Tag: dad blog

Giveaway – Hip Hop Into Spring With Kellogg’s Rice Krispies!

 Spring is definitely my favorite season.  After a long, cold, dreary winter, things just feel more exciting this time of the year.

And speaking of eggciting (Haha, you see what I did there? Hey, what do you mean you hate puns?), Easter is also just around the corner. As such, my good friends at Kellogg’s, with a little help from the Easter Bunny, had this sweet package delivered to my doorstep:

J was not included in the package.

The new Spring Edition Rice Krispies Squares Bars put a spring in my step when I tried them (what do you mean you still hate puns?). B, J and yours truly also enjoyed using the new Spring Edition Rice Krispies Cereal to make some eggstraordinarily (Ok, ok, I’ll stop) gooey treats!

An egg by B.

An egg’s nest by J.

A ‘WTF is this supposed to be?’ by me. It didn’t go eggsactly as planned, clearly.

Be sure to hip-hop on over (I’m sorry, I have a pun problem, I know. Please don’t eggnore the rest of the post) to the Yummy Recipes – Special Occasions section on www.ricekrispies.ca, and the Rice Krispies Canada Pinterest Page at pinterest.com/RiceKrispiesCA/ for your own treat-making inspiration.

Aight, no more yolkin’ around. Let’s get crackin’ on a giveaway. Omelettin’ you have a chance to win the same package of Easter goodness that I received from Kellogg’s! Just fill out the entry form below, no further eggsplanation needed.

KELLOGG’S SPRING PRIZE PACK!

DATES –  Giveaway closes at 11:59PM on April 23, 2017.

ELIGIBILITY – Open to all residents of Canada, except for Quebec.

TO ENTER –  Use the form below to complete the mandatory and optional entries, for your chance to win.

GOOD LUCK!

 

Do The Right Thing

 

Do you and your kids have a thing?

You know, a thing?  

Yo, I’m talking about that common interest which helps you bond with them.

It dawned on me recently that J and I don’t really have a thing. This realization made me feel kind of guilty, for real. Sure, we get along well and do lots of dope stuff together. However, unlike Amerie back in 2005, we don’t have one thing. B and I, for example, talk, watch or play basketball a lot. J and I don’t get down like that, though.

With this in mind, when my good friends at Culinary Adventure Co invited me out to one of their food tours, I jumped at the opportunity!

See, Culinary Adventure Co. is Canada’s largest culinary tourism and experience operator, offering a variety of neighbourhood food tours and other tasty adventures. J is curious by nature, and also loves to try new eats. A food tour would be right up her alley, right? We’d walk around a ‘hood in Toronto, learn some history and sample some scrumptious foods. Perhaps this would be start of our new thing: daddy-daughter foodies!

So how did it go, you ask?

Well…….

Ok, let me start by saying that I thoroughly enjoyed our particular tour of the Riverside and Leslieville area in Toronto. Our guide, Ian, was very knowledgeable and enthusiastic, and filled us with all kinds of cool information about the neighbourhood.

Our tour group consisted of a bunch of hardcore foodies. I’ve never been around that many people who were so passionate about their dining. They were the type who would have choked on their baba ganoush if I had told them that I had Kraft Dinner for supper the other night. Even though I lacked their sophisticated palate, and even though I was the only one who had a child with them, everyone in the group was very friendly to J and I.

In terms of the food, I really liked everything that we had, but don’t take my word for it. I  did make a point of listening in on the opinions of the group at each stop. Truth be told, I heard a lot of compliments from the hardcores about the tastes and presentations.

However, truth be told, I also had two unexpected issues come up with J.

The first was, while normally very open-minded, she picked that day to be a picky eater. Despite normally liking what was offered at the Middle Eastern restaurant we stopped at, she refused to try anything, because it looked “spicy”. Despite liking canned tuna, she refused to try the fresh tuna at the fish market, because it wasn’t canned. Despite loving bread, she refused to try the fresh bread at the bread factory, because it didn’t come in a  plastic bag (curse you, Dempsters!).

