next time so & so punches you, wind up and punch him back."

But that wouldn't be responsible parenting would it?

Two Things You Shouldn't Do on The Bus

2009-06-05T11:51:00.000-07:00

Apply Sunscreen
I applaud your dedication to reducing the risk of skin cancer, but do you really need to apply sunscreen on a crowded bus? Gobs of it on your hands, shoulders, and now thanks to you, the seats, poles and your fellow passengers.

Toss and Eat a Caesar Salad
Backpack over one shoulder and shopping bags in one hand would make it tricky to toss a salad in your kitchen, let alone the bus. Dressing and lettuce everywhere. I don't know what bothered me more, the mess he made or how disgusting it was to watch. The bus is a germ factory dude!

I'm Confused

2009-04-25T20:35:00.000-07:00

I buy a lot of The Boy's clothes online. It just doesn't make much sense to buy new when he out grows them in a couple months, eBay and Craigslist have been very good to us for clothes.

But it was so much easier when he was little. Until he hit the two year mark everything was sized by month. Simple! Aside from small size variations, we had a decent idea of how big any piece of clothing was.

Then he became a "T". 2T, 3T, 4T... First off, what does "T" stand for anyways? And even more confusing, what is the difference between 4T and Sz 4? And how small is a "Small"?

Shoes are even worse. A size 8 may or may not fit depending on whether it is a toddler 8 or kids 8. I might understand if shoe sizes were indicated with a T or K, but all I usually see on a listing is the size. WTF?

Any help on clarifying this would be most appreciated.

That’s Not What Mine Looks Like

2009-03-30T16:39:00.000-07:00

(Slightly graphic details ahead. You’ve been warned.)

I guess it's the age, The Boy is really getting into his genitals. Yesterday while on the toilet he was rolling back his foreskin and checking out the goods inside. Pooing and playing with himself, a true multi-tasker.

I brought him a dinosaur book, made a face, and gave him some privacy.

Suddenly, “Hey guys! Come here. Take a look at this.”

We don’t move. I know it’s innocent self-discovery, but it still weirds us out.

“Come here. It has horns.”

“What?”

“Horns, it has horns.”

“What has horns?”

“Come here.”

P and I are perplexed, “I hope he isn’t talking about his penis.”

I poke my head in the door and, thankfully, he’s pointing to a dinosaur in the book.

Whew! But what if it really did have horns? Next thing you know he’d be in a freak show, touring, and making good money. And I always had him pegged as a doctor.

Back To Regular Programming

2009-03-24T11:47:00.000-07:00

Said what I needed to say about Starbucks. Shitty coffee + declining sales = well you do the math.

Now back to the trials and tribulations of Me, P, and The Boy.

This morning The Boy wandered over to the toilet, lifts the lid and peed standing up! A huge milestone in my opinion. Aside from the fact this makes public washrooms easier, his Potty Seat never really fit the toilet properly - a slight twist right or left and the seat would fall into the bowl.

I got totally stressed each time The Boy went to the washroom. If he actually fell into the toilet, I'd probably be no where near my camera to take a picture.

----

Somewhat related. On a recent trip to the US, I discovered Americans don't use the term "washroom", they prefer "restroom". Every time I asked someone where the washroom was, I'd get this blank, furrowed stare. "You must be from Canada... we don't really go there to wash, so washroom doesn't make any sense."

Yeah well listen snot-face, I don't go to the restroom to rest either, I go there to work.

Starbucks In Decline - I'll Tell You Why

2009-03-23T10:49:00.000-07:00

It's been well documented the past couple of years - coffee giant Starbucks is suffering.

Sales are down, stock prices dropping, stores closing, and the biggest tell-tale sign of trouble, they're jumping the shark; rolling out new products faster than you can say brand extension. Just last month, the company that moved the world away from instant coffee launched an instant coffee. Things must be getting desperate.

My fellow marketers love to dissect Starbucks. They truly were a success story. With virtually no advertising and a focused vision, they rose from a small storefront in Seattle to coffee world domination. Now that they're failing the hand wringing has begun. "They've lost their way." "Go back to core competencies." "What's with the egg sandwiches?" "Market saturation."

But there one point my contemporaries keep on overlooking: Starbucks coffee is awful!

Yeah that's a highly subjective opinion (mine), but I really believe that's the heart of their problem.

In the early days of Starbucks, there weren't a lot of shops like them. Most coffee was brewed in giant urns and served in Styrofoam cups. Starbucks changed that. The whole Starbucks experience revolved around enjoying coffee. It was unique at the time and took North America by storm. Naturally, competition came along.

It wasn't the competition itself that was the problem. It's the fact the competition was serving up better coffee. Starbucks was so busy planning the next phase of world domination, they forgot the reason people went to their stores in the first place, to have a coffee experience. Now they've become the coffee shop of convenience (they are everywhere) and not a destination; Starbucks has become the McDonald's of coffee.

Sure Starbucks has their legion of diehard fans, but they aren't the problem. The competition is making better tasting coffee for the same price, and all things remaining equal, people will go for taste every time.

Sneaky

2009-03-14T20:43:00.000-07:00

[Crinkle. Crinkle]

Me: What are you doing?

The Boy: Nothing.

Me: Are you sneaking a cookie out of the box?

TB: No. I'm doing nothing.

Me: I think you're getting a cookie.

TB: No I'm not.

I turn around just in time to see The Boy hide a cookie behind his back. I'd be gobsmacked if it wasn't so cute. This is the very first time he's tried being sneaky. Probably not the last time though.

A Man Of Leisure - Day 2

2009-03-12T09:31:00.000-07:00

The hardest part of being given six-months notice are the stares I'm getting from the surviving staff, like I'm the walking dead.

Honestly people, you can talk to me. And yes, I'm doing okay.

A Man of Leisure

2009-03-11T14:53:00.000-07:00

I was given my notice at work today.

Six-month working notice, which is a pretty long time, but there are a few projects they need me to manage still. I’m not all that upset, I was planning my next career move anyways, but I would have like to have left on my own terms.

So now the challenge will be to see how many blank DVDs and mechanical pencils I can steal before six months is up.

Ha ha, just kidding… I’m eyeing the laptops!

Someone Your Own Size

2009-03-07T15:52:00.000-08:00

The Boy and I were at Science World today, in the Lego exhibit, sending Lego cars down the Lego racetrack. He was having a good time, and the kids were playing fairly well together - lining their cars up and taking turns pulling the Start lever.

Until this one six-year old showed up. A good five inches taller than the others, he decided he was gonna be "King of the track" - taking over the table, crowding kids, and generally being the biggest one there.

If The Boy was intimidated, he didn't show it. He played with his car, cheered as it raced, and pretty much ignored the kid. I guess this got under his skin because as The Boy lined up his car for another race, the kid reached over and pulled the wheels off.

Now The Boy is going to have to learn to fight his own fights, but when it started getting physical, three years and five inches seemed too lopsided. So I did the first thing that came to mind, I grabbed the six-year old's car, pulled the wheels off, and tossed them on the floor.

The tears started immediately. His mother rushed over but he was inconsolable. I explained what happened, and fortunately, she took my side. Five minutes later, they left.

I made a six-year old cry. Yeah, not my proudest moment.

On the way home I wondered if I could have handled that differently. I guess I could have scolded him, or called his mother right away. But you know, I think I got my point across.

You'll Go Blind

2009-03-02T19:48:00.000-08:00

The past couple of weeks The Boy has been playing with his balls. "Look!" he'll say, "Boingy, Boingy, Boingy..." jingling them around like loose change. Yup, he's definately a boy.

Tonight he asked P, "What do my balls do?" P called me right away.

"Why do I have to tell him?"

"Because I don't have balls."

Fair enough.

"Son. Your balls are full of things that make you a boy. Girls don't have them, only boys do."

"And don't play with them in public." P offers.

