Canadian SAHD Feeds

So, sandwich bread v. 7.0. Success at last.
I baked two near-perfect loaves of bread yesterday. After a week or two of researching on line, asking questions on baking forums and watching YouTube videos, I think I've got it beat.
I think. One success does not a baker make. But I'm encouraged.
Honestly, when I started this game, I had no idea how each little step impacted the final product. But I'm learning.
My first mistake, I discovered, was that I had the bread rising, for the second time, in an environment that was just too hot. The bread rose too quickly and the little yeasties got all hot and bothered and kinda burst, in bubble form, through the top of the loaf. Sometimes it happened during the rise, sometimes during the actual baking. But the result was a flat loaf. Still tasty, mind you, but not attractive.
My second mistake involved the shaping of the loaf, prior to the second rise. Pretty sure I was rolling the dough too thin before rolling it up to make my loaf. The result was similar to my first mistake. But a YouTube video set me straight. I no longer roll the dough out prior to shaping. I punch it down, gather it up and then shape it focussing on the outer surface tension. 
For most of you this probably makes no sense, unless you've tried the bread thing.
So I'll leave it at that. And this picture to illustrate:
From left is version 6.o, version 5.0 and, finally, version 7.0

Anyhoo, it's Saturday morning and we've got a trip to the library planned, with a stop at the grocery store.
Holy crap, I sound boring. But that's life.
Have a great day!
P.S. If you really are interested in the bread thing, this is the YouTube video that helped me out. He doesn't punch down his dough, but he's making a different kind of bread.

Another day, another 5:45 a.m. wake-up call from the minions. Ugh.
It's a little extra special when the first words they speak are: "Daddy, emergency! You gotta come see what the cat did in the closet."
Now, I know my minions and what I can generally expect when they use the term "emergency."
It falls below house fire on the dire spectrum, but above cat puke on floor. It often involves a significant spill, or something cherished by Neomom being broken.
So I don't run up the stairs. I take my time, grab a towel in the kitchen and follow the minions to their bedroom. Inside the closet, somehow, the humidifier on the floor had fallen over. Relax, it was not plugged in. But water was working its way across the floor and under Sonwun's bed. A few quick wipes and the emergency was resolved.
I'm not sure how, or if, the cat was involved. But it's too early to play detective. It spilled, it's cleaned up, time to move on.
So, earache update. Got a call from the school yesterday at 2:20 . . . shortly following afternoon recess. The school secretary told me that Sonwun was in the office "in a lot of pain" and I needed to come and get him.
This is a first for me. And, of course, I imagined my poor son, crying and wailing in the school office, embarrassed in front of his friends. I imagined the look of derision I would get from the secretary for being such a horrible parent.
I grabbed the grape-flavoured ibuprofen off the counter, hoping to ease his pain as soon as humanly possible and checked to make sure I had the prescription for amoxicillin. If only I'd given it to him on Day 1, fought this thing for him instead of letting his little body build antibodies for the future. What kind of parent was I??
At the school, I steeled myself for the horrors that lay ahead. As I got out of the manly minivan in the parking lot, I stopped to listen, to see if his wailing had penetrated the brick walls. Didn't hear anything.
I quick-walk/jogged to the school and opened the outer door and . . .
"Hi Dad!" he chirped. "Let's go!"
Um . . . no tears, no whining, not so much as a pained expression - at least not on HIS face.
Now, I don't doubt there was some discomfort. He'd had medicine at 8:30 a.m. But the timing and the level of discomfort make me wonder. I don't believe for a second that he was "in a lot of pain."
Bottom line is I brought him home, gave him a little more ibuprofen and am still monitoring the situation. He got another dose last night before bed and he slept through the night until this morning's "emergency."
He didn't touch or complain about his ear until I asked if he felt like going to school this morning. Then I got a little show and some obligatory, though unconvincing, whining.
I'm going to err on the side of caution today, and keep him home for a long weekend to fully recover. I do believe it's almost done and I think I've done the right thing as far as the antibiotics go.
Time will tell.
Have a great Friday!

Now, let's talk about drug-seeking behaviour, shall we? 
Sonwun has now reached the age, at 6, that I believe kids should NOT be taking children's medication. I'm not referring here to dosage, but to flavour. Quite simply, his medicine should at the very least, not taste good. I'd even put in a vote for making it taste like old sweat socks.
As I monitor his ear infection, I am judging the progress by how long his medication lasts. On the first night, a 10ml dose of delicious grape-flavour ibuprofen lasted about 3.5 hours. This has now stretched to 7.5 hours. I see this as progress.
After receiving a dose at 1:30 yesterday morning and upon awakening at 6 a.m., he asked for more. He said he preferred the pill, the delicious Orange Burst children's Tylenol. He wasn't complaining about an earache, he just wanted his pill. I put him off and he went about his business. 
(A quick aside here: Note that the generic medication I bought, the ibuprofen, is merely called "grape-flavour" while the name brand Tylenol is "Orange Burst." That's why you pay marketing people, and I guess that's one of the reasons it costs more.)
By breakfast he was asking for, and excited about, two pills. His daily vitamin and a delicious Orange Burst Tylenol. Again, no complaining about the ear, just wanting the drugs. I put him off again. 
As he made his bed, after breakfast, I could hear him in his bedroom.
"Ouch . . . ouch . . . ouch . . . OUCH!
Now here we must consider quality versus quantity. He "ouched" four times, getting progressively louder, to get my attention. But there wasn't even a hint of whine in his protestations of pain. He was just speaking the words. As plainly as he would say "are we having Cheerios this morning?" Actually, I'd say the Cheerio question probably had a touch more passion to it.
Anyway, I put him off again.
But by 9:30 a.m., I could actually hear the pain returning. I knew that he was actually feeling something beyond mere mild irritation. The whine was back. Time for the medication. Told him this was extra powerful and would last until bedtime. We'll see how that little parental white lie works out.
So, my suggestions for the name brand, as well as the generic children's medicine people. 
1. Make some new flavours for these occasions. I suggest Tuna, (Terrific Tuna for the brand name folks), Broccoli (Broccoli Bonanza), Brussel Sprout (Bodacious Brussel Sprout), I Can't Believe it's Not Eggplant! (that one needs no marketing boost, the exclamation point sells it) and the aforementioned Sweat Sock (Sweet Sock). The cool thing about Sweet Sock, is that you can name the dosage with fun stuff like "Short Stroll" for the kiddie version, "Long Hike in the Woods" for the adults and "New York Marathon Strength" with codeine. I KNOW he won't seek them out if there's no pain. If there is pain, he'll have to weigh the benefit of the medicine against it's horrid flavour. Everybody wins.
2. If you must make Grape, Bubblegum and Orange Burst, kindly include in the 20-tablet bottle at least five placebos. It will help if I can give him something with absolutely no medicinal ingredients to help my gauge his progress. I mean, if the placebos work, I know I can send him to school with a couple that he can take if the "pain" becomes too much. Everybody wins.
Your welcome for the suggestions.
Anyhoo, it's now Thursday morning. We made it from 8 p.m. to 5 a.m. on a single dose. This is good news!

