The Pizza Critic

For those of you who have been reading my blog - you'll likely be aware of the fact that my son doesn't eat a wide variety of foods.  If it's not bacon, pizza or pasta - odds are he won't touch it....and will likely go on a hunger strike until the offending morsel of food is removed from his plate.


Last night I happened to be at a friend's place for dinner.  The friend is Enrico...and he's Italian - and man...can he ever through down a mean homemade za!


I won't bore you with the details about my visit to Enrico's place....not that it was boring, just not relevant to where this blog posting is going.  


As I was preparing to leave (many hours later)...Enrico offered me the leftover food.  I was stuffed as it was...but I thought that my son might enjoy it as a change from the usual pizza we make him at home.


So...this morning as we're getting him ready for school - and after Nicholas invited me to his Christmas Concert this evening (apparently he's singing John Lennon's Imagine)...I told him that I had a surprise for him.


"Oh boy!  What is it?"


"Food."


"Food isn't a surprise - you give me that everyday!"


"But this is different food.  It's homemade pizza imported from Mississauga!"


"Really? Let me see!"


So I grab the pizza from the fridge and start to unwrap the foil.


"Ohhhhhhh Daddy!  That looks tasty....where'd you get it?"


"I told you - it's imported from Mississauga.  Remember I went out last night for dinner?  Well - I brought you something"


"Can I try it?"


"Ummm...yeah....that's the whole idea.  Take a bite - and if you like it, you can take it to school for lunch"


"Are you kidding me?"  My son seems to think that I can never be serious...not sure how that happened, but I don't question these things.


"No.  I'm not kidding.  Here...give 'er a whirl."


A little hand grabs a slice....and he starts to examine it.


"Hey....it's not cut in the correct slices.  Are you sure this is pizza?"


"Yeah man - I'm pretty sure....look...there's cheese, and salami....and sauce and crust.  Yeah - that would be pizza.  I ate some last night....just because it wasn't round doesn't mean it isn't pizza."


"Hmmmm....well.....ok."


A bite is taken....


"Well little man?  What's the verdict?  Is it good stuff or what?"


"It's awesome daddy!  Can I take it all to school?"


"You sure can little dude."


"Thanks Daddy....and thank Enrico for me too!  And why don't you make pizza like this?  You really should you know!"


Sigh...thanks Enrico - you screwed me again Pennypacker!  :)  Now I likely can't go to your place without the expectation that I'll be coming back with pizza in hand....good thing you've got that cool stove with the two ovens.  

The Secret is Out!

Our house has lots of rooms.  Rooms for cooking, eating, doing laundry, sleeping (and other assorted activities!), tool stash, an office, a few bathrooms...and The Secret Room.


Yeah - that's right.  Our house has a secret room.  And before any of you start wondering what is happening in The Secret Room....no....there are no indoor 'tomatoes' or anything like that happening in there.  Its just a room where there is an abundant stash of unopened toys....and a huge chest freezer.


And I mean a ton of toys.  Many, many toys.  So many toys that Toys 'R Us calls me when they run out of inventory. Yeah boys and girls - its a real scene in that room....let me tell ya!  Why are there so many toys stashed away?  My wife used to buy a lot of stuff when it was on sale....or stuff for kids party's....or stuff that Nicholas would get when he was old enough.  Needless to say - she bought a lot of stuff.  The only good thing about the secret room is that the inventory is diminishing, and the inflow has nearly stopped.  We have likely given away several thousand dollars worth of brand new toys to various Children's Aid societies - so we feel pretty good about that.


Now....where was I?


Ah yes....the secret room.  Well - the secret is out!


Or rather...my son has now mastered the anti-child device that used to keep him out of there.  He know's what's in there....and he used to get real excited when we would bring him in to cash in his tokens for some new loot.  [Nicholas is on the token system....good behaviour means he gets tokens....and the more tokens he has....the bigger the loot box he can cash it in for.  Sort of like those arcades where you hand in your 8 tickets for some crappy plastic toy.....or 8,000 tickets for a slight larger crappy plastic toy].


The other day a little boy with a huge smile on his face comes cruising through the living room with a new box of Lego.  He's happily humming to himself - and proceeds to plop himself down on the carpet to commence playing with his latest acquisition.  He doesn't seem to get that if you're gonna pinch stuff....that it likely isn't a great idea to sit down and start playing with the stuff in front of the people most likely to say something about it.  Guile isn't his thing.


