Tales From The Dad Side

"It's Christmas"

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

As MTM alluded yesterday in the comments, Sunday night's dinner at my inlaws was our "family Christmas" with MTM's side of the family as this year is my family's "turn" for Christmas. (Aside: isn't scheduling holidays with two families grand?)

Two years ago (the last time it was their "turn"), we expedited our Christmas by having stockings Christmas Eve and rushed through gift opening Christmas morning so we could achieve a mid-afternoon arrival (upon which we got a call from my sister - who lives two hours closer than we do - that she had not even left her house yet). I was livid, and swore we would never travel on Christmas Day again.

This year, our plan is to drive there on Christmas Day. (We had a long talk, and have agreed to have "Christmas" on Boxing Day, complete with an early morning gift opening. This makes us feel less rushed to get there, and allows for a more mellow visit overall.)

However, there are two factors plotting against us: the weather and our health.

The weather is something we cannot negotiate with. At this point, they are calling for snow and rain, although we have no specific details about neither the timing nor the order. Snow followed by rain would make driving a nuisance, but because the temperatures should rise, the roads would be slushy or wet, but not unsafe. Rain then snow would be a recipe for terror on the highway, and will force us to delay our departure.

(Alternatively, we may leave a day early, emailing Santa to explain the circumstances and doing our family Christmas morning on the 24^th instead of the 25^th.)

However, Buddy has been kind enough to share his sickness with his sister and mother, leaving all three of them quite out of sorts all day Monday. At this point we're not sure how everyone will feel as Christmas approaches.

So we are faced with a dilemma: do we choose to tackle the four hour drive to my parents with one or more sick family members because it is Christmas, or do we stay local and crash my inlaws? Of course, if the weather proves too treacherous, we will not travel (or alter our plans accordingly), but if the weather turns out OK, do we go with sick kids in tow? On the one hand, it's Christmas, but on the other, do we really want to expose everyone else?

The question of the day is simply stated, but not easily answered: how sick is too sick for Christmas? Is there a line you won't cross, or does "it's Christmas" trump all?

The Cat's Away

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

On Friday night, MTM left me alone with not just both kids, but with a sick baby as well (Buddy is still fighting something and his cough is raspy) to go to a ~~catered dinner affair~~ rehearsal dinner for a wedding. So while I was wiping bums and snot she was eating finger sandwiches ~~and probably laughing at me~~.

On Saturday morning, I got to take Munchkin to ~~hyper sugarfest 2009~~ her ballet holiday pajama party, where I not only watched her, but also somehow communicated to my neighbour (whose daughter is also in the class) that MTM needed to borrow a scarf (but it isn't a scarf, it's like a big sheet of fabric; and it's got the word "pashmina" in it somewhere, I think; either that or cashmere - but not the toilet paper - regardless, even her husband didn't know what the hell I was talking about, but somehow MTM got what she needed) because they were doing photos outside on the second shortest day of the year, in December for a night wedding. (Don't misunderstand me, I love the bride and groom, but is that not fucking insane? Wedding photos at -10°C?!?)

(Woah, anyone else dizzy from the realization that the above was one sentence?)

After that, I came home and MTM left to get her hair done while I failed to get an overtired Buddy to nap before she came home for lunch, and then left again to the wedding itself, returning sometime around midnight (to find a wide awake Buddy watching the Big Ten network with me because he wouldn't take milk or water, and just wanted to hang ~~and watch the Michigan State cheerleaders~~).

Short version: from the time I got home from work Friday until I went to bed Saturday night, I had a grand total of about four waking hours of parenting support. (I'm not complaining, just setting the scene.)

We watched a lot of tv (blessed be Treehouse and its liberal use of Christmas specials in December), ate a fun dinner (real Kraft Dinner, not the fake organic shit MTM usually tries to pass off as fun), and had lots of cuddles (Buddy was out of sorts and wanted to be held a lot which in turn made Munchkin want to be held a lot). It may not have been the weekend of rule following, but it worked for us.

(Speaking of rule following, if not for a snag with stocking issues, I would also have upgraded our wireless phones and plans this weekend as well; probably to something that would have at best made MTM roll her eyes and shake her head, or at worst make her head spin around and spew pea soup.)

So after all of that wonderful support, after being the great husband and father, how does my wife repay me? Did she rub my feet while I lounged on the couch and watched NFL football all Sunday? Did she do something "wifely" to show her appreciation? Did she make me a special dinner?

Nope. She dragged me to dinner at my inlaws. I am so not kidding.

How was your weekend? (And also? Am I the best husband in the world or what?)

(Sorry to anyone who saw this go through their feeds last night; I was overtired and published before scheduling it. Also, since this is the week before Christmas, there's a chance I may reduce my posting frequency somewhat until the new year. Bottom line: don't expect everyday posting for a couple of weeks, OK?)

Neglectimommy: A Christmas Carol

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

Welcome to the latest edition of Neglectimommy (previous volumes were numbered, which would make this volume 8). You can read about the origins of this serial (and view the first comic) in the first volume.

Neglectimommy Archive
Volume 1
Volume 2
Volume 3
Volume 4
Volume 5
Volume 6
Volume 7

I know I said that it appeared she had run her course back in September, but I wanted to make one for MTM for Christmas because she enjoyed them so much. Maybe if there's enough love for Neglectimommy, she will make more appearances in the future.

As always, I welcome both positive and negative feedback. (Also? If you have any ideas for a comic, please email me.)

Without further ado, I give you Neglectimommy: A Christmas Carol:

click to enlarge (and make text legible)

Random Facts About Our Christmas Tree

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

(Originally this post had the word "interesting" in its title. After finishing it, I decided that wasn't really the case.)

It's Christmas time, at least in our house (in other houses it is Hanukkah, while in others it is almost Winter Solstice), which means we have a Christmas tree. I have always found that a family's Christmas tree can tell a story, or many stories. These are some of ours.

Our tree has no ornaments within three feet of the floor this year due to Buddy's tendency to grab things he likes. Related to this is the absence of any glass or plaster ornaments (we actually have a ton of plaster ones from when MTM and I ~~were childless~~ had time to do crafts).
Also related to the above, when we first put up our tree this year, MTM tried to decorate it with festive ribbon "like she saw in a store". What did that involve? Tying ribbon to the top of the tree that extended down to the base, well within reaching range of Buddy. Needless to say, it did not remain that way for long.
We have a different style of (artificial) tree that I have dubbed "the compromiser": it is pre-lit with two independent strings of lights. One set is white and the other is multi-coloured. The two strings terminate at two plugs, and it came with a remote controlled adapter that allows us to have just white, just multi, or both. This means that MTM gets her ~~boring stuffy~~ uniform look, and ~~the rest of the normal people in the house~~ the kids and I get our multi-coloured tree.
There are no Star Wars ornaments on our tree (but there is a Detroit Lions helmet and a Spider-Man).
There is, however, a silver jewelled "2006" ornament. (Interestingly, that's the year my inlaws were without a house and spent it with us. It was memorable, but not in a good way.) There are no other commemorative year ornaments on the tree.
We also have a Frank Sinatra ornament that plays his rendition of "Fly Me To The Moon" (our wedding song) that has served to teach and/or encourage Buddy to use the signs for "help", "please" and "music" (sometimes all three in progression; he looks like he's telling me to steal third).
We have a lighted star atop our tree that has taught Buddy the word "DAR" (star). Unfortunately, he says it with such gusto that he spits (a lot) when he says it.
In addition to the tree I just mentioned, we also have a miniature Disney Princess tree (purple and pink needles, a Cinderella topper, and a crapload of mini ornaments of the Dora and Disney persuasion) in Munchkin's room and another mini tree (green) in Buddy's room that has ~~all the mini ornaments Munchkin didn't care enough about to fight over~~ some mini ornaments as well.

What about your tree? What fascinating, interesting, enlightening, or entertaining stories can it tell? (And if you don't have any of those, just do what I did and throw some stuff up in the comments and see what sticks.)

Either

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 11:14:00 +0000

Last night, Munchkin's school had their winter concert, except that there was no stage, no large crowd, every class did their own thing in their own room, and they called it an "open house". (Am I showing my age by asking what happened to the winter concert? Do schools not prepare performances with the kids and then drag the parents into the gym one night to show them anymore? When did that change?)

When I got home, it was obvious that Buddy was still not well (in other words still contagious) and in no shape to be restrained while watching his older sister. This meant that either MTM or I had to stay home with him, subsequently missing Munchkin's performance. Knowing that this would mean more to MTM than it would to me because a) she is a former Kindergarten teacher and b) occasionally goes through separation issues of her own with Munchkin now in school, I volunteered for Buddy duty (and let it be noted for the record that Buddy had started coughing so hard he that he made himself vomit, and SciFi Dad does not do well with toddler vomit as it is the most vile smelling stuff on the face of the planet). I was disappointed, certainly, but happy that my wife could go.

They went, and I stayed home (with no incidents, fortunately). When they got back, MTM told me the story of one of Munchkin's classmates' parents (people we know and have seen around). Apparently their baby (a few months younger than Buddy) was sick, too sick to go, yet they brought him anyways because the parents got into a fight about who should stay home with the sick baby and who should see the performance, so they all went.

"So either that makes me the worst father in the world, or the best husband in the world, or maybe a little bit of both," I said.

And then Munchkin showed me the videos from her performance and I smiled on the outside, while on the inside, not so much.

