Cheers!

Wow, what a day! It oozes potential, drips with possibility. It is the first day of the rest of my life. WOW!

Already, in the few short hours since the birth of the new year, I have experienced the first wind storm of 2012. I woke up for the first time in 2012. I took my first pee of the new year, brewed my first pot of coffee, put on my first pair of socks and settled my boys' first argument of 2012.

Still flush from all this excitement, I plan, later, to cook my first breakfast of 2012, shower for the first time and then, wait for it, brush my teeth. I may even vacuum. For the first time. In 2012.

And with all of these accomplishments behind me, I will resolve to do great things in the coming year. I'll quit smoking, quit drinking, cure diabetes, run a marathon, backpack through Europe, buy a yacht and figure out how they get the soft, flowing caramel inside the Caramilk bar.

Now last year wasn't a complete loss. For example, as one of my final acts of 2011, last night I cooked supper. I made ribeye steaks with a red wine reduction pan sauce. And actually, that was a first and it was delicious! Can't wait to make that for the first time this new year.

So, Happy New Year all. Hope you had a great night last night and I hope your head isn't feeling two sizes too small for your brain. Me? I'm clean. Neomom worked last night, so I was home alone with the boys. In bed by 11. Very, very exciting.

To be honest, the last time I remember actually doing anything for New Year's Eve was in 1999, when I celebrated the impending doom of Y2K with Patrick, Wendy and my girlfriend at the time, now known as Neomom. That was back in Fort Erie, Ontario, in the little house on Brock Street, in a different life. I was a newspaper editor. Neomom was an archaeologist. We had no kids, comparatively little responsibility.

Yeah, a lot has changed. But I'm pretty sure that, having survived Y2K, I vowed to quit smoking, quit drinking, cure diabetes, run a marathon, backpack through Europe, buy a yacht and figure out how they get the soft, flowing caramel inside the Caramilk bar.

This year for sure.

Enjoy 2012. Live it like the Mayans knew something we don't.

Ugh

If you thought I rambled yesterday . . .

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

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

"Daaaaaaadddddddyyyyyyyy. I want Daaaaaaaddddddddyyyyyy."

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

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

Now two kids are screaming.

Just kidding.

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

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

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

"Daaaaaaddddddy."

Aw crap.

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

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

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

Eight of Eight

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

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

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

No tooth = no cash.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a great Friday. Sonwun will.

The Cats are safe . . .

I read the news today . . . oh boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh?

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

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

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

"Pricks . . . pricks."

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

So I glance toward the TV.

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

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

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

"Pricks."

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

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

Playing with the new toy . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"YES CHEF!"

Box on . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Boxing Day all!

Christmas is coming . . .

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

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

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

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

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

Diesels are bad! Just in case you were wondering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why wait?

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

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

I saw it coming . . .

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

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

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

No, this was the real thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nature or Nurture?

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

That makes one dog, two kids and three cats.

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

Just kidding . . . most days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He falls down a lot.

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

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

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

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

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

Paws is aware of his surroundings.

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

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

If you wanna be a cat wrangler . . .

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

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

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

Um, no.

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

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

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

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

That's about it.

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

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

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

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

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

And I grind my teeth in the bleachers.

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

Okay, I'm done.

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

But still . . .

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

The good, the bad . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So . . . the good.

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

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

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

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

And, hopefully, I'll write more tomorrow.

Gazintas and ICT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And finally, my favourite . . .

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

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

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

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

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

Have a great Tuesday.

Memo to Bell . . .

Dear Bell Satellite Service:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's my suggestion. You're welcome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good bye Bell. Never again.

Yet Another Milestone . . .

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

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

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

So, where am I going with this?

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

But I digress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a great Monday!

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

It continues . . .

23 Days to Go . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

Have a great Thursday.

Superman to Dad o' Kitchen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lather, rinse, repeat ad nauseum.

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

Who could ask for more?

Happy December, Happy Wednesday!

It begins

Well, good morning. And a happy Last Day of November to ya!

The silly season is well under way. Black Friday, Cyber Monday . . . marketing madness and suckers lining up to take advantage of the "deals." Merry Christmas.

Here in Portage, it's cold and it's snowy. That's more my kinda Christmas vision. And last night after supper we loaded pajama-clad Sonwun and Sontoo into the mini van of joy and headed for Island Park to see the lights.

