MenGetPregnantToo

Peer Pressure is Tricky, Even for Little Magicians

It's 'Fun Week' at school; each day, a different theme.
Today: dress as your favorite celebrity.

The Boy is 7-years-old, and in grade one. His wardrobe consists of short-sleeve t-shirts, long-sleeve t-shirts, and a collection of pants; most of which are ripped at the knee.
He asked me yesterday about today's theme.
"Dress like your favorite celebrity." I told him.
His answer: "What's a celebrity?"
"A famous person." I explained.

He stared at the crown moulding in the living room; I could see him working it through:
Who do I know who's famous?
What would they wear?
What do I own which could resemble the wardrobe of someone famous?
After all, he's 7.

His Halloween costume for the past two years has been that of a robot and a that of a make-shift Lighting McQueen; both constructed in our basement from cardboard boxes, spray paint and odds and sods from Dollarama. Not only would they not be recognizable as famous (admittedly, my Lighting McQueen guise resembles a soap box as much as it does a race car),  they would probably never fit through the classroom door.
I considered lending him a shirt, tie, and glasses and sending him as Walter Cronkite, but that would probably be lost on everyone.
Finally, my wife had the brilliant idea of sending him as Houdini; my son loves magic, and he owns an adorable blue felt top hat, a small tuxedo jacket, and at least two magic wands I'm aware of (as well as a collection of sticks he insists on keeping in the garage in the event we run out of firewood).
He agreed that was a fine idea.
He snubbed the suggestion of 'The Great Bodanski' moniker purely, I think, because it wasn't his idea; I thought it had a nice ring to it.

This was all last night.
The rising sun brought with it doubts and fears.
I laid out his clothes for him, minus the jacket and hat which I told him he should put on only after breakfast, lest they get stained.
As departure for school approached, he became weepy...
"I'm too tired to dress up." he said with a sniffle.
"That's OK," I said, sensing his reluctance "You don't have to dress up if you don't want to."
His bottom lip protruded like a sill under a rainy window.
Saying nothing more I helped him with his coat and boots, walked him to the car, and took my place behind the wheel.
The pout matured into the beginnings of a genuine cry.
"What's the matter?"
"I don't know...it's just because I don't want to dress up..." he said.

I knew what was going on here.
Background: last Thursday he was unsure whether it was "Fancy Day"; to cover his tracks, he wore a shirt and tie (and sweat pants since he had gym class, as well); it was not Fancy Day, and he hid in his locker while he removed his tie, lest he be ridiculed.
Today he did not want to risk dressing up and being in the minority. Nor did he want to hazard being the only Grade Oner with no costume at all.
I offered an out: "How about I run into the house and put your jacket, hat, and wand into a bag. Then if you see people are dressed up, you can put on the outfit."
"OK." he conceded.

By the time I returned to the car, his mood had changed entirely.
Equipped with a concealed magician disguise, he could confront whichever 'celebrities' awaited him in the primary school hallway, or not.

And this is only grade one.
What lies ahead for this sensitive soul? Will he be comfortable on the athletic playing field? Will his grades be too strong, or too weak, and draw attention? What about acne? The wrong Hairstyle? Body odour?
Full disclosure: I figure skated for 17 years. I remember walking to high school with an athletic bag for my skates and a garment bag for my outfit. Kids could be brutal.
Fortunately, the friendships I formed at the rink supported me and rebuilt any character which had been chipped away in the school yard.
My defence mechanism became sarcasm and humor, which sometimes got me in trouble - luckily, I was a fast runner.

He is much like me; yet he is - and will even further become - his own person.
Watching him navigate the years ahead will be at the same time: scary, fascinating, exhilarating, perplexing, memorable...and magical.

 

 

FatherDaddy has been redesigned for easier viewing. (i.e. I haven't the time to update my wardrobe, so I freshened-up my blog instead.)

I Have an Idea: Let's Turn "I Said, Get Your Pyjamas On!" Into a Drinking Game.

Make it a game, right? Isn't that what "they" always say one should do as a cure for tedium, or to motivate children, or to achieve targets at work?...Just 'make it a game'....like bowling.
I used to play weird little games with myself as a teenager: should I call that girl I have a crush on? How about I crumble up this piece of paper, remove myself by ten paces from the waste basket, and take ten shots. If six of them land in the garbage, I'll call; if not, I'll just smile at her during algebra tomorrow.

Of course, my head and my heart knew which result was preferred, and, more often than not, I would alter the rules of the games as I went along to achieve the desired result: if I missed the first three shots, I would assume the target was unrealistic; I would move forward by two steps and start again. I always ended up making the phone call; palms sweating, nervously pacing, still taking shots at the basket to have something towards which I could focus my nervous energy.

25 years have passed, and the games have changed.

