“Dad, can my girlfriend come over to my house to visit me.”

Ummm . . .

Observing the social development of an almost-4-year-old is wonderful, scary, interesting and hilarious. Some of it I’m prepared for and some of it catches me completely off guard.

“Don’t stick the knife in the electrical outlet.” I was ready for that one. “Eat your vegetables.” Again, ready and willing. Even “The cat doesn’t like it when you sit on his head and pull his whiskers.” I knew it was coming.

But a girlfriend? A few weeks back, Sonwun had his first little crush at playgroup. She was a redhead and he was twitterpated (see Bambi). He followed her all over the gym for two hours, but, ultimately, was rejected.

He apparently recovered quickly from his first little heart-break. At playgroup yesterday, he had moved on to a new girl and she apparently found him equally charming. I watched as the two of them spent most of the two hours together, playing the in bouncy house, playing hide and seek, playing tag and, yes, even holding hands at one point. Wasn’t ready for that.

I mean, we haven’t even had “the talk” yet. You know, about girls having cooties and whatnot.

But, to be honest, it was adorable to watch. And when, near the end of playgroup, he asked if she could come over to his house, I was truly taken aback and mumbled something like “if her mommy says it’s okay.” Apparently she never asked mommy, because they left a short time later with no playdate set.

A second incident, which may or may not have been related to the twitterpation, also caught me off guard Friday. And to understand this one, you have to have watched preschoolers at play for some time.

I’ve seen this a couple of times and assume it is part of the “reindeer games” that little boys play; butting heads and, in their own little way, trying to earn the alpha male title. Although I’m pretty sure they have no idea what they’re doing or why.

It goes like this: One little boy will walk or crawl slowly toward another. Sometimes he’s growling and sometimes he just has a mean look on his face. The goal is, apparently, intimidation. And if the second boy shows fear, it only emboldens the growler who will repeat the process at every opportunity for his own amusement.

Well, I was watching Sonwun and some of the older boys playing in the bouncy house yesterday when this little rite played out. I watched as one boy, who was bigger and apparently older than Sonwun, started the slow walk toward another child about the same age. I could see the fear in the second boy’s face. Sonwun was watching as well and he didn’t like it. So he threw a flying tackle at the aggressor and took him out and into the wall of the bouncy house. The bigger kid backed off.

Now, again, I wasn’t ready for this. Officially, I suppose, I was required to step in and have a little talk with Sonwun about aggressive behaviour and so forth. But I didn’t. And I didn’t because I was proud of him. I think he did the right thing.

If he’d done this to a smaller kid, I probably would have talked to him about it. But the kid was bigger, and was being a bully. If Sonwun had gone in throwing punches, kicking or biting I probably would have talked to him. But he didn’t. If he’d followed the tackle with his own brand of bullying, intimidation or an extra shot, he would have required a talk. But he didn’t. I think he played it just about perfectly.

To my credit, I didn’t high-five him either. I just let it go and said nothing.

And although, in the back of my mind I have to wonder, just a little, if he was out to impress “the girlfriend,” I just don’t believe that to be the case. The look on his face and the action just seemed to indicate he didn’t like what was happening and wanted to put a stop to it. And he did, and that was the end of it. All three boys resumed play, no one got hurt and Sonwun’s street cred went up a few notches.

This type of thing is one I have struggled with. I want my boys to be kind and gentle (within reason for boys) but at the same time, I don’t want them to think they can’t defend themselves or, in this case, step in when they believe someone else is in trouble.

It’s a fine line and it’s one that I know Sonwun is not yet capable of negotiating. So, for now, I’ll keep watching and make my decisions incident by incident.

This time, I think he, and I, made the right call.

I feel like crap today.

I’ve been fighting some kind of cold thing for about a week and it feels like I’m now losing the battle.

Yesterday was a busy one. Second flu shot for Sontoo at 8 a.m. And I don’t mean to complain (or maybe I do) but if you advertise a flu shot clinic beginning at 8 a.m., I think all of your people should be there by 7:30 setting up. That way, when your clients arrive at 8 a.m., you’re ready. You’re not trying to figure out the damn computer program or how to fill out the paperwork. Those giving the shots are seated and ready to go, not sitting there, filling syringes while the line of crusty toddlers gets longer and longer.

