I have a mother I love very much and I want to wish her a very happy Mother's Day. My two angels have a mother they love very much and I want to wish her a very happy Mother's Day. My mom has a mother she loves very much and I want to wish her a happy Mother's Day. My nephew has a mother he loves very much and I want to wish her a very happy Mother's Day. Hell, if you're a mother, Happy Mother's Day!

Here's some sweet CanCon that says it all:

I've got money in my pockets,
I like the color of my hair.
I've got a friend who loves me,
Got a house, I've got a car.
I've got a good mother,
and her voice is what keeps me here.

Cue Jann Arden...

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I've attended school holiday pageants and Beaver banquets, but until today I had never been to a recital featuring one of my children. That all changed when at 2pm the curtains opened and Michelle's ballet class performed their recital.

When your child is on the stage, you're stricken with tunnel vision. I understand there were ten little girls up there, but I could only focus on one. You study every move she makes, take delight in every jump and every turn. And Lord have mercy it's a severe case of cuteness overload. In my incredibly biased opinion, it don't get much cuter than that.

There were 14 acts, and my daughter starred in the first one. That left me with 13 ballet skits to endure, without a vested interest. They trick you into staying by closing out with all participants on the stage, so you wait it out in order to gain another glimpse of your little starlet. Very clever...

It was awesome. Love rocks.

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My three year old daughter was just singing a song I had never heard before, so I asked her what it was. She told me it was the Jonas Brothers and she loved the Jonas Brothers. James chimed in that the Jonas Brothers stunk. I was left confused.

I have never heard of the Jonas Brothers and I can't believe I'm clueless about my daughter's favourite band. Luckily for me, Wikipedia is here to rescue me, and I just learnt a great deal about the Jonas Brothers.

The Jonas Brothers is an American pop-rock band from Wyckoff, New Jersey made up of three brothers, Joe, Nick, and Kevin Jonas. All three brothers attended Eastern Christian High School in North Haledon, New Jersey. They have released two albums - It's About Time in 2006, and Jonas Brothers in 2007, and will release A Little Bit Longer in 2008.

What the heck did parents do before the Internet? Was there a top secret parents network they'd call to find out about the latest fads? The Jonas Brothers is a typical non-threatening boy band that three year olds would love, so I'm not concerned, but without the web I'd still be clueless as to what a Jonas Brother is all about.

And thanks to YouTube, I can quickly hear their wares for myself. They're awful! Listen for yourself.

I'm sure she'll outgrow this crud soon enough, and in the meantime, I'll keep forcing The White Stripes and Neil Young down her throat. That always works!

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Over two years ago we welcomed Nemo into the family, and then Goldie. They were goldfish that lived in James' room, and neither lived very long.

I got tired of flushing James' pets, so I banned fish for a couple of years. Yesterday, the ban was lifted, and Charlie came home.

This time, we went with a more durable Siamese fighting fish, often referred to simply as a betta fish. Here's hoping Charlie the Siamese fighting fish outlives Nemo and Goldie. It's a fish murderer's third chance.

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I was enjoying an awesome sleep when Taryn awoke me this morning at 7am. We participated in a neighbourhood garage sale today, and it was time for me to set up shop.

Taryn had a number of items set aside for the street sale, including boxes of books, a couple of mirrors, some baby stuff we don't need any more and some pictures that aren't currently hanging on our walls. Two of those pictures were Doors of Dublin and Pubs & Shops of Ireland.

My grandmother, turning 93 this year, was very proud of her Dublin heritage. Although she was born in Toronto, she often shared stories her father told her of Dublin and she loved items that reminded her of "home". When I was 11 or 12, I wanted to surprise my grandmother with a gift I knew would blow her away. Joined by my brother Ryan, I visited The Irish Shop on Bloor Street and bought a poster called Doors of Dublin. We got it framed, and gave it to grandma for her birthday. She loved it, so a couple of years later we did the same thing with Pubs & Shops of Ireland.

When my grandmother went into a long term care facility some years ago, I ended up with these pictures. They remind me so much of simpler times and brought so much joy to my grandmother, I couldn't let them go.

This morning, as I carried everything from the basement to the driveway, I left these two pictures. I'm simply unable to part with them. We're in heavy duty simplification and minimization mode, but I'm keeping Doors of Dublin and Pubs & Shops of Ireland. They're not "stuff", they're drenched in unconditional love and they're not going anywhere.

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At the Swansea Hockey Association banquet today, James received his first trophy. Sure, it was a participation trophy, but it was still a trophy. He was very proud.

His Dad, rushing to get him to the banquet after swimming lessons, almost dropped him off at the wrong place. I had it in my head that he was to be at the Swansea Town Hall at 11am, but a kindly old gentleman there suggested I head over to the Legion instead. Then, when I walked James into the Legion hall, it all came back to me.

It was the same room in which I received my one and only non-participation hockey trophy. I was playing for Sam's Auto Repairs and they were announcing the winner of the Most Improved Player award. Not in my wildest dreams did I expect to hear my name called, but that's exactly what happened. I made my way up on to the stage to receive my MIP trophy in front of the entire league and I remember thinking that maybe I wasn't as bad as I thought I was.

