Amazing Race New York

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Three teams from a professional services organization - each heading to Long Island for an important client engagement scheduled to begin on Wednesday at 8:30 am - set out on a madcap race with staggered start times across the Greater Toronto Area.

Team One, made up of David (yours truly) and his colleague "H" are scheduled on a 9:15 Air Canada flight leaving from Toronto's Pearson Airport (YYZ) and arriving at Laguardia (LGA) 90 minutes later.

Team Two, "J", "D", and "S", are scheduled on a 10:15 AC flight from the same airport.

Team Three, "B" and "L", won't depart until 2:15, again on AC from YYZ.

---

9:15 am - Team One boards their flight. Every last seat is full because cancellations of AC flights to NY the day before have caused a passenger spill-over on every flight between YYZ and LGA scheduled that day. David's plan is to watch half a movie on the flight (the other half on the return) and chooses Sicario.

9:45 am - The plane pushes back from the gate and promptly dies. It is still and quiet on board - no fans are whirring, no engines are humming. A M*A*S*H moment plays in David's head ("Do you hear that?", "What? I don't hear anything", "That's what I mean...")

9:46 am - The intrepid pilot appears from out his cockpit, addressing us in person: "As you can see, the plane has completely powered off. I will be turning it back on in a moment. When I do, either everything will be okay or all of the pre-flight programming I've done will be lost and it'll take me about 15 minutes to redo it."

10:01 am - The plane is powered back up and ready to go. Sadly, David's progress on Sicario is lost and he must re-start it at the beginning and fast-forward. "Oh well", he thinks, "at least we're on our way..."

10:15 am - The pilot comes to address us in person again: "I have some bad news. Laguardia has just closed. It's called a 'ground hold' (or something like that - that's me speaking, not the pilot) and it's because there's too much traffic landing there and so they don't allow any other flights to take off for a while. We are on a one hour and forty-five minute hold. Another flight needs our gate so we're going to push back and hold on the tarmac. But that's okay because there's a one-hour line up for de-icing here in Toronto. If all goes well, the timing will work out for us. Before we push back, I'll give you the option of getting off the plane with only one rule: you cannot have checked baggage." (Not that Team One would have left the plane given what they knew at that point, but they do have checked baggage and so they don't have that option).

Some people begin to leave the plane. Apparently there is some confusion because some of those leaving think they'll be getting back on the plane once we've left the gate. After several announcements to that effect, those who are staying settle back in for the wait.

In the meantime, H - David's team-mate, sitting directly behind him - gets word that Team Two's flight has been cancelled. The Team One members realize how lucky they are to be on possibly the only flight that will get out of Toronto that day bound for Laguardia. H, who is in charge of getting everyone to New York, calls the travel partner to find other options for Team Two. Team Three begins their trek to Pearson.

12:15 pm - David finishes Sicario and starts Burnt (probably because the title seems so apropos).

12:45 pm - The engines rev up, the plane races down the runway and is shortly airborne. Hoorah! Team One has a seemingly insurmountable lead. Poor Team Two has chosen its only same-day alternative: They will fly to Boston and take a car service from Boston to Long Island. If all goes well, they will arrive around 9:30 pm. Team Three arrives at Pearson.

1:40 pm - The pilot makes an announcement: "Laguardia has closed again. They won't be letting any planes land for 30 minutes. Problem is we don't have enough gas to wait 30 minutes and keep our options open if the airport still isn't allowing us to land. So we'll talk to them and see what we can do. We may have to land somewhere else."

1:50 pm - The pilot makes an announcement: "We're heading back to Toronto." David doesn't hear the rest of the announcement. H kicks his chair.

2:25 pm - David finishes Burnt and closes his eyes.

3:30 pm - Team One arrives at Pearson. Team Two's flight to Boston is boarding as is Team Three's flight to Laguardia. Team One's flight is now officially cancelled. They must leave the plane, clear customs, get their bags and re-start their travels anew.

