Ugh

If you thought I rambled yesterday . . .

Good, uh, morning. And Happy New Year's Eve, 2011. And, if you believe those wacky Mayans, enjoy your final New Year's Eve on this planet. Live it up.

So, it's been a long night. Woke up at 3:30— bad. And a bad habit I've managed to foster. But I've been training myself to get back to sleep. So I picked up my book and started reading. Got maybe one chapter done before I was sleepy again. Turned off the light and started to drift off . . .

"Daaaaaaadddddddyyyyyyyy. I want Daaaaaaaddddddddyyyyyy."

Aw crap. Someone had a bad dream, or slept on his arm wrong, or the cat is bothering him, or he's worried about the whole Mayan thing. Who knows?

So, like any good daddy, I yell up the stairs: "Go back to sleep or you'll wake the monsters in your closet."

Now two kids are screaming.

Just kidding.

I crawl out of my nice warm bed and head for the boys' room. It's Sonwun this time. His face hurts. He's not really awake, but he's irritated. And noisy. I ask where it hurts and, in the dark, it seems he's indicating his jaw. I rub the sore spot, try to be soothing and soon he's less irritated and, it seems, back to sleep.

I ponder the possibilities: grinding teeth, maybe he whacked his face while we were tobogganing yesterday, whatever. He's asleep and I'm still pretty sleepy myself.

Back to bed, move the cats out of the warm spot, crawl in . . . start to drift off . . .

"Daaaaaaddddddy."

Aw crap.

Well, to make a long story a little shorter, this went on two more times before Sonwun drifted off for good. And, as I write this at 6:08 a.m., he's still sleeping like a baby. I, however, have not been back to sleep, although I did manage to finish reading several chapters in my book. wahoo.

So I don't know about you, but, with Neomom on night shift, I've got no major plans for this evening, except for watching the Canada-USA World Junior Hockey game. Here's hoping it's a little more interesting than all of the games so far. Nice to see Canada dominating, but it's making for some boring games. Hard to watch the third period when we're leading 8-0 after two.

Anyway, that's all I got this morning. Have a great day, and I'll see you next year.

Eight of Eight

Watched a disturbing movie last night. Had disturbing dreams. Coincidence?

Anyhoo, last night I was the tooth fairy. No, not in the dream. In reality.

Seems Sonwun spent most of yesterday's nap time tugging at a loose tooth, keeping himself and Sontoo wide awake for the duration. I, on the other hand, took advantage of nap time and had a lovely sleep. But awoke to Sonwun wailing just outside my door. He'd lost the tooth.

No tooth = no cash.

Seems he'd dropped it on the berber carpet that, as you might expect, is remarkably similar in colour to a young boy's canine. So we had to spend five minutes searching the stairs and lower level carpet for said tooth. We found it before one of the cats batted it around the house and under the lazyboy, and order was restored.

For the record, at barely six years of age, Sonwun has now lost eight of his baby teeth. Many in his Grade 1 classmates haven't lost any. Not sure if this is a good thing, bad, or indifferent. Just a fact.

In any case, Neomom has decided to keep all of the teeth. Not sure why, but she has. So we do. Thus, if the tooth had remained lost, it would have been a problem, not only for Sonwun's cash-flow, but for Neomom's collection.

I should also point out that, of the eight, this was not the most difficult tooth to find. That one came out when we lived in Thompson, Manitoba. And it did not come out naturally. And by that I mean it did not get loose, get looser and get pulled out by Sonwun. It was knocked out.

For a kid who, in his six short years, has broken an arm and very nearly broken a foot, having a tooth knocked out seems almost natural.

Anyhoo, in Thompson, I had constructed a swing for Sonwun. A rope swing. And seeing as his little butt was too small for a regular tire swing, I used a lawnmower wheel, a steel one with rubber around the outside. Kinda like those old pommel lifts on the small ski hills.

(I feel like I'm rambling. Seem that way to you?)

And it was this swing, tossed by a little friend, that crashed into Sonwun's mouth, taking out his tooth. After applying my vast medical knowledge to the afflicted area with a popsicle, I took a cursory look in the grass near the swing and declared the tooth missing, gone, a financial loss. Neomom, on the other hand, spent a few hours on her hands a knees, separating blades of grass in an ever-widening circle.

For that reason, last night as Sonwun slept, I reached under his pillow and pulled out number 8 of 8 for Neomom's collection and replaced it with a little cash.

Have a great Friday. Sonwun will.

