I think we should! I'm hoping to do the same, and retire. And ya, they do make it all seem good.

I can't let Maggie Go - by Honeybus. Nobody knows them - '60's British Band

A good life lesson WW. Excellent

Thanx WW.

Good luck on your journal, and I think I'll give thought to the idea of a journal myself.

Baby Sit

My Son was toddler age – what is that – a year old? – and The Wife was going out to meet a friend of hers to shop and do whatever it is that they do, and I was left alone with The Boy. Of course, she starts to leave specific instructions on how to look after him, but I assume that the withering glance I threw her way must have worked, because she dipped her head, threw her arms in the air and affected a sardonic smirk (no doubt pre-absolving herself of any potential screw-up on my part), and left.

So now, its me and The Boy. My Son. Fruit of my loins. Light of my life. No problem.

First thing he does is ****s his diaper. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking, “Shouldn’t The Wife have already trained him out of this behavior? Or at least discussed the unacceptability of such actions?” Judging by the look of pure delight on his face, I’m thinking not. For the first, but by no means the last time, I wonder how long she’ll be gone.

OK So now I am forced to deal with this situation. I mean, how bad can it be?

I gently grip him by the waist, and carry him at arms length into the bathroom. Have I yet mentioned the smell? I have no idea what he’s been eating, but whatever it is, it must not be anything natural. I mean, I thought he was still on a bottle, but there’s no way milk could produce anything this toxic. We must be feeding him a constant diet of mashed garbonzo beans, I’m thinking. Anyway, he’s starting to squirm a lot, so I start to jog with him. The plan is to make sure we make it to the bathroom before I am forced to cradle him against my body. God forbid.

So now I’m jogging, and his head starts flip flopping around like he’s a frigging ventriloquist’s dummy for Chrissakes, and I get visions of the authorities accusing me of “shaken baby syndrome,” or whatever the hell it is, but finally, we are at the bathroom. I stand him in the bathtub, grip the tabs of the diaper, and pull them off. The diaper drops in the tub. I gag. This is not human. This is the second time I wonder how long The Wife will be gone. I gag again, look at The Boy, and he has this dumb half-toothless grin on his face, so I at least think that so far I’m not doing anything wrong. I gather up the diaper between forefinger and thumb and put it in the wastebasket under the sink that someone has thoughtfully provided.

I turn on the taps and adjust the temperature – I am not a complete idiot after all – and once satisfied, I direct the water through the hand held shower/massager, and hose the little bastard down. Oh what fun we had! Him smiling and laughing, me spraying **** off his ass and legs. This is what bonding is all about, I was thinking. So I think to myself, self, since I have him in the shower, I’ll just clean him up all over, just like The Wife does in the evenings before he goes to bed. Now understand, the water is barely trickling through the hand held, and since he’s been dribbling and chewing on everything from the arms of my leather Lay-Z-Boy to the cat’s ass, I figure I’d spray a little on his face, you know, a good place to start. After all, when I shower, this is where I start. Big mistake.

First thing he does is stop breathing. Then his eyes go real big. Then he starts staggering around the tub, stiff-legged, arms out in front of him, like Frankenstein’s monster! I’m thinking “Oh my God! He’s having a f***ing conniption!” I had this real parental epiphany, a moment of pure parental clarity, and realize that I am still spraying water in his face, and so cease and desist this activity. Well, the dumb little **** doesn’t realize that I have stopped with the water, continues travelling through the varying shades of blue (hmmmm, that was an interesting one), and finally takes a huge monstrous breath, and lets out a wail that would burst Hellen f***ing Kellers eardrums, for crying out loud!!!

Holy God!! He’s screaming and crying and carrying on, as if I’d rolled his high yield RSP’s into GIC’s for God’s sake!!! All I was trying to do was clean the little bugger up, and now I can’t shut him up, no matter what I do. I hold him. I shush him. I baby-talk him with the “there there’s” and the “poor baby’s”, but he’s still going strong. So I sprayed him in the face again. F**k him!

So finally, he calms down, I get him dried and dressed, and by now I am wiped!!! Its only been a half hour, but, if you will forgive me, I am pooped. So I carry him out to the living room and turn on the TV, because the Dolphins are at the Bills, and that is ALWAYS a good one to watch. I am doubly blessed because one glance at The Boy, tells me he is ready for Naptime, a condition invented by God for parents, just so that they stay sliiiiightly this side of sane. He starts to nod off, so I lay him on the couch in front of me, ensuring that he can’t roll off in his sleep. I get a beer from the fridge, some tater chips, get back to my slightly dog-eared, wet Lay-Z-Boy, and await the game. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, the noise from the TV has woken me up. I have a habit of falling asleep in front of the TV, and without realizing it, just before I do, I take off my glasses and put them on the table beside my chair.

So I wake up. Feel for my glasses. No glasses. So I look over at The Boy. No boy. I call him. “Siiiiiiiiimon” I yell, and I hear him somewhere in the dining room. He comes into the living room, and I squint, and try to determine what the little bastard has been up to while I was sleeping. But first I need my glasses. I ask him if he’s seen them. He replies “Eeenhh”, which is his full vocabulary at this time. We have learned that this word is accompanied by many different gestures and facial expressions, but the word never changes. Anyway he says “Eeenhh”, and points to his bedroom. Not having much faith that this conversation will do any of us any good, we both toddle off, hand in hand, like Laurel and Hardy, Mutt and f**king Jeff.

We get to his bedroom, and I look down at him and ask where Daddy’s glasses are, like I’m expecting anything other than “Eeenhh.” I realize that I am gonna have to touch my nose to practically every surface since my eyesight is that bad. Little asshole. Once again, I wonder when The Wife will be back. It ain’t easy being me!

... and therein lies the beauty. To share a part of ourselves from OUR perspective! When they see us for us, and not just as a parent, a closer bond is forged.

Regardless of the current relationship with our Children, when you commit to paper how proud you were of them, or how much FUN you had with them at certain stages of their lives, you become a person, and to me, that's a good thing.

Hi.

I'm kinda surprised that there's been so little input on this site for such a long time. I know its cold out there now but what? Is there NOBODY in Toronto with anything to say? I find that hard to believe. So if you're out there, let's remember our name - Toronto The Good. I love my City!

Good for you! The only thing I wonder is why you are waiting to share them? Why not now. Their mother is now my ex, and although I've never slagged her to them, they are only now realizing that the world as painted by their Mother, was not reality. Thankfully, my ex and I now get along fine, and she's apologized to them for misleading them, but my point is, share now! Good or bad, they know we are fallible, and it's refreshing for them to admit it. Keep on writing, and is it something you can share?

Johnny

My Daughter and I had the same situation, and this HAS helped tremendously. Thanx for the reply.

I`ve always thought that the Ten Commandments coud be replaced by one: Respect. After all, if you have respect, there would be no cheating, lying, killing, stealing, or any other problems related to the lack of respect. Does anyone else feel disgusted by the language, attitude, and general lack of moral fibre we see and hear every day. (my question mark has gone - shows this - É)

Kids are all grown and gone. For the past 2 years I`ve been reminiscing, and writing about all the crazy things they (and I) got up to. I wish I`d written my thoughts at the time, but reliving them, is proving to be a great experience.

Im now able to send them their stories, and many times, they`ve forgotten all about them, and the quirky things we all did. Share love with your Children, especially when they`re older, and can see the love you always had for them. It has brought mine closer to me.

Not sure if there`s enough space here to show one, but maybe I`ll clean one up and post it. I`d love to see some of yours!

LBJ

Unloved - Jann Arden