Another Long Night

Well that was a long night.

Playgroup's little gift, as expected, has kept on giving. Last night, Sontoo began showing signs of picking up whatever it was Sonwun brought home from playgroup. And that is not a good thing.

Sontoo has had three bouts with croup in his 18 months. Each one starts with a little cough, cold or flu and each one has ended with a trip to the hospital. Last night was no exception.

Shortly after Sonwun went to bed, at 7:45, Sontoo started barking and having trouble breathing. Fortunately, I suppose, it wasn't the first time, so I knew what was coming and, with mommy gone for another two weeks, I had laid out my plan for just such an occasion.

Sonwun was ordered back out of bed and told to get dressed, just in case it was so bad that I'd have to scoop and run. In the meantime, I started on the home remedies. They've helped in the past, but never solved the problem. Warm, moist air in the bathroom, a trip outside for cold night air, soothing voice . . . again, helped but did not put an end to the horrible barking and laboured breathing.

Called for reinforcements from one of mommy's new co-workers here in Thompson and, within 10 minutes, I had Ty here to watch Sonwun while I took Sontoo to the Thompson Hospital. God bless him.

Now, as is the case with most small-town hospitals in Canada, and especially those in the north, you hear horror stories about wait times, impatient staff, etc., etc. As such, I was pretty nervous about having to sit in a filthy waiting room for hours with a coughing, angry baby.

But I was pleasantly surprised. We were ushered into an exam room almost immediately and a nurse came in shortly thereafter to have a look at Sontoo. The doctor wasn't too far behind and, within an hour, we were receiving treatment. Sontoo is not a big fan of anyone, other than mommy or daddy, touching him, poking him or prodding him. And he gets downright indignant if someone tries to put an oxygen mask on him, daddy or not.

We'll call the wrestling match a draw. But I did get most of the vapourized medication into his lungs while he did his utter best to destroy the mask. A round of steroids followed and then we waited for a pediatrician to come by and have a look before being released.

The staff at Thompson Hospital was great, I must repeat. Friendly, compassionate and all that good stuff.

But the cleanliness of the exam rooms left a little to be desired. The rooms were less than sanitary and I did see one piece of bloody gauze on the floor. So even when Sontoo began to feel better, I could not put him down. And carrying that little tank for two and a half hours is hard on the back, I don't care who you are.

Well, we made it home, Sontoo fell asleep almost immediately in his crib and I sacked out on the couch with the baby monitor by my head. Couldn't sleep for a few hours as I listened to him breathe, but it's all good.

Oh, and did I mention it was snowing last night? First of the season. Great timing.

Anyway, that was my night. Must get the day started with a big, strong ol' cup of coffee. Here's hoping for a good day today and a better night tonight.

Sharing, Taking Turns

Well, isn't Playgroup the gift that keeps on giving.

On Wednesday, Playgroup gave Sontoo a fat lip. I think I mentioned that. He was climbing the stairs on the little slide, slipped and smashed his little mouth on the steps.

Apparently angry over the incident and his newly acquired facial feature, he head-butted me that evening, right in the mouth. So now I've got a fat lip. What is with kids at 18 months? Why must they head-butt everyone and everything? And why the sucker punch aspect? You're holding this darling blue-eyed child, he's smiling, you're smiling . . . and then WHACK!

I'm getting better at seeing them coming, but he still gets one through once in a while and this last one was a doozy!

But back to Playgroup.

On Friday, at Playgroup, Sonwun was running up the slide (even though I'd told him not to) and, because he was wearing socks, he slipped and did a face-plant into the side of said slide. Fat lip number three.

So at least we all match. And I'm working on responses for anyone who dares to ask what the hell happened.

"Yeah, well you should see the other toddler, preschooler and stay-at-home dad. We messed 'em up real good."

Or perhaps:

"Well, if you don't get them into mixed martial arts early, they'll never make the UFC."

"Rodeo Clown Preschool ain't for sissies."