Like the Olympics back then, the traditional sports reigned: gymnastics, track and field. Now, it's a new generation: X-Games, snow-cross, extreme sports.
That's my household as we attempt to maneuver the children; whether into the car, or up to bed: extreme sports.
They'll do anything if you dangle a bowl of ice cream or a movie in front of them. I once came this close to convincing my 4-year-old to install our winter tires by bribing her with cookie dough. But, alas, it wouldn’t be good for her health to dangle that in front of her every day...would it? Besides, I'm convinced she left the lug nuts loose on purpose.
Instead, we rely on the grand tradition practiced by parents for hundreds of years: repetition, and yelling.

Regardless of how many favorite activities, foods, and quality one-on-one time they've had during the day; ignoring the level of fatigue which had them falling asleep while chewing their supper; they never want to put on their pyjamas nor brush their teeth. It's a cruel world: I always want to put on my pyjamas and brush my teeth...always. Right now, it's 10:46 am EST, and I'd love nothing more than to put on my pyjamas and brush my teeth. Unfortunately, I'm sitting in the middle of a television newsroom which incorporates a strict dress code and employs trained security officers.

So, let's make it a game.
What kind of game could I construe which would convince them to prepare for bed without including sugary treats (they are, after all, about to brush their teeth, and their oral health must be taken somewhat seriously), and without promising expensive vacation packages? (There would be no point promising the vacation package; we would simply find ourselves in a deluxe condo on a ski hill, still yelling at them to put on their pyjamas and brush their teeth.)
Hmmm....I'VE GOT IT!!! The game need not be for their benefit; how about making it a game for me?
Here's how it will work:
Before bed, I will line up, on my kitchen counter, all my favorites: bags of chips, bottles of beer, glasses of wine, and - yes, the ultimate irony - a couple of pints of ice cream.
I will ask them to please go upstairs and put on your pyjamas, and brush your teeth.
Each time they ignore me completely: one handful of food, one gulp of beverage.
Each time they actually ease themselves towards upstairs, but get distracted along the way and need a reminder: one gulp of beverage or one handful of food.
Each time they whine and cry they are not tired, and become openly defiant: two gulps of beverage, and one handful of food...you know what, let's make that two of each if they actually shed tears.

Photo Credit

By the time they are actually in bed, asleep, in their pyjamas, with their teeth brushed, I will probably have consumed enough alcohol and fat that I could hibernate through the rest of the winter season and awake when it's warmer. Then, at least, they will no longer need to put on pj's; they can sleep in their underwear - one step saved.
Of course, in my comatose, stuffed-drunk state, I will probably be a stinky pile on the living room floor, and awake to my wife telling me to go upstairs, put on my pyjamas and brush my teeth.
I'll just ignore her, explain the rules of the game, and steer her towards the stale buffet in the kitchen.

 

 

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Today's Procrastinator Meeting Has Been Postponed Until Next Week.

If I were president of Procrastinators Anonymous, we would never get around to our first meeting.
I'm officially at a stage in my life when the list of chores, children's needs, and personal projects seems endless. Yet, I haven't learned that ignoring that list is not making it any shorter.
 

Photo Credit

Home:

• Install quarter-rounds along the baseboards
• Paint the kitchen
• Install new moldings
• Finish the edging around the kitchen floor
• Gut the mudroom
• Attach stairs to the back patio door
• Replace the toilet in the basement
• Figure out why the forced-air humidifier unit is not functioning properly
• Update the rest if the household plugs
• Install a light in the T.V. room
• Redo the main floor bathroom
• etc...

Kids:

• Really? Does any parent need to explain what comprises a list of responsibilities towards your children?

Me:

• I used to run; I'd like to run more...
• I finished the first draft of a book: "Men Get Pregnant, Too; Despite Never Pushing a Watermelon Through a Pigeonhole" I'd like to see that through...
• This blog could use a dose of re-design and a scoop of salesmanship.

Did I mention my wife and I could use some alone time?

But, when I have "free" time - which I define as a period during which I have the opportunity to do absolutely nothing - I let it all slide.
What's the key to being a different kind of person? How do 'they' do it? I know 'they're' out there, 'Those People': they wake at 5am to run, they never watch T.V. (or so they say), they tackle at-home projects because, well, "They're not gonna get done by themselves!", they carpool their kids from event to event as though they were part of a speaking tour (hang on, I have to write that down...'look into getting involved in some sort of speaking tour'), and, just when you think that was impressive, you find out they volunteer helping the elderly.

There are words and expressions which could describe me; it really a question of which are apt, and which are exaggerations: lazy, selfish, worthy of a break, unmotivated, over-tasked, distracted....procrastinator?
I think there is some truth to it all. After all we are not only one thing, but rather the sum of many parts.

When I get home later, after the kids are in bed, I should: shower, shave, make my son's lunch, and get a suit ready for tomorrow. But, the Super Bowl is on...I'll probably watch the game and leave the rest for tomorrow morning, which will be a disaster.
Of course, I have a PVR, I could pause the game, complete my little to-do list, then catch-up with the Super Bowl by skipping the commercials...
You know what a solution is for my lassitude? I'm going to mark on the kitchen calendar tasks to be done on specific days: 3 days a week I'll go for a short jog - not too much, just enough to get the blood pumping; 3 days a week I'll write, either for the book, or the blog - not all day, just for a couple of hours; and 1 day a week will be dedicated to household renos - nothing major, just an hour or two to advance the project enough to feel a sense of accomplishment.

