Tales From The Dad Side

"My Daddy"

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

Sweetest Thing - U2
Last night after I came home from work I was suddenly overwhelmed with gastro-intestinal distress (I will spare you the details of that adventure). In between running to the bathroom, I tried to rest in bed. I skipped dinner completely.

When I came downstairs, Munchkin asked me to stay out of the kitchen. MTM mouthed that she was making a craft for me (click all images to enlarge):

from left to right: Buddy, MTM, Munchkin, me (wearing a tie and a shirt with a happy face on it)
It should be noted for the record that I have worn a tie three times in Munchkin's life: my grandmother's funeral and two weddings.

"Daddy! You didn't see the back," she said.

"What's on the back?"

"A poem I wrote for you."

"A poem?"

"Yes. Do you want me to read it to you?"

"I most certainly do."

My Daddy

My Daddy and me like to play

My Daddy and me like to snuggle together

My Daddy and me like to cuddle in the big bed.

In case you're wondering, here's the poem with text indicating where the verses are:

I had no words.

What have your kids done to surprise you lately?

Dealing and Lying

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

Lies - Evanescence
Thanks for all your kind words yesterday. His appointment with the specialist is actually this morning, so we don't know any more than we did before (other than the receptionist telling my mother to expect a lengthy appointment as they plan to run a battery of tests, which I suppose is a good thing).

To be completely honest, I didn't think that much of the sudden numbness on Friday. Part of my father's symptoms that precipitated his surgery included numbness, and he struggles with circulation problems a lot, so while the revelation was worrisome, it wasn't frightening.

However, when I learned that it happened again two days later, and that he had wet himself, and that he was sufficiently concerned to call an ambulance, then I started to panic.

I mean, this was my dad, who, for all his faults and shortcomings, is still my dad.

I kept it together, thanks in no small part to the fact that I reclaimed dinner preparation from MTM. (Originally, my plan was to make dinner - a beef tenderloin roast, if you want to know - but once everything was prepared and cooking, I realized the Lions were on tv and she kindly offered to finish the meal for me. However, when I got that first call on Sunday I knew I needed to be distracted, so I took over again.) A few times during dinner I got a little choked up, but ultimately I fought back the tears. (Actually, I haven't had any tears.)

If anything, I was probably more affectionate with the kids than normal, telling them I loved them more and asking for hugs and cuddles from Munchkin. (Buddy, who enjoyed the meal immensely, was covered in bits of potato and gravy, and therefore not an ideal candidate for in-meal hugs. He did, however, get his fair share after being wiped up.)

Obviously, we have not told the kids (really, Munchkin, as Buddy is too young to comprehend) anything yet, and unless she's really good at hiding it, she has no idea what is going on. Occasionally, I can see her wondering why my behaviour is different than normal, and I want to tell her the truth, but I don't want to worry her.

On the one hand we are keeping something from her, but on the other the question is what can she do with that information. (Of course, the same rationale could be used for me: I'm 400km away. What good does knowing about this do me?)

I don't know what I'm trying to say. It's difficult to have concerns in your life when you have children. You can't respond the way you normally would, and you have to maintain the illusion that everything is OK for their sake.

I just can't shake the feeling that I am lying to her, something that we have tried so hard to instill in her as a forbidden action.

It's complicated, and I don't know how much of what I'm feeling is because of my dad and how much is related to my mind manufacturing issues to deal with to distract myself from the problem.

What do you think? Do you lie to your kids about stuff if you are trying to protect them? Does it bother you to lie to them? Am I just over-thinking everything right now?

I also have a new review up for Febreze SPORT Extreme Odor Eliminator.

Numb

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

Sometimes when you blog about having nothing to blog about, fate's fickle hand curls itself into a fist and handballs you.

I Don't Want To Think About It - Wild Strawberries
On Friday night, as we were cleaning up after dinner, MTM said, "You should call your parents and see how your mom is feeling."

"OK." A minute later, the phone rang. The caller ID said it was my parents. Well, that's convenient, I thought.

"Hello?"

"Hey SciFi." It was my younger sister (the one who lives a few blocks from my parents). "Dad said he wanted me to call you."

"Why?"

"Well, I just got here, but he called me in a panic because he was standing up when all of a sudden his right leg went numb and he couldn't stand on it."

Fuck. "What?"

"He was standing at the counter. Apparently he was able to lower himself safely and drag himself to his chair."

"And how is he now?"

"Oh he's got feeling back. He can feel me touch his feet and everything."

"And it was just his leg?"

"Well, and his arm a little. But he was totally coherent. Mom thinks it was a TIA."

"OK. So are you guys going to the hospital?"

"No, he doesn't want to."

"OK. Can I talk to Dad?"

"Sure. Hang on."

"Allo."

"Hey Pop."

"Hi. I'm OK."

"You're not OK. Your leg went numb."

"But it's OK now."

"You think you should go to the hospital?"

"No. It's OK now."

"What happened?"

"I was in the kitchen, getting a beer," Of course you were "when I feel it go."

"That doesn't sound good."

"Meh, it's OK now."

*    *    *
"What's up?" MTM asked when I hung up. I filled her in.

"So is he going to Emerg?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"He doesn't want to."

"Do you think he should go?"

"Yeah, but I'm not going to start a fight when there's nothing I can do here except piss him off."

*    *    *
Sunday afternoon, I was watching some football when the phone rang.

"It's [my older sister]," MTM said as she picked up. "Hello? Again? They called the ambulance? So now what?"

"Uh, can I talk?" I interrupted.

"I think your brother wants to talk to you."

"Hey."

"Hey. So [younger sister] didn't call you?"

"No, not yet. What happened?"

"His leg went numb again. They called an ambulance."

"And?"

"And that's all I know."

"OK."

*    *    *
The phone rang during dinner that night. I jumped to get it. It was my older sister's number.

"Hello?"

"Hey. So he's in an ambulance. He walked to the stretcher himself. Mom and [younger sister] are waiting for a cab."

"OK."

"It was both legs this time, and he wet himself. Mom is in hysterics."

"Jeez."

"When I talked to his surgeon before his surgery, he said if Dad didn't have the surgery that one morning in the next six to 12 months he'd wake up paralyzed from the waist down and have wet himself."

"Huh. So maybe the surgery bought him 18 months."

"I don't know."

"Me neither."

*    *    *
The phone rang as we were putting the kids to bed. Again, it was my older sister.

"Hey."

"Hey. [younger sister] went home because they only let one person in the room and Mom's there."

"OK."

"The doctors think it was a TIA. They're waiting for blood results, but unless that turns up something, they're sending him home tonight with a referral to a TIA clinic."

"So wait, he's had two in three days, and they're going to send him home knowing he's likely to be back the day after tomorrow?"

"Yep."

Fuck.

*    *    *
I got two emails from my younger sister later last night. The first one was sent at 12.07am and said that he had gone for a CAT scan and they did not think he would come home that night. The next one was sent at 1.00am, and said he was home and that the ER doctor thought it was a mild stroke, and he needed to see a specialist ASAP.

*    *    *
And that's where we stand as of now. I feel scared and nervous and uneasy. It's hard for anyone to think about their parents getting sick or weak, but (at least I think) it's harder for a man to see his dad like this. It's probably some stupid macho guy thing, but it is what it is.

So, if you're so inclined, have a good thought for my dad today (or, if your faith suggests prayer, that's good too). He could use it.

And in the comments, tell me things about your weekend to distract me, OK? OK.

In less depressing news, Munchkin has selected the beautiful Miss L. of Dads Who Mock The World fame, as the winner of her first contest. Miss L.'s ballerina costume, combined with her wonderful pose, won Munchkin's affection. Thanks to everyone who entered. We all enjoyed seeing your costumes.

The SFSG Journals, Volume One

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 11:40:00 +0000

Paranoid Android - Radiohead
A couple of weeks ago, while searching for my school scrapbook, MTM also discovered a journal I kept in the fall of 1997 (three years before meeting her, when I was SciFi Single Guy - or SFSG - living in Montreal). As I am still in a weird place with my blogging right now (in other words, struggling to find post ideas), I thought I'd try posting some of it.

Originally, I was going to transcribe it to text, but after confirming with MTM that my handwriting is (relatively) legible, I decided to scan the pages instead. I have redacted some identifying elements, but nothing too significant. What follows are the first five pages.

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? Did you enjoy this glimpse into my ~~boring~~ ~~pathetic~~ ~~lonely~~ past? 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 this is a one-off, or if I will post more.

Munchkin's Contest will be open for entries until 11.59pm EST tonight. Please send in your costumes; she's really enjoying seeing all of them.