"Ummmm  Nicholas?"


"Yes Mommy?"


"Where did you get that toy?"


"Oh.....you know........"


"Actually no....I don't.  Where did you get it?"


"I got it from the secret room!"


"How did you get in there?"


"Through the door."


"The door was left open?"


"Nope.  I opened it myself.  I'm a big boy - I can do that you know!"


I left the room at this point....I was trying not to laugh, and undermine what my wife was trying to do.


"Nicholas sweetie....you know the secret room is for Mommy and Daddy....and you can only go in when you're with one of us."


"Yeah - I know all that."


"So....why did you go in then?"


"To get this Lego set!  See - isn't it cool?"


"But Nicholas.....there are rules that you need to obey and understand."


"Rules?  I was really good at school this week - and I felt like rewarding myself!"


[At this point...there is a lot of laughter coming from the kitchen]


"Pipe down in there!!!"


"Now Nickels....you understand that we would prefer that you not go in there".  [We're hiding stuff from Santa in there as well....as if he could tell the difference between old loot - and loot that is about to be wrapped]


"I know - but I needed a new toy.  And look!  Here it is!!!  There's no need to get upset Mommy.  I only took one....and I didn't make a mess at all.  So it's really ok."


I hear a sigh....


"Ok Nicholas...you can have that set - but stay out from now on, or else Daddy will tell Santa!"


[Why am I the heavy?  It isn't a role I play very well!]


"Okayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Mommy"


"Thank you for listening Nickels.....I think"


It is around this time I hear the words:


"Hey Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!  You need to come here and help my put together this Lego set."


"Right on dude.....I'm totally there with ya!"


My wife rolls her eyes....she's living with two children it would seem - one is 7....the other is 37.


And besides - Daddy wanted to play with that set anyways....  :)

It snowed

It finally snowed in Toronto.  This is exciting news indeed!  


Even more so if you're 7 years old.


The day got off to a slow start....Nicholas didn't get out of bed until 6:30AM.  This is considered sleeping in.


At around the same time....a little voice calls up the stairs to the master bedroom (with en suite facilities no less)..."Hey Daaaaaaaaaad!  Did it snow?"


I remain silent.


"Daaaaaaaaaaaad?"


I'm not saying a word...I refuse to get out of bed until 6:45AM.  That's my rule, and I'm sticking too it.  The house could be burning down...I don't care.  There is no reason for any human being to be up and about before 6:45AM.


Nicholas is not liking that I'm not out of bed yet....so he decides to come upstairs and offer some....encouragement?


"Hey Daddy!  Did it snow?  Did it??  Come on....you neeeeeeeed to look out the window and tell me".


"You've got eyes dude....go look yourself!"


"Fine then.  I will!"


I'm hoping that that'll be the end of it....he'll see that it snowed, and then I can enjoy my last 7 minutes in bed.


No such luck.


"Daddy!!!  It did snow!  Oh this is so wonderful!  We have to go outside now!!"


"Uh uh little man....Daddy ain't going outside.  I'm old - and it's cold!"


"You're not thaaaaaaat old.  Come on, come on....you can do it!"


So I get out of bed.  Nicholas starts handing me clothes to put on....and then he drags me downstairs.  My socks don't match right now in case anyone is interested.  Matching socks matter not when there's snow to be played in.


I go to the front door and see that yes indeed - it had snowed.  How lovely.  It isn't even good fluffy white snow....it's that rain laiden crap that is a pain to shovel - and that can't be used for decent snowballs.  I'm not interested any longer in the snow.


But my son is.


He's busy running around getting his coat on...and trying to find his boots.  He actually thinks I'm going outside in the cold and dark?  Silly man.  That ain't gonna happen.


I mention that he can play in the snow when he gets to school.  He announces that he is in fact NOT going to school....and that he is going to stay home so that he can play in the snow. 


"No way dude.  They have snow at school.  My taxes dollars ensure that they do."


A little argument ensues....at which point I just tell him to get his stuff on and go play in the backyard.  He is totally into it...he think's he's won.


He has his stuff on in record time....and he's out in the backyard.  He threw a snowball at the window (a few times I might add), he pulled his wagon around....and then he made snow angels.  


The fact that it was raining didn't seem to bother him.  The fact that I could barely see him in the dark was not an issue at all....his boots have those little red LED lights on them.  It's kind of funny to not be able to actually see your kid....but know where his feet are at any given moment.