Or if I'm really grumpy and am sensing an "attitude" from the person asking:

"Doctor's waiting for lab results . . . Hey, who's up for a play-date?"

But back to Playgroup.

One of the main reasons for attending is social development. Your child learns to take turns, to cooperate and to share. He learns to be part of a community. And now, we've learned that at least one of the 50 kids in the Playgroup community Friday was sick. And this child, or children, was kind enough to share his or her disease with Sonwun.

And that, my friends, is the reason I've enjoyed three hours sleep. It's now 5:39 a.m. and I don't see much sleep in my future. Sonwun has been fighting an almost croup-like cough, sore throat and runny nose on and off throughout the night. We spent half an hour in the bathroom, hot shower running and that seems to have calmed things for now. And even though he is not yet a fan of sharing with his younger brother, I know Sonwun will be sharing this little gift with Sontoo. Who knows? I may even get to share.

But we'll survive. So far it just looks like a cold. No fever, pretty good attitude and appetite. Hopefully, they'll both be over it in a few days. If not, I haven't decided whether we'll return the favour, bring something to Playgroup to "share", and let some other children and parents "take a turn" at a few sleepless nights. After all, isn't that what playgroup's all about?

Laughter: The Best Defence

Laughter may be the best medicine but, as Sonwun is learning, it's also a pretty good defence.

In the last few weeks, the elder child has discovered there are several ways to make Sontoo, the younger, laugh. The first, and most obvious tactic, is tickling his feet. The risk involved in this maneuver, however, is that accessing his younger sibling's foot can result in his falling over on his head, thus defeating the defensive advantage.

Why, oh why, you're asking, would this be considered a defensive advantage?

Well, if you're asking, you never had a little brother of your own. (And right now, in my head, I hear my own younger brother's voice, "Word!")

So . . . a little background.

Sontoo, in Sonwun's mind, is not just a little brother, although that is what he will call him for ceremonial purposes and to earn parental points. But the fact is, Sontoo is more of a toy than anything else. It makes noises when you push its buttons, it moves, it gets back up when you push it over and it runs from you when you chase it. It also runs after you when you call it, comes with its own line of accessories for you to play with and it copies things that you do. ("True Dat.")

Now, the problem for Sonwun is that playing with this toy comes with the inherent risk of getting in trouble. This is especially true when you're teasing it or pushing it over. The noises it makes will often result in the sound of Daddy's footsteps on the stairs and that can spell serious trouble.

I don't think Sontoo has put that formula together in his head just yet, so when I hear squawking from another room, I'm pretty sure it's for real. But I could be wrong and he could just be playing me to get his elder brother into hot water. ("Hehehehehe.")

In any case, Sonwun has learned that you can turn off the "bad" noises the toy is making by tickling its feet. And, if you do it quick enough, you won't necessarily hear Daddy storming up the stairs or, at worst, the noises will have stopped by the time Dad arrives.

I have caught Sonwun doing this several times now. By the time I make it to the top of the stairs, Sontoo is laughing hysterically as Sonwun tickles his feet with an innocent "is there a problem?" look on his face.

"I'm making my little brother laugh," he proudly tells me, hoping I have forgotten that four seconds ago, his little brother was screaming like someone, and I'm not pointing fingers, had hit him in the head with a plastic duck.

Now, to be fair, there are times when Sonwun will actually make Sontoo laugh, just to make him laugh. This is more often accomplished by making certain strange noises, which I can't even begin to spell, that will have Sontoo in stitches.

And that is a sound I love. Yesterday, for example, while folding laundry upstairs, I could hear the two of them downstairs; Sonwun making that noise and Sontoo laughing his head off, for about half an hour straight. ("I don't remember YOU ever doing that.")

Anyway, that is the nature of brothers, I suppose. They will taunt, torment and abuse one another for years to come. ("Tell them about the time you threatened to take my dog 'swimming' in the Niagara River.")

Okay bro, get out of my head already, I'm trying to tell a story.