The other issue was, while I was digging the hot knowledge that Ian was spittin’, J couldn’t have cared less. This was my bad, as I misjudged the age appropriateness a tad. As such, she spent the day entertaining herself, usually separate from the rest of the group:

 

While Ian told us about the historical significance of where we were standing, J wandered off to explore the area.

Here she is using Google Maps to play Pac-Man. Seriously.

At the bread factory, she wandered off into the kitchen, and was amazed with how big the mixer was.

Instead of eating at the Middle Eastern joint, she filled up on a mint lemonade.

This is the face of someone who was not impressed with seafood…..

 

But here is the face of someone who is impressed with her doll-placing handiwork.

 

I can’t front. She seemed to be having such a blast, that I had to join her most of the time.

Ice cream selfie! Well, actually, blood orange/raspberry gelato selfie.

To summarize, I thought Culinary Adventure Co. put on an excellent experience.  The one that we went on is a bit better suited for kids older than J (re: older than five-ish). Even if they aren’t that age, however, they’ll still be entertained.  Regardless, any foodie definitely won’t be disappointed.

At the end of our tour, as we walked hand in hand to the car, I asked J if she had a good time. I expected her to say no, and that it was boring, and yucky or something. Instead she smiled, mouth smeared with blood orange/raspberry gelato, and said that she had “sooo much fun”. I had to smile too, because I also had a great time with her.

Being daddy-daughter foodies probably isn’t be the right thing for us.  And you know what?

That’s cool.

Maybe our thing is that we don’t have a thing. Yet. Hanging out and spending quality time together right now, doing whatever, is really all that matters.

 

 

 

 

Night Shift

After dealing with small kids for so long, I’ve honestly forgotten  how different they are to babies.

The years really do fly by. B and J are little people now.  Baby KJ, on the other hand, is whole ‘nother creature.  My dad strategies (or as I call them dadegies. What? That’s catchy! What do you mean that’s not catchy?) which work on seven and four year olds, don’t work on two month olds. As such, I need to switch my game up, to handle KJ.

Full disclaimer- right now, K does most of the heavy lifting with him. She is home during the day while I’m at work. However, the evenings are when I do a  “night shift” in our house. K goes to bed around 9:00pm and wakes up a few hours later. This means that it’s just me and the baby until then.  Yep, KJ and I bonding and spending quality time alone together, creating lasting memories.

How’s it going, you ask?

Well……here’s a typical shift.

K’s breastfed KJ. He’s burped, changed and contently sleepy. He should pass out any minute now.  K hands him off to me, and heads to bed. Let’s check the time:

Ok, baby boy, let’s get our bond on like James! Haha, you see what I did there?

 

Hey, stop looking at the stairs for Mommy, dude. She’s gone.

Aww. She’s not gone, gone,  like gone forever. She’s just sleeping. She’ll be back! Please stop crying. You look tired. Get some rest!

No?

You’re just going to cry louder?

Alrighty. Time to dip into the ol’ bag of tricks.  Are you still hungry? Here, have some bottle. The finest breast milk around.

Hey, don’t scream, I’m just askin’.

Do you want to be rocked? Here, let’s rock.

Hmm. That didn’t work.

OK, let’s go for a walk around the house. Up the stairs, down the stairs. To the windows, to the wall. Swing by the fridge, to get daddy a snack, and back to our chair. How you doin’ now?

 

Even worse than before. Oh boy. I wonder what time it is.

Dang it!

Ok, be cool, Mike. Even though you can’t hear yourself think over the screaming, it’s not personal. It’s probably just colic (side note: yeah, KJ is colicky).  

I know. Gentle bouncing and some singing! I haven’t tried that yet.

B-b-b-bounce wit’ me, bounce wit’ me!

It’s working! The crying is easing up.

Now let’s bust out some jams. What do you want me to sing? Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, or Bad and Boujee, by Migos?

