The 'thrill' of meeting new people

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!

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

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.