It's pink. It's cute. It's loud.

The latest stringed instrument purchase for the household was a 3/4 size pink Hello Kitty Fender Squier guitar.

It's awesome.

Technically it's for the wee girl, who has been showing a lot of interest in guitars and basses of late. Technically.

So far I've been the one whose played it the most. We connected up to an effects box and made some really odd noises.

The wee girl is rather pleased with it, and has shown it off to friends and relations at every opportunity. So be warned. Come visit us at your peril.

It's funny 'cause it's true

Quote of the year so far (yes, I know it's early) goes to my wee daughter.

In response to my wife's admonishment;

"I'm not your slave."

She replied;

"You were yesterday."

Lurking in the Ham Bush

Beware the Ham Bush!

Here's an edible elephant my darling wife constructed one day to encourage the wee girl to eat her lunch. That's kiwifruit grass, an olive eye, Marmite mouth and eyebrow, and a bread body with ham skin.

The wee girl quickly brought the hapless creature down with a well aimed fork, then skinned it alive before devouring the beast until only a bread skeleton remained.

Let's Go Party

My wee girl went to her second, and final, annual Kindergarten Disco this week. I was busy installing shelves, so my long suffering wife had to attend the event without me. I'm sure I'll pay for that later.

She found the selection of music somewhat questionable. "Who Let The Dogs Out?" is hardly small child friendly, and Barbie Girl by Aqua has some dubious lines.

"You can brush my hair, undress me anywhere ..."

I guess the majority of people just don't put these songs into context, and rely on the children never doing the same. A song about breasts can be taken innocently to be about dogs if no-one tells you. A song about a plastic, unsatisfying life with a plastic overbearing Ken can be taken to be about a doll for those that don't listen.

Context, like so many things, is in the mind of the beholder. Ignorance is bliss.

Or maybe I'm just and old fuddy-duddy ... balding, grumpy, muttering under my breath at all the stupid young people, and in this case older people. Soon I'll only venture out of doors once in a while, wearing a flannel dressing gown, smelling of boiled cabbage, and using phrases like "Dang it!". One step away from a cliched Scooby Doo villain waving my hand and cursing at those meddling kids.

But really. Who Let the Dogs Out? Barbie Girl? For three and four year olds?

However, the most annoying song of the evening was voted by my wife to be the Kylie version of Locomotion. I guess cheesy beats inappropriate everytime.

School daze

School was just as I remembered it.

We went for a pre-school visit, as the not-so-wee girl starts next year. It was all too familiar.

Boredom (mine), tears (hers), disappointment (hers and mine), and the faint smell of vomit (the wee boy in my lap).

At least this time the ingredients were shared around a bit. I never really got the hang of school. Hopefully the not-so-wee girl will find it all a more enjoyable experience than I. We shall strive to make it so. There should be a lot less random violence than in my day.

Artwork by Guy Landry

Snuff scene

I watched a child learn how to blow out a candle yesterday. It was fascinating.

He (my little nephew) was entranced by the flames on his father's birthday cake. He was watching them intently when suddenly they were gone! Blown out by his father.

The older kids at the table wanted to blow them out too and they were duly re-lit, only to be blown away again.

This started the wee nephew into paroxysms of wet expulsions of air. He wanted in on the act. Once more the candles were set alight.

At first his efforts were in vain. His huffing and puffing could not blow anything down or out. His mother, on whose lap he was sitting, helped him out with some well timed and aimed bullets of air.

He still wanted more. So once again the candles burst back into flame. This time he started to get some force into his blows. The candles wavered, fluttered, tried to fight back, but finally gave up the ghost. Victory! He had won the day. He still kept blowing none-the-less ... hitting them when they were down.

It seems the urge to control fire is a strong and primal one.

Bowled over

When I got up this morning I went into the lavatory to perform my regular liquid expulsion and my first thought for the day was that I should haunt an opera theatre.

My daughter had carefully arranged toilet roll tubes on the top of the cistern tank, so it resembled a pipe organ. As I tinkled the ivories I imagined tinkling the ivories. Sustained booming chords ringing out from the depths. I flushed.

It was a great way to start the day. Sometimes even the simplest acts by my children can make the world seem bright.

And yes ... I do look that bad in the morning. At least until the first cup of coffee.

No one here but us chickens

My daughter is rapidly approaching five-years old, and she often asks when she is going to start school. This has made me cast my own mind back to by first primary school, Fraser Cresent, where I spend a few years before my family moved a few hundred miles away. I only have a few hazy memories of that school.

I remember being shown a sex education film that confused me a bit. It was an explicit film, but only at the microscopic level. Macro details were all rather coy, but under a microscope they showed a sperm fusing with an egg. However, it was chicken sperms and egg, and I was certain for years afterward that sex between humans somehow involved chickens.

