The kid and I were on another one of our Daddy-Daughter Dinner Dates tonight when I suggested we record an "interview" when we got home, using the nice new podcasting mic Mommy bought for me. She agreed. Then when it came time to record, she informed me she was going first.
My kid has been pumped about Christmas since... last Christmas, maybe?
Her enthusiasm has reached a fever pitch in the past few weeks though, largely been fuelled by the knowledge that her out-of-town grandparents AND one of her out-of-town aunts will be staying here. Well, that and her "list" — an inventory of the various toys and games she's seen that she really, really wants to get the moment she sees them.
My wife kicks no fewer than eight different varieties of ass.
A self-diagnosed wallflower for much of her life, she's taken the proverbial bull by the proverbial horns and forced herself out of her comfort zone, trying new things, meeting new people, and generally living life bravely.
There I was, sitting in Erica Ehm's car with my wife (and Erica, so we're clear. We didn't carjack her), driving down the 401 towards Toronto after leaving Blissdom Canada 2013. Inspired in part by Erica's own presentation at the conference, I'd "just asked" the YMC blogger crew if anyone could give my wife and me a lift downtown and Erica had obliged.
That post became the basis of a presentation I delivered at BlissDom Canada 2013 (click the "play" arrow at the bottom of the frame to play the audio slideshow).
I'm writing this post from the VIA Rail station in suburban Ottawa. In a few minutes my wife and I will board a train for Toronto for BlissDom Canada. The world we're heading into is very much my wife's world. She's been part of this community for years; I'm the relative newcomer.
Scene: Suburban kitchen early on a late-summer weekend morning. DAD stands angrily at the stove flipping pancakes he assumes his daughter has forgotten she even asked for as KID sobs on the couch, heaving with the last gasps of rage following another tantrum over something insignificant.
KID: Are you still making me my favourite pancakes?
DAD: Yes, love.
KID: Why?
DAD: Because you asked me nicely to and because I know you love pancakes.
It was almost exactly a year ago that I was offered the chance to join the amazing team here at Yummy Mummy Club as part of the great dad blogger experiment. At the time I'd been blogging for more than seven years already and I figured it would be an easy transition.
When I decided to call this blog "The Naked Dad," it was because I wanted it to be a totally open look at my experiences with fatherhood: nothing to hide, wide open and exposed. This post is the first of what I hope will be a recurring feature in which I interview other dads who are exposing themselves and being vulnerable in ways that inspire me.
Ah developmental milestones. Specifically, the kind of developmental milestones that are conveniently delivered to our email inboxes from the time our kids are barely more than a chick pea of chromosomal potential deep in mom's womb. "Pregnancy Week 28, your little eggplant-sized bundle of joy is finally rocking some crazy eyelashes!"
I spent all of last week reliving my bachelor days. My wife and kid (and mother- and sister-in-law) were on vacation in PEI and I was home with the dog. The day before they got home my daughter phoned to tell me she was going to run and hug me in the airport when they got home. She wasn't lying.
The picture at the top of this post really sort of sums it up. It was taken during our epic road trip, up at my uncle's place in Northwestern Ontario. And there's my kid. Sitting there. Looking out on a whole bunch of adventures just waiting to happen.
I intended to write a nice post this week. I had plans to write something reflective and meaningful as my daughter hits milestone after milestone on her way to starting preschool in the fall.
Then the tantrum happened.
Which was followed by another tantrum.
Which was followed by a flat out refusal to even try a bite of her dinner (grilled cheese and ketchup, one of her favourites).
Which led to another tantrum.
Which led to me carrying her upstairs kicking and yelling for a timeout.
Some of you have probably heard that my wife and I just did a freakishly-long road trip with our preschooler. And guess what? We survived (largely thanks to my wife's planning and parenting skills, it should be noted). And with exactly one road trip under our belt (well, two, if you count each direction as one trip), I figured it's time to share our lessons learned with the masses in the internet's favourite format.
In case you missed it earlier, my wife and I are spending a week on the road with our three-year-old daughter. We're heading to a family reunion in Ontario's beautiful Sunset Country and, in what may prove to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad decision, we decided to drive. And camp. In a tent.
As a 6'3 heavy-set dude, I rarely (read: never) have lewd comments or unwanted compliments directed at me whilst I stroll down the street or ride on public transit. For that reason, perhaps, I never really stopped to consider how often such treatment is directed at women or how it might affect them.
WARNING: The headline and subhead above are purely theoretical. For now, at least.
At the very end of July, my wife and I will be packing up the car and hitting the open road. A roundtrip of nearly 4,000 km in a week with nothing but several tanks of gas, hours of music loaded on the iPod and the sights and delights of the Canadian Shield to entertain us.
Oh and a preschooler. Did I mention the preschooler?
My daughter is three and a half now so clearly I've got parenting all figured out. I mean, she's alive and healthy. So... I win, right?
But back when I was a nervous father-to-be, I remember flipping through a few books that were intended to prepare me for life as a parent. Without fail, the books aimed at dads fell into one of two distinct camps:
