Father Knows Best?

Adios, UrbanMoms.

2011-02-18T01:54:44Z

I probably shouldn't even be talking about this, but I feel I owe my faithful readers an explanation before I disappear from public view.

Here's the deal. CSIS, Canada's top super spy organization, has chosen me as their latest international man of mystery. Effective immediately, I will be going into hiding.

First, I will be going to a remote and desolate Canadian outpost to learn all about Canada's latest spy techniques... like how to use maple syrup to get evil doers to admit defeat, and how the term "desolate Canadian outpost" is actually code for "Winnipeg in the middle of Winter."

After my super spy training is complete, I will then be assigned spying duties, likely in one of our most nefarious enemy countries... probably Sweden, or New Zealand. I will need to fully integrate myself into their culture and learn all of their customs, so I can slowly weave myself the inner sanctum of said country's governing body.

Then, once I have gained the trust of the country's top officials, I will be responsible for sending secret "cables" back to Canadian officials, only to have them intercepted by WikiLeaks and posted for you all to see.

So, until my first cable is in fact intercepted, I'm afraid you won't be reading anything more from me for a while. This is because my new job as international man of mystery requires me to relinquish my writing duties with UrbanMoms.

Ok, ok... that isn't true... or is it? Ok, seriously, no, it isn't. Or is it?

Well, the super spy part isn't true. But this will be my last post for UrbanMoms.

Since I started blogging for UrbanMoms a year and a half ago, I've had nothing but good times. I have loved being able to share stories about Pea's antics, and my own, but time is a finite thing. And simply put, I've not been able to devote the appropriate amount of time to blogging here. Since I don't see that changing anytime soon, this will be the end of Father Knows Best?

I have written 110 posts and over 930 of you have seen fit to comment on my nonsense. I've especially loved all of the comments from SPAM sites... apparently, there are a ton of people out there who read my blog who also sell knock-off Gucci and Prada handbags. Who knew?

In my 110 posts, I've told you about floating crap in the bathtub, the time Pea commented on my man junk, the perils of being at the front of the bus, the importance of foreplay, a nest of birds in my BBQ, and so much more. Blogging here has been cathartic and enlightening and quite often freeing.

I've also met some amazing Moms, and 1 amazing Dad. And because of who they are and what they do, I will be an UrbanMoms reader for a long time to come.

A big thanks to Jen, Carol and Ali, who run a tight outfit here at UrbanMoms. I appreciate the opportunity they gave me, which is to have more than just my parents read my stuff.

There you have it. I'm done. In the words of the italian guy from the movie Titanic, you know, in the scene when the ship sets sail from Ireland and he and Leo are waving to the people on shore: "I will miss you! I will never forget you!"

LOST in the past...

2011-01-30T04:48:40Z

For over 5 years, my favourite television show was LOST. This was the only appointment viewing I made... even though we had a PVR, I would still make sure that I was sitting in front of the television when the show started Wednesday evenings.

I recently decided to start re-watching my LOST DVDs while I surf the internet in the evenings.

Much like you would see on the show itself, I have found myself falling into frequent flashbacks while re-watching episodes for the first time in years (except, my flashbacks don't contain the creepy music, the smoke monster or actual movement through time).

Flashbacks to...

... the evenings spent watching in our apartment, the first one we lived in after we got married.

... the evenings spent watching in my in-laws' basement, after my wife and I moved in to save up enough money to buy our first house.

... the evenings spent watching from the comfort of our own living room, in our own house.

... the evenings spent watching, without the worry of having the volume too loud for fear of waking up Pea.

There was a lot we used to be able to do more freely before Pea was born. Go to a movie or spend a (late) evening out with friend's at a moment's notice. Get drunk. Sleep through a whole night. Sleep in.

But, even though there's a lot I miss about life when LOST was a main priority, I wouldn't go back to that time for anything.

After all, life with Pea is far better than a lie-in on a Sunday morning.

This story reminds me of Eddie Murphy...