4:00 pm - H's bag is in her hands. David's bag is on the conveyer that leads to the carousel - just out of reach - when the conveyer and carousel promptly stop dead. H leaves for the Air Canada counter in Aisle 3 Departures Level as per instructions to see what options they will offer and to ensure Team One's return flight doesn't get cancelled by accident. The Travel Agent has booked cancellable flights to Newark on Porter (Toronto Island airport) leaving at 8:30 pm just in case.

4:15 pm - David bumps into H on her way from Aisle 3 Departures Level to Aisle 15 Departures level where the airline should have sent her in the first place. They walk from one end of the airport to the other together. H has since learned that Team Two's flight has been delayed by 90 minutes and that Team Three's flight has been cancelled. Porter's 8:30 pm flight has been sold out. The next option available for Team 3 is Porter's 6:30 am flight the next day. Teams Two and Three are booked (with cancellable tickets) on that flight. Team One is on the 8:30 pm Porter flight and is suddenly back in the lead!

4:45 pm - Nothing doing at Aisle 15 Departures level. Just a bank of white Air Canada phones. No human beings present except the intrepid members of Team One. Team Three is now minutes from having their baggage and leaving Pearson, so Team One and Team Three decide to travel downtown together, have dinner, and await Team One's flight. Team Three is booked into a downtown Toronto hotel. Meanwhile, Team Two's flight has miraculously departed for Boston. They are now in the lead.

5:00 pm - Teams One and Three board the Union/Pearson (UP) train to downtown Toronto.

5:30 pm - Teams One and Three sit down for dinner at a pub near the Porter airport shuttle.

6:15 pm - On a whim, H checks the Porter flights for that evening. Two seats have magically opened up on the 7:40 pm flight. Not wanting to lose Team One's seats on the 8:30, she graciously books Team Three onto the 7:40...SUCCESSFULLY. Now Team Three will be on the 7:40, Team One on the 8:30, and Team Two will be arriving in Boston at any moment. We may all get there after all! Teams One and Three hastily exit the pub and grab a Taxi to the Island Airport.

6:30 pm - Teams One and Three arrive at the Island Airport. There is no possibility of stand-by for Team One on the 7:40. Only Team Three will be on that flight. Oh well. Teams One and Three agree to meet up in Newark and share the 90 minute drive from there to Laguardia to save significant money.

6:45 pm - The 8:30pm Porter flight is delayed to 10:15, no 10:30, no 10:25. The 7:40 is looking good for on-time departure.

8:00 pm - Team Three is on their way. Team One starts watching Netflix on the floor of the Island Airport. Team Two is in a car from Boston to Long Island. Team Three will no longer be waiting from Team One in Newark. Another car is arranged.

9:30 pm - Team Three is in a car from Newark to long Island. David is onto his second episode of Jessica Jones.

10:40 pm - Team One is off on its second flight to New York of the day.

12:03 am - Team One has safely landed in Newark. Team Three is snuggled down in their beds in the hotel on Long Island. Team Two has arrived in Long Island as well.

12:15 am - Team One has finally located its driver. He was awaiting them in a cell phone lot. The first words out of his mouth are: "I sure hope one of you knows how to get out of Newark. I don't." He is not joking.

12:30ish am - Team One and its driver are entering Manhattan. H is following our progress on Waze. The driver seems to be heading in a direction that is opposite to the one that will get us to Long Island. She politely mentions this to the driver...several times. The driver becomes increasingly annoyed with H. He has been living in Manhattan all his life and knows the way to Long Island, thank you very much.

2:00 am - David awakens to flashing lights. The driver has been pulled over for driving 100 mph on the Long Island Expressway. The police officers asks him what he was thinking, driving 100 mph on the LIE. His response: "I was just about to exit" (the implication being that he had slowed down to only 100 mph so that he could exit). The police officer asks again "What does exiting have to do with you driving 100 mph on the LIE???" The driver points a thumb at H and answers that he was driving that fast because the lady in the back wanted to get home because she's tired.

2:20 am - Team One is on its way again.

2:30 am - Team One arrives at the hotel.

2:45 am - David gets into bed.