So this is great!  He's outside getting soaked.  And I'm inside making bacon....looking out the window periodically.


Getting him inside is another matter.  He wasn't into it.....and another 'discussion' takes place.  I won that one.  And then I had to throw his mittens, hat and coat into the dryer....he was soaked.


And of course - while I'm downstairs doing all that....the bacon was stolen. 


He was quite the happy little dude this morning.  Got to play in the snow...and pinched bacon - and all before 7:30AM.  He even went to school without any further 'discussions'.....


Sure hope they have snow there....I told him there would be.  :) 

December - The Month of Mischief

I don't understand.  


It's December right?  That special month of the year when all the little boys and girls of the world try and behave...and make up for the 11 months of torment they've just put their parents through.  


Well - something is not working this year.  


This year, even with Nicholas still totally buying the Santa Claus story...and the fact that I have Santa's 800 number, email address and cell phone number, he's just not really into the month of penance for the loot.


Since the tree went up last weekend, I have been woken up early on several occasions due to Christmas related mishaps.

• The wonderful sound of glass ornaments being dropped onto the floor at 5AM....and then the little tinkle crinkle sounds that are made as my son breaks the pieces into even smaller pieces.  Gotta feed that vacuum!
• The incessant singing of the 12 Days of Christmas....again - shortly after 5AM.
• A search and destroy mission looking for some Christmas VHS tape.  Yes - our VCR player still works - and gets use!
• The pinching of Daddy's nose so that is glows red.

Ominous threats of calling Santa at home with updates of transgressions have little effect. Other than, "Oh Daddy - you're just being silly.  Santa's too busy to talk to you."


Repeated warnings that Santa is always watching merely garner replies like, "Daddy?  It's December you know...Santa is much too busy getting my toys ready to actually have time to watch me!"


I know Nicholas still believes.  He wasn't all that impressed when I lit a fire in the fire place just a few days ago.  "Daddy!!!  What are you doing?  Santa can't come down here when the fire is going!  You need to put it out!".  


Never mind the fact that there were still at least 20 shopping days left before the Santa's arrival.  (Suble hint there gentle reader....17 days left to buy me something nice!  I'm an easy fit...but please - no more shirts or watches...I have too many as it is.  I need socks.  Damn....I actually aged just typing that.).  Or donate to your local Autism Society Chapter.


And when he says those things, in that adorable little adult voice that he has....it just makes me laugh.  Likely because I suspect that this is the last year that Santa will be revered...his blackmail power is certainly fading - or maybe Nicholas just doesn't think I actually have the guy's cell phone number?


But I do....


1-800-Ho-Ho-Ho!  If you dial that number...and you get some female on the phone - I am not paying the $6.99 a minute charge that is likely to appear on your phone bill.  But let me know what she said....I've been good this year!  ;)

Untitled

Sometimes you hear your child say something that helps put life in perspective.


Heard in my son's room after putting him down for the night.


"Daddy?  How can I repay you?"


"Repay me for what Nicholas?"


"For being the best Dad in the whole world!"


"You just did - and thank you Nicholas.....good night!"


"Good night Daddy.  I love you".


"I love you to dude....now go to sleep - and please....stay in bed".


"Ok!"


And he did!  :)

The Perfect Tree

As with many of my blogs posts....an event transpired in the very early hours of the morning.  Good times!


Have you ever read, "The Night Before The Night Before Christmas"?


I have.  Once.


Or rather - it was read to me by my son last night.  


That's how bed time goes these days - I don't get to read anymore.  I get to listen.  And I'm not supposed to make silly little character voices either.  Or so I've been told by management....


So...last night - Nicholas reads me the story....and then he starts to ask questions about our Christmas tree.  Most namely being ' "Where is it?"


Nicholas somehow got it in his head that if we didn't put the tree up...NOW!...then Santa just wouldn't stop by our house.  I tried to show him on the calender that there are still 22 days left until Santa is supposed to pop by - and that we're all good for now.  I even promised to set the tree up this weekend.


Not good enough.


It has to be now!!!


Not later!


After much disagreement on the subject of when the tree is going up - a deal was extracted from me.  That's how it works around here as well.  My son and I debate something - back and forth endlessly....and when he see's Daddy isn't buying it - he pulls a Monty Hall.


"Ok Daddy!  Here's the deal......."


Oh - this should be really good!


"You go to sleep....and this weekend we'll put the tree up!"


