Thus Spake The Boychild

Not Quite Aesop

2009-10-09T19:09:00.000-07:00

Taking a little risk (and who knew there be the scene with the grandma and the no-teeth ...*shiver*) I allow the Boy to sit with me and watch the movie "Yes Man". He is somewhat baffled by the story line.

Boy: I don't think this movie has a mortal.

A Little Later

2009-10-09T18:58:00.000-07:00

Much has happened.

The Boy is ten years old. He's less prone to making those revealing observations and his dad is less prone to writing them down. The boy's mom and dad live in their own houses now.

It's morning. A Boy and his Dad are on the way to daycare. It's usually the after-school daycare but this morning, Daddy has an early tee-time with his brother and some other men from work. And Mamma's already at the airport. The Boy doesn't like daycare anymore; he's mostly grown out of it, so there's some gentle complaining.

As we drive past, a mom and her little red-haired girl are walking along the sidewalk, hand in hand, and Daddy takes a guess.

Da: Is that a daycare girl and her mom?

Boy: Yes.

Da (teasing): She's pretty....

Boy: NO! No, she's five times more annoying than she looks.

Daddy laughs and the Boy is puzzled by this reaction. But Daddy thinks it a wonderful comment on the whole Boys vs. Girls thing.

The 19th Hole

2007-04-06T08:46:00.001-07:00

Last night, to celebrate the Boy's good report card, we went out to the Lone Star restaurant for supper. I noted as we walked in that they had a TV on over the bar that was showing The Big Break VII, something that the Boy and I watch together occasionally. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) there was no TV to be viewed from where we were in the restaurant. We sat next to the conveyor belt that processed the balls of dough into the flat burrito wraps that we were to get with our fajitas. The Boy enjoyed himself watching the wraps come down the slow cooking spiral, often getting in the way of patrons and waitresses, but having a good time anyway. He came back to the table and sat down.

Boy: Is there TV in heaven?

Mamma: Yes there's everything in heaven.

Boy: Then Tiger's Dad can watch him play the Masters this week.

The Power of the Pen

2007-04-05T19:00:00.000-07:00

The other day the boy invited me into the bathroom with him.

So, this is blog entry is off to a weird start, huh.

What it was though, he wanted to show me something that required viewing in a dark room. The small powder room on the main level fit the bill. He got me in the room, closed the door and turned off the light.

Boy: See that?

Me: What?

Boy: See that?

Me (straining to see something, finally noticing the napkin in his hand on which, glowing barely visible, are three letters): Oh, it's your name!

Boy (proudly): It's invincible ink.

Beauty is only skin (deep).

2007-02-12T14:25:00.001-08:00

Channel surfing over the weekend, I stopped for a while on "Inside the Actor's Studio". I enjoy the program and I haven't watched it for a long time, especially since the new TV has me almost exclusively among the suite of HD channels (of which Bravo is not one). The guest on Sunday's show was Angelina Jolie.

Me: Do you think she's pretty?

Boy (considering): No.

Me: Really? You don't think she's pretty?

Boy: No.

Me: You know, a lot of people think she's one of the prettiest women in the world.

Boy: She must be naked a lot.

What the Doctor Ordered

2007-02-09T07:26:00.000-08:00

A Boy is only too happy to find reasons to come and spend the night sleeping in Mamma & Dadda's bed. He's a very cuddly Boy. This is wonderful for the first 5 minutes, then a person would like to get to sleep and the Boy gets directed to his own side of the bed.

He's been sick with the flu the last few days and insists on sleeping with someone for added comfort. He provided some direction of his own.

Boy: I don't want anyone to get grumpy and say go back to your own bed. Is that anyway to treat a sick little bird?

Reading Strategies

2007-02-08T12:53:00.001-08:00

Grade Two continues toward its halfway mark. The Boy is becoming a better reader. Recently he's finally started to adopt the method of sounding out words from the letters. This sounds obvious, but up to now he would read a word first by recognizing it if he knew it, and if he didn't he would look at the first couple of letters and then guess the rest of the word. From time to time, he still falls back to this tried and untrue strategy. Like at church the other day with his Mom, reading from the missal.

Boy: "Holy, holy, holy. Lord God of power and ... mistakes."

Mamma: MIGHT!

Superbowl LXI: The Rain and the Wind

2007-02-07T11:57:00.001-08:00

My social and familial ostracizing began with Hockey Night In Canada around the television set. My favourite player was Bobby Hull and I cheered for the Chicago Blackhawks. This puts me at odds with my father and my brother who cheered for the Leafs or the Bruins or who knows who, but it wasn't the Blackhawks. When spring came and the ice melted, I cheered for Johnny Bench and the Cincinnati Big Red Machine. My dad and my brother were both Dodger blue. At a more grown up age, I was a rabid Expos fan while my dad was still blue, but now Toronto blue.

Now, with a Boy of my own, I try to cheer for whoever he's cheering for, but on the day of the Superbowl, wouldn't you know it, we landed on opposite sides. Both he and his grandfather were rooting for the Bears.

So there I was, literally and physically apart from my Dad (again) and my son as they sat together in the comfy armchair watching the game and I by myself on the couch. The Bears scored first on the very first play and there was great crowing from the armchair. Then as the Colts scored and the tide seemed maybe to shift a bit, my son left my Dad's lap and came to sit with me.

He grinned at me, farted on my thigh and went back to sit with his granddad.

What Have You Done For Me Lately?

2007-02-06T16:52:00.000-08:00

Most days after school I ask the Boy what he learned about and most times he replies, "Nothing" at which point I exclaim, then what are we doing paying money to send you t school?" and he laughs.

Back from Sunday School I asked him again what he learned about and in a bored voice he answered:

Boy: Just Jesus.

Mamma's Shining Star

2006-09-05T06:29:00.000-07:00

As maybe a follow-on to the whole Pluto discussion (even though we had this discussion before I'd found out he'd been talking to Mommy about Pluto) , the Boy was asking some questions in the backseat the other day.

Boy: How many people are there in the world?

Me: Hmm. Seven billion? Eight billion? Something like that I think.

Boy: I think there are 10 billion.

Me: You do.

Boy: Yes. Do you know how many stars there are in the universe?

Me: Wow. I don't know. A lot.

Boy: There's 10 billion stars. So there's one for every person in the world.

Eight is Enough?

2006-09-05T06:11:00.000-07:00

In my brief research for this post, I found that other parents have linked the demise of Pluto as a planet to the song they learned with their children about our planets in the solar system. The song came from the TV program, Blue's Clues and I confess it was one of the first things I thought about when I read that astronomers had stripped Pluto of its planetary status.

Because that program and the song were familiar to both of us, Mamma and I each and independently thought to trick the Boy with the revised answer to the "How many planets are there?" question. My try didn't work because Mamma had already beaten me to the punch.

Mamma: Do you know how many planets there are?

Boy (counting): Nine.

Mamma: Wrong! Eight! Pluto's not a planet anymore.

Boy: WHAT?!?!?!

Mamma: Yes! Pluto's not a planet anymore.

Boy: WHAT?!?!?!

Mamma: The scientists all got together and decided that Pluto wasn't a planet anymore.

Boy: Well! What do the people on Pluto think about that?

"No man is a failure who has friends."

2006-09-05T05:18:00.000-07:00

One of the Boy's new friends lives only a couple of minutes up the road from us. The neighbourhood changes from our series of link homes and town houses to a markedly more upscale set of houses, set back on amongst the trees in some more out-of-the-way places. The friend's mom owns a couple of salons. They have a cottage on the lake that they invited to Boy to on a sleep-over, this was back more at the start of the season, a point important to the story in that the cabin wasn't completely stocked with supplies. We weren't sure about sending the Boy by himself to the lake, but he was excited to go spend some time with his friend - a girl. The girl's mom confided that her daughter liked playing more with Boy than the other girls since he was more fun. They did more stuff. Like combing the backyard for slugs. Stuff like that.

"He cracks me up," she said to us when they came back from their sleepover. "I love him, the things he says!"

Uh-oh, we thought, what happened.

Well, what had happened was that the Boy was hungry and asked for ...

Boy: Can I have a peanut butter and honey sandwich?

Sheila: Oh, we don't have any.

Boy: Can I have just peanut butter then?

Sheila: No, we don't have any peanut butter. There's not much in the cupboards right now. I'm sorry.

Boy: Well, can't you just go to the Superstore?

Sheila: Well, not right now, we can't.

Boy (thinking this over for a moment): Are you poor?

Keep a Secret?

2006-09-05T05:14:00.000-07:00

August has the holy trinity of birthdays: Mother, Wife and Son (in order of appearance). The Boy and I are out making preparations for the middle one which involves - among other things - going to Sobeys to pre-order the cake. The Boy and I discussed the options and decide on a white cake with pink and yellow trim with pink frosting flowers and a message that read "Happy Birthday Mamma Bird". A day later I got a call at work.

Mamma: I know you went to Sobey's to get a cake for me.

Me: How do you know that? A Boy must have said something.

Mamma: Well, I asked him how his day was and he said, "I went to Sobeys with Dada but it had nothing to do with your birthday."

HOW much?

2006-08-14T09:05:00.000-07:00

It's a bumper berry crop this year.

Earlier in the week, Mamma took the Boy hunting for blackberries alongside the train tracks, close to the community swimming pool. It's not peak season yet; most of the berries still have to ripen. There are thousands and thousands of them this year. And even only picking the early arrivals, Mamma and the Boy came home with a healthy-sized harvest.

It was another beautiful weekend this weekend. Sunny and warm. I resolved less TV/internet/PlayStation; more outdoors. I told Mamma that the plan for Saturday was to go swimming after we went berry picking. She warned me that they had already got all of the ripe ones and that there probably weren't a lot more ready to be picked. She was wrong.

The next morning before going to work, she asked the Boy how the berry-picking went.

Mamma: Did you find a lot of blackberries?

Boy: Only quite a very many few.

Father's Day

2006-06-19T07:28:00.000-07:00

The portable DVD player played an important role in this year's Father's Day.

The Boy and I went to visit my parents for the weekend (and my sister and her boys), unfortunately leaving Mamma behind to work her early morning shifts. The trip to the Valley is an hour and a half by car. It used to be shorter, but then the gas prices went up and to conserve gas, I don't drive so fast anymore. Since I've strarted driving the speed limit, I've been very interested to see the number of cars that line up impatiently behind me in the no-passing zone.

On Sunday morning the Boy presented me with my father's day present. It was a Titletist golf ball, an NXT Tour, one of my favourite brands. The ball was dirty and scuffed. "Where did you get this?" I asked him.

"I went shopping," he replied smartly. I laughed and he fessed up about having found it yesterday in the woods when we were playing with Poppa and looking for one of my wayward shots.

The rest of my cards and prizes were at home waiting for us to get back. All but one.

It was over 30 degrees Celsius both days we were there. My parents have an above-ground pool behind the house and I had just come back from a run. The Boy and I were alone in the pool, everyone else having gone to church. I was having my own spiritual moment with the Boy, holding him in the water. Just the two of us hugging each other. It was the best part of the weekend.

A few minutes later, the Boy was out warming himself on the deck as I wandered some more around the pool. I was starting to think about the drive home.

"What movie do you want to watch on the way home? Do you want to finish watching The Incredibles or do you want to watch the Thomas the Tank Engine movie?"

"Ummmm, The Incredibles," he said.

"Yeah. That's a good movie, isn't it. It's one of my favourite movies ever."

"Why?" the Boy wanted to know.

"Well, it's a good story and it's funny and it's just really fun to watch."

"What's your favourite part?"

Hmmm, I thought. What is my favourite part? I started to run the movie in my head waiting a moment to see what scene would jump out at me as my favourite.

"You know what my favourite part is?" asked the Boy.

