4.28.2009

iPod? Oh Dad, you're such a loser!

I hope Pea doesn't minimize the experiences of others.

My mom came over for a visit tonight and mentioned that my dad's work computer had crapped out on him. The computer my dad uses as work is an old computer of mine; a gift from them that got me through university, one lonely year spent living in Ottawa and one year of marriage. Simply put, this computer is old.

How old, you ask? If we were to translate techno years into human years, that would make this computer 131 years old. People would be coming from all around the world to study this computer's DNA and diet to see exactly what has made it last so long. Geraldo Rivera would do an exposé on this computer's fraudulent age claims only to be shamed into silence when it is revealed that the computer actually is 131 years old. The computer would then sue Geraldo Rivera for slander, win untold sums of money in an out-of-court settlement and use these funds to refurbish itself, thereby extending its life by another 100 (human) years. This cycle would inevitably repeat itself, with Geraldo Rivera being replaced by Ryan Seacrest in the second go-around. That's how old this computer is.

To my incredible surprise, mom mentioned that dad was wondering if he had access to another computer with a "diskette" drive so he could transfer some old files he had already saved years ago.

Diskette.

DISKETTE!

I nearly choked on my catfish and potato dinner when I heard that term. We seem so far removed from the diskette era. DVD burners, memory keys and external hard drives now make the diskette seem like this Gen-X'ers version of the "8-track" or "Betamax" player. Diskettes are old, daddy-o, no one uses those anymore, get with it man.

Then, of course, it all hit me like a tonne of bricks. I know what a diskette is. I have used one many times. In fact, I still have a fancy diskette holder from my university days kicking around the home office. But Pea, no, she will never know the magic and mystique of the diskette. She will never know the glorious hum of a quarter-inch thick piece of plastic spinning from within her computer.

Come to think of it, she'll probably never know the magic and mystique of a computer, what with the future's inevitable leap towards mind/machine melding and brain-implanted hard drives/Internet web browsers.

Wait. The Internet? That'll be obsolete too... replaced by downloadable brain-expansion cards that automatically implant the sum total of the world's knowledge directly into her left brain.

As I sat thinking about what technologies have come and gone throughout my lifetime, and what technologies lie ahead for my sweet Pea, I resolved to never again mock the dated technological and cultural references of my parents, family members and older colleagues. It is clear that I'm moving quickly towards being horribly outdated myself... I need to distance myself from this type of good-natured mockery before those a generation ahead of me begin to glance my way with that How does it feel now jerk air I most definitely deserve.

So, to all those a generation ahead of me, I apologize. Your experiences are not funny. They are badges of honour you should wear with pride for they represent a life well lived.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't minimize the experiences of others.

Ok, wait. I'll stop mocking most experiences. But I can't possibly be expected to give up my mockery of those who wholeheartedly embraced the Disco-era. I mean, c'mon... they made their beds a long time ago...



4.26.2009

The Gall of Some People

I hope Pea doesn't inherit the gallstones gene.

The Pod gave me a good tongue lashing today. "Why haven't you written in your blog lately, eh, bud? You really are a lazy git and a poor example for your daughter. What a future she has ahead of her with you at the helm, big man."

Oh, she was pissed... as though I had personally questioned her honour in Medieval times. If this were, in fact, Medieval times, she likely would have pulled off a glove and slapped me across the face with it. She was mad people. Mad.

At this point in my blog entry, I have a confession to make. I may have embellished the Pod's level of anger by a few degrees. She wasn't that angry. Actually, truth be told, there was no anger whatsoever. She just asked me why I hadn't written anything lately. But, for the purpose of my blog, this truth is a pretty week opening to my first entry in a week, so I lied a bit. To use an now-underused 80's slang term, 'Sue Me'.

My good people, the answer to my lack of bloggedness this week is simple. On Wednesday, the Pod had some minor surgery to remove some pesky gallstones. Apparently, gallstones are an unfortunate side-effect for many women after their pregnancies... kind of like leaky nipples, skin tags and migraine headaches. In the Pod's case, gallstones are also a genetic gift from her father's side of the family. I'll take detached earlobes over gallstones any day, but you can't argue the X's and Y's of life.

Since her surgery, the Pod hasn't been able to do any heavy lifting or exert herself too much. The surgery itself is fairly unobtrusive, but in the end they still poked around her abdomen like she was on an episode of Grey's Anatomy, so she needed some time to recover.

