Tales From The Dad Side

Again.

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 10:15:00 +0000

Going dark.

Disappearing.

Shutting down.

Again.

This is not a joke (I so wish it was).

If you want to know my new place (once it's ready) email me (that's email, not comment) at talesfromthedadside@gmail.com.

Entitled

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 08 Jun 2011 10:15:00 +0000

A couple of weeks ago, my wife brought the kids to see my new office. She texted me from the parking lot because Buddy had nodded off, so I went down to get Munchkin.

She and I took a walk through the office, and most of the people there politely waved or smiled, but one guy (someone I knew from other projects long before I joined this firm; actually someone I had many battles with over the years) took a moment to speak with her (he has three children of his own, one around Munchkin's age).

"How are you today, Munchkin?"

"Fine thank you."

"Are you in school?"

"Yes. I'm in senior kindergarten. I go to grade one in the fall."

"That's exciting."

"Yes."

"OK hon, we should get going and let them get back to work," I interrupted, knowing that if I didn't she would chat all day.

"OK Daddy. Bye! It was nice to meet you," she said to my co-worker.

"Wow. Such good manners."

"Thank you," she said, blushing.

* * *
Over the weekend, I put up our "jumping castle" (it's not so much a castle as an inflatable wrestling ring with mesh sides). At least ten times while bouncing around, Buddy would stop and come to the net to thank me for putting the thing up.

I went inside to prepare dinner. A few minutes later, he climbed out and came over to the back door.

"Daddy, peas come heeyah."

"One sec Buddy."

"OK."

I walked over. "What's up?"

"I dus want to div you a tiss to say sank you for da tampoline."

* * *
In what is proof that I made the right employment decision last month, I was given free reign to interview and hire a co-op student, which I did. (I also interviewed and hired a new junior engineer as well, actually, and next week I'm traveling to interview more students for the fall term. The new boss follows through on his promises, as getting me junior staff to mentor was one of the things he offered.)

He's been here a couple of weeks, and in that time I have heard not one "please" and not one statement of gratitude. When he needs something, he asks for it, and audibly sighs when he is told to wait a moment or ten. He has never said please, nor has he thanked me after doing something specifically for his benefit.

(To be clear, I don't expect genuflecting and bowing all day long. I do, however, expect to see good manners if for no other reason than to demonstrate respect and professionalism. And yes, every request I make - both written in email and verbal - includes one or more pleases, and every completion is thanked. I'm trying my best to model the behaviour.)

I finally had it yesterday, and carefully took him aside (i.e. no one saw me take him aside and no one heard what I said) and explained that I had noticed not just an occasional lapse, but an habitual lack of courtesy from him. I further explained that, in the professional world, when you fail to be polite, you come across as thinking you're entitled or privileged.

His response? No apology. No thanks for the lesson. Just, "OK."

And since then, I have not noticed a change in his behaviour. It's going to be a long summer.

Them

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 10:15:00 +0000

"We need to leave here," I said to my wife.

"What?"

"I know you said we need to stay here so we can take care of your parents, but I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why?"

"We're not like them."

"I know."

"We would never do that. If we were outside, regardless of which neighbours we were with, we wouldn't completely ignore other people on the street like that."

"I know."

"If there were a few couples outside, drinking on the driveway together while the kids played, and another couple stepped out into their front yard with their kids, we would at least offer for them to join us."

"You're right."

"We don't exclude people like that. We're not those people."

"Neither are the people next door to us."

"I know; but our families are the exception, not the rule."

"Fair enough."

"We can't keep raising our kids around those people's kids. They teach that shit to their own; they've already started. Munchkin tells us that their kids exclude others in the playground."

"But Munchkin doesn't."

"I know she doesn't; but how strong do you really think she can be? She's a six year old girl."

"She knows what's right and what's wrong."

"And right now, she does what's right because she's oblivious to peer pressure. How much longer do you think that will last?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do I, and I don't want to find out. There's only two possible outcomes with that kind of people."

"What are they?"

"You either become one of them, or you become their victim. And our kid isn't going to go all Stepford on us, which means she's going to be a victim."

"I'm not so sure those are the only choices."

"They are; I'm sure of it. I'm my own man and I can sit here and tell you that those people are fucked up and not people I want to associate with, and that I don't care what they think. But I'm a grown man, not a little kid trying to figure life out."

"If you don't care what they think, why are you so pissed?"

"Because I see what they're doing, what they're teaching their kids, and I know that my kids have to deal with their kids, at least as long as we live near them."

"I don't think there's only two outcomes. You should blog this and ask the internets."

"I will."

So, I'm asking: am I mistaken, or are there only two possible outcomes here?

Easy Route

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 01:24:00 +0000

Last year, Munchkin got a bike for her birthday. It was a "big girl" bike in that it was a two-wheeler, although it came with training wheels. It was white (we tried desperately to find a more forgiving colour to no avail) and was adorned with ~~creepy, evil~~ ponies. She loved the bike. She loved riding the bike.

This spring, when the snow melted and I was finally able to extract the bike from behind the snow shovels and ice melter, Munchkin insisted I remove her training wheels, so I did. She spent the next few days struggling to maintain her balance before completely giving up on the endeavour, choosing instead to use her scooter. Eventually, she asked me to put her training wheels back on.

Initially, I was fine with replacing the training wheels; she was six years old, which isn't exactly too old for training wheels (I think I was seven or eight before my dad removed mine), and it was more important that she ride than ride on only two wheels, right?

However, this was also her taking the easy way out: instead of persevering, she was giving up and reverting to something easier and familiar. It was also a cop-out for us as parents: it's much easier to let a child have what they want than to struggle with them to accept what they need. Ultimately, I declined the request.

The bike sat, untouched, for several weeks.

One evening we were walking through a sporting goods store when I saw a balance bike. It reminded me of a post I'd read about a boy - younger than Munchkin - who was riding a two-wheeler without training wheels thanks to a balance bike. I remarked to my wife that we should get one for Buddy so we didn't have the same challenge we were experiencing with Munchkin.

A few weeks later, I got a text from my wife while I was at the office: Munchkin is riding her bike. By herself. On the grass. I texted back that I was really happy for her, and was excited to see it for myself that evening.

When I got home, I asked my wife what changed. She replied that they had been coasting - basically using the bike like a balance bike by not using the pedals at all - down our driveway for days. Eventually, Munchkin wanted to pedal, but only on the grass (she was - and still is - terrified of falling, as evidenced by her use of her brother's kneepads in the photos), so my wife would help her get started and then Munchkin would careen in a straight line from our back gate to near the end of our lawn. (At this point I try not to think about the hundreds of dollars we're spending on lawn maintenance this year in an effort to combat the local ban on herbicides.)