The Baby Whisperer

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 11:15:00 +0000

Good Enough - Evanescence
I stepped out of the shower a couple of mornings ago, and I could hear him screaming. I didn't know if MTM was making him cry himself to sleep or if something worse was going on. After I got dressed and said my goodbyes to a Munchkin who should have been sleeping (but rarely seems to be when I'm heading to work), the light went on in his room: a sign that my presence was permitted (not permitted, but that it was OK for me to come in; sometimes I just leave it because MTM feels I get him wired up and he's less likely to fall back asleep).

He was writhing in her arms (technically he was in her arms, but he was struggling mightily to get out of them). I asked if I could take him, and with her acceptance of my offer I took him. He stopped crying and laid his head down on my shoulder, pressing his soft curls into my neck. I stroked his hair, kissed his cheek, and whispered, "Daddy's here. Everything's OK. Daddy's here."

He started murmuring like he does when he's falling asleep, so I stood up and rocked him near his crib. "Time for sleep," I said, and he gently pushed away and rolled in the direction of his crib; a sign that he's ready to be put back down. I laid down him gently, handed him Paddington and Iggle Piggle, covered him with a blanket and left.

He slept later than usual that morning.

*    *    *
"How long was he like that?" I asked that evening when I got home from work.

"Maybe 20 minutes; then I gave in and nursed him. He drank a bit, then started screaming again. We'd been at it for an hour total, I think."

"You should have called me sooner."

"But you need your sleep for work."

"But he falls asleep for me."

*    *    *
Yesterday morning, Munchkin was in bed with me when she startled me out of sleep with a big coughing fit (she was fine, it was just a big cough). As I sat up I heard Buddy crying as hard as he was the previous morning, so I started to his room.

I met MTM, who heard the coughing and feared the worst, in the hall. She went to tend to Munchkin and I pulled a sobbing Buddy from his crib.

Once again, he settled immediately, and once again, after a few minutes he was signalling that he was ready to go back to his crib and sleep.

"See?" I said to MTM as I came back to our room.

*    *    *
At this point, I figured Buddy was in the mood for a change. MTM does the nights because she's still breastfeeding him, so rather than both of us being sleep deprived, we opt for just her. Usually he gets like that in the early morning hours, after a long night with MTM, so my theory was I was "something different".

I mean, she was his only source of nourishment and comfort (he never really took to a pacifier) for months, and he's more affectionate with her. It makes sense that he's more comfortable with her, doesn't it?

*    *    *
Last night, while we were downstairs watching a DVD (Eragon, which, despite its obvious use of the epic hero motif and the clear influence of Star Wars Episode IV, is an enjoyable film), Buddy started crying. After a few minutes without settling, MTM said she'd go get him and bring him down.

I heard him continue to scream through the monitor after she picked him up.

"Daddy will be here soon," she said softly.

I waited, figuring she meant he would see me soon (as in, when she brought him downstairs).

"Daddy's coming, Buddy."

Still, I waited.

"I'm sure Daddy will climb the stairs any minute," she said, tersely. Turns out he was so aggressive that she couldn't carry him down the stairs safely.

Whoops. Guess I should have taken the first hint.

Once more I took my boy into my arms, and once more he quieted down and rested his head on my shoulder immediately. I held him a few minutes longer than I needed to, before putting him back in his crib and rejoining MTM downstairs.

*    *    *
I realized as I came downstairs that it wasn't as simple as Buddy being "bored" of MTM, that my uncanny ability to settle him from a state where MTM cannot even carry him and has to resort to sitting or lying down with him is the product of something more. Call it a connection, call it a bond (call it a yearning for more time with an often absent working father - but not to my face, at least not right now; I'm enjoying the alternatives too much), call it whatever you want.

I might not be his favourite, and I might not be the one he's bonded to, but I'm his Daddy, and he's my boy, and that's good enough for me.

Spousal Language

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

So They Say - Soul Attorneys
MTM and I have lived together for over eight years now, and in that time we have developed our own language. A single word or a partial expression can often convey meaning beyond what most people will get. It has also proven invaluable when trying to hide things from a precocious junior kindergartener. What follows is a sampling of some of our more common ones.

craptacular
Definition: of inferior quality and style quotient; typically refers to a decoration (also abbreviated to tacular now that "crap" is not something we want uttered to the teacher)
Origin: Simpsons episode; Bart refers to Homer's holiday light display with the same word

dr. phil
Definition: a relatively new entry into our vernacular, it is a code word for "you need to back off because you're getting too pissed" or "I need you to step in because I'm getting too pissed" when dealing with behaviour issues (typically it is me getting pissed)
Origin: MTM's friend uses the same technique with her husband (I think this is called "training"), in reference to Dr. Phil always giving parenting advice

we share everything
Definition: when something negative is being experienced by one person (such as sickness or shitty mood), the other partner inevitably gets pulled into the vortex of suck
Origin: a reference to our wedding, where MTM read the children's book We Share Everything! as part of her speech

but then the monkeys
Definition: that is highly unlikely
Origin: abbreviated form of "if that happens, then monkeys will fly out of my ass"

MTM happened to me
Definition: something has been moved, put away, relocated, tidied, or discarded without one's consent (whenever something goes missing, I (and now occasionally Munchkin) will say that MTM happened to us)
Origin: MTM has a long and well documented history of such behaviour

boh
Definition: an audible shrug (for example: "What do you want for dinner?" "Boh. Doesn't matter.")
Origin: my father says this all the time; I picked it up from him and MTM from me (now she says it - without thinking - to people like my MIL, who look at her like she's been hit on the head)

you want I should break leg
Definition: would you like me to seek out revenge on your behalf?
Origin: typically said with a thick eastern European accent, it's probably from an old movie about gangsters that I no longer remember

what do you think?
Definition: 1. Tell me what you think. 2. Tell me you agree with me.
Origin: I have no idea how two such disparate meanings can be applied to the same phrase, but it is probably the most maddening part of our marriage; sometimes I'm supposed to just shut up and agree and others I'm supposed to give an opinion

What about you and your spouse or partner? Do you have little words or phrases that are nonsensical to most people but mean something to you? What are they, or are my wife and I just freaks?

Munchkin's Contest will be open for entries until 11.59pm EST Friday, November 6, 2009. Please keep sending in your costumes; she's really enjoying seeing all of them.

No Idea

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

Not My Idea - Garbage
"I've been thinking about scaling back," I said to MTM after the kids went to bed last night.

"On your blog?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Nights like tonight. I don't have anything pressing to write about, so I'm probably going to go downstairs and churn out something that I didn't need to post."

"That's why I don't post to a schedule."

"I know."

*    *    *
It would have been easy to just not post today; I could have taken the night "off" and done whatever. Instead, I combed through my archives and read over the various "post ideas" files sitting in my Blog folder.

Nothing struck my fancy.

Part of it is work, which kicked my ass particularly hard yesterday (I was even heard to say to someone in a conference call that I stopped reviewing their application when I was faced with the choice to either stop or throw my laptop out the window), and the fact that I didn't get a chance to at least jot down some ideas during the work day.

Part of it is Munchkin, who, in addition to her freaky fever dreams, is even more whiny than her usually over-sensitive (is that the politically correct term for whiny?) self.

Part of it is the time change, which is not hitting me that hard, but has turned Munchkin the early riser into Munchkin the "sweet merciful crap child, why won't you sleep".

Part of it is the hangover from a difficult weekend with a sick child and two overtired parents snipping at each other.

Whatever the reason, I struggled to find something to say.

*    *    *
Sometimes, I have these ideas, these visions of (what I think will be) a great post, but I can't figure out how to get the images out of my head and into words in a manner that satisfies me.

Last night after dinner, the four of us were rolling around on the floor (technically two of us were moving while the other two struggled to find the will to stay awake). Buddy was the most active of all of us, crawling from MTM to me and back again, always stopping to bite her nose or cheek. He got into a what I would call a little game: he would crawl away into the (dark) kitchen, play a quick "peek-a-boo" with MTM, then scurry back and bite her face, laughing, and crawl away again to the kitchen.

I sat back and watched him, at once in awe of his development and envious that she could get such a response. (I try to get on the floor with him every night after work or after dinner. We play ball, or I hide under pillows so he can "find" me, or I feign sleep so he can "wake me up", or I chase him and tickle him. But he never wants to kiss me or bite me like MTM. He's happy to play with me, but only for so long before he needs to check out what MTM is up to.) Then I felt like shit for being jealous of my wife.

*    *    *
I'm in a weird place right now (obviously), and while this is clearly not my best work, in a strange way it pleases me (I know I am coming to the end of the post here). I don't know if anyone else will like it; those who come here looking for thought-provoking or discussion topics probably won't. But that's OK. Not everyone has to like everything.

Do ever you find yourself compelled to do something that you don't have to do? How do you deal with those feelings? Also: how are your kids handling the time change, because I need to know that mine aren't the only ones who get all messed up with it.

