what.will.you.be,Pea?

Back to the Future

2012-02-10T00:07:00.001-05:00

Backgrounder: I'm doing this 30-Day Blog Challenge. This is blog post #2, covering the "Somewhere you would like to move/visit" topic.

Remember, I was just out of

university, hence the horrible

jacket, shoes and unsightly

neck fat.

At work today, a coworker and I were talking about travel. We were discussing the importance of having that next big trip to look forward to, as a coping mechanism to get through a particularly busy stretch in the office.

She is fortunate enough to be heading to Rome in a few months. She's going to stay in a villa, live life like the locals live, and bask in the glory of the cultured country that is Italy.

I, on the other hand, have no big trip on the horizon. Consequently, I no longer like my coworker.

I have been fortunate enough to have done a fair bit of travel though. After university, my wife (then girlfriend) and I did the backpacking thing, spending time in:

England (London)
France (Paris)
Italy (Rome, Venice, Pompeii and sort of Milan... a long story)
Spain (Barcelona), Switzerland (Innsbruck, Salzburg)
Germany (Munich)
The Netherlands (Amsterdam... try walking through the Red Light District with your girlfriend... it was amusingly horrible).

It was only 3 weeks, but it was awesome.

Since the Europe trip, I've also been to:

Cuba
Peru
Argentina
Hawaii
Beautiful Saskatoon, SK
Breathtaking Buffalo, NY

Argentina was amazing. Peru was fascinating. Buffalo was... interesting. But if I could go anywhere again, to live permanently, it would be London, England.

When we visited London, we stayed with friends in a hamlet called Gypsy Hill. That alone makes it cool. We took the train in and out of the city every day and absorbed all that London has to offer. The pubs were real pubs. The subway was an actual and legitimate mode of transport. And the history and architecture were da bomb.

Start sidebar...

Did I use that term correctly, da bomb? I think it means 'the history and architecture were great.' Do kids still say da bomb? Is the fact that I said something is da bomb automatically make it lame? Do kids still say lame? As in, 'Oh God, my next post should be about how lame I have become; a caricature of a man, really.'

End sidebar.

After we returned from our trip, my wife (then girlfriend) and I talked a lot about going back to London to live after we got married. Years went by, careers were established, and now we are firmly and happily rooted in our home and our life and our routine.

So, if the idea of moving somewhere new if off the table, where would I want to visit?

London. Let me explain.

My notion of London is based on a memory of what the city was to me at that moment in time. I was free from school. I hadn't yet started working. I literally had nothing to worry about, which automatically made the entire trip that much better. I could sit in the pub all night long, without a worry. I could accidentally ask for a mint julep instead of a mojito and play off my disgust with youthful naiveté.

Now though, things are different. I am older. I have different views and a different understanding of life. Surely, the city itself has changed. And at this point in my life I would curse the wasted money spent on a foul mint julep. As a result, I often wonder whether or not another trip would be just as memorable.

That's why I picked London.

Plus, travel in the EU is much easier and cheaper than it is here, and London is fairly central to make side trips to Edinburgh, Dublin, Athens, Prague, Lisbon and Cannes. I could revisit my London memories, and check out the places I missed the first time around.

So, shout out to all the sociologists out there, who need someone to help provide research on travel regression theories. I'm your guy.

Start sidebar...

Did I use that term correctly, shout out? ...

I'm awesome

2012-01-31T00:29:00.000-05:00

Pea: Dad, there's a piece of Pooh missing.

Me: BAH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA (etc.)!

Pea: What are you laughing at?

Me: BAH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA (etc.)!

Wife: (under her breath) You're an idiot.

Eighteen, going on old

2012-01-25T00:32:00.001-05:00

I'm a music fan. I like a little bit of everything, from country to indie rock to hip hop to folk, and all points in between. I rarely turn down an offer to listen to something new.

Like many people, I think, my musical taste varies depending on what I am doing.

If I'm getting pumped for a big hockey game, I'll throw on some Offspring or Rage Against the Machine. If I'm quietly toiling away in the office, it's gotta be Ray Lamontagne, Basia Bulat or City and Colour.

If I'm in the car, it's hip hop... all the time. A little Drake; a little Jay-Z and Kanye; a little Common. It's the big bass... literally enveloping me in the confines of a car. It puts me in a good mood.

Now, I know listening to loud hip hop with lots of bass makes me a bit of a douche. Especially when I'm stopped at a light, and cars beside me can see the bass rippling through the air (ok, it's never really that loud... let's just say they know it's there). I guess doucheyness is like an occupational hazard that comes with hip-hopping in the car, and I can deal with that hazard.

Ok, I could deal with that hazard.

As I learned recently while I was on my way to pick up Pea and my wife at dance class, the douche factor increases tenfold when there's a friggin CAR SEAT in the back seat of the car! What a wake-up call I had when I turned around at a stop light, looked at the car seat, and realized that I'm not 18 anymore.

So, from here on out, the volume is coming down and it's talk radio 24-7.

Sigh.

I predict a riot

2012-01-18T01:48:00.003-05:00

While cleaning up tonight, I found a single, solitary monkey from Pea's Barrel of Monkeys, sitting alone in her play area downstairs.

The actual barrel, as well as the rest of the monkeys, were upstairs in our bedroom, in the emergency toy stash we keep for those Saturday and Sunday mornings when Pea wakes up just a little too early (read every weekend).

On my way upstairs, I brought the lone monkey with me to put away in the barrel where he belongs. As I tossed him in and closed the lid on the barrel, a vision ran through my mind... I pictured all of the monkeys rejoicing at the sight of their long-lost monkey cousin returning to the barrel from whence he came. Tears of joy flowed down monkey cheeks. Monkey prayers answered at last. Perhaps, monkey lovers reunited?

Then, and I must emphasize that I actually thought this, I wondered if perhaps one of the monkeys was angered by the sudden return of his plastic yellow counterpart. A love triangle re-engaged? A rivalry renewed?

So then, naturally, my mind wandered to that aggressive reunion between former enemies... at best an uncomfortable greeting... at worst, little plastic monkeys hurling little plastic feces at one another in a show of dominance, with all kinds of other innocent monkeys running for cover from flying monkey plops. Was I responsible for monkey armageddon within that barrel?

Then, I thought, what the hell is wrong with me? Inanimate plastic monkeys causing me undue stress and anxiety?

Stupid plastic monkeys.

Horrible Boss

2012-01-15T23:30:00.000-05:00

If Pea was an employee of mine, she'd be on a serious performance improvement plan relative to her dinner time insubordination. Every day, she looks me in the eye, ignores my requests, fails to deliver on agreed upon deadlines, and whines whenever she doesn't like the nature of her work.

This weekend, she took the cake. Yesterday, dinner at Ikea went about as well as dinner at Ikea can be expected to go. She balked at her tilapia, spat it out on numerous occasions, and made us seem like 'those' parents who don't have any degree of control over their kid. Rightly so. Oh, the tears. So many tears. None of which flew from Pea's tear ducts.

Tonight, the shenanigans continued with a 75 minute dinnertime performance. This event included everything from a series of pop song interpretations to complaints over a concerning lack of corn in the pasta. It's a hard knock life, indeed.

Sure, she's a good worker. She's cute, extremely smart and incredibly creative. So she gets to stay. But we're keeping a watchful eye on her performance.

Oh, and any suggestion that her poor performance is a direct result of bad management is nonsense. It can't possibly have anything to do with me... I eat EXTREMELY well... too well in fact, especially if you ask the scale in my bathroom.

Viewfinding

2012-01-14T00:19:00.000-05:00

I like to think of myself as a photographer-in-training. I have a basic dSLR, a couple of decent lenses (until I broke one of them recently), and ambition. What I lack is time, skill and the trained eye of a pro.

To help with the latter two, my wife bought me a few photography books for Christmas; namely, The Digital Photography Book series by Scott Kelby. These are great books. They're simple, funny, and easy to understand. There are step-by-step instructions on how to capture great images and ideas on how to think differently when looking through the viewfinder.

I suppose as Pea gets older and more self-sufficient, I will be able to spare more time, cultivate some skill and train myself to capture better images... to see things differently, and to use my camera to its full potential. Until then, I'll just keep on keepin' on.

Here are a few I managed to capture in The Distellery this Summer, long before I knew the difference between f/stop and aperture. Most of you will easily spot the overexposures and poor composition. But I like 'em.

Here's where I hope to get, over time - http://advanceafewstepsback.blogspot.com. A few of these are hanging in our house.

With food like this, who needs arteries?

2012-01-13T00:21:00.001-05:00

Backgrounder: I'm doing this 30-Day Blog Challenge. This is blog post #1, covering the "Favourite Comfort Foods and Why" topic.

As a French Canadian, I am genetically predisposed to love many disgusting and unhealthy foods. One need only look up a recipe for graisse de roti (rough translation: pork fat spread) or cretons (rough translation: ground pork spread) to understand just how bottom of the barrel I'm talking about. It's truly amazing that anyone in my family makes it beyond 50 years of age.

But, not all of the comfort foods I hold dear involve intense indigestion before lunch (cretons is a breakfast food). Chief among them is Paté Chinois... you anglos might know it as Shepherd's Pie.

Simple concept, really: loads of mashed potatoes, cream corn, corn niblets and ground beef layered together, topped with pepper and served with ketchup.

If you add anything else - peas, carrots, beans, etc. - the code of my ancestors compels me to send a large vest-wearing motorcycle enthusiast to your house for a quick chat.

I'm serious. A biker. A French Canadian biker. To your house.

Seriously.

My paternal grandmother made it better than anyone you'll ever meet. That's because she added so much love that we just can't replicate the taste. Awww, I know. Also, it appears, she added a few spices and extras that she never told anyone about, so yeah, we literally can't replicate the taste.

My aunt comes a close second... I think she spied on my grandmother during in camera cooking sessions. My Mom makes a pretty mean Paté too. But nothing compares to the grandma version.

What makes Paté Chinois so comforting? Well, if you haven't caught the link to my grandmother yet, no amount of explanation could help. Let's just say she comes to mind every time I even think of making the dish, and I instantly feel comforted.

By the way, I know you are salivating at the mere mention of cretons, so here's how you make a "health conscious" version (which, as an aside, I believe is technically impossible):

PS - Yes, I also love pea soup, for you stereotypists out there.

Intellectual Property Borrowing

2012-01-12T23:27:00.000-05:00

I'm going to borrow an idea from saracasm, who borrowed an idea from Domesticated Momma, who borrowed an idea from some other blogger out there in blogland. It's called the 30-Day Blog Challenge, and the idea is that every day for 30 days I write about a topic from a pre-defined list.

Here's the list:

Current Relationship
Where would I like to be in 10 years
Top 5 Pet Peeves
Views on Religion
Favourite Comfort Foods & Why
Zodiac Sign and Does It Fit?
Favourite Childhood Toys
A moment you felt most satisfied in your life.
If you would have any job in the world what would it be?
Your guilty pleasures
Put your Ipod on shuffle and write first 10 songs that pop up
Bullet your whole day
Somewhere you would like to move/visit
Earliest Memory
Write 15 interesting facts about yourself
Your views on mainstream music
Your highs and lows this last year
A book you could read over and over and never get sick of
Your biggest regret in life
How important you think education is
One of your favourite TV Shows
How have you changed the past 2 years
Post 3 pics of famous people you find attractive
Your favourite Movie & What its about
Someone who fascinates you and why
If you had $1,000,000 to spend how would you spend it?
A problem you have or have had in the past.
Something that you miss
List 10 people dead or alive you would invite to dinner , include the menu.
Goals for the next 30 days!

A few guarantees up front: (1) it won't happen in 30 days, (2) it won't happen sequentially, (3) it won't be without random interruptions, and (4) it's unlikely that I will cover all 30 topics.

Essentially, this will be nothing more than a tool I will ~~bastardize~~ use to help focus my thinking and writing.

I suppose, for those of you who also read sarahcasm's blog (and you should), you can compare our answers and then, in turn, start your own blog dedicated to comparing the two of us. If that is your intent, I am at once honoured by your flattery and deeply creeped out.

So, I'll start when I start.

By the way, there's a logo that seems to go along with this challenge, but it's a little dainty for my liking, so I am going to omit it from my post. Trust me, it's for the best.

What's that you say? You demand a picture with every blog post? No matter how dainty? Ok, ok, here it is.

What did I tell you? Dainty, right? Rule #1 - always listen to me when I warn you of excessive daintiness.

WWYBP, 2.0

2012-01-12T00:53:00.000-05:00

Pea, running for cover?

Yeah, it's been a while. Whatever. I've been busy and I've been lazy and I've neglected blogging. As Pea would say, "shocking behaviour." I'm sure your lives have been on standby since I last posted nearly a year ago. How you all carried on, I will never understand.

So, I'm starting over. Let's call it what.will.you.be,Pea 2.0.

When you start over, you usually do something a little different, right? So, to start, I'm abandoning the "I hope Pea never..." schtick to start each post. In the extensive market research I have been conducting over the past 10 months, it turns out most of you were skipping over that paragraph anyway, and you'd be surprised by how long it took me to create that one line.

Also, "the Pod" will henceforth be known as "my wife." Turns out "the Pod" wasn't the endearing term I believed it to be.

Pea, though, remains Pea.

Ok, now, what to tackle first? Wait for it... wait for it... farts. That's right, I waited over 10 months, stored up all kinds of experiences and good times, and I am choosing to start with farts.

One day, not too long ago, Pea came home from school with a new reaction to farts and fart perpetrators. She applies her reaction equally to her own farts as she does to mine, and really, to any noise that sounds remotely like a fart.

Here's how things typically go down. In this example, Pea is the farter, and I am the long-suffering but necessary smeller:

Pea: [FARTS, GIGGLES] (She gets the giggling from me... actually, she gets the farting from me too.)
Me: Oh, what do you say? (Correct answer: excuse me.)
Pea: RUN FOR COVER! I FARTED!

Then she proceeds to run from the room at top speed, laughing her ass off, which usually leads to more farts, and in turn, more laughter. Usually, it's funnier than the bridal shop scene from Bridesmaids. The only exception would be the odd time she thinks she hears one of us fart at the grocery store or in the mall. Then, not so much.

This scenario is funny enough when it plays itself out in our house. But, let's not forget that she picked this little golden nugget up at school... which means that, on any given day, Pea's teacher has to deal with roughly a dozen instances of 30 children running around a classroom, frantically "looking for cover" from a fart or fart-like noise.

I think we can all agree that that's what makes teaching so rewarding.

There you have it. what.will.you.be,Pea 2.0. Same old nonsense, 100% more fart references.

You're welcome.

Charlie Brown Goes Bowling

2011-03-02T01:16:00.000-05:00

I hope Pea never knows I uttered "Good Grief!" under my breath every time her bowling ball made its way down the alley.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never knows I uttered "Good Grief!" under my breath every time her bowling ball made its way down the alley.

Sweet disposition, but a complete lack of ability

2011-03-01T00:20:00.000-05:00

I hope Pea loves her Dad despite his lack of chops.

You know the song, "Sweet Disposition" by The Temper Trap? Well, I like that song. I first heard it on the (500) Days of Summer soundtrack, and earlier today I (legally) downloaded the Conditions album off iTunes.

The lead singer of The Temper Trap sings falsetto. For the non-musically inclined, like me, that means he sings like one of his testicles hasn't descended and the other is in a vice-grip (it's true, I Googled it). It's the high singing. Like Chris Martin from Coldplay, or, like me when I was in grade 4 choir.

Just a few minutes ago, as I harkened back to my elementary school choir days, I thought it would be a great idea to sing along. There are now 3 dogs barking at my front door.

As I attempted to sing, I was also reminded of the last time anyone judged me on my singing ability. Again, we're in grade 4. My teacher, who was also the choir teacher, handed out report cards and I was amazed to see a B grade for "singing." Like an idiot, I thought it wise to admit to anyone who would listen (teacher included) that I was lip-synching. The grade was quickly changed to a D... apparently, my lip-synching was so impressive that it saved my from a failing grade!

Now, since I can't do it myself, take a listen to Dougy and the boys, as they do it up right...

I may not know what I want Pea to become, but I hope she loves her Dad despite his lack of chops.

A day in the life of a Flight Attendant, Part II

2010-09-08T12:38:00.001-04:00

I hope Pea never curses out a plane full of passengers, grabs a couple of beers and pulls an emergency slide to escape a stressful job.

Here it is, part 2 of my interview with Anne, a veteran flight attendant.

After Jet Blue flight attendant Steven Slater made a so-called 'heroic' exit from a particularly stressful flight, I sought out an interview with Anne... to see if life in the skies are really as glamourous as a 1970s movies would have us believe.

In part 1, Anne discussed the realities of turbulence, pants-less passengers and the rudeness of her fellow Man. In this installment, we discuss some lighter fare...

Ricochay (R): What do you like the most about being a flight attendant.
A: I love my job for many reasons.   The schedules can be wonderful. I can usually pick and choose the days that I want to have off, and I can usually get many days off in a row. This makes it convenient to visit many different parts of the world! Also, since most international flights will come with a layover of some length, I usually get a small amount of time to visit and enjoy the perks of that city or even country!

We also get to meet many many different people, with different points of views and interests... whether they be the other flight attendants or the passengers. It's different from being in an office all day. I don't generally work with the same people twice, so you're always working with someone new and different.

R: All right, so what do you like the least?
A: The least... well sometimes the hours aren't the best - I mean I can start at 4am or work through the night without an inkling of sleep! As I've mentioned, passengers aren't always the friendliest people. It's often hard to be locked in an aluminum tube with a bunch of strangers, but even harder when they are overly demanding, don't know how to act appropriately, don't listen or simply seem clueless!

