Stephen Harper Rejects Bloc
Ottawa (LHJ)
Stephen Harper today stunned observers by rejecting all future cooperation with the Bloc Quebecois. His concerns, apparently stemmed from the election of the new leader of the Parti Quebecois, the Bloc's defacto provincial wing.

"It's one thing to cooperate with a party which has pledged to destroy the makeup of our nation and everything we hold dear about a united, strong Canada," said Harper at a press conference. "It's another entirely to cooperate with a party led by a coke snorting homosexual."

Harper was referring to the recent election of Andres Boisclair as the new leader of the Parti Quebecois. Boisclair is openly gay, and during the campaign admitted to having used cocaine while a cabinet minister in the '90's.

"I don't mind cooperating with them," Harper continued. "But I draw the line at cooperating with them."

Harper's comments drew outrage from Gay Rights activists across the country, many of whom were appalled, but not surprised. "This party has had an anti gay agenda since day one," said Mike Bonasera, spokesperson for GLBQTTT Toronto. "While these comments are shocking, they are nothing new from this party."

Harper was visibly shaken by the turn of events in Quebec, and ended the press conference asking, "I mean, where will this stop? Is Svend Robinson going to get re-elected next?"

New Skill
So Isaac has discovered a new skill....one that will bring him years of fun and entertainment, while at the same time threatening to drastically lower his I.Q. every time he uses it.

That's right, he has figured out how to turn on the TV.

So for the last half an hour or so, he has been doing just that. Turning the TV on and off...over and over again.

I'm grateful on one hand that he learned this skill on a Saturday morning, so the show in question is a kind of greenpeace meets Polkadot Door called Zabumafoo (that's the name of the talking Lemur), rather than some soft porn soap opera on the French station.

It does however mean that I have been watching the show this morning like it were in morse code...
"Hey, Zaboo, let's go on a trip, how about..." click
click "How will we get there?" click
click "But where are we going to get a camel?" click
click "What an adventure!" click...

Now those of you who don't know, Noelle and I went without a TV for so long, that we still find flickering images totally captivating.

Side note...he just figured out how to change channels. What is the world coming to?

So we are pretty much unable to do anything else when the TV is on...even writing this post is taking forever. So when the TV is stuttering in the corner, it pretty much puts almost every other activity on hold, as we stand and stare slack jawed at the tv turning on and off.

I"m sure it's quite the sight.

Anyway, now that it's a show on the "Diversity channel" about a South East Asian Tsunami fundraiser, he doesn't care anymore.

Dear God...he just discovered the volume buttons.

I"m going back to the talking Lemur.

Maradona
So nerniner suggested that maybe Isaac would be better off as a soccer goalie, than a hockey goalie.

There are two things that come into play here. One is that in hockey, and for good reason, the goalies are protected by bloody great masks. While this is safer, I think it would take the fun out of it for Isaac, who let's admit, seems to enjoy the thrill of unprotected blows to the head.

So soccer it is.

So tonight I had him in the family room playing with his miniature soccer ball. For the first time he was kicking it on his own, and chasing it around the room walking without an adult to hold on to. It was pretty cool.

But then in a flash he went from being a future Pele, to being the next Diego Maradona, when he picked it up and threw it. This is a clear violation of all soccer rules at every level except the world cup. http://www.sptimes.com/News/100899/Sports/_Hand_of_God__beats_B.shtml

So it seems I am going to have to have a little talk with Isaac about ethics.

Then I tried to engage in mini soccer game with him, and all he wanted to do is be picked up. Play time was over, it was now snuggle time.

It occurs to me, therefore, that maybe soccer players would be a little more well adjusted if they had a little more snuggle time. Maybe Becks wouldn't be so much like a Bull Moose on steroids if Posh would let him have a little cuddle in between halves. You know, nothing untowards, just a little nuzzle on the sidelines.

Or even better, he could bring on of his kids on the field, have a quick cuddle, and then go back to playing. Rather than causing him to "lose his edge", it may inspire him to greater heights of football acheivement.

