Kids and Christmas shopping test Dad’s restraint

Make no mistake about it; kids know perfectly well they are less likely to be disciplined in a public place.

Why else would they save their most extreme tantrums for shopping malls, restaurants, play centres and other highly populated settings?

With Christmas fast approaching, we’ve ventured to shopping malls in Edmonton, Calgary and Red Deer over the past few weeks, as well as bustling public events like the Festival of Tress. While I find Christmas crowds a bit harrowing at the best of times, having two demanding toddlers in tow takes things to a whole new level.

If they’re not running around bumping into strangers, trying to get lost, or pulling items off store shelves, they’re demanding to be carried or pushed in a giant stroller that steers like a school bus.

Things usually start out OK. We can browse around for a few minutes without much fuss. The peace doesn’t last long, however, as inevitably they see a toy or flashy item they simply must have.

From this point forward, the process is always the same.

Step 1 – Attempted reasoning

“No buddy. Let’s just keep looking. If you’re good, maybe we can get a toy later.”

*Child glares angrily, begins breathing rapidly. Cheeks go red.

Step 2 – Attempted distraction

I grab his hand and attempt to lead him away from the contentious item.

“C’mon bud. Let’s go look at some other stuff! Want to play with Daddy’s phone?”

*Child goes limp, drops to floor as if dead. In extreme cases, high-pitched shrieking follows. Nearby parents take notice and commence judgement.

Step 3 – Parental rage

“Get up! Stop it right now! One… Two… Two… Two…. THREE!

*Child doesn’t respond. I pick child up while resisting the urge to spank in public. I feel like a failure as a parent for not having more control over my child’s behaviour.

Step 4 – Cool down

Child and I sit on a bench somewhere to chill out for a minute or two. Calm is restored, for the moment.

During our last visit to the mall, we were walking along in our family herd, when suddenly Grayson, 3, bolted off. Annoyed, I walked briskly, trying to catch up without breaking into a run. When I realized where he was headed, I slowed my pace.

When he reached the Santa Claus setup, he bolted past the line, up the ramp and scrambled into Santa’s lap. When I reached him, I apologized to Santa and the photographers.

“C’mon buddy. You already got a picture Santa a last time we were here.”

Eyes twinkling, Grayson looked up at the mall Santa, flashed a huge smile and hugged the old guy as if he was an old friend. When he climbed down and strolled back to me, he was grinning from ear to ear.

“What the heck were you doing?” I asked.

“I just wanted Santa to know that I’m a good kid,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

My kids may have an incredible knack for throwing ill-timed public tantrums, but it’s hard to stay angry for long when their innocence and personalities are so damn heart-warming.

Leo is a former Advocate editor. Contact him by email at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/LeoPare

Feed your child’s imagination every night

If you do just one thing for your child today, make it a bed time story.

Last night, after teeth were brushed and faces washed, I crawled into my three-year-old’s bunk bed, pulled the covers up to his neck and asked ‘So buddy, should I tell a story, or read a story?’

“Tell me a story. About dragons!”

Quickly pulling bits from movies and other stories, I launched into a lengthy tale about a little boy named Grayson who had his very own pet dragon, named Toothless. Together, Grayson and Toothless flew all over the city, swooping down to help people in trouble. In this particular version, a little girl was stuck in a well, but thanks to Grayson and his dragon, she was rescued and returned safely to her mommy and daddy.

When the story ended, I looked over at Grayson who was staring at the ceiling, reviewing and processing the details of the dramatic rescue. After a few seconds, he looked at me and asked, “Dad, it was good that we helped that kid.”

Chuckling, I tousled his hair, hugged him good night and left him to rehash the adventure as he drifted off to sleep.

With both education and imagination in mind, my wife and I try to alternate between reading and telling bed time stories. We have made a point sharing stories with both our boys each night since they were infants, but I’ve never viewed it as a strictly ‘educational’ exercise. I have always valued the quiet time together at the end of the day and enjoy seeing their little imaginations run wild.

While reading to your kids may seem like plain old parental common sense, there are still folks out there who underestimate the importance of story time with their little ones. A friend who teaches elementary school in Central Alberta once told me, “You can always tell the ones that weren’t read to.”

According to a Nov. 14 article in the New York Times, paediatricians are now advising parents to read daily to their children from birth. Literacy advocates, like Life Literacy Canada, claim the more time spent with a parent reading aloud increases his or her level of attachment, enhances a sense of security, and imparts the knowledge that their parent feels they are worthwhile people to spend time.

Even on those chaotic, exhausting days when parenting starts to feel a bit overwhelming, story time always restores peace and harmony to the household.

No matter how busy or tired you may be, ensure you take a few minutes every night and have story time with your kids. Expand their minds, feed their imaginations and do your part to establish a life-long relationship with the printed word.

Leo is a former Advocate editor. Contact him by email at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/LeoPare

No common ground when it comes to TV

As the cold of winter settles upon us, we often find ourselves watching more television that we probably should.

Cooped up by cold weather for days on end, my two toddlers sometimes get a little stir crazy. When toys, games and wrestling Dad cease to entertain, we’ll turn on a favourite movie or cartoon show for a while in order to keep the peace.