What? I saw them on the Ellen Show, so it must be totally kid appropriate.

 

Migos you say? Oh, I know you can’t talk, but I’ll pretend you said that.

Raindrops, drop tops –

 

Hey, stop looking for Mommy. She can’t save you now. Haha. Fine, no more trap music.

Yo, if you’re content, do you mind if I watch a little bit of TV? I’d like to check out Riverdale.

 

Don’t look at me like that. It’s not just for teens!

Anyway, it requires my full attention. Some peace and quiet so I can hear the dialogue would be great, mmkay? Thanks.

Didn’t even make it through the opening credits. Oh well.

No offense, but you stink.

No really, did you poop?

You sure did. Diaper change it is.

How’s that feel?

You’re still crying, so I guess not good enough.

Are you hungry?

Here, try the bottle again. Mmm, yummy, right?

Not right?

You want the real thing, don’t you? You’re going to keep crying until you get some boob in your mouth, even though you know my boobies ain’t milky?

Is…..is that a SMILE? Do you enjoy messing with me or something?

Hardy har har, dude. Hardy har har.

That escalated quickly.  Ok, well if you keep crying for that boob, then I’m going to hum Bad and Boujee! How do you like them apples!?

Wait. Why am I negotiating with a baby?

Look, Mommy will be up soon, so just chill.

You’re not chilling.

What time is it, anyway?

Oh, I hear Mommy’s alarm.  Sweet.

She’s coming downstairs!

 

Are you serious!?

Now, you’re tired?

All of that crying must have worn you out.

This was fun, but I’m going to bed. Goodnight, lil man. See you tomorrow, when we can create some more beautiful moments together!

 

Man Vs. Sub (Or What It’s Like Dealing With A Picky Kid Eater)

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before, but I live with  a picky eater.

B’s seven years old, and for as long as I can remember, he’s been very particular and fussy about his food. I’m pretty sure he was spitting out breast milk when he was baby, if it wasn’t a certain flavour (Or not. That was seven years ago. I probably made that up).  Sure, he has his core meal foods that he’ll eat regularly. And sure, he’ll chow down on snacks like a mofo. However, the problem is  that his preferred meals list is specific and tiny. Like, you can count it on one hand tiny.

Take pizza, for example. Now, I don’t know about you, but for me, the best part of a pizza is the toppings. B, on the other hand, likes pizza, but hates toppings. As such, he only ever wants plain cheese pizza…..and only if it’s made a certain way, or from certain restaurants. Otherwise, he won’t touch it.

Now, I don’t know about you, but for me, plain cheese pizza kinda sucks.

 

Oh yeah, Mike? YOU SUCK!

Sorry, plain cheese pizza.

Anyway, I’ve eaten more B-rejected ‘za over the years than I care to admit.

So yes, meal times are definitely a challenge in our house.  Unless it’s something from B’s short list, we can pretty much expect a fight.  It’s like we’re in a rap battle. K and I get it poppin’ off right, but B comes back at us hard, and a verbal battle of wits ensues. Unfortunately, I’m not the Eminem of parenting, so I typically get served with the L. Man, I just want to eat my meatloaf, not negotiate with a kid about how few bites he needs to eat, or pick imaginary hairs off his plate, or watch him gag and convulse on the floor after taking a nibble, as if he just ingested bleach .

B is actually happy here, and rocking out to some music. I just thought this picture was appropriate.

K and I have tried every technique and trick that Google has  we can think of, to open up his eating habits.  Look,  I get it.  Maybe there’s some deep-rooted psychological issues and phobias behind B’s pickiness…….

Or maybe B just gets a kick out being off-the-chains ridiculous.

Take the other day, for instance. The plan for lunch was delicious, assorted Subway subs, left over from the previous night. When asked which delicious sub he wanted, B asked for a turkey one, with mayo.  I gave him a sandwich, he gobbled it down and that was that.

