Shrek and The Knight

Before we begin today, I feel I should put out a quick disclaimer. The Parents 'n' Tots playgroup, to which I haul Sonwun and Sontoo twice a week, is the best I've been to. Great toys, limited structure, no crappy coffee and, generally, a good time had by all.

That being said . . .

Yesterday we had the Halloween Party. The kids dressed up, one pissed off mom dressed up ("You guys suck! I thought parents were dressing up!") and it was all very cute. There were dinosaurs, Jack Sparrows, ninjas, lions, tigers and bears (oh my)! Sonwun was sporting a Knight costume and Sontoo went as Shrek. He's got the belly for it.

But I'm not feeling good about poor little Shrek. I dressed him up because I gave in to peer pressure. I dressed him up for the amusement of others. I was not amused trying to stuff his little body into that costume. He was not amused by the way it felt. I was not amused by the crying and fussing. He has no idea who Shrek is or why I want him to look like a green ogre. And he hated the little hat.

Now I understand why parents dress kids, under the age of 2, in Halloween costumes. It's cute, or funny. But let's be honest, it's kind of like putting a little outfit on your dog. The dog is not amused, finds no pleasure in the outfit and is a little freaked out about having to wear it. Eighteen-month-olds, at least mine, feel the same way. Why did I give in?

Now as for Sonwun, he understands the costume concept. He chose his own and was quite proud to be Sir Sonwun, the knight. I, wisely I think, chose not to arm him with a sword, even though it would have completed the ensemble nicely. It just didn't make sense to send him out into a group of 40 children, already with an inflated, knightly sense of self importance, with a weapon.

Five other parents disagreed.

And, as one might expect, the morning featured a running battle between two Ninjas, a Transformer, a pirate and Winnie the Pooh who realized his hunny pot had little impact against a Ninja sword. Pooh wanted in on the action, so he picked up the pirate's discarded scabbard and used it to join in the wild swinging festival.

Now, I understand that the swords are part of the costume and the children want to play with them. But why the mothers not only allowed the swords to make the trip to playgroup, but allowed the duels to continue unabated - I just don't get it.

Maybe it had something to do with the sugar buffet along the wall. Now, I understand that some moms want to bring a special treat to the Halloween party. But, seriously, the amount of sugar and frosting on that table would have sweetened Hitler's disposition. And come on people, it's 10 a.m. Is it really a good idea to detonate this sugar bomb in a room full of toddler's and preschoolers? I just don't get it.

To be fair, I should point out that one mom actually brought in a big plate of sliced fruit for the kids to snack on. I know, not very Halloweeny, but certainly more nutritious. There was plenty left over.

All that being said, it was a good party. There were games for the kids (Sir Sonwun finished third in musical chairs) and plenty of opportunities to burn off that sugar, even without swordplay.

And tonight's the big night. But I'm not sure how we're going to handle it. Today's forecast high is -5C (that's about 23F for those of you down south) and it's expected to drop to -10 (14F) tonight. Sonwun will surely want to hit the streets, but that form-fitting Knight costume won't offer much protection from the cold and it will be impossible to stuff sufficient insulation underneath it. Must come up with new plan.

I expect Shrek will stay here with me and help hand out the loot. But I will probably dress him up as one of the kids from Peter Pan. You know, a pair of pajamas and maybe a pair of slippers. No hat. He'll be happier, I'll be happier.

Have a great, spooky Halloween everyone and I'll see you next month.

Innocence Takes a Hit

He lied. And he lied to me, his daddy. And I must admit, it doesn't feel good.

Didn't expect this one so early in my journey through daddyhood. I mean, I expected him to lie, but I didn't expect him to take it to this level and I didn't expect it would hurt me so much.

Sonwun is not quite four yet. And for the most part he's been pretty honest with me.

"What happened?"

"I hit my little brother and made him cry."

And other times:

"Did you just hit the dog with that hockey puck?

"Yeah."

He knew what he did was wrong, he knew punishment would follow, but he was honest with me. It's what I expect from him and, even though there is discipline, there is an acknowledgment from me that he did the right thing by telling the truth.

That changed last night. And I'm not sure why it bothers me so much, which is why I'm writing about it. It helps me sort things out when I put them on paper (or into the computer). You all are along for the ride. Bear with me.