Team Three won Amazing Race New York, getting to Long Island at around 11:00 pm. Team Two finished in second, asleep by 12:30 am. Team one finished a distant third, with a 2:45 am bed time. But everybody won because we did eventually make it, a little bleary eyed, but ready for action at 7:15 am.

Epilogue: Mid-day on Wednesday, H receives an e-mail letting her know that Team One's driver from the night before has been terminated. David thinks about it. The driver has David's cell number and knows where he is staying for the next 72 hours. But what could happen...?

Valentine's Day Advice

I'm getting lots of requests in Reader Mail to share my wisdom around Valentine's Day. I'm a guy surrounded by women, and I've got a bit of a reputation for being a great gift-giver, so what do I suggest...?

1. Do something...ANYTHING. Ignoring February 14th is not an option. The day exists. Start by accepting this simple fact. "It's a greeting card holiday"; "It's all about retailers and florists moving product"; "I don't need to do something one day a year to show you I love you". True as these statements might be, these are called 'excuses' when you use them, and these are called 'setting yourself up for disappointment' when your loved-one does.
2. Get/make a card. This is the one gift-giving event where the card is more important than the gift. A great card with a crappy gift is what your loved-one loves about you ("What a moron, but he/she is sure thoughtful"). A great gift with no card might as well have come from a gift exchange at the office ("Wow. Nice gloves. I wonder who they're from?") Furthermore, write something sweet and mushy on the card. Whatever you write, it should be unusually sappy and vulnerable-sounding. If the card merely repeats what you say every day than it might as well have been pre-printed. Even terrible poetry written with sincerity is better than "I LOVE YOU XOXOX", if you're already at the point in your relationship where those 3 words have become as commonplace as "Good morning!" or "Would you mind making me a coffee?"
3. Sign the card and put your loved one's name on the front of the envelope. This avoids any confusion about the from-whom and the to-whom. It can also avert disasters in the case where ambiguity might be involved or multiple-loved ones are receiving cards (e.g. Husband/Wife card is a little sexy, and other family members are also receiving cards). A little doodled heart on the envelope is a nice touch. When you sign the card, don't use your last name (I hope I don't need to explain why).
4. Take a chance on the gift. It doesn't have to be expensive, but it has to demonstrate thought and effort. Think hard about your loved-one. Try to remember something that he/she mentioned 4+ months ago that you could only possibly remember because you love them so much. Try to get something he/she wants but that you couldn't possibly know he/she wants. Avoid kitchen appliances, weight-loss or fitness paraphernalia, wrinkle-removing lotions, or anything else that can be taken the wrong way. Keeping all that in mind, take a risk on something that you genuinely believe reflects your deep affection. Even if it's stupid, stupid-genuine works.
5. Avoid the easy way out. It's easy to say "no gift, but I'll take you to dinner" or "no gift, but I'll make you a nice dinner" or "he/she really liked last year's pedicure gift card so I'll do that again this year". Valentine's gift-giving is not like golf, where consistency in your swing is what wins the round. It's more like kick-boxing where you're trying to keep your opponent off-balance and vulnerable through deception and mis-direction (I know nothing about kick-boxing, by the way, but I'd guess that deception and mis-direction is probably better than doing the same thing over and over). 
6. Be very cautious when it comes to Valentine's gifts/cards for multiple loved-ones of equal standing. Let's say you have three daughters, for example. They all need to receive exactly the same thing from you, personalized in exactly the same way. This can mean three doggie cards, with three different doggies that are somehow directly relevant to each of your three daughters, but the doggies must be equally cute. And you must give exactly the same number of "X"s and "O"s if you're doing the XOXOXO thing. If you're drawing a little heart on one card, put one on each card that is precisely the same size. If you're saying "I love you, <name>", keep font-size and swirling letters as equal as possible. Buy gifts that are directly equivalent if not exact. Keep prices consistent. Understand that all of these variables WILL BE compared and somebody will feel shafted if anything is off-kilter.
7. Be excited. Do you love your loved-one? Are you about to make him or her happy? Isn't that the most important thing you can do on this planet? You should feel excited. You should have butterflies in your tummy (I don't think I've ever said "tummy" before in a post, but "tummy" is the kind of word that resonates around Valentine's Day). If you're doing this right, you should feel out-of-your-comfort-zone and very vulnerable. Don't hide it. Don't suppress it.  Embrace it! You are Kevin Costner in Tin Cup, firing ball after ball into the pond because you're trying for that perfect shot. Don't pull up. Go for it. You're not going to win the Masters, but you're certain to win his/her heart.

