Hope . . . kinda

So yeah, we’ve been transferred. It’s an ongoing part of the RCMP festival.

We’ve been at our current post for about 4 and a half years now, and it’s time to move on. In fact, it’s a little past time.

We’ve been in Manitoba for about 15 years. We’ve had our children here. We’ve been to the north, to the south, to the “big” cities and to the tiny towns. We’ve seen a Goldeyes game, experienced the Forks and had dinner and 529 Wellington. The wife’s been to Churchill and I’ve driven a 6-tonne snowmobile trail groomer across a frozen Lake Winnipeg, as the ice cracked beneath me.

We’ve been to a Hutterite Colony, driven the TransCanada from east to west and west to east. We’ve been to the Potato Festival, the Strawberry Festival and Islendingadagurinn, the August Long Weekend in Gimli that celebrates Icelandic Heritage in the area. Mostly, however, it seems to celebrate drunken stupidity and the violence that goes with it. 

But we’ve been transferred to British Columbia and we’re excited about it. It’s an unusual transfer, because the RCMP likes to keep it’s people in one province as much as they can. But we managed to make our case to the right people and, about six months ago, we got the coveted transfer order.

And, by the time the paperwork crawled through the system, last fall’s real estate market was well into its annual hibernation. So we’ve been waiting . . . enduring the occasional showing of our home . . . all through the winter.

I can’t talk much more about it, for fear of the toxic emotion known as hope. In a “down” real estate market, it’ll kill ya.

Suffice to say we are looking forward, with measured detachment, to the sale of our home. It’s the best we can muster for now.

Less Than Impressed

Again, I find myself less than impressed by health care in this province.

As I type, I am listening to Sontoo coughing, sniffling . . . not feeling all that well.

I took him to the clinic here in town yesterday. We waited about an hour (not bad) to be seen. The doctor looked at the spots on his chest very carefully. Given that Sontoo was vaccinated for chicken pox, the doctor could not decide whether or not it was a mild case. Fair enough.

“Keep him home from school until Monday, just to be safe,” I was told.

He then looked in Sontoo’s ears and throat and decided to take a swab to test for strep throat. Good.

Strep test came back positive. Prescription for amoxycillin and we were on our way.

Now, I know what you’re thinking . . . so what’s the problem??

The problem, my friends, is that we were at that self-same clinic two days prior, with the same symptoms, the same concerns. And I do mean the same. If anything, the symptoms were slightly less pronounced on the second visit.

And, on the first visit, we received a cursory exam, a similar may-or-may-not-be-chicken-pox diagnosis, no test for strep in spite of our expressed concerns about that precise disease, no prescription, a pat on the head and a push out the door.

The kicker? I’d take this all up with my family doctor, but he skipped town without telling any of his patients. I’m told the wait for an appointment with one of the two docs taking new patients in town is about 2 months.

Less than impressed.

The Real Riel

Well, Happy Monday. Or, if you live in Manitoba, Happy Louis Riel Day, I guess.

This has me a little confused. Cause I remember, in Grade 7 or 8, I had to write an essay on Riel and the Red River Rebellion. I got a history book or two from the library and I read them. And then I wrote my essay concluding, based on the books, that the man was an insane traitor who was quite rightly executed for his crimes.

And yet here we are today, celebrating Riel's day and his role as one of Manitoba's Fathers of Confederation. Today, in Manitoba, in some circles anyway, he's a hero.

So what's changed? Is it just geography? Are we still teaching he was an insane traitor in Ontario? Is it politics? I mean, he was Metis and this is Manitoba. Has history itself changed?

I don't know. But I do know it makes me a little uncomfortable. Especially when Sonwun comes home telling me he has the day off school because it's Louis Riel Day. I have to wonder what they're gonna teach HIM at school. Glorious hero or insane traitor? 

Or is there a middle ground? Let's be honest, there's a pretty big gap between the ideals. How could my Grade 8 history books have been so very wrong? Or how screwed up is Manitoba?

I'm no historian. I acknowledge that. I honestly don't care enough to do much research on the topic. I just find it fascinating. I know that "they" say the winners write the history books. Is that what this is about?

Bah. Too much thinking for so early in the morning. Why didn't Manitoba follow suit when everyone decided that February needed a holiday. I mean, Ontario, Saskatchewan and Alberta all agreed to call it Family Day. I like that. I think we can all get behind it and find a way to celebrate it accordingly. 