In the movie category, they are currently big fans of Planes: Fire & Rescue, The Iron Giant, How to Train Your Dragon 2 and Hotel Transylvania. While I grow weary of watching these child-targeted films over and over, I’d still take any of those choices over ANY of their favourite television shows.

When I was a kid, we enjoyed quality children’s programming like Sesame Street, Mr. Dressup, Thundercats and Teddy Ruxpin. These shows contained valuable life lessons and legitimate plots that could be understood by adults and children alike.

Today, most kids shows are just 20-minute bombardments of bright colours, annoying sounds and bizarre non-human, non-animal characters that look like failed genetic experiments.

Grayson, our three-year-old, regularly requests a particularly nonsensical show called Bo on the Go!, which claims to “emphasize the importance of movement for children through a plot element called ‘Animoves’ that demonstrate specific body movements…”

Huh?

For a while, the boys like watching a show called Caillou – but we’ve put a stop to that.

Touted as a Canadian ‘educational’ children’s show, the only message Caillou seems to deliver is that it’s totally fine to backtalk your parents about everything. I’ve recently learned that Caillou is pretty much loathed by moms and dads everywhere. There are even a couple of Facebook pages dedicated to a common hatred of Caillou.

One dad writes, ‘I can't stand that whiny little cry baby, Caillou! He is always disappointed, or upset, or God knows what else. And his idiot parents always pander to his incessant, negative ways!’

Couldn’t have said it better myself.

Lately, the boys have taken a liking to The Simpsons, which I realize is totally inappropriate humour for little boys. My wife has recently adopted a ‘no Simpsons’ policy after she caught Grayson with his hands around his little brother’s neck, shouting, “Why you little…!”

When it comes to television, I’ve accepted that there can be no common ground between parents and children. Most of the shows I like are totally inappropriate for kids, and ALL the shows they like make me feel like I’m on some sort of crazy drug trip.

The best solution to our TV stalemate is probably to get out of the house more often, which is always my intent. But on those lazy, chilly winter days, finding a fun or productive activity is often easier said than done.

Leo is a former Advocate editor. Contact him by email at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/LeoPare

Why we choose not to find out

For the third, and likely final time, my wife and I are expecting a baby.

Don’t worry – I think I’ve finally figured out what’s causing this whole pregnancy thing and plan to take a few preventative measures going forward.

We currently have our hands full with two rambunctious little boys – Grayson, 3.5 and Rylan, 1.5 – and the concept of having three kids in the house makes my knees weak at times. A little fear and anxiety aside, I am genuinely excited to welcome another member to our growing herd.

As we prepare to become a family of five, I’ve really began to notice that the world seems to be suited for a family of four. Restaurant tables have four chairs; most vehicles have room for just two car seats; and as far as I know, they don’t make triple-decker strollers yet.

Having two kids hasn’t exactly been a cake walk, but I have a feeling Amanda and I are about to find out what we’re really made of as parents.

As with pregnancies past, friends and family are highly curious about the sex of the baby. ‘Did you find out? Are you going to find out? You should find out. How else will you know what colour to paint the baby’s room?’

Once again, Amanda and I are opting to be surprised, which I know baffles those people who feel the need to have everything completely prepared in anticipation of their new boy or girl.

We’ve never really operated as a highly organized family unit. We don’t spend a lot of effort planning and strategizing over finances, schedules or activities. We’re more a ‘take it as it comes’ kind of family and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

When people ask me why we choose not to find out ahead of time, I always tell the same story.

On the day that our first son was born, Amanda had suffered through 32 hours of tough labour before the doctor sent her off for a c-section. Exhausted and a little worried, I was seated in a waiting area for half an hour before being escorted into the operating theatre. I sat next to Amanda’s head and held her hand while the surgeons did their thing on the other side of a large blue curtain.

I’ll never forget the feeling of hearing my first child’s cries; squeezing my wife’s hand while we waited for our first look – still not knowing if we had ourselves a boy or a girl. We could hear the medical staff saying things like, ‘great looking baby’ and ‘check out those hands’ but they never dropped any hints.

When a nurse finally brought ‘it’ around to us, happy tears had obscured our vision, but I heard someone say, ‘Here’s your boy!’ Nine months of waiting and wondering cumulated into that wild, wonderful and exhilarating moment and this is one of those rare occasions where I lack the words to express just how cool it was to hold of that kid for the first time as I allowed the drama and emotion of that moment to wash over me like an tidal wave.

In this high-tech of world of instant information and instant gratification, people don’t really have to wait for anything anymore. I just hope this next kid arrives safe and healthy – the details can remain a tantalizing mystery for a few more months.

Leo is a former Advocate editor. Contact him by email at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/LeoPare

Parents don’t have to be easy prey for retailers

As a parent, you always want to do what’s best for your babies. Of course you do; we all do! In fact, we are morally and socially obligated to do absolutely everything in our power keep our kids safe, healthy and adequately educated.

