Holy Hannah I'm gonna be a Hockey Dad...

There comes a time in every Canadian father's life when he rolls over checks that the time on the alarm is in fact correct, shakes off the weariness of a sleep cut short and then wonders deeply, "who the #*$& invented the NHL?!"  He will then endeavor to wake his child to force feed him remicrowaved porridge drenched in maple syrup in a valiant and unsuccessful attempt to mask the flavour.   He will have to bang the frost off the hockey bag stowed carefully along the coldest wall of the garage, away from Mom's keen sense of smell.  Then he'll toss the boy in the trunk, strap the gear into the back-seat, realize his folly, grab his coffee off the top of the car then drive down the road to the nearest hockey rink where he will make a gallant and bleary-eyed attempt to tie skate laces together on the wriggling and writhing wrong foot of an all to ungrateful brat of child.  Finally he will be able to refill his coffee and stare grimly across a dank smelling refridgerator of an ice-rink at boys who can't skate, chasing around a black puck while leaning too heavily on their luxuriously priced hockey-stick which they will outgrow by the end of the season.  As consciousness begins to defrost, he will realize that he's been staring not at his son who is skating circles in his own end, but the "Timbits" logo on the front of the jerseys.  That will remind him the level of coffee in his cup will not be enough to fuel the trip home and he will have to stop yet again in that cattle-train drive-through and add yet another doughnut to the growing girth around his middle.

At least that's how I see it going.  That is my nightmare.  Oh, how I pray I don't become a Hockey Dad.

The oldest unfortunately is shaping up to be a left-handed virtuoso, a marvel of physical achievement, a tour-de-force all compactly wrapped in the 20th percentile height/weight category.  It is with great pride and deep anxiety that I watch this 3yo take to the street to play hockey against the neighbourhood giants.  These eight to twelve year-olds have years of experience on him!  Towering above him, missing teeth, smacking well worn sticks against the pavement, they seek to intimidate and he stares up at them unphased.

"Give me the ball." he demands, and in the next fifteen minutes, he will out maneuver, out run, out play and out score some invisible opponent while chasing a ball he barely gets to touch often in the wrong direction and without worrying about what team he is on.  In those fifteen minutes he will get bowled over, tripped, start a fight with a five year old, and pretty much look like the oft-celebrated goons from the 1970's Summit Series.

How can I NOT put him in hockey this year?

We're a family of nerds raising a jock.  This week I "published" a children's book written in iambic pentameter with illustrations I made myself using an iPad.  I'm a drama teacher.  I play recreational soccer.  I can skate, but I can only turn right, and I can't stop.  I use a hockey stick to hold up the Thai Chili Peppers that grow in my indoor green-house, and I worry that other hockey dads are going to beat me up.  The only reason I know anything about hockey is because I listen to sports radio during my morning commute so that I can at least hold my own in conversation with the arrogant 14yos I teach in middle school who know every player on every roster on every team in the NHL...  and no one is going to want to talk to me, especially since my tiny little 4yo spark-plug is poised to become the next Theoron Fleury (without the unfortunate history, and subsequent torment), while their 6yos are still trying to figure out which part of the jersey is the front.  Who am I to hold him back?

I do worry about the injuries and the life lessons learned by competitive hockey players.  We're all aware of the hazing, and the spinal injuries, but lately all the talk has been the concussions... and good Lord is my son's head large.  But he loves hockey.  He wants it.  As a stay-at-home dad, and a Canadian, it is not only my curse, but my civic duty to support him in this.  Anyone have some old gear I can borrow?

Oh well.  I guess it could be worse; at least I won't ever end up a soccer mom.

Wait... what week is it?

In the life of a stay-at-home parent there comes a time when you only know the day of the week because the school calls to ask why the child has not yet arrived.  Weeks blend into each other, and the day no longer matters as much as the time-of-day.

Remember when the oldest still napped?

 I haven't been doing this for very long, but it has happened. I can't remember if that thing that happened was yesterday, or last week, or happened to a friend of mine... and that's without the sleep deprivation that most mothers enjoy while Dad is catching a few zzz's under his desk at work. I didn't know "Stay-at-home-Dad-brain" was a thing. Maybe it isn't. Problem is I wouldn't remember anyway.

