Memo to Bell . . .

Dear Bell Satellite Service:

I'm not sorry I left you. We've had our problems, and I'm not going to go into detail right here, right now. Suffice to say, I'm not impressed.

My current problem, being the fact that you owe me about $150, is only serving to reinforce my pleasure in my decision to stop sending you money every month.

Three weeks ago, I phoned you to ask where my money was, after you sent me a new bill, asking for money for next month's service, when I terminated service with you a month prior. Your accounting system needs work.

You said you were pleased to help me with this problem, and that my cheque would arrive in two weeks. If it didn't, you told me, call back.

So I marked the day on the calendar. December 22.

And when the cheque did not arrive, I waited another week, to give you a little grace time over the holiday season. Merry Christmas.

As I type this, I am on the phone with one of your service reps. So far, I've been told that, yes, you owe me money and, "Definitely I will help you today."

Let me just say, that the only way you can help me today, my dear friend, is if you get on a plane with that cheque and deliver it personally. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure I'm only going to get another promise that it's coming.

But that, dear Bell, is not why I'm writing today. I'm writing today with a helpful tip (as I wait on the line for "three to five minutes" while your rep looks something up).

When I called this morning, I had to wait on the line for about 20 minutes. That's irritating. But what's even more irritating is your decision to interrupt the wait every 25 seconds (yes, I timed it) with the following message:
"We appreciated your patience. Please stay on the line and your call will be answered as soon as an agent is available."

You don't appreciated my patience, or you would not test it every 25 seconds with that annoying message. Annoying as, waiting 20 minutes, I had to hear it about 40 times.

Thus, it is not helpful. It's annoying as all hell. So stop it. Or cut your wait times down so that I may only have to hear it once or twice.

That's my suggestion. You're welcome.

Now, I'm still waiting for my friend, your representative with the thick accent, to reassure me that my money is on the way. Which, of course, does not help me today in any way shape or form. And, it's been longer than three to five minutes already.

So he's back on the phone . . . (pause while I pace and speak to this representative) . . . and now I'm really pissed off.

The good news, I guess, is that "Sabastian" is really sorry that the last customer service representative lied to me.

"I'm really sorry this situation," he tells me. "It's, like, no fair for the customer."

But the bottom line, Sabastian tells me, is that in three to five business days, I will receive a "final bill." One month after that, I will get my cheque. Considering my service with Bell ended November 1, this just sucks. But, according to Sabastian, there is nothing he can do about it.

Well, he could add $20 to the $150 they already owe me, for interest and inconvenience, but he can't just send the cheque. That's impossible.

Bell can beam a signal into space, bounce it off a satellite, send it back to earth . . . but sending me a cheque prior to my receiving my "final bill," . . . that's impossible.

Bell, I'm not impressed. Your customer service sucks. I only wish I was still a customer so that I could stop sending you money today and, when you call to complain, tell you that it's my policy not to pay bills until at least one year after I receive them. That's the way my system works. I'm very sorry, and I understand your frustration, but there's nothing I can do about it. And, when you don't get your money in a year, I'll apologize that I lied to you and promise to send it in another year.

What's more, I'll hire someone with a thick accent to tell you that "I'm really sorry this situation," and promise to file a complaint with management. I know that will make you feel better.

Good bye Bell. Never again.

Yet Another Milestone . . .

Okay, so let's talk about vomit, shall we? (If you're squeamish, or not a parent, go find another blog today.)

My sister once said to me that one of the biggest and best milestones she celebrated with her children, was the day the last one learned to puke in the toilet. I'm the father of two small boys. I get this.

When the stomach flu invades the house, I find myself grabbing sheets from the linen closet and covering the couches. In carpeted rooms, I'll even throw some on the floor. I can handle puke on hardwood, on linoleum and even on the walls. But on carpet, or furniture? Um, no thanks.

So, where am I going with this?

Well, Sonwun had his first friends-over birthday party Friday. And may I just say, WOW! What chaos! The violence, the insanity, the unbridled, unfiltered, unfettered energy of a group of five-year-olds needs to be explored, harnessed and used to power a small city. Again I say, WOW!

But I digress.

Sonwun stuffed himself with popcorn, candy and cake. He ignored any food of substance. Fair enough. It's one day, it's his party and he'll puke if he wants to.

And he did. With his belly full of garbage, he ran, he jumped, he wrestled, and he ran some more with his little friends. And then he ran to the bathroom and threw up. And may I just say, HOORAY! He made it to the bathroom and let fly where he was supposed to. That was a first and yeah, as big a milestone as birthday number 5.

Now, unbeknownst to me at the time, Sontoo observed this little ritual. At 2 years and 10 months, he was fascinated. But I was busy. I shooed him out of the bathroom, we cleaned up Sonwun and sent him back into action.

Fast-forward about 8 hours. It's 2:20 a.m. I'm awakened by the sound of retching. I fly out of bed and follow the sound. Been here before. I know I'm going to be changing sheets, pajamas, perhaps addresses.

I'm on my way to the boys' room when I look right. And there, kneeling in front of his little potty, is Sontoo. He's not even three yet, but he got out of bed, made his way to the bathroom and threw up in his potty.