What do you think? Does my choice make me a shitty father? A good husband? Both? And furthermore, will your kids have a winter concert? Can I go to it?

A Big Question From A Little Girl

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

"Daddy?"

"Yes Munchkin?"

"Where did the Earth come from?"

MTM smiled. "She asked me that yesterday."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her about God creating the Earth, and that she should ask you."

"OK."

I then told Munchkin a summary of the commonly accepted scientific theories: the big bang, evolution, et cetera. She seemed content, if curious, about what I told her.

* * *
"You know, when you were telling Munchkin about fish that walk," MTM said later, "You said it as if it were fact and not just one possibility."

(In telling Munchkin about the origin of life, I simplified it down to the evolution of aquatic life that eventually developed the ability to breathe air and climbed out of the water.)

"You're right, but it's not like I'm going to go into all the theories about the origins of our planet and life on it. I mean, she's only four."

"But what about Adam and Eve?"

"Are you serious?"

"Why?"

"Well, I would think that there are too many inconsistencies in that story for you to believe it."

"A lot of people believe it, not just me."

"I know. I just don't understand how."

"Technically, everything you told her is a theory. It can't be proven."

"You're right, but it's more plausible than some all-powerful being scooping up dirt and blowing on it."

* * *
I did some reading online (yes, online; it may not be as accurate as PhD level papers, but it gives enough information for me to get the gist of a theory or belief) and know that there is more to some perspectives on creationism than the literal interpretation of Genesis. There are a myriad of beliefs that stand with one foot in the scientific theory realm and another in the Bible now. The lines are blurred between religion and science when it comes to the origins of our planet and life on it in many cases.

As an agnostic, I have to admit that this subject - the origins of life - is one of the largest hurdles I face when I try to believe that there is a God. The concept that we are all just some big experiment for a superior intelligence is too much for me to accept.

What do you teach your children? Does the origin of life get explained by your faith, or do you let science guide you (like me)? Furthermore, for anyone who strongly believes in creationism, how do you explain inconsistencies like dinosaurs? (I am not challenging anyone's beliefs; I am merely trying to understand how they marry scientific discoveries with their religion.)

Triggering

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

When Buddy was a newborn in the hospital, he was subjected to seemingly countless pricks on his heel so that they could draw blood and monitor his blood sugar and/or bilirubin levels. As any normal baby would do in these circumstances, he would cry, hard. Since MTM was recovering from a c-section herself, she was not in any condition to stand by and "assist" the nurses; that left the job to yours truly.

I would take him into my arms and if my scent was not enough to calm him (sometimes it was, but usually it wasn't), I would take his tiny hand and rub it on my beard. I had learned this trick with him very early on when kissing him failed to calm him while nuzzling him with my fuzzy cheek worked like a charm. No matter what had happened, a few strokes of my beard was enough to settle him because he knew that it was me who was holding him (or at least he knew it was someone who made him feel safe).

* * *
On Saturday morning we took the kids to a breakfast with Santa thing at Chez Ronaldo. While we were there Buddy started to develop a nasty sounding cough. It was not whooping cough, nor was it croup (although if we had to compare it to one, it would be closer to croup). It was intermittently wet and dry, and almost always followed with a whine and often a few tears from the pain. By the afternoon, it was clear he was sick, and as any parent will tell you, there's nothing more pathetic than a sick baby.

He could not fall asleep in his crib for his afternoon nap, nor would he sleep with MTM, so she passed him off to me. Within moments he was asleep, and he stayed that way for some time.

The next morning he woke up and seemed even worse than the night before: he was fussy and cranky, and his cough sounded horrible. MTM tried putting him down for a nap in the morning, and when he would not settle in his crib I went to get him. I held my not-so-little boy in my arms and rocked him while he screamed in pain or frustration and coughed. He writhed and squirmed, pushing away from me as I tried to settle him. Then I took his tiny hand and ran his fingers through my sideburn (I have since shaved the full beard into a goatee and sideburns) and whispered, "It's Daddy, Buddy. Daddy's here."

He stopped crying. Not only did he stop crying, but within seconds he was sound asleep.

I have no idea if he was just exhausted, or the timing was coincidental, or if that sensation triggered a very early memory (theoretically even a subconscious response). Whatever the case may be, it was pretty cool to witness. It was like being transported back in time (except for replacing the nine pound baby with a 25 pounder and being in our house instead of the hospital, of course). It was wild.

(He is still sick as of this morning, mind you, and I am stuck at work while MTM has to tend to him and his attention-deprived sister. Hopefully he will recover sooner rather than later.)

What about you? Any stories of triggered memory with your kids, or maybe a conscious recollection of something you either thought they forgot or never realized they knew? I am constantly fascinated by children's memories; I'd love to hear some stories.

Relentless

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

My MIL is a modern woman, and by "modern woman" what I really mean is she has her own opinions, and by "has her own opinions" what I really mean is she's opinionated, and by "opinionated" what I really mean is that it is a violation of the laws of nature for her to be wrong.

I started driving when I was 16. In fact, I got my learner's permit on my 16^th birthday (yeah, yeah... like a lot of people). I learned how to drive in winter (for Canadians, that means "with snow on the ground") without ABS or traction control. I learned how to tap my brakes when stopping, how to turn into a skid or fishtail, and even how to recover from spinning out.

This practice continued until I was working full time and purchased my first new car, which came with ABS and traction control standard. Admittedly, it took some time to unlearn the brakes thing (at one point I explored disabling my ABS because I found it confusing), but other than that, things remained as they were before.

At that point in my life I was in my mid 20s and had never heard anyone talk about snow tires or winter tires, save for my father regaling me with tales of life in northern Quebec (where now, in fact, it is law that you have winter tires on your car). Then I met MTM and subsequently, my inlaws.

My inlaws have a cottage, a "winterized" cottage (really, it's a huge house on a lake). That cottage is connected to what is tenuously called a "road" by a "driveway" (or, as I like to call it, the sliptastic skidding death slide). Since my inlaws like to visit their cottage in the winter months, they acquired snow tires, and I think that was a wise decision for them.

The first winter after MTM and I got our minivan, my MIL asked us if we were going to get snow tires. Since we did not (and do not) drive up north, we felt it was unnecessary and said as much. The next year, MTM was pregnant, and we were again asked the same question. We replied the same way. This is now our seventh winter with the van, and the situation has escalated to the point where my FIL made MTM an offer she was not permitted to refuse: they would pay for snow tires for the van; they would take care of the purchase and the installation; all we had to do was let them.

To be honest, this whole snow tire thing has been a source of frustration for us for years. I genuinely do not think that people who live in the city and use roads that are maintained need snow tires. (I do, however, believe that they are important for people who live further north.) I believe a study done a few years back found that people with snow tires were actually more likely to be in an accident (my suspicion is that they believe snow tires make them invincible and they become less cautious winter drivers). Nonetheless, my MIL thinks they are important, and until we relent and get them, we will be verbally assaulted year after year.

We have decided to let my inlaws have their way and put the fucking tires on the car. I, however, will have no part of them. My FIL can come and take the van in, pick the tires, have them installed, and put the all-seasons in the garage. Then come spring he can take the van in to switch them, and back again in late fall. I'm so annoyed that it has taken so much to have the subject dropped (when really, it isn't "dropped"; they just wouldn't relent until they "won").

So, two part question today: first, what are your thoughts about winter tires in urban areas? Essential? Stupid? Somewhere in between? Second, how do you deal with someone who just won't let go? Does it matter if they are family?

Bonus anecdote/question (hey, it's a Friday and it's close to Christmas... I'm a giver): Munchkin got to take home a stuffed animal (Tagalong Todd or something) for the night; she has to have "adventures" with him and then write about them in a journal. Every kid in the class gets to take home the same stuffed animal in the same bag with the same journal. This gives MTM the heebee jeebees like nobody's business since the toy is likely swimming with disease and soaked in H1N1. Would it freak you out to have such a toy in your house?

Last chance to enter my Santa Speaking giveaway! Contest ends Sunday.

Lessons

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

It was dark and late (for the children; it was actually only 7.30pm) as the road unrolled itself in front of us on the drive home from some Christmas shopping. We hoped that the kids would fall asleep along the way. Sometimes hoping is futile.

One of the tasks we had was getting me some new t-shirts and gitch (another was for the kids to get their Christmas present for me: they purchased the Darth Vader outfit from Build-a-Bear and over the break the three of us are going to go make Daddy a bear... which will initially be adopted by Munchkin and later by Buddy, of course). Seeing me update my wardrobe must have sparked something in Munchkin.

"Daddy?"

"Yes sweetheart?"

"I noticed your jeans have holes in them."

"Yes, but they aren't big holes." (They really aren't, and since I spend most of my time in places where the regulars wear coveralls or workman's clothes, I see no concern with minor rips.)

"I think you need to get new jeans."

"OK. We'll see."

"Mommy said you would say that."

"Oh she did, did she?"

"Yes, and she said I should remind you again and again until you get new jeans."

"OK. You and I will go shopping for jeans during Christmas break. OK?"

"OK."

"So apparently we're teaching our daughter how to nag?" I asked MTM.

"She asked me why you don't get new jeans if they have holes in them. I told her that you didn't like buying new jeans, and that she would have to remind you a lot."

"So you told her to nag?"

"Basically, yes. I think you need new jeans too."

"See Daddy?" came the four year old voice from the back seat.