Whaddya mean it's not Hallowe'en?

Perhaps it's just the inevitable result of placating the toddler schedule daily, rather than embracing the onset of early-middle age by doing things that are more age-appropriate. My friends remind me that it's not normal to be out of the house "doing stuff" every day of the week. That the growing middle age spare tire is a natural way of God slowing us down. The laws of causality are often misinterpreted -- we should not be pushing through this degeneration, rather we should remind our children to do this part of parenthood earlier in their lives.

What??!! Oh that'll get me in trouble with the masses. 

Bear with me, this brief anecdote should explain a few things, and then you can go back to wishing you were younger when your children are hanging off your knees begging you to "play with them." I was 10 at my dad's 30th birthday party. Old enough to be helpful, but not too old to be any trouble. That made me 20 at his 40th. Old enough to be trouble, but young enough to think it was cool to be there with my girlfriend. That made me 30 at his 50th. Young enough to respect my elders, and old enough to keep my mouth shut... It really was the perfect system. He was my soccer coach for years, but as an adult, we often found ourselves on the same men's team. Did I find it awkward yelling for a pass from my Dad, yes... okay... but... I just started calling him by his first name, and people just started assuming he was my brother. He was the unruly one at my stag, and he still bikes 15km uphill to see his grandson during the week. 

Anyway... what's my point... I don't remember I'm a 33 year old stay at home dad. I'm about 10 years behind where I should be and the silver-streaks are getting clearer by the day. 

 By the way, my dad's birthday's just around the corner. I guess he has taught me something. I guess all that time was worth something. I guess I can be thankful I get all this time with my boys. 

 I think I'm gonna go make him a macaroni necklace.

Thanks Dad.

The End of the First Quarter

"At the end of the first quarter, the score is all tied up and thus far it seems no one
has dropped the ball.  Should we expect more of the same in the second quarter?
This, and more to come after the break..."

How does a dad learn to identify the difference between a common cold and the beginning of a major infection like strep?  We took it pretty easy the last couple of weeks, settled into the school structure, and found some routine.  By all accounts we were aiming for a perfect week, and better yet, the oldest got to have his VIP day at play-school.  Too bad he had a fever, and couldn't do much more than lie on the floor for the morning.  One of the saving graces in it all was that Dad had to be at school with him so when he finally put his head between his knees on the washroom floor we could pack up and go.

But this is just a cold right?

Guns:  You can almost see the smile...

We pushed hard over the weekend, alright, I may have disappeared on a men's retreat to shoot guns and ride horses and reacquaint myself with my masculinity while my wife struggled with her own cold at home with a sick-boy and a 1YO, but hey?  Who's to judge?


By Tuesday the cold hadn't abated, and we found ourselves with a screaming toddler, clutching his ears and shaking because his "breath hurt" and "his brain was making funny noise".

This is just a cold right?

Holistic medicine as per internet instructions here we come!  We can solve this without antibiotic intervention. We're heroes!  Plus we have wireless -  I actually followed this site pretty close to begin with - http://www.ehow.com/how_2308277_treat-earache-toddlers.html .  Please don't judge me.

We got him back to school by Thursday but all was not well with the world, so (as the plan had always been) it was time to go to the clinic and have him checked.

A look in both ears, and the tonsils and we were on our way home for antibiotics for strep.

Ew...

And so, already proud father of the loudest child on the planet, now he's got plugged ears...

But this blog isn't all about mistakes is it?  (As a matter of fact I believe I state in the subtitle that it is...)  Okay fine, here's another one...

Remember, beautiful music and a app enabled phone can make anything look good - proof below:


If a boy looks well after taking Tylenol he probably isn't quite up for a hike yet.
When I say hike, I mean technical, root-protruding, gravel-skreeing, and steep...
When I say steep, I mean switch-back requiring, forehead-grating, tear inspiring...
When I say tear inspiring, I mean Dad must step in and carry all three...
When I say all three, I mean I took the dog too.

Sure, I could have parked at the bottom of the hill and walked 1km to the river.
Or I could have parked at the top of the hill and walked 3km down-hill to the parking-lot and not make it to the river.