This clinic was for the second dose of the H1N1 vaccine. And that means all of the clients were between the ages of six months and three years. These are not patient patients. And odds are they brought along a parent and at least one sibling who was not old enough for school. That’s a lot of impatient children and frustrated parents in a very small room, all anxious to get this over and done with.

I’m not saying anyone had to come in early, or that the Health System had to pay any overtime. I’m just saying, be ready. If that means starting at 8:30 instead of 8, so be it.

I guess I shouldn’t complain too much, as we were out of there within an hour and 10 minutes. I know elsewhere in the country, people were waiting hours and hours for their shots. But I’m just saying that, with a little better organization and pre-planning, it could have gone a lot smoother.

Oh, and a quick note to some of the parents. Remember that little card they gave you at the first dose clinic? The one they told you to bring to the second clinic? The one with the date of the first dose, the child’s birthdate and Manitoba Health number? BRING IT TO THE SECOND CLINIC YOU MORONS. That way I don’t have to stand there for 10 minutes while you figure out when, exactly, your kids got their first shot and if that is at least 21 days ago. And I won’t have to stand there for another 10 while you dig through your frickin’ purse for the Manitoba Health cards.

There, that one’s for the clinic workers who, I’m sure, had to put up with more than their share of impatient parents and screaming children. Must have been a rough day. But if you’d prepared a little better . . . just saying.

Anyway, after a quick stop at Tim Horton’s for Daddy’s cup of joy, we were off to playgroup. That went well. I’m getting to know more of the moms and am actually getting in on some of the non-breast-related conversations. Picked up a few Christmas shopping tips from those that have lived on this isolated iceberg for a few years. It was nice.

So, with my head clogged to capacity, we headed home for lunch and nap time. That’s when I found the email from Neomom. She’d been called north to a crime scene and would not be home for lunch, and probably supper, possibly bed time. Ugh.

Oh well, got the boys fed and off to bed for their naps. I needed to sleep, but was afraid to. Sonwun’s swimming lessons were at 4 and I had to be sure I wouldn’t sleep through. So I stayed up.

Swimming lessons went well and, after phoning home and finding no one there yet, the boys and I stopped at McDonalds to pick up a couple of Happy Meals, as Daddy did not feel like cooking a damn thing. I did, this time, opt for the apples over the french fries and milk over coke. I know, it ain’t Father of the Year material, but it’s slightly better than the alternatives.

I managed to get them fed and to bed before taking my Tylenol night time sinus medication and passing out on the couch. Neomom woke me up and some point, there was some conversation and then I went to bed. I don’t remember much of it as I was half asleep and in a well-medicated daze.

As I mentioned earlier, I still feel like crap today. But the refrigerator is empty and that means I must go shopping with the boys this morning. My challenge is to find a way to make it appealing, somehow, for Sonwun. He hates grocery shopping and the feeling, if left unattended, can be contagious.

Yesterday I received an email from my mother-in-law listing 44 life lessons, compiled by an 80-something-year-old woman. Some smarmy, but most really good stuff. Today, I must remember #36: “Your children get only one childhood,” and #42: “No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.”

Have a great day!

You know, sometimes, like this morning, I am blown away by the world in which my boys will grow up.

As I sit down with my 5 a.m. coffee, I see that a guy in my Grade 3 class, about 35 years ago, is a big fan of Bob Dylan, the Romantics and music in general. I see that a girl I went to school with in Grade 3 recently celebrated her 20th wedding anniversary.

My sister in British Columbia is home from Vancouver where she enjoyed an excellent dinner at the Dockside Brewery on Granville Island. My brother and his wife in the Niagara Region apparently have a new dog.

Two friends from our last RCMP posting, in Gimli, Manitoba are enjoying a trip to Disney Land, and another from the same posting now lives in Fort Providence, Northwest Territories, but wishes he was in Regina celebrating the Stampeders’ win.

A friend from high school also recently celebrated his 20th wedding anniversary, another is living in the Grand Caymans and still another is suffering from pet allergies.