In Manitoba, especially considering my Ontario education, I have no idea how to celebrate this day. Must be how Muslims feel at Christmas.

So I'll follow the PC route and just say, Happy Holiday!

And Happy Monday!

A little Catching Up

Well, happy Tuesday.

The family made it from Kelowna BC to Strathmore, Alberta yesterday. I think Saskatoon, Saskatchewan is the goal for today. My goal is to complete the deck, do some grocery shopping and then get some cleaning done. Wooohooo!

(I know I said the deck was done about a month ago, but that was just the deck part. The railings have been sitting quietly on my Honey-do List ever since.)

So, what has happened in the last few weeks, you ask? Well, Sonwun graduated from preschool, with entirely too much pomp and ceremony. But I guess that's what they do these days. Yeah, it's kinda cute and all with the little paper grad hats and stuff, but I mean, it's preschool.

Not only was there a ceremony, to which all parents were invited, but there was an end-of-school barbecue as well. I was away for that, but Neomom managed to get some pictures and video.

I was here, however, for another major milestone in Sonwun's existence. He lost his first tooth about a week and a half ago. He almost swallowed it during breakfast, so I had the distinct pleasure of searching through a handful of chewed Cheerios for the prize. Found it. I guess that beats going through a handful of "completely processed food" searching for a tooth. So I'm counting my blessings.

As you can see below . . . he was pretty excited.



Anyhoo, I got up late this morning (6 a.m.) and have much to do. But I didn't want to skip the blog. Must get back in shape, back in the habit of writing a little each day. I will try to get another picture or two of the deck progress today and, hopefully, post them tomorrow. Not making any promises, just expressing my hope.

So you all have yourselves a great day. Supposed to rain here today, but it's welcome. It's been dry for about a month. If it would just be so kind as to give me a window of about 4 hours, I can get my deck work done. Cross your fingers.

Cheers.

Sing With Me!

All righty then . . . it's 7:15 a.m., which means my body believes it to be 6:15 a.m. with the changing of the clocks.

Sonwun was up twice last night, each time to empty the contents of his stomach. First round required a change of bed linen. Second time I heard the whining tremors and managed to get him to the bathroom prior to eruption. Yay for me.

I stayed awake until . . . hell, I don't know . . . it was dark, I think one of the clocks said 3:30 but I don't know if it was one of the ones that we changed or not . . . doesn't matter, dark, no sleep, ugh. I was hoping to catch him before he filled the bed with round 3. Round 3 never came.

Anyhoo, bottom line, tired.

So yesterday we went to Paint Lake . . . it's where Thompsonites go to get out of Thompson. It's a provincial park about 20 minutes south of town. And we had a great time tobogganing and playing in the snow.

We collected about an hour of video of our adventure and I spent much of yesterday afternoon and evening putting together a five-minute video, complete with cool transitions and music, to share with all of you.

But I can't get the damn thing to upload. Maybe it's too big or something, I don't know. But trust me, it was really, really cool!

So, instead, I offer a few clips from the day.

Please do me a favour and sing "The Boys are Back in Town" by Bad Company as you watch, as that is the music I had in the five-minute movie. I also wanted to try Kool and the Gang's "Celebration" with it, so you can sing that one if you'd like. It probably works. It's a short clip, so just sing the chorus. Thank you.

In this clip, we hit a bump at the bottom of the hill and Sonwun goes flying out of the sled. You can't really see the exit, but you'll notice when we glide to a stop, he's no longer in the sled.





Okay, second clip. If you were singing The Boys are Back in Town on the first one, sing Celebration on this one. And vice versa. Neomom hits the same bump I did and, again, Sonwun gets the worst of it. But this time you can see it, AND, he managed to stay on the sled. Enjoy!

Tummy Trouble

So, rough day yesterday.

And it started so optimistically. Got a decent night's sleep, blog completed before anyone else woke up, good attitude.

In spite of the forecast of "flurries" overnight and into Sunday, I awoke Sunday morning to a good four or five inches on the ground and plenty falling. This continued and the forecast was modified to include a snowfall warning. Hmm. A little off there boys. Enjoy that job!

Anyhoo, the snow didn't bother me as I had no plans at all to leave the house. Neomom was working and the boys and I were quite happy to hunker down for some Mario Kart, a little laundry, a little cleaning . . . a typical kinda day, plus Mario Kart.

