Progress Report – Celebrity Interview

I hope Pea never loses sight of her dreams.

My long-time readers (i.e. Mom and Dad) will recall a post from August, in which I announced to the world that I want to interview a celebrity for my blog.  If you missed this post, click here for a refresher.

So far, my attempts have not proven fruitful. I have not heard back from a single celebrity and am beginning to wonder whether or not this was but an ill-conceived pipe dream, thought up on very little sleep and a bad diet of junk food and coca-cola. Perhaps my overzealousness has finally caught up with me and it is time to admit defeat.

Granted, I am yet to reach out to anyone, which I will admit is making my search quite difficult. My strategy of ‘they need me more than I need them’ doesn’t seem to be paying off and I think it might be time to shift gears to a more proactive approach. I might have to actually send an email or make a phone call.

It’s a small price to pay for the big story… I guess.

So, dear readers, I’m upping my game. I figure I’ll start small and hope for a nibble.

Does anyone have Tiger Woods' email address.  I feel he might be in the mood to talk.

I may not know what my Pea will become, but I hope she never loses sight of her dreams.

Honey, there's someone at the door...

I hope Pea doesn't believe everything she reads.

A lot of people don't actually know the story of how the stork became associated with the arrival of a new child, so I thought I would enlighten you here today.  Kind of like a PSA, for the stork industry. It really is an interesting story...

The year was 1819.  A young farmer named Harrison Stonewall and his wife lived on a remote farm in Topeka, Kansas.  They raised cattle, mainly, but there was a pond on their farm and Harrison prided himself on maintaining a bit of an oasis for local wildlife.  He'd put out food for birds, kept hay for grazing deer and kept the pond clean for koi fish he brought in from Kansas City.

From the onset of their relationship, Harrison and his wife knew that the possibility of children was remote.  Harrison had been kicked in the groin by a mule as a young child and the lack of adequate healthcare in the neighborhood meant he'd received medical attention too late to repair the damage. True love, however, knows no bounds and the couple married just the same.

One day, while tending to his pond, Harrison witnessed a stork flying overhead.  It circled a few times, descended on the pond and landed a few feet away.  The stork then swam closer and splashed water with its wing all over Harrison's pants and work boots.  Then, it took flight once more and never returned.  

Neither before nor since has there been a stork sighting in the state of Kansas.  Harrison knew this, and dared not tell any one of the encounter for fear of being mocked.  

However, Harrison did somehow feel different.  Overcome with energy, he made love to his wife later that night and as you might expect this story to end, they became pregnant with their first and only child.

Convinced that the stork somehow aided them in the conception of their child, Harrison and his wife built a wooden homage to the stork and placed it beside the pond in their backyard.

If this story seems ridiculous, impossible and stupid, that's because it is... I made it all up, because to me this story makes just about as much sense as putting a wooden stork on your lawn to announce the arrival of your child.

For one, the idea of a stork delivering a child to your house completely demeans the incredibly hard work the mother endured to bring that child into the world.  In most cases, hours of incredibly difficult and painful labour will have followed months of constant physical pain and to dismiss all that by saying a cute stork dropped the baby on your doorstep would, to me, be insulting.

Second, those who've read this blog before know that I keep the basic details of my family life pretty guarded.  Pea is not really my daughter's name, nor is my wife really named the Pod.  So to broadcast all of the pertinent details of my child's birth on what amounts to a billboard on my lawn makes even less sense, again, to me.  Those who I want to know will not need to read it on my lawn.

These are my reasons for stork derisiveness.  That said, if you had a stork on your lawn following the birth of your child, ordered one for a relative, or plan on placing one on your lawn after the birth of your children, I'd love to hear from you.  It clearly isn't my cup of tea, but there is an entire lawn stork industry out there that is thriving, which means plenty of people are keen on the idea.

Leave me a comment and let me know your thoughts, pro or con.  (If you have a hard time commenting on my blog, just choose the Anonymous option when filling out the Comment section... and be sure to leave your name so we know who you are.)

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't believe everything she reads.

PS - Yes, I may have gone a little overboard with my mocking of the lawn stork phenomenon, I assure you I have nothing but love for all parents — those who stork, and those who do not.  Tolerance is the name of the game... and with your help, understanding can also be achieved.

Hide and Seek

I hope Pea never fails to find the beauty in all forms of music.

My favourite morning radio show is on the city's 'urban' station.  They play mainly hip-hop, which means I'm down with Lil' Wayne, Neo, Alicia Keys, Drake and the like.  I can nod my head with the best of 'em.

I much prefer Indie rock, but the lack of an even mediocre alternative station in our city means I am S.O.L. on that front.  So it's either hip-hop, or the CBC for the most part.  Either way, I'm happy, because the CBC is amazing.

