First Catch

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Sun Legs

Long, slender legs gleaming white
tight denim cut-offs rolled up tighter; shorter than necessary

Stimulating from foot-tops to forever
gliding up their continuous length with careful strokes waiting to return

Natural blonde, sun-kissed elegance
a subtle smile appeared during the slow, methodical exhibition

Floating solo, I pass by slowly
A voyager thirsting to probe the effect which is, alas, a league away.

(Holy crap, my wife got back up here just in time!)

Replacement Comfort

As our children grow up they lose the comforts of infancy and early childhood and it's often not replaced. It seems that this doesn't end--their needs must still be met even though that soother; that blanket; that stuffed toy seems out of place in contrast with their budding bodies. We need to ease our children through this transition to keep them comfortable as they grow. We need a fine balance to help them maintain that comfort.
    My six-year-old daughter wants to ride in the stroller—something that really drives me nuts. I now recognize this as her desire to reclaim some lost comfort—or perhaps, at that moment, she needed to be soothed into that place as she was back in those days. I have also witnessed her eyeing babies strapped to their mothers in those pouches the way I carted her around when she was a babe. If she's missing something, what could it be and how do I give it to her? It's likely something as simple as more hugs. I really should hold her more than I do. We all want to be held.
    The yearning for the serenity of our early childhood is really a want of comfort. "Ah, remember when you used to carry me around like that?" Instead of answering: "Ya, but you're too big for that now," (which is what I usually do—part of that lazy parenting I talked about before) simply say "yes" and then give her a big hug; sit her on your lap and talk about "those times." The inertia of parenting—some times it just takes a nudge.
    I made some of that ultra-nutritious Alpha-Ghetti for the kids and I had their inevitable left-overs. The moment the first spoonful warmed my tongue, I was transfered back thirty years to my childhood lunch table and it brought a smile to my face. Comfort. I suppose we all need it—which reminds me to keep giving it to my kids.

Notes From Northern Ground

We are up north now. And, as far as those of you in the USA are concerned, we are just further up north. We shall be here for most of the summer, if not all. It's a tiny place called Orrville in the Seguin Township (dare you to find that on a map). I have internet capabilities at the local library—The Christie Library, however I can only get there when my wife's around. Although the kids and I are staying up here continuously, my wife is commuting back to Toronto to work Tuesdays to Thursdays. She leaves us Monday nights and returns each Thursday evening during which time I cannot get to the said library to post or read, but I am writing. (I love my laptop.)
    This will (and is) allowing me some extraordinary bonding time with my kids. No distractions and lots of wrestling. We haven't spent much time in the water as it's been around 20 to 23 degrees every day so far (that's 68 to about 73 for you old-timers) and it's rained at least once a day to boot. The posts will come in bunches and I'll read as I can. Ciao for now my droogies.

* * * *
FOUR!


Happy birthday Boyo. (from The photo Bug)

* * * *
Ed. note: Okay, I found it on the satellite map thing. Insert this: "narrows rd., seguin, ontario" if you'd like to see the northern hideaway.

I've Upgraded

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(I bought the white (good) one, not the evil, black model. Now I can post more and read more—although it isn't likely to improve my comment frequency.)

No-ish

As a parent, I find I'm saying "no" rather often.

No, you can't have ice cream for supper.
No, you shouldn't throw toys into the toilet.
No, don't sit on you brother's head.

I find that the more I say "no", the less they listen to me. It's as if "no" somehow means "well, keep asking me and maybe my answer will change to one that's more to your liking." Which, of course, it does not. (Okay, generally it doesn't change, but there's that odd time....) It's really out of laziness that I just grunt out a "no" to any request that seems too much effort or too ridiculous.

No, don't stick a marble on your penis.

The problem with "no" is that it's too easily countered with "why." That lazy response comes with a price: a battle of wits and stamina. Who will break first—the No-er or the Why-er?

Why can't I have syrup in a bowl for breakfast?

If you head-off the question initially, you'll often avoid the "why-ing" altogether. You need to answer with a long-winded "no" that seldom leaves room for the "why."

Well, if you sit on your brother's head he will cry and that will upset him which in turn will upset me, which would lead me to send you to you room and ground you for the rest of the day.

O, the effort that answers requires! But, the outcome is well worth it: a stunned look on The Bug's face as she decides sitting on Boyo's head would, in fact, be a bad idea. It could be as simple as a stitch in time. Effort exerted now to save potentially much more later. A "no" battle usually ends up in frustration on both parties and could ruin the whole day.

No, for the love of Mike, how many "no's" do you need me say!? No, no, no, no. NO! No you cannot have a pet snake. Now stop asking me!

I'm sure that this no-without-actually-using-the-word-no system is common knowledge, it's just that I've only recently discovered how much of a time saver it has turned out to be—not to mention a noticeable reduction of headaches, and how much less reliant on the booze I've become.

Charming

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Lesson Learned

Thanks for all the comfort and advice. I did apologize to The Bug for my mental lapse (or explosion, or freak-out, or fit of immature selfishness, or ... give it a name) and she accepted with a loving kiss.

So, almost as if I needed reassurance that I'm not a complete ass of a father, yesterday Boyo was eating a cookie and started to cough and went a bit red in the face. The Bug gently patted him on the back and said: "It's okay, take a breath, relax. When I was little, Daddy told me that there are two pipes: one for food and water, and one for air. You can get air down the food pipe, but never let food or drinks go down the air pipe."

Mysterious ways, my droogies, mysterious ways.

Are You There Droogies? It's Me, Dumbass

I've never failed so miserably as I have tonight. I'm not supposed to behave like this; I'm not supposed to lose it this badly. I have plenty of experience working with children—I worked in a day-care for crying out loud.
    We hosted a large gang of out-of-town relatives at the Medieval Times restaurant. The Bug was acting like a 2-year-old and, it being Friday night, I was rather short on patience. She kept freaking out about the event: "I'm scared, I want to go home right now. Take me out of here now!"
    I did not. I was annoyed. I was fed up. Then, I took her into the lobby and told her that this was stupid. I said to her: "This is stupid behaviour and we can forget about eating and go home for christssake."
Stupid.

"Why'd you call me 'stupid?'" She sobbed.

Crap.

"I didn't call you 'stupid', I said your behaviour was stupid." I retorted, as if it would help. I took her back into the dinning room to get the car keys from my wife. She intercepted us and took over. The Woo handled things smoothly. I sat at the other end of the table. From that moment on, everything was fine.
    I couldn't imagine myself being a worse father than I was this evening. It turned out that my daughter wasn't inconsolable, it was just that I wasn't up to the task. I failed. I need a "do-over".
    How do I get over this one? How do I make it better after all that I said?