The Cats are safe . . .

I read the news today . . . oh boy.

Not sure why I do this. Maybe my morning is starting off just a little too nicely. Maybe I'm too relaxed. Maybe I feel a pile of crap dumped on my soul at 6:44 a.m. is just what the doctor ordered.

But, whatever the reason, I find myself checking headlines on an number of news sites as part of my morning routine. And ya know, I never come away feeling good about the future.

So let's skip the news. Just accept that it was a craptastic day yesterday on planet Earth and move on.

Instead, let's review Christmas toys, just for fun. And we'll start with the Finn McMissile remote control car that shoots real missiles. And let's start with the bottom line: Don't buy it. Or ask Santa for it.

Santa brought two such toys to our home last weekend. A Finn McMissile for Sonwun and a missile-firing Towmater for Sontoo. They were thrilled. They'd seen in on TV in the months leading up to Christmas and the devices had made both lists - in Volume I of said list.

Now, Santa's decision to purchase these items from a third-party supplier, as opposed to having the elves make them, was a poor one. It is my understanding the elves make quality toys. Clearly, these are not of elvin decent.

Not sure what Santa paid for them, but they retail for 49.99 at Toys R Us. Plus tax.

The allure of these Disney-Pixar-licenced items, is that not only do you get a remote control car, but these fire missiles, again, using the remote control.

I was a little nervous for the cats in the house, knowing they would be immediately identified by my boys as sympathizers of Sir Miles Axlerod, the Cars 2 villain, and marked for execution.

The good news is, the cats are surviving. The bad news is that they are surviving because the missile function on the cars isn't worth a crap.

Difficult to load, impossible to fire and jams often. A little frustrating, not only for two young boys, ages 3 and 6, but also for Daddy, the mythical Daddy who knows all and has magical fingers that can fix any piece of crap that toy manufacturers put out.

This Daddy has enough trouble separating these toys from the packaging. I swear, they put more engineers to work on the packaging than they do the actual toys. Wires, plastic ties downs, industrial grade plastic wrapped all around . . . Neomom and I equip ourselves with scissors, knives and a cutting torch before we even begin opening presents.

Anyhoo, bottom line on these things is, if you want what is promised— a remote control vehicle that fires missiles— pass. If you just want a low-grade remote control car, and you're willing to pay $50 for it, go ahead. But my boys have only been using them for 4 days, so I can't say they'll necessary last more than a month.

Now, depending on how breakfast goes this morning, tomorrow's product review might just be the PiggyWiggy Microwave Bacon Tray and Splatter Lid. I've only used it once since Christmas and the results were less than spectacular. But before panning the Piggywiggy, I feel I should give it a few more chances, varying cooking times, before I review. Stay tuned.

Anyhoo, that's it for Thursday. Have yourselves a great day!

Huh?

"Pricks . . . pricks . . . pricks!"

It's 6:30 a.m., it's still dark and it's snowing outside. It's my time, daddy time. It's a time usually reserved for checking emails, facebook, fantasy football and blogging. But, as so often is the case, I am joined by at least one of my early-rising progeny. I count myself lucky if they sleep past 6 a.m.

And, as I sit here, Sonwun is racing for his life in MarioKart. That doesn't disturb me. It's Christmas vacation after all. But his mumbling is beginning to make me nervous.

"Pricks . . . pricks."

I mean, I understand getting a little frustrated with the other racers in the game. I've played, I know it's annoying when you get bumped off a bridge, or someone throws a turtle at you. We've all been there. But maybe his response is a little harsh.

So I glance toward the TV.

Now you have to understand, Sonwun is in Grade 1 and learning to read. And he loves it. Every car trip, to the store or to the library, is a reading adventure. He reads street signs, billboards and the bags the groceries come in. He's good, but he's not yet perfect.

And right now, as he decides which MarioKart mode to race in, he's reading.

He has no trouble with the word "Grand" but the word "Prix" is giving him some trouble. So he repeats it and repeats it, trying to understand.

"Pricks."

Anyhoo, at least I get to start my day with a smile. Have a great hump day. Celebrate as you see fit.

P.S. Not sure why I can't get the size and font I want throughout this blog. Must be a bug in the designers' system. Pricks.

Playing with the new toy . . .

And so, first full day with the KitchenAid Pro 5 Plus. Loving it.

First recipe: Banana bread. Had a couple of over-ripe bananas kicking around, so what else can you do?