I thought about the scene where Dash is whippity-whapping the bad guy in the face, speedy punches just before the flying machine crashes into the cliff. For some reason, I thought this was going to be what he said was his favourite part, but instead of pre-judging him, I said, "No, what?"

"Watching it with you," he said and my Father's Day was made.

THAT's Italian.

2006-06-06T06:00:00.000-07:00

What's for dinner?

There's a pot on the stove full of water, ready to boil. I put it there at lunch time figuring to make the Boy and I some spaghetti (Mamma's at work). I further planned to order out for some pizza for supper. But when I went into the fridge at lunch time, there was the brown bag of leftover Chinese food. Better get rid of that first. So Chinese for me, PB&J for the Boy and save money on take out by having the spaghetti for supper. Or maybe not. There's other stuff in the freezer. Let's check with the Boy.

Me: What would you like for supper: spaghetti of pasta?

Boy: Pasta! Ummm..... Rollie Poly. Rollie Olie?

Me: ... Ravioli?

Boy: Yes!

Me (grinning): Give me a kiss.

Degrees of Being

2006-06-02T06:06:00.000-07:00

Out in the park, after school, two amateur entomologists (the Boy and his best friend) explore the world around them. The best friend has some sort of necklace in which are stored captured bugs. I wondered when hearing of this, how this could be other than an instrument of torture for the bug. My wife, who was relating the story to me, mentioned off-hand how she should have made sure the boy had his bug vacuum, which is exactly what it sounds like. A little dust buster type contraption to suck up and store the bugs in a plastic tube for the purpose of ... observation (yeah, right). These contraptions seem completely designed for little boys and just stop short of actually pulling wings off flies.

So anyway, the Boy and his pal are out playing with bugs and the pal is constantly shaking the necklace that has the bug inside of it.

Boy: Stop it! You're going to make it even more dead!

First Confirmed Occurence

2006-06-02T05:24:00.000-07:00

We were playing PlayStation Golf. The Boy asked me to play one of the tournaments and I'd just hit a bad shot.

Me: Oh ... darn it.

Boy: I thought you were going to say "fuck".

Me: (... ? ? ! ? ? ...)

Me: You thought I was going to say what?

Boy: Fuck.

I gently advised him that that wasn't a very nice word for a small Boy.

Scent of a Soft Drink

2006-05-18T07:50:00.000-07:00

Twice, I've taken the Pepsi Cola Challenge. Twice, I picked Pepsi. So as far as the cola wars go, you know whose side I'm on. I have been trying to cut down recently with all the exercising and stuff, but I'll admit to some more recent backsliding. In fact I had bought three bottles of the stuff from the store - it wasn't even on special.

It's a slippery slope.

The one in the fridge having been emptied, I went to get one of the others which were ... gone!

I was sure there were two more left. Did I drink all three bottles and not realize it? But there was that mysterious comment that the Boy had made a couple of days ago about missing bottles. I took a chance.

Me: What did you say about the Pepsi bottles. Do you know where they are?

Boy: Yes, I'll go find them.

He disappeared for a moment into the downstairs den and came back lugging a bag full of 2L bottles.

Me: How did you know where those were?

Boy: I thought I smelled Pepsi behind the couch and-

- and I interrupted him with a growl and a laugh and gave him a hug.

The Time I Got Shot

2006-05-12T07:15:00.000-07:00

Boy: Your rock mark is less.

Me: My what?

Boy: Your rock mark?

We were in the shower at T-bedtime minus 30 minutes. I had been to the gym working out for the hour between getting home from work and picking him up from the day care. We got some take-away from Subway, came home and had it for supper, studied together for his spelling test of the morrow, rehearsed for his piano recital that's a couple of weeks hence and still had time a little time left over to play Playstation. On workout days, we usually save water and shower with a friend. For me, that's him and for him that's me.

It's almost five months now that I've been bustin' it at the gym. I've lost about 10, 11 pounds. Something like that. My neighbour kidded me the other day about how I'm going to be shirtless this year doing all the lawn work, showing off. I feel better and my clothes fit better except the ones that are getting too big. I figure come soccer and t-ball, I'll be better at keeping up with the Boy.

Last year I was one of the assistant coaches for his t-ball team and frankly felt old and useless. My best attribute was been able to keep the kids engaged and encouraged. I remember one day I lifted the tail of my shirt from my pants and showed them the scar in my back. It looks like a bullet hole and I said it was when I got shot once. The kids were enthralled. Wow! When? In the war, I told them. It's from when I got shot in the war. I never did tell them that the scar was a result of having a kidney stone removed using the old-fashioned method known as percutaneous nephrolithotomy. It was the tube that was fitted in my back that left the "bullet hole" scar.

Or, as I realized after puzzling it out in the shower, what the Boy was calling my rock mark.

I further reasoned to myself that the mark must be less dimpled as a result of having lost some weight. Since it's behind me on my back, you'll be surprised to find out that I don't see much of that scar. But I was encouraged that if the Boy was noticing something enough to mention it, then all that hard work at the gym was evidently not in vain. I allowed myself a small measure of feeling good about that.

As we were finishing up our shower, the Boy observed to me very clinically:

Boy: Dadda, you're still a little bit fat.

Knowing What You Got

2006-05-09T09:01:00.000-07:00

Teach your children well. Never miss an opportunity to teach. The most fundamental lesson? Good things get rewarded. This occured to me as we were driving the other day, the Boy in the backseat, and we pass Pinky Somebody's Ice Cream. Now, it's not really Pinky Somebody. It's Pinky ... and I don't remember what the last name is. You probably figured that out already, har Edith? Let's just call it Pinky's.

Pinky's is a shack. A pink shack. Last year the pink shack was too close to the Dairy Queen, apparently, so this year it's moved a couple of kilometers down the road to an empty space where there's a phone booth where motorists can stop to call from a car-height (like that gets a lot of use) and where in December the Lion's sell Christmas trees. Pinky's sells those tasty and off-beat ADL flavours of ice cream like Bubblegum, Rainbow and Brownies on the Moon. A Boy, you won't be surprised to hear, is very keen on their ice cream.

Me: Hey, the Pinky's ice cream has moved. Look where it is.

Boy: Hey, yeah! We should go there more this year.

Me: That's right. We only found it at the end of summer last year and we didn't get to go very often.

Boy: This year we should go lots.

Me (inspired): Well, okay, but you know that ice cream is only for boys who are good and well behaved, so you'll have to make sure that you're good and polite and do what mommy and daddy say with no back talk and without all that grade one attitude.

Boy: And keep my cute little face.

In the rear-view, I see him beaming his best smile at me.

Attitudinal Adjustment

2006-05-09T05:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I found an old diary on my computer from 2001 when my son was not yet two years old and prone to biting his mother and father when cuddled. Times sure have changed. When school started we were forewarned and ready for the behavioural changes that come from being around gangs of kids all seemingly searching their peers for that lowest common denominator. Grade One Attitude, my wife calls it. A couple of recent examples:

The Boy and I are playing Hot Shots Golf Fore. There's a course in the game that's been laid out as if in an Asian Jungle. On the 16th hole, the fairway is interrupted by a giant statue of a reclining Buddha. You learn after only one try that you have to lay back with your tee shot, otherwise, you won't be able to get your approach shot over the statue, it's that big. I played first, picked about a five wood and laid up short in the fairway. The Boy didn't.

Me: You won't get over that statue, you're too close.

The Boy disagreed. I hit my shot over the statue and then it was the Boy's turn, me clucking and tsk-tsking about how he wasn't going to make it. The Boy hit and the ball shot through a tiny crease in the Buddha's neck, firing between his shoulder and jowl. The ball landed on the green.

Boy: How do you like that, Mr. I-Don't-Know-Everything?

Grade One Attitude. Now, I'll tell you about this other one, but I'll let you know it came with a sight gag when Mamma told the story to me. I'll try it anyway.

The last few days, the Boy has been very good sleeping through the night in his own bed, a reversal of a recent trend. During the weeks that he would trek over to get in bed with Mamma, she asked him why he didn't stay in his own room.

Boy: Because I wanted to cuddle with someone.

Mamma (referring to the stuffed animals in the Boy's bunk): Well, why don't you cuddle with Pierre or Teddy or Oochie?

The next night was the same; Boy comes over to sleep in Mamma's bed.

Mamma: Why won't you stay in your own bed at night?

Boy: Because I wanted to cuddle with someone (and here he cants his head sideways and turns up his nose) ... who's ALIVE.

More Than He Could Stomach.

2006-05-04T10:08:00.000-07:00

The golfing day was done and the Boy and I were reclining in the big comfy chairs next to the unlit fireplace, enjoying our after-game snack and drink. A bottle of red Gatorade was split between two ice-filled glasses for our enjoyment and refreshment. The clock behind us was creeping up on the supper hour and so I indicated we should finish up and head out to the car and home. I raised my glass to finish my drink and the Boy reached for his. In a moment it became obvious that he was trying to race me (at first) or keep up with me (second) as I downed my drink. He was mildly put out that he wasn't able. Sensing a mood shift in what had been a delightful afternoon so far, I grabbed him and hugged him, playfully teasing him over the attempt.

Me: Oh, you weren't ever going to win. I have such a big mouth and you have a lovely little mouth.

Boy: And you have really big guts and I only have little guts.

Florida: The 2nd Thing.

2006-05-01T06:53:00.000-07:00

I was awake for too much of the weekend.

On Saturday I stayed awake to watch Battlestar Gallactica and tape them for a friend at work who doesn't get that brand of cable at his house. There were three shows at an hour a piece. Sunday, last night, was Sopranos night. So when bedtime finally came, I was ready to sleep.

Instead, I thought about Florida.

The brain is a strange thing, offering up bits of creativity unsolicited. The muse fires up, engages and keeps you awake longer than you want to. I've written complete stories in my head when all I've wanted, desperately wanted, was to get to sleep. Last night in my head, I wrote about the motel. I wrote about our pool. I wrote about the run I had along El Mar drive. I wrote about Hollywood beach and the big surf.

I remembered what the second thing was from a previous conversation.

There were two primary differences between the beaches of Lauderdale-by-the-Sea and Hollywood. The first was that there were a lot more people at Hollywood. More people on the beach, more people in the water, more people walking the shops and sidewalks.

The second difference was the waves.

The waves in Lauderdale broke twice. The first time they break farther out where there is a bit of a sandbar and the waves rumble up, curl and then slide a bit without completely breaking. The second time, when they break for real, is where the sand comes up steeply from the water and so the waves break very close to the shore. When the conditions of tide and wind are just right, you can try to body surf them either out by the end of the sand bar, or closer in at shore.

At Hollywood the waves come in big and curl and break uninterrupted to the shore. You can ride them puppies.

The Boy and I were in the water at Hollywood while Mamma stayed on the beach. We were having a great time in the surf, catching some good waves and riding them. The way you do it is wait for a wave that's big and has a really good curl to it. You wait, time it right, and start swimming hard so you hit the curl just right. The wave takes over and you tuck your hands flat against your hips and ride that sucker like an arrow shot from a bow. If you're not quite right to the wave, or if the wave just decides to be a bit ornery, it folds you under its curl and spins you.

The Boy got spun.

The other thing you should know about the beaches in South Florida is that the "sand" is crushed seashells. When the Boy was spun in the wave, it crashed him into the sandy bottom and he came up with a collection of parallel slashes (that were really only scratches) along his chest. It looked like he had a shaving accident with a really big three-bladed razor. As always when he's hurt, he looks up at me, his eyes wide and pleading with a question and that question is: Daddy, how bad am I hurt?

I tend to downplay these things when I can. It's not that I try to be cold or unfeeling or anything like that, it's as an equivalent to reassurance. You're okay. It's okay. If I'm light with it, he won't think it's bad (when it is bad, I hold him and cuddle him and coo to him for as long as he needs). This time I turned his scrapes into trophies.

Me: Dude! You took a ride in the washing machine!