Just before breakfast, however, Sontoo projectile vomited all over the kitchen, himself and me. No biggie. My optimism was alive. At least he didn't hit the carpet, or one of the couches, chairs or dog. Easy clean-up and it gets me started on the laundry early. See? A silver lining on the cloud of puke.

I'm watching Sontoo from here on. He seems happy, no fever, good appetite at breakfast. Must have been the milk he had earlier. Didn't agree with him.

So, he's playing in the living room about half an hour after breakfast and . . . FIRE TWO! This one got his favourite blankets, an area rug and his fresh pajamas. In the process of pajama removal, it also got his hair pretty good.

Okay, the area rug is machine washable, as are his clothes. At least he didn't get the furniture.

Got that one cleaned up, Sontoo got a bath and then it was just all smiles and sunshine until lunch. Oh, I mean smiles, sunshine and diarrhea. He's now fillin' diapers like sandbags in New Orleans before Katrina.

So, my shirt smells like puke, there's the aroma of poop everywhere, my fingers have that Desitin stuff smell (to ward off related diaper rash) . . . but hey, it's almost lunchtime.

Sontoo turned up his nose at the Kraft Dinner. Usually loves the stuff and I figured it was important to get some food in him. Fair enough, the most critical element is drinking and he did put away a fair bit of liquid.

After lunch and another diaper change he settled in for his nap and made it through until 3:30 without another gastronomical eruption.

Again, happy, smiling, no fever when he got up. More juice. And then Round 3. The living room chair took a small hit, and his favourite blankets were mortally wounded. When I got him out of the chair, he did his impression of a moving lawn sprinkler, walking five steps, puking, five more, more puke: covering the maximum amount of floor space.

(Now this is where Sonwun nearly lost his life. As I am scrambling to minimize damage and maximize paper towel use, he has the nerve to say "Daddy, you're in the way. I can't see Mario Kart! Relax, he's still alive.)

Anyway, to wind up this long story and make it a little shorter, we made it through supper and bedtime. But after about 2 hours in bed, the poor little sucker woke up and created a pool in his bed and destroyed about five books with Volley Number 4.

As I write this at 5:20 a.m., I can now hear him in the baby monitor calling for me. A new day begins. (Pause to fetch Sontoo).

Wow, a dry diaper and he's now sitting in the living room chair (which is covered by a blanket) downing his first juice of the day. Here's hoping it comes out where it's supposed to. Wish me luck.

Have a great Monday!

Housebound

With temperatures in Thompson approaching absolute zero, the last few days in the house have been, well, interesting. Being locked up with an almost two-year-old and a brand new four-year-old has been, at times, annoying as hell and, at other times, a real hoot.

Sonwun, at four, is really testing his limits and, therefore, testing my limits of late. He actually used the words "I don't have to!" recently after being assigned the menial task of taking his dirty socks to the hamper. Um, when daddy says you have to, you have to. End of story.

He'd actually been working up to that little declaration of independence for a while; ignoring me when I spoke, taking his sweet time to do what he's been told . . . yeah, I know. Testing his world, testing his power levels, testing my patience.

In any case, he's now understands that his world and power levels and several steps before "I don't have to!"

But it's not all bad— not entirely bad.

Yesterday the two monkeys were playing downstairs when I heard Sontoo starting to squawk. It wasn't the blood-is-flowing-move-your-ass squawk. More of a my-brother-took-my-car noise. Yeah, I can tell the difference.

Seconds later, Sonwun runs up the stairs and into the kitchen. I figure he's distancing himself from the scene of the crime. But instead, I get:

"Dah-da-da-da-da-daaah. SuperSonwun to the rescue. Daddy, Sontoo's crying. His head is stuck."

And while I appreciated the heads-up on this one, I really need to go over the order in which we present information. Sure, the fanfare and announcement of SuperSonwun's dramatic and sweeping arrival was impressive (his batman pajamas have a cape). But when your brother's head is stuck between two couches, that should really be the first bit of information offered. Just saying.

Sontoo wasn't hurt, just annoyed and he quickly recovered and promptly tried to do it again, as it earned him some attention. I moved the couches.

Sontoo's language skills and lexicon are improving daily and I gotta say, it's really cute. From his "morning dada!" in the crib to his "night night," he's taking every opportunity to exercise his abilities and make himself heard.