Haha, of course it wasn’t that easy. The following actually happened instead:

♦ When given his delicious sub, B immediately cringed at it. He said that he didn’t like the bread (parmesan oregano), and asked for it on different bread.

♦I’ve seen B eat this bread, though, a couple of times, so I told him as such. And not being a sandwich artist, I denied his request.

♦Whining ensued. He refused to eat, because of the spices on the bread. He attempted to scrape them off, to no avail.

♦Negotiation time! He asked if he could make his own sandwich, except on a tortilla wrap instead. I agreed, under the condition that he still eat the delicious Subway bread. More whining, but eventually he took the deal.

♦ B discovered that there was white cheese on his delicious sub, which was stuck on some of the bread. Oh no! Apparently he didn’t like cheese (on that day, anyway), so a freak out occurred.

♦After picking away for a bit, he now had the turkey, chunks of paremesan oregano bread, and a tortilla wrap spread out on his plate . Having taken zero bites, he insisted that he was thirsty, and needed a drink.

♦More negotiation. Now claiming to be full (of the water he drank?), he asked how many bites he had to take.  My answer of “all of them” did not go over well. After arguing a bit more about his fullness, he then asked if he could just eat his bread only. You know, the bread that he refused to eat initially.

♦I told him that he had to eat EVERYTHING on his plate. I logically explained that if he had just ate what he had asked for initially, he now wouldn’t have to eat that, plus a stupid tortilla. Kids aren’t always the most logical, so a freak out predictably followed. The main issue now was the cheese. To solve this problem, I ripped out the pieces of bread and turkey with cheese stuck on them. I then put the rest of the delicious sub back together and gave it to him to eat. It now didn’t look delicious. It looked like the sub of Frankenstein.

♦I left the table. While away, B tried to weasel a deal out of K, by agreeing to eat a handful of carrots instead of the food on his plate. No dice. He wasn’t going to waste his lunch this time.

♦After another 45 minutes or so of whining and complaining, he finally gave up. He ate his delicious, but not delicious looking, sub. I gave him a pass on the tortilla.

And there you have it. No clue if other picky kid eaters behave like this, but that’s what we usually deal with. At this point, improving B’s pallet is a definitely a work in a progress.

Perhaps one day when he’s older, B, between bites of his escargot or some other tasty, sophisticated dish, will read this post and chuckle at his youthful pickiness,

Until then,  I’m out. I gotta go finish off some plain cheese pizza.

Peace!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bedtime WTF – Elvis Presley, Ghost Hunter Edition

  • monster

 

I’m a liar.

What? I can admit it.  I’m not always entirely honest with my kids.

I mean, I do strive to be as forthright with them as possible. Sometimes, however, a little white lie or two is required. Yo, I’m not trying to be that deceptive; it’s just, on occasion, it’s best for everyone involved to keep  B and/or J on a need to know basis.

Take the other night, for example, when our house was invaded by monsters.

Or, more specifically, J’s room was invaded by monsters,

Or more, more specifically, J told us that her room was invaded by monsters.

Basically, the monsters were a figment of a four year old girl’s imagination.

Nonetheless, J was legit terrified. As such, I tried the forthright approach. Monsters weren’t real, I told J. They don’t exist. Unfortunately, she wasn’t buying what I was selling. After arguing back and forth, J asked if we had any monster spray. I then did what any parent who was tired of fighting with their child would have done – I fibbed and said that we did.

After rummaging around for a bit,  I managed to find some Monster Spray (a.ka. Febreeze with “Monster Spray” scribbled on the label).  The monsters were under her bed, so I gave them a good spraying, destroying them all.  J then crawled under the sheets, went to sleep, and that was that.

Well...no, I guess not.

Yeah, right!

For real, like 5 minutes later, J came out of her room, insisting that there were now GHOST MONSTERS under her bed, which couldn’t be sprayed.

How the heck do you kill a ghost monster?!

I had no idea. I’m not a Ghostbuster. Anyway, J was petrified. She ended up refusing to go back to her room, and fell asleep in the loft instead. #parentingfail

Let’s flash forward to next night’s bedtime.

