 |
| Start humming the Mission mpossible theme tune. Right now. |
 | |
| Just one big, just one big |
 |
| ...Tug |
 | |
| and ......I got it! |
 | |
| Thank-ya, thank-ya very much |
Friday, October 8, 2010
I'm gonna wash my hands and brush my teeth
Monday, July 5, 2010
Cramming for that test tomorrow
You've been working real hard for weeks, burning the midnight oil not to mention the candle at both ends. Study, study, study. But eventually it all becomes to much and you drop off in the midst of studying
Saturday, June 26, 2010
PS
Tracy was pissed of that I said she was "googleing" herself. Well, slightly miffed, would be a more accurate term.
She'd forgotten her password and was trying to get on her flickr account, so she googled it.
There, I explained it.
Now go to sleep, the games at 7.
oxoxox
She'd forgotten her password and was trying to get on her flickr account, so she googled it.
There, I explained it.
Now go to sleep, the games at 7.
oxoxox
On our way to England
So here we are at 10:48 on a Saturday night in a hotel in Richmond BC.
On our way to England so my family can meet the newest Lobb. Who is asleep in the travel crib behind me.
Tracy is laying on the bed googleing herself on her iphone, go figure.
It was Tracys decision to spend the night in a hotel near the airport. A decision that I initially did not agree with. Then the results in the World Cup meant that England would be playing at 7am on the day of our flight. Mmmmmm.
I knew that there was no way I could watch the game at home and still make the ferry and the flight. So a night at a hotel sounded like the perfect solution..
"Okay honey, you're right.". There. That was easy.
It was a strange afternoon really.
Richmond, for those of you that don't know has a huge Chinese population. So much so in fact, that there are shopping malls that only have Chinese signs.
So when my friend Gwen called (we were supposed to meet earlier in the day but it didn't work out) and asked where are you? I said "I decided to expose Tanner to some of his heritage........... we're in Costco in Richmond".
Truth be known, it is an eerie feeling. Here we are again, in a hotel, in a city that is full of asian people, living out of a suitcase. I wonder what, if anything, he makes of it. We went to Landsdowne mall after Costco to buy some bath toys at Toys'r'us and the last time Tanner and I were in a mall, we were in Beijing.
I don't think he cares or even notices, but it was very nostalgic for me.
Of course in Beijing he would stay in his stroller and not scream and shout because he wanted to play with the big trucks and buses and bikes and books and every other colourful thing he could lay his sticky little paws on.
Tomorrow, the flight.
On our way to England so my family can meet the newest Lobb. Who is asleep in the travel crib behind me.
Tracy is laying on the bed googleing herself on her iphone, go figure.
It was Tracys decision to spend the night in a hotel near the airport. A decision that I initially did not agree with. Then the results in the World Cup meant that England would be playing at 7am on the day of our flight. Mmmmmm.
I knew that there was no way I could watch the game at home and still make the ferry and the flight. So a night at a hotel sounded like the perfect solution..
"Okay honey, you're right.". There. That was easy.
It was a strange afternoon really.
Richmond, for those of you that don't know has a huge Chinese population. So much so in fact, that there are shopping malls that only have Chinese signs.
So when my friend Gwen called (we were supposed to meet earlier in the day but it didn't work out) and asked where are you? I said "I decided to expose Tanner to some of his heritage........... we're in Costco in Richmond".
Truth be known, it is an eerie feeling. Here we are again, in a hotel, in a city that is full of asian people, living out of a suitcase. I wonder what, if anything, he makes of it. We went to Landsdowne mall after Costco to buy some bath toys at Toys'r'us and the last time Tanner and I were in a mall, we were in Beijing.
I don't think he cares or even notices, but it was very nostalgic for me.
Of course in Beijing he would stay in his stroller and not scream and shout because he wanted to play with the big trucks and buses and bikes and books and every other colourful thing he could lay his sticky little paws on.
Tomorrow, the flight.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Sense of humour
I've always thought that you get your sense of humour via osmosis, you know, from listening to the grown-ups when you're a kid. I've also always thought that Londoners and Scousers (people from Liverpool) have the same sense of humour because it was derived from poverty. The poverty of the 1800's, when nobody had anything and you either laughed or cried. Laughing in the face of adversity as it were.
Just before I came to Canada I was a taxi driver in a small English town called Colchester.
It was one Sunday evening, a night when it seemed that everyone wanted to stay at home, which left all the cab drivers standing around the office waiting for a fare.
The controller (radio guy) started up with a story about a soldier.
I should mention at this point that Colchester is a "garrison" town. There are 6,000 soldiers stationed there at any one time and also a huge housing estate for families.
His story was about a squaddie (soldier) who had attemted to park a tank on his own.
He went on too explain how it takes two people to park a tank as there are no rear view mirrors, So you need somone to tell you where the hell you're going when you're going backwards. Well this young squaddie had decided that he could do it on his own. Not a good decision. He flattened a Land Rover. Totally obliterated it.
Now there was one other Londoner in that office. His name was Chris, if I recall, Short fella, big hair.
The controller, after lamenting the woes of the squaddie that couldn't drive, finished with " he's going to have to pay for that Land Rover, every month, out of his wages."
Sitting in the corner of the office Chris piped up with "F##k me, no wonder a Captain goes down with his ship"
Which reduced me to fits of laughter. Just me. All the other fellas looked over with a questioning look.
It seems the folks in Colchester didn't see the humour.
And now to Sechelt.
We bought some cabinets from Ikea. There were not enough bolts to bolt them together. So to the lumberyard I went. I was wandering the aisles when a very nice fella, with a badge that said his name, asked me if needed any help. I briefly explained my dilema and and off to the "bolt isle" we went.
As we passed the front counter, where there were five people standing behind it, he said "how long do you want them?"
I responded "Well, forever."
He turned at looked at me with a quizzical smile and started to talk. I looked over at the counter and of the five people standing there, only the young blonde chick was laughing. He said "no, I mean, what length?"
When you have to explain 'em, it's just not worth it.
The Blonde chick must be from London.
Just before I came to Canada I was a taxi driver in a small English town called Colchester.
It was one Sunday evening, a night when it seemed that everyone wanted to stay at home, which left all the cab drivers standing around the office waiting for a fare.
The controller (radio guy) started up with a story about a soldier.
I should mention at this point that Colchester is a "garrison" town. There are 6,000 soldiers stationed there at any one time and also a huge housing estate for families.
His story was about a squaddie (soldier) who had attemted to park a tank on his own.
He went on too explain how it takes two people to park a tank as there are no rear view mirrors, So you need somone to tell you where the hell you're going when you're going backwards. Well this young squaddie had decided that he could do it on his own. Not a good decision. He flattened a Land Rover. Totally obliterated it.
Now there was one other Londoner in that office. His name was Chris, if I recall, Short fella, big hair.
The controller, after lamenting the woes of the squaddie that couldn't drive, finished with " he's going to have to pay for that Land Rover, every month, out of his wages."
Sitting in the corner of the office Chris piped up with "F##k me, no wonder a Captain goes down with his ship"
Which reduced me to fits of laughter. Just me. All the other fellas looked over with a questioning look.
It seems the folks in Colchester didn't see the humour.
And now to Sechelt.
We bought some cabinets from Ikea. There were not enough bolts to bolt them together. So to the lumberyard I went. I was wandering the aisles when a very nice fella, with a badge that said his name, asked me if needed any help. I briefly explained my dilema and and off to the "bolt isle" we went.
As we passed the front counter, where there were five people standing behind it, he said "how long do you want them?"
I responded "Well, forever."
He turned at looked at me with a quizzical smile and started to talk. I looked over at the counter and of the five people standing there, only the young blonde chick was laughing. He said "no, I mean, what length?"
When you have to explain 'em, it's just not worth it.
The Blonde chick must be from London.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Selling
"Staging" was pain in the butt, it's true, but there was also finishing the niggly little things that you never get around to that now had to be fixed. To be honest, most of the "nigglies" didn't have to be addressed but I wanted them finished.
When you spend so much time making a great home it would be remiss to leave silly little deficiencies for the new people to look at for years.
As it transpired, I was pretty happy with the way the place looked on the day of the open house. Tracy worked tirelessly to get the place looking its best and Tanner and I work equally as hard keeping each other occupied.
It probably would have been better to wait a couple of months as, those of you that know our street can attest to, our street looks way more appealing when the leaves are on the trees. But, as I said before, circumstances dictated an immediate sale.
A princely sum of $849,000 was decided upon and on the Wednesday before the Sunday (which was the "open") on the market it went.
You have to leave when there's an open house and unfortunately the "open" coincided with Tanners nap time. So we drove, and we drove, and we drove. To White Rock, it turned out, and a fun time was had by all. That would be everyone else in White Rock except us. Tanner was as miserable as sin. Who could've blamed him?
The "open" was finished at 4 and the house was sold by 7 and Tanner was asleep by 7:10.
Glad that day's over.
When you spend so much time making a great home it would be remiss to leave silly little deficiencies for the new people to look at for years.
As it transpired, I was pretty happy with the way the place looked on the day of the open house. Tracy worked tirelessly to get the place looking its best and Tanner and I work equally as hard keeping each other occupied.
It probably would have been better to wait a couple of months as, those of you that know our street can attest to, our street looks way more appealing when the leaves are on the trees. But, as I said before, circumstances dictated an immediate sale.
A princely sum of $849,000 was decided upon and on the Wednesday before the Sunday (which was the "open") on the market it went.
You have to leave when there's an open house and unfortunately the "open" coincided with Tanners nap time. So we drove, and we drove, and we drove. To White Rock, it turned out, and a fun time was had by all. That would be everyone else in White Rock except us. Tanner was as miserable as sin. Who could've blamed him?
The "open" was finished at 4 and the house was sold by 7 and Tanner was asleep by 7:10.
Glad that day's over.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Packing
Before we can buy another home we have to sell our present abode. To facilitate this we have to "stage" our house. This is an acronym for Stuff, Take, Away, Get, Elephant or something like that. We had to get rid of a bunch of crap so that the potential new owners could visualize their crap where ours used to be.
Luckily, I had been unsuccesful in selling the cube van, although it didn't seem lucky at the time as we were getting pretty skint. On the other hand, if I were to analyze this even further, it would become apparent that selling the truck would have given us some breathing room and maybe "5930" (our new house) might have been sold by the time we started looking.
So stage we did, this entailed loading up the cube van with stuff from all ove the house and then moving it to an empty garage. This garage is also on the Sunshine Coast, Roberts Creek to be precise.
Never leave a couple of Karens in your house to help you "Stage" it. I know that eventually we would be leaving but that doesn't mean we need to empty the kitchen drawers of everyday cooking utensils. I'm sure that the new people can envisage their measuring spoons in a drawer without ours having to have been removed.
2 weeks before the open house and me vacuum packer has gone! WHAT'S A MAN TO DO?
It seemed to me that there was a lot of stuff gone already and once we got rid of all the furniture from the student rooms there wouldn't be too much stuff left. Really how much more stuff is there?
