The Danger of Discourse

I hope Pea doesn't simply walk away from differing opinions. 

Please note: this blog is about to get political!

So, the Conservative government decided not to let British MP George Galloway into the country because he is a threat to national security.  Seems a little ridiculous to think that an elected official from a democratic ally would be considered a threat to national security, especially when the ol' US of A let's him in, but should we really be surprised that the Conservatives and Stephen Harper have taken this stand?

Remember, Stephen Harper is the same leader that silenced nearly all of his own MP's shortly after taking office.  

(I wonder what the first few caucus meetings were like in the early days of the first Conservative minority... Ok gang, way to go with a hard fought win in the election!  We aren't at the majority we wanted, but we're closer than ever.  Now, I'm going to need everyone to listen carefully here. Now that you are an elected official chosen democratically to speak on behalf of the people of Canada, I'm going to need you all to shut your mouths.  That's right people, I'm talking a wholesale ban that prevents each of you from speaking to the media.  What's that Peter?  Yes, even Cabinet Ministers.  Why?    Oh, don't worry, I have my reasons.)

If he doesn't want his own colleagues talking, why would we think that he would welcome the opinions of foreigners with controversial views on world politics?

Please don't get me wrong.  I am not in favour of what Mr. Galloway has to say.  The fact is I don't know nearly enough about his views to make an informed decision one way or the other.  My point is that I should have the right to hear his opinion and make up my own mind. I don't need Big Harper telling me what to think, or in this case, not think.  

It is the discourse Galloway's controversial point of view creates that is necessary to better understand both sides of the issue. The Conservatives appears to want none of that discourse. Well, I know that at least 600 people, who attended Mr. Galloway's speaking engagement via video-conference tonight, and the hundreds more that will attend in various Canadian cities this week, will agree that discourse is important even when the person talking has a different opinion from yours.  

Look, for all we know, Mr. Galloway is a raving lunatic with a horribly skewed view of the world. Shouldn't we be allowed to make that determination ourselves?  I guess Canadians just can't be trusted to make up their own minds.  

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't simply walk away from differing opinions.

Course Correction

I hope Pea isn't prone to spontaneous combustion.  

I remember very little from my grade 10 History class.  I truly believe that many undiagnosed concussions suffered while playing hockey during my teenage years have robbed me of my long-term memory.  Sadly, not much from History made it through to present day.

The one thing I do remember was my teacher using one of those "There are two kinds of people in this world" style speeches to describe how various leaders made decisions in times of conflict and stress.

"It's like driving a car," explained my teacher.  "Sometimes, when you're driving on a highway in a rain storm, the car will veer off the road slightly and onto the shoulder.  When this happens, some people will panic and frantically correct the problem by jerking the steering wheel back into the proper lane.  More often than not, this type of decision will lead to more issues because it was a knee-jerk reaction to the problem.

"Other people will slowly and calmly bring the car back from the shoulder and into the proper lane.  These are the people that don't panic when faced with a problem, but who take the time to think things through and make a suitable decision."

I love this story because I can pretty much put everyone I know into one of the two cars.  And lately, I feel like I have been dealing with a lot of people who are three steps beyond the frantic jerk of the wheel to correct course.

Here's an example.  I played in a company hockey tournament this weekend and watched in horror as several players were ejected from a game because of poor refereeing.  Granted, the refs were giving terrible penalties.  But the players who were ejected took the bad refereeing to the Nth degree by shouting obscenities, dousing the refs with water and engaging in over the top theatrics as they exited the ice. 

It's worth saying again - this was a company hockey tournament.  Talk about jerking the car back into the proper lane.  

Personally, I'm usually cool and calm in the face of a problem.  But let's be real, most parents aren't actively teaching their kids to flip out when the ref gives them a penalty, and yet so many of us are still getting kicked out of games.  This behaviour is obviously being learned somewhere.

Ah, but what are the odds that Pea will play hockey?  I've probably got nothing to worry about.  

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I sure hope she isn't prone to spontaneous combustion.

Enfa-NO!

I hope Pea doesn't have a tendency to put the horse before the carriage.

Perhaps you read one of my recent blog entries entitled "Formula!  FORMULA!"  If you did, thank you.  You're wonderful.

The entry had to do with my excitement over being able to feed Pea formula, the bonding that might ensue, and the flexibility the Pod and I will have as a result.  Well, if my life had a soundtrack, tonight would have been the part where the needle screeches off the record and everything comes to a standstill. 

Pea does NOT like formula.  At least, not the Enfapro A+ we bought for her.  The Pod was meeting a friend for dinner tonight, and total chaos ensued when I tried to give Pea her delicious, albeit engineered, meal replacement.  She shoved the bottle away every time it got anywhere near her, writhed and wriggled to the point where I nearly dropped her twice, and at one point bent the nipple on the bottle back and received a shot of formula directly in her eye.