And speaking of good news, here is my little hydroponic project, Day 9:
Lemon Basil and Oregano
Italian Basil

Have a great Thursday.

So it's Monday evening. I have just finished providing my family with a delicious supper of leftovers, microwaved to toasty perfection.
We're all just kinda sitting around the living room, talking and waiting for story time and, more importantly, bed time. Sonwun starts whining a little about his ear. Not a lot mind you, but enough to trigger memories of The Boy Who Cried Wolf.
But it's the ear. And we don't mess with ear infections. So I've been told.
And, by the time story time rolls around, the volume, frequency and quality of the whining has grown. By bed time, I realize we're headed for the hospital.
Now, for those of you not living in Portage La Prairie, Manitoba, health care here goes something like this. During office hours, and a little beyond, there is "The Clinic." It's where you take yourself, or your child, when things like this hit during the day. Something that's not serious enough for the ER at the hospital, but serious enough that you can't wait the three months it will take to get an appointment with your "family doctor."
Now, should something like this hit after office hours, your only choice is the ER.
Now personally, I don't like to go to the ER with an ear infection. It's clearly a clinic kinda thing. But I also know that if we let this go, it could get ugly in the wee small hours.
So off to the hospital we go. And we find the ER waiting area to be standing room only. Oh joy. This could take a while. I'm not happy.
It takes about 10 minutes, but Sonwun and I eventually find a couple of chairs. He is trying to keep his whining under control and I'm sitting there, stone-faced, trying to ignore all that's going on around me. But I can't.
The ER is full of the standard personalities. Beside me, an older guy with arthritis, is running down his list of maladies for me. Beside him, a woman in handcuffs and leg cuffs is flanked by two female prison guards. 
Beside them is a woman whose young son (about 5 or 6YO) apparently broke his arm in a playground incident. (She's gonna "demand a suspension" from school for the child who apparently pushed her kid down, resulting in the injury.)
Beside them, broken arm boy's grandmother is holding court on wait times and educating anyone who will listen on "how things work around here." (If an ambulance comes in, THEY go to the front of the line, she snorts. Well . . . duh!)
Gramma's got the full attention of young dad and his family, who all came down, apparently, because youngest child cut his finger. Might require a stitch. They are sharing ER Wait Time stories at full volume. They make it sound like they should have their own wing at the new Canadian Human Rights Museum, if it ever opens.
Beside these folks is the gum lady, who is distributing said confection to every child in the room. She's there with what appears to be her elderly father.
To be fair, if I had to describe myself in the same spirit, I would be tired, frustrated-looking dad with young crying child, who has no interest in anyone else's whiny stories.
So, after an hour, we go into the triage area. Sonwun is assessed, given some Advil, and we're sent back to the waiting room.
By this time, young dad (the one with the kid with the finger boo boo) is nodding off while his two kids, ages I'm guessing 5 and 3, are running around the room, making noise, climbing on chairs and generally being annoying while mom issues the obligatory and ignored commands, "sit down" and "stop that." They don't.
Personal pet peeve here. With two active boys, I've spent my fair share of time in ERs, clinics and doctor's offices throughout the province. No matter how squirrely the boys are feeling, they are NOT ALLOWED to stand on the chairs. People have to sit there. I don't care if it's summer and you could eat off the bottom of their shoes. You just don't do it.
When it's the middle of winter, boots are wet and have been running around on the less-than-hygenic ER waiting room floor, it's abso-fucking-lutely anathema. 
But these two kids include more than a little chair standing as they stampede about the room. Mom and dad can clearly see what they're doing, but hey, they already have their chairs.
Anyhoo, back to Sonwun. He is now sound asleep beside me. The Advil was apparently enough to beat back the pain in his ear. On one hand, I'm thrilled he's no longer in pain. On the other hand, this probably dials us back on the urgency scale. But I'll take it. He's comfortable, in spite of everything going on around us.
Slowly, but surely, the waiting room starts to thin out. One of the annoying children whines to its daddy for the fourth or fifth time, "When do we get to gooooooo?"
And daddy, in an exaggerated voice designed, I think, to piss off the nurse in charge, "Probably at least TWO MORE HOURS!"
Jackass.
We wait and, about two hours after entering the hospital, find ourselves back in an ER treatment room. It takes another 45 minutes, (Sonwun sleeps) but the doc eventually stops in, confirms an ear infection and does exactly what I'd hoped for. He tells me it will most likely clear up in a day or two AND writes a prescription for antibiotics, just in case it does not. This saves me a trip back in a day or two and I really do appreciate it.
In all, it took three hours. And I think that's not too bad. In this fast-food world we've cultivated, everyone expects instant gratification wherever we go. But life ain't like that. Sometimes you just have to sit and wait your turn.
And yeah, when the ambulance came in from a car accident, it took first priority. I heard one of the medical people say "This one's going straight to surgery." So I'm guessing it was a little more dire than an earache. 
If, heaven forbid, my boys and I are involved in a serious car accident and are in need of quick medical attention, I don't expect to sit in a waiting room for three hours for treatment, behind a whiny kid with a little cut on his finger, another with a minor ear infection, and a third with a broken arm that has already been assessed and splinted at triage. 
And I don't expect I'll have to.
The system ain't perfect - no system is - but it's what we've got, it's universal and it's free. And in exchange for that, I'm not too worried about spending a few hours, now and then, waiting to access it.
Happy Hump Day. Celebrate as you see fit.