I don't often say "dude".

We showed Mommy his scrapes and told how he was rolled in the "washing machine". But that was the end of body-surfing for the Boy.

The next morning we're back in the motel room. Sportscentre is on. We're having our breakfast. In a little while we'll go out to the pool, the best part of the day for a Boy. He already has his bathing suit on and is getting ready to go. He comes over to me on the bed and presents his little chest.

Boy: Daddy, can you look at my surfer dude mark?

Alpha Male

2006-05-01T06:32:00.000-07:00

The Boy has a new girlfriend. Her name is Claudia. Apparently her favours shifted from a different boy on the schoolyard to my son. I'm not completely clear on why, but hey, Grade One's complicated. And I'm overstating the relationship of course, but that's something else that parents do with their children. Because it's fun. I grilled the Boy on the new girl to get an idea on how this all came about. He said he asked to play with her over recess and this time she said yes. Something close to that.

I was quick to moralize.

That's the value of being persistent, I said.

Claudia, apparently, likes to play Playstation. The Boy has invited her over to our house to play a game that they both like:
Hot Shots Golf Fore. It's a game the the Boy has been playing a lot lately. It's replaced Crash NitroCart as his favourite one to play. I know it's only a video game, but I'm surprised at how much better he's been getting at it lately. I also like that it's such a good simulation of the game, that he's picking up nuances that he can take to the real golf course. How the wind, the lie of the ball, the slope of the ground, the break on the green all contribute to what you need to do to make a good shot.

I came home the other day and he's downstairs playing.

Me: Hi. How are you doing?

Boy: Claudia is coming over to play. I'm practicing just in case she's good.

The One and Only

2006-04-27T12:06:00.000-07:00

On the third night since I returned home from Houston the Boy and I were going through our night-time routine and had got to the point where it was time to pick out a book. The night previous we had read the one I'd bought in Houston. You should know that on nights where it's not a rush to get to bed on time, the Boy picks out the book. On other nights, I'll pick one out. Often a short one. On this night, we had time so the Boy picked.

Boy: I pick THIS one!

Me: Hey. We read that last night. You want to read it again?

Boy: Yes. Because this is my new best book.

Me: It is, is it?

Boy: Yes, because you bought it for me.

Me: Oh, that's very nice.

Boy: So it's the very best book I have.

Me: Oh thank you.

Boy: And you are the very best Daddy ...

(Wow! I thought.)

Boy (cont): ... that I have.

We laughed together.

Early On In The Week From Hell.

2006-04-27T11:23:00.000-07:00

Our normal routines are in complete disarray since the wife is on a full week of having to report to work at 4am. This means my work day shifts from 7am - 3pm to 9am - 5pm on account of somebody has to get the Boy to the schoolbus. That would be me. And I'm finding those two hours of "Me Time" that I'm not getting anymore in the late afternoon make all the difference in the world when you're not able to get to the gym or the driving range (recently open) or for any after-work chores.

So early in the week, fresh back from my business trip to Houston, I decided to go to the grocery store to pick up a few things we needed then head over to the Daycare to get the Boy. You should know that the past two weeks involved a family trip to Florida, a family trip to Newfoundland to spend Easter with Nanny, being fogged in and stuck for an extra day in Newfoundland, Daddy leaving the very next morning after that (4 am) for the Houston trip, Mommy having a big reunion party downtown and the Boy being travelled up to stay with Granny and Poppa since both Mommy and Daddy were gone for the weekend. All this to say that there wasn't much opportunity to grocery shop for the period of two full weeks. The fridge and the cupboards were pretty empty. I took it on myself to get a few things to make supper and make sure that the cats at least had some food for the next couple of days.

From the store's parking lot, I called the Daycare (me walking toward the big front entrance to the store) to let them know I'd be there in about 10 minutes to pick the Boy up, please get him ready.

The lady on the phone said that Mamma had already picked him up.

I stopped walking. As far as I knew, Mamma wasn't supposed to be home yet. I thanked the Daycare, hung up and called the house. A Boy picked up the phone.

Me: Hi. I thought you were still at the Daycare! I just called them to say I was coming and they told me that you were already gone!

Boy: Mamma already came and picked me up.

Me: Yeah? How was your day?

Boy: Good.

Me: What's Mamma doing. Getting supper ready?

Boy: Yes.

Me: Hmmm. Does she need me to get anything while I'm here at the store?

Boy: She already went to the store.

Me: She what?

Boy: Yes, she went to the store before she came to pick me up. Where are you?

Me: I'm at the store right now. I came straight here from work to get something for uus for supper and then pick you up.

Boy: Well, that was a waste of time.

Back Talk

2006-04-27T11:22:00.000-07:00

There is a well established routine for the end of the day. There actually are two, if my suspicions are correct. Mamma has a Boy-routine and I have a slightly different one. The routine goes very much like this:

Boy gets a bath
Boy gets on PJs
Boy brushes teeth
Boy gets into bed
Mamma or Daddy read Boy a story (sometimes Boy reads, if he's feeling adventurous)
Boy says prayer
Boy gets his back rubbed
Mamma / Daddy leave
Boy goes to sleep

Some nights he's very chatty. Some nights we giggle and talk. We'll add "God-blesses" to the prayer if we encountered certain people during the day. But on some nights the Boy just wants to get to sleep ... without pre-empting the most important part of the routine. It's a very polite way of telling Daddy to shut up.

Boy: I'll just sleep. You just rub my back.

What A Drag It Is Getting Old

2006-04-27T11:10:00.000-07:00

The great Florida Blogging mystery comes to you courtesy a 40-something mental decline and the ol' "there's-never-a-pen-and-paper-around-when-you-need-it."

Wife and I are driving down Commercial Boulevard just north of Fort Lauderdale and I asked her if she had a pen and paper to write down a list of blog entries I wanted to capture for when we got home. There were three of them. Wife says to me, You tell them to me and I'll remember them. There are three, I said, and told her. Perhaps it was only the next day when we were reviewing these items. I said, there's this one, and that one... what was the other one?

I can't remember, says Wife. I remember it was the funny one.

Right, I said. The third one was the funny one.

A couple of days later, we could, neither of us, remember what the second one was either.

Trust me, you would have laughed until you stopped.

All that remains is:

Boy and I are sitting in our executive class seats on the way to Toronto, our first leg in getting to Fort Lauderdale. The flight attendant comes by with an armload of newspapers. She looks at me.

Flight Attendant: Globe and Mail?

Boy: No thank you.

The others were funnier. Man, were they funny.

I wish I could remember what they were......

Under the B: Bowling!

2006-03-13T08:12:00.000-08:00

My mother gave me a recipe for making sub buns. They're my favourite. My wife made them last week for the Boy and I. The Boy calls them "Sumbuns".

Speaking of misprints, the office bulletin board had a notice for glow-in-the-dark bowling under the heading "Dad and Me". I thought this would be an excellent outing and the Boy agreed. On Sunday he was counting down the hours to one o'clock, anxious and eager and excited to go bowling.

It was a beautiful day on Sunday. We drove into the city with the sun shining and the windows open. Out in the basin, a fireboat was jetting twin plumes of water in mirrored arcs. The Boy said it looked like the boat had wings.

We parked by the gym and walked into the foyer where we were met by a sympathetic lady who guessed why we were there and told us that the announcement for "Dad and Me" bowling had been made with a misprint. It wasn't didn't start at 1 o'clock, it started at 4 o'clock. I fumed for a moment and asked whether the Boy wanted to wait or play now somewhere else. Being 6 years old, he opted for the choice that provided instant gratification.

I ended up spending $10 for an hour of bowling. "Dad and Me" would have cost $6 for two hours. I don't think that it was because one was 5-pin and the other was 10-pin. The Boy and I bowled 2 games. Each of us played better in the first game than the second. In the fifth frame of the first game, I rolled my first of two strikes. Strikes are rare in candlepin bowling, especially when you haven't been playing for years. I rolled the ball right on my target and the pins splashed everywhere. They all went down at once. I stuck my arms up in the air in celebration. The Boy shouted behind me.

Boy: BINGO!

2 Minutes for Hold 'Em

2006-02-15T05:48:00.001-08:00

Dropping of some stuff at the drycleaner's last night, the proprietress had the Olympic Games on the TV. The TV looks like it got picked up from the side of the road somewhere. The colour is dingy and the picture is full of snow and static. There's a coat hanger for an aerial. This is kind of appropriate when you remember where you are. There's a hockey game being shown and I have to get right up close to peer and squint at the mini-scoreboard at the top right of the screen just to see who's playing. Even so, I can only tell that one of the teams is Russia. The other team is ... Sweden, I guess? Slovakia, the lady tells me.

Me: Hey, did you know that the Team Canada men played against Italy today? And guess who won.

Boy: Team Canada?

Me: Yes! And guess what the score was. Guess how many Team Canada got.

Boy: Twenty?

Me: Less. It was the men playing.

(We played an impromptu game of higher/lower until:)

Boy: Seven?

Me: Right. Guess how many Italy got.

Boy: Zero?

Me: Higher.

Boy: Five?

Me: Lower.

Boy: Two?

Me: Right! Canada won 7-2.

Boy: Hey! That's the worst hand!

Weird Dreams; Cats Read Calendars

2006-02-14T06:07:00.000-08:00

For the second night in a row, the Boy was awake at 3:30am. On the first night, he was in Mamma's bed and Mamma was trying to get him to go back to his own bed. Last night he was up coughing and going to the bathroom like he was going to throw up. My alarm clock is set to go off at 5:50 am, so I know for the second day in a row that I'm in for a tough morning. I throw of the covers and go to the Boy. He is lying on the floor. I pick him up and he hugs me tight as I take him back to his bed, laying his head down on my shoulder. I can feel how cold his cheek is from having it pressed to the stone tile floor. We go back to his room. I'm carefull to step around all the toys on the floor. I tuck him in, give him a kiss, tell him I love him and go back to my own bed. I'm almost asleep when he goes back into the bathroom. More coughing. He doesn't throw up either time, but he's not feeling well. I hunker down next to him and rub his back. When he's finished I give in and ask if he wants to come and lie down with me for a while (knowing it will be for the night) and he gratefully accepts.

Eventually, sleep comes. Dreams mix with reality.

One of the cats, Ginger, jumps on the bed and starts to prowl around. In my dream, we're in the other bed and the Boy is on the other side of me, sitting up laughing like he's being tickled as the cat plays with his squirming feet under the blanket. In the dream I reach for the cat and throw her off the bed. I have a memory of reaching out and sweeping the cat off the bed. It might have been real or a different part of another dream, I'm not sure.

The alarm clock goes off. I'm in the bed with the Boy who's back on his own side. I reach for the alarm and hit the snooze button, figuring it's been a long night; I'll rest here a bit more.

The alarm goes off again. I reach and hit the snooze button, figuring it hasn't seemed like a long time since it went off the first time, wondering just how many minutes the snooze button gives me anyway.

I look at the clock. It says it's 5:50 am.

It takes me a moment to realize that the first time the clock went off, it was a dream.

I lie there as Ginger prowls a circle around the circumference of the bed. She steps on the Boy's neck and he says, "Ow."

Me: Did she scratch you?

Boy: No. She just put her claw on my neck. It didn't hurt though. But do you know what the best part was?

Me: No. What?

Boy: When she gave me licks because it's Valentine's Day.

Getting the Boot

2006-02-12T05:54:00.000-08:00

Daddy needs a new pair of shoes.

Meanwhile, the Boy has a new pair of boots.

He formed an instant dislike to them, not for the colour or the style, but because they're difficult to pull on. Originally, he refused to put them on for Mamma. I helped him get them on over the weekend, and now he's grudgingly acceptant.

I picked him up at the Daycare - which never goes as quickly as I hope. There's dawdling and poking around and getting distracted by any of a hundred and one things. He's getting help from one of the daycare workers getting the new boots on. The lady asks if he's good to go.