We had a little fun with James' first trophy where I relived that moment by putting on his jersey and hoisting his trophy. It's fun reliving your good memories though your kids.

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It was chilly today, and the kids and I were looking for a fun little project to tackle together. I thought I'd take my emarketing skillz and apply them at home. And so, the Family Podcast was born.

Originally it was going to be a true podcast, with an RSS feed and everything, but the production values were so poor I just decided to throw in on YouTube. If you're going to do this, I highly recommend you use an actual microphone and not the default internal mic that's built into your laptop.

Very few of you will find this interesting, but this isn't for you. This is for the grandmas and uncles and aunts.

Here's our first Family Podcast. I'll work on the production values and maybe even encourage coherency for round two. Enjoy...

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You can pretty much guess who amongst your friends will embrace Earth Hour and who will poo-poo the whole thing. There are certain people who like to crap on anything of this nature. Sure, it's a marketing ploy and there are probably better solutions to our energy crisis, but I love the idea of Earth Hour and we had a lot of fun at 8pm.

My wife wasn't particularly warm to the idea of Earth Hour, so we agreed she could spend the hour in the bath reading. The compromise was that our house could have one light on, in the bathroom, which probably wasn't a bad idea with a three year old and six year old about. At about 7:58 the kids and I went through the house to ensure all lights were off, I lit a candle and we plopped in my bed for story time.

It was pretty awesome. The flickering flame lit the way as I told tales of Fancy Nancy, Alice the Fairy and dinosaur drummers. I paced myself, paused often for dramatic effect and wrapped up around 8:40. Then, it was time to brush our teeth and a couple of tired souls got tucked in for the night.

I went outside shortly before 9pm and saw very few lights. I can't wait to see photos of downtown as most businesses and all landmarks went dark for the hour. Don't tell me Earth Hour didn't have an impact. I'm starting to think every Saturday could use an Earth Hour.

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It didn't take James long to demonstrate more artistic talent than his father. James just drew this and it's way better than I could do.

Of course, I wouldn't draw it. I'd spark up Photoshop and go digital. There's something charming about the old school methodology of the kindergarteners.

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As we did last Easter, we went to the Old Mill for brunch this morning. As you can imagine, the Old Mill gets pretty busy on Easter morning, so we go there at 9:30am. This gave the kids and I a chance to explore.

Imagine a completely empty, totally quiet Old Mill. Imagine having complete access to every nook and cranny. It's awesome.

We climbed every staircase, took a peek in every room and took in all that history. A highlight was a visit to the chapel. It's a great old chapel, and it's especially reverent on Easter morning. Here are some pictures from our visit.

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It's fun watching your kids grow smarter. My son James is six years old and I've noticed the complexity of his questions of late have graduated from "where did the dinosaurs go?" to "if all Cretans are liars, how can this testimony be true?"

Ok, he's not quite there yet, but today I got a question that brought a smile to my face because I remember wondering the exact same thing when I was just a little older than James. The strange thing is, I wondered but never thought to ask anyone the answer. A sure sign James is smarter than his old man is his willingness to ask questions he doesn't know the answer to.

James wanted to know how New Yorkers knew who to cheer for: the Islanders or the Rangers. I vividly recall lying in bed as a nine year old and wondering how New Yorkers knew whether they were to be Yankee fans or Mets fans.

After tackling the Islanders v. Rangers question, I'm ready for the Cretan one. The utterance of a paradoxical sentence is pragmatically self-defeating.

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I spent last night with several princesses. These were Disney princesses, and they were on ice, telling the stories of Aladdin, Mulan, The Little Mermaid, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella.

The kids just loved it. I didn't mind it, although most of my entertainment came from watching how much the kids loved it, but I had my fill by the intermission. They cram the first six stories into the first half and devote the second half to Cinderella. And yes, Mickey, Minnie and Goofy all have cameos.

Watching these stories, I realized how few of these Disney films I've actually seen. I knew all the stories except for Mulan, but I think the only one of the bunch I've seen in its entirety is Cinderella.

Here are some pictures from Disney on Ice: Princess Classics at the stadium formerly known as SkyDome.

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If you have a young daughter, you're likely familiar with the Disney Princesses. At some point Disney figured out a way to tap into the young girl demo by grouping their princesses together in a bundle. My three year old daughter absolutely adores the Disney Princesses, which include Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Belle, Ariel, Jasmine, Pocahontas and Mulan.

This franchise is well represented in my house. We have Disney Princess DVDs, books and dolls all over the place. Michelle even has a Disney Princess outfit she prances around in. I understand girls love princesses, but tonight my tolerance will be tested.

We have tickets to see Disney on Ice: Princess Classics tonight at the stadium formerly known as SkyDome. That's right, I'm going to SkyDome to see Cinderella, Jasmine, Ariel, Belle, Snow White, Aurora and Mulan skate around for an hour or so.

Michelle will be in heaven. I think I'll bring my iPod.