Sweet freakin' relief. 
I finally got iChat working between my computer and my mother's new computer. I can now chat with my mom on line and she can see her grandchildren through video chat. And, more importantly, I can take over her computer when I need to fix something, or show her how to do something, or do something for her.
Sorry, but this was driving me nuts. I didn't realize how difficult it might be for two people who speak the same language, to speak the same language. But I'm learning, more and more, that for every new hobby, task or adventure, there is another English language.
While I'm looking at a very similar computer screen as my mother, she is trying to describe what she sees. I'm trying to understand. I'm giving commands in a language she is not entirely familiar with, and she's trying to understand. Throw in a password typed incorrectly, or an error in the email account and we're both looking for a bottle.
The same applies to my new bread baking hobby. Got an email from a fellow bread enthusiast from that website I've previously mentioned, The Fresh Loaf. I had asked a question about what "proofing" means exactly. I know it has something to do with the bread rising, but I wasn't sure if it meant the first rise, the second rise, or another rise I didn't know about.
And excerpt from that email:
"Then there is autolyse, sponge, soaker, poolish, biga, retard/retarded/coldretard, bench rest, preferment, levain/sourdough, chef/motherdough, olddough/altus."

I'm not sure, but I think she's coming on to me.

But you see what I mean? I know that a sponge soaks up water and you wash the floor with it. I know a soaker is something I used to get on the way to school when I stepped in the creek. I'm sure that's not what my new friend is talking about. I have a new language to learn. No idea what poolish means, yet. 
But one step at a time. For now, I'm celebrating my major computer victory. I can now explain myself while showing my mom exactly what I'm talking about. And I can see exactly what she's looking at. This is awesome!
I just wish that there was a similar remote bread-baking system, where one of my more knowledgeable new friends could look over my shoulder, knead the bread a little more if necessary, toss in a little extra flour when needed and make sure my poolish has the appropriate sponge soaker for the bench rest. If not, I guess I'll just make it biga.
So much to learn.
Anyhoo, it's early in the a.m. and I've had another relatively sleepless night, thanks to something that has invaded Sonwun's ear. Spent three hours at the hospital last night and woke up every four hours since for medication. Maybe I'll tell you all about that one tomorrow.
As for today, Neomom's headed for Thompson and I don't see Sonwun heading for school. Gonna be a long one.
Have a great Tuesday. And remember, the yeasts are most active during the bulk rise. Keep your mouse on the pad.

So, five days down in my little hydroponic experiment and I have three little plants peeking through. Thyme was first out of the gate, and now the Italian basil and lemon basil have made an appearance. If the literature is correct, I'll be enjoying my first harvest in a week or two. Yay! (You can click on the little pictures to see them full size).




In other news, a fairly sleepless night has resulted in a few new theories for bread baking. My brain tends to sort out the day's problems over night. When the problems are bugging the crap out of me, my brain often wakes me up to check a few of its theories before allowing me back to sleep.
For my next bread version, 7.0, I will allow more time for the dough to rise in a less warm environment. I will also be shaping the loaves in a slightly different way. And that, my brain told me at 2:13 a.m., should result in an unfallen loaf. Here's hoping.
So, the week ahead . . .
Neomom's been called to testify at a trial in Thompson. She had a minor role in this one, but is apparently needed. She leaves tomorrow and will, hopefully, be back on Wednesday or Thursday. The good news is that she gets to see our best friends in Thompson, Cathy and Dave. The kids call them Grampa and Nana and they were the best part of our time in Thompson. I'm a little jealous.
Sonwun's back to school today, Sontoo and I have a little shopping to do and then it's back to work on Sonwun's new bedroom.
Have a great Monday!