Scary

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

One could read the title and, given the fact that this is my first post since Halloween, assume that today's post is about a spooky night we had trick-or-treating. One would be wrong.

Scared - Three Days Grace
On Thursday night, as MTM and I were watching Grey's Anatomy, Munchkin started to cough - hard - and then she started to gag, and we both ran upstairs because Munchkin has a long and sordid past that involves coughing and vomit. She didn't get sick, but she ended up in bed with me that night after MTM went to nurse Buddy.

She spent the better part of Friday on the couch watching Treehouse and whining about everything her little brother did, including looking at (and away from) her. That night, MTM went out to do some groceries after the kids were in bed. She had been gone maybe 30 minutes when I heard noises coming from Munchkin's room.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" I asked, entering her room.

"I... want... Mommy!" she said, in between sobs.

"Mommy's out, but I'm here. It's OK. Do you need a cuddle?"

"I need Mommy," she said, still sobbing. "It hurts!"

"What hurts?"

"Everything."

I tried for five minutes: holding her, rubbing her back, getting her a drink of water, stroking her hair. None of it worked. I called MTM and suggested she come home ASAP.

I went back upstairs and told her that MTM was coming home soon. I also took her temperature. She had a fever.

"OK."

"Do you want me to wait with you."

"Yes, and I want the monkeys to leave."

"What?"

"The monkeys are bothering me."

"What monkeys?"

"The ones from Diego."

* * *
MTM came home, gave her some Advil for the fever, and a little Mommy TLC for the rest of it. While she was upstairs, Munchkin informed her that she hated her bedroom, and later instructed MTM to leave the room, but to not go too far, just into the hall. (Apparently, she said this angrily.)

That night, Munchkin was again in bed with me, when she suddenly woke me with a loud, "No!"

"Huh? What?"

"I don't want them to enter my contest!"

"OK. They won't."

"OK," she said, turning over and falling asleep.

* * *
I have seen my kids sick before. I am all too familiar with feeling helpless and frustrated. But I found Friday night particularly frightening as a father. It's one thing for your child to be sick and moan in bed with a cold or flu, or even to have a formal diagnosis from a doctor and need to be hospitalized, but for some reason those feverish dreams (or semi-conscious hallucinations) really freaked me out. She was so lucid, so aware of everything going on - she was coherent enough to stop herself from falling asleep once she knew MTM was en route, forcing herself to sit up and wipe her eyes - yet was honestly convinced there were monkeys in her room annoying her.

What stuff has really gotten to you as a parent, has totally rocked you to your core, even though you didn't expect it to? Also, is my kid the only one with the freaky fever dreams?

Munchkin's Contest will be open for entries until 11.59pm EST Friday, November 6, 2009. A huge thank you to everyone who has entered so far, with special acknowledgment to the super-keen Blogging Mama Andrea, smiles4u, and Leanne for having their entries in before the end of Halloween night. It made up for the fact that she only got to trick-or-treat at a few close houses on Saturday. Please keep sending in your costumes; she's really enjoying seeing all of them.

Devil's Night

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Devil In A Midnight Mass - Billy Talent
When I was a kid growing up, tonight (October 30) was almost more exciting than Halloween, and as I got older it became the focus of this time of year for a lot of my peers. Tonight (at least where I grew up) was Devil's Night.

In a nutshell, Devil's Night was a night of vandalism, pranks, and often arson. The local news always led with a big fire or two, and there were (and still are) huge community efforts to "take back the night" from the hoodlums and vandals that got featured as well.

I have memories of watching the dumpster for the apartment building at the end of my street burning from my kitchen window. I remember coming to school the morning of Halloween to discover an entire classroom's windows soaped (and my school's windows were huge and covered most of the one wall), and slanderous messages (like a certain teacher is a [insert inappropriate colloquialism for homosexual here]) spray painted on doors. Of course, there were also the standard toilet papering of trees and throwing of rotten eggs (but really, compared to spray paint and fire, do they even count?)

When I first moved here, I was surprised at the lack of coverage Devil's Night got, but I chalked it up to being in a suburb rather than the real city. Then I moved in with MTM, and she was teaching in an urban neighbourhood. I warned her about all the horrible things that were likely to happen to her school (and she was suitably freaked out) only to discover that none of it happened. Then we moved to our house, and again I braced myself for the worst, and yet again nothing came of it.

Which brings me to my point: was Devil's Night a local phenomenon, known only to the kids where I grew up, or have I just stumbled into the one place where it doesn't exist? What sorts of pranks happen around your neck of the woods tonight? And, what happens tomorrow night (Halloween, for those less "in the know")? I am very curious about this.

Finally, I have this:

To those too busy/lazy to watch - and trust me when I tell you that you are missing out on three minutes of unfiltered cuteness - my daughter is having a contest. Email me (at talesfromthedadside [at] gmail [dot] com) a photo of you or your kids in a Halloween costume and she will choose a winner to receive a handmade craft and a mix CD.

Of Halloween And The Future

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Stupid Girls - Pink
A few days after Munchkin was born, after the zOMG she's so beautiful and perfect and I will hug her and love her and call her George (as well as after the "holy fuck who left me in charge of another life?"), I had the same sobering realization every first-time father of a daughter has:

One day she is going to grow up, and guys are going to look at her and think about her the same way I looked at and thought about girls when I was a teenager.

While I cannot speak for all men, I can say that my thoughts as a teenaged boy were not all about holding hands and going for walks on the beach (unless those are euphemisms in your world, in which case maybe it was about that).

Like many fathers, I joke about the day coming where I buy my shotgun and rocking chair for the front porch (and it goes without saying that Munchkin will only be allowed to date from spring to fall, as I cannot be expected to sit out there in the snow), and I would be lying if I did not admit that there is a small amount of truth in there somewhere. I have accepted the fact that one day my little girl will grow up. I may not like it, but I have accepted it.

One of the areas of potential conflict that had not occurred to me yet was Halloween costumes. Thus far, Munchkin has had four costumes: butterfly (pink and soft), Nemo (think a huge stuffed Nemo toy with a hole cut through it for a kid to stand in), bunny (white and furry) and monkey (again, furry). This year she's going to be a "cupcake waitress": the basis is the cupcake bodysuit from her recital, and she'll have a tray of fake cupcakes, and a cupcake bun in her hair. (At one point, she was going to be Boba Fett - we had the costume and everything - but I nixed it because I anticipated her changing her mind to something more girly.) I thought we had a number of years before we would be in "you're not leaving the house wearing that" mode.

Then, I read about Noah Cyrus. (Go ahead and click the link and look at the photos. I'll wait.)

Once I had sorted out the confusion (namely, "Wait, isn't Noah a boy's name? That's a pretty feminine looking boy then. What? She's a girl named Noah?"), I did some thinking (and a little math). See, in about four or five years my daughter will, in all likelihood, enter the tween phase, and if past iterations of tweens are any indication, her ~~deity~~ major influence will be a girl with ties to Disney who is around 14 or so. Guess who will be 14 in five years, and has a history of family ties to Disney? That's right: Noah Cyrus.

What kind of portent is it that my daughter's likely "role model" in five years is wearing a Halloween costume that I (and I think many parents, not to mention individuals with a modicum of sanity or humility) consider inappropriate for a teenager now, at nine years old? Seriously, if this is acceptable at nine, where does she go when she's 15? Body paint? That black outfit with the clear plastic over the chest like Jane Fonda in Barbarella? Lady Godiva, minus the long hair? I shudder when I think about it.

To be clear, I have no intention of letting my daughter think that Noah Cyrus or whoever Disney tries to promote as the next tween sensation is a good role model, nor will I sit idly by if she tries to "become" her via hair, clothing, or whatever. I have full intentions of making her aware of the messages behind actions and appearance, and expect that her upbringing to that point will help her realize that these are messages she does not want to send out. However, no matter how hard I try, stuff like that will be part of the environment she grows up in, and will inevitably effect her on some level, and that concerns me.

What do you think about Noah Cyrus' "costume"? Am I overreacting, or is it just plain wrong like I suggest? Is there any hope for tomorrow's girls, save a convent?

Through

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

I'm Not Sleeping - Counting Crows
My son turned one this month. In his first year of life, I believe the longest stretch of uninterrupted sleep he has experienced is five hours, and it is a rare occasion when such a length is achieved. The more common durations are three hours, often even less. (In the interest of full disclosure, I owe most of this knowledge to MTM, who gets up with him in the night to breastfeed.)

At four and a half, Munchkin is not what I would call a good sleeper. If I was trying to be positive, I would say decent, but I think she's a pretty bad sleeper. She doesn't sleep soundly (she's up at least one or two times a night) and has a particularly difficult time falling asleep, especially if she's woken up in the middle of the night. So, perhaps Buddy comes by his sleep habits genetically.