My sister-in-law, in Toronto, loves to sing karaoke, and I can listen to her sing in my kitchen in Thompson.

My nephew from Kansas has moved to Colorado and my niece in Niagara celebrated her 19th birthday at “The Pepper.”

I’m not sure if that’s the same Red Hot Chili Pepper where my friends and I, about 20 years ago, used to hang out in downtown St. Catharines, Ontario.

I don’t know, because I haven’t spoken to any of them. I’m just checking Facebook to find out what’s going on in their lives.

About 25 years ago, when I was graduating high school, none of this existed. The internet was in its infancy, accessible by only a knowledgeable few. The latest video technology was the amazing VHS tape. And cell phones did not exist, at least not on the same scale. Apparently, today, they are a mandatory accessory for everyone over the age of 10.

Neomom is not a fan of computers. They are a necessary evil in her world, but she’d prefer to study in a library and write by hand.

I like computers and the internet. To me, it’s an amazing tool, but at the same time, an amazing danger. It has opened up the world to my living room— the entire world; the good, the bad and, yes, the ugly.

My challenge, one of many in raising two boys, is to stay on top of this technology because, to them, it will simply be a fact of life. And, given that I started my family a little later in life, I know that I’m behind the eight ball right off the hop.

I own a cell phone but rarely use it. I don’t know what, exactly 3G means or how useful it is. I own a DVD player, but not a Blue Ray. I don’t own a plasma or LCD TV. And I don’t understand texting. Why not just call?

But I must do my best to understand it all, so that I can introduce my boys to this world in an intelligent, positive, tempered way. It’s good stuff, but it’s not all good stuff. So much of it seems designed to part the fool and his money. So much of the stuff that was free when I was a child— television and radio to name two— can or must be paid for monthly, along with a cell phone and access to a video gaming network.

I don’t know where the world will be in eight to 10 years when my boys will really start to “need” the technology. But I know that I must do my best to keep up and work to instill basic life lessons that I hope will guide them into whatever lies ahead.

When shopping for a new house, I start in the basement. If it has a solid foundation, I will overlook minor imperfections elsewhere. And I think the same applies to kids. I need to provide the tools for them to build a solid foundation upon which to base their life decisions. There will be mistakes— minor imperfections— but as long as they have the foundation to fall back on, I must trust that they’ll be okay.

Wow, now my head is really swimming. Time to step back, take a deep breath. Sure, I have to keep an eye on the future, but live in the present. There’s so much good stuff to enjoy with the boys right now and plenty of life lessons to be taught, each one a brick in what I hope will one day be a very solid foundation.

As Abraham Lincoln said, “The best thing about the future is that it comes only one day at a time.”

Or, from Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius, “Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.”

(And yes, I found those on the internet.)

Happy Monday!

Well, yesterday was de-clutter day in the Robinson home. With mom at work and the kids in a relatively good mood, I planned to pick up all that crap that gets misplaced around the house and put it in its proper place.

It’s things like the extension cord on the kitchen counter. It was taken out of the basement for a very good reason, but it never made it back.

It’s the socks and underwear (clean) on the buffet in the dining room. That’s where I fold laundry, and these items are always the last to make it to the drawers, as I’m waiting for the next load of laundry in the dryer before I take them upstairs.

It’s the paid bills on the desk that need to go in the filing cabinet and the mittens and hats that have been dumped by the back door instead of in the little drawers provided for that purpose. All that and so much more.

And it’s the six boxes of Christmas lights on the kitchen counter. We bought them Friday and they’d been sitting there ever since. So that’s where I started.

Putting them away didn’t make much sense. Putting them up, while a pain in the butt, made more sense. And so I did.

It’s a particularly large pain in the butt in a new home. When you’ve lived somewhere for a while, you’ve put them up before. You know where they go, you know how to hang them, you know of some minor improvements you wanted to make over last year’s display.

The new house is a blank canvas, with no hooks, no wires left over from last year. And so I gathered my tools and all of the ladders, screws, wires, hooks and nails I thought I might need for the hanging and I set to work.

Between running inside to the basement for this, or that, and running inside to break up toy disputes between the boys, and running to Canadian Tire for more lights, the job took about four hours- my entire allotment of “extra” time.