J once again refused to go to her bed, because of not only ghost monsters, but GHOST WITCHES! I then did what any parent who was tired of fighting with their child would have done – I went to the basement and got this:

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Hey, don’t be cruel! It was the first thing that came to mind. See, J still believes in stuff like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and, obviously, scary monsters. So I decided to fight her sense of reality, with her sense of reality.

After I grabbed Elvis,  I took J to her room, and improvised the “story” of this particular doll.

Back in the day, after I moved out of our old home, my mom also moved into a new place on her own. Being alone for the first time in her life, she was scared. That first night, she couldn’t sleep, because she was afraid of monsters and creepy things in her bedroom, just like J was. So, the next morning, she went to a special store and bought this Elvis doll. It had secret powers that protected you at night from bad things while you slept. I reminded J of how when we used to go visit grandma, she still had this by her bed. I wasn’t sure how it worked; maybe he came alive at night and fought off the monsters, who knows.  All I know is that we never saw anything scary at grandma’s place. After my mom passed away, I took Elvis and kept him tucked away, in case his powers were ever needed again.

I placed Mr. Presley high in J’s closet, and told her that if she ever felt scared that night, then all she had to do was look at Elvis, and remember that her, and grandma, would keep her safe.

As I told her this tale, J’s eyes were wide, like I stepped on her blue suede shoes. She totally believed me, though (no suspicious minds here), and fell asleep in her bed not long after.

Aight, aight. Perhaps I exaggerated the details a wee bit.  I’m a liar, I already admitted that. Truth be told, I never asked my mom what the deal was with Elvis. He was her favourite singer, and this doll was randomly displayed prominently in her bedroom. I’m sure the real story behind it wasn’t so crazy…..but what if it was?

Regardless, for one night anyway, Elvis Presley saved me a ton of drama.

And for that, I say thank ya. Thank ya very much.

 

The Shot Remix

A few months ago, I told y’all about The Shot a.k.a. that time when B requested that I hit him a foul ball, and, despite severely lacking any baseball skills, I somehow did it. Well, all good stories deserve a sequel.  Today, I’d like to tell you about the time recently when B called his shot.

Lemme set the scene. It was a clear black night, a clear white moon (word to Warren G!). Me and B were on the street…..walking to the Rogers Centre. I had scored a pair of wicked, first row seats to a Toronto Blue Jays – Baltimore Orioles game, which B had been excited for weeks about. He was going to stay up late on a school night to eat junk food, watch the Jays up close, and, most importantly, he was going to catch a foul ball!

Wait, what?

You see, in his mind, catching a foul ball at a recreational, co-ed three-pitch game is cool…..but snagging one at an actual Major League Baseball game is way cooler. So,  leading up to it, B  had been nonchalantly mentioning that he was going to catch one. Not hoped to. Not wanted to. He was GOING to. The day before the game, at school, he even drew a picture, and wrote (I’m paraphrasing here. I don’t remember the exact words.)  “I’m going to the Blue Jays game tomorrow.  I’m going to catch a ball.”

Now, we’ve seen the Jays play in person several times, but B had never made such a bold proclamation before.  Accordingly, I tried to temper his expectations. The stadium would be near capacity (close to 50,000 people).  Say 40 balls end up going into the stands. The odds of us getting one just weren’t very good. Nonetheless, B remained unfazed. As a parent, you hate to see your kids be disappointed about anything, especially when their hearts are set on it. However, if they are undeterred in spite of your opinion,  then what can you do? Make no mistake about it, B was undeterred.

So what happened?

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At the game, B spent the better part of five innings in a ready position. That is, whenever a ball was hit, he would jump up and raise his baseball glove, in preparation to catch a pop fly. While several foul balls whizzed by, none landed close to our general vicinity. Regardless, he was wasn’t worried. His only concern was the possibility of getting hurt if he didn’t get his glove up fast enough, when a ball came to him.