As this is our first Christmas here, we were anxious to see this spectacle, touted as "Manitoba's longest running drive through light show," and "a winner of numerous provincial and national tourism awards."

Well who could turn that down?

Now we made one mistake here. En route to the longest running drive-through light show, Neomom's attention was captured by a giant candycane. "Turn here," she ordered. And, against my better judgment, I did.

And one turn later, we found ourselves on a street apparently inhabited by distant Griswold relatives. Four or five houses, it seemed, were competing for the highest electric bill in Manitoba, perhaps beyond. But WOW! The displays were truly awesome and I regret not having my camera and tripod at hand. Maybe I'll sneak back one night this week when the wind is down.

Anyhoo, after that, the "winner of numerous provincial and national tourism awards" was nice, but it paled a little by comparison. Don't get me wrong, it was well done. But it was apparent that many of the light displays were from years gone by. Many were also new and spectacular and overall it was a good time for the boys.

One criticism for the operators of the Island of Lights . . . don't tell me to tune my radio to a certain station, in order to get the maximum effect, if that radio station doesn't come in worth a crap while I drive around the island. I mean, I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas loses a little of its charm when it keeps cutting out and being replaced by a radio station playing Highway to Hell. Just sayin'

That being said, if you've got young 'uns and you're in the neighbourhood, it's worth the five bucks. It took us about 20 minutes to drive through the Island of Lights and see all there was to see. And most of it was pretty good. But while you're here in Portage, you should also check out the Griswolds. They're in the Koko Platz neighbourhood. Can't remember the name of the street, but just drive around a while, follow the bright lights in the sky and you'll find them. And they're free!

Happy Tuesday everyone, and welcome to the Christmas season!

Frustrating Day

Well, yesterday was a frustrating day. Had big plans for cleaning out the garage, building shelves, organizing . . .

And whilst I was doing that, the nice man from Bell Satellite TV would install the stuff necessary for my evening entertainment. Hell's Kitchen was on last night, and I was kinda looking forward to, if not seeing it, at least recording it for later viewing pleasure.

Now I've been a patient guy. My original date for the completion of the promised "smooth transfer" of my Bell services, was last Wednesday. But, as you know, my receivers and television were on a truck somewhere between here and Churchhill at that time. As such, I was told the friendly and helpful Bell installer would not come to the house, and I would have to wait one week.

Fair enough.

So yesterday, with my television and receiver firmly in place, I awaited the installer, who arrived a little later than expected. Fair enough. We're all busy.

A few things here you might not know about the "smooth transfer" of your satellite service with Bell. First off, the installer is apparently not allowed to set foot on your roof. Too dangerous. So if your dish is not near the edge or your roof, you may be expected to help out a little, if you want satellite service.

Second, your installer is allowed to drill one hole for free. Then he will charge you for any additional holes that need to be drilled to facilitate installation of the necessary cables in your home. Interesting.

Oh, and if you have any illusions about the cables being hidden in the walls, exiting at appropriate places with nice, neat face plates, forget about it. I was told that if you want that kind of thing, you need to hire an electrician prior to the arrival of your Bell installer whose job, apparently is to then screw the cable into the dish.

Anyhoo, back to yesterday. Behind the new house, two of my neighbours to the south have very tall poplar trees. These things are apparently directly in the path that leads from my satellite dish to the Bell satellite in space. As such, I can not get sufficient signal strength for a proper installation. (And that's without any leaves on the tree. Leaves, the installer told me, make things even worse!)

My installer friend discovered this by hooking up a small computer to the dish to gauge signal strength. He didn't need my TV or receiver to do it. My installer friend also told me that, maybe, if the dish was on the peak of the roof at the other end of the house, we might get a stronger, adequate signal. He was skeptical, as the trees in that sight line were even taller than the current ones. But, as he's not allowed to set foot on the roof, he couldn't really check it out.

He then suggested I talk to my new neighbour about, perhaps, lopping 20 or so feet off the top of a couple of his 80-foot poplars. Um, yeah.

Or maybe I could install a pole somewhere that would be tall enough to put the satellite dish in a position to see over those trees. Bell doesn't do that, nor does it manufacture or supply said pole, I was told. I'd have to do it, dig a trench for the cable and then set up another appointment for the installer to come back and hook it all up.

So . . . the installer left. I'm stuck with a useless Bell HDPVR, and another useless Bell HD receiver, both purchased in the last year and a half. I'm not happy about it.