But I think it looks nice. The photos I provided don’t do them justice, as I am discovering I’m more than a little rusty in my night photography.

In any case, it’s Monday – de-clutter the house day in the Robinson home. And now, in addition to the stuff listed above, I must include the work gloves on the kitchen counter, the light hangers on the kitchen island, two more extension cords in the living room and a great big mess in the basement, where I was digging to find some of the tools, cords, nails and wire that had been buried since we moved in.

Happy Monday!

Okay, in honour of the weekend, such as it is, I’ve decided to try to keep track of things that make me smile during the week, and things that make me, well, smile less and post them on Saturday or Sunday.

So, with just the right amount of adieu,

Things that make me Smile:

1. Wake-up time with Sontoo. No matter how much he’s squawking, I can count on a smile the moment I open his door and turn on the light. He’s just so happy to start the day. And I just love his morning routine. If he’s standing in his crib when I open the door, he’ll smile and then he’ll do a bum drop, which is to say he jumps up, puts his legs straight out in front of him and lands on his little tushy. He then gathers his three gramma blankets, and hugs them while I take him from the crib to the change table. I’ll miss that when it ends.

2. In a similar vein, my morning hug from Sonwun. When he wakes up, usually at about 6 a.m., I am downstairs either writing my blog entry or checking up on my other on-line activities. He, without fail, thumps down the stairs, enters the kitchen, says “Good Morning Daddy,” and gives me my hug. Great way to start the day!

3. The smell of fresh ground coffee. Once you get a grinder, you’ll never go back to the pre-ground stuff. The smell, the taste, the kick – oh joy!

4. Trying something new and succeeding. This week it was home-made bread. I always thought that this was one of those things that was extremely difficult and best left to seasoned stay-at-home moms and dads. It was so much easier than I thought and it tasted soooo good. Sonwun loved it and even ate the crust!

5. The sound of my boys playing together. It’s not something I hear often, as they are usually fighting over a toy or blanket. But when they are doing something downstairs that is making them both laugh, I can’t help but smile.

Things that make me smile a little less”

1. People who think the drug store is a casino. I don’t know why, but they always seem to end up in front of me at the check-out. I am buying one thing and, with two kids in tow, am anxious to complete my transaction before one or both of them are arrested for shoplifting. The senior in front of me, however, must have their 50 weekly lottery tickets and scratch tickets individually checked. Then they must get their cash and then they must pore over their options for new tickets this week. Drives me up a freakin’ wall, especially here in Thompson where there is rarely more than one clerk at the check-out.

2. The big purple dinosaur and his minions. I can’t stand this show and have banned it from my home. The combination of the dopey-sounding dinosaur and his ever-smiling Stepford children co-stars just leaves me cold. And hey, a note to the writers, when you want the big purple goof to give an example of “rhyming,” maybe “fiddle and diddle” are not your best options. Seriously, give your head a shake. The show creeps me out enough without adding that to the mix.

3. Whining. Especially whining for an extended period of time. Daddy has things to do during the day and can not, and will not, carry you around while I’m doing them. Sorry, not logistically possible. I love my boys with all my heart, but the sound of them whining when I’m tired and folding laundry, or making supper, is like nails on a chalkboard.

4. The moron who thought it was funny to attack our snowman. You know, that was a fun, family project. It was placed outside of the living room window so that we could look at it all winter long. You ruined that and you pissed me off. Here’s hoping we get the chance to build another before the real cold sets in. Oh, and I know that temperatures that hovered around zero in the days leading up to your attack made the snowman into a pretty solid chunk of ice. I hope it hurt, you little shit.

5. Discipline. I hate it. No matter what method we choose, it’s just no fun. Something as simple as “no dessert if you don’t clean your plate,” sucks. This week, Sonwun and I worked together to make a carrot cake – his favourite. At supper, however, he refused to finish, or even make a real effort at his taco salad. As such, the cake remained in the fridge, untouched. I hate that. The fact that we made the cake together, with supper last night in mind, made it that much worse. I was really looking forward to seeing him enjoy the fruits of our labour. I know it’s a necessary and critical part of parenting. But it’s never fun.

