Rover Doggy's Birthday Party

I woke up today to the once in a year event of my own birthday.

I did what I had always done. I slept in and read. My darling wife left the room quietly and allowed me to do so. It was never discussed, or requested, just assumed.

By the time I got up I was feeling very much in charge of my day. I had it all planned out. The birthday parts, the work at home parts, the work around the home parts.

Then I went downstairs and I found in my kitchen 3 small reasons why dad's who plan birthdays without including their children miss out.

Hugs and kisses all around then I went rummaging into the cupboard for a coffee cup and my overdue morning brew.

When I opened up the cupboard I found in there Rover Doggie. Rover is The Kid's life long pal. I mean this doggie is The BIG Dawg around here. He has been with us for as long as The Kid has and is an inseparable part of his life. So, Rover Doggie stuffed into the cupboard was indeed unusual, even in a house where unusual is a daily occurring event.

"Why is Rover in the cupboard?" I casually asked while spooning my sugar high into my mug.

"Because it's his birthday." I was casually told by my wise and in tune with the universe wife.

"Oh."

I proceeded to pour my black glory into my mug.

"He is there so that he can't overhear the plans The Kid is making for his party."

Now that makes perfect sense doesn't it!?

Well what can you do but join in when your son plans his dog's party to celebrate in conjunction with his fathers? What can anyone say to a six year old who has created a Process Flow Chart outlining the events of the day, but

"Heck yes sign me up!"

We played

Race Everybody to the Front Door

Pin the Spinning Top on the Stuffed Dog (not Rover, another stuffed dog)

Remote Control (pronounced with extra syllables like Re-Monk-Kawn Con-Troll-Er-Ed) Truck Obstacle Course (with bonus points and penalties)

Then we had cupcakes (home made by Super Mom in celebration of Rover's birthday)

Then we watched Toy Story 2 on Daddy's new 47" TV (Oh yeah, I got some xmas and bday gifts too ya know!)

All in all, I'm really glad I have a twin brother like Rover. He made my day!

Man in Motion

My friend Mark posted about his Canadian hero. Thanks for sharing that friend.
I have always been inspired by Terry. But every time I see him I can only think of someone who is even more inspiring to me (personally) and who is one of my heroes in life. Rick Hanson. Not the Rick who has suddenly rediscovered by Canada due to the Olympics or Paralympics, or the Rick Hanson who went bungee jumping with Rick Mercer 6 months ago (Rick Mercer, I can't feel my legs) but the Rick whom I watched religiously in the news every night, growing up in BC, for his update, the Rick whom I read cover to cover his autobiography as a small boy (which I still have, autographed)or wept at when he rolled into BC place stadium at the end of his journey to hear Man In Motion sung live for him. The Rick who once even went fishing off of my Dad's dock in BC because it was easier to get down too than the neighbors he was staying at. He is my hero, always has, and the other day while watching the Olympics I got to see him and teach my son who he was, what he did, and I even pulled down my dog eared copy of Man in Motion... but at 4 years old, he really didn't care!
But if you were to ask Hanson who inspired him to wheel around the world to raise money for spinal cord research there would only be one answer. Terry Fox.
Thanks Terry, your inspiration lives on and on and on. You touched my life because you touched Hanson's.
Thanks Mark. I needed that!

My Dad is Weirder Than Your Dad

Last night I was visiting with an old friend and our kids had the opportunity of meeting for the first time. After my friend made a comment his 6 year old daughter turned to my 3 year old son and said, "My dad is so silly."

My wonderful son, not wanting to miss an opportunity, put a finger to his lips, looked at the ground and said "Hmmmmm.... well my dad is goofy."

From the Heart

For the past few weeks I have been suffering from acute neck and shoulder pain. I guess, in his own empathic way, my three year old son has sensed this and exploited it upon occasion. Like the time when he, for the first time in his life, challenged me to a wrestling match and won. Like the times when he runs away from teeth brushing, pajama changing, etc. because he knows I lack the energy to chase. Or like his new obsession, which is to climb up on the back of the couch while I sit in it, and attempt to break dance on my head.

Last night I took a hot shower to attempt to loosen up the stiff muscles and gain a few minutes of pain relief. After my shower I lay face down on my bed, covered up to my hips with the bed sheet and gently tried to stretch my neck from side to side. Suddenly there was movement on the bed and my dear son leapt onto my lower back and straddled me.

This caused me no pain so I did not protest him being there. He asked me what I am doing and I told him I was resting and stretching my neck.