There will also come a time when Sontoo will learn to defend himself and the spats will grow larger. I still remember a right hook delivered, by my younger brother, to my chin in the living room following a particularly nasty teasing session. Woke me up a little. ("Hehehehehe.")

The good news is that somewhere down the line, I know they will learn to value each other the way I do my brothers and sisters. Part of that, I suppose is the fact that we live thousands of miles from one another and when we get together, it's always a celebration.

And, in spite of the abuse I heaped upon my younger brother over the years, he has, for the most part, forgiven me and is one of the most important people in my life. So much so, in fact, that he is Sonwun's namesake. And Sonwun will make me very proud if he grows up to be as good a man as my younger brother.

("Stop it, I'm gettin' all misty.")

Wow, even at this age, tickling his feet still works!

("Heads up buddy, here comes the right again.")

Number 6

Well, Sonwun has glitter in his ears and Sontoo has a fat lip. We're back from our first visit to playgroup in Thompson.

Found out earlier this week that they meet twice a week at the local rec centre (that's how we spell it up here, leave it alone). Cost per session is $2 per family and it runs from 9:30 a.m. to 11:30 a.m.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I am a little leery about these things. Communal toys are disease magnets, some parents unleash their hounds and then ignore them for two hours and, of course, it's mostly about mommies and their kids. Daddies, or daddy, can sit in the corner.

Well, I gotta tell you I was pleasantly surprised. First and foremost, there was limited structure. And that, in my opinion, is a great thing. Unlike other playgroups I have endured, this one does not have "circle time;" a torturous exercise in which parents attempt to coral the squirming young ones and make them sit still while the parents mumble their way through childhood songs, led by an overly cheerful, apparently well-medicated keener mom.

And, god bless these Thompson folk, there are no themes each month. It is not "Alphabet Month," or "Nursery Rhyme Month," or any of that stupidity about which none of the young attendees could give a rat's ass.

No, in Thompson, playgroup is exactly what I believe it should be; a chance to get the kids to a new location, with new toys, new children to meet and let them (anyone?) PLAY! Let them run like the wind, burn off the sugar, make some friends and be ready for a nice long nap when they get home. That's what playgroup means to me.

It is a big room with plenty of toys, a nice cushy story area, gym mats under the slide, a toddler area with toddler type toys, cars for the older kids and a small crafting area manned (womanned) by a very patient mom who spends the whole time helping young artisans develop their style.

Sonwun's style, of course, is still a quest to see how much glue and sparkles can be squeezed and shaken from the various containers on the table. That is until he finds the scissors, and then we add his impression of a paper shredder to the mix.

I'm told that, on Friday, the craft table disappears and most of the toys are replaced by those inflatable bouncy houses. That should be interesting.

Anyway, Sonwun's crafting experience will have me finding glitter around the house for at least three days, and Sontoo's lip, which he smacked while trying to climb up the slide ladder, will heal. The mom's were nice enough, friendly and helpful. All in all, a good time.

What can I say? I've found another thing to like about Thompson. I think I'm up to six now.

Artistic Evolution

I don't know whether to celebrate or mourn.

Sonwun has reached a new phase in his artistic development. He's now leaning toward realism and I'm not sure what to make of it.

Sonwun has always been a free spirit. He thinks outside the box, colours outside the lines and every day is no-pants day in his mind. Cast off society's denim prison, says he.

I admit, I have had some concerns with his art. One of his first friends, back in Gimli, was more of an in-the-lines kind of guy. This kid could colour and not only inside the lines, but with the correct hues for the occasion - a born realist, a Bateman in training.

And it was during this time that Sonwun was fully exploring scribblism, often monochromatic scribblism, which I, as his patron, preferred to think of as "pure" scribblism without all those distracting colours. He filled sketchbook after sketchbook with his work, quickly abandoning his lesser works and spending hours on his masterpieces, all in an effort to express, with wax and paper, his toddler angst.

Sure, he dabbled on the multi-chromatic side once or twice, but his heart wasn't in it. It was merely an experimentation, a walk on the wild side, and did not speak to, or from, his inner artist.