I agree - this is a great deal.  And what I wanted anyways.....


My son is not known for living up to his end of the deal.


At precisely 5:11AM I hear the four words that strike fear into my heart:


"Hey Daddddddddy! Get up!"


"No!  Go away!" replies a rather grouchy father.


"It's today - and that means its time to put the tree up"


I'm lying there, trying to figure out how he got that it's now the weekend.  It damn well isn't.  It's Thursday.  Gonna be Thursday for the entire day when you come think about it.  But the weekend...it most certainly is not.


I roll over - hoping against hope that Nicholas will either go away....or at least go and harass his mother - who happens to be now more than 2 feet away of the other side of the bed.


"Daddddddddddddyyyy!!!!"


Rolling over doesn't work.  It just results in having your blankets forcibly removed from the bed.


"Fine dude.  Let's go get the tree happening.  BUT - just so you know....Santa isn't impressed with you waking me up so early....so don't expect a whole helluva lot of loot under the tree this year."


"Oh Daddy.  You're just kidding.  Now stop fooling around and go get the tree from the secret room."


"Ok sucka...but you have to come and help"


My son than makes a noise that can best be described as a squeal of delight.  I have no idea how to spell the sound he made....sounded like a good time though!


My son then takes my hand....and walks me all the way though the house....into the basement, past the dungeon......along the dark enchanted hallway....until we reach....The Secret Room (no big secret really...its just the room with the freezer....and all the unopened toys that he has yet to get.  We don't let him in there). 


I open the door to The Secret Room....and I grab a small bag of ornaments.  I tell Nicholas to grab the big box with the tree and haul it upstairs.  He actually tried to move it....and he was making a go of it - until he said, "Nope!  Too heavy for me....you better carry it!"


I do.


We get the box upstairs, and we start taking bits of fake tree out of the box (that was made in China).


I am the master of the artificial tree!


I can assemble one of those mothers in under three minutes....at which point - I decide that there is no point going back to bed.  My son is happy with the tree action - and I have further elevated my God like stature in his eyes.  It was really nice to hear "Thank you Daddy"....without my prompting him.


I'll always get out of bed for something like that.....because in a few short years - I won't be cool at all.  I'll just be that crabby guy with little to no hair who yells at the neighbour's cat to get off his ride.  Uh oh....I think I might already be there.

The Vacuum is Hungry!

Brief note - for a brief incident.


It's Friday, and my son is home today.  He claimed he wasn't feeling well....so he got to stay home with us today.  I say claimed because I think we were had.  He seems just fine to me.  Fine enough to get into mischief anyways.


Our house has toys.  Lots of them.  Many of which are stashed away for the proverbial rainy day. It's not raining today....but it is cold and cloudy outside.


Mommy was on the phone on the top floor, and Daddy was in the basement working away (and reading the highlights of last night's Toronto/Montreal game.  Montreal won 4-3 in overtime....which is just as it should be.  It was a great game....and I had awesome seats!).  But I digress....


While the parents of the household are busy doing their respective things....my son was busy doing his.  


Which includes discovering unopened toys.  Unopened toys are a sin it would seem.  And they require immidiate attention.  Or so you'd think....


Toys also sometime come backed in stryofoam...and this is where the fun begins.


A little while ago...I hear "the voice"


"Daddy!! I need your help!!"


"Uh - huh....what's up?


"The vacuum is hungry!"


"Uh - huh....is it now."


"That's right...it told me it was hungry, and its time to feed it!"


"Uh - huh...".  At which point - I unplant myself from my moderately comfortable office chair and decide to investigate.  I'm hungry too anyways...


When I reach the top of the stairs, my son grabs my hand and says, "you must come with me right now!  You will not believe what is happening".


He drags me to the office on the main floor...and low and behold - there is styrofoam all over the carpet...on the desk...on the chair...pretty much everywhere!


"See!  Look at this mess!!!"


"Uh - huh....who did that?"


"I don't know"


"Uh huh...so what is it you need me to do?"


"I need you to go back downstairs and get the vacuum.  He's hungry - and I know just the thing!"


"Uh - huh....you know Nicholas...you could have asked me to bring it up with me in the first place!"


"I know!"


So....I go downstairs....grab the vacuum, and haul it back upstairs.  It's not like I was busy or anything...


In time I was gone...my son has continued to break up the styrofoam so that there were lots and lots of little pieces.  Seems the vacuum is quite hungry indeed.