The Pod had this same experience earlier this week.  We figured that was because Pea would rather drink from the boobie than have formula, but tonight's episode proves she ain't a fan of the Enfapro.  A+?  I think not.

So we are back to the drawing board.  If you have a youngin' who likes a particular brand of formula, please let me know.  We've heard that babies are just fussy with brands - kind of like the Pepsi vs. Coke phenomenon - so now we'll move on to something new.

I also have a hardly used canister of Enfapro A+ for sale, if anyone is interested.  $20, o.b.o.

On the plus side, Jerry Seinfeld's Bee Movie really calmed Pea down when nothing else would get her to stop crying.  I will be locking that one down on the PVR!

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't have a tendency to put the horse before the carriage.  

Is there a 10-step program for this?

I hope Pea doesn't inherit my inherent laziness.

Tonight I was, as usual, dreading my Wednesday evening date with our household garbage. Thursday mornings are traditionally horrible for me, as I run around in a panic collecting trash before the garbage collectors make their way past my house without having to lift a finger, thereby wasting my hard-earned tax dollars. I've been trying to avoid this situation by doing what every self-respecting homeowner does: take the garbage out the night before.

In a rare demonstration of initiative, I decided to quantify my laziness tonight.  I grabbed my cell phone, went to the Stopwatch tool, and timed myself as I went around collecting the garbage and bringing it to the curb. The whole ordeal took me 9 minutes and 46.29 seconds.

What is it they say?  A stitch in time saves... you from having to spend Thursday mornings running around your house like a maniac gathering trash.  For the love of God, get it together man.  

In thinking back on all of today's laziness, I was appalled at what came to mind.  I doubt this is an exhaustive list, but it is what I felt like recalling.  

• I easily slept through my alarm.  This is a daily occurrence.
• I shaved with soap instead of my shaving cream, because it was already on my face.
• I talked myself out of sending several emails because I didn't feel like typing them.  I made phone calls instead.
• I needed to go pee this morning at least 30 minutes before I actually went.
• I had chicken fingers and fries for lunch because I didn't feel like waiting for the fajitas.
• I nearly let my mother change Pea's dirty diaper.  Come to think of it, I don't feel bad about this one... who likes changing poo diapers?
• I really wanted to watch Lost tonight, but the PVR wasn't finished recording it and I didn't feel like watching commercials.
• I chose to use bullet points because it is much quicker than using full paragraphs.

In my defense, I didn't sleep too well last night, I skipped breakfast and I ate chicken fingers and fries for lunch, so I clearly had no energy today.  But still, is this the example I should be setting for my little Pea? 

My name is Ricochay, and I am a lazy git.  For shame.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't inherit my inherent laziness.

Battling land sharks takes confidence!

I hope Pea doesn't fear self-confidence.

I've been blogging for a few weeks now, but I've been reluctant to tell people.  I'm not exactly sure why, but I think it might be that the topic of my blog is not typically one you would expect a man to blog about.  I would imagine guys are expected to blog about sports and the ladies and what brand of pot yields the best buzz while still being cost effective (does that make sense?... are there 'brands' of pot?... do pot people worry about cost effectiveness?... I don't know, I've never touched a doobie in my life... do people still say doobie?... Weeds has taught me so little...).  Yup, I'm always a little weary of the dreaded gender role.

My insecurity has led me to promote my blog in quiet circles and to close friends only.  In so doing, I have no idea if anyone is actually reading.  I do have 31 profile visits though... let's see, there's my parents (2 people), my sister (1 person), my sister-in-law (1 person), then there's the Pod (1 person), and I've clicked on my own profile at least 8 times, so that leaves 18 independent readers.  Not bad.

Truth is, the more I do this, the more I realize that a) it's kind of fun, and b) I don't really care if I am not supposed to write about this stuff.  I am proud of what I'm doing. 

I'm quickly moving past my concerns vis-a-vis gender roles because I won't let the X's and Y's of life dictate who Pea is and what she becomes, so why should I let those same X's and Y's rule me?

If Pea wants to play hockey or get a G.I. J'eh (the Canadian version of G.I. Joe), then she can.  If she wants to become a mechanic or an engineer, two fields typically dominated by men, well I'll foot the bill!  Hell, I work in Corporate Communications and I can count on one hand the number of men I have worked with since I began my career 9 years ago. Who am I to defend gender roles?  

I'm feeling liberated here people!  Here's some more!