It's funny how people seem to think that being on an airplane is different then real life. For example, people drop stuff on the ground, make a mess and don't clean up after themselves! I think it's a very simple thing to do to clean up after yourself. I'm sure these people don't drop things on the ground at home, without even thinking twice about picking it up.

R: So Anne, is there really a Mile High Club?
A: I'm sure there is a Mile High Club... but to be honest I've never been a witness to it. Though, I don't really know why someone would EVER want to try to join the club — the bathrooms are so small, one would have to contort in such a random way... although for some people that might be the whole fun of it!

Plus, those lavatories are not the cleanest things... you have to think of it this way, aiming is not ALWAYS easy when you are on a moving platform! Guys have a hard enough time hitting the target when the ground isn't moving on them!

R: What location do you fly to where the customers get the rowdiest?A: I find that many people who fly south get a little crazy cause they are all going on vacation. They start their drinking early, and on their way back, they generally act like they are still on vacation. But I don't blame them, some people only get one vacation a year and really know how to enjoy themselves! Vegas can also be a rowdy destination... but I think that goes without saying. And remember, what happens on the flight to Vegas does not stay in Vegas! You will get arrested.

R: Do you prefer to work red eye or normal flights?
A: Red eye flights are generally quite simple since everyone sleeps, and you have to find things to entertain yourself and keep yourself awake — that's the hard part! Normal flights are a little busier, people are awake but you don't have to deal with the sleep deprivation. And honestly, I like to be busy and don't like fighting sleep so a "normal" flight has more appeal to me!

R: What actually happens if someone uses their cell phone on a flight?
A: Honestly, you probably wouldn't be able to use your phone in the air... your phone would be roaming the entire time, looking for a signal... but that's what is interfering with the aircraft frequencies. I'm not exactly sure what that means — but I am aware that the pilots use radio frequencies to communicate with people on the ground, so it would probably interfere with that.

R: What's the worst thing you've seen someone do to cover up smoking on a flight?
A: Yes, there are ashtrays on the plane... but that does NOT make it okay for someone to smoke onboard! I once had a passenger ask me "does it mean that it's okay to smoke cause there's ashtrays" We informed this passenger the actual use for the ashtrays: that if we were to find a cigarette butt on board, they would be a disposal for this butt. She took this as an okay to go into the lavatory and smoke. Not a good idea.

R: Got any interesting stories about life in the skies to share?
A: This is story I heard from another Flight Attendant. She was in the back galley after the service, and an adult passenger comes into the galley looking for the bathroom. She informs her that, unfortunately, both of the bathrooms are occupied. After arguing back and forth with the passenger that there was nothing she could do to help her, the passenger says, "Well then I'm really sorry but I have to go now!" The Flight Attendant looks down and there's a puddle on the floor between the passenger's legs.

R: So, how many celebrities have you met at work? Care to name drop?
A: I've met a few. Nobody huge, but I like it that way. I like the actors who are impressed that you know who they are. Probably the biggest I had was Drew Barrymore... she was a lovely lady. Very sweet, polite and kind. I was never a huge fan, but I really liked her when I met her! Other then that I've had a few Canadian athletes, hockey players, singers like Sarah McGlaughlin and Blondie. I've also had politicians and their relations.

And the actors? Kiefer Sutherland, Tom Arnold, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Catherine Keener, Holly Hunter... Every time I operate a flight to LA, I hope that maybe I'll meet one of the stars I admire... although sometimes they are on flights you would never expect… for example Blondie was on a Vancouver-Edmonton flight and Holly Hunter was on the way to Whitehorse, so you never know... you have to keep your eyes peeled!

R: How often do you get hit on at work?
A: Personally, not too often. Although, I've worked with other Flight Attendants who are passenger magnets, they don't do anything different or special, but end up with a business card in the end. It definitely happens. I went on one date with a passenger, didn't amount to anything... but it was an interesting way to meet someone. I have colleagues who have met their significant other onboard... so it's quite a possibility.

_______________________________________

All right friends, there you have it. Being a flight attendant comes with great perks, like cheap flights to exotic destinations around the world and the chance to hobnob with some of Hollywood's elite. But as Steve Slater well knows, it certainly isn't the most gracious customer service job out there.

The next time you're in the air, remember that Anne and her colleagues are just doing their jobs to the best of their abilities and let civility reign!

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never curses out a plane full of passengers, grabs a couple of beers and pulls an emergency slide to escape a stressful job.

A day in the life of a Flight Attendant, Part I

2010-08-30T10:13:00.002-04:00

I hope Pea never curses out a plane full of passengers, grabs a couple of beers and pulls an emergency slide to escape a stressful job.

Regardless of whether you think Jet Blue flight attendant Steven Slater is a hero or a criminal, I think we can all agree that he ~~holds~~ held one of the hardest customer service jobs out there. Flight attendants have to put up with cramped quarters, stale air, crying babies and customers who board the plane already jonesin' for their next cigarette even though they are hours from landing.

All this, and the incredible burden of keeping 50-250 people safe flight after flight.

After I heard about Steven's Billy the Kid'esque escape from the fuzz, I wanted to know exactly what it is that weighs on the mind of a flight attendant. I also wondered whether some well known flight-related folklore is fact or fiction. So I contacted a veteran flight attendant and asked some of my questions. Here's what I got.

Since my contact isn't authorized to talk to "the media", we'll call her Anna for the sake of anonymity. Anne has worked for regional and national carriers and loves the work she does, despite much of the nonsense she has to put up with.

Ricochay (R): Do you ever work a flight where there are no rude passengers?
Anne (A): I would have to say that the majority of flights have rude flyers. Now, there's a range of rudeness... the extreme rudeness — such as yelling and calling you names — that's about 1% of passengers overall. But these are the same people who just don't have manners generally, or people who don't know proper behaviour. Thankfully, these people aren't often onboard, you'll see them maybe once every one to two months.

R: What's the rudest thing a customer has ever said to you?
A: I wish I remembered the exact situation that lead to this, but I think the rudest thing that someone has said to me, was that I was stupid. I vaguely remember the gentlemen arguing with me about something and I tried to stay very calm and help him out. I obviously didn't give him the answer he was wanting and he continued to call me stupid. In a very sarcastic tone, I replied "Thank You" and walked away.

R: The Jet Blue incident seems to have started because a passenger was ignoring one of the in-flight safety rules. What is the one safety rule that gets ignored most often?
A: Hands down, the one safety rule most people ignore relates to the seatbelt sign. There's a seatbelt sign for a reason... it's not just a pretty light for people to look at, and the pilots aren't in the flight deck switching the sign on and off for fun!

Whenever the light goes on, it's for a reason. You know the in-flight scene in LOST, where the plane hits turbulence and some passengers hit the roof of the plane? That can really happen! But people don't seem to care about the risks involved with standing, walking around or even just sitting without your seatbelt fastened. It's not like some passengers suggest. I don't enjoy walking up and down the aisle looking to see if everyone has their belt on. It's for everyone's safety.

Another thing people do is unfasten their seat belts right upon landing. Would you unfasten your seatbelt when you are two blocks from home? NO! There's always a risk of a sudden stop or a bump... you never know. And trust me when I say that a sudden stop in an enormous aircraft is going to send you flying, if you'll pardon the pun.

R: You mentioned the in-flight scene from LOST. Have you ever hit really bad turbulence when you weren't expecting it?
A: Most of the time, the pilots will be able to anticipate turbulence. But sometimes they can't. I was on the bar trolley once when we all of a sudden hit a patch of turbulence. I was holding a cup full of coffee and I actually saw all the coffee leave the cup, float in the air at my eye level and fall back down on my hand. Not good. There's always a chance of that happening even if the seatbelt sign is not on.

R: So with all these people ignoring flight rules, have you ever come close to losing it like the Jet Blue dude did?
A: I've never come close to losing it like the Jet Blue flight attendant... but I have to be honest, sometimes people treat you so badly and drive you crazy that you feel like that could be the only way out! There are definitely days where I feel like screaming "I'm not going to be treated this way!"

R: Do you ever have sympathy for the folks on 'the other side?' The passengers I mean, not those who have passed before us.
A: Look, if I'm having a bad day, I don't run about taking my frustrations out on everyone around me! But every day we are blamed and treated poorly for something that's not even our own fault.

If you sit in traffic on the way to the airport, then stress out as you worry about making it through security, only to have bad weather either in your departure or arrival city delay your flight — that's not my fault. Blame city planners and, I suppose, God for your day. Not me!

But the reality is that we are the face of our airline. As a flight attendant, you are usually the last person a passenger comes in contact with, and you have the longest contact with them. So if they have had a bad experience with the airline or even simply a bad day, we often get the brunt of it. I suppose I get that. But I don't like people treating me rudely as a result. We still need civility as a society, don't we?

R: What's the weirdest customer request you've ever had?
A: A passenger calls me over and asks me if I would mind if they take their pants off. Uh, what? What the hell does that mean? I didn't know what to say. I tried to answer the question, not really understanding why I would be asked such a rude question. Before I could get an answer out, the passenger interrupted me and let me know that he was trying to make a point because another passenger had no shoes on and had her feet propped up. I had never had such a bizarre complaint before.
_______________________________________________

Coming soon, part 2 of my interview with Anne. In the second installment, Anne tells us whether the Mile High Club really exists, what really happens if you use your phone on a flight, and what destination entails the rowdiest passengers!

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never curses out a plane full of passengers, grabs a couple of beers and pulls an emergency slide to escape a stressful job.

Ridding myself of my karaoke demons!

2010-08-26T22:11:00.001-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't let the tone deaf ruin a potentially good time.

In Pea's room, right beside the chair that the Pod and I sit on to put her to sleep, sits a dry-erase board. Affixed to said board are several pictures of people that are dear to Pea, the Pod and myself.

One of these photos is a picture of the Pod and I, partaking in karaoke. It's one of my favourite pictures of us, hence its appearance on the Pea wall of fame. It reminds me of a different time in our lives, when we were young and free to stay out late drinking and singing the night away.

Ironically, this girl can sing!
She actually sings the anthem
at Blue Jays games. Regularly.
(And no, this is not the photo
of the Pod and I.)

At the same time, I loathe the photo, for it is a constant reminder of my hypocrisy.

You see, I hate karaoke.

Why would anyone hate karaoke, you ask, perplexed? Let me explain.

Not many people know this, but karaoke was invented as a torture technique during the Japan/China War of 1767. Japanese soldiers would force chinese POW's to sing popular songs of the day, to 1) humiliate their foe and amuse themselves at their expense, and 2) determine who would be killed in a daily culling. The soldiers that were released after the war continued the practice as a way of honouring their fallen comrades.

So, I can't enjoy anything with such a horrible tradition.

All right, I made that up. The Japanese are not evil like that. Hell, there wasn't even a war between the two countries in 1767. At least not as far as I know. I apologize for misleading you.

The actual truth is that I once saw a 55-year old man sing Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer" in a hotel restaurant/karaoke bar. This guy's rendition came complete with horrifying gyrations every time he sang the chorus, and a 65-year old back-up dancer rubbing herself against him for the duration of the song. It was like interpretive dance set to a horror movie soundtrack.

All right, that's not really why I hate karaoke (but sadly, it is true).

The truth is I can't sing to save my life. That is literal people. If Justin Bieber were to approach me right now, and threaten to cute me to death if I didn't sing "Baby" to his liking... well, I don't even want to think of a world where Justin Bieber is incarcerated.

More to the point, most people can't sing to save their lives. But, with enough alcohol in our systems, we can convince ourselves that we can, in fact, sing effectively and to the pleasure of others.

Yet, despite my highly publicized hatred of karaoke, I have been dragged on at least three occasions to sing for others, and plied with alcohol until I too lost my senses and picked-up the microphone.

Now, I'm not an animal. Once in the moment, I get into things. But God help me, I don't want to.

As I was putting Pea to bed recently, I found myself mulling over the complex emotions enshrined in that photo of the Pod and I. And it occurred to me, that I have to think of Pea now. Perhaps my hatred of karaoke is based on meaningless nonsense.

I want Pea to feel comfortable expressing herself through song. Or, hopefully, singing beautifully for others! Growing up, I wouldn't stand for my sister singing in the car. Looking back, who knows if I was crushing a young dream of stardom.

So I am abandoning my inhibitions and letting the world know that I am hereby renouncing my hatred of karaoke in all of its forms. I'm now up for a song as sung by someone other than the original singer, or a reasonable cover version. Whether you can sing or not, your tune is ok by me.

Ok, let's salvage this angry diatribe with a little audience participation. Favourite karaoke songs — what's yours, and why? No prizes. Do it, just because.

My favourite is Pete Yorn's Life on a Chain, because it's the only song to which I know all the words from start to finish... and it's an awesome song.

Now, you!

I may not know what I want Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't let the tone deaf ruin a potentially good time.

Tweets from God

2010-08-23T18:59:00.000-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't let trademarks stand in the way of her creativity and ability to deliver an effective message.

I recently found something so profound and awe-inspiring sitting on my front porch that I instantly knew it was what I had been waiting for to jump-start what.will.you.be,Pea. Not that I needed something to jump-start this blog, really... just time. And I made the time for this one.

"Tweets from God."

Do I have your attention yet? Because Grace Community Church certainly had mine with a headline like that.

"Tweets from God" is a 12-page brochure, produced by the aforementioned Grace Community Church, that asks the question — what would God tweet, were he in fact, able to tweet.

A big hypothetical, because as we all know, Heaven is still operating on a dial-up connection, making tweeting, Facebooking and any other kind of social media use an absolute nightmare.

I digress.

So, lest I keep you in too much suspense, here are some of things the Lord Almighty has on his mind these days:

Hey, me again. Just wanted you to know that I thought you handled that situation pretty well today. You're getting better...
Because I made you, I have had a special interest in you since before you were born.
The reason why my basic opinion of you never changes is because you are my kid.
You were not an accident, and neither are your circumstances.
Terrorism, climate change, war, you name it. I have everything under control.

Standard stuff, really. No surprises.

All right, so on a few different levels I admire this brochure to no end. For one, they've flaunted and bastardized the Twitter trademark like I've never seen anything abused in my life. As a communications professional, that's saying something! They've used the Twitter font, colour palette, design and logo to suit their needs with an obvious and clearly deliberate disregard for the law. The number of times I have wanted to do just that in my professional life is uncountable, so that fact alone gets Grace kudos from this guy.

Then, there's the fact that the brochure did exactly what it was supposed to do — get me to read it. I may not agree with everything in the document, but I have never — and I repeat, never — picked up a religious pamphlet from my front porch, thrown it in my knapsack, and brought it to work so I could blog about it later. Well done Grace. I can learn a thing or two from you about engagement.

And of course, one cannot overlook the intended target audience and messaging that Grace is attempting to put out there. Twitter will of course appeal to the youth demographic; those who have likely little to no interest in any type of organized religion because of the sex scandals and/or lack of appeal to their interests.

So, in the end, Grace appears to have hit a home run.

But wait. Let's break down what God is actually tweeting about. "You're not alone." "I know how much potential you have." "I made you on purpose." This seems a little repetitive, doesn't it? We've heard all this before. It may not have been spelt out in 140 character increments, but the Chapters and Verses concept is really just one tweet at a time.

I refuse to believe that after all these years of watching us mess up his creation, God doesn't have anything new to tell us. I mean, c'mon God, I get really pissed when people make edits to my writing at work, and that has no significance whatsoever. Am I to believe that your tune hasn't changed at all after two World Wars? Terrorism aimed at those who believe what you have to say? Men who ruin the lives of children whilst espousing your core beliefs?

I think it would have been better had he given us an update on what he's really thinking. Maybe something like...

@Adolf666 You're an asshole and for the record, you were an accident. I hope you are enjoying the incessant sodomy. #Fail.
@VaticanCityPlayers If I didn't want #homosexuals to marry, I would have made them #priests.
Maybe I should have given the Kid clearer instructions about when he'd be returning. My bad.
The crying statue of Madonna in remote Mexico? Not my doing. The creepy skeleton-like @Madonna in London? Yeah, that was me... and you're welcome.
@MayanCalandarForever I do have a lengthy vacation planned in #2012, but I assure you @GodsRightHandMan is perfectly capable of keeping shit together while I'm away.
Even I couldn't have predicted that @Lebron and @ChrisBosh would join the #Heat. #Didntseethatcoming.
#SexandtheCity3 is going to revolutionize film making. Trust me.

I may not know what I want Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't let trademarks stand in the way of her creativity and ability to deliver an effective message.

Those Days Are Over!

2010-05-14T20:29:00.003-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't let shenanigans prevent her from doing her job.

Yes, that is me. The bearded guy is Jeremy Knight. Jeremy wrote, directed and cast me, so he's good people. Elvis Deane did all of the behind-the-scenes-movie-making-magic. Elvis is also good people.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't let shenanigans prevent her from doing her job.

This isn't what you think it's about...

2010-04-20T22:19:00.001-04:00

I hope Pea is never enticed to make conversation where conversation isn't intended to be made.

Is this weird? I think this is weird. Tell me this isn't weird. But even if you say this isn't weird, I will still think it's weird.

Oh, and this is your official T.M.I. warning.

I was at work yesterday, and I had to attend a sit-down "Business Meeting" in the men's room, if you catch my drift.

Hey, I said TMI, so you had fair warning.

Anyway, as I was tending to the last order of business on my agenda, the feller in the meeting room next to me was also closing his meeting. Just before he adjourned his meeting (aka flushed) I heard him say, and I quote, "Ahhhh, that's better."

THAT'S WEIRD, RIGHT? I mean, c'mon, I didn't need to hear that, nor did the other gentlemen in their meetings at the time.

Saying that, at that moment, implies that you were in some sort of discomfort or distress for an extended period of time, and quite frankly, that thought is far worse that hearing you comment on it afterwards.