So I call Bell customer service. No, they won't buy the receivers back. But hey, Bell, in its infinite graciousness, has waived the 30-day penalty for cancelling my service. Wow! The helpful customer service rep informed me that she would cancel the service, effective yesterday and I would receive a refund for the remainder of the month.

Um . . . wait a minute. I haven't had service since Nov. 1, when I moved out of the home in Thompson. What exactly am I paying for? Sorry, I was told, but I'd still have to cough up the dough for those 10 days.

I will admit, I became somewhat indignant. But I explained that, as I have not had access to the service for those 10 days, and as I had an appointment for installation a week ago, and as Bell was unable to supply service now, there was not a snowball's chance in hell I would be paying for those 10 days. After a little discussion, the customer service rep agreed.

She then told me that she and a supervisor had looked over the report from the friendly installer that came to my home, and they'd determined he might have done some things incorrectly. And maybe, just maybe, a more senior installer could still make this work.

She asked me what would be a convenient time for the senior installer to come out and have a look.

"Today," I replied.

Well, she said, the first available time is a week from today, next Wednesday.

So, we finished up our conversation, and I started looking at options. MTS TV, Shaw cable, Shaw satellite.

And, to make this long story just a tad shorter, I found Shaw satellite (whose satellite in space is in a more convenient, treeless direction) has a better deal anyway. So the Shaw guys are coming out tomorrow to install my new service. And once that's up and running, I will contact Bell, tell them to give the senior installer a rest and then put my receivers up for sale.

All of this, by the way, took up the better part of my day. Thus, my big plans for today include cleaning out the garage, building shelves, organizing and pausing at 11 a.m. to Remember . . .

Have a great Remembrance Day.

(Oh, and if you know anyone who's looking for a Bell HDPVR, let me know)

Brain Vomit

Well good morning.


It's 3:40 in the blessed a.m. and I am awake . . . yet again.


But it's all good. I'm in the lobby of the Canad Inns Portage La Prairie. I am no longer in Thompson.


After a whirlwind month of selling the house in Thompson, travelling to Portage and buying a new house here, returning to Thompson and packing up, we're back here to stay. And so far it feels pretty good.


This is part of the RCMP lifestyle, I suppose. And it takes some getting used to. But we're getting there.


So, a theme for today . . . I don't know. So much has happened in the last six months and yeah, I know I haven't been writing. And I guess it's because I haven't really been at peace. Life had, and has, been turned if not upside down, at least a little off kilter.




I write best when I'm at peace, or when something really ticks me off. (I was gonna say p*sses me off, but the parental controls on this hotel computer are really touchy).


Anyhoo, leaving Thompson yesterday was bittersweet. It's nice to be leaving, but we had to say goodbye to the best neighbours, best friends, we've met since we began this little RCMP adventure. If you happen to be reading this, you know who you are. We miss you already.


But Thompson, MB, was not our favourite post, for a number of reasons. The isolation, the taxes, the generally depressing atmosphere . . . I could and probably will write more later. This post, my friends, is more about clearing my head. Which is why there really is no theme today. My brain needs to vomit and I just need to write.


So, with that in mind, let's talk about in-car DVD players.


I was always one of those dads that preached against them. "Kids don't need that. Stifles the imagination, kills creativity, teaches them to be entertained and not to seek their own entertaintment, blah, blah, blah."


Yeah, to an extent, I still believe that. But on an 8-hour drive from Thompson, to Portage La Prairie, the "I Spy" game goes something like this:

"I spy, with my little eye, something that is green."


"Is it a tree?"




"Yeah Daddy! Your turn."



"Um, okay, I spy with my little eye, something that is . . . um . . . green."



"A tree! Okay, my turn . . . I spy with my little eye, something that is green."



Gets a little tedious after the first hour or so. And yeah, we've made that drive five or six times in the last year and a half. So I broke down and bought the DVD player for the final drive. My sleep bank was depleted, my patience thin . . . it was a good decision.



Sonwun and Sontoo enjoyed Toy Story, Toy Story 2 and Cars. And Daddy enjoyed 8 hours without a single fight and only a tiny bit of whining. Nice!



And the brain vomit just keeps coming . . .