So after supper last night, as part of the standard, rambunctious activities that are what make Sonwun's world go 'round, he bopped the dog on the head with one of his Bakugan balls. (What the heck are those things anyway? What's the point? What is one supposed to do with them? They came in a Happy Meal and I just don't get them. But I digress).

He knows he's not supposed to hit the dog, he's been told that a hundred times, so he was sent upstairs to his room for five minutes of bed-sitting. Legs over the side, no toys, no blankets, just sit and think about what happened.

Well, about two minutes into the five-minute major, I hear him start wailing and calling for me.

"My tummy hurts, oooooo, Daddy, my tummy hurts! Ooowwwwwww."

Now about a year and a half ago, he had a NASTY tummy ache that started with a trip to the Gimli hospital for examination and X-rays and ended with a trip to the children's hospital in Winnipeg, in the middle of the night, for further examination and, possibly, an ultrasound. Gimli doctor suspected a hot appendix. It was ruled out in Winnipeg and determined to be a nasty case of trapped gas in the intestines.

A few good farts and all was well. Unless of course you were in the van on the drive back from Winnipeg with him. But we were just relieved (as was he) that he was okay.

So, last night, I go running up the stairs, because the fuss he was making sounded a little like it did 18 months earlier. I laid him back on the bed and probed his stomach. He didn't react to anything that would make me think the probing was causing pain. Didn't feel anything weird in his stomach area. So I sat him up again and told him he could come downstairs where I could keep an eye on him on the couch.

Well, he gets downstairs and the first thing he notices is that Sontoo has one of his toys. And he starts complaining and demanding the return of this most important toy on the planet. (Which, for the record, is always whatever toy his younger brother is holding).

And, of course, I notice that the stomach ache had magically disappeared.

"Sonwun, how's your tummy ache?"

"It's all gone."

"All gone??"

And at that moment it hit me. Not only did he lie to get out of his punishment, but he put on an Oscar-worthy performance to enhance the lie. And I fell for it, hook, line and sinker. He played on my Daddy instincts, my concern for his well-being and, like any good actor, drew on his past life experiences for motivation.

And it hurt. In the interrogation that followed, he admitted he was lying. His tummy didn't really hurt.

But now mine did. That piece-of-lead-in-the-stomach kind of hurt.

My innocent child, my beautiful little boy, had looked me in the eye and lied in order to minimize a punishment.

And yeah, I know. There's more to come. It's human nature blah, blah, blah. Get used to it, blah, blah, blah. You should see my teenager, blah, blah, blah.

But firsts, while sometimes a joy, can also be a real heart-breaker. Especially firsts like this one.

I have, to this point, trusted him when I've asked, "Why is your brother crying?" And that is because, at least 50 per cent of the time, he'll say something like, "Because I threw a truck at his head."

It makes the other 50 per cent of the time, when he says things like, "Sontoo fell off the couch," ring true. I knew that if he'd committed assault, he'd fess up. And the evidence almost always confirmed his story.

Last night I was, at first, very angry. But I knew I needed to talk to him about it. And so, drawing from Rodney Dangerfield in Back to School, I sat him down and told him, "Sonwun, I am your father. You don't lie to me, you lie to women."

No, I didn't. I was too messed up to talk to him beyond explaining what a lie is (again) and why they are not something we want to hear from him, especially when it comes to medical emergencies. Personally, I had to process this event, so he was sent back to his bedroom to think about what we'd discussed.

I spent the rest of the night sulking, thinking and sulking some more. Sonwun will be starting preschool next week, two days a week, and so I will be losing a little of my sole ownership, my exclusive right to temper his strong little character and my exclusive ability to try to guide him toward the kind of man I want him to be.

Yeah, I know, I'm attaching way too much to this little transgression. But, to me, it's a milestone I'm not ready to hit. Little boys will lie. Sadly, it's human nature. And this day was going to come.

Innocence takes a hit and daddy's heart bleeds.

Once more, I know I'm making more of this than necessary. But this is how I'm feeling right now. I'll get over it, life will go on. Today, it just sucks.

Tired in Thompson

If sleeping were an Olympic event, Neomom and I would have taken the bronze last night. Well, truthfully, Neomom took the bronze and I was disqualified.