Just a thought.

Confession
I have a terrible confession to make. Actually two. The first is that my son is a freak. The second is that as a result, I am a bad father. Let me explain.

The other day, I was standing Isaac in the windowsill in the kitchen, and there is a little squirt bottle there that we use for disciplining the cats. He reached down, and handed me the bottle, and on a lark, I squirted a little drop of water at his face. I then felt immediately guilty, and put the bottle down.

Of course he was giggling, and then picked it back up, handed it to me, and covered his face with his hands and giggled again.

This game went on a few minutes, but I realized after a while it's a varation on several games I have with him, which often involve bouncing soft balls of his forehead, or flicking little foam discs (from his giant foam numbers floor puzzle) at him.

In short, the kid really enjoys stuff flying at his face at a high velocity. Whereas I think most kids would cry if you squirted them in the face, yesterday Isaac took my by the finger, and led me over to the windowsill, made a motion that he wanted to be picked up, and handed me the bottle and covered his face again.

So we've established that my kid is a freak, but should I really be encouraging it? Yes I know all kids have their odd little quirks, but what if he grows up thinking it's a sign of affection to squirt people in the face, or throw balls at their heads. All little kids have a problem with indiscriminately throwing balls, toys, sticks, whatever, but most kids don't enjoy being on the receiving end. Isaac does.

So back to the Isaac as professional athlete theme I keep harping on...It occurs to me that as soon as he's walking properly, we should get him on skates, and as soon as he's skating properly, we should get him into Goalie equipment. Think about it, he is developping a high threshold for pain, and is not only fearless about getting hit in the head, he gets off on it.

Patrick Roy, watch your back. :)

Old Post VI
Hi all, So while he took a short break when my parents were out with his favorite word...NO!, it seems that the word is back with a vengeance, only it's accopmpanied by a new word.
MINE! So I figure his whole vocabulary could fit neatly into a nice little schoolyard chant.
Ready? Repeat after me:

No Momma!
No Dadda!
Mine, Mine, MINE!

No Momma!
No Dadda!
Mine, Mine, MINE!

And so on.

Also, he seems to have morphed from Bunzilla, into Frankenbun...specifically because he is pretty new at the whole walking thing, he takes 5-10 steps at a time, with his arms out in front of him, in a kind of stumbling Frankestein walk. It's extremely cute. So Frankenbun it is.

Finally, the score in the house is Furniture 3, Isaac 0. He seems to be magnetically attracted to minor head contusions... While my parents were here, he smacked face first into the Laminate floor and got a big fat lip. The next morning, he shook the wardrobe in our bedroom until a Tea Lite fell off and landed on his head.

Meanwhile, this morning while I was doing something in the bedroom, he smacked his head right into the corner of our dresser, and about an hour later pulled several hardcover books from his bedroom bookcase (which I hasten to add is firmly attached to the wall) onto...you guessed it...his head.

On the plus side, little injuries don't seem to bother him. We tend to joke that because of who we are, Isaac will grow up hating books, and wanting to do nothing but play football all the time...but with the way his pain tolerance seems to be shaking out, he might just be able to make a go of professional sports.

Old Post V
So for those of you who didn't know, one of our closest friends, Sibavaughn is out for a week from Calgary. It has been great having her around, to say nothing of the free babysitting, but while she was here, Isaac has kind of been getting away with murder. Especially around supper time, when he has recently decided that he wants sweets, sweets, and more sweets.

Now keep in mind that in our house, sweets are not snickers bars, they are fresh fruit, and maybe a bit of baking, but that's it. Almost entirely fruit. And when the fruit is fresh raspberries from a u-pick, who can blame the guy, but it was getting out of hand.

For instance Sib and I tried to feed him on Thursday when Noelle was at work, and he fussed, and cried and carried on. But we handed him an entire Nectarine whole, and in under 3 minutes he had reduced it to little more than a pit. Clearly it was time to put our collective parenting foot down...babies can not live on fruit alone, as you know.