That evening, after a few more rounds on the grass, Munchkin was ready to try the sidewalk. She initially insisted that one of us get her started, but after a few rounds of that my back had had enough and I gave her a few tips and a ton of encouragement and - wouldn't you know it - she as able to do that too.

I was pretty sure we were doing the right thing by denying her the training wheels, but weeks of staunch refusal to touch the bike made me question my judgement. I'm glad I didn't take the easy route.

At what age did you and/or your kids lose the training wheels? And, are balance bikes more common than I realized? (I had never heard of them before reading that post.)

Cover

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 10:15:00 +0000

"You know what?" I asked.

"What?"

"We are..."

"Daddy! Come yook at me dance on da gwass!"

"One sec, Buddy. I'm just talking to Mommy."

"We are very fortun..."

"Munchkin! Stop pulling on the tree please! Sorry. We are very what?"

"We are very fortunate."

"I... Buddy don't touch that!"

"What's dat?"

"It's our air conditioner, and it has a big fan with sharp blades."

"Oh."

"Sorry. We are very fortunate."

"Yeah. I mean, the kids are happy and healthy and... Munchkin stop kicking that ball at your brother's head please!"

"Sorry Daddy."

"Jeez. Why does she always need to goad him?"

"You were saying we are fortunate?"

* * *
I spend a lot of time here writing about the difficult side of parenting: discipline, behaviour concerns, nutrition, sleep habits (or lack thereof), and I feel like sometimes, if they don't stick around long enough, a reader will come away thinking that I hate my life, or I hate being a parent, when in fact, nothing could be further from the truth.

Sure, parenting is the most challenging thing I have ever undertaken. For someone like me, with my mindset (logical, analytical - well suited for software and/or engineering - where every problem can be solved) parenting (where there are no solutions, only ideas that work sometimes) has been extremely difficult at times.

I think sometimes I avoid sharing the happy stuff because I feel like a braggart; not everyone's children are healthy, or enjoy school, or accomplish amazing things or whatever, and so, rather than be accused of blowing my own horn (or that of my children) I leave those stories out. But in so doing, I provide an incomplete picture of our family life.

So, for what it's worth: don't judge a blog by its cover (or, more specifically, a couple negative posts). The truth is, in spite of the stuff I fret about here, life's good for us.

Thanks for taking the time out of your day to read this, and a special thanks to those of you who take even more time to leave a comment. I really appreciate that a lot.

Truth; Or In This Case, A Lack Thereof

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 30 May 2011 10:15:00 +0000

Late Saturday afternoon, while I was preparing the kids' dinner, my wife turned to me and said, "Munchkin lied to me today."

"To your room. Now." I said as I turned to face Munchkin. "I will call you for dinner." She left the room in tears.

"Sorry. I felt that need to be done," I said, turning back to my wife.

"No problem." She continued her story.

Earlier that afternoon, she had the kids outside at a neighbour's house while I was upstairs (I was not being lazy, thankyouverymuch; I was folding laundry, actually). At some point, Munchkin came to her and said she needed to go pee. Since Buddy was there, she couldn't leave him, so she told Munchkin to go home and go pee by herself.

She returned within seconds - certainly not enough time to go to the bathroom - with two pairs of sunglasses. My wife knew she had lied, but opted not to embarrass her in front of her little friend (although she deserved it; she always shows off for this friend by talking back and generally being a brat) and instead waited until they got inside.

Dinner followed minutes later. During the meal I explained - in detail - how I knew she had lied (specifically that she knew her mother wouldn't follow her so she could go inside and get what she wanted without having to explain herself). We also talked about the importance of telling the truth, and how lying makes people lose trust in you, and other points in an attempt to drive home the seriousness of the situation (not lying about getting sunglasses; lying in a broader sense).

As dinner was winding to a close, Munchkin asked whether or not she would be going back to her room after dinner. I replied that I felt the time she spent upstairs was inadequate given the offense, and that she had to return to her room and write me five sentences about why lying is not OK and/or why it's important to tell the truth.

This is what she came downstairs with ten minutes later:

For those unable to parse six year old:

Why lying isn't OK
When you lie you get in trouble
You might get hit (aside: my wife recounted a story involving herself, her parents, and corporal punishment during the "why lying is bad" talk at dinner; we don't believe in spanking)
You lie, people get angry
You get sent to your room
You stay in your room long
You get consequences

(I have no idea where the question marks come from; I think they're doing punctuation at school right now.)

We took a moment to point out that everything she wrote was a result of telling the lie and a description of the punishment, and there was nothing about why the lie itself wasn't a good idea. We then reinforced the concepts we talked about (mainly lying costs our trust, which in turn costs freedoms).

So that's how we handled lying. How would/did you handle it with your children?

Toes

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 27 May 2011 10:15:00 +0000

one day, Mommy painted her toes

Munchkin saw this, and asked for her toes to be painted

"Look at us Mommy, now we're fancy!"
"I want to be fancy too!" Buddy said.

so Buddy got to be fancy

just like his Mommy

and his sister
"Poor Daddy. He's not fancy."

"No, I'm not fancy, but that's OK."

"But everybody else is fancy!"

"OK."
Yes, we painted our son's toenails (he chose the colour, by the way; if he had chosen pink, we would have painted them pink). And yes, my wife painted mine too (one foot to match each kid).

Many people noticed. None of them (including my MIL, his grandmother) had anything positive to say. Literally everyone who said something implied that it was either wrong, or inappropriate, or just plain weird.

Me? I hope he learns that whoever he is, whatever he wants to do, is OK; that, regardless of what society tells him is right or wrong, that he follows his instincts. If I raise a boy who wears nail polish, I'm OK with that if for no other reason than it means I've raised a boy to be his own man.

The Negotiator

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 25 May 2011 10:15:00 +0000

"Want moh huggog."

"Eat your beans and your rice first. Then you can have more hotdog." (technically, it's sausage, not that it matters to most of you)

He bites half of a one inch piece of green bean, chews, then wipes off his tongue. "Moh huggog now?"

"No Buddy. Eat what's on your plate."

"If I eat mine wice, I have moh huggog?"

*    *    *
"Daddy! Daddy!" he calls from the confines of his bedroom after being tucked in for the night.

"What's up?" I ask, coming into his room.