Perhaps even more confusing for a young lad was the schools house system, modeled on those great english schools, and now famously used in Hogwarts. I was in Snell House, which meant that sometimes I had to wear something really stupid. So did everyone else. There were sporting events, and a points system. Snell House did not do well. I wasn't sure how I was meant to feel about that.

Walking to and from school had its moments. There were a couple of nesting magpies in the pines of the field that led to the schoolyard. You quickly learnt to avoid having anything shiny on your person.

Playtimes seemed to consist of a large free-for-all brawl where dozens of kids would get together, boys and girls, and wrestle and sucker punch each other until the bell rang. I remember that when one kid discovered the bamboo bushes out the back the whole thing deteriorated into mock sword fights followed by dizzy spells. I'm guessing the teachers weren't worried by their young charges beating each other senseless on a daily basis. Maybe it made for quite, compliant students in the afternoons?

I remember being one of the few boys that was friends with girls. I was often invited to the house of a girl named Gail, where we would play board games such as Which Witch. Then one day I was walking home hand-in-hand with a girl named Robin. We were accosted by some older boys who forced us to kiss. There, in the alley, next to the flowering honeysuckle, I discovered that even bullies can be useful.

Robin and I spent a lot of time together after that. She was my first girlfriend. Robin's father seemed to hate me. He would always keep a close eye on us. I believe he even suggested to my parents that it would be best if the two of us stopped playing together.

He was right to be worried. I may have been young, but I was already trying to figure out where I could get my hands on a live chicken.

Busy, busy, busy

A frantic week of child-rearing, working, writing, online shopping, and cooking. Which has seen me fail to find time to post anything.

Started my xmas shopping, which is always a bonus in August.

A children's story poured out of me over the last couple of days, but there'll be a lot of editing and tweaking to get it right.

I cooked cajun blackened fish last night (with assorted veges), and rogan josh for tonight (I can smell it slow-cooking as I type, and it's making me hungry).

I had some webpage work this week, which was a little frustrating, but I hope to finish it this weekend if I get some alone-time.

Our wee boy has decided that he's not going to sleep during the day anymore, which has made it much harder for me to get anything done. The good news is that he is sleeping through at night in longer stretches ... so I can now at least think clearly about all the stuff I don't have time to do.

Musing

One of the guilty thoughts that I had when my children were born was that they would help inspire me to write stories. So far there just hasn't been much time for inspiration, but our four-year old does enjoy the occasional made-up-on-the-spot tale.

A while ago I asked her if she'd like a story written for her. At first the idea didn't fly. But then one day she seemed to be keen on the idea. We got her to tell us the elements she wanted in the story: herself, her baby brother, three friends, some fairies with butterfly wings, a rainbow, crayons and colouring books, and a rock that turns out to be an egg. The rather wet story that followed was not my finest creation, but it did satisfy its patron.

Suddenly, however, the wee lass has become my muse. As the games we play together have become more imaginative, so the ideas for stories have started to flow. So this week I've started writing two of the better ideas in earnest.

They say children's stories are one of the hardest genres to write. To me, they seem like a large-panel format comic. I hope it can be thought of that way. Perhaps I'm just setting myself up for a fall? But as long as my muse is amused by the stories they will be a success.

Happy, happy! Joy, joy!

I was channel surfing, something I do far too often, the other day when I came across something on the Disney Channel that made me wince. It was a filler slice-of-life by a girl about her mother, who happened to be a wedding planner. I came in when the mother was re-enacting her own wedding day, and she uttered those tragic words ... "It was the happiest day of my life".

Really? You have a ten-year old girl for a start ... none of those ten years was better? You married some guy ... did he stop being fun and interesting to you the day after the wedding? Is it really all downhill from the wedding day ... the day that can never be topped?

I think the reason it got to me was it was on the Disney Channel. I hate the idea of kids being indoctrinated into the whole 'happiest day' myth. I'm surprised most brides don't end it all the day after the wedding. Or is the whole 'happiest day' thing merely an expected phrase, a required comment to satisfy all those involved in, and who paid money for, the event?

When I was at high school I used to get people telling me that these would be the best days of my life. High school was, apparently, the pinnacle of existence. If I had actually believed that I don't think I would have survived. Like many a geek I was not a happy camper at high school. But again, I did get the feeling that most of the people who said this worrying phrase really did look back on their high school years as the best they had experienced. It wasn't hard to see why for many of them. It still sends shivers down my spine.

My wife and I had a fantastic wedding. It was a great day. But there have been so many other great days since. Personally, I hope my happiest days are still to come, and I hope that applies to all of you as well.

The hair goes all the way 'round

This is a picture my daughter drew today. It is me after drinking coffee. The more I drank the more she added to it. In my defense it had been a sleepless night thank to her wee brother. Coffee was needed.