I am frustrated today. My bread is not working as well as I'd like and my mother's new iMac is not cooperating with me.
First the bread. For some reason, my results have gone downhill. My loaves are sagging during baking. And it's driving me nuts. For help, I've joined the The Fresh Loaf bread baking forum. I've found a whole crapload of information and am still wading through it. Thought I'd solved the sinking problem this morning, but the bread I baked sagged, yet again. Erg!
The good folks at The Fresh Loaf were, however, able to solve another one of my little problems. My bread was sticking to the bread pan, in spite of my liberal greasing of said pan. I tried Crisco, I tried canola oil and I tried margarine. But the sticking was getting worse and the last time out I completely ruined one loaf while trying to remove it from the pan.
So I pass on this little nugget. One part flour, one part oil, one part Crisco. Mix well. Apply to pan with pastry brush. Worked like a charm. The somewhat flattened loaves slipped out like butta.
Rejoice in the small victories.
Second, my mom purchased the latest iMac, as I was told it would be easy to remotely access her computer, from mine, and be able to help with any problems. I would be able to do this through a program called iChat. Problem is, we can't seem to get iChat working properly, which means I can't access her computer to solve the problem. This is driving me crazy. She is, in theory, as I write, on the phone with Apple tech support trying to resolve this issue. 
Mom lives back in Ontario, and I'm here in Manitoba, so it's not like I can just drop in and deal with tech support on her behalf. This is frustrating the crap out of me.
Well, to make a long annoying story short, (and to meet my commitment to blog today), I'll tell you that between my brother in Ontario, the folks at Cogeco.ca, the folks at Apple Canada, my mother and myself, we've solved many of the problems. Lots of phone calls, lots of on-line hunting, one step at a time and we're getting there. 
Anyway, I'm frustrated and tired. I'm going to bed.
Good night.

Oh crap. Just realize it's gettin' near the end of the day and I have not blogged. 
Okay, probably gonna be short. We had to run to the "big city" today to do a little shopping at Cosco, Sears and a few other places we don't have access to here in Portage. So we were out early and I didn't blog. Bad, bad blogger.
I'd love to tell you about our little shopping trip, but I'd bore you stupid. So I won't. 
And, to be honest, there ain't much else on my mind right now. So I'll update some previous stuff. First off, my little hydroponics experiment. Proud to say that through my hard work, the thyme has come. And by hard work, I mean filling the thing with water, dumping in a nutrient pack and plugging the thing in. And leaving it alone.


Let's see, what else. Nothing comes to mind. I said I'd blog for 90 days straight. Didn't say they'd be brilliant each and every day. So this, my friends, is one of the short and crappy ones. Enjoy! Oh, and this ends the third straight week of blogging in 2012. Yay me.
Happy Saturday, see you tomorrow.

Gonna be a short one this morning, I think.
Neomom and I hired a babysitter last night to celebrate the end of a six-day shift, to celebrate Thursday and to celebrate, um, hiring a babysitter.
Problem is, we don't get out much and when we do we tend to go a little overboard. Such was the case last night. Ended up leaving the truck at the bar.
Yesterday we were talking about our "life before." She went rock climbing, I went golfing, we went camping, fishing, kayaking. Haven't done a whole lot of that stuff since the kids arrived. But it'll be back, I keep telling myself. 
Anyhoo, while it's nice to leave the kids at home once in a while, I still wouldn't trade 'em . . . most days.
Sontoo, who's almost four now, reminded me why in the middle of the night. I wasn't sleeping well, so I was sitting in the rec room reading a book. At 4 a.m., I heard his little feet hit the floor upstairs. Unusual. He tends to sleep in until at least 5:30.
I reached over and turned off the lamp, just in case he decided to make his way downstairs. This usually works. He'll see that no one's up and then just head back to bed.
But this morning, he came down the stairs, in the pitch dark, and made his way to where he often finds me. He stopped just before entering the rec room . . . "Dad?"
His sweet little sleepy voice melted my resolve. 
"Come here buddy."
Dragging his favourite teddy bear, Owen, he crawled up on the couch, snuggled under my blanket and under my arm. And then he fell asleep again.
I love that. Wouldn't trade it for a round of 18 at Glenn Abby or a fly-in fishing trip to Lake of the Woods. It's simply one of the best things in my world.
Have a great Friday, and a great weekend.

So, my little herb garden hydroponic project reminded me of a news story this week that I meant to comment on.
Seems members of Canada's Liberal party are thinking about growing a little herb themselves. At least that's what these ageing hipsters would have you believe. Not buying it.
At its convention last weekend, the party announced it was ready to party, voting to approve a resolution calling for the legalization of marijuana. Not merely the decriminalization (which would be the difference between a criminal charge and a speeding ticket) but the outright legalization (not even a speeding ticket). 
I know, after the pounding the Liberals took in the last election, they're desperately seeking to regain some power, some press, some votes. But to go after the Marijuana Party? Steal their votes? Man, that's cold, dude. And more than a little desperate.
"Let's face up to it Canada," Liberal Leader hopeful Bob Rae said, "the war on drugs has been a complete bust."
Wow. Really? If so, I would contend that the reason for this is Canada's anemic legal system. For the record, I refuse to call it the "Justice System" anymore. Having worked in newspapers for 10 years, and having been married to a cop for almost another 10, I just can't equate the word "justice" with our system. Sorry.
But back to big Bob. Pretty sweeping statement for a guy who just wants to legalize pot. Weed is just a bar room fist fight in the "war on drugs." There are a few more drugs out there, Bob, that constitute the heavy weaponry and battles of "the war." I mean, if that's part of the argument, are we talking about legalizing it all? If the "war on drugs has been a complete bust," then we just throw down our arms and surrender it all?
Now, having said that, I can see a few of the arguments for the legalization of pot. In the mind-altering substance spectrum, it's pretty close to the bottom of the scale. And, I would argue, it's a lot less dangerous than booze. Alcohol makes people stupid (as does pot), but it also makes a lot of people violent. Pot, as a rule, does not. 
Seriously, if booze was illegal, or, more to the point, non-existent tomorrow, police would not be half as busy as they are today. Don't have stats in front of me (mostly cause I don't buy most stats), but experience tells me that a large percentage of cop calls involve alcohol. Spousal abuse, DUI, car accidents, snowmobile accidents, boating accidents, bar fights, house fights, party fights . . . you get the picture.
Okay, back on topic. There is so much to think about here. It's just not a simple solution, either way.
The argument is made, by some, that by legalizing and regulating marijuana, we'll be taking profits from the "criminals" who produce and sell the stuff. (And giving the profits to the criminals in Ottawa . . . ha ha) Maybe. But I don't think the marijuana growers and dealers are gonna just throw their hands in the air and start looking for jobs as Walmart greeters. Although I do expect a lot of job openings in Doritos factories and pizza joints. And that's your stock tip for the day as well, look for publicly-traded pizza companies and invest heavily. This blog just keeps on giving!