"Daddy, are you still hurt in your neck?" He asked, full of enthusiasm.

"Why yes, son, it still hurts quite badly." I replied.

"Daddy, I fix your neck." He gets off of me and runs over to the other side of the bed and mimes bending down and picking something up.

"Daddy, can I play Doctor with you?" he asked innocently. Understanding that he was now holding his imaginary doctor's bag I was pleased to help encourage his active imagination.

"Sure thing son, go right ahead."

"OK daddy. I am going to take your heart out."

I thought that this was a rather strange thing to say, but how am I to understand the thought processes of a three year old boy?

"OK son, you go ahead"

Suddenly the sheet is whisked away exposing my manly buttocks to the world. My dear son kneels down beside me and in one fluid motion sticks his finger into my butt crack and states.

"I am going to take your heart out of your bum."

"Um OK." I said, rather uncomfortably. Then, with intense surgical movements he slowly starts poking his way lower and lower all the while telling me how he is the doctor and he is going to take my heart out of my bum.

I did what any self respecting father terrified of sexual abuse allegations would do. I ran for my life.

Jumping up I whipped on my house coat and flew down the stairs. My attentive doctor followed me the entire way calling to me "Daddy, come back I need to fix your neck and take your heart out of your bum." While I had my back to him I am certain his finger was extended and in my mind I envisioned a probing "come hither" motion. I picked up my pace and ran to my redeemer, my wife, who was in the basement working on the computer.

"Help me" I cried "I am about to be sexually assaulted by our son."

She gave me "The Look" and said "Really".

I explained what had happened.

As only a mommy could she called our son to her side and calmly but firmly told him that touching family members bums was OK as long as he only poked them in the fleshy part of their bums. One day we will tell him that he is to touch no bums at all, but really, he is three, his own bottom gets pinched, wiped, patted and touched dozens of times per day... that's just part of having a child, so he is just too young to teach proper boundaries for touch just yet.

I looked admiringly at my wife and said "Thanks honey, I really appreciate it." Turning I began to climb the stairs to go find some clothes.

My son turned to follow me as well but then paused to look at his mommy. Ever polite and sensitive to others he said "Thank you mommy for telling me about the fleshy part of the bum." Then, with his doctors hat firmly clamped on his head he began to chase me back up the stairs. "Daddy, wait for meeeee... I have to poke you in the fleshy part of your bum."

Strangely enough my heart just wasn't in it.

Redneckville

One morning last week I was driving to work. As I left our community I pulled up behind a rather large Alberta Truck. What is an Alberta Truck? Well, for those of you who don't live here, an Alberta truck is a truck just like any other, except it has been fed steroids and bathed in mud. I am afraid to admit it, but most men in Alberta with trucks like them extra large and extra dirty. Extra dirty to compensate for the conservative spouses ('I wish my wife was this dirty') and HUGE trucks to compensate for small....
So the other day I pulled up behind the truck. Dazed and confused from a night of battling infant twin feedings I noticed this truck slowly. It emerged into my range of focus one eclectic piece at a time. The first thing I noticed about it was the decal on its perfectly spotless tailgate. (The spotless tailgate should have been my first clue that this was no ordinary Alberta Truck). The decal was of a deer leaping in joyous wonder... surrounded by a scrolling script that had something to do with a buck shooting championship. The second thing I noticed was a brass pair of bull testicles hanging below the trailer hitch, rocking slowly back and forth in a perfectly balanced equilibrium.After that my attention was drawn to the trailer hitch itself with its 12 inch tall plastic deer mounted where the ball was supposed to be. The deer faced backwards and as the brake was applied it kicked and flailed its wee little deer legs while a red target painted on its innocent chest lit up. Above the spasming and flailing statue from Rudolph's worst nightmare was a tasteful license plate frame made to look just like barbed wire. Then slowly into my focus emerged the personalized Alberta license plate which read "REDNEKGRL".

The very next day I took my three year old son, for the very first time to Bass Pro... Do you know what Bass Pro is? It began as a small gun and tackle shop in the back corner of a Springfield, Missouri liquor store in 1971. Today it is the largest hunting/fishing/outdoor chain in the world. Whether you like the outdoors or not you owe it to yourself to see a Bass Pro store. There is nothing quite like it. Just two weeks ago one opened up north of the city. In 5 days I went twice just to take it all in. Imagine an area larger than a football field and with a ceiling at least 100 feet high. Fill that building with ever conceivable stuffed and mounted animal from your local wildlife populace, add a 30 foot waterfall, a 24,000 gallon aquarium, a stream that runs through all levels and all over the building, paint the walls to look like a nature scene and pipe in high quality animal and wildlife sounds, add a few hundred hoof and paw prints all over the store, then fill it with almost an endless supply of hunting, fishing and outdoor gear and add one rather interior large boat store. That is a Bass Pro shop.