In time, he moved on and we were soon deep into dot-to-dotism. It began simply enough, with a mass-produced colouring book. He found some pleasure in the medium, but, again, being a free spirit, he found his artistic soul trapped within the confines of the pages. Dot-to-dotism, in its commercial form, lacked meaning. Why must four follow five every time. Maybe four likes the way 15 thinks, and would prefer to follow him. Maybe four wants to lead, maybe four is its own entity with its own dreams and its own raison d'etre, independent of the others, said he.

And so he abandoned the popular demands of Disney's corporate dot-to-dot cage and struck out on his own. I will create my own dots, said he, and they will not be squelched by pre-assigned numerical expectations. They will exist independently on the page, free to follow those they choose, if

they choose to follow at all. And, just when it is believed they have found peace, connection and stagnation, I will offer them new choices, new dots and a new perspective. And so he did.

Once again, blank pages were filled with monochromatic representations of his vision in this free-flowing milieu. The scribblism pieces that formed the backbone of the Kenmore Art Gallery collection was soon joined by his best dot-to-dotism efforts, fleshing out his burgeoning career.

Sonwun briefly flirted, as well, with performance art, which almost cost him his funding. One of this first works, Yogurt on Dog, fell on deaf ears in his art community and was quickly destroyed in a fit of fury by his otherwise tolerant patron. (Although one fellow patron of the arts, who is rearing a few artists of his own, correctly suggested I should have photographed the piece before its destruction - my bad). Equally misinterpreted pieces included Toothpaste Mountain- a Bathroom Experiment; and Baby Brother Blue, a fusion of his love of scribblism with a live subject.

But his journey, his foray into the art world, veered off the path yesterday. It took a sudden turn that shocked his patron and raised concerns that maybe he had discovered and embraced marketability. Perhaps his dreams lay outside of the Kenmore Art Gallery and he was seeking bigger, more profitable venues for his visions.

He was working in his studio, warming up with multi-chromatic scribblism when I left him. I returned a half hour later to find this . . .

He has titled it, Me, Balancing on my Boinger. It is his first foray into realism and, as I mentioned earlier, I'm not sure whether to celebrate or mourn. Only time will tell as we watch and wait, with bated breath, for his next artistic evolution.

In the meantime I am keeping an eye on Sontoo's early works, which vary greatly from his elder sibling's. Wax and paper bore Sontoo. They are not his mediums of choice. As for markers? He'd rather eat them which, I

believe, is one of his first performance art presentations.

He is, I believe, a cubist at heart (or head) and is leaning more toward sculpture, as witnessed by his work New Balance Bottle.

Stay tuned folks. These pieces will

be available for sale, just as soon

as I figure out how to use PayPal. Sonwun may be averse to commercialism, but his patron knows the value of a buck and has been cultivating this aesthetic garden knowing there will be a bountiful crop down the road. We patrons are like that. And, as such, I choose to celebrate his exploration of realism and will find a place for his most recent work at the Kenmore Art Gallery.

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.

I TOLD YOU SO!!!

There are times when, as a parent, you really want to say, "I told you so."

And there are times you can do it. And there are times you can't.

As I've mentioned before, Sonwun has taken a liking to Buzz Lightyear and his annoying catchphrase, "To infinity and beyond."

The phrase is usually announced by Sonwun just prior to one of his leaps; from the couch, from the stairs, from his bed, from the bathroom counter. The kid just lives on the edge at every opportunity.

And, god help me, I've tried to dissuade him from these daredevil leaps. But, as he has 3.5 years of experience on the planet, he knows a lot more than I do. After all, he's made the leap dozens of times and nothing's happened. So, based on that experience, nothing will ever happen.