Oh, but back to drug dealers seeing the light and getting jobs flipping burgers. Doesn't make sense. The focus will just shift to the next illegal and, more importantly, profitable drug of choice. Unless, of course, Bob is serious about the war being a "complete" loss and the Liberals will make cocaine, ecstasy and heroin legal as well. Didn't hear anything like that coming out of the convention.
But this leads to another question. The line was drawn at marijuana. So what happens if we move the line? What's next on the mind-altering scale, and how long before we move the line again. I don't have an answer to that, but it's a question. Is hash next? Then what?
I'll be honest. I don't think we have to worry about it just yet. I seriously doubt we'll see this plank in the Liberal platform come election time. It looks to me like a stunt designed to draw a little attention, some TV time, a little ink in the big papers, to the convention and the Liberal Party. And hey, mission accomplished. People noticed the Liberals for the first time since the last election. Even I'm talking about them.
But for now, I'll put plans for my brownie factory on the back burner and stick to growing basil and oregano in my little hydroponic plant.
Have a great Thursday, dude.

So, I've entered the fun and exciting world of hydroponics.
And no, not that kind.
Herbs. And no, not that kind.
Last summer, on one of those rare Saturdays when Neomom was off, we loaded the kids in the manly mini-van and headed out for a day of garage saling. Well, a morning anyway. It's all the kids would give us before the mileage-to-whine ratio exceeded our limit.
It was a beautiful sunny day and it seemed that everyone who was planning a summer garage sale chose this particular weekend. Entire neighbourhoods were doing it together. You could park in one spot and hit eight or nine sales before returning. Cool!
Anyhoo, at one of these sales, I spotted two AeroGarden hydroponic units. They're little commercial jobbies, available at Canadian Tire and places like that. I'd looked at them over the previous winter as a possible source of fresh herbs during the colder months. But they were more than $100, so I decided against.



I asked the lady how much she was selling these things for, cause they looked brand new. "
Oh, I don't know, she said. "How does $10 sound?"
"Each?" I asked.
"For both."
"SOLD!"
When I got home I looked this particular model, the SpaceSaver 6, up on line to see what they retailed for: $150 each.
So I got a good deal.
They sat for the summer and yesterday, after a little prodding from Neomom, I looked for the little seed pods while at Canadian Tire. Bought the Gourmet Herb pack and the Cherry Tomato Pack. Should have checked on line before I went. While the herb pack gets very good reviews, the tomato pack, not so much.
So I planted the herb pack yesterday in one of the units and am putting the tomato pack on hold until we get closer to spring. That way I can get them started hydroponically and then transplant to the garden.

For the record, I planted dill, thyme, oregano, mint and two kinds of basil. Looking forward to an improved spaghetti sauce in a few weeks.
Anyway, that's all I'm trying to think about this morning. But the minions are driving me stark raving freaking bonkers (as nice as I can put it). When Neomom works night shift, and is trying to sleep during the day, it seems these two just can not possibly speak in normal voices. Every fargin' word must be screamed, while they run, jump and stomp all over the blessed house. SHUT UP!!!
Maybe I did plant the wrong herbs.
Happy Hump Day.

The goal is to win. Beyond that, there isn't much to the brotherly battle that has invaded my home.
It's a game the boys play a thousand times a day. From the moment they crawl out of bed, I can hear the game commence.
"I win!" one will shout. Some mumbling, some running, "I win."
It used to be a simple game. One of the boys would recognize a situation in which he had an extreme advantage, announce the game and, seconds later, announce his victory. "I win."
For example, at lunchtime, Sonwun would recognize the fact the he had only one bite of his PBJ left. He sees Sontoo has half a sandwich in front of him. He says "I'm gonna win lunch," gobbles the last of his sandwich and makes the all important declaration . . . say it with me, "I win!"
This, of course, followed Sontoo's recognition of his five-stride lead toward the lunch table. At which time he declared his impending victory in the race to his chair. "I win."
I'll be honest. This game gets a little old in a hurry. Everything is a race. And I do mean everything. Putting on coats, getting in the van, opening a door, closing a door, hugging mom, petting the cat, feeding the dog, changing into pyjamas . . . the list goes on.
And I, unwittingly, seem to have changed the rules a few days ago. It was at lunch, I think, after about 75 rounds of the game in the morning.
"Everything is not a competition," I told them. "Breakfast? It's not a competition. Peeing? It's not a competition. Sitting? It's not a competition."
I did not kill the game, I merely created an "out." When Sonwun declares his victory now, Sontoo immediately throws a flag. "It's not a competition," he says. 
"You only say that when you lose," Sonwun counters.
Minutes later, Sontoo wins the race to jump into a laundry basket. "I win."
"It's not a competition," Sonwun argues.
"You say that because you lost."
And on it goes.
So this morning, as I listened from my cozy, comfortable, early-morning, book-reading, coffee-drinking couch, I heard the latest evolution of "the game," about one second after I heard the first pair of little feet hit the floor upstairs.
"First one out of the room wins, IT'S A COMPETITION."
Panicked scrambling of two sets of little feet above my head. 
"I win."
See what Sonwun's done here? He eliminated the possibility of a penalty with an additional declaration. Sontoo has no recourse but to lose and suck it up. And wait for his turn.
I have two boys. I kind of expected this, but I thought it would hit a little later. I wasn't prepared for every movement, from morning to night, to be competitive. But it is.
For now, it's feeding the dog, finding a marble, putting on socks . . . It's not important what it is. What is important is winning.
Down the road, it will be board games, street hockey and bicycle races. Beyond, it will be jobs, girls, cars . . . life. It's competitive whether you like it or not. 
And like everything else, my job, I guess, is not eliminating the competitive spirit, but tempering it. Keeping it alive, keeping it positive and ensuring that lessons are learned in winning and in losing.
First one done his blog this morning wins! It's a competition! I win!
Have a great Tuesday.