Sib went up to Borden to visist some family, so we would not be disturbing her meal, and the stage was set. So tonight, as I set down to a pleasant meal of Pork Chops and gravy, I heard...
cue the music...
"Isaac, you are not getting a sweet until you have had some more supper..."
*a tumbleweed blows by*
*frightened villagers duck behind false-front buildings for cover*
*the nervous sherrif watches from the safety of the town jail*

So it started with carrots. No dice.
"That's fine, we don't have to eat right away. we can wait." says Noelle.
Then it's potatoes. Same result, the hands brushing the spoon aside, and his new favorite word "NO!"

"I'm in no hurry, Isaac. We can wait until youi are ready."

*another tumbleweed*

This went on for several minutes, and frankly, the tension was killing me...I went upstairs to do something or other, any excuse to get out of the path of the irresistable force meeting the immovable object. I come back down and...

Noelle is peeling a Nectarine. "It's not like I'm giving him chocolate. And he's teething, so he doesn't have much appetite."

*The townsfolk rejoice! Disaster is averted!*

Years ago, a good friend, and a bit of a mentor at the Student's Union said to me "Jason, sometimes you have to pick your hill to die on." Which was a very Korean War way of saying you aren't going to win every battle, so choose them carefully.

Bottom line is, he still can't do anything that will hurt him (i.e. stand up balancing on the side of the stove, even if it's not on), and he still goes to bed precisely when we want him to, after about 1/2 an hour of bath and stories... It's just interesting to see who won the first big showdown. :)

Frankly, I don't know where he gets it from :)

Old Post IV
I have received no small measure of flak recently for my lack of regular updates, so here goes.
Random thoughts.
1. I was returning a copy of "Think and Grow Rich" the other day to the library, and couldn't help but think how ironic it would have been if it had been overdue, and I had had to pay fines on it.

2. I was looking at a can of tuna today, which said "Tuna - Thon" because of Canada's bilingual packaging laws. However if you mash the two words together, you get the somewhat incongrous english word Tunathon. It occurs to me that a Tunathon might be an excellent fundraiser for the beleagered Atlantic Cod Fishermen. They could hold a contest to see who could catch the most Tuna, and the winner would be awarded a $1,000,000 prize, which would be donated by Chuck Guite under a plea bargain arrangement. Think about it, it has potential.

3. I find myself drawn to the game of Craps. For those of you who don't know, it is a dice game popular in Casinos. Unfortunately, the reason I want to play it is so I can say, "Baby needs a new pair of shoes!" as I roll the dice. Because my baby DOES need a new pair of shoes. He has outgrown his. Not that I need to win a craps game to buy him some I just haven't gotten around to it, but it would be cool to say it in that context and for it to be true. Maybe it's just me.

4. The new Dr. Who rocks. Ok, I'm a geek. Sue me.

Random Anecdotes about the baby.

1. Noelle has trained Isaac that when he eats dinner, he gets a mashed vegetable first, and then a mashed fruit for dessert. This has spawned two humorous incidents, both involving me feeding him. The first was when Noelle was out recently, and I had to feed him dinner. I gave him pureed carrots, and then couldn't immediately find a fruit, and had no idea about the process of stewing an apple or a pear, so tried to give him some pureed beans as his second course. Bad idea. He hollered like he was being abducted by Nazis. So I dug around in the fridge and found some pureed peaches which I hadn't noticed the first time, and he scarfed them like he hadn't eaten a meal in six weeks.

2. The second incident was also when Noelle was out, and I tried to feed him pureed carrots and zuchinni. He didn't want carrots and zuccini (sp?), he wanted fruit. Both times. So he wailed, and gnashed his teeth (ok, gums), and carried on. Soon he discovered that every time he opened his mouth to cry, I would stuff in a spoonful of veggies, which he would dutifully swallow. Eventually he caught on, and tried to cry with his mouth closed, so as to still express his displeasure, while not being forced to eat the object of his displeasure. He eventually finished the veggies, and proceeded to eat the pureed plums like someone being offered a Snickers bar after a 40 day fast. It's embarrassing really.

