Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Funny, but not really



Ya know, sometimes I have to laugh at the news. Even when it’s really not funny.

Take Canada AM this morning. In one segment, we have a doctor on, from Toronto’s Sick Kids’ Hospital, talking about food allergies and kids. (News Story HERE)

We get a teaser before the interview, letting us know that we can now introduce our infants, as young as 6 months, to potentially deadly foods, like peanut butter and eggs. Interesting. When my kids were that young, doctors were telling us NOT to introduce these foods until at least a year, to give the child’s immune system a chance to mature.

But this morning, the doc comes on and the first thing she tells us is that doctors, or research, or whatever, have had it all wrong for the last little while. Seems we may actually have been harming our children’s immune systems by withholding these foods. We didn’t give their little bodies a chance to learn how to fight an allergic reaction. 

By failing to introduce these foods at an early age, we were almost promoting food allergies where they might not otherwise have existed. Huh. It’s almost logical. And I have noticed that there just seems to be a LOT more kids with deadly food allergies than there were when I was a kid.

So . . . the punch line.

The interviewer asks the doctor how we, as idiot parents, should introduce these foods to our six-month-old children. The answer . . . in consultation with your doctor. 

The same doctor who, a week ago, would have told you NOT to feed your infant these possible poisons. The same doctor whose advice last week might have actually caused your child to develop a potentially deadly allergy.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t so much of a laugh as a groan; perhaps a snarl.


Have a good Tuesday.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

My day . . .


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Thursday, October 4, 2012

Sontoo and Puffy


I don't understand it, but I think it's pretty cool.

At about 5:30 a.m., I was sitting at my keyboard, trying to come up with something to write about (for yesterday), when I heard a few soft thumps from Sontoo's room. I looked down the hall and watched as he emerged, clutching Owen, his teddy bear, and rubbing his eyes. Beside him, walking and stretching simultaneously, was Puffy, his guardian.

Puffy, the grey ball of feline fur we picked up last year, has attached himself to four-year-old Sontoo in a way that is just really cool to watch, but impossible to understand.

From the time he was a wee little kitten, Puffy has been, well, a toy in Sontoo's mind. He picks Puffy up in the most awkward way, uses him like a blanket and hugs him until his eyes bulge. 



Puff and Sontoo, the early years.

And more recently.


Puffy has learned to just go limp when this happens. And he's learned to just enjoy the ride. 

Rather than run when Sontoo enters the room, he'll actually go sit beside him. If Sontoo's doing a puzzle, Puffy lies on the table. If Sontoo's on the couch, Puffy's nearby, on the floor. If Sontoo moves, Puffy moves.

And most nights, when Puffy's not out prowling the neighbourhood, he's sleeping in Sontoo's bed, or very nearby. Last night, just after bedtime, Puffy plopped on down in the hallway, just in front of Sontoo's doorway. Half an hour later, he was inside the door on the bedroom floor, and half an hour after that, he was on Sontoo's bed.

I really don't understand this relationship. I mean, I'm good to the cat. Always have been. My wife is good to the cat. Sontoo is, well, he's not mean to the cat, but he's pretty rough on it. And yet the cat likes him best. 

I'm a little wounded.

No, I'm not. I'm amazed to see them stumbling together out of his room in the morning. I'm blown away that the cat will hang out in the front yard while Sontoo plays on his swing. And I don't understand why a cat will lie under a water table as Sontoo splashes above it in the backyard.

Whatever the reason, I'm happy to see it. If a boy can't have a dog as his loyal subject (ours has imprinted on my wife) then he should have a cat that loves him, puts up with his crap and sleeps in his bed. Don't understand it, but I do think it's cool!

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

This too shall pass . . . I hope


I've lived it, I've witnessed it, but I still don't understand it.

What is it that drives brothers to make each other miserable? Is it a competition thing? Is it part of the reindeer games? I'm trying to remember, but I can't.

Yesterday, I had an eye appointment. They had to take pictures of my optic nerve (part of the diabetes fun!) and my pupils were dilated for too long afterward. But that's me. This is about the minions.

While at the optometrist's, Sontoo asked if he would be getting a toothbrush. He kinda figured we were at the dentist's. Similar chair I guess. The guy laughed and promised Sontoo a lollipop instead. And for the next 20 minutes it was all he could talk about. 

Bottom line is the boy got his treat and enjoyed it to its fullest extent.

Fast forward a few hours. Sonwun finishes school. My pupils are still dilated. I pick him up and bring him home. And what is the first thing out of Sontoo's mouth? Well, I didn't really hear it, but the gist of it was that he got a lolly today and, more importantly, Sonwun did not.