"That's right. You've got a lifetime ahead of you for that."

Okay, I can't believe I just had a discussion with a 3-year old about his balls. I really wasn't expecting to have this talk with The Boy for at least another 10 years, at which time he'd probably learn all he needs to know from the Internet, sparing me from the conversation.

While I think my explanation satisfied him, tomorrow he'll probably walk right up to his daycare worker and exclaim "I have balls. You don't."

Can't wait.

Low Point

2009-02-26T13:50:00.000-08:00

I’d have to say in my 3 1/2 years as a parent, the past month have been my least enjoyable so far. The Boy is suddenly become completely disagreeable.

Me: Can you put on your socks?

The Boy: I am NOT putting on my socks!

Me: Okay, don’t put them on then.

TB: I’m GOING to put on my socks!

Substitute socks with just about any subject and you get an idea of how our conversations have been going lately. And when he’s not angry or bossing us around, he’s whining about it.

GEEEEEEEEEZE!

Eventually I get so fed up I end off pulling the “Parent” card and just put the damn socks on for him, or whatever he happens to be disagreeing about that minute. Not the way I saw myself as a parent.

I always thought my relationship with The Boy would flourish under subtle, benevolent, easy-going guidance. I’d never have to raise my voice or force him to do anything because we’d have this mutual understanding. Now I’m lucky if I manage to negotiate a settlement before we both dig our heels in.

Please! Tell me it’s just a phase. I need something to look forward to.

Sled Boarding

2009-01-28T20:36:00.000-08:00

More snow. More snow fun.

After watching The Boy jump up and down on my snow board, I figured I'd start him off standing on his sled first.

He got in three tries. Took me three months before I got the hang of snowboarding. He's only three and a half years old and he's already kicking my ass!

I'm gonna put him in ski lessons though. Hah, that'll show him.

Winter Fun

2009-01-14T20:19:00.001-08:00

Miscellaneous shots from December.

He loves his long underwear. Maybe a little too much.

Chasing me down the hill.

First time skating was a huge success.

Last day good day before the melt.

The Sooner They Talk

2009-01-14T20:12:00.000-08:00

The sooner they talk back.

The Boy: I want cherry tomatoes and cookies for dinner.

Me: You can have cherry tomatoes, but no cookies.

TB: I WANT a cookie.

Me: After dinner. Not for dinner.

TB: I've got news for you Dad (inching closer to the cookie jar), I AM having a cookie.

That's an advanced phrase. I almost gave him a cookie just for saying. But if you're wondering, no, he didn't get cookies for dinner.

Yakkety Yak

2009-01-06T20:28:00.000-08:00

Over the holidays, The Boy's English language skills got noticeably better. We didn't do anything different. In fact I think I spoke more Chinese to him the past two weeks than I have the past two months.

Still he speaks better than some adults I know. Can't say I always like it though.

Me: Can I put you to bed tonight?

The Boy: No. I want Mommy.

Me: Dad's a good guy.

TB: No. Mommy will put me to bed.

Me: But I like reading to you.

TB: Mommy will read to me. And you can watch hockey. Then I'm happy, Mommy's happy and you're happy.

Where did Mr. Smart-Ass learn to talk like that?

Truth be told, The Boy has always preferred P over me when it comes to bedtime. At first it hurt my feelings, until I finally figured out why: I fall asleep while reading to him.

I try my hardest to stay awake, but damn those toddler books are boring. The concept of "Mr. Brown Can Moo" seems great, but have you ever tried to read it?

Blackmail Fodder

2009-01-05T21:46:00.000-08:00

The Boy and his friend Henry. They get along great. Usually their playdates end with a hug and kiss (or tears, but that's another story).

I finally managed to get a picture of it!

Doesn't matter if he grows up to be straight or gay, this is going to come back and haunt him one day.

I'll Never Get Tired Of This

2009-01-01T12:38:00.000-08:00

I'm downstairs listening to The Boy sing Christmas carols while pooping on the toilet. It's been over six months but I'm still thankful he's potty trained! As I mentioned our goal this year is to get him to use the toilet exclusively. Up until now he's been living every man's dream - crapping in the living room and watching TV.

Day one, success.

Sacrilegious, I Think

2008-12-24T13:41:00.000-08:00

Our "No Toy Gun" policy is manifesting itself in strange ways.

The Boy's favouite part of our Christmas Nativity scene are the angels. At first he played with the whole set, but eventually only the angels were getting any playtime. This in itself isn't so bad until, "Dad. You be the bad guy, I'll be Bat-Man."

Always up for a game of Bad Guy/Superhero I happliy obliged. Then he starting shooting me.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm shooting lasers at you Dad."

"Yeah, but with what? Do you know what you're holding?"

"Uh-huh. It's my Gun Angel."

Laser beam firing Gun Angels. Awesome! There's more to this religion thing than I thought.

Whoa! Went "Dark" There For Awhile

2008-12-20T06:44:00.000-08:00

Forgive me. It's been a month since my last post. I've been super busy. Too busy to blog? Maybe not, but by the time I get home from work I just don't feel inspired enough to write.

But after spending the day snowboarding yesterday and sleeping in today, I'm feeling refreshed. Today is only the second day of my two week holiday too. A few random things...

- Right now I"m sipping a lazy coffee and watching The Boy shimmy his potty across the Living room to get at some toys. It's kind of grossing me out. New Year Resolution: The Boy uses the toilet everytime, all the time - it stays in one place.

- P and I have been talking to him about giving toys to other kids who may not have any. Surprisingly he gets it and helped me drop off some new toys to the local Christmas Bureau. Step two, getting him to help us go through his old toys. Might now be as easy.

- The Boy inexplicably puts his underwear and pants on backwards every single time. Why can't he just reverse them?

- Among his favourite superheros is Ultra-Man. I don't know where he got that from, but it's pretty darn cool.

- And we've been spending a ton of time playing in the snow. Pics and video coming soon.

Watch Your Mouth

2008-11-17T15:19:00.000-08:00

This morning I'm getting The Boy ready for school

Me: Okay, we got to go. Put on your jacket please.

The Boy: I don't want a jacket.

Me: You have to wear your jacket.

TB: I'm not cold. I don't want to wear it.

Me: It's cold outside. You have to wear it. You can take it off when you get to school.

TB: I'll take it off in the car.

Me: It's cold in the car too. You can take it off when we get to school. You have to believe me. I'm not just being a dick.

TB: You ARE being a dick!

I couldn't really get mad at him. After all, I said it first. Damn!

It's As Bad As It Tastes

2008-11-10T21:55:00.000-08:00

The Boy has some sort of chest infection. So our doctor prescribed a crappy tasting cough syrup and an equally crappy tasting anti-biotic.

We managed to get half the cough syrup and three-quarters of the anti-biotic in him before he barfed it up - along with his dinner. All over his bed, pillow and carpet.

We've got to 14 more doses to get into him over the next week, and I have no idea how we're going to manage it.

Wish us luck!

The Next Ansel Adams

2008-11-07T17:20:00.000-08:00

I gave The Boy our old digital camera. Now he takes pictures of all the stuff that's important to him.

I love the innocent in these shots, taken without any consideration to composition, framing or depth. He just shoots the stuff he likes.

And even though some of the shots are taken mere millimeters from the subject, he knows what's in each picture.

Enjoy!

Plex The Robot (from Yo Gabba Gabba)

A Coaster

Kermit

Bruno the Puppet

My Parents and Him

Moments Before a Watermelon Snack

Crackers

His 'Pirate' Toque

Red Snapper

Mommy's Leg

I just like this shot

Mom

Dad

Lighting McQueen and Milk and Guacamole

Foot Foot the Cat

Dad

Toy Jeep

Blanket

Toy Jeep #2

YAY!

2008-11-04T20:35:00.000-08:00

I may be Canadian, but I'm happy!