In bottom of the sixth, the Jays’ catcher, Russell Martin, came to the plate.  After a pitch or two, he ripped a foul ball down the first base line, right towards our section. Once it neared the stands, a man reached over and grabbed it. He then turned to B, and pointed the ball at him . While B stared at the guy, dumbfounded,  I held my hand up, and he tossed me the ball. To make it official, I then flipped it up to B, who happily caught it. The look on B’s face after was priceless.  Unsurprised disbelief turned all the way up probably describes it best. He said that he would do it, and, against all odds, he did it. B called his shot. He caught a foul ball!

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m a pretty pessimistic dude. Children, however, aren’t so jaded. In their eyes, as Kevin Garnett said, anything is possible. When a kid makes a crazy statement like they’re going to catch a foul ball at a jam-packed stadium, maybe we, as adults, shouldn’t be haters. There really is something to thinking a big idea, telling yourself that you are going to make it a reality, and then making it a reality. It’s something we all probably should do more of.

OK, real talk over. Later, peeps.

Go catch a foul ball or something, will ya?

 

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A pic of the ball. Despite what B says, RA Dickey did not sign it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Beginner’s Guide To Shopkins

Recently, I found myself waiting in a long line with my daughter, to meet a giant talking strawberry.

What would compel someone to do this, you ask?

Shopkins, that’s what.

Now, for the informed readers, you are probably nodding your head, in approval. For the uninformed, however, I feel your confusion.  Truth be told, up until a few months ago, I was one of the ignorant. I had no idea these things existed…….. until J started watching Shopkins videos on YouTube. She then started to go on about how much she wanted them.  At that point, I had to find out just WTF a Shopkin was.

shopkins

Because when I wonder about Shopkins, I also want to know about Herpes, too. Thanks, Google.

While I still do not get the appeal, kids seem to really like them. The holiday season is fast approaching, as well, and I’m sure Shopkins are at the top of many a wish list.

If you don’t know a thing about Shopkins, then you gon’ learn today! I’m going to give you a quick beginner’s guide, based on my very limited knowledge!

Let’s get it on, FAQ-style!

 

You waiting to meet someone in an oversized strawberry costume is one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard.

Well, that’s not very nice. It wasn’t a question, either. Hater.

Fine. What are Shopkins?

Basically, Shopkins are tiny toys. They are miniature, shopping item-themed characters.  Each character has a name, finish and a back-story, which reads like an online dating profile. For example, per their website, Chee Zee enjoys rapping with his BFFs and hanging out in the dairy aisle.

Oh. So what are you supposed to do? Read their profiles, and set them up on blind dates, according to who matches up best?

Uh, I don’t think many kids play with them like that.

Then what do you do with them?

As far as I can tell, you buy them, and then make a video of you opening them up.

What! For real?

Well, that’s one way to use them, yeah. There are other ways, of course. Essentially, you can buy them in different sized sets and packages (ie. Five packs, 10 packs etc).  Each character has their own ‘team’. The teams are based on which section of a store the character would be found in, like the bakery, homewares, shoes etc.

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Here’s a Shopkin.

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Here’s another Shopkin.

They even come with cute little shopping bags, to carry the Shopkins in.

 

Here is a Shopkin.

Some sets include a Shopkins list, which helps to identify/keep track.

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From what I understand, kids enjoy the idea of being able to collect them all. They also seem pretty fun to play with. Grocery shopping comes to life!

Sounds adorable. Explain the videos you mentioned before. Now!

Whoa! Simmer down, please.

Some packs are ‘blind baskets’. You don’t know what you got until you open up the packaging. The element of mystery and surprise is apparently a big selling point. There is also an apparent market for people watching other people opening stuff. YouTube is full of “Unboxing” videos, where people have filmed themselves opening up and revealing their Shopkins. J, for one, can’t get enough of these videos, for some reason, especially the ones with blind baskets.

I’m hip and cool. My toy game’s on fleek. How come I’ve never heard of these before? Are they new?