"Want wocking chair snuggles and a stowy."

"Sorry, bud, but you have to stay in your room. I can give you snuggles here, but no stories."

"How about... wocking chair snuggles?"

"Nope. Here or nothing."

"How about... pretend story?" ("pretend story" means a made-up one instead of reading from a book)

"No story. Snuggles in the bed."

"OK." Five minutes later, he rolls over, "Can you peas weed me a book?"

*    *    *
"Can I have a nack?"

"Sure. I'll get you some melon."

"No! Fishies!" (for the 1% of you who don't realize: "fishies" are Pepperidge Farm Goldfish crackers; also known as toddler crack)

"You need something healthy. You've already had lots of fishies today. How about an apple?"

"Apple and fishies?"

"No, just apple."

"Melon?"

"Sure, I'll cut you up some melon."

"And two fishies?"

*    *    *
It's like living with a tiny lawyer; everything is a negotiation: from bedtimes to snacks, from bathtime to playing outside. I know this is a normal developmental phase - testing limits, exploring their control over their environment, call it whatever - but that doesn't make it any less challenging (not just because "No" doesn't always get accepted as "No" but also because it's so damn cute I want to laugh). Cognitively, I know I have to remain strong and show him that I'm "in charge" (or define boundaries, if you prefer), but at the same time some of his tactics are quite ingenious and, in my opinion, deserving of praise.

How did you deal with this stage? Did you remain strong all the time? Were you a pushover? Did you find anything that put an end to the negotiation?

Clips From The Weekend

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Tue, 24 May 2011 10:15:00 +0000

After a week filled with drama and long-winded stories, I'm going to start this (already shortened) week with something light (actually, a few light things).

The New Boss
On Thursday, my boss stopped in to talk about a co-op student I liked and wanted to interview for a position (yes, within a week of starting, I am evaluating and interviewing new staff - co-op for now, but still - while at my old job there was "a plan" that never actually happened). As he was leaving, I said, "One more thing?"

"What's up?"

"Tomorrow we're going to visit my parents for the long weekend, so I'm working from home in the morning so we can leave around noon so the kids will nap in the car for the first part."

"OK. See ya."

He didn't even flinch. Seven work days in and I'm working from home and taking off early for a holiday weekend. How cool is that?

The Quotable Buddy

"I have to go inside and ask mine dad sumfin."

"Daddy? I love you so much. Bye!"

He said this to my younger sister while they were playing outside, and once he found me in the house that's what he said.

"Daddy, can I peas have some waisins? I can't just say, 'give me waisins' because that's not powite. I have to say 'peas' too."

Said to me early one morning when seeking breakfast.

"Daddy we need to turn dat down. The tv is too loud. [My father] and [my mother] are seepin. We need to be quiet."

Said to me on the same morning when I turned on the tv (at the volume his grandfather watched it at the night before - when Buddy was in bed struggling to sleep).

The Bird
On Friday when we rolled into town, my wife went downstairs to grab something. She came back upstairs with a bad look on her face. "You need to go smell the basement."

"OK. Why?"

"Just. Go."

I went downstairs. There was a definite stench emanating from the bathroom. I called upstairs and asked my wife to ask my father if he'd used the downstairs bathroom recently.

"No, but maybe it's the bird," my father said.

"What bird?"

And that is when my father regaled us with the tale of how his neighbour saw a bird fly into the exhaust vent for the downstairs bathroom fan, and how my father - in spite of discouraging words from both said neighbour as well as my sister - blocked the vent opening without checking if the birds were out yet.

On Monday.

I spent the next three hours with my father's neighbour, a shop-vac, and an air compressor (we tried to use jets of air simultaneously with suction - yes, I'm skipping the obligatory suck and blow joke - in an effort to dislodge the nest and its deceased occupants) pulling grass and twigs and dead bird parts (momma and baby) from a hole in my parents' house.

When we left on Sunday, the basement still reeked, and my mother had strict instructions (my father thinks there's nothing wrong; "it's just a smell") to speak with a contractor I arranged to call them Tuesday to discuss replacing the fan, tubing, and exhaust vent.

So how was your weekend?

Change: The Epic Saga - Part 4

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 20 May 2011 10:15:00 +0000

This is the final part of a series. I strongly urge you to read part 1, part 2 and part 3 first.

Chapter 15: Unexpected
The next day (Friday), I was supposed to meet with the new company's owner, but schedule conflicts prevented that from happening. He called me later that night, but I was alone with the kids and couldn't have that kind of conversation, so we rescheduled it for Saturday evening.

He called me that night, and I outlined my company's offer in clear detail with exact numbers and specifics, including the lack of commitment in the final letter. I wanted him to know what I had passed up before I told him I had made my final decision. I told him I was strongly considering jumping ship, in spite of the better financial package.

When I said that, he offered to increase their salary offer to match my company's last offer (ultimately increasing his original offer by 10%) and put a clause in my offer letter about the ownership program: that if it wasn't done by the end of this year that I'd get an additional 15% salary as compensation for it not happening! I was floored. I was ecstatic. But most of all, I was sure I had made the right choice; here was a guy who listened to me, who wanted me, and who seemed to genuinely like me.

Chapter 16: In Transition
My last days at my old company were difficult. Projects needed to be closed out or handed over. People were learning about the news through the grapevine, and some were upset that I didn't tell them personally. I didn't want to make a big deal of my departure, so I kind of did things slowly and carefully.

We decided to tell Munchkin a couple of days before my last day so she wouldn't stress out about it too much. The day before they were going to come for one last visit (mainly to see a couple other staff members who love seeing them and who the kids like too), I told her I was going to be working at a new office, with different people. I explained that I wouldn't be working with any of the people they knew, but that it was going to be a new office with new people and new things to see.

She had questions. Boy, did she have questions! Her first one was, "Were you kicked out?"

"No, I wasn't fired." I then explained the recruitment process in six year old terms.

"If you don't work there, does that mean we can't visit there anymore?"

"No, of course not. Sometimes you guys can go in and visit the people and say hi."

"You said it would be good for our family? How will it be good? Are you getting more money?"

I laughed. Everything was going to be OK.

Chapter 17: Everything Ends
My last day arrived (the hiatus post went up the day before), and I was a mixture of emotions. I was nervous, and sad, and uneasy.

They had a good-bye "party" for me, where a couple people (including, unfortunately, me) spoke, and there was a cake, and they gave me a card with a gift card for Best Buy (causing me to remark that I should quit more often). In the card, my boss wrote (in addition to wishing me well) that Munchkin would always be welcome to visit whenever she wanted, which I thought was a nice touch.

