“Carlos, you are just making trouble out of nothing!” Our German International Student, Hanna, used to say to me when I stress over something that she thought was not worth stressing about. She was, and still is, right though.
You see, I am a stresser, (not really a word). I like to, as Hanna put it, make trouble out of nothing. I stew over things, no matter how small. Sleeping for me is work time for my brain. That’s the time when all of my day’s issues get solved or I devised other ways of dealing with them. A presentation at work? When I’m done with it at about 2am, it’s a finely-honed delivery without any hiccups, too bad my audience would never hear it, instead they were privy to the water-down version. Well it wasn’t that watered down, since I actually did stew on it a few nights prior to the delivery date. My nocturnal labor has solved worked problems that I was working on and even found lost items! I retrace my wife’s steps to the likely places she could have ‘lost’ her cell phone.
I am an avid sports fan, especially hockey. When my team loses in the playoffs, it’s time for this fan to break down every what-ifs and near-miss scenarios. What if the puck hadn’t hit one of our players? We probably would have scored. How about the breakaway that he missed the open net on?
Maybe it’s a mental health issue and I need to talk to a brain sweeper to clear out the cobwebs that have been taking up residents in my cranial attic. (Wow! Did I just say that? That’s some serious lingo!) My wife insists that I should just shut my brain off and go to sleep. Easier said than done. Maybe she has a brain switch but I wasn’t blessed with one.
You might ask why don’t I do all that stressing and over-thinking during the day and sleep at night? Great question! Mind if I get back to you on that? I just need to maybe…stew on it a bit tonight.
Just My Take!
In this hectic world where we wish daily that we had one more hour in our days, losing an hour is a big deal. When it’s done on a Sunday morning where the next day is the much-dreaded and hated Monday, it’s an even bigger deal.
It’s becoming increasingly clear that this tactic has ran its course but the decision-makers continue to flog this dead horse. Maybe they just don’t want to admit defeat. Saying this, I have a work-around that could make this DST work and benefit everyone. Make the change on a weekday, preferably Monday, at about 3pm!
How would that benefit everyone? Well when the time changes on a Sunday, employees show up to work tired and unproductive. That’s if they do turn up, some prefer to call in sick. If the time goes forward an hours closer to the end of their work day, employees get to leave on hour earlier AND start their evening chores earlier too! It’s almost as if they gained an hour! It’s all in the mind of course because really, who doesn’t want to leave work early? Happy employees=production=happy employers.
Thank me later.
You know that Osama Bin Laden was killed, right? When you heard he was, did you immediately ask who fired the fatal shot? Did you even care? Do you care to know the identities of the persons who administer fatal injections to death row inmates? Of course you don’t. Why would you?
Turns out some people like to take credit for being the ones who wasted the bad guys. You probably thought that the US Navy Seals were a tight-lipped organization, not prone to taking personal credit for their work. Well apparently when it comes to something like this, something that has the potential to make them a hero of sorts, they want us civilians to know by name, the man who shot Bin Laden. Do you give a crap now? Me neither…
So while they bicker amongst themselves over who was the trigger man so they could go on and write a tall-all book maybe aptly titled, “How I Shot Osama Bin Laden”, let’s go on with our lives. Oh, while we are on the topic, who the heck shot JR. Anyways?
Is it me or people are less funny nowadays? In the not too distant past just about everyone was a budding comedian. In the workplace there was always ‘the funny guy’ who was always ready with a joke, sometimes politically incorrect or overly colourful. But they were designed mostly to lighten the air and not to hurt or belittle anyone. In fact, the butt of some of these jokes were the ones telling them, or they were a part of the audience.
Maybe it’s just that the world has gotten so political correct that it’s hard to be funny without the fear of hurting someone’s feeling. I mean when you think of it, just about every joke out there has the potential to hurt someone’s feelings, if they were inclined to feel hurt. Jokes about animals could hurt some animal rights activists. Blondes used to be the go-to for funny jokes until we caught on it that it was all an act and they were actually smart. No wonder they never took offense.
Politically correctness has its place in society but when it’s taken too far it takes all the funny out of life. I could tell you about the Priest and the Rabbi but one of them might get hurt. If not them, then their parishioners.
I don’t like the Junos. I never watch it. I know, I know, I am unpatriotic and not a true Canadian blah blah. Well don’t be pointing fingers at me, sister, why do you think they cancelled Canadian Idol eh? See? I’m not the only one who supports American tv over Canadian. Still mad at me? Go knock on your neighbor’s door, no not that one, the one with the illegal dish on his house. Ask him why he got it. He would say “Duh, to get the American channels. You kinda dumb eh?”
Now that we’ve cleared that up, I must admit that the Junos aren’t all that bad and does a fine job of keeping up to its American counterpart. It’s still not the Grammy’s but we will take it. It would help if the big Canadian stars like Drake, Robin Thicke and even Bieber himself would show up. Nothing against Serena Ryder, Tegan and Sara and BTO. I heard my girl Sarah Mclachlan was in the house. I missed that??
Everything was going great and Winnipeggers were repping their city quite well until Canadian heart-throb and bad boy Justin Bieber was announced as the Fan Choice Award winner, to which he was soundly booed. Come on Peg City, stay classy. We are still broadcasting live to the world. We don’t have to be like them. Good thing the Biebs wasn’t in attendance, who knows, he might have had a few of his eggs thrown at him. (ok sorry, bad punny joke).