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I left my mom's home when I was 21 and moved in with my wife. I've been living with her ever since, and we've added a couple of kids to the mix. I've never lived alone.

Occasionally I get short periods of "single guy" time, and that happened this week. The family is cottaging during this March break while I stay in Toronto to work. It's during these periods that I wonder what kind of a bachelor I'd make, and I don't think it would be pretty.

The mornings aren't bad, I wake up, clean myself up, get dressed and hit the road. After work, things are just too damn quiet. Yesterday I actually stayed late at work because there was no incentive to go home. Once home, I force myself to make something to eat, hack away at something on the laptop and watch sports. Then, at some point when my eyes start to get heavy, I hit the hay and do it all over again.

In an alternate universe the single version of me is a pretty pathetic sight. He likely eats cereal for dinner every night, spends far too much time online and I don't think he does laundry. How the hell is the single version of me ever going to get a girlfriend?

Tonight feels like a Raisin Bran night...

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Swansea Hockey is wrapping up its 35th season, and it's the season that almost wasn't. MasterCard Canada's generous donation at the last moment saved this season from cancellation as the city was delaying the opening of outdoor rinks until January. Thankfully, the show went on and it got me on skates regularly for the first time since I was a 12 year old playing Swansea Hockey at this same Rennie Park.

The Swansea Hockey Association might be the best kept secret in the city. It's affordable and accessible outdoor hockey and both James and I had a blast this season. Today was our last Learn to Play Hockey clinic so I brought my digital camera along to take some shots. Little did I know the surprise that was in store for these four, five and six year olds.

The Toronto Marlies sent a squad to Rennie Park to entertain the kids, and this team included the very popular Duke the Dog. My son loves this guy, and he was seeing him again today for the third time in less than a month. It was a fantastic morning and I can't wait for another season of Swansea Hockey.

Here are a few shots. The whole shebang is in this photoset.

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James wanted some Doritos, so I went into the cupboard to grab a plastic kids bowl to fill. The only clean one was a Disney Princess bowl that belongs to Michelle.

I handed James the pink Disney Princess bowl of Doritos and told him not to worry about the fact it's the girliest bowl on the planet. He looked up at me and with all sincerity said "Okay, but don't tell my friends".

This answers I question I've often pondered. At what age do kids become concerned about what their friends think? The answer is six.

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Dr. David Suzuki is watching you. At least, that's what I tell my kids. I play the role of good cop and put David Suzuki in the role of bad cop whenever I witness a waste of energy in the home.

My kids have had the name Suzuki thrown at them their entire lives. They know if they leave a room, they should turn out the lights, because David Suzuki is watching. This threat also applies to recycling, use of the green bin, ensuring the television is off when nobody is watching, keeping the refrigerator door closed and whatever other environmentally irresponsible decisions are made.

Try it for a week and you'll be shocked out how quickly everyone adapts. Nobody wants to disappoint David Suzuki and that dude sees everything.

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My three year old daughter wants to tell you all something.

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I am 33 years old and prior to today I had never watched a game from box seats and I had never skated on a sheet of ice shared by a professional hockey team. I've just returned from a most fantastic evening at the Ricoh Coliseum which saw me do both.

First of all, we got to watch the Marlies take on the Houston Aeros from a box. This thing was awesome. If you wanted a drink, you grabbed it from the fridge. There were massive bowls of popcorn and chips just sitting there. During the second intermission pizza and hot dogs arrived. Sitting in a box must be what heaven's like.

There was also a hockey game. Justin Pogge recorded a shutout and The Woz scored the winner in a 1-0 victory. When Andy Wozniewski scored late in the third, I was so damn happy, you'd have thought I was at a Leafs game.

After the game, my son and I went to Marlies Alley with our skates and got to skate around for half an hour. A few Marlies were there to sign autographs but James just wanted to meet Duke the Dog, the Marlies mascot. He got his wish and we both left the coliseum very happy. Here's a photoset from the jam packed evening.

Box Seats + Marlies Win + Pogge Shutout + Skating = Bestest Day Ever!

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James is a lucky six year old. The ghost of six year old Mike is envious of the current six year old James. This afternoon, after we take in the Marlies game at Ricoh Coliseum from box seats, we get access to the ice for an hour.

I think this is very cool. James thinks it's cool too, but he's too young to realize just how cool it is. I'll take pictures so when he's my age he can look back without the ghosty envy.

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James wants to learn French. I'm not talking about the government mandated French class we were all forced to take through grade nine, I'm talking about French Immersion.

James has senior kindergarten friends who are already in French Immersion and James thinks this is pretty cool. Although I only know a handful for French words, James' mom is fluently bilingual, so at least one of us will be able to hang with the dude when he's trying to conjugate them verbs.

The boy wants to go to French Immersion so we're going to make it happen for the guy. Who could say no to a face like this? Pas je.

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Weekends rule for a variety of reasons. On a Saturday, I don't have to visit the office. That means my wife will brew us kick ass coffee in a French press. That relaxing Saturday and Sunday morning coffee might just be the best thing