Children = never being spontaneous again. Ever

I once went to Cuba for a friends wedding. It was awesome. Apart from the clothes for the day of the wedding, I brought 2 pairs of shorts, a t-shirt, some sun block, flip-flops and a toothbrush. I never did wear the t-shirt. To this day I cannot tell you what resort we stayed at. I was told to buy a ticket and show up at the airport on a certain date.

That was me, one hip cat. I went by my own rules and damned the consequences.

Tomorrow, I’m going to Bermuda for a winter get away. A last minute get away sort of thing that my wife organized. My list is pretty much the same as before. But now I have a child and she has needs that can’t be glossed over with copious amounts of free liquor [I highly recommend all-inclusive by the way]. We have to make sure that she has everything she needs because we can’t guarantee that we’ll be able to get the stuff there. So far, the list includes…

swim diapers,

Tylenol,

sandals,

2 sweaters,

rain jacket,

running shoes,

sun block ,

socks,

t-shirts,

shorts,

bib,

kiddy utensils,

kiddy plate,

sippies,

bottles,

liners,

tent [seriously, a tent],

car seat,

stroller,

hat,

sunglasses,

pj’s,

wipes (two packs),

diapers,

Vaseline,

diaper cream,

blanket,

crib sheet,

sleep teddy,

regular teddy [cause god forbid we leave one of the bears behind],

books,

toothbrush,

toothpaste,

shampoo,

comb,

hair elastics,

snacks,

swim suit

And that’s just to start. The pile of luggage is starting to look like we getting ready to mount a run for the summit of Mt. Everest. Our Sherpa Kha-Joo-Whe assures me we’ll have good weather as long as we leave by February. I drive a Nissan Versa, people! How in the hell am I going to get this stuff to the airport? I called a local moving company, but I can’t repeat what they said to me here.

The fact that we have to pack all this stuff is not what makes us un-spontaneous. It’s the fact that we knew we needed to make a list just to make sure there wasn’t anything we forgot. We need that list, too. Did you even read that list? Did you notice that we had “Hair Elastics”? Of course not! That’s why we have the list in the first place.

I’m going to make another list called “All the stuff I’ll never be again” Spontaneous will be number three behind Carefree and one Hip Cat.

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Adventures of Dad

Child Safety; a Conspiracy Theory.

A couple of days ago my wife told me that we might need to purchase a new car seat. Seeing as these things can sometimes cost more than the actual car, I asked why. Apparently, the Canadian government has changed the safety standards on these things to make them safer. My response of “So…” didn’t go over well. My child’s safety and the safety of all children is not something you can put a price on…apparently.

Now before you get all huffy at me. I’m not a bad person. I understand that as a child of almost two years, Abby is very stupid and she is going to do stupid things like grab knifes by the shiny part or stick forks in those funny looking slots in the wall. I understand that as her dad, it’s my job to ensure that her environment is as safe as possible to give her as good a shot as possible of seeing her sweet 16 with all her fingers and toes. However, I do have to ask…what happened?

Why is it that the car seat we spent good money on just a 2 year ago is now deemed to be so unsafe that we have to get another one? The car seat hasn’t changed. The car hasn’t changed. The road conditions haven’t changed. Same bunch of Not-Looking-Before-Making-Lane-Change idiots that was there before…maybe a few more, but isn’t that why we all took that defensive driving course?

I racked my brains trying to think of the reason why I had to buy a $300.00 car seat to replace the $275.00 car seat I bought just two years ago [damn inflation]. I just didn’t and don’t get it.  My wife recently suggested it might be because car seats have expiry dates. That can’t be it though. Expiry dates?! Seriously?! Is the thing made out of yogurt!? It’s not organic certified. It makes no sense to even suggest it.

The only thing I can figure is that we, as a society, have been made so paranoid with regards to safety that manufactures can buy of politicians to change these safety standards and we just kind of go along with it.  Every two years, a new set of standards. Every two years, a new ready-to-go revenue stream.

Like I said, it’s a conspiracy theory…

Before you start yelling at me about lead paint in toys manufactured in china and/or children slipping between crib rails, I want you to know that I take my child’s safety very seriously. She’s the most important thing in my life and I don’t want anything to ever happen to her.

Having said that…

Do you remember lawn darts? I do. They were friggin’ sweet. 6 huge darts with cheap plastic flights slightly dull lead tips that you could file down to surgical sharpness. They came with two colorful hoops that we never used. Instead we use to play a game where one kid stands about 20 feet away from the other. Then you start firing these flying scalpels at each other. If you moved or got hit, you lost. I doubt that would ever get approved now a days.

I was given my first pocket knife at the age of 7. It was one of those cheap plastic encased piece of craps. The plastic was made to look like ivory carved with a horse and wagon running across a western wilderness. It was the best thing I ever had. Until my stupid brother almost lost his finger while I was showing him a way cool trick.  

