I’m Not An Adult. I’m Just A Grown-Up

When you go exploring, you’re never quite sure what to expect. You never quite know exactly what’s going to happen, where you’ll end up, what will happen along the way, what you’ll find.

For me, everything has been an adventure.

Growing up undoubtedly was.
Teaching has been for sure.
My marriage most certainly.
Being dad most definitely.
This blog, too.
There are still plenty more to come.

I may have grown up, but (as DW can testify to) I’m not an adult. I firmly believe in what George Bernard Shaw told us. We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.

Perhaps that’s why I can relate so well to Calvin and his best friend Hobbes. Thanks to Bill Watterson for creating these lovable, philosophical adventurers. Now let’s go exploring!



One of Those…

Ever had one of those moments…

Perhaps it was just a moment
perhaps it lasted all day

or all week
or all month…

I realized this morning that my Taboo Word Challenge list is backwards. I didn’t mean to start the month the hardest word. I got my head in the game now and got it fixed. Check it out… The image is also on my sidebar. Feel free to add it to yours, too.

On another note…

If I’m not entertaining the boys then they are trying to kill each other
by annoying each other to death.

That’s not an understatement either.

Just this morning, after we dropped DW off at work we went and paid for the truck’s license plate registration. The boys were good as gold at the “DMV”.

The minute we walk in the door the little one is jumping on the big one.
The big one is making annoying sounds to make the little one scream.
The little one is screaming because he’s trying to get the big one in trouble
(and laughing when it works).

So I hollered at them…

Told them to get sock and shoes on because we were going to the beach. That quieted them because they were confused.
“Why do we need socks and shoes for the beach instead of Crocks?” they asked.
Then they got in the truck to go, and I hauled them out. I told them we were walking. Confusion set in again.

But at least they weren’t annoying and killing each other.

They eventually clued in that we were going to the across the street beach.
I know what you’re thinking,
“You have a beach across the street? How awesome!”
You can stop thinking it, now. It’s probably not the kind of beach you think it is.

There is no sand, just rocks.
The water is bordered by a dozen industries – NS Power which burns coal, a paper mill, a gypsum plant, a pipeline and terminal for oil and gas which, of course, brings the giant tanker ships.
So it’s not a beach for swimming and tanning and sandcastle building.

But it is ideal for beach glass hunting and metal detectoring. On a previous hunt we found 5 rusty bottle caps and a dime.

So we took a walk along the beach.
The boys walked together. They walked apart.
They walked with me and then they didn’t.
It didn’t matter. We were the only ones there.

Once we were back home though, all hell broke loose again. So I made them lunch and took them to play racquetball. They played for about a 1/2 hour when DW called to tell us she was done and ready for us to come pick her up.

The boys went up to her classroom and were back to killing each other again. This time they were fighting over who was going to get use the paper shredder.


I just now got my 45 minutes to sit and write because the little one is at the neighbor’s house playing with their daughter and the big one is at his grandparent’s for a sleepover.

Can I get an Amen? This adulting thing is frickin’ hard. I’m going to get some wine now…



A Literal Comparison Between Parenting and Writing

chocolate milk bubbles

This has no relevance. I just like it.


Sometimes the words work.

Sometimes they don’t.

It’s like saying please when you ask nicely for something. Sometimes you get it, sometimes you don’t. There’s no rhyme nor reason when it will work and it when it won’t. It either does or it doesn’t.

I’ve sat down at this keyboard a dozen times today wondering what to tell you fine readers. I know you’re itching, on the edge of your seats, pacing the floor just waiting for my next bit of wisdom like we did before The Force Awakened. Here it is. Prepare yourself.

Writing is like parenting. Sometimes you play, sometimes you discipline. Sometimes the play is fun, sometimes the discipline doesn’t work and you sit and wonder why you even bother.

death starBecause hindsight is 20/20 or better I only recommend looking back when you’ve put enough distance between yourself and the last time you looked. Otherwise it’s like trying to see how big the Death Star is while piloting the Meridian Trench. You need to give the patterns time to develop, time to extend themselves. Why didn’t a “time out” work that time? It worked last time. Why weren’t the ideas flowing that time? They flowed last time.

Because a five year old’s mood is a trampoline. Up down up down up down. We could be
doing flips and twists and pikes and pucks on a toddler’s mood. Good luck reasoning with them after you put their chocolate milk in the red cup instead of the blue one. Because the muse that moves the words from mind to fingertip is as touchy. She (I’m wholly convinced it’s a she, but not because of the moods) can dam the flow of ideas like the great, industrious Canadian Beaver. Then your writing is damned. You’ll be left staring a blinking cursor. I’m telling you man, every third blink is slower.cursor1

Because when you feel like you’ve got nothing right as a parent, you wonder why you even wanted to be one in the first place, you just need a vacation from those energy siphoning parasites. After they’ve been at each other’s throats all day, when one even goes so far as to bite, you know it’s time for a throw down. The gloves come off and heads will roll. You throw a Hail Mary in the final seconds and pray it works. You sit them side by side and you start yapping, hoping what you’re saying is both making sense and sinking in. Verbal diarrhoea. Suddenly you’re up to 502 words and kind of like what you’ve managed to come up with for not being able to think of anything to write. Suddenly it’s bedtime and you kind of like the sweet silence because it means you earned a reward for adulting; second dessert that you don’t have to share and a bottle of wine because you didn’t kill the kids today.

Congratulations on not killing the kids. Enjoy your reward to its fullest.