* * *
We continued on our way home, The Beatles playing in the background. Both kids have demonstrated a love for the Fab Four, and in fact their peppy songs and smooth harmonies were the only thing that calmed Buddy at points during our recent trip to visit my parents.

"Daddy?"

"Yes Munchkin?"

"What's your favourite song from The Beatles?"

"Hmm... I like them all, really. When I was younger I used to really like She Loves You, but now I would have to say it's Can't Buy Me Love."

"My favourite is Love Me Do."

"OK."

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"When I'm older and I'm and adult and I can have a baby, will you make me a coffee?"

"Uh, sure. When you're older you can have coffee, but most doctors say that pregnant ladies shouldn't drink too much coffee. But it's OK to have some coffee, just not too much. Does that make sense?"

"She asked you if you would make her a copy of this CD," MTM said.

"Oh."

"Apparently I'm not the only one teaching our daughter things."

What lessons are you teaching your kids that may or may not be necessary and/or appropriate?

Real

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

For nearly two years now, I have opened every post with a song. It is with disappointment that I announce my decision to no longer follow this practice, as my entire uploaded library was rendered unavailable to anyone when imeem (my music host) was taken over by myspace. I have begun the process of removing the dead links from my posts, but it will take some time.

"Daddy?"

"Yes princess?"

"Is the tooth fairy real?"

* * *
It was December, and I was eight years old. My mother had sent me to the basement to get a can of soup from the cold room under the porch (don't ask me why we kept our canned goods in a cold room; I only narrate my childhood). When I opened the door, the shelf where the cans normally were was covered over with black garbage bags (think like a large curtain).

I looked around. The cans were moved to the other side of the cold room on another shelf. I found the soup I was looking for and pulled it out. Then I pulled back the garbage bag and saw presents wrapped in Christmas paper.

Later on that day, I waited until my father was out at his Italian club and my mother was asleep in front of the tv before I went back downstairs. I carefully reached behind the plastic curtain and pulled out a present. To: Little Sister, From: Mom and Dad

Next.

To: SciFi Kid, From: Older Sister

Sweet. I peeled back the paper at the seam, reached inside the irregular shaped package and felt around. It was a Zipper the Cat from The Get-Along Gang (something I specifically requested, for the record). This is awesome.

I pulled out gift after gift, trying to determine the contents of any gift being given to me. Then, pulled out one medium sized present. To: SciFi Kid, From: SANTA.

Dun Dun DUN!!!

I was shocked. (Santa wasn't real?) I was confused. (Who left me these presents all those years? Who left the presents under the tree when Mom and Dad were in bed?) I was relieved. (So that kid in the neighbourhood was right.)

(For the record, I kept up the act for another three years for my mother's sake. We just kind of mutually agreed to end the charade. However, I didn't tell her that I knew for several years before telling her until I was in my late teens. She was heartbroken.)

* * *
This isn't happening. She's only four for fuck's sake! It's too soon. I mean, sure she's bright, and it is an implausible story, but it's still too early for her to figure it all out. This is not happening.

"Daddy? I don't think the tooth fairy can be real."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. "Oh really? Why is that?"

"Because we lock our doors at night. How can she get in?"

"Well, we lock our doors at Christmas, but Santa gets in." (In hindsight, pointing out this obvious incongruence was probably not my best course of action.)

"Silly Daddy! Santa uses the chimney!"

And just like that, the crisis was averted. She was quickly distracted by something else, and has not mentioned the tooth fairy again. Santa's myth remains fact, at least for another Christmas.

How did you learn Santa wasn't real? For those of you with older children, how did they figure it out? What age do most kids figure out Santa?

I have a post that everyone should check out over at my review blog; it's for Santa Speaking, a service where you can get Santa to call your kids. I'm also giving away a call from Santa to one reader. Need more incentive? I posted Munchkin's call from this year as part of the review.

My Interview With Steph The Wonder Worrier

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

Alternate Title: I may not have seen it, but I have an opinion about it

In what seems to have become a somewhat regular feature, this is my third blogger interview (links to past interviews can be found at the end of the post). This week's ~~victim~~ subject is none other than Steph The Wonder Worrier, someone who MTM says could be her "twin" (if not for the whole 10 year age difference, hair colour thing, you know).

SciFi Dad: True story: when MTM and I first started blogging, we used real names and showed Munchkin's face in photos. Then she got freaked out because someone was going to "find us" and/or stalk us. So, we became SciFiDad and MTM instead and went completely anonymous. And then you came along. How does it feel to be our internet stalker?

(What really happened was one night MTM said to me, "Oh my goodness! I think someone figured out where we live. Isn't that creepy?")

Steph: Feels awesome! I'm honoured, and I plan on adding "Internet Stalker" to my resume. In all fairness, I stalked in a very appropriate way if you recall. I just noticed that MTM may have had a cottage near my former cottage, and then later recognized she went into the large city near us... there were a few emails back and forth before we realized we lived in the same town -- then it was just trippy. I'm glad we've become real life friends.

SciFi Dad: So how many other people have you tracked down on the internet?

Steph: Actually, I have a history of Internet friends some of whom I met when we first got the Internet at home when I was 15 and whom I still connect with 9 years later. I've only met two others In Real Life apart from you and MTM; one person I've spoken to on the phone, and with another few I've exchanged cards or letters. Oh! But! I've never tracked them down specifically to their location before meeting them. One girl ended up choosing my University, so we met on campus.

SciFi Dad: Interesting. You're aware that MTM and I met online, right?

(That's 100% true. I told it in three parts: part 1, part 2 and part 3.)

Steph: Oh yes, she told me that.

SciFi Dad: So you've been blogging your whole adult life, pretty much then, right? A livejournal at 18 (in 2003, when MTM and I were celebrating our first months in our house), then your current blog?

Steph: Yep! And from the age of fifteen I participated in online message boards (usually related to favourite TV shows) and loved it. The reason I got a LiveJournal was because of girls from an Alias message board having them.

SciFi Dad: You were much more, er, prolific in your younger days. Two or three posts a day?

Steph: Well, when I had my LJ I didn't even call it a "blog". To me it was an extension of the social networking that we'd been doing on those message boards. I didn't think about having themes or purpose, it was more about sharing events, doing 'memes' and quizzes, that sort of thing. That's why I ended up creating a Blogger blog eventually; it was after truly discovering what a "Blog" should be.

SciFi Dad: What should a blog be?

(This should be interesting.)

Steph: Yeah... as I was typing that sentence, I knew I'd have to justify it. Ai yi yi... okay. A blog can really be anything, but I find that they are usually more organized, that the posts have more of a purpose behind them, and that a blogger has more of an identity than what having a LiveJournal account provides. I also feel that having a true Blog means having more of your own space that you can do anything with than being a part of a group like I was before (with LiveJournal you even have a "friends list" of followers, there are communities you can post to, it's much more about social networking than blogging).

SciFi Dad: Of course. What you described is nothing like today's blogging, with Facebook integration, Twitter, Blogger Followers...

Steph: Well, I suppose it's changing now that those exist, but I still feel like this Blog gives me more of an identity than my previous journal did. I think that's the big difference there. I also don't post my Blog to my Facebook, btw.

SciFi Dad: So what identity does your blog give you?

Steph: Well, it's very much just "Me", I'm not making up who I am or anything, but I guess I just feel like I'm part of Club or something now that I have my own Blog. Before I created my own I was reading some, and I really wanted to be a part of the blogosphere. I feel like "Blogger" is a title that not everyone understands, I'm the only one of my real life friends who is a Blogger.

SciFi Dad: And what is a blogger?

Steph: Someone who writes a blog, yo. I mean it very literally, I'm the only one in my real life group of freinds with an active blog or online journal. One of my friends had an LJ but she hasn't updated in years. I'm also the chatterbox/loud mouth of the group, so that could have something to do with it. You know, perhaps. I have some friends who read MY blog, and hello to Katie S who I know has ventured over to YOURS... but they don't even read blogs or participate in them the way I do.

(Raise your hand if you're tired of reading about blogging. OK then. Let's move on, shall we?)

SciFi Dad: This is the time in the interview where I teach you that the internet is permanent, and you have to be careful what you put out there.

Steph: Oh, good. I like learning lessons.

SciFi Dad: Let's start with a moderately successful television show called, The O.C. You once called it a very well written show. Defend.

(Melodramatic? Sure. Hot chicks in slutty clothes? Definitely. Brilliant writing?!?)

Steph: Oh MAN! I loved that show. LOVED IT. I will defend its first couple of seasons as being some kick-ass TV. Then it turned into utter crap, but whatever. No shame.

SciFi Dad: So was that before or after the emo dude started dating his adoptive mother's father's illegitimate daughter?

Steph: Um. Before.

SciFi Dad: Defend this one: Twilight (the movie) was "good" but Garden State was "bad".

(My hand actually spasmed as I typed that. It hurt that much.)

Steph: Ugggggh. To both. I might have tried to like the Twilight movie when I first saw it, but no. It sucked. Hard. Garden State I couldn't even sit through BUT ... that's because I can't stand watching Independent Films. In fact, it's because the Twilight movie director went all "indie film" with it that I don't like it. I'd be fine with the tween vampire love story.

(Comments poll: who thought Twilight was an indie film? Who thought it was even a film at all?)

SciFi Dad: Please define "indie film".

Steph: You know... films that are really boring and it's more about the subtext than what's being said... and there are dumb camera angles and horrible music.

SciFi Dad: Wow.

Steph: That's a completely technical definition for you, clearly.