• I was proud when the ultrasound technician told us we were having a girl.  Most guys want the boy to perpetuate the name and blah blah blah, but I didn't know how I would manage to raise a boy who is tough enough to defend himself and others while raising a boy who is sensitive and caring for others.  So I am proud that my Pea is a she.  (That said, I'm hopeful there will be more Pea's in the Pod at some point, at least one of which is a boy, and I look forward to the challenge.)     

• I watch Gossip Girl.  Religiously.  I get irritable when it isn't on.  And anyone who claims it sucks is lying.  Lying to your face.  You should reconsider being friends with anyone that says it sucks.  I also watch The After Show on MTV and I like it.  I want Dan Levy's eyeglasses.

• I like carrying my kid around in our Baby Björn.  It makes me feel close to her, and I melt when she falls asleep with her head resting on my chest.  I also cherish pushing the stroller around.  It kind of makes me feel like I'm the captain of the S.S. Bugaboo, and Pea is my first mate. 

That certainly isn't an exhaustive list, but that will do for now.  

The point is, Pea will face enough challenges as she grows up.  Soon, she will learn to walk, then talk, and before we know it she'll be fighting the super-insects and land-walking sharks that will rule the Earth when global warming reaches its climax.  To do that, she'll need all the confidence she can muster.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't fear a little self-confidence.

Formula! FORMULA! (to be read like Stanley Kowalski would say it in A Streetcar Named Desire)

I hope Pea doesn't take forever to realize that I too am a source of nourishment.

It's nearly 10:30pm, and the Pod is away at a stagette tonight.  Which means it's just me and Pea until about 2:30am.  Five ounces of milk await in the fridge, which should be enough, but I needed backup to feel more secure.  I hit up the local Wal-Mart for a little formulaic support.

This is our first formula purchase.  A big deal for us, and for Pea.  We chose Enfapro A+.  It's engineered like crazy... enriched with calcium and lipids and it has a built-in sunroof and On-Star*.  

As I prepared the bottle, Pea yelled at me from her play pen, which made a nerve-wracking experience a lot easier for me.  I have heard you have to follow the formula directions to the letter, so I was a little nervous.

While I couldn't understand her angry mutterings, my nerves coupled with a wild imagination led to the following daydream:

Pea: Hey!  What are you making?

Me: It's Ok baby, Daddy's just preparing you some formula... Mmmm... formula!  Who wants some formula?  Pea wants some formula!

Pea: You're a dipstick.  Mom will feed me, don't worry about the formula.  Just get me out of here.  Where is mom anyway?

Me: Yummy yummy yummy formula!  Yummy yummy yummy formula!

Pea: STOP TALKING LIKE THAT!  Where is mom?  I haven't seen her for a while.

Me: Mmm, formula!  Mmm, formula!  Mmm, formula!

Pea: Ooooh, I get it, I'm a baby, Mmm Mmm Mmm, let's talk like dorks, Mmm Mmm Mmm. Listen, I'm a baby, not an idiot.  Knock it off.  MOM?

Me: ForMUla!  FORmula!  FormuLA!

Pea: Seriously, STOP!  MOOOOM? 

PEA'S INNER MONOLOGUE: 

Wait a minute... I smelled hairspray and nail polish upstairs earlier, Mom looked hot the last time I saw her and the hairy fella is making formula.  Oh my God.  Mom's.  Not.  Here.

Pea: (Expletive Deleted) WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!

Me: Ok baby, it's ready!

Pea: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!

For the next 20 minutes, I tried to keep Pea calm while I waited for the formula to cool down a bit... I made it too hot, OK?  To her credit, Pea made good use of the 20 minutes by growing increasingly angry and impatient with me.  There was lots of crying, several more imaginary curse words thrown my way and many beads of sweat rolling down my neck.  

When the formula finally cooled down, Pea gobbled it up in record time.  I think she took 3 ounces in 1 and a half minutes... yes, I will be calling Guiness tomorrow. She appears to like it!  

Afterwards, she was pretty frazzled from having been so frantic for so long, so she heaved those heartbreaking gasps while she regained her composure.  She finally fell asleep in my arms 10 minutes after finishing her formula.

Success.

The Pod and I have discussed formula for quite a while, and I am relieved we have started.  I am hopeful that this will help Pea's separation anxiety and make feeding on-the-go a little easier.  I am also comforted to know that we will keep breastfeeding and supplementing with formula until Pea turns 1, because that seems to be what everyone recommends.  Seems like we can now enjoy the best of both worlds.

And in the end, I'll get to spend a little more time with Pea staring up at me while she drinks from her bottle.  I'll really enjoy this time, because before long, she won't even want me around because I tried to be funny in front of her friends and embarassed her somehow.

Ah, they grow up so fast, don't they?

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't take forever to realize that I too am a source of nourishment.

