When Dad is not Mom - but Mom's nearby.

As this week is the beginning of my time as a full-time stay at home dad, I thought perhaps we should talk about whose shoes I am filling. (As if I could fit my fourteens into her sixes) My wife has returned to work this week for the first time in 16 weeks. She is nervous and generally unhappy about leaving us boys to ourselves. She is unhappy because we are perhaps the greatest source of entertainment known to man and she is nervous because she is leaving us at home, in her home, which she strives each and everyday to keep looking like a magazine spread. As my son sleeps, on our bed because our room is so much cooler than his, I find the time to do a handful of things – empty the dishwasher, pull the laundry from the dryer (but not put it away; just adding it to the pile of clean for “later”) and write this piece. I imagine in my head that my wife, the hummingbird of domesticity that she is, would already have done all of these things (including returning our clothes to their rightful homes) along with some sort of baking or fancy drink preparation.

I have come to the stark realization that not only will I never replace my wife around the house; without her I would live in a giant's rat's nest.

My wife is the energy in our family. She keeps me invigorated and in motion (most of the time – sometimes even she can't keep me off of the couch). I am only funny or witty because I am constantly hoping to keep her attention. I only really have friends, outside of the guys I would've grown old with in some shitty rental property had we not discovered girls, because she encourages me to “do something, anything without her”. Even though we have been together since I was eighteen I still somehow find reason to believe she is about to become aware of one too many faults or weaknesses I possess and scamper out the door (only to be buried in our garden – as per our pre-nup!). She is absolutely magical and anyone who has a woman (or man) as good-natured, strangely humorous, and shirt off her back generous as my wife should consider themselves fulfilled.

As I endeavour to complete at least one household task, however unlikely that might be, I will be thinking about how fortunate I am to have spent these last eleven years with my girl and how much I look forward to the next seventy or so (I figure modern science is going to bump me well over the hundred year mark).

All the penguins, Volkswagens, tattoos, and every fibre of my being babe.

The Importance of a good sidekick.

Batman had Robin, although some would argue that Robin was more of a lover than a sidekick. The Tick also had a sidekick, Arthur, who you might argue was actually the Tick's brain. I have Bella. Her full name is Orabella Sinclair Shular and she is most definitely my “partner in crime”. Mostly she follows me around, loyal to a fault, always looking for an opportunity to shower me with affection. (I look at this simply as her canine way of complimenting me on my super-powers, powers of deduction, or what have you.)

Of course, my super-powers have been generally concentrated to one area: parenting. As such, Bella has had to adapt her own set of abilities to enhance mine. When we first brought Cohen home we were very concerned that Bella might not be able to adapt to her new role. In fact, it seemed as though Cohen might be Bella's cryptonite and for awhile the situation was quite dire. But, like Bruce Willis in Unbreakable, Bella was able to climb out of that deep dark pool and she's stronger in her role than ever before.

Her daily duties might consist of the following: (although her ability to shift on the fly as needed is definitely an important one)

5:30 AM - Cohen screams us to wakefulness. Bella rushes to my bedside to inform me of Cohen's impending self destruction if not fed immediately.

5:45 AM - After devouring most of a bottle, Cohen will generally throw up ten percent or more of his most recent meal. Bella's “spidey-sense” picks up the need for her to clean up and she is there almost instantly. Sometimes the battle for supremacy falls in the vomit's favour and Bella has to unleash her secret weapon; the unstoppable shoulder roll.

6:00 AM - Cohen gets a change (an ability I never knew I would master), along with a wipe of nearly his entire body (he's that frantic during meals). The cloth, apparently suspect, has to be thoroughly inspected by Bella. Through vigorous shaking, incessant growling, and excited rolling Bella has been able to keep whatever evil lurks in that cloth away from her family.

6:30 AM – Bella and I return to our batcave for more sleep. Being a superhero is hard work and you need to get your naps whenever you can.

8:30 AM – Bella takes point as I pilot Cohen in his stroller. No real super-mission involved in this; just need to get outside once in awhile. A pooch has got to pee, you know.

The majority of the day is divided up amongst rolling, licking (of Cohen, me, mailmen, and unsuspecting visitors) and eating. There is never a prescribed order and sometimes one action leads to the other. She might find something interesting to eat under our cabinets and then decide it is no longer tasty but has a very nice scent which she'll then wear until her next bath. No matter though, she is like a firefighter; always honing her abilities, working out, and getting mentally prepared for her next sidekick duty.

She is an integral part of Team Shular and will help out immensely during my time with Cohen. I imagine once Cohen is old enough, Bella will become his sidekick; probably sometime around the age when he starts holding his own food.

Raising a glass for Cohen

I'll be exiting the Port of Vancouver on Sunday afternoon, sometime around four o'clock, for the very last time in 2010. Nine hour workdays inside of grain elevators and the camaraderie of one hundred plus co-workers is going to be replaced by one tiny little, mostly speechless, baby boy. It's funny how insignificant my workday and all of its happenings is in comparison to my future with Cohen. Sample analysis at a laboratory bench versus attempting to feed a young boy who finds very little reason to eat as he stares up at me, his entire face articulating his happiness and excitement for something so simple as my presence in his field of view. Is there really a choice to be made? I understand I'll be changing diapers, cleaning up drool and spit-up, and adhering to a fairly strict napping schedule. For each nappie, for each dash of formula left on my clothes, my face, or our dog (who seems to wait patiently for just such a treat), and each project or outing dropped abruptly for a sleepy boy - I know that I'll benefit from his animated chatter, his ever improving motor skills, and his frequent smiles. Of course I am nervous; dropping the workload I've had for the last five years and replacing it with a three month old is definitely scary and foreign to me. I am optimistic that this time will be as rewarding for him as I know it will be for me. On Sunday, after work, after running 10k, and after washing the car, I'll relax in the company of my wife, dog, and son, crack open an Anarchist Ale (thanks, Bruce) and this paragraph will be the toast in my head.