So one opened up here just before Easter and as I had to pick someone up at the airport, only ten minutes from it, I packed up my three year old son, grabbed some cheeseburgers and went to see it for myself. We pulled into the parking lot and immediately I noticed something odd. I was the only person not driving an Alberta Truck. My mini-van with three car seats broadcasted my status to the world. I was a man with serious reproductive capabilities. Even on a Thursday night finding a parking spot was difficult but I managed. Then I hauled my son up to the front seat so we could eat our cheeseburgers in style, in the parking lot of Canada's Redneck Mecca.

Like a champion hunter I did not have to wait for long for my "prey" to arrive. Soon enough a traditional Alberta Truck pulled into an empty parking stall a few feet away from where I sat. Red mud caked the jacked up wheels and blue buffed paint finish. Its oversized body literally screamed Redneck. After a few moments its rumbling and grumbling stopped and like a diseased diesel powered dinosaur it disgorged its occupant. Emerging from the cab of this monster truck a lumpish man appeared. He was wearing a camouflage ball cap sitting askew on top of his matted and greasy hair. Dirty jeans that no doubt spent their nights under the bed upon which their owner slumbered adorned his lower body. Covering the beer belly most likely bloated from a recent feeding frenzy of KFC was a half tucked blue, button up shirt. Ironically, napkins must have been scarce for it was apparent even from twenty feet away that the shirt, due to an immersion in chicken grease, was in and of itself finger licking good.

The man stretched, scratched and then proceeded to hobble up to the hood of his truck. At this point my interest was piqued and I sat up tall in my seat and debated with myself about whether or not my son was old enough to understand the strange male behaviour that was about to take place in front of me. Even with his back towards me and from twenty feet away I would tell by body language alone what was about to transpire... all I had to do was wait for it.... and after a brief pause my suspicions were confirmed as the man baptised the cement in front of his monster truck in urine. His territory marked he promptly tucked in his shirt, zipped up his fly, adjusted his package and proceeded to go into Bass Pro, the Redneck Mecca, to explore.

Sometimes as a man I find it difficult to fit in. I don't exactly know where I belong. I'm not a sports freak, or a car buff, I have never killed an animal and fishing... well fishing is another story, but its not something I do often. I like the outdoors, but find that most of my trips are alone or with small groups. I read a lot, can hold intellectual and intelligent conversations on many levels. I have spent the majority of my life in some form of schooling, can gut and fix almost any computer problem, and love playing with my kids. I guess that makes me a nerd. There I admit it, I was an awkward child with health issues, first to be picked on and last to be picked for floor hockey. I grew up, got smart, and fell in love with the cute blond all the popular kids wanted to date. After 11 years of practice we managed to make a few kids that will grow up to be the popular kids we never were. Maybe I don't always fit in, but I'm glad I'm not a redneck!

PS- A few days after this experience I ended up back at Bass Pro, on a Saturday with about 2,000 other curious outdoor enthusiasts. There parked in the lot was a massive, super duper, super clean jacked up truck with huge wheels and suspension that put the roof of the cab at least 12 feet in the air. Airbrushed onto the doors were the initials J.B., and as I went around the back I found out that it was Jenn's Beast. I'm glad my wife isn't a Redneck either!

To the Ninjas from a Pirate with love...

***This is a repost of a post M put on my blog from the end of last month***

This is a contribution by M, the husband of R. Often mentioned but never present. He is also sometimes referred to as "My Husband", or "DH" or "Daddy". Calgary commuters may refer to him as "SOB" and recently he has also been known to answer to "Impregnator of Two Eggs with one Sperm". This is his story...

Computers have been present in my life since early elementary school. A diagnosis of a mild learning disability, combined with an "ahead of her time" social worker had me as an experiment for the education system of the province of British Columbia. In spite of rumors to the contrary these experiments did not involve any electrodes, fluid samples or radiation therapy. And while I am at it, I would also like to put one other rumor to rest... I was not dropped on my head, but yes I have always been this way.