Boy: I just have to comfortable it.

Getting Rid of What Ails You

2006-02-08T10:08:00.000-08:00

Homework went badly last night.

Mommy was in charge and I didn't quite get all the specifics, but it was done poorly enough that Mommy forbade the playing of video games for the rest of the evening. The Boy came downstairs where I was and sat with me watching as I played a bit of poker on-line. He wasn't in a good mood when he got there, but perked up a little as he played along with me. He had asked me the night before to play PlayStation and I'd said no. He had asked the day before as well, but that was SuperBowl Sunday. There had been a lot playing Crash NitroCart in recent days (each of us successfully completing an adventure, firsts for us if you must know). I figured that a break was okay.

So when he came downstairs in ill spirits, I said I'd play until I won my chips back that I'd lost. Ask any gambler what a fool's game that is, but I won it back (and more) pretty quickly, so true to my word, I turned off the computer to turn on PlayStation. At this point the Boy told me that I would play and he would watch. Well, why just me playing, I wondered? Of course, that's when he told me the homework story and that Mommy told him no PlayStation.

I sensed a loophole.

Better check with legal.

I went upstairs and the Boy followed behind at a distance. Mommy never issued a judgement except to say it was bath time and the both of us should go upstairs. Upon further review, I guess it was a judgement. Immediately, the Boy's mood turned again and he got sad, angry and frustrated.

Boy: I knew I shouldn't have come upstairs.

I took him (up-side-down) upstairs for a bath. Despite my efforts to cheer him up, the Boy clung to his dark mood like grim death, supressing smiles, grinning for a moment only to lash out, angry that I'd made him smile. Stuff like that. As he got out of the tub and was getting dried off, he summed up his frustration.

Boy: Every time I want to play Crash NitroCart, someone says it's time to do something else so now I want to sell it.

Over his head, Mommy's eyes met mine and we shared his little moment with a small, sad smile.

Say Cheeseburger.

2006-02-05T12:55:00.000-08:00

So I've seen "Super Size Me."

The part where the guy throws up after eating his super-sized quarter-pounder meal was noteworthy. As was the part where his doctor told him, you should stop or you might die. It was interesting to see the documentarian describe how McDonald's targets the kids with their advertising so they'll bring in their parents.

Now, you don't have to watch the movie to know that fast food is bad for you. So to pre-empt the marketing assault McDonald's makes on my child, I've always made it a key component of my counter-assault that whenever we go by a McDonald's, I call it "Yucky Ol' McDonalds". I think I may have mentioned this previously, somewhere in this blog. After seeing the movie, I'm better equipped to explain to him why. How, in the movie, the guy ate only McDonald's for a month and really made his body sick. I figure it's good to be able to tell him all this and leave an imprint because he's only too quick to tell me how it's his friends' favourite place to go eat.

So, anyway.

It's Saturday and it's music lesson day, and his lesson ends at 1:30 and neither of us has had lunch. I figure I'll spring for a restaurant so long as it's cheap. I ask the Boy and he tells me that it's up to me to pick. I tell him I'm either thinking Pizza Girls or Dairy Queen.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Hardly what you'd expect from an anti-advocate of the fast food franchise, huh.

Be that as it may.

Despite his assurance that he wanted to leave the choice to me, the Boy decides he'd like to go to Wendy's. Now of all the fast food places, you could argue that Wendy's has been the most unapologetic about catering to Mrs. Big and Mr. Large. After all, they don't make things Super, they make them "Biggie". Did you notice when their ads didn't use a lot of skinny people?

So the Boy has picked Wendy's and he's looking to justify that Wendy's is okay since it's not as yucky as McDonald's. I tell him that, really, it's mostly the same fattening things like burgers and fries and cheese and pop.

Same as McDonald's.

Boy: But McDonald's make you fat and sick. Wendy's only makes you fat.

War. Games.

2006-01-18T12:24:00.000-08:00

There was a vehicle accident in Afghanistan that involved Canadian soldiers. My brother is a Canadian soldier, a senior officer in the Royal Canadian Regiment. He was sent over there to lead the investigation in to the accident. Three days ago, a suicide bomber drove into a convoy. My sister-in-law received a call from my brother that basically went like this:

Bro: You're going to be hearing something on the news and I wanted to tell you I'm okay.

Sis: Is everyone on the team okay?

Bro: Yes.

Sis: Is everyone else okay?

Bro: I'm not on a secure line.

Turns out the attack killed a Canadian diplomat and seriously, gravely injured three Canadian soldiers.

That night the Boy and I said a special God Bless for his uncle so that he'd be safe. I explained that my brother, who we call Unca Jokes, was over there in a war and that he was trying to keep other people safe so that the war would get over and there'd be peace.

This morning, waiting at the bus stop for the overdue schoolbus, out of the clear blue (which is the way these things usually happen), the Boy asks:

Boy: Is Unca Jokes still alive in the war?

Me: Yes he is.

Boy: Does he still have all his health?

Supper's Cold

2006-01-17T12:07:00.000-08:00

Supper time at our house tends to lack some necessary degree of discipline. Often it's catch-as-catch-can when Mommy is away at work and Daddy is trying to get everything ready for him and the Boy. Combine that and the TV that's always turned on and what you get is a Boy who rarely is sitting properly in his chair eating his supper.

Last night, lo and behold, the three of us were at the table at the same time. It didn't start that way; Mamma had the early shift at work and so I didn't get home until after 5:30, walking in the front door to see everyone else already at the table. Within a few minutes I had my supper in front of me and was sitting down to eat. Moments after that, the Boy was out of his chair, maneuvering into mine, actually to sit on my lap.

Me: Go back and sit in your own chair now, while Daddy eats his supper.

Boy: I'm cold and I want to cuddle.

Me: Well, if you're cold, why don't you go and put on a sweater?

Boy: Cuddles are better than sweaters.

Big Daddy

2006-01-05T05:19:00.000-08:00

My workout regime is into Week Four and I'm studying the mirror for signs of progress. The Boy and I will be sharing the shower since it was a workout day and I'm still sweaty from the gym. The Boy gets me to show "pulling up buckets" so that we can compare muscles. I flex and suck my stomach in. He gets me to do one "with my belly out", so I relax and let the gut droop. The six pack reverts to a kegger.

Boy: Now you look like Mr. Incredible!

Wonderland

2005-12-05T04:33:00.000-08:00

The snow that fell last night was foretold by the Patriots game earlier that evening. I went outside and brought the car into the driveway, wondering if it was going to hit us as hard as it looked to be hitting the Boston area. I started the day with a peak out the window just to see how much fell during the overnight. Not much, was the answer. The green of the grass was still the predominant colour of the ground although the cars in the driveway were shrouded in white. Even though there wasn't much of it around, I figured there was someone in the family who would get pretty excited over seeing snow on the ground.

He was awake earlier than I was this morning. When we came down the stairs, I asked him if he'd seen outside yet. We went to the window, peered out in to the morning darkness and he squealed with delight, running from the window directly to the kitchen. Standiong before the calendar, he got me to point out today's date and asked for a pen. I gave him a pencil, and he scrawled with a six-year old's uncertain penmanship the letters "W S" in the box for today. I had a good idea that the S stood for snow. The W had me baffled.

Boy: You know what the W is for?

Me: No. What?

Boy: "Welcome."

Son, of God

2005-12-04T04:32:00.000-08:00

The first day of Sunday School.

The Boy was reluctant about going; he figured between regular school and piano lessons, that must surely be enough. But off he went, returning an hour later much more enthused about the whole thing than when he left.

Mamma: ... and he knew some things that the other boys didn't know who'd been there for weeks.

Me: Yes?

Mamma: He knew whose birthday it was on Christmas Day.

Me: Who's that?

Boy: JESUS! But I didn't say his last name.

Me: His last name? What's his last name?

Boy: Crisis.

Things To Do Before Bedtime

2005-11-24T05:09:00.000-08:00

Mamma came downstairs at 8:10 and I realized that I hadn't said "goodnight" and "I love you" to the Boy. I started upstairs despite Mamma's warning that he might already be asleep. As I cautiously approached the door, I heard a little whispered, "...dadda...!" and I come into the room to give him a hug and a kiss. Our conversation is in whispers.

Boy: Why did you come up, Dadda?

Me: To say goodnight and I love you.

Boy: aahhhhh!

Me: You were so good last night, a really big boy sleeping in your own bed, you try to stay in your own bed again tonight again, okay? Daddy is so proud of you when you can do big-boy things like that.

Boy: Okay. I'll try.

Me: Okay. Goodnight sweetheart. I love you so much.

Boy: Can you go brush your teeth now?

But Can He Hit a 1-Iron?

2005-11-23T04:56:00.000-08:00

The Boy is in the white van that drives him from school to the after-school daycare. It's a month and two days before Christmas and visions of sugarplums seem to have started their dance in his head. He's talking with his friend Peter. The driver overhears their conversation and relates it to me later.

Boy: Santa Claus must be really rich.

Peter: Santa Claus is richer to infinity.

Boy: Santa Claus is richer than Tiger Woods.

It's What's Inside That Counts

2005-11-13T04:45:00.000-08:00

Halloween is two weeks in the wrong direction. Vestiges remain. There is a big box of leftover treats downstairs. They belong to a Boy and daily test my willpower. There are three pumpkins on our front step: one was for the house, one came decorated as a present for the Boy's birthday party and another was required to decorate at the Boy's after-school center.

Every day I come home I expect to find one or all of them smashed on the road (rotten teenagers). But they survived. Until yesterday, when Mamma told the Boy to put them all in the green bin. This he did with my help as we got ready to go skating.

On the walk to the rink, only two houses down, there's the splatter of someone else's smashed pumpkin in the roadway. The Boy wants to collect up the seeds to plant in the garden.

Mamma: You want to grow your own pumpkin for next year?

Boy: Yes, please!

Mamma: Well we'll buy some good seeds. These ones are all run-over and no good.

Boy: You mean the little pumpkin inside is all squished?

Frankenpoker

2005-11-12T04:20:00.000-08:00

There's nothing like a hard losing streak in the on-line poker world to suggest that maybe you're forming an addition.

And there I was again on Friday night and my luck started to turn back. I won a really big pot, my biggest one yet, and the next morning I told the story to a Boy.

Me: So I was dealt Jack, Three and then somebody raised before the flop and I decided what the heck, I'd stay in and you know what came on the flop?

Boy: What?

Me: Jack, Three.

Boy: Ooo!

Me: So I made a big bet to try to scare everyone away and take the pot for myself but they didn't fold! They called! So I went all-in. And you know what came out on the river? Another Jack!

Boy: You had a full house!

I'll play and the Boy will often sit on my lap and "advise" me. He's also learning the game pretty well as the previous little vignette illustrates. We were playing together yesterday afternoon and I'm out of the hand; the two of us are watching how the others around the table are playing. The five cards showing on the table are three, Jack, five, ten, four. The guy on the top left makes a big bet after the river card is turned. The Boy says to me:

Boy: That guy has Ace, Two.

The players revealed their cards, and the guy turned over Ace, Two.

Six years old, I'm thinking. I've created a monster.

Concerning Venus and the Absence of All-Bran

2005-11-09T05:40:00.000-08:00

It was a weird day at the grocery store yesterday.

I like my grocery store. And not just because I was in a commercial for it once. See, one day I walked through the doors and there's Mr. Lahey from the Trailer Park Boys with his video camera interviewing folks as they came in. In real life he's John Dunsworth, a long-time casting agent for the area. He recognized me as an ACTRA member, shot the bit and I got picked to do the commercial.

But enough about me.

Yesterday, because it was getting really close to supper time, the Boy and I are trying going through the store as fast as we can...

(Dash: As fast as I can?!?)

(Helen: As fast as you can!)