As has become my practice when cooking and baking, the first stop was allrecipes.com. Borrowed "Cathy's Banana Bread" recipe, as it had a 4.5-star rating. I never make anything with fewer than 4.5 stars. And I've never been disappointed with this site.

Now then, I did alter the recipe, just a touch, as is my custom. First off, I didn't measure the bananas. I just guessed and went with two. Should have been about right.

Second, I baked in a standard 9X5 loaf pan, rather than the two 7X3 pans in the recipe. I also used butter instead of margarine (everything's better with butter) and I cut the sugar down to one cup. I think I could have cut it even more, but we'll wait for next time.

Oh yeah, and as a result of the larger pan, the cook time went from 50 minutes to an hour and 15 minutes. No problems.

But most importantly, I used a Sous Chef: Sonwun. This increased prep time just a little, but it was well worth it. I made him say "YES CHEF!" in response to every order given. I felt like Ramsay!

Anyhoo, long story short, banana bread was a success. The KitchenAid Pro 5 Plus was awesome, and I can't wait to make regular ol' bread. Sonwun, fetch my hat.

"YES CHEF!"

Box on . . .

So, it's Boxing Day. Celebrate as you see fit.

The unbridled greed of Christmas Day (with young ones) has drawn to a close. I'll need a Bobcat to move the empty boxes and crumpled paper from the rec room. So that's on the list.

Neomom's back to work today and Sontoo is off school for two weeks. But at least the two boys have a whole new crop of crap to wade through. Fa la la la la, la la la la.

As for me, Daddy got a new KitchenAid stand mixer. And, as luck would have it, there are four old bananas on the counter, turning black. So, banana bread it is. I've wanted this mixer ever since I started baking my own bread. While kneading dough by hand can be therapeutic, it gets a little old after a while. I only have so much anger in the bank to transfer to my dough.

So, after a quick shop this morning, Sonwun and Sontoo in tow, my plan is to bake stuff. Probably the aforementioned banana bread and then a loaf or two of regular bread. The price of the stuff at the grocery stores has just gotten out of hand. I can do it cheaper . . . and better.

Anyhoo, not gonna spend much time blogging this morning. But I have accepted the New Year's resolution of daily blogging for 90 days. After that, we'll see.

I know I enjoy writing and blogging, for whatever reason, makes me feel good. And I need that.

So, not sure if anyone's still reading this, but if you are, you should know that the next few will not be up to my regular standards. (Check back in my archive for "regular standards.") But I will improve. Read if you like, ignore if you don't.

Happy Boxing Day all!

Christmas is coming . . .

**DISCLAIMER**
Not sure what font or type size will appear on this one. Blogger seems to have changed the way it does things since my last posting. We'll see.**

Well, another day begun. This at 4:30 a.m., with the loud proclamation from upstairs: "Daddy, I'm done peeing and pooping!"

And even though it is the sweet little voice of my three-year-old and it's a cute little sing-song sound that floats down the stairs, at this time, it hits my ears like a smoke detector on steroids.

But I am daddy, and I now must take care of the paperwork. And then I must utilize my best gentle daddy voice to try to soothe Sontoo back toward sleep. And I fail.

As I type this, I am listening to a discussion between Sonwun and Sontoo. Seems Sonwun wants to sleep and Sontoo, now fully awake, would like to offer up a personal opinion on his recent viewing of Thomas the Train: Steamies versus Diesels.

Diesels are bad! Just in case you were wondering.

Well, Christmas countdown is on. Seven days until Christmas Eve. Seven days of Sontoo asking if he can open the presents under the tree. Seven more days of Sonwun repeating, "I wish I had that," with every salvo from the myriad marketing departments fired down from satellites to our television set.

Six days to get a turkey, wrap up the shopping and settle in for a few days of rest and relaxation.

And in spite of the fact that Sears' Christmas Wish Book arrived in September, and we've been bombarded by Christmas movies, commercials and specials since late October, we have managed to save one or two things for Christmas Eve, and maybe Christmas Eve Eve.

The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, for example. And no, I'm not talking about the creepy, crappy 2000 version. I'm talking about the 1966 classic, that my brothers and sisters and I used to gather to watch the ONE OR TWO times it was on in maybe the week or so before Christmas. (Not 45 times starting in mid-November). So we're saving that one for Dec. 23 or 24.

I admit that, in the last week, we have watched Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman and Elf. Unfortunately my copy of Scrooged was on VHS. Must buy DVD, or Blu-ray.