2011-01-24T00:40:45Z

I knew that my time as a father would be filled with gross moments that would test my gag reflex. Well, tonight I was pushed to the limit. And I survived. Barely.

We enter this scene with my little Pea gleefully taking a bath. She's imploring her bath time friends to take their spots for circle time, so she can tell them a wonderful story about her day.

Also in the bathroom is me, Pea's father. I am gathering her towel and pyjamas, and preparing myself for the imminent power struggle that would arise when I advise Pea that bath time is over.

I step out of the bathroom and go into the next room to grab Pea's pyjamas. Just before I leave, Pea lets out a tiny fart, which bubbles to the surface. She giggles, and I ask her to excuse herself. She does, and all is right in the world.

I step out of the bathroom for 2 seconds, and armageddon begins.

As I walk back in the bathroom, Pea is cowering in the corner of the bathtub. Floating perilously close to her is a fairly sizeable piece of poo. Another chunk is floating off in the distance. Pea has, quite literally, dropped her "kids" off at the "pool."

I quickly grab her, put her on the bathroom floor and wrap her in her towel.

Sensing the need to address this situation, I start with the obvious.

Me: That's a piece of poo.

Pea: (Silent.)

Me: Did that scare you Pea?

Pea: Yeah.

Me: Did you think you were going to fart and then the poo came out?

Pea: Yeah.

Me: That's OK sweetheart, it was an accident. It happens to Daddy all the time too.

Pea: Ok.

Our first priority was to get Pea into the shower in our en-suite so no pieces of poo could infect her lady bits. Once that was taken care of, I was faced with the task of waste disposal.

My wife suggested I simply let the bathtub drain and take the chunks out with a paper towel. As somewhat of a poo expert, I could see that these pieces would potentially cause damage to the drain if I didn't deal with it immediately. I could also imagine what it would have been like lifting the chunks out if they weren't floating... like trying to catch a wild pig with greasy hands.

I knew what I had to do.

First, I psyched myself up with a little motivational pep talk. "This is what Dad's do." "This is what Dad's do." "This is what Dad's do."

Then, I went in.

I scooped one chunk, then the next, then dropped them in the toilet. I shuddered, did the sign of the cross, and washed my hands. I ended the ordeal by pinning an imaginary "World's Best Dad" button on my own t-shirt.

My wife, in turn, supported me by laughing and calling it a Kodak moment. Ah, love.

There is a silver lining to this story. If Pea hadn't been engaged in circle time, we would have lost a lot of perfectly good bath time toys.

That said, a moment of silence for Pea's gorilla sticker, who was literally not invited to circle time... a shunning which cost him a place in our home. We will miss you bubbled-gorilla sticker.

I'll end this post, which I had hoped I would never have to write, with this hilariousness...

Go to the Office

2011-01-19T15:15:42Z

I was giving Pea a bath this past Sunday, and as per the normal process, she was playing with a bunch of her friends along the edge of the tub. In this particular instance, Tigger, Dr. Duck and Woody from Toy Story were all playing together.

Then, I overheard the following:

Dr. Duck: "Alright Tigger, you need to go to the office."

Tigger: "Ok, I'm going."

(Tigger bounces from one side of the tub to the next.}

Woody: "Hi Tigger, you are in the office."

Tigger: "Yes."

Woody: "Why."

Tigger: "Because I wasn't listening."

Woody: "Ok, good."

Let's recap a few salient points to this story.

My wife watched Pea from birth to age 1. She never sent her to the office for not listening.
My mother- and father-in-law watched Pea from 1 to 2.5. They never sent her to the office for not listening.
Pea has been in pre-casa for 10 days, and, well, as far as I know she has never been sent to any office for not listening.

So, yeah, um, WTF?!?

The Pain of Loss

2011-01-19T00:55:02Z

In Toronto today, a funeral was held for Sgt. Ryan Russell, a police officer who was killed last Wednesday in the line of duty.