Not The Sunday I Expected

2008-11-03T21:40:00.000-08:00

Incident #1
I'm lying on the bed suffering (see Issue #2). The Boy is playing behind me.

Suddenly, "PHLAM!"

I bolt over. The Boy looks like a deer caught in the headlights. P's night table and the walls are splattered with orange. It smells sour.

It takes me a second before I realize he has shot off a round of bear spray. I grab The Boy and dash downstairs. He's bawling, but luckily pointed the can away from himself.

I manage to get our bedroom windows open and, once the pepper dissipated, spend the next 40-minutes scrubbing the walls.

At least I forgot about my other problem for a while.

Incident #2
Saturday night I get the runs. Immodium and Pepto Bismol don't seem to help. I sleep fitfully.

Sunday is no better, except now there's blood.

I decide it will get better on it's own. It doesn't.

At 5:30 pm I go to the hospital. Surprisingly I get admitted quickly.

An attractive resident attends to me. She pokes my stomach, listens to my chest, asks some questions and leaves. "Be right back."

My worst fear is realized when she returns with gloves and lube. "Are you serious? I've just got bad diarrhea."

"We want to be thorough."

"Are you flirting with me? Because I usually wait until at least the third date before a finger goes up my ass. Besides I'm married."

"Look. As much as you're not looking forward to receiving this. I'm not looking forward to performing it."

Touche.

Three hours later they still don't know what caused my problem. One blood test, two x-rays, and a rectal exam and all they could tell me was, "Eat more fiber."

Yup, this is definitely not how I thought my Sunday was going to end up.

Best Laid Plans

2008-10-28T12:59:00.001-07:00

Today in the paper is a story of two White Supremacist whose plot to kill Barack Obama was foiled by US federal investigators.

According to authorities, the two men had planned to dress in all-white tuxedos and top hats and drive their car as fast as they could towards Obama while shooting at him through the windows.

The story had me shaking my head. I mean, what in the world were those two morons thinking?!? Nobody wears white after Labour Day.

Accident-Free for 1 Day

2008-10-27T15:37:00.000-07:00

I haven’t knowingly eating any beef or pork since 1985, when I sat across the dinner table from Henry Rollins (yes I had dinner with Henry Rollins) and listen to him say, “I don’t care how many animals you kill, I just don’t want to eat them.” That Henry, ever the sentimentalist.

Young and impressionable, this was easily the coolest thing I had ever heard. “Hey! Good enough for Hank, good enough for me.”

Yesterday at 1:25 PM, at Vera’s Burger Shack, I let Henry down. P ordered the Vera burger, me a Veggie. All I got to say is the words “Vera” and “Vegi” look an awful lot alike when scrawled on top of tinfoil. And I kept thinking, “This the most authentic veggie burger I’ve ever had.” Finally, after eating nearly three quarters I say to P, “I think I’m eating your burger.”

23-years of unwavering dedication to a diet born not out of ethical or health concerns, but because the singer of a punk rock band told me to, has come to an end. Sorry Henry. Today the clock gets reset to 1.

On the flip side P, who up until yesterday believed all veggie burgers to be the spawn of Satan, thought it tasted pretty good.

Does Mrs. Clause Know?

2008-09-22T21:36:00.000-07:00

It's breakfast and The Boy decides it's fun to eat ~~without using his hands~~ by sticking his face into the bowl. Quite a mess, must stop this. "Hey. Where did you learn to eat like that?"

"Judy"

"Who's Judy?"

"She lives there," pointing out the window.

I'm actually concerned because there is a woman sleeping in the alley behind our house. "Exactly where does Judy live?"

"Out there. In Santo."

Santo? Is that the make of car she sleeps in? "What's Santo?"

"Out there. Up in the sky. With red coat and hat and 'Ho Ho Ho'."

"You mean Santa? Judy lives with Santa?"

"Yeah. In the sky. And they're gonna come and they have lots of stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Uh... candy... and balls."

Candy and balls. Well, my Christmas shopping is done.

Mad Harry Vane

2008-09-21T11:37:00.000-07:00

Yesterday The Boy and I went winter clothes shopping. I'm not usually this proactive, but good luck finding decent warm clothes when the weather actually turns cold.

The Boy wasn't in much of a shopping mood, so I was really pumping it up! "You're going to get some polypro long johns. Cool huh?"

No dice. I kept it up.

"And you can choose a toque for yourself."

"I don't want a toque!"

"What do you mean? Toques are the best."

"I DON'T want a TOQUE!"

(He doesn't actually know what a toque is, so maybe this can still work.) "Okay, no toque. What kind of hat do you want?"

"I want a Pirate Hat."

Pirate hat? Where the hell did that come from? It was International Talk Like a Pirate Day but I was on a toque quest. "Let's uh... see what they have."

As expected no woolen, knitted pirate hats. "Y'know some of the fiercest pirates in the sea wore wool caps with pom-poms." And the next 20 minutes were spent trying to convince him.

"Pirates love stripes. Try on this striped hat."

"No." "Frogs?" "No." "Swirls?" "No." "Solid green?"

I was just about to give up when on the very bottom rack I saw...

He loved it, and thankfully put him in good mood for the rest of the shopping, because pirate winter underwear would have been impossible to find.

It's Not What You Think

2008-09-15T08:01:00.000-07:00

Despite what it looks like The Boy isn't part of some Toddler Terrorist Camp, unless you call a snotty nose an act of terror. Thankfully we live in Canada, because Homeland Security would have busted our door down by now.

The gun belonged to his friend, but because P and I have so far refused to buy him anything that remotely resembles a gun, he picked it up and wouldn't let go. We hated the stupid thing, but it was the last thing he touched at night and the first thing he looked for next morning.

Sometimes we think we should just cave get him a toy gun. I mean millions of kids play with guns, and only a tiny percentage grow up to be card-carrying NRA crackpots, or Sarah Palin. But actually it's not our dislike of guns that stops us so much, it's The Boy's disturbingly aggressive style of play.

We think it has a lot to do with his previous daycare, where he and his friends got to beat the snot out of each other all day long, but when The Boy plays it's definitely hands-on; hand-on other kids that is. Pushing, shouldering, and tackling are just a part of his playtime repertoire, giving him a toy gun would just make it worse. He gotten a lot better since he started his new daycare (update on that coming soon), but until he plays less touchy we are not buying him any type of gun.

Guns aside, our recent camping trip was a huge success. Now I can see why so many families do it - the woods are like a huge playground, with campfires and liquor. (Now that I think about it, so are most of the playgrounds in East Vancouver, but that's another story.) Plus the kids run themselves stupid in the woods all day and go to bed early at night. Yup, camping is in the plans next summer.

Toasting marshmallows

Boys Discover the Headlamps

Forever?

2008-09-11T09:39:00.000-07:00

The Boy: You're my friend... best friend.

Me: You're my friend too.

TB: Let's be friends forever.

Me: I'm in! You too?

TB: Yeah.

I am so going to show him this post when he becomes a teen. "You said friends forever little dude, so suck it up and give Dad another foot massage."

A Glimpse Into The Future. Brrrrr.

2008-09-04T11:43:00.000-07:00

Like most parents, I look to the parents with older kids to get a sense of what to expect in the coming years. One of my co-workers has been particularly helpful. Her son is about three years older than The Boy and watching him has prepared me for things both squishy and cute.

Yesterday, after spending the morning at her son's Summer Camp talent show, she stormed into the office. Her one sentence review, "You shouldn't be in a talent show if you don't have any talent!"

Some highlights:

Kids skipping rope to a Hanna Montana song. Not trick skipping, not double dutch, just regular skipping, for four minutes.

Three girls doing a step-step-kick routine, to a Hanna Montana song. Step-step-kick, back-back-kick. Very cute until 15 seconds in she realized that's they do for the whole song.

Kids, who have obviously never played a piano before, sitting at a piano hitting random keys.

