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Family RocksSo, while my kids drive me absolutely crazy more frequently than not — and one is still “new” as he’s less than a year old — I really enjoy having kids.

Not really being a sociable person — in a seemingly “forced” social scene sense, anyway — for most of my 20’s, I couldn’t wait until I was in my 30’s and the mere thought of “going out” on a Friday night would be, well, unusual.

I never really did go “out”. And, by my 30’s, it was totally acceptable socially.

Thankfully, I also got married when I was 30 making that whole transition into being a “responsible adult” that much more real.

Took seemingly forever to have kids thanks to that taboo M-word (miscarriage) but eventually we ended up with two healthy kids and one more that’s still a work in progress.

I kid — The deformed third one will be fine.

But now as I approach my 40’s, I’m not quite ready to say goodbye to my 30’s.

I want another kid.

Perhaps it’s the validation I feel as a parent, regarding my oldest, but even without that whole thing, I’m pretty confident that my wife and I make pretty good parents.

I know, I know, all parents think that…

But they’re mostly wrong. ;0)

Anyway, I’m 39 and my wife is 42 and we’re, well, we’re done with making our own kids but I certainly don’t feel DONE done, you know?.

Sure, I could trade my wife in for a younger model and start over but that would undoubtedly just mess up the great start I have with the three kids that I already have.

Besides, my wife is a pretty good teammate in all of this parenting stuff (she’s the boss, actually) so that leaves us, really, with only a single option…adoption.

My wife, originally, wasn’t really on board with the thought, you know, with it not really being “hers”.

Makes sense, I totally get it, and probably a more common reaction for women that have already had children of their own.

That never really mattered to me — at least I don’t think it does. I mean, physically, I don’t see very much of myself in my kids but it doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

Not the Father

Just last night I joked with my wife that we should see if we can get on a Maury Povich episode to, you know, see if I *am* the father.

It’s probably a guy thing where we just don’t have that “magic” connection or something. Who knows…

So, even before we had our third (but after a few more of those demoralizing m-words), I’d already starting poking into the realm of adoption and, while kind of turned off by how difficult it can be, I never really abandoned the idea either.

In my head, where I’m already living in that $750k home, I’d like to adopt a healthy male toddler from Haiti or Jamaica and make them my fourth son.

My reasoning?

Well, most adoptive parents much prefer newborns and infants so that they can, you know, bond from as close to day 1 as possible. I’ve done that already and wouldn’t want to rob a couple unable to have children of their own of that opportunity.

Older children are, technically, easier to adopt for the same reason — people like new things.

I have no issue with a 2 to 4 year old. Possibly old enough to remember some of their origins (which I do think is important) but young enough for our parenting style to take effect and really make them feel like they’ve always been part of our family.

I’m leaning towards a little boy simply because it’s what we know. We’ve got three boys and really good grasp on how to raise a boy. Why rock the boat?

As for the international aspect, well, I’ll confess… it’s just my preference.

Ideally, I’d love to adopt someone from the other side of the planet but the process is really, really, really difficult in so many ways.

Sorry, while adopting a child from Zimbabwe would be so awesome, I can’t imagine having to reside there for months prior to an adoption taking place (which is often a requirement).

It’s too far away, too different of a culture, too different of, well, everything. I have a hard time getting around in Quebec City and, if backed against a wall, I speak enough French to get by and understand nearly all of it…but I’m still totally out of my element.

Going to the other side of the planet where I don’t know a word, well, I guess, I’d just never really be sure if what I was agreeing to do was actually what I was agreeing to do, you know, lost in translation?

Haiti and Jamaica aren’t that far away — though inconvenient, yes, neither is further than a couple of plane flights away and English is abundant.

Further, originally being from Canada, I’ve met a number of both Haitians and Jamaicans up North and they’re all pretty awesome.

I’d assume the Haiti/Canada connection has something to do with the French language and the Jamaica/Canada connection is just because both countries are awesome.

Either way, it’s something that our now “American” family would share in common even if we all look different…or mostly look like Mom.

And, lastly, I’d like them to be healthy.

Kids are a lot of work all on their own. Having four of them is four times the work. Selfishly, a special needs addition would be too much for our family to bear.

All of this said, while we’ve talked about it, we haven’t really pursued anything…and unless we really get on board and actually start pushing the process along, it’s likely to remain as just a thought in my head…

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Trying Out for the Mite TeamDuncan, my oldest, will be trying out for a travel hockey team this season at the Mite level.