Reporting Back on Saturday's Play Date

The six-year-old had a play date on Saturday. She and her date - a new one from the new school - had fun and all went well.

In case you're wondering how parents can possibly know for sure how a play date went, towards the end of their time together my wife overheard the little visitor whisper to my daughter: "I knew this was going to be a great play date!" (the giant, bolded font has been used to represent how 6-year-olds whisper).

During the date, the girls did the usual play date things: a painting-teacups-and-saucers craft, a tea party complete with stuffed animal guests, a little bit of spying on the grownups complete with nefarious giggles, and a little bit of gorging on cupcakes right before dinner.

If you have a six-year-old boy, you may not be familiar with the rituals of an all-girl six-year-old play date. Or, maybe they're exactly the same. What do I know?

When the date was over, the girls hugged and parted ways. Arrangements were made for a second date next weekend.

Before any of my daughters' friends from her old school get jealous, please remember that you all had a chance to come over on Friday night to hang out with her. We no longer need to have play dates with any of you. You're now family and family members have 'get-togethers'.

My wife and I went up to my daughters' bedroom a little later on and saw her room as messy as it has EVER been. Probably messier than her older sisters' bedrooms have EVER been. "No problem," said my wife with a loving smile, "we'll clean it in the morning."

Whoa! Wait a minute! Hold the phone! My wife saw a really, really messy bedroom and said that???!??! Really? If you're an older daughter of ours you understand how out of character that is. You might even resent it. When Mom sees your bedroom with the slippers by the foot of the bed slightly askew, she shrieks your entire name (first, first-middle, second-middle, and last), curses in Italian, and declares that the room looks like"A DISASTER AREA"(the giant, bolded font has been used to represent how she patiently explains her position on something). But the six-year-old gets a loving smile and a morning clean up. Sheesh.

David though (that's me, third-person), feeling like it's only fair to treat the six-year-old at least a little bit like her sisters, insisted that we all pitch in and clean up the room before bed. So we did. The end.

But now we get to the humbling part and the real point of this post... While cleaning up, I noticed that the little visitor had written all sorts of Post-it Notes and hung them all over the room. They had cute little messages on them written for and about my daughter. While we were reading them, my daughter said with the cute and oh, so wrong innocence of childhood: “They’re magnetic! That’s how they stick to the wall.”  

I, of course, being a great dad, realized that a learning moment was at hand: “They’re not magnetic, oh sweet one,” I  began, “they’re called ‘Post-it Notes'. They’ve got a little bit of glue on them – not sticky enough to get stuck to the wall, but just enough to hold onto the wall and allow you to still peel them off easily.” 

“No, they’re magnetic,” said she, again with the endearing and misguided certainty of the very young. 

“No, honey, they’re not magnetic. As I said, they stick because of a special kind of glue…” I then told her the history of the discovery of the Post-it Note, and explained all about happy accidents and innovation. I was about to bring her downstairs to show her the Post-it Notes website and all of the different colours and sizes they come in, when I turned over the pad and saw that they weren't Post-it Notes at all. They were some kind of newfangled magnetic note!

I then felt the back of the magnetic notes and realized that THERE WAS NO GLUE STRIP. These little things were sticking to wall WITHOUT GLUE! They were indeed magnetic.

I then declared that I was wrong, great dad that I am.

And now the six-year-old knows that sometimes, rarely but sometimes, Daddy can be wrong.

Good thing the older two still believe in me. They still believe that Daddy can do 7-digit multiplication in his head. All the little one can hold onto is that Daddy is nearly perfect, but he does admit he's wrong on those very rare occasions when he is. 

I guess that's something. 