I plug it in, and fire it up...and remove the wand.  Which is quickly snatched away.  Seems I'm not qualified to feed the vacuum.


After more broken styrofoam....and much laugher.  My son had fed the vacuum - and then he bails.  Leaving me to actually finish feeding the vacuum....and put it all away. I also vacuumed the living room.  :)


In the time I have known my son, I have discovered that by far the coolest toy in the house is the Dyson vacuum.  But dammit!  That's Daddy's toy!  It is a cool toy though.


And I suppose I can learn to share....whether I like it or not!  :)

Wet Child = Soaked Daddy

It's raining today.

A lot.

Trust me on this - it really is.

Take a look outside your window if you don't believe me (you could check the weather on TV...but they lie! And frequently get yesterday's weather wrong in any case).

Here's what went down in my house this morning. My wife had some early appointment to go to...so I was on my own (she did get his snack bag ready for me though). Being on my own with Nicholas is not a problem for me. I understand him, and he, for the most part - gets me. We're really good that way. My son may not always get the world - but we do get each other.

So of course, I leave things to the last minute. School starts at 8:25...so I decide at 8:18 that perhaps we really should get a move on. School is close - so it's no big deal.

I open the door to discover that, "oh crap!" - the rain that they called for is actually happening!!! Which means I need to find rain boots (that's an easy one), and a raincoat for my son.

Raincoat?

Shoot!

I know he has one - I've seen it. It's red.

And it's missing.

I mention to Nicholas that I can't find his raincoat, and that we really have to get a move on. School is going to start, and we need to be there - like NOW!!!

My son looks up at me...as he's happily munching the last bit of bacon, and says, "Don't worry Daddy! I have an umbrella - I don't need a raincoat. But you better find it before Mommy gets home.".

Yeah - I'll get right on that dude. I'm sure Mommy knows exactly where it is...but this tidbit of information was not passed onto me.

So my son gets his coat on....and bursts out the door like the proverbial Bat Out of Hell!

"Daddy!! It really is raining!! This is great!!"

Uh-oh.

Weather excitement can only mean one thing.

There are helpless puddles who will soon feel the wrath of an excited little boy jumping maniacally in them.

And of course - this is exactly what happens. He's jumping up and down, laughing his butt off (while holding his umbrella) and getting wet in the process.

Daddy on the other hand....you know...the guy who years ago left his umbrella in the back of a taxi, and has yet to buy a new one, is getting soaked in the process.

I manage to get him into the car (leather seats boys and girls!) and drive him to school.

School is a great place. You can learn things, you can meet new friends....and you can jump in even more puddles. And not lame one like we have at home - BIG ones! [think I saw a little Arc in one of them...]

I'm finally able to get Mr. "Puddles Are The Shit!!" into school...and I notice that he is really only a bit wet. Daddy on the other hand had that drowned cat look happening.

I give my son his kiss goodbye, and tell him to be a good boy today.

"Oh - I will Daddy! Don't worry about a thing. You really should go home and dry off though....and maybe you should buy an umbrella or something - because I like puddles and that isn't going to change!".

He's right - I should spring for an umbrella, and I'm sure puddles will never get boring. I jumped in one too on my way back to the car...so he's right on all counts! :)

And yes - my driver's license claims that I'm considerably older than 7. But I don't care - I was 'old' enough to pack him some extra clothes (and shoes)...but he looked so happy to be jumping in the puddles - I thought I'd give 'er a whirl too!

Children can teach us many things in life. Remembering how to have fun being one of them.

How much Van Gogh is too much?

For those of you who have been following my blog, you will know that my little man enjoys fine art. Classical music for sure (I can hear him upstairs right now getting down with Bach on YouTube)...and of course Van Gogh prints.

And if you haven't been following my blog - get on that will ya! Feedback tells me I'm actually quite funny...and can actually write really well.

There is one picture in particular that he just loves. It's the one called, "Sunflowers in the Vase"...or something like that. I could go ask the dude to confirm - but like I said...he's busy right now. Just because he's 7 doesn't mean that he doesn't have the right to be busy - and be left alone (and besides...I just tried that! I went into "his" office to repair a desk that he has somehow managed to break [note to parent's - IKEA desks with keyboard trays should have extra screws installed....like I was about to do]....and was told that I would have to come back later, as he had things to do, and that I was interupting his quality time!