Gold medal goes to Sonwun who, at 10:30 p.m., put together a spectacular performance in the mattress moistening competition. He finished with a flourish, by crying and screaming due, in part, to the fact that he wasn't really awake. We found him pointing and kicking at a pillow while howling. Neomom mistook this for a bad dream involving said pillow and removed the offending item from the bed. She then sat down in a puddle and realized that the pillow was really not the issue.

And so, while Sonwun curled up in a new, dry blanket on the extra bed, basking in his gold-medal glow, Neomom and I changed his bed, tucked his now-sleeping body back into his own bed and headed back to the competition.

At 3 a.m., Sontoo made his run for the podium. He opened with a little crying. Kind of a weak start really, considering he does this fairly regularly and it only lasts about five minutes. Neomom and I laughed off the lackluster effort and soldiered on under our own blankets.

But Sontoo is a trooper and he knew the silver medal was on the line. He dug down deep and kept that crying going for a good 20 minutes, knowing our gold-medal dream had already taken a hit from Sonwun.

After 25 minutes, we knew we were beaten. In keeping withe Sleep Olympics rules, I changed the ceremonial diaper and prepared the traditional concession bottle. Sontoo took silver. I, however, took consolation in the fact that I got to snuggle with the little silver medalist while he enjoyed the victory bottle and, shortly thereafter, fell back to sleep.

At this point, I also conceded the bronze medal to Neomom. She had to get up in about three hours and get ready for work. I advised her to put in the earplugs (perfectly legal in the Sleep Olympics) and catch what she could in the remaining hours.

As for me, I figured my best bet for a strong finish was the couch. So that's where I went. And, about half an hour into my near slumber, my arm cramped up, causing considerable pain and wakefulness. It was my fault. Every athlete knows you should stretch before competition. I did not and I paid the price.

But I wasn't giving up. I stretched out the arm, curled up and gave it my all for a big finish.

And it was about half an hour later that the cat decided to engage in mortal combat with a neighbourhood cat, through the basement window. While neither warrior could actually touch the other, due to three panes of glass and a screen between them, it didn't stop them from high-volume trash-talking and determined, yet fruitless, punches at one another.

The problem for my stupid cat was that he was on a thin ledge inside the window while his adversary was on solid footing in the window well outside. Thus, with each violent attack launched, my cat would fall from the window sill and scramble like a cat possessed back to his perch. In the oft-repeated process, he took out a lamp, knocked the blinds to the floor and shoved the futon mattress halfway off the frame.

Well, after chasing off the massive Tomcat that, in truth, would have beaten my indoor cat like a rented mule, I replaced the futon mattress and caught about 45 minutes of sleep before Sonwun awoke, came downstairs, turned on the large, bright, overhead light and asked "Daddy, are you awake?"

So yeah, I didn't make the podium and I don't think I even got ranked, as I did not finish the event. My Olympic dream is dead.

And it's a good thing I'm not a sore loser, or right now rather than laundering the evidence, I would be sending three blankets and a diaper off to the lab to test for performance-enhancing drugs.

Well, happy Tuesday! Gonna be a long one.

Boogie Nights

So I'm sitting in the gym at the rec centre. I have on a pair of lovely yellow latex gloves (too small). In front of me is a large bin, filled with hot water, dish soap and bleach.

To my left is a much larger bin, filled with over-size building blocks. They are kinda like Legos on steroids. Each one is about four inches thick, six inches wide and about a foot long.

In my gloved hands are a J-cloth and a toothbrush. Nearby are four moms, similarly attired.

Volunteer time for the stay-at-home dad has arrived.

Saturday night just ain't what it used to be. Because it used be date night . . . or party night . . . or snuggle-up-with-the-wife-and-a-good-movie night.

But this Saturday night was clean-the-snot-puke-and-food-off-the-toys night at playgroup. Just doesn't have the same lure as the Saturday nights of old.

I seriously considered picking up a six-pack on the way. I mean, if I have to do this, I might as well have a few libations to make the time crawl by just a little less slowly. Instead, I stopped by the drive-through for my Timmy's regular coffee and headed out. Didn't want to look like a bad daddy.

An invitation had been extended to the 30 or so moms that attend this "cooperative" playgroup, in the hopes that the five-member "executive" would not have to face this pile of toys alone. Twenty-nine of those moms chose not to attend. One showed up, but left early.

So, I opened the evening with the most manly task I could find - battery replacement. It involved a screwdriver, thus, it is manly. Okay, it was a small screwdriver and small batteries, and any monkey could do it, but it's as close as I could get, in my yellow gloves, to feeling like I still had a pair.