You know where this is going.
Luckily, I had been unsuccesful in selling the cube van, although it didn't seem lucky at the time as we were getting pretty skint. On the other hand, if I were to analyze this even further, it would become apparent that selling the truck would have given us some breathing room and maybe "5930" (our new house) might have been sold by the time we started looking.
So stage we did, this entailed loading up the cube van with stuff from all ove the house and then moving it to an empty garage. This garage is also on the Sunshine Coast, Roberts Creek to be precise.
Never leave a couple of Karens in your house to help you "Stage" it. I know that eventually we would be leaving but that doesn't mean we need to empty the kitchen drawers of everyday cooking utensils. I'm sure that the new people can envisage their measuring spoons in a drawer without ours having to have been removed.
2 weeks before the open house and me vacuum packer has gone! WHAT'S A MAN TO DO?
It seemed to me that there was a lot of stuff gone already and once we got rid of all the furniture from the student rooms there wouldn't be too much stuff left. Really how much more stuff is there?
You know where this is going.
Sechelt
Well here we are, no posts for quite some time and so much has changed.
Circumstances dictated a major change, so our plans to move to the Sunshine Coast got, shall we say, accelerated, moved up, just a tad.
Not being one to harp on the whys or wherefores let me just say that it took only 2 trips to the Sunshine Coast before we found a place that we both decided was "the one".
All that was left to do was to pack and move.....
Circumstances dictated a major change, so our plans to move to the Sunshine Coast got, shall we say, accelerated, moved up, just a tad.
Not being one to harp on the whys or wherefores let me just say that it took only 2 trips to the Sunshine Coast before we found a place that we both decided was "the one".
All that was left to do was to pack and move.....
Friday, February 26, 2010
The evil deed is done.
Left it way too long to write stuff down but here goes.
The evil deed is done.
After a couple too many comments about how Tanner had “modern” hair, I decided that it had to go.
Auntie Karen made a valiant attempt at shearing the little fella. An attempt, I might add, that came with strategy.
The strategy was to bathe him in the kitchen sink and cut his hair while he was in there. I only caught the end of the adventure and entertaining it was.
I walked into the kitchen to see Tanner in the sink with Tracy trying to entertain him and Auntie dashing in and out with scissors flying left and right. All things considered, it turned out pretty well, the “Spock” sideburns had gone and the back didn’t cross his collar anymore.
Spock Sideburns
3 weeks later, “Spock” sideburns were back and he was looking like Isaac again. For those of you that have never met Isaac he has the quintessential “modern” haircut.
Nothing wrong with the way Isaac looks but it’s his choice. If it was my choice, Issac too, would have a “normal” haircut.
Isaacs "modern haircut"
So that’s how we ended up at Brentwood mall looking for the kid friendly barber/hairdresser, not sure which one it is.
After wandering around for awhile, he likes going up and down in the elevator anyway, we found the place.
It was really cool actually, the chairs looked like the rides outside Safeway and there were lcd TV’s playing Dora.
Dora is “Dora the Explorer”. Tanner’s never seen it, so I knew it was going to be no help.
Unlike with last episode at the shearing shed, he didn’t scream when I put him “in the chair” but it didn’t take long.
As soon as he saw the shears he obviously had flashbacks to the lovely Vietnamese lady (and I truly mean that, she was really nice) and the screaming started.
The cool looking seats (I opted for the red racing car) had no seatbelts which is, in my opinion, a major design flaw. So I had to manually restrain him, which started of as just keeping his arms down and then progressed to holding his head still with both hands.
Now, the shears don’t hurt, not in the slightest, and I think he realized that. As the torture went on he would stop crying as soon as she lifted the shears away from his head and then start as soon as they touched him again.
I could see in his face that he had gotten to the point where he knew it wasn’t that bad and really, it didn’t hurt at all "but I’ve started so I’ll finish" he thought to himself. He was crying for the sake of it and I knew it. Now kid , I have the upper hand, this is it, it’s a haircut, it’s not surgery, get over it.
And then she changed weapons, out came the scissors “oh no” I thought.
Then the real screaming began.
He was fine as soon as I took him out of the chair and the nice lady even laminated a lock of hair.
“see you in six months” she said “not if I can help it” he replied.
Hey! Yesterday you could only say cookie!
Maybe I imagined that last bit.
So here's the final product, ignore what's in his mouth, but check out the gel at the front. Needless to say, we don't do that.
The evil deed is done.
After a couple too many comments about how Tanner had “modern” hair, I decided that it had to go.
Auntie Karen made a valiant attempt at shearing the little fella. An attempt, I might add, that came with strategy.
The strategy was to bathe him in the kitchen sink and cut his hair while he was in there. I only caught the end of the adventure and entertaining it was.
I walked into the kitchen to see Tanner in the sink with Tracy trying to entertain him and Auntie dashing in and out with scissors flying left and right. All things considered, it turned out pretty well, the “Spock” sideburns had gone and the back didn’t cross his collar anymore.
Spock Sideburns
3 weeks later, “Spock” sideburns were back and he was looking like Isaac again. For those of you that have never met Isaac he has the quintessential “modern” haircut.
Nothing wrong with the way Isaac looks but it’s his choice. If it was my choice, Issac too, would have a “normal” haircut.
Isaacs "modern haircut"
So that’s how we ended up at Brentwood mall looking for the kid friendly barber/hairdresser, not sure which one it is.
After wandering around for awhile, he likes going up and down in the elevator anyway, we found the place.
It was really cool actually, the chairs looked like the rides outside Safeway and there were lcd TV’s playing Dora.