Ladies, I don't know what things are like in your meeting rooms, but in our neck of the woods there's no place for joviality and rhetoric. You go in, do your business in silence, and get out. Bing, bang, plop, boom. That's it.

There has to be order in society! Talking in the men's room, even if it is a quip to yourself, well that's anarchy, plain and simple!

So to you, mystery talker, I say this: you may not be able to keep your pants zipped up when you're in the mens room, but you can certainly keep your mouth zipped.

Good day. I SAID GOOD DAY!

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she is never enticed to make conversation where conversation isn't intended to be made.

PS - I dare any one of you to defend the potty talker! I DARE YOU!

L'impacte de l'oiseau

2010-04-16T22:23:00.002-04:00

I hope Pea never puts up filters.

My mother-Pod-in-law recently started taking Pea to an Early Years centre near our house. When she's there, Pea has the chance to play with other kids her age. This is a bit of a novelty for her since she has a relatively small circle of friends that she sees quite rarely, because they live far away and Pea can't yet drive anything other than a large mouse with wheels.

Every time Pea returns from the Early Years centre, she comes armed with some kind of art and/or craft masterpiece (and yes, the mere fact that my daughter made this item makes it a masterpiece... you got a problem with that?).

Recent crafts include a 'oiseau' (we live in Canada, I shouldn't have to translate that... in case I do, see the above photo) and a mask.

The mask is beige, with some hairy stuff taped around the edges for effect and beauty. When I look at this mask, it's clear to me that both thought and care went into picking the amount, thickness, density and exact location of this hairy stuff.

In seeing this mask, I have a very rare but vivid flashforward.

I could immediately picture Pea in a small studio, somewhere outside of Venice or London, crafting piece after glorious piece of expensive, highly-coveted art. Like all great artists, she'd be in an extremely intense frame of mind, probably standing a few feet from her canvas and aggressively tossing the paint with a brush.

A digression, I apologize.

My stereotypical view of artists aside, it wasn't the idea of Pea creating that I was really focused on, it was the immense and obvious pride she felt at what she had done.

My little girl's unfiltered pride may be my absolute favourite form of expression, second only to her laughter.

So when I arrive to pick Pea up one day, she runs to the door, mask in hand, to show me what she's created. She isn't worried about whether I will like it or not. She isn't concerned that she missed a few spots with hair, or that maybe an older kid's mask was more elaborate and decadent.

She was clearly proud of what she had done an it showed on her face and in her body language. I could tell she was trying to hide a growing smile on her face, and that she cherished what she had made just as much as I did.

I'm trying to avoid the temptation to bring everything she has ever touched to work to show my colleagues, because the experience of seeing my prideful child is something I want to share with everyone... but that few people other than me and the Pod will actually care about.

I guess that's my unfiltered pride, shining through. And I dare you to tell me it isn't warranted.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never puts up filters.

Vince, how could you?

2010-03-08T23:10:00.000-05:00

I hope Pea doesn't put her hopes in Vince Vaughan and Jon Favreau.

Saturday was not my best day. For the most part, it was just Pea and I and throughout the day I was bested several times by a toddler. An emasculating experience, if there ever was one.

It started out well enough. Pea had a swimming lesson and while we arrived a little late, we were both pleased to hop into the water... until we realized that the water in the pool was absolutely freezing. As I cursed under my breath, Pea and I reluctantly splashed around for 5 minutes before Paulina, our swim 'instructor' (she barely does anything that can be deemed instructing) decided we should all head to the hot tub to warm up.

Are toddlers even supposed to go in hot tubs, I wonder? Oh well, too late...

Once in the hot tub, we slowed down our pace considerably. I was content to just hold Pea, and she was content to just be held.

Until she saw the slide. The small yellow slide. That she loves.

Pea insisted that she go down the slide before we leave, which meant I had to hop back into the ice pool to catch her. As I muttered more curse words under my breath, Pea gleefully slid down the slide. I made sure she never touched the water, I think... when a guy goes from a hot bath to a cold shower, his mind tends to wander.

So, the first part of the day ends with two undescended testicles and a rather lethargic baby.

Once home, I decided to ride the wave of lethargy and put Pea down for her nap a little earlier than usual. Ok, an hour and a half earlier than usual. What can I say? She was clearly tired and I figured, why not?

After her nap, a good one by Pea's standards, it was 'lunch time.' I painstakingly made her pasta, with veggies and meatballs while she was asleep and she ate two noodles and half a meatball, methodically pushing aside all form of veggie. She then refused yogurt, insisted on having a banana only to peel it and play with it, and then had me give her an apple so she could essentially rub it on the table.

Fine, she wasn't hungry. But I lost it about a dozen times while trying to get her to eat. It wasn't pretty. And only one testicle had descended at this point.

If you've ever tried to reason with a toddler, you'll know that they are essentially liars and cheats who will do and say whatever it takes to get what they want. Not on purpose, obviously, but it is nevertheless an agonizing experience to take someone at their word only to have them laugh in your face while they do exactly what they just said they wouldn't do.

The lesson here: if you ask a toddler if she wants an apple to eat or to play with, and she says she wants to eat it, she's probably lying.

After 'lunch,' our next stop was the mall. I had to line-up to get the money-grab sticker for the car and truth be told, Pea was a pretty good little girl while we waited in line for over an hour. As a reward, we spent 20 minutes in a Bozo the Clown car, one of those $1 rides at the mall. She loved it, and I loved watching her play.

Next stop — home for dinner. Logic would state that if she didn't eat lunch, she'd definitely be starving for dinner, right? Wrong. For an accurate description of what ensued over dinner, please re-read the above lunch passage, and multiply by a factor of two.

At this point, I'm practically pulling out my hair. The crankiness, whininess and spontaneous bursts of frustration were unbearable. Pea was pretty emotional too.

By the time the Pod got home, I practically ran out the door. I figured a bad day is best soothed by chinese food... and for the first time in months, a DVD rental.

By the time I got home, the Pod had put Pea to sleep and we were ready to unwind with our take-out and out movie. Things were looking up.

Sort of. I rented Couples Retreat.

Wah wah wah waaaaaaah.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't put her hopes in Vince Vaughan and Jon Favreau.

Um, wow.

2010-02-20T08:49:00.001-05:00

I hope Pea isn't subjected to bad bus shelter advertising.

Along my brief walk to and from work every day, I have the privilege and honour of of seeing some of the country's finest advertising work. There are some billboards, but very few. Mainly, I'm privy to some excellent bus shelter work.

In case you missed it, that last sentence was rife with sarcasm.

Don't get me wrong. I have many friends who work in advertising and there are some really great attention-grabbing bus shelters out there. Some advertisers do great work.

But, like any realistic Dad will tell his kids, you can't win'em all. Or, in this case, you can't Wind'em all.

For the past few days, I've noticed a Wind Mobile ad that has been driving me crazy. Mainly because I just don't like it, but in large part because I can't imagine trying to build a brand without clear advertising, especially in such an important industry.

As I do from time to time, I imagine conversations between people I don't know. Seeing this bus shelter ad made me wonder what the ad approval session was like in the Wind offices when this gem was given the thumbs up. Here we go...

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: I think we should talk up the fact that we don't have contracts. It says here in my Advertising for Dummies book that we should focus on what makes our product unique.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: I never would have thought of that, good thinking.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: Yeah, thanks. I got this book for Christmas.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: Score!

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: Ok, so we don't have contracts. We are a relatively new company, and a lot of Canadians won't know anything about us. They won't necessarily recognize our name, so...

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: ... so we should definitely keep them guessing! That way they will have to go out of their way to find out about us, like a cool club that doesn't have a sign! Try this idea on, see how it fits... let's not even put a photo of our product on the bus shelter!

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: You just blew my mind.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: Thanks. I had a muffin for breakfast.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: I can tell.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: Ok, so no photo of our product. What about the ad copy? Should we make it clear, or vague and confusing?

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: I heard Snooki and J-Wow on Jersey Shore saying that everyone likes a little mystery and intrigue in their lives... it makes things exciting.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: I saw that episode too, but I think they were talking about what they like in men.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: But it must apply to advertising too, right?

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: I'd imagine so.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: Great.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: Ok, so how's about "Don't sign right here please."

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: What do you mean? I don't get it. Does it mean, "Don't vandalize this bus shelter?" It's pretty confusing.

Long pause.

Together: It's perfect!

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: But maybe we should put a little bracket at the bottom that says "No contracts."

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: Did you read that in Advertising for Dummies?

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: (flips through the book) I can't remember, this book is so big, I only skimmed it.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: Ok, let's include it. Why not?

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: This is really coming along. What about colours?

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: How about green?

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: Really, green? I've heard green is an extremely difficult colour to reproduce in print. It can look very unappealing and it has an environmental slant that many people find off-putting.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: Where did that come from?

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: The book.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: Right... but green is my favourite colour!

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: That's so true, you always look good in green! It brings out the colour in your eyes! Let's do it.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: Yay!

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: Ok, so let's recap. We have a bus shelter ad with no graphic representation of our product despite being new to the market. We have sloppy and confusing ad copy. And a bad colour that you look good in.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: Way to go us!

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: Do you think we should get sign-off on this one?

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: Naw. Let's surprise our co-workers with our cleverness and outside-of-the-box thinking.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #1: You just blew my mind. Again.

Inexperienced Ad Employee #2: Thanks. I had a muffin for breakfast.

All this to say, the ad wasn't something that appealed to me.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she isn't subjected to bad bus shelter advertising.

Olympic Tears

2010-02-17T22:41:00.001-05:00

I hope Pea doesn't overlook the many fine winter sports we have in this country.

So. The Olympics. They're here.

Like most of you, I imagine, the TV at our house it is constantly tuned to CTV for coverage of the games.

One great thing about the Olympics, apart from the world's best athletes, is the coverage and attention paid to the families of the athletes.

Let's take Alex Bilodeau as an example. If you watched Alex win Canada's first gold medal on home soil in moguls, you will of course have seen an elated man who thrilled his nation. You will have seen a humble man who gave credit to his family and friends for helping and supporting him to this incredible accomplishment.

You will also have seen Alex's family jumping for joy with the rest of the crowd, but for different reasons. Alex's parents were celebrating a lifetime of sacrifice, tears and success right along side their son. It was emotional to watch, and as always, got me thinking...

The whole point of this blog is to help me decide what I'd like Pea to become... by eliminating the things I hope she doesn't become.

Well, I'm practically balling here, watching Maëlle Ricker receive her gold medal for snowboard cross. It's a great moment for her, but it's the constant shots of Maëlle's mom that've got me all teary.

Now I'm watching Marianne St-Gelais win silver in short-track speed skating, and her family is going nuts too... her Dad, a man who appears to be a pretty tough and macho fella, is working hard to fight back tears.

To watch your child achieve such heights must be an incredible feeling. I guess I've decided Olympic medallist wouldn't be so bad.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't overlook the many fine winter sports we have in this country.

There, but for the grace of God...

2010-02-09T23:38:00.000-05:00

I hope Pea doesn't forget the importance of true empathy.

I got a new job recently. It's awesome... but it's also the reason I haven't been able to post as frequently as I used to. I'm struggling to get into a rhythm and I'm typically pretty tired when I get home... I usually have just enough energy to watch Lost and then hit the sack.

My daily commute is just about the same, but now, instead of spending 3 hours a day sitting in a car, fighting traffic and snarling uncontrollably, I find myself enjoying the suburban commuter train to get to and from work. I'm actually enjoying something called "books," although I can't yet bring myself to read Twilight in front of complete strangers.

Someday.

After I get off the train, I walk about 15 minutes to get to my office. It's a busy walk, with hundreds of people walking in the same direction, trying to get to work as fast as possible and out of the cold.

Along my route to the office, I pass at least 6 homeless people. In the morning, they are usually huddled under a blanket sleeping, trying to fend off the cold and wind. In the evening, they are often awake, hat-in-hand, asking for whatever change passers-by can spare.

In my ignorance, I have always wondered how someone can end up homeless. Don't they have families to turn to? Did they really exhaust every possible avenue of support?

As a result, I have admittedly been selfish and less than empathetic. I rarely give any of my own money... misguided, I've always assumed they are drug or alcohol addicts and that they essentially brought their fate upon themselves.

The reality, as I am coming to understand it, is that mental illness often plays a big part in the rapid downward spiral that afflicts many homeless people. Undiagnosed or misdiagnosed patients rarely get the help they need... the mental health system in this country is in complete disrepair and before the individual even realizes they need help, things are often too far gone.

Houses are lost. Families, who once did everything in their power to provide support, are exhausted and bewildered.

Homelessness is not the choice. It is the only choice.

I passed a homeless man the other day and it occurred to me that he was likely, as some point in his life, very similar to me. He probably held down jobs in the past and had a place to hang his hat.

Regardless of the circumstances that brought him to this place, whether he is addicted or ill, this man's hollow eyes were probably once full of hope and excitement. His face, now covered in a long black beard, was probably clean shaven and soft at some point. And I'm sure people looked to him for support and guidance much like Pea looks to me for this same purpose.

It was this last thought that gave me pause. A wife? A family?

My life has been forever changed since I met my wife, and since Pea was born. I simply cannot imagine a scenario where they are not in my life every day. I can't imagine losing the laughter that fills our home when we play together. I can't imagine not seeing them in the mornings or kissing them goodnight.

I can't imagine any of this, perhaps, because I don't want to.

My views on this topic are quickly shifting. I'm beginning to consider the potential back-story that has led homeless people to their current situation, and I'm definitely aware of the blessings I have been afforded in my life.

In small ways, I am beginning to change my behaviour. I don't avoid eye contact anymore and I am apologetic when I don't have anything to offer them in support. I'm beginning to realize that whether they are affected by mental health issues or addiction issues, they are still deserving of the simple courtesies that I afford all other people I encounter.

After all, there, but for the grace of God...

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't forget the importance of true empathy.

Alf? Too easy...

2010-01-19T14:16:00.000-05:00

I hope Pea doesn’t Oh my God, Dad, you are SO embarrassing too soon.

I wonder how long it will be before Pea understands embarassment? Soon, I would imagine. Especially since she has me as a father.

My wife and I were invited to a friend’s birthday party this past weekend. It was an 80’s themed party and I was excited by the many costume possibilities that exist with such a broad topic.

In researching a potential costume, I had quite a long list of possibilities: Marty McFly from Back to the Future, Ferris or Cameron from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Alf from Alf, white suit & shoes/pastel shirt, etc.

The longer my list grew, the more I realized that there was a good chance that another party-goer would have the exact same costume. I wanted to find a costume that would guarantee exclusivity.

Then it hit me. What if 80’s didn’t mean a decade in time, but rather a decade in life?

It all came together from there… and in case you can’t see it, the hat says “Sensational Senior.”

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t Oh my God, Dad, you are SO embarrassing too soon.

Mwen regret sa

2010-01-14T22:54:00.001-05:00

I hope Pea never fails to understand the true personal meaning of the word 'ruin.'

I have a TV right above my desk at work, and most of the day we keep it tuned to a local all-news station. It's on mute, but every now and then I look up to catch a glimpse of the latest current events.

Quite often today, when I glanced up, the news focused on the earthquake that rocked the tiny island nation of Haiti. Several times, I noticed the headline that accompanied the coverage - Haiti in Ruins.

Haiti in Ruins.

Think about that for a moment. Think of all of the other references to the word ruin that you've heard in your life. Certainly, if you've ever visited Pompeii or Rome, you'll understand that the term ruin has often been associated with centuries-old remnants of natural disasters and tourist attractions. The ruins in these countries are historical; something you visit, walk through and experience as leisure, with little concern for the causes that led to their existence.

Now, there is an entire nation of people from our time that have lost a large part of their culture, their homes, and most importantly their loved ones. To them, ruins aren't something you go out of your way to visit and experience... they are, in fact, just the opposite.

Like most parents, ever since Pea was born I experience this type of current event with an entirely new point of view. Now, instead of wondering about the material loss and rebuilding that Haitians will face in the months and years to come, I'm absolutely overcome with pain and sadness at the thought of Haitian parents who have lost their children, and Haitian children who are now left orphaned.

Up until now, I've mainly applied the word ruin to physical objects and material possessions. It is now abundantly clear to me that lives, in addition to things, can also be battered and ruined.

In Haiti, and all over the world, there are millions of lives that are now left in ruins. While we can all see the physical devastation they've experienced, and do our part to help them rise above their predicament, there is little to nothing we can do to help them come through the emotional devastation they've encountered at the loss of their homes, their lives and their loved ones.

I'm sure none of you are visiting my personal blog to get the latest information on how to make a difference for Haitians, but I'll provide it here just the same. Today, the Canadian government announced that it will match donations made by Canadians to any registered charity working to support relief efforts in Haiti, up to $50M.

It is vitally important that we do what we can, as soon as we can, so that these funds become available as quickly as possible. There are many charities - the Canadian Red Cross, UNICEF Canada, Médecins Sans Frontières Canada, World Vision and OXFAM Canada to name just a few - that are accepting donations. You can find an exhaustive list of charities working to support Haiti relief efforts on the CBC's website, here.

We're not all in a position to donate money, and this is understandable. While I'm not an overly religious fella, might I suggest prayer as a suitable alternative. After all, there but for the grace of God...

When I got home from work today, Pea got a longer and stronger hug than she's used to... she didn't seem understand why, but she held on tight just the same. Tonight, I count myself lucky to be able to hold her at all.

A tout ceux et celles qui souffrent tellement depuis le tremblement de terre en Haiti, je n'ai qu'a offrir mes sympathies et mes condoléances. Mwen regret sa.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never fails to understand the true personal meaning of the word 'ruin.'

I'm a winner!

2010-01-14T00:00:00.000-05:00

I hope Pea doesn't forget to thank Sarah from s a r a h c a s m for giving her Daddy a Kreativ Blogger Award.