SciFi Dad: Are you twirling your hair and smacking your gum right now too?

Steph: Oh yes, absolutely. Leik whoa.

SciFi Dad: Let's play Indie or Not Indie now, OK?

Steph: Sure! I've really never seen many! This should be fun.

SciFi Dad: Boogie Nights

Steph: I haven't seen it... I will say.. Indie?

SciFi Dad: If you haven't seen it, how can you call it Indie?

Steph: I thought I had to pick. The rules of this game were not clearly defined. Not nearly as well defined as my definition of indie films earlier.

SciFi Dad: OK, let's play "Indie, Not Indie, or 'I'm not cool enough to have seen that movie'" Clear enough?

Steph: OR... "I'm SO cool, that movie didn't deserve my time"

SciFi Dad: I make the games, not you. Find your own person to interview if you want control.

Steph: Damn, I can't contest the fairness of that.

SciFi Dad: Slumdog Millionaire

Steph: ooh, I LOVED THAT MOVIE! Um. I will say Not Indie because of its fame and greatness.

SciFi Dad: Swingers

Steph: Um, Indie? Didn't see it... but I sort of want to because I'm a Vince Vaughn fan. (He was in that one right?)

(And here we learn that "rule following" isn't exactly high on her priority list. This is what is educating tomorrow's leaders, people. Be afraid. Be very afraid.)

SciFi Dad: Yes, although he was much younger and slimmer.

SciFi Dad: Memento

Steph: Indie? Doesn't interest me. I'm classifying this one based on the fact that my 21-year-old brother loves it and he likes weird Indie films.

SciFi Dad: Reservoir Dogs

Steph: Tarantino right? This one I won't see for the violence. I don't watch his movies. Um, Indie.

(For those keeping track at home, she's seen two of the movies I've mentioned so far, and one of them was Twilight.)

SciFi Dad: The Usual Suspects

Steph: I'll say Not Indie. I don't know what this game says about me; I don't particularly know about movie classifications, haha.

SciFi Dad: Lost in Translation

Steph: EW. Indie. Hated it.

(headdesk)

SciFi Dad: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Steph: Indie, but I liked this one. Rare exception.

SciFi Dad: American History X

Steph: Not Indie. Also, never seen it.

SciFi Dad: Clerks

Steph: That movie is odd, but I like it. Um, I think it was Indie but I wouldn't call Clerks II Indie.

SciFi Dad: Juno

Steph: Hm. Had a semi-Indie feel, but I don't think it's an Indie and I also loved it.

(Semi indie? Is that like a little bit pregnant?)

SciFi Dad: OK, this game is over, and you lost. Horribly.

Steph: I figured I would! hahaha. I went with my personal definition of Indie, of course.

SciFi Dad: I will be signing you up for Rogers Video Direct and having DVDs sent to your house for the next few years in the hopes of deprogramming you. It will be a difficult fight, but I am up to the challenge.

Steph: I still will not watch Garden State.

SciFi Dad: You will if I have to force our receiver to only show the DVD player and then superglue the tray shut when you come over to babysit sometime. And you will like it, damnit

Steph: Your daughter is brilliant, she will help me figure out how to get out of it.

(She probably would.)

SciFi Dad: Speaking of my kids, is Martin aware he is on a timeline?

Steph: Oh yes! He is. We're on the same page.

SciFi Dad: Because with Buddy's crush on you, he'd better move quick.

Steph: Aww, Buddy is such a little flirt! He's going to be a ladies man.

SciFi Dad: OK. Is there anything else you would like to add? Any defense you care to offer for your horrible taste in movies?

Steph: I have great taste in movies. I saw Titanic in theatres 12 times when I was 12 and 13 years old. That says it all, doesn't it? ;-) Mostly I want to thank you for this opportunity, and give a shout out to MTM for being an awesome friend of mine online and off. She deserves a shout out.

(Hi honey. Sorry your friend has such shitty taste in movies.)

SciFi Dad: For the record, I have never seen Titanic.

Steph: It won a hell of a lot of Oscars. No shame. The obsession surrounding watching it, that might be shameful.

SciFi Dad: Oh and Oscars define "good movie"?

(Must. Stop. Discussing. Movies.)

Steph: Sure they do, I don't want to have to think for myself! YIPES.

SciFi Dad: We had better stop now.

As we were finishing up, I said that the interview had two distinct parts: "Steph pontificates on the nature of blogging while gazing longingly into her navel" and "Steph demonstrates her horrible taste in movies". Was I wrong? Do you like her taste in movies? Will her dismissal of Garden State make you unlikely to read her blog ever again? Share in the comments.

Also, if you're willing to be ~~mocked~~ ~~humiliated~~ ~~taunted mercilessly~~ interviewed, let me know in the comments or via email. As I said at the outset, I'm going to make this a somewhat regular thing.

Previous Interviews
Jodifur
Aunt Becky

What's Important

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

We went to visit my parents this weekend for my mother's birthday, even though Christmas is just three weeks away (sorry to everyone who just went, "Ack!" to themselves when reading that, but it's true). It was a pretty good visit overall, at least until the ride home (which was, incidentally, the worst drive we've had with Buddy ever). We even went out for dinner on Saturday night (something MTM and I have not attempted in recent weeks due to Buddy just being at that age) and it was awesome.

On Saturday a friend (moreso of my sister's than mine, although this friend is my friend too) stopped by to visit with her nine month old son. Munchkin loved showing the new baby all the toys and books, and Buddy... well Buddy was mildly interested in the other short person, but not too much. He was, however, extremely jealous of his sister giving attention to someone else. While she was there, my father disappeared into another room to watch a soccer game.

"Jeez," I said.

"What?" she asked.

"That pisses me off. Like, we're here for what? A day? And you can't give up your fucking soccer game?"

"Oh, my dad does that too."

"Seriously?"

"Yep. All the time."

"Huh, if I lived as close as you do," I said (her drive home is about 45 minutes), "I would pack up and leave if my dad did that. I figure it would only take one time for him to get the message."

"I don't care. The way I see it, my son will grow up to be as big a football fan as his grandfather and his uncle."

I was stunned. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. I mean, what's the big deal?"

* * *
This got me thinking: am I expecting too much of my father to forgo his weekly soccer games (yes, that is plural; he not only disappeared while we had non-family "company", but we also delayed going out for dinner to make sure he caught the end of his second game of the afternoon)? Am I being unreasonable by getting (passive-aggressively, as in saying something to my mother because I know my father won't hear and/or listen) upset when he puts televised sporting events (non-playoff, non-elimination, mind you) ahead of our visits?

The way I see it, we make the effort to drive (often with screaming, cranky, and - by the end of the weekend - overtired kids in tow) to see them. The least he can do while we are there is make us feel like he appreciates it, or that we (or at a minimum his grandchildren) are more important to him than a bunch of grown men kicking a ball around a field.

What say you, internets? Am I an insolent child who demands far too much of his father? Are my expectations reasonable? How would you react if someone you drove that far to visit behaved like that?

I posted this late in Friday's post, so I'll include it today as well. In case you have some lingering questions about me, you can read Aunt Becky's interview of me at her place.

Munchkin And The Bloody Bear

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

My alarm went off at its ~~ungodly~~ usual time, and as I tried to hide from the day listening to the early morning traffic report on the all news radio station, the light to our bathroom suddenly went on and ~~freaked the crap out of me~~ startled me. "Whositwhatsitgrranimals?!?" I said.

"It's me, Daddy," said Munchkin. "My nose is runny and I can't reach the tissues anywhere else."

"OK," I said, and gave her a hug before hopping into the shower.

* * *
I went downstairs. I'm working at a job site that is very close to home now, like a three minute drive close. This affords me the chance to work from home in the early mornings before heading off to work.

As I sat there, reading blogs and email, Munchkin came downstairs. "Daddy?"

"Yes?" I replied as I turned. "Oh, sweetheart!" I said as I saw her little face smeared with dried blood. "Come here. Daddy needs to wipe your face."

"Why?"

"Was your nose itchy in the night?"

"Yes."

"Well, you scratched it too hard and got a nosebleed. There's blood on your face and your nightgown, but it's all dried." I wiped away the dried blood from her face and said, "Mommy will have to wash your sheets (again - she had just washed them the previous day) today. Back to bed."

She went upstairs. A few minutes later, I heard the water running in the bathroom.

Huh, she must have gone to the bathroom.

Another minute passed. I heard the water running again.

She must be trying to clean her pillowcase or something.

Another minute passed. I heard the water run a third time.

Shit, she must be soaking something by now.

"Munchkin?" I called as I climbed the stairs.

"Yes Daddy?" she responded, failing to hold back tears.

"What's wrong princess?"

"I got blood on Mommy's bear. I'm washing it out."

(When MTM spent her first Christmas with my family (also our first married Christmas), I gave her a small beanie baby polar bear with a red hat. She christened it with our surname, so she would always remember her first Christmas as someone with our surname. It gets put away with our Christmas decorations, and Munchkin discovered - and fell in love with - it this year, so MTM let her borrow it. However, she also made a big deal about how special this stuffed bear was.)

"Oh honey! That is so sweet of you to try and clean it. Let me see the bear."

It was smeared with blood. She had done a decent enough job, especially considering that she's four years old and was working by the night light in the bathroom because she didn't want to turn on the main light and wake MTM and Buddy up.

"Let me try and clean it a bit."

I took it into our bathroom and wiped it down. Most if not all of the blood was gone when I was finished.