New 'Chune'

I hope Pea isn't afraid to give new music by mountainous bearded men a chance.

I heard this on the way home from work yesterday, on CBC Radio 2... quickly becoming my favourite radio station.

It's a song called "You are the best thing" by Ray LaMontagne.  A great song.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she isn't afraid to give new music by mountainous bearded men a chance.

A lot to learn from Barack

I hope my Pea doesn't get caught up in rhetoric.

President Barack Obama made a quip on Jay Leno last night that has caused quite a stir. He likened his bowling skills to those of a Special Olympian, meaning to say he isn't a great bowler.  

Personally, I think the PC Revolution has gone way too far. The late George Carlin had it right - it isn't the words we use that matter, it is the context in which we use them that is important. 

President Obama's comments were humorous, yet quite insensitive, because the context was insensitive.  His context was that Special Olympians can't possibly be good bowlers, which is far from the truth - they are, after all, Olympians. 

Let's consider a few other examples of the PC world Pea will be living in:

• There are no losers anymore. Everyone gets praise for participating.
• We don't fail at work. We miss an opportunity, or we need development.
• If you are a pale man of Scottish descent, you aren't pasty, you are pigmentally challenged.

To paraphrase Dave Chappelle, let's keep it real people.  At times, Pea will lose.  She will fail.  And thanks to her father's genetics, she will likely be considered pasty.  I refuse to avoid these words around her.

When she loses, I won't sugarcoat it.  When she fails, I will help her see the value in that failure.  I will help her understand that 'losing' and 'failure' aren't bad words unless the context they are used in is bad.  And in explaining this context, I hope she might also learn the benefits of losing and failing in building character and resiliency.  I hope that she will not fear words of any kind; rather, that she will be weary of their context.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she does not get caught up in rhetoric.   

P.S.- President Obama's comments came a little over a week before the Special Olympics embarks on a campaign to eradicate the use of what they call the R-word - retard. Coincidence?  See tomorrow's blog entry on conspiracy theories in the US political system.

P.P.S. - Ok, tomorrow's entry really won't have anything to do with conspiracy theories. Psyche!

P.P.P.S. - I haven't used the P.S., P.P.S., P.P.P.S. structure since grade school!  What a trip!

Here's to you, Mr. Peanut.

I hope Pea always remains friendly with that lovable legume, the nut.

There is a Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory at a mall near our house.  I ran into said mall today to pick up a pair of jeans that were being hemmed - big up European hem! - and it just so happens that the chocolate factory was right next door.  I gleefully went in to find a tasty snack.

You know that scene in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, when all the kids first lay eyes on the inside of the factory?  Yeah, that was me.  In reality, I kept it cool (no one likes a freak inside a candy store, it's creepy.).  But in my mind, I was swirling round and round like Maria in the opening scene of The Sound of Music.  Except, in my fantasy, I am knocking over all the treats as my arms flair about wildly.  Why?  Because it's funnier that way.

I browsed the selections... almond bark... pecan brownies... fudge... candy and nut covered apples... all were SO appealing!  None are within the realm of possibility.  You see, I have the all-too-familiar aversion to nuts.

Not an allergy, mind you, I just get wicked migraines when I eat nuts.  This affliction hit me somewhere in my teens, because I can still remember eating my mom's delicious peanut brittle in copious amounts.  I remember the lure of the beer nut.  I remember the healthy snack that is trail mix.

So, here I am, faced with a mountain of selections, most of which I cannot have.  I settled on the cranberry bark, a mixture of dark chocolate and, well, cranberries, that is sure to elicit a Pavlovian response out me me tomorrow when I have it as an afternoon snack at work.

But still, there is a whole world of treat out there that is always at my fingertips but too far to grasp.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she remains friendly with that lovable legume, the nut.

P.S. - Who knew Mr. Peanut was a WWII veteran?  Even more reason to show him the respect he deserves.

Is there nothing sacred?

I hope Pea doesn't use celebutante slang to describe a young child's name.

Pea, the Pod and I were out for a walk in a popular park near where we live when I overheard the following come from a young Mom pushing her 1 year-old in a stroller:

"We were going to name her Riley, but I liked the name Charlie way too much.  My husband said, 'people will call her Chuck', and I said 'I don't care, I like Charlie.  It's HOT.'"

It's HOT?  Is that where we're at now?  It's ok to use sexually suggestive taglines in relation to our children?  What's next?  Will we be using "junk in the trunk" on report cards?  Or hearing the über-clever "If you seek Amy" being sung by children all around the world? 

Wait... oh snap.  

What is this world coming to?

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't use celebutante slang to describe a young child's name.

The Mennonite, the Addict and the Sandwich Artiste

I hope Pea doesn't ever date boys with long floppy hair who are reminiscent of heroin addicts.