As a parent, sometimes it is easy to lose sight of when your baby isn't such a baby anymore. Buddy is mobile (he "cruises" - as in walks while holding on to something - right now) and is beginning to become verbal. He is not a baby, but is it only babies who don't sleep through the night? To be clear, I am not expecting him to sleep for 12 hours at a stretch (although that would be glorious), but I think that at 13 months going down at 7.00pm, waking for a "dream feed" around 11.00pm, and sleeping until 7.00am the following morning is a reasonable expectation.

I don't know what the cause of his poor sleep habits is. As I said above, part of it might be genetics, but I suspect other environmental factors are at play here.

One is the fact that he is breastfed, which could be problematic if MTM's milk supply is insufficient for him. (I have no idea if this is the case; doctors and other breastfeeding specialists say that they will nurse as long and as often as needed, but what if he's waking up so often because he's hungry due to getting "just enough" instead of "the amount he needs"?) Logically evolving from the above theory is that he is in the habit of waking for feeds throughout the night.

Another contributing factor is that both MTM and I ~~are big time sucks~~ can't let him "cry it out" (and, truth be told, I'm probably the bigger problem here than she is).

But is it really as simple as forcing him to learn how to fall asleep by himself via crying it out? At the age he's at, does he no longer need to be nursed in the night? Would switching him to whole milk and/or formula help?

What have your experiences been with sleep and one year olds? Did your kids naturally start sleeping through the night, or did you have to "encourage" them with crying it out or some other method? Did breastfeeding play a part in their sleep habits?

Limits

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Wasting My Time - Default
On Saturday night, a friend of MTM's from high school came over for dinner with her fiance. Munchkin has called her "Auntie" since she was old enough to talk. (Aside: she is the only relative - either by birth or marriage - who gets called "Auntie", and her fiance, who was her boyfriend up until a few months ago, has been "Uncle". Even my SIL's live-in boyfriend isn't "Uncle". Which brings me to a question: do you reserve the "Auntie" and "Uncle" monikers for family, or are some friends called that by your kids?)

Sensing ~~an opportunity~~ ~~a chance for something different~~ the fact that MTM's friend wanted to spend time with her, Munchkin asked her to give her a bath that night. "Auntie" readily agreed.

When MTM poked her head in to see how things were progressing, she saw "Auntie" getting ready to towel Munchkin - who was literally covered in suds - off. She stepped in and rinsed her (for several minutes) with the shower head to get off all the soap. After, MTM would learn that Munchkin told "Auntie" that sometimes she does her own soap (she does, but under strict regulation from one of us) and pumped ten times as much soap into her little hands as normal.

Later on, she asked "Auntie" to read her a story before bed. MTM said that there would only be one story because it was already late and Munchkin needed to sleep. After waiting downstairs for longer than was necessary for any story we owned, MTM went upstairs to find "Auntie" had been cajoled into a second book.

The next morning, MTM informed Munchkin that she knew that Munchkin was taking advantage of the fact that "Auntie" didn't know our routines and rules, and that "Auntie" was more likely to give in than Mommy or Daddy was. She went on to say that this was not OK, and that Munchkin needed to stop doing it.

(Another aside: what follows was shared with MTM prior to me posting this, but not in front of the kids.)

I totally disagree with MTM's philosophy. Her argument was that our kids will respect other people and not be spoiled. My perspective was that she was testing boundaries and enjoying a little extra attention from someone who doesn't deal with her day to day and would therefore have a lower tolerance for some of her childish nonsense (i.e. us, her parents). I likened it to being treated "special" when visiting grandparents: if Mommy says one story and "Grandma" reads two, what's the harm?

Yes, I get that others need to respect a child's parent and their rules, but ultimately the parents will parent their children, not the "Auntie" or "Grandma". If the kid gets a little "break" or some extra stories or play time in the tub, what's the long term harm? It's not like this person is becoming a primary caregiver (in which case, rules need to be enforced lest anarchy rule).

What do you think? Is it OK for others to do "extra" for your kids when they're in charge, or should they be as strict as you are as a parent? And, is there anything wrong with your kids "pushing the limits" with other short-term caregivers who don't mind the pushing?

Discipline

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Shout 2000 - Disturbed
Yesterday, we were getting ready to go out for some errands after lunch when Munchkin came upstairs to show MTM (who was changing Buddy) and I something. MTM asked her to go to the bathroom before we left, and Munchkin proceeded into our room to show me. I looked at her craft, then reminded her to use the toilet like her mother asked. She said, "Yeah," and then continued discussing the craft. I responded by asking her to go to the washroom like MTM had told her.

"I said I'll go!" she said in the most snotty voice I've ever heard her use.

Time for a digression.

In the past couple of weeks, there has been a dramatic change in Munchkin's responses to us. Before, she was fairly agreeable most of the time, and when she was unhappy with something, she would whine or complain like any kid, but it was tolerable. Since then, she has started to sigh loudly, growl (that "grr" sound people make when angry or frustrated), roll her eyes, and speak with attitude. It has probably happened at least a dozen times, with two severe incidents being dealt with by MTM. The above incident was the third one that weekend, and I decided it was time for it to stop.

Aaand... back to the story.

"What?!?" I said in my angry Daddy voice (something between a deep yell and a roar; my emotions got the better of me), "You do not speak to me like that. Go to your room. You are not going on errands."

"But, but..." she started.

"Your room. Now." She left.

"What happened?" MTM came in carrying Buddy.

"You can go shopping by yourself, Mommy," I said, loud enough for Munchkin to hear. "Munchkin will stay in her room while you're gone."

"Are you serious?" MTM asked in a whisper.

"I am," I replied loudly. "I have had enough. It is not OK to talk to us that way, and Munchkin has to learn."

"This seems harsh," she said quietly.

"It's the only way she'll learn," I replied as quietly.

"OK, well I will take Buddy along."

"OK."

(For the record, I don't let loose with that sort of yelling often. I raise my voice from time to time, usually when she's done something to hurt me like leap on my back, or when she's about to kick Buddy in the head. I don't feel good about yelling at her like that, but I was so incensed and I reacted quickly and with conviction.)

They left, and for the 90 minutes they were gone, Munchkin alternated between wailing loudly and playing with a Leap Pad. Every time I heard her door knob move, I called out to her, asking why she was opening her door. She closed it immediately each time.

When I heard them come in, I knocked on the door to Munchkin's room and when invited in, I entered. I sat on her bed and explained that she needed to speak nicely, not just to her mother and I, but to everyone. I further explained that if she didn't stop speaking like that, she would continue to spend time in her bedroom. I ended the discussion with telling her I loved her, and that she was still my special girl.

I'd like to say that my handling of the situation produced a marked change in my daughter, but then I'd be lying. No, she was pretty much just as rude, if not more so, as before. MTM blames it on being overtired (she stayed up later than usual on Saturday night) but I'm not so sure.

I know "talking back" is a normal part of a child's development, that she's experimenting with boundaries and testing to see how her words can effect others. However, that doesn't make it any less frustrating. What have you done when your kids talked back? How did you handle the problem? Have you found any solutions or coping strategies?

Keyword Madness XIV

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For - U2
Way back when I had only been blogging for a couple of months, I learned that someone found my site using a disgusting search string, and I wrote a post about it. A little while later, I had accumulated enough weird search strings to make up a post. Thus Keyword Madness was born. Now, every couple of months or so, I go through my Google Analytics archives and collect some of the weirder keyword hits (and believe me; this site gets all the crazies). Today I share my 14th volume (since moving to this blog).

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

is it good if single dads dont expect live in kids to do chores
It's good for the kids; at least until the roaches take over, in which case you better hope for some magic ala "Joe's Apartment".

something a father would appreciate
Silence.

which winnie the pooh book do the words "i love you to the moon and back" appear
None, you idiot.

fun prevention officer
I'm married to one.

why does he like me
I'm guessing not for your punctuation use.

girls getting bullied by boys peeing
Eww.

why guys testicles shrival up when they have to poop
To prevent them from getting shit on.

mtm-uncensored.blogspot
Uh, Hon? Care to explain?

a habit folding their eyelids inside out
They have a habit? As in they do it without thinking? That's pretty fucked up.