... and I keep having to call back home to Mamma to ask her what she wanted, either because it wasn't clear on the list or because the item wasn't in the store and I need to know whether to buy something different or wait until next time. There are about four or five things on the list that aren't in the store. Very unusual. So I ended up calling home about three times, taking out my cell phone, clicking the voice activation button and saying the keyword that automatically dials home: "Stinkbucket".

The Boy gets a kick out of that.

On the way home, in the commencing evening dusk, the planet Venus appears in the windshield, shining pure white in the clear blue sky. I point this out to the Boy and we have a little chat about Venus. I tell him, you know how the Earth has clouds around a lot of the planet? Well, Venus has clouds around all of the planet and that's part of the reason it's so bright with the sun bouncing of all those clouds. We have a little talk about the sun too. He wants to know if it's as hot as a burning tree and I tell him that it's hotter that if the whole planet was burning and he's very impressed by that. He then turns the subject back to Venus.

Boy: Daddy, why don't you say "Venus" into your phone and we can call it.

Lest One Forget

2005-11-07T03:35:00.000-08:00

The Boy, Mamma and I are walking up the street on our way to the Sunday family skate when the Boy pipes up out of the blue:

Boy: Do you know what Novembrance Day is?

Me: Novembrance Day?

Boy: It's November the 11th.

Later That Night...

2005-10-30T06:04:00.000-08:00

Having collected Mamma from the airport, we're on the highway, almost home. It's a clear, dark, starry night. The Boy is up way past his bed-time, riding in the back seat, gazing through the window up into space. There's another plane on approach to the airport, its landing lights blazing a horizontal line in the sky. The Boy spots it first.

Boy: It looks like a hot dog.

Mamma: The plane looks like a hot dog?

Boy: Yeah. With a glow-in-the-dark bun!

The Biggest, Happiest Thing

2005-10-30T06:03:00.000-08:00

After a week of living with his Dad, the Boy misses his Mamma. I'm pretty sure it's because she gives better cuddles. Day 7 dawns and the Boy's feeling a bit owly. A bit sad. A bit mopey. But Mommy's coming home this evening. We'll be going out to pick her up at the airport. This will be the big event in a day that's filled with stuff. So I said to a Boy:

Me: Hey. You can't be sad today. We have a whole lot of happy things that are happening today.

Boy: What are they?

Me: Well, I can think of three. Can you think of anything?

Boy (sadly): No.

Me: Well, it's Saturday. What happens on Saturday?

Boy: We go to music class?

Me: Right. And who are we going to meet there?

Boy: Olivia?

Me: Right. So that's one thing.

(Olivia is his best friend who just this last year moved away and so no longer lives right next door.)

Me: And what else are we going to do today with Olivia.

Boy (glum): Go to a movie.

Me: Right and what's the third thing.

Boy: Have popcorn and spicy drink?

Me: Yes. Right. I hadn't thought of that one. So there are four things. What else?

Boy: Go to lunch with Olivia and Guy?

Me; Yes, that too. Five things.

(At this point I'm really starting to feel like I'm in a Monty Python skit...)

Me: What else? What's the big thing, the happiest thing for today?

Boy: I don't know.

Me: I'll give you a hint.

We're standing in the kitchen next to the refrigerator. On the fridge, held by one of those magnet thingies, is a collection of three holiday pictures from our trip to Florida. I point to the middle one which I took in a beach-side restaurant. The Boy and his Mom are having a hug and smiling at the camera.

I point to the picture. It's a give-away, pointing at his Mamma who's coming home tonight. The biggest, happiest thing.

Boy: We're going to a restaurant!

Oh Say Can You See Spot Run

2005-10-25T07:47:00.000-07:00

It's time for bed and I ask the Boy to go pick out the story he wants for bed time. I'm very surprised when I get in his room that he's picked out the Dick and Jane compendium that I got him for Christmas last year and that he wants to read it to me. I bought it because I wanted him to learn to read something in English to complement all the learning he's getting in French (I notice that when he's doing homework and writing out words that he spells in French, Ee for I, euh for E). He races through the first number of chapters, reading very well. I'm very impressed and proud.

Boy: "Look at Baby. Oh look. See Baby. Oh oh see." Hey! That's a French word. Aussi!

Fries With That?

2005-10-25T07:39:00.000-07:00

Mamma has left us for Newfoundland to help her mom pack up and move from the family home in Corner Brook to a new condominium in St. John's. I said to her half-jokingly as she left that the Boy and I would be having supper at Mike's on Monday, Subway on Tuesday, Pizza Delight on Wednesday....

As of last night we're still waiting for the jokingly part, because there we are, a Boy and I out to a restaurant for supper. We're both having burgers. He has the kid's version and I have the grown up version.

Boy: That's not a Wendy's Bacon Mushroom Melt.

Me: Of course it isn't.

Boy: Because I can see the lettuce.

Me: That, and we're at the Dairy Queen.

Boy: Oh. Yeah.

Battlestar Galactica

2005-10-24T06:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Sunday and it rained and it was cold. Sunday is supposed to be golfing day for the Boy and me but the last three or four in a row have all been the same: heavy rain. Cold.

Time is running out. The golf course closes after Halloween. That means there's exactly ONE Sunday left for us to play.

So instead we spent the day inside. The TV was on.

Battlestar Galactica came on at 7:00, but I think it was from watching a preview where the Boy got a good look at Tricia Helfer who plays the Cylon credited as "Number 6". She's completely gorgeous, if you'll allow me an understatement. There's a picture following the link under her name ... it's a somewhat risqué, PG-13, children must be accompanied by an adult, look if you dare picture. I'll wait.

Beautiful, blonde, plays a role that is sexy, smart and deadly, a body that men would go to war for. Former Victoria Secret model. Canadian.

So the Boy (still barely six years old) sees her on TV asks me:

Boy: Why didn't you marry a girl like her?

Now, there are a lot of incorrect ways to answer this question.

Like, "Beautiful, blonde and killer body, yeah, why didn't I marry a girl like her?" or "Because I married your mother instead" both would probably rank right up there near the top. I stifled a laugh and told him "Well, if I did, you wouldn't be here." I don't know whether he understood what I meant, but he seemed satisfied with it.

(Hope his mommy is too.)

Later in the evening we're watching the the E! Hollywood True Story about William Shatner, on Space. Inevitably, they run a commercial for Battlestar Galactica. In keeping with the style of the Galactica's opening, the commercial is frenetic and frantic half-second cuts between all the different kinds of action, fighting Cylons, space battles, love interests, characters being chased through the rain, characters being chased through the ship, characters chased through space. Included in this montage were a couple of shots of not-my-wife Number Six, showing her from the back, nude from the waist up. The commercial ends.

Boy: It's about kissing and naked and shooting.

Belated Birthday

2005-10-14T06:09:00.000-07:00

What the heck is going on this year?

In years past, the Boy was lucky enough to enjoy two or three birthday parties per birthday. He'd have one on the day and, often as not, we'd be off visiting someone somewhere in August and they'd have a birthday party for him as well. One year I think he had three. Maybe it was the year he turned three. Three for three. Yeah, that sounds about right.

So this year he's six.

And no birthday party.

He had a cake and presents and balloons and streamers and celebrated on the day with his Mommy and Daddy, but no friends. No party.

There was always going to be a party; we were just waiting for a weekend when there wasn't something going on.

So it's October, almost two whole months late, and still no party.

The Boy has been making plans though, and one day some weeks ago showed me a coloured scrap of paper where he had (to the best of his ability) written down the names of the boys and girls he wanted to invite to his party.

So that's done. Another week passes. And still no party.

Last week Mommy and I finally got our scrapers in gear and organized the fete. We booked the room and put down a deposit on the day and got the customized invitations. Like anywhere else, the place required a minimum of ten kids at the party (at $15 per kid). Mamma and the Boy started going through the names of friends and classmates. After listening to them for a while I interrupted, asking him:

Me: Didn't you already write down who you wanted to come on a piece of purple paper?

Boy: A purse of people paper?

Aye, There's The Rub.

2005-10-11T06:03:00.000-07:00

A lot of what I write here comes from stuff the Boy says when he and I are driving in my car. I think of them as the Back Seat Conversations.

So we're driving home from his after-school place and suddenly he tells me:

Boy: Daddy, my bad dreams are getting scarier.

Me: Oh no, how come?

Boy: You want to know why?

Me: Yes, why?

Boy: Because it's getting closer to Halloween.

It's The Best Game You Can Name.

2005-10-08T05:58:00.000-07:00

When just a baby in utero, Mamma was convinced the child was a girl. She even had the name picked out: Mary Rose. The baby's namesake was planted in the backyard.

When to her great surprise the doctor proclaimed, "It's a Boy!", what Mamma thought was, "Oh no. Hockey."

The doorbell rang the other night around supper time. It was the next door neighbour come to ask if we had any plans that night. It was just me and the Boy; Mamma was working. The neighbour had two tickets to the local major junior hockey game and other plans. The Boy indicated that he'd like to go. The game started at seven o'clock but would end somewhere around ten - way past the Boy's bed-time. I wasn't sure how he'd like it, but agreed that we'd go until he got tired but then come home.

We arrived in time and bought popcorn and Minute Maid orange spicy drink. We sat almost directly behind the visitors net, just eight rows up and the home team players came out of a tunnel just about ten seats to our right. The home team won by a shutout scoring a goal in each of the three periods; the one in the middle stanza came right in front of us. In the third period, the camera guy who during play was down where the players had streamed past, turned around and got a beautiful picture of the Boy which appeared on the giant screen on the score clock for all (including the Boy) to see.

After each period I asked if he was feeling tired, if he wanted to go home.

No way.

The night was a great success.

A couple of days later, the tickets are sitting on the step and I point them out to the Boy wondering if maybe he'd like to put them somewhere as a souvenir of a great night out.

Me: Do you want to keep the tickets?

Boy: Yes! We can use them to see another game!

Circular Reference

2005-09-30T10:45:00.000-07:00

Part of the school day routine is that when it's over, you ask the Boy how his day was and he'll reply (in a thoroughly bored tone) Guuuud. And then you ask him what he did or what he learned and he'll tell you that he doesn't remember. Which is when Daddy usually says, "Then what the heck are we sending you to school for?" which usually prompts a giggle.

Sometimes if you get the conversation going right, you can mine that little brain and you come up with diamonds. Schooling miraculously becomes apparent. And then there's the conversation the Boy had with Mamma:

Boy: Did you know that the Earth is a rock? We live on a rock?

Mamma: It is? Then how do all the grass and trees grow?

Boy (full of grade one attitude): The rock's on the inside. And it's not a circle, either or you'd drive right off it.

Mamma: What is it?

Boy (still full of grade one attitude): Don't you know your shapes? It's a spear. Not un sphere, because that's francais and we're talking english.

Mamma: A spear? Like a spear you chuck?

Boy (puzzled): Like an egg?

Mamma (now also puzzled): What? An egg?

Boy: You said chucky egg.

I figure that somewhere up in heaven, Lou Costello has his TV set permanently tuned in to watch my family.

What's French for "Fambly"?

2005-09-22T10:37:00.000-07:00

As a parent, I discover that it's more fun doing homework when it's not you doing the homework.

The Boy's weekly exercise is to read his two french books and then when he's done, to write a sentence in his "cahier". It can be a sentence straight from story or the child can be more imaginative and write down a thought that was suggested by the story.

So it's a late afternoon and the Boy and I and the sister-cats are home alone having finished the pitiful little supper that we usually have when Mamma's at work and Daddy cooking (if'n you call peanut butter sandwiches "cooking"). The Boy finishes reading his story called "Ma Petite Soeur" which is about all the things a big sister does with her little sister. Je mange avec ma petite souer. Je lit avec ma petite souer. Je joue avec ma petite souer. Like that. He finishes and I start a little discussion hopefully to prompt some thoughts about the sentence he'll write. I say that since he's an only child he does all those things with mommy and daddy. Hoping maybe Daddy gets a plug in the sentence? Maybe. So, I ask. What does he think he wants to write as his sentence?