Recently, my love of Indie rock and hip-hop came together... in a good way. Hip-hop artist Jason Derulo released a song called Whatcha Say... and the chorus is a sample from Indie artist Imogen Heap's Hide and Seek.

I'm a fan of both songs, really, but the creativity and unique sound of Heap's original song is far better in my opinion.  Here's a live version for your listening pleasure.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never fails to find the beauty in all forms of music.

PS - If Hide and Seek sounds familiar, you've probably seen Zach Braff's movie The Last Kiss... in fact, if you want a good Indie starter kit, Braff's soundtrack for both The Last Kiss and Garden State are a good place to start.

Daddy's Got a New Gig!

I hope Pea’s friends don’t one day confuse any of her sarcasm for arrogance.

When people describe me, they often use terms like roll-on-the-floor hilarious, handsomest man around, hero, great with numbers, cowlick-free hair, buff, and urban mom.

Well, friends, I am here today to dispel the myth that is Me. In actual fact, only one of the above descriptors is accurate. And it isn’t the one you might think.

I am, in reality, an urban mom. Shocking, I know, since you would have bet your life on ‘great with numbers’.

As of today, I am officially the author of Father Knows Best?, a parenting blog featured on urbanmoms.ca. I was approached a few days ago to join the team of stellar mommy bloggers on the site, and now my task is to bring the Dad’s point of view to countless current, soon-to-be and veteran moms out there in the blogosphere.

That’s right – this Dad is now a member of an online parenting community, with reviews, contests and more, for urban moms.

What will they think of next?

Check out my inaugural post here. And check out the site too: urbanmoms.ca.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope her friends don’t one day confuse any of her sarcasm for arrogance.

PS - Fear not, faithful readers, I will still be blogging here.  I'm not going anywhere, there's just more of me to love/hate/be indifferent about!

A tale of two Italy's

I hope Pea never forgets.

I remember being told this incredible story once. It's an amazing tale and well worth the read.  Here we go...

A young man named Alec, barely 17 years old, decides to drop out of high school. He has ambitions that go far beyond the walls of a classroom and while the logical thing to do is finish school, he's itching to see the world and make a name for himself.  

Not long after dropping out of school, Alec decides to leave everything behind in Canada to travel to Europe. He joins up with another group headed in that direction and in no time he finds himself in the heart of old Europe - beautiful Italy. 

Despite being surrounded by strangers, Alec manages to befriend many of his fellow travelers.  They take in the sights together, share stories from back home and find comfort in knowing that they aren't facing an unknown land alone.   

Anyone who's been to Italy knows that it's a country full of love, romance and beautiful women. While in the country, Alec and one of his new found friends meet a couple of young Italian women and despite the language barrier, they hit it off quickly. Soon after meeting, the guys decide to treat the women to a movie at the local cinema. 

When the couples arrive at the theatre, Alec heads to the back of the cinema with his date, and his friend heads to the front. Boys will be boys! 

The lights go down, the movie begins, and the boys are as happy as can be. 

Shortly after the movie begins, a terrible roar can be heard coming from outside the cinema. As the movie patrons scramble to see what the fuss is all about, a loud screeching can be heard and suddenly, the entire front half of the cinema collapses. 

Everyone in the front of the cinema, including Alec's friend and his date, are buried beneath the rubble. None of those trapped will make it out alive.   

After finding a way out of the cinema, Alec finds a safe place to leave his date and rushes to get back to his travel companions.  Upon his return, Alec advises his Captain that he is safe but that his friend was not so lucky.  The Captain then gives the group their orders and they fan out to protect the city. 

There's no rest for the weary.  This is World War II.  

It was about 8 years ago that my maternal grandfather, Alec, told me that story about how his friend died during the war.  You'd have to have known my grandfather to understand that he never spoke about his experiences in Europe and as he told me this story it was evident why; recalling that memory clearly brought him to a place he did not want to visit again.

When I asked my mother about the story, she told me she'd never heard it before.  In fact, she said her father never spoke about the war... not to her, nor to her sister and two brothers.

But he told me.  And now, many years after his death, this remains my favourite memory of him.

I remind myself of this story every November 11th.  Lest I forget.  

I may now know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't forget.

Déja-vu all over again

I hope Pea never faces a faulty product.

Pea rides around town in a Bugaboo stroller.  It's a pricey ride, likely worth more than our 1996 Toyota Corolla, but when we bought it, it was with the knowledge that it would be the only stroller we would need to buy.  Part bassinet, part proper stroller, it does it all.  And above all, it has a good track record and is a safe piece of equipment.

I'm sure the folks who bought a Maclaren stroller recently were also confident that their choice was a solid, and safe, decision.  After all, Maclaren's reputation among parents across the continent is as good as they come.