3. He finds things randomly funny. Today I discovered that he finds the phrase "Domo Harigato, Mr. Roboto" hilarious. I was repeating it over and over again in the Starbucks, and he was giggling his heart out. Together, we looked like a couple of freaks, but he's just going to have to get used to that. Also for weeks now, the phrase "Cha cha cha!" would send him into peals of laughter. Very odd.

4. He is growing very very fast. I know alot of people think we feed him too much, but the fact is if we don't, he'll stretch out into a very long, very thin baby. He also needs to keep his strength up for his Kamikaze rolling technique. That's where he discovers that a toy is just out of reach, but if he rolls over he can get it. Then he finds another toy that is also out of reach, and rolls over again to reach it. Then he just decides he likes rolling over, and proceed merrily across the floor. We sweep alot more often now.

5. If someone wants to get really wealthy in a hurry, they will start baking teething biscuits shaped like TV Remotes. Because no matter how much money you spend on colourful educational toys, all babies want to play with is TV remotes. And by 'play with', I mean 'eat'. So a teething biscuit shaped like a remote is a logical next step. Of course you would have to point it at the TV once or twice, and then forbid the baby from touching it, but after you do that a couple times you won't be able to keep him away from it.

6. Rules for being a baby:
a) There is better than here.
b) If it fits in your hand, it fits in your mouth.
c) If mommy and daddy don't want you to have it, it's probably because it tastes wonderful.
d) Newspapers are a fun toy.
e) Cat hair is not attached all that firmly.
f) Mommy hair is.
g) Why reach, when you can lunge?
h) Sleep is optional.

7. We are preparing the first draft of the first chapter of Isaac's biography. We are calling it "Will of iron, lungs of steel." Remind you of anyone?

8. You may have learned in Biology class that plants were the only creatures that receive nourishment through Osmosis...or the transfer of nutrients between layers of tissue. This is patently untrue. Babies also receive nourishment through a special "Osmosis Patch" on their lower chins. You see, babies do not actually swallow food, they drool it down their chins, where they receive their nutrients through their skin through the process of Osmosis. If you don't beleive me, look it up!

9. 'Diaper' spelt backwards is "repaid". Think about it. - Marshall McLuhan

Old Post III
Psalm 2 1/2 (Months).
Lo, despair is my name
Hunger and Gas stalk me like hungry jackals.
They stalk me in the silence of the night.
Will my wailing bring help,
Will my cries bring me salvation.
I am like a Voice, crying in the Nursery.

The Lord is my salvation, and shall send help.
When I call His name, He sends me a saviour.
In the shadow of the nightlight he comes.

Selah

He will bear me upon strong arms to the kitchen.
There the bottle heats,
There the soft cooing voice comforts.
And yet I cry.
Hunger gnaws my belly like a ravening beast.
The bottle is near, but does not fill me yet.
And yet I cry.

Then I taste the sweet liquid mana.
He leads me beside streams of formula, and lo, I am quenched.
The Lord is good, and merciful are His ways.
I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever,
And trust in His name always.

At least for three more hours.

Old Post II
The following is an actual transcript of a conversation between Noelle and I, while I was driving, and Noelle was in the back seat watching Isaac. The regular text is in our normal voices, while the capitals should be read aloud in a high pitched singsong voice...kind of like a Liverpool accent.

J: Did you hear that Canada just upped it's contribution to the Tsunami disaster to $80 million?
N: No, I hadn't heard that, are we one of the biggest now?
J: Not quite, apparently Australia pledged a billion dollars?
N: A Billion! HI BABY! WHO'S A CUTE LITTLE BABY That's quite alot for a country that small.
J: But when you think about it, they are alot closer to...
N: HELLO ISAAC. DO YOU SEE YOUR RATTLE?
J: Indonesia, and will have a bigger migrant population from there as well.
N: And alot more of the tourists who died are probably from Australia too.
J: No doubt. Koffi Anan was saying that while the pledges are great, there are some
N: HI BABY! OH NO. DON'T CRY. WE'RE ALMOST THERE. HI BABY.
J: ...countries that make huge pledges and don't end up paying the actual money.
N: I hope OH NO ISAAC, WE'RE ALMOST THERE Canada wasn't one of them.
J: No, they had a Aid worker on CBC who said that while Canada tends to pledge low, they
N: HELLO BABY
J: ...tend to pay up.