The battery replacement took about half an hour. Everyone else was working away, wiping down the toys and chatting away about husbands, childbirth, breast feeding and people in town I have never heard of.

So I filled my bin with water, bleach and soap, sat down with my pile of building blocks and started washing. It was about this time that the one mom who did show up bid us a fond farewell. And it was about 30 seconds later that the "treasurer" broke out a couple of bottles of red wine and styrofoam cups.

Should have picked up the six-pack.

Should have picked up the six-pack!

For me, red wine is great with a nice, thick,bloody steak. But for something to drink while "working?" No. Gimme a beer. Thanks anyway.

Anyway, the process for cleaning the blocks. Throw four into the bin. Pick up the first, and wipe it thoroughly with the J-cloth. Put it back into the bin, upside down, so you don't forget which one was already done. Yeah, I know there's only four of them, but after about five minutes, your mind starts to wander, and wonder what the hell you're doing here.

Anyway, after they're all wiped down and upside down, drop the cloth and pick up the toothbrush. Grab the first block and start brushing the crud out of the nooks and crannies. And let me tell you, 50 kids can secrete, spill and spew a lot of crud on building blocks.

So why am I doing this? Well, my boys participate in playgroup. They enjoy playgroup and it is a "cooperative" playgroup, so they say. And that is supposed to mean that it is run by all of the parents who attend. Everyone cooperates to set up the toys at the start, clean up the toys at the end and, once a month, get together to sanitize the toys. For this to work, people need to take part. Fact is, most don't. They figure if they show up, put away a couple of toys at the end of the day, they've done their part.

And, with any group like this, it takes a few dedicated parents to make it really work. I prefer to count myself among those parents. Don't get me wrong. My motivations are not entirely pure of heart and altruistic. The stay-at-home parent thing can, at times, be a tad monotonous - especially during a winter in Thompson, Manitoba. And sometimes, just sometimes, I feel the need to run screaming from the house and engage in adult conversation and activity- even if it is just to clean various bodily secretions from some toy blocks.

Well, to make a long, boring, beer-less story just a little bit shorter, it took about two hours to get through the entire collection. I didn't have much to contribute to the husband-birth-and-boob discussion, so I just concentrated on the booger blocks and dreamed of the day when my boys will enter hockey, or some other sport. A time, somewhere down the road, when Saturday night executive meetings will be held in bars, with other men. And discussions will revolve around wives, snowmobiles, yes, maybe boobs, and the Blue Bombers.

And the best part is that I will not have to wear yellow gloves to participate.

Anyway, after that little rant, here is a picture of the snowman we made on Saturday afternoon to make us all feel a little better:

What to do about The Flu?

What to do, what to do?

Like many parents, I'm struggling with the flu vaccine question. Do I get Sonwun and Sontoo the shots or just let them deal with the possibility of the flu, and, possibly the H1N1 variety?

There is so much conflicting information out there right now. What's a dad to do?

Some of the medical experts say that if you get the regular seasonal flu shot, you increase your risk of getting H1N1. Some say the H1N1 vaccine is new and unproven and wonder whether it's worth risking potential side effects, immediately and down the road.

The Canadian government, it seems, is encouraging folks to get vaccinated, specifically those in high-risk areas (like Thompson, Manitoba), children ages six months through five years (like Sonwun and Sontoo) and those with chronic medical issues, such as Type 2 diabetes (like myself).

That being said, I read things in news stories, such as:

" . . . research and data so far show that the H1N1 vaccine's side-effect profile has been good and that it has undergone rigorous testing to ensure it is safe."

I need to know what "good" means in that context. I only know it does not mean "excellent" or "perfect" or even "very good." So what exactly qualifies as "good?"

A press release from the Manitoba government offered the following:

"Health Canada has assessed available data on the safety, quality and effectiveness of the H1N1 vaccine and concluded the benefit-to-risk profile is favourable for active immunization against the H1N1 in an officially declared pandemic situation."

And again, the wording scares me. "The benefit-to-risk profile is favourable . . . in an officially declared pandemic situation."