We are also holding off on our trip to Island Park, here in Portage La Prairie. It's a new tradition, started last year when we loaded our pajama-clad crew into the mini-van and drove through a pretty impressive Christmas light display. The boys loved it and have been pushing for it for the last week or two.

Why wait?

Well, the weather's just not cooperating. We're experiencing and unusually snow-less December here. And to fully enjoy the Island Park experience, I need a blanket of the white stuff. Cross your fingers.

Anyhoo, that's all I've got this morning. Enjoy the season. And don't let anyone take the Happy out of your Happy Holidays.

I saw it coming . . .

You know, I saw this one coming. I should have put a stop to it, but I didn't.

Sure, I threw out a half-hearted, "Sonwun, that's probably not a great idea." But in hindsight, I should have done more. I should have taken the rope, the harness and the rocks and put them away, in a safe place.

So when I heard the screaming from the front lawn, I had a pretty good idea of what awaited me outside. It was the kind of screaming that tells you something is seriously wrong. No one threw sand at someone else. No one took someone's toy. No one was looking out someone else's window.

No, this was the real thing.

Sonwun loves trees. He loves to climb them, hang from them, break branches from them and find bugs in them. He also loves ropes. He loves to tie things to ropes and drag them around. And he has combined these loves on our front lawn.

Using his mother's rock-climbing harness, he will toss a rope up over a branch and actually haul himself up to said branch to get into the tree. I'm actually proud of this. It takes some effort and he keeps at it until he succeeds. I know it's dangerous, but I've watched him do it and he's pretty careful.

But he also likes to tie the rope around large rocks and try to haul them up into the air. I've seen this. I've sent out the half-hearted warning. But I should have done more.

Last night, after supper, he tied up a 20-pound rock and began hauling. It apparently reached a branch about 7 feet up before it broke loose. And it fell. And it landed on his little foot. And it smashed that little foot, breaking at least two bones, possibly three. (The radiologist wasn't in last night.)

I am thanking God today that the rock landed on his foot and not on his head. And not on Sontoo's head, as Sontoo was playing under the same tree.

I'm also thanking God that Sonwun's a normal, adventurous boy. He doesn't shy away from challenges, he continues to ask himself, "what happens if . . ." and then works to answer that question, minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day. It's not a bad way to live.

But I guess that, maybe a little more often, I need to step in and answer the question for him. The answer this time, I knew, was "The rock will eventually break free and fall. And you better not be under it when it does, because it will do some damage."

And I guess that this is one of the fine lines of fatherhood. I've got to figure out when to answer the question and when to let him figure it out on his own. I think I dropped the ball on this one.

Anyhoo, it's still dark out now, but when the sun rises I plan to take pictures of the victim, the offender and the crime scene. And maybe I'll post them tomorrow.

It's 5:45 a.m. and both boys are already up. Sonwun has a hard splint on his foot, and I've been told he's not allowed to put weight on it for two or three weeks. So, in the next few days, we'll be testing out the crutch thing. Sonwun's mentioned that Uncle John used crutches when he hurt his foot, so he's anxious to give it a go.

As for me, I need to take a deep breath, be thankful for guardian angels and let him keep asking himself questions and experimenting to find answers. But I think I will answer just one for him. "NO, you are not going down the stairs with those crutches! Because I'm your father and because I said so."

Nature or Nurture?

So, in an effort to make life more "interesting," we've made a few additions to the family. Namely, Paws and Puffy. Two more cats.

That makes one dog, two kids and three cats.

Yeah, call me crazy. Shouldn't have had kids.

Just kidding . . . most days.

Paws arrived first. Not sure why we decided to get one. It may be just because the elder feline statesman, Oliver, needed a friend. It may be because the kids needed another toy. It could be my head isn't screwed on just right. It could be, perhaps, that my shoes are too tight. But whatever the reason, my head or my shoes, I stand here each day

Anyhoo, he was cute and he was free. So we got him.

Then, for reasons beyond my comprehension, we decided to get another. He too was cute and free.

Now, these two little guys have re-ignited in my brain the old nurture-vs.-nature debate.

I've always favoured short-hair cats. They not only minimize the shed factor and the fun of cleaning up hairballs, but I think they're smarter and nicer. And I've found this (especially the smarter part) to be the case with Paws (short hair) and Puffy (the puffy one).

But there is a nurture factor I can't ignore.