Another Monday morning. Day 16 of my 90 Blogs in 90 Days.
So I guess a follow-up is first on the agenda.
Idris Elba won a Golden Globe last night. Celebrate as you see fit. And check out Luther. Great show.
Personally, I made it through about two hours of the show before nodding off. 
But enough about that. 
This morning I indulged in one of my secret joys. At about 4:30 a.m., with the Whos still a-bed, all the Who's still asnooze, I snuck out of the house, and I loaded my sled.
Okay, it wasn't a sled. It was the manly mini-van. But that doesn't rhyme.
As I crept out of the garage and onto the street, the Northern Lights were decorating the sky. Haven't seen them since Thompson, more than a year ago. It was beautiful, although slightly muted by the streetlights.
I rolled down the road a few hundred feet before turning on my lights. Must be discreet, quiet. She'd be waiting a mere 5 kilometres away. She'd offer warmth on this cold, icy morning.
I'd had a spotty sleep. Pretty sure I got the requisite six hours, but it was broken. A few hours in bed, an hour reading, a couple of hours on the couch . . . she'd wake me up. Make it seem like I'd slept for a solid 8 hours. Make me feel alive again. She has that gift.
I can't do this very often. The stars must align, just so. Neomom must be on dayshift. So that I won't get caught skulking the streets as she patrols, looking for skulkers. I can't go any later than 4:30 a.m. The boys can wake up as early as 5 a.m. I must not get caught leaving, or returning.
The streets were empty as I cruised along Crescent Road, beside the lake. Not a soul around. No one to witness my secret journey.
I drove up to the checkpoint and rolled down my window.
"Good Morning," she said. "How can I help you?"
I smiled. Warmth and joy was only 20 feet away. 
"Extra large, two creams," I answered.
With my Timmy's in hand, I drove back along the lake, all by myself, no kids, no complaining, all the way home. The Northern Lights were brighter, the air a little less crisp as I snuck the manly mini-van back into the garage. 
Nice way to start a week. Have a great Monday!

I don't feel like blogging today.
Not sure why. Just tired, nothing exciting's happening, nothing's really pissing me off - any more than usual. I got a lot done yesterday, and am just not feeling motivated today. I managed to get the kitchen cleaned up, prepped the new drywall for taping and got the garage back to two-car status. But I'm done. Just wanna sit back, grab a beer and watch football, or nap.
So, a topic. Let's check the news. Okay, nothing there. Someone's suing the government, a teenager crashed his parent's Mercedes into a lake . . . blah, blah, blah.
Okay, after floating around in cyberspace a while, I see the Golden Globes are tonight. Generally not a big fan of these shows. If the host is funny, or interesting, I'll catch the opening monologue at least. If it's really good, I'll watch a while longer. But I just can't stomach all the "thanking" speeches. They come across as phoney as a YouTube apology from a Vancouver rioter.
But tonight, I guess I'll watch a little. Ricky Gervais is hosting. I can't say I find him funny. But it's interesting, for lack of a better word, to watch the discomfort he creates among the acting elite. The audience shots at most of these events show the celebs busting a gut at the softball jokes lobbed their way. With Gervais, who fires fastballs on the inside of the plate, you can actually see the confusion on some of the actors' faces as they laugh a little, glancing around at the same time to make sure it's okay to be laughing while a compatriot is being skewered.
Guess it's kinda like rubber-necking an accident on the highway. You don't want to look, but you just gotta.
If I can stay awake, I also want to see if British actor Idris Elba wins Best Actor in a Mini-Series Made for Television. He plays the lead character on a BBC cop show entitled Luther. Neomom and I stumbled across Season 1 of this show while searching around on Netflix. We both love it and anxiously await Season 2. If you have Netflix, check it out. Elba (playing the lead cop) is awesome and his psychotic female lead is equally so. Disappointed she didn't get a nomination here.
Anyhoo, don't know much about the Golden Globes beyond this. I honestly don't even recognize the names of 90 per cent of the movies nominated. Gotta get out more, I guess.
That's all I got today. Have a great Sunday. I'm going to watch football.

Ooooohhhhh.
So sore this morning. Getting' older sucks.
Spent much of yesterday trying to get the drywall done in a small part of Sonwun's soon-to-be-new bedroom. One piece in particular, about a half sheet on the ceiling, gave me trouble. It was up and down about five times before I finally got it to fit correctly. Then holding it in place with one hand and trying to get it screwed down with the other . . . I used muscles that apparently haven't seen action in a while.
Back in the day . . . sit down and listen kiddies, an old person is speaking . . . I was able to spend an entire day hanging drywall and still come home and play baseball at night, followed by a few beers at the pub. I would awake the following morning feeling fine, refreshed and ready for another day of hard work.
I guess the definition of hard work, in my life anyway, has shifted slightly. Such is the life of a stay-at-home dad. I mean, by the current definition, I still have a big day ahead. I need to make banana bread, I need to make regular bread. I need to clean up the giant coffee spill in the front hallway, I need to keep the minions from fighting and I need to hang a couple more pieces of drywall and maybe start taping said drywall. There's also laundry, if I'm feelin' crazy.
But right now, I need to make pancakes. The minions are hungry and are not shy about telling me so. 
Have a great Saturday.