Walk into any big retail store and you’ll find aisles upon aisles of child-care products, ranging from new-age learning technology, to potty training aids, to more mysterious must-have items with names like ‘the Summer Infant Snuzzler.’

Today’s retailers are shameless about capitalizing on our protective instincts. They clamour to sell us all kinds of items that are guaranteed to enhance our children’s safety at home, at school, at the park and in the car. If I were to accept the internet’s definitions on common child-safety practices, my three-year-old would be dressed in full riot gear every time he went for a bicycle ride.

Perhaps it was just a different time, but when I was a kid climbing trees and granary ladders, my mom’s biggest concern was that I didn’t wreck another pair of jeans.

The social-media machine is doing a great job of fuelling the deep dark fears of most young parents. My daily Facebook and Twitter feeds constantly feature stories about shocking child tragedies that could have been prevented if only the parent’s had purchased some new-fangled safety device.

It makes you wonder how anyone ever raised children without a digital baby monitor streaming live video to their cell phones. How the hell did they regulate the temperature of the child’s sleeping area? My God, it’s amazing that any of us born in those pre-wireless days survived past infancy!

Granted, there are a few common-sense steps parents can and should take to ‘kid proof’ the house; things like electrical outlet covers and cabinet locks are pretty much mandatory. I’m pretty sure both my kids would have tasted window cleaner by now if we hadn’t bothered to lock up all our cabinets.

Educational technology is another cash cow for the kid-crap industry. Apple and Microsoft would have us believe that laptops and tablets are ‘essential’ in the mental development of today’s toddlers. My boys get to play with Dad’s iPad once in a while – if they are behaving. Though the iPad can buy us precious minutes of peace and quiet, I’m definitely not comfortable with the wide-eyed, zombie-like state those glowing screens seems to induce.

I know there is plenty of research to suggest that computers are valuable learning tools, but my fatherly instincts tell me that playing on a swing set, or building a snow fort is still better for my child’s development that drawing shapes on a computer screen.

Today’s toddlers – mine included – seem to require rooms full of expensive toys, gadgets and gimmicks to stay entertained, but I have a hunch that when my grandparents were kids, they were perfectly happy playing with homemade dolls, potato sacks and wooden swords.

Leo is a former Advocate editor. Contact him by email at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/LeoPare

Comparing kids is a no-win game for parents

As parents, we all like to think our children are exceptional.

When our first baby boy started forming coherent words like ‘Momma’ or ‘puppy’, people would marvel at his ability to speak so well at such a young age. When he started walking at just 11 months, we began to believe he was some sort of genius baby, destined for NASA or a Nobel Prize.

Then one of my wife’s friends posted a Facebook photo of their baby walking at nine months. And what’s this? Here’s another kid that can count to 20 at just 16 months! Suddenly, we began to fear that our little boy wasn’t a genius after all – perhaps he was even a little slow!

When I discussed our concerns with my mother, she laughed and said, “Chill out. You were still putting crayons in your ears when you were six.”

After talking with other parents, we came to the realization that most moms and dads spend a lot of time comparing their kids to other kids. Now that Amanda and I have been parents for a few years, we field a lot of questions from other people who are new to the parenting game.

“When did your boys start walking?”

“How long did it take you to potty train?”

“Do you think it’s normal that my 10-month-old can’t write his own name?”

I suppose it’s only natural that we compare our own kids to the best and the brightest. We see our friends posting their children’s developmental milestones on Facebook and we get a little jealous when we see some other little brat walking, talking or doing basic calculus before our own offspring.

The other day, I saw a video of a three-year-old hip-hop dancer performing a complicated routine on the Ellen DeGeneres Show; then I looked down at my three-year-old who was sitting on the living room floor eating pieces of construction paper.

Though your child’s development is sure to worry you at times, it will also delight you as well. The truth is that children walk, talk and learn at their own pace, and all we can do is try to foster the most healthy, positive, nurturing environment possible.

Read to your kids every night. Keep them active and stimulated. Show them plenty of affection.

And most importantly, constantly remind your babies that they are the smartest, strongest, fastest, coolest most amazing little people in the whole entire world.

Leo is a former Advocate editor. Contact him by email at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/LeoPare

That’s what brothers are for

My brother and I used to fight a lot.

And when I say ‘fight’ I don’t mean we gave each other the silent treatment, or exchanged witty insults. I mean we grabbed each other by the shirt collars, balled up our fists and hauled off like a couple of bush-league hockey goons.

Sometimes we were smiling as we exchanged blows, sometimes we weren’t. But we always managed to get over it quickly and carry on without any long-lasting ill will.

The brotherly relationship can be both simple and complicated at the same time. For Aric and I, life was about relentless competition in almost every aspect of daily life – though as we got older, he would emerge as the vastly superior athlete.

Growing up on a small family farm, Aric and I had no trouble finding new and creative ways to keep busy. My aunt once told me we were like ‘feral children,’ running all over the countryside doing whatever we pleased – and Mom’s photo album validates that assessment.

We built two-storey tree forts, tinkered with old motorcycles and had ball hockey marathons in Dad’s workshop. We joined Boy Scouts together, played most minor sports on the same team, and rode ATVs and snowmobiles through every field within 50 miles of home.