Many of his new words are coming from Sonwun. He loves to repeat things his older brother says. He pulls out his most effective and go-to phrase "I miss you mama," at almost every opportunity, as it melts Neomom's heart.

At diaper change time, he compliments my work when complete. "Poofit" is his version of "perfect" which apparently describes my Pamper replacement technique.

And with every new word, he is very proud to point out its meaning. This morning it was "Fum daddy, see? Fum." Which, of course, means he's found his thumb and the correct word for it. It's an exciting time in his life and I am having a great time watching and listening.

Anywhoo, it has warmed up to a much more comfortable (and I really do mean that) -25C here in Thompson this morning, with a windchill at -38C. Doesn't feel all that bad after the -40s. Sunrise at 9 a.m., sunset at 4 p.m.

Have a great Tuesday. It's garbage day here!

Heat Wave

Well, it would appear the cold snap has ended. After a few days in the high -30s and low -40s, I awoke to a spring-like -26 this morning.

Environment Canada has lifted its windchill warning, apparently because the -43 windchill forecast for later today does not merit alarm of any kind. Phew, and I thought it was gonna be cold.

The little chill we experienced in the past few days was a first for me. I had never experienced naturally occurring windchill levels like that before. Yeah, I created my own a few times while snowmobiling at 80 mph across Lake Winnipeg in -30 temperatures. I also got my first experiences with frostbite during that time.

But this latest freeze taught me a few new and exciting things.

1. The vent for the clothes dryer in the house is a wonderful conduit for cold. And the dryer doesn't like it. When I fired that bad boy up yesterday, I thought for a minute the cat snuck in while I was loading it. Horrible noise. Oh, and never, ever, under any circumstances should you throw in a load of wet clothes and forget to turn the dryer on. Big ball of fabric ice. Enough said.

2. Much to my disappointment, spit does not freeze before it hits the ground at -40. My sister suggested I try it and I did. It landed with a wet "splat," not the "crack" I was looking for. Probably just as well as I would likely have frozen something playing that game if it had worked.

3. The block heater in the truck is up to the task. This is good news. Yeah, it complained and made some interesting noises (not as interesting as the dryer mind you) but it started. The doors did not operate as cooperatively as usual and the "low tire pressure" light came on, but I'm pretty sure that was all due to the shrinking metal and air. It got Neomom safely to work and home again. That's all I ask of it.

4. Not sure if the van is up to the task, as I chose to keep the boys indoors for the last couple of days. I'm just going to believe it will be there when needed.

5. And finally, that goofy, Gomer-lookin' hat I bought as a joke several years back? It is fantastic in -40 weather. My deepest thanks to the rabbit that made the ultimate sacrifice for my head. I'm thinking it will be the go-to headgear in Thompson. At these temperatures, I don't care how I look, as long as I'm warm. Must look into junior sizes for the boys. It's never too early to start looking goofy.

Anywhoo, it's Sunday, Neomom's gotta work and, in spite of the warm weather, I think it'll be another indoor kinda day. But we'll see. It's -26 now, but it's supposed to warm up to -25.

Have a great day.

The aforementioned Gomer hat.

Get Up, Dress Up, Show Up

I feel like crap today.

I've been fighting some kind of cold thing for about a week and it feels like I'm now losing the battle.

Yesterday was a busy one. Second flu shot for Sontoo at 8 a.m. And I don't mean to complain (or maybe I do) but if you advertise a flu shot clinic beginning at 8 a.m., I think all of your people should be there by 7:30 setting up. That way, when your clients arrive at 8 a.m., you're ready. You're not trying to figure out the damn computer program or how to fill out the paperwork. Those giving the shots are seated and ready to go, not sitting there, filling syringes while the line of crusty toddlers gets longer and longer.

This clinic was for the second dose of the H1N1 vaccine. And that means all of the clients were between the ages of six months and three years. These are not patient patients. And odds are they brought along a parent and at least one sibling who was not old enough for school. That's a lot of impatient children and frustrated parents in a very small room, all anxious to get this over and done with.

I'm not saying anyone had to come in early, or that the Health System had to pay any overtime. I'm just saying, be ready. If that means starting at 8:30 instead of 8, so be it.