50 years ago we didn't
Have computers? Let women work? Waste people's time with vague google searches?

explaining why daddy moved out
Because you cried too much.

everything feels large
That's what she said.

every time i sleep at a friends house i get a cold
You know, maybe, just maybe, you should sleep at your own house.

tenting men son dad mall bathroom movie pants tickets urinal play stall clothes
Wait, what? Since when are there urinals in a tent in mall movie theatre?

what is mefenamin
It's an anti-inflammatory that also reduces uterine contractions. (What? Who said I can't be helpful?)

creepy it's ok until she notices
Uhm, no. It's creepy until she notices. Then it's illegal.

she disagrees with me on everything sides with the kids
And your point is?

can marry my first cousin
No you can't.

if my panties keep out side for drying, one boy age of 16 is always taking away in night. why he do such ?
I have no idea... maybe because he's 16?

examples of lunchbox notes for husband
"Dear Honey - on your way home can you pick up the dry cleaning, fill up the car with gas, grab some milk, and stop at the bank and pay our credit card bill so I can go shopping again?" (Wait, doesn't everyone's wife leave notes like that?)

i didn't know teething was like this
Me neither. Pass the whiskey.

we just got married and now we have money problems
Welcome to the club.

why some siblings very similar to one another, while others are completely different
They're not. Siblings are actually identical in every way. They just act different around you to fuck with your mind.

exploeded babysitter.com
I think I just found my million dollar internet idea!

monsterboobs blog gone ?
Nooooooo!

Previous Editions
Volume I
Volume II
Volume III
Volume IV
Volume V
Volume VI
Volume VII
Volume VIII
Volume IX
Volume X
Volume XI
Volume XII
Volume XIII

School Years

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Holding Out For A Hero - Bonnie Tyler
(The song choice will make perfect sense later. Trust me.)

This weekend, while visiting my parents, we were talking about things that are difficult about school in an effort to ~~passive-aggressively~~ carefully show Munchkin that everyone has trouble with school sometimes. We noted that my younger sister had a hard time with high school math, and my nephew doesn't like spelling, and so on. When it came to me, however, I turned to my mother, "Mom, what did I find hard about school?"

"Nothing."

"No seriously. What did I struggle with?"

"I don't remember you struggling. It all came naturally."

"Come on. There has to be something that I sucked at."

"SciFi!" MTM admonished me.

"Uh, I mean found difficult."

As we drove home on Sunday, I remarked to MTM that I wanted to pull out my old student years book (a school-based scrapbook my mother got me when I finished Kindergarten). She replied that she would ~~excavate it from the bowels of our house~~ get it out of the basement for me.

She found it, and I dove right in. There were no records past grade six, and that year was spotty at best. The overwhelming theme of the report cards was, "SciFi did very well academically. However, his printing/penmanship look like he used an etch-a-sketch after a bottle of scotch, he usually rushes through his tasks, doing a shitty job in the process, and he talks too damn much to the people around him." (Of course I'm paraphrasing; the teachers were far more harsh - I went to Catholic school, after all.)

The next day, as I read through my report cards with Munchkin, I pointed out how every teacher said the same things. I remarked that I was good at some things and not so good at others. (I also pointed out that even though I started out weak in some areas, I improved because I kept working at it.) Munchkin then began itemizing what her strengths and weaknesses were, and MTM gave me a look that would kill if she were in possession of that super power (fortunately, she isn't - for now). Apparently, you're not supposed to tell kids people are good at stuff and suck at other things.

What was truly fascinating - at least for me ~~the narcissistic, self-involved blogger~~ - was a letter I wrote to my family (obviously for a Thanksgiving assignment, given its content and the fact that it was composed on a page of ditto paper that had a horn-of-plenty and fall fruits and vegetables as a border, that I coloured in meticulously) in the fifth grade (I was ten years old). Here it is, unedited except for names:

[street address]
[city], [province]
October 5, 1984
[postal code]

Dear Dad, Mom, [younger sister] & [older sister],

I would like to thank you for all the love you have given me. I also thank you for my new room and all the meals you've made for me. (although some weren't my favourites) [older sister], thanks for my Expos gym bag. [younger sister], thanks for my Footloose tape. Mom & Dad thanks for identification bracelet. Grandma and Grandpa, thanks for my jogging suits.

Dear God, thank you for my wonderful family.

Love,
SciFi Kid

Maybe it's just me, but that letter (that 25 year old letter) read like something I would write today (I mean, without the thanking God stuff), right down to the sarcastic and/or brutally honest asides in parentheses. I think that's pretty cool (or pretty pathetic if you think about it - I write like a ten year old boy).

OK, so... share time! Do you think it's OK for you to admit to young kids that people have strengths and weaknesses? Also, what would you find if you re-read all your old stuff from grade school? How much of it is still true today?

Special

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Creep - Radiohead
Every day in Munchkin's class a different child is named the ~~predetermined teacher's pet~~ special student of the day. In addition to being the teacher's helper and doing stuff like bringing the attendance down to the office and ~~beating down the insurgents~~ other very important tasks, this student gets one perk. That day is their day for what we used to call "show and tell" back in the day (now it's called "show and share" because in our politically correct society you don't tell people stuff, you share it).

One would think that in a situation where kids are discouraged from bringing personal effects, an opportunity to bring something special in would be unregulated and exciting. One would be wrong. Horribly, horribly, wrong. No, you see, the special student gig? It's homework; because as the special student you cannot necessarily bring in your favourite toy, or a cherished momento, not unless it begins with the same letter as your name. That's right: even "show and share" isn't safe from the literacy police. And one item to share isn't enough; you need three.

Tomorrow is Munchkin's turn to be the special student. As we were brainstorming ideas for things she could bring, I started throwing out ones that were not completely inappropriate, but would have made for at least some awkwardness. (For the record, I was aiming for embarassing the teacher into letting the kids pick their own items to share.)

For example,

if your child's name begins with A, they could bring ammunition
if your child's name begins with B, they could bring a Bible (it's public school)
if your child's name begins with C, they could bring a condom
if your child's name begins with D, they could bring darts
if your child's name begins with E, they could bring earwigs
if your child's name begins with F, they could bring fire
if your child's name begins with G, they could bring a goiter
if your child's name begins with H, they could bring handcuffs
if your child's name begins with I, they could bring implants (dental, breast, your choice)
if your child's name begins with J, they could bring Jesus
if your child's name begins with K, they could bring killer bees
if your child's name begins with L, they could bring Luke and Leia action figures (but only if he/she gets to discuss the fact that they are twins but kissed in Episode IV)
if your child's name begins with M, they could bring mould
if your child's name begins with N, they could bring a Nazi flag
if your child's name begins with O, they could bring an Ozzy Osborne action figure (ideally one where he's biting the head off of a bat)
if your child's name begins with P, they could bring pesticide
if your child's name begins with Q, they could bring a Qu'ran
if your child's name begins with R, they could bring ribs (bonus if they are BBQ)
if your child's name begins with S, they could bring suppositories
if your child's name begins with T, they could bring a Torah
if your child's name begins with U, they could bring underpants
if your child's name begins with V, they could bring veins from a freshly slaughtered chicken
if your child's name begins with W, they could bring water (in a super soaker)
if your child's name begins with X, they could bring x-ray films (from the time "something" got stuck where it shouldn't have been)
if your child's name begins with Y, they could bring yak jerky
if your child's name begins with Z, they could bring a zombie

In the comments: who's got better ideas? (Remember, with only 20-odd kids in the class, she gets to be "special" more than once!)

A Snip Of A Different Sort

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Dude Looks Like A Lady - Aerosmith
When I was a baby, I had long, curly, blond hair. The lock of hair that everyone's mother keeps in their baby book? Mine was a perfect circle. No joke.

Then one day, my grandmother was holding me in her lap (in the front seat of a moving vehicle... it was 1975 after all) when she suddenly stopped smiling and cooing at me. Her tone went from playful to accusatory as she shook me violently and shouted, "Who cut your hair?!? Who cut your hair?!?"

She never forgave my aunt (who did the hair cut at my mother's request) for doing that to me. She told me so on her 90th birthday (she was sober too) as she looked at my blond haired daughter.

Today I have one eighth of an inch long dark chestnut hair. If I ever get lazy enough to let it grow out, it is sort of curly, but just as dark.

* * *
A couple of weeks ago, in anticipation of our visit, my mother asked MTM if she was planning to cut Buddy's hair. MTM said that she hadn't made any formal plans, and my mother begged her to hold off, at least until she could see his hair (and one would hope, him) again.

This is what Buddy's hair looks like right now:

Notice the curls - yes they are adorable - but also note the length. In particular, look at the wisps that will soon overtake his ear in the last photo.

I have maintained for several weeks now that it is time. Buddy is a second child - a second child whose older sibling is a girl. That means that unless it's pink, or has lace or flowers on it, he wears his sister's hand-me-downs. So, when he's not in one of his dinosaur or truck shirts, between his flowing locks and piercing blue eyes, he's the pre-toddler version of Fabio - male, yes, but not without a hint of uncertainty. He hasn't been called "she" yet. (Notice how you didn't even flinch when I wrote "yet"!)

We have wedding photos that include my then 25 month old nephew with a mullet/'fro combination that were it not for the tie in his ensemble he could pass for a girl, the result of my older sister's refusal to cut her son's hair. We (MTM and I) both agreed that his hair was too long. Now that it's her own baby, though, she's not so sure.