Though they almost always take it for granted as kids, brothers share an unspoken bond and a mutual understanding that one will always be there for the other when the chips are down.

I remember Aric once driving 80 kilometres to give me a boost when my truck battery died in the middle of nowhere, and neither of us thinking too much of it at the time. That’s what brothers are for, after all.

This weekend, Aric is getting married to his long-time girlfriend Ashley. As the best man, I was asked to have a speech ready, but I’ve been struggling to find words that adequately explain what it was like to grow up with a little brother that was also a true best friend.

Sometimes, after one of our savage adolescent brawls, Mom and Dad would hold us face-to-face and make us say that we loved each other, while we protested and screamed names back and forth.

“You have to love each other because you are brothers forever,” Mom would say.

Now that I’m all grown up – with two feisty young boys of my own – I’m finally wise enough to appreciate what having a brother is all about.

So even though I can’t guarantee that we won’t have any more scraps, I can absolutely guarantee that we will continue to be there for each other when it counts.

Leo is a former Advocate editor. Contact him by email at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/LeoPare

A farm kid forever

Three-year-old me rides shotgun with 

Grandma Mavis Petrie during the harvest of 1986. 

Though I work in an office now,

the farm is never far from my heart.

When farm kids grow up and move away, they don’t cease to be farm kids.

Those who grew up on a farm know the connection is something that stays with you forever, no matter where you may end up in this big old world.

For me, it’s a place I often return to when I start to feel adrift.

Though I enjoy living and working in the semi-urban business world here in Red Deer, I often feel a sense of longing for the freedom and simplicity of life on our small family grain farm outside of Chauvin, AB – though I’m sure if you asked my parents, they wouldn’t describe it as ‘simple.’

Every fall, when I see the combines start to roll, my heart feels a little heavy, because I know that while I’m driving to the office, my dad and younger brother are heading for the fields.

As a little kid, the day harvest began ranked right up there with birthdays and Christmas. My brother and I would run around squealing with excitement when dad pulled the combine out of the shed. We’d ride with him or grandpa in the cab, sitting shotgun on a five-gallon pale or laying on the floor with our faces pressed to the windshield, watching the pickup inhale mile after mile of wheat swath. The best part was when we were allowed to pull the lever that put the auger out for unloading.

When we got a little bit older, we were given real jobs to do – like running lunches out to the field, or climbing into the bowels of the combine with carpet knives and pliers whenever it got plugged up.

A few seasons later, we were upgraded to pilot status, running the combine for hours on end while dad ran the grain truck. By the time we were teenagers, Aric and I could pretty much carry on with a day of harvesting without any help at all – barring any serious mechanical problems, of course. We’d put in long days, sometimes working well into the night, depending on the threat of rain or snow.

One special memory that stands out for me is the year the lights wouldn’t work in our old Massey 750. We tinkered with wiring and fuses for hours, but couldn’t solve the mystery. It could have been a real setback, but we caught a lucky break; the moon was so bright that fall, we were able to keep going into the night. I’ll never forget sitting in the grain truck, watching the combine roaring through the hills in near total darkness, with the wheat swaths seeming to glow in the moonlight.

Field lunches also stand out as a favourite memory; scarfing down soup and sandwiches on an old blanket, while listening to grandpa telling us all what harvest was like in the days of threshing machines and pitch forks.

These days, I usually manage to join the harvest effort for at least a few days. The reality is that I’m more of an ‘occasional helper’ than a real part of the farm scene – a fact I’ve gradually come to accept in the years since I left.

When the strains of the urban rat race start to weigh me down, just getting behind the wheel of a combine, a tractor or a grain truck for a few hours does my mind a world of good.

I know damn well that the farm doesn’t need me anymore, but I’m pretty sure I still need the farm.

Leo is a former Advocate editor. Contact him by email at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/LeoPare

Carving out ‘couple time’ easier said than done

A photo of Amanda and I from 2006.

We don't look like this now!

Becoming a parent means accepting the fact that almost all your time belongs to someone else.

We have two feisty male toddlers in our house, and from the moment they wake up, until the moment they fall asleep, those boys command our constant attention. If we’re not away at work during the week – as I am – my weary wife has her hands full from dawn until dusk.

As a caregiver and disciplinarian, it is your constant duty break up fights, make snacks, dream up activities, make lunches, make them take naps, make more snacks, break up more fights, feed them supper, play wrestle for a while, give them a bath and put them to bed.

When morning comes, the whole thing starts over again.

Your small daily reprieve comes between their bedtime and yours. But don’t kid yourself. You’ll be too exhausted to do anything meaningful with that short window of peace and quiet. Most nights you’ll be lucky to summon up the energy to tidy the kitchen or watch a few minutes of TV before bed.

So where exactly do you find quality time for your spouse amid the calamity?

Before kids came along, my wife went on supper and movie dates at least once a week. Nowadays, we’re lucky if we can get through an episode of Game of Thrones without one of us falling asleep on the couch.