But the Mclaren stroller recall announced today in the US is likely to tarnish that reputation severely, perhaps beyond repair.  Like the SIGG water bottle and Fisher Price toy recalls from the past year, when you mess with the safety of children, you are very likely to lose your customers for good.

And rightly so.  When we were growing up, safety was far less of an issue.  It was considered good to eat dirt - it built immunities.  We didn't wear seat belts.  Our parents not only smoked in the car, they didn't even crack a window.

But this is a different time.  We as young parents are far more prudent and savvy about what's good, and bad, for our kids.  We have the internet... and not just at home.  We can read product reviews and ask questions of an online community from virtually any mobile phone.  More than any other generation before us, we have access to every details about the products we buy for our kids.

Now I am not saying that our parents would have ignored a product recall that could potentially lead to a severed finger.  I'm simply saying that businesses who choose to market a product for children need to be absolutely certain that the trust they gain from a paying customer is never compromised.

Because today's parent has far too many choices to take a chance on a broken brand.  Or a broken hand.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never faces a faulty product.

The deed is done

I hope Pea never gets out-toughed by a child 95% younger than her.

It's done. 

Last Friday, Pea received her H1N1 flu shot.  Ultimately, the decision just kind of made itself.  The Pod and I discussed it almost daily and it eventually became "Ok, when can one of us take a day off to take her for the shot?"  Somewhere along the line, the decision to actually do it became implied.

I took the day off and along with the Pod-in-law for moral support, we arrived at the clinic at 10:30am.  We were given a ticket at the door that gave us our waiting number, and from start to finish it took about 50 minutes.

Pea barely noticed the shot.  The nurse stuck her with the needle, it took her a few seconds to realize there was something in her arm, she cried for a bit and then stopped.  It was just like every other shot she's received.  She is a trooper if I have ever seen one.

Over the next 30 hours, Pea spiked a fever.  The Pod and I feverishly (pun intended) tried to cool her down with Tempra, compressed and shirtless naps (Pea, not us).  We'd never really experienced a fever before and we were quite worried... even though, on the fever scale, Pea's was quite low-grade.

Upon waking Sunday morning, Pea was right as rain.

The very fact that she spiked a fever, when she hasn't had any adverse reaction to her other shots, had me concerned.  Why this shot and not the others?  I don't think I will ever know, so I'll move on, because I really don't want to think of the reasons.

Now, we wait 3 weeks and return to the clinic for H1N1, Part II - The Booster Shot!

I will say this - Pea fared much better than I did.

That's right... I too received my H1N1 shot.

In my mind, the choice was simple.  If Pea was getting it, I had to man-up and roll-up my sleeve too.  (Actually, I practically had to remove my top... my sleeves were far too tight, on account of my bulging biceps muscle.) 

But I didn't think I would be able to get it so soon.  After all, I am not in any priority group.

From the minute we arrived at the clinic, I asked everyone who would listen if I was allowed to get the shot.  No one flinched, no one debated me, every health care worker in the clinic said yes. 

Despite the permission from all levels, I still felt like I was lying or cheating somehow. But the guilt that I was feeling for taking a shot away from someone truly in the priority group clearly dissapated since everyone in the clinic was virtually emploring me to get it.

The next 48 hours for me were pretty tough.  Muscle aches, soreness and stiffness everywhere, and exhaustion that is far worse than my usual weekend exhaustion. 

Thankfully, the Pod let me sleep in Saturday morning... she is just that special. 

So, for those keeping score at home, when it comes to toughness, I just got beat by a 16-month old.

That's all for now.  I have to go to the gym.  Clearly.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never gets out-toughed by a child 95% younger than her.

Here's to you, Coyote!

I hope Pea doesn't let life's walls stop her from living.

I had the opportunity to witness something spectacular recently.  It may have been the most embarrassing thing I have ever seen in my life and while I laugh when I think about it, I probably shouldn't because the outcome could have been very bad. 

I was recently in a building with a lot of see-through fibreglass walls... not just windows, but walls.  There were meeting rooms, offices, and so on that are entirely encased in glass. 

It was a very beautiful set-up, one that gives the environment a very modern feel, but it is (as you will see) also a dangerous environment.

Our embarrassing story starts with a young woman walking down a hallway, parallel to one of these glass offices.  She was deep in thought, and as I came around a corner I startled her out of her daze.  She was clearly embarrassed and turned to walk down another hallway. 

The problem with this turn is that there was no hallway.  She turned and walked headlong into one of the glass walls. 

The impact was quite spectacular.  There was a loud thud and she bounced back about a foot before realizing what she had done. 

You know in the Roadrunner cartoons, when the Coyote slams into an anvil and then vibrates backwards a few feet?  It was like that.