There will be two teams, one A team for the best players and a lower B team as well.

In the case a player doesn’t “make” either team during the tryout process, they’re sent back to a development team where they never play any actual games or wear real uniforms.

That’s the level he “played” in last season and the season prior.

Mite teams are generally made up of 7 and 8 year olds so with Duncan being just 6 years old, it might be a stretch for him to make the cut.

Tryouts consist of skill evaluation in the areas of skating, passing and receiving, stick handling, shooting, play making, and stamina.

And then they’re also evaluated in scrimmages to determine positional play and competitiveness.

I’ve been trying to prepare him for the past few weeks — he’s never had to knowingly “prove” himself before and being so young, it’s one of those things where if he’s in the right frame of mind, he’ll do fine but if he’s not feeling it that day, he’ll look like, well, someone who has no business trying out in the first place.

Not much middle ground, really.

It just so happened that this past week at swimming lessons that his instructor didn’t get into the pool with them and instead stood at the edge with a clipboard in hand.

Amazed, Duncan very clearly knew *exactly* what was happening — he was being tested on his ability.

Henrik, my middle son, well, he had a case of the giggles and likely blew any opportunity to move up a level… (update — both boys moved up a level)

Afterwards, I told him that what he’d just done in the pool was just like a tryout and I think it set him more at ease.

Funny story, though totally unrelated, about “fear” when it comes to the unknown.

When I was 9 years old, I made a trip to the emergency room (that resulted in a two week hospital stay) and every time the doctors or nurses mentioned a getting a “stretcher”, I pictured in my head some sort of medieval torture device that I’d be strapped to and, well, stretched…

If someone would have just said, “Kid, it’s a cot on wheels…”, I’d have been a lot more relaxed.

So, anyway, I think he’s relieved that he now knows what a tryout is and I’m also relieved that he’ll know kind of what to expect when the day comes.

Mite TryoutsI’m not at all worried about his skating. He’s a little slow in my opinion but still a strong skater and able to stop in either direction meaning he doesn’t have a preferred side.

His passing is better than his receiving but I think that’s par for the course at this age. I mean, it’s a pretty rare occurrence to receive at clean pass at this age anyway.

His stick-handling isn’t elite but he can deke around people and still keep the puck under control.

Stick handling is one of those things, though, that once you start to lose control of the puck, things can fall apart in a hurry.

I’m hoping that he finds a good rhythm on whatever sort of drill they’ll use to evaluate this skill.

His shooting is, well, terrible and far and away is biggest weakness.

Due largely in part to the fact that he’s barely ever had to play in a game with a goalie and it was rarely practiced on the development team.

We’ve been working on it at home lately but it’s an uphill battle. Strength is lacking and I’m certainly not going to have my 6-year old pumping iron.

Shooting Practice

His playmaking, from what I’ve seen in the Spring league games he played with (way) older children, is top notch. He knows where to be and how to get open.

Doesn’t so much matter when the kids refuse to pass (a common problem for most sports at this age) but he does have “hockey sense” and I’m thankful for that since it’s something you can’t teach.

Either you get it or you don’t.

Stamina concerns me a little. Often times, during the final few minutes of practice, he slows down. A lot.

All of the kids do but he goes so far as to start slumping his shoulders and looking up at the ceiling. I mean, his play really drops off.

And that plays into his competitiveness as well.

While he is very competitive (with the vocabulary to back it up) and wants to win all of the time, when he doesn’t get his way, or his team falls far behind, or he gets stopped repeatedly, or no one ever passes to him when he’s wide open, he’ll sometimes give up opting to glide around watching mostly.

Aggression takes a dive.

Effort is minimal.

And, frustratingly, that’s also something that can’t be taught.

He knows what to do and where to be…just doesn’t have the fire to actually do it sometimes and that will likely be the difference between making the team and not.

Tryouts start September 2.

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SunSo, it’s a super hot and humid summer day and you decide to take the kids to the local splash pad to cool off and play in the water a bit.

For the older set, a splash pad is essentially a “fountain” that kids can play in — water shooting up out of the ground in different fun patterns.

Lot of municipalities have them now — my town has three of them because they’re relatively inexpensive to build and operate and, unlike public pools, there’s essentially ZERO risk of drowning.

It’s the modern version of “running through the sprinkler.”