Wording has always interested me. And the wording here is certainly interesting. Favourable is a weak and scary word. And the qualifier, "in an officially declared pandemic situation," is also making me nervous

Does this mean that if we were in an unofficially, possible pandemic situation the benefit-to-risk profile would remain favourable, or would it be unfavourable? Or would there be a weaker word attached, such as "reasonable" or "within acceptable limits?"

I don't think I ever had a flu vaccination as a child. If I got sick, I went to bed, puked, suffered through the fever and aches and BUILT MY IMMUNE SYSTEM the natural way. Isn't that important too?

Now that being said, I certainly do not want to risk serious, deadly illness for my children. And even that's up for debate. I've read articles and reports about children getting this flu, suffering as I did as a child (a couple of days of discomfort) and coming out the other side just dandy, and, with a naturally upgraded immune system.

Just for giggles, I did an informal poll on the Dadstayshome.com website to see what my fellow SAHDs planned to do. That started a spirited debate on the risk vs. benefit angle. But, in the end, the poll came back showing that, of the 29 voters, four are getting the seasonal flu shot only, no one is opting for H1N1 only, 17 will get both and eight are avoiding flu shots entirely.

And during the spirited debate, many of my questions were reiterated but not definitively answered. Just more questions.

I also emailed my family members in the health care profession for opinions. But I haven't heard back from them yet.

So, I'm left with the following:

1. H1N1 has killed people this year. (Generally the very young, very old and those with compromised immune systems).

2. The common flu has killed people every year. (Generally the very young, very old and those with compromised immune systems).

3. There have been adverse reactions to swine flu vaccines. And while the numbers are small, the reaction has been big. Specifically, following the 1976 mass immunizations for swine flu, there was an increase in Guillain-Barré syndrome (GBS) among those vaccinated. It is a rare, paralyzing, lethal neurological disease and no one has yet figured out the connection between the vaccine and GBS. And, based on what I've read so far, the chances of getting it from the vaccine appear to be about 1 in 100,000.

4. The H1N1 vaccine is still relatively new. While short-term side-effects may partially be known, the long-term effects remain a mystery.

5. I have had and survived the common flu many times, as a child and as an adult.

6. I have never had H1N1 flu, and neither have my children.

7. This all means I'm really no further ahead in my decision. Is the risk of the H1N1 vaccine greater or lesser than the risk of the flu itself?

I wish, dear readers, that I had some kind of definitive answer here. Not for you, of course, but for myself. Vaccination clinics are expected to get under way here in Thompson next week. That give me three days or so to make up my mind.

Right now, I'm sitting squarely on the fence and it's just not a comfortable position.

I feel that if I could get just one question answered HONESTLY, I could make my decision.

I've heard from the politicians, I've read as many news reports as I could find, I've heard from my buddies, I've heard from the lady in the tinfoil hat on the corner of Westwood and Arctic Streets and I've heard from doctors who don't actually study the vaccine, but rely on information from the drug manufacturers, in this case, for Canada, GlaxoSmithKline.

But the question I need answered is this: Are all of the scientists, the lab rats, the ones who designed, tested and are profiting from this vaccine, (the good folks at GlaxoSmithKline, who have ALL available data in front of them) are they giving this vaccine, without reservation, to their children under 5?

An absolutely honest answer to that question will go a long way in helping me make my decision. And I just don't think I'll get it.

Hail to the Vice Chief

Oh, the power, the prestige, the possibilities. What do I take on first? Health care? H1N1 vaccinations? Mideast peace talks? Getting the fifth dentist to cave and recommend Trident sugarless gum?

I'm just awash in the potential.

Yesterday, after only four visits to the Thompson Parents and Tots playgroup, I have been named . . . wait for it . . . vice president. You may all take a moment to drink that in. Pause and reflect on my opportunity to shape the world. And don't worry, I will remember the little people who have helped me claw my way to this upper echelon of playgroup status.

Okay, I know I got suckered. I mean really, I just moved here, I've attended this group four times, there are at least 30 other parents who attend regularly. I'm left with three possible explanations for my rise to power.

1. Nobody gives a rat's ass.

2. They saw me coming a mile away with "sucker" written on my forehead.

3. They recognized my innate leadership potential in that very short time and knew I was the man to help lead Thompson Parents and Tots into the new future.

I will continue to delude myself into believing the latter.

President Bobbi approached me yesterday, said she'd noticed I'd been coming regularly and asked if I planned to continue. Red lights and warning sirens were going off in my head immediately. But I said, yes. And then I asked where this was headed.