 

KS III - Rite of Passage

Coming to Theatres this Winter
...featuring Sharon Stone and Chris Rock
...from the makers of Romancing the Stone and the Rocky Horror Picture Show
...and the author of the Stone Angel

Kidney Stone III - Rite of Passage
...this time it's calcified...

Yes, it's that time of year again. David just enjoyed his third kidney stone episode since 2012. Here's how it went down (including some pictures and videos this time!)

Thursday, 2:30 am: David suddenly awakens and wonders why something is chewing on his kidney.

Thursday, 2:31 am: David recognizes the sensation and thinks to himself: "Oh no. Not again."

Thursday, 2:42 am: David convinces himself that it might just be Wednesday's lunch-time sushi that's acting up and returns to bed.

Thursday, 3:30 am: David suddenly awakens again and thinks to himself: "That ain't no sushi." He dresses, brushes his teeth and awaits confirmation that a hospital visit will be required.

Thursday, 4:00 am: David awakens his wife and tells her what's happening.

Thursday, 4:30 am: David arrives at the brand new Oakville Hospital and lets ER reception know why he's there.

Thursday 5:00 am: David is given an ER room, a bed, an intravenous, and some painkillers. 

Thursday 5:30 am: David is given stronger painkillers.

Thursday 5:45 am: David is given a full dose of morphine.

Thursday 8:00 am: David goes for an ultrasound at the Hospital.

Thursday 10:00 am: David is given the all-clear (i.e. "yes, you have a kidney stone, now go home and wait until you pass it") and a prescription for more painkillers.

Thursday 11:55 am: David takes his brand new painkillers.

Thursday 12:15 pm: David films this video:

Friday 6:00 am: David gets out of bed, goes to the bathroom, and suspects he may have passed the stone. He turns on the light to get visual confirmation. David sees the stone resting gently at the bottom of the toilet and realizes that he now must extract it somehow. He briefly considers going back to bed and pretending it never happened, but then sucks up his courage and gathers the necessary equipment.

Friday 6:25 am: David successfully secures the stone and gently places it into an empty spice container. He returns to bed.

Friday 9:00 am: David proudly takes a picture of his stone. He intentionally offers no scale in the photo so that the stone looks bigger and more ominous than it really is.

Friday 10:00 am: David successfully delivers the stone to a local diagnostic lab. It's in their hands now while David awaits results (next week).

A happy ending.

Epilogue

With a chance to find out what kind of stone it is (because David finally collected one) he is hopeful that he will at last learn what he is doing wrong in his diet. Then maybe, just maybe, KS III will be the last of a trilogy.

If not, expect KS IV: The Phantom Menace in theatres soon (actually, KS IV is a prequel so it'll really be KS I).

My Past Due New Year's Resolutions

As a kid, I remember watching Super 8 films on our small home projector and seeing my sisters and me as little children, my parents before any of us were born, lots of relatives and friends of my parents much younger than I knew them, and even more people that I didn't know at all. The films themselves were scratchy and jumpy and old; appropriately so, given that they contained images from long, long ago.

A couple of weeks ago we pulled out our own VHS tapes from when my two older daughters were little and watched them together, the five of us (including the 6 year old, of course). These images from fifteen to twenty years ago show my wife and me, looking young and naive and impossibly proud of our little daughters, recording every precious moment; and they show our two older girls - at 1 and 3, 2 and 4, 3 and 5 - playing, putting on shows, snuggling in front of the tv, pretending to be able to read, having tantrums, brushing teeth, celebrating birthdays and holidays, and doing all of the other things we all did together back then.

The videos are scratchy and jumpy and old. They include people who were dear to us at the time that I held the video camera to my eye: some that we still see regularly; others who have since left our lives because they've been taken from us or because we've neglected to stay in touch.

And my present-day 6-year-old daughter is me as a kid, watching in amazement as her older sisters romp on camera and as her much younger parents display their then burgeoning parenting skills, and watching in boredom as a bunch of strangers stand around talking to each other and mugging for the camera.