With patience worn thin on many days, being good parents while also being a good couple can be a real challenge. We certainly can’t claim to have it all figured out, but I do have a few small bits of advice to offer for those parents who feel they might be reaching the end of their rope.

-          Whenever possible, couples should go to bed at the same time. Those bedtime conversations – short as they may be – are often the best time to ‘debrief’ or talk about things in life that aren’t child related.

-          Take advantage of opportunities to relax. If the kids are napping or otherwise occupied, sneak in a little ‘you time.’ Read a few pages of your book. Take a shower. Help yourself to a bowl of ice cream and enjoy it without the little magpies clamouring for your treat.

-          Pull out all the stops to make time for each other. Pony up the cash for a babysitter once in a while. Take your significant other out for dinner, a movie, a concert, or even just a walk in the park. Talk about anything but kids. As a couple, it’s important to keep in touch with your ‘non-parent’ side. Have a drink or five (you’ve earned it) and allow yourself to totally unwind and decompress.

You pride yourself on being a good parent, so naturally that’s where most of your focus is, and rightfully so. But be sure to carve out a little time to maintain that relationship Mom and Dad had before they became Mom and Dad – because someday those little magpies are going to move out.

Leo is a former Advocate editor. Contact him by email at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/LeoPare

Don’t panic! Winter happens every year

The annual ‘Fall Freakout’ has come early to Alberta this year.

No matter where you go, the No. 1 topic of discussion is weather. My Facebook and Twitter feeds are cluttered with snow memes and cliché remarks about the cruel unfairness of winter.

 “I can’t believe this is happening!”

 “I heard it’s going to be the worst winter we’ve seen in the past 200 years!”

“Why the hell do we live here?”

According to Canadian Geographic, Canada is the second coldest country in the entire world, with an average year-round temperature of -3.6 C, so you’d think we’d be used to this by now.

Granted, it’s awful that we’re being forced to scrape ice and snow from our windshields before the middle of September, but do we really need to get ourselves all worked up about it every single year?

I do feel a bit of anxiety for the farmers who were in the middle of swathing and combining when this early snowfall struck, but the experts are adamant that warmer weather lies just ahead, so there’s no need to panic just yet.

I loathe the cold as much as the next Albertan, but I`ve come to accept the realities of life in the North Country. All a person can do is squeeze every ounce of enjoyment out of those precious few days of warm weather between June and August.

My kids, on the other hand, are totally pumped about the recent snowfall. Earlier this week, Grayson, our three-year-old, was excitedly telling Rylan, our one-year-old, that snow means the Christmas is coming soon. I guess we’ve skipped right past Halloween excitement this year.

Just the other morning, when Rylan got out of bed at 7 a.m., he ran to the window and gasped in amazement. “Look Daddy! More snow! Yaaaaaaaay!”

I didn’t share his enthusiasm, but it was amusing to see the wonder in his eyes as he scanned the snow-covered landscape for the first time. For kids, winter is all about Santa Claus, sledding, snow forts and hot coco. The seasonal bitterness doesn’t really set in until you reach adulthood.

The key to avoiding the winter blues is good mental preparation, which should begin around late July. By mid September, you should already have your snowbrushes out, your skates sharpened and your attitude properly adjusted.

There will be 16-hour darkness. The thermometer will dip below -35 C. You might get your car stuck trying to leave your driveway; that is if your car even starts in the first place.

Winter is coming folks, and all the whining in the world isn’t going to change that.

Leo is a former Advocate editor. Contact him by email at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/LeoPare

A letter of advice for new parents

Dear Happy Couple,

Congratulations on your pregnancy or new baby! You are about to embark on an exhilarating, exhausting, life-altering journey that you are totally and completely unprepared for!

When our first child was born almost four years ago, I was nervous, but confident – perhaps even a tad cocky. I’d given fatherhood some thought, I’d taken some mental notes as a kid and I’d observed some of our friends with their own children. As we neared our delivery date, I remember thinking to myself, “OK Leo. You’ve got this.”

Trust me, you don’t ‘got this.’ Nobody does. Even the most organized, collected parents are making it up as they go. Don’t believe anybody who tells you otherwise.

As a courtesy to all you new parents – especially the dads – I’m going to share a few honest lessons I wish somebody had shared with me four years ago.

Accept that sooner or later, you will get poop on your hands

So many young dads say things like, ‘I will do everything but change diapers. I can’t handle that stuff.’ Wrong, chief. You will change diapers – a lot of them. And you will see things you cannot unsee. At some point, you will know what it’s like to have human feces on your hands, or hot vomit on your shoulder, or urine on your face. I’m sorry. I know this is disgusting, but you need to hear it now so you can begin accept that this part of parenting simply cannot be avoided.

Your home will never be clean again

During your child’s first birthday party, you will receive a semi truck load of gifts. From this point forward, your house will never be clean again. In addition to the disgusting food messes your toddler will stash in every piece of furniture, you will be forever tripping over toys, books and laundry. My mom used to have a sign in her kitchen that said, “Cleaning the house when children are growing is like shovelling snow while it’s still snowing.’ In truth, it’s much worse.