I went to Subway today to get a, well, a sandwich.  That part is pretty self-explanatory.  When I walked in, the Manager of the place was teaching several new recruits how to use the cash register.  (It's good to know that someone is hiring these days.)

Being trained were a 16 year-old boy and a 50 year old man.  As I stood waiting for them to acknowledge me, I couldn't help but notice that the 16 year-old had floppy hair.  He was wearing one of those trademark Subway visors, but everything was hidden underneath his wealth of hair except the bill of the visor.  He was tall, gaunt and had bags under his eyes that I usually associate with high school teachers and heroin addicts.

And yes, to answer your question, I have been exposed to heroin addicts before.  Rather, one heroin addict on two separate occasions.  While I was in university I worked at a local mall selling shoes.  I use the term 'selling' rather loosely as I did not sell one pair of shoes in the 4 months I worked there.  When I quit my job just before Christmas, the store manager smiled and skipped away giddily.   Apparently, I was keeping her from reaching a high sales mark for the location and thus her chance at winning a mid-Winter trip to the Caribbean.   

One day at work, a Mennonite came into the store to try on Winter boots.  She couldn't get them up over her calves and I was at a loss for words.  I have never seen that before, or since.  Her calves were bigger than my thighs.  It was impressive.

Anyway, later that day, I spent 45 minutes with a customer who was considering buying a pair of boots.  She was a quirky lady, early-20's, and she kept walking up and down the store in the boots like a model working the runway.  Literally.  She was really considering the boots, and I was eager to make my first sale.  Without warning, she threw off the boots and left the store.  My co-workers then came to me, laughing, and explained that I had spent 45 minutes trying to sell boots to a heroin addict.  Good times.

I later ran into that same addict on my daily walk to school.  She was on the street corner begging for money outside of a bank in freezing weather.  She had on raggedy Chuck Taylors.  Not good times.  She could have used those boots.

Ok, back to ol' floppy hair.  The boy at Subway sees me standing, waiting, and throws on a pair of those Subway see-through gloves to prepare my sandwich.  As he is doing this, the 50 year-old calmly washes his hands, puts on his Subway-standard-issue-see-through gloves, and taps the lad on the shoulder, motioning him to the sink.  I was relieved, because I can only imagine how many times ol' floppy hair had run his gross hands through that disgusting hair, and no pair of see-through gloves can bring back my appetite after that.

The 50-year old proceeded to prepare my sandwich, but floppy hair seemed annoyed.  Boo hoo, you didn't get to sandwich-artiste my sub for me.  Learn basic hygiene loser.

That said, the 50-year old stiffed me on the tuna.  I only got 1.5 scoops worth for a 6 inch sandwich.  Karma is a bitch.  

Nevertheless, I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't date boys with long floppy hair that are reminiscent of heroin addicts.

New aged mallrats?

I hope Pea doesn't relegate me to the other side of the food court too quickly.

Pea, the Pod and I enjoyed an amazing weekend.  The weather in our neck of the world was great, so we took advantage and got out of the house as much as possible.  The Pod has had cabin fever for quite a few months and the above zero temperatures allowed us to enjoy a weekend like we haven't since long before Pea was born. 

On our way out, we stopped at a mall food court for some lunch.  I had Thai, the Pod had Mexican, and you don't care.

As we sat, eating our multicultural fare, a trio of teenage girls sat down behind us to enjoy their lunch.  I immediately got giddy, because there is nothing like eavesdropping on mallrat conversation... 

"OH.  MY.  GOD.  Did you see Billy at H&M, he is, like, SO hot.  And he totally winked at me, and not because he has that nervous twitch in his left eye, he winked at me with his right eye.  He totally wants me."

Or...

"Like, Rachel totally told Mr. Gym Teacher that she got her period in PE on Thursday, but she TOTALLY didn't because her cycle and my cycle are totally in sync since we were best friends in grade 7.  So I was like 'Rachel, you suck, you're ruining that excuse for all of us' and she was all like "I don't care, Emma, I don't feel like playing soccer-baseball today'.  God, I hate her."

Much to my chagrin, these particular teenage girls weren't your typical teenage mallrats.  They sat quietly talking about every day things, and never got into the crass hormonal ramblings of their peers.  It was disappointing, but refreshing.

Then, the Pod leaned over the table and said "You know the girls sitting behind you?  One girls' mom is sitting at the table over there having lunch."  The mom was indeed sitting 10 feet from the girls.  This was confirmed when she got up, approached the trio, and they left the food court together.

This got me thinking.  The girls didn't seem to care that the mom was sitting just beside them.  The teen wasn't annoyed or upset.  It was what it was.  And the mom wasn't crushed that her daughter wanted to eat with her friends.  She was happy to give her daughter and her friends the independence and distance they clearly deserve, as trustworthy young ladies.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't relegate me to the other side of the food court too quickly.