There's a wormhole thing going on here, connecting little me, to young parent me, to present day me; connecting Super 8 to VHS to iPhones and digital cameras; connecting ghosts of long, long ago to friends and family of twenty years ago to my circle of present day loved ones.

Even as a young child, I remember feeling like I was in that wormhole already, knowing that one day I'd be my parents, knowing that one day my beloved Bacon (childhood dog) would outlive her dog years and calculating how old I'd be when that happened, knowing that one day I'd be married to someone and wondering who that would be, and knowing that one day I'd have kids and wondering what that would be like.

I was wise enough back then to make an explicit effort to mark some key moments so I'd be able to go back to them when I needed to: New Year's Eve 1979 (the end of the decade of my childhood); my final campfire at the camp I attended until 1983 (watching the sparks from the fire rise into a clear Indianapolis night sky); February 7, 1976 (the night Darryl Sittler scored 10 points against the Bruins  and I was home alone watching the game in my parents' bed); and so on.

Time passes. We get older. Our kids become grown ups. Somehow, it has even happened to me.

The videos from my nephew's Bar Mitzvah this past weekend will one day be watched by a family I don't even know, and I will be one of those half-remembered people from long, long ago.

As much as I'd like to, I can't stop that from happening.

Instead, as we start yet another new year, I can (and do) make these resolutions:

• Truly mark the moments that matter: the times we're all together, the lifecycle events, the holidays, the milestones, and the mundane but important day-to-day activities that uniquely define the here-and-now (I will one day pine for the time I used to lace up my 6-year-old's skates for her, so I resolve to love doing that while it is still my privilege to do so).
• Capture the things that my daughters will one day need to know about this stage of their lives and our lives - in pictures, yes, but more importantly in words. I don't want to be a stranger to their great grandkids, and I don't have to be. I resolve not to be.
• Take care of myself. Medicine and science will lengthen our lives, but we're going to have to have healthy bodies and minds to make those extra years worth it. I'm doing pretty well right now in my (early!) 50's, but I can do better and I will.
• Really embrace the people around me because they won't always be within easy reach. Recognize their importance to me, don't take them for granted, and don't be petty with them. Things don't matter. People matter. I resolve to remember that.

Thanks for listening...David

A Baby is Born on New Year's Eve 1994

It was December 31st 1994 and my wife was very, very pregnant.

We were in Brantford Ontario that night, ushering in the new year at the home of some good friends, enjoying a really nice meal there, and calling it quits shortly after midnight. Our plan was to sleep at my wife's parents' house that night before enjoying our traditional New Year's Day meal with them the next afternoon.

Our eldest daughter had just turned 2 and may have been with us for dinner, or she may have stayed back with her Nonna and Nonno. My guess is that she was with us, but I just don't remember that one detail. (That's because she was absolutely the best little girl on the planet and wouldn't have been crabby or loud, wouldn't have broken anything, wouldn't have drawn attention to herself in any way, and thus didn't do anything to insert herself into the story I'm in the midst of telling.) 

It was probably 12:15 that we called it a night and left our friends' house. We, of course, got stopped by RIDE ("reduce impaired driving everywhere" - a drinking-and-driving spot check program in Ontario) and I, of course, had not been drinking because a) I didn't drink, and b) my wife was very, very pregnant and who knew when she might need me to drive her to the hospital. I made a clever comment to the RIDE officer - as I am wont to do - showed him my very pregnant wife, and he sent us on our way. He gave us the gift of an ice scraper.

We had just settled into the hide-a-bed in the basement just before 1:00, when my wife shot bolt-upright in bed, cursed lovingly at the universe, and declared that it was time to get the f@#$k to the hospital (those may not have been her exact words, but she screamed something like that). We woke her parents, asked them to stay with my eldest, and went off to Brantford General.

It was a very quiet night in the maternity ward. Only one other soon-to-be mother was there. She was a screamer - that I remember.

We got settled into a room and we were given the usual medications and instructions. We turned on the tv and started watching the Planet of the Apes marathon that they used to show every New Year's Eve on CITY. We could clearly hear the other woman deep in her labour as we attempted to enjoy our movie. At some point, my wife told me that she wanted to go for a walk to help with the labour and I told her that she could before realizing that she wanted me to go with her. I reluctantly turned off the movie and off we sauntered. 