"I'm surprised there wasn't a kid onstage eating a bowl of cereal, to a Hanna Montana song."

Are kids really so fragile nowadays that everyone has to "win a prize"? Doesn't this just set them up for even bigger disappointment later in life - the day someone finally tells them they didn't make the cut. Don't they hold auditions anymore? And where's the teacher/advisor in all of this? If everyone makes it to the show, then the kids should get some direction. Instead of standing in one spot pretending to lip synch, how about singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star or London Bridges for real? It's cute, over in 15 seconds, and really lets kids feel like they've accomplished something.

Hopefully The Boy will fair better when the day his school talent show rolls around. But if he's not dancing like a monkey to a organ grinder, I'm pulling the plug.

Chapter 5, I think

2008-09-02T11:54:00.000-07:00

I should know these things, major milestones in The Boy's life, but I all I really remember are the significant ones - birthdays, first steps, solid food, potty - the rest just blur together like a lost weekend.

Today is one I'll remember, The Boy's first day at full-time daycare. For the past two years my parents have commuted from Victoria to Vancouver to watch him two days a week. While they never complained, I'm sure it wore on them; it definitely wore on P and me. I love them and all that, but at my age living with my parents again, even two days a week, took some getting used to. And it really put a damper on my hobby of inappropriate nudity, which primarily involves windows and a lot of stretching. But Dad kept drawing the curtains and demanding pants - it was like I was 15 again.

Draconian slacks policy aside, it's a little weird not having them around. The Boy loved their visits, and it was nice to come home to a freshly cut lawn and dinner once in a while. Not having them around also means that The Boy is growing up, which is probably the weirdest feeling of them all.

Balance of Power for August 29th

2008-08-29T15:36:00.001-07:00

I've been sick for most of the week, so the balance of power this week goes to P, who picked up the slack. The Boy made a late charge this afternoon by washing his hands in his milk, but too little too late. The points were in and the judges made their decision.

Next week I fully expect to regain my rightful place at the top. It's a short week though, so sabotage might be in order. Stay tuned.

A Pretty Good Morning

2008-08-27T12:41:00.001-07:00

Can I give you a kiss?

The Boy: Okay

Can I give you a hug?

TB: Okay

- Kiss me again Dad
- Kiss me again
- Kiss me again
- Give me a really big kiss

Even though I suspect The Boy was so affectionate only because P had gone to yoga class, I'll take it.

Memories

2008-08-26T15:40:00.000-07:00

Couple weeks ago The Boy celebrated his third birthday. And it just dawned on me - he's starting to build lifetime memories.

Uh-oh...

Toy Heaven

2008-08-20T12:59:00.000-07:00

Boing Boing is particularly good this week.

Little girl figures out how to beat those rip-off Claw Machines. You know, the ones with the claws so weak you never snag a prize? Houdini would be proud.

Lessons Learned

2008-08-20T12:43:00.000-07:00

If you're a regular reader of Boing Boing (and if you're not, you should be) you've already come across this. Originally posted on I'm Learning to Share.

So many great parenting tips rolled up in this 1941 ad I had to repost it here.

Tip #1 - Beat your kid and act surprised when they have a tantrum
Tip #2 - All kids are constipated
Tip #3 - Best way to get kids to eat something they don't like is to force them. Mealtime in this household must be a hoot.
Tip #4 - Your child will judge you as a parent based on whether you can make them poo

Click on the image to view it full size.

Go Canada?

2008-08-19T07:44:00.000-07:00

Today Canada surpassed their previous medal count at the Summer Olympics. A part of me is happy, a part of me is embarrassed, a part of me died inside.

I'm happy because winning a medal at the Olympics is a huge accomplishment, and when it's a Canadian even better.

I'm embarrassed because for a country as developed as Canada is, we do very poorly at the Olympics. Maybe it's that prevailing Canadian politeness, but our athletes don't seem hungry, or greedy enough to win.

And a part of me died because, for the third Olympics in a row, we've won medals in Trampoline. Trampoline! I'd settle for a lower medal count than endure, "Canada. Tops in Trampoline." Yeah yeah, I recognize the athleticism and the fact I couldn't do it myself, but that doesn't make it any less ridiculous.

Care to guess what my perspective is on Rhythm Gymnastics?

Flip The Switch

2008-08-13T07:34:00.000-07:00

Before The Boy (BTB) I wasn't much into kids. Nieces and nephews always gravitated to Uncle E, my big brother, because I pretty much treated them like adults. Even tragic family stories I'd hear on the news barely tugged a heartstring, kids just didn't register on my radar.

Then P announced she was pregnant. Me? Father? Oil and water seemed like a better mix. I had no idea what to expect, let alone what to do, but a co-worker reassured me, "You might not know what to do now, but once you hold your child for the first time, you'll just know." And he was right. Rookie-parenting mistakes aside I slid right into being Dad and have never looked back.

Here's to three incredible years. Happy Birthday son! I can't imagine life without you.

The Nick of Time

2008-08-08T16:31:00.000-07:00

This September The Boy goes into full-time daycare. That's right, against all odds P managed to land a daycare spot just six blocks from our house. And not a moment too soon.

Right now The Boy goes part-time to an unlicensed daycare/babysitter. A lovely, sweet ~~Ukrainian~~ Croatian woman who has turned her home into a (slightly?) more saliva-covered version of Toys 'R Us. The Boy looks forward to going each week, and why wouldn't he? It's endless free play. No structure, no routine, and no rules as far as I can tell.

Lately though, Lovely, Sweet ~~Ukrainian~~ Croatian daycare has been losing its shine for me. The Boy and his contemporaries are getting older, and pushing their limits. No problem, that's what kids do. I just wish their limits would stay the hell off one another, because every time The Boy comes home he's got a brand new set of bruises to show me. Last night he came home with a scraped knee, a skinned elbow, a puncture wound on his shoulder and what looked like a bite-mark on his back.

I think three 3 year-old boys and one 5 year-old boy beating the snot out of each other is probably beyond what Lovely, Sweet ~~Ukrainian~~ Croatian daycare lady can manage. It's time to pull The Boy out.

Three more visits and we can close this chapter and open the "More Rules, Less Bruises" one. At least that's the theory.

***************************

Tomorrow we've invited the same group of boys to The Boy's birthday party (they're actually great friends). I hope it doesn't become a free-for-all.

He's 3' Tall. He's 3' Tall. He's 3' Tall.

2008-08-01T22:14:00.000-07:00

Bought a brand new DVD player today. Put it up where I thought The Boy couldn't reach it. He pulled it down.

[Shit] "Oh don't touch that. It's Dad's new DVD player."

Startled and unsure what to do next, he dropped it on the floor again. Now the door won't open.

The Boy is 38" and not about to get any shorter. Got to remember that.

I've Become A Monkey

2008-08-01T07:35:00.000-07:00

At least my hands have, and he's called Bruno.

Bruno is a puppet. A monkey puppet purchased for $4.95 at Ikea. Bruno speaks in a high-pitched voice and, because he has limp, lifeless arms, does everything with his mouth. He's orange with oversized eyes and a ridiculous springy tail. Bruno is quite possibly the ugliest monkey puppet on the face of the earth.

Bruno is part of The Boy's inner circle. Whenever something significant happens the puppet is the first to know. Confidant, co-conspirator, and best friend, Bruno can make him laugh and sooth him when he cries.

The fact he prefers a puppet over me is something I'm still coming to terms with, but it makes The Boy happy so who am I to complain? Not to mention Bruno can impart pearls of wisdom that would otherwise be ignore if they came from P or me. Things like "Don't stick chopsticks in your ear", or "Jumping off the fifth step will probably hurt", or "Gaaaah, give the box-cutter to Daddy".

