How Time Flies…

WOW.  Time really flies sometimes.  My oldest boy is 5 years old, and for me, because I was able to spend so much time with him when he was a baby, it feels like he should be 10 already.  With each new child, time slows down.  Thankfully.

But today marks 8 years since my father passed away, quite suddenly.

At the time, I was recently married and more worried about how my mother and sister were going to take it, without him there.  While my mother and sister still live in the same house he died in, my mother had not slept another night in that room.  My sister has taken it over with her junk instead.  😉

As the years went on I often thought of my Dad, but more in the context of my mom and sis.

Then came the kids…

Boy wouldn’t it have been nice for my Dad to have met my kids.  He would have loved them… They have these awesome personalities, much like their mother.  I used to say when he was alive that my wife was his favourite “kid” between myself and my sister.

But as the kids get older and as the compliment grows, I find more and more able to  relate to him, know what he was thinking and doing in situations where I am facing the same problem.  When I yell at my kids (you do too, so don’t deny it), I hear his voice yelling at me for one of the MANY things I did to deserve it.

As I encounter sports and activities, I try to include my kids and listen to their wishes in ways I felt I was not heard.  Do we not all strive to be better parents than our parents?  I keep fond memories of milestone moments my Dad and I shared, as each of you do with loved ones you have lost.

What I am finding that totally surprised me was that I seem to be remembering more and more that my Dad and I did, or areas where he helped me (like passing accounting, or writing essays early in my University career) as I go through the exact same scenario with my kids.  It’s like deja vu.   The situation could be reversed, it could be him and me, oe me and one of them.

You never do forget…



On Sunday I actually overheard a mother yelling this at her 5-6 year old son;

“Stop eating so many vegetables!”

I know!

In public (at a Yom Ha’atzmaut event – celebrating Israel’s birthday).

Happy Birthday Israel!  You don’t look a day over 61.

What it means to be a working father of three.

This past weekend definitely a trying weekend for me in my efforts to be a great father.

I was on edge all weekend, probably because this would be the 3rd week in a row I’ve been suffering with my allergies.  I have been unable to wear my contact lenses. My eyes are very red and quite itchy, and my nose and throat have started to itch this week… UGH. I look like I’m on drugs… Not a great look for an office, eh?

I keep forgetting that I should be investing in allergy medication, as all this allergy action has come in the last 5 or 6 years only. I never had allergies as a child.

I am also a bit on edge because our little baby girl, Berry, has been up every 2-3 hours (shades of Stewie) every single night.  While I do not get up everytime the baby does – thank you honey – because this time around, for child #3 I actually have to work.

With child #1, Linus, I took 9 months off paid paternity. With child #2, Stewie, I was off for 4 months on paid paternity (2 of those months were spent laid up with a herniated disc in my lower pack) and with #3, Berry… 1 day at home. It was tax season and I needed to be at the office.

But there are some nights where I am feeling very good and as a result, I have been getting up so urban mummy does not have to, even if that means staying up with the baby past midnight hoping she’ll have that great night’s sleep she needs to stay rejuviated and the baby will tire out and sleep an nour or two more.

Neither of them do…

And to top matters off… the boys have been waking up at at 6am to play, waking me up in the process. 

So allergies, and exhaustion, coupled with 2 rowdy boys and an over-tired wife and look out!

As a result, every little thing drove me crazy this weekend.  Watching the boys play tug-of-war with their expensive throwpillow – with their teeth – drove me batty.  As did walking in the kitchen on cooked rice that the boys dumped on the floor.  Grrr.

I know this is what being a Dad is all about and I know that all I need is one good night’s sleep to get me back on track.

But until them… Look out!


There’s Something about Betty…

I just saw a commercial for the series finale of Ugly Betty. 


I really liked that show!  I’m still pissed they cancelled it.

Then again… I liked Wilma better than Betty, probably because Wilma was married to Fred and Betty… Well Betty was married to Barney. 

I do, kind of like Black Betty (Ram-a-lam-a-lam-a).

So I think those are all the famous Betty’s in the entire world.  I even checked this link;

and there are none more famous than the 3 I just listed (except maybe Betty Ford). 

But they also forgot Betty Boop…

Does this sound familiar?

For afternoon snack today, my boys and I decided to have fruit salad.

I went to the fridge and ran down a list of fruits while the boys sat at the breakfast bar ready to watch me create their treat.

Granny Smith apple, check.
Kiwi, check.
Nectarine, check.
Banana, check.

The bowl is filling up so I decide not to add the strawberries, mango and red pear.

Knowing my little one loves yogurt I offer it to him with his fruit salad. The older one replies that he does not want yogurt, and since my house is a monkey-see, monkey-do house, the little one declines the yogurt. Fine.

I fill their bowls when the little one starts to whine a bit.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him, already knowing the answer.

“I want yogurt”, he replies.

So in goes the yogurt.

The boys eat their fruit salad, the bigger boys chows down and finishes his bowl, the little on savours every bite of fruit and yogurt.

I leave the room.

Then I hear crying,

I walk back expecting to see the little on trying to push the big one off his stool (oh yes, he’s done that before!), but there is my little boy with crocodile tears racing down his cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“[Big brother] took all the fruit.”

So I look at the giant bowl I made and there is only a little bit left. Sure enough, my older boy had re-filled his bowl leaving about 3 tablespoons of diced fruit left the bowl. Little boy, who is crying still has 1/2 his bowl left to eat.

Mummy, who has arrived, takes the rest of the fruit salad and scoops it into little boy’s bowl.

Then come the tears…

“You gave me too much” he wails. “I can’t eat all that”.

My wife and I look at each other and she leaves.

I turn on the TV to Teletoon and I leave too.


Update: Big boy’s bowl is empty. Little boy has not touched his bowl. I put in some “seeds” (unsalted raw sunflower seeds), and he has started up eating again.