No one had any idea how far it was to the river...

See what I did there, I excused myself by pointing out that we stopped before I forced us to make it all the way to the river without even mentioning that I also took the dog.

So with one kid on my back in the Ergo(tm), one kid clinging to my side wearing the Platypus(tm), a backpack reversed on my front, and the dog leash looped over my Wrist(tm) -- wait, I can't (tm) a body part can I? I trudged back UP the hill (Yes dumb-dumb, if you walk the boys down the hill you have to find a way to get back up) proverbial tail between my legs.

The weather and scenery were beautiful and the boys were into it... even if it was a little much.


Why must men always want to do things that are manly?  Especially at times when their manliness is compromised by sickness?  Like even at 33, why do I still play soccer when I'm injured?  Why do I stay up too late on a night I know I'll be up early the next day?  Like watch women's beach-volleyball? 

I have an answer for all that:  Men like to learn, and we learn best when we've lived through our mistakes.

Can you spot the mistake?

Falling Behind - Week 9 and 10

Of course when one decides to do something like make a post once each week one inevitably finds oneself addicted to some TV show released in the 90's that makes a subscription to Netflix somewhat justifiable and then never gets around to actually releasing anything.

Maybe it was because we took such a long holiday.

Lots has happened, don't you worry.  The kids are still alive even if they are bruised. (For future reference -- Coffee Tables, Couch Cushions, and Acrobatics:  On their own; good idea.  Together... not so much)

So there's this thing that happens to children once they arrive home from an extended vacation.  They become bored, listless, and complacent while exercising some newly developed entitlement to all things food or toy related.  It typically manifests itself as a temper tantrum where 3yo exclaims "BUT I DON'T WANT {insert any item or activity here}!" then falls to his knees on the floor wailing and tearing at his clothing.

This is not my fault right?

Day one of our return to routine saw Dad arriving back in the kitchen to son standing IN the refrigerator wondering if there was something interesting to eat.  My son, at three, is checking out the contents of the fridge when he's bored... who knew these things were genetic?

Rather than freak out, I thought (since I had predicted we were but days away from seeing this behavior while we were on holidays) that capturing it on camera would be in my best interest.  So here you go, for your viewing pleasure:

Now... surely this is not a safe activity.  Surely a father, being of sound mind, would not allow this to happen. And certainly not happen again.  Thankfully it seems I am still of sound mind because the boy has not ventured into the fridge at any point since.

"Dad, this is a long 'Do you understand'..." He says while being lectured on his behavior...

Even he sees why the students get tired of me at school...

Anyway it's not like it was going to get worse than this, right?

Tuesday -- the next day -- we are in that giant warehouse sponsored by President's Choice.  Me and the two boys.  All is going well... Pool Noodles (tm) are on sale for 45cents.  I put two under the cart.  Boys are very excited.  Aisles 1-8 go well.

Then oldest gets bored...  with no fridge to return to he hops out of the cart, grabs a pool noodle and makes his little brother laugh.  By hitting him with it.  Then hitting his dad.  Then hitting the lady walking by.

The littlest one can be his own share of devious...

Now... at this point Dad intervenes.  "Darling 3yo" he says in a patient and caring voice.  "You do realize that it is particularly rude to strike passer-bys with your limp foam extension correct?"

Boy laughs maniacally and runs through the produce section looking for victims...

Dad looks at boy in cart and then back at the oldest doing the 50 yard dash past the potatoes.  "Here we go" he thinks to himself.

Now there are three types of people that shop at the grocery store.  Are you person A?
A) "Let him go, he's the only interesting thing happening in the grocery store.

Could you be person B?
B) "Ha ha, he's so cute I don't mind that he's hitting me!"

or person C?
C) "Excuse me sir, is this thing yours?  Do you realize he's been running down the check-out lines hitting people with a pool noodle.  I really do think he should be accompanied by an adult."

Because I met all three people

To A) says I, "Yes, but at some point this is going to get out of hand"
To B) I say "certainly, but he needs to come back and apologize."
To C) I think... "you think an adult should be with him when he's hitting people with a pool noodle?"