Since the news of his murder broke, there has been a constant stream of stories, all of which have tugged like hell at my emotions. On more than one occasion, news reports had me welling up as reporters told of his widowed wife, his young child (roughly the same age as Pea) and the fragile life of a policing family.

It's easy to understand why this story has so many of us emotionally affected. A man who put his life on the line on a daily basis to protect the public was felled, and a family was forever numbed by the pain of losing a son, husband and father.

The cover of the Toronto Sun the day after the murder featured a black and white photo of Sgt. Russell, his wife and young baby from Facebook... the thought of which still makes me teary.

It was an all too familiar image. And, both consciously and sub-sonsciously, it brought about thoughts of my biggest fear: leaving my family behind.

What the F is up with Pea?

2011-01-12T04:06:13Z

I was speaking with a colleague of mine recently, who was concerned because her 2.5 year old started uncharacteristically waking during the night and throwing tantrums. Her daughter would wake frequently, sometimes for up to 2 hours, and would be inconsolable.

The more we spoke, the more eerily familiar her story seemed. As it turns out, both of our kids, of roughly the same age, seem to be experiencing the same problem.

So I'm calling on all Moms, Dads, and in the best case scenario, paediatricians who are also Moms or Dads, to help us figure out what the hell is going on with our little one's sleep patterns lately.

Here's a breakdown of the symptoms and external factors in Pea's case:

Symptoms:

Frequent night waking, but without really seeming conscious;
"Crying," that is to say, crying without tears;
Tendency to throw tantrums and kick legs violently;
Sustained and constant rubbing of hips during wakings;
Seeming inability to get comfortable;
Inconsolable, until she suddenly just stops and goes back to sleep.

External Factors:

Poor indoor air quality, made substantially better by the constant operation of an air purifier;
New daytime routine -- Pea is now in school all day;
Dropping of the mid-day nap -- Pea doesn't seem willing to sleep during quiet time at school;
Recently potty-trained;
Fairly consistent bedtime routine -- bath at 7:00 PM, milk and cereal at 7:30 PM, in bed by 7:45 PM, stories for 15 minutes, quick trip(s) to the potty, lights out by 8:10 PM, asleep by 8:30 PM;
Issues seemed to begin around Christmas time, when her schedule was severely disrupted by holiday cheer and merriment;
She has never really been a good sleeper and seems to take two steps forward and one giant step back every few months.

There you have it. I'd love to hear your interpretation of any one, or combination or these symptoms and factors. I've got a few theories of my own but I am interested in what others have to say.

I guess you could say that if this was "Who wants to be a parent to a child who sleeps really well," I would be reaching out to y'all as my phone a friend lifeline!

A boy, his toys, and a thoughtful wife...

2011-01-05T05:42:25Z

This Christmas, my wife bought me a new lens for my digital SLR camera. From what she told me, the lens is used to take portrait shots... it does a better job at focusing on certain areas of the frame, while doing a better job at blurring everything else.

A week and a half after receiving this wonderful gift, I now need two things:

A new laptop, because there are now way too many photos on our computer and it is starting to get really slow!
Photography lessons, to make sure I am using this stuff properly.

Here's what I have managed to do with little training...

Baking gingerbread cookies...

Playing with a new toy...

More playing...

And watching me open my birthday present (ok, I didn't actually take this one)...

Ta-Daaaaa! Please keep your Ooohs and Aaahs to a minimum.

Pea's First Day of School / Potty Training Update

2011-01-03T23:51:32Z

I've been AWOL for a while... and for anyone who actually reads my stuff with any regularity, I apologize. At some point in the next week or two, when I muster the courage and the right words, I will explain exactly why I have been neglectful. But for now, I shall stick to some happier fare.

Last time I posted, my wife and I were working with a 25-day potty training deadline. We had to get the task completed before Pea started pre-Casa, which as it turns out, was today.

I am pleased to report that we pulled it off (pun intended). We took some fairly standard advice from all of you, and decided to immediately move her to panties and skip the pull-up method.