There we go; if it's on the calendar it will be harder not to follow through...I'll be sure to do that as soon as I get home today.
Or, at the very latest, tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How 'Hello Kitty' Pushed Me Over the Edge (and other problems with Santa)

First of all, Kitty, f$%k you. (Thank you to a friend of mine from Newfoundland who swears this is the most effective way to begin a serious conversation).
Secondly, you have to wonder if the person/people responsible for this container of Hello Kitty hot chocolate is the same person/people in charge of Design-and-Frustration for The Imaginarium Motorized Marble Race.

Here is my open letter to the Hello Kitty people:

Dear Hello Kitty people,

I live in Montreal, Canada, my city is closer to the North Pole than it is to the equator. To put things in perspective, a phone call to Santa Claus would cost me less than a phone call to a resort in São Paulo, Brazil. But, we’ll get back to Santa in a second.
Januaries in Montreal are brutal; only slightly less brutal than Februaries in Montreal. My two little children, my wife, and I try to make the best of it. I would go so far as to say we appreciate the change of seasons. We make the most of our cold, dark winters: skating, skiing, snow-shoeing, movies under blankets after sunset (which is 4:30 in the afternoon!), and warm cups of hot chocolate guiding marshmallows down our throats like small gondolas of hot pleasure. In fact, I would again go so far as to say sharing mugs of hot chocolate as a family has become tradition among the four of us. In fact, it is such a staple, Santa gave our kids canisters of  Hello Kitty hot chocolate as stocking-stuffers - a great man, that Santa.

This canister brought us many moments of joy: it was kept on a shelf in the pantry specifically chosen because it was within reach of our little 4-year-old girl (who soooo loves her Hello Kitty hot chocolate). She would be proud to show us how she could, by herself, retrieve the snack from the cupboard; like a little puppy retriever. She would then drag a dining room chair into the kitchen, onto which she would hoist herself, putting her within stirring distance of the liquid treat.
You get the idea.

Three days ago, we were once again making the delicious elixir when I began to scrape the bottom of the canister (yes, it was that good - we were already down to the dregs, and Santa had only brought her the gift on December 25th...imagine), and.....poof! The spoon penetrated the bottom of the container, releasing the remaining chocolate dust all over my kitchen counter.
Wow, I thought, I must be really strong to be break through metal with only a spoon and slight pressure my hand. For a moment I was impressed - maybe even a tad frightened - at my own scooping prowess.
The more closely I looked at this cute, pink receptacle, the more I was aware this collapse was not a result of my uncontrolled might, but rather by design. Yes, this casing had two openings. But, these two opening aren't like the two openings into my house - one in front and one on the side - no, these openings are at each end of my Hello Kitty hot chocolate: one on the top, and one on the bottom.
What's funny - or ingenious, depending on your perspective - about these openings is that whether you hold the box with the Kitty upside down or right side up, the openings are still on the top and the bottom...fascinating!
While the average consumer might not notice these opening upon purchase (especially when you don't purchase them, but rather receive them as a surprise from Santa), I suppose their discovery in inevitable, since your spoon will inevitably apply pressure to the opposite end of the canister as you scrape away at the last delicious grains of this treat.

Hellooooo, Kitty!!!

However, we must be mature and put aside, for now, discussions of messy counters and design flaws; there is a bigger issue at hand.
When, in the heat of the moment, I expressed my 'dissatisfaction' with the collapsing container, my daughter (you remember her from earlier in my story? She's the cute 4-year-old? Who loves her Hello Kitty hot chocolate?) asked what the matter was, I said:
"Well, sweetie, whoever built this little box didn't do a very good job. See? There's a hole in the bottom."
"But, Daddy," she exclaimed "We know who built it. Santa did. Remember? It was in our stocking for Christmas. Why would Santa build something with a hole in the bottom?"
"Well, sweetie..." I began  (I love this 'think-fast' conversations, they keep me young) "Santa has sooo many elves to look after, one of them must have made a mistake when Santa wasn't watching."

With that, she got a little spoon from the drawer, hopped back on her chair, and began scooping small heaps of Hello Kitty hot chocolate from the kitchen counter into her little mug. Gotta love kids - unflappable.

So, Hello Kitty, I'll end this feedback with two small points:
Firstly, I realize it's only hot chocolate, and will swiftly be forgotten. Within the universal picture of priorities, we still have our health, our happiness, and our high-speed internet with which we can blog about events such as these. I may even look back and laugh when I prepare hot chocolate with my grandchildren, one day.
But, for now...my second point: F&?% you.

Sincerely,

FatherDaddy.