It was then that I realized it was New Year's Eve, the hospital was mostly empty, and the only other patient was still giving birth. WE HAD A SHOT AT DELIVERING BRANTFORD'S FIRST 1995 BABY!!!

I turned to my wife and enthusiastically shared my insight, gently encouraging her to get serious and hurry up with the whole birthing thing. And she did.

We were soon in the delivery room. The other lady was very close to finished, judging from her increasingly frequent screams and whimpers. I held my wife's hand and whispered words of encouragement: "We can win this thing, but the other lady's really close. You don't want to lose to her, do you? Think of the prizes! Think of the glory! We'll probably be in the paper! You can do this but you have to hurry. You're not some kind of princess who's going to lie there and take pain medicine and wait it out, right? Push like you mean it. PUSH!" (and other inspirational and loving words like that).

Bam! The kid shot out of her and we suddenly had a second daughter (notice I didn't say "beautiful", because I remember clearly that she wasn't - not yet). More importantly, we had won! We had come from far behind and defeated our opponent! Sure, my wife had done most of the work, but let's face it, she couldn't have achieved the victory without my key contributions as coach and mentor.

I remember the nurses and doctors telling us we had just given birth to Brantford's 1995 New Year's Baby (thinking that we didn't know) and congratulating us. I remember asking if we could go back to the room and keep watching Planet of the Apes.

Later that day, the proud sister, proud grandparents (from both sides), and (I believe) some proud uncles and aunts all got a chance to meet the newest addition to our family. I will never forget my mother taking one glance at her newest grand-daughter and saying "Uh oh, you guys are in trouble with this one." 

She had put words to what everyone else had already seen but not verbalized: this tiny little girl's eyes shone with zest and passion and intelligence and humour, and more than just a hint of mischief.

Think about it: She'd chosen the splashiest night/day of the year to arrive. She'd gotten Mommy and Daddy to bend to her will despite their exhaustion, then - later - despite their desire to enjoy a good movie. And she'd beaten off the competition to come first. Sound like anyone you know?

We did get a headline in the Brantford paper but shared the spotlight with the runners-up because we weren't locals. We also got half of the prizes owed to The New Year's Baby (only half, for the same reason). But most importantly, we got a beautiful, strong, charming, smart, passionate, loving, AND HIGHLY COMPETITIVE addition to our young family.

She'll be 21 tonight. While all the rest of you are toasting 2016, we'll be singing "Happy Birthday" and thanking the universe for blessing us with this amazing person all those years ago. 

(PS - I didn't say anything about the prizes we received that day because I didn't want to insult the City of Brantford. I'll just say that they weren't nearly as good as the RIDE ice scraper.)

The 12 Days of Christmas / A Social Media Breakup

Before I begin, I want to give each of you - my loyal readers - a small token of my appreciation during this holiday season. Here you go... cuff cuff. 

(Please take the time to understand this very witty joke so I don't have to explain it to you).  

Now, without further ado, a purely fictional version of a seasonal favourite...

----

On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the second day of Christmas, my true love texted me 2 mad emojis and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the third day of Christmas, my true love Facebooked me 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love Tweeted me 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love LinkedIn to me 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love e-mailed me 7 viral hoaxes, a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love Tindered me with 8 leftward swipes, 7 viral hoaxes, a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love Blogged 'bout me sharing 9 shameful secrets, 8 leftward swipes, 7 viral hoaxes, a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love Instagrammed me 10 breakup photos, 9 shameful secrets, 8 leftward swipes, 7 viral hoaxes, a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love Pintrested me 11 handsome fellas, 10 breakup photos, 9 shameful secrets, 8 leftward swipes, 7 viral hoaxes, a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love snail-mailed me my 12 Ashley Madison hacked records, 11 handsome fellas, 10 breakup photos, 9 shameful secrets, 8 leftward swipes, 7 viral hoaxes, a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for a reason I now see.