Your toy game’s on fleek? Who even says that? Anyway, yes, they are pretty new. They were released in June 2014.

I hate battery operated toys. Do they require batteries? Because if they do, I swear to –

Gosh, lemme cut you off right there. Batteries aren’t needed. They’re inanimate little things.

How many Shopkins are there?

As of this writing, there are three “season’s” worth of characters (December 2015 Update- there are now four seasons!). Each season has over 140 characters. Similar to card collecting, some Shopkins are more common and easily obtained than others.

Holy moly! That’s alot! Sounds way too overwhelming. And expensive. If my kid comes across these on YouTube and asks me to get them, should I just smash the computer to pieces, and tell them that Shopkins were a figment of their imagination?

No?

Then how would you recommend starting a collection, you stupid smartypants?

What’s with the name calling? Anyway, I’m not an expert on this. We’ve only bought J a five pack (which went down to a two pack within a week, by the way. They are easy to lose if you’re not careful. I probably ate Waffle Sue for breakfast accidentally, for all I know) and a couple of singles. I’m guessing you get more bang for your buck by buying the larger quantity packages, or the special edition bundles. If you don’t want to tread so deep initially, maybe just stick with occasionally buying the onesie or twosie packs.

You ate one? Are they gluten-free?

I….I wasn’t being serious. They are made of rubber or plastic. Not edible.

Which is harder to find? Cupcake Queen from Season 1 or Roxy Ring from Season 3?

Well...no, I guess not.

Man, I don’t know. Try one of the many sites dedicated to all things Shopkins.

 

I think you secretly have a weird obsession with Shopkins. Drop the act. Who’s your favorite, Mikey-Boy?

My favorite is Shut Up Juice, who takes people like you to the Smackdown Hotel. Is BFFs with yo’ momma.

Ouch. Who’s the hater now?! I was just joking around. But seriously, is there anything else I should know?

The only other thing would be, if you or your kids do get into this phenomenon, keep an eye out for Shopkins Swap events. At these, you’ll have opportunities to meet other aficionados/collectors and make trades to add to your collection.  A real life Shopkin might appear, as well.

Play your cards right, and one day, you too might able to stand in a long line to meet a giant talking strawberry!

 

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J, with Strawberry Kiss

 

 

 

 

The Choice Is Yours (You Can Go with This, Or You Can Go With That)

Independent thinking is an important trait that should be ingrained early on. So as a parent, you try to mix things up. You know, instead of just telling them what they want, or what they should do, you give your kid some options and let them decide on their own. Then if their decision sucks, they learn to do better next time, hopefully. You have to be careful, however. Kids are tricky like that, so there’s always a chance that you get played for a fool. Or that’s what has happened to me, anyway. Many times. I’ll tell you about those experiences at some point. For example now, though, after dinner one night a few months ago, I figured that I’d ask B what he wanted for dessert. Simple right? Not so much:

Me – ‘What do you want for dessert? A banana, or peach applesauce?

B – ‘A bananee!’

Me – ‘OK, a banana?’

B – ‘No! Not banana. A bananee!’

Me – ‘I don’t know what a bananee is. Do you want a banana or peach applesauce?’

B – ‘Peach.’

Me – ‘OK, you want peach applesauce?’

B- ‘No, a peach.’

Me -‘That wasn’t a choice. We don’t have peaches.’

B – ‘Why?’

Me – ‘We have to buy them at the store. So do you want a banana or peach applesauce?’

B (long pause) – ‘I want a pear.’

Me – ‘We don’t have pears! That wasn’t a choice either!’

B – ‘We have to buy them at the store?’

Me – ‘Yeah.’

B – ‘OK! Let’s go to the store!’ (He starts trying to wiggle out of his seat)

Me – ‘We’re not going anywhere! You’re having peach applesauce, OK?’

B – ‘OK!’