All righty then. After yesterday’s entry, both boys awoke with a flourish of phlegm. Nasty coughing put a quick end to preschool plans, so we set ourselves up for another day in the house.

But, I kept my word and I shaved and showered before Neomom headed off to work. And I will admit it feels good. I even got to test out the nose hair trimmer on my new beard and moustache trimmer. Wooohooo! Nothing like a well-shorn nose.

By 9 a.m., I had the boys fed, the kitchen cleaned and a load in the laundry. Own the job, own the job.

So . . . what now? I’ve always wanted to try out a bread recipe I got from another stay-at-home dad I met on the dadstayshome.com web site. Other dads on the site have tried out the recipe and many swear by it. Last week I bought all the ingredients and yesterday, I figured, what the heck! We’re stuck inside all day, might as well make the house smell nice.

(You can find the original recipe on my buddy’s blog site at http://sahd57plymouth.blogspot.com/2009_01_01_archive.html)

With Sonwun and Sontoo deeply engrossed in Blue’s Clues, I knew the time was right. I pulled out the recipe and started my new career as a baker.

Following instructions, I grabbed a big honkin’ bowl (that’s actually exactly what the recipe said) and I added three cups whole wheat flour, three cups all purpose flour, quarter cup of oil, two tablespoons brown sugar, two-thirds tablespoon salt and one and a quarter tablespoons of yeast. And then I mixed it all up.

I then added two cups of warm (not hot) water and began kneading. I tried mixing it with a wooden spoon at first. Dumb idea. So I set the spoon aside and dug in with both hands. And it was about at this time, with my hands covered in a sticky not-yet-dough concoction, that Sonwun called from the upstairs bathroom, “Daddy, I’m done pooping.”

This is my cue to go and assist with the “paperwork,” portion of the event.

**SIGH**

And so I washed my hands, headed upstairs, took care of business, washed my hands, washed my hands, washed my hands and returned to kneading. The recipe called for 5 minutes of merciless kneading. (I also had to add about a quarter cup more warm water – the amount of water is to be determined by the consistency of the dough. I am a rookie, so I just guessed.) I did my best to show no mercy and then, as instructed, I plopped the dough on the counter, cleaned the big honkin’ bowl, dried it, sprayed it down with cooking spray and then replopped the dough into said bowl. I covered it with a dish towel with the understanding that, in three hours, it would double in size.

Must resist the urge to peak. Must resist the urge to peak.

Did not peak. Dough did the rising thing. As instructed, I punched it down and divided it between my two smaller bread pans. Is it pans? Well, the loaf-shaped metal things, whatever they are. Oh, and don’t forget to spray down the pans, or grease them, whatever works for you, before plopping the bread in.

Then I left it alone again for an hour and then fired it in the preheated, 375-degree oven for half an hour.

And oh . . . the smell. Even if it didn’t work, the smell made all the effort thus far worthwhile. YUM!

But it did work. It was proudly served with my meatloaf (will post that recipe another time), potatoes, corn and peas. Great supper. I can’t wait to try the bread toasted this morning at breakfast. It is delicious, if I do say so myself.

Anyway, Day 2 of beating the blahs begins. A challenge, once again, as Sontoo had me up at 2 a.m. with a nose full of snot and an attitude a mile wide. But at least he went back to sleep, as did I.

Happy Wednesday!

Well, happy Tuesday. At least it better be, dammit.

I haven’t been writing much of late, and it’s irritating me. To be honest, a lot of things are irritating me these days. I don’t know if it’s pre-winter blues, the move to Thompson, or what. But I’ve gotta shake it, cause I don’t like the feeling.

So what to do? I am searching my scrambled brain for the things that make me happy. Things that give me a boost, a lift. Right now, a trip to a tropical location is out, so we’ll put that one on the back burner.

So far, I’ve rearranged the master bedroom. Neomom, who’s finding herself in a similar state of mind, has rearranged the boys’ bedrooms. I’ve also taken on the long overdue task of hanging pictures around the house of family, friends, good times. If my family can’t be here in person, at least I can see them in the photos, smiling at my brother’s wedding, in my other brother’s back yard, at my wedding. These thing are all good for the soul.

