It’s 5:30am on a Saturday morning, and I’m the only one in the house awake. The rest of my family is upstairs, tucked cosy in bed. I say “in bed” and not “in their beds” because everyone is one bed. Mine.

Getting a king-sized bed was supposed to be a great, life-changing event. It has only made things worse.

My wife and I weren’t dedicated co-sleeping advocates, it’s just something we did to make life a little easier. The kids would go down in their individual beds, but after getting up a couple of times between midnight and 2, we’d just give up the ghost and drag them into our bed.

It worked, in the sense that the kids slept through the night, but it’s been a nightmare for me. I get kicked, feet go down my pants, heads are butted, and the spacious enough queen shrunk down to nothing.

I am not a fan of co-sleeping. I’m a fairly sound sleeper, so I’ll usually skip the faint cries coming from Charlie’s room. My wife is the one who heeds every call. She is the one that prefers the boys in bed. Once everyone is in our bed, my problems start.

So, for Christmas this year, my wife and I splurged on a king as a gift to each other. Now, instead of getting that ocean of personal space we experienced on vacations, it’s just made it even easier for the kids to get in bed with us.

Last night my wife was working late and I put the boys down each in their own bed. By 2am our 3 year old was in bed with us. I didn’t hear my wife come home, nor did I hear them come to the bed. I know he was there because he smoked me between the eyes. Then, just before 5, my 5 year old shuffled to my side of the bed to tell me he had a nightmare and wanted in. Usually I send him back to his room, this time I relented.

I was the meat, in a Dad sandwich. So, here I am, laptop on my knees in the basement at 530 in the morning while everyone else snores upstairs.

I thought it was going to be great to have a king, now I’ll settle for my own twin in the corner.

So, how do you get kids to sleep in their own beds through the night? Here are some tips:

I took the boys to a hockey game on the weekend. Just me, Zacharie and Charlie. 1 dad. 2 kids.

On the way home, I wondered if I was pushing it. You know, going too far ahead of the curve, and getting too eager to experience life with my boys.

I constantly feel stress that I’m not getting my boys in the proper sports and activities at an earlier enough age. My son is nearly 6 and can barely skate, while friends have their 4 year olds playing full on hockey.

Never mind starting my kids in school in kindergarten, we put them in private school so they could have French Immersion instruction in preschool, junior kindergarten, and then a full day kindergarten program when our government only offers half day in public school.

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At the beginning of the school year, our teachers were concerned about Zacharie’s penmanship. They recommended sessions with an occupational therapist to help him have a better grasp of writing instruments and to work on wrist positioning.

His pictures at the beginning of the year were in one colour, lacked much detail, and didn’t tell a very large story. The teachers have been encouraging him to broaden his pictures, and the results have been amazing.

Last week at Montana’s, Zacharie scribbled all over the paper tablecloth. Tie fighters, tauntauns, AT-AT walkers and more filled the entire table. My wife and I were amazed by the detail that was now in his imagery. A tie fighter actually looked like a tie fighter instead of a scribble.

Then I saw his picture of The Cat In The Hat hanging in the classroom. Colours, detail, expression, and a resemblance to the cartoon character that is much better than I could have ever done on my own.

I was so excited seeing the text, I filled a message back to my wife with glee and exclamation marks.
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We went to the movies this weekend, and I went to the counter and ordered my son the usual: a kid’s popcorn combo pack that also comes with a soft drink, but my kid gets the softest of drinks – water.

At nearly 6 years old, my oldest has never had soda and we’re keeping it that way as long as possible. When it comes to beverages, he has milk often, juice sometimes, and water always.

We just hired a new nanny to come and work with the family and she noted on day 2: “I’m so glad you don’t give your kids pop,” she said. “My friend’s 4 year old just had to have dental surgery because of all the soda they drink.” My wife and I were floored. It brought us back to a bbq we went to a few summers ago where 3 yr olds were walking around with full cans of Coke Classic. Seriously.

Yes, I’m the Dad that humblebrags about not taking his kids to McDonalds, and while I get why some of you can trot out the “I’m in a rush,” or “sometimes it’s okay” excuses, I can’t find one where pop wins over water, milk, or juice. If pop is available, so is water. You have to make the choice to give it to your kids and, like a drug dealer, once you give them those first few hits of delicious sugar, you’ll have a customer for life.

So, before you crack a can of cola for your kids at dinner, or order them a fast food meal with something other than water, milk, or juice, Rethink Your Drink.

We went and saw a preview of The Croods this weekend, and the plot will be very familiar to parents.

Grug, is the over-protective father who boldly declares to his family that “Fear is good. Never not be afraid.” when warning them about the dangers of the outside world. In the prehistoric setting of the movie, the world is a rapidly changing place, and The Croods find themselves to be the last humans on Earth. Faced with watching the extinction of his neighbors, Grug (Nicolas Cage) has found a secure cave for his family to spend days at a time. To while away the time, he’ll tell stories of the outside world that always involve someone trying something new, and dying.