I made my final round through the office, and held it together until I got to my boss' office, where I couldn't choke back the tears (even now, days later, I am choking up as I remember that moment). He wasn't the best boss, and he wasn't the most generous individual, and he sucked when it came to fulfilling promises. But he was a decent man, who generally treated me fairly and with respect, who allowed me the flexibility to be the father I wanted to be while remaining an employee at the same time, and that is something I will always be grateful for.

Chapter 18: New Beginnings
After a few days off (which I took so I could see the kids in swimming lessons more than anything else; both of them had been pleading with me to go, but as they both swam in the morning, it wasn't feasible), I started at the new place.

I've been there a little over a week now. It hasn't been amazing, and it hasn't been horrible. It's been a job: nothing more, nothing less. I'm still finding my way, learning the ins and outs of a new company. But at least the drama is over.

Epilogue
It was, without hyperbole, the worst experience of my life. I know some people are rolling their eyes at that statement: how could being pursued by two companies - in the current economy - and having them bid for your services be a bad thing? To them, and to all of you who were surprised by that revelation, I say that you don't know me as well as you think.

I often say I am a simple man, with simple needs. I don't need to feel wanted, or chased, or desired, or whatever. In fact, it makes me remarkably uncomfortable, and often physically ill as well. (True story: once in high school I had to stand on stage while a teacher listed off my accomplishments; when it was over some five minutes later I went into the bathroom and puked my guts out.) This was awful. On more than one occasion, I considered giving it all up - no new job, no part owner, no new salary - just to make it stop.

But it's over now, and while I won't know for sure whether or not I made the right choice for weeks, possibly months, I'm comfortable with my decision.

Change: The Epic Saga - Part 3

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Thu, 19 May 2011 10:15:00 +0000

This is part 3 of an ongoing series. I strongly urge you to read part 1 and part 2 first.

Chapter 10: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back
I went in to see my boss the next morning (Thursday), intending to warn him I was going to resign the next day. (I resigned really awkwardly last time - I called my boss into a meeting, handed him my letter of resignation, then sat there while he read it feeling stupid - and didn't want to repeat the mistake). I also wanted to leave the door open for a "godfather offer" because I knew if I didn't I'd always wonder.

Well, I got what I wanted. In addition to beating the salary, they were willing to discuss making me part owner (sort of stock options). I was stunned. This changed everything. I agreed to give them a week to put something together, even though it meant that the offer from the new company expired in the meantime.

I emailed the new company immediately and explained that my boss surprised me with his counter offer and whether it was fear of change or whatever, I agreed to give him time. I apologized, and said if they wanted to rescind their offer I would understand.

After a few hours with no response, I called the owner on my way home from work. He said that he was in the middle of replying to my email because they had had server issues and so he had just received it minutes prior. I offered to let him bang out his frustrations on the keyboard, but he wanted to talk.

He said that the first thing he felt when he read my email was that he was happy. He explained that the fact that I went in to resign was huge, and that it told him I was serious. He further went on to say that he knew a good thing when he saw it, and he'd wait as long as it took. His only request was that before I accept anything from my current employer I give him an opportunity to counter their counter.

Suddenly, I was in the middle of a bidding war.

Chapter 11: Torn
The next day I spent a lot of time talking with my boss about the future for me at my company. He told me he thought I was making a mistake, not just for leaving money on the table but for my future. There was a lot of smiling and talking and I think someone sang Kumbaya and put a flower throne on my head at one point. I started to think maybe I should stay where I was.

Over the weekend I flipped back and forth between leaving and staying. The part owner thing was huge, and wasn't something the new company could do (recall, they are much smaller), but my current employer couldn't offer any changes to the circumstances that pushed me to this point in the first place.

On Monday I came back and my boss sort of backed up a little. Part owner was now "a plan", and he couldn't guarantee me the salary would take effect immediately (he had a plan to circumvent the procedures in the interim, however).

Chapter 12: The Decision
On Tuesday I called the owner of the new company and described the offer as best as I could without divulging confidences (the part owner thing was unofficial). He asked me what I wanted from him, and I asked him to match the salary and that everything else was good. He said he would have a new offer letter to me in PDF within the hour.

That afternoon, I tendered my resignation and signed their offer letter.

Chapter 13: Not Quite Dead, Again
News of my resignation rippled through the pond that is my company. A couple of days into my notice, someone below my boss in terms of authority but with a very different level of tact came to me with an offer of even more money and grandiose plans to "fix things".

I calmly explained that I had already resigned and accepted another offer. He replied that if they haven't paid me, I don't owe them anything, and even if they had, my current employer could fix that too.

The next working day (the above happened the Thursday before Easter), my boss wanted to talk to me to see "where we were". He reiterated their desire to keep me, and said that changing one's mind was OK when I brought up the signed paperwork, and his belief that I was making a mistake. He further said that everything the other guy discussed last week was on the table: more money, a career path, and part ownership.

I responded that I wasn't changing anything (specifically, my resignation still stood) but I would consider what they had to say if they put it in writing. After years of big plans and promises that went unfulfilled, I was skeptical.

The following evening, the owner of the new company called me and we ended up talking for 45 minutes. I told him about the latest drama in a general sense, and said that I was feeling a lot of pressure to stay. He actually apologized for putting me in the situation, and encouraged me to follow my gut. He said that he believed I would be a great asset to his company and really hoped I made the choice to join them.

He emailed me the following day and asked me to call him. I eventually did, and we talked some more about a bunch of things, including the fact that he had the beginnings of a ownership program being developed for later in the year, and that if I joined, I would be a part of it. We agreed to meet up later in the week to talk some more, once our schedules permitted us.

Chapter 14: Confirmation
My boss reiterated his intention to put things in writing for three days before actually doing it, and only after I pointed out that my last day was a week away. He claimed he thought we were good, which makes no sense (because why would I ask for stuff in writing?) and ultimately sent me a letter that Thursday.

I was crushed. It was filled with phrases like "work towards" and "make efforts to" and no firm commitment of anything. I knew it was over.

I went in to see him and discuss the letter. He asked if everything was OK, and I said that I had read the letter and decided not to accept their offer. He asked if there was anything he could change in the letter, and I just didn't have it in me to be disappointed yet again, so I candidly told him I didn't want to waste his time, and that it was time for a change.

Change: The Epic Saga - Part 2

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 18 May 2011 10:15:00 +0000

This is part 2 of an ongoing series. I strongly urge you to read part 1 first.