"I think it'll be OK sweetheart. I cleaned it up."

"OK, but just in case, I'm going to trade Mommy that bear for one of mine until it's all clean again."

She is such a sweet kid. On the one hand, my heart broke for her because I knew that part of her need to clean the bear and make it right was MTM's emphasis on how important and special that bear is, but on the other hand Munchkin is such a sensitive little girl that she would probably have reacted similarly regardless. However, the image of her, half asleep and crying as she tried to wash her blood from the bear, will stay with me for quite some time.

Recently, Munchkin has been a bit less patient with Buddy, and a lot more prone to outbursts. It's easy to forget who your kid truly is when they're not behaving how you'd like a lot of the time. I think we all need reminders sometimes of who our kids truly are.

How have your kids reminded you who they are lately? Or, have they surprised you with acts you didn't expect?

In case you have some lingering questions about me, you can read Aunt Becky's interview of me at her place.

Christmas Trees And Young Children

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

"How was your day at work, Daddy?" Munchkin asked from the table as I came in the kitchen.

"It was OK, but I learned something very sad."

"What's that?"

"I found out that someone at work has a little boy a bit older than Buddy - their son is already walking and stuff, so he's older - and he touches things he isn't supposed to."

"Like the tv? Does he get into mischief?"

(Seriously, she said "mischief". Where does she come up with this stuff?)

"Yes, like Buddy used to be with the tv. So this year, they decided they are not putting up a Christmas tree."

Audible gasp from my daughter

"I know. I mean, Christmas isn't Christmas without a tree, right?"

"Right."

"Uhm," MTM half-whispered, half-muttered to me, "You might want to tone that down a bit."

"Why?"

"I don't know if Buddy can handle a tree this year."

"We're having a tree."

(When I was eight or so, my parents came home one Friday evening in the middle of November to find that I had located the Christmas decorations, set up the Nativity scene on our tv, put up the tree and had strung about half of the lights. That was the year we instituted the rule that the Christmas tree could not go up until we received our winter report cards.)

"That's easy for you to say; I'm home alone with them all day. I'm the one who will have to chase him non-stop."

"We'll figure something out."

"Maybe we could borrow the neighbour's gate/pen thing and wrap it around the tree."

"We are not putting our Christmas tree in jail," I said.

"We need to do something."

"Yeah, like tell him not to touch it."

"And that worked so well with the tv," she responded.

"Most of the time, it does. Sure, sometimes we have to put him in his playpen, but he's a lot better now."

"I don't know."

(Interestingly, we never had this discussion when Munchkin was a baby. Her first Christmas she was nine months old and didn't start crawling until we were at my parent's place the day before Christmas. The next year she was 21 months and able to understand - and accept - that the tree wasn't for touching.)

* * *
On Sunday morning, while Buddy was down for his morning nap, I unloaded and assembled our new Christmas tree (our previous tree was a floor model from post-Christmas clearance, cost us $20 and lasted two seasons before entire sections failed and could not be relit). Once it was up, MTM set to the task of spreading the branches. While she was in the middle of doing that, Buddy woke up, so I went to get him and put him in his exersaucer while I showered in an effort to let MTM finish her task before bringing Buddy down.

We descended the stairs together (he's actually going down on his own now: crawling backwards, sometimes sliding on his tummy feet first). When he got to the bottom he turned around, plunked down on his bottom and said, "Oooh," as he pointed.

He watched as MTM and Munchkin put ornaments (paper, plastic, and wood - no glass) on the tree (we covered his eyes whenever one of them made physical contact with the tree to avoid the confusion of "some people are allowed to touch, and some aren't"), and was pretty good at looking with his eyes and not his hands at first.

Over the course of the afternoon, Buddy touched the tree many times. Each time, we did the same thing. First touch: "No Buddy, don't touch the tree." Second touch: "No Buddy, don't touch the tree." Third touch: "No Buddy, don't touch the tree," and into the playpen he went, where when he cried we reminded him that if he didn't touch the tree he could stay out of the playpen.

The next day I came home from work to find Buddy happily sitting about a metre from the tree, staring at it while holding a stuffed Santa. When he saw me he said, "Dah! Dah!" and pointed near the top of the tree, then signed for "Help." We have an ornament that plays Sinatra singing "Fly Me To The Moon" (our wedding song) when you press a button, and I knew he wanted that, so I pressed it. He smiled wide and danced his little heart out. I would later learn that he spent the better part of the day in that spot, well-distanced from the tree itself, with Christmas toys and books, never touching the tree (except when getting ready to go out and it was sort of in his face). Since then, we have had no tree touching incidents.

What about your kids? Did you go without a tree one year because you worried that they would pull it down or hurt themselves in some way? How do you handle small children and a Christmas tree? Are we just lucky to have two fast learners and/or good listeners?

Solo

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

This past Saturday, I had what was probably my most challenging day as a parent. With the exception of breakfast and a couple of hours (most of which fell during afternoon naps), I was completely alone as a parent.

Now, some of the more militant at home parents are rolling their eyes, or grinding their teeth, or perhaps pulling their hair out. "Big deal," they say, "MTM does that every day!" Well, not quite. More on that later.

It started early, when I took both kids to Munchkin's ballet class (which was complicated because: 1. Buddy is quite mobile; 2. Munchkin is not completely independent when it comes to getting into and out of her dance clothes; and 3. the stroller had to be left in the hall). By the time we got home, MTM was gone to a family wedding (well, a family wedding in that it was part of her extended family that was getting married; kids, however, were not a part of the family, and I have a longstanding feud with family members who exclude kids from weddings because I feel that weddings are for families, not just adults).

She returned as Buddy struggled to go down for his (sorely needed) afternoon nap, nursing him to sleep before coming downstairs and ~~gnawing my ear off with family gossip~~ telling me about the wedding. She remained until dinner was pretty much done, and then left for a bachelorette party for a close friend of hers (whose wedding party she is in the week before Christmas).

As for what we did all day? The morning was lost because by the time we got back from ballet it was time for Buddy's morning nap (which he needed thanks to a rough night). We had an early lunch before heading out to do some errands (Christmas shopping for one of my readers; I'm sure you will understand if I do not discuss details). Then home, a snack, attempts at napping (wherein I spent nearly an hour before MTM swooped in with her breasts of slumber), dinner, some tv for Buddy (following a failed bedtime attempt) and then watching Frosty with Munchkin. A pretty good day with Daddy.

Back to the eye-rolling parents from above. The thing about being the other parent (i.e. the one who isn't at home with the kids during the bulk of the day), I have had fewer opportunities to develop strategies and I am, in effect, working in someone else's territory. For instance, I can get my kids a snack, or put them to bed, but I may not do it "how Mommy does it". Don't misunderstand; I'm not complaining about this, but when parents who are primary caregivers scoff at the rest of us when we talk about shouldering a larger portion of the parenting load than we're used to, I get defensive.

Yes, I am their parent, but in some ways I am less their parent than my wife is by the simple virtue of how we spend our days. Both of us are responsible for the well-being of our children, but she dedicates more of her time to that task while I am spending my time at the office or a project site. By those circumstances alone it stands to reason that she would be more efficient at the task than I am.

It is impossible for me to be the same parent my wife is, and even though I know it's not expected of me, I feel like I should be able to make it happen. So when people roll their eyes at me for saying I had my biggest challenge as a parent this weekend, it hurts. I mean, I did my best, but I found it difficult. What's wrong with that?

What are your thoughts on this? Am I projecting how I feel (in other words, not as "good" of a parent as MTM)? Why do at home parents often mock the other parents when they struggle or find child care more difficult?

Christmas With Family

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 11:15:00 +0000

December starts today, which means that (at least for us) it's time to start the strategic negotiations surrounding Christmas visits with family and friends.

The first Christmas MTM and I were together, we went to see Mama Mia on December 23, spent the night at her parents' place (where she was living at the time; the rest of her family had already left for the cottage), and went to our families on the 24th. The next year, we were living together, and again went our separate ways on Christmas Eve, but found it exceptionally difficult and agreed that from then on we would spend Christmas together, alternating between our families. We thought that establishing a schedule and easy to follow routine would reduce complicated scheduling drama.

It has not worked out that way.

Despite the fact that everyone knows where we were last year (and therefore where we will be this year), it always comes as a shock when we ask about Christmas for the "off" side of the family (i.e. the side that we are not seeing Christmas Day).

This year, it's my inlaws. My (childless) SIL ~~refuses~~ finds it exceptionally difficult to accept the fact that, with two small children, we cannot do a family dinner on Christmas Eve starting at 6.00pm or later (so that her workaholic boyfriend can attend). Weeknights are out because they are either booked one of the two days (and of course, they cannot book themselves for two days in the same weekend) or out of town. On top of it all, my MIL has already started moaning about the fact that she has to make two dinners because this year she is hosting Christmas for my FIL's brothers and their kids.

(Incomprehensible aside: MTM's cousin just learned this past weekend that "everyone" - meaning his father's side of his family, including some cousins - are spending Christmas with my MIL and FIL. He and his wife and 18 month old son have already committed to going to his wife's family for Christmas dinner. His response? "Meh, my wife and son can have dinner with her parents. I want my family Christmas." Is it just me, or is that the most fucked up thing to come out of any parent's mouth in the history of mankind? Spend Christmas dinner without your wife and child? Seriously?)