Being Bruno is not all that bad, except The Boy wants him all the time. And only I get to be Bruno, a testament to my ugly-monkey-puppeteering skills I suppose, but there are times I wish the monkey would just stay down. Because I have to wear Bruno all the time, he has "helped" me do all sorts of things like vacuum, chop vegetables, apply sunscreen (it's as messy as it sounds), and followed me to the bathroom.

"Can you put Bruno on Dad?"

"Uh, well can Bruno help me wipe my ass?"

"Of course he can Dad. Bruno can do that."

And so...

The astute among you will quickly realize that, yes in fact, I have two hands. But once The Boy gave me the green light there was no turning back (Note to self: Cross "Monkey wiping my ass" off my list of things to do before I die).

And if you're wondering, Bruno got tossed in the washing maching right away.

Hands On Training

2008-07-28T12:02:00.000-07:00

(I swear this will be the last Potty Post for a while.)

The Boy has been diaperless for almost two months now. In most respects potty training is going very well - the basics are there, we just need to work on style, or more specifically his aim.

Parents of boys can relate. If he stands up to pee, he fires it everywhere. Down his leg, on the floor, behind the toilet, on his shoes, on my shoes, onto his underwear. I've been trying to instruct him on the finer points of peeing like a man

- Hold onto it.
- Aim away from your shoes.
- Thrust your hips forward.
- It's like a water gun.

I'm lucky if he hits the bowl 30% of the time.

Now I've bathed and changed him hundreds of times, but for some reason I refuse to hold onto his penis and give him a hands-on demonstration. It's not like I'm squeamish or anything, it just seems wrong.

++++++++++++++++++++++

This morning The Boy grabbed a book, hopped onto the toilet and asked for some privacy. A knock on the door received, "Nobody here." as a response. After 10 minutes we decided we better poke our heads in to check.

There he was, sitting on the can, contently reading.

Didn't take him long to discover the best reading room in the house did it?

That's Gonna Hurt

2008-07-15T16:23:00.000-07:00

The Boy has definitely developed a Daredevil personality. If there's the slightest chance of serious injury he's all-in. No apparatus can't be climbed, nothing is too tall to jump from, he scoffs at tippy, laughs at dangerous and generally looks peril in the face and says, "Wheeee."

For most part P and I stand back and watch him. We help him when he needs help, but for the most part we figure it's his world to explore and, pffft, if he falls off the top he'll learn not to fall off again.

Then the other day The Boy told me he wants a skateboard and suddenly I'm all concerned. Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against skating, but I know the minute he steps on a board he's going go for it, and he's already a walking bruise.

Fortunately it's still a few years off. Gives me some time to brush up on my first aid.

Everybody Goes

2008-07-11T07:58:00.000-07:00

Even the Man of Steel.

Now that I think of it, is Superman's waste also invulnerable? Is his poo bulletproof? Does his stream cut through concrete?

The plumbing at the Fortress of Solitude must be awesome!

Quick potty update. Peeing has been pretty consistent since his "Can Coming Out" two months ago, but Big Jobs were another thing. After a couple of successful attempts, The Boy refused to go poop in anything but his pants, to the point he would ask us to put on his pants just so he could crap himself.

Then three weeks ago, with lots of coaxing and a bit of forceful encouragement, we got him onto the potty. Five minutes later - TOUCHDOWN! We were happy and so was he. "It looks like a snake!" he squealed.

Last week has been virtually diaper-free as both Big Jobs and Little Jobs are now happening with alarming regularity.

"I've laid another snake!"

Yes you have son, and Dad's very proud of you.

Where Does He Get This From?

2008-07-07T13:05:00.000-07:00

The Boy falls backwards.

Me: Did you hurt your bum?

The Boy: (Absolutely seriously) No. I hurt my crack.

Me: What?

TB: I fell on my crack.

Okay, so I never taught him that. All eyes on my delightful wife...

Achoo

2008-06-23T00:57:00.000-07:00

Curse you airborne allergens!

Father to One. Doofus to Another.

2008-06-17T12:20:00.000-07:00

Last night I picked my parents up from the Ferry Terminal. During the drive into town I waxed on about how great a Father's Day I had, what a great father The Boy has, and how I (obviously)
was best damn Dad in the city, maybe even the world.

Then my Mom chimed up, "Did you wish your Dad a happy Father's Day?"

Oops.

Happy Belated Father's Day Dad. I promise I'll make it up to you next year, unless I forget again.

Father's Day

2008-06-16T17:33:00.000-07:00

Happy day, Fathers. I hope you enjoyed your backrubs and Champaign breakfasts. Me? I spent Father's Day giving P a belated Mother's Day. She got to spend the day doing whatever she wanted and I took care of The Boy.

I guess on paper that seems unfair, but we had a great day. We hung out at a street festival, met up with friends, played in the park, danced to music, ate ice cream and soaked up the sun. What's there to complain about? Okay, maybe just one thing...

There were four of these street festivals taking place yesterday, part of Car-Free Vancouver. Kids at the Main Street festival had a bouncy castle and a huge robot spider to play with, while over at Commercial Drive -- where The Boy and I were -- hippies and hand-drums. My criteria for next year's Car-Free festival: More bouncing, less twirling.

But a tiny bump in what was a near-perfect Father's Day really. The Boy thoroughly enjoyed himself and so did I. Oh and P... she had a great day too.

The Livin' Is Easy

2008-06-10T20:58:00.000-07:00

Summertime!

It's only sunny about 17 days a year in Vancouver, so when Mother Nature decides to shine a little warmth down the pants come off, apparently.

(The Boy's wee-wee has been blurred, so you can stop looking, creep.)

I don't know who taught The Boy to vamp for the camera, but this sort thing is becoming common whenever we shoot his picture.

He's got shorts on here, but they lasted about 30 seconds.

He Shoots. He Scores!

2008-06-05T06:59:00.000-07:00

Recently, for reasons I can't explain, the topic of sperm donation has been on my radar. It turns out there are people out there who will pay good money for something most men are happy to supply.

I know there's a rigorous screening process, and the price fluctuates depending on quality, background, esthetics, etc., but I really think I missed my calling.

a) My sperm produced a child. So, you know, they work.

b) Watching porno and unloading into a container... I can think of worse ways to earn a living.

c) I'm healthy, in good shape, and might I say, [ahem] 'fetching'.

d) My teenage years could now be considered "vocational training" instead of "awkward self-discovery".

It's all moot though, I've been snipped. But one can always dream.

Q: Why Does The Courier Guy Smell?

2008-06-03T07:39:00.000-07:00

A: Because he doesn't shower before work.

I played hockey this morning. A fast competitive game; lots of skating, lots of shooting.

Afterwards, while the rest of us are taking showers, this one guy climbs into his UPS uniform, packs up his gear and heads off to work.

Yeeeew! Next time I need a package delivered I'm calling FedEx.

Hardest Lesson So Far

2008-05-27T18:24:00.000-07:00

Last night I killed a fly. The Boy saw me.

TB: What you doing Dad?

Me: [Shit] I, uh, killed a fly.

TB: Why did you do that?

I was stumped. On one hand we teach The Boy to be friendly to animals. On the other hand, pests like flies need swatting.

I looked down at his innocent face and decided the best thing to do would be to confuse him.

Me: Because, uh... sometimes you got to be cruel to be kind.

The Boy furrowed his brow a bit, but seemed satisfied with the answer.

I wonder if I can take the same approach when he starts asking me about sex?

TB: Dad, in school today Billy says a man sticks his thingy inside a woman. Is that true?

Me: Well, you know son, you've got to be cruel to be kind.

I like it!

They're Back.

2008-05-26T12:13:00.000-07:00

And you didn't even know they left.

P and The Boy returned home on the weekend from a two-week visit with the Grandparents. Which in some ways explains why I haven't posted anything on my blog in over a month.

I suppose spending the entire two-week break in my underwear, eating Chef Boy-R-Dee and sharing with you the scintillating details of my life was an option; I did other stuff instead.