Dora is “Dora the Explorer”. Tanner’s never seen it, so I knew it was going to be no help.
Unlike with last episode at the shearing shed, he didn’t scream when I put him “in the chair” but it didn’t take long.
As soon as he saw the shears he obviously had flashbacks to the lovely Vietnamese lady (and I truly mean that, she was really nice) and the screaming started.
The cool looking seats (I opted for the red racing car) had no seatbelts which is, in my opinion, a major design flaw. So I had to manually restrain him, which started of as just keeping his arms down and then progressed to holding his head still with both hands.
Now, the shears don’t hurt, not in the slightest, and I think he realized that. As the torture went on he would stop crying as soon as she lifted the shears away from his head and then start as soon as they touched him again.
I could see in his face that he had gotten to the point where he knew it wasn’t that bad and really, it didn’t hurt at all "but I’ve started so I’ll finish" he thought to himself. He was crying for the sake of it and I knew it. Now kid , I have the upper hand, this is it, it’s a haircut, it’s not surgery, get over it.
And then she changed weapons, out came the scissors “oh no” I thought.
Then the real screaming began.
He was fine as soon as I took him out of the chair and the nice lady even laminated a lock of hair.
“see you in six months” she said “not if I can help it” he replied.
Hey! Yesterday you could only say cookie!
Maybe I imagined that last bit.
So here's the final product, ignore what's in his mouth, but check out the gel at the front. Needless to say, we don't do that.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Little Boy Lost
We went to "Kindagym" at the Trout Lake Community centre today.
It's a fun thing for the kids to do, huge room, well, gymnasium, I guess. Not familiar with gyms really, so I guess they're all big rooms. Anyway, big room with lots of cool toys. Backyard kind of toys, large things, made of plastic, multi-coloured, cool stuff if you're less than 3 feet tall.
Tanner had made a beeline for the "castle". Not a multi-coloured castle, a grey one, but made of plastic nonetheless. There's a door and a slide and a turret and everything.
He was having a great time and I was just talking with another dad, when I looked down.
There he was, bottom lip wobbling, but not really crying, looking up at me and the other dad.
"What's the matter pal?" I asked
He garbled something that was totally incoherent.
Josh (the other dad) said ""what's up buddy?"
This was obviously a more recognizable question and not spoken in a foreign language because the response came back.
" I, I, I can't find my mum"
Now that he had said it out loud there were tears.
You have to bear in mind, that in a room where there are 20 or so adults and he's talking to the only 2 fellas, Finding his mum was a daunting task for me and Josh.
Even a 3 year old knows that you're not supposed to talk to strangers. But do 3 year olds know what "strange" means?
The look on his face when I ventured my next question told me he hadn't, but he did now.
"What does she look like?
The look said "ah, this is what they mean by strange. That dude's 285lbs, talks funny, and asks stupid questions. That has to be "strange" "
I wasn't sure if he was listening so I had made another attempt.
"Can you see her?" I asked gesturing around the room from my 6' 2" vantage point.
There was a plastic castle obscuring his view.
He'd stopped sobbing at least. Totally bewildered by the stupid questions, I guess.
I have to say that it is quite awkward trying to talk to a kid you don't know. I thought about rushing over and scooping up Tanner in an attempt to say "Look, it's okay, I'm a dad, I'm not strange" but I didn't. I just asked the same stupid question again.
"What does she look like"
No answer. I wanted to ask "what is she wearing? Is she Blonde? Brunette? Redhead? Is she fat? Thin? Is she cute?
I asked again "what does she look like?
No sooner had the words left my mouth when the quizzical look fell away from his face
"she, she, she, looks, she looks, she looks like my mum."
"Of course she does" I said
It was at this point Josh took over, picked him up and started walking towards the woman who was obviously looking for her child.
It's a fun thing for the kids to do, huge room, well, gymnasium, I guess. Not familiar with gyms really, so I guess they're all big rooms. Anyway, big room with lots of cool toys. Backyard kind of toys, large things, made of plastic, multi-coloured, cool stuff if you're less than 3 feet tall.
Tanner had made a beeline for the "castle". Not a multi-coloured castle, a grey one, but made of plastic nonetheless. There's a door and a slide and a turret and everything.
He was having a great time and I was just talking with another dad, when I looked down.
There he was, bottom lip wobbling, but not really crying, looking up at me and the other dad.
"What's the matter pal?" I asked
He garbled something that was totally incoherent.
Josh (the other dad) said ""what's up buddy?"
This was obviously a more recognizable question and not spoken in a foreign language because the response came back.
" I, I, I can't find my mum"
Now that he had said it out loud there were tears.
You have to bear in mind, that in a room where there are 20 or so adults and he's talking to the only 2 fellas, Finding his mum was a daunting task for me and Josh.
Even a 3 year old knows that you're not supposed to talk to strangers. But do 3 year olds know what "strange" means?
The look on his face when I ventured my next question told me he hadn't, but he did now.
"What does she look like?
The look said "ah, this is what they mean by strange. That dude's 285lbs, talks funny, and asks stupid questions. That has to be "strange" "
I wasn't sure if he was listening so I had made another attempt.
"Can you see her?" I asked gesturing around the room from my 6' 2" vantage point.
There was a plastic castle obscuring his view.
He'd stopped sobbing at least. Totally bewildered by the stupid questions, I guess.
I have to say that it is quite awkward trying to talk to a kid you don't know. I thought about rushing over and scooping up Tanner in an attempt to say "Look, it's okay, I'm a dad, I'm not strange" but I didn't. I just asked the same stupid question again.