Paws came from a regular home. Puffy came from a, well, how to put this? He came from a mellow home. His human parents, um, er, uh, oh hell . . . they smoked a lot of weed. And I'm beginning to think ol' Puffy got his head stuck inside a bong at a very young age.

He falls down a lot.

When Paws discovered we had two active children, he quickly decided that the best place to sleep was behind the couch. When Puffy gets sleepy, he falls over wherever he is and passes out.

Paws strikes at his toys with the precision and skill of a practised mouser.

Puffy misses often. It's like he's seeing three of them, and hasn't figured out that you aim for the middle one. He also fights with unseen objects fairly regularly.

When Paws sees the boys coming, he moves quickly and with great stealth.

Puffy lies there and allows himself to be "steamrolled" by Sontoo. And he falls down a lot.

Paws is aware of his surroundings.

Puffy often gets his head caught in closing doors, reclining chairs, stair balusters and chair railings.

So I don't know. Nature or nurture? Is it the paws, or is it the puff?

If you wanna be a cat wrangler . . .

All righty then, let's talk baseball, shall we?

Specifically, let's talk about a kid's first experience with "organized" ball. And let's talk about a parent's frustration with said baseball. And just for fun, we'll use myself and Sonwun as examples.

We signed up a month or two back. It's free, and worth every penny. Well, it's free except for the $50 deposit we had to put down for a "uniform." $50?? Cool, I thought. Must be the whole thing with pants, socks and hat.

Um, no.

For the $50 deposit, we got a shirt. A big shirt. A shirt that comes down below the boy's knees. A shirt that would definitely fit Neomom and, quite possibly, me. There may be a five-year-old or two on the planet that could wear this thing, but I've never seen one.

So, expectations are lowered somewhat. But let's look at that, shall we? What exactly are my expectations, and am I aiming too high?

1. I expect the coach, or coaches, to know and be able to impart the fundamentals.
2. I expect the coach, or coaches, to have some ability to handle five-year-olds. And yeah, I know that's like herding cats. But if you sign up to be a cat wrangler . . .

And, based on those expectation, I hope my boy will have a good time and learn a few things.

That's about it.

So, now, let's talk about the past couple of practices. A couple of weeks back, it was "picture day." And on this day, an individual with a digital camera and dreams of big bucks shows up to record, for posterity, the beginning of a dozen baseball careers.

But, rather than set up, say, behind the backstop, out of the way, this Geddes wannabe sets up on the diamond, rendering it uninhabitable for the future Blue Jays' practice. And the coaches, apparently, decide the outfield area is not a part of baseball.

And so, while the photographer plods through a dozen photos, taking the entire hour, the kids play a rousing game of "What Time is it Mr. Wolf" while I grind my teeth in the bleachers - for an hour.

And so, having missed out on batting practice (his favourite) the previous week, Sonwun and I show up, on time, at 5:55, as usual, the following week. And once again we're alone with the coaches. Slowly, the others dribble in until about 6:15 when there are enough, apparently, to begin practice.

And batting practice is on the agenda. Naturally, the kid who arrived at 6:15 is the first to bat. He gets about 8 minutes of practice. By the time Sonwun's time at the plate rolls around, at 6:57, he gets about two minutes.

And I grind my teeth in the bleachers.

Oh, and one more thing, for now. When learning to bat, it's important for the young player to raise the BACK elbow in anticipation of the pitch. Raising BOTH elbows is counterproductive to the batting process and not one of the fundamentals of baseball. It is also galactically stupid.

Okay, I'm done.

And, in fairness, I should point out that Sonwun is enjoying baseball, as well as What Time is it Mr. Wolf. And I should note that the coaches are volunteers, who are taking time away from their lives to, um, coach, this team. And for that I am begrudgingly grateful.

But still . . .

1. I expect the coach, or coaches, to know and be able to impart the fundamentals.
2. I expect the coach, or coaches, to have some ability to handle five-year-olds. And yeah, I know that's like herding cats. But if you sign up to be a cat wrangler . . .

The good, the bad . . .

Once again I find myself returning to the keyboard after a long absence. Guess I've been a little overwhelmed lately getting my house in order . . . literally and figuratively.

But I miss writing and, eventually, am inevitably drawn back.

Since I last wrote, we've been through some good, some bad and some ugly.

So let's start with the ugly - cause it's forefront in my mind. I'll try to keep it brief.