Your sanity will be pushed to the limit

You’ve had a long day at work. You’re physically and mentally exhausted and ready to hit the couch and watch your favourite TV show. Instead, you’ll be forced to endure re-runs of Jake and the Neverland Pirates while small, overly aggressive humans jump on your groin, sit on your head and scream at each other for no apparent reason. Should you dare to try and enjoy a snack, you will be harassed relentlessly until you either hand over your treat or provide an offering of equal or greater value.

Your values will change

Remember when the most important decisions you had to make were all about haircuts, clothes, or Friday night plans? Those days are long gone my friend. Now, you’ll be concerning yourself with meal planning, weird rashes, diaper prices and the pace of your child’s development. You’ll also find yourself more emotionally susceptible to sad news stories about family-related issues. You’ll begin to care less about your social life and more about what’s happening at home. Soon, Friday nights are less about hanging out with friends and more about building couch-cushion forts and watching Despicable Me with a giant bucket of popcorn.

You discover a new version of yourself

To this point, it’s been pretty much all about you. Now, your life is committed to caring and providing for another human being on a permanent basis. You’ll get up with them in the middle of the night when they cry, then get up and go to work totally exhausted. You’ll spend your weekends doing what they like and going to places that previously seem lame and uninteresting. The surprising thing is, you’ll enjoy it all. These days, I find myself getting pumped about weird stuff, like going to the waterslides, simply because I love watching my boys having a blast. You’ll learn what it’s like to come home from work and have someone squeal with excitement at the very sight of you, and you’ll feel your heart ache a little when you see how quickly they grow up.

I’ve been a father for almost four years now, and I’m still playing catch up, but if I could offer one key piece of advice to new parents, I’d tell them not to worry so much about being ‘cool parents’ that have it all together. Always do what’s best for your family. Commit to the whole parenting experience, even the dorky parts. Your old life is over; let it go, because a new, wildly different one is about to begin.

Leo is a former Advocate editor. Contact him by email at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/LeoPare

Aftershock thrill ride might have changed me forever!

My palms are sweaty, my knees are shaking and my heart is beating so hard the people standing next to me can probably hear it.

I haven’t been this anxious since my first junior-high teen dance.

I am standing in line for a world famous rollercoaster ride called Aftershock, one of the feature attractions at Silverwood Theme Park in northern Idaho.

For those unfamiliar, Aftershock is a imposing 191-foot tall metal snarl of blue and green metal, described by its builders as an ‘inverted boomerang.’

The following description of Aftershock is taken from SilverwoodThemePark.com.

‘Once you board, the cars will slowly move backward up the starting tower until you’re staring straight at the ground. Then gravity will take over and pull you down as you reach speeds of up to 65 miles per hour. You’ll twist and turn through mind-blowing loops and rolls until you reach the second tower…’

You get the idea.

I hear the terrified screams of those already aboard as they go blasting by in a furious blur and I begin to glance around for a way to exit the line without looking like a coward.

Alas, I’ve come too far and escaping this ride with dignity is now out of the question.

While I thoroughly enjoy the amusement park experience, I’ve never been one for thrill rides. During Westerner Days, I usually skip the Zipper and the rest of the nausea-inducing attractions. I am more likely to be found devouring deep-fried Oreos or wasting my hard-earned cash on impossible midway games.

Heights, spins, flips and all that jazz are not really my cup of tea. So how is it, you might ask, that I now find myself just a few feet from the front of the line to one of the most intense, terrifying thrill rides in North America?

As it turns out, even at 31 years old, I am not immune to peer pressure. I am standing here because some good friends have been encouraging (taunting) me all day and with my manhood squarely in questions, chickening out simply isn’t an option.

The coaster comes to a screeching halt right in front of us. As the previous group catches their breath and slowly disembarks, my stomach tightens up in a knot of pure, unadulterated terror.

We are directed to our seats. I buckle my seatbelt, pull down my harness and resist the urge to weep.

A piercing air horn blast alerts us that the fun is about to start; then the car starts moving.

As we climb the first tower in reverse, the ground rushes away and I try to imagine myself in a safer, more serene setting, like a beach, or a forest, or my bed.

We dangle there for a few seconds, I hear a subtle click and gravity ceases to exist. For about 90 seconds we are hurled in 30 different directions. All I can see are flashes of blue Idaho sky and bright green track, mixed with a few moments from my early childhood.

Suddenly, it’s all over and we are slowly lowered back to the station. I am overwhelmed with adrenaline and a renewed appreciation for life itself.

Now I’m not saying that peer pressure is a good thing, but in this instance, I suppose I’m glad I allowed myself to be coerced into a very cool experience I might otherwise have missed.

Now let’s never do that again.

Leo Paré is a former Advocate editor. Email him at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/LeoPare.

Trip Calgary Zoo reminds kids that rhinos are real

I tend to avoid places where large numbers of people congregate, especially when the weather is hot and muggy and there is risk of bumping up against sweaty strangers.

Despite my aversion to large, smelly crowds, my wife, our two boys and I braved the Calgary Zoo last weekend for a day trip with some old friends and their two small children.

