Common Ground

Well, good morning all and Happy Monday!

Got to admit I'm not feeling good about the day. Forecast is rain and I'm trying to figure out something to do with Sonwun and Sontoo today that is not one of the three or four things we've been doing for the last week.

I found a phone number for a "Parents and Tots" group here in Thompson and I'm going to give them a call. I am hoping there is at least one other Dad there, as I've done the Playgroup thing before and have not really enjoyed it.

Sure, some of the moms try to make you feel welcome, but once the coffee's served and the discussions start, I know I don't fit in. And fair enough. I didn't go through childbirth, I didn't get stitched "down there," and I have never experienced the irritation of cracked nipples. I don't care to "have my colours done," or listen to a cosmetics lecture. I'm not interested in "washing the grey right out of my hair," and I don't care about who's "seeing" who in town.

On the other hand, most of the mommy's don't care that it's gonna be a bitch to replace the eavestroughs. Not too many I've found can offer tips on disassembling and replacing a timer on an old washing machine or hooking up a new PVR. They don't watch Ultimate Fighting Championships, or Hell's Kitchen and they have no interest in discussing which Bond was the best. (And they can get downright nasty if you want to discuss which Bond girl had the nicest body!)

And there aren't many that can truly appreciate the comedic genius in such film classics as Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, Caddy Shack, Strange Brew or Uncle Buck. (Most are too young as well).

But hey, there is common ground. I'm sure we have all done battle with a nasty case of diaper rash. We've all fixed more than a few boo-boos, many of us know what it feels like to be home alone all day with two kids under five. We know what it's like to spend an hour or two cooking something special for said kids, only to have it dumped on the floor and fed to the dog. And I'm sure that more than one of us knows the mind-blowing irritation of finding junior has whipped off his diaper and painted the couch with its contents.

But once again, it's not about us, it's not about me. It's about Sonwun and Sontoo having a chance to play somewhere other than their own living room or bedroom. It's about them having the chance to play with kids their own age.

And, if I have to be honest, these playgroup visits, for me, are ultimately about the hope, against hope, of finding another stay-at-home dad, another guy whose wife joined the RCMP, who agrees that one parent needs to be home to raise the kids and has taken on the challenge. Someone who knows what it's like to move to a new town every so often and start again. And someone who is not a total nut-job. Or, at the very least, the same kind of nut-job that I am.