"What does she look like"
No answer. I wanted to ask "what is she wearing? Is she Blonde? Brunette? Redhead? Is she fat? Thin? Is she cute?
I asked again "what does she look like?
No sooner had the words left my mouth when the quizzical look fell away from his face
"she, she, she, looks, she looks, she looks like my mum."
"Of course she does" I said
It was at this point Josh took over, picked him up and started walking towards the woman who was obviously looking for her child.
Friday, January 29, 2010
The Saffir-Simpson hurricane scale
I thought there should be a rating scale for diapers, you know, like the Richter scale for earthquakes. Richter didn't seem appropriate, more for farts really. As when sitting on a wooden park bench and someone at the other end lets one go, does it rumble the slats or not? Of course there could be a Richter component but that starts to get complicated.
Then I thought of the Saffir-Simpson scale which is used to measure hurricanes. Mmmm, there's wind, rain and damage. That could work, so here it is.
Category 1 hurricane
75 - 95 mph winds
Damage primarily to trees and un-anchored mobile homes; some coastal flooding.
Category 1 Diaper (1 baby wipe)
75 - 90 grams of poo
Damage limited to small pellet sized poo balls. No fluids present.
Category 2 hurricane
96 -110 mph winds
Some damage to roofs, doors, windows, trees and shrubbery; flooding damage to piers.
Category 2 Diaper (2 baby wipes)
96 -110 grams of poo
Damage has arrived in larger quantities than Category 1, damage detectable by faint odour as the event passes by. Damp from peeing.
Category 3 hurricane
111 - 130 mph winds
Some structural damage; large trees blown down; flooding near shoreline and possibly inland; mobile homes destroyed.
Category 3 Diaper (3 baby wipes)
111 - 130 grams of poo
Damage easily recognized by the aroma wafting around the room/car. Substantially greater quantities of pee. Diaper makes a thud as it hits the bottom of the garbage can.
Category 4 hurricane
131 - 155 mph winds
Extensive damage to doors and windows; major damage to lower floors near shore; terrain may be flooded well inland.
Category 4 Diaper (4 baby wipes)
131 - 155 grams of poo
Saved up a whole days worth of eating for this one. Last nights dinner easily recognizable, what's that? Oh, blueberries. How can you smell this bad? Good grief, it's almost to the top of the diaper. Makes a squishing sound from the pee.
I would like to add that it is at this stage the task is handed over to the "primary caregiver" as mum (or dad) can't handle it.
Category 5 hurricane
More than 155 mph winds
Complete roof failure and some building failures; massive evacuation; flooding causes major damage to lower floors of all shoreline buildings.
Category 5 Diaper (5+ baby wipes)
More crap than you can count
Holy mother of God, it's leaking out of the sides and running down the inside of his sleeper.
The dog leaves the room in disgust.
Your T-shirt needs to be pulled up over your nose as the smell is making your eyes water.
Forgot to get the baby wipes ready first, hold the kid up in the air by his feet (shoulders still on the changing pad) and reach for the wipes with your free hand. Diaper falls to the floor creating a secondary explosion.
Call for reinforcements.
Reinforcements take a step back as they enter the room.
He hasn't finished peeing, he has now.
No amount of baby wipes is going to fix this. OFF TO THE TUB.
Beer.
Then I thought of the Saffir-Simpson scale which is used to measure hurricanes. Mmmm, there's wind, rain and damage. That could work, so here it is.
Category 1 hurricane
75 - 95 mph winds
Damage primarily to trees and un-anchored mobile homes; some coastal flooding.
Category 1 Diaper (1 baby wipe)
75 - 90 grams of poo
Damage limited to small pellet sized poo balls. No fluids present.
Category 2 hurricane
96 -110 mph winds
Some damage to roofs, doors, windows, trees and shrubbery; flooding damage to piers.
Category 2 Diaper (2 baby wipes)
96 -110 grams of poo
Damage has arrived in larger quantities than Category 1, damage detectable by faint odour as the event passes by. Damp from peeing.
Category 3 hurricane
111 - 130 mph winds
Some structural damage; large trees blown down; flooding near shoreline and possibly inland; mobile homes destroyed.
Category 3 Diaper (3 baby wipes)
111 - 130 grams of poo
Damage easily recognized by the aroma wafting around the room/car. Substantially greater quantities of pee. Diaper makes a thud as it hits the bottom of the garbage can.
Category 4 hurricane
131 - 155 mph winds
Extensive damage to doors and windows; major damage to lower floors near shore; terrain may be flooded well inland.
Category 4 Diaper (4 baby wipes)
131 - 155 grams of poo
Saved up a whole days worth of eating for this one. Last nights dinner easily recognizable, what's that? Oh, blueberries. How can you smell this bad? Good grief, it's almost to the top of the diaper. Makes a squishing sound from the pee.
I would like to add that it is at this stage the task is handed over to the "primary caregiver" as mum (or dad) can't handle it.
Category 5 hurricane
More than 155 mph winds
Complete roof failure and some building failures; massive evacuation; flooding causes major damage to lower floors of all shoreline buildings.
Category 5 Diaper (5+ baby wipes)
More crap than you can count
Holy mother of God, it's leaking out of the sides and running down the inside of his sleeper.
The dog leaves the room in disgust.
Your T-shirt needs to be pulled up over your nose as the smell is making your eyes water.
Forgot to get the baby wipes ready first, hold the kid up in the air by his feet (shoulders still on the changing pad) and reach for the wipes with your free hand. Diaper falls to the floor creating a secondary explosion.