With the Pod on the mend, I have had a slightly heavier workload at home. The Pod can't pick up Pea, for example, so I've been more hands on with the little lady. Bathing her is more difficult, we have to rig a contraption out of pillows to breastfeed her, and last but not least, I have spent some horrible nights trying to get (and keep) Pea to sleep at night.

I have come to a conclusion. Life is really hard on the partners of people with gallstones.

I know what you're thinking... 'Ricochay, the Pod just had surgery for God's sake... suck it up and be a man'. My response? This is hard! Can you imagine having to take care of a child, for several hours, IN A ROW, with very little help? Changing diapers, taking off dirty clothes, putting on clean clothes, entertaining with countless song and dance routines, waving for hours and hours on end, handing over Cheerio after Cheerio only to watch 95% of them be thrown to the ground with veiled malice? This is SO hard people!

Wait... what?... oh, c'mon, no way... yeah, like I'm supposed to believe that's exactly what all women go through while they are on mat leave... puh-lease... c'mon, for real, it's really like that?... yeah, but I bet they complain all the time... no?... they never complain... huh... interesting... and there are single moms who do this solo all the time?... wow...

If the Pod hadn't slapped me across the face with a glove before this entry, she's likely to after reading it.

All sarcastic wit aside (and I sure hope you sensed the sarcasm), I have gained a whole new level of respect for the Pod since Wednesday. I've had to do, for 4 days, what she has done all day/every day for the past 10 months.

So, to all mom's out there, you rock harder than a gallstone.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't inherit the gallstone gene.

4.19.2009

Ricochay and the Bee

I hope Pea doesn't listen to 'the odds'.

I was reminded today that 'the odds' are useless predictions of potential outcomes, and not worth banking on (9 times out of 10, anyway).

The Canadian Spelling Bee was on Global today, in HD no less.  

Believe it or not, it was boring as just about anything you could ever imagine, and the production value was right on par with other Canadian attempts at American fanfare. Rick the Temp - that's worth repeating - Rick the Temp co-hosted with some girl I have never seen before, perhaps a national Spelling Bee Champ from days gone by.  They spoke the whole time with hushed golf voices even though they were a significant distance from the 'action'. The words given the spellers were no where near the difficulty of the ones you'll see in the US Spelling Bee (not that I could spell any of them). Even a cameo MC job by the one and only Colin Mochrie couldn't save this sucker.  And I love Colin Mochrie.

When I woke up this morning, I would have put the odds on me watching a Spelling Bee on TV at right around 1,000,000-1.  I watched for over an hour.  If only I were a betting man.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't listen to 'the odds'.

PS - The kids in the Spelling Bee were actually quite entertaining.

4.15.2009

Everyone who's feeling fine, please step forward... not so fast Ricochay.

I hope Pea doesn't get thrown off by life's 'little' ebbs and flows.

I had a good day today.  I got a fairly good nights rest (considering Pea and I are still battling 'the sickness'), faced a negligible commute (yes, this contributes substantially to a good day) and had what would amount to an excellent day at work.  A big presentation went down, all about what I do for the company, and some big shots were impressed enough to approve our request to widen our scope of work by a substantial amount.  For me, this potentially means working from home more often or maybe, dare I say it, moving to an office much closer to home.  I then sent out a fine communication that a colleague and I worked on and received several kudos.  I was feeling fine.

But then, life realized I was feeling a little too good and immediately set out to rectify its error.  On the way home, our second car crapped out on me for the Nteenth time in the past few months.  The rear brake lights stopped working at some point on my drive back home without my knowledge due to a short circuit that will cost hundreds to uncover, let alone fix.  This means, faithful reader, that I, your narrator, was in mortal danger all the way home.  I know.  Scary. Even worse, we are likely going to have to buy a new car and send Bullet, our 1996 Toyota Corolla, to the big junk pile in the sky.  Who needed that extra $350-$500 a month, anyway? 

Pretty bad huh?  It gets worse.  After dinner, the Pod and I were watching Oprah and the show was all about widowed men who have small children and the tough times they have had raising the kids. That was a downer.  Then, Pea, the Pod and I went for a walk only to have it cut short by (T.M.I. alert) a drastic and urgent call to me from 'nature'... and 'nature' had the nerve to call collect.  As luck would have it, 'nature' would call several more times this evening as something in my diet apparently pissed off Larry, the God of Lactose.  