I have also done my best to encourage my little mini-me to pick up his toys. And while all of the toys are included in that encouragement, I am particularly picky about the little ones: the lego pieces, the little men from Geotrax and the little Matchbox cars and trucks. To be fair, it's not just about neatness. It's also about me going to the washroom at 3 a.m. and stepping on three or four of these little torture devices on the way. It's about not being able to yell, because it's 3 a.m. It's about resisting the urge to go and wake Sonwun for some impromptu tidying.

So you probably know where I'm going with this. This morning, I'm tidying the kitchen. The boys are downstairs doing what they do best. They are messing things up, pulling blankets off the couch, scattering toys, fighting over toys - they are being little boys.

And then I hear it: "To infinity and beyond," THUMP, WAAAAAAHHHHHHHH.

And, as a parent with a few years under my belt, I know it's not one of those I-need-attention, I'm-bored kind of screams. It's the kind that means he's actually done some damage. And this time, he's taken his flying leap off the stairs and landed on a piece of Tow Mater, Lego version. He's hobbling up the stairs when I find him, tears streaming down his scrunched up little face. He is in pain.

It take a minute or two of wailing before he can tell me where it hurts. I take off his Lightning McQueen sock (a little something for you irony fans) to find a puncture wound in his little foot. It's right in the middle, where it's gonna hurt the most. There's a little blood, but nothing serious. After a few more minutes of staggered breathing, he's able to tell me he landed on Tow Mater.

I want to say it. I want the lesson to sink in. You've been warned about "flying," haven't you? I've asked you to pick up your toys, haven't I? Do you see why now? It's the same reason I tell you not to step on the dog's head while she's sleeping. It's why I say, don't put that fork in the wall socket, don't tie that thing around your neck and stop jumping on the bed. Do you see it's not to make your life miserable? Do you see that it is because I love you and do not want to see you get hurt?

But now's not the time.

Now is the time for cleaning the wound with ice cold water. It's time for polysporin and a bandaid. And it's time to wipe away the tears and offer a big hug. It's time to put on his favourite movie and sit him on the couch until the pain goes away.

There will be plenty of time, once he's feeling better, to attempt to impart a little wisdom, to try to make him see that A+B doesn't always equal C, but when it does, it can really hurt.

It's a lesson that I'm sure I will have to impart, time and time again, for the next 20 years or so. Will he learn it? I hope so, but it took me more than 20 years to figure it out, why should he be any different?

I am Big Brother's Little Brother

Okay, I have to talk about one more addiction before we move on. Have you ever wondered what your computer is telling people about you? What happens each time you click on a new site on the Internet?

A month ago, I added an "analytics" element to my blog. Basically, I was trying to find out how many people drop by to read in a day, a week, a month. I'm not proud, I'll admit it, it's an ego thing. But it was also a wake-up call for me.

I did not realize how much information I transmit when I visit a website. I'm no techno-wizard. This counter system was easy to install and is easy to use. And the volume of information it collects shocked me and I've become somewhat addicted to watching it and trying to figure out what it all means.

In the month that I've been keeping track, I've had 351 visitors to my site. Each visitor, on average, has read 1.95 pages for a total of 684 pageviews. And each viewer has spent an average of 2 minutes and 16 seconds reading. Cool, eh? But wait, there's more.

I've had 279 visitors from Canada, 58 from the U.S., nine from Brazil (I really don't get that one!), one from Greece, one from Oxford in Great Britain and four from a country the analyzer could not identify. Not sure what that means. I'm still analyzing the analysis.

Oh yes, in Canada, I've had visitors from 15 different cities (and I can see each city on a map provided). In the U.S., from 20 different states, with New York leading the way, followed by South Carolina, Pennsylvania, California, Illinois, Minnesota and, yesterday, one from Anchorage Alaska. Yes, I can see which cities in those states have visitors to my site.

I can tell you that 52.1 per cent of you, my readers, use Mac computers and 45.3 per cent use Windows-based systems. (The other 2.56 per cent is from that guy from that country that my analyzer can't put its finger on.)

Okay, and here's where it really surprised me. The vast majority of my readers' computers have a screen resolution of 1440X900, followed closely by those with computer screen resolutions of 1024X768, and on down the line to one reader with a screen resolution of 1920X1200.

