I Beg Your Pardon.

You can pay money to get your child enrolled in organized soccer ($85), baseball ($75) and golf lessons ($125) and his favourite sport is ...

... throwing a Fisher Price basketball up onto the sloping roof and then catching it when it falls off.

So the highlight of yesterday afternoon was playing the game. The Boy was getting pretty good at catching it on the bounce. I was pretty good at saving the ones that were about to go off the elevated patio deck and down onto the backyard. I missed two. The first one the Boy went to get, the second one he insisted Daddy go and get. I was in my slippers and declined.

He continued to insist and I continued to decline which ultimately resulted in a Boy getting angry and Daddy calling an end to the game. Frustration and sadness follow. Mommy takes over. Boy goes up for his bath and Daddy goes down to watch Seinfeld.

Everyone's happy again by the time bath time is over, and I go upstairs to help get him ready for bed, read a story, say the prayer, rub his back, kiss him goodnight. Before all that, I'm drying him off by the tub.

Boy: You should forgive me now.

Me (puzzled): What for?

Boy: Because you didn't go and get the ball.

Me: And you're still mad at me for that.

Boy: Yes.

It occurs to me that what he wants is for me to apologize.

Me: So I should forgive you.

Boy: Yes.

Me (hugging him close): Then I forgive you.

And then all was well.

Rotundity & Innocence

The time between Christmas and Easter has been an orgy of chocolate. Toblerone bars, Pot of Gold, Cadbury Easter eggs, mini-eggs, Tim Horton's Cafe Mocha. Chocolate and more chocolate. It has resulted in an unfavourable personal expansion. That is to say, I have not enjoyed the picture of me in the mirror. So having neglected going to the gym for some time now, I have been forced to face up to my flabby physique and get myself back to working out on a regular basis as well as trying to curb the intake of all that junk.

I have also been conscious of the Boy's habit of eating the minimum at suppertime and then spending the rest of the evening asking for snacks and treats. Finally, with my own issues clearly in mind, I confronted him about his evening eating habits. You're not supposed to do this, I know, because it can create the seeds of an eating disorder, but I told him that if he keeps it up eating treats all the time in the evening he was going to end up with a fat belly.

Boy: Like you...?

Me (deep inward sigh): Yeah. Like me.

The Only Other Certain Thing In Life.

Tax time has come and gone except, there I am, papers strewn over the dining room table, using the last day of the Victoria Day long weekend to do what I had resolved to do early this year.

It's been a horrible weekend, again.

The Boy and I have our golf day every Sunday when the course has "Family Day" and the youngsters get to play a pretty expensive course for free.

Outside the wind pounds the rain against the dining room window. It's rained the last four out of four Sundays. Last week the weather was just marginal enough for us to go out and play. That makes us a depressing one-for-four since the golf course opened. Today, Monday, is no better. The forecast for the rest of the week is cloudy, rain, rain, rain, rain. And cold. Make that, continuing cold.

The silver lining is that I'm finally getting my taxes done. The Boy and I have been playing Crash Bandicoot (which he now insists on calling by its proper name - Crash Nitro Kart) and Roller Coaster Tycoon all weekend. I pried myself away telling him I would need a couple of hours to do my income tax.

An hour or some later, he's up to see if I'm ready to come back and resume my fatherly duty of playing video games. He asks if I'm finished ... something it sounded like Frankentax, which I thought was pretty funny.

Me: Am I finished what?

Boy: Are you all done with your inky tax?

I Swear I Didn't

Mamma: When you play rollercoaster tychoon, do you swear?

Me: What? 

Mamma: When you're playing the game and make a mistake, do you ever swear?

Me: No. Why? What's he said?

Mamma: He's playing down there when all of a sudden he says, "Sheet."

Mamma's Day

Mother's day rolls around again, and Daddy's having a hard time figuring out what to get for a present. There's the live lobster that was bought for the supper (which turned into an interesting life-lesson for the Boy - "Is it made dead yet?"), and the brunch has been planned, but although Momma has been asked a few times what she wants for her present, she hasn't responded with anything specific.

On Saturday, the Boy, the reason for the day, makes a suggestion.

Boy: What about ... what about...

He stumbles and searches for the words, finally coming up with:

Boy: What about a fer ghis ticket?

So we go to Tim Horton's and, as per the Boy's idea, we buy a whole bunch of gift certificates.