In case she does, I'll do it for her! Sarah - I'm humbled by your shout out and, quite frankly, amazed you are still checking in despite my unannounced and unnecessary Holiday Hiatus. In any event, thanks for reading and being so great with promoting my work.

The rules for accepting this award are:

Thank the person giving the award
Copy the award to your blog
Place a link to their blog
Name 7 things people don’t know about you
Nominate 7 bloggers
Place a link to those bloggers
Leave a comment letting those bloggers know about the award

The SEVEN Things People Don’t Know About Me:

I have one pupil noticeably larger than the other.
My wife and I knowingly, lovingly and gladly co-sleep with Pea.
I read embarassingly little, and when I do read, it is embarassing content.
I can't put anything together properly without getting it wrong at least twice.
If I had been single when I visited Europe, I would probably be living in London right now.
Until I got married, I only brushed once a day.
I can form the Big Dipper constellation using birthmarks on my arm.

Here are the 7 8 bloggers I nominate for the Kreativ Blogger Award and one repeat winner (no particular order):

Julie from coffeewithjulie
Cam from Out of the Loop
Sarah from Sleeping is for Losers
Rick and Carina from Record Highs
Mariano from Adventures in Real Estate
Jen from Mom's the Word
Ron from For Your Approval
Agent Orange from There is a Light That Never Goes Out
Sarah from s a r a h c a s m

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't forget to thank Sarah from s a r a h c a s m for giving her Daddy a Kreativ Blogger Award.

There’s no mistaking it – that guy is an A-hole

2010-01-11T22:57:00.002-05:00

I hope Pea isn't intimidated by bumper stickers.

The story you are about to hear, while true, is going to seem impossible, implausible and crazy. Kind of like the movie She’s Just Not That Into You. But I assure you it is real.

Our tale begins with Pea and I stopped at a regular traffic light, about 5 minutes from our house. We’re singing along to the radio. Pea is dancing in her seat.

I look under the sunshade to check the status of the traffic light. The opposite flow of traffic still had a green light and I watch as the pickup truck in front of us inches forward, over the white line and into the pedestrian crosswalk, trying to get the little man to turn into the little hand.

Then I saw it. A bumper sticker. The bumper sticker. Perhaps the stupidest bumper sticker I have ever seen.

“My kid beat up your honour student.”

You know the part in Back to the Future II, when Marty comes back from the future but arrives in an alternate version of 1985, where Biff is a multi-millionnaire who owns most of Hill Valley and the town has been overrun by motorcycle bandits and other riff-raff? That’s how I felt when I saw this bumper sticker. I felt like Marty McFly in another world.

I panicked.

“Pea, where the hell are we? What the hell is going on here? Jesus Christ!”

(Incomprehensible gibberish from Pea.)

“I know, I’m sorry, Daddy didn’t mean to swear. It’s just that I don’t know where we are anymore! This can’t be right! I can’t believe what I’m seeing!”

(More gibbersish.)

“What do you mean, calm down? How can I calm down at a time like this? How can you be so calm?”

(Silence.)

“You don’t see the madness in that bumper sticker?”

(Silence.)

“What kind of message does it send to his kids? To his grandkids? To his neighbours and friends? Those kids will be in your class Pea! They’ll think that it’s OK to…”

(Incomprehensible gibberish.)

“You’re right, Pea, I should follow him to his house! Then we can call the cops or something!”

(Gibberish.)

“Oh, I should just drive to our house. Sorry, I misunderstood you.”

(More gibberish.)

“So true, Pea. Freaking out isn’t going to help matters much.”

(Gibberish.)

“Yup, you’ll be able to take care of yourself. You’ll be proud of being an honour student and you’ll be able defend yourself against kids whose parents don’t believe in them.”

(Gibberish.)

“I think that’s a great idea. You can befriend and work with them to build their self-esteem, since their parents will have destroyed it for them.”

(Silence.)

“You are wise beyond your months.”

As usual, Pea provides me with a new perspective and outlook on things. She’s good like that.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she isn't intimidated by bumper stickers.

Uh Oh...

2009-12-19T22:29:00.001-05:00

I hope the planet lasts long enough for Pea to realize her own dreams.

I am not a vocal climate champion. I'm not the one speaking loudly about what we can do to prevent or reverse global warming, I am not protesting or blocking the Olympic Torch's progress across Canada, and I do not consider myself to be a 'green' guy.

Mind you, I'm not a non-believer either. I do my part in small ways... recycling, carpooling, etc. because I believe our planet is headed towards significant peril. But I'm no Greenpeacer, so to speak.

That's a little bit of context for what I am about to say next.

I'm deeply saddened and disappointed that a comprehensive deal wasn't reached during the Copenhagen climate talks of the past two weeks. Sure, some progress seems to have been made, but the outcome of this Summit is woefully lacking what the world needed from its political leaders at this time.

The main outcome of this Summit, from what I can glean, is that developed nations worked hard to protect their livelihood, generally at the expense of developing nations. And Canada's failure to influence change and set a strong example is, quite frankly, a national and potentially long-lasting embarrassment.

So significant is our collective failure to agree on a course of action, that I fear this Summit will be marked in Pea's history books as a major turning point in our inability to protect her environmental future. I honestly believe that we will look back on this one Summit 20 to 30 years from today much the same way we look back on the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand when we study World War I.

The fact is that politics have once again trumped the well-being of mankind. My only hope is that the so-called deals of Copenhagen will be further strengthened and some significant change will be put in place.

At least the oil sands are safe.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope the planet lasts long enough for her to realize her own dreams.

Blocks, and not the kind with letters on them...

2009-12-18T00:00:00.000-05:00

I hope Pea never gets bogged down by "The Block."

By now, most of my faithful readers will know that I've taken a second home at urbanmoms.ca. My blog, Father Knows Best?, has been a lot of fun to write and my musings have been read and commented on by an entirely new audience, which gives me heart.

At Father Knows Best?, I've had a fairly easy time coming up with topics to write about... being the only Dad and male blogging on a website targeted to current, soon-to-be and veteran Moms kind of gives me a unique perspective and allows me to frame my experiences in a new light.

Sure, the malcontent in me admits that they haven't all been gems, but I've had some fun ideas and I've tackled topics I never before dreamed possible.

Like sex. Yeah, that's right. Sex.

While things with Father Knows Best? are going well, I've clearly been having a much harder time with what.will.you.be,Pea.

For some reason, I can easily speak to my experiences as a Dad but coming up with thoughts from the perspective of a regular guy have been much harder to come by lately. I'll likely regret letting this out of the bag, but here are a few golden nuggets I've considered writing about lately:

The Blue Jays trading Roy Halladay
Traffic
Putting up the Christmas lights in the frigid cold
Weather in general
The fact that most of my Christmas shopping is already done

You still there?

I've been writing for a long time. As a guy who communicates for a living, I've come to understand that writer's block, while painful to go through, is a passing problem. When I can't find the words I need at work, a night's sleep usually does the trick... and if that doesn't help, the pressure of getting fired usually jogs the mind just enough to create passable work.

So I'm not worried. This too, shall pass. But I didn't want any of you, who've supported me since March, to think I'd gone for good.

Until I get back into a rhythm here at what.will.you.be,Pea, be sure to check out Father Knows Best? and also check out some other great blogs writen by friends near and far. coffee with julie and sarahcasm are two of my favourites, and the gals in charge always have interesting things to say.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never gets bogged down by "The Block."

Handy Manny, Wilmer Valderrama and a puddle of drool

2009-12-06T23:14:00.000-05:00

I hope Pea never forgets December 6th, 2009.

This was a pretty good weekend. A friend of ours hosted a Christmas party for our kids yesterday and I got to see 7 toddlers battle it out for attention, steal each others toys, and injure each other in new and unique ways. Today, I spent the afternoon hanging out solo with my little girl.

Here' a rundown of this afternoon's agenda.

We danced around the house together.... Pea actually cranked up the volume on the stereo when she heard Muse's latest single.
We took an hour to eat a single banana.
We ate Premium Plus crackers that were 20 months passed their expiration date... and we called TeleHealth Ontario to make sure we'd survive.
We watched 15 minutes of Handy Manny and discovered that Manny is actually Wilmer Valderrama from That 70's Show.

The best part of the day though, hands down, was the 30 minutes Pea spent laughing uncontrollably at a bear of hers that repeatedly emerged from a house the Pod made out of an old diaper box. He'd scream HELLO! every time she opened the door and this was clearly the funniest thing she'd seen in a while. In fact, she drooled on the coffee table because she couldn't stop laughing.

I don't want to go to work tomorrow. If every day could be exactly like this one, I'd be an eternally happy guy.

I may now know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never forgets December 6th, 2009.

Meanwhile, back at my other blog...

2009-12-06T23:09:00.001-05:00

I hope Pea doesn't mind me promoting my other blog on the blog I built for her.

In case you missed the announcement, I'm not a blogger over at urbanmoms.ca. Here are a few of the topics you've missed if you haven't been checking our Father Knows Best? since I started a few weeks ago.

Give 'em a read... post a comment... let me know you're out there.

I may now know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't mind me promoting my other blog on the blog I built for her.

Progress Report – Celebrity Interview

2009-11-30T22:09:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-11-22T22:31:00.003-05:00

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

2009-11-17T23:39:00.001-05:00

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!

2009-11-16T20:12:00.001-05:00

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

2009-11-12T22:33:00.001-05:00

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

2009-11-10T21:08:00.000-05:00

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

2009-11-09T20:33:00.001-05:00

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!

2009-11-05T20:42:00.000-05:00

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

2009-11-04T22:07:00.003-05:00

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?

2009-11-03T21:25:00.001-05:00

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.

Maybe I'm misdirecting my anger...

2009-10-29T21:35:00.002-04:00

I hope Pea isn't as forgetful as her father.

I took a trip to Montreal today for work. I had a meeting with some consultants, who are developing some training for a management training program I run at work. The meeting went very well, and I am looking forward to the training.

Not that you care. Because really, why would you?

But you should care about what happens next.

On the way home, I headed to the thorough security checkpoint at the airport and did the usual ceremonial travel ritual... removed virtually every piece of clothing, my belt, shoes, watch, glasses, etc., and passed through the metal detector.

Because I was nearly naked, the metal detector detected nothing and I grabbed my stuff and caught my flight home.

Well, I grabbed almost everything. I forgot my glasses. My $250 Hugo Boss glasses with my latest prescription that keeps me from getting migraine headaches while I work on a computer. Tomorrow I get to call the Lost and Found at the airport and hope, nay, pray, that they found them and are willing to help me regain my vision again. Otherwise, it's new glasses for this guy and a hefty hit to the pocket book.

The last time I went to Montreal, I forgot my Blackberry in a cab. It took a few days to track down the cabbie, and another few days to get it couriered back to my office.

Because of this trend, I've decided that a grudge against Montreal is in order. Because it clearly has it out for me.

So Montreal, screw you! You suck! You are stealing from me, and indirectly, from my family. Do you not care that I have a young daughter who might need me to see her clearly and without blur, even though said blur is really very, very minor?

Montreal, YOU ARE RUINING MY LIFE!

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, BUT I HOPE SHE NEVER HAS TO GO TO MONTREAL, BECAUSE MONTREAL TAKES ADVANTAGE OF PEOPLE! but I hope she isn't as forgetful as her father.

PS - The above applies to Montreal, but not my beloved Montreal Canadiens... Go Habs Go!

Ok, let's do it. No, no, wait, maybe not...

2009-10-27T20:08:00.000-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't have this hard a time making up her mind.

Yeah, I'm back on the H1N1 thing. Since I wrote my last post on the topic, I have been pretty diligent in asking other parents what they plan on doing about vaccinating their kids. I figure, the more info I have, the better.

I asked the guys at hockey. I asked the folks at work. And I reached out to you, my Pea followers.

The answer I got 9 times out of 10 was a resounding 'I don't know.'

Some couples are conflicted; one really wants to vaccinate, the other is steadfastly against it. Some find the testing of the vaccine to be unreliable and untrustworthy. Some just don't think the concern is that great. And some think the risk of not acting is even greater.

To make matters worse, I hear anecdotally that one scientist who worked on the vaccine isn't going to take it, because it is 'unnecessary'. Then I hear of pediatricians who don't think the vaccine is needed if the child isn't in daycare or at school (Pea is still at home, with the Pod-in-law).

In what I shamefully call a relief, I am somehow encouraged by other bloggers in my world who are just as confused as I am.

Some are helpful, like Julie who shares information on Ottawa-area vaccination clinics despite being unsure as to whether or not she will get it for her and her family.

Others, like Sarahcasm, remind us that the concern over health-related decisions isn't a priviledge that everyone around the world enjoys. While this is a tough decision, we are lucky enough to be able to make a choice, one way or another.

So, I remain torn about what to do, but thankful that my little Pea doesn't yet need to concern herself with such things.

I'll let her worry about which books she gets to read before bed, and how long she gets to play in the bath. The heavy stuff will remain on my shoulders.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't have this hard a time making up her mind.

I am a Man, therefore, I am an idiot.

2009-10-19T16:50:00.002-04:00

I hope Pea doesn’t forever link men with stupidity.

I heard a radio commercial this morning for an international BBQ chicken chain. The commercial went something along these general lines:

Female Voice: Honey, I’m leaving you.
Male Voice: Wuh? (Incomprehensible gurgling and sadness.)
Female Voice: For your brother.
Male Voice: Huh? (More gurgling and sadness.)
Female Voice: And I’m keeping the ring.
Male Voice: Buh… Wuh…

Cue tagline.

Rake in the dough.

Unbelievable.

This commercial follows a trend I’ve noticed in advertising lately… one that seems to coincide with the Judd-Apatow-all-men-are-complete-douches revolution that’s made it hip to be an idiot.

It seems to me that many companies are trying to make a buck, and get a memorable laugh, by portraying their male customers as stupid, lazy and ignorant… capable of nothing more than fumbling through their days at the mercy of the women in their lives.

Now, I would have assumed that the aforementioned BBQ chicken chain would value my demographic (30-something males) for our constant hunger for BBQ’ed meat, not to mention our disposable income.

However, having heard this commercial, I can only assume that they believe I am meek, stupid, bumbling and incapable of defending myself. If this is true, how could I possibly be expected to drive myself to their restaurant for some food…after all, dat dere driving test is mighty tuff to pass, and bus schedules are awfully tuff to read.

(Ok, the logical explanation must be that this BBQ chicken chain is after the female demographic. Not so fast. The female in this commercial doesn’t have it any easier, does she? She’s sleazy, whorish, cold and callous. Women like that don’t eat BBQ’ed chicken; they eat red meat right off the bone. She’s more likely steal the meal from a senior than pay for it.)

Am I wrong here? Does this company just have a bad advertising department, or are companies increasingly making fun of the very people they want to buy their product?

To test my theory, I’m introducing Ricochay’s ‘We’re all Morons’ Commercial Challenge. Your mission: watch 30 minutes of prime time TV, and tell me that there isn’t at least 1.5 minutes of commercials (three 30-second spots) that portray men as stupid and ignorant in an attempt to demonstrate a product’s value.

What’s in it for you? The chance to restore my faith in advertising and humanity. What more could you ask for? And besides, I have no money for prizes.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t forever link men with stupidity.

Up to no good.

2009-10-15T21:20:00.001-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't fail to read between the lines.

I have a weird feeling Dora the Explorer is into some below-board kind of stuff.

Let me be clear -- especially since companies seem to be suing every blogger who holds an opinion contrary to the positive image of their business or products -- I have no concrete proof of my claim, but I do offer the following to back up my suspicion.

She's from Latin America. Columbia is part of Latin America, isn't it? I'm just saying.
While she is human, most of Dora's friends are talking animals... a squirrel, a monkey, a fox, and so on. In fact, she spends a great deal of time talking to a Little Star in one book we own, which as we all know is impossible.
Why don't we ever get to see what's in her backpack?
According to Wikipedia, the internet's most trusted resource, Dora the Explorer (products) made over $1B in 2004. That's Mexican Drug Cartel kind of loot!
She can't seem to pick one language and stick with it... it's almost as if she forgets what language she's using mid-sentence. That's odd, no?

Look, I don't know what's going on here, but this doesn't add up. Until I can disprove my theory, I don't think I'll be letting Pea put any Dora-related products in her mouth. Better safe than sorry.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't fail to read between the lines.

PS - Just kidding Nickelodeon.. we love Dora 'round here, honest! In fact, we just bought Pea her very own Dora the Explorer chair... you know the one, it's got Boots and Dora running together, chasing a butterfly. Within 30 seconds of seeing it, Pea was kissing Dora and sitting gleefully in her lap. It was awesome!

Those who can, do.

2009-10-14T23:26:00.002-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't end up with her Dad's singing chops.

There are a lot of things in my life that I wish I could do better. Sure, I have my fair share of skills. Sarcasm. Showering in a relatively short amount of time. Eating. But there is lots more I wish I could do better.

What kind of things, you might ask? Math. Impressions. Tending to animals. And most of all, singing.

While I may not be able to carry my own tune, I can certainly appreciate the skills of others.

Lately, I'm really into the Pete Yorn and Scarlett Johansson album The Breakup, which is far better than many people expect, especially after Johansson's ill-advised debut album of Tom Waits covers. The first single from The Breakup, called Relator, is the most played track on my iPod and never fails to put a smile on my face. I urge you to give it a listen (see below).

Closer to home, for me anyway, is the music of MJ Cyr.

The Pod is good friends with MJ, and introduced me to her many years ago. Since then I have come to know and appreciate MJ for her kindness and her music.

We've been to several of MJ's shows (not recently anyway... since Pea was born we have a much harder time getting out), and she was even a guest at our wedding. Long story short, I like MJ.