Le sigh...

By Wednesday the solution was to get out of errand mode and venture back to the zoo.  The only place on earth where you're safe behind glass when the crazy monkeys are getting ready to be fed!

This one sucks blueberries from the pancakes...

Always the optimist I simply swallowed my tears and assumed that at some point life would return to a semblance of normal.

Oh for the weekend.

Beautiful wife, beautiful life... why does that boy have a stick.?
Have we learned nothing?!

Oh the humanity.  My darling 3YO literally burst blood vessels in his eyes from screaming about not wanting to walk 50 paces more in Comox.  But the frequency of these tantrums was increasing toward the weekend and not decreasing.  At this point I look down at the plastic wrist-band reminder I wish I wore with a "WWSND" engraved on it.  (What would Supper Nanny Do)...

My Mother-in-Law would take them to the fair!

and stick them all in a barrel...

I suggest Golf.

If you need a man to do something for you, hold the prospect of golf over his head.  It works for the 3yo.  It's amazing to watch a small boy with a loud voice go from screaming bloody murder to smiling and saying, "oh, that sounds fun, let's do that" within a fraction of a second when you mention that it is possible that while out at the lake we will be able to go mini-golfing.

And... though probably a poor way of dealing with things, each time the red-rage started to build we would simply point out that golf was on the line.

But you know what... I can still handle an hour of screaming better than most, and I always win.  The failure is in that I have to...

plus... one will learn from the other...

So we head into week 2 home exhausted, a little bit edgy and wondering why we never write stories about the 1yo.  Is he really that boring?

This past week brought the onset of Preschool, which, like the onset of puberty is unpredictable, awkward, and a gateway to incredible changes in your child.

I suspect that the first day of school (ever) is a big day for a lot of people.  Most (if not ALL) of them being women.  I am going to share with you what it was like to be ME (a man) on the first day of school...

"Darling son, it is not a good day to sleep in, you have school..."
"Darling son, it is not a good day to spit your yogurt out on the table, and get upset about not wanting blueberries mixed with your granola, I'm trying to decide if I'm allowed to label these clothes or if we've borrowed them from Mommies friends..."
"Darling son, will you please stop crying about wanting to wear your rubber boots, we have got to get going."
"Darling son, I'm going to start threatening things that I can't possibly follow through on because there's no way in **** we're going to miss the first day of school."
"Darling son, can you please buckle your self in this morning we're going to be late."
"Darling son, must you dawdle in the parking lot, the face that person is making in the truck is not as funny as you think it is..."

"Yes, Darling son, you may go play, and no I'm not going to leave right away there's a parent meeting."

No tears.  No detachment issues.  He hung up his own backpack and settled into the trucks within moments.  Even amidst the other screaming crying child-demons.

Dad exits the building with the lead teacher and the other moms (and dad) that have come for the first day.  Because going outside is part of the new educational philosophy that's Reggio inspired.... blah blah... natural light... blah blah... no plastic... blah blah blah... need some volunteers... blah blah preschool graduation committee... throw up a little in my mouth... blah blah....

I felt bad for not really caring deeply about my 3yo and his education (especially being so involved in education) and I felt bad for not really caring if the blocks he played with were made of wood or plastic, and not really caring if he got to decide when and what he wanted to learn about.

Preschool (it turns out) was all about me... I got two hours at the gym, bracketed by half an hour with my 1YO who yells at me in a much more tolerable way, and smiles with the most beautiful glowing, sparkling eyes.... and this speech was really wrecking my mojo...

Speaking of me... Our DinoTrain sidewalk art was a proud moment...

BUT -- they have signs that say, children should listen, and raise their hands, and be patient, and share toys... and when my boy came home he was excited to tell me about them.  And he's been a saint each day since.

Darn you Reggio inspired preschool and your leadership and training for my 3yo.  Why must you be so effective in the areas I can not be?!

Next week I get to spend the time actually in the preschool with the children.  I am excited.  I don't know if he knows I'm coming yet, or if he'll be able to pick a proper organic show-and-tell item for the day, but who cares... I get to see him at his best among other kids his own age.