Well, apparently the whole disparage-the-Mom thing is a universal hot button.

Spent a little too much time yesterday fielding calls from India. Not angry calls, per se, but certainly more than the average number. Whoever it was I pissed off the day before apparently has the power to put my phone number on the top of the list - repeatedly. Lucky me.

I actually considered, briefly, changing my phone number.

For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, check yesterday's post. Pretty self-explanatory.

And while we're on the topic of yesterday's post, I feel I should apologize. The language was a little too colourful and my conversation with "Bill" was really outside of my character. But I was pissed off. He interrupted my baking. That's my only explanation.

Anyhoo, I don't recommend following my lead. Don't antagonize, don't suggest their moms are involved in compromising positions. Just creates more trouble. Hang up on them, leave it at that.

You should also know that, if you live in Manitoba anyway, it's impossible to block their calls. Something about them using the internet to make calls, which can not be blocked by Manitoba Telephone Service. Who knew?

A friendly and helpful MTS representative told me yesterday that my only option, if I wanted to make the calls stop, was to change my phone number and change it to an unlisted one.

Gotta say it ticks me off, again, that criminals in another country, so far away, can do this crap with impunity. I mean, they are obviously screwing over enough people, who don't know any better, to make their little game profitable. It just ain't right.

But life ain't fair, so I've been told.

Anyway, it's Friday (the 13th). Have a great day.

WARNING: This one contains some colourful language. If this offends you, read something else. You've been warned.

Okay, so got a call from one of those lovely call centres in India yesterday. They piss me off.

Don't know if you've received this one or not, but the caller, in a thick East Indian accent, opens with something like, "Hi Mr. Robinson, my name is Bill."

Um, yeah, right. And my name is Rajish. Go ahead Bill.

"Bill" then explains that he is from the National Internet Security Task Force, or something equally ridiculous, and then tells me that they've been receiving messages from my computer.

"Is that right Bill? Fascinating."

And, according to Bill, I've got a virus and he can help me.

Now I've been receiving these calls for more than a year. Usually at least once a week. Sometimes, when I'm really bored, I'll take up an hour of his time, asking lots of questions about the security of my computer, thanking him for saving me from this horrible virus and making idle conversation about his wife and kids. The conversation usually ends when I explain that I don't know how to use a computer.

Sometimes, when I don't have time to play, I'll just hang up. Sometimes, when they call during nap time, I'll tell them to fuck off and then hang up.

Sometimes, I'll tell him I'm busy and ask if I can put him on hold. I'll then put the receiver down in front of my iPod player and leave it there for a good hour or so.

Now I've looked this scam up on the Internet. Not really all that sophisticated. The victim is directed to a web site, where they are asked to download a program that will help "Bill" fix this virus issue. And the program is basically one that gives "Bill" complete remote access your computer - your passwords, banking info, etc, etc.

So these fuckers are criminals. Plain and simple. And, apparently, are successful enough to keep going.

Anyhoo, got a call yesterday from my friend "Bill." He called while I was baking bread, and I was a little pissed 'cause the dough wasn't rising properly. Bad time to call.

I told "Bill" to leave me the hell alone, forget my fucking phone number and fuck off.

And yesterday, for the first time, I seemed to have touched a nerve at the old Calcutta Call Centre. Fifteen seconds after I hung up, I got another call. Same routine, same response.

The next call took a little longer, maybe 30 seconds. I suspect the conversation in Calcutta went something like . . .

"Bill": "Hey, this guy just swore at me, I think. Does anyone here know how to swear in English?"

"Trevor": "Me!"

So the next guy calls, and he wastes no time:

Him: "You a motherfucker. You a mother fucker.

Me: "Your mother never complained."

Him: "You go fuck your dog."

Me: "What will your mom do without me?"

Well, things just kinda went down hill from there. Seems they forgot about helping me with this computer virus.

** Okay, 7:18 a.m. and I just got the first call of the day from them. I expected as much. Actually I expected a call at 2 a.m. Told them they had the wrong number, there was no Mr. Robinson here. Didn't seem to matter. They still wanted to help me with my computer problem. "Mr. Robinson's computer problem?" I asked. He got confused. And then I hung up.**

Anyhoo, I've got a call in to MTS (Manitoba Telephone Service) to see about having this number blocked. I expect to hear from them today.

So, take this as a warning. Don't fall for this crap. They've got your name and telephone number, and that's it. Play with them if you like, hanging up on them is probably best. Me? I'm just kinda thinking about what can piss them off even more next time. They've pissed me off enough. I just want to return the favour.

Have yourselves a great Thursday. I expect I'll be spending my time fielding a few calls from India.

So apparently Sonwun needs his own bedroom. **sigh**

Okay, let's be fair. He doesn't NEED one. He would like one. And, considering there is one available, with only minor renovation required, it looks like he'll get it.

And when I say only minor renovation required, I mean we've already done some major renovation and there's only a small part left. It used to be the guest room. But it's not exactly like we're running a B&B here. If we get a guest or two a year, it's a big year.

But Sonwun has reached the stage in his life where he wants to express some more individuality. He wants his room to be HIS room, without any input, mess or toys from Sontoo. He wants Batman on the wall, Batman on his bedspread and his precious Lego creations displayed for all to appreciate.