On the hottest days of the summer, they’re almost always full of young children splashing away, surrounded by watchful parents just waiting for their own child to take a tumble and scrape their knees.

Here’s a photo to give you a better idea…

Spash Pad

Oh, did you notice something?

Something very much out of place?

What is it that the long haired gentleman, surrounded by young children, has on his waistband?

Yep, that’s EXACTLY what you think it is…

Full disclosure, I didn’t take this picture. One of my friends from university took the photo while she was at the splash pad with her kids.

But her reaction was the same as mine would have been…

“C’mon kids, we’re leaving…now.

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Black & WhiteSitting against the wall in the hallway waiting for class to start back in 1981, I often sat next to a kid named Ricky Shah who was really the first “friend” I made when I started kindergarten.

Alphabetically, I think we were unknowingly forced to sit next to one another, actually.

Ricky used to wear loafers to school which meant he could do these really awesome (and often inadvertant) slides on the pavement and in the hallways.

Aside from being the only kid from school to be invited to his birthday party, it’s the loafers that I remember best. The kid had style.

I haven’t seen him in over 30 years — he acknowledged he didn’t remember me at all on Facebook a few years back after an attempted friend request (denied) — but I’d bet he still wears some really nice shoes.

Though we’d never met prior, we lived in the same area so we rode on the same bus. As a result, the two of us arrived (and left) school at the same time…and we both had some idle time both before and after school.

So, sitting there, we’d compare the palms of our hands (things kids did in 1981, you know, before cell phones), which looked pretty darn similar, and then flip our hands over and both state the obvious… “You’re a different color than me.

I was born in Canada in the 1970’s. Back then, it was comically called the Great White North by Bob and Doug McKenzie and it had absolutely nothing to do with skin color but, really, Canada was pretty white. I’m not sure I’d really EVER seen anyone that was a different color.

And that’s the thing, as a 5-year old, sitting there in the hallway, I didn’t think negatively or positively of Ricky (who happened to be of Indian descent…I think?). Didn’t phase me one way or the other.

I’d say the same held true for him — we were totally equal.

Different colours but, well, both wicked cool kindergartners living it up in the suburbs of Chicago.

I mention all of this because, three times, my oldest son Duncan (who just finished kindergarten in June) took out a book about Jackie Robinson from the library at school.

I know it’s 100% because of the picture on the cover cause, I mean, clearly, every book *can* be judged by it’s cover.

No question on that.

In this case, there’s a baseball player on the cover — a folk art style painting of what I could only assume is Jackie swinging the bat.

Now, Duncan takes a lot of pride in reading and, thankfully, so far, he kind of likes to show off his ability to read by reading outloud to either me, my wife, or one of his younger brothers.

I opened the book when he’d originally brought it home and the first page — before the title page even, shows an illustration of a sign on a chain link fence that reads boldly, “NO BLACKS ALLOWED”.

Um, yeah, we’re not going to read this book.

I already know what he’ll say… First, “What are blacks?” and secondly, “Why aren’t they allowed?”.

The first question, I have no problem answering.

“Blacks are the people that you say are brown.”

He’d counter, “But they’re not black, they’re brown…”

“You’re right, they’re not black. It’s kind of how you and me are called white even though we’re not really white. Get it?”

“Um, no. Wait, we’re white?”

So even before getting to that second question, why blacks aren’t allowed on a baseball field, we’re already on a slipperly slope with “names” and “labels” for things that really don’t make a lot of sense.

I’m not prepared to answer the second question anyway…to a five (now six) year old.

If I had my way, I’d prefer to NEVER answer it because, in his view of the world, everyone would be allowed on any baseball field — including the blue people from Avatar, Mickey Mouse, RoboCop, Adam Levine, and all four Ninja Turtles.

Maybe that makes me an irresponsible parent?

I do know that, for sure, there isn’t a single cell of racism in his brain. Not one.

He doesn’t think he’s better than anyone just because of his color. He’s not worse than anyone just because of his color either. He’s just him.

Teaching him that, not so long ago — and in some cases still to this day (thanks, South Carolina), black people were considered inferior would plant a seed for something I’m pretty sure no one really wants to grow.

You can’t change the past.

Not totally certain where I stand on all of this…

We shouldn’t forget the past, certainly, because we can learn from it…but by “over” referencing or teaching it, well, those same mistakes of the past just keep continuing…

Clearly, racism is taught.