As we planned the move, sold and bought houses, we tried our best to get possession dates to match. And we did. Nov. 1 is possession for the new owners in Thompson and possession for us here in Portage. We planned to pack up the house Friday, drive Saturday, spend two nights in the hotel and meet our worldly goods at the new house Monday. The RCMP likes this, according to the IRP (Integrated Relocation Policy). And so did we. But . . .

The best laid plans . . . On Friday, after about 80 per cent of our stuff was packed on the moving truck, I was chatting with the driver. And he told me that our stuff would not be arriving until Monday, the following Monday, Nov. 8. News to me. And not good news.

We'd packed for a weekend. Not a week. Neomom's work clothes were packed away on the moving truck, and she was expected to start work Wednesday. Yeah, we'd have a house, but very little to put in it for a week.

But we're gonna make the best of it. It's so much easier to paint an empty house, do those minor repairs and maybe build that fence in the back yard. Good plan, if I had my tools. But I don't. They are, to the best of my understanding, somewhere between here and Churchhill, MB, on a truck, with everything else.

But hey, we're in a nice hotel, with a nice pool and waterslide for the boys and we'll probably get some painting done, as brushes and rollers are relatively inexpensive. The fence will just have to wait.

Oh, and did I mention that sister in law and her manfriend (are we getting too old for boyfriend?) will be arriving Wednesday? Yeah, we kinda figured on having a house set up for the arrival, you know, complete with a table and chairs for eating. Now? Well, we'll just play this one by ear. Be nice to see them regardless. Hope they don't mind camping out on the floor too much.

Well, Neomom's up and has joined me at the hotel computer in the lobby. So I must go now. Will write more later. So much stuffed into my head that needs to flow out through my fingers.

Later. And Happy Sunday!!

Sleep and the Band Aid

Oh, I wish I could sleep a little more. Should try to go back to bed right now, but I know my head will just keep swimming in a sea of plans, responsibilities, what ifs . . .

Hello all. Been a while, once again. I know. So let's catch up.

First off, we're being transferred out of Thompson, Manitoba. We're moving 8 hours south to Portage La Prairie, Manitoba. This morning in Thompson it is -1C. In Portage, it's +3. So much warmer down south.

Sold the house in Thompson, officially, last night. But here's the catch. Possession date is November 1. So that means today I must book flights for the House Hunting Trip (HHT according to the RCMP IRP). Must catch said flight Sunday morning and begin house hunting Monday.

If all goes well, we will have purchased a new home by Friday, fly home Saturday and then there are four days until the movers arrive to pack everything up.

In the meantime, we must satisfy all paperwork requirements of the RCMP IRP (Integrated Relocation Program), contact service providers such as gas, electricity, satellite, telephone, internet, mail and everyone who mails things to us. Where's that list??

Must close down life in Thompson, begin new life in Portage. It's daunting, I admit, at the best of times. But to pull it all off in a couple of weeks . . .

It's like a giant band-aid and we're gonna thoroughly test the "rip it off quick" theory. More intense pain, but for a shorter period of time.

Must pull Sonwun from Kindergarten, register him in Kindergarten.

Must empty all gas from gas-powered tools (snowblower, rototiller, lawn mower) for the move.

Must pack for HHT.

Must pack for move. Must make 8-hour drive with two kids, cat and dog.

Must say good-bye to best neighbours we've ever had.

Must meet with mover.

Must find home for dog and cat while on HHT.

Must not go insane.

Sleep would help. Need sleep. Should go back to bed right n . . . .

What happens if . . .?

So Sonwun wanders into the kitchen the other day. His eyes are full of tears. He's sobbing and he's carrying his Wii wheel.

Yeah, it's been raining a lot the past week or so here in Thompson, so he's been polishing his Mario Kart skills a little more than I'd like to see. But, to be honest, the video games have given me a peek inside his little mind. And I'm fascinated.

He's sobbing because he erased his driver's licence and lost all of his medals. This is a big problem because I have no idea how he did it, or if it's fixable. So I ask him what he did. And, without missing a beat, he takes me through a series of menus in Mario Kart that ends with a button that says "Erase Licence."

I had no idea it was there and if you asked me today, I'm not sure I could find it again. But he could. Even though he can't read yet, he recognizes the shapes and colours of the different buttons and retains the patterns in his head. It is actually kind of amazing.

Anyhoo, turns out this is not fixable so he must start again. Lesson learned, I hope.

Now this got me to thinking. As a parent, I often ask this 4-year-old the typical, probably stupid, question that all parents seem to ask of their children at some point . . . "What were you thinking??"

