Talking "The Talk"

I was waiting until my son was 10, maybe 12, before having "The Talk."

My wife and I had even talked about having "The Talk," (a talk-Talk as it were.)

Anyway, we figured, when the time came to explain the birds and bees, we'd spare no expense.

Lisa was, after all, a former labour and delivery nurse who had access to a huge supply of fake ovaries, uteruses, vaginas and fetuses.

So, when Alex came up to Lisa and me the other day and asked about babies, we were floored.

Although Lisa and I had talked about how we'd handle the situation, we never actually discussed what we would tell him.

I guess we always figured there'd be time enough to discuss it in the future.

But nope, here we were, sitting at the dinner table, drinking coffee and reading the paper, when Alex came running in and asked: "Where do babies come from?"

Lisa looked at me and mouthed “Go ahead.”

I started: “Well, uh, there's. . . .there’s this special place inside mommy. . . .

"That’s what I told them,” he interrupted and ran back outside to his friends.

I looked at Lisa.

“Well that was easy,” she said and turned back to The Province.

Little does she know she’s going to be the one giving the rest of “The Talk” the next time he asks.

Emulation is the sincerest form of flattery

A wise man once said "You write like the authors you read." (OK, it wasn't a wise man, it was just a guy who's smarter than me and I think he was just trying to impress a certain female radio personality during a classroom discussion.)

Whatever.

The thing is, he had a point — the last three books I read were all by the same eminent American doctor and I'm starting to see his inspiration in my words.

***************

My name is Ed, sad but true
I have a son, he's from a zoo.

He likes to make my hair go grey.
"Please be calm" at night I pray.

He can't sit still for very long
And once he broke my favourite bong

He likes to bounce on mommy's bed
But then he landed on her head.

He runs and jumps and yells and screams.
Yet when he's good gets ice cream.

Now it's time he went to bed.
But not a tear I shall shed.

When he sleeps he's so darn sweet.
Raising Alex can't be beat.

Snoring vs. bed wetting

Why do female black widow spiders kill their husband's after mating?

To stop the snoring before it starts.

One of the biggest problems with child rearing is having to do it under a constant state of sleep depravation.

That's the very same scenario that first year university students work under, but at least they grow out of it.

Child-initiated sleep depravation only ends when the child leaves home.

It starts when the baby is born.

They want to feed, mom doesn't want to get out of bed every two hours, so mom and baby take over the bed and dad is left clinging to the side with his butt hanging over the edge.

Once the child is weaned, he wants to come into “the big bed” because he's lonely.

No big deal, except little kids can't sleep in one position.

They must move, kick, roll and turn end-for-end at least once every 3 1/2 minutes.

Despite the constant cajoling and threats from mom about being sent back to “the little bed,” this restless sleep continues every night.

Once the child is four, nighttime toilet training starts.

About every third night they wet the bed and want a dry place to sleep (we're at this stage).

That dry placed tends to be mom and dad's big bed.

My lovely bride Lisa thought she had hit on a solution last night.

Instead of Alex coming in and joining us in the big bed, I’d go and join him in his bed (once I put dry sheets on it).

Once I got everything set up, I hopped in bed with Alex.

He looked at me with he same expression mom uses when she tells him he can’t toss and turn in the big bed and said: "You can't snore in this bed. One snore and you have to go to the big bed."

Sigh.

I can’t wait for the I-just-saw-a-scary-movie-and-I-can't-sleep stage.

Sick jokes

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my parents for all the days they stayed home from work and took care of me when I was sick.
I was in that position recently and now I realize how hard it is. Not the sitting around part: Waiting hand and foot on a pre-schooler who demands hot chocolate and endless reruns of Cars.
Nope, the hard part is the moral dilemma between work/school obligations and parenting responsibilities. In the end it took a wife willing to reschedule her morning, me getting permission to cut class and a son who can now quote Lightening McQueen line for line.
The cool thing is I was able to catch up on what's happening in Alex's life.
It seems knock-knock jokes have had as much impact on Barish preschool as the flu has. After about 40 knock-knock jokes, here's the best. Don't like them? Be thankful I didn't publish the other 37.

Knock Knock!
Who's there?
Tank!
Tank who?
You're welcome!

Knock Knock!
Who's there?
Boo.
Boo who?
Don't cry, Santa Claus will come next year!

Knock Knock!
Who's there?
Olive.
Olive who?
Olive you!

Want more? Try knock-knock-joke.com. One hundred pages of jokes, enough to make anyone stop answering the door.

Bonus joke:
Knock Knock!
Who's there?
Who.
Who who?
Is there an owl in here?

Why, daddy? Why?

My son Alex is now four, an age when, according to my dad, I should stop coddling him and start imparting him with the wisdom for a successful life.’
Right.
Like a 39-year-old student with a part-time job has much advice to offer.
Conversely, the only piece of advice I can remember my father giving me (which, judging from my intimate knowledge of the Canadian Young Offenders Act, I ignored) was : "If one of your friends has a really good idea that ends in '. . . and then we run like hell,' it's not such a good idea."
So, just to be on the safe side, I passed on a PG-version of the advice this morning.
Alex: "What does 'run like H-E-Double Hockey Sticks' mean?"
Me: "Run really fast."
Alex: "Why didn't you say 'Run really fast'"
Me: "I guess because I hadn't though it out really well."
Alex: "Why."
Me: "I guess I was preoccupied."
Alex: "Why"
Me: "'Cause I got a lot of things to do"
Alex: "Why"
Me: "'Cause I have to work tomorrow and I got a lot of homework and the kitchen looks like a bomb hit it and someone tried building a castle on an Eggo waffle covered in peanut butter."
Alex: "Why"
Times like these I wish I could run.
Instead I told Alex to go get the waffle and have some breakfast.So. . . in a bid to become a better parent AND get my course work done, I've started following the advice of the DotMoms and their tips on better babies through blogging.
You should too. http://roughdraft.typepad.com/dotmoms/2006/10/better_babies_t.html