Chapter 5: Moving On
Time passed with no response from the other company. I wrote it off as a life experience, figuring their lack of interest was the result of something I said in the original interview, or the fact that I postponed the second interview because of weather (and in so doing confirmed their reservations about the commute).

The next time I heard that company's name (I hadn't heard of it before this process started) was when their name showed up on a proponent's list for a contract we were bidding on (in other words, they were our competition). It was a large contract, and I was running point for our bid because I had worked on the original job nine years prior (and because in the interim I had been "promoted" to manager in what was an attempt to placate me when my boss found out I was looking elsewhere for work).

I decided that I would "show them" and win the bid for my company, and make them rue the day they rejected SciFi Dad.

Chapter 6: Not Quite Dead
A few weeks later, the day before the bids were due (and roughly two months since I had exchanged emails with this other company) I got an email from them asking if I was still interested and if so, was the commute an issue and what work would I want to do.

I sat on the email. It would have been unprofessional of me to do anything with it given my role in the bid we were about to submit.

Shortly after the bids closed, I emailed them back. I explained the delay was due to me trying to be professional, and said that the commute was no more an issue than it was months ago. I further said that I would take a few days to consider their other questions and get back to them.

They responded quickly and said, "No problem." Then, the next day, they emailed me again (no email from me in between) apologizing for putting me into the situation of emailing them while competing with them, and saying that their delay did not reflect their interest.

I emailed them a few days later and said I was still interested, and that I wanted to do mentoring as well as engineering.

Chapter 7: Revelations
The next night, the owner called me. We talked about why they hadn't called (buying out one partner and bringing in a new one with a side of being busy) and how they were very keen to have me on board, especially in light of the mentoring thing.

At one point, the topic shifted to the project we were competing on, and he asked me if my current employer won the bid if that would change my interest in joining the new company. I confirmed this (I was very eager to do that work) and he (somewhat frustratedly) asked if I knew this before we talked or if it hadn't occurred to me until that point, and was I planning on bringing it up.

I responded that of course it had occurred to me, but since our communication had been so sporadic I didn't see the need to bring it up with them until it became an issue.

The conversation ended with him saying that he regretted not hiring me in December, and that he hoped things would work out for us. We booked a meeting to finalize their offer so that once the project had been awarded, assuming I was interested, they could get the ball rolling quickly.

Chapter 8: Another Delay
The day before we were scheduled to meet, I got a call inviting our firm to a bid review meeting with the client. Because of the optics of the situation, I called and canceled my meeting with the other company, and suggested we agree to meet after the project was awarded instead of booking and canceling so much. They agreed.

Chapter 9: Moving Forward
Another week or so passed, and the bid was awarded to another firm (i.e. neither my current employer or the new company). I called the owner and asked if we were still on. He said we were. We arranged to meet early the following week to, as he put it, "give me a piece of paper".

That Tuesday I sat down with the owner and went over my terms (salary, vacation, benefits, and so on). At the end of it, he brought in a couple guys for me to talk to while he prepared and signed an offer of employment. I read it over and asked for the other documents referenced in it (contract, employee handbook) that I would be expected to sign upon accepting the offer, as well as a copy of the extended health plan benefits. I left their office with a pile of paper and a knot in my stomach.

I read everything over, and it all looked good except for a non-competition clause in the contract that basically would have had me flipping burgers for a year if I left them, unless I was willing to leave the province. I emailed the owner the next day and explained my reservations about the clause (I had signed one with my last employer and it was such a pain in the ass to get out of that I swore I'd never sign one again). I plainly said I could not sign with that clause in there.

His response? "That clause is gone. Are we good?"

Change: The Epic Saga - Part 1

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Tue, 17 May 2011 10:15:00 +0000

We have finally come to the end of the story that has been unfolding in my life for the past six months or so, and, as promised, I will share the details of what I think is an interesting tale. It will span several days; probably to the end of this week.

Chapter 1: Preamble
In February of 2010 I learned that my employer had been acquired by a much larger firm. I went from about 30 coworkers to over 2500 coworkers overnight. I had my misgivings about the whole situation, but tried to make the best of it.

As time rolled on and we were slowly integrated into their way of doing things, it became increasingly clear that they did not understand our business, and, more than that, had no interest in learning how best to work with us. This all came to a head in October when, a few months after they had tied our computers into their network, my computer was no longer able to do something it used to be able to do (I hadn't had occasion to make use of this function until that time).

I spent three weeks with IT services, explaining the simple change I needed done to my system (I had gotten tech support from the vendor and they had the same issue with the same antivirus in their own offices). They couldn't (or wouldn't) do what I asked.

To say I was frustrated is an understatement. It was just another brick in the wall I was building around myself. I was sad and angry and most off all disappointed in the fact that all my fears had been realized.

Chapter 2: The Inquiry
In the midst of my weeks of struggling with IT, I came into work one morning to a voicemail from a man I did not know. He said he had an opportunity for someone with my skill set. I was skeptical, not only of him, but also of the opportunity. I did a little digging about the headhunter and decided he seemed legit enough to warrant a return call.

We talked, and the opportunity sounded like a good fit for me. I emailed him a copy of my resume with the understanding that he'd pass it along and let me know if the company was interested. He said to give him a few days.

That night, while we were bathing the kids, the phone rang. It was the headhunter. The company was very interested and wanted to meet with me the next day.

I was stressed. Work was nuts at the time, and juggling my schedule at 6.30pm for the next day was impossible. I proposed the day after that, but made it clear I wasn't comfortable with the sudden urgency.

Chapter 3: Interviews
The next morning, the headhunter emailed me. He said that he didn't want to pressure me, and therefore was canceling the interview we scheduled the night before. He suggested that he and I meet up for a coffee first - at my convenience - and we take it slowly from there. I agreed, and we arranged to meet up later that week.

We probably spent an hour or so talking over coffee. I laid out my expectations (which were basically: more money while maintaining a flexible work schedule; my way of phrasing it was, "I have two rules to keep me happy in a job: pay me enough so my wife can stay home and don't fuck with my time with my kids").

I didn't hear anything from them for a few days. I thought that my forthright approach regarding my expectations was either too much or offensive, and chalked it up as a lesson learned. Then, the headhunter called me and said that the company was still interested in meeting with me, as soon as possible, but were no longer pressuring me.

We set up an interview for the following morning. I arrived early and stewed in the parking lot while I waited for the start time to arrive. I was nervous and excited.