Mostly I built things - a shed, screens, a shelf and extended the patio. The rest of the time was spent on a couple of small renos around the house. Sitting at my computer in Spaghetti-O covered underwear probably would have been more fun, but not nearly as rewarding.

Life with The Boy continues to be a hoot, and there are lots of stories to share, but for now I'll leave you with this.

While waiting for the plane on Saturday, The Boy felt compelled to tell people, "I have a gun." He said it in that adorable two-year-old way, but still, I'm surprised he didn't get Tasered.

The Can. Day 2

2008-04-25T12:39:00.000-07:00

Potty progression continues!

Yesterday The Boy managed to stay dry all day. This morning P and I awaken to a shiny, happy coiler in the toilet! He beamed with pride, I gushed with joy, P canceled the diaper service.

Only a parent could get this excited about poo. Well, only parents and Chuck Berry.

Are We Close?

2008-04-24T18:24:00.000-07:00

At 6:15 am this morning The Boy comes into our room and says, "Mom, I have to go pee." We both sit up in disbelief, "What?"

"I have to go pee."

Thirty seconds later the glorious sound of tinkling resonates from the bathroom.

I have to admit, up until this morning I had all but given up. We tried everything, books, videos, cartoons, role playing, demonstrations, logic (Son, this will really affect your dating potential when you get to high school). Out of frustration the other week I resorted to name-calling, which I can tell you, doesn't work.

The only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that soon he'd be old enough to change his own damn diaper.

Can it be true? Are we close to end of diapers? There have been so many false starts I don't want to get my hopes up, but this has been the biggest step forward so far.

Sam I Am Gets a Nip Tuck

2008-04-22T07:13:00.000-07:00

Soon to be released is a new plastic surgery book for children.

According to Newsweek: "My Beautiful Mommy" aims to reassure kids that Mom's bruises and bandages are just temporary, and the new improved mommy won't be different, just 'prettier'.

I don't think there's been another kids book that so positively builds up a child's body image and self-esteem since "Janey Gets Boobs for Christmas", "1-2-3. Be Thin Like Me" and the popular John Holmes board book for boys "You're born with a Ding. I'm born with a Dong."

My Beautiful Mommy is available from Big Tent Books.

The Future of Daycare

2008-04-06T22:16:00.001-07:00

Ask any parent in Vancouver about daycare/preschool and their shoulders will slump. Then they'll sigh heavily before launching into their story of waitlists, lotteries and catchment areas. The shortage of daycare/preschool spaces is a huge problem around here.

But we're one of the lucky ones. Last week we were offered a space at one of the newer daycares in the city. It's a bit of the drive to get there, but at least we have something.

It's a little cramped, but The Boy doesn't seem to really mind. He complains about it, but don't all kids whine about going to daycare?

In addition to one hour of "exercise time" each day, the kids do a lot of arts and crafts. Making license plates mostly, but once in a while he comes home with a macaroni picture.

Happy Easter

2008-03-24T12:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday The Boy and his friend Clara had a little egg hunt at our place.

P's always wanted to buy one of those foil wrapped Italian Easter Eggs you see down on Commercial Drive. I always assumed they were cake, The Boy was pleased to discover it was actually chocolate. Despite being bigger than his head, he tied to eat it in one sitting.

Happy Easter everyone.

Sponge

2008-03-20T18:47:00.000-07:00

Part of the fun of being a parent for me is the fact The Boy is totally gullible. Yesterday while playing with his Thomas and Friends train set, I started calling Sir Toppen Hat "Sir Top and Bottom". And being the parrot that he is, The Boy also started calling him Sir Top and Bottom.

It made me giggle, but I'd better stop. While somewhat amusing to me, likely offensive to another parent if The Boy was to ever say that at playgroup.

For the same reason I probably should also stop referring to Raffi as "The Bearded Dickwad".

They've Arrived!

2008-03-17T18:23:00.000-07:00

Sitting on my desk right now are five figurines from The Boy's favourite show at the moment, Yo Gabba Gabba. They arrived in the mail today and are super cool. Half of me wants to keep them for myself, in their original boxes, mint, sealed in a vault, for all eternity (or until The Boy needs money for college). The other half realizes that they were bought for him to play with and I should hand them over.

One part Sesame Street, one part Electric Company with bits of Fat Albert and Zoom thrown in, YGG is a live action show that teaches kids wholesome lessons through faux hip-hop and dance. Things like waiting your turn, eating veggies, trying new foods, and my favourite, don't bite your friends.

All common sense lessons some say should be taught by parents and not a TV show. I agree, TV is not a substitute for parenting (although that would free up a lot of time), but it can reinforce the lessons you're already teaching. This doesn't mean P and I endorse an All-TV-All-The-Time policy in our house -- we make sure The Boy gets plenty of parks and swings and arts and crafts and walks and galleries and aquariums too -- but in moderation, age-appropriate TV isn't pure evil either.

Besides I don't think a zero TV policy necessarily raises better kids. The friends I had without a TV growing up were no smarter or faster than the rest of us, and they were actually a drag to hang around with. Because all they wanted to do when they went to someone's house was, you guessed it, watch TV.

Measuring Up

2008-03-11T12:34:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been feeling short.

At 5' 10" I'm no giant, but always felt tall enough. The past couple of months though I've been feeling small.

I'm thinking of finding some shorter friends to hang out with, but not sure how. I thought of looking on Craigslist for a "Shorter Persons" group or something, but realized I might end up in a midgets' club.

Or worse...

"Oh... when you said "Short" I didn't realize that was a euphemism for a sex you can't describe. What's the safety word again? Banana?

Banana.

BANANA.

BAAH NAAH NAAH!

Are platform shoes back in style yet? Sign me up for three pairs.

He Can See In The Dark

2008-03-06T18:23:00.000-08:00

Last weekend we moved The Boy out of his crib and into a Big-Boy-Bed. Since we moved last month, he's been off the crib, calling us at ungodly hours to open his window, or turn off the nightlight, or whatever. So we figured, "If he was in a Big-Boy-Bed, he'd be able to turn off his own damn nightlight."

I have to admit I wasn't totally enthusiastic about the BBB when P brought it up. I kind of like to notion of holding The Boy prisoner overnight because:

a) His remarkable lack of sleep is well documented. Calling us from his room at 4:00 AM is one thing, poking me in the eye to get me up at 4:00 AM is a totally different matter.

b) The door to his room is right next to the stairs, which means one groggy mis-step to the left and he'd be downstairs in a hurry.

c) He could sneak downstairs on his own. While the house is fairly kid-safe, we have a step-stool and he knows how to use it. He also knows how to turn on the stove, open the fridge, pull out food, break eggs, spill milk, reach for the knives and cutlery.

Come to think of it, I should get him make me breakfast, but he's a shitty cook.

But what the hell, parenting is nothing without taking chances, so on Saturday I set up his bed. Happily none of the above scenarios has played out (yet).

The Boy loves his BBB and sleeps solidly through the night. He does come into our room each morning, but only to crawl between us for a couple more hours sleep. And even though it's still dark outside, he somehow makes it into our room without taking a tumble.

Now, if I just get him to stop sleeping like a starfish I might get a bit more of the comforter.

I Predict

2008-02-29T12:34:00.000-08:00

One Day:

The Boy will be old enough to change his own diaper. At the rate Potty Training is going, he'll be 16 before he gets into "Big Boy Pants".
He will kick my ass in sports.
Despite that we will play in some sort of Father/Son sporting event. And unless there is a separate locker room for the fathers, he will have to shower beside me. It will likely gross him out.
The Boy will be old enough to bathe himself, because there is no way I'm "sudsing him up" at said Father/Son sporting event. That would gross me out.

Food Meme

2008-02-27T20:18:00.000-08:00

Violet from Short and Sweet Like Me has tagged me for a meme.