Call for reinforcements.
Reinforcements take a step back as they enter the room.
He hasn't finished peeing, he has now.
No amount of baby wipes is going to fix this. OFF TO THE TUB.
Beer.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Marinated Leg of Lamb (butterflied)
1 leg of lamb, 6 to 7 pounds, boned and butterflied
For Marinade:
3/4 cup olive oil
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
1/3 cup minced fresh rosemary
1/4 cup minced fresh thyme
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
2 teaspoons anchovy paste
7 or 8 large cloves garlic, crushed
Trim off any excess fat from the lamb and place it in a 9-by-13-inch pan. Whisk together all the marinade ingredients in a bowl. Scoop out and reserve 1/4 cup of the marinade, and pour the remainder over the lamb. Massage into the meat. Cover and refrigerate for 12 to 24 hours.
Doesn't that just sound awesome?
We're off to Manning for a couple of days and I'm in charge of dinner for Saturday.
This is what I'm making.
There'll be some complaints from Tracy if she spots the mini-barbeque in the back of the truck tomorrow.
she: "what's that for?"
me "dinner"
she "why do you have to take it all the way to Manning?"
me "dinner"
she "Can't you just cook it in the oven, like a normal person?"
me "nope"
At this point Trace will either walk away mumbling or this will go on for 10 minutes or so. Either way I'm cooking it on the mini barbeque.
The marinade came together pretty well. Had to top up the olive oil with a couple of TBSPs of veggie oil. Bought fresh rosemary but unfortunately forgot to find a recipe before buying ingredients.
We have a pretty well stocked cupboard of herbs and I knew I was going with a "Rosemary" marinade, unfortunately, we don't have any thyme, oh well.
Found an extra large ziploc for marinating it in at the bottom of the pantry and noticed a whole box of them at the back.
It was at precisely this moment I thought to myself "maybe I should blow this bag up to see if has any holes in it?". Self thought back "naah, who would put a Ziploc back in the cupboard with a hole in it?".
Self was right, no-one would put a Ziploc back in the cupboard with a hole in it. What use would it be? The whole point of a Ziploc is that it "zips and locks, right?"
Nobody put it back with "a" hole in it, no, not one hole.
This ziploc was apparently a sieve in a previous life poured the marinade in. Out it exited, through more holes than you'll find on a tray of Tim Horton's doughnuts.
The ensuing panic is not worth describing. Suffice it to say, the dog hates rosemary and the Lamb is now resting comfortably inside 2 extra large Ziplocs.
I'll post pictures on Sunday.
For Marinade:
3/4 cup olive oil
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
1/3 cup minced fresh rosemary
1/4 cup minced fresh thyme
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
2 teaspoons anchovy paste
7 or 8 large cloves garlic, crushed
Trim off any excess fat from the lamb and place it in a 9-by-13-inch pan. Whisk together all the marinade ingredients in a bowl. Scoop out and reserve 1/4 cup of the marinade, and pour the remainder over the lamb. Massage into the meat. Cover and refrigerate for 12 to 24 hours.
Doesn't that just sound awesome?
We're off to Manning for a couple of days and I'm in charge of dinner for Saturday.
This is what I'm making.
There'll be some complaints from Tracy if she spots the mini-barbeque in the back of the truck tomorrow.
she: "what's that for?"
me "dinner"
she "why do you have to take it all the way to Manning?"
me "dinner"
she "Can't you just cook it in the oven, like a normal person?"
me "nope"
At this point Trace will either walk away mumbling or this will go on for 10 minutes or so. Either way I'm cooking it on the mini barbeque.
The marinade came together pretty well. Had to top up the olive oil with a couple of TBSPs of veggie oil. Bought fresh rosemary but unfortunately forgot to find a recipe before buying ingredients.
We have a pretty well stocked cupboard of herbs and I knew I was going with a "Rosemary" marinade, unfortunately, we don't have any thyme, oh well.
Found an extra large ziploc for marinating it in at the bottom of the pantry and noticed a whole box of them at the back.
It was at precisely this moment I thought to myself "maybe I should blow this bag up to see if has any holes in it?". Self thought back "naah, who would put a Ziploc back in the cupboard with a hole in it?".
Self was right, no-one would put a Ziploc back in the cupboard with a hole in it. What use would it be? The whole point of a Ziploc is that it "zips and locks, right?"
Nobody put it back with "a" hole in it, no, not one hole.
This ziploc was apparently a sieve in a previous life poured the marinade in. Out it exited, through more holes than you'll find on a tray of Tim Horton's doughnuts.
The ensuing panic is not worth describing. Suffice it to say, the dog hates rosemary and the Lamb is now resting comfortably inside 2 extra large Ziplocs.
I'll post pictures on Sunday.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
inta lectual property
Without going into too much detail, I offered my blog to be printed in a newsletter.
It was a weird thing to do, but I have received so much positive feedback from folks that I thought that maybe a new audience might enjoy it too.
The response came back from the editor of the news letter that they would like to edit it so that it is suitable for children.
I was overwhelmed by a feeling of protectionism. "This is mine, you can't touch it! Why do you want to change it? I'm writing it so my son can read it. What are you protecting your children from? .....Did I write dodgy stuff?"
Strangely odd. Why do I have this overly protectionist feeling about something that I spent no time working on? I just typed (2 fingers. Why use 10 when 2 will do?) and that was that.
I'm not going back and reading all this stuff to figure out which ones are inappropriate, so I guess I'll figure it out if or when it gets printed.