What else?  The Pod was forced to bathe Pea on her own, which resulted in her getting doused in the finest urine Pea has to offer.  I didn't get to watch Lost.  And, the piece de resistance, it is STILL garbage day tomorrow even though I was sure I would get a reprieve because of Easter Monday.  I hate garbage day.

At this point in my blog, I usually try to find some way to relate all my heartache and misery back to Pea and her continued efforts to grow into a fine little lady.  Well, today I got nothing.  

Ok, ok.  I suppose, were I coerced into finding the moral of the day, I might say that in the end, no matter how bad a day might be, Pea can and should always look forward to tomorrow as a new beginning. Gastro-intestinal issues notwithstanding, the fact is I will go into work tomorrow and start looking into bigger things.  The Pod and I can start looking for a new car that will definitely fit the entire Bugaboo in the trunk while still leaving enough room for groceries, which is very exciting.  Pea probably won't pee on either the Pod or myself, I will probably watch Lost on the PVR, and garbage day will be an entire week away.

Like me, Pea will also have the choice to look upon life as half full or half empty.  I hope she always chooses the bright side.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't get thrown off my life's ebbs and flows.

4.13.2009

Little Miss Literal?

I hope Pea doesn't take the Little Mr. and Little Miss books too literally.

What an awkward set of conversations those would be...

"No my Darling, you can't actually reach all the way into the kitchen from your crib and grab a handful of Cheerios. While we're on the subject, you need to stop tickling complete strangers while we're out."

"I'm sorry Pea, but it isn't actually funny, or safe for that matter, to climb into a cage with an elephant and make him laugh with a simple weird facial expression."

"No Sweetie, you can't go away on vacation and expect your brother and Santa Claus to actually do the work necessary to save Christmas for everyone. They are lazy like your Daddy and won't put forth the effort needed."

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't take the Little Mr. and Little Miss books too literally.

4.12.2009

Quiet on the set!

I hope Pea doesn't shy away from Butlering.

Late last year, I was asked by a friend to act in a short film.  I had just completed over two years of improv training at The Second City with said friend and when she asked I thought this might be a nice way to close out my 'acting' career.  Pea had been born a few weeks before the shoot took place and as much as I enjoyed it, I had no intention of continuing with the improv stuff.  

I was Gerald the Butler, a very small role.  Yes, I know, there are no small roles, only small actors... but this was truly a small role, which was great, because at the time I couldn't have handled anything more than the two lines I had to remember.  I could barely remember to wear matching shoes.

I was nervous as could be.  I like improv because there is no real preparation needed. You show up primed and ready for anything to go down, so you can't really worry about anything too much in advance.  Actual acting requires actual preparation and I tend to over think things when I have too much time to prepare.  

So, on the day of the shoot, I show up ready for magic.  I spew my lines, take a break, spew my lines again, take another break, and so on (movies are awesome work if you can get it).  When it was time to do a quick close up of me and the lead actor, I performed as asked, and after the director yelled 'CUT' I actually overheard him say "Wow, that was awkward."  My lack of true acting skills had been confirmed.  I kept my day job.

This past Thursday, the film premiered at a local cinema and much to my delight, I wasn't so bad.  In fact, one of the scenes I was in got the biggest laugh from the packed house, which was a nice way for me to head into Easter weekend.

It really made me glad I decided to go ahead with the role.  It was an adventure and while I doubt I will be doing it again, I am now able to say I've acted in a movie.  Not everyone can say the same.

Pea is already demonstrating a real adventurous streak.  She has virtually no fear (that is, until the Pod and I go out for an evening... then all hell breaks loose) and inasmuch as she stays safe, I hope she continues to be a curious young mind.  I hope she is keen on trying new things and doesn't find excuses to back away from things that make her a little uncomfortable.  Those uncomfortable experiences are the ones that she will always remember.  We don't cherish the things we almost did.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't shy away from Butlering. 

PS - If I get a copy of the movie on DVD, you're all invited to my house for a screening!

4.07.2009

Screw you mocos, Part II.

I hope Pea doesn't hallucinate when ill.

Ricochay's Log, date 2009 04 07.  