Pea had two accidents on Day 1, another on Day 2, and it has been clear sailing ever since (touch wood). She is now going fairly long stretches without peeing, and on most nights, she stays dry (in a night-time pull-up... we aren't masochists after all) or wakes up and asks to go pee. It's been a dream... one which doesn't involve a diaper bag!

As it turns out, potty-training Pea was a walk in a marshmallow-covered park, where the trees are made of lollypops and the grass is made of Bridge Mixture. The real challenge, was dropping her off for her first day of school this morning.

I will simply say this: real men don't cry. They simply suppress their emotions to avoid balling in front of the faculty at his daughter's new school. Real men also avoid eating breakfast on emotionally questionable days to ensure they don't vomit in their car on the way to school.

In other words, dropping Pea off for her first day of school was HARD! We arrived at the school, brought her to her class, said goodbye and listened to her cry, nay, wail, while we settled a few items with the school administrator.

Fortunately, Pea seems to have taken to school as easily and quickly as she took to potty training. When we arrived to pick her up, she didn't want to leave. She says she can't wait to go back tomorrow. She seemed legitimately happy, which certainly lightened my heart.

Oh, and when I asked her if she made any friends, she named Joshua... a little boy who rubbed her back when she was crying. Joshua is good people.

So, that's that. I'm through all of parentings most difficult challenges, for nothing can be worse that the worry that came with a kid's first day of school. Right?

A Potty Training Deadline Looms

2010-12-10T03:59:43Z

We have 25 days to potty train Pea.

That's because Pea starts montessori school in the New Year and they require her to be potty trained by the time she arrives. So yeah, game on.

Now, we're not starting from scratch here. Pea has been going pee-pee and ta-ta in the potty for quite some time now. And we had fallen into a good rhythm for a while, with her asking to go and succeeding, much to our delight.

But like any belligerent toddler who senses that her parents really need her to do something important for them -- a solid, if you will pardon the pun - Pea has begun her typical regression tactics.

Like when she started speaking, and then stopped, only to start babbling again like a giddy 12-year old on her first date a few weeks later.

Like when she started walking, and then stopped, only to start walking again like an Olympic speed-walker on world-record pace a few weeks later.

Like when she slept through the night, and then stopped, only to... oh, no, wait... we're still working on that one.

I digress.

So here we are, doomsday clock counting down to zero, fighting to get her back to where she used to be before we lose our deposit at a pretty good school.

Our plan is as follows: every weekend from here to January, Pea will be spending her waking time at home in a pair of brand new panties she personally picked out for herself this past weekend. We figure the best way to get her to stop peeing and deucing in her diaper is to go straight into her big girl underthings... to let her find out what the alternative to the potty is all about.

When we go out, and we will have to, she will be allowed a pull-up, to spare her (and us) the embarrassment of a public accident. But at home, it's all panties all the time.

So, urbanmoms community, what do you think of our approach? What potty-training advice do you have for a guy who is a little on the desperate side? All comments welcomed.

In case I am not being clear, HELP!

Oh, and P.S. - If buying Pea a few dozen pairs of panties made me feel like she was growing up a little too fast, I can only imagine what her first training bra will be like. Wa-wa-waaaaaa. :(

Pics my kid took!

2010-12-08T01:42:11Z

We all love taking photos of our kids, right? Well, Pea also loves taking photos. And truth be told, she takes some pretty good ones.

While I might not be off to buy her a digital SLR this Christmas, I will certainly be keeping an eye on her photographic prowess as time goes buy. After all, who doesn't love Annie Leibovitz?

Shane's Horrible Dilemma

2010-12-03T04:32:40Z

This story is entirely fictional. While the main character may bare some resemblance to, say, me, it certainly isn't me in any way, shape or form.

Here we go...

Once upon a time, there was a man named Shane. Shane lived with his wife and his daughter, whom he affectionately referred to as Grape.

Shane, his wife and Grape lived in a two-story, semi-detached home, which they loved. This house featured an amazing playland, and other subtle features that made the house truly unique.