Now, she didn't appear to be injured.  In fact, she said she was fine when I scampered over to ask her if she was alright.  But in an embarrassing situation like that, would anyone really admit to an injury?

Now, every time I think about it, I laugh.  A hearty LOL kind of laugh.

But why?  Why do I/we laugh in situations like these?

Here's another example. 

In high school, I remember being in a car with the Pod and a few friends of mine and we were stopped at a red light.  Two moms were crossing the street with their kids in tow, riding in a wagon behind them. 

As they left the curb to cross the street, one of the wagons tipped over and the kids fell out of the wagon.  Unaware, the mom kept walking, dragging the kids behind her for a few steps before realizing and picking them up.

As the light turned green and we drove off, the car was in hysterics.  Kids falling off a wagon in the middle of a busy intersection?  Well, that's absolutely hilarious!

When faced with something embarrassing, I think we laugh because we have to; because the alternative is just too unbearable.  Imagine if we dwelled on each of life's missteps and allowed them to overcome us.  We'd be a society of unadventurous and overly-careful people, and change would never come.  We wouldn't be learning from our mistakes, we'd be letting them rule us. 

I've given you several embarrassing anecdotes about myself.  Click here for one example, and depending on whether you believe I was roofied or not, click here for another. 

I can laugh at these events in my life because I have learned from them.  I believe the mom who dumped her kids on the road learned from her mistake also, as will our glass hugger... in good time.

Because the alternative is just too unbearable.   

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't let life's walls stop her from living.

Time to buy some water wings

I hope Pea doesn't mind wrinkly water skin.

Pea started swimming lessons about 7 weeks ago.  We had never taken her swimming before, and the only experience she had with a public splash pad in the Summer was a complete disaster... tears were shed, and I ended up wetter than she was.  Plus, bath time was always a disaster.

So, needless to say I was really worried about what the lessons would be like in the long term.

I am happy to report that she loves the lessons!  Here are a few reasons why I know this:

• When I ask her if she had fun swimming, she vigorously shakes her head "Yes."
• When we get to the pool, she literally drags me to the edge of the pool and proceeds to dip her feet in the water.  If I were to let go of her hands, she'd jump in.
• Bath time has become infinitely more pleasurable for her.  It used to be impossible to wash her hair, since she hated getting water in her face.  Now she pours the water over her own head and laughs when she gets water in her mouth.
• When we arrive at the community centre, a smile always overcomes her.
• She has absolutely no problem when Steph, her instructor, holds her so I can make her feet kick in the water.  Pea never, never, allows strangers to hold her.  
• I secretly think she likes parading around in her cute little one piece bathing suit!  

There you have it.  A young and female Michael Phelps in the making (the fast swimming, multi-gold medal winning Michael Phelps, not the bong loving Michael Phelps).

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't mind wrinkly water skin.

Was I like this in high school?

I hope Pea doesn't undervalue the bravery of high school teachers.

Tomorrow is Take Our Kids to Work day across Ontario.  On this day, grade 9 students from all across the province go to work with their parents, to get a look at what the "real world" is like and to see first hand what being a productive member of society looks like.

I know this, because I'm partly responsible for the festivities at my company.  A brave (and thankfully, über-organized) colleague and I have been planning for the day and it all comes to a head tomorrow.

We'll have presentations on the history of the company, tours of our facility (which is actually quite cool), and a presentation from an incredible guest speaker, that is so secretive I can't even disclose it to you, my faithful reader.

All in all, Take Our Kids to Work is a great program.  The timing is perfect given that these students have 4 years ahead of them to work towards preparing for the next step in their lives.  It allows them to see what their parents do to put food on the table.  And it provides a unique learning environment, at least for one day.

But Take Our Kids to Work day is easily the longest day of my working year.

It always starts the same way.  The kids arrive, shy and awkward because they don't know anyone.  They usually sit as far away from each other as possible, until the room starts to fill up and they have no choice but to rub elbows with one another.

As the day goes on, little cliques start to form of like-minded kids and they become a little bolder.  The class clowns become braver, and 'smart' answers start to make an appearance.  By the end of it all, I'm being interrupted every two minutes and the jokes aren't even that funny... to me anyway.

Ever year, when my work is done and the kids are safely job shadowing with their parents to close out the day, my mind wanders to the same place - there are people out there, not unlike me, that do this type of thing day in and day out for 10 months.

I think of this, and I shudder.

Whatever they get paid, it isn't enough.  Whatever their benefits, the mental health provisions are insufficient.  Whatever good-natured ribbing they endure from friends when they are on summer break, they don't deserve it.

The good news is that, come the end of the day tomorrow, it will be the most possible days until Take Our Kids to Work day 2010.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't undervalue the bravery of high school teachers.