But the truth of the matter is, that on the internet, anyone can do what they want with it. I have no control. That's why it is there, for people to read. The recent fuworgh (what is that word? I have no idea) about privacy issues on facebook spring to mind.
Its a SOCIAL NETWORKING SITE!!!!! it's not meant to be private? This is a blog which is also not meant to be private. What would be the point? I hope my eldest kids get to read it and get a glimmer of who I am and who their little brother and Step-Mum are.
So, quite honestly, I have absolutely no problem with the person concerned doing whatever he (or she) thinks is right. As long as it's still funny and his (or her) husband (or wife) checks it out. As he (or she) might have the same sense of humour as me (or him) because we may (or may not) be from the same part of the world.
Dog just farted, no time, to edit, gotta go.
It was a weird thing to do, but I have received so much positive feedback from folks that I thought that maybe a new audience might enjoy it too.
The response came back from the editor of the news letter that they would like to edit it so that it is suitable for children.
I was overwhelmed by a feeling of protectionism. "This is mine, you can't touch it! Why do you want to change it? I'm writing it so my son can read it. What are you protecting your children from? .....Did I write dodgy stuff?"
Strangely odd. Why do I have this overly protectionist feeling about something that I spent no time working on? I just typed (2 fingers. Why use 10 when 2 will do?) and that was that.
I'm not going back and reading all this stuff to figure out which ones are inappropriate, so I guess I'll figure it out if or when it gets printed.
But the truth of the matter is, that on the internet, anyone can do what they want with it. I have no control. That's why it is there, for people to read. The recent fuworgh (what is that word? I have no idea) about privacy issues on facebook spring to mind.
Its a SOCIAL NETWORKING SITE!!!!! it's not meant to be private? This is a blog which is also not meant to be private. What would be the point? I hope my eldest kids get to read it and get a glimmer of who I am and who their little brother and Step-Mum are.
So, quite honestly, I have absolutely no problem with the person concerned doing whatever he (or she) thinks is right. As long as it's still funny and his (or her) husband (or wife) checks it out. As he (or she) might have the same sense of humour as me (or him) because we may (or may not) be from the same part of the world.
Dog just farted, no time, to edit, gotta go.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Trip to the Hospital (again)
It started innocently enough. Runny nose, 2 days, not even a full on "eight hankies in an hour" affair.
Then the wheezing started, oh oh.
I started giving him the puffer (Ventolin, for the medically inclined) but wasn't sure about the Steroid. Mark McGwire ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mark_McGwire )obviously would've put his kid on 'em ASAP. But Tanner would have only got muscles in his spit, so where's the use in that?
Called the GP "come in tomorrow at 11:30" she ordered.
Got there at 11:30, trainee doctor came in at 11:50.
Now this wouldn't seem out of the ordinairy to most folks but I arrived there 7 minutes late once and was grilled by the receptionist.
"Did you have trouble finding parking?" She asked
"I'm sorry" I replied. She obviously interpreted this as a sign of weakness and came at me again.
"Why are you late?" I gestured towards the obviously sick 17 month old in my arms.
"The doctor is very busy I might have to reschedule"
That got me.
"well, yesterday he couldn't breathe so you might want to ask the doctor about that, you short, fat, miserable little cow"
Okay I didn't say the last bit, but that self important 22 year old did piss me off.
Anyway, the Trainee asked a few questions, I told her about the 2 previous occurrences including the 2 days in hospital. She put her stethoscope on his back, sat down and said "well what do you want from us?"
I thought of asking her if she'd ever been a receptionist but didn't.
I told her I wanted to make sure it was okay to give him the puffer and should I be giving him the steroids?
She said she would go and get the "real" doctor (my words).
Dr T. came in, Stethoscoped him and turned to the trainee and said "he's really wheezy, would you like to listen again?"
That was Wednesday.
"Come back and see me on Monday."
Monday, same symptoms, she sent us to emergency. DOH!
I won't go into the full details, We were there for 4 hours or so. It wasn't too bad.
The good news is there was a nurse there that explained the whole situation to me. She explained how her son had the same thing (lots of kids do) she told me that she starts him on the "roids" at the first sign of a runny nose because they take some time to kick in. Awesome.
Great nurse, but she'd have been a crappy receptionist.
Then the wheezing started, oh oh.
I started giving him the puffer (Ventolin, for the medically inclined) but wasn't sure about the Steroid. Mark McGwire ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mark_McGwire )obviously would've put his kid on 'em ASAP. But Tanner would have only got muscles in his spit, so where's the use in that?
Called the GP "come in tomorrow at 11:30" she ordered.
Got there at 11:30, trainee doctor came in at 11:50.
Now this wouldn't seem out of the ordinairy to most folks but I arrived there 7 minutes late once and was grilled by the receptionist.
"Did you have trouble finding parking?" She asked
"I'm sorry" I replied. She obviously interpreted this as a sign of weakness and came at me again.
"Why are you late?" I gestured towards the obviously sick 17 month old in my arms.
"The doctor is very busy I might have to reschedule"
That got me.
"well, yesterday he couldn't breathe so you might want to ask the doctor about that, you short, fat, miserable little cow"
Okay I didn't say the last bit, but that self important 22 year old did piss me off.
Anyway, the Trainee asked a few questions, I told her about the 2 previous occurrences including the 2 days in hospital. She put her stethoscope on his back, sat down and said "well what do you want from us?"
I thought of asking her if she'd ever been a receptionist but didn't.
I told her I wanted to make sure it was okay to give him the puffer and should I be giving him the steroids?
She said she would go and get the "real" doctor (my words).
Dr T. came in, Stethoscoped him and turned to the trainee and said "he's really wheezy, would you like to listen again?"