Homophobia is taught.

The “every Muslim is a terrorist” paranoia is taught.

Stereotypes, while usually based on reality, in my opinion, are also taught.

Sorry Virginia drivers, you suck at driving. That’s a fact. (this post would not be complete without referencing a seven year old rant.)

But, seriously, the kids today probably shouldn’t be made aware of the horrible things that happened in the past. Not at age 5, anyway…

My kids talk to a woman with no hair — I don’t know if she’s sick or just chooses to wear it that way — but my kids don’t see or think of her any differently than someone with a full head of hair.

Just yesterday we ended up behind an old man using a walker — my middle son blurted out, “Hey, I want one of those!” within earshot. I’m pretty certain, he really does want a walker — tennis balls on the feet and everything.

And, yeah, they’ll gawk at the guy at the gas station that only has one leg or the midget at the grocery store but not as a cripple or something that should be harnessed up and tossed into a wrestling ring. It’s because they’re awesome to look at.

They don’t judge at all — people come in all shapes, sizes, colors, hairstyles, etc. and they’re totally fine with that — accepting it as “normal”.

Not even accepting it, that’s the way it is. Plain and simple.

I’d prefer to keep it that way for as long as I can…and hopefully a lot of parents out there do the same.

Maybe, then, when these guys are adults, everyone will be a lot more forgiving of things that were once, incorrectly, perceived.

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Oh, you forgot about him? Well, as a quick recap, we added our third child back in January, another son, and he came out, well, less than perfect.

For real, I heard the words “birth defect” in the delivery room.

Not cool. Not cool at all…

He was tested for this and tested for that.

He even had a toe removed back in May.

Crazy, right?

Here he is just a few days ago:
Baby in a Bumbo Seat

Go ahead, count the toes, if you must. I’ll wait.

Thankfully, there isn’t *really* anything wrong with him that can’t be fixed.

As such, today we spent the day going from one waiting room to another in the local children’s hospital.

AbacusYou know, for a children’s hospital, you’d think they’ve have better waiting rooms. Not that I’ve ever really found the “perfect” waiting room in all of my adventures in waiting but, really, a children’s hospital of all places should have children friendly waiting rooms.

No, sorry, a fancy abacus looking thing in the corner doesn’t cut it in 2015.

Anyway, we signed off on all of the forms with doctor and spoke with the anesthesiologist too.

Long (and purposely vague) story short, the poor little guy is going under the knife for a 4-hour procedure on August 28.

As a parent, it’s a pretty scary thought to imagine putting your infant under anesthesia…

You want to talk about a horrible waiting room experience? Yeah, get back to me on the 28th…

But by that evening, he’ll be as good as new. Well, almost.

Hey, at least he won’t remember any of this.

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Skipping to the 2nd GradeShould we let my oldest son do it?

It’s a difficult to make decision which, thankfully, we have a few months to evaluate before anything actually happens.

While we’d heard things like, “He should take advanced summer courses” and “He’s far above grade level” during the school year, I’d kinda chalked it up to, sure, he’s above average but he’s not, you know, a nerd.

Now, I’m not so sure.

During the last week of school, his teacher went out of her way to mention “skipping” first grade so that he could take the “gifted” classes that begin being offered at the grade two level.

Apparently, within the school, it’s already been discussed.

My first instinct is to go for it — always take advantage of opportunities presented that are only offered to a very limited few.

I mean, I have little doubt that he could keep up with kids a year older than him.

I’m not saying that because he’s my kid, I’m saying it cause it’s been pretty clear since he was about 3 years old. He just “gets” it and knows how to “fit” in.

Sure, I still catch him watching Bubble Guppies (geared towards the under-3 crowd) on television every now and then but, hey, everyone has a guilty pleasure they’re not proud of.

Really, for me, it comes down to three pillars that my wife and I really need to come to terms with: Athletics, Academics, and, most importantly, his Social Skills.

We also need to know what he wants to do should this opportunity come to fruition.

Easy Out at KickballDuring the childcare program he attends after school each day, he occasionally complains that he’s considered an “easy out” during the kickball games where kids from kindergarten through fifth grade play alongside one another.

I’ve told him that, “Yeah, compared to a fifth grader, you probably are an “easy” out. But just wait until you’re in fifth grade! You won’t be then!”

(I’ve also told him it’s called “Paying your dues” and asked, “Are you the “easiest” out?” (he’s obviously not) in an attempt to ease his frustrations. My parenting style is to “keep it real” as often as I can.)