So...where was I going with this rambling tale? Oh yes...Vince, and his sunflower action. :)

Yesterday my wife was out for the day, and I was home fixing things and cleaning things that weren't (yet) broken...and generally being a helpful human being. I also made Big Macs too! Or...McLoons as I call them (there's a reciped on YouTube - check it out).

When my wife got home she happened to mention to me that she saw a HUGE...and I mean really quite large print of the Sunflower image for sale at a garage sale. I asked how big....too which I was told that she would need to take my car to pick it up. My wife drives a Mazda 3....I drive a 6....so I have more room for art transportation. She said she stopped and asked the lady who was cleaning crap out of her house (likely with the the intent to put it in mine) if she could hold it for a bit while she zoomed, zoomed home to get my car. My wife mentioned that it was for our autistic son, and that he was going to be thrilled with this acquisition. A deal was struck, and the lady hung onto it.

Nicholas went along for the ride - and I'm pretty sure he talked the lady down in price. He's a cute kid...and quite charming too (I'm taking credit for those attributes)!

So....an hour later - my wife comes home with a billboard size print of Vince's Sunflowers in the Vase. It's at least 2 1/2" by 4" in size. That is massive kids! Just massive indeed!

And now I'm expected to get this thing up on the wall as soon as possible. And I'm happy to do it....but before I do that - I want to replace the glass with plexiglass (I'm sure that'll cost more than the $20 my wife spent on the thing) just in case it ever falls off the wall. It's quite heavy...and a pane of glass that size falling off the wall could really hurt someone...safety first boys and girls! Autistic kids on occasion will throw something (at least mine does)....and I just don't really want to clean up that much broken glass. It would likely just be easier to sell the house and buy one where there isn't glass all over the place.

Now....where to put this thing? We have a small house...and finding a good spot could be a challenge.

Sigh....always something to do - but when it makes a 7 year old think that I am in fact the coolest Daddy on the planet - I'm happy to do it.

Just wish he would get into The Group of 7. This Van Gogh thing is going to clash with the two prints I have.

Bowling + No Pizza = Meltdown

Hello faithful reader!

What you are about to read is based on an experience I just had not more than an hour ago. I apologize in advance if any profanity slips through...I'm not angry anymore - but I am extremely frustrated.

It's the last week of summer holidays...and I wanted to take my son out for something fun to do. Because that's what kick ass fun fathers do. And I happen to be one. I have a t-shirt from my son that says so (okay - it says World's Best Dad....but I know what he meant!).

I asked N if he wanted to go bowling or go-carting. I believe in giving him options...so that he feels that he has some control over his life. Bowling was his selection.

Great! I'm excited about the prospect of wearing anthrax infected shoes...and so is N. Grab a drink, snack - and away we go! So far - so good!

We get there (the bowling alley is about 1 minute from my house) - get ourshoes...and wander down to Lane 27. Again....things are going well! It feels great to be able to do something normal with my son. His life is hard at times....and I try to make sure that he gets to experience as many fun and normal things as possible. Because that's what cool fathers do. I happen to be one of those too.

So....we're bowling away....Nicholas is doing pretty well. He's more of a shot putter with the ball....but he's knocking the pins down - and he's thrilled that he's winning (I was throwing mostly junk balls...I wanted him to win).

So....we finish the first game....and by the time he has finished his snack....and decides that he would like some pizza from the snack bar because he is still hungry. I had planned for a lunch outing afterwards...but hey - who doesn't like greasy bowling alley pizza? Nicholas remembers that he had pizza there on his birthday party...so in his mind - pizza is the only option.

So we go to the snack bar....and oddly enough - I don't see pizza as an option on the menu board. I start to get a little worried.

The girl...or rather child...finally comes over to ask us if she can help us. Why yes indeed! My son asks for some pizza!

"Sorry - we only sell pizza for birthday parties."

"WTF?" crosses my mind.

My son then states...."well you have a picture of pizza up there and I would like some please!".

I can see how this is going to go....and he's trying so hard to use all the manners and calm voice that we've taught him to use....

"Well - there isn't any pizza"....and she walks away.

""WTF??" crosses my mind again.

I try to explain the deal to my son....he's not buying it - he wants what he wants....and besides the picture is right up there on the order board.

"Fries dude?"

"No!"

"Hot dog?"

"No!"

"Onion rings"

"No!!!!! Pizza!!!!"