I have distinct memories of going to the dump with my father in his Ford F150. I remember standing on the seat with my hands on the dash trying to see if I could touch my nose to the windshield. Car seats!? Pft…Those were good times.

Sometime it feels like we’re just two pieces of legislation away from packing our kids in bubble wrap until they reach 80 pounds or 60 inches, which ever comes first. Course, I did know a kid named Billy who actually shot his eye with a bb gun. And I do have a scar across my scalp where I got hit by an ax beating up an ant hill. My brother’s finger still doesn’t look quite right.

In fact, looking back, it’s a friggin’ wonder I’m still alive. There’s a conspiracy theory for you.

Dear Dad, thank you. Or; the second worst day of my life.

When I was in grade 12, someone had the bright idea of all of us getting together and giving blood. The idea was with less blood in our system we could get more drunk. I didn’t say it was good idea. A long story short, I ended up fainting in front of the whole student body and having my bladder release. In other words, I passed out and pissed myself in front of the whole school.

That was the worst day of my life.

The second worst day of my life was putting Abby’s crib together.

My loving wife did a great deal of research for our daughter’s furniture and I cannot fault her on any of her decisions. Except one. Listen up people, “Some Assembly Required” is code for “There is crap load of assembly coming your way! In fact, you should block out the whole weekend”. It’s not really her fault. But still, I have to blame someone.

This effin’ thing was ridiculous. There was not one piece that came pre-assembled. Not that big a deal, right? Trust me when I say this, any guy who has ever assembled anything above an IKEA wall shelf will understand. It is very difficult to hold two pieces of wood together and drill a screw into place. My wife tried to help, but she was pregnant and that ain’t right. Asking a pregnant woman to help. The guy I referred to earlier in this paragraph understands.

Once I manage to hold the two pieces of wood together and evolve that third arm I’ve  been working on in order to grab the drill and screw, I notice, wait…what the hell? Where are the guide holes? You mean to tell me I have to drill my own friggin’ guide holes!

And thus began the first round of cursing…

After yelling at the crib materials, yelling at the manufacture and yelling at my wife [sorry about that by the way] I got back to work. I drilled the guide holes, got the wood in place and grab the drill and screw and then…seriously?! You got to be kidding me. The manufactures in their hellish mission to force my wife to divorce me have managed to build this thing so as to make it impossible to use a drill. I’ve got to hand screw all these screws. Oh well, on the bright side, I now have the largest forearms of anyone I know.

And thus began the second round of cursing…

There I am, cursing, sweating, and throwing stuff aside. My wife is standing by being as supportive as possible trying not to stare at my freakishly large, bulging forearm muscles. I am this close to chucking the whole thing out the window and clearing out a drawer for Abby to sleep in when the thought dawns on me. Abby will never thank me for this. I will never get kudos from the person I’m doing this for. As far as she will be concerned, this crib has always existed. She’ll never understand nor appreciate my pain, my anguish, my frustration. The only one who will know is my wife and she’s in the bedroom packing her things having had enough of my bullshit.

Eff this. I pick the thing up and get to the top of the stairs. I’ve got the aborted half crib over my head all set to chuck it when I have another revelation. My dad built my crib. Someone had to have built it and my dad wasn’t the kind of guy to let others do his work for him. In fact, there was a lot of stuff my dad did that I not only never said thank you for, but never even knew thanks were to be given. What about all those gifts from Santa? What about that really sweet jumpy thing I had? There’s no way that came with the house.

I began to wonder if he carried on then the way I was getting on now. He was probably worst. You think I have a temper…Pft…you ain’t seen nothing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he shot a small woodland creature out of frustration. But he did it all the same. He put that thing together knowing he was never going to get thanks. And now I’m doing the same…circle of life sort of stuff, right? Hakuna Matata…

Hold on. Wait a second… I can change that right now. I can make up for all that unheralded work. I can end the cycle right here right now. Dear dad, for all the stuff you did that I never appreciated or said thank you for…thanks. The crib was awesome and that jumpy thing was a sweet, sweet ride. I’m sorry it took so long.

It’s weird how it took 33 years and a drastic life change for me to come to this realization. And in 33 years, I’ll be looking forward to Abby saying pretty much the exact same thing.

Fickleness, thy name is Christmas morning.

Sorry for the delay on posting…not that I expect you were waiting or anything. I’m sure you were busy doing your own thing. If you were like me, you were celebrating the holidays. This years Christmas was as close to perfect as I can think. The presents were a plenty. All my family living in the area came over for Christmas Breakfast. All in all, it was a great Christmas.