Rules:
1. Link to your tagger and post these rules.
2. Share 5 facts about yourself.
3. Tag 5 people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them)
4. Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment at their blogs.

The rules don't specifically say this meme has to be about food, but Violet sent it, so I'll stick with her topic. Truth be told, I have much juicier facts about me that are not food related, so in a way a Food Meme is safer.

I have a food review blog/site called MealMe.com. Open to anyone who wants to take a picture of their restaurant meal and review. I haven't paid much attention to it as of late - real life gets in the way.
Despite being Chinese, I almost never go out for Chinese food. The only exception is when my parents come to visit.
I haven't eaten Red Meat in over 22 years. What turned me off? Henry Rollins. I had dinner with Henry decades ago when his band Black Flag came to town. He ordered Fish and Chips and I asked him why. His reply, "I don't care how many cows you kill, I just don't want to eat them!"

"That's so fuckin' cool." I thought and changed my diet right there.
I cook mostly from scratch, every meal. I do make an exception for Kraft Dinner. While laced with chemicals and pretty bad for you (not to mention gives me wicked heartburn), I kinda like the taste. I never make it for P or The Boy though, it's my own guilty pleasure.
I am allergic to Penicillin. Is Penicillin considered a food?

I tag:

Janice from Life with Scott
Dawn from Maggie and Me
Mika from Life with Mika
DK from Tapirspoop
Obiwanhavanese from Obiwanhavanese

It Washes Off

2008-02-25T12:18:00.000-08:00

A victimless prank.

Three Things I've Learned This Week

2008-02-22T22:14:00.000-08:00

1) You can't make pasta in the microwave.

2) You can't make pasta by putting some in a bowl, pouring water on top, and covering the bowl with a lid.

3) It sucks not having a stove.

Say Uncle

2008-02-20T21:52:00.000-08:00

A recent conversation with a co-worker:

Me: I'm thinking of signing The Boy up for Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.

Co-Worker: Dude. You can't be serious. How old is he?

Me: Two and a half

CW: Do you know what Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu is?

Me: Isn't it that Brazilian dance mixed with a mock martial-art? The Boy loves dancing.

CW: That's Capoeira.

Me: What's the difference?

CW: Capoeira's is about music and dancing. Jiu-Jitsu is all about choke-holds and submission tactics.

Uh... yeah I think Caporira is the one we want. Although the idea of The Boy choking out another toddler at playgroup makes for a fully excellent visual, it's probably not appropriate playgroup behaviour.

Moving Out of the Suburbs Means... #2

2008-02-18T07:26:00.000-08:00

Kids!

It's completely counter-intuitive. Aren't the suburbs are supposed to be overrun with kids?

Maybe it was just my pocket of Champlain Heights. Maybe them "Country Folk" had us pegged as "City Folk". Maybe I'm full of shit. Whatever the reason, in the year and half we lived out there we met a total of one other family.

In just a couple of hours at the the local park yesterday I met four other parents and The Boy played with five other kids. That afternoon P and The Boy went to another nearby park, met another parent and The Boy made another new friend.

He is going to be an only-child, so having other kids in the neighbourhood for him to play with is important.

Proximity to shops, cafes and people who breathe more than two breaths a minute aside, THIS is the main reason we moved back into the city.

And Then There Were 10

2008-02-15T18:16:00.000-08:00

We're almost completely moved in! We're down to the final 10 boxes inside our new house (the garage on the other hand... I've lost count). Garage aside, I think we've done pretty good. It's been exhausting, but we're almost completely settled. Still need a few things, most noticably curtains. I probably shouldn't linger by the window each morning stretchin' and scratchin', but I figure that's the best way to get to know our new neighbours. Or at least for the new neighbours to get to know me.

This last move was our fourth in six years, way too much if you ask me, but we are finally home. Off all the places we've lived in the past decade, this house feels right. We like the layout, the neighbourhood, the shops, the parks; we could use a bit more storage space, but that's a small concession in the grand scheme of things.

And The Boy loves the house. After a rocky first night ("I want to go home." We are home. "No, this is NOT my home. I WANT to go home.") he's settled nicely. He's got a decent sized yard to run around in, and the open layout means he can keep an eye on us from just about anywhere. It means we can see him too, win-win.

Hey Lady!

2008-02-14T08:27:00.000-08:00

This morning I dropped The Boy off at his babysitter/daycare. Another little boy, who I'll call "C" arrived at the same time with his mother, who I'll call, uh... "Antithesis Mom". Yeah, I think Antithesis Mom is an appropriate name without resorting to low brow name calling like Ma Pushy, or Mamma Bitchy, or Fat Ass Land Whale.

Aren't parents supposed set good examples for their children? With Antithesis Mom as role model, C is doomed to become an inconsiderate ass. Right off the bat AM was unfriendly. She glared at us as we got out of our car. When The Boy ran up, excited to see C, she glared again. I introduced myself and got short one word replies. "She's having a bad morning." I thought and let it go.

Then we got to the door.

The two boys ran inside and then AM proceeded to block the door. Okay sure, you need to talk to the daycare provider, but geeze, how about stepping inside or at least out of the way so I can say goodbye to my son? I am literally looking over her shoulder trying to talk to The Boy over her.

Yeah, yeah, I could have said excuse me, but do I have to? We both arrive at the door at the same time, we're both dropping off our kids, my son is calling me and I'm hanging off your shoulder. What part of that isn't obvious? Eventually I just turn around and leave.

To top if off, she's left her car idling, making sure she does her part for Global Warming. Fitting, considering her self-centered personality. When the water level eventually starts rising AM, I really hope you have waterfront property.

Oh, and how did our move go? I'll tell you in a minute.

Smalltown Boy

2008-01-25T07:15:00.001-08:00

The Boy's fever is down considerably. Thanks for asking.

It turns out he has Croup, an infection of upper respiratory system that restricts the airway and leaves him with a deep, raspy voice. The hospital has given him something so his airway doesn't close up completely, but his deep voice is taking some getting used to.

His normally cute, high-pitched voice has been replaced with a voice like Billy-Bob Thorton in Slingblade, or that kid from The Shining. It's sort of like looking into the future and getting a glimpse of The Boy at puberty - although I expect he'd to be taller.

I've taught The Boy how to say, "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash" but his voice isn't quite that deep, so he ends up sounding less like Johnny Cash and more like a hoarse Jimmy Somerville.

Not that there's anything wrong with that. Some of my closest friends sound like Jimmy Somerville.

Holy Fucking Shit!

2008-01-23T12:04:00.000-08:00

At 7:10 pm last night, three Firemen and four Paramedics are standing in our living room. They have the situation under control and are providing assurances.

Wait, let me backtrack.

At 6:30 am this morning The Boy woke up with a fever and slight cough. He was sleepy most of the day.

At 7:02 pm last night The Boy's fever spiked and he had a femoral seizure and started convulsing.

At 7:02:15 pm P and I figuratively crapped our pants. P is holding The Boy, I race for the phone.

At 7:02:30 pm the 911 dispatcher is walking us through the situation. It's a small comfort as The Boy is still convulsing in P's arms.

At 7:04 pm the seizure is pretty much over. The Boy is on his side, moaning, but thankfully breathing normally. P and I join in and start breathing again ourselves. We wait for the ambulance to arrive.

The Paramedics give The Boy a quick exam, measure his blood sugar and administer some Tylenol. Aside from being lethargic and covered in his own drool, he was fine.

Femoral seizures are apparently common with toddlers, and can happen when their temperature spikes quickly. The seizures look serious (what seizure doesn't?) but cause zero brain or physical damage.

So damage to kid zero. Damage to parents huge. I mean, how can you watch your kid convulse and not freak?

By 7:20 pm P and The Boy are in an ambulance on their way to Children's Hospital. I follow along in the car. Ironically earlier that evening P and I decided NOT to take him there.

