As I watch my son dressed in a familiar red cape, jump from the top step of our cement porch into the bed of thorny rose bushes below, I am reminded of the superhero fantasy that lives in all boys.  An adorable little gene buried deep in their DNA that compels them to run, jump and fly without concern for their own well being or the laws of gravity.  It is this fantasy, which begins with their first pair of Superman Underoo’s and continues throughout their adult life, that I believe is responsible for about 90% of the bad decisions made by most men. [Read more…]

I’d like to think of myself as a pretty levelheaded, polite person.  I’m Canadian so I think it’s safe to say that relative to most, I’m on the nicer side of center.   Having said that, I do have to admit that the parking lot of my son’s pre-school has been the site of a few rather unsavory social indiscretions.  Most recently, I found myself calling a minivan-driving dad a “dick” in front of his 4-year-old daughter.  I’m not proud of it, but I think if you were a witness to our exchange, you would understand where I was coming from.  I won’t bore you with the details, but it’s important that you know that at some point during our very heated discussion about what a terrible person I was for having left both car doors open for my children, he actually said “I’m a pretty cool cat.” and “People like me.” Two things, I’m pretty sure only the biggest dicks say. [Read more…]

A friend of mine is expecting his first child in the spring and foolishly took to facebook in search of friendly advice on what he and his wife should register for.  Not surprisingly, everyone and their mother had an opinion including one woman who wrote that advice from other parents is “unnecessary” and then went on to give her two cents on his entire registry. I couldn’t bring myself to comment (for reasons I’m sure I will share at a later time) but his post did get me thinking about all of the items on my baby registry and how one in particular, the wipe warmer, will most likely be looked at in years to come as the reason my generation of parents failed their children.

[Read more…]

As the mother of a four and a half year old, seldom do I have a day that does not begin and end with the sound of incessant arguing followed by uncontrollable tears.  They call it the fearsome fours but in my opinion, the f*&king fours better describes the myriad of emotions that both kids and parents experience at this age. [Read more…]

My mother has always said that kids are at their best between the ages of 5 to fifteen.  Ten glorious years when they are old enough to let go of your apron strings yet still young enough to not hate you. This is not to say that my mom hasn’t met her fair share of unsavory eight year olds, but in general, she believes that if you do the work before five, the next decade should be pretty great. [Read more…]