I have spared him the speech about growing up with two brothers in my bedroom. About having to sleep in the same bed with one or the other for periods of my young life. Times are different. Fewer children, more bedrooms.

I worry a little about Sontoo. To this point, he's had his older brother for night time security. Sonwun's bed is closer to the closet, so Sontoo has ample warning when the monsters come out. He doesn't have to be faster than the monsters, just faster than Sonwun.

The big question is what to do with that freakin' futon we bought two houses ago. It just doesn't fit anywhere in this house and was stored in the guest room. It never worked properly and got used only when my snoring became too much for Neomom to sleep through - or vice versa. I just have no idea where to put it.

So, that's my plan for today. Pick up a little drywall, remove a few 2X4s, tape, mud. Oh, and bake bread. We're running low and I'm proud to say that we have not purchased a loaf in 2012. I need to keep that record alive.

And while I'm on the subject, Bread Baking Tip of the Day:

Don't listen to those stupid recipe instructions about placing a dish towel over the loaf pans while the bread rises. Last time, my bread rose beautifully, but collapsed catastrophically, when I removed the towel, which was stuck to the top of the loaves. Made me very sad.

Today, I'll try using Saran Wrap, spritzed with some cooking spray, to cover my rising loaves. Will let you know how it goes.

Anyhoo, things to do.

Have a great Hump Day. Celebrate as you see fit.

Here it is, Day 10 of the new year and again I'm blocked. And there is now no question in my mind that the schedule is to blame.

I wanted to sit down this morning and write away. But other things (I'm looking at you Sonwun and Sontoo) required my attention. Could not focus. And then I had the trim to finish downstairs, clean-up the mess I made while trimming downstairs and then Neomom (she's off for a few days) wanted to take Sontoo skating at the local outdoor rink.

To make a boring story a lot shorter, here I am at 4:30 p.m., racking my brain and trying to meet my commitment for 90 days of blogging.

And you know what keeps coming up in my head? The word "flounce."

I blame the book I'm reading, or maybe it was the last one. The author used the word . . .

Sontoo: Dada, dada, dada, I'm going downstairs, don't turn my game off.

Me: Mmhmm

Sontoo, halfway down the stairs: Dada, dada, dada, are you going to turn my game off?

Me: No.

Sontoo: Dada, dada, dada. DADA! Why aren't you going to turn my game off.

Me: Grrrrrrrrr.)

And that's why I don't like writing with the minions scampering about. Just can't concentrate.

Where was I . . . oh yeah, flounce.

I like the word, but I don't like the fact that I can't get it out of my head. So let's just fully explore it.

It's a good word. It tells a story, provides a visual - at least for me.

And while it's been rolling around inside my head, I've come to a few conclusions. Women are more likely to flounce the men. I just don't see a man flouncing. Maybe that makes me sexist. Pretty sure I never flounced.

And the woman who flounces, can not possibly do that before showering. Flouncing, in my mind, involves are certain amount of hair movement. You can't flounce with flat, greasy hair. The hair must be fairly poofy, at least shoulder length and more often blond. A woman with short, straight, dark hair would find it difficult to flounce.

I'm not 100 per cent certain, but I'm gonna guess the word is some hybrid of flirt and pout and maybe bounce. There's playfulness, there's . . .

Now, Sonwun is whining that he's hungry, moaning, carrying on like we haven't fed him for a week. Supper's still an hour away. I don't think he realizes just how difficult it is to fully explore the word "flounce" when someone's whining and moaning. They just are anti-flounce emotions and, therefore, make my writing difficult.

No consideration. Where was I?

Oh right, the dictionary definition. And this is interesting (just looked it up).

Flounce (verb): go or move in an exaggeratedly impatient or angry manner: he stood up in a fury and flounced out.

You see, I may have it wrong. The dictionary folks used the male pronoun. Apparently guys can legally flounce. And he's angry, furious in fact. Hmm. It seemed like such a playful word.

Second definition:

Flounce (verb): • move with exaggerated motions: she flounced around, playing the tart and flirting.

See? That's more what I see in my head. But now "playing the tart" is gonna be stuck in my head for a day or two. That's just too visual to pass up.

Anyway, that's all I've got for today. Once again hoping to get back on track tomorrow, or you may just get a full exploration of playing the tart.

Your assignment for tomorrow is to work the word "flounce" into at least one conversation. If you can pull it off, please send me a note. Dying to hear how it went.

Enjoy the rest of Tuesday.

Gonna be a short one this morning, I think.

Sonwun heads back to school this morning. Back to the routine.

With a little more than two weeks off for Christmas, we've all become a little accustomed to a more relaxed way of doing things. So this morning it's a bit of a scramble to get lunches made, breakfast consumed, coats, hats and mittens rediscovered.

Have to admit, I backed off on the rules, maybe a little too much, over the break. Beds weren't made in the morning, the dog wasn't fed by Sonwun and the Wii got more than a little too much exercise. Back to crackin' the proverbial whip. And not just with the kids.

I'm proud to say I've kept my promise to blog daily now for two whole weeks. No surprise, I guess, that it coincides with Sonwun's Christmas break. I've had a little more time each morning to sit, ponder, blather. All good.

I find my best writing time is about an hour after my first coffee, when the caffeine's fully on board, I'm awake and sort of thinking.

This time has now diminished. I have to concern myself with lunch-making, child-dressing (they do it on their own after five or six reminders) and breakfasting on schedule. Blogging, therefore, falls to a back burner.

And that, my friends, is why today's post is so damn boring.

Sorry about that, will work to improve under the new schedule.

Have a great Monday.