To infinity, and beyond

* Disclaimer - I am not a science nerd.  I don't have mountains of weird science fiction comic books in my closet, I don't dress up and attend Star Trek conventions in my spare time and my PVR isn't overflowing with SPACE channel content.  

I hope my Pea doesn't feel the need to be a Space pioneer.

I'm talking about the Universe/UFO/Mars Rover/Saturn's Moons/Gaseous Explosions/Hubble Telescope kind of Space, not the deciding-where-to-put-your-furniture, this-room-throws-off-my-Chi kind of space.  Although that kind of space is pretty cool too.  In fact, growing up I spent many a night re-arranging the furniture in my room to find the optimal configuration that suited my needs at that particular time. 

But that's not what this post is about... today.  I digress.  

A couple of my peers and I got to talking about Space travel and the boundless largesse of the Universe during lunch recently.  

Personally, I find most things to do with Space fascinating.  The fact that there is now a spacecraft on its way to far away galaxies to look for Earth-like planets is extremely cool and that we have detailed high-resolution images from the surface of Mars is amazing.  I look forward to the day where we come to the scientific realization that we are not alone and put an end to this narcissistic sort of attitude that some will espouse because it suits their view of how we got here in the first place.  

This is a good spot to say that I respect all views with regards to how we got here.  In fact, I believe all of these views can all co-exist peacefully.  I'm not a hater.  

Another tangent, I apologize.  This is about Pea. 

Today, I read that NASA is sending someone to the International Space Station for 6 months, to see how his body reacts to such a long stay in space.  All this research, naturally, is aimed at eventually sending people to Mars.

While I think it's cool that we're exploring Mars, I sure hope Pea isn't the first to go.  

Rationale:

1. Radiation sickness
2. Muscle atrophy
3. She'd get lonely - that's a long trip
4. When she gets back, Earth would be inhabited and run by damn dirty apes
5. I'd miss her way too much

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she isn't a Space pioneer.

The cliché comes to fruition

I hope my Pea doesn't figure me out too soon.

Before Pea was born, I often felt competent and at ease with myself.  I would go to work and have a productive day, come home and have a nice meal, spend time with the Pod watching TV, get a good night's rest and generally live life without questioning myself my every move.

That all changed mid-way through last year when Pea was born.  Every day since then has been filled with self-doubt, questionable decisions and countless Faustian deals with the devil... 

Deals including:

• If I can put her down in her bed without her waking up wailing, I will give you my soul.
  
• Now that I have gotten her down, if she will nap for more than 30 minutes I will give you my soul.
• If this diaper isn't filled with copious amounts of the most disturbing substance I have ever seen or smelled, I will give you my soul.
• If the Pod and I can just get through one day without yelling at one another, I will give you my soul.
• If I can watch this entire episode of LOST while Pea entertains herself in her jumperoo or cruises around her miniature "dinner table", I will give you my soul.

And so on.  

As luck would have it, I still have my soul, intact.

All of this has led me to the realization that all parents eventually come to: my own parents are amazing.  I don't ever recall a time growing up when I thought to myself... they don't really know what they are doing... my mom just gave me a guess in response to my question... my dad is scared out of his mind right now... etc.  It was all so seamless, so secure and so believable.

Now, of course, with the benefit of hindsight and a brand new point of view, I understand that every day of their lives as parents were filled with fear, guesswork and calculated risks.  And even though I have figured out that they didn't know what they were doing either, I can't help but love them even more because of it all.  

As a kid, I never asked myself how they pulled it all off.  They just did.  Now, I'm learning all the behind the scenes stuff that made it all a reality.  

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't figure me out too soon.

Remember, remember the 9th of Marchember

I hope my Pea never forgets March 9th, 2009, because I know I won't... and yes, I am well aware she is only 8.5 months old and likely won't remember things at this point, but hear me out.

When I got home from work yesterday, it was fairly early (no traffic, hazaa!) and I had the chance to put Pea down down for a nap before we ultimately bathed her and put her to bed.  The change to daylight savings time has had a rough impact on all of us, and the PeaPod (a.k.a. Pea's mom and for a period of time Pea's Pod) and I are struggling to slowly move Pea back an hour.  

On this particular day, Pea hadn't napped very well.  There's a combination of separation anxiety and teething going on that the PeaPod and I are still figuring out in addition to the time change.  So, for this nap I did the usual - went into Pea's room, closed the blinds and read her a few stories.  More often than not, when we place her in her crib for her nap she wakes up immediately, rolls over and stands up, rearing to go.  It's kind of like that Growing Pains episode when Chrissy doesn't want to go to bed because she is certain the rest of the family is up having a legitimate hootenanny while she rests.  