My side isn't a dream either; two years ago when we did Christmas there, the three of us (we were three at the time... aww...) rushed out to my parents' (as most readers know, a four hour drive in good weather) only to discover - upon our arrival - that my sister (who lives two hours away from them, whose exit we pass on the way there) had yet to leave. I was livid, and swore that we would never make that drive on Christmas Day again. Of course, cooler heads (that would be MTM's for those slow on the uptake) prevailed, and we came up with an alternative plan. We are arriving Christmas Day, but the dinner and gift opening and what not happens on Boxing Day, which means we will not have to rush, and my parents get a "Christmas Morning" feel.

And to answer the question/remark that comes up every time we talk about this sort of thing: my inlaws live very close, like 35 minutes by car, and can easily come to us. My parents live, as I've mentioned ad nauseum, over four hours away, and cannot come to visit us due to health complications. This means that if we take the "we are staying home and anyone who really wants to see us can come to us" approach that gets recommended doesn't work because it means my kids never see my parents, and I spend every holiday with ~~people who hate me~~ my inlaws.

(Speaking of my parents' health: my father had an MRI done, and the results came back normal. Whatever the episodes were, they left no long-term effect other than - wait for it - improvement. According to my sisters, he is actually better than he has been since his original surgery. Thanks to everyone who had good thoughts and/or prayers, and who asked about him. I appreciate it.)

So tell me, is it just our families that make the holidays all fucked up? Bitch about your families in the comments and make me feel better.

Random Thoughts About Christmas Photos And Cards

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 11:15:00 +0000

Last Monday I took a sick day, and what are sick days for if not to run around doing errands all day, instead of staying home and resting, so that you're more tired than if you had gone to work? (I kid, sort of. MTM had made the appointment long before I fell ill, and technically gave me the option of staying home, but I felt too guilty to do so.)

We took the kids to get their annual Christmas portrait done, and it was more of a challenge than last year because, well, Buddy has become sentient. To that end, there were many more outtakes and significantly fewer "keepers" than previously.

In the past, we always got a pile of mini-wallet sized photos (something incredibly small like 2"x2.5") to enclose in our Christmas cards. Then last year we actually ran out so I scanned one of the larger photos, put the year on it, and made a 4x6 with two 3x4 copies on it. We were quite pleased with the results, and had decided to just get a small package (so as to get actual studio photos) and then scan and print 4x6 holiday photo-cards for everyone instead of traditional paper cards.

This year, I priced the studio's photo cards and found that for the amount of money we'd pay for printing and envelopes, it was almost as expensive as having them do them, and we'd get 4x8 instead of 4x6 cards. So, we ended up ordering them through the studio after all.

When we got home, we went through the labels file from last Christmas and realized that we keep sending out a lot more cards than we receive, and not that it's a problem, but it was surprising. Are we the freaks for sending out Christmas cards? Do you still send out paper cards (or photo - i.e. not e-cards) to people? Just family? Friends too? I'm curious.

* * *
Since the children were already in their Christmas best, we decided to take them to see Santa at the local mall. Munchkin was stoked: she knew what she was going to ask for (a karaoke machine with disco lights) and was prepared to make a request on Buddy's behalf (something for babies that plays music), plus she was getting a candy cane.

When it came to our turn, Munchkin happily snuggled up to Santa while MTM handed over Buddy, who immediately began to shriek with the terror of someone who has seen pure evil and cannot unsee it. We cajoled; we smiled; we encouraged. We came out with an eerily serene Munchkin smiling nicely for the camera and a snarling tear-streaked face on her baby brother.

Everyone who has seen it says it is so cute and the classic Santa photo. When my sister forwarded it to a friend, the friend did not even realize it was my kids at first; she just thought it was "one of those crying kid/Santa photos".

Personally, I don't like it. It makes me sad to think about how scared he must have been, and now we have this reminder of the event. I know; it's temporary, and he won't remember the fear when he's older, and "everyone" has one of these photos in their family. But in some way it feels like schadenfraude or sadism. Am I nuts? Doesn't it bother you to see a crying kid with Santa?

(As an aside, Buddy loves the photo. He points at it and says, "Ho ho ho". I even had to print him a copy to slide into a magnetic frame so that we could put one on the fridge that he can take down and hug all the time. Seriously, he doesn't remember the "trauma". However, when he went to do another Santa visit with MTM on her birthday later that week, he shrieked and screamed again.)

* * *
Finally, most of you probably noticed I took a bit of a break last week. I did it for a few reasons: I was sick, I was feeling a little burned out, it was American Thanksgiving, and I wanted to see what posting three days a week felt like. What did you think of it? When I asked for feedback last week, many people mentioned that I posted too much. Was last week better? Did you "miss" the five posts - I know at least one of you did; I got an email asking about it.

To You

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 11:15:00 +0000

Today is MTM's birthday. Please click over and wish her Happy Birthday; she loves receiving comments.

This year is not going to be one of the best birthdays she has ever had, mainly because my work schedule sucks (which means I won't be able to get home and cook dinner; plus I'm on site, so they can't even come for lunch) and we have a pile of stuff going on this weekend that she is preparing for right now. The chances of her getting her one wish (Munchkin taking the school bus to school this morning) are highly unlikely, although Munchkin has tried her best to keep up the Mommypalooza tradition by having little gifts for MTM every morning this week. Ironically, she's getting the birthday I always wanted (I'm not a fan of my birthdays or celebrations about me in general, and would be content to let them slip by unnoticed).

But today isn't about me, it's about her. With that in mind, I will share some of the more memorable posts about MTM from the past year (or so):

I spent literally hours investigating what MTM thought was a scam but was in fact something completely legitimate (not to mention important).
I surprised her with earrings last Christmas, even though we agreed not to exchange presents.
She endured some good-natured ribbing as I asked the timeless question, How MTM Are You?
She accidentally overmedicated Buddy, and you all came to her side with your own parenting mistakes.
More recently, she tried to educate Munchkin about germs with unexpected results.

I'm closing comments to this post in the hopes that it will encourage readers to comment over at MTM's blog today. Happy Birthday MTM!

My Interview with Aunt Becky

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 11:15:00 +0000

Alternate Title: "thinking is hard"

A couple of weeks ago, I interviewed Jodifur. At the end of that post, I put out an ~~insincere, half-joking~~ open offer to interview others. Aunt Becky of Mommy Wants Vodka and Toy With Me ~~thought I was serious~~ aggressively sought out an interview (basically, she harassed me over email until I relented). Like last time, I arranged a time for us to chat instead of emailing questions. This is our interview.

(After a half an hour of emails going back and forth, setting up MSN messenger - and having Aunt Becky give me the wrong address and me figuring out her address even though it wasn't mine we finally got chat working on her gmail account. I wish I was kidding or exaggerating. The things I do for my friends, and you people.)

SciFi Dad: So, you first discovered my blog, and you left me a very interesting comment. You asked for my permission to add me to your blogroll. Do you do that with everyone?

(While I was waiting for this answer, I sent her another IM: "Are you aware there's a finite amount of text allowed per message?" Seriously, she took forever to respond to the first question. Between the chat thing and now this, it was not looking up.)

Aunt Becky: When I first started blogging, I was all "OHMYGOD there's some book on blogging etiquette and I DON'T HAVE IT. So any time I found a blog that I liked, I wanted to make sure I wasn't an asshole for adding you. Now I just add people or delete them at will. Because I am the master of my DOMAIN.

SciFi Dad: Did anyone actually reject your request to add them to your blogroll?

Aunt Becky: Shockingly, no. Turns out everyone is as self absorbed as you'd imagine.

SciFi Dad: Because I can imagine some people being like, "Uh no, I don't want you to add me to your blog roll, Uncle Pervy" if that were the case. Speaking of Uncle Pervy, what's it like being an author of teenage erotica?

(In her Toy with Me column she wrote about her first time having sex - at 17 - which technically makes it teen erotica.)

Aunt Becky: Dude. Have you READ Twilight? Okay, me either. But apparently, that shit is HOT.

SciFi Dad: (pulls open shorts, checks) Nope. I've got a penis. I don't read Twilight.

Aunt Becky: Shit, me either. That stuff is for lame wads.

SciFi Dad: But apparently Dakota Fanning is in it, and she isn't all sweet.

Aunt Becky: (jaw drops)

SciFi Dad: I heard an interview where she said it's easy to be evil when you have red contacts in. WHO KNEW?!? And here I was trying to become a sociopath.

Aunt Becky: All along, the key was red contacts. And sweaters made out of the boobs of dead hookers.

SciFi Dad: Shh! My wife reads this blog. Now she's going to know what I got her for Christmas.

(And with that joke, MTM will probably make me sleep on the couch, or the porch, tonight.)

Aunt Becky: (whistles)

SciFi Dad: What movies DO you like to watch? What was the last one you saw?

Aunt Becky: I am not much of a movie person (shock, dismay, BOO, HISS!) but I do like watching TV on DVD because I live in the Stone Age and don't have TIVO. I just finished Weeds Season 4 and Dexter Season 3.

SciFi Dad: Yeah, I'm not allowed to watch Dexter, on account of the whole sociopath thing. What about House?

Aunt Becky: Greg House, MD is my television husband and although we're going through a rough patch on account of him having "feelings" for that other doctor lady, we're working it out. Our mutual love of Vicodin and being rude will see us through.

SciFi Dad: See, now whenever I watch House, I can't get past Wilson. He is, and always will be, the dork from Swing Kids. Have you seen Swing Kids?

Aunt Becky: I think I did when I was a fetus.

