Dear Diary

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

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...

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

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

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.