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

Warning: Children may become dangerous when bored

Before becoming a father, I always assumed diapers and tantrums would be the toughest part.

Add that to my list of naïve pre-child assumptions that were way off the mark.

In reality, keeping our two toddlers occupied and out of trouble has proven to be the most challenging portion my parenting journey.

With my wife working part time, I often find myself looking after the boys on my own. After a long day at the office, it’s sometimes tough to muster the energy to keep up with two moody toddlers, both of who boast unbelievably short attention spans.

Usually I will take the boys to a park to burn off some energy, but when I’m feeling weary, the temptation is to chill out on the couch for a while and let them entertain themselves with their toys.

As every parent knows, a bored child is a dangerous child. If I’m lucky, I’ll get five minutes of peace before the first interruption, which usually comes in the form of a sibling slap-fight or a flying knee to my groin.

If I don’t act quickly, the whining will inevitably follow.

“Daddy, I want a snack!”

“Rylan is pointing at me!”

“Daddy help! I got pee in my pants!”

Back when we were a one-kid household, I learned about the dangers of child boredom the hard way when our then two-year-old emptied a massive bottle of chocolate syrup onto himself, the dog and the living room carpet.

As the boys get older, larger and more intelligent, I must keep devising new and creative ways to keep them entertained. Some days we build forts with couch cushions, play ball hockey on the kitchen floor or blast loud music while inventing hilarious new dance moves.

While home with the boys earlier this week, I dug through the garage to find the splash pool, filled it with lukewarm water and bath toys then turned them loose while I relaxed in a deck chair. They were thrilled and I sipped an ice-cold Dr. Pepper while silently congratulating myself on being such a cool and clever dad.

The pool party was going splendidly until I looked up and realized that Rylan, the one-year-old, was collecting bits of dog crap from around the yard and dropping them into the pool. With the wading pool now a disgusting biohazard, I whisked both boys up to the bathtub for a thorough decontamination.

After that, I made them sandwiches for supper, cut up some watermelon for dessert, threw some laundry in, broke up a fight over the watermelon, washed them up again, and put them in their pyjamas.

Now completely out of gas, I collapsed on the couch with my iPad while the boys bickered noisily over a toy that probably came from a Happy Meal.

I looked at the clock and winced when I saw there were still two hours to go until bedtime. I almost started to feel a little sorry myself, until I remembered that my wife does this routine almost every day.

Parenting is a high-demand job that sometimes pushes your patience to the limit – but it’s not without perks. As I finished reading bedtime stories, both boys rewarded me with big goodnight hugs and assurances that they loved me more than dinosaurs or ice cream.

Despite the day’s chaos and calamity, as I tiptoed from their rooms that evening, I couldn’t help but smile.

What an awesome day.

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

Moving is a job best left to the pros

I wouldn’t consider us ‘hoarders’ per se, but my wife and I do tend to accumulate things.

When Amanda and I decided to change houses this spring, we knew a serious purge would be necessary, but I drastically underestimated the chaotic state of our basement storage spaces.

Visitors to our former house know about our infamous ‘junk room’ – a long-abandoned basement bedroom stacked to the ceiling with odds and ends dating all the way back to our high-school days and beyond. 

After selling our home this spring, we had just a few weeks to deal with this junk room – on top of all the other packing and purging that was required.

There were books, toys, knick-knacks, TV tables, fish bowls, VHS tapes, hockey equipment, Christmas decorations, Halloween costumes and all kinds of random rubbish that we’d stored away – clutter to be confronted at a later date.

With a moving date looming, we were forced into action. Item by item, we managed to sort the keeper stuff from the stuff that had to go. I started posting dozens of classified ads online and much of it was snapped up right away. The remaining items were placed in a last-minute garage sale, dropped off as donations or hauled to the dump. Seeing that room totally cleaned out was one of the most liberating feelings I’ve ever experienced.

With the junk room defeated, we tackled the rest of the house, boxing or bagging everything we owned.

Being the cheapskate I am, I opted to forego the help of a professional moving outfit. I borrowed a large enclosed trailer from my parents and began loading things up as we packed. With a week left until Moving Day, it seemed like we were in pretty good shape.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

My parents were gracious enough to come spend a few days helping with the move, but had they known the magnitude of this gruelling ordeal, they might have made other plans.

While Mom and Amanda packed boxes and washed down the old house (all the while dealing with two demanding toddlers), Dad and I worked like rented mules. 

For four long days we loaded and unloaded that trailer, pushing ourselves to the brink of exhaustion. We wedged couches up and down stairs, hauled laundry machines, a deep-freeze, a treadmill and countless other heavy, awkward items - all with minimal cursing and wall damage.

At the end of the second day, as we sipped a beer and rested our burning muscles, I turned to Dad and said, “It’s good to know that after being at a desk job for so long, I can still do a hard day’s work.”