SciFi Dad: Right. So then for you Wilson is from Dead Poets Society?

Aunt Becky: Yes. I still think of him as the whiny kid that killed himself when he couldn't be an AC-tor. I saw that part again recently and while I found it super poignant when I was younger, I was all slap, slap "GET A GRIP." I am not a nice person.

SciFi Dad: Dead Poets also had Josh Charles in it (Knox). Have you ever seen Sports Night?

(Josh Charles stars in Sports Night, a short-lived series that was on ABC in the late 1990s.)

Aunt Becky: I have not.

SciFi Dad: Oh, if you want an amazing dramedy from before dramedy was even a term, you have to get the 2 seasons on DVD. Amazing cast (Nate from Six Feet Under, Felicity Huffman, Robert Guillaume/BENSON) and written by Aaron Sorkin. Plus, Lisa Edelstein was a guest star (as a crazy sportscaster). (FYI, Lisa Edelstein plays Cuddy.) (See what I did right there?)

Aunt Becky: You totally drew the two things together. That was very special. You are a very special person.

SciFi Dad: Short bus special or special special?

Aunt Becky: Just special. Special special.

SciFi Dad: OK. Moving on. Going back to nursing school with a baby. That was, if I may say, gutsy as all hell. Why did you do it instead of getting a different job?

(Seriously, people: she was like 20 years old or something, a single mom, and she had the foresight to go back to school. I was so impressed when I learned that.)

Aunt Becky: I was staring down the road of single motherhood and I knew that I needed to graduate with a degree that would allow me to support myself and my son. That left teaching. Or nursing. I am not teaching material. Turns out, I'm not much of a nurse either. But, with no college degree, I would be stuck with a much smaller job pool.

SciFi Dad: So your mom helped you out by watching Ben when you were at school?

Aunt Becky: She did, which was lovely. I worked as a waitress on the weekends and supported us as best as I could. While living at home. It was VERY glamorous.

SciFi Dad: Especially with the Russian mobster wannabe hitting on you.

(She once wrote about this coworker who stalked her and would not take a hint. He would have treated her like gold but she thought she was too good for him.)

Aunt Becky: By "hitting on" you mean "stalking," right? Because he was always trying to do the grand gesture that was going to have me falling into his arms. Can't BELIEVE I didn't go running into them.

SciFi Dad: Stalking is just flirting with more assertiveness.

Aunt Becky: OBVIOUSLY.

SciFi Dad: But having your mom watch Ben caused some challenges with him to this day, right? He bonded to her more than you?

Aunt Becky: Ben is like a Siamese cat. And because I was gone so much, he did bond with her rather than me. I cannot tell you how much this broke my heart. Thankfully Alex is my shadow. Whether I like it or not.

SciFi Dad: Sort of like those Outer Limits episodes where the person wishes for something, then the dude in the antique shop gives them a creepy smile?

(Anyone else still watch Outer Limits reruns? Just me? OK.)

Aunt Becky: Dude. Alex is the Monkey Paw all over again. BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR.

SciFi Dad: So what stage were you at in the nursing school/single mom hotness when you met Dave? How did you meet him?

Aunt Becky: I was in my first semester of nursing school when I met The Daver and I married him 2 months after I graduated (I have my bachelors degree. Do they have bachelors degrees in Canada?).

SciFi Dad: They do. I actually have one.

(It's true: we do in fact have Bachelor's degrees in Canada. We also have Master's degrees and PhDs as well. They're etched into sheets of ice - of course - but we have them.)

Aunt Becky: We met through a friend of a friend, which is one of those ways that I was always scoffing at. "Being set up NEVER works" was like the third thing I told my now-husband on our non-date first date.

SciFi Dad: Hubris much?

Aunt Becky: Wait, is that a condiment?

(See what I mean about the sex stuff? Now she's talking about condom mints?)

SciFi Dad: Yes. It's a mixture of processed cheese and ketchup (or, catsup, as you call it).

(She posted on Friday that Alex likes mixing these two condiments and that it makes her puke to watch him.)

Aunt Becky: Oh, I call it ketchup.

SciFi Dad: Where do they call it catsup then?

Aunt Becky: And I would NEVER touch process pasteurized cheese food. I think that's in the south. I'm in the north.

(For the record, processed cheese food, like Cheez Whiz, is the food of the gods.)

SciFi Dad: You are all south to me. When I first started reading your blog, you were in the midst of secondary infertility. You had Ben and Alex, but wanted a third child. How long did you have to struggle before conceiving Amelia?

Aunt Becky: I hadn't gone back on the pill after Alex was born. SHOCKING, because he was such an Asshole Baby. I had the two back-to-back miscarriages before I got pregnant with Amelia. And now? WE ARE DONE.

SciFi Dad: So did you want three, or did you want a baby girl?

Aunt Becky: I always wanted at least three, but Daver was happy with just Ben. Then he was happy with Ben and Alex and three was our magic number. Apparently, I am very persuasive.

SciFi Dad: Apparently.

(I say as I sit here interviewing you after I already did my interview yet haven't been interviewed myself.)

SciFi Dad: If you had to pick a relatively small finite number of blogs to continue reading, what are some that would make the "short list"? (And don't say mine to kiss my ass.)

Aunt Becky: Well, I would take yours to a desert island with me.

SciFi Dad: (of course, the desert island would have no electricity, rendering that statement meaningless)

Aunt Becky: (DUH)

Aunt Becky: (hang on)(thinking is hard)

Aunt Becky: http://www.alittlepregnant.com/

Aunt Becky: I'M THINKING. IT'S HARD.

Aunt Becky: http://temerity-jane.com/

Aunt Becky: (I'm doing this w/o my reader and that's making my head hurty.)

Aunt Becky: http://babyonbored.blogspot.com/

Aunt Becky: Okay that is all that my pea brain can think of right now. They're all locked in my reader.

SciFi Dad: That only took 10 minutes. Good for you.

(Seriously, people. My gmail chat record actually has a big line in the middle of it with a note that says, "nobody said fuck all for a long-ass time here".)

Aunt Becky: I have a very, very small brain.

(Not even going to comment.)

SciFi Dad: Well, we'll end this with some easy rapid-fire pick-ems then, OK?

Aunt Becky: YES. For small brained people.

SciFi Dad: Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings?

Aunt Becky: Harry Potter. Never saw the other one.

(Saw? Do you think she's aware they were books before they were movies?)

SciFi Dad: Star Wars or Star Trek?

Aunt Becky: Neither.

(At this point I fell on the floor, knocking myself unconscious.)

SciFi Dad: Yak or goat?

Aunt Becky: Uh. I'll take the goat to mow my lawn! I heard it was all eco friendly!

SciFi Dad: Ketchup or mustard?

Aunt Becky: Ketchup. Because I am a six year old.

SciFi Dad: Miracle Whip or Mayonnaise?

Aunt Becky: To lob at your head violently? Either works, I think.

(Comment poll: who prefers Miracle Whip over Mayo?)

SciFi Dad: Chicago style or real pizza?

Aunt Becky: HA. Why have OR when you can have AND.

SciFi Dad: sweet or salty?

Aunt Becky: Why yes I am.

SciFi Dad: Summer or Winter?

Aunt Becky: Spring.

(Sadly, everyone knows the best season is fall.)

SciFi Dad: Favourite colour?

Aunt Becky: Pink sparkly.

SciFi Dad: Britney or Christina?

Aunt Becky: The more the merrier.

(Interestingly, before the kids and the head shaving, I thought they were both pretty hot and would have answered similarly.)

SciFi Dad: Hall or Oates?

Aunt Becky: Can I be the mustache?

SciFi Dad: Mullet or Mohawk?

Aunt Becky: Mohawk. But I'm kind of partial to the rat tail.

SciFi Dad: Any final thoughts? Things you want to share?

Aunt Becky: On a scale of 1 to 10 I am super great.

There you have it: my interview with Aunt Becky; please check out her blog. If you are interested in participating in the Great Interview Experiment, visit the post and leave a comment. Neil will email you the details.

(And, since I enjoyed the interviewing exercise myself, if there's anyone out there who would like me to interview them, let me know and we'll see if we can work something out.)

So what did you think? Did you like the job I did as an interviewer? Will you visit her blog now because of this interview?

State of the Blog

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 11:15:00 +0000

I'm sick; not sick enough that I can feel OK about missing work, but enough that I feel like crap. (No, it's not H1N1; it's probably a head cold that has just hung around longer than it should because I'm sleep deprived and not getting enough vitamins or whatever.) I say this as a warning that today's post will not be of any great length or depth, and may in fact be a bit more whiny than usual.

I have another post all lined up and ready to publish, and I will put that up tomorrow, but today I wanted to take a moment to have a "state of the blog" address, if you will.

Last week, I noticed a significant drop in comments while my visits remained relatively consistent. I published Friday's post (the second journals one) with the knowledge that there was a chance it would not be well received, and everyone who commented said it was quite long or too long (and one person compared reading my journal to reading the Twilight saga; we won't even get into that here). However, the rest of the week's posts were not published with any concern.

This can mean one of a number of things:

Everyone was really busy in the week leading up to American Thanksgiving, so they read but didn't comment.
Readers were unable to "connect" with the posts that went up last week.
Readers found my posts too long or uninteresting and did not read them.
Twitter has started absorbing my comments.