And the youngest is learning to be taken care of by the amazing staff at the gym.

I'm not going to lie.  Getting the boy to preschool, particularly the more ridgid structure, is really hard on me. I don't know that my mood at the end of this week really is an honest reflection of how great it was to have a boy old enough to be enjoying some structured school time.  Nor does it reflect the best part of having him there which is the alone time I get with the youngest, counting fingers, making faces, listing body parts, checking out the ladies at the gym... wait... well okay, since I'm being honest, I let him check out the ladies, it's part of a natural healthy mindset for a boy... right?

Also healthy... toddlers learning to make fire.
That's a good idea, right?

Anyway...

An old friend got married this weekend, and the wife and I got an evening away from the kids, but we still spend most of our time talking about them, and missing them and wondering how we ever did with out them... and that's why it's so easy to fall behind on the blog... it means taking an hour or two away from the kids during the best time of life.

Now.

An Alternative Recipe for Art

I wanted to do something a little different and my DW had come across these great vintage pencil sharpeners while antique shopping with a friend in Comox.

A quick visit to Michaels and Ikea and I was ready to try and bring the idea I had to life.

Follow the pictures below if you care to try your own.

1 - Package of Vintage Cardstock from Michaels,
1 - 2$ Photo Frame from Ikea, and
1 - 1$ Toilet Pencil Sharpener (You can get these online!)

Remove glass, and backing from picture frame.

Use the backing as a template for cutting a piece
of the cardstock to size.

Use a basic glue-stick to attach the card-stock to the backing.

It is up to you, if you want to put the glass back in the
frame, or leave it out.  I chose to leave it out.

Use a hot glue-gun to mount the "fixture" - I had to improvise with a tooth-pick
to keep the toilet from sagging once mounted.

Finished product.

Repeat ad nauseum.  Not bad for under $10, am I right?

10th Anniversary - Week 6 through 8

I didn't feel much like a Stay-At-Home Dad the past few weeks because I had a lot of help, and we didn't exactly stay at home.

Ready to Go! (First picture with new camera)

My wife and I celebrated our 10th Anniversary (and our 14th year together!).  In honour of this special event I purchased her a new DSLR and planned a vacation.  The camera is an obvious choice (Nikon D3100) but you're probably thinking that planning a vacation is not all that special.

Although the last time I did that for her, it was our honeymoon, so I thought it was pretty significant.

Which brings me to

FAIL #1:

Planning anything with two active toddlers.

Organizing Toddlers...

If you have found yourself at home with two active toddlers, and you're thinking to yourself I'd like to surprise my spouse with something really special that will require some sit-down, organizational time and planning.  May I suggest hiring a baby sitter?  It really wasn't too bad... but it wasn't like it used to be that's for certain.  Thankfully, and for a change, I started months ahead of time, but the week of packing was the most difficult.

It took two days to pack the van, organize the food, complete the laundry and ensure that the list of items to take was complete.  We were leaving for fourteen days so it was important to be thorough.  Which meant that the boys either had to play IN the van while it was being packed, or they had to play IN the suitcase while it was being packed.

It happened though, and we didn't leave anything or anyone behind.

Learning to Read

You're anticipating FAIL #2 aren't you...

You're thinking that long road trips with two kids under four might be too much.  They're actually much better than you think.  We left on a Thursday night and only traveled about four hours from home.

The oldest walked into the roadside motel room (booked on Priceline) and exclaimed "Oh WOW!  This is great!  I really like this Daddy!  They have TWO beds!"  and I said, "Boy, that's exactly how a holiday should start, I now think this place is awesome too!"

FAIL #2

Be consistent.

Bedtime Olympics

The hardest part of the road trip was not the road, but the sleeping arrangements.  For the first four days of the trip the boys had to make a bed in a different place and it was interesting to hear the oldest bubble about how great the trip is, and every night pine for home.  It's a hard predicament; to want to make it all the way out to Vancouver Island from Calgary, see friends on the way, and do it in an efficient but effective manner.  Had we to do it over again I think we might have cut the drive to Whistler out of the trip to let the boys find a  place to set up for two days.  I think two days is all it takes, but a change every night is hard on them.