That was Wednesday.
"Come back and see me on Monday."
Monday, same symptoms, she sent us to emergency. DOH!
I won't go into the full details, We were there for 4 hours or so. It wasn't too bad.
The good news is there was a nurse there that explained the whole situation to me. She explained how her son had the same thing (lots of kids do) she told me that she starts him on the "roids" at the first sign of a runny nose because they take some time to kick in. Awesome.
Great nurse, but she'd have been a crappy receptionist.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
My boy has a phobia.
There were supposed to be photographs with this blog.
In fact this blog had a different name originally. It was called "Tanners first haircut".
But it turns out he has a phobia.
I haven't narrowed it down yet. It's not like an allergy where you can go and get tested, it's a matter of elimination.
Here's the things I have to eliminate:
1. Squirty bottles with water in them.
2. Combs
3. Middle-aged Vietnamese ladies wearing too much make-up and/or perfume.
4. Scissors. Not that they actually came near him, but they were extremely close by.
She said "come back later"
"okay" I replied
"six month time."
I'll try the old Italian guy in a couple of weeks.
Maybe there'll be photos.
In fact this blog had a different name originally. It was called "Tanners first haircut".
But it turns out he has a phobia.
I haven't narrowed it down yet. It's not like an allergy where you can go and get tested, it's a matter of elimination.
Here's the things I have to eliminate:
1. Squirty bottles with water in them.
2. Combs
3. Middle-aged Vietnamese ladies wearing too much make-up and/or perfume.
4. Scissors. Not that they actually came near him, but they were extremely close by.
She said "come back later"
"okay" I replied
"six month time."
I'll try the old Italian guy in a couple of weeks.
Maybe there'll be photos.
Monday, January 4, 2010
1979 F250 (Camper special)
Now the vehicle pictured above is a fine looking specimen of a 1979 Ford F-250 and NOT a picture of my 1979 F-250. Mine was a fine machine, don't get me wrong, but it wasn't as pretty as this one.
Mine was purchased from our dear friend Karen's father. Wonderful guy and proud to say we drank together once (that's a whole other story). Anyway, 500 bucks was the princely sum I paid him for it, and I was chuffed to bits. So chuffed in fact I drove away from his house in Nanoose Bay with the licence plates still sitting in a bag at his house.
Anyway, the thing about a 1979 ford f-250 Camper Special, is that first gear (yes it was a standard) is there for when there's a fully laden camper on the back. Otherwise first gear gets you a whopping 4 inches forward and then you have to change into 2nd.
It's all about gear ratios, torque and brake horsepower and, well, mechanical stuff that I don't need to bore you with, suffice it to say, 1st gear in a 1979 ford f-250 Camper Special is as about as useful as a ham sandwich at a Jewish wedding.
So, the point is you never use first, ever. Pulls away from a standing start totally happy in second. You don't have to slip the clutch or anything fancy, just put it in 2nd, little bit of gas, foot off the clutch and away you go. Easy.
How, I hear you wonder does that get me to a story about Tanner?
Well here he is
Granted, first glimpse you wouldn't say that it looks much like a 1979 ford f-250 Camper Special but believe me, I've seen it with my own eyes.
He sticks his feet out as far as they will go (approximately 2 inches) and then drags himself forward. But no further forward will he go. Pushing backwards is waaay easier he can go for yards backwards.
It seems, thus far, that if going forward will only move him a few inches then, for now, he's sticking to reverse.
Kid just needs to find second.
Marlin Fishing
I've never fished for Marlin but I've seen it on the telly.
Looks like this:
Fellas struggle for hours, they have to wear a special belt to keep the handle of the rod from spearing them in the belly, Quite often, another guy has to take the rod, he doesn't reel the fish in, no, he's just giving the first fella (it is, after all, his fish) a break. So he can catch his breath, regain his composure once again for the ensuing onslaught.
Ever tried putting an 18 month old in a high chair when he doesn't want to go? Same thing. Except there's nobody there to hold onto the struggling lump while you take a breather.
As most anglers do, I've crafted a technique. I swing him from side to side in a motion that eventually forces his legs, from thrashing uncontrollably, to swaying from side to side in unison (and together) and, as an angler would take that last yank that forces the fish into submission, I knock his feet against the arm of the highchair and in he goes.
Landed, now for the safety harness.
Not unlike when you've got your supper in front of you on the deck of the boat and all that is left to do is remove the hook from its mouth, that clip that holds him in place can bite just like the marlin.
Fish picture borrowed from here:
www.wexpl.com/SCFishing.htm
Looks like this:
Fellas struggle for hours, they have to wear a special belt to keep the handle of the rod from spearing them in the belly, Quite often, another guy has to take the rod, he doesn't reel the fish in, no, he's just giving the first fella (it is, after all, his fish) a break. So he can catch his breath, regain his composure once again for the ensuing onslaught.
Ever tried putting an 18 month old in a high chair when he doesn't want to go? Same thing. Except there's nobody there to hold onto the struggling lump while you take a breather.
As most anglers do, I've crafted a technique. I swing him from side to side in a motion that eventually forces his legs, from thrashing uncontrollably, to swaying from side to side in unison (and together) and, as an angler would take that last yank that forces the fish into submission, I knock his feet against the arm of the highchair and in he goes.
Landed, now for the safety harness.
Not unlike when you've got your supper in front of you on the deck of the boat and all that is left to do is remove the hook from its mouth, that clip that holds him in place can bite just like the marlin.
Fish picture borrowed from here:
www.wexpl.com/SCFishing.htm
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