Here's to you, St. Jacobs

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

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:

1. Rid the yard of weeds.  
2. 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. 
3. 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.  
4. 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.)
5. Purchase one of those fashionable large yellow bags of top soil.  
6. Purchase 36 rolls of premium quality, Pea-approved sod. 
7. 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.  
8. Water, water, water.  
9. 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):  

1. Lay down some top soil.
2. Grab a handful of grass seed.
3. Chuck it on the lawn.
4. Water, water, water. 
5. 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!

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...

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

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!