FAIL #3

You will never fit it all in.

Sorry Hendriks, we didn't get out to see you because you live further away than it looks like on a map of Canada.  The struggle with any big trip to places where you have friends is how do you fit all of it in, and maintain some sanity.  If people can't come to you, which often they can't, then you have to go to them.  If you're always going then you never truly find a rest which is what vacations are supposed to be for, right?

Relaxing Breakfasts

This fail is really only a pseudo fail though, because at the last minute we cancelled plans to travel too much once we got to Comox, and we cut our losses and chose a home near the water to set up shop for six days. By the end of the second day we no longer heard, "can we go home now" from the eldest.

For the Love of the Cowpoke

Part of the trip was for Andrea to see her friends too... It's not ALWAYS about me and the boys, and so we spent some time with our Military connections in Comox (all originally Calgary connections).  These times let my wife out thrift-shore shopping, evening gossip on the harbour, and beach dwelling with friends.

Spray Park Shenanigans

And why would you want to go home?!  The Island is so -- well there's a reason people retire there.  Not a day wasn't filled with some adventure, there is so much to do, and so much to see...

Comox

Lookout

FAIL #4

BC Ferries 

BC Ferries

These will remain a bane in anyone's travels not because of the BC Ferry itself, but because you just never know what is going to happen when you get there.

Attempt number 1: 

a) No Reservations - Justification:  we might want to spend an extra day in Whistler after we get there.  Prediction came true, so I look smart.
b) Wake up early enough to make the 10am sail - Justification:  We'll have lots of time to settle when we get to Comox.  Prediction came true, so I look smart.
c) No Alarm - Justification:  I have two kids under 4, who needs an alarm to get up early.  FAIL: Blackout curtains and late nights mean sleep in mornings for all.  I look like an idiot rolling over at 10 after 8 saying, "everybody up, we were supposed to leave a half hour ago!"

We made it to the ferry just in time... to sit at the ticket window because they'd closed the line ups one car before us.  Stress and anxiety abound for about ten minutes when the next sail opened up.

Unanticipated lucky break:  I didn't realize that you don't reserve every sail, and there was a boat leaving immediately after the one that I thought we'd missed.

Hunter Gatherers

Attempt number 2:

a) Reservations - Justification:  we need to be in Abbotsford by 3:30pm on a Sunday for dinner with relatives.  This is true, the extra money to reserve was worth it.
b) Wake up early enough to leave Comox to get to Nanaimo at least 30 minutes before sail to make the reservations.  This is true, we were good.
c) Plant a tree - When staying with people who have no kids for six days, no matter how much they love your kids, buy them something significant to remember why they never want to do that again...  then plant it.  Gift was well received but it pushed back the schedule
d) Buy gas - You'll need it to get to the Ferry.  This is true.  You won't look like a failure if you run out, no matter how expensive you think it might be on the Island.
e) Don't tell your wife what time you need to be at the Ferry - Justification:  she'll just start stressing if she knows that you're starting to run late.  This prediction is true, but can come back to harm you later.

Unanticipated Hiccough:  Simon gets sick on the way out of Comox all over the back seat.  It takes 20 extra minutes to clean up, and we're already late.

We made it to the Ferry (2 minutes late for the 30 minutes ahead of time) but there was a snafu with the ferries and there were traffic managers out in vests directing cars to proper line-ups.

"Do you have a reservation?" she says
"Yes" exclaims I, smirking and feeling smart.
"What time?" says she.
"Why 12:55 of course." replied confidently
"There is no 12:55" curtly responded
"Then 10 after 1?" I shrug
"You can't reserve that sail" she says.
"But I did!" starting to sweat "Maybe it could be 3?" I panic.  "I don't know let me find the reservation..."
"Here's your ticket for the line-up" she says. "If you figure it out, perhaps they'll let you pull out to the front."
"Thank you" I swallow all pride and start to drive.

And 500 cars later we're on the outskirts of Nanaimo wondering what is wrong that we're all the way back here.

STRESS.  ANXIETY.  DISAPPOINTMENT.