I digress.

Yesterday, when I finished the stories, I calmly put Pea over my shoulder to lull her to sleep as usual.  For the first time ever she fell into a deep sleep immediately.

It was clear to me as she slept on my shoulder that Pea, in how own little way, had turned to me to help on a day that had been rough on her and her mom.  The PeaPod often has a hard time putting Pea to sleep (see comment about separation anxiety above) and on this day the Pea needed a shoulder to sleep on.     

I've never had Pea fall asleep so easily and so soundly, not to mention so quickly.  I stayed with her on my shoulder for the entire nap (a selfish move on my part, but I'd do it again in a minute). 

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never forgets March 9th.

Bucking the Trends

I hope my Pea doesn't believe the critics.

Here are my top-ten movies, generally panned by everyone I know, that I hope my Pea will still give a chance so that she can make up her own mind.  This, of course, when she is the appropriate age to watch.

10. Master of Disguise

9. Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

8. Joe Dirt

7. Overboard

6. Anything starring Adam Sandler

5. Undercover Brother

4. 2001: A Spage Odyssey

3. The Road to Wellville

2. Wild Wild West

1. Back to the Future, Part III

I don't know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't always believe the critics.

PS - Yes, to all those that know me well, this entry was used as a convenient excuse to throw a Back to the Future plug on my blog... what's it to you, it's my blog?!

Appeasing Larry

I hope my Pea doesn't piss off lactose.

When I was a kid, maybe 7 or 8, my doctor told me to lay-off the chocolate milk.  I had been embroiled in this incredible love affair with the tasty juice of the brown cow, which culminated in me drinking an entire 1 litre jug of chocolate milk in 30 seconds on the way home from a hockey game.  This binge drinking triggered every single one of the symptoms listed in the Pepto Bismol commercials (in the back seat of someone else's car, no less). 

The doctor backed-up my parents suspicions, and I was ordered to cut ties with lactose to the best of my abilities.  It didn't need to be a clean break, but the less the better.  

Now reserved for Friday nights (when I have the weekend to recover) are:

• Fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt, the kind that starts off looking questionable but turns into a creamy pile of goodness once you give it a little swirl of the spoon
• Cheese of all kinds
• Mint chocolate chip ice cream cake, the kind from Baskin Robins with the fudge border
• Joe Dirt, the incredibly heartwarming rags-to-riches tale of a lonesome janitor starring David Spade... no... wait... that's for tomorrow's entry, the top 10 movies I hope Pea won't overlook because of poor public opinion.

The point is, Pea deserves the chance to make nice with lactose.  Dairy is an important part of her gastronomical development, and I will be doing my best to appease Larry, the God of Lactose so that she might have a fighting chance at a second helping of ice cream birthday cake.  Her odds are slim, with my wife having the same lactose-related issues as me, but for the love of Larry, I hope poor stomach lining skips a generation.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't piss off lactose.

The 7-minute sandwich

I hope my Pea won't be prone to procrastination.

There's a KFC near my house that is notoriously slow.  As a parent with a sleeping kid in the car seat, you're prone to quick meals and drive-through's to keep the little one sleeping (and your chins multiplying).  Against my better judgment, I let my popcorn chicken craving get the best of me and I pulled into the drive-through.  

Here's how it all went down:

KFC: Hi, welcome to KFC.  How can I help you?

Ricochay: Yeah, I'll have a Big Crunch combo and a popcorn chicken.

KFC: That will take 7 minutes.

Ricochay: 7 minutes, for the popcorn chicken?

KFC: No, for the Big Crunch.

Ricochay: Ok then, I'll have the Classic Combo.

KFC: That'll be a 5 minute wait.

Ricochay: Well, if I'm going to have to wait, I'll have the Big Crunch.

KFC: Ok, that'll be way more money than it's worth.  Please drive through.

Of course, the second I got to the window to pay, Pea woke up.  And she was pissed.

So for 7 minutes I listened to Pea wail away from her plastic prison in the back seat while I waited for the food.  If she was talking, I'm sure the wailing would have translated to "You idiot, why did you stop here!  This stuff is made of elbows and kneecaps and it always makes you feel like crap every time... and now I'm going to have to smell that garbage all the way home!" 

Tell me this - how can it take 5-7 minutes for KFC to make the two most mainstream items on its menu?  Are you honestly telling me you weren't expecting any more customers past 6:13pm?  It was almost as though they were trying to get me to leave without getting anything.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she isn't prone to procrastination.

I'm selling my gaming systems

I hope my Pea won't become a video game junkie.