I mean, when you hear laughter from the dining room table and enter the room to find the dog and walls covered in yogurt, what else can you say? "What were you thinking??!!"

When he winds up with his plastic baseball bat and takes careful aim at his younger brother's head, you gotta ask. When you see him walking toward the electrical outlet with a fork, you gotta ask. And when you see him hauling his tricycle to the top of the slide, and then standing on the seat at the top, you gotta ask.

But Mario has given me the answer. Sonwun is thinking the same thing he is always thinking: "What happens if . . .?"

It is his mantra, his philosophy, his raison d'être. It is the way he learns.

And you can see it in Mario Kart. While I'm content to race around the track, Sonwun is always bumping into walls, driving off the course, painting outside the lines, if you will. Why? Because he wants to know what happens if . . .

And I'll tell you what happens. He finds shortcuts, secret places and boosts that give him an edge over me. He learns, he gets better and he teaches me things.

Sonwun is teaching me, for example, that his philosophy is a good one. It makes life interesting. Honestly, how boring is your life if you stop asking the question? Is that when you stop living and start the slow march to the big dirt nap?

The world, to Sonwun, is new and fascinating. I am watching him and I can see that every day he craves new experiences, new answers to the same question. What happens if . . .?

In the adult world, in business, in the board room, in the lab, we call this Thinking Outside the Box and we revere those who are good at it. They are the business leaders, the great artists, the ones finding cures for disease. But they're only doing what my 4-year-old son is doing. What happens if . . .?

So yeah, it begins with Mario Kart. Sometimes you erase your driver's licence, sometimes you find a shortcut. But you keep trying, you keep driving where you "shouldn't," and you keep asking yourself, What happens if . . .?

It's a great philosophy.

Because a Little Bug Went Ka-Choo!

It always starts with something small.

I know this because I've read "Because a Little Bug Went Ka-choo!" to my boys. It starts, as expected, with a little bug sneezing. That little sneeze puts into motion a chain of events that sees, among other things, a chicken getting wet, a turtle falling into a lake, a farmer having a bucket land on his head and a boat almost sinking. It ends with that boat flying into town and disrupting a circus parade. Read it to your kids, you'll see. Good book.

And I know this because, in my first home, I tried to recaulk the bathtub. And it ended with an entire bathroom renovation, complete with a brand new toilet, as I put the hammer through the old one while removing baseboard.

Anyhoo, this time around, it began with Sonwun finding a tiny flaw in the wallpaper. He chose to make it a little less tiny. Some would say huge.

And so, while bargain hunting one Saturday morning, Neomom found a couple of gallons of the perfect colour of paint needed to replace said flawed wallpaper. Great! For about $20, we could fix this unsightly problem and life would be good.

But, as is often the case with a 60-year-old house, those that have done renovations over the years have not always had the skill, or desire to do them properly. And a little bug went ka-choo!

So we peeled off the old wallpaper. We found few flaws in the wall that, apparently, those that installed the wallpaper, were trying to hide. No big problem. Nothing a $10 bucket of drywall compound and a few hours of work couldn't fix.

Oh, and the wallpaper went behind the door trim, so we had to pull that off. It's old, it's chipped and, if we're gonna do the job right, it should be replaced. A few more dollars for new trim . . . and a bucket of white paint to paint it. (Not on sale).

And then Neomom noticed that, you know, with the new colour in the stairwell leading to the rec room, if we painted the one wall down there with the new paint (hey, we had 2 gallons, why not!) it would look so much nicer. (A new roller or two, a little tape, no big deal).

And so we did. We pulled that baseboard off the wall, in order to paint it properly, and, in the process, decided it too should be replaced. But not just on that wall. I mean it has to match the rest of the room and the previous renovators had used door casing as baseboard anyway . . . so . . . 100 feet of baseboard . . . a few more dollars. And a little bug went ka-choo!

Meanwhile, upstairs at the original wall, I had removed the door, which has 21 lovely glass panes in it, and leaned it up in the mudroom while I worked on the door frame and trim.

Now, the good news here is Sontoo did not get hurt. But he did find the door and decided it shouldn't be leaning against the mirrored closet doors in the mudroom. So he pushed it over.

More good news here. Not one of the 21 panes of glass in the door was broken. The mirrored closet doors, however, shattered as the falling door bounced up into them. Sooo . . . $200 to replace the mirrored closet doors.