Eep (Emma Stone), Grug’s oldest daughter, loves the sun and each night as it sets, she will reach her hand higher and higher to catch the rays. She longs to explore the world, and be free of her paranoid father. On a night escape, she meets Guy (Ryan Reynolds) a roaming free spirit who was told by his parents “Don’t hide – live.” And you can tell where it goes from there. Helicopter parents learn to loosen the leash, free spirit children learn to listen to their parents, and we all live happily ever after.

Helicoptering parents in movies is nothing new. To borrow a famous phrase, “it’s a tale as old as time,” but the question remains: are we learning anything?

Geocaching is the world’s biggest game of hide and seek. More than 2 million caches have been hidden on this planet, just sitting their waiting to be found.

In our family, geocaching is used as a way to ‘gamify’ outdoor activities. A hike in the woods becomes a game of pirates following a map to find treasure. We have found caches near Gramma’s house, in the mountains, on vacations, and around our neighborhood. We have even hidden our own set of caches in some of our favorite playgrounds.

This week, we unlocked an achievement – after 3 years of geocaching, we uncovered our 100th find. My son’s favorite part about geocaching is trading the treasures. Think of the sort of things you’d normally leave in a birthday party loot bag, and that’s what people trade.

In our 100th geocache, we found perhaps the greatest tradeable of our career: a bona fide Thomas the Tank Engine vehicle. My son’s eyes lit up when he saw Cherry Picker sitting in the jar. He quickly grabbed it, dropped in a figurine to trade, and ran off to find his little brother to show off his haul.

On our hike in The Weaselhead at the west end of the Glenmore Reservoir, we watched the Elbow River thaw, we waded in snow past our knees, we stared at the deep blue sky, and we even saw the Easter Bunny’s tracks (okay, maybe they were from White-tailed Jackrabbits).

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100 geocaches down, still 2 million to find.

If you’d like to learn more about geocaching, check out this how-to geocache article.

I never thought I would have children of my own, and I was fine with it.

When my girlfriend of 10 weeks told me she was pregnant, I was thrilled. It was not planned, but it was a set of cards I was more than willing to play. I was fine with having 1 child.

When my girlfriend, then fiancee, and soon to be wife, said she wanted to have a second child to go with the first, I obliged. I was fine with none, thrilled with 1, and willing to go to 2.

But that was where the line would be drawn. 2. No more. No less. A few months after Charlie came in happy, and healthy I went and got snipped.

There would be no surprises here.

But… since I am a man, and not totally responsible all the time, I skipped one of the steps in my vasectomy. I never did go back a few months after the operation to offer a sample to make sure the margin of error did not come back to haunt me.

This week Jen was more irritable than usual. “My period is coming,” she said. Well, it was supposed to come. Usually it will arrive around the first of the month, but this was one was late. A few days later, Jen found herself out doing some shopping and surrounded by babies. Baby clothes. Babies in strollers. Everywhere she looked there were babies… babies.. BABIES!

We had just dismantled Charlie’s crib, we have given away all his sheets. Our strollers, bathtubs, and infant wear had all been handed down to my sister (due in May). We were free of our newborn gear, and ready to tackle the world of “big boys.”

But still, babies were everywhere. She started to sweat. You know how you “know”? She didn’t have that, but she did have wonderment and worry.

36 hours later, her worries were erased, her period came, and she confessed her stress to me.

Last night, at dinner, there was a fresh baby at the table across from us. The chubby cheeks just couldn’t stop staring and smiling at Jennifer. Normally she’s all excited to devour fresh babies wherever they are. This time, not so much.

I have a few friends who have been surprised 3-5 years after thinking “they were done.” In fact, it’s almost a family tradition as both my grandmother and aunt had some surprises join the family tree later in life.

I thought I would never have kids, and I give thanks every day that Zacharie chose Jen and I to be our parents. I’m thrilled we brought Chooch to the party. While a number 5 could have been squeezed in, and there’s more than enough love to go around, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my wife make a bigger sigh of relief.

She looked at the baby, looked at me and deadpanned “I am so not wanting to do that again.”

Agreed.

“Are you coming to the tea party,?” Zacharie asked me at breakfast this morning.

“No, bunny, I have to work,” I replied.

“Is Momma coming?”

“No, she has to work too.”

“Then I’ll have to go in a different group,” he pouted. “You guys never get to come and see me. You didn’t come and see me ski and now you’re not coming to my tea party.”

Today is a super cute day in our family. It’s a formal uniform day at school because they are doing a UNESCO presentation. Every couple of months there is a UNESCO day where presentations are made, assemblies are had, and the parents are invited to the school to be toured around by the kids.