I hope you do too! You can check out MJ at http://www.myspace.com/mjcyr, but to make things easier, here's the video for her song The Bottom Line. Enjoy.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't end up with her Dad's singing chops.

A choice of global proportions

2009-10-13T23:17:00.002-04:00

I hope Pea never has to deal with the harsh realities of parenting in the midst of a global pandemic.

So this H1N1 thing is supposed to get worse before it gets better. It's new, relatively unknown and many parents (myself included) aren't sure what to do to prepare their families for the second coming of this sickness.

The big question is: to vaccinate, or not to vaccinate. As an added bonus, I have to consider vaccinations for two separate people - myself, and my little Pea. (Three, really, when I factor in the Pod who, according to recent media reports, is more likely to become infected than any other population segment.)

When the first wave of H1N1 hit the world this year, I was blasé. I thought, 'far more people will get sick and die from the seasonal flu... what's the big deal?'

I recall hearing a radio report about the first swine flu in 1976, and how many people who got a vaccination to prevent infection ended up getting sick and dying from the untested vaccine and not from the illness itself.

That freaked me out. I had made up my mind. No vaccinations for us. I figured, 'Why chance getting sick from the medicine, if I probably won't get the sickness in the first place?'

But it's becoming increasingly clear that this ain't the regular flu, and I'm responsible for more than myself now. I should be more judicious in my decision making.

The reality is that times, and technologies, have changed. I'm sure the development of vaccinations has come a long way since 1976. And as Canada ramps up production of its vaccination stores, it seems to me that great care is being taken to develop a vaccine that is tested and safe.

My point is this, people: I'm waivering.

So I'm turning to you, for advice and counsel. What are you doing? Are you getting the vaccine? Are you vaccinating your children?

I need help here. In the words of Snoop Dogg, holla at'cho boy.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never has to deal with the harsh realities of parenting in the midst of a global pandemic.

PS - I am aware that Commenting on my blog is a painful experience, and I am looking at switching to another service. If you do want to leave a comment, just select the Anonymous option from the drop down menu.

Morning Snuggles for the Parent's Soul

2009-10-05T19:19:00.000-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't mock my sentimentality.

Growing up, I remember hearing my parents talking with other parents about their children...they'd say stuff like "They grow up so fast!" and I'd mimic barfing, because I found it all so annoying.

Back then, I was young and impatient. I wanted to be older NOW and felt that the kids a grade ahead of me in school were light years away from me in terms of maturity. The kids 2 grades ahead? They were practically adults!

I remember finding coy ways of showing off my armpit hair to the kids at elementary school because I was convinced mine came so much later than everyone else's and I needed to make sure everyone knew mine had arrived.

I remember shaving with a friend of mine well before I had peach fuzz, let alone the daily growth that annoys me today. (Fortunately, his dad worked for Schick and we had ready access to shaving supplies.)

Now, I spend my days wishing life would just slow down a bit.

And why wouldn't I? I wake up in the morning and my still-groggy Pea finishes her bottle of milk and curls up in my lap to snuggle. She's clearly sad as I say goodbye to her and practically runs after me to snuggle some more.

I lament how quickly Pea is growing out of her clothes and wonder if it was really a year ago that she stopped needing to be swaddled at night.

I struggle to put up yet another baby gate and recall a time when crawling wasn't even an issue, let alone a quick jaunt towards a hard-wood flight of stairs.

So to my parents, I offer yet another I'm sorry in what has seemingly become a steady stream of apologies brought on by the constant Eureka moments in my life... when the lightbulb goes on, and I finally understand what all the fuss was about.

Because as great as parenting has been, they really do grow up so fast.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't mock my sentimentality.

Love and Marriage, Love and Marriage...

2009-09-24T21:19:00.002-04:00

I hope Pea doesn’t overlook the teachings of aging Married… with Children star Ed O’Neill.

The pilot for ABC’s newest comedy, Modern Family, aired last night and it was smart, incredibly funny and pushed all the right boundaries in all the right ways. This show is getting incredible reviews and will definitely be at the top of my PVR recording list, right up there with another ABC success, Lost (premiering Thursday, January 21, 2009… that’s 120 days people!).

Modern Family is all about the convergence of 3 different types of families.

The Reconstituted Family: Ed O’Neill plays a recently re-married 60-something. He’s hooked up with a much younger Columbian woman and finds himself the stepfather to her sensitive teenage boy, who he struggles to relate to both generationally and culturally.

The Nuclear Family: O’Neill’s biological daughter (played by Julie Bowen of Ed and Boston Legal fame) is married to a man (Ty Burrell) who is desperately trying to be his 3 kids’ friend rather than their father. She struggles to manage a house with 3 kids and a useless husband; he struggles to use the hippest language possible to relate to his kids on their level. An actual quote from Phil, the goofy Dad: “I'm a cool dad, that's my thang. I'm hip, I surf the web, I text. LOL: laugh out loud, OMG: oh my god, WTF: why the face.”

The Homosexual Family: O’Neill’s son (played by Jesse Tyler Ferguson) is gay, in a committed relationship with his partner of 5 years, and they have recently adopted a young child from Vietnam.

(Big thanks to my Family Studies teacher for teaching me this information... all apologies for not remembering your name.)

As funny as Modern Family is to me, I can’t help but think about how much more relatable it will be to Pea.

When I was growing up… and yes, I’m now using “when I was young” statements… Nuclear families were still the norm. I can recall a few Reconstituted families, fewer Single Parent families, and there were definitely no Homosexual families on the block.

But Modern Family makes one thing perfectly clear… when it comes to family, “normal” quite simply doesn’t exist anymore. And I firmly believe my daughter will be a better person as a result.

If we look at the numbers, it is undeniable that many of us will end up leading an untraditional family. For kids, it used to be divulging an untraditional family dynamic to classmates would potentially lead to ridicule and bullying. But nowadays, can any kid really justify teasing another because of single, remarried or homosexual parents? To do so today would be to tease the near majority, not the fringe.

Our families, and our children, are evolving with the times. Adaptability, acceptance, tolerance and understanding are becoming some of the cornerstones of our society.

Some of you might be saying “Ricochay, we’ve still got a long way to go before we get to this point.” I don’t deny that we still have work to do. But I do believe that we are closer than ever. As our generation raises its kids with a new set of values that are consistent with our reality, we only get closer to our goal. Our kids, and their kids, benefit.

So here’s to you, Modern Family, for showing us all that no matter what type of family you are a part of, it’s normal… and just as screwed up as the rest of them.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t overlook the teachings of aging Married… with Children star Ed O’Neill.

PS - Glee, you’re off the PVR.

The timeless art of... sand animation?

2009-09-23T06:00:00.004-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't ignore sand animation as a potential hobby.

This is, quite possibly, the coolest form of artistic expression I have seen in a long time. And the fact that this was featured on, and won, one of these (Insert country here)'s Got Talent competitions makes it infinitely cooler (props to my Ukrainian readers). Does the world not embrace talent other than singing?

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't overlook sand animation as a potential hobby.

Judgy McJudgerton

2009-09-23T05:23:00.001-04:00

I hope Pea isn’t prone to spontaneous combustion (part II).

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it’s time to play “What Did You Say to Me? Oh Hell No!”

The game is simple. We give you a series of crazy antics by some wacky characters. You decide who should be FORGIVEN and who should be SENT TO PURGATORY!

First up is Serena Williams. She threw a hissy fit during her semi-final match at the US Open after an apparent foot fault was called by a line judge. Serena’s tirade, which included a threat of putting a tennis ball up a woman’s unmentionables, forced judges to issue her an additional ‘demerit point’, which ultimately cost her the match.

Ricochay’s take: Serena’s behaviour was self-damaging most of all. She flipped out and lost the match as a result. But she also embarrassed and belittled a woman who was just doing her job and that’s out of bounds. I say SEND TO PURGATORY!

Next we have Republican Senator Joe Wilson, who shouted “You Lie!” at President Obama during a recent health care reform speech to America’s lawmakers.

Ricochay’s take: If Wilson is guilty of anything, it’s poor timing. If you’re going to yell, do it when everyone else is too. That said, politics is as much about theatre as it is about lawmaking, so to condemn him for this outburst would be akin to chastising him for doing his job. Wilson is FORGIVEN.

Irish actor Colin Farrell set a photographer straight while walking the Red Carpet at the Toronto International Film Festival. The photographer yelled for Farrell’s personal assistant/sister to get off the Red Carpet so he and the other photographers could get a clear shot of the actor. Rumour has it that the photographer used the dreaded B-word. Farrell defended his sister’s honour.

Ricochay’s take: When you’re walking the Red Carpet at a prestigious film festival, you should expect that people aren’t going to want photos of your personal assistant… even if she is your sister. The photographer’s job is to art direct so he can get good photos. Had the photographer not allegedly used the B-word, I'd be sending Farrell to purgatory, but there's no excuse for using that word. Farrell is FORGIVEN, and in a twist, let's send the photographer to PURGATORY!

That brings us to Kanye West. As we all know by now, he interrupted Taylor Swift's acceptance speech at the MTV Video Awards and caused one of the most uncomfortable moments in award show history.

Ricochay’s take: Given that the entire thing was staged (that's right, I said it), Kanye is FORGIVEN. There's just way too much that is unusual about the whole situation for me to believe all the players involved didn't know what was going on.

Last up is the story of a tired and frustrated father who loses his patience with his daughter because she won’t sit still during her diaper change. The daughter - let’s call her Pea - continuously grabs at the soiled diaper, attempts to put her hands on her dirty butt, wiggles and writhes her way off her back and makes it generally impossible to change the diaper.

Ricochay’s take: All parents lose their patience at one point or another. And when you’re dealing with feces, the threshold for impatience is lowered considerable. I say FORGIVEN… the guilt he’s feeling for being short with his daughter is punishment enough.

Well folks, so ends another rousing edition of “What Did You Say to Me? Oh Hell No!” Join us next time when we analyze history’s craziest outbursts, including the Big Bang that created the universe... was this behaviour justified? Find out next time!

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

Thanks to www.all-about-tennis.com, the US government, www.torontolife.com and Britain's brightest tabloid newspaper The Daily Mirror for the images.

Guilty... and loving every minute of it!

2009-09-15T15:32:00.000-04:00

I hope Pea doesn’t overlook the benefits that come with a little guilt.

My life was designed to be as guilt-free as possible. Few vices. Few regrets. Few mornings where I wake up asking “what happened and how did I get here?”

This guilt-free existence was going really, really well… until my little Pea was born. Since then, I have felt shame, remorse and/or guilt at least once a day.

In fact, shame now lives in my spare room and guilt and remorse are building an apartment in my basement.

You want examples. Fine, here are but a few:

Pea recently fell and bumped her head on the sofa, requiring a visit to the emergency room. She was completely fine, but this was on my watch and I swear that when I picked her up to comfort her she gave me a “how could you let this happen to me?” look. I’m now considering selling the sofa, as it is a constant reminder of the day I let my daughter down.
We only recently purchased roller shades for Pea’s room, to block out the bright daytime sun during her naps. Just in time too (she is now taking 70% of her haps in another location altogether).
We’ve had babyproofing gear in our house for months and I am yet to install everything. What’s more, I’ve failed – on 3 separate occasions – to install baby gates near our staircases. If I can’t do this simple task, how can I be expected to shepherd Pea into adulthood unscathed?
I haven’t mowed the back lawn in weeks and the mosquitoes that now live in the long grass prevent us from taking Pea in the back to play. Is this my subconscious way of keeping Pea as pale and pasty as I am? Who knows, but I wouldn’t put it past myself.

Despite my ineptitude, Pea continues to thrive. She’s now walking everywhere and appears to have left crawling behind. She’s growing a fresh pair of front teeth and she’s babbling way more than ever before. She is a human sponge, absorbing everything, and I mean everything, at an alarming rate. She’s even sleeping better, on the whole, than she has in quite a few months.

If I had to guess, she appears to have realized that her father is useless and she’s learning to cope on her own, with lots of help from the Pod.

So to all the would-be parents out there, I provide this warning: a guilt-free existence and parenthood are mutually exclusive. You have to pick one and stick with it.

I pick parenthood. Hands down.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t overlook the benefits that come with a little guilt.

Mennonite Chic, Part II

2009-09-08T18:21:00.001-04:00

I hope Pea doesn’t lack self-worth.

School’s in, so I thought I’d tackle a dress code issue: some schools in the GTA are removing kilts from their dress code.

If you’re wondering why, you’ve clearly never been to the mall at 3:30pm on a school day.

What was once a coquettish fashion choice has turned into the primary weapon used by girls who are vying for the right to claim visible-ass-cheek supremacy. Some girls appear to believe that wearing a kilt means underwear is optional.

The Pod’s contends, and I am paraphrasing, that a bunch of hoochiemammas with no self-respect or tact should not ruin a comfortable and versatile clothing item for the rest of the young ladies out there. She believes banning the clothing will not change the mentality and that we are not getting at the root of the issue.

I believe anything that gets me one step closer to Mennonite Chic by 2020 is a welcome thing. Turtle necks and pants for everyone.

Here’s a link for more information on this issue. Feel free to weigh in.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t lack self-worth.

PS – I secretly agree with the Pod on this issue, but don’t tell her… she’ll get a big head and I’ll never hear the end of it.

The day my innocence died

2009-09-02T19:38:00.003-04:00

I hope Pea’s friends don’t mistake her for a liar.

What follows is the true story of the night I was "Roofied" at Disney World, in the presence of America’s beloved cartoon rodent. As you will see, I’m not blaming Mickey, necessarily. I’m just saying - he sure didn’t do anything to help. Neither did my friends. For shame.

The year is 2004. Fate has placed a free time-share condo in our best friends’ lap and the fact that she is a flight attendant makes this the cheap trip of a lifetime. Excited, we head to Orlando (photos included as evidence of the authenticity of this story).

The first few days of the trip are amazing. We hit up several theme parks, ‘enjoy’ the mandated time-share presentation and get some sun by the pool.

On the third day, after another theme park bonanza, our group decides to have dinner at the condo before hitting Paradise Island for some clubbing.

For those unfamiliar with Paradise Island, it is essentially Disney’s club district. You pay admission to the ‘island’ and gain access to a dozen themed clubs, each playing a different variety of music. You can buy drinks in the clubs or on the street from little booze shacks.

As soon as we arrived, we all headed to a booze shack to get a drink. My pals all get frilly drinks with umbrellas and I order a beer. The bartender pours it into a plastic cup, hands it over, and the fun begins.

Or does it?

As I turn to walk away from the booze shack, something splashes into my cup. At the time, I merely thought my drink was jostled as I tried to make my way through the crowd, but the next morning I would come to understand the real significance of that splash.

What follows this splash is nothing short of horrifying. After a brief stop at a club featuring a revolving dance floor, where I did my best Jamiroquai/Virtual Insanity imitation (it was awesome), I crashed. Hard.

Within 30 minutes I was dizzy, slurring my speech, incapable of staying awake and generally uneasy – all symptoms of Roofiness (source: ever-trustworthy Wikipedia). Less ‘attractive’ symptoms occurred in the cab on the way to the condo, and then back at the condo itself.

Now I know what you’re saying… Ricochay, you’re clearly a lightweight. You were drunk and you couldn’t handle your booze.

I may be a lightweight, and sure, I can't prove I was drugged, but this was different than just being drunk. No one gets that drunk that fast off half a beer. Not even me.

Fortunately, the Pod and my friends stayed by my side the whole time, keeping me from harm. YEAH RIGHT! They tore up the night, leaving me alone on a bench in a remote corner of the ‘island’. In their defense, they checked in periodically and propped my head up using a ketchup bottle, but no ‘lush’ was going to ruin their night.

The next morning was a right-off, but come afternoon I felt right as rain. What hangover have you ever had that just completely disappears like that? A Roofie hangover, that’s what.

The next day, my friends left me to nurse my ‘hangover’ while they hit up another theme park without me as dead weight. Solo, I spent some more time at the pool, and at nearby outlet malls, but I will forever have missed the excitement of that shared.

There it is people. My tale of Roofie misfortune and doubt. I hope you can learn from this tale.

For years, I questioned the Roofie’ers motivations, until Wikipedia once again cleared things up. It turns out Britons use Roofies to sedate and rob unsuspecting victims. Was I a potential target for some evil-doer? Perhaps. Or maybe I was just some light evening entertainment for said evil-doers. Only Mickey knows for certain.

At least you, my faithful blog readers, will believe my Roofie misadventures. Feel free to post some words of encouragement and support for me or some remarks of shame for those that don’t believe my tale.

(To leave a comment, simply choose the “Anonymous” option when leaving a remark… I know it’s complicated, I’m sorry!)

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope her friends don’t mistake her for a liar.

It's too early for this

2009-08-31T12:39:00.001-04:00

I hope Pea doesn’t use her head solely as a towel rack.

Here's the scenario. I'm driving the Pod into work. It’s close to 9am and I am seconds away from dropping her off.

As a good driver, my eyes are darting from left to right, scanning the area for pedestrians and anything else that might dart in front of the car. Pan left, nothing. Pan right, nothing. Pan left, nothing. Pan right, woman outside looking for something in her car, wearing a white towel around her body and a blue towel on her head. Pan left, nothing.

Wait… what?

That’s right people. Too lazy to throw on a bathrobe or a pair of track pants and a tee, this thirty-something thought it would be perfectly acceptable to walk outside like this… and before you go calling me a prude, the white body towel was barely long enough to cover her lady bits. And she was bending over to find something in her car. Do the math. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Got it? Ok, good.

That’s it. I have nothing more to say about this incident, though it haunts me still.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t use her head solely as a towel rack.

What am I doing?

2009-08-27T21:43:00.004-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't let the loftiness of her goals prevent her from chasing after them.

Greek philosopher Epictetus once said, "If you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid."