An artist friend of mine uses a quote on her web site “Science will dictate the future, Art will gladden its soul.”

I like that thought. And, as such, I visit her blog site every morning and, you know what? It’s true. She paints and posts a new work of art (almost) every day. This was my plan for this blog, (daily posts) but I have not kept up with Kim. You can check out her work, by the way, at http://www.eatdrinkpaint.blogspot.com/. She’s currently running a contest and giving away one of her paintings each week. You just send an email telling her which one you like each week and your name goes in a weekly draw. If your name is chose, you win your painting. I encourage you to check it out.

In any case, back to fighting the blahs. We’ve got two more rooms in the house that need some serious rearrangement, and I’m going to be tackling those in the coming weeks. The rec room needs a couch, some photos . . . we basically need to make it ours. Right now, it’s just kind of a kids playroom with a treadmill stuck in the corner. I need to make it a warm, comfy place where I want to hang out.

The living room, as well, seems a tad sterile and uninviting. There’s something about hardwood and white walls that’s just not cozy.

So that’s step one – changing my environment to better suit me.

For step two, I think I’ve gotta take a page from Mr. Mom, the 80s movie starring Michael Keaton and Teri Garr. As much as some of my stay-at-home dad colleagues hate the title, and as much as it was “just a comedy” there is some truth to it.

At the turning point of the film, Keaton decides he’s gotta get back in the game, mentally. He’s gotta get up each day, shave, shower and own the role and title of Mr. Mom.

I admit I’m not shaving daily and kind of look like an unmade bed most days. And, I suppose, if you look that way, you’re more likely to feel that way.

And finally, step three. I need to find something, (and time for something) in addition to writing, to do. I need a hobby— maybe get back into my photography and attempt to take, and post, a photo a day to go with the blog.

So there you go. My three-step plan to get my head together. Today will, admittedly, be a rough one to start with, as Sontoo got me up at 3 a.m. and I have not been back to sleep. But that’s life, it’s my life and I’ve just gotta own it. I have so much to be thankful for. Time to concentrate on the good stuff.

Happy Tuesday!

So it’s official. Sonwun has entered the system. He is now colouring inside the lines . . . or at least he’s making the attempt. Or is he?

Throughout his art career, he has never been one to follow in the footsteps of others. He’s a trailblazer. He makes his own lines and then promptly colours through them. He cuts paper with scissors not, as society demands, to create realistic representations. No, he cuts with wild abandon and then, and only then, decides what he has created.

“The Beaver”

But it all seems to be changing. Yesterday, he came home with three objets d’art. The first two made my heart stop. The most horrifying piece was “The Beaver.” With construction paper as the mileu, Sonwun had correctly assembled, and glued, the pre-cut pieces. The eyes, the ears, the nose and the teeth were all present, relatively symmetrical and, worst of all, there was not an abundance of glue. It was clear that another hand was at work in this piece. My faith was mildly restored, however, when I noted Sonwun had chosen two different eye colours for his beaver. The artist was alive, but clearly on life support!

“Color these things that are purple”

The second work “Color (WHY ARE WE USING AMERICAN SPELLING?????) these things that are purple,” opened a window to the mind-controlling, art-killing techniques of preschool. It was clear that Sonwun had been asked to monochromatically decorate five objects; grapes, a flower, a skirt, a dinosaur and, I’m gonna say a plum.

And it was clear that he’d been pressured to stay within the lines. Sure, there were some feeble efforts at self-expression as he snuck outside the societal norms with his purple crayon, but it was clear that he was losing the battle. And to make matters worse, there was a “Making Progress” sticker at the top. A reward, if you will, for following suit, for falling in line, for taking orders and executing them to meet another person’s world view.

“Teddy Bear”

But the final and most telling work, “Teddy Bear,” renewed my hope and my faith that Sonwun had not entirely caved. To the uneducated critic, it looks like a standard preschool teddy bear art project. The bear, again assembled from pre-cut construction paper shapes, is mounted on a brown paper plate. Almost all of the elements are in their anatomically correct locations. But I see the subtleties, the rebellion and the free spirit that marked Sonwun’s earlier works in dot-to-dotism and scribblism. The artist is alive!!