We arrived at about 10 a.m. and joined a line of several hundred people at the admission gates, which I must admit, moved with impressive efficiency. Once inside, all four kids needed a bathroom stop – the first of many that day. With that business out of the way, we began our jolly adventure with a stroll through the zoo’s Eurasia loop.

The first star animal we came across was a rhinoceros, who sluggishly snacked on hay while enthusiastic zoo-goers photographers crowded the fence like paparazzi at a Jennifer Lawrence movie premiere. While I marvelled at the rhino’s thick skin and massive head, the kids quickly became bored and bolted off ahead to see the Komodo Dragons.

“Whoa! Awesome! Cool! Look Mommy! What is that thing?” Then off to the next animal. Repeat that about 40 times and you have a fairly accurate snapshot of our day.

Having been promised tigers on the drive to Calgary, our three-year-old, Grayson, stopped at every paddock and searched the foliage for tigers. If some other animal happened to occupy the area – such as a monkey or a wild boar – Grayson would inform us that the inhabitants would soon be eaten when the tigers arrived.

When we finally found the tigers, kids were decidedly underwhelmed, as the big cats were enjoying an afternoon snooze in the shade.

At lunch, we jammed our party of eight into a table at the Kitamba Cafe and scarfed some overpriced chicken fingers, changed diapers, wiped noses and headed back into the fray.

Next up was Destination Africa, where were we waded through a dense crowd of humanity to catch a fleeting glimpse of the hippos, who were chewing up three-foot slaps of tree bark as if it was beef jerky. The African loop also includes zebras, or as Grayson calls them, ‘tiger donkeys.’

After a quick and forgettable lap through the Canadian Wilds – and at least two more bathroom breaks – we circled back to the much-anticipated Penguin Plunge. If you’re able to tolerate the powerful stench of rotting fish and penguin poop, the Penguin Plunge is a super-cool attraction. Having never seen a penguin up close and personal, I was fascinated to watch through the glass as they swam just inches away, chasing each other around and snatching up fish from the bottom of the tanks.

After seeing the penguins, we had just one more stop before our adventure concluded; the dreaded gift shop. The boys were each allowed to pick one small, inexpensive item that reminded them of the zoo. After a couple rejected items and tantrums, Rylan, our one-year-old, developed an instant and powerful attachment to a stuffed Komodo Dragon, while Grayson chose a robotic toy fish.

It was crowded, it was hot, it was smelly, but it was also a lot of fun. A zoo trip is something worth doing as a family every so often – if only to fuel your children’s curiosity and remind them that rhinos, tigers, zebras, monkeys, snakes and penguins aren’t limited to movies and cartoons.

Leo Paré is a former Advocate editor. Email him at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/LeoPare

Backseat chaos pushes Dad to the edge

Many a special memory is born on long road trips with the family, though some of those ‘memories’ a guy might just as soon forget.

For my family, summer usually means at least a few journeys down the highway, be it camping trips or visits to the family farms.

My wife, Amanda, has become an expert on packing the essentials for keeping our two young boys occupied during long hours restricted to the confines of their car seats.

The checklist for a four-plus hour trip includes:

- Goldfish crackers

- Baggies of Cheerios

- Sippy cups

- Minimum five small toys per boy

- Blankies

- iPad or iPhone loaded with movies and simple games

- Diapers

- Diaper wipes (lots)

- TimBits

- CD of annoying kids songs

The first hour is usually peaceful enough. The boys chatter back and forth and ask questions about cows, horses, tractors and whatever else they might see out the window. If we’re lucky, they’ll fall asleep for an hour, giving Mom and Dad a rare opportunity for uninterrupted conversation.

By Hour Two, they’re getting fidgety. With the threat of tantrums looming, Amanda doles out snacks, which buys precious minutes of peace and quiet.

When the snacks are done, electronic gadgets entertain them for another half hour or so. After that, it’s probably time for a pee break and a roadside diaper change. While Amanda does the dirty work, it’s usually my job to take the older one around to the side of the truck and wait while he tries to draw pee designs on the tire. If he finishes without getting any urine on himself, or me, it’s considered a successful pit stop.

Once back on the road, it’s time for the annoying kid music, featuring a choir of pitchy adolescents belting out timeless classics like, Wheels on the Bus, Bill Grogan’s Goat, and The Ants Go Marching.

At Hour 4, all hell breaks looks. The one-year-old begins grunting loudly while straining against his harness, as if he’s about to transform into the Incredible Hulk. The older one begins whining in a nasally tone that all dads know about – that awful noise that seems specifically designed to push a man’s patience to the breaking point.

It’s around this time that Amanda starts watching me nervously, as if she fears I might just black out from an inability to cope with the hellish cacophony of Mary Had A Little Lamb competing with the two screeching banshees directly behind me.

When we finally arrive at our destination, everybody springs from the car, which now reeks of fast food and soiled diapers. The kids, freed from their restraints, instantly transform from angry monsters into giddy little kittens, skipping around giggling crazily.

I climb from the drivers sear, stretch my legs, savour the fresh air – and begin preparing myself for the long drive home.