Boy: Ma petite souer est un chat!

A Strong Stomach.

2005-09-09T09:18:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I saw my shadow.

Unfortunately, this didn't mean that we were going to get an extra 6 weeks of summer, it only afforded me another view of my protruding front porch of a stomach. Getting old sucks, by the way.

After my half-round (which didn't go well) I picked the Boy up from his after school program. We pulled into the driveway and there was lots of stuff to take into the house. And the Boy left his window down. So in all I made two trips to fish stuff out of the car. The Boy watched me from the front door of the house. When he started talking, I had a pretty good idea where the conversation was going to end up.

Boy: Daddy, you have a really strong bum.

Me: Yeah? I do?

Boy: Yes. When you sat down in the car I saw it go way down and when you got out I saw the car go up again.

What's In A Name

2005-09-08T07:23:00.000-07:00

The Boy is becoming more aware of golf and the different Tours. Today he advised me that he'd have to come home from school early because he saw on TV that coverage of the Canadian Open starts at one o'clock. I had to be the one to break it to him.

This past weekend he was listening to the results of the Deutsche Bank Open. The commentator said that the winner was Olin Browne.

Boy: His name is Olin Browne but he should be named Holin One.

The Bathing Suit Conundrum

2005-09-05T10:32:00.000-07:00

For his few weeks of swimming lessons, Mamma bought the Boy a brand-new Roots bathing suit for the summer. The bathing suit was around for only a little while before it suddenly and mysteriously went missing. Days passed. Weeks. A month. Mamma was baffled as to where that swim suit could have gone. Weekly she asked if anyone had run across it. She described over and over what she was doing leading up to the discovery that it was gone. I described the last time I'd seen it: putting it into the washing machine. She confirmed having taken it out and then doing .... what? What was it? Where was that suit?

Over the labour day weekend, the Boy decided he wanted me to inflate this wading pool I'd bought from Canadian Tire several years ago. He (meaning I) would get it all set up and invite his friend over. So I got the pool out and got it blown up, and then the little inflatable basketball net, then the other smaller deeper pool. He got it all.

I was in the storage room where we keep all the suitcases, my drums, the freezer, the tools and assorted junk when the boy picked up my drumsticks and started banging on the drums.

Boy: Look Daddy, I can play on these.

As I'm rummaging through the shelf I note that whatever he's hitting now has muffled the sound of the drums. I turn and look, and he's tapping on the Roots bathing suit which is sitting there on top of the floor tom.

Me: Oh. My. Goodness. Go take those and show them to Mommy.

The Boy rushes upstairs with trunks in hand.

Boy: Mamma! Look what Baby Bird found!

Mamma: Oh my goodness! Where did you find them?

Boy: On Dadda's drum!

Mamma: I looked everywhere for those!

Boy: Not on the drum.

The Tooth, the Whole Tooth and Nothing But the Tooth

2005-09-03T10:12:00.000-07:00

It finally happened. The tooth that has been so loose finally came out. I was frantic to keep him from always wiggling that tooth, because once it was out, that was forever the end of that beautiful little smile. Baby teeth smiles, especially his baby teeth smile, are very cute and beautiful. I was desperate for it to last for as long as it could.

But like the song says, nothing beautiful lasts, and there he was one day out on the swing at Poppa and Granny's house, I was nowhere in sight (playing golf) and there he was, wiggling it again, pulling on that tooth again - when to the Boy's great surprise and excitement, it painlessly and bloodlessly came out in his fingers.

When I came home, he craned his little neck back as far as he could and grinned his biggest grin so that I could see the new hole in that beautiful little smile.

You could see that the new tooth, the grown-up tooth, the tooth he'd have as an adult, was already coming in.

But despite that new tooth, he's still just a little Boy. So we wrapped that small little tooth in some tissue and put it under his bed at night and the next morning the Tooth Fairy had left two dollars.

It prompted some inspired discussion around the breakfast table.

Granny: I wonder what the Tooth Fairy does with all those teeth?

Boy: I don't know. Maybe she saves them and gives them to little babies who don't have any.

Birthday at 25,000 Feet

2005-08-31T10:05:00.000-07:00

Circumstances being what they were, the Boy was traveling on his birthday. He and Mamma were off to spend a few days with Nanny M. They flew over and back using Mamma's Provincial Airline tickets that she'd won in a silent auction some months ago. How the word got to the cockpit, I'm not really sure but as they were cruising along, the pilot came on to say what the weather forecast was, thanks for flying with him and:

Pilot: We'd also like to send along birthday greetings to Mr. (The Boy's name) in seat 7F who's six years old today. Happy birthday!

Boy (eager for more presents): What is he sending me?

Love, Death and the Afterlife

2005-08-09T06:23:00.000-07:00

On the first Thursday of this month, the Boy's maternal grandfather collapsed in his home in Newfoundland. He was resuscitated 15 minutes later, but really, the only benefit of that was that most of the family was able to gather around him and keep vigil, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Mamma was on a flight within an hour and a half. The Boy was promised a swim in the community pool, so we fit that in before we flew out later that evening. We spent a late night traveling by air and taxi to get to Nanny and Gidi's house in Newfoundland. "Gidi", by the way, is Arabic for "grandfather". Gidi would call the Boy "a little king". I remember him saying once to the Boy when he was not yet a year old, "Remember, your roots go all the way back to the desert." So when I produce and edit home movies about him, I called them "Desert King Productions".

We get to the house and I get him into bed. We have a little talk about death and dying before I go to the hospital to wait with Mamma. We would have several talks about death and dying over the next couple of days, and I realized that while most adults talk in cookie-cutter platitudes, it takes a five-year old to really ask the fundamental and honest questions that explore your faith. Such as that first night:

Boy: Why do people have to die anyway?

Me: It's just the way we're made, I guess.

Boy: Do people's bodies go to heaven?

Me: Well, it's more like their spirit, their soul that goes to heaven.

Boy: Oh. Is that like your imagination?

And:

Boy: When people get to heaven, can they walk?

Me: Yes.

Boy: Can they talk?

Me: Yes.

Boy: When you go to heaven, are people glad to see you?

Me: Yes, they sure are.

Gidi didn't die that night. He hung on until the next morning. His wife, three daughters and two son-in-laws were with him at the end. Three of his five grandchildren were back at the house, Gidi's son and family coming all the way from the States being the only ones who hadn't yet made it to Newfoundland. As the group of us walked the three blocks from the hospital to the house, the sisters talked solemnly about how they would get the children together and as gently as possible, tell them that Gidi had died. When we got back to the house, the children were downstairs in the playroom drawing pictures and having a little art competition. So when we all showed up, the first order of business was to present and describe to us their respective pieces of art. As this began to wind down the Boy piped up quite cheerfully:

Boy: Is he dead yet?

And that was that. Mamma told him yes, and the children went back to playing.

The next day was Gidi's wake, and the family went to the funeral home to say a last goodbye. I think the Boy was a bit confused. He had been told that Gidi had died, but there he was in the casket; a half-open casket that showed only his upper body. At bed-time, he had some more questions.

Boy: Does Gidi have a new face in heaven?

Me: Yes, I suppose he does.

Boy: Does he have a new body?

Me: Yes.

Boy: Do they match?

You Have The Right To Remain Silent

2005-08-05T10:00:00.000-07:00

It was an interrogative kind of day. Questions, questions, questions. Amusing and exasperating at the same time. Well, truthfully more and more exasperating as the day went on. Questions about just about everything you could imagine. And every answer deserved at least one or two (or more) follow-up questions.

We're driving in the car, going through Gros Morne National Park and after another slew of questions I finally burst out to the Boy:

Me: Holy cow, is there a question in the entire world that you haven't ask me today?

Boy: Is there?

Two

2005-08-01T09:50:00.000-07:00

Today, with exactly thirty days left as a five-year-old, the Boy made a birdie, his first, from the red tee box on the first hole at the Links at Montague.

Pretend Golf and Adverbs

2005-07-20T03:14:00.000-07:00

Summer is finally in full gear!

... and the Boy and I are inside, down in the basement (where it's cooler), rediscovering the addiction that is Sony Playstation. Lately we've been into playing Hot Shots Golf 3 ... it's summer after all. The Boy is getting incrementally better but keeps asking me to win tournaments for him. I'm trying to let him find out how much better it feels to win things for yourself, but he keeps pressuring me to play a tournament. I compromise by playing in "Versus" mode, where you are set up against a computer player for match play. If you beat him (or her), you unlock the player and can use her (or him) the next time you play in a tournament. The players get progressively better. So the more players you win, the farther you can hit the ball and the better chance you have of winning a tournament.

So I recently won the player called "Toni", a sixty-ish looking Mafioso type in a black suit and red tie. He speaks with a weird accent that the Boy has a hard time understanding. For example, when Toni makes a birdie he declares, "One above the rest!", one of a few Toni phrases that the Boy has yet to interpret.

Yesterday we were setting up to play a tournament (I was there only to "caddy") and the Boy selects Toni as his player.

Toni (ominous grumble): You chose wisely.

Boy (turns to look at me): His name is "Wisely"?

Prefered Vehicles of Soccer Moms.

2005-07-19T07:43:00.000-07:00

Boy: Daddy, I want us to get a van.

Me: Why?

Boy: Because you can have a person in the back and another person in the back and two people in the front.

Me: But we have that now in our car.

Boy: No I want to get a van. They're more fun. And what if we have more people?

Me: Well, I don't have enough money for a van. And it wouldn't fit in the driveway with Mamma's car.

Boy: What about a jeep?

Me: Same thing. Too expensive, not enough room.

Boy: What about a car?

Me: I have a car. This one. I like my car.

Boy: But I want us to get a van.

Me: Well I told you. Daddy doesn't have enough money to buy a new van.

Boy: We could have a yard sale...?

The Favour

2005-07-18T07:37:00.000-07:00

Our city hosted the Canadian Women's Open this past week. I volunteered as part of the team and ended up being a walking scorer all week. With Mamma working for most of the weekend, the Boy spent Friday and Saturday night with his grandparents in the Annapolis Valley. It's not his first sleepover and he was doing very good until Saturday evening when I called to see how his day was, tell him goodnight and I love you.

Boy: Daddy, are you sad?

Me: A little bit, because I miss you.

Boy: Can I do you a favour?

Me: What's that?

Boy: You go into my room and get one of my grr-animals (stuffed toys), either Teddy or Pierre, and you can sleep with them and then it will feel like you're sleeping next to me.

Sleepless (?) Summer Storms

2005-06-30T06:36:00.000-07:00

After a very miserable spring (wet, cold) summer has roared in with soaring temperatures and high humidity. The nights have been hot and sticky lately. Perfect conditions for thunder-boomers. I awoke last night to the sound of thunder (how far off, I sat and wondered). The thunder grumbled and rumbled from far away from the sound of it; the storm never did get right on top of us. The lightning flashes were fairly frequent and at one point the skies opened up and you could really hear the rain pounding against the house and the road.

Beside me, the Boy slept on. I only had the vaguest recollection of him coming into the room.

In the morning he slept through the alarm. I turned it off, got up, shaved and showered. Coming out of the shower, there was that sleepy little face beaming up at me. He sat on the toilet to have a happy pee and I started to towel off.

Boy: Daddy, did you hear the thunderstorm last night?

Me (surprised, I thought he'd slept through it): Yes. Did you hear the thunderstorm?

Boy: No.

Me (baffled): Then how did you know there was a thunderstorm?

Boy: I saw it on the Weather Network.

He's his mother's son all right.

Who's Who.

2005-06-25T10:59:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time...