The interview lasted about 45 minutes or so. They asked me a bunch of questions, but fixated on my commute, saying that they had people join who lived far away only to leave a year later because the commute was too much for them (that morning it took me 40 minutes; not a short drive, but by big city standards, not a long one either). I explained that the drive wasn't an issue for me, and how I worked from home during bad weather at my current job; they indicated that they had no problem with the same arrangement.

I left there with a feeling of uncertainty. They seemed moderately interested, but their hangup on the commute appeared to be a significant stumbling block.

Chapter 4: Delays
Later that morning, I got an email from the headhunter. He said it sounded like things went well, but that I needed to think about the commute. Strange... I thought I had already said it wasn't an issue, I thought to myself.

The next day I got a call from the owner of the company, asking for my availability for a follow-up interview with other staff. I replied with some dates and waited. A week later the headhunter emailed and asked for an update; I directed him to the owner since from my perspective it was in his court. Either by prompting or coincidence, we scheduled an interview for the following week.

The day before the second interview, I heard the forecast for that day calling for 10cm of snow, which isn't a massive amount, but enough to put drive times completely out of whack. I emailed the owner and offered to reschedule, or use skype or phone, or to proceed with the knowledge that I couldn't guarantee an arrival time. He responded that we were destined for delays, and that we would reschedule.

That was the week before Christmas. I didn't hear from them before I went off for my holidays, so when I came back I emailed them to check in and arrange the second interview.

After two weeks without a reply, I sent another email confirming the one sent two weeks prior had arrived. I got a reply back confirming their interest and asking for availability, which I replied to promptly.

And then, nothing. Nada. Zilch.

The Bad Cop

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 16 May 2011 10:15:00 +0000

This isn't the big story. That starts tomorrow. For real.

Last week, my wife and I were talking in the kitchen after dinner while the kids played in the living room. Our conversation was interrupted by a blood curdling scream coming from Munchkin. We ran in to find her clutching her back, Buddy scrambling away to the relatively safety of the couch.

In between sobs, she told us he bit her, so I immediately sent him to our time-out step and went to set the microwave timer. While I was there, I heard my wife shout, "Oh my goodness! He can go straight to bed as far as I am concerned!" (Aside: my wife is the calm and rational one; when I heard this I knew it was serious.) I came in and saw scraped (but not exactly broken) skin and a bruise in between the teeth marks. It was clear he had bitten down hard.

"Upstairs. Now!" I said to him, and he turned and cried his way up the steps and into his room.

He was crying for my wife; Munchkin was sobbing for her. I knew she deserved her mother more than he did, so I took the role of bad cop. We sat in his room and I attempted to understand the situation. However, he was too upset, and too two to give me the information I needed (i.e. was this completely unprovoked or did Munchkin piss him off). I plunked him on his change table, undressed him (with probably a little less caution when pulling off his shirt than normal) and changed his diaper. I put him in his pajamas (thankfully it wasn't his bath night) and brushed his teeth. The whole time this was going on he was sobbing and wailing for my wife. I put him in his bed and told him to wait for my wife.

She came, and I left to tend to Munchkin. When my wife was done, she came back and said he wasn't happy with me, and said that I had hurt him and made him mad. I went in to see him.

"I love you, Buddy. You are still my special boy and my best friend."

"I yuv you too." Then he said, "I no yike you. I want you to go now."

"Can I give you a snuggle?"

"No."

"Can I give you a kiss, or just a hug?"

"No."

* * *
A bit later, after Munchkin was in bed, I poked my head into his room again. "Good night."

"Good night."

"Can I come in?"

"No. Mommy come in. You no come in. You go away."

I know he's processing a lot of emotions, and I know his anger is not forever, but it still hurts.

Such is the life of the bad cop.

Neglectimommy: Volume 10

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Sat, 14 May 2011 21:23:00 +0000

Yes, after a week without posting I come back with resurrecting my lame comic. Expect something more substantial on Monday, OK?

Welcome to the latest edition of Neglectimommy. You can read about the origins of this serial (and view the first comic) in the first volume.

Neglectimommy Archive
Volume 1
Volume 2
Volume 3
Volume 4
Volume 5
Volume 6
Volume 7
Volume 8
Volume 9

As always, I welcome both positive and negative feedback. (Also? If you have any ideas for a comic, please email me.)

Without further ado, I give you Neglectimommy: Packing a Lunch:

click to enlarge (and make text legible)

Hiatus.

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 04 May 2011 10:15:00 +0000

For a while now (maybe about a month) I've been going through the motions in a lot of ways. Things have been occupying my mind, monopolizing my thoughts, gnawing at my brain, consuming me.

It will be over soon, and when it is I swear I will tell the story in all its detail, but for now I need a break. I'll be taking some time off from blogging; it might be a few days, it might be a week or two, I don't know.

Parented Out

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 02 May 2011 10:15:00 +0000

"I've got a chance to go out with some friends on Friday night," MTM said earlier last week.

"OK. What time do you need me home?"

"Well, it's not that simple. I'm also going out with my sister and my mom on Saturday for wedding stuff."

"So? I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

*    *    *
Later in the week, I found out that we had a couple people coming to our office - arriving Friday evening - from overseas to work for a couple of months. I knew one of them from a previous trip, and had become quite good friends over innumerable Skype "meetings", and so I wanted to make sure they got settled in OK.

So, I talked it over with MTM, and we agreed that I'd pack up the kids on Saturday morning and bring them out with my colleagues for breakfast, and then try to help them with some errands like groceries and getting mobile phones because they didn't have a car.

*    *    *
On Saturday morning, I picked up my colleagues and we all went out for a spectacular breakfast. The kids were amazing, although a little overzealous with eating (by the time I finished cutting half of each kid's waffle, Buddy - the first one to get his cut - was done and asking for more; my eggs were cold by the time I got to them).

We tried to find a phone place, but they were all closed (we were up early thanks to my kids not sleeping and the visitors being jet lagged) so we went to do groceries instead. More than an hour later (I am so not kidding; they were perusing the shelves quite slowly) we left and headed to a phone place only to have Buddy start to melt down in the store as we learned that their computer systems were down and starting new lines would take a long time over the phone.

Ultimately, we left without phones and I coordinated with my boss to have someone help them today with it (I'm working at a site today), and I dropped them at the place they are staying at.

*    *    *
The drive home was horrible. The kids fought and cried and complained. By the time we got home, both kids were beside themselves. They were bickering and fighting; Munchkin was taunting and baiting Buddy, and he wasn't an angel either (although now PTSD prevents me from remembering what he did).