Dad looked at me and said, “So you’re bragging that you can work about as hard as a 60-year-old man?”

On Sunday we evening, we closed the trailer door on the very last load. Amanda and I did one last walk-through and said a very fond farewell to our old Bower house – our first house and the place where we started our family.

We attempted to express our undying gratitude for Mom and Dad’s help, but there are no words to adequately thank someone for volunteering to stick around through four straight days of such brutal, back-breaking work.

“We’re glad we could help you out,” Dad told me later. “But for the love of God, hire somebody next time.”

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

Big machinery makes a big impression on little boys

Before they could even talk, our boys were both pushing toy tractors around the living room floor making ‘vroom vroom’ noises and harvesting imaginary fields of wheat.

Not long after his first birthday, our oldest son Grayson developed an obsession with combines - green ones in particular. At bedtime, he’d ask for stories about combines. At every store we visited, he’d find a combine toy to beg for. And on his third birthday, he persuaded his mom to spend hours fretting over a homemade combine cake.

My dad likes to say that our boys have farming in their blood, though it may be a little early to make that claim.

I am proud to say I grew up on a small family farm, and while I still make the trek home to contribute whenever I can, it would be a bit far-fetched to claim that farming is in my blood. My mom tells me that as a little kid, I used to tell her how I was going to grow up and be an ‘office guy’ that worked at a desk.

I’m all grown up now, working a desk job just like I said I would. It’s a three-hour commute from Red Deer to the house and yard I grew up in, and with kids and careers to worry about, it’s not always possible to just drop and run when things get busy on the farm. While I enjoy taking a turn on the tractor at seeding time, or running the combine for a few days at harvest, the bulk of the work is shouldered by my dad and my younger brother.

Recently, we loaded up the whole family and headed back to the home country to lend a hand with seeding and spraying for a couple of days. Eager to pitch in, I lugged bags of canola to the air seeder, took a lesson on operating the new sprayer, moved equipment from field to field and other assorted odd jobs. It was a very short trip, but our presence was appreciated.

The boys were treated to a few tractor rides, which they chattered about for the entire three-hour drive back to Red Deer. After seeing a high-clearance sprayer in action for the first time, Grayson now describes it as a ‘Transformer Robot Machine.’

Living so far away and pursuing a very different career path has been tough at times. Without question, my brother will be the one carrying on the Paré farming legacy and he’s proving himself more than capable.

I still feel a deep connection to the land and a certain sense of responsibility for. I am grateful that my kids will have opportunities to be part of seeding and harvest. They’ll get to drive an old truck around an open field, build forts, do chores, work on tractors, change cultivator shovels and most of the other fun, character-building stuff farm kids get to do.

Ever if we are only frequent visitors at this point, it brings me peace of mind to know the farm is there for us to enjoy, and will be for decades to come.

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

Camping trips are generally worth the headache

Back in the good old days –  in this case I’m talking about the early 1990s – you didn’t have to book a site six months in advance when you wanted to go camping.

When my dad decided to take the trailer out to the lake for the weekend, it was usually a Friday morning decision. Most of the time we didn’t make a reservation or even call ahead – we just showed up and parked in the best of the empty spots still available.

Nowadays, there are no empty spots. The camping business is booming and people like me are lining up to pay.

A couple of summers ago, my wife and I invested in our very own travel trailer. Amanda is admittedly an indoorsy sort and my old tent and Coleman stove didn’t cut it for her. She was very clear that if she was to become a camping mom, she needed a few lavish comforts, like a furnace, a bed and indoor plumbing.

It was only after buying the trailer that we learned of the expert organizational skills required to plan a summer of camping. One must know exactly when the various camping websites begin making spots available (usually about six to eight months in advance), which means you must also attempt to plan your work and personal life accordingly.

It seems bizarre to start booking campsites while you’re still doing your Christmas shopping, but this is the world we now live in.

Failure to book well in advance means you’ll likely be camping in those depressing, treeless overflow areas for most of your getaway weekends. Oh, and be ready to pony up, as most campsites will run you upwards of $35 per night.

All those booking headaches aside, camping remains one of my very favourite family pastimes. As a kid, I remember running amuck at the lake with our little friends and cousins while the adults sipped beverages around the campfire. 

It’s good for the soul to get away from the real world for a few days and just enjoy going for walks, roasting marshmallows, or napping in a zero-gravity chair with the smell of barbecues and campfire smoke wafting through the trees. I even love the pesky squirrels and gophers that lurk under the trailer, waiting to pounce on a scrap of hotdog bun or some unattended sunflower seeds.

For the second consecutive summer, we will be joining some friends in a camper convoy down to northern Idaho for a week-long stay – and if you haven’t been, I highly recommend it. For this trip, we are very fortunate to have friends who have camping organization down to a science. They identified a couple beautiful adjacent sites and made the bookings months ago, for which I am very grateful.