... there were two little girls from Newfoundland. These little girls were sisters. In fact, they were (as they say in Newfoundland) a twin. Their favourite movie was a Disney venture called "The Parent Trap", oddly enough a movie about a twin, Hallie and Annie. Their parents had seperated shortly after the birth of the twin and now they lived apart, one with Mom, one with Dad, one in England, one in the good ol' U.S. of A. Neither of the twins knew of her sister. So through the magic of Hollywood, they meet at summer camp, switch places, and the parents get back together for happily ever after. As my high school English teacher used to say, "Glass slippers everywhere."

The real life twin from Newfoundland come to visit their cousin in Nova Scotia and pretty soon, The Parent Trap is playing at a Boy's house six or seven times a day as the three of them watch.

You may or may not know that as an eleven year old, Lindsay Lohan won raves for her performances as both sisters in the Disney movie.

In an unrelated story, the Boy is a day away from finishing his first year of school. Since the penultimate day of school is actually a day off (Marking Day ... capital M, capital D, why hasn't Hallmark cashed in on this one too?), he and his after-school mates are going on an organized trip to watch Herbie: Fully Loaded.

I had asked him about the movie previously, and now, driving with me and his mom to visit my parents, the Boy was recounting his movie-going experience to his mother.

Boy: Did you know that the racing girl was in Parent Trap?

Mamma: Was she.

Boy: Yeah! She was either Hallie or Annie, one of her.

Lost & Found

2005-06-04T16:53:00.000-07:00

Saturday and the weather is beautiful. We all go for a walk on the Salt Marsh Trail. In amongst the trees, the sun beats down on us, exiting the trees and walking through what used to be a salt water harbour, the wind cools and picks mischievously at your headgear. At least a dozen people were out in the shallows digging in the muck for fresh clams.

By the time I was out to start the BBQ for supper, it had started raining. It rained hard. One of the cheeseburgers dropped onto the deck. In the rain, my jaw clenches and my teeth grind together. The remaining burgers are saved, cooked and brought inside. Only the tray of grilled vegetables remains. In the process of trying to get the dangerous-hot tray from the BBQ to the kitchen door, the tray of grilled vegetables tips and the whole lot is spilled to the ground.

I lost it. An angry, impulsive kick sends the nearby deck chair up and over the deck railing where it smashes into the lilac bush below. I clench my fists in frustration and wisely but belatedly remove myself from the family setting, going inside and upstairs to calm down. It was a less than admirable display of self-control. In about ten minutes I'm okay to come downstairs and have my supper like a civilized person.

Come the Boy's bedtime, all is well. Recalling the maxim that "It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a bad example", I set out to apologize to the Boy and let him know that Daddy acted badly.

Me: Daddy lost his temper today. Did you see that?

Boy: Your temper?

Me: Yes. I lost my temper. That means I got angry. Daddy's sorry about that.

Boy: That's okay.

Me: Thank you, sweetheart.

Boy: Did you find your temper?

I Beg Your Pardon.

2005-05-31T22:49:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-25T16:55:00.000-07:00

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.

2005-05-23T19:40:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-08T04:38:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-07T04:35:00.000-07:00

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.

Nick(laus)names.

2005-04-07T07:38:00.000-07:00

My son (the 5-year-old golfer) and I were watching the early coverage of the Masters and I was trying to impress upon him the significance of what Jack Nicklaus has accomplished through his career. I also told him that I almost named him John after my grandfather ... who naturally was always called "Jack". After all that, I told him that, if he wanted, maybe Jack could be his nickname out on the golf course. Then his brow furrowed. Little thoughts entering his head.

Boy: But I thought I already had a nickname.

Me: What was that?

Boy: Stinkbucket.

When You Wish.

2005-04-06T09:11:00.000-07:00

It's past the mid-point of our brief Florida vacation and we go to Dunkin Donuts to get bagels and muffins for breakfast. The shop is in a kind of strip mall and there's an open air section and an .. it's hard to describe - acoustic bubble of some kind, a giant upside down bowl painted blue as the sky which has the pleasantly surprising effect of amplifying and echoing your voice as you move and speak underneath. It took me quite by surprise. The other thing there is a fountain and the Boy asks for change to make a wish. We all throw in some change and (against the superstition), compare wishes.

Me: I wished for more vacations like this one.

Boy: I wished for palm trees to have ice cream on top. But I almost wished for you not to watch Sportscenter every morning.

Which Way to the Beach?

2005-04-05T09:05:00.000-07:00

We're on a mini-vaction in South Florida. I think the Boy's enjoying himself. I think he likes it here. As we all get ready to go out to the beach, naturally the first one ready is the Boy - because Mamma and I spend our initial energy getting him all geared up. It doesn't take us long to get ourselves ready, but there's the Boy at the motel room door, hopping anxiously from foot to foot, eager to get going.

Boy: Are you ready yet?

Me: Yes.

Boy: Then let's rock!

Master's Week In Florida: The Back Side

2005-04-04T09:08:00.000-07:00

He's developing into a very cuddly Boy. Loves to have his back rubbed. It's an integral part of the going-to-bed process now. The other night as I'm out golfing under the lights in South Florida, and the Boy is being put to bed with Mamma, he took it up a knotch.

Boy: Scratch my bum.

Mamma complies.

Boy: No, the other one.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles - Part 2

2005-02-02T10:16:00.000-08:00

About a week ago I was in the car being grilled from the back seat about the relative speeds of different modes of transportation. What's faster? A car or a plane. How about a plane and a train? And so on. I told the Boy that planes were the fastest but then went on to say there was such a thing as a high-speed train in Tokyo that might almost be as fast as a plane. That was the end of the discussion until we got on board our flight to Florida. Wouldn't you know, leafing through the En Route magazine - there was a picture of the high-speed train. I showed it to a Boy. He looked at it for a long time and asked:

Boy: Is that the one in Pinocchio?

It was only after asking him to repeat that a few times before I figured out that he meant "the one in Tokyo".

Planes, Trains and Automobiles - Part 1

2005-02-01T10:07:00.000-08:00

Mamma and the Boy were excited about the prospect of our trip to Florida. It was a business trip for me, so I wasn't quite as enthused as they were. The trick for them was that while my flight was confirmed, they were going to be traveling "Standby" with all the inherent risk. We had to let the Boy know what was coming up but at the same time let him know that if all the seats filled up, he and Mamma might not be able to get on the plane.

Boy: Couldn't we take a boat?

A Lot of That Going Around

2005-01-31T06:57:00.000-08:00

The Boy has had a bad cough lately. We had it checked and turns out he's either got bronchitis or walking pneumonia. He's on medicine to knock out the infection and hopefully he'll feel better when we leave later this week to go to Florida (another business trip for me; alas, no movies).

Last week I'd noticed a few nights in a row that he was running a fever around bed-time. One afternoon around supper time he complained to me that he wasn't feeling very good, gave instructions to take his temperature (to see how sick he was) and presented his own diagnosis.

Boy: I think I have the chicken pops.

Open Invitations

2005-01-25T18:40:00.000-08:00

I went away for a brief business trip to the Big Smoke. Business trips. Boring presentations. Except this time, I was the one giving the presentation. I decided rather than do the usual boring old thing, I'd show a movie, my home-made kind rendered from my own PC. It was, in the words of one who saw it, entertaining and inspiring. I was pleased. Part of the middle segment was introduced, sort of, by the Boy. I filmed him on the back deck against the flower box saying, "And now for a brief NQI criteria review". Well, what actually came out was:

Boy: And now a kick I criterey view.

When I got home the next afternoon, flushed with my own success, I picked the Boy up from Daycare and told him how everybody oohed and ahhed about his part of the movie and that people all over the room were saying how cute he was.

Boy: Well, why don't they come and visit me?

Scores!

2005-01-24T06:55:00.000-08:00

There's no hockey this year, which somehow makes the football playoffs more significant. Because once the football is all over, there's just going to be wall-to-wall NBA.

Yuck.

The two semi-finals were held a weekend or so ago and I tried to get the Boy a bit interested. I told him who was playing and asked him who he thought would win. He picked the Eagles and the Steelers. He got one right.

In that he spent the afternoon watching Treehouse TV upstairs, my plan to spend the day with him watching the game didn't exactly work. I would give him some updates during the game when the Eagles scored (the late game was on too late). I told him the final results the next morning.

Boy: So are the Eagles going to play the SuperGoal?

A Yen for Sony

2005-01-18T15:58:00.000-08:00

My mom says it was those darn Joneses, the ones you're always trying to keep up with. On New Year's Eve we visited with our former neighbours who have moved onto (and into) a much grander house. We had the tour, ate pizza (and our livers) and played PlayStation, which was a great time. I said if the Boy says he liked it, I'd get one. He did, so I did. I've since wondered if I did the right thing. I since wondered, what the heck was I thinking. Every waking moment, the Boy is either playing PlayStation or asking to play PlayStation. Okay, that's a bit of an exageration. And you should know (whoever you are) that I enjoy playing it as well. But tonight, anxious for a bit of a break, I said no to the inevitable PlayStation request.
Boy: But Daddy! My hands are really in the mood to play!

Again, Suddenly from the Back Seat....

2005-01-17T07:56:00.000-08:00

Boy: Daddy? When I'm a granddad ... will you be dead?

Nocturnal Emissions.

2005-01-15T09:08:00.000-08:00

In the middle of the night I was awakened either by coughing in the next room or the urge to go pee ... one of the two. It was the Boy who was doing the coughing and I was a little alarmed since when he gets sick and throws up, it is usually preceded by a round of coughing similar to what I was hearing. I got up and went around the corner to look into his room. He looked peaceful enough laying there. He looked asleep. Until he said:
Boy: Daddy, what are you doing there?
Me: I was just checking to see if you were okay. Do you feel sick?
Boy (getting up and coming over to see me) : No. I mean, maybe yes. I have drips coming from my eyes and I'm not even sad.

Naughty? Nice!

2004-12-28T13:01:00.000-08:00

The blizzard that could have given us a white Christmas came two days late. The night before last the snow fell and the wind howled through every drafty window. We were quite stuck in the house. My wife didn't get to her shift at the airport for the first time in 15 years.

We had a good day together, bound to our little house. It was an especially good day for a Boy who found an overlooked Christmas present for the second day in a row.

By the time evening came, it was decent enough to go outside to do some shovelling. We have a finicky steet light at the end of our driveway. It somehow turns itself off every three minutes or so and the driveway is dark for about a minute before the light decides to come back on. I used this timing to good advantage, resting in the dark and throwing snow in the light. It took about an hour before the driveway was finally clear. As I was about halfway up the walkway, I heard the plow coming. With gritted teeth, I went back to wait for it at the end of the driveway, leaning on the snow shovel, glaring at the plow as it pushed in a fresh drift of snow.

I cleared out the new drift and went inside, peeled off my wet ski suit hat and gloves and got to washing up the dirty dishes. Our dishwasher was full, but the box of powder was empty. I told the Boy, this was the old fashioned way of doing the dishes.

As I was finishing up, I heard the plow go by again.

The air rang blue with curses.

This morning was the day to finally get out of the house and do some chores. It started with more snow shovelling. The Boy and I worked together. It was good work. The air was crisp, the sky a deep blue, the day fresh and coated a brilliant white. We found the black of our driveway and then off we went to the shops to get some groceries, exchange a present and scout for deals. Near the end of it all, as I pushed the Boy and the cart down the aisle with the dishwasher powder and the cat food, a question came out of that clear blue sky:

Boy: Daddy, did you get all you wanted for Christmas?
Me: Well, mostly, I guess. Not quite everything.
Boy: Oh. I guess you weren't good enough.

On the Subject of Siblings.