Now some might dismiss the fact that the bear has 12 eyes as mere motor skill issues, poor marker control. But they would be wrong. I know that Sonwun is crying out through his art. He’s saying that he’s watching. He’s aware of all that is going on around him. He knows what they’re trying to do and, in his own subtle way, making them believe they’re succeeding.

And then there’s the ears. I note that only one has the requisite pink piece of construction paper glued in the middle. Again, the uneducated critic would say “poor glue technique . . . we’ll work on that.”

But I know what’s really being said here. Sonwun is saying that, yes, I’m hearing you. But I’m not listening. I am aware of what you want from this piece, but you need to know that I will do it my way.

And finally, the most telling element in this objet d’art. The reverse paw. Once again, the uneducated will tell you that it was merely an oversight. The artist didn’t recognize that the end with the little thumb needed to go on the outside, not on the shoulder. See? He got it “right” on the other side. It’s just a technical glitch.

What the critic fails to note, and this is critical, is that Sonwun chose the left arm to invert. The little paw is not, as most would observe, glued to the shoulder. The tiny paw is actually covering the teddy bear’s heart. It is Sonwun’s final volley in the war to maintain his artistic freedom.

He’s saying, you may force me to use your pre-cut, pre-concieved tools for my art, but you will never destroy my artist’s heart. Your attempts to alter my path with peer pressure and “Making Progress” stickers has failed. My body may be here in your classroom of conformity, but my spirit is free.

Sonwun: 1
The System: 0

I almost put Crisco on Sontoo’s little bottom. So desperate was I to put an end to one of the most nasty cases of diaper rash I have ever encountered.

It was going to be that or Bag Balm, a cow udder treatment that was recommended on one of the sites I searched for solutions.

This all began Sunday, a long-overdue date night, for Neomom and I. We had it all planned out and had even hired a babysitter in this new city; a daunting task. But we have not been out together, alone, for so long. We were looking forward to a nice dinner, followed by drinks at a local sports bar. No, it’s not the perfect evening out, but it’s the best Thompson has to offer. And it isn’t about where. It’s about with whom.

So Neomom spoke to a few colleagues and found one had a 15-year-old daughter who did the babysitting thing. We called, she was free Sunday night and the plan was coming together.

Until Sunday morning.

Sonwun fired the first volley at our plans. His tummy troubles took the northern route. He opened with an early-morning regurgitative redecoration of his pajamas, my pants, the couch and the floor. That was soon followed by a fever and our Sunday night plans were fading fast.

Sontoo put the final nail in our date-night coffin, but his tummy troubles took the southern route. Solid poop became a thing of the past and the poor little guy’s bottom took the brunt of it. His tushy turned bright red and then developed open wounds as the liquid waste burned at his bottom. We tried to keep up with the changes, but any amount of time in a dirty diaper was too much.

As time on the change table became a painful, screaming battle, I was desperate for a solution. While Neomom pulled out the baby books, I hit the internet. And yes, among the proposed solutions, was Crisco (not the oil, the lard), Bag Balm and a combination of vaseline and Mylanta heartburn medication. The theory for the latter, of course, being that it would combat the acid in his poop and, hopefully, turn that little bottom back to it’s normal colour.

As I read story after story of diaper-rash-related diarrhea (I used to read novels . . . sigh) it occurred to me that one of the common themes was coverage, sealant; keeping the nasties away from that precious posterior. The other most common theme was that, no matter what you tried, the problem wouldn’t be entirely solved until the tummy troubles disappeared.

So, after considering Crisco and Bag Balm for a few minutes, I decided it was just best to use the available weapons, Desitin and Vaseline, and just bomb the hell out of the war zone with each diaper change. At the same time, I attacked on the northern front, offering foods I hoped would tighten things up; cheese, oatmeal, bread and less fruit for a little while.

This morning, it seems the tide has turned. Sonwun’s fever is gone and Sontoo’s little bottom is showing tremendous improvement. Yes, we lost the date-night battle, but we are winning the diaper rash war. And in the end (haha) that’s what really counts.