Man in Black: Truly, you have a dizzying intellect.

Vizzini: Wait til I get going! Now, where was I?

A little quote from the Princess Bride. Couldn't resist.

Now where was I?

As for the browsers you're all using, Safari leads the league with 182, followed by Internet Explorer with 125, Firefox with 34 and Chrome with 1.

Spooky, isn't it?

And sometimes it's funny. I can view the "key words" that people googled to find my blog. Well, I suppose a lot of the time they weren't looking for my blog, they were looking for something else.

For example, yesterday, someone googled "what's the first impression of wife to impress husband most?" And my blog was the fifth hit on that search. I'm guessing I'm not what she was looking for. Much like all of those that searched "trophy husband" and found me. Hehehehe.

Other searches of note?

"wgt.com"

"crazy swim parents"

"they disconnect my star choice subscription can I get service through another dish"

"wife control issues"

You know, now that I see what key words, or tags, can do, I'm am sorely tempted to include "sex" and "porn," and a few others like that in my keyword section, just to see what happens to my traffic levels. Be an interesting study, yes?

And finally, I can see that 86.5 per cent of you need to clean your desks, 27 per cent prefer boxers over briefs, 12.4 per cent believe Caddyshack was the greatest movie of all time and 97 per cent of you did not get a complete breakfast including all five food groups.

Okay, I made those last few up.

But remember people, your computer is talking about you. The Internet is not only a place for information and entertainment, it is a massive marketing tool that is working overtime to collect information about you and your surfing habits. Not to make you paranoid or anything, just to let you know. As I said, my analyzer was free and easy to install. There are those out there that cost a lot more and collect a lot more information, each time you click that mouse.

Sleep well.

Addictions

Well good morning!

Sorry I've been away for a while, but it's been a busy few days.

As most of you regular readers know, the wife came home for a three-day break from her studies in Ottawa. She has since returned and I am, once again, alone with the boys. It was wonderful to have her home and terrible to see her leave again. But we will get by.

Enough about that.

I've picked up two addictions recently. I think they're related but I'll leave that to the psychoanalysts and, well, those of you who read this.

The first is Deadliest Catch, a documentary style show about king crab fishing in the Bering Sea. In a nutshell, these guys go out for a very short fishing season (less than a week), literally risking their lives doing a very dangerous job with the hope of a big payoff.

I've been trying to figure out what I love about this show. And I'm pretty sure this is where the psychoanalyst comes in. I love it because it's about some of the things I feel I'm missing in my life right now. A small crew of men, buddies, guys who must depend on one another for their lives and livelihood, working toward a common goal, missing sleep, sharing stress and working their butts off.

With next to no friends in this new town, and a job that involves diaper changes, Lego assembly and playdough with kids under 5, I miss that kind of thing. I think that's why I went and helped my new next door neighbour roof his house. Didn't know him from Adam, but he looked like he needed a hand, there was physical labour involved and we were 10 feet off the ground. Not quite crab fishing, but as close as I could get for now.

The other element, of course, is the gambling. These fishermen can spend the entire sleepless season pulling up nothing, with no payoff. I honestly get excited for them when they bring in a full pot of King Crab. A successful fishing season can net each deckhand upwards of $50,000. Not bad for a week's work, bearing in mind, of course, that, statistically, one or two of them will end up dead each fishing season. Big risk, big reward.

I think if I was about 20 years younger, with no wife and no kids, this is something I would have loved to try.

Anyway, if any of you are interested, there's a Deadliest Catch marathon on this Sunday on the Discovery channel beginning at 7 a.m. and running all day. Check it out.

As for my other addiction, it's the Mafia Wars game on Facebook. Hate to admit that, but I love the game. As expected, it's about building an empire, based on crime of course. It's about making as much money as possible, building businesses and wiping out the competition.