I love this quote, on many levels. It speaks directly to trying new things, to the importance of setting and speaking goals for yourself, to being comfortable in your own skin, to making decisions that suit your desires and not those of others, and so on.

People, I love this Epictetus quote so much I put in the "Info" section of my Facebook page. It's that's serious.

So now, in the spirit of this personal mantra, I'm setting a lofty goal for myself; one that will make me seem both foolish and stupid.

I want to interview someone of consequence for my blog, on the topic of parenting of course. A celebrity, a politician, an expert or specialist of somekind, etc. A father, ideally, since the web is rife with with mommy blogs that feature mommy bloggers, blogging from a mommy's perspective.

Imagine reading my interview with Matt Damon, where he tells us that his greatest fear for his darling Isabella and Gia is not that they will fall into the trap of young celebrity, but that they grow up to be, in any way, anything like Ben Affleck.

(Why so much Matt/Ben animosity, you wonder? You see, by the time I interview Matt he and Ben will have had an epic falling out over the plot to Good Will Hunting 2... Matt wanted to show how his character evolved to deal with his great gift while Ben wanted to show how his character deals with the untimely death of Matt's character in the first 5 minutes of the movie.)

So there it is. I think it would be fascinating to hear what 'famous' fathers fear most for their kids, given their unique position in this world. Their anti-hopes and anti-dreams for their broods, in a manner of speaking.

The mission begins. Stay tuned.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't let the loftiness of her goals prevent her from chasing after them.

The Abbott and Costello of Father-Daughter Duos

2009-08-25T22:07:00.005-04:00

I hope Pea never stops having fun.

What makes me laugh, you ask?

Oh, I don’t know, a good stand-up comedian with witty observations on relatable topics. Or improvised acting that shows someone’s deft ability for quick thinking and teamwork. Or a well-placed comeback by one of the guys. Or too much booze (which usually makes that well-placed comeback even funnier!).

What makes Pea laugh, you ask?

Me, apparently! Simple things too. Like when I peek around a corner to see where she is, and she catches me in the act. Or when she is holding my hand and trying to get me to walk in a certain direction, and I want to go in the other direction. Or when I lift up her arm so I can check to see if “her armpits are working” by tickling them.

Tonight, though, Pea revealed something new that makes her laugh - herself! While taking her bath, Pea was holding a sopping wet rag when she decided to whip it around in the air, causing all the water to fly in her face and mine. The result was a laughing fit that was easily the longest and most sincere I've ever seen her pull off. Her face turned red and she repeated the whipping at least a dozen times, laughing just as hard every time.

In the end, we were both laughing maniacally when the Pod came in to check on us and make sure we were OK. It was awesome.

I can't wait to share more laughs with her as she learns what she finds funny. And I guess this means I can add one more thing to my list of things that make me laugh: Pea.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never stops having fun.

The 'thrill' of meeting new people

2009-08-24T16:29:00.007-04:00

I hope Pea doesn’t always reenact scenes from thriller movies when she meets new people.

Pea, the Pod and I attended a party this weekend for Oscar, a family friend who was celebrating a milestone birthday. Feliz cumpleanos Oscar!

Throughout the party, Pea played shy and wouldn’t go much more than 2 or 3 feet away from either the Pod or me. She played quietly with another baby, but whenever an unknown adult would get too close she’d reach for my collar and hold on for dear life or hide in between my legs.

To give you a visual, it’s like that scene in any good thriller movie when the young protagonist sees something truly mortifying so she backs slowly away from said mortifying scene, only to back straight into a wall. She then realizes she has no where left to go so she tries to climb the wall as she looks over her shoulder at the impending doom.

Pea's reaction is kind of like that, only not quite so horrific.

I digress.

Pea's shyness has been prevalent for a few months now and as far as I am concerned it’s all part of her normal development. She likes to check things and people out before getting too engaged and she can never be too far from her comfort zone.

I keep telling myself she’ll outgrow her shyness and handle social situations with greater ease, but I’m not so sure she will… in fact, I’m not convinced any of us really stop clinging to our parents' ankles, metaphorically speaking.

Now I’m not saying we’re all teat-suckling introverts. But when was the last time you struck up a conversation with someone in an elevator? Huh? Be honest.

The fact is that many of us approach people we’ve never met with a genuine sense of trepidation and skepticism. We keep our cards close and hold on to the familiar: our surroundings, our associations and our routines.

That’s why I find it so hard - and so hypocritical - to tell Pea: “Don’t be shy sweetie, that’s Mrs. So-and-so. She’s nice.” Truth be told, when I meet someone new I’m often nervous and uncomfortable. It takes time – sometimes seconds, sometimes weeks, sometimes never – before I am at completely at ease with someone new. I guess somewhere along the road, I just became better at hiding my wall-climbing fear.

And it doesn’t help, I’m sure, that we are constantly warning our kids to be weary of strangers. One minute, it’s “don’t ever talk to people you don’t know”, and the next it’s “say Hi to the little baby… give him a piece of your Mum-Mum!”

That’s one for the Mixed Messages Hall of Fame!

In the end, Pea’s comfort is what I really care about. Eventually, she’ll become more comfortable meeting new people and managing her nervousness.

And if that fails, there’s always Acting school!

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t always reenact scenes from thriller movies when she meets new people.

OH NO YOU DI'INT!

2009-08-18T20:58:00.005-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't make open parental defiance a regular thing.

Since Pea turned one, she's been learning new things at a torrid pace... recognizing by name all kinds of body parts and family members, passing us specific items we've requested from her, and a whole host of other things. It's been one adventure after another and I'm enjoying every minute of it.

Well, almost every minute.

A couple of days ago, the Pod and I were putting Pea to bed. She had just finished her bottle with her mom and it was my turn to take over and ease her into a deep, restful slumber. I leaned in to pick her up and she resisted, vigorously shaking her head from side to side in the distinct No motion. Undaunted, I leaned in a second time to pick her up.

What happened next can only be described as mind blowing.

As I tucked my hands under Pea's arms, she abruptly turned to face me, looked me square in the eyes, and waved her finger back and forth in what I can only describe as 'old school librarian scolding'. It was clear that No meant No.

Upon seeing this act of defiance, the Pod held her hand over her mouth to stymie her laughter/shock. Pea happened to catch this look on her mother's face, as well as the bug-eyed look on my face, and it was immediately clear that she knew she had done something wrong. As she looked at us, she seemed confused and guilty.

Even though she had openly defied me, somehow my heart was breaking.

I leaned in a third time and picked her up. There was no resistance at this point and the rest of the routine went smoothly. Before I put her down, I gave her an extra little hug and kiss to reassure her.

Personally, the emotions going through my mind were too numerous to count. I was proud of her for using her new found knowledge correctly (as she had been taught by her great aunt, anyway). I was heartbroken because I could tell she looked slightly confused by our reactions. I was miffed that she had so openly defied me (I know, I know, get used to it pal). I was impressed that she had the nerve to so strenuously stick to her guns.

Heaven knows that this won't be the last time my little Pea defies me. My job from here on out is to help her understand when it is OK to push for what you believe in and when it is important to respect someone in a position of authority.

I love that she is learning so much so fast. That said, this act of defiance made it crystal clear to me that I must now add 'disciplinarian' to my job description.

I may now know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't make open parental defiance a regular thing.

Dear Diary

2009-08-13T15:03:00.006-04:00

I hope Pea doesn’t let jealousy cloud her judgment.

I am not proud of myself, but I found Oopsie the Care Bear’s diary and I let my curiosity get the best of me. In hindsight, I’m glad I took a peek, because I found some messed up stuff.

What follows is an excerpt from Oopsie the Care Bear’s diary, dated August 11th, 2009. Oopsie’s lost it, people.

The little striped bastard and “Angelito” are ruining my life.

For the past several months, I have enjoyed life as Pea’s favourite stuffed toy. I managed to get rid of Ourson the bear in July with little to no effort… one well placed call to some ‘friends’ of mine in the US and I was confident Ourson would be left behind under a pile of blankets. And he was.

Granted, the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers don’t come cheap, but I really needed that little beige bear out of the picture.

Since then, I’ve been living the high life that Ourson took for granted. Sleeping with Pea every night, snuggling close while she takes her evening bottle, even travelling to exotic places as her escort… life has been great. But now, two new buggers have weaseled their way into the picture and I’m beginning to think it will take more than just the MMPR to resolve this situation.

One of the attention-stealers calls himself “Brobie”. He thinks he’s a celebrity because he’s been on TV, some show called Yo Gabba Gabba, but I keep telling him that being on TV don’t mean poo to me… I’m a Care Bear dude! I know all about televised success.

To put it mildly, this Brobie guy is a freak and if I had to guess, a heavy drug user. He wears a full green-striped body suit, has arms that are as long as he is tall, three red horns atop his head and eyes that are always bulging. He keeps yelling “Dancy Dance Time!” and then proceeds to gyrate maniacally while his cronies yell “Go! Go! Go Brobie!”… it’s driving me nuts and the worst part is that Pea is buying it all, hook line and sinker. She’s enlisted the adults to record all of his Yo Gabba Gabba appearances on the PVR and when she’s watching, it’s as if I don’t even
exist.

Last night, while we were having a bottle of milk, Pea actually spurned me and grabbed Brobie to snuggle close to. I tried to conceal my disappointment as much as I could. Good thing my facial expressions never change.

“Angelito”, to her credit, might actually be a more formidable foe than Brobie and Ourson combined. Angelito dresses like a little angel and when you squeeze her stomach she recites a prayer in Spanish. Sure, the prayer is very sweet and Angelito is actually quite adorable, what with her halo, wings, white flowing gown and cute button nose, but I know the real deal.

Pea and her parents seem to think that her clasped hands indicate a constant state of prayer. Adorable, right? Who wouldn’t respect and ever-vigilant servant of God? In actual fact, this lady is an escaped felon! She can’t unclasp her hands because they are bound by invisible wrist shackles!

My Pet Monster told me that He-Man told him that Kermit the Frog told him that one of the Thundercats arrested Angelito for stealing Catholic missals from a print shop. Apparently, she was stealing the missals and sending them to less fortunate children in third world countries. Noble intentions or not, stealing is stealing, and this is not the type of person Pea should be hangin’ out with.

Pea totally loves these guys. Sure, I am still the one in bed with her at night. But, I’m beginning to lose my grasp on nap time and this has got to stop. Time to formulate a plan.

Wow. Does anyone have the number to a good Care Bear psychiatrist? Brobie and Angelito might need 24-hour protection.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t let jealousy cloud her judgment.

Life Lessons, Courtesy of HBO Canada

2009-08-10T16:57:00.003-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't misunderstand George Lopez.

Last night, I got to watch comedian George Lopez’s special, Tall, Dark and Chicano, on HBO Canada. I’d been looking forward to the special for a few weeks, since I saw the rather funny promos running between Entourage repeats. Last night seemed like the right night to watch… after all, it had rained all weekend and I needed a laugh heading into the work week. So I turned on the PVR and away I went.

For those of you that don’t know of George Lopez, he is an American comedian of Mexican descent. His brand of comedy looks at the holes and gaps that exist, culturally, between Latinos and, well, everyone else. It’s as funny as it is stereotypical and well worth the watch. Be warned though, you’ll probably snort at some point, so it may not be first date material.

Oddly enough, much of George Lopez’s appeal to me is that I can actually relate to most of what he is saying. Yes, I am about as white as they come (nicknames like Casper and Powder have dogged me thanks to my pale complexion). But the Pod is of South American descent and much of what Lopez talks about is familiar to me because of the time I have spent with her family.

When the Pod and I first started dating, it took us a while to realize that we are, in effect, a mixed-race couple. She, a first generation Canadian. Me, a longstanding French-Canadian. Thankfully, this has not been “an issue” to anyone we know. But who knows if, at some point, someone wanted to come forward to judge us, or judged from afar.

Now we have a beautiful daughter together and for the first time I am realizing that Pea may well face social situations I was never concerned about.

Sure, she has my last name (lucky lady). And, thus far she has a lighter complexion that will probably mean SPF∞ for the rest of her life. But the Pod and I will raise her to be proud of her heritage, and people are bound to find out that she is South American in background. Sadly, even in this day and age, she is bound to encounter at least one person with a bias or prejudice that has never been a concern to me.

The fact of the matter is that being in the minority means being the majority in Canada, and Pea should be proud of the different parts that make her whole. George Lopez goes out of his way to highlight and mock these differences, as do a bunch of other comedians… Russell Peters, Sasha Baron Cohen and Sugar Sammy come to mind. They mock these differences to show us how ridiculous they really are and to indirectly tell us that none of it matters.

In the end, as always, I think Depeche Mode said it best.

I may not know what my Pea will become, but I hope she doesn't misunderstand George Lopez.

The birds and the Pea's...

2009-08-05T14:11:00.004-04:00

I hope Pea doesn’t intentionally step on people’s feet.

Before Pea was born, I not-so-secretly wished for a girl. Ask anyone that really knows me and they’ll tell you that I’ve always been more comfortable around the fairer sex, perhaps because I’ve never really been a ‘man’s man’, capable of grunting, eating copious amounts of red meat, shouting obscenities at passing women and ‘crop dusting’ in public.

More proof, you say?

I’ve never smoked. Anything. Well, except for one ill-advised cigarillo in university… it actually made my legs numb.
I’ve never been to the ‘rippers’, and I don’t buy the logic that guys go to “help put young scholars through school”.
I never spit unless I’ve ingested poison.
I have a pair of shoes I never wear because I can’t find a matching belt.
Guy’s who cheat on their partners make me ill. I guess cheating in general pisses me off.
I’ve never bragged about my ‘exploits’.
Minus one hockey fight (which was essentially two guys struggling to get each other’s helmets off), I’ve never been in a fight of any kind. I did get punched in the face once in grade 10, and truth be told, I sorely deserved it.

So I have the beautiful little girl I had hoped for... all’s well, right?

Here’s the rub. I’m beginning to realize that I am outnumbered and outestrogened. I may be glad that I don’t have to teach my child not to punch someone in the nose because they stepped on their shoe (hopefully), but I’m on the express train towards Mary-Jane’s, training bras and, dare I say it, feminine products.

My masculinity is eroding people, and fast. To keep Pea entertained and focused while we get her ready for bed, I routinely implore her to ‘comb daddy’s hair’ with her brush. The Pod usually reminds me that you comb with a comb, and brush with a brush. Oh my God!

I know what a barrette is, and I know which ones work best with Pea’s thin hair. On more than one occasion, I have placed a fallen barrette in my hair to avoid losing it and forgotten I put it there! Never in public, mind you, but it’s only a matter of time isn’t it?

(In defense of barrettes, they do an amazing job at holding back the two cowlicks that have taken up residence just above my forehead.)

I JUST DEFENDED BARRETTES!

There is but one solution to this erosion of masculinity – even out the X’s and Y’s in my family. Sure, I’ve met a lot of guys in my day whose testosterone levels are way out of proportion. But I know tons of guys who aren't mouth breathers at all. I’m not one of those guys… neither is my Dad, for that matter. He’s a well mannered, soft-spoken, hard working and charming man who taught me to never start a fight (but if one presents itself, to always finish it). I’ve got countless male role models to fashion a little man after.

So when the time comes to think about #2 (and no Mom, the time is not soon), I’ll follow the web's advise and ingest lots of red meat, salty snacks and caffeinated soda pop. After all, the internet has never steered me wrong before.

Ah, who am I kidding? Happy and healthy is all I really care about. And have you seen little girl clothes? It’s all so cute!

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t intentionally step on people’s feet.

The Ice Rink and the School Locker

2009-08-04T16:13:00.002-04:00

I hope Pea doesn’t fail to see the magnificence of life’s little choices.

Sometimes the littlest decisions can lead to the greatest outcomes.

(Cue Flashback Sequence.)

I’m four, standing at the edge of a freshly resurfaced hockey rink. It is my first day or organized hockey and I’m crying my eyes out, refusing to set foot on the ice. My mom, likely considering both my youthful trepidation and the non-refundable fee she’d already paid for my participation, decides to give me one last word of encouragement before pushing me onto the ice and closing the door. Twenty-six years later, I’m still playing hockey once a week and loving the sport as much as ever.

It’s Grade 10 and I choose a locker close to the guy’s washroom. I want to be able to go pee in between classes and not have to sprint down the hallway, pushing unsuspecting students/teachers out of the way as I curse my tiny bladder. As it turns out, the Pod had chosen the locker right beside mine and by the end of the year my wooing strategy was in full effect.

Wait a second, did the Pod purposely choose a locker close to the guy’s washroom?… naw, it couldn’t be…

I digress.

(End Flashback Sequence.)

As days turn to weeks, and weeks to months, I again find myself wondering what little decisions we are making today that will profoundly impact Pea’s tomorrow. I’m fairly certain that my mother couldn’t predict that pushing me on the ice would have such an outcome. She may have hoped, but knowing for certain is impossible.

Perhaps the switch from purees to a diet consisting mainly of finger foods will put Pea on a path towards the culinary arts.

Perhaps the Rockabye Baby – Bob Marley CD we play for Pea while she sleeps will one day inspire her to pick up a pick and strum the guitar.

Maybe Pea’s love for Oopsie the Care Bear will one day inspire her to work for Kenner and create a Care Bear known as Superfantastic, modeled after her father. This bear would be incredibly handsome, with a keen wit and a firm but fair demeanor. It would be the bestselling Care Bear ever and Pea would become ridiculously wealthy from Care Bear royalties and shower her parents with untold riches.

To me, the best thing about the cause and effect nature of these choices is that you don’t know what the end result will be. No matter how much we’d like to think we can script the future, the truth is that great and wonderful coincidences are going to shape our lives and we are powerless to stop them.