Apparently, a soon-to-be-released report out of Sweden will reveal that the video game "World of Warcraft" is as addictive as crack cocaine.  Kids are passing out playing this game, and some parents in Korea left their child at home to go play the game, with dire consequences.

My wife is a confessed video game junkie... that is to say she was when she was younger.  But this was when you could beat an entire game in 45 minutes and you had to stop halfway through a level to blow on the game cartridge.  The times, they are a-changin'.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't become a video game junkie.

Knowing when it just won't work out

I hope my Pea won't fall for abusive R&B singers.

Sample timeline of events, that will be referred to throughout this entry:

1. Girl suspects her man of cheating.  Let's call this girl R. Ihanna, for the sake of argument. 
2. Suspicious, R. Ihanna decides to read said man's text message.  Let's call this 'man' Chris B.  
3. Chris B. catches R. Ihanna reading the aforementioned text message.  
4. Angry, and likely feeling guilty, Chris B. beats R. Ihanna to a bloody pulp and inches from passing out. 
5. R. Ihanna refuses to press charges and takes Chris B. back within weeks of violent abuse.

I'm a fairly even-keeled guy.  I've never been in a fight that involved actual punches, much less dreamed of taking my agressions out on a woman.  Don't get me wrong, I've been seething mad plenty of times, but I am a firm believer that punching someone in the face likely won't make the situation better.  And I play hockey.

So the fictional story outlined above really boggles my mind.

But my concern for Pea goes much deeper than "I hope she doesn't get beat up by some a**hole."  That goes without saying.  It's the total lack of self-respect and self-esteem our 'fictional' R. Ihanna demonstrates in taking Chris B. back that concerns me.  

Pea is already a headstrong little lady, and we're trying to instill in her all of the values that parents want their daughters to have - strength, self-worth and an even head to know when to make tough decisions.  As The Clash put it, we want her to have the common sense to ask herself "Should I stay or should I go NOW?"

But I imagine all parents start off wanting these positive traits in their kids.  Whether it is cultural or a result of our environment, so many of us go off the rails.  We become overly critical of ourselves, our friends and partners, and we never reach the point of satiation.  We're never happy.  Our weight, our jobs, our financial situation - it's never what we want it to be.  

As a result, we end up wondering if things will ever get better.  Perhaps poor R. Ihanna thinks Chris B. is the best she will be able to do.  "He loves me, I love him, it was a one time thing."

To bad our R. Ihanna didn't know the rest of that wonderful The Clash song - "If I go there will be trouble, but if I stay there will be double."

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I certainly hope she never falls for abusive R&B singers.

What will you be, Pea?

I attended a social media conference recently. I work in internal communications, and social media is everywhere. I thought I'd attend the seminar and report back with the latest news on the SM front.

So, as I'm leaving the seminar, I consider the fact that I may be the only person in the western hemisphere who isn't blogging. So, the obvious, start a blog.

From what I can tell, there are 2 steps involved:

1) Determine your point of view.
2) Write about your point of view.

What is my point of view, or, what will make poeple read this... more people than, say, my mom, dad and wife who will probably consider this being 'published' and read it all the time because they love me so.

Let's see...

I'm going to blog exclusively about people who bring their pets into public spaces. What's the deal with that, they aren't people, they're animals. Don't we care about people with allergies? Or the fact that pets, even the littlest little dog, can strike with a furious anger at any moment. Argh. I'm so angry about this.

Nope, I can't imagine writing about that day after day. You'd need to be the owner of a Victims of Pet Attack clinic to cover this topic with the attention it deserves.

Maybe I'll use my overwhelming self-loathing to start a celebrity blog, where I mock every famous person who hasn't yet declared their undying love for me. I'll make crude anatomical drawings over photos of them and horrible comments about their personal lives in an attempt to make people laugh. Yeah, making people laugh at the expense of others never fails!

What? That's already been done? And it seems to be going well for the blogger? Ok, scratch that.

Alright, well, write about what you know they always say (the elusive "they", arrogant buggers). I have a beautiful baby girl at home, henceforth known as Pea (an obvious alias, to keep the web lunatics at bay). As I struggle to get Pea to sleep, I often find myself wondering what she will make of her life. What will she become? What type of person will she be?

I don't as of yet have a clear picture in my mind of what my ideal is in this regard. But I do find myself compiling a fairly exhaustive list of the things I would prefer my little Pea not delve in to. There's the standard stuff like pole dancer, unibomber, or 43rd President of the United States. But there's all sorts more. I hope she isn't as lazy as her father. I hope she isn't as ignorant to the nature of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict as some can be.

So that's it. A blog by a Dad, for other parents, to share the anti-hopes and anti-dreams we all share for our children.

Enjoy. Tell a friend.