"I don't know how to cut boy's hair," she argues.

"What do you mean? You cut mine."

"I use clippers!"

"So?"

"I can't use clippers on a baby! It would be too short!"

"There are longer attachments, you know."

"No. No clippers."

And so we go 'round and 'round, which is why I turn to you, internets. How old were your boys when they got their first hair cut? Did the cut involve clippers? How old is too old to have baby hair? Should I just take him to my local Italian barber without MTM's knowledge and get it over with?

(Now that you've read the whole post, come on... is there any other song I could have chosen?)

Painful Indifference

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Indifference - Pearl Jam
This weekend we made the drive to visit my parents again, and once again I unfortunately have something negative to say about it. (That's your chance, long-time reader who is already sick of my bitching and moaning about visits home, to click away now.)

As regular readers know, Buddy's birthday was a few weeks ago. What some of you may not know, however, is that he shares a birthday with my younger sister, and my niece's birthday is the following day. Since we knew this year was my inlaw's turn for Thanksgiving, we knew that weekend was out. When I suggested the weekend following Buddy's birthday, my older sister nixed it because she felt my niece would rather spend that weekend (her birthday weekend) with her friends (she was turning 13). So, this weekend was a combination of three birthdays and mid-fall gathering for family (everyone else except us was there last weekend for Thanksgiving).

I have said this before (repeatedly), but we make the journey to visit my parents so often because it is important to me that our children know my side of the family. MTM's family is all local, so we see them a lot more often than we see my family. (Aside: I know these circumstances are of my own doing. I chose to take a job four hours away when I finished school, I chose to marry a local girl, and I chose to settle my family here.)

What I find hard to deal with, though, is that sometimes it feels like this is only important to us, and that the rest of my family ~~couldn't care less~~ is much more ambivalent about the whole thing.

First up, my older sister's family didn't even stay for dinner. They came around lunch time and stayed for maybe five hours total. The reason for their prompt departure? My niece had a babysitting gig for a new family that had been trying to book her for weeks, and they didn't want her to have to decline again. Translation: my niece earning five bucks an hour is more important than her seeing her cousin who worships her and pines for their presence almost daily. On top of that, my older sister lets my eight year old nephew (who, if you ask Munchkin, walks on water and shoots rainbows from every orifice) spend what felt like half the time watching television in a bedroom by himself. It's frustrating to make the effort for my daughter to see her cousins only to have them rush in and out so quickly.

The cherry on top of the weekend came Saturday afternoon, as MTM and my older sister were carrying out three cupcakes with candles as everyone sang for the three birthday people. I turned and saw that not only had my father not turned off the fucking soccer game that was on the television, but he hadn't muted it, and was watching it instead of his grandson, niece, and daughter. This from the man who constantly lectured me on the importance of family when I was an angry 20-something and entertained skipping family holidays because of tension with my mother.

I don't even know why I bother sometimes. It's taxing to make the trip (this time, two hours after we left - in the middle of the Friday work day - a project I was working on figuratively exploded, and I spent a couple of hours that night putting out fires that others were pouring gasoline on), and it feels like no one cares if we come or not. (I exaggerate; my mother appreciates us coming, and my younger sister is always happy to see us, but sometimes you can't see the trees for the forest, if you get my mangled metaphor.)

Some of you will say, "Don't go so often! Stop putting so much pressure on yourselves!" But the thing is, my daughter lives for these weekends. She adores her cousins and wants desperately to see them as much as she can (her "when I grow up" right now is to be a dentist in the town they live in). On top of that, Buddy is very attached to my father, pulling himself up to his chair to be picked up (even when my father ignores him because he's too busy watching sports and my mother calls him on it and he gets all defensive). They're too young to see the "other crap" at work; they just know they're visiting family that they love.

So should I say something and risk a family blowup? Or should I shut my mouth because my kids are oblivious? I feel like the response from both sides will be, "So don't come so often," and I just don't feel like that's fair to my kids.

Full Disclosure

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Truth Untold - Odds
In the past, I have made mention of some rather unique facts about myself that some readers have asked for more details about. Since I ~~am struggling to find a post topic for today~~ am an open book, I thought I'd fill you all in.

The Purple Mumu
Earlier this year, I mentioned the time I wore a purple mumu. One would assume that alcohol was involved, and/or some kind of wager. Sadly, neither is true.

When Canadian engineering students graduate, they receive an iron ring to be worn on the pinkie finger of the dominant hand. It is supposed to remind us of our responsibility to the public (I used to say it reminded me that "if engineers fuck up, people die") every time we write something or sign our name. Supposedly, part of the metal from each ring comes from the Quebec Bridge, although that may be urban legend.

Naturally, when a group of men and women in the early twenties are faced with something so somber and serious, they elect to throw a massive party for it.

At our school, the tradition was to have a champagne breakfast, drink heavily until the ceremony, attend the ceremony (remaining conscious and upright so as to actually receive the ring), continue drinking, and finally attend a party known as the Iron Ring Stag (IRS for short). The IRS was what was called a "black clothing party", which meant that only black clothes were allowed, and anyone attending in more colourful attire agreed to have those articles of clothing forcibly ripped from their body by anyone who chose to do so. Typically, what people did was dress themselves in gaudy and tacky attire from the local thrift shop, with a black t-shirt and shorts underneath. The understanding was you could rip until you hit black. I have no idea how much of that tradition is found elsewhere.

When I was looking around for clothing, I came across a mumu, purple in colour and covered with white, orange, and hot pink flowers. I immediately knew that it was my destiny to wear it. I completed the ensemble by going sleeveless (so my tattoos were clearly visible), wearing steel toed Doc Martins, and putting 2" diameter pink hoop earrings in my ears. (Now is probably a good time to mention that I was sporting a full beard at the time.) Oh, and for the record, I took the ceremony very seriously, and did not drink at all the whole night, choosing instead to be the sober guy laughing at everyone else.

I had a photo of me in that outfit, and I believe MTM has seen it, but it was lost during one of our moves.

The Strip Club Apartment
Last year, I said that I once lived on top of a strip club.

My engineering program was co-op, which meant that every four months I moved to and from the town where the university was to other cities for work. With such short timelines, sometimes finding accomodations was difficult.

When I was finishing up third year, I got a job just outside Montreal, which was more than six hours away by train, making a weekend apartment-hunting trip impossible. I called a friend from high school that I still kept in touch with who was studying at McGill and asked him to find me a place. I trusted his judgment, and realistically I was 22; I could live anywhere for four months.

A week later, he called me. "Dude, you owe me so large."

"Why?"

"I got you this place, right off Ste. Catherine. Minutes from the metro and all the clubs."

"Sweet."

"That's not the best part."

"It isn't?"

"You're living with a chick who's a modern dance major."

"Nice."

"That's not the best part."

"What?"

"Your apartment is on top of a strip club."

"Fuck off."

He wasn't exaggerating. I was 22, and I lived with a modern dance major (and some other guy) above a strip club, where my share of the rent (everything included) was equal to 12 hours of my pay. Another three hours pay went to my monthly metro pass. By the end of the second day of the month, all I needed to worry about was food and beer. I lived like a king.

I went back to Montreal again the following work term (four months after I left); the modern dance girl had left, so I roomed with a hippie chick with little or no concern for modesty (I am not making this up).

Sometimes, I miss Montreal. (And for that little joke, I will have to sleep with one eye open and ensure that my kids eat from the same pot I do for the next month.)

So, what do you think? Did the stories live up to the shock value of the brief mentions I made before? And, if you have any unique stories you would like to share in the comments, I'm sure we would all love to read them.

Two Cases

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

Circle Of Friends - Better Than Ezra
In the past week, I've had two encounters with my past that have given me pause. In order to better understand them, a little background will be needed for both.

Case #1
He and I were best friends in high school, and have slowly drifted apart ever since. Over the years, our contact has gone from somewhat regular nights out at a bar back home to semi-erratic email updates.

(Part of this stems from his wedding. I was a groomsman, and since it was far out of town and Munchkin was then only six months old and breastfeeding, MTM had to either bring her to the reception or not go to it. We asked what they wanted, and they were OK with Munchkin coming and sitting in her stroller, since the alternative was a seat at a table that they couldn't spare. Long story short, the day of the wedding comes, MTM parks the stroller on a wall near her table, and the bride flips out. She got talked down by the groom and her mother, but she was pissed, even though we had tried to make arrangements however it worked for her. To this day, even though she denies it, I'm sure she sees us as the people who fucked up her wedding.)

Recently, I noticed that I was always the one emailing him after a lull (and then he would promptly reply with a "has it been that long?" update), and stopped emailing him. During that time, his wife got pregnant, and he emailed me. I congratulated him, and we exchanged a few emails back and forth.