But that makes me recall my own years in school even though I was never fortunate enough to skip a grade.

See, there was this one guy on an opposing track team that I had a difficult time getting past in high school — truthfully, my only *real* competition where both of us would go all out and it’d be a crapshoot as to who won on any given day.

It was only years later, via a Facebook birthday alert of all things, that I came to learn that this guy who I’d thought was a year younger than me was actually nearly THREE YEARS OLDER than me.

I didn’t know then but he’d apparently started school late *and* been held back a year somewhere along the way.

Not surprisingly, he ran some *very* impressive times — far exceeding my personal bests — after I’d graduated.

I was 17 when I finished high school.

He was pushing 20.

That makes a HUGE difference when it comes to athletics.

While that’s a pretty unusual circumstance (I hope, anyway), if my son skips first grade, he’ll pretty much be in the same situation, but not against one or two peers, instead, it will be nearly all of them.

Not a big deal for the gifted child that aims to play the violin in their spare time or volunteer at some sort of algae growing scientific lab but it is a bit of a problem for the gifted child who prefers to play hockey and soccer, you know, where size and strength hold a little more weight than brain power.

While youth athletics could be considered unimportant to many adults when put up against academics (which prepare you for the rest of your life), for me, well, they’re practically neck-in-neck.

My “Say NO to education” post is evidence of that.

I was a very good student. I was also a very good athlete and, for me, those two things were not independent of one another. My high school transcript is proof that as I became an elite athlete, my grades took off too.

With out my success on the track, my grades would’ve faltered, I’m sure.

I don’t want to make it all but impossible for him to compete on the field…

Being an “easy out” or picked last, perpetually, sucks.

Sure, he’s still a dozen years from graduating from high school but, in an odd sort of way, it almost feels like he could have the valedictorian crown all but in his pocket already.

I mean, at his year end show, he walked up to the microphone with his entire grade seated behind him, and delivered what could only be described as a valedictory speech, kindergarten-style, of course, but he did it with pride and confidence — something I could never do.

Valedictory Speech

And he was the only kid in his grade given the chance to speak to the crowd while the other children did things like the chicken dance and five green speckled frogs in large groups.

(Oddly, he never even told me or my wife what he was going to be doing — total shock when we saw his name in the program by itself and not part of a larger group!)

Now, pushing 40 years old, I know that your class rank in high school doesn’t really mean a thing. For the record, I finished 9th in my graduating class without even trying. Number one and two were total dweebs.

No, really.


One still isn’t married.

Probably lives with his mom too…

Not even kidding…

Either way, it didn’t get any of us anything in life besides a day or two of pride.

But I am a little concerned that by skipping a grade he could go from gifted to… middle of the pack.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it would just seem cruel as a parent to essentially make school difficult as if the reward for exceeding expectations was, well, harder work and an endless uphill battle.

Yeah, yeah, it builds character, keeps him from getting bored in school, and all that but I don’t want it to backfire either.

That could be a catastrophic result going back to this one decision made in kindergarten.

Social Skills
Thankfully, from the day I arrived at school, I carved out a pretty good niche for myself and consistently moved up the social ladder peaking during my senior year of high school.

I was never perceived as either a nerd or a jock — wearing neither image on my sleeve. The reality of it though is that I probably could have been classified as either.

I wasn’t the coolest guy out there but I was never near the bottom either. Best of all, I always considered myself better than the folks above me.

Ego? Or abundant self-confidence? Who knows…

Anyway, growing up, your place on the social scale matters. A lot.

If it didn’t, you’d never hear about kids killing themselves over being cyber bullied. I mean, how crazy is that? Seriously, mean people suck.

But no one likes to be a nerd — in the stereotypical sense.

And no one likes to be the little guy either.

I don’t recall anyone from my youth skipping a grade but I can name every single kid that stayed back — it was a stigma they couldn’t shake, ever, as I can still name names.

Even still, I’d imagine there’d be a matching stigma for kids that do skip a grade. Every one in your old grade would know you skipped…and everyone in your new grade would also know.

It’s not like he’s starting early, or late, or switching to a new school. That’d be easy to “hide”.

But this is the same school full of the same kids — he’ll just have skipped a year — and everyone will know. And remember.