Now, we're still in the middle of this little project and praying we've found the last of the surprises. My next purchase will be a little antihistamine for that freakin' bug.

I hope to put the door back in place this morning, which will, knock wood, eliminate the chances of it getting knocked through something else of value.

I also hope to paint the last of the 100 feet of baseboard in the garage today and install it in the rec room early next week.

"And that's how it happened. Believe me. It's true. Because . . . just because . . . a small bug went ka-choo!

A Matter of Perspective

To me, it was the most craptacular, run-down, unsightly, depressing excuse for a carnival I've ever seen.

To Sonwun and Sontoo, it was "the bestest thing ever!!"

It's all a matter of perspective.

Last night, we loaded up the mini-van o' fun and headed to the parking lot at the big mall in Thompson. The carnival was in town! Rides, games and the most unhealthy food too much money can buy! Wahooooo!

But it's about the kids, right? They haven't seen too many carnivals (thank goodness) so the lights, the rides and the cotton candy all came together in a sugar-fuelled evening of spectacular fun.

The boats, at least, looked like boats!

We started off small, with the Boat Ride. You know, a dozen little boats on a track that the young-uns sit in and pretend to steer while going in circles. They enjoyed it, and it only cost me three tickets per child ($5.10 in total).

Roller coaster fun!

And then it was the mini roller-coaster. Bigger fun, more tickets. ($6.80 total). They really liked that one. Sure, it was depressing to me. I mean, the little cars looked like they were made in metal shop at the high school, about 50 years ago. Not kidding. I mean, the carnivals I've been to in the past at least try to make the mini-coaster look like something . . . a dragon, clown cars . . . SOMETHING.



But these things were little metal boxes, powered by a visible electric motor, tethered by an electric cord to a power source in the middle of the circuit.

Did the boys care? Hell no! It was a ride, it went up and down, it went "fast" and it lasted long enough for the carny to enjoy a full cigarette. It was awesomeness incarnate.

The Swing! Sonwun said it was the most fun!

The sights! The sounds! The smells! We wandered about for a while, carefully dodging the puke piles on the pavement, that no one seemed too concerned about cleaning up. We stopped to watch as a carny splashed several buckets of water into the "Salt and Pepper Shaker" ride, to wash out the puke left by a rather green rider.

We bought a couple of slushies, some candy apples, a dozen mini donuts and a bag of cotton candy. The supper of champions!

All in all, the boys had a blast! And the smiles were more than worth the roughly $60 I dropped for this entertainment.

But all good things must come to an end. And so, still vibrating on the sugar-filled festivities, we headed back to the mini van o' fun . . . only to discover someone (not mentioning any names Neomom) had locked the keys inside.

No big deal, the boys had enough sugar on board to walk to Winnipeg. Home is much closer.

So we walked home and discovered we'd locked it up tight, necessitating a little break-and-enter: a perfect end to a night of fun in Thompson!

"The bestest thing ever!"

Diaper-Free Days ahead . . .

Ah, potty training. I forgot just how interesting it can be.

But I must say, Sontoo is doing very, very well. And why wouldn't he? He wants to do what Sonwun does at all times. And that includes the potty action.

We've been following the same program we used for Sonwun. We introduced the concept with Alyssa Satin Capucilli's book, "The Potty Book for boys," about a week ago. Worked for Sonwun, why not Sontoo?

The first couple of days were a little slow. He peed freely in his new "big boy" undies and did not seem too concerned about it. But on Thursday, we had our first success. And we celebrated like he'd cured cancer. High fives all around, hugs, excited talk and a few M&Ms for the effort. He liked that.

And things have gone well ever since.

Yesterday we enjoyed our first accident-free day. This morning, he woke up with a dry diaper (yeah, we still put him in a diaper for sleeping) and made for the potty first thing.

And, after he'd had breakfast this morning, he dropped a deuce in the potty and was very excited to share the news. Gotta say it ain't easy to leave a nice warm plate of bacon and eggs to go and view his work. But he insisted, of course, and I put down the fork to go and appreciate his "gift," and join in the celebratory dance.

(I'll spare you a picture of this event. Although Sontoo would certainly want one posted. You're welcome.)

Wasn't easy to go back for breakfast after that, but it's the price you pay, for never having to buy diapers again.

Neomom is already re-arranging his room, in her mind, sans change table. That will be a good day.