I pull out to speak to another traffic agent:

"Hey, I have a reservation here, it's for 12:15.  We were put in the wrong line up"
"Too bad"
"Pardon me what?!"
"You have to be in the line a half hour ahead of time.  You must be late"
"But I wasn't..."
"You're late.  If you're lucky you'll make the 3 o'clock sail."
"but..."
"get it line please"

STRESS. ANXIETY. DISAPPOINTMENT.

Wife: You idiot.
Me: Yes.
Wife: I'm going for a walk.
Me: Please talk to another agent.
Wife: Fine.
Me: I'll send a text saying we may not make it.

She leaves...

And comes back with a young male traffic attendant who seems extra eager to help this sexy blonde find a way onto the ferry.  He seems taken back when he arrives at the window of the van and she's married with kids.

"I'll radio ahead" says he.
"And you think we can get on?" says I.
"You should be good to go.  You have five minutes before it sails.  GO."
"Thank you." I blurt. "It is so good to know that men's chivalrous inclinations to save damsels is not only still alive and thriving but my wife is still classified as a damsel."

Okay, I didn't say that, but I thought it.

We were the last on the boat.

RELIEF.

Almost home.

Yard Party

Visiting family is always worth the extra effort, and ours is no different.  We arranged with our friends to meet them back at their place in Chilliwack that evening and have one last "Drink in the Hallway"... that's a story for my wife to tell though.

And then we were off to Sicamous for our last two days on the road, and some peace and tranquility... just need to find my wallet... yep, no I'm almost ready to go, but can't find my wallet... no I'm sure it was in the van... did you move it last night... no... no I know it goes in here... did you lock the van... can we look inside again... where's my wallet...

STRESS. ANXIETY. DISAPPOINTMENT.

A comedy of errors led to my wallet being left in the console of the van, the van being uncharacteristically left unlocked, and a errant traveller happening by early in the morning finding that luck had changed...  Fortunately we knew it was stolen because it was being used in Chilliwack as I was on the phone with the bank.

Sans an identity, and without cash we left with our tails between our legs feeling stupid and taken advantage of even though we realized that we had won the "stupid errors add up lottery".  I'm still sorting this one out today...

It was a sour end to the vacation.  And a FAIL we can learn from... but just outside of Salmon Arm there's a phone call that wasn't from the RCMP.  It was our friends from Calgary who just happened to be staying at the same Owlhead Creek B&B that we were going to!

Riding a Horse

Riding Paisley

Guidance

So basically every day of this holiday my boys had someone to play with, and we had other adults around.  Who planned this holiday?  (Have I mentioned I'm perfect?)

All gifts, failures, and moments of stress aside some of the best conversations we have is on the road, and this holiday we focused on one year of our relationship for every day of our travels.  That might have been the best celebration of 10 years we did.  Day one we spoke only of 1998, and by day 14 we opened up 2012. (We actually didn't have much to say about the last five years since it was all so fresh there was no point trying to relive them)... Overall, we realized how much of life we've shared, how much has changed, how much we cherished, and how neither of us can remember 2003.

10 Years More... at the Black Fin Pub, Comox BC

The Perfect Week - Week 5

I'm not ashamed to say that I've learned all that I need to learn about being a stay-at-home dad now.  The only thing left to do is put it in cruise-control and enjoy the road.  I'm not ashamed to say it, because of course it's true.

The perfect week began with a perfect day to be outside, and so we got in the van, pre-loaded with an arsenal of gear, set our sights on finding some water to play in and then started to drive.

Always Bring a Backpack

One of the best parts of living in Calgary is the proximity to... well... everywhere that's not an ocean.  There's Dinosaur Provincial Park just over an hour east.  Kananaskis, and Banff within an hour west.  A few hours south there is Waterton, and a few hours north there is Edmonton... okay, so there's not that much to the north.  But still...

The boys were content.

"Dad, this is a long way to go for water" says the oldest 20 minutes into our drive.

I'd chosen west, thinking perhaps Bragg Creek or Jumping Pound Creek might suit my fancy.  While  admiring the boys in the rear-view mirror I had also happened to glance at the National Park pass that dangled there like a flacid reminder of once-good-intentions.