2004-12-22T07:15:00.000-08:00

We visited Granny and Poppa last weekend. We went up on Friday, and as is often the case with a winter drive to the Valley, we were beset by bad weather. The snow fell in big flakes, creating the illusion in front of the windshield of a star field at warp speed. Paradoxically, it felt like the car wasn't moving, since the only visible reference in the storm was the car in front of us that was traveling the exact same slow speed that we were. Fortunately, nobody went off the road.

The Boy spent the weekend playing with his two boy cousins and had a great time. They are a bit rougher than he is, and we put it down to the fact that they are two brothers in constant competition with each other. The Boy, of course, is an only child - a term with which I take some issue. Friends are always saying that he needs a brother or a sister. Encouraging us like. I don't like that either. The Boy, I tell them, is state of the art reproductive technology. Subtextually that means it was very difficult for Mommy and Me to have the one. We were lucky to get one (and he's perfect). Shut up about having another.

But on the drive home I thought I'd ask a boy what he thought.

Me: Do you miss not having a brother?

Boy: Yeah.

Mamma: Do you wish you had a brother or a sister?

Boy: I already have two sisters.

Mamma: You do? Who?

Boy: Ginger and Zoë. (Our cats, if you didn't know.)

Singing's Thirsty Work

2004-12-16T08:41:00.000-08:00

'Tis the season to be sitting in the auditorium, watching all the young'uns up there on the stage, singing their little hearts out. It's the Boy's first Christmas concert. Mine too... as a parent. The thing I realized was that even though there were about four different grades that were singing their songs, they all sing with a single voice. Close your eyes for any of them and it almost sounds like a Peanuts special.

So the Boy was magnificent. Not shy at all and singing his little heart out. I asked him if he was nervous, all those hundreds of parents and family filling the gymnasium, but no, no stage fright at all.

We're driving home and it's late. Way past his bed time. It's a nice drive home from the school past all the houses gaily festooned with brilliant and beautiful Christmas lights. Suddenly he pipes up from the back seat.

Boy: I'm really thristy. Can we stop at a bar?

Santa Clone

2004-12-04T13:21:00.000-08:00

Today, the Boy was invited to one of his classmate's birthday party. We spent part of the morning going to the mall to get a present for the party. The parking lot was jammed full with the start of the silly season. We enter the mall from the far end - it was the only parking spot we could find - and who should we see when we went in ... but Santa!

After a bit of gentle persuasion, the Boy decides to go sit on Santa's lap and tell him want he wants for Christmas (remote controlled car). Santa asks him if he's been good and then double checks the answer with me, gives him a candy cane and a book and off we go to get the gift. I wonder aloud about going to another mall to see if I can find Mommy a Christmas present and - whoops - mention about seeing Santa again in the other mall. Umm, Santa is fast and magical, after all. And wouldn't you know (fortune favours the foolish), on our way back out to the car, Santa wasn't there. Daddy, quick as a whip, informs the Boy:

Me: Hey. He must have gone over to the other mall.

Later, we're driving back from the birthday party and the Boy is asking me if he's been good this year because he'd like to get a lot of presents from Santa.

Me: Yes. You've been good. In fact, Santa knows that because he asked you in the mall this morning. And double-checked it with me.

I thought about this for a tick and said:

Me: In fact, Santa didn't need to ask me or you if you were good because Santa knows if boys have been good or bad. He didn't need to ask you or me. That was pretty silly of Santa!

Boy: I think there's two Santas. I think there's a Santa who lives at the North Pole with the Missus and gives out the toys and another Santa who goes to the stores.

Top to Bottom

2004-11-29T11:35:00.000-08:00

Part 1: Top

The Boy has been a bit sick the last few days. Poor little shaver has been up in the middle of the night throwing up. This is usually preceded by a bout of coughing. During the day he doesn't seem so bad except that he has a runny nose and no appetite.

We were setting up to play a game of Monopoly Junior when he sniffed and wiped his nose with the length of his long sleeve ... elbow to wrist.

Me: Oh, man. Use a tissue, sweetheart.

Boy (inspects his sleeve): It's all right. There's no snot.

Part 2: Bottom

I'm up early every morning to get ready to go to work. My day runs from 7 am to 3 pm which means, as usual, it's just one side or the other of 6 in the morning when I'm coming out of the shower.

There's a Boy, awake too early, beaming up at me, sitting on the toilet having a poop.

Boy: Turn off the fan so it's as stinky as possible.

Lights, Action!

2004-11-28T21:52:00.000-08:00

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

The last month has been very busy on all front; work, home, you name it. We had a nice little break in the middle of November when we took four days and went to visit family in Newfoundland. I actually got out to see a movie. I went to see The Incredibles which was great. The original plan had been to see it weeks early, all of us, the whole family. But the movie is rated PG and my wife had concerns that it wouldn't be appropriate for a 5-year old Boy. So I went. And yeah, there was guns and shooting and explosions and implicit death. Action violence. But it was a great movie.

Yesterday Ann went back to work. Holiday over. The Boy and I went through all our Christmas lights, checked that they were all working, put the white strings up along the back deck, the white coil around the front pillar and the rest were strung in our cherry tree in the front yard. We were all done around quarter after three. I did a check on the computer and found the last showing of The Incredibles started in 5 minutes. But there would be commercials and trailers and ...

Me: Hey Boy. Want to go see the Incredibles?

Boy: Ummmmmm.... nah.

Me: Want to go and we won't tell Mommy?

Boy: O-KAY!

TV InterActive

2004-11-11T08:28:00.000-08:00

This small place in cyberspace was reserved for stories I might forget. That was the idea. Witness the incident, write it down. Save and nurture it for present viewing among ... whomever ... and maybe when the Boy becomes the Man he'll get a kick out this.

There's one incident I'll never forget, but I'll write it down here as a precurser to something that happened this morning, if only to make the post longer.

It's three Easters ago and the Boy is still in diapers. He's started to speak. His vocabulary is small but growing. The parental challenge is to interpret the words that come badly formed out of his mouth but which he understands. The beginning of verbal communcation.

We are at my wife's sister's home, a lovely house over looking the water, a "grown-up" house, my wife and I would call it. Large, spacious, "adult". A two-car garage. They had recently annexed some of the garage to create an office for my sister in law, the psychologist. A locked door connected the office with the rest of its former self.

The Boy came trundling in from the office one morning and he was chattering. After a moment, I realized that there was a definite pattern and purpose to his chatter. He was saying the same word over and over again. "Ah-bree, ah-bree, ah-bree, ah-bree." I tried to make sense of what he was saying and couldn't. He was similarly frustrated that I wasn't getting whatever he was saying. I never did get it. My wife was the one to figure it out.

Mamma: He's saying "Abre".

Abre (Ah-bray) is spanish for "open". The Boy had found the locked door to the garage and wanted to go through. This he was communicating to us with "Abre!" that he was pronouncing "Ah-bree!". He (and Mamma) had learned this word from children's TV program Dora the Explorer. On the show there were recurring scenes with doors that only spoke spanish. Want to go through the door? You have to say "abre".

Great, I thought. It's tough enough figuring out what he's saying in English - which is a language I know.

Flash-forward a few years. This morning, the Boy (who is in french immersion and knows words in four languages), is busying himself with the Tinkertoy set, trying to build the stand-up bass from the picture on the front of the box. On TV is an epsiode of Dora the Explorer.

Dora: Te amo! In English, "Te amo" means I love you! Say "Te Amo! Say Te amo!"
Boy: I'm busy, Dora....

The Elusive Secret to Immortality.

2004-11-05T15:42:00.000-08:00

Finally revealed:

Boy: If we don't get inside our bum, we're doomed!

(Now you know.)

Time Change

2004-11-01T19:45:00.000-08:00

The days have turned bleak and cold and dark. The clocks fell back, the darkness comes quickly and the prospects of more golf likewise grow dim.

And with Halloween over and the treats expanding my waistline, I decide: it's time to get back to the gym.

I pick the Boy up from his after-school daycare and I broach the idea. He's for it. I've got my kit bag in the car, so we'll go directly.

Boy: Daddy, can we stay for three minutes?

The negotiations begin. How 'bout ninety? I ask. There's an hour-and-a-half maximum. He counters with 30. I say 60. He asks me what's between 30 and 60.

Me: Fifty.

We have a general discussion about exercise and how you have to exercise for over a half an hour for it to do any good.

Arriving at the mall, he immediately falls into the same routine that we left a couple of months ago. It's a race to the button (the automatic door opener), a race to the elevator button, a race for the main floor button, a race to the gym. He wins all the races. I marvel that he still is locked into this same routine after all these life changes he's had over the last two months. Going to school. New daycare. The rise of GOLF.

The gym staff "oohs" and "aws" over his Halloween hat, orange with a pumpkin face and jingling bells on the top. We go into the Toy Room and I sign him in, kiss him and say:

Me: See you in 60 minutes.

Boy: No!

(ah the negotiations start again...)

Boy (cont): An hour.

Sugar Daddy Son

2004-10-14T21:19:00.000-07:00

The Public Service Alliance of Canada is on strike. It's a stressful time when the money is as tight as it is right now. And there's Christmas and the attendant expenses looming just over the horizon. A submariner died in a fire last week, and out of respect for him, those of us in the Public Service who work for the Navy were exempt from the general strike action that was happening everywhere else across the country. The Lieutenant (N)'s service was held on Wednesday. On Thursday morning, I woke up to go to work, and like the stinkbucket he is, the Boy woke up too early and came downstairs to see me off. You can hear him upstairs as he gets out of bed and his footsteps carry along the upstairs hall. He then tries to sneak partway down the steps where his little face pokes slyly around the bannister. "Boo!" he says but his stealthy approach has failed and I'm already looking up at him. Then, oddly, he asks me:

Boy: Daddy, are you on strike today?

Me: No sweetheart. Not today.

I'm wondering how he's heard of this. The question takes me by surprise. More surprising is when I show up at work and, wouldn't you know, I'm on strike. I and two others in the office didn't get the phone call and we show up for work. There was no picket line at our entrance, so who knew? I was at work for over two hours before I found out why it was so quiet. I leave work and gets lots of chores done during my day without pay, and I go home to verbally fret about losing about $100 a day while the strike lasts. So today is Day One and at the time there's no word to say go back to work tomorrow - that'll be $200 dollars.

It's Thursday evening and I'm in the commode while a Boy is getting ready for bed, the day almost done. His little voice is heard outside the door.

Boy: Daddy, I have money. You can have my money for when you're on strike.

Everyone's A Critic

2004-10-11T13:22:00.000-07:00

Today, Thanksgiving's Day, Boy and I went to the movies for the first time in quite a while. We went to see, Shark's Tale. On the way home, I asked him:

Me: What was your favourite part of the movie?
Boy: When I went to the bathroom. And getting popcorn.

And this is what Roger Ebert said. You decide whose review is better.

You Say It's Your Birthday?

2004-10-08T10:08:00.000-07:00

Birthdays are big in a Boy's life. Not just his own. Anyone's will do. Today happens to be mine. When it's over, Boy will be keen to know who's next on the list. Cakes and decorations and cards and prizes. It's a delight for him. He's asked me and Mamma on a couple of occassions how old I'm going to be on my birthday. Well, today it got here and I was serenaded on the phone with a duet of "Happy Birthday". When it was over, Mamma asked the Boy if he remembered how old Dada was:

Boy: It's either 41 or 61.

Trash Talkin'

2004-10-03T05:25:00.000-07:00

The rain started to fall as we were making our last putts on the last hole. There were four of us in the group.: Me, the Boy, our friend Wade and Wade's brother. We left the course and sat around a table to enjoy our après-golf - a muffin and a (soft) drink. I mentioned that the Boy had beaten everyone on the first hole with a score of 4.

Me (to Boy): You played really well today. You made a four on #1 and a four on #4. Good job. Hey! That's two weeks in a row you've made fours on 1 and 4.

Wade: Yeah and you beat me on #1. And last time I played with you you beat me on 1.

Boy: Well, come out next time and I'll beat you again!