The aftermath I could do without. We’re still recovering. It was like someone went to Dollarama and bought 40 bucks of Christmas paper. Then bought a half stick of TNT at the hardware store and set the whole thing of in my living room. Even now as I survey the wrapping paper, wasteland that is my living room I don’t really know how this happened. We started out so responsible. We had just one gift. But, just like that catchy tune we all know, you get one gitft and it leads to another. You get two gifts, to go with the others. Then you get three gifts, and oh brother…

But, this post is not about my contributions to the death of mother earth. Instead, I would like to talk about something that happened on Christmas morning that is causing me some concern.

My daughter opened up a gift and received a Mickey Mouse doll. I’m not sure if I’ve covered this in the past, but Abby loves Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. She loves it. When she opened the gift and saw Mickey Staring back at her…well, she lost it. She started doing her two step “I’m-so-Freaking-Excited-I-Don’t-Know-What-To-Do” dance and pushed the box at me. I’m pretty sure this is toddler for “Here. Make yourself useful and open this”. Once the doll is out of the box, she takes it and runs over to her coloring table.

Abby’s coloring table has two chairs. One of these chairs is always occupied by a Winnie the Pooh doll. She has played and colored with Winnie the Pooh ever since she started using that table. She’ll sit there and color something and then hold it up so Winnie can see. Ever so often she’ll give Winnie a kiss. She loves Winnie. Or so, I thought. Abby gets to the table, grabs a hold of Winnie’s ear and whips him to the ground and puts Mickey in the chair of honour. She threw Winnie almost three feet and didn’t look back. I’ve seen scenes from “Goodfellas” that had more tenderness than Abby displayed in her treatment of Winnie.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad she loves her gift. I’m glad she’s happy. I am a little worried at how quickly she got rid of something she once loved so much. Am I this replaceable? Will I find myself thrown aside as soon as something or someone cooler comes along? I suppose that as the father of a little girl, this will eventually happen. I promise you this, when it does happen, I’ll put up more of a fight than that loser Winnie.

Fickleness, thy name is Christmas morning.

Sorry for the delay on posting…not that I expect you were waiting or anything. I’m sure you were busy doing your own thing. If you were like me, you were celebrating the holidays. This years Christmas was as close to perfect as I can think. The presents were a plenty. All my family living in the area came over for Christmas Breakfast. All in all, it was a great Christmas.

The aftermath I could do without. We’re still recovering. It was like someone went to Dollarama and bought 40 bucks of Christmas paper. Then bought a half stick of TNT at the hardware store and set the whole thing of in my living room. Even now as I survey the wrapping paper, wasteland that is my living room I don’t really know how this happened. We started out so responsible. We had just one gift. But, just like that catchy tune we all know, you get one gitft and it leads to another. You get two gifts, to go with the others. Then you get three gifts, and oh brother…

But, this post is not about my contributions to the death of mother earth. Instead, I would like to talk about something happened on Christmas morning that is causing me some concern.

My daughter opened up a gift and received a Mickey Mouse doll. I’m not sure if I’ve covered this in the past, but Abby loves Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. She loves it. When she opened the gift and saw Mickey Staring back at her…well, she lost it. She started doing her two step “I’m-so-Freaking-Excited-I-Don’t-Know-What-To-Do” dance and pushed the box at me. I’m pretty sure this is toddler for “Here. Make yourself useful and open this”. Once the doll is out of the box, she takes it and runs over to her coloring table.

Abby’s coloring table has two chairs. One of these chairs is always occupied by a Winnie the Pooh doll. She has played and colored with Winnie the Pooh ever since she started using that table. She’ll sit there and color something and then hold it up so Winnie can see. Ever so often she’ll give Winnie a kiss. She loves Winnie. Or so, I thought. Abby gets to the table, grabs a hold of Winnie’s ear and whips him to the ground and puts Mickey in the chair of honour. She threw Winnie almost three feet and didn’t look back. I’ve seen scenes from “Goodfellas” that had more tenderness than Abby displayed in her treatment of Winnie.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad she loves her gift. I’m glad she’s happy. I am a little worried at how quickly she got rid of something she once loved so much. Am I this replaceable? Will I find myself thrown aside as soon as something or someone cooler comes along? I suppose that as the father of a little girl, this will eventually happen. I promise you this, when it does happen, I’ll put up more of a fight than that loser Winnie.

Merry Christmas!

OMG….

Abby’s 2^nd Christmas is over. She had a lot of fun. I learnt many lessons. Enough to fill this lil’ ol’ blog for weeks to come.

I’m a little busy at the moment. Trying to work my way through the gift wrap, tissue paper and cast of packaging. I can’t dedicate the time needed to write something enjoyable. However, I have a few minuets at the moment and just wanted to wish you all a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and hope you have a great happy new year.

Adventures of Dad.