Old Post...
As I sit at my computer today, I am drawn to reflect about the difficulties of accurately portraying babies in the fine arts.

For instance not once have I seen a "Mother and Child" painting where the child's mouth is wide open, and his head is turning purple from screaming. It is impossible for a sculptor to a) get a baby to sit still long enough to sculpt him, and b) accurately recreate both the horror (for you) and the satisfaction (for him) of a good Baby Formula belch.

When writing songs about babies, it seems that Child rhymes best with Mild, which is of course totally inaccurate. What rhymes with Fuss? Cuss? Too much of that going on at 3:00 am. Puss? Thank God for none of that yet. Truss? Well, Isaac is over 11lbs now, but still. See, it just doesn't work.

Similarly, Boy seems to rhyme best with Joy, which is not always accurate. Not that Isaac isn't a bundle of joy, I just wasn't aware that such bundles produces so much noise.

Opera doesn't seem to fare well with the whole baby thing either. In the few operas I can think of with babies in them, the babies seem to be busy getting abducted, or used in some other nefarious way. Why not give the baby the Aria? Babies, if Isaac is any indication, probably have the vocal strength, if not quite the accuracy, to pull the role off. Why couldn't Mozart have put "Di Urlo di Bambino" somewhere in Don Giovanni. Most importantly, would any but the most seasoned listener know that it was a baby screaming, and not, say, a coloratura soprano singing a high C?

Finally, there isn't a whole lot of Infant Ballet going on out there either. I can't see Isaac as a real ballet kind of guy, maybe it's just me, although what he does in his crib when he wants to be picked up, is not too far from some Interpretive Dance I've seen. And with his Mobile playing Bach right by him, the effect can be quite lovely. Although upon further reflection, the frantic kicking and punching he does when he's bored of being left alone is more like competitive aerobics than anything else.

So, with a lack of accurate portrayals of babies in the fine arts, we have to turn to more pedestrian forms of entertainment. Popular music, digital snapshots, and of course, limericks:

There once was a child from Toronto,
Who said, "I'll do just what I want to,
Such as cry night and day
In an awfully loud way,
Unless I get all my meals pronto."

Blog Shift...
Today marks the shift of this blog from ostensibly comedic news stories...which were really hard to come up with...more towards the random ramblings of my brain, which I used to send out in mass emails. There will still be humorous news stories, but they will not be the main focus any more.

I have had quite a positive response to my random right brained ramblings from a variety of people, not all of whom were my mother, so I'm going to collect them here, in the hopes that when Isaac turns 18, I can show them to him finally, and he can say, "Dad...I hate you." Which is, if he's a normal 18 year old, what he's going to say anyway. I'm just going to give him more of a reason.

So without further ado...

I was giving Isaac a bath the other day, and was doing my usual trick of singing 80's pop hits with the words somewhat scrambled and altered.

This occasion's victim was the Sheena Easton (?) hit, Angel in the Morning, but I was replacing Angel with Munchkin. For obvious the reason that I was bathing one...

And it turned out like this:

Just call me Munchkin, the the morning, munchkin,
Just munch my kin before you leave me, munchkin...

Then I stopped and thought. Does the word Munchkin really derive from people who eat their own family members...or munch their kin? In that case, was Dorothy really at considerable personal risk when she visited Munchkin land? Perhaps not, as she was not related to any of them.

On the other hand, if they were all "familial cannibals" for lack of a better term, why were their so bloody many of them (no pun intended)? And what was with the high squeaky voices? Too much iron in their diets?

These are the things my brain comes up with when I'm bathing my son. We have already started putting money aside for the extensive psychoanalysis he will need when he gets old enough to realize all the stuff I have been writing about him.