She got right to the point. There was an opening for VP and, I guess because I can carry some of the heavier toys and equipment, I was offered the job.

Having served on boards and committees in the past, back when I was working at the newspaper, I had a lot of questions.

"When do we meet?"

"Well, we really don't, all that often."

"Is this a legally incorporated body; are we a registered charity?"

"Um, no."

"What is my liability here if little Timmy smashes his teeth out on the slide?"

"Um, I think we're covered by the Rec Centre, but I'm not sure."

"So what exactly is my role here?"

"Well, we give you a set of keys and if no one else is here, you can open the door to the toy cupboard."

"Wow."

"And we have, well, sort of a meeting this Saturday at 7:30 when we'll be getting together to clean the toys. Are you free?"

"Wow."

My vision of world-changing power fading, I agreed. Hey, someone's gotta do it and, in a way, I'm helping to fight the spread of H1N1, runny noses and dirty hands.

However, at this first meeting, I will strongly be suggesting we take a real hard look at incorporation and liability. Call me a cock-eyed pessimist, but it only takes one little accident and one litigious parent to ruin the fun and take my house. As much as I'd like to believe in a world where parents recognize that kids have accidents and no one is to blame, I have a slightly more cynical, realistic view of the planet and its people.

And there's gotta be one lawyer in Thompson who's willing to put in a little pro bono work for a kids' group, right?

For now, I will clean toys. I'll leave the peace talks in the Middle East on the back burner, for now. I'll let the twits in Ottawa deal with health care and that fifth dentist will continue to recommend another gum for his patients who chew gum, unabated.

This, I guess, is just a part of the parent thing. Get involved, help to make the activities your children enjoy more enjoyable. And I know it's just the beginning. There will be chocolate bar sales when they get into sports, PTA meetings when they get to school and bail to post when I get that late-night call from the police station.

So this is just the start of my Daddy resume. And hey, VP is a pretty good place to start, even if it actually means Virus Protection by way of cleaning a bunch of toys.

Loose Tooth Too Early

So, Sonwun has two loose teeth. And no, according to the Mayo Clinic website, it isn't natural. These things are supposed to start happening around age 6. Sonwun is just shy of 4.

But Sonwun is an active little bugger and is now incorporating his new toy (Sontoo) in his daredevil, live-on-the-edge games.

And yesterday, the game was hide-in-a-blanket. The basic premise of this game, as best I could tell, was that one of them gets wrapped up in the big fluffy comforter (the fort) and the other is the invader who jumps/falls/rolls onto the structure in an attempt to gain access to said fort. Then they both laugh hysterically and do it all over again.

Well, as with most of these games, it's not long before someone is crying. And yesterday it was Sonwun. While Sontoo wandered about the living room looking for the next game, Sonwun was screaming bloody murder. Seems that in the course of the game, he'd landed teeth-first on Sontoo's skull.

Sontoo, even at 18 months, is a bit of a tank. Doesn't complain much unless food is at issue. The teeth to the skull didn't seem to bother him in the least. I did check his head after I learned what happened and didn't find any bite marks. Must have been protected by the fort. (The fort is strong in this one.)

In any case, when I got Sonwun settled ("Hey, look, Diego's on . . . silence.") I took a look to see where or if he was hurt, as I missed the actual episode.

No blood on the lips, no blood on his head, no new obvious marks on his face . . . ah, there we go. A thin line of blood where his front tooth meets the gum. I've seen this kind of thing before, in the mirror. (That's a bunch of stories for another day) So I immediately grabbed the tooth and gave it a little wiggle. And it wiggled. Not much, but enough that I knew he'd done a little damage.

Nothing seemed broken, or too loose, so I figured it would be okay. Checked with my trusted advisors at Dadstayshome.com, who suggested I call a dentist, which I did. As I suspected, they said the tooth would probably tighten up again and there was no cause for concern. Just give him a little Tylenol before bed and check it again in the morning.

I checked the Mayo clinic site, by the way, just to find out, in the event of a worst-case-scenario, how long Sonwun one would be a gap-toothed wonder before his adult teeth started to come in. Also wanted to know if losing a tooth this early would impact the proper alignment of the adult teeth. No worries. If he loses it, all should be fine.