So, not a great day at playgroup Friday.

Sonwun and Sontoo were both in a high-maintenance mode, I was dog tired and, well, someone cancelled it without telling me.

In spite of the fact that it was cancelled, I showed up on time, set up the gym mats, took out the toys, slides and cars and sat down with my coffee. And again, in spite of the fact that it was cancelled, about a dozen other parents showed up with their kids. So it wasn’t a complete waste of time.

That being said, let’s talk about breast feeding, shall we? I know, I know, touchy subject. What do you, a lowly man, have to offer on this subject, hmmmmm?

First and foremost, I’m in favour. I think it’s the best and most healthy way for a newborn to eat. There, that should keep the good La Leche League folks from picketing my home.

Second, I’m all in favour of doing it where and when it must be done. It is nothing more than nature at work. That should keep the femi-nazis at bay for at least a few minutes.

Third, I’m also in favour of a little discretion and a little awareness of your surroundings. As wonderful and natural a process as this may be, in mixed company with total strangers it can be, well, awkward. Argue that one if you like.

Back to playgroup. In an effort to keep it as safe and as fun as possible, the babies and toddlers get their own little area, on gym mats, with age-appropriate toys. The older kids, the preschoolers, pretty much get the run of the rest of the place. Around the edge of the gym are chairs, where parents generally sit, have coffee and chat. Occasionally, they’ll join their young ones on the baby mat for a little playtime, or to settle a toy dispute.

Friday, for whatever reason, most of the moms decided to set up camp on the baby and toddler mat instead of in the chairs. And yes, the need to feed arose and, rather than find a less congested environment, mom just let nature take its course right there on the baby and toddler play mats, amidst the toys, the children and the other parents.

Now we have a bit of a problem.

I attend this Parents ‘n’ Tots group for the same reason as the moms. Give the kids a chance to meet friends and play, get out of the house and enjoy some adult conversation. I’m not there to look at boobs. But more importantly, as one of the only men there, I certainly do NOT want to be perceived as someone who wants to look at boobs.

And ladies, I really should point out that, as a mature male, who has two breast fed children, this does not do anything for me. At 16, maybe it would have, I don’t remember. But I do remember that, at 16, oxygen was a turn-on so it’s entirely possible.

When you are taking care of your baby in the chairs provided along the wall of the gym, I will not approach you. I will not sit down and strike up a conversation. That, too, would be awkward, inappropriate and more than a little creepy.

But when you are breast feeding in an area that was set up for my son to play, odds are pretty good I’m going to have to be there some of the time. He’s only 18 months old and needs a little help now and again, especially Friday when he was in high-maintenance mode. It is not my fault that he chose to sit beside you, but you are sitting in his area beside one of his favourite toys. Your area, my area, is the chairs. You and I can stay well away from each other in those chairs. It’s a big gym.

This way, we not only avoid awkwardness, but I avoid dirty looks from some of the other moms sitting there on the play mat. Everybody wins.

It’s a brave new world ladies. Stay-at-home dads are here. We don’t like to be excluded from Parents and Kids groups, because we too are parents and it’s not about us, it’s about the kids. We are not there to invade your space or to leer. We’re fathers and most of us are more than familiar with breast feeding.

And ma’am, if you’re fine with whipping ‘em out in a very public, confined space, fine. So am I. Some of your friends, however, are not. It was clear some of them didn’t like my proximity to this very natural event. But that was your choice. Not mine.

So until we stay-at-home dads are fully accepted in groups like Parents ‘n’ Tots, (or in society in general for that matter) let’s work together to avoid this situation. You and I may be cool with this, but others, obviously, are not. And it is me, not you, that, in the eyes of some, comes out looking slimy. And I really don’t like that.

So please. Take a chair. Get the job done and then join your friends back on the mat if you so desire. I’m not asking you to leave the room and I’m not asking you to use a bottle. It would be more than inappropriate for me to do so. As I said earlier, I think you have chosen the best feeding option for your baby. All I’m asking is for a little space to enjoy playgroup with my boys without looking like someone who goes out of his way to sit beside a breast-feeding mother.

I am not that guy.