All we can do is enjoy the outcomes.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t fail to see the magnificence of life’s little choices.

Decisions, decisions

2009-08-01T22:37:00.006-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't remember her father's selfishness.

Prior to Pea being born, an invitation from a friend to spend a few nights camping in the wilderness required little contemplation. Really, the only question was 'Can I spare the vacation days?'

Now, the same invitation has consequences and requires more thought than I ever would have imagined. Sure, I'd need to square away the vacation stuff with the people that issue my paycheck, but many other concerns come to mind.

Will the Pod be OK managing her own job and the after work role of being a solo mom for a few days? She's a great mom, and I know she'll be fine, but how guilty will I feel leaving for a few days?
Will Pea balk at the relatively long-term change in her routine without me around? Perhaps more importantly, will she thrive without me around?
Will I be able to handle being away from the two of them for a few days? As it is, I can't wait to get home after work, and that's only 10 hours.
Will Pea harbor deep-seeded resentment well into her teens for the abandonment she remembers vividly from "Dad's SELFISH Camping Trip, 2009"?
Will it even be warm enough to camp this August? I mean, c'mon, it hasn't exactly been the balmy Summer we've all grown accustomed to experiencing around here.
Will the other campers make fun of me if I cry in my tent at night because I miss my family?

I'm trying hard to remind myself that having a life away from my family is a good thing for my family. For instance, the hockey I play once a week helps me relax, decompress and keep my marginally pear-shaped body from becoming a tomato-shaped mess. Without this hockey, I'd have no release and I might not be able to cope with parenting challenges with my current level of mediocrity. Ultimately, it's good for me, and us.

But hockey is 2 hours, once a week. What we're talking about here is 3-4 solid days away from them.

More questions... How soon is too soon? How long is the drive? How firm is the inflatable mattress in the basement? What kind of beer should I bring? Does the lantern need new batteries?

I guess I'm going. But I'm not gonna like it.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't remember her father's selfishness.

It's all... so... simple...

2009-07-27T21:33:00.004-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't jump the gun.

Now that the Pod is back at work, life is... different. Instead of quietly sneaking out of the house and driving 45 minutes to work, my mornings now involve dropping Pea off at my Pod-in-laws, dropping the Pod off at the office and finally making my way to work. Each way is 1.5 hours.

Our refusal to buy a second car is the right choice, but the 3 hours I spend driving every day gives me time to think, to say the least.

Lately, I've been thinking "simplification". Reduce the commute. Get more sleep. Eat more efficiently. Spend less money. Blog more often. Get more exercise. Have more fun. And so on.

Earlier tonight, I had a Eureka moment... I was convinced that simplification was right around the corner, or in this case, just down the street. In what I am now calling a "severe moment of weakness", I pitched my foolproof plan to the Pod:

Me: Let's sell the house and move downtown.

Pod: What? Why?

Me: We'd be closer to work and remember how much fun we had when we lived downtown?

Pod: What about Pea?

Me: She can come too!

Pod: Thanks, genius. I meant life downtown would be different with a kid. It's not all pub nights and shopping sprees. Pea'll have so much less space in a condo... we went nuts in a condo, just the two of us... now we have a hurricane to add to the mix!

Me: We could get a 2-bedroom plus den. It'll be great!

Pod: And what if we are blessed with another kid?

Me: They can share a room, they'll be best friends!

Pod: You've thought of everything, haven't you?

Me: You know it! WOOT WOOT!

Pod: And if we have a boy? Don't you think they'll want their privacy eventually?

Me: Well...

Pod: We'd have to pay ridiculous condo fees for a bunch of amenities we'll never use...

Me: Right...

Pod: And what about breaking our mortgage?

Me: So we'd have to pay a few thousand in penalties.

Pod: Isn't that a little counter-intuitive to you?

Me: I guess...

Pod: And Pea would never be able to ride her bike... there's too much traffic and smog. And we'd have to go all the way down to the park for her to play, instead of watching her frolic in the backyard. And even then, there's a pervert on every bench downtown.

Me: She could ride her bike in the condo! And we'll get a sandbox for the balcony!

Pod: (Blank Stare)

Me: Ok, bad idea.

Pod: I don't exactly like the suburbs either, but we agreed that we want Pea to grow-up with a backyard to play in and space for us all to keep our sanity. Remember, the more things change, the more they stay the same. We'll settle into our routine and all will be well again. Give it some time.

Me: You are so wise.

So, I'm still looking to simplify, but I now realize that our life is no longer meant to make sense all the time. The only thing I can count on is change. And it's a good thing I took all those change management courses at work, because I'm going to need them.

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

(N.B. The above conversation has been embellished to illustrate my point... it's my right as a blogger.)

Now showing...

2009-07-22T21:47:00.004-04:00

I hope the characters of Pea's youth don't one day falter in her adulthood.

We read to our little Pea. A lot. Every night we read her one or two books, and we also read to her before nap time. While I wasn't a big reader as a youngin', the Pod was a big book enthusiast and I am hoping Pea picks up where her mom left off.

For those that don't have kids, or who have moved beyond this phase of their lives, many of the books we find ourselves reading Pea are the very same ones we were read as kids. Goodnight Moon, Little Nutbrown Hare, countless Little Golden Books and many a Munsch tale are all prominent fixtures on Pea's bookshelf.

What boggles my mind is that we are beginning to see the characters from our youth coming to life on the big screen. Sure, comic books sagas have been made into films before, but I'm talking about the tales that define many a thirty-something's childhood.

Examples? Ok. Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are is scheduled for release in October and Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland will hit the big screen next year.

As I watch the trailers for these films (see below), I can't help but wonder whether the movies themselves will match the strength of my youthful imagination.

I also wonder if Pea will one day come face to face with the characters from the books we read to her today. Will Frisson L'Écureuil make a major motion picture one day? Will Pea get to see Little Miss Curious take on Little Mr. Tickle in a big screen Battle Royal? Who knows.

I'll let you know what my opinion is once I've seen Alice and Max on the big screen. My hunch is that I won't be disappointed.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope the characters of her youth don't one day falter in her adulthood.

Space... the Final Photo Opportunity

2009-07-20T22:33:00.005-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't let a good PR opportunity cloud her judgment.

Forty years ago, the United States of America put a man on the moon. With his famous, albeit redundant words, Neil Armstrong proclaimed "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind" and instantly made it cool to be a space geek. Grown men wept. School children dreamed of extra-terrestrial futures. Buzz Aldrin cursed his bad luck.

Today, as the world celebrates this major accomplishment in human history, many countries are also announcing their plans for future outer space exploration. Billions of dollars are being spent to research and explore the frontiers of our existence that are yet to be understood, so that we might have a clearer sense of where we are going and where we came from... personally, I'm all for it.

To do its part, the Canadian Space Agency and the Federal government cashed in on the hype of the first moon landing and announced a 'significant' contribution to the globe's space exploration efforts. The total spend? Wait for it... wait for it... an additional $110 million over three years for space robotics and technology.

Step back, Canada.

Granted, I don't know much about this kind of stuff. I'm no astronaut. I don't know what space robotics actually entails, although I do have an iRobot kind of scenario playing out in my head when I think about it.

What I do know is that it costs roughly 5 times that investment to send a television satellite into orbit. And we've gotten pretty good at sending satellites into orbit, so I imagine that's as cheap as it gets.

So I ask: what good is $37 million extra per year really going to do to the Canadian Space Agency?

As a country, we are constantly falling short on our commitment to help fight AIDS in Africa. There's a global climate challenge taking place right now on this planet. Our public transportation programs around the country are in dire need of funding. Every mayor of every city in Canada is claiming they don't have enough to do what Canadians need today. And so on.

So, when it came down to it, we chose to give the Canadian Space Agency what amounts to petty cash to get some good publicity, instead of putting that $110 million dollars to good use.

To infinity and beyond!... on a budget, I guess.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't let a good PR opportunity cloud her judgment.

Step by Step, Oooh Baby!

2009-07-18T21:14:00.003-04:00

I hope Pea never ceases to excite me.

Think back to the first time you did something really exciting. Go ahead, I'll wait...

Maybe you're thinking of the first time you drove a car, or the first time you scored a goal playing soccer. Maybe it's that first trip to the UK, when you spent a week living the life of a Londoner without the worries of work weighing you down. Maybe it's the first time you kissed someone or the first time you had sex. More than likely, you're thinking of the first time you read my blog.

Whatever it is that comes to mind, the one thing that ties all of our thoughts together is that we likely wanted to do it over and over again to recapture that unmistakable feeling of happiness.

Today, my little Pea felt the joy of doing something special for the first time and she spent the whole day recapturing the feeling. All day long, she was walking.

She's walked before, but the Pod and I could always tell that she was nervous and scared. Today, we could see that she was excited and proud, no longer completely afraid of falling and hurting herself. This was an entirely new feeling for her.

And every time she'd take a few unassisted steps, the Pod and I would congratulate her with a big hug or throw her up in the air for a celebratory Daddy Rocket ride. She'd giggle and then we'd set her up again and watch her do it once more. It was a great day.

Maybe tomorrow she'll regress and look to us to cart her around the house or crawl to her destination. Maybe it'll be days, or weeks before she is brave enough to proudly walk on her own again.

If that's the case, I won't mind at all. The fact of the matter is that every day with Pea brings something new and exciting to celebrate and even more to look forward to tomorrow. Whether it's walking, or talking, potty training or university graduation, my little girl will never cease to thrill me in new and exciting ways.

She's what makes tomorrow worth looking forward to.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never ceases to excite me.

What the hell happened here?

2009-07-16T15:13:00.002-04:00

I hope Pea doesn’t let greed affect her business decisions.

Dear Tooth Fairy Inc.,

For the next 7-13 years, I will be telling my Pea that whenever she loses a tooth, your company will send a “Tooth Fairy” to fly in through her window and deposit untold riches beneath her pillow. I will keep up my end of this bargain – and pony up the money to be left under her pillow - because I believe it is an essential part of her creative development to believe such nonsense (for a relatively short period of time).

After all, if Pea is happy, I'm happy.

That said, I don’t think you are holding up your end of this arrangement.

The sole purpose of your business is to regulate the value of teeth. It has recently come to my attention that your company is seriously mismanaging the economic forecasting aspect of your business. This mismanagement has the potential to leave me and many other new parents with a debilitating and irreversible tooth-for-cash program.

I’ve heard today's going rate for a tooth can be anywhere between $15 and $20, depending on the size of the tooth. HOW COULD THIS BE? Twenty-five years ago, when I was a kid, a tooth was worth $1 MAXIMUM. Inflation alone would not bring us to these present day values, and I am unaware of an increased demand for children’s teeth. In fact, I do not believe children’s teeth have any value whatsoever, and as such a $1 reward is more than generous.

What’s more, this $15-$20 estimate is a current value. I cringe when I think of what a tooth will be worth in a few years, when Pea loses her first. Will I have to give her a Counterfeit Money Detection System along with a crisp $50 bill? I certainly hope not.

Madoff Investment Securities. Fannie Mae. Freddy Mac. All of the American Banks. These are but a few examples of what can happen when greed, corruption and corporate mismanagement take hold of a business.

I challenge you to reclaim your dignity, Tooth Fairy Inc., before the very people you seek to assist turn their backs on you.

Kind regards,
A Concerned Financier

CC: Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, The Walt Disney Company

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t let greed affect her business decisions.

Big Ups Ourson

2009-07-06T20:28:00.006-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't forget Ourson.

My little Pea is a poor sleeper. She's a lot like the Pod, who needs to stay awake to the point of exhaustion so she falls right into a deep slumber when her head hits the pillow.

One of the things we did to try and help Pea sleep better was give her a 'lovey'; a soft item that she can hold close for comfort when she sleeps. For the longest time, this lovey was 'Ourson', an aptly named and adorable little bear that the Pod bought Pea for Easter.

Until recently, we were under the impression that Pea loved Ourson. They would play together in bed. Pea would whip Ourson around like a rag doll and from time to time hug and kiss him (albeit aggressively).

In hindsight, we were misreading Pea's signals. As it turns out, Pea doesn't like Ourson. She prefers more 'old skool' fare.

On a recent trip to the U.S., we forgot Ourson under a pile of blankets in the bed we had been sleeping in. It wasn't until we were an hour into our trip home that we realized Ourson was lying alone, suffocating under a pile of blankets, likely crying out for us and deeply saddened that we forgot him.

As much as that thought pained us - literally, I still get a little teary thinking of the poor little guy all alone - we decided it wasn't worth the trip back to retrieve him. We would soldier on without him until he could be shipped back to Canada.

To select a temporary lovey, Pea was placed in front of her plush toy stash and was allowed to pick anything she wanted. She reached straight away for Oopsie, a green Care Bear with a rattling tummy.

Watching Pea hug, kiss and squeeze Oopsie makes it clear that Ourson was an unwanted sleep aid imposed upon her by her well-meaning but clueless parents. Seeing how happy she becomes when Oopsie is around is virtually a slap in the face to our old friend Ourson.

In adult terms, it would be like watching your girlfriend make-out vigorously with another guy while she holds your heart in her hand and puts cigarettes out with your left ventricle.

It's cold, people. It can be hard to watch.

The good news is that Pea seems to really like Oopsie. In the end, that's all that matters. But we will need to make sure we teach Pea about the brave and valiant Ourson, who sacrificed his own safety and well being in an attempt to help her sleep better.

Ourson deserves as much.

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

72% Cuter, Guaranteed!

2009-06-29T21:32:00.004-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't let her cuteness go to her head (like her Dad has).

And trust me, she's cute. Granted, this is a father's opinion, but I can prove that she is, at least, 72% cuter than any kid I have ever seen before in my life.

Here's some proof... again, from her father's opinion:

She has a dimple. It is on her left cheek, and it rocks.
When I say, "Can I have some?", she proceeds to shove whatever it is she is eating into my mouth. That's off the scales cute.
She crawls at a torrid pace towards our front door when I arrive home.
When I say 'beso', which is Spanish for 'kiss', she lays a sloppy wet one on my cheek. She also does this routinely to Brobee, Mono and Glo Worm, three of her favourite toys.
She looks a lot like the Pod.
When I am putting her to sleep, she mumbles along when I am humming her a song. It melts my heart.
She is great with other kids her age. She plays along with them and is mesmerized by the special things they do... in fact, she usually starts doing something new a day or two after she spends some quality time with other kids.
And so on, and so forth.

Now, if you are a parent, I am sure you are convinced your child is 72% cuter than all other children. It is your right to think so, and I accept that you think so, but the fact remains that you are wrong. However cute you think your kid is, mine is easily 18% cuter, but on average, 72% cuter.

That said, I'd love to hear how your kid/cousin/nephew/niece/ neighbour is cute as well... because the world always has room for more cute! So post a comment and let us all know what you think makes a kid cute!

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't let her cuteness go to her head (like her Dad has).

PS - All joking aside, our kids are equally cute.

From Tehran to Ottawa

2009-06-22T23:03:00.002-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't neglect her civic responsibilities.

The mess we are currently seeing in Iran has me reflecting on the importance of democracy - true, transparent democracy - and the hope for a bright and free future for my daughter.

It occurs to me that while we may feel democracy is a right in this country, a little over 9 years ago most Americans likely felt the exact same way. 'Rigged elections are something you only see in the movies and in third world countries', they might have said, in their own American twang. Well, tell Al Gore that elections can't be stolen in the industrialized west.

And now, seeing hundreds upon hundreds of Iranian citizens taking to the streets in protest of what they feel is not the true outcome of their election naturally leads me to wonder what lies in store for Pea.

Will she have to endure questionable results in a Canadian struggle for power? If so, will she march on the streets of Ottawa in defense of her rights?

I certainly hope neither of these two situations come to fruition. But if they do, I hope my Pea will speak up if she feels she has been cheated. After all, her right to protest is as much a centrepiece of democracy as her right to vote.

But most of all, I hope she votes in the first place. This is a right her great grandfather fought for and risked his life to protect. Voting is the least we can offer him, and his counterparts, in return.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't neglect her civic responsibilities.

The pity of an unstocked freezer

2009-06-21T22:04:00.006-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't fail to see the importance of Popsicle Pete.

I realized today, Father's Day, that while I am doing my best to be a good Dad, I need to get my ass in gear when it comes to being a husband.

Among many other luxuries today, I got to sleep in until 9:30am while Pea and the Pod awoke at 7:30am. I cannot recall the last time I was afforded the chance to sleep so late. Coming from a guy who, a little over a year ago would consider a good lie-in to be a 1:00pm wake up time, 9:30am was heaven sent and amazing.

My dreams during my 2-hour solo sleep included rainbows and lollipops, puppy dogs and Stella Artois', the Toronto Maple Leafs folding up shop forever and winning a brand new car. It was a good sleep.

After waking up, I was presented with my wonderful Father's Day gifts... a gift card to buy a pair of pants and two fully-functional watches (from my existing collection) with fresh batteries. I also received a wonderfully sentimental card that included words like "amazing dad" and "super sexy husband with the best set of pectoral muscles I have ever seen and the calf muscles of a Greek God".

Ok, that last bit may have been embellished a little bit, but you get the point.

I was then whisked away to the Pod-in-laws for a stellar roast beef dinner and returned home to indulge in not one but two Popsicle Pete popsicles - one cherry and one grape.

Looking back on this great day, I'm hard pressed to think of anything but my failings as a husband to the Pod.

Sure, I let her sleep in on Mother's Day, gave her a card that Pea and I made from scratch and tried as much as possible to take the baby-rearing load off her shoulders for but one day. But did she get to have two Popsicle Pete popsicles in one sitting? No. We didn't even have Popsicle Pete popsicles in the freezer on Mothers Day.

What kind of husband does that make me? I don't even want to think about it.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't fail to see the importance of Popsicle Pete.