This is not the first time Sontoo has done this. And it always has the desired effect. Sonwun comes whining to me about not getting a lollipop, and how unfair it is that Sontoo got one and he did not.

** Breaking News **

6:35 a.m. and the phone rings. The "phone tree" for Sonwun's school. Didn't know they had one. Watermain break, no school today. Should make for a better blog tomorrow.

Back to our regularly scheduled rambling.

Where was I? Oh yeah, unfair goodie distribution.

Sonwun can just not see anything beyond the lolly gap. If I had filled his school lunch box with chocolate bars, gummy bears, root beer and peanut butter treats, he would still come home and react the same way to the single lollipop that Sontoo got, and he didn't.

But I'm getting off topic here. This was about cruelty to siblings. I grew up in a house with five kids, so I know a little bit about it. I was an older brother, so I knew the joy of torturing a younger brother. I was a younger brother, so I knew the joy of being tortured by older ones. And now, honestly, I don't remember why it was so important to do, or why it was such fun.

For Sonwun, I guess it's about control. He's older. He wants to lead the games, call the shots, choose the TV shows and win every time at MarioKart. And being older, he usually does.

Sontoo, I guess, will take some control wherever he can find it. Even if it's in a simple lollipop story that causes Sonwun to melt down.

As we age, we realize something that these boys simply can not fathom just yet. That by losing control, you lose the game.

If Sonwun came home and didn't react in any way to the lollipop story, it would end there. If, when Sontoo started playing the "say everything you say" game, Sonwun ignored him, it would again end immediately. But the "Stop Copying Me!" standard response to the game only escalates the situation until someone gets bonked on the head with a Transformer.

I still don't get it. But I must accept it as a fact of life and just do my best to referee it. Siblings love to torture each other. I can only hope that as they age this stuff fades away, as it has with my brothers and sisters. Family will always be family. Friends come and go, and now, thanks to Facebook, they can be unfriended. But you can't, and you never should, unfamily.

Have a great Tuesday. I think we're gonna go tobogganing!

Friday, January 20, 2012

Short one


Gonna be a short one this morning, I think.

Neomom and I hired a babysitter last night to celebrate the end of a six-day shift, to celebrate Thursday and to celebrate, um, hiring a babysitter.

Problem is, we don't get out much and when we do we tend to go a little overboard. Such was the case last night. Ended up leaving the truck at the bar.

Yesterday we were talking about our "life before." She went rock climbing, I went golfing, we went camping, fishing, kayaking. Haven't done a whole lot of that stuff since the kids arrived. But it'll be back, I keep telling myself. 

Anyhoo, while it's nice to leave the kids at home once in a while, I still wouldn't trade 'em . . . most days.

Sontoo, who's almost four now, reminded me why in the middle of the night. I wasn't sleeping well, so I was sitting in the rec room reading a book. At 4 a.m., I heard his little feet hit the floor upstairs. Unusual. He tends to sleep in until at least 5:30.

I reached over and turned off the lamp, just in case he decided to make his way downstairs. This usually works. He'll see that no one's up and then just head back to bed.

But this morning, he came down the stairs, in the pitch dark, and made his way to where he often finds me. He stopped just before entering the rec room . . . "Dad?"

His sweet little sleepy voice melted my resolve. 

"Come here buddy."

Dragging his favourite teddy bear, Owen, he crawled up on the couch, snuggled under my blanket and under my arm. And then he fell asleep again.

I love that. Wouldn't trade it for a round of 18 at Glenn Abby or a fly-in fishing trip to Lake of the Woods. It's simply one of the best things in my world.

Have a great Friday, and a great weekend.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Hydroponics


So, I've entered the fun and exciting world of hydroponics.

And no, not that kind.

Herbs. And no, not that kind.

Last summer, on one of those rare Saturdays when Neomom was off, we loaded the kids in the manly mini-van and headed out for a day of garage saling. Well, a morning anyway. It's all the kids would give us before the mileage-to-whine ratio exceeded our limit.

It was a beautiful sunny day and it seemed that everyone who was planning a summer garage sale chose this particular weekend. Entire neighbourhoods were doing it together. You could park in one spot and hit eight or nine sales before returning. Cool!

Anyhoo, at one of these sales, I spotted two AeroGarden hydroponic units. They're little commercial jobbies, available at Canadian Tire and places like that. I'd looked at them over the previous winter as a possible source of fresh herbs during the colder months. But they were more than $100, so I decided against.




