I think she has my eyes.

As a parent I am always eager to find out if my kids are really like me. It's a weird game to play in a marriage, as you both compare what aspects of the child's behaviour and mood are like you, or more tellingly, like your spouse's parents.

It's really a continuation of the one-downmanship/one-upmanship you get when you marry someone. In merging two families together you tend to compare (sometimes unwillingly) the benefits and fallbacks of lineage.

For me it results in my family comparing how hard it was to have me around instead of my wife for those first 23 years. Hard stuff to hear from one's siblings. Or parents.

Now we do that with our kids. Here are some interactions:
Me: Her laugh sounds like mine.
My wife: No, yours sounds like a donkey having a siezure.

My wife: I think she has my eyes.
Me: Is that your excuse for not being able to find anything?

Me: She is so not a morning person. That is just like you.
My wife: I was a morning person before I was married. Maybe it's you.

When you DO find some positive trait that your child emulates it is pure joy. Going to Walt Disney World we were to discover which child had my fortitude for thrill rides, and which thought that an elevator was extreme test of will.

It turns out the older one takes after me. We stopped worrying about her when she rode Thunder Mountain the second time and described it as "boring". She and I even rode the teacups, the vomit inducing centrifuge that poses as an amusement ride.

I went easy on her until she practically yelled "faster!". By the end we were both incapable of standing upright or locating what side of our face our nose was on. And she started to cry because we didn't have time to ride them again that night.

My younger daughter takes after my wife that way. She is the only person I know of who thought the Monorail was too intense for her little capacity. Just so you know I'm still talking about the younger daughter.

It took two days to convince her to ride Pirates of the Caribbean. She was positive it was a death drop ride. Of course once she rode it she was thought that it was safe, and even fun. Getting her to ride anything was a mix of bribery, blackmail, threats and coercion. It was like living out scenes from Law and Order.

Maybe someday she will come to love all that simulates death by violent means, but until then I'll have to keep a cache of toys and chocolate if there is any family ride we want to do. Like a major airline or moving sidewalk.

Grown-up age kids.

There used to be a popular poster stating "Everything I needed to know in life I learned in Kindergarten". I couldn't agree with it, I didn't learn that you couldn't get 'pantsed' if you were wearing a belt until grade 10.

I don't know why but a lot of school age behavior carries on into the grown up workplace. For example, in high school there were grad dues, bake sales, and various fundraisers that you were pressured into participating in, all in the name of 'school spirit'.

School spirit by the way isn't the Mickey of Rum behind the bleachers, nor is it 'Moaning Myrtle' (I still get the wrong impression writing that name). It's the belief that your school is better because you have to go there.

At work there are bake sales, co-worker's kids selling raffle tickets and cheese, and of course 50/50 draws. And to my chagrin 50/50 is not a statement of the odds involved, but when the Doctor says that its entirely different.

Here are some games played in the business world:

The "I'm not here so you can't ask me a question teacher" look. This is common in meetings when project assignments are being handed out. Everyone stares at the table and won't make eye contact. It's like we're having a moment of silence in anticipation for whoever ends up with this job.

"Not It!" This is when paperwork is being delivered and no one will touch it with their hands. The rule is that if it touches your body or lands on your desk it's yours. My co-worker's policy of pack-rat clutter desk works well, as the paperwork just slides away.

Phone Tag. As the name implies you leave voice mail messages for each other, but refrain from giving the information the other person actually needs. See how long you can be unproductive without getting fired.

I guess what I'm saying is this: Kids, stay in school. You can't be taught this stuff anywhere else. Except in the Military. Or prison.

Definitely expected NOT to.

Humans, as social creatures, will adjust their behaviour to match the expectations of the group. This is usually a positive thing, forcing people to repress their tendencies to assault, steal, walk around naked and vote for single issue parties. Occasionally though it is outdated and unhelpful.

I was shopping for shoes this weekend. Nice work shoes, not sneakers or workboots or rocket roller blades. I had to look for STYLE.