I fed them lunch (shout out to MTM for the smoothies that made the "get them something healthy" job worlds easier) and put both of them (yes even the six year old) down for naps so I could try and recuperate a little.

Munchkin didn't sleep, and Buddy woke up 45 minutes later. I spent the next hour with him draped across my chest and Munchkin in the bed beside me exploring every app on my iPhone.

In an effort to fend off insanity, I put them in the back yard while I made dinner. In the interim, MTM returned home, full of stories about my inlaws that I lacked the will to listen to on the best of days (but still played the dutiful spouse and listened anyways).

(What I did learn, incredibly enough, was that at one point MTM remarked that she didn't have all day to spend with my SIL because the kids were being a handful, and my SIL's response was a variant on the traditonal, "So?" At that point - wait for it - my MIL stepped in and told my SIL that she had no appreciation for what I was doing so MTM could help SIL, how I was bringing my kids to work - sort of true, but not exactly - not to mention how they have been behaving lately - which she saw first hand earlier in the week - and so she said SIL should appreciate what I was doing. I'm as shocked as you are about this.)

*    *    *
Sunday morning was spent flitting between our desktop (it was acting up) our coffee grinder (it was acting up) and the kids (who were acting up). Even a trip to the grocery store (something that usually entertains them) resulted in tears and screaming.

On top of all this, MTM's sister called with some sort of wedding crisis that required MTM's attention.

I spent the afternoon with Buddy draped across me (he wouldn't sleep at all) and was fortunate to have a brief moment to read a little bit of a comic book.

Dinner ended abruptly because Buddy wouldn't stay in his seat and I subsequently had to follow through on my threat to give him a shower to clean him off (which included histrionics and made MTM join me upstairs). Munchkin, feeling left out at the dinner table, decided to exact revenge (or seek out attention) by wetting her pants.

*    *    *
Shortly thereafter, with both kids in pajamas and having just endured a screaming Buddy with tooth brushing, Munchkin looked at me and asked, "What's wrong, Daddy?"

"Nothing. I'm just parented out, sweetheart."

"Oh."

Random Thoughts About The Royal Wedding

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 10:15:00 +0000

I think I have the only six year old who is excited about the Royal Wedding. She even has William and Kate paper dolls (courtesy of my MIL).
Among the things I would rather do than watch the Royal Wedding: watch paint dry, listen to jackhammers, peel off my own skin with a rusty spoon.
Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one who realizes the Royal Family are just the world's richest welfare recipients.
Other than providing a means to add more people to that list that will be legally recognized, what does today accomplish?
Things that could improve the Royal Wedding: live tiger rampage, a pregnant girlfriend objecting, the entire crowd spontaneously bursting into song singing something from Miss Saigon.
Maybe that superfan guy can parachute in and liven things up?
I worry for my son today, being forced to endure hours of coverage with his sister and mother. Kids don't remember stuff that happens before they're three, right?
I don't even think bacon clothing could save this wedding.

Dinner

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 10:15:00 +0000

"How's it going?" I asked when she answered the phone.

"Not great. One sec. Buddy, please stop that. I'm talking to Daddy," she responded.

"I'm sorry."

"It's OK. Hang on. Yes. I'm on the phone with Daddy. What? OK. Can you talk to him for a minute?"

"Sure."

"Hi Daddy," my two year old said.

"Hi Buddy. How are you?"

"Not good."

"Oh no. What's wrong?"

"I'm sthick."

"Aw. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

"Yeth. You could come home and give me a tiss."

(Sometimes, the intro has little more than a tangential relationship to the point.)

* * *
I used to get home from work about an hour (sometimes more) before dinner time. Lately, though, I've been coming through the door anywhere between ten minutes before and one hour later.

Before we used to have family dinners most nights. Sure, sometimes the kids would eat something on their own while MTM and I sat at the table with them and would eat after they went to bed (take-out "date nights"), but mostly we ate as a family.

Now, most nights I eat without the kids, and many nights I eat alone after they are in bed, MTM having eaten with them.

The thing is, my arrival time isn't that out of the ordinary for parents that work outside the home. Most people don't get home until well past 5.00pm, and in many cases one of those parents is also doing the cooking, which pushes dinner even later. Now, I know my kids go to bed on the earlier side (7.00pm most nights), but I wonder how most families deal with meals.

Are family meals a thing of the past (on weekdays, I mean)? How often do you sit down with your spouse/partner and children for dinner during the work week?

When In Doubt, Go For The Cute

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 10:15:00 +0000

I'm still mired in something that occupies most of my mental energy, which means you get this in lieu of something of substance:

Easter By The Numbers

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 25 Apr 2011 10:15:00 +0000

This weekend we drove to visit my parents for Easter. It was, predictably, stressful. Here's a recap via numbers.

3 - number of days gone
0 - number of naps had
1 - number of complete meltdowns had due to overtiredness
3 - number of hours Buddy slept on the four hour drive home
47 - number of eggs hidden in Easter egg hunt
47 - number of eggs found during hunt
5 - number of people who were surprised by all eggs being found
39 - number of litres of liquid purchased when "stocking up" my parents' place (mostly bottled water and juice, plus liquid laundry soap)
2 - number of 9x13 pans of roasted potatoes made
2 - number of individual portions of potatoes left over
3 - number of people who did not eat the ham dinner I made
3 - number of people above who were in my older sister's family
22 - number of degrees Celsius difference between the temperature here Thursday morning (so much snow on my car that it needed brushing) and there on Saturday (and we packed for our weather)
1 - number of times my heart melted (when asked by my sister, Buddy told her, "Daddy is mine best fwiend")
1 - number of panicked moments (when Munchkin went for a walk with my 14 year old niece, and they were late for dinner, and my sister - her mom - failed to find them; I drove around and found them myself while everyone else thought I overreacted)
438 - approximate number of complete and utter freakouts by me avoided (includes panicked moment above)
1 - number of complete freakouts not avoided (no matter how hard I try, my mother's incessant offers to help when I'm already struggling push me over the edge)

So that was my weekend. How was yours?

Ex - fucking - hausted

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 10:15:00 +0000

I come home from work an hour (sometimes two) later than usual to find my wife teetering on the brink of her sanity.

I'm completely wiped; work has been not just physically draining, but also emotionally and mentally draining too.

The kids have been horrible; they have been so horrible that when I call to say I'm stopping at Timmies, she tells me not to bring home Timbits for them because they don't deserve it. (She, however, deserves - and receives - an extra large double double.)