I asked the lady how much she was selling these things for, cause they looked brand new. "

Oh, I don't know, she said. "How does $10 sound?"

"Each?" I asked.

"For both."

"SOLD!"

When I got home I looked this particular model, the SpaceSaver 6, up on line to see what they retailed for: $150 each.

So I got a good deal.

They sat for the summer and yesterday, after a little prodding from Neomom, I looked for the little seed pods while at Canadian Tire. Bought the Gourmet Herb pack and the Cherry Tomato Pack. Should have checked on line before I went. While the herb pack gets very good reviews, the tomato pack, not so much.

So I planted the herb pack yesterday in one of the units and am putting the tomato pack on hold until we get closer to spring. That way I can get them started hydroponically and then transplant to the garden.


For the record, I planted dill, thyme, oregano, mint and two kinds of basil. Looking forward to an improved spaghetti sauce in a few weeks.

Anyway, that's all I'm trying to think about this morning. But the minions are driving me stark raving freaking bonkers (as nice as I can put it). When Neomom works night shift, and is trying to sleep during the day, it seems these two just can not possibly speak in normal voices. Every fargin' word must be screamed, while they run, jump and stomp all over the blessed house. SHUT UP!!!

Maybe I did plant the wrong herbs.

Happy Hump Day.

Monday, December 26, 2011

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!

Thursday, June 9, 2011

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 . . .

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Dad . . . Grumpy Dad

Yesterday, I mentioned the neighbourhood in which I grew up. I fondly remembered the fact that all the kids played together, up and down the street, without fear. The moms were watching.

Well, be careful what you wish for.

It seems our backyard is becoming THE place to hang out in the 'hood. And I'm not that fond of it.

Last night, for example, there were five kids here. Sonwun (4), Sontoo (2), B.A. (7) and two girls, both 8. Don't know the girls' names. Around these parts, it seems, these kids wander the neighbourhood and have no fear of entering someone else's backyard and playing with the toys.

And you know, given the state of the public playgrounds, I guess I can understand. There are fewer broken whiskey bottles in my backyard, and less drug paraphernalia laying around. (I try to stay on top of these things).

But I guess it's the age of these kids that concerns me. I mean, I don't think they're here to play with a four-year-old. I think they're here for the toys. And, apparently, to open my garage door and go through the contents to see if there are any toys I forgot to put out in the yard. That makes me uncomfortable.

This began a few weeks ago when B.A. and his friend, C.K., showed up out of the blue, wanting to play with Sonwun. Now, C.K. is at least the same age as Sonwun, so that wasn't a factor. However, it really concerned me that a four-year-old was wandering the neighbourhood by himself.

I asked around and discovered that he's been doing that for more than a year. Yes, he was wandering the street, unaccompanied, at the age of three, in the violent crime capital of Canada. That really bothers me.

One of the eight-year-old girls that showed up yesterday told Neomom that her mom had gone to a birthday party and felt the need to share that there would be "drinking" at the party. The fact that she pointed this out really bothers me. Why did she?

I want to be happy that Sonwun has kids to play with. I want to be happy that they are coming to my house to do it. That way, after all, I can keep an eye on him.

But I'm not.

Seven-year-olds and eight-year-olds are really good at manipulating and dominating four-year-olds. I don't like that.

And I don't like baby sitting the children of people I don't know. Aside from the fact that I'm not getting paid, I am concerned about what could happen if one of them fell of the swing, or fell off my deck. The world is becoming more and more litigious and I don't want to be on the receiving end of a lawsuit.

This is a new phase in my dad development, and I'm just not sure how to handle it yet. Do I ban the older kids? Do I try to contact the parents? Not sure I want to do that. Not sure I want a relationship with them, because given what I have heard and seen, I don't want to have to deal with an invitation for Sonwun to go play in their yard. Not gonna happen.

And you know, the final thing that bothers me is that I'm feeling a little like the "grumpy dad" of the neighbourhood and, worse, like a bit of a snob. I really hate both titles.

But the bottom line is that I'm looking out for my boys. I don't want either one wandering anywhere out of my sight just yet. Yes, the time will come, but it just ain't here yet. And I'm fine with that. Especially considering where we live right now.

Still don't know exactly what to do about all this. But for now, I guess I'll just own the grumpy dad and snob titles. 'Cause grumpy dad, is first and foremost a dad. And, in spite of what others think about that title, and what it means, I've got to go with what I believe it means.

Have a great Sunday! And Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there, especially my own.