Unfortunately, there was another unique feature to this house - poor air quality. Every year, when the furnace would come on, the family would suffer terribly. Runny noses, prolonged bouts with a common cold, coughing and sneezing were all commonplace during the Winter months.

Recently, after Shane had turned on the home's furnace for the first time, the dank, dense and thick air made him feel ill... literally. He would arrive home expecting to relax and unwind, only to feel dizzy, feverish and lethargic.

Shane knew then that something had to be done.

He started in the bowels of his home. He had his furnace serviced, his ducts cleaned, and still, nothing changed.

Shane began to worry that the poor air quality was no longer something that he could ignore. Indeed, the worry and fear of poor air quality began to grow and grow within his heart. He feared he was subjecting his wife and little Grape to extremely harmful toxins in the air and thanks to the internet, visions of mould and other harmful pathogens danced in his head.

Shane got in touch with an air quality specialist, who gave him some tips that would help eliminate potential mould or gas leaks as the source of the problem. Shane cut holes in Grape's walls, checked the garage for leaking bottles, and checked the attic for unwanted spores.

Nothing was found.

The air quality specialist then suggested a next step. "You probably need a Heat Recovery Ventilator," said the specialist. "That will help the air circulate in your home, and exchange the dank air with fresh air. They'll usually run you about $3,000."

Shane passed out instantly. While unconscious, Shane had visions of sugarplums dancing and Santa Claus laughing in his face while rolling around in an above ground pool full of money, which he refused to share with Shane.

When Shane woke up, he was racked with the guilt of even debating not spending the money to improve the health and well-being of his family.

To be continued...

Help a helpless Dad out this Christmas

2010-11-25T02:44:10Z

I need your help. Pretty badly, it would appear.

Being a Dad means, by definition, that I am a man. And being a man, by definition, means I have no idea what to get a woman for Christmas.

Here are a couple of unfortunate and all-too-true stories to illustrate my point.

Story #1 - It's the thought that counts, right? Nope, not always.

One Christmas, I foolishly chose utility over desire. My wife (then girlfriend) and I were in university, so I got her an amazing, state of the art computer mouse.

This went over like a lead balloon... as it should have, in hindsight. Amazingly, we are still together.

Story #2 - A girl's gotta eat!

My sister-in-law was making her way through university on a shoe-string budget. There was little money for the necessities, so I went with a gift certificate for the local grocery store.

It appears one will always find money to eat, but this will usually come at the expense of clothing.

So here I am. A man, hat in hand, asking for your advice on what women want.

And don't give me "I-just-want-a-good-man-in-my-life-who-will-treat-me-right-and-never-let-me-down"... that man doesn't exist, and if he did, he would be way too expensive.

I mean, in general, what advice would you give a man who is shopping for lady-related holiday gifts?

I do not intend on repeating past disasters this year. I haven't even told you about the time I bought a piece of jewelry that didn't fit, only to lose the receipt.

Pea's Playland... a Photo Montage!

2010-11-22T13:30:07Z

Before Pea was born, we had a breakfast nook in our house. This nook was right beside our kitchen, close to the California blinds that give us a window unto our beautiful backyard.

We would eat breakfast, lunch and dinner at this table and we could easily and comfortably watch TV while we ate... if we so chose. Here's a glimpse at this breakfast nook, ironically, decorated for my wife's Baby Shower.

As soon as Pea started crawling, it became abundantly clear that the nook had to go... in favour of a space for her to crawl and play and enjoy the spoils that come with being the first born grandchild.

So, the glass table went in the basement. The white credenza moved to another room. The microwave returned to the kitchen countertop where it remains to this day, taking up precious space.

Now, the breakfast nook is known as Pea's Playland. It is a bright, colourful, and fairly safe place for her to play with her toys and be a kid.

As much as I miss having somewhere to sit and eat in front of the TV, Pea's Playland is an amazing place in and of itself.

It features a kitchenette...

... a grocery store...