I guess I shouldn't complain too much, as we were out of there within an hour and 10 minutes. I know elsewhere in the country, people were waiting hours and hours for their shots. But I'm just saying that, with a little better organization and pre-planning, it could have gone a lot smoother.

Oh, and a quick note to some of the parents. Remember that little card they gave you at the first dose clinic? The one they told you to bring to the second clinic? The one with the date of the first dose, the child's birthdate and Manitoba Health number? BRING IT TO THE SECOND CLINIC YOU MORONS. That way I don't have to stand there for 10 minutes while you figure out when, exactly, your kids got their first shot and if that is at least 21 days ago. And I won't have to stand there for another 10 while you dig through your frickin' purse for the Manitoba Health cards.

There, that one's for the clinic workers who, I'm sure, had to put up with more than their share of impatient parents and screaming children. Must have been a rough day. But if you'd prepared a little better . . . just saying.

Anyway, after a quick stop at Tim Horton's for Daddy's cup of joy, we were off to playgroup. That went well. I'm getting to know more of the moms and am actually getting in on some of the non-breast-related conversations. Picked up a few Christmas shopping tips from those that have lived on this isolated iceberg for a few years. It was nice.

So, with my head clogged to capacity, we headed home for lunch and nap time. That's when I found the email from Neomom. She'd been called north to a crime scene and would not be home for lunch, and probably supper, possibly bed time. Ugh.

Oh well, got the boys fed and off to bed for their naps. I needed to sleep, but was afraid to. Sonwun's swimming lessons were at 4 and I had to be sure I wouldn't sleep through. So I stayed up.

Swimming lessons went well and, after phoning home and finding no one there yet, the boys and I stopped at McDonalds to pick up a couple of Happy Meals, as Daddy did not feel like cooking a damn thing. I did, this time, opt for the apples over the french fries and milk over coke. I know, it ain't Father of the Year material, but it's slightly better than the alternatives.

I managed to get them fed and to bed before taking my Tylenol night time sinus medication and passing out on the couch. Neomom woke me up and some point, there was some conversation and then I went to bed. I don't remember much of it as I was half asleep and in a well-medicated daze.

As I mentioned earlier, I still feel like crap today. But the refrigerator is empty and that means I must go shopping with the boys this morning. My challenge is to find a way to make it appealing, somehow, for Sonwun. He hates grocery shopping and the feeling, if left unattended, can be contagious.

Yesterday I received an email from my mother-in-law listing 44 life lessons, compiled by an 80-something-year-old woman. Some smarmy, but most really good stuff. Today, I must remember #36: "Your children get only one childhood," and #42: "No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up."

Have a great day!

This morning, a self-portait. Getting the blog done is step one

in the get up, dress up and show up plan.

Cold-Blooded Killing

Warning: The following contains graphic images and material which

may not be suitable for those with weak stomachs.

The victim, in happier times, celebrating his birthday.

It appears to have been blunt force trauma.

Footprint evidence suggests one attacker, but police haven't ruled out a second. The scene is a mess. The victim, a snowman, was cut in half. It wasn't a pretty scene. There was snow everywhere.

Friends and family gathered in small groups near the scene this morning, remembering the once robust snowman. Born October 24th, an internal leaf disease had taken its toll, but Frosty was a fighter and was fully expected to survive the winter. The brutal and senseless attack put those hopes to rest.

A snow-encrusted scarf remains visible amid the carnage.

As a Forensic Identification Officer sifted through the gruesome scene, those gathered outside the police barricade gasped as a light blue scarf, believed to have belonged to the victim, was pulled from the carnage. Some turned away, as the scarf, literally caked with snow, was placed in an evidence bag.

"I saw him yesterday," a teary-eyed neighbour, who refused to give her name, said this morning. "He was always friendly, never had a negative thing to say about anyone. Some felt he was cold, but he had a warm heart. Who, who would do this?"

Frosty is believed to be the 14th victim in a string of snowman homicides around the city of Thompson. Some believe it to be the work of a serial chiller. (sorry!)

Police report a number of suspects will be interviewed following this latest attack, including an out-of-work magician and a second individual, known only as "Heat Miser." Burger Meister, Meister Burger has been ruled out as a suspect in the death, but remains under investigation for a recent rash of toy thefts, also in the Thompson area.

Anyone with any information about this, or any other pre-Christmas crime, is asked to leave a comment. Police will get back to you.