08/2012

The expiry date indicating that August 2011 was the last time I had been to the Parks.  "You know what?" says I to myself. "I should really make use of that."  And so we were on our way to Banff.

"Dad, I just wanted to go to the Spray Park" the oldest reminds me.

"We're almost there." I reply, and relative to the size of the country, I couldn't feel guilty for lying...

We made it.  I hadn't been to Banff for a long time.  Parts have changed significantly which meant it was a fresh visit for me, and the boys had never been there which meant the playground held a magical significance for them... even though there is one across the street.

See the thing about being Dad is... half of the job is for the kids, and half of the job is for yourself.  Monday began the perfect week because I did what I wanted to do out of pure selflessness...

You can't top Banff on Monday right?  Well no, you can't.  So I didn't try.

My Aunt brought over the youngest cousins on the paternal side; two mentors of destruction for my two boys; the perfect tandem. She left them here for a few hours and so, like a perfect stay-at-home-dad I took all of them for a walk to the park.  The oldest rode a plastic trike that was 3 sizes too small.  The middle, he took a scooter.  My oldest took his bike with the wonky wheel, I pushed the plastic car with the youngest and the dog was in tow.

Not satisfied with the playground though, we decided we were hungry (like a group of men are wont to be) so off to the grocery store we ambled.  Yes... 5 boys and a dog... Because I'm perfect.

There were an awful lot of grumpy people at the grocery store that day.  And considering the beautiful weather and the timing of our visit, I found it really quite distressing -- all this negativity.

Time found the oldest cousin pushing the grocery cart with my oldest in the seat, while the younger cousin sat in the front of the cart pushing the plastic car with my youngest through the store.  I was at the lead like a disturbingly passive Piper of Hamelin tossing produce and provisions to the pledges behind.

Really it could not have gone more better.  Don't know what all the dirty looks were about...

The oldest really wanted to go to the gym this week.  Which is great for me, and for the boys.  So we went.  Because it was the perfect week I decided that it was time for the youngest to go down the Great Blue Water-slide of Doom.  The oldest had long-since become accustomed to the rarefied air and ritual queuing at the starting gate, not-to-mention the extreme speeds reached on the precipitous drops during the ride.  Plus, he had been begging to go on his own for the past little while.  So... with the slightest of nods from the on-duty life-coach relaxed on her deck chair at the top of this perilous monstrosity, off he went unintimidated, upside-down and backward down the slide; little brother watching anxiously from my arms.

I must now pause to mention that the oldest often gets what he wants because the youngest really hasn't learned to express himself properly.  We don't get much more than *sign for:  Please-feed-me-now or *sign fo:  Yes-that-choice-of-food-is-adequate-the-quicker-you-shove-it-in-my-mouth-the-less-volume-I-will-use-to-emphatically-sign-this... and so lest you should think that I favour one over the other, please remember that the youngest only just learned how to walk and I wasn't about to let him go down the slide by himself just so that things were fair.  I'm surprised you'd even expect that!

Food: The Ultimate Learning Tool

Suffice to say, not only did the oldest live, but he refused to get off the slide at the bottom, much to the chagrin of the now "suddenly-I'm-interested-in-the-welfare-of-the-patrons" slide-patrol.  Like this was my fault -- someone should tell her what a perfect Dad I am.

I found myself by Thursday looking back at the week and thinking -- "well, imagine that, it's Thursday and no one has choked, no one has thrown a temper-tantrum, no one has injured themselves, no mosquitoes have feasted, no sunburns, or goose-eggs.  The diaper-rashes had abated, the teeth had emerged, there were moments of quiet serenity in the house.  What could possibly happen before the Heritage Day Long-Weekend?

Nothing happened.  I went into the weekend having pitched the perfect game, having thrown the proverbial 300, having completed the triple-crown of Daddy daycare.  I rule.

So I took the youngest to visit his great-grandfather in Camrose and left all the diapers, snacks, and toys behind at Ma-Me-O beach.  I could blame it on having Mom around... well actually I can't.

The speed of Bolt during the 100m sprint, or the realization of what was in his pants?
Either way, it was a strange look that afternoon.

That'll learn ya...