Leader of the PackI don’t want to “rob” him of the spot on the social scale that he’s already claimed as his own. He is the smartest kid. He is one of the best athletes. And apparently, everybody likes him too. He’s a leader, of sorts…

I mean, we’ve been in line at McDonald’s before and two girls — clearly far beyond kindergarten age — go out of their way to say hi to him and then tell they’re mom who he is like he’s some sort of local celebrity or something.

Totally bizarre experience…that’s happened more than once.

As his dad, truthfully, I’m shocked… but I’m also a little jealous too.

Pridefully jealous, you know? This kid has it made.

Could moving him to a new grade knock him off the rails?

Sure it could, but he’s always been great at meeting new people (he plays hockey with kids as old as 12 and they treat him as “one of the guys” when, from my perspective, he hasn’t earned it) and he apparently “plays” with a bunch of the kids heading into second grade at recess already so that doesn’t concern me as much as I think it could/should.

But I also think of my middle son.

Growing up, I’d always wished I had a sibling in the same school as me — preferably a brother.

My sister and I were 5 years apart so we had essentially zero overlap. My two oldest boys were lined up to be 2 grades apart. Perfect.

Skipping a grade would push it to three grades apart. Not the worst but…not what I’ve been imagining for a long time either.

I know, it’s their life and not mine, but a guy can dream, right?

Coincidently, my little MMA fighter is actually appears to be “smarter” than my oldest was at the same age.

Maybe they could *both* skip the first grade and get back to being two grades apart?

Can you imagine catching lightning in a bottle like that twice?

For real, though, my wife and I should sign a book deal and divulge our child rearing secrets…

Here’s a teaser: Ice cream for dinner and R-rated movies.

Move over Baby Einstein…

Though, now, having been validated as amazing parents, we’ll probably blow it for our youngest (the deformed one) by actually trying to be amazing parents…

– – – – – – – – – – –

English Language Oddity
Isn’t it weird how skipping a grade is considered a good thing but skipping class is not?

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MMA for Children

MMA for ChildrenMy middle son, Henrik, has somehow developed a knack for, well, full contact fighting.

I mean, it’s uncanny how, with ZERO training, he can pretty much take anyone to the ground with ease.

He also appears to take punches and elbows to the face with, well, indifference. It’s crazy.

I mean, you should see what his knees look like!?

I know all little kids have banged up knees but, for real, this kid’s shins look like he’s just come home from some sort of archaic barbed wire factory’s quality control department.

Sure, he still requests the token band-aid on a near daily basis but it’s clear that what most kids would consider a mortal injury are simply signs of toughness for him.

Makes me wonder if, perhaps, we should encourage these talents (within reason) that he apparently has a natural instinct for at just four years of age.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want cauliflower ears in his future and I’d be horrified to ever learn that he’s a bully to anyone but his older brother.

In fact, I’m kind of turned off by UFC and MMA events.

I mean, I’ll watch them when they’re on free television every three months, you know, if there’s nothing else on.

And we never watch boxing or, ugh, professional wrestling either.

I can honestly say that we’ve never inundated him or imprinted that kind of “culture” on him.

Sure, the first rule of fight club is that not to talk about fight club but, for real, no one in this family is in a fight club.

I’m starting to think one of us should be…

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Watch Your Head!

Watch Your Head!My middle son still prefers taking baths more than showers which is a little disappointing as he’s already a pro at washing his own hair and face in the shower — which is really pretty remarkable considering he’s just 4 years old.

My older one (now barely 6 years old), well, while he’s exclusively a shower type of guy, he still struggles with the whole “soap in the eyes” thing…before we even turn the water on. Yeah, it’s an ongoing problem but that’s for another post on another day…

So, last night, while Henrik was “swimming” away in the bathtub, I must’ve said “Watch your head” around 5000 times. I wasn’t keeping count but, seriously, it was said a minimum of 5000 times in regards to the perilously placed spigot.

And that got me thinking… You know how when you say a word over and over so many times that it stops making sense and you can barely say it anymore?

Well, did you ever think about “Watch Your Head”?

I don’t know about you but I can only see some of my nose, a bit of the tops of my cheeks, and, on occasion if they’re really unruly (usually just after I wake up), a little of my eyebrows too.

Much like trying to lick your own elbow, it’s impossible to “watch your head”.

You can’t do it.

Next bath time, I’m going to say something different, something that makes more sense…

Chances are, he’ll hit his head…

Can You Dig It?


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