I Need to Know Why

Let the authority issues begin anew.

Got a call yesterday from the preschool I wanted Sontoo to attend in September. Our name came up on the waiting list and . . . he's in. Beginning in November, he will attend two afternoons a week.

I have mixed emotions about this, but I'll save them for another post.

Today, it's about "the system" and about my family finally reaching an age where we must enter it. It's not just about Sonwun going to preschool. It's about all of us and the preschool experience.

Before we venture further into this topic, I should point something out. I have always had issues with authority. Haven't been to a shrink, so I can't necessarily and definitively explain why. I have a few suspicions, but we'll leave those alone for now. Suffice to say, authority and I have not been the best of friends since I started school many years ago.

Part of it, I realize, is from my need to know "why?"

"Yes sir, we need your phone number and address before we can process your purchase of this pair of socks."

"Why?"

"That's just our policy."

"Keep your freakin' socks."

I have a big issue with "policy" as a tool to hide behind when there is no logical answer or a better solution. That has, at many times in my life, been interpreted as an aversion to authority.

And I can't say it ended with school. When I had to spend a few days at the RCMP Depot in Regina, for the wife's graduation celebration, my skin never stopped crawling; all those uniforms, marching, order, unquestioned obedience - brrrrrrr! Trouble just seems to find me in these environments. To make a long story short, I joined my wife for lunch at the Depot cafeteria, didn't wear (because I didn't know) a collared shirt as was protocol, and then I sat at the Officers' table, again, because no one was sitting there and because it was not labelled. How was I to know?

This authority aversion, and the need to understand "why" is probably why I ended up as a news reporter (I CAN ask the questions and, if I don't like or fully understand the answer, I can ask more until I fully understand). Not sure how I ended up marrying an RCMP member, however. But I'm sure it's tied in there somehow.

But I digress.

During the phone call, I was told by the preschool director that I need to pickup and fill out a registration form and that Sonwun needs to bring a change of clothes, indoor shoes and a snack "that meets Health Canada guidelines," to each day of preschool.

So I guess I should probably look those up. Hold on a sec . . .

All righty then. Under "Smart Snacking" on the good ol' government website I see that the best choices are "foods from the four food groups in Canada's food guide."

Okey dokey, hold on a sec . . .

Super! He needs vegetables and fruit, grain products, milk and alternatives and meat and alternatives. I'm sure they list proper alternatives, but I'm bored already and don't feel much like working through this government website any longer.

Fine, healthy snack. We do our best to feed our children healthy food, so it's not really an issue for me. The issue is having someone inspect and approve the food I wish to feed my child. Don't feel I need your fucking approval. But I'll play your game on this one.

Although (and here's the authority aversion sneaking back) I have an overpowering desire to send him to preschool with a can of coke, a poptart and a big ol' Toblerone, just once, just for fun. (We, by the way, have none of the above in the house.)

Now then, let's talk a bit about the registration form. Got a few problems here. A few "whys" if you will. For example, why do you need to know my dog's name and my cat's name? Not a big issue really, not a national secret, but I'd really be interested to know why.

Further along on the registration form, my authority issues collide with my privacy concerns. I am asked to initial a number of requests, that are asked, apparently "in accordance with the privacy act."

(First off, Privacy Act, if it is indeed an actual Act of some level of government, should be capitalized and, second, it should be preceded by the level of government responsible. Federal Privacy Act? Provincial Privacy Act? A privacy act we made up on our own? Come on people, you're supposed to be educating my child here. I need to know you're up to the task!)

I realize this rant is longer than usual, but bear with me.

In any case, according to this act, I need to give them permission to put Sonwun's first name on the little cubby where he will store his coat and hat. Really? Okay, no problem.

Permission to have his pertinent medical info in the emergency handbook. No problem.

Permission to allow "appropriate photographs and/or videos of my child to be taken by therapists, work experience students and/or by educational or regulatory observers while they are there." Um . . . no. And why?

Permission for "appropriate photographs and/or videos to be taken by (name of preschool) employees of for (?) their personal records. Um . . . hell no! What is that about?

Permission to allow representatives of the media, or of any granting organization to photograph for use in any media coverage, article or promotional materials. Um, no again.