Here's the thing: if you're busy, that's totally understandable and my cold medication is making me paranoid. But, if you felt uninterested, or if you thought something was too long, drop me an email or leave a comment with something like, "Dude, what the fuck are you thinking with seven pages of handwritten journals on a Friday? I'm not reading that shit." You won't hurt my feelings (much) and I would much prefer the honesty to unclear silence.

So, today's comment question is simple: what happened last week? Did I lose my audience and go off into my own world? Did I just post too many journal pages (and if so, what happened on Wednesday when I wrote about side effects)? Is my cold medication and sleep deprivation making me paranoid?

The SFSG Journals, Volume Two

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 11:15:00 +0000

A couple of weeks ago I posted pages from a journal I kept in the fall of 1997 (three years before meeting MTM, when I was SciFi Single Guy - or SFSG - living in Montreal). I thought I'd try posting some more of it.

What follows are the remaining pages (six and a half!) from that first night. (Dude, was I prolific or what? Eleven and a half pages in one night!) I strongly encourage you to read the previous post first, as I mention people from there in this segment.

Click each image to open in a new window. In most browsers, if you click the image (in a new window) it will increase the view to full size, which is easiest to read.

So what did you think? Was the page count too high this time? Do you want to read more? Is the handwriting too difficult to read, or does it lend some authenticity to the post? Your feedback in the comments will determine whether or not I post more.

Language Comprehension, Revisited

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 11:15:00 +0000

Buddy is just over a year (he's 13.5 months, technically), and the list of words that he says is constantly changing. There's nothing too remarkable in the list: Dadda, Mumma, daw (dog), dow (down), baff (bath), ear-piercing, blood curdling screams (I'm hungry, or thirsty, or pissed off about the world's injustices to me).

What is remarkable, at least to me, is his comprehension. In my earliest blogging days, I wrote about this with Munchkin, who was 15 months at the time (yes, I reposted it this past summer too). Buddy is definitely his sister's brother.

All MTM has to do is say that a meal is ready, and Buddy will drop whatever he is doing, crawl to his high chair, and pull himself up to a standing position (where he will wait, relatively patiently, for someone to lift him in).

When someone detects an unpleasant odour coming from his bottom, all they have to do is ask, "Is it time for a diaper change?" and he will scurry to the stairs, waiting to be allowed to climb up into his bedroom where we change him.

After dinner is finished and we have tidied up the toys, we tell him it's time to get ready for bed. He immediately rushes to the stairs and begins climbing up while happily chattering, "Baff! Baff!" (Which makes the nights where we want to skip his bath somewhat difficult.)

But the most amazing moment, at least for me, came last week. He cried from his crib while we were downstairs, and after a few minutes with MTM it was clear he was not going to settle, so I came in and went to work. Unlike past nights, he would not completely calm down for me, but eventually he was quiet enough that I told him it was time for sleep and placed him in his crib.

He immediately sat up and started to cry, so I picked him up (yes, I know I'm a big suck and let him manipulate me) and jostled him a bit before repeating that it was time for sleep and placing him in his crib.

He sat up again, and whined. "Buddy, it's time for sleep now. It's late. If you lie down Daddy will rub your back, OK?" I said.

He looked at me for a moment, sighed, and rolled over on to his tummy. I rubbed his back for a couple of minutes before pulling up the blankets and slinking out of the room.

It amazes me to watch him grow and learn. He understands so many things now (yet does not have the words to share them, which is a source of frustration for him), and is really interested in learning more all the time. He is constantly building his knowledge base, always eager to show us when he understands or has made a connection. MTM and I have talked about it, and we both feel like this age is probably our favourite because of the rapid change and development.

What things can your kids do now that amaze you? Did it happen slowly or does it seem like all of a sudden?

Side Effect

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 11:15:00 +0000

When MTM and I discussed having children, one of the decisions we made was that she would be a SAHM. We did this because both of us were raised by SAHM, at least for the first years, and we felt it was good for our kids to have a parent at home with them too.

The decision to have her stay home instead of me was a financial one. My income was greater, and would therefore offer us more financial security. One of the benefits of the arrangement was that MTM was not only a JK/SK teacher, but also had her degree in Child Studies, making her far more prepared for raising children than I was. (Not that I was woefully unprepared, mind you, but with her background and experience, she was more prepared.)

This meant that as Munchkin approached milestones, MTM knew how to stimulate and encourage them. She knew how to encourage her emerging literacy using techniques such as environmental print (using the fact that kids can recognize logos on signs or products to encourage them to read the words in them) or helping her basic math skills with sorting activities. As school approached, MTM was able to help Munchkin overcome her anxiety with the great unknown that is the public school system by "playing school" and giving her real activities. Munchkin even questioned how it was realistic, so we explained that Mommy used to be a teacher, and that satisfied her.

However, there was an unexpected side effect to all that experience that I discovered this week.

Munchkin is still struggling with school, specifically going to school. Once she is in the classroom and MTM has gone (yes, they are still driving to school in the morning, but she is taking the bus home), Munchkin has a blast and comes home every night telling us it was the best day ever. Regardless of this, she still gets anxious the night before school. Monday night was no exception.

"What's going on?" I asked MTM as she descended the stairs after putting Munchkin to bed.

"She's crying."

"I can hear that. About what?"

"She doesn't want to go to school."

"Well, she has to."

"I know."

The crying continued for a few more minutes before I decided to climb the stairs. "May I come in?" I asked at the door.

"Yes," she replied, suppressing the sobs.

"What's wrong sweetheart?"

"I don't want to go to school."

"But honey, you have to. It's the law." (No, it's not the best reason, but it's one that makes it clear that school is a) a necessity and b) not our fault.)

"But I don't need to. I already know math." (She has been "practicing math" by "measuring" things and writing down numbers on a paper lately.)

"Yes, but you can always learn more."

"I don't want to go."

"Why not?"

"Because Mommy and Buddy aren't there. I want Mommy to be my teacher. Mommy's a great Kindergarten teacher."

"But Mommy isn't teaching right now, so she can't be your teacher."

We went back and forth, and I encouraged her to focus on how she felt coming home rather than how she felt leaving her mother and brother. She reluctantly accepted this suggestion, which at least made her stop crying and go to sleep.

But her request stuck with me. It's one thing for a child to miss their parents when they go off to school; they understand that school is for kids and teachers, not parents. But when a parent is a teacher, that introduces a whole new layer of complexity: in her mind, MTM technically could be her teacher, but is choosing not to. I'm not saying I regret the decision to have MTM stay home - far from it in fact - but I will say I did not anticipate that sort of response from Munchkin.

What decisions have you made, either as a parent or in life in general, that have been successful but also had unexpected side effects?

Rocking To Music

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 11:15:00 +0000

I was five years old, probably wandering into the kitchen out of boredom, when I heard something coming from the basement. I descended the stairs and found the door to our rec room partially closed, so I pushed it open. My older sister, 16 at the time, stood in front of our stereo dancing to The Beatles' The Red Album. I walked across the thin orange and brown carpet and sat in the broken orange velour rocking chair that had springs that dug into my back (that my father insisted he liked "for a massage" and therefore refused to throw it out when my mother banished it from the living room upstairs) and rocked back and forth with a smile on my face.

As often as I could (which loosely translated to whenever she wasn't entertaining friends), I would join my sister's listening sessions, always sitting and rocking. In my head, I imagined us (my older sister and I) on some kind of variety show. She would dance, I would be the ~~strange~~ cool announcer who sat in a plush chair and talked into one of those long thin microphones like Bob Barker used on The Price Is Right.

Time moved on, and The Beatles were replaced by the 45" of Billy Joel's Still Rock 'n' Roll To Me. By then I had figured out how to use the stereo effectively enough that she let me play her records even when she wasn't around. One day I turned off the light in the rec room once I had gotten the record playing and just stared at the green and orange lights coming from the receiver. After that, my private listening time was always in the dark.

Around the age of eight I discovered Top 40 radio, which offered me a plethora of listening opportunities instead of the same song or songs repeated. By that point the orange rocker was discarded and replaced with a classic wooden one.

When I was eleven I got a portable cassette player (what everyone called "a walkman" at the time, but mine was a Panasonic, not a Sony), and around the same point my rocking chair was relocated to the unfinished part of the basement. I still rocked in the dark to music as much as ever, even though it was colder and less inviting.

My cassette player was replaced by a portable CD player, as I used music and darkness as a way to hide from everything and everyone. My chair broke and was repaired innumerable times with screws and tie-wraps and supporting pieces of wood were added to prolong its life. Eventually, my listening spot got pushed even further back into the unfinished part of our basement, still with no change in my habits.

When I moved away for university, my parents joked that I would need a rocking chair up there. I never got one, but somehow survived.

As for why I did this, I remember enjoying it as a kid as much as I did as an adolescent. As I got older, it was a way to shut my mind down; if I was feeling stressed or overwhelmed, my mind would continue to cycle through subjects, analyzing and reconsidering and perpetually making me more anxious. (As an aside, looking back I know that the frequency and the reasons I did this were unhealthy, but it never occurred to my parents to do anything about it.)

Whatever the reasons were, it all started with my sister and her music.

Sometimes post ideas just come to me and I write them. Other times, there is a prompt. This video was taken last week in our house:

(Yes, that's Munchkin dancing to "her" music, and yes, that's Buddy sitting and rocking back and forth while watching his older sister dance.)

What things did you do as a kid that you can see your own children doing? Alternatively, what weird stuff did you do as a kid that you hope you children don't do?

Retraction

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 18:07:00 +0000

Today's post has been removed.