Anyhoo, that's the excitement in Thompson this morning.

Have a great Tuesday!

Ospwagan

Sunday . . . weather looks good . . . Ospwagan Lake beckons.



But first, a few updates. Sonwun had his cast removed Friday. YAY! The bone appears to have healed properly and he can now fully enjoy the little pool in the back yard, his bicycle and the beach. These are a few of his favourite things.

I was proud of him. When we went to the hospital, we discovered the saw they use to cut the cast was old and extremely noisy. This can be a little terrifying for a four-year-old. I could see he was concerned with the process, but he did not pull away or protest. Makes a dad proud.

Sontoo is also making his dad proud. After a stuttering start to the whole potty training festival, he seems to be catching on to the game. He's letting us know when it's time and, last night, he had his first poop on the little chair. I see diaper-free days in the near future and I like it!

Anyhoo, don't know if I mentioned it, but we've discovered a new place to play up here. Ospwagan Lake is about 10 minutes outside of town. It's big, it's beautiful and it's not as populated as Paint Lake Provincial Park.

It seems everyone in town goes to Paint Lake on the weekends. And fair enough. It's got a nice beach, a marina, camping, fire pits, a proper boat ramp and plenty of fish. But EVERYONE goes there.

When I fish, or hike, I like a little wilderness feel; a little solitude. Ospwagan offers these things, along with decent fishing and the chance for our dog to enjoy the water.

I'd kill for a canoe so that I could load up the family and explore more of the relatively untouched shoreline. Right now, we're kinda limited to what we can navigate on foot. Which is still great. The boys love wandering the rocky shoreline, looking for cool rocks and crayfish. I like casting from shore, but would love to get out a little deeper in search of bigger fish.

In time . . .

Anyhoo, Sonwun will enjoy his first day of cast-free adventure at Ospwagan today. Sontoo will enjoy peeing free in the great outdoors.

So that's the plan.

Have a great Sunday!

This week . . .

Well, happy Thursday!

One more day until Sonwun gets his cast off. We're all looking forward to it.

While it hasn't slowed him down too much, Sonwun has been frustrated that he can't completely grip the monkey bars, or the handlebars on his little bike. And he hasn't been thrilled with the bag we've had to put on the arm for playing at the beach, or in the little pool in the back yard. One more day . . .

In other news, Sontoo has begun his potty training. The first two or three days have not gone well. He just isn't too concerned about peeing in his undies. He just lets things go and then announces, "I had a accident."

But this morning, we had our first success. After soiling three pairs of underwear, he found his way to the potty and let fly. We made a big fuss, gave him a little reward and he seemed genuinely excited with the success. So we'll see how that pans out.

Let's see, what else? Oh yeah, I got my Pleasure Craft Operator Card this week. And that means I'm allowed to do what I've been doing since I was 16: drive a pleasure craft on the water.

Can't say I'm too thrilled about having to get it. To me, it just seems like another tax, because that's what it is.

I had to read 8 "modules" covering everything from mandatory equipment for various boat sizes, to what a whole mess of buoys mean, depending on size, location and colour combination. Most of it was either obvious stuff I was well aware of (don't drink and boat, don't smoke while filling the gas tank, wear a lifejacket) or it was crap that will never likely mean anything to me, (such as which wind speed qualifies for a storm warning as opposed to a small craft advisory) as all of my boating takes place on inland lakes.

But, under the law now, I must have this little card that says I passed the little test.

So why do I see it as just another tax? Well, I completed it all on line, which suggests to me that the government doesn't take it all that seriously. Sure, I was required to have a "supervisor" watch me take the test and make sure I didn't cheat. The supervisor could not be a family member. My neighbour Dave stepped in.

The test consisted of 36 multiple choice questions and, having read all eight modules once over, it took me about four minutes to complete. I did not cheat.

The time allowed to take the test is 45 minutes. So, if someone wanted to cheat, this gives them plenty of time to look up the answers . . . easily. I mean, it's multiple choice. You either know the answer or you don't. And there's only 36 questions.

This tells me the government is more concerned with collecting the $40 or so dollars for the "lifetime" operator's card than it is with people actually knowing this vital material.

So the federal government got its cash, I got my licence. yay.

Anyhoo, that's been the week so far. I have another story, but I don't yet know how to tell it without offending anyone. I'll keep working on it.

Have a great day!