Anyway, busy day ahead. Must go grocery shopping as soon as the store opens, so I can make Playgroup by 9:30, which will give me the afternoon to do the laundry and get supper ready.

Cheers!

Liberal Morons

So, got a political flyer in the mail yesterday. I read it over and it leaves me to conclude one of three things.

1. Liberal Health Critic Carolyn Bennett is an idiot.

2. The Liberal Party of Canada is stupid.

3. The Liberal Party of Canada and Liberal Health Critic Carolyn Bennett believe people living in northern Manitoba are complete idiots.

I suspect it's all of the above, but I'll be generous and suggest it's only one of these things.

So, the pamphlet . . .

It's an attempt to capitalize on the "body bag scandal" that came to light just over a month ago. For those of you not familiar with this overblown, factually inaccurate, politically idiotic "scandal," allow me to explain.

As part of preparation for the upcoming flu season, and the potential pandemic results, nursing stations in northern Manitoba were told to "order big" when it came time to order supplies. ALL supplies. And yes, among those medical supplies were body bags which, in addition to their obvious purpose, are also important in preventing transmission of infection from the dead person to others.

At one nursing station up north, 100 body bags were ordered ALONG WITH THE REST OF THE SUPPLIES IN THE "ORDER BIG" SHIPMENT. In fact, only 38 body bags were shipped, again, along with the rest of the supplies.

Now, the two paragraphs above came to light two weeks ago following the "investigation" by Health Canada.

But four weeks ago, before asking any questions, someone, somewhere, saw the body bags, or the order, and decided it was time to make political hay.

Head Liberal moron Michael Ignatieff, rather than search for facts, called on the Conservative government for an apology, as if somehow, the Members of Parliament were directly responsible for ordering medical supplies for nursing stations in northern Manitoba. Sadly, the Conservatives, again, without searching for the facts, issued an apology, as did Health Canada.

I must give a little credit, however to Conservative Health Minister Leona Aglukkaq who at least left the door open for a reasonable explanation. While she apologized for the body bag delivery, according to the Toronto Star, she did warn her Liberal critics to avoid trying to sensationalize the mistake.

Good advice. But the Liberals weren't listening and, apparently, still are not listening.

"I was born and raise in remote communities," Aglukkaq said, and I understand the challenges better than anyone. That's why I have met frequently with First Nations organizations. Anyone suggesting that our government solution to H1N1 is body bags is sensationalizing this situation."

So, the investigation went forth and the results are listed above. Nasty flu season coming. Order big when it comes to all supplies. Body bags are among supplies and, as such, were "ordered big." Even Assembly of Manitoba Chiefs, Grand Chief Ron Evans called the "scandal" nothing more than "a communication breakdown more than anything else." That was just under two weeks ago. So, end of story, right?

No. This brings me to yesterday when I received the political flyer, from the Liberal Party of Canada, in my mailbox. The headline? No vaccines, just body bags."

Beneath the headline is a picture of what is supposed to be an Aboriginal child, looking sad and sick, her poor little hand on her poor little forehead with a digital thermometer in her mouth.

(Note to the Liberal marketing geniuses: You really should have used a conventional thermometer, with mercury in it, for the picture. Makes it just that little bit extra pathetic. You're welcome.)

Among the shotgun blast of accusations in the pamphlet are the lines:

"When First Nations in northern Manitoba asked for help to prepare the Conservatives answer was to ship them body bags. Not the kind of preventive help they had in mind."

"Now the Harper Conservatives respond callously to H1N1 by shipping body bags. It's clear they have no idea how to protect the health and safety of Canadians."

So I'm back to the top. Either the Liberals aren't aware of what has happened, or they are just plain stupid. This "problem" was examined, a more than reasonable explanation was found and even the Grand Chief is saying it was nothing more than a communication breakdown.

Because here it is, two weeks after this "scandal" was proven to be nothing more than political haymaking, and the Liberals are still trying to blame the Harper Conservatives for a non-existant issue.

So what is it?

Are they morons? Or do they believe people in the north are morons?

Oh, and as a final little kicker: Online feedback is requested by the Liberals in their little flyer. I'm asked to go to http://feedback.liberal.ca/bodybags to provide an opinion on this issue, and others.

I went to the site, to provide a little feedback and I get the message:

Forbidden

You don't have permission to access / on this server.

I'm left with only one possible answer to the questions above. The Liberals are morons.