I must confess that I was not born with any fashion sense in my DNA. I have more capability of developing gills than I do of picking out a good pair of pants. I don't remember willingly buying anything clothing related for myself before the age of 30. My life was one of hand-me-downs, cast-offs, and occasionally Mom taking me shopping by telling me we were going for ice cream.

'So what' you say. 'You have your wife or your mother, take them along.' This is good advice, and I have been satisfied so far. But dang it, I'm in my 30's. I should be able to pick out a decent shirt to wear, on my own, like a big boy. And no, I'm not comforted by all the other guys with their wives/girlfriends/mothers waiting outside the change room to make them 'turn around so I can see how it fits' while they all wonder when they'll get the promised ice cream.

Sending me into a store unattended yields the same result as sending a colour-blind chimp with a lobotomy. I find this out when I bring the items to my wife, or mother, or 8 year old and they say 'yech, that looks awful, put it back'. It's particularly embarrassing when the 8 year old diss' you in front of a bunch of 20 something metro guys. I know I could take the lot of them, but they do look very smart in those fitted shirts.

When I was in my 20's I was either too busy to care, or I was already engaged or married and figured I didn't need to look good anymore. I achieved that tremendously.

Now I'm in my emotionally fragile 30's. I know I'm no longer young, and I'm not 'old' yet, and I desperately want to look good before gravity takes too much of a hold on my skin.

So today I asked a coworker, a GUY who has fashion sense, what the secret is. He gave me good advice on clothing cuts, colour matching, and why I should never let my chest hair show. Anymore.

I do speculate how this affected anyone overhearing the conversation about my pants:

Him: You're lucky because you have a great a**.
Me: Thanks.
Him: You just want to make sure you have the creases in the right spots, which you do.
Me: So there should be more than one?

I don't like being helpless, and I intend to learn how to dress myself before I'm 40. And for darn sure I'm taking myself out for ice cream after.

Stuff you ask yourself

Parenting is a role infused with questions. You will question if you are doing a good job. You will question your sanity. And you will question how the children managed to paint yogurt on the underside of the table.

Thankfully the empirical indicators of the answers abound. Catching the children squeezing small yogurt cups until they pop would be one. Finding yourself repeatedly muttering to yourself "If you THINK that I'm going to let THAT happen you have got another thing coming!" would be another.

But it is a special treat to discover that your attempts at parenting are better than Mowgli's option of being raised by wolves.

As as side effect, or benefit, the children inexplicably become like you. I guess we should see it coming, given that we do react akin to our parents, right down to the emphasis of the words repeatedly muttered to ourselves.

My older daughter is turning 8 next week. For her birthday she chose a theme based on a Disney movie.

She want's a Pirates of the Caribbean party.

Now yes that IS tremendously cool, at least for her 30ish year old dad. Her school friends didn't understand, but if my little girl would rather exemplify Captain Jack Sparrow over Hannah Montanna I am all for it.

It results from letting her watch the original movie before going to Walt Disney World. I wanted her to know something about the ride before going. And I wanted her to like more movies that I do.

We as good parents are doing our part in preparing for her party. My wife has researched party games, cake options and sent out pirate themed invitations. I'm growing a beard to look more 'piratey'.

Then this week I get a call from my wife. I was at work, and the kids were at breakfast.

Me: "IT support, we're smart so you don't have to be."
Her: "Hello"
Me: "Hi honey, what can I do for you."
Her: "Talk to your older daughter. She is convinced that since pirates didn't brush their hair she shouldn't either."

I had to convince the child that her time to be a pirate was the day of her party, not the two weeks leading up to it, and that all hygiene, including bathing, would be required. Then this morning she said "I need to eat my vitamin C because pirates didn't get fruits or vegetables."

Dang, the kid is staving off scurvy. I'm beginning to question if this is going too far.

The unspeakably happiest place on earth

Part of the joy of traveling is the chance to be introspective. A new environment and atmosphere is conducive to a better understanding of yourself. It's also awesome to bail on work for two weeks.