I think she captured me rather well.

Babies of the World, Unite !

Are babies communal property? When my wife was pregnant total strangers felt they were able to approach her and touch her bump. They were mostly female and often younger than her, but not always. She almost punched one man who meant no harm but just could not restrain himself from feeling the bump.

After the birth the simple act of carrying the baby often draws a crowd of cooing strangers. We took our wee boy to a party just a few days into his short life, and I swear it was half an hour before anyone noticed there was a adult, me, carrying the child. Zoom! Cue the high-pitched voices and longing sighs! Action! The waggling finger comes out and waves at the face or tummy of the baby. Minutes later: "Oh, hi David. How have you been?" ("Sleep deprived" is my usual answer.)

Carrying a baby seems to be a free invitation for people to accost you no matter what you are doing. They often offer sweet lil' comments that are somehow scary... "He's a yummy as an ice cream cone. I could just eat him up."

They may tell you about their own children, or desire for them ... "I want my own child more than I want this ice cream."

They may offer advice ... "When mine was that age we use to dip his head in chocolate so he looked like an ice cream."

They may even criticize your child-rearing ... "That's a very uneven coating of chocolate on that boy's head, and you should have sprinkled chopped nuts for a better effect."

Yet for the most part the communal aspect of a baby seems like a positive thing. The fact the so many people overcome their usual social inhibitions in order to interact with a baby seems to say something wonderful about the human condition. In a small way the entire community wants to help with the raising of our child.

Soon, however, he'll grow up and cross the mystical line from cute baby to annoying toddler, at which point he'll be able to smear his own head with chocolate, and the strangers will keep their distance, keep their advice and criticisms to themselves, and keep their eyes on his sticky hands. That's my boy.

why is my knee wet?

i have a baby on my knee as i type this. so cute.
as long as i keep talking to him and bouncing my knee up and down gently all is well. he has a tight grip on one on my fingers, and a wide eyed stare. poor guy is a bit under the weather, but is getting better and is a happy chappy most of the time, anyway.
babies really reduce the world to essentials. food, shelter, rest, and companionship. if he has a smiling face to look at he's always happy. well, most of the time. as long as those other three things are sorted.
soon he'll learn to walk and talk and become a social animal, and life will get oh so complicated. but for now, a bouncing knee, a friendly voice, a fresh nappy, a tummy full of milk after a nice long sleep, and a warm house are all he needs.
sounds pretty good, doesn't it?

My Young Padawans

I've noticed that so far my blogs have only associated my children with sleep deprivation. While it is true that the recent birth of our second child has made coherent thought a rare commodity it is only a temporary condition. Already things are on the improve. We are getting 4 or 5 hours of sleep in a row some nights.

It is a little odd to be going to bed around 9pm or earlier. It reminds me of my childhood, when I'd be bundled off to bed just as TV looked like it was getting interesting. I still remember being allowed to stay up for the occasional movie, The Guns of Navarone, The Dam Busters, or The Desert Rats. My father likes classic war movies to this day. I think there were meant to be part of my education. Not sure what lesson I was meant to get from them though. War is hell ... and entertaining too?

Now-a-days I can set the VCR to record the shows we are too tired to stay up for. Although most nights we can't find anything we want to bother saving.

One of the great things about having kids is that I can watch cartoons without guilt again. I never fully gave up cartoons when I 'grew up'. Just when it seemed I was turning into a responsible adult some crazed new toon show would drag me back down to idiot child status. Ren & Stimpy, I am Weasel, The Teen Titans. And there was always Anime to add to the mix, even if that was usually not childish.

Thanks to my eldest child I have been introduced to Spongebob, Fairly Odd Parents, Jimmy Neutron, Billy & Mandy, and a host of lesser toons. Her current fave is the Clone Wars cartoons, even though she has never seen a Star Wars movie. She just loves Yoda.

Like most 'old fans' of Star Wars I was very disappointed with the prequels. They seemed ... dull ... and stupid. Not that the original movies didn't have their silly moments, but somehow I found those endearing. The prequels just fell flat for me. I've never even seen the third prequel, although I have played it on Lego Star Wars on the Wii.

It's the Wii that is responsible for my daughters obsession with Star Wars. One of her proudest achievements was the day she could defeat the Darth Maul level without needing my help. She bounced all over the house after her success. For her the Star Wars universe is entirely different than for me. She will get to see all the movies with young eyes, rather than the overly cynically eyes I viewed the prequels with.

Greedo fired first! Jar Jar is the most annoying character in movies! The 'racial' stereotyping of characters in Phantom Menace is beyond insulting! The pod race is a bad rip-off of Ben Hur!

Okay, I got that out of my system. But maybe, just maybe, thanks to my children, I'll come to enjoy the entirety of the Star Wars lexicon. Not with my own eyes, but through theirs.