P: Should we take him to Children's?
Me: Not unless we have to.

Well, the decision was made for us.

The Emergency Ward at Children's Hospital... sigh, we're tired of that place. Not that there has ever been a real emergency, but as newbie parents we probably went there a bit more than we needed to. And because there's never been a real emergency, we always get pushed down the queue. So we wait, and wait, and wait, and wait some more. The time before this we were there for more than seven hours before being discharged at 3:30 in the morning!

No parent wants to end up at a hospital, but if my only complaint is how long it takes I should be thankful. Most of the families there have far bigger worries.

In the end no matter how much they try to make the place kid-friendly (the TV stand is labeled the Jolly Cart for instance), Children's Hospital is still a hospital, with real life dramas taking place daily. When you see the emergency team pushing a gurney down the hall with an infant lying on top, it really puts your own problems in perspective.

We are just relieved The Boy is okay.

Moving Out of the Suburbs Means...

2008-01-17T19:58:00.000-08:00

Fresh Air

For 45 minutes today I stood next to a guy that smelled fried bologna. The bus was packed and I couldn't get away. Even when I managed to turn my back his aroma was inescapable.

I'll still commute to work after we move, but it's half an hour less, which means 30 fewer minutes I'd have to stand next to "Mr. Deli".

Two weeks and counting... Me and my nose can't wait.

Living in the Suburbs Means... #6

2008-01-04T16:38:00.000-08:00

Getting the hell out of the suburbs.

Happy New Year-ish! Let's see, where have I been since mid-December? Oh yeah, we were selling our home.

Yup, after just a year and a half out in the 'burbs, P and I have had enough. Enough with the long commute, enough with the driving everywhere, enough with malls and the lack of options. We do like the peace and quiet, and relative lack of crime, but those two factors just don't tip the scales for us.

Maybe it's just our particular neighbourhood, but there's a real lack of community out here. One of the reasons we picked Champlain Heights was because there were supposed to be a lot of young families. And apparently there are, the problem is P and I don't see any of them.

Champlain Heights is mainly a townhouse neighbourhood; blocks and blocks of townhouse complexes as far as the eye can see. Residents within each complex get to know each other, but there is virtually zero connection with the complex next door. The kids living in these complexes play within their complex, so when The Boy and I go to the local park, we're often the only two people there. We are surrounded by a couple thousand other people, yet we feel totally alone.

So it's been a stressful past few weeks, not so much about the selling of our home, but the anxiety of keeping the place neat enough to show with The Boy on the loose.

In less than 45 minutes after our last open house, he managed to turn our "showroom-ready" house into the Gaza Strip of toys. And with potential buyers viewing while P and I were at work, we had to keep the house in a constant state of clean. Luckily our house sold last week, because it was exhausting.

I can now go back to wallowing in my own filth - very liberating.

Otherwise our holidays were delightful. The Boy didn't really "get" Christmas, which suited us fine. P and I had to practically force him to open his presents. I'm smugly thinking that we've raised a child who is not into consumerism, but I have a feeling that smug attitude is going to disappear next Christmas.

The Boy did like seeing his cousins though. And so while he curtly turned his nose up at the sweater and pants we bought for him, he couldn't get enough of his extended family. The fact that he was at least 14 inches shorter and four years younger than his next closest cousin didn't bother him at the least. Being an only child we think it's important that he know his cousins, so P and I were happy to see them all get along.

My posts will be sporadic the coming weeks, as we get ready to move at the end of January. This time around we're shipping The Boy off to stay with my parents for a few days, which will make this move go MUCH smoother than the last one.

Daddy Draws The Line

2007-12-21T07:56:00.000-08:00

When The Boy hurts himself, he can usually be "healed" with a pretend Band-Aid and a kiss.

The Boy: Waaa Waaa, I hurting.
Me: Here let me kiss it [kiss kiss]. Would you like a Band-Aid?
TB: Yeah.
Me: Okay [apply pretend Band-Aid]. All better?
TB: Better.

And he dashes off again. We have avoided many a cry-fest with this routine. It had zero drawbacks until last night in the bath, when The Boy sat on a plastic dinosaur.

TB: Ow. I hurt my bum-bum.
Me: Let put a Band-Aid on for you. [apply pretend Band-Aid].
TB: Kiss it.
Me: What?
TB: Kiss it.
Me: You want me to kiss your ass?
TB: Yeah.

And so I kissed my son's ass. Totally within the realm of normal parenting I think.

But if The Boy ever hurts his groin, I'm just going to let him cry.

Actually, He's a Dick

2007-12-18T12:57:00.000-08:00

Last night the family watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas. A timeless classic and one of the best cartoons Chuck Jones has ever created, but I think it sends mixed messages.

At first The Boy was a little scared of the Grinch, but in the end happiness prevails and Christmas is restored in Whoville. He cheered as the Grinch raced down the mountain with his sleigh full of presents. And he beamed with happiness as the Whos welcomed the new, improved Grinch into the fold.

And I bit my tongue.

Don't you Whos remember anything? The Grinch isn't bringing Christmas to Whoville, he's just returning everything he stole. That's right you furry nitwits, STOLE. He broke into your homes at night and cleaned you out, even the last can of Who Hash.

The Grinch is not a hero, the Grinch is a dick. You managed to make him feel guilty enough to bring your stuff back, but his original intent was pure evil.

If I woke up Christmas morning to find everything stolen, I'd flip. And then if the thief knocked on my door and said, "Hi. Uh... I took your stuff, but then I heard you singing and had a change of heart." I'm not sure what I'd do, but I doubt I'd invite him in for eggnog and waffles.

Yo Gabba Gabba

2007-12-04T08:44:00.000-08:00

Why don't we get Kids shows like this in Canada?

http://www.yogabbagabba.com/

All we get are endless episodes of Big Comfy Couch, a show so embarrassing I shit myself everytime it comes on.

So to Speak

2007-11-30T07:30:00.000-08:00

Couple of recent conversations with the Boy.

-----
This one is between The Boy and his friend Milo.

They both go to the same daycare, and have become best buddies. Milo usually arrives before we do, so he's always at the door to greet us in the morning.

Yesterday Milo greets us with a scream and a giggle. This time though, instead of saying hello back, The Boy grins and flicks his tongue back and forth, "Leh-leh-leh-leh-leh". This is apparently okay as the two dash inside and start playing.

When I was a kid we had secret handshakes. The way kids talk these days, I tell you...

-----
Later that night P and I ask The Boy how his day went.

The Boy: Milo hurting.

P: How come?

TB: I push him. Milo crying.

P: That's not very nice. Did you say sorry?

TB: I say sorry.

P: Did you kiss his boo-boo?

TB: I kiss his boo-boo.

P: Are you just repeating everything I say?

TB: [pause] Yes.

We still not sure which part of the story to believe, and I have this feeling he'll never tell us.

Potty Training Update Part 2

2007-11-27T12:05:00.000-08:00

Let me explain the previous post.

There is nothing there because there is nothing to report.

The Boy is no closer to being potty trained than I am to being the next President of the United States (I'm Canadian. Not white. And believe legislated, national policy banning people from getting on an elevator and going up one floor will benefit everyone. Who would vote for me?)

Sometimes I think we're on the cusp of a major breakthrough, then he goes and shits on the couch and I float back to reality. I know he understands the concept - when asked about where to pee and poop he responds "Potty" - he just doesn't want to use the potty.

In an effort to accelerate the process we've taken to letting him go without a diaper at home. But all that seems to have accelerated is The Boy's love of peeing on the floor. "Look at me! I peeing!" he giggles as I race for a towel. At least we don't have carpeting.

Now the Japanese, they do potty training right! Check out this Japanese Anime Cartoon to help potty train. It's actually a commercial, but WTF, I think I'll sit The Boy down and play it for him. I mean it can't hurt can it?

(Link to the video)