... a home music studio...

... a place to sit and colour...

... the whole of which looks a little like this.

Pea loves this area of the house because it's where she gets to go to be a kid and play. And truth be told, I love it for the way it brings us together in imaginary worlds and make believe fun.

I think we're still a ways away from the re-emergence of the kitchen table. And I am just fine with that, because the sooner the table returns, the sooner Pea will be too big for me to play with her.

Fortunately, there is still a reminder of what that space used to be like, and what it will one day become once more. That'll do me just fine for the next few years.

If you've got a little one that loves to play, don't forget D.I.Y. Sara's contest. She's offering some Lego Duplo that you can add to your play space for hours of fun. All you need to do is leave a comment on her post telling her what your favorite playtime activity is with your kids and we'll pick a winner randomly. The contest runs from now until 5pm November 28th! Good luck!

Remember, only UrbanMoms.ca members are eligible to win so don't forget to sign-in. Not a member yet? Click here to join!

Click here for contest Rules and Regulations.

Dance Fever

2010-11-21T02:55:22Z

"We need to practice her dancing."

This is what my wife said to me this morning after Pea finished her dance class. She goes once a week to prance, gallop, macarena and chicken her way around the dance floor and we haven't been doing all that great a job in helping her learn her steps.

Well, here's the truth. I want to help, but I fear my help will set her back light years and have other the other kids laughing at her.

Here's what I bring to the table:

I do my best dancing when drunk, and yet, there isn't enough alcohol in the world to prevent me from making an ass of myself once the bass starts thumping.
I can do a really good "Rave Glow Stick" routine, but I have never been to a rave so I have no idea if my prowess is accurate.
My ancestors learned to dance while a bearded logger played the spoons in a sugar bush... these conditions rarely present themselves in present-day Canada.
I had to dance to The Chicken Dance in elementary school... to us frenchies, it was called La Danse des Canards and when I hear that accordion start playing a little part of my psyche curls up and crawls into the fetal position in the deep, dark recesses of my mind.
My best moves are inspired by Molly Ringwald's moves in The Breakfast Club; that said, there has been no song written since that movie was released in 1985 that actually calls for these moves.
The Macarena actually makes me throw-up a little in my mouth.

So yeah, I'll leave the instruction to The Wiggles, and my wife's Latin American heritage.

When Their Words Hurt

2010-11-16T14:00:23Z

"I no love you."

Pea uttered these four words last night when I was trying to get her diaper and pajamas on before putting her to sleep. She looked me straight in the eyes when she said it and there was a teeny moment of silence before I reacted.

Unlike the time I fumbled through her reaction to seeing my junk, I think I handled this unexpected bit of dialogue quite well. My response was simply, "That's fine, sweetie, but Daddy still loves you. No matter what."

Despite my calm reaction, hearing her tell me she doesn't love me cut like a knife. She's said mean things before... I've documented her preference for my wife in recent months and I am quite familiar with "I no want you."

But "I no love you" is a horse of a different colour.

I think it hurt so much for two reasons:

Pea obviously knows how strong those words are. To move from not wanting to not liking to not loving clearly demonstrates an appreciation for the importance of these words and their significance. That she is using these words to try and get what she wants is especially crappy. So, yeah, that sucked.
I wasn't expecting to hear her tell me she doesn't love me for another ten years, at least. It was a bit of a shock to have that level of rebellion come to fruition so fast.

The rest of the diaper and pajama routine was fraught with mini tantrums and dead weighting. Once I managed to get her diaper and pajamas on, I let Pea squirm away and she walked down the hallway, turned to face me, and sulked to the floor and into herself for a few seconds.

I sat, unmoving, where I was and waited for her to look up. When she did, I simply met her with eye contact and smiled.

Pea's reaction was actually quite unexpected. She stood up, walked back towards me and threw herself into my lap for some snuggles. I gave her a big hug, and we headed off to her room for stories and milk.

But in the end, I don't know what was more emotional for me -- the attack or the reconciliation.