I knew I was screwed when he wouldn't go for the fries. He won't eat hot dogs (smart call by the way)....and he's never eaten an onion ring in his life.

At this point he's in the throws of a complete and utter meltdown. I end up chasing him all over the bowling alley....trying to catch him - which I do. I can move pretty damn fast...even in sandals.

I kneel down to his level and try my best to explain the situation...he's not buying it.

I promise to take him to see Jenny (his girlfriend at Pizza Pizza) afterwards...

"No!!!!! I want bowling pizza!!! The picture is right there!!!"

{side note - we did go see Jenny afterwards....and he was cucumber calm the whole time while we were there}. In fact we had a whole conversation about what went down at the bowling alley. My son was sorry that he was 'hyper'...and I was sorry that I had to end our bowling outing. He gave me a high five...and we apologized to each other.

Now while all this is going on....with me chasing my son, and me trying to talk to him while he is screaming and freaking out - I begin to realize (duh!) that we were the centre of attention (obviously) and the whole bowling alley is staring at me like I'm the worst father imaginable.

And here is what I'm frustrated about...and here is where I may end up typing more profanity than you're used to reading:

Listen up you @ssholes! I don't need you staring at me or my son. Can't you see I'm having a hard enough time as it is with out all you jerks staring and gawking at me like I'm some sort of child molester?

Can't you #ucking see that my son is different...and all you people pointing and laughing is mean and harmful?

Don't you understand that I'm trying my very best to calm him down and make everything all right???

You think I enjoy having to hold him under one arm in order to prevent him from running away...while I try to pay with the Interac machine? This is a skill that I'm sure many parents of autistics master.

And to the lady who made the nasty comment - which I won't repeat here...I hope one day I see you in need of help, and that I'm there to witness it. Because I'll make a similar comment to you...and laugh in your face. Karma is a two way street you witch...and you'll have earned it. But I will end up helping you anyways...even though you don't deserve it.

So here it is all - an open note to all the evil, nasty people who happened to be at the Dundas Bowlerama at about 11:30 on Sept 2, 2009.

Don't you dare sit there and pass judgement on me. You haven't lived this life for 5 years. You have no idea what I experience.

I am a great father - and I know that for a fact. My son tells me all the time. Many fathers end up bailing on their autistic children. Well screw you....I'm in it for the long haul...and I've been living this life for 5 years - and I don't give a damn what you think if me....but I will fight back on behalf of my son. He's not able to yet....but he's learning.

Sitting at home and watching a Jenny McCarthy special on Larry King does not even remotely quality you as being able tell me what I'm doing wrong or think ill of me, or my son. All of these kids are unique...and they all respond to different things in different ways. That article you read in Cosmo or whatever pop-up book it is that you just finished in no way prepares you for this lifestyle.

You have to live it to get it. And if you don't get it - do me a favour; just shut up and let me try and deal with it the best I can. I don't point fingers at you because you're ugly now do I? :)

Oh...and to the girl who tried to offer me a coupon for my next visit? Get real. I won't be back. I'm going to find a bowling alley that actually has the stuff they advertise on their menu board....and if I have to drive 1,000 miles to find it....that's cool with me. My son is a great little bowler.

Is a little pizza too much to ask? Because it certainly seems that understanding from anyone these days is.

Puzzles are puzzling

'Twas the night before Aug 12,

And all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring,

Not even a mouse"

Ok - it was more like 4:30am...and there was some stirring going on.

A familiar refrain is heard:

"Daddy!!! I need your help!"

I roll over - this must be a dream. No one needs help with anything at 4:30. It just isn't possible. Everyone is supposed to be sleeping.

But no. Not in my little house. Sleeping past 6am is a luxury. And besides - it's 4:30....and that means it's time to get up...run around the house in your bare feet - and look for things that require the assistance of the oh so lovable father figure upstairs.

"DADDY!!! Are you coming to help me?"

My eyes pop open. I don't smell smoke (that's a good thing), I don't hear the fire alarm (that too is a good thing)...and I have no idea what could be so important that my help is required at 4:30am. The birds are still asleep - so why isn't my son?

Good question indeed!

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddddy!!!"

Fine. Now I'm curious. Maybe its the real deal this time? Maybe - just maybe...there is a legitimate reason to be up so freaking early - and calling out my name. Oddly enough...Mommy's name doesn't get called at such an ungodly hour. Just mine.

So I go downstairs to see what the hell is going on. And what do I see?

A little boy who has found a 100 piece puzzle (its a space one...lots of planets and stuff) and its strewn across the floor.

So I ask my son, "Well little man? What's so important that I have to be out of bed so early?"

He looks up...little brown eyes looking oh so cute and states matter of factly, "You need to help me put together this puzzle!"

"I do - do I?"

"Yes - that's right. It's a big puzzle - and only you are allowed to help me."

I think to myself - this is a scam. Only me? What's that all about? How'd I get so lucky? And yet - I feel honored.

"Why yes of course Nicholas! I'd love to help you put the puzzle together. Can we do it later?"

"No! You need to help me today!"

Ask a stupid question.... ;)

So I sit down with my son (who looks really cool in his skull motif pajamas) and we start with the puzzle. Border first - then the rest.

It's going really well. And as we're about done, my son turns to me and states the following:

"Now Daddy! As you can see - we are almost done the puzzle. There are only a few pieces left...and yet I think there is a problem. I think you're hiding the last piece of the puzzle. You always do that. So you might as well just hand it over now before the trouble starts."

His little hand is sticking out. Waiting for me to hand over the last piece of the puzzle that he is sure that I have.

And of course I do. So I hand it over.

Next time I'm hiding two pieces dude. You have to get up pretty early to fool Daddy. 4:30 seems to be early enough.

Blankets: For More Than Just Keeping Warm...or So It Would Seem!

My son is crafty. My son is convincing. And my son is very, very smart.

While spending time in the kitchen recently, I hear a sweet little voice from upstairs saying, "Daddy!! Come help me!".

"What?"

"I need your help?"

"With what?"

"Things!"

"What kind of things?"

"Important things!"

"How important?"

"Very important things! Now - will will you please come and help me?"

Sigh...."of course."

At this point - I start to climb the stairs to go see what's up.

And what was up?

A prank is what was up! Pretty good one too actually!

As I'm halfway up the stairs - a big fuzzy blanket comes flying down the stairs....and traps me!

"Haaaaa haaaaa Daddy!!! You're doomed! You are stuck under my magic blanket!"

Somethings to ponder here:

The "Ha ha" part. Hmmmm.....ok - it was pretty funny.

The "doomed" part. Geeeez little man....get over yourself. It was a blanket - and I lived to type about it. Doomed I certainly was not!

The "my magic blanket" part. The blanket may very well be magical indeed. I discovered this fabled blanket in a hotel room...and it magically left with me upon checkout. So....maybe he's on to something? Maybe the blanket is magical? But...it's my damn magic blanket. I borrowed it...a long time ago - way before I met my son. So the blanket is mine little dude!

Upon escaping from the "magic blanket" - I proceeded to take it with me upstairs....and then toss it over Nicholas - and proceeded to tickle him until he was screaming with laughter. Oh...and I said he was doomed too! :)

One day I need to re-tell the story of the little boy who cried wolf to my son. I may not be so gullible the next time he needs "help". He's always got a scam brewing it would seem....wonder where he picked up that trait?

Likely Mommy. :)

Dead artists charge too much for thier stuff!

How do I explain to my son about the concept of money - and the fact that I don't have several million just lying around? Ok - maybe I do have a million or so just kicking around....you guys have been great clicking the Google ads on my blog.

My son has a fixation. A potentially expensive one.

At the age of 7 - he has decided that Vincent Van Gogh is (was?) a righteous dude - and that Daddy really should get out there and buy an original work of art. When I was 7 - I had stuff up on the walls of my room. I don't remember what any of that crap was...but I do know I did not have any Van Gogh pictures hanging up.

My son does. Photocopies pictures for now...originals if he gets his wish.

I blame Baby Einstein for this! It started with the videos...of which he has them all committed to memory. From that...a Van Gogh obsession started. And now I'm expected to just "go out and buy a Van Gogh picture - a real one!"....and I'm supposed to do this...."Now!!!". Um yeah dude...I'll just head out to Wal-mart and see if they have any....

My little dude sure does have some expensive tastes! You see those Group of 7 prints on the wall little man? They're called prints....as in reproductions....fake in other words! And those suckers costs over $300 each! It'll be a garbage free day in Toronto before I sell of a kidney and go about buying a Van Gogh original! I'm not even sure one kidney would be enough.

I'll give him credit though....at least he picked a Dutch artist to get into. Ain't Dutch? Ain't Much!

Now click an ad! Nickels needs a Van Gogh! :)