You know, I understand maybe a little pic for the local paper, but I have a problem with any media coverage or promotional materials. He's not there to sell the program or be a model for your brochures. I'm not giving blanket coverage. Tell me what's happening, each time, and I'll make a decision. I don't want to see his face on the front of some NDP brochure promoting Jack Layton's latest hair-brained plan for mandatory daycare beginning at age 2.

Now, the first step, they say, is admitting you have a problem. And I know I do. But bear with me here. Apparently I'm supposed to sign away Sonwun's rights under this Privacy Act so that he may attend preschool. It states right at the bottom of this list that failure to sign this thing may exclude Sonwun from, among other things, attending this preschool as some of them are "licencing requirements as set by Manitoba Child Day Care."

So, I just gotta ask, why does Manitoba Child Day Care require that I sign away some of my child's rights under the Privacy Act in order to attend preschool? Is that actually legal? Does it make sense?

I am honestly going to try to be a good parent and a reasonable parent. I will be meeting the preschool director early next week and I hope she has the patience and intelligence to listen to my questions and answer them with something other than, "that's just our policy."

God help me, that's just not good enough. As always, I need to know why.

Tomorrow, maybe we'll talk about the Parent Policy Manual - should be an interesting read.

Thompson Traveler's Guide

All righty then. It's Monday morning. Five days until Mommy's joyous return to the paradise that is Thompson, Manitoba.

First off, it's snowing again. And this time it's sticking a little. We had some pretty good flurries last week, but nothing stuck around very long. This morning, there is a light cover on the grass and I'm not too thrilled about it. But apparently I'm alone.

"Daddy! It's snowing! I can make snowballs. Can we build a snow fort?"

Sonwun is very excited, but will be very frustrated when he finds it will take the entire yard to make one small snowball.

So, snow aside, let's talk about Thompson cuisine, once again. In mommy's absence, I have tried out a few of the take-out and delivery restaurants in town. I limit myself to doing it only once a week, to give myself a break. I deserve it.

My recommendations, thus far, include the Riverview Restaurant (Chinese). I know I've mentioned this place before, but it remains number one on my favourites list. I have not had a bad meal from the Riverview. They have an extensive menu and I'm working my way through. But so far, nothing but praise.

If you're in the mood for pizza, I highly recommend Santa Maria. A word of caution, however. Stick to the pizza. It's great pizza. They are not shy with the toppings, it's delivered hot and they use real bacon. The ribs, on the other hand leave a lot to be desired. They aren't the fall-off-the-bone kind of ribs I really enjoy. They were a little undercooked and, with pork, that's not a great thing. The sauce was not memorable either.

On the far, polar opposite, end of the rib spectrum, there is Boston Pizza. Their ribs fall off the bone when you look at them. A little overdone. The meat was approaching mushy, and I'm not a fan of that either. Sauce was okay, but nothing to write home about. (Best sauce on ribs I've had in Manitoba so far was at the Regent Casino. Nice hint of what I think was fresh lime in the sauce - delicious).

On top of that, Boston Pizza completely forgot about my order one night and really ticked me off. To be fair, they called an hour and a half after the meal was supposed to arrive, apologized, and asked if I still wanted it. I didn't. And they didn't offer it for free as, I believe, they should have.

Overall, I rate Boston Pizza as fair, at best. I like the idea of most of their menu selections, but, upon delivery, they fall short of expectations way too often. Last night I was in the mood for wings. Now, having spent 10 years living across the river from Buffalo, birthplace of the chicken wing, I admit my expectations are high. But when one orders breaded wings (anathema in Buffalo, but one of the only options here), one expects a little crunch. The breading on the wings was thick and soggy, very soggy, Noah's-ark-missed-the-boat soggy. Not good.

To make matters worse, the Boston Pizza food rarely arrives hot. And it's not even winter yet. Four out of five orders have been luke warm and, sadly, in a city where there are only four or five places that deliver, that one's coming off my list. At the first opportunity, however, I will give the eat-in option a chance to impress me, as I have enjoyed that restaurant in other towns.

Finally, for the best greasy-spoon style breakfast, I recommend the Northern. It's clean and offers decent prices for all the staples - bacon and eggs, pancakes, french toast. It's quick and the wait staff is competent and friendly. Can't say the same for every restaurant I've tried in town.

So there it is. For all of you planning your next vacation getaway to Thompson, Manitoba, you know where to eat. For the rest of you, that's 2 minutes you'll never get back. Sorry.

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.