Leo Paré is a former Advocate editor. Email him at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/LeoPare

Don’t judge Alberta by a funny Facebook page

Social media isn’t doing Alberta’s reputation any favours these days.

A quick Facebook search reveals a plethora of pages dedicated to displaying all things redneck, roughneck and rowdy in our fine province, which is becoming more widely known online as ‘Berta.

Many of you are likely familiar with a Facebook page titled Meanwhile in Alberta, which at my last check had more than 123,000 likes. For those of you unfamiliar, the MIA page paints a less-than-flattering picture of what life in Albertan is all about – though I must admit that the posts can be amusing and uncomfortably accurate at times.

I grew up in a tiny Alberta town of 400 people, so I can attest that while the rural Alberta way of life may seem a little… ‘uncivilized’ at times, we are nowhere near as crude and obnoxious as the Internet would have folks believe.

Clearly, some of our fellow Canadians – and even our American neighbours – are getting the wrong idea of what Alberta is all about, so let’s attempt to set the record straight.

- Being Alberta does not require you to act belligerent or actively participate in sexism or racism.

- There are no rules stating that you must display a crude slogan or fake testicles on your pickup truck. Also, there is no minimum height requirement for trucks.

- Not all Albertans work on oil rigs or pipelines. In fact, some Albertans don’t even work in petroleum at all!

- There is no obligation to consume excessive amounts of alcohol or participate in regrettable sexual activity at summer events like Big Valley Jamboree or Calgary Stampede.

- Nobody is impressed by the ability to ‘keep it between the lines’ when driving home from the party.

- Boating and off-roading are not the only recreational activities we enjoy in Alberta.

- Not all Alberta cowgirls walk around in denim cutoffs, bikini tops and straw cowboy hats.

While portraying Alberta as a ‘redneck paradise’ is sure to earn some laughs and draw some fans to your Facebook page, those of us who grew up here understand that it doesn’t give a truly fair or accurate impression.

If I were to introduce Alberta to someone with no pre-conceived notions or prejudices, I’d tell them to visit the coffee shop in Rimbey, the summer parade in Delburne, a hockey rink in Red Deer, or a camp site in Kananaskis.  I’d tell them to go watch a chuckwagon race in Ponoka, to ride on a combine during harvest, go hiking in the Rockies or take a horseback ride through a pasture.

Maybe the problem with our mixed up reputation is that when people are out doing ‘truly Albertan’ activities, they’re enjoying themselves too much to bother posting  photos to a Facebook page.

Leo Paré is a former Advocate editor. Email him at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/LeoPare

Kids have a blast on impromptu Prairie camping trip

Unsurprisingly, my wife wasn’t keen on camping in the middle of a pasture for a week when I first suggested the idea.

Lacking the foresight to make any big plans for our time off in July, an old buddy and I decided it might be fun to take our families camping on a private little lake (large slough) near my hometown of Chauvin, Alta. It was a hard sell to the wives, who made us promise to provide power, running water and to fulfill our portion of the parenting duties for the duration of the trip.

We pulled out on Monday afternoon, set up camp, cracked some cold ones and watched the kids frolic in the water while we parents got some much needed sun on our pasty bodies.

Once word of our Prairie camping event got out, several other friends joined in, so by the third day of the trip there were half a dozen trailers scattered around our makeshift site.

Music was blasting. Barbecues were smoking. The campfire was blazing. Little kids were running everywhere. Before long, a full-blown redneck family jamboree had broken out.

A few of the guys brought out their magnificent new boats and treated us to some wake-boarding and wake-surfing action, so we were able to enjoy a few hours on the water each day. 

After much flailing and failing, I managed to advance my wake-surfing skills from ‘raw amateur’ to ‘competent beginner.’

On the third night, my wife left the campfire circle to retrieve some snacks from the trailer. She startled me when she came sprinting back, grabbed my arm and pointed back at the trailer.

“Get over there! Emergency! Do something!”

Once she had composed herself, she explained that she’d seen multiple mice scurrying around inside the trailer. Considering her intense, irrational fear of rodents, I feared the only course of action might be to just burn the whole trailer to the ground – but fortunately it didn’t come to that.

I set a couple of traps, plugged a few potential entry points and before long the trailer was mouse-free once again.

Our two toddlers had a fantastic week, smashing camp snacks into their faces and running around like feral animals while exploring the bushes and sandpits around our site. On the last night of the trip, I took my son Grayson, 3, on a short ATV ride around the pasture. We stopped by the train tracks and waved to a passing engineer, who rewarded us with a few short blasts on the horn – an event Grayson is still raving about days later.

After five great days of hanging out with the old gang and their new families, we packed up, cleaned up and headed back to Red Deer.

On long the drive home, I looked at the boys in the rear-view mirror and asked, ‘Did you guys have fun camping?’

Our oldest gave a thumbs up and launched into a long, abstract account of his week that included bugs, trains, marshamallows, bunk beds, mice, swimming and playing with ‘cool friends.’

By that measure alone, it’s safe to say our little last-minute redneck camping adventure was a resounding success.

Leo Paré is a former Advocate editor. Email him at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/LeoPare