We recently returned from Walt Disney World. 2 weeks in Florida, and then the 50 degree centigrade change to the temperature at home. During the visit I had the chance to learn a few things about myself.

I have always liked the most thrilling, gut-wrenching, vomit-encouraging rides at parks. I used to think it was the feeling of disconnect between the motion of my skeletal structure and my internal organs. Now I know differently.

It was on Expedition Everest that I found myself laughing, giggling and enjoying the moment. It wasn't the giddy spinning in the dark or the unnatural plunges towards the earth.

It was people screaming.

I'm sorry to say that the cries of utter terror from complete strangers evoke a happiness in me that I'm not entirely comfortable with. I actually revert to maniacal laughter, complete with the "BWU" in front of my "HA HA HAAA's".

In case I needed further evidence of my unspeakable joy, I have but one regret from my two week visit in the happiest place on earth. I was able to ride the "Dinosaur" ride which consists of a rather gentle boat ride in dim lighting. Then with much roaring and flashing of light a giant carnivorous dinosaur lunges at your vehicle.

Oh, did I say that half the attendees of the ride were under the age of ten.

So I had my near-eight year old on the ride with me. And like most thrill rides a picture is taken at the opportune moment of greatest excitement. And my regret is not keeping the picture from our vehicle.

What was unique was that each person had a look of mortal peril. Half of the adults and children had eyes and mouths open, frozen in film to commemorate their shared pant wetting. The other half had resigned their dignity by squeezing their eyes shut and cowering so to not enjoy any of the non-going-to-eat-you-painfully parts of the ride.

I will always wish I had a perpetual reminder of corporately celebrated panic, but I can at least still hear those screams when I close my eyes at night. Am I alone in this?

I don't think I will be asked to promote Walt Disney World any time soon.

Why I believe in Drive-Thru

Recently I was able to enjoy a two week vacation with my family. This isn't a conflicted statement, I actually liked having my wife and kids in close proximity. The success to this is staying up later than the rest of them to have a few minutes of quiet each day.

The first day of the trip was a 6 hour drive. Driving with an almost 8 year old, a 5.5 year old, and a (I swear she still looks) twenty-ish year old person is more dangerous than it sounds.

Mainly it's the kids. They don't realize that piloting a near ton vehicle with 3.85 Joules of energy on snow covered roads is tricky enough. So you have the older one attempt to whistle the theme to the "Pirates of the Caribbean" using her repertoire of a single shrill key.

Meanwhile younger one decide that 'Purell' hand sanitizer should be used to clean the interior of the car. I thought someone had stuffed a cantelope and cucumber into the air intake of the car.

Four hours into the trip we pulled over at a fast food restaurant for lunch. It just opened and we were the first customers. I can only hope my mistake was caused in part due to exhaustion and part due to stress.

I like to have the children order their own meals. This gives them the practice of demanding older people do their bidding, because I'll be darned if I let them rehearse on me.

As all had ordered I implored my older daughter "Please tell the lady what you want for lunch." My child did so and ran off to join the rest of the family while I paid. As soon as I had received my credit card back the counter attendant moved away and my heart gained density fourfold.

I realized that I was suddenly very unsure of the gender of the person who took our order. It was either tremendously effeminate male or a woman who was mannish in appearance, slightly endowed and did not feel the need for support.

When you make a mistake like that in public you can't very well yell "I'm sorry, I meant tell the nice MAN your order." That is a shortcut to having your order special made for you.

So I had a cripplingly awkward time waiting for the food to arrive at the counter. I shuffled away as soon as it did, avoiding all eye contact with the person. Despite a longing to know if I was in the wrong or not I felt it best to do the brave thing and go to the car and sleep until the family came out when they were done.

From now on it's drive-thru on road trips. Sure it will reek of hand cleanser, and I'll be pulling french fries from the seat cushions for the next quarter, but it beats facing that hideous embarrassment ever again.