So I get him a spoon and the sauce. J is crying now, probably at the ridiculousness of this conversation, so I turn around to tend to her. I turn back around soon after…..B hasn’t touched the applesauce. He’s using the spoon to slurp milk from his cup, though, with the biggest stupid grin on his face.

Lesson learned…..sometimes kids don’t know what they want, even when you tell them what they want.

pear

The Poison Control Affair

You know what you can’t do, when you have little children? Leave stuff lying around your place.   Inevitably,  said children will weigh their options, and do the worst option with your stuff.  Call it curiosity, skill development, exploration, or whatever.  I call it kind of annoying.  K took up knitting recently, for example.  B and J are constantly playing with and misplacing the needles, and getting tangled up in the yarn, like little colourful mummies. B got his foot caught in a roll once, then ran all around the living room and kitchen, somehow unraveling it so that it was caught on all sorts of furniture. By the time I caught him, the place looked like it was rigged with an alarm system laser maze.

 

Experiences like that just teach you a lesson to be careful with your possessions. For your sake, of course, but mainly for your kids’ sake.  I remember another time, last year, we went up to check on B.  K found him sitting quietly in our room, calmy eating some of her scented body lotion. We thought that it was high up on the back of her dresser. Apparently it wasn’t that unreachable.  How he got it, no idea.  In his words, though, he was just eating dip. We had to go all Law and Order on him, and interrogated him to figure out WTF he was thinking:

Me – ‘Did you eat a lot?’

B – ‘Yeah, a lot’

Me – ‘Or a little bit?’

B – ‘Yeah, just a little bit.’

Me – ‘So did you eat a lot, or a little bit?

B – ‘A little bit.’

K – ‘So you didn’t eat a lot?’

B – ‘No I ate a lot.’

Dangclass6_1a

After going back a forth like this 5 more times, we switched up the questions:

K -‘So did you swallow it, or spit it out?’

B – ‘I spit it out.’

Me – ‘So you spit it out because it was yucky?’

B -‘Yeah. Yucky!’

Me -‘And you didn’t swallow it?’

B – ‘No I eat it. It was yummy in my tummy!’

Did I mention that neither us are cops?

After getting nowhere, I finally called freaking poison control. I had no idea how toxic that cream was, so better safe than sorry.   (” Uh, my son ate some perfumy body lotion, maybe, and I don’t know how much because he won’t tell me. Is he OK”).   They asked a bunch of questions, gave me some advice and that was that.  B was just fine, too, don’t worry.

Yet another lesson was learned on our part, however,  in being careful with our stuff.

The best part of the ordeal? His breath smelled great for a long while after, as well.

It looks scrumptious, but don't eat it!

It looks scrumptious, but don’t eat it!

Bedtime WTF Awards!

 

First post! I will get things poppin’ with an ongoing problem in our house – the bedtime routine.

As a three year old, B was your typical three year old boy. Or so I am told anyway.  Before having kids, I wasn’t really up on how toddlers were.  Getting him to go to bed varies in levels of sucktacularness and ridiculousness each night. The highest level warranted their own awards, which I call the Bedtime WTF Awards. For example, one night, here were the nominees:

1) B is screaming for help. I go to check on him. As I open his door, he sprints by like Usain Bolt, stops on a dime at his bed, grabs a book and flings it across the room like a discus. He then goes “Please get my book, daddy!”

2) Later, B is screaming and banging his door, I check on him again:

B (tears running down his face, sobbing) – ‘Your hair is on my door. Get it.’

I don’t have hair. I fake wipe the door.

B (sobbing more) – ‘No! The other side of the door!’

More fake wiping.

B (voice suddenly normal) – ‘Put the hair in your pocket! Will you put it in the garbage? For the garbage truck? What colour’s the garbage truck?’

3) Later, yet more screaming, I go to his room again:

Me – ‘What’s wrong now?’

B- ‘The cows outside. They’re mooing. The mooing is scaring me!’

Me – ‘We don’t live on a farm. There are no cows outside!’

And the winner is…no one.

The loser? Me……

.stick1

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