Considering the constant threat of bad weather or equipment malfunction, camping is not always a picnic, but a great many of my most joyful childhood memories are from summer camping trips to the lake, and it makes me happy to know my own kids are going to have some of those same memories.

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

Sibling rivalry just part of the process

It starts with a poke; then a pinch; then a slap; then a bite; then a football-style tackle followed by a lot of screaming and crying.

It baffles me how two normally sweet little boys can go from peaceful playmates to crazed maniacs over the slightest problem. Although not without moments of hilarity, there’s nothing cute about toddler sibling rivalry.

Our oldest, Grayson, is now three years old, and his little brother Rylan is 17 months and both are locked in a bitter, drawn-out battle for dominance, and neither are showing signs of backing down any time soon.

In our house, there are three common triggers that spark fights on a near-hourly basis – snacks, toys and Mommy.

When it comes to toys, the story is always the s

ame. One kid picks up some old tractor or dinosaur the other hasn’t acknowledged in months, but when his brother starts playing with it, that toy suddenly becomes the coolest, most desirable object in all the seven kingdoms. 

Inevitably, a tug-of-war ensues, the winner parades his prize and the other screams in anguish and rage until Mom or Dad steps in to dole out justice and / or Time Outs as needed.

The other cause of frequent freakouts is Mommy’s attention. If my wife wants to spend a little cuddle time with one of her babies, she must first ensure the other brother is preoccupied. One evening last week, Amanda was sitting in the rocking chair having some quiet time with Grayson when Rylan toddled into the living room. The shock and betrayal was too much for his little-boy brain to handle and he just stood there screaming “NO! NO! NO!” over and over while pointing an accusing finger.

Most of the time, our boys are just as sweet and kind as our friends and family all think they are. They are capable of playing nicely together for hours on end and most of these ridiculous outbursts are short-lived and quickly forgotten. We’ve found the key to minimizing tantrums is to ensure snacks, toys and affection are always doled out with careful equality.

My brother Aric and I were also close in age and my mother says she remembers us furiously feuding at times when we were little. Even as teenagers, we were known to slug it out on occasion. Hell, we are both grown men now and we still get mad at each other over silly stuff once in a while.

Some parents fret about their kids scrapping with each other all the time, but if you ask around, I think you’ll find it’s just par for the course.

Boys will be boys, and I’m confident my two will grow up fighting with each other and for each other as the situation calls for.

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

What’s with the female double standard?!

Like most husbands, I’ve been busted sneaking a glimpse a time or two. Any man who claims he doesn’t look is lying – and I’d argue that lying is a far worse offence than glimpsing.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not hiding in the bushes wearing a trench coat and binoculars – but I don’t think it’s out of line to state that women are beautiful creatures and some are very adept at commanding male attention with hair styles, high fashion or other attributes.

My wife doesn’t agree with this rationale, however, and more than once I’ve been punched in the arm and / or subjected to a silent car ride home. And I’d like the record to show that I’ve been falsely accused on multiple occasions.

Getting caught staring is one thing, entrapment is quite another and every man knows what it’s like to be suckered in with a dangerous leading question.

Amanda: “Who do you think is sexier? Jennifer Aniston or Miley Cyrus?”

Me: “I think Jennifer Aniston is gorgeous.”

Amanda: “What, are you’re like obsessed with her?!”

At that point, logic no longer has a role in the conversation.

Which brings me to my point about the ridiculous double standard when it comes to men and women making observations about members of the opposite sex.

This weekend, my wife and I are joining some friends in Edmonton for the Luke Bryan concert at Rexall Place. For those of you unfamiliar, Luke Bryan is a popular young country music artist with a bit of a heart-throb reputation. He is also known for wearing absurdly tight pants during his live performances, which I’m told is a real hit with the ladies in attendance.

Let me just say, that if I spoke about any woman the way my wife and her friends talks about Luke Bryan, I’d be sleeping on the couch for a year!

Earlier this week, she was giggling about a naughty photo a friend of hers had snapped during a recent Luke Bryan performance in B.C. – needless to say, the photo did not feature Luke’s face.

Another of our female friends took things up a notch, posting on Facebook that she intended to ‘just stare at his junk’ when she saw him in concert.

Taking the moral high ground, I attempted to remind these over-heated females that Luke Bryan is a real person, with real feelings – and a wife – but they wouldn’t hear any of it.

Does any of this bother me? Should I be jealous? Should I be worried that handsome Luke is going to pluck my pretty wife out of the audience and whisk her away on his tour bus?

No, of course not. It’s all in good fun and it doesn’t bother me one bit.

But you can bet I will pull the Luke Bryan card next time I get busted turning my head at the shopping mall.

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