Water Sports

It was a cool, albeit sunny Monday morning. P-Man and I had just finished breakfast, I was freshly showered and ready to go, and P-Man had requested that he and I go to his favourite playground, which he has named "The Wooden Park."

A short drive later, we arrived at the playground. Released from the car, P-Man gleefully kicked off his Ninja Turtle Crocs and raced into the sandy park.  First the slide (Whereupon I scrape every piece of skin off the back of my legs going down), then the swings (Not too high, daddy. TOO HIGH! TOO SLOW! DAAAAAAADDDYYYY! What, do I need a masters degree in pushing a swing?), then across the shaky bridge.

The whole time, P-Man is doing his very best Micheal Jackson impression; clutching his junk like it's going to fly away if he lets go. I mean, to paraphrase the classic film "Planes, Trains and Automobiles," Larry Bird didn't get as much ball handling in one game as P-Man does in a single playground adventure.

"Parker," I shout across the bridge. "Ya gotta go pee?"

"Nope," he replies.

"Then stop grabbing your wiener!" I say.

Thirty seconds later, P-Man grabs his package and bellows from the top of the twistie slide: "Daddy, I need to pee!

Thankfully, P-man is fully potty trained and understands the concept of peeing outside, but he hasn't peed yet this morning, and I know his bladder is probably full to bursting.

Down the slide he comes, hopefully not leaving a trail of piss behind him and off we go to find a place for him to do his business.

Luckily, there is a green shack at this particular park and behind it offers a small modicum of privacy for P-man to mark his territory.

Pants down, shirt hiked up, Daddy behind him at the ready to help, P-man grabs on and gets ready to tinkle.

"OK, dude. I want you to aim down towards the ground," I say, kneeling down to get on his level.

"Like this?" He asks, and points the end of his stuff straight up at my face.

"NO...AUGHGHTHGHHF" I bellow as a stream of hot 3-year old urine erupts from his penis and hits me square in my face. I'm talking full on, in the eyes, mouth and all over. I'm talking golden shower.

"STOP, OH JESUS, STOP!" I try to grab his shoulders to turn him away from me, but at this point his peeing is like a firehouse that's out of control. All over me, him, the wall of the green shack. I'm pretty sure that none of it actually hit the ground.

Finally the torrent of piss comes to an end.  I'm baffled at this point at how it was possible I've just been peed on by a three year old. I've been peed on by children plenty of times, but usually they've all been diaper age.  This is entirely new territory for me. I'm in shock, I'm dumbfounded. Most importantly, I'm drenched with my son's waste.

What else can I do but laugh about it? When we all chose to have kids, we signed on for everything.  Every adventure, every triumph and tragedy, every sick pukey day. Even the days where your son has clearly not mastered the art of the aim and pee, it's all in the contract.

I'm pretty sure this won't be the last time I get hit with a body fluid. I'm just glad I happened to have a change of clothes for the both of us in my car.

Guessing Second

Today, whilst dressing P-Man, we discovered a dead dragonfly on the couch.

I'm not even sure how it go into the house, but it had been there long enough to dry out and was perfectly preserved.

I told P-Man not to touch it, and ran to the kitchen to retrieve a piece of kleenex to pick it up and toss it. (Let's face it, becoming a parent has really de-pussified me, but I'm still not man enough to pick up a dead bug with my bare hands and toss it.) Upon returning, I discovered my little guy happily smashing the dragonfly into tiny little pieces with one of his Hot Wheels.

I'm not sure why I got upset, but I sat next to him and reemed him out for smashing it. I still can't figure out if I was upset for him smashing the bug, or if it was because he just didn't listen to me. Then I thought, "Who fucking cares? He's doing what he does. He smashes things. He does that sometimes."

Then it was: "Wait...he smashed that bug. Is he a sociopath? Is it bugs today, then puppies tomorrow before he graduates to humans?"

I've been finding lately that most of my parenting is 70% reaction and 30% analyzing my reaction to things P-Man does; did I come off too angry, too strict, too lenient, too forgiving, too babying?

I will sometimes lie awake at night and completely go over any myriad of sequences in my head and develop a gameplan for if/when a similar scenario presents itself.

I don't know if it's just part of being a parent, to always question the way you do things, especially if you impart the wonderful gift of comparing yourself to other parents you know. How would X friend react in the situation you were just in? Maybe I should be more like those dudes?! OH MY GOD!? MY FRIENDS ARE GOING TO JUDGE ME NO MATTER WHAT I DO! 

I've always been told to trust my instincts, but what if you yourself don't even trust your instincts? What if you feel like everything you do, you could do better next time? 

Is this what being a parent is all about? Making a decision on how to care for your child, then immediately contradicting yourself?

I'm pretty sure that there is no real answer to this question. I think it's a matter of just going day by day and going to bed knowing that you just did your best, and that you kissed your kids goodnight and that tomorrow is just another adventure.

Character Creation

Allow me to tell you a little bit about myself.  A little more in depth than that the little box on the right of the page can tell you.

Three years and three month ago, a little crazy bundle of energy (From here on out will be known as P-MAN was born and blessed my wife and I with the beginnings of the amazing adventure of parenthood.

I can't say that am the most easy going parent.  I will be the first one to say that I helicopter a little but more than maybe other parents.  I like to think that I am merely playing with my little guy, but if I am being entirely truthful, it's mostly because I can't bear the thought of him hurting himself. I think I'm getting better, but I still keep him in my peripheral vision when we are out and about.

My wife and I are expecting baby two in January.  We had been trying, and were successful on the first go around.  It's too bad, really.  I really liked trying for a baby. I never expected to get it right on the first go around.

I am the oldest of two children.  My sister, three years younger than I am, lives in Manitoba with her two children and husband.

I have always been a bit on the nerdy side. Gaming, comic reading, fantasy and sci-fi loving; I gravitated to these things early on in life. I  am not a supernerd, but I do hold my own in conversation. I definitely can't name all the Soul Gems on the Infinity Gauntlet off the top of my head, but I know at least three of them (Soul, Mind, Power(?)) I listen to metal music, though I look nothing like a metal head. I enjoy a good cry every now and then, and 

I am a videographer by trade, with some skill sets in editing and post production.  I have a pretty good job where I enjoy the work.  Like every job, there are a few things I could do without, but this is a positive post, so I'll leave that for another time.

I met my wife 7 years ago online.  We went on our first date for coffee, and I was hooked from then on.  I'm pretty sure I drive her bonkers, but she loves me.  That's the best part.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I'm going to try to use this blog as a dumping ground for my thoughts and adventures with P-Man and soon to be Baby Dos. Hopefully, I can foster some conversation from other fathers, obtain advice, suggestions, and some tips.

I won't get too heavy, but some posts might be. I'm not really a serious dude, so I'm going to keep the tone of this place as light as I can.

Thanks for reading!

So, why start a blog? Aren't there a million out there, especially parenting blogs?

I can guarantee you that it's definitely not my intention in anyway to take the blog world by storm and win accolades and adoration of the masses. (I mean, that would be pretty sweet too, though.)

Why will mine be special? I don't think it will be required reading to many folks out there, but if I can foster conversation between other fathers; first timers, single dads, widowed dads, old dads, new dads, adopted dads, and everything else out there that encompasses fatherhood, then that will meet the primary goal of writing these things.

Also, I think blogging will be a great way to organize my thoughts as I travel down the road of fatherhood.