Anyways... the experiment involved seeing if a computer (back in the mid to late 80's an expensive and rare piece of equipment in any home or school) could assist in the learning and development of a student with a disability. So, while I entered my formative years as a student and teenager I did it with a computer on my desk. While the identifiable nerds in the classroom vocalized their presence through quests of Dungeons and Dragons, as well as rabid and sweaty conversations about Lord of the Rings, I quietly sat at my desk and wrestled with monochromatic monitors and bathed in binary code.

Lucky for me, by the time high school opened its doors to me some brilliant technician, probably an ex employee of Texas Instruments or Brother typewriters invented a laptop. Mind you, the person who named it the laptop surely was overweight for these things were enormous and needed an ample lap to live up to their namesake, but that is another story. For me, the school board appointed computer nerd, owning a laptop was a privilege. Quickly I deduced that my laptop was available for me at both school and at home, and it was so valuable that on the days I took it home my mother would drive the 1.5km from our home to the rural bus stop to pick me up from the bus after school. My homework increased exponentially as did my muscle mass as my body adjusted to carry my computer around. (A quick aside here, laptops with 18 inch screens are not new developments, when they first came out they all had 18 inch screens!)

By the time I graduated from high school and entered college I had evolved through at least four different computer versions. And then in college computers and my knowledge and use of them exploded.

Due to Providence's twisted sense of humor one of my good and lifelong friends is Mark the Mac Evangelist. Mark the Mac Evangelist was a true fundamentalist. In his opinion there was only one sort of computer that God sanctioned to be amidst the perfection of His creation and naturally it was an Apple. For two solid years I listened intently to the sermonizing of Mark the Mac Evangelist and came with my feeble sceptic rebuttals, only to have them crushed by his superior postulating, oratory skill, simplistic demonstrations and charismatic good looks. Besides, he could play Risk on his computer and I could not. Eventually I had no more arguments, no more doubts and in a flood of tears came down to the altar. I plugged my self into the brass plated receptacle, just beneath the teak oiled alter, and I publicly converted to Macintosh.

My first born again experience was with a PowerBook 100, Macintosh's very first laptop. It was different than any other computer I had ever seen. It weighed only 5lbs, and it had a really cool trackball right in the middle of it. I was in love with its 9 inch monochrome passive-matrix screen, with pixels so large I could measure them with a ruler. I was impressed with its 80mb hard drive, its 16mhz processor and an unbelievable 4mb of RAM.

I paid $800 for the privilege of being a Mac owner and I bought it gently used from Mark the Mac Evangelist's best friend Jason the Computer Salesman. Jason the Computer Salesman sent it to me after his wonderful experience with it. I was thrilled when it finally arrived complete with Mac OS 4.0, a green Targus backpack and the infamous external hard drive.

I was curious to see that Jason the Computer Salesman had included a note with my purchase. It read "Mike, enjoy your Mac experience. Please note that there is a program on this computer called QuickSilver... do NOT, under any circumstances remove this program.

I charged up my 3 pound battery and brought the entire thing to Mark the Mac Evangelist for his adulation and affirmation. As he saw it a tear trickling down his face, a heavenly choir broke out in song, and a flock of doves ruptured into the sky just outside my dorm window.

"Mike, let's beef this baby up and see what she can do," he said in a whisper.

I said "Sure, oh, here is a note from Jason."

He read the note, put it aside and turned on my PowerBook.

20 minutes later he said to me, "This Quicksilver program has got to go, lets get rid of it. Jason doesn't know what he is talking about."

One month later I received my replacement hard drive, and we installed a fresh copy of Apple OS 4.0 on it and I began my journey into the world of Macintosh.

It provided to be an interesting experience. According to MacLore, there is a mythical spirit that inhabits Macintosh computers. It is referred to as The SadMac. Most deny its existence, dismissing it as a wives' tale, or folklore. But according to those who have experienced this evil spirit it displays its face, like a cybernetic grim reaper just at the moment a Macintosh computer is about to die. It is real, it is evil, it is sad. Yes, I know, all good Macintoshes live forever, go straight to heaven and are above reproach. Therefore, such a thing could not possibly be real.

Call me a freak, a conspiracy theorist, or just an attention seeking PC lover but I have seen the fabled SadMac. In fact, in college during my days with my PowerBook 100 I saw the presence of the SadMac so many times I eventually threw out my alarm clock, perched my laptop on my nightstand and woke to the early morning clang of the SadMac appearing on my screen. Why once the legendary SadMac appeared to an entire classroom when, in midst of Pulitzer winning lecture my fellow students were interrupted by the clanging screech of my Mac in death throes and there for all to see, on my monochromatic screen was the evil face of SadMac.

Hours and hours were spent fixing my beloved computer. While all of my cool friends courted women with wine and song I slaved away like only a patient lover could to fix and correct and work around every error my little Mac threw my way. I was in love and I could do no less.

As they say, all good things must come to an end. I eventually graduated, and momentarily courted the idea of carrying my green Targus laptop bag across the convocation stage to receive my diploma. No other laptop had worked as hard as mine to see a student succeed. It was clear to me that my girl, named Miriam, should bask in my academic glory. Instead I opted for something more practical and simply didn't wear pants under my graduation gown.

Alas, my Miriam Mac eventually was put away into storage. I moved on, and technology moved on as well. She aged, I didn't and my youthful curiosity eventually got the better of me. I cheated. Oh, sure, I could justify it, saying that technology got the best of me, Windows won the OS war, etc., but the reality was, after my tumultuous relationship with Miriam the Mac I was itching to click my finger on the mouse of another kind. Early in my 20's I switched to Windows.

Instantly all of my computer troubles disappeared, my computer ran flawlessly, never again did I see an Operating Systems screen of death, and my new computer even made coffee. I was redeemed. So much so that I went out and had the initials "BG" tattooed on the body part I use the most while on a computer, and when asked about it I tell people that I am over the moon for Billy Graham, but really, it stands for another name, my hero, The King of the Nerds.

And then I went to bed, and woke up the next day to reality, and my tattoo really demonstrated what it really was... just a pain in the ass.

Blue Screens of death, rampant computer viruses, driver failures, Window's Millennium Edition, hardware and software failures... I have seen them all. Like my college days I have spent countless weekends nursing my computers back to health, fixing errors, recovering data... sacrificing a social life, a recreation life, all in the insane desire to have a flawless computer system. I should quit, become Amish and throw my PDA, GPS, Cell phone, and computer, heck even my digital watch into the Grand Canyon but I cannot.

This past spring I bought a small laptop that runs Linux. It runs almost flawlessly, which is a relief, but even in spite of a fairly simplistic user friendly environment, its a lot of learning and with three children under four, there just isn't as much time to tinker and play as there used to be.

This past fall I challenged myself. Fresh out of the surgery room from a rather uncomfortable male rite of passage I build from scratch my own personally designed super computer. Never, never try to build a computer while in agonizing pain, hopped up on Tylenol 3 while in a state where it is impossible to sit or stand or lift heavy object. Its just nuts.

I guess it was sometime after I built my super computer I stared to wonder about Macs again. Like the fragrant memories of an old lover she began her siren call to the recesses of my mind. I just had to know, is it as good as they say? Is it true that once you try a Mac you never go back? Perhaps I dreamed the routine appearances of the phantom SadMac. Maybe I should give it a chance.

A few months ago my wife (the owner and operator and maintainer of this wonderful blog) began a work from home business with an earning potential that could be unbelievable. A few months ago, someone or someones in my family (not mentioning any names but their first initial is likely to start with an "R") finally finished off our Toshiba Windows XP laptop. My wife could not run her business without a computer and she isn't thrilled with my Linux monkey and I am rather possessive about my Super Computer.

Well, the only good thing about a company downsizing in a recession is that suddenly there is a plethora of used computers, BlackBerrys, laptops, monitors, etc lying around, depreciating in value and collecting dust. Lucky for us our former CEO used a Mac, resigned to pursue other options, and our wise IT department happened to have a gently used backup in case his computer ever went down. Even luckier for me, I am the person responsible for coordinating the disposal of these machines.

The other day I brought my baby home a new edition to our family. I have entered MacWorld once again. It is a MacBook Pro. It has nothing my PowerBook 100 has and I paid $750.00 for it.

Having twins was nothing compared to this odyssey, but I am ready. I introduce you to our latest edition... MelaMac, may she never see the screen of death.

I think I have found a healthy balance between efficiency and convenience...

Start of a new journey

I am starting this blog for my dear husband, M, as I have been telling him for the past few years that he needs to have his own blog. He is really the writer in the family and has a way of painting word pictures that is far better than mine. In the past couple of months he has written posts that I have put on my blog as they are great stories, but after him giving me two in two days, I have decided to just begin one on his behalf. Either I will be posting his writing here, or (I hope) he will take it over and run with it. In my opinion he should be writing as it feeds his soul and he hasn't done nearly enough of it in the past 4ish years. So the posts here may be sporadic or if he enjoys it, frequent, but check back when you can.
So, welcome and without further ado... here's my wonderful hubby M.