Up your nose with a rubber hose, Facebook!

2009-06-19T21:23:00.009-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't let Facebook fill her with jealousy.

A question for all you new and relatively new parents out there: is it just me, or does Facebook sometimes appear to be a tool, developed by the baby-less bourgeoisie, to remind us baby-raising proletariat of all the fun, mischief and debauchery that we left behind to happily raise our families?

Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of Facebook. I check it every day and love that I can keep in touch with friends from the past and family I can't actually recall ever meeting. I never check my real email account anymore and I'm constantly engaged in a friendly game of Scrabble.

But earlier tonight, as I browsed the photos of a friend who is visiting several European oasis's (is that the plural of oasis?), something terrible occurred to me - I haven't travelled for my own personal pleasure in quite some time.

Then I browsed the profile of our bestest friend, who invites us every year to her cottage for an amazing weekend of swimming, sun, moderate alcohol consumption and board games. We couldn't go last year and the timing didn't work out for things this year.

Then I saw a weird add for people with foot fetishes. Irrelevant.

Then I saw a status update for a friend who is attending a concert I would have liked to go to, and I tried to remember the last concert I attended. I drew a blank.

Then I wept.

Indeed, the parents out there will know two things:

Employment Insurance doesn't make you feel insured against anything.
Becoming a parent turns your whole life on its ear.

And so, with less money and a completely new reality, the Pod and I are trying hard to maintain some semblance of what we were before Pea arrived.

We still hang out with friends in the evenings, albeit far less frequently. We still hit the local amusement park, albeit with a stroller and fewer big people rides. And we still bang out a "dinner and the movies evening" from time to time, although we usually eat at Subway and we rarely know what we want to see without having to look up the latest releases on the internet.

So, a note to you, baby-less bourgeoisie: you can have your Caribbean getaways, vodka-soaked patio evenings and Tuesday cheap nights at the movies! Who cares if I don't get to travel as much as I used to... every day is a trip with Pea! The cottage will be more fun when we next experience it through her eyes and I hear Raffi is AMAZING live! (Foot fetishes are still irrelevant.)

In the end, I'm just fine with Pea, the Pod and a walk around the block.

I may now know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't let Facebook fill her with jealousy.

And you thought the lottery was random...

2009-06-03T16:29:00.004-04:00

I hope Pea never loses her joie de vivre.

Ricochay here, coming to you live and direct from Montreal, Québec, Canada. For those of you that don't know me, of which I doubt there are any, my being in Montreal also means that I am not at home. Business has brought me to one of Canada's greatest cities for an over-nighter, which is also the first night I find myself away from Pea, the Pod and all the creature comforts of home (namely, my own bed).

Thankfully, there are reinforcements at home with Pea and the Pod. But quite frankly, being away from home sucks. I was thankfully able to take my mind off being away from my family by visiting with some friends who live in the city. Despite their great company, I missed being a part of Pea's nighttime routine terribly. Now that I am solo, back in my room, I find myself using my imagination to be with them...

Hey! Guess what Pea did recently? Go ahead, guess. C'mon, take a stab in the dark. Guess anything. Jesus, c'mon, one guess. Why won't you play along? You never play along. What is wrong with you? We're just having some fun here! Dammit, take a guess! WHY ARE YOU SO DIFFICULT?

...

...

There, was that so hard? Geez. Anyway, you guessed wrong, sucker.

Let's try again, which of the following did Pea recently do:

1) Eat a massive grilled cheese sandwich and onion rings
2) Help her Dad install sod in the backyard
3) Learn to dance

If you guessed #1, you don't have an 11-month-old and think very little of our parenting abilities. For shame.

If you guessed #2, you either live in China or have very politically incorrect views on child labour. For shame.

If you guessed #3, you would be correct. Congratulations.

If you've never seen an 11-month-old dance, it is quite a sight to behold. At first, Pea was dancing by simply bobbing up and down. We considered this dancing, but in the back of my mind I always knew she was merely imitating the motion of her exersaucer and so her dancing was slightly tainted in some way. Then, somehow, she decided that dancing was not an up and down motion, but a side-to-side wiggling of the hips. It didn't take long for the Latin in her to come shining through.

Now, if Pea was a popular music star from the 50's (Elvis), the aforementioned hip wiggling would be censored for TV, because truth be told it is quite vigorous and uncontrolled. But these are different times. Pea's dancing is now widely accepted, and so the Pod and I are not concerned. She has rhythm, and there was no certainty of that going into this... she does, after all, have me as her father.

Remember Elaine's dance on Seinfeld. Yeah.

So there you have it. A lonely Dad and a cute new dance from the Pea. Pretty random stuff, but I'm tired. Give me a break.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never loses her joie de vivre.

Here's to you, St. Jacobs

2009-05-24T21:04:00.008-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't discount the beauty of the Mennonites.

I fully recognize that Pea will eventually grow up. As a Dad, this is scary on about a million different levels. Floppy haired boys. Lipstick, eyeliner, rouge (do they still call it 'rouge'?) and something called 'ceramides'. Not to mention exorbitant cell phone bills. All of this, and more, keeps me up at night... crying... usually in a cold sweat... praying to God that he send me the blueprints to a time-travelling Delorian so I never have to leave this decade if things go sour.

Nothing, NOTHING, scares me more than the potential clothing choices Pea will have to make in 12-15 years.

From what I can tell, there are two potential teenage clothing trends that could come to fruition by 2020:

Outcome #1 - If You Seek Amy chic

Inspired by Brit-Brit and the other delicate divas of our day, the current trend of less is more will continue to escalate to nightmarish levels. When Pea starts to come into her own, the only clothing choices available will be body paint or loin cloths and nipple tassels.

That'll never happen, you say? It's not so bad now, you claim? Here's an example. The Pod and I recently saw a gaggle of young ladies, maybe 15 years old, at the mall wearing stilettos and tight spandex 'dresses' that barely covered their bum holes. There were at least 7 of them, dressed exactly the same. The Pod and I are convinced they left the house wearing jeans and took them off when they got to the mall. I felt like I was in Amsterdam's Red Light district all over again.

Sample conversation between said ladies:

Girl 1: Oh... My... God, Charity. I, like, totally love your dress.

Girl 2: Like, thanks Amarynth. I totally tailored it myself. I had to cut some of it off at the bottom so people could see the tattoo on my butt.

Girl 3: You, like, like that dress Amarynth? It totally doesn't reveal anything. I was going to request that we vote Charity out of the 'Super Sluts' club for breach of dress code.

And so on.

Outcome #2 - Mennonite chic

You know how every few decades, the people in charge of 'style' decide to do a 180 and go in a completely different direction? Well, Mennonite chic is the complete opposite of If You Seek Amy chic.

Mennonite chic involves cool young ladies covering every part of their bodies with floral patterns, lace collars and bonnets. They would cringe at the thought of revealing too much, too soon, and would commend one another for finding new and unique ways to conceal while staying cool.

Sample conversation between said ladies:

Girl 1: Oh... My... God, Charity. I, like, totally love your dress.

Girl 2: Like, thanks Amarynth. I totally tailored it myself. I had to add three layers of crinoline to make sure you can't see my ankles through the polyester.

Girl 3: You, like, like that dress Amarynth? It totally reveals way too much. You can totally see the freckles on Charity's forearm through the velvet cuff. I was going to request that we vote Charity out of the 'Super Covered' club for breach of dress code.

And so on.

Guess which direction I want the future to go in?

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't discount the beauty of Mennonites.

PS - If you know anyone who's aim is to start a clothing company specializing in Mennonite chic, I am looking to invest. Holla at'cho boy.

Mr. Green Thumbs

2009-05-18T21:43:00.004-04:00

I hope Pea isn't allergic to grass.

My Pea deserves nothing but the best. That's where today's story starts, and ultimately, costs me a crapload of money.

Since last Thursday, I have been off work. I took some much needed time to tend to several household errands that I have been putting off because, quite frankly, I'd rather spend time with Pea at the end of my day and on weekends than weed and mow the lawn for example.

But, after several menacing stares from my neighbour, who was pulling dandelions up from his lawn while the seeds from those on my lawn blew in his face, it became apparent I needed to put forth some effort and show a little pride in ownership.

I headed to Canadian Tire and purchased the Fiskars weed puller, a Godsend for my genetically weak back. I then proceeded to pull 4 yard waste bags full of weeds and dead flowers from both my front and back yard.

When I was done with the front yard, I felt immense pride. Beauty was again restored.

When I was done with the back yard, well, let's just say it looked nice but it just wasn't right. You see, last year grubs ravaged our lawn and all that remained was a horrible patchwork of clover, dirt/dust and yellow grass. This confirmed what I had been dreading: I needed to re-sod the back yard so Pea can have a level, lush and safe place to frolic.

For those who have never re-sodded, here is a rundown of the tasks:

Rid the yard of weeds.
Lure an unsuspecting family member over to the house to assist with the arduous removal of the old grass. In this case, the father-Pod-in-law came by to assist in this unenviable task. Poor guy.
Research Junk Removal services to get rid of the old lawn from the back yard. Determine best choice, contact them, have them come by and give a quote that is $500 more expensive than expected, tell them to shove it, stare at the old torn up lawn in the backyard for a few hours, cry, find alternate solution to get rid of sod.
Find a non-toxic, pesticide free manner to eradicate existing lawn of grubs. (Note: this is actually virtually impossible thanks to new city by-laws.)
Purchase one of those fashionable large yellow bags of top soil.
Purchase 36 rolls of premium quality, Pea-approved sod.
Lure an unsuspecting family member over to house to assist in fertilizing existing top soil, laying out new top soil and rolling out sod. The father-Pod-in-law did not learn lesson during step 2, and is back for more.
Water, water, water.
Watch Pea frolic in yard for years and years to come.

By comparison, here are the steps to overseeding (which likely would have produced comparable results):

Lay down some top soil.
Grab a handful of grass seed.
Chuck it on the lawn.
Water, water, water.
Watch Pea frolic in yard for years and years to come.

Did I mention the Pod is allergic to grass? And that allergies are genetic.

Sigh.

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

For shame! FOR SHAME!

2009-05-12T21:56:00.009-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't grow up in a world without orange drink.

I like to eat at McDonald's. Those of you who have seen me without a shirt are likely saying "Yeah, no kidding", but quite frankly I don't care. The Pod feels safer knowing she always has access to my spare tire in the event of a flat, and extra weight is the least of my worries when my shirt comes off... ok, if you have to know, I have recently noticed an increasing amount of hair growing everywhere that it is not wanted. Too much information? Well I don't like it any more than you do, trust me.

Moving on.

I fully realize that my love affair with McDonald's is extremely taboo, given the calorie content of most of their food, but I stand by my appetite. Anything on the McDonald's menu is no worse than, say, a Tim Hortons muffin (look it up if you don't believe me).

While I may love the blessed Quarter Pounder and the heavenly Chicken McNuggets, drenched in the beloved Sweet and Sour sauce, I can assure you that Pea will not come into contact with any of this crap on my watch. That said, this will definitely be one of those 'do as I say and not as I do' issues.

McDonald's advert aside, it has come to my attention that the Golden Arches has discontinued its 'orange drink' offering, a.k.a., the best thing on their menu. Those of you who might not have had Mc-E-Dees in a while might remember the orange drink as a halftime soccer favourite, or an elementary school picnic special treat. It was a delicious alternative to real orange juice for our financially strapped french catholic school board and it will be sorely missed.

So, to you Mr. Ray Croc, I cry foul. In fact, the Pod and I cried foul during a recent trip to McDonald's and were told, by management (while a lineup of cars formed behind us), that insufficient amounts of people were drinking orange drink and the company decided to replace it with, of all horrific things, the aspartame-laden Coke Zero.

Yeah, much better choice.

Tell me this then, Mr. Management, if orange drink is so undesired by the public, why are there no less than 5 Facebook groups dedicated to bringing back orange drink? Hmm? Are you telling me that 250 Facebook users are wrong?

Bring back orange drink McDonald's. Or else. That's right, I just threatened McDonald's.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't live in a world without orange drink.

They paved paradise...

2009-05-10T20:56:00.007-04:00

I hope Pea doesn't discount the importance of watching TV.

Today is Mother's Day. This should, hopefully, come as a surprise to no one, but if I have caught you off-guard please feel free to make a quick phone call. The blog can wait... but not forever, so come back soon (and maybe sign-up to follow or vote in a poll when you do come back... I'm the type of guy that needs the validation).

This year, I of course have a new perspective on what it means to be a Mother. For the past several months, I have watched the Pod care for, nurture and build Pea into an outstanding little individual and while I'm sure some of the credit is mine, the vast majority of it is hers. I came no where close to celebrating the Pod today in a way that is fitting with what she deserves, mainly because there is nothing I could do that would do her justice. She is amazing.

As great a Mom as the Pod is, that's not what this post is about.

I was looking for something on the dresser in our room this evening and I came across a photo of me and my paternal grandmother. She passed away a few years ago and this photo is one of the few I have of the two of us. This may be my favourite photo ever and as I looked at it I felt a great deal of shame. The photo was covered in dust and was buried underneath a mountain of paper; it was obvious I hadn't looked at it in a while.

Let me tell you a little about my grandmother; I'm sure some of you will be able to relate. She and my grandfather lived in Ottawa and together had 13 children. Two passed away at birth and the remaining 11 are now scattered across Canada. Whenever we visited my grandparents (they lived about 5 hours away) there was always food on the table, several aunts and uncles in the house, and a brood of grandchildren running about. Most of my cousins were terrible little monsters and I think the fact that my sister and I lived so far away and were relatively good children endeared us to her quite a bit.

When my father got sick while I was in high school, she and my grandfather came to stay with us and help my mom cope with my dad's illness. Once, while they were watching us, I was terrorizing my sister and she scolded me for it. She later came to me, crying, to apologize for yelling at me. If you've never been the cause of your grandmother crying, I can't adequately describe the guilt you feel. It was horrible.

After my third year of university, I moved to Ottawa for one summer and lived with my aunt, uncle and grandmother for four months. My grandfather had already passed away, and my aunt took in my grandmother, no questions asked (I could do a whole other post on how great my aunt is, but I digress). During these months, I spent a lot of time sitting beside my grandmother watching TV. While I didn't realize it then, these were among the best moments of my life.

Now that she is gone, I would trade just about anything to go back and watch TV with her one more time. My grandmother had a great sense of humour and was as delicate as a flower. As we watched TV, we didn't usually say much, but every now and then she would grab my hand and we'd continue to watch TV in silence. I'd tease her and try to get her to admit I was her favourite grandchild, and she agreed a few times... an admission I am certain many of my cousins also received. But I choose to believe she was telling me the truth.

My grandmother attended our wedding, which made the day 100X better. But she never had the chance to meet our little Pea. That is hard for me to accept, but I take some comfort in seeing little traces of my grandmother in Pea. The way she sucks her bottom lip, or the way she pokes out her chin, are both reminders that my grandmother may have passed away but she isn't gone.

I didn't call either of my grandmothers nearly enough to wish them a Happy Mother's Day and I'm an ass for that. I wish I could, especially now that I can fathom what being a mother to 11 is like! Or even being a mother to 5 like my maternal grandmother was.

As the great Joni Mitchell once put it, "Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone."

Happy Mother's Day to all the mom's out there. Especially the Pod, my mom and the Pod's mom.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't discount the importance of watching TV.

I think I'll pass on that donation

2009-05-05T21:32:00.003-04:00

I hope Pea never returns to her old university once she has graduated.

Last week, I helped the sister-Pod-in-Law move to a new house. This house happened to be in the same city as the university I proudly attended nearly 10 years ago. There was a break in the moving action, so I decided to take a drive past my old stomping grounds for a walk down memory lane (talk about mixed metaphors!).

As it turns out, this walk down memory lane was a long, dark trip through a dank back alley that I never want to experience again.

Here's what's improved at my Alma Mater.

The floppy haired kids of today get to enjoy a brand new soccer pitch on what was previously an uneven, muddy and quite frankly dangerous part of campus to walk on. This soccer pitch features state-of-the-art artificial turf that will never erode.
There are at least three brand new buildings that supplement some of the decrepit old ones I attended classes in, which means the floppy's are certainly receiving a better education than I did.
I am certain the school managed to find a way to stop the library building from sinking into the ground, thereby allowing the floppy's to study without the constant worry of slipping into the 7th circle of hell at any moment.
There are several new housing units that were built as student accommodations and I am sure these buildings have air conditioning and there is no smell of rotting wood after it rains, thereby providing the floppy's with peace of mind that they aren't inhaling carcinogens while they study, watch MTV, send text messages and illegally hack into government websites all at once.
There is a brand new athletic centre (not that I used the old one) that the floppy's are enjoying to avoid the frosh 40 I acquired at school.

After seeing what I saw last week, it is clear that the school does not need my financial assistance to create a better learning environment for the floppy's of tomorrow... from my vantage point, the floppy's have just what they need to acquire a higher education and join the workforce as an entire wave of boomers start to retire, thereby falling ass backwards into the lap of luxury with their ugly, floppy hair.

So the next time the Alumni Association calls my house and asks for a modest donation of $200 to improve the school even more for the floppy's of tomorrow, they'll get an earful from me (probably a polite 'no, thanks').

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't become A FLOPPY WHO USES MY DONATION TO LIVE IT UP IN FANCY APARTMENTS WITH BRAND NEW BUILDINGS AND SOCCER FIELDS THAT DON'T TWIST THEIR ANKLES... uh... I mean... I hope she doesn't return to her old university once she has graduated.

PS - Happy Cinco de Mayo to my Latino readers!

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

2009-04-28T20:44:00.010-04:00

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...

The Gall of Some People

2009-04-26T20:30:00.005-04:00

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.

Ricochay and the Bee

2009-04-19T22:07:00.003-04:00

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.