Confession: I have no idea what being a UNESCO school means, although the administration at our school is very proud of the distinction. I chose the school because it was close, and taught french.

As you would expect, these appointments are at 10:30, or 1:15, or some other “middle of the day” time. Granted, that’s when the kids are in school, but it’s also when the parents are at work. Or at least some of the parents are at work, it would seem. My kids are attending a private school for kindergarten and preschool so they can have proper French Immersion education and have access to a full day kindergarten program. That means tuition. To afford the tuition, my wife and I both have to work.

I’m just ranting here. This has nothing to do with anything, but I’d love to take part in the magic that my son produces at school. I’d love to see the smile and pride on his face as he escorts me around the projects they’ve been working on. But I can’t, and it’s frustrating.

I get that teachers have crazy long days and can’t be expected to do everything outside of ‘normal business hours’ to accomodate each individual schedule. It is wonderful that parents are invited to attend and participate in the school day. I just can’t appreciate the luxury of having one working parent while affording private school tuition. I can’t appreciate being able to “take the afternoon off” whenever you want for golf, drinks, or a school assembly.

So I’m whining about it here. I’m whining because I’m disappointed I have to miss this most excellent day where my two boys, in shirt and tie, will have no parent at their class to escort around the displays.

I feel like I’m letting my kids down, and it sucks.

When you have one, daycare is affordable. Zacharie at daycare in 2008.

For the 3rd time since the fall of 2011, we have a new nanny working for us. It’s not as posh as it sounds, this having a nanny thing.

Last year, our nanny cost us $21 000. On the surface it sounds like a lot of money, and when you factor in the tuition for the boys’ french schooling we basically handed over an entire after tax salary to others to look after our boys this year. Okay, that is a lot of money. But, $21 000 for two boys to be looked after is actually a bargain when you consider the nanny lives with us and can help easily cover for Parent-Teacher interviews, date nights, or errands.

We paid nothing for extra babysitting last year. If we had gone with a traditional dayhome or daycare situation, it would have cost in excess of $24 000 to look after the boys, PLUS we would have been on the hook for babysitting costs. A nanny also helps with light housekeeping, so when we need a load of towels done, a bathroom cleaned, or some vacuuming finished, she’s there to help.

So, for us, having a nanny is a good thing. Having them live with us isn’t always comfortable but, for now, it is more affordable than having a live-out nanny or putting them in dayhomes to fill in the blanks between our work schedules.

Then there’s the challenge in finding space. To get a spot in daycare, you need to get your name on a waiting list the day you get pregnant. It can take upwards of 18 months to get that spot. Getting a nanny is a little bit easier, but not by much.

Our first nanny lasted only a few months. We fired her when she let Zacharie climb on a table and hang himself. Our last nanny was with us for 14 months. She had made it known that she was wanting to travel come the summer, and so we were in an open contract since the first of the year. This was a great situation as it let us go out and search for ‘the one’ without an incredible amount of pressure. We had a 6 month window to get things done.

Jen did the searching for a nanny. She canvassed message boards, signed up for some nanny connection services (think dating sites, but for connecting nannies and employers), and used Craigslist and Kijiji.

The initial searching was painful. People not showing up for interviews. People lying about credentials. Shady agencies acting as middlemen. Divas showing up with designer purses. People who smoked applied. There were phone applicants asking what kind of car they would be given.

It’s not easy to find a good one, which is why they are often poached on the playground. Seriously, other families will start chatting nannies up and offer them more money, better perks, and steal them right there on the spot.

Our new nanny started this week – here we go again…

It’s snowing today. A lot of snow.

About 25 cm will fall on this fine Sunday, which means apart from a 20 minute “let’s play in the snow” idea that went sideways fast because of the wind, and cold – we’ve been inside.

This will trust the patience of any parent, and expose their flaws completely.

How can you tell that my wife and I are both working parents? We can’t handle long stretches of being stuck with the kids.

I brag about how I am a “not at home Dad.“ Even faced with 3 hours with the kids, I will head out snowshoeing, hiking, geocaching, whatever. I don’t like being at home with them. Mostly because I see a snow day as a chance to get some of my freelance writing projects done, while the boys just see it as a time to wrestle and poke each other.

There’s only so many times one can handle screaming “Stop touching him!” I’d love to give them a digital pacifier, but whether it’s an iPad, or a show on TV, they can’t sit still for that either. They squirm, run around, and pretty soon “Stop touching him!” is screamed.

So we took a few minutes this afternoon to go analog and try some other form of entertainment. Crafts. While I’d prefer to bake brownies, or cookies, or cakes with the boys, they wanted to make paper snowflakes.

Woah.

I forgot how to make paper snowflakes. It shouldnt be a shock, I forgot how to play “Go Fish” too. I had to Google it, to get the directions. I’m terrible, or resourceful.

It’s all about perspective I guess.