Yeah, it still breaks my heart to see the poor little guy having to deal with this. But at the same time, I was so proud of him. After a clean-up, I took him back to his bedroom and checked the bed, the floor, the walls, the dog and the cat. All puke-free.

He had to get up two more times in the night, and I didn't get any sleep, but he made it to the potty each time. I'm thankful, grateful and proud.

Sonwun has taught Sontoo many things. Not all of them make me proud. Food-throwing, using the dog as a trampoline, flying off the coffee table . . . this one makes up for a couple of the negatives.

I know if you're a parent, you get this one.

Have a great Monday!

(And Happy 5th Birthday Sonwun. I love you!)

It continues . . .

23 Days to Go . . .

It's amazing how much Christmas changes when you have kids. And it's amazing how it changes year to year as these kids grow.

I mean, when you first have the kids, they have no concept beyond staring at the pretty lights and loving the sound wrapping paper makes when they smack it. And yeah, that's kinda cool.

But before long, you're making supper and all you can hear from the living room is "Holy Cow Daddy, you have to see this." And then the inevitable follow-up, "I need that."

Yeah, the marketing is well underway. And it's aimed squarely at my kids and my Visa card.

So we'll do our best to ignore that for a while.

Sonwun has also received his annual video message from Santa. And he was very excited about that. This, again, is something that was not available when I was a kid. Hell, it wasn't even available five years ago, to the best of my knowledge. But clever marketing folks have once again enlisted the Jolly Old Elf to sell product and increase website traffic.

But, to be fair, it's pretty cool. Click here to see Santa's message to Sonwun. WAIT! I just tested this and apparently it takes you away from the blog. So . . . finish reading, and then go back and click there. Thanks!

Neomom has been busy decorating the new house and, as usual, has done a fantastic job. We just await the tree. And I'm not allowed to get it until about two weeks before the big day. Why? Because they only last about two weeks before they start throwing needles faster than a Vancouver methadone clinic. So I'll wait.

And yeah, Neomom has fed her Christmas addiction, once again, with the purchase of one or two of those battery-powered goofy, gimmicky season-based toys. Don't know how else to describe them.

But every year, while we're out Christmas shopping, we inevitably separate. But from a few aisles over, I'll hear a tinny, computer generated voice, or music and then I'll hear Neomom laughing her head off.

No exception this year. Kissing penguins. Cute the first few times, but quickly loses its charm on the 4 or 500th time you hear it, as the kids just can't leave it alone. But check it out and, if you'd like to see what I mean, play it 500 times.



And when you add this one to the 8 or so others, all making their noises, well . . .

Have a great Thursday.

Superman to Dad o' Kitchen

A while ago, I wrote about Sonwun's obsession with Superheroes. Specifically, he'd latched on to the Justice League and, naturally, had renamed the family. He had decided that he was Batman, "the gweatest Superhero ever."

I, of course, was dubbed Superman, while Neomom picked up the title of Batgirl and Sontoo was renamed Robin. (At Halloween, however, Sontoo renamed himself "Robinson" as it apparently seemed more appropriate.)

Now, that being said, we have a new obsession in the house and we have all, once again, been renamed.

This time, it's Sontoo. And he's addicted to the Disney movie Cars. He could literally watch it over and over 24 hours a day if we let him.

So, Sontoo is introducing himself to the world as Sontoo McQueen, the World Famous Race Car. Honest. At the doctor's office yesterday, an older gentleman in the waiting room asked him his name. "I'm Sontoo McQueen, the World Famous Race car," he replied, very seriously. Always gets a smile.

I have picked up the title of Dad Doc Hudson. When he says it, however, it sounds like Dad o' Kitchen. Either one works, I guess. Doc Hudson, in the movie, is the once-great race car, now a cantankerous old fart, judge and doctor. I guess I can live with that. As for Dad o' Kitchen, well, I do make some mean pancakes.

Neomom is Momma Sally. Again, it works. The Sally car in the movie is the beautiful, intelligent little Porsche lawyer and hotel owner.

Now, there is a little controversy when it comes to Sonwun. Sontoo has decided he's Tow Mater, the backwoods, gap-toothed, tractor-tipping goofball (played by Larry the Cable Guy). But to his credit, he's also a loyal friend. I choose to think that is why Sontoo labelled Sonwun as such.

This particular naming, however, has led to a number of arguments at the dinner table, all reminiscent of the "Tastes Great/Less Filling" debate of the 80s.

"I'm McQueen, the famous race car."

"No you're not, I'm McQueen."

"I'm McQueen, the famous race car."

"No you're not, I'm McQueen."

"I'm McQueen, the famous race car."

"No you're not, I'm McQueen."

Lather, rinse, repeat ad nauseum.

This, I know, will pass. And I gotta admit, I kind of enjoy the roles my boys assign to me. I mean, c'mon, I've been Superman and now I'm a judge, a doctor and one of the most famous and successful race cars in Piston Cup history.

Who could ask for more?

Happy December, Happy Wednesday!