Day 3 with 'the sickness' and this seemingly innocuous illness is ravaging my core.  I'm constantly dizzy and somehow both of my sinuses are clogged, an apparent attempt by this virus to cut off my breathing supply and limit my calorie intake.  Several times today I think it succeeded, but I was able to regain composure before falling to the ground.  

I have been bombarding the sickness with bad vibes and ill-will, but this doesn't seem to be working.  In fact, at some point earlier today I could hear distant laughter coming from behind my nose, but that may have been a co-worker sitting in a cubicle near mine.  I can't be 100% sure, so I am taking every precaution necessary against a number of people in the office, for they may be aiding the sickness.
   
I think the sickness has actually embedded itself in the tip of my nose and is relishing the constant interaction with the lotion-reinforced tissues I have been using.  Out of necessity, I used a paper towel at one point, and my nose recoiled in horror.  Whether this was the sickness, or the pain I actually felt from the Bounty, I can't tell.

I have been having weird, vivid dreams.  This is something unusual for me normally, and I am convinced this is the sicknesses way of messing with my mind while I sleep.  

Fear not, dear reader.  I have a plan.  I have heard of a young man named Osmosis Smith who may be the key to my winning this heroic battle.  Apparently, Mr. Osmosis lives deep inside my body and works as a member of my own Immunity.  He is a valiant foe of the sickness.  If I am able to get a message of hope, strength and resiliency to Mr. Osmosis, I am sure this will bolster his spirits and give him the confidence he needs to ward off the sickness.  I am sending this message of hope to Mr. Osmosis via an Advil Cold and Flu tablet and I am certain it will help.  I heard that a cousin of Osmosis Smith, a man by the name of Osmosis Jones, once helped the one and only Bill Murray beat a sickness as well.

I pray this message get to Mr. Osmosis quickly.  Earlier today, I am positive my pasta and meatballs addressed me in perfect Spanish, which as we all know is impossible. Pasta and meatballs are Italian.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't hallucinate when ill.

PS - Note that Pea herself seems to be doing a great job warding off her sickness.  She too is stuffy, but booby juice and homemade soup seem to be helping a lot.

4.05.2009

Screw you mocos.

I hope Pea doesn't inadvertently ingest too much of her own mocos (Spanish for boogers).

Pea is sick.  She is all the things that we adults are when we get sick.  She is stuffed up, coughy, wants her mommy all the time, has a runny nose, isn't eating very well and isn't sleeping too well either.  

Ok, that last one isn't actually an indicator that she is sick.  She doesn't sleep well period.  

Naturally, seeing her like this breaks my heart, especially since I am probably the one that gave her the bug... I woke up this morning with the same symptoms.  To make up for it, I will be providing Pea with a touch & feel book of her choosing upon our next trip to the bookstore.  I think this is fair, since I didn't do it on purpose.

The runny nose is especially hard on both the Pod and I, because Pea isn't yet dexterous enough to blow her own nose (like her mommy does), but she isn't knowledgeable enough to sniff in the snot either (like her daddy does). So, we're left a little girl that has had mocos run into her mouth several times today.

One of evolution's biggest faults is definitely the placement of the nose directly above the mouth.  A side placement would have been a much more sensitive spot, for little ones especially, and likely wouldn't cause parents so much grief.  

On behalf of all parents, I will be putting in a request for a change in nose placement on humans with the Ministry of Evolution, but I doubt they will get to it any time soon.  Let's face it, it'll likely be millions of years before we can cut through the red tape and get this request looked at.

In the meantime, the Pod and I are on mocos duty.  Lotion-reinforced tissues have been placed in waist-mounted holsters and we're ready to pounce on any drip, drop or dribble that even thinks it will make it to Pea's mouth.  This is war, Mocos.  Bring it on.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't inadvertently ingest too much of her own mocos.

4.04.2009

Thanks for nothing, Allashua

I hope Pea doesn't break her promises.

As part of our nightly routine, I sometimes read Pea a bedtime story from a giant book of Robert Munsch tales.  My favourite Munsch story is called A promise is a promise.  It is about a young girl - Allashua - who breaks a promise to her parents and temps the horrible Qallupilluit with near-dire consequences.  

This is an amazing story with fantastic illustrations and I love the story because of its origins and its lesson in morality.  Robert Munsch wrote A promise is a promise with a man named Michael Kusugak.   It is based on a Native legend, handed down over generations, and was used to keep Inuit children from venturing too close to the dangerous sea ice in the Winter. 