A few weeks back, we learned that the "sciatica" pain that my dad had been experiencing for several months was, in fact, a cancerous tumour on his spine. To make matters just a little more ugly, we learned a few days later that this was the secondary cancer. The primary was found a few days later on his kidney.

The good news, I guess, is that treatment is moving along. Yesterday he underwent surgery on his spine to remove the as much of the tumour as was possible, and repair some of the damage it had cause to one of his vertebrae.

In a few weeks, he'll begin radiation therapy to for that tumour and a medicinal therapy to shrink the one on his kidney. So it's one day at a time.

It's hardly worth saying, but I'm running through a mess of emotions. I haven't sorted them out yet, so I'm not ready to put them to paper. But I'll say frustration is one of the key elements. I'm frustrated that this is happening. I'm frustrated that I live more than 2000 km away from Dad. I'm frustrated that I can't just pick up and go. I'm frustrated that I can't get information minute-by-minute, second-by-second. That being said, the information technology available today is providing a much speedier communication exchange than what was possible 20 years ago. And for that I am grateful.

So I guess that covers the bad and the ugly. At least as much of it as I can write about today.

So . . . the good.

The boys are happy and healthy and we're slowly making our house in Portage into our home. Sonwun is finally enjoying Kindergarten, Sontoo is getting out to playgroup now and again and spring seems to have finally arrived.

After a long western winter, the sunshine and melting snow is more than welcome.

As I type, I'm listening to the soothing sound of mournful wails coming from the playroom. The boys have discovered the joy and frustration of domino runs. And, as a big fan of Angry Birds, Sonwun is attempting to build frog castles at the end of each domino run. He is meeting with some difficulty. (For those of you unfamiliar, Angry Birds is a game for iPod/iPad fans. Look it up for more info if you care.)

Anyhoo, laundry awaits, supper awaits and I wait. Hoping for a really good spring and summer. Hoping for a lot of things.

And, hopefully, I'll write more tomorrow.

Gazintas and ICT

Before Sonwun started school, or even preschool, I used to joke about him "entering the system."

To me, that meant I was giving up control of my child's mind to the government, to the school board, the corporations, the special interest groups . . . "The System!" It meant that he would be fed the gospel of the day, outside of my presence. Okay, maybe I wasn't joking. It made me nervous.

But hey, he made it through preschool without being severely damaged. How bad could Kindergarten be? I mean, I remember Kindergarten a little. Seems to me we fingerpainted, spatterpainted, played in the sandbox, took a little nap on our mats. And that Michelle girl would chase me around at recess and try to kiss me. YUCK!

I don't remember report cards. They may have existed in Kindergarten way back then, but I don't think they did. Regardless, they exist now. And we just received Sonwun's first report from The System.

Most of it was as expected. He knows his numbers, colours and shapes. He's a little shy when it comes to classroom discussions, which is no surprise considering we moved here after the school year had begun. He can count to 10 just fine, but needs a little work on counting to 30. Fair enough.

But . . . and you knew there'd be a but, there was one entry on the Kindergarten report card that blew my mind. It was in the ICT section. That section, my friends, did not exist when I was 5. It's the Information Communication Technology section. Seriously. Sounds like something one takes at Devry Institute as part of post secondary education. But it's not.

It's a Kindergarten reality and, I'm sorry, but it is a clear example of "The System" at work in the schools. It makes me a little nervous.

There are three competencies my five-year-old is required to master by the end of the year:

1. Demonstrates critical thinking with ICT to plan and gather information— research, sorting, organizing and analyzing information.
2. Demonstrates creative thinking with ICT to produce and communicate information— making presentations considering audience appeal, using graphics, revising and editing products.

And finally, my favourite . . .

3. Demonstrates responsibility and ethics with ICT— showing respect, following copyright rules and division policy, considering effect on others.

Copyright rules?? Are you freakin' serious? This lesson plan brought to you by the Warner Music Group.

Call me old (fashion), but I'm turning my boy over to the system for a few hours a day so that he can learn the three Rs. NOT copyright law. He's 5 and I'm not looking for him to create an ad campaign for Sony by the end of the year, while respecting all copyright laws. I want him to read, to write and learn his gazintas (yeah, I'm that old, look up Beverly Hillbillies if you want to know what that means).

But apparently there is a whole lot more expected of five-year-olds these days. And my boy has entered the system.

On the positive side, I can have him proof-read my posts, and let me know if I need to add any TM notices for, say, using the word gazinta. He's in Kindergarten. He needs to know this. And he needs to teach me.

Have a great Tuesday.