I try to navigate the treacherous waters of overtired children who are excited to see me yet unable to behave with anything approximating acceptable actions. They are fragile. I am fragile. There's usually a lot of yelling and a lot of crying and a lot of hugging.

This busy time at work is temporary; I know this. But at the same time it seems insurmountable. I struggle to be a good man, a good husband, a good father. Most days I settle for "not terrible" instead of good.

I beg, cajole, plead, and even bribe the kids to listen to their mother, to give her less of a hard time, and they swear they will. Then I come home to another post-apocalyptic scene.

It's Easter weekend. We don't need it to be. We need it to be a quiet weekend. But you can't schedule the first Sunday after the first new moon of spring.

"No"

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Wed, 20 Apr 2011 10:15:00 +0000

One of the (many) things I struggle with as a parent is saying, "No," to my children when they ask for something. Of course, I'm not talking about stuff that could harm them or cause problems, but rather things like treats and toys and books and the like.

Growing up, my family was by no means "poor", but my parents did not have a lot of spare money lying around either. If I had to put a label on us, I would call us lower middle class. While some of the other kids in the neighbourhood had more toys than they knew what to do with, my sister and I had our few special toys. I remember making list after list from catalogs of all the toys I wanted for Christmas or my birthday, and I remember being sorely disappointed when most of them never arrived in my hands.

(It's not like we went hungry, or went to school with holes in our boots or the like, but we certainly didn't have a lot either. We were far better off than some of the families we knew, but lagged behind many others.)

I am one of many fortunate offspring of immigrants who are living their parents' dream: a so-called "better life" than they could have enjoyed in the old country. Unlike my father, who left school at eight years old to work on the family farm, I was afforded the opportunity to go to university as well as the improved employment circumstances that can often bring. Subsequently, finances are not as difficult for my little family as they were for my parents.

Because of this, and because I remember how it felt to be denied so many things (in reality, it wasn't as bad, looking back, but at the time it seemed horrible) I often find myself agreeing to buy things my kids do not really need, just because I can. Cognitively, I know I shouldn't, but I'm fighting years of memories of when I'm older and have my own kids vows, and often lose.

I worry about spoiling them, and (truth be told) I see proof of that from time to time. I do try to make them appreciate what we have and compare it to my own childhood. However sometimes I don't think they get it.

Does any one else find themselves in this situation? How do you deal with it?

Fears

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 10:15:00 +0000

Buddy has had a little over two and a half years to experience life outside the womb - in the "big bad world" if you will - and has, in that time, developed a list of things he is afraid of. What follows is a sampling of some of the more ~~funny~~ interesting ones.

"Nom!"
We have a game that we play around here; it's not a particularly special game, nor is it unique to our house. It starts, like many other games start, with the kids cajoling me to participate, and I usually oblige. The game is simple: they approach me, and I make a large chomping gesture while saying, "Nom!" They squeal and scream and run away, and then ask me to do it again.

The game escalates as I begin ~~chasing~~ following (chase implies effort on my part) them, repeating the action and the sound, and eventually they call upon MTM to "save" them. Then, naturally, I turn on her, and she in turn calls them to save her. It's somewhere around here that Buddy - for reasons we cannot figure out - suddenly stops finding the game entertaining and ends up sobbing with his face buried in MTM's thigh, saying, "No! No!"

His Shadow
This is neither hyperbole nor irony. Buddy is totally freaked out by his shadow before bed. Whether it's rocking in a recliner with me singing to him, or snuggling in his own bed, if there's a source of light that causes him to cast a shadow, we either need to turn it off or (in the case of his window) press the blinds so it doesn't create that effect any more.

We've tried explaining the phenomenon to him, that it's just his body blocking the light, but the fact that it moves really bothers him, and has been the source of sleeplessness in early evenings, especially now that sunset is delayed.

Showers
When Buddy was around 20 months old, he decided he really wanted to shower with Munchkin. We would put the two of them in our shower stall and run the water to wet them, then wash them and intermittently turn the water back on to rinse them off. Both kids loved it, and we were able to avoid some of the flooding commonly associated with bathing young children.

Then one day, literally out of nowhere, Buddy decided that not only was he uninterested in showers, he was also averse to the notion of running water in his proximity; but it was more about showers. (One time I recently had to fill the tub with him in it because of a particularly messy diaper and he freaked out the whole time the water was on. I felt awful, but he was covered in crap and there was nothing I could do.)

His fear of showers is so great that I ~~am ashamed to admit I~~ use it as a parenting tool. If it's after dinner and we ask him to do something, and he refuses? "Do you want Daddy to give you a shower tonight?" Problem resolved. He wants to bring something to bed with him that we've already said no to and he pitches a fit? "Do you want Daddy to give you a shower tonight?" Tantrum avoided. Sometimes I feel a little bad, but it's a powerful tool for resolving issues.

So, what are your kids afraid of? And, have you ever used those fears for your own personal gain (or am I a horrible person)?

Better In Commercials

talesfromthedadside@gmail.com (SciFi Dad) — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 10:15:00 +0000

So, about yesterday's post... as I mentioned in the comments, nothing was resolved, and things actually got more complicated. I promise the story is worth the wait, but I don't want to start it until I have an ending for you.

I forget where this idea came to me, but I thought it would make for some funny (and relatable) reading.

Activity	Commercial	Reality
wet shaving	one sweep of the razor and your face is as smooth as a baby's bum, with no remaining shaving cream anywhere	at least three cuts, one of which pours blood like a knife wound, and shaving cream on your earlobe that you don't notice until it marks your black shirt at work
playing with action figures	set in a forest, near a running river, with tons of underbrush; echoing sound effects and cool background music	on your hardwood floor, lame plastic won't allow structure to remain upright, and the only sounds are coming from the screaming kids because the thing doesn't stand up by itself
drinking alcohol	beautiful women dressed in bikinis or slutty clothing dance flirtateously with you; all the guys think you're awesome and want to be your best friend	room is spinning, you puke on a drunk girl in a tube top and her boyfriend gives you a shot in the head
eating fast food	meticulously prepared food that appears both healthy and appetizing and remains as such even after you bite into it	burger looks like the kid in the back used it as a snowglobe before serving it, and feels like lead in your stomach five minutes after eating
menstruation	running through a meadow - in a white cotton dress - on a warm and sunny spring day, chasing a young child who is trying to fly a kite	crampy and bloated in black yoga pants, screaming at your spouse or boyfriend for blinking too loudly

So, did I miss any?