He was in the list of people I emailed the same day Munchkin was born, yet when his daughter was born I had to find out via a Facebook status update from his brother (who is also my FB friend). I emailed to congratulate the parents, waited a couple of weeks to let them settle in and called, only to be brushed off because they were still so tired and busy, and could they call us back next week?

After not hearing from him for a number of weeks, we finally sent a baby gift to them, but heard nothing until three weeks had passed and I emailed him to ask if he had received our package (I was afraid it had gotten lost in the mail). He replied with a brief and contrite message (thanking us for the gift that had arrived), saying he would call soon.

Another few weeks later, we receive a mass email updating everyone that their daughter is two months old, then later that week we received a birth announcement with no personalization whatsoever.

The question I am struggling with is whether or not he's worth the effort anymore. I mean, I get it: I've gone through the new baby thing twice, and yet I've managed to return calls within two months. I was - and am - excited for him becoming a father, and I want to share that with him, but he doesn't seem to care enough to let me. When he told me his wife was pregnant I raised the question of whether or not he wanted to cut ties given his spotty communication history and he was surprised and upset, yet again we sit here with the ball firmly in his court (unless I want to badger him by calling).

It sucks to lose a friend, but it sucks more to feel like you're being strung along.

Case #2
In the fall of 2005, seven years after I left university, I received an email out of the blue from a girl I used to hang out with when I was there. We were friends back then, at times close and at times not so close. I will admit to having a crush on her at some point (which she knew about) but we parted ways after school on good terms. She had emailed me that day because she had a nightmare in which I died (we never really addressed why I was in her dream after a seven year separation with no contact whatsoever) and she wanted to make sure I was alive. (I was; with a wife and seven month old baby girl.) We ended up getting together as a six-some (she was also married with a son a few years older than Munchkin), and caught up on old times.

After that, she emailed me every other day, eventually culminating in a revelation that she had cheated on her husband. She opened up to me, told me all the sordid details of her mistake and subsequent tribulations her marriage went through as a result. I think it was our old friendship, which was founded on honesty and openness, that prompted her to share this.

Then one day, in the midst of one of our email exchanges about her infidelity, she not so delicately suggested that she no longer wished to speak about it with me. I accepted this at face value. Then she went on to say (after I purposely didn't press her for a reason) that she was unsure of my motives, and was concerned I was interested in an affair with her as well. I replied that I was disappointed, and that I felt it was best if we did not email for the time being, at least until she felt like she could be platonic friends with a man and not suspect him of trying to get into her pants (as this was how her cheating happened). That was the last I heard from her until last week, when I got a notification that she had added me as a friend on Facebook (real me, not SciFi Dad). That email notification has sat in my inbox - unread - since then. I don't know what to do with it.

On the one hand, it's probably easier to add someone than reject them. But on the other, she has a history of erratic behaviour and I honestly have no interest in drama in my life.

So what say you, internets, on the two cases before you? I am genuinely interested in any advice you care to offer, as well as any parallels you have experienced in your own lives.

What Would They Think?

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Busy Child - The Crystal Method
Last week, every blogger's favourite commenter, Anonymous, left a comment. He/she asked,

You are always asking me question and I respond. Now I'd like to ask you one.

What would the child you were think of the person you've become?

(I have to admit to initally getting my back up, wondering, "Why? Is there something wrong with who I am today?" However, I chose not to take that initial reaction to heart. Also, as an aside, I have to ask: is it just me, or does this comment sound like it is coming from a long-time, or at least somewhat regular reader? And to that end, if it is, and they obviously care enough to ask such an interesting and provocative question, why ask it anonymously? I'd love to know why.)

First of all, the time period where I was "a child" technically covers from birth to the day I turned 18, during which time my perspective on life and what was important changed almost continuously. To form a reasonable answer, I will consider myself at three points: age five years ("SciFi Boy"), ten years ("SciFi Kid"), and 15 years ("SciFi Teen").

Second, we must acknowledge that what a child thinks of a person is governed by the child's upbringing and life experience to that point. For example, while being in a relationship with a woman is "icky" to a ten year old, it is "cool" to a 15 year old.

With those disclaimers stated, I will try my best to answer the question asked.

SciFi Boy
To a five year old, I am probably not a very interesting person. I am not an astronaut or a professional athlete or a superhero. In fact, I doubt most five year olds would consider "engineer" as the answer to, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" unless their parent was an engineer (and even then, they probably wouldn't know the word engineer).

The fact that I have a wife and children of my own and try my best to be a good father to them would likely be of little consequence, although it's possible that SciFi Boy would appreciate the fact that I spend time with my children playing and taking them places like the zoo or fairs or stuff like that (but at five I don't really think I was aware how much I missed out with my father).

Five year old me would probably think my house is cool, and not just because the technology in 2009 is far superior to that of 1979: it's much larger than my own house, and my kids have a lot more toys than SciFi Boy did.

Verdict: A five year old doesn't have the forethought to understand what one's life is truly like, but he would probably think I'm a nice dad with a big house.

SciFi Kid
As with SciFi Boy, the job of engineer probably isn't all that exciting, although the fact that I have a job that makes me as much money as it does would be impressive. (Admittedly, if I made 10% of what I make, a ten year old would be impressed.)

Their view of my home life would probably be less important, although they would like my collection of Star Wars action figures and science fiction DVDs.

Verdict: SciFi Kid would likely think I'm a big kid (which I am), which they would probably appreciate.

SciFi Teen
My job would crush SciFi Teen, who at that age seriously considered a life of jazz saxophone playing. The fact that I didn't pursue music and instead became a working stiff would be more than disappointing, although not entirely unexpected (a part of me always knew that the musician life would be a huge risk and my cautious nature would be difficult to overcome).

He would think having a wife is cool, mainly because at 15 you believe that being in a relationship means you get "action" whenever you want. Unfortunately, the reality would probably disappoint SciFi Teen more than the job thing.

The family thing, and being a good dad? I would like to think he'd appreciate that and understand where it was coming from, but I don't know for sure. He'd probably like the car I drive.

Verdict: SciFi Teen considers me a huge disappointment.

Summary
The dreams of a young boy include super powers, one in a million jobs, money, and in later years, women. They are not concerned with being a responsible husband and father, having a house instead of renting, and not carrying huge amounts of debt. Those are adult concerns.

To that end, I think that except in the rare cases of fame or exceptional wealth, one's child self will see your life as boring and/or normal, and therefore a failure. A child's view of their future is big and bright and limitless, an adult's view of their future tends to be more filled with hope than dreams, more realism and less fantasy.

What do you think? Would your child self appreciate the life you have now, the person you are now?

An Open Letter To My Daughter

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Subterranean Homesick Alien - Radiohead
Dear Munchkin,

Last Tuesday, you came home from school and informed Mommy that you had a bad day. When I came home, we had a chat, and you explained that you were frightened by a conversation two of the boys you sit with were having (something about robots and/or aliens). We suggested that you try to make friends with the other girl at your table (you are seated four to a table, one JK/SK boy/girl), and although you were skeptical, you took the suggestion.

Two days later, you boarded the school bus only after repeatedly voicing your misgivings to Mommy, and ended up staring at her through the window - longingly - as it pulled away. (This is the first time you have ever acknowledged that Mommy was even there once you got on the bus, as you are usually too busy talking to other kids.) That afternoon, your teacher left us a voicemail about some circumstances that happened throughout the day, prompting us to talk to you about it. You came home and announced that it was a great day. However, apparently, on Tuesday and again on Thursday, you cried for Mommy at lunch, and needed to be consoled by the vice principal who walked with you around the school and tried to calm you down. She also mentioned you were brought to the classroom by an older child who saw you crying on the bus. When we asked you about this, you said that you were homesick and missed Mommy. We explained that we understood, but that it was important for you to go to school.

The next day was another school day for you, and you approached the bus stop with trepidation. This time, you steadfastly refused to board the bus (through tears) and Mommy had to relent and take you to school herself, where you sobbed and wailed when she finally left you in the classroom. She picked you up that day (she had already planned to do that prior to these events) and learned that you settled pretty quickly in the morning, but were again somber and crying at lunch until you learned it was indoor recess and you could colour in the classroom instead of play in the yard. You were also exceptionally happy to see her when she picked you up.

We talked a lot about school this weekend in anticipation of today, another school day. You are not, as I write this, overly eager to return (you even had nightmares about school this weekend), and when pressed for an explanation, you say that you miss Mommy. We did learn, however, that some of the other kids in the playground at lunch hour make you uncomfortable (some because they're strangers, and some because they do things you don't like and won't stop - like shaking something you're on, for example). We also learned you felt helpless and alone because you didn't know that the adult monitor wasn't a "stranger stranger" and was in fact someone you could ask for help. It is our hope that your new knowledge combined with our discussions (and a little talk with your teacher) will help the situation. In an effort to ease you back into the situation, Mommy will be driving and picking you up this week, and wean you back on to the bus next week.