I read Pea this story not too long ago, and I have the familiar refrain "A promise is a promise" embedded in my head for good.  

I should have remembered this before I went to put Pea to sleep tonight.

The Pod was away again this evening, so it was just us... I managed to get through Pea's bedtime routine just fine with a nice warm bath, a massage and some bedtime stories.  

After the stories, the Pod usually tops Pea up with some boobie juice and then off to sleepy land she goes.  Well, it looks like Pea is wise to our shenanigans because she knew damn well the Pod wasn't around to feed her tonight.  

With this in mind, she did what any self-respecting infant with separation anxiety would do - she cried for 45 minutes straight.  I'm talking the heart-stopping wails that are half-cries, half "My mommy's never coming back" sobs.  

As I tried to get her to sleep, I made her every promise in the world... Mommy will be home soon... It's OK, Daddy's here... and the one I regret as soon as it came out of my mouth, Don't worry baby, I won't leave you until Mommy gets home...

Three hours later, the Pod returned home to find me slumped in the rocking chair in Pea's room, eyes glazed over with Pea sleeping on my chest.  It took me a full minute to get out of the chair and I grunted and groaned like fat Elvis after an all-night burger bender.

Now I know Pea had no idea what I said as I tried to get her to sleep, but a promise is still a promise.  True to my word, I stayed with her until her mommy got home.  Morality doesn't take time off people, you've got to mean what you say to your kids! 

I learned a few important lessons tonight.  First, don't write cheques your ass can't cash, so to speak.  Second, always have a big-person book close at hand, just in case.  Third, don't ever assume you'll be able to go pee when you need to; go when you have the chance.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't break her promises. 

PS - Henceforth, Mortimer, Be Quiet! is my favourite Munsch tale.

4.01.2009

In English class, of all places?

I hope Pea isn't ashamed of her more embarrassing moments.

For some reason, I was reminded today of a fairly embarrassing high school moment.  Let's all go for a ride, way back, back in time...

The year is 1996.  Tamagatchi's are sweeping the planet, New Kids on the Block are but a fleeting memory (or so we thought) and my Tiffani-Amber Thiessen crush hits its peak.  I am in Grade 12, my hair is chin-length and I am as thin as a waif.  I am cool.

I'm sitting in my customary spot in English class - against the window, on top of the heater. I attended a small high school, and thus this was a small English class, and we are all quite friendly with one another.  I could sit wherever I wanted and no one seemed to mind.  

We're discussing the details of an upcoming assignment.

Teacher: Are we all on the same page here people?  Your 1,500 word essays are due in three weeks, and I'll have no excuses.  I'm giving you plenty of notice.

Students: (Disaproving groans and sighs)

Teacher: Seriously guys, this isn't a complicated task. 

Students: (More groans and sighs)

Me: What does S.A. stand for?

Teacher: What?

Students: (Blank looks of confusion and bewilderment)

Me:  S.A.?   What does it stand for?  You know, I.S.U.'s are Independent Study Units, so what does S.A. stand for?

Female Student: Are you serious?

Me: What?

Female Student: It's ESSAY moron, not S.A.  It doesn't stand for anything.  'Essay' is a word.

Me: (Confusion... more confusion... understanding... self-loathing... damage control...)  Of course, yeah, I was kidding...

Of course, I wasn't and everyone knew it.  And the great thing about embarrassment is that it manifests itself physically as well as emotionally.  I turned red, which led to a few chuckles, which led to more redness.

For some reason I think of this gaffe a lot.  Recently, I think this story came to mind because I have been preparing for a big presentation at work and I was worried I might ask a dumb question of some fairly high ranking folks.  I think my subconscious was reminding me that the ends justify the means - if I don't ask, I don't get the answer.  

That said, what is the lesson here for Pea?  That she should keep quiet to avoid embarrassment?  That she should read a little more than her father so she is familiar with the word 'essay' by the time she is 17?  That she shouldn't date boys with chin-length hair because they are idiots?

Obviously not.  The lesson in all this is as plain as day.  The only foolish question is the one left unasked.

(Although, maybe the part about reading more has some merit as well.)

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she isn't ashamed of her more embarrassing moments.

PS - I still maintain that confusing S.A. with Essay is an understandble mistake.