Serena Ryder came to the aid of her fellow Canadian superstar and told the dubious crowd that Justin Bieber works his a** off and she wasn’t say this to kiss a** either. No one belieb her. How did I know so much even though I said I never watch the Junos? Well thank goodness for a house with an open concept. I was doing dishes in the kitchen and the tv in the living room was directly in front of me. My mom who was over, was watching the Junos.
Booing is immature. Plain and simple. I don’t care what the kid did. I won’t boo him. He does have talent, not sure about the ‘working his butt off’. So much for Friendly Manitoba. Been to a Jets’ game recently? They boo the refs, players, coach, puck, whatever. I cringe in my seat when the boo birds come out…anyways, back to the
Grammys Juno, I should watch it next year. If not, the year after for sure…
And you, you should too! It’s Canadian Eh. And so is Bieber.
If you are an unemployed man, raise your hand. Um…not so fast sir. You haven’t worked for some time and I doubt you have any intentions of working so let me rephrase that. If you are a man who has recently lost his job, raise your hand. Hmm…Ok ok. Don’t do that either. You look a bit silly sitting in front of your computer with your hand in the air. If someone should walk in on you right now they would think you have lost it. No, not your job, your mind.
Anyways, since I very rudely and abruptly lost my job when the employment carpet was unceremoniously yanked from under my feet, I have noticed that there are quite a few other dads out there who suffered the same fate. Either that or they are lying to me as a way of expressing their sympathy. I am gullible so I doubt that. I now know at least 5 other men who have lost their jobs within weeks and months of my own departure. Most of us have kids which makes me wonder if there is something afoot. Are our wives up to some kind of sneaky underhanded dealings? Are they in cahoots with our bosses? They think we are not ‘mommy’ enough to handle stay-at-home duties? Well we will show them!
My fellow daddy-day-carers, let’s go forward in solidarity! Let’s show our wives that we are capable of being darn good stay-at-home dads. We will only call them when we need, I repeat, need, to know where our kids’ clothes are, what they like to eat and what are their names. We won’t ask the obvious questions that they are probably waiting for us to ask, like ‘Honey, can you tell me who wears the red Nikes?’ Hello! We will try them on the kids until it fits someone. Duh!
Since I was forced into my stay-at-home daddy role, I can see a difference around the home. Mikhail is riding a bike without training wheels, the kids are eating less, which is good for weight watching. I mean, most of it is because I keep forgetting to make meals but that’s besides the point. We are also saving on gas bills as we eat fast food more often. Let the restaurants pay the gas bills. Kenyan even tried coffee for the first time. Do you think mommy would have allowed him that treat? Of course not.
About school, my two older boys are now going to a French immersion school. It’s great except that I couldn’t keep track of the Madames at that school when it was only one kid attending, with two there’s no way I could remember! Plus they are usually weird french names. Names like Madame Dideau, Madame Richelu and Madame Jackson. (told you they were weird). My wife remembers them all but she doesn’t have to worry about other stuff like who wears the red Nikes and who eats what. I am not done. My youngest is repeating preschool. I know, big deal eh? Well here this…He gets off at 11:30am, Kenyan at 11:00 and Mik at 3:12. I think it’s 3:12. Guess who has to pick them up at these staggered time? Yep, me! It’s piece of cake. I mean I am sure I will show up at the wrong time and at the wrong school but as long as I say ‘Excusez-moi madame but where is my kid?’ I should be ok.
So if you start seeing kids walking around with Nikes too big for their feet while holding a cup of coffee and waiting for their daddy who is either running late or waiting at the wrong school/bus stop, don’t worry about it. They are from the new day care in your area most likely ran by an unemployed dad. The kids will be fine, no worries. Fellas, let’s show our wives how we do things. Raise your…actually never mind.
As everyone already knows, August is the best month of the entire year. Don’t ask me why as it’s quite obvious. Not only is it the month with the most cooperative weather but it’s also MY BIRTHDAY MONTH! What more can anyone ask for? (Don’t be silly, it’s a rhetorical question).
Well anyways, while I was languishing in bed this morning pretending that I didn’t have to get up if I didn’t want to, my three little ones entered my room bearing home-made cards. No card in any card shop could have been more meaningful. I was moved to tears. Just kidding. I don’t do tears. But I was touched.
When I finally smartened up and realized that I would not be getting any special treatment, birthday or not, I came downstairs to find a double-double Tim Hortons coffee awaiting me beside a single stemmed red rose. Well these people I live with sure know how to use the simple things in life to make me happy eh?
I signed into Facebook to find my wall littered, but in a good way, with best wishes from friends, family and acquaintances from all over the globe. And I meant littered. I was so touched that I made it my goal to at least attempt to say a ‘thank you’ comment for each wish.
And these are the little things that make for a Happy Birthday. Priceless things. Just like the blessing from the man upstairs that afforded me another healthy year. I am grateful to those who took the time, be it a couple of seconds, to type out a ‘Happy Birthday’ to me. At least you thought of me and that means something. It also means that you are acknowledging that August 8th is most definitely the best day/month of the year. To all those sharing this day with me, Happy Birthday to you! To those who aren’t, stay strong, you have nothing to be ashamed of.