In truth, Munchkin, I expected this. You are a bright and wonderful child, but you are also cautious and attached to Mommy far more than the average child, probably owing in no small part to her being a SAHM. I am surprised that it took until October for this to manifest itself, but I suppose the short answer is that the bloom is off the school rose and now you've realized that it's just one of those things in life instead of the wonderful new thing you experienced in September. That is not to say I am OK with your suffering and sadness; just that I knew it was coming.

I wish I knew some magic solution to your problem, but I don't. Other than acknowledging your feelings and admitting that I share them when I am at work, there seems like little I can do. I will, however, ask the internets (as I have been known to do from time to time) for ideas and support as we navigate this trying time together.

In the meantime, know that I love you, and I am very proud of you for all the efforts you are making. I know going to school can be an exciting but also scary experience, and you are doing beautifully, all things considered.

Love,
Daddy
xoxo

So, what advice or anecdotes do you have to offer or share? Have any of you had this severe a response this late in the school year with younger kids? What techniques worked for you?

Verboten

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Don't Speak - No Doubt
This weekend is Thanksgiving in Canada (yes, I know it's more than a month early for the Americans; we live further north, so our harvest is earlier; deal with it). This year is my inlaws "turn" (even though last year they had a chance to spend it with us and instead chose to leave us with their ten day old grandson and head to the cottage, which by any reasonable rights should forfeit their "turn" this year, but I digress).

As is usually the case, there are certain subjects I am not allowed to bring up at family dinners with my inlaws, for various reasons. This year's list of forbidden subjects includes:

Things I Am Not Allowed To Say At Thanksgiving Dinner

Why is my SIL still seeing the guy with commitment issues, and more importantly, will he propose before she snaps and breaks up with him, leaving us to pick up the pieces?
Who wants to pull my finger?
Why can no one help my MIL cook Thanksgiving dinner (despite having proven to her that we can prepare a turkey dinner quite well)? Also, why does she still insists on complaining about the amount of work she has to accomplish for the meal after refusing our offer?
Can I please be excused? I just joined twitter and something brilliant just occurred to me that I need to tweet right this instant.
Why is it that when I jokingly try to encourage my MIL to let me cook something it's considered not respecting her wishes, but when my SIL's boyfriend does it, he's just "playing around"?
Can I just go play Madden instead of talking to all of you?
You know, turducken is a lot more moist than just a plain old turkey with stuffing.
How am I the rude one when my FIL licks his dessert plate at the table?
Does anyone else hear a hoarse voice whispering "Red rum! Red rum!" or is it just me?

Just so everyone doesn't think I'm forced into silence, there's also a permitted list:

Things I Am Allowed To Say At Thanksgiving Dinner

Did anyone catch the latest episode of Dancing With The Stars?
This dinner is delicious. (But I cannot add, "I don't even notice the fact that there's no salt anywhere.")
I learned something new on Cityline this week!
Who else wants to complain about the weather?

Happy Thanksgiving!

So what subjects are taboo around your extended family table at the holidays?

Five Words

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Try Honesty - Billy Talent
Looking ahead 20 years (in other words, long past them being teenagers), I would hope that my children look back on the job I did as their father fondly. I do not expect to be revered, nor do I expect to be considered perfect. What follows are the five words I would hope come to mind if they were asked to describe me.

Loving
Yes, this one gets filed under Well, duh! but it's true. I want my kids to know I love them, not just from what they are told to believe, but from my actions, and that I will love them no matter what stupid shit they have done or decide to do, because they are my kids.

Reasonable
I don't want them to think of me as a pushover, someone they could con into letting them take the car or go to some unsafe party somewhere without telling me where exactly they are. But at the same time, I don't want them to remember me as the hardass who dropped the hammer on them, or the warden who prevented them from having "a life". I want to achieve balance in this area more than any other because I think it is the key to a healthy parent-child relationship.

Honest
To me, if they think of me as honest, then they trust me. I want to be the dad who they know they can call at 2.00am when they're 15 and drunk and don't know what else to do, who will pick them up and not scream and yell at them the whole way home. (They will also know that we will talk about it, probably over greasy bacon and runny eggs at breakfast the following morning, but that I won't bury them for it.) I want them to feel like they knew me not just as their father, but as a man as well.

Sensitive
I'm not sure if this is the right word or not. I want them to consider me sensitive to their feelings and wants and hopes. I want them to feel like they have my support and confidence in whatever they choose to do. I want them to feel like I considered their opinions and ideas, not only considered, but valued them.

Wise
For years now my unspoken dream has been to be considered wise. To me, wisdom is more than knowledge, more than comprehension, more than understanding (although it encompasses all those things). Wisdom is not only knowing the truth, but also knowing why it is the truth. Wisdom is not about being right, but about the ability to help others find what is right for them.

* * *
Why did I choose five? I don't know. I probably could have gone with ten or more (words that barely missed "the cut": strong, kind, open, helpful and skilled).

What about you? What words do you want your kids to use to describe you when they are adults? (If you would prefer, post your list on your own blog and leave a link in the comments.) I expect the answers will be varied and interesting.

Differences

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 10:15:00 +0000

Bourgeois Shangri-La - Miss Li
Now that Buddy is one year old, I have a better picture of his personality, and what I have learned about him, and human nature in general from him, fascinates me. Although he and Munchkin share genetic material and some physical similarities, they are, for the most part, dramatically different children.

Until September, Buddy spent his days with Munchkin and MTM, making them his primary influence in a number of areas, including music. Munchkin's tastes tend toward the bubblegum pop variety (like today's song, for instance), and since Buddy was in no position to argue, that is what was listened to in the van most of the time. Logically, one would conclude that he developed a taste for similar music.

One would be wrong.

This weekend, I was trying to quickly bang out a post before my inlaws arrived for Buddy's birthday party. In an effort to distract the kids, I pulled up iTunes and put today's song on. Munchkin immediately began to dance around the room happily. I looked over at Buddy, expecting to see enthusiasm, and was greeted with the newly one year old version of a look that said, "Dude, what the fuck is that?" When the song was done, I put on Disturbed and turned to find him smiling and rocking back and forth while nodding his head.

*    *    *
When Munchkin was this age and she went near something she wasn't supposed to like the stove or the stairs or the tv, all we had to do was say, "No, Munchkin," and she would stop (usually; not all the time, but most of the time).

We have learned that you can't say "No," to Buddy. "No," doesn't mean stop. "No," doesn't mean you are being unsafe and am putting yourself in danger.

"No," means haul ass away from the person saying "No," before they can stop you from whatever it is that you are doing.

This includes, but is not limited to, picking up (and eating) foreign substances on the carpet ~~that MTM fails to keep clean~~, climbing the stairs, pressing random buttons on the tv, and drinking bath water.

*    *    *
Speaking of baths, while Munchkin loved her bath as much as her brother does, she expressed this emotion in a much different manner: with smiles and the occasional splash.

Buddy apparently wants to share his joy; he wants to share it so much that I need my own towel when I am finished bathing him because the water from his splashing is literally dripping off my torso. Interestingly, I would actually prefer he splashed more, because when he isn't splashing he's wriggling and doing 360° barrel rolls, often dunking his face under water. It's gotten so bad that he now leaves the tub with marks on his legs from where I have to pin him down.

*    *    *
When Munchkin was this age, she was attached to two "friends": a stuffed Paddington (of which we had two, thankfully) and a doll my MIL gave her. The doll came everywhere, and she typically slept with both of them in her crib. However, as long as one was there, she was able to sleep.

As I have mentioned before, Buddy is attached to Paddington (the same ones) and Iggle Piggle. Unlike his sister, he does not carry them around (with the exception of the occasional prolonged attachment when getting up from a nap) yet will not lie down in his crib unless both parties are present.

*    *    *
Munchkin loved me as a baby; there was no question about that. However, she was totally a Mommy's girl through and through. She was happy enough to see me when I came home from work, and I'd occasionally even get an unprompted hug or kiss, bu ultimately I was more of a distraction from MTM than an alternative.

Buddy, on the other hand, is practically equal between us. I get showered with kisses (and/or the occasional bite on the nose) when I come home from work, and he actively seeks me out when MTM is an easier alternative. I would not call him a Daddy's boy, but he looks like he may be heading that way.

*    *    *
The logical question (at least for me) is Why? Why is he so different from his sister in these ways? Is it all just in his nature (because he's been more or less raised the same as his sister, except for the whole being a second child thing)? Or is part of it a boy/girl thing? I'll never know the answer, but that won't stop the wondering.

What about your kids? Are they more alike or dissimilar? Have you found greater differences between boys and girls, or is it just one of those this is how the kid is things?