Unfortunately, my "family" is still pretty small, so the bigger families are robbing me blind right now, but I own a deli, a bar, two rental properties, an Italian restaurant, an apartment complex, a Valu-Mart, a marina and an office building. Plans are underway for a 5-Star Hotel, but I need another $8 million.

So these are my escapes. My addictions. And right now I need them. I am doing my best to get Sonwun and Sontoo some outside activity, but it's proving more difficult than I imagined. Preschool is full, swimming lessons are full and I went to the Thompson Public Library yesterday, a Tuesday, at 11 a.m., and it was closed. The bars and liquor stores are open every day, all day, but the library is not. I fear for this city's collective intelligence.

Anyway, mommy's home in 24 days, nine hours and six minutes. Can't wait!

Today's The Day

Well folks, mommy's home in five hours and 50 minutes.

I have a lot of work to do in that time, so today's entry will be short and sweet.

We only have two days together before she heads back to Ottawa to complete her training. So we plan to make the most of it.

For a preview of our plans, click here.

Warning, not for the faint of heart.

Enjoy.

Dyson and the Dusties

"To infinity and beyond!"

Friggin' Toy Story. Now that I've hidden the Sears' Christmas Wish Book, I hear the above from Sonwun more than I'd like. It is usually preceding a loud thump as he leaps from a couch, chair, picnic table, porch or bed in an attempt to fly.

And like Buzz Lightyear, the best he can hope for is to fall, with style. If not, it's: "To infinity and beyond" . . . thump . . . "waaahhhhhaahhhhhh . . . Daddeeeeeee!"

I think if I ever get asked for a movie idea by the good folks at Pixar, I'm going to suggest a primary character that cleans his room, with style and a catch phrase. If the kid's got to imitate what he sees in his movies, why not something useful.

Why not Dyson and the Dust Rhinos? We've got cross promotion with that nice Swedish guy and his cyclonic vacuum and we've got a couple of fun-loving, yet misguided rhinoceroses (rhinoceri?) who insist on making a mess. (They could be voiced by Rosie O'Donnell and Kirstie Alley!)

Our young hero, Dyson, will be trapped in his room every morning after the nocturnally active rhinos take advantage of the clothes and toys left strewn about the floor, devouring some of the mess to create a Megamess (trademark pending).

To escape his room, Dyson will have to enlist the help of his friends, Mr. Clean and Penelope Pledge (who has a lovely lemon scent that drives Dyson wild) to restore cleanliness in his world. Oh, the product placement, the merchandising dollars are just dancing here! McDonald's will be giving away little vacuum cleaners with every happy meal.

In the end, when young Dyson learns to pick up after himself, Megamesses (trademark pending) are no longer a problem and the Dust Rhinos are starving. And that's when a cute little Dust Bunny (obviously played by the charming and vivacious Valerie Bertenelli), saves the Rhinos and turns them from their evil ways by teaching them to eat more sensibly with the help of her bunny friend Jenny Craig. More merchandising, more product placement, more money!

But a catch phrase is what we really need here. Something that will inspire preschoolers world-wide to clean their rooms, every day.

Yippee kay yay mothermessers, ala Bruce Willis in Die Hard?

Do ya feel messy today? Well do ya, punk! (While holding a Dyson Animal over a Dust Rhino's head)

Hasta la vista, dusty?

We're gonna need a bigger mop! (Jaws)

I crap bigger than you. (City Slickers . . . okay, maybe not appropriate)

I love the smell of windex in the morning!

Brushes? We don't need no stinking brushes?

Well, it's a work in progress. Let me know if you come up with a catchphrase that will both inspire kids to clean their rooms, and make me gobs of cash. Both are important.

In the meantime, I am working with Sonwun by encouraging him to pick up two items and put them away each time before he leaves his room. It's a start and, by the time my movie comes out in four or five years, most of the stuff should be off the floor.

For now, I am sensing, with my nose, that Sontoo is in need of assistance. Seems he's decorated his diaper with his take on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Doodie calls.

Mommy's home in one day, three hours and 37 minutes!