You will begin to miss many things as you make your journey through parenthood: your youth, your energy, uninterrupted conversations; weekend getaways for two; color in your hair; a cool car; your hair.  The list goes on and on.

The #1 thing on my list is spare change.

There was a time when my piggy banks were full of quarters, loonies and toonies. This was before I was even married. Once the ring was placed on my finger, a subtle process began which eventually robbed me of my cash. First she (my wife) would show me some cute but totally useless item that she found at Sears or Eatons and enthusiastically, through a series of gestures and hand motions, show me where it would sit in our apartment and how it would make our life so much better. I did not notice my piggies getting lighter until much later (possibly Year Three).

Try as I might to refill said piggies, life (and my wife’s devious plans) kept getting in the way: a house, then a bigger house, then furniture to fill the house, then kids to jump on the furniture in the house, then a dog to pee on them (the furniture)(and the kids). In fact, there was a point when we were dealing with so much “life” in our house that I would come home from work and find the shell of the woman who was once my wife.

Me: “Honey, come sit on the couch with me!”

My Wife: (gasp) “C-c-can’t make it…s-s-so tired…gonna fall a-zzzzzzz”

Me: “Nice.”

Needless to say, I was so motivated to rescue my wife that I suggested (via the fatherly tactic knows as “The Ultimatum”) we start sharing the jobs in our house amongst all five inhabitants.

We came up with a list of jobs that had to be done every week in our house and who would do them: dishes cleaned, floors vacuumed, dog walked, useless items dusted, etc. Then we reached an impasse. (From the Greek “im” meaning “She won’t” and “passe” meaning “let you make a pass until you agree.”) My wife, it turns out, is of the school of thought that says: “Pay them for doing work.” (I believe at one time she was a commie.) Coming from the farm, I am at the practical and common sense end of the spectrum: I feed them; I buy them clothes and don’t usually make them sleep outside. They owe me.

Unfortunately for me and my piggies, the wife holds the trump card. It’ll be ten more years before I can start refilling.

This week, we are honoured to have our guest, Dr. Bigbrain, filling in for Mr. Thrice, who is serving time...

Dear Dr.Bigbrain,

Hi. I am a young, married man with two children and a cat (a boy and a girl). One of the baby's toys plays this tune that has been sticking in my head and I can't quite place it. It goes like this: Da dum, da dum, da dum de dum, da doodle dum, da doodle dum, da doodle dum de dum...

Answer: Definitely "The Blue Danube" by Theodor Nugent.

Dear Dr. Bigbrain,

We are thinking of getting a puppy for our kids to teach such character traits as responsibility, compassion and sharing. What is your advice?

Answer: Getting a puppy is a great idea! What teaches 'sharing' better than watching dad take the family pet to the vet to get its shots ($100), deworming ($75) and neutering (or spaying, depending on the vet) ($200). And think of the monumental lessons in responsibility for your sleeping children as you (filled with compassion) slip on your galoshes at 3 am to take the dog for a walk. Yes, I'm sure that getting a puppy will be a big learning experience; I'm just not sure for whom.

Dear Dr. Bigbrain,

I think you were wrong in your assesment of the song from the first letter. The 'Blue Danube' sounds more like this: "De da da de da, doot doot, doot doot. De da da da da, doot doot, doot doot..."

Answer: Nope. THAT song was "Dark Side of the Moon" by J. S. Bach.

Dear Dr. Bigbrain,

It hurts when I cough.

Answer: Then don't cough.

Dear Dr. Bigbrain,

I was watching MuchMusic last night and I came across a music video where the artist seemed to be wearing something a little too revealing. I think that it was Christina. Or maybe Britney. Or Shakira. (I do not believe that it was Carol Burnett) What is up with that?

Answer: The purpose of today's music video is to distract the listener as much as possible from the fact that all of the singers sound alike. You see, if you listen closely, it will become obvious that most of these performers (including The Jonas Brothers) snort helium like drunken aardvarks. Obviously, this cannot be good for the ol' vocal cords and since most are looking forward to guest spots on future reality tv shows, they must do what they can to spare their voices. Soon, each video will contain no singing at all, just a scantily-clad singer gyrating to music that only she and her agent can hear.

What will it sound like to them?

Answer: Like this: "Da dum, da dum, da dum de dum, da doodle dum, da doodle dum, da doodle dum, de dum..."

The sun always shines on someone whose child “sleeps through the night.” As parents, we often invoke this phrase while talking with other young parents, even though the boy could have been up eight times the night before. Everyone wants a child who “sleeps through the night” even if “the night” means from 2 a.m. to 4 a.m. Yep, that was the night and he slept right through it.
Anyway, even if your child actually DOES sleep until morning, you are always “on call.” Sure, you fall asleep but your brain is still expecting to hear something so it doesn’t let your body get sleeping TOO deeply. So when you can convince your brain that everything is OK (or that your wife will get up), you need to take advantage of your time and snooze.
Last Thursday was such a night. My wife wasn’t working the next day, so I knew that she was “on call” for the baby. I climbed into bed and rolled around a couple of times to get comfortable. (I had a dog once who did the same. This was no surprise.) My wife snuggled close and laid her head on my arm. This basically meant that I had to get comfortable without moving anymore, because there was no moving her.
I started to relax and just as I was about to meet Mr. Sandman, I was assaulted by Mr. Nose-Whistle. I don’t know if you have ever had the misfortune of meeting this dastardly villain, but he is my arch-nemesis. Instead of making your eyelids heavy, he makes your nose sound like a dime-store flute: small, irritating and unstoppable. You must understand how frustrating this can be.
The room is still and dark. As things get settled, our breathing grows deeper. Something is wrong, though. Instead of inhale/exhale, I hear Fwee-Fwee-Fwee-Fwee. Mr. Nose-Whistle has struck again. But, now the problem is that I can’t move. If I could move, I could blow or pick or fill my passages with Vap-O-Rub, but I can’t. So I whistle. And whistle.
My wife wakes up and asks me if I’m calling the dog. We don’t have a dog. I bury my head in the pillow and this stifles the noise. However, it also reduces the oxygen to my brain. Sensing danger, I turn my face and press my nose against her ear. Now we’ve gone from whistle to French Horn and my wife thinks I’m goofing around. (Me?)
Now I’ve got to become a mouth-breather in order for BOTH of us to get to sleep. Luckily, even Mr. Nose-Whistle gets tired and I finally get some shut-eye, none the worse for wear. Even as I doze, I contemplate the value (or possibility)of shaving one’s nasal passage.
Hmmmm.

A Fine Kettle

When it comes to the Art of Shopping, my mother is a Master. Being retired, she can afford to spend her days cruising the city with her friends, looking for deals and, well, I guess looking for more deals. I don't know if I'm real PROUD to say this or not but most of her purchases come from a store by the name of Value Village.
For those of you who are not in the "know" or possibly in the "care," Value Village is a store that resells previously enjoyed merchandise. It is a veritable treasure-trove of...um...merchandise that has been enjoyed previously. There are, according to the experts (my mother), many great bargains to be had there. This fact, for her, would be like a flame to your common moth. Somedays, she gets more than she planned.
Last weekend, she and a friend paid their weekly visit. They split up and went their separate ways. Mom ended up in the "home decor" section and found a beautiful tea kettle. It was large and very new-looking with blue enamel on the outside and white enamel on the inside. "This is a great deal," she thought to herself. That is the way her brain warns her wallet that it is about to be called upon. But don't think that my mother is the type of person who would just go into a store, find something that catches her eye and buy it on a whim.
Heavens. Don't think that.
Before buying anything, my mother subjects her prospective purchases to a rigid inspection process that leaves no question as to the quality of the item in-hand. For example, with clothing, you tug on all the seams. With toys, you check for choking hazards, cracks and loose parts. With tea kettles, you check the inside of the spout for chips.
Why? I don't know. I'm sure there must be a good reason. Much like there must be a good reason for the WAY in which you perform this check: you jam your pointer finger down as far as it will go.
The ordinary, run-of-the-mill consumer may experience a small problem retrieving her finger from the afore-mentioned spout. Rest assured, my mom is far beyond ordinary.
Yes, it's true. As soon as it went in, it was solidly glued to the inside of that kettle. And there she stood in all of her glory, purse in one hand and kettle stuck, spout first, on Peter Pointer.
The other shoppers began to stare.
Mom was not worried. "All I have to do is add a little moisture and my finger will slip right out," she reasoned. Casually, she lifted her finger up to her mouth and began licking her finger AND the spout all the way around.
The other shoppers began to step away.
Realizing that she was making a scene, she turned, nonchalantly tucked the kettle into her armpit, bent her head down and began licking in earnest. Finger, Thumb, Spout, Handle...if it was within reach, it was getting moisturized.
The other shoppers were suddenly VERY interested in their purchases.
Mom didn't notice because she was locked in a life or death struggle with a second-hand kitchen appliance. In her eyes, she was making great headway, but to everyone else, she was digging for chiggers.
Finally, and not a moment too soon, the kettle relented and released her finger: POP!
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
A few minutes later, my mom's friend appeared.
My Mom: "Where were you? I got a kettle stuck on my finger and had to lick it until it came off. I'm keeping it, though. I can tell it's a good deal. I'm a Master Shopper!"
Her Friend: "You're certainly a piece of work!"

When my 13-year-old asked if he could buy himself a snake, I wanted to say “no.” That is my answer for everything and I find it keeps our expenses down. My wife, on the other hand, likes to say “yes” whenever possible. Knowing that a kid taking care of his own pet is probably a good idea, I had to find a way to get to a “yes” all the while understanding that if I was the guy who pushed for it, I would be held responsible if the snake devoured one of the kids. Then it would be me requiring a heat lamp and a new place to curl up. I gave the best answer a man in my position could give: “Ask your mother.” Then I added: “But probably not.”

Once she knew I was maybe not “on board,” his mother immediately gave the green light and Duncan bought a baby Columbian Rainbow Boa Constrictor.

The first big job involving Atticus the Boa Constrictor was feeding time.

Step One: Defrost a frozen mouse that has been living in your freezer and staring at you whenever you open the door.

Step Two: Be severely warned by your mother: Remove the frozen mouse from the microwave. “I will NOT have a mouse explode in a kitchen appliance. Put the mouse in a mason jar and fill the jar with boiling water. Do this in the sink. You WILL NOT spill the water on anything.”

Step Three: Agree heartily.

Step Four: Struggle with the lid of the mason jar and spill the contents of said jar across the counter, the floor, the ceiling, the dog and the microwave.

Step Five: Say something silly like, “Cool! Now I smell like mouse. I wonder if the snake will try to eat me!”

Step Six: Dangle the thawed mouse in front of the snake and watch as it hungrily crushes and devours it.

Step Seven: Watch with pleasure as Mom becomes the “no” parent.

Benji: “Can I get a snake, too?”

My Wife: “No.”

Emma: “Can I hold the snake?”

Duncan: “Yes.”

My Wife: “No.”

Duncan: “Do you want to hold him, Mommy?”

My Wife: “Absolutely not.”

Benji: “Can I get a mouse?”

My Wife: “NO!”

Me: “What’s the problem, honey? It seems like you don’t like the snake now.”

My Wife: “I don’t. I didn’t know it would…you know…squeeze the poor mouse like that.”

Me: “The poor dead mouse?”

My Wife: “Yes. I don’t like how it squeezes…”

Me: “You mean “constricts”?”

My Wife: “Yes. I don’t like how it constricts the dead mouse.”

Me: “Honey, what would you expect a boa constrictor to do? Tickle?”

My Wife: “It was my understanding that the “constrictor” was only a sub-category of the boa species.”

Me: “Like the black sheep of the snake family?”

My Wife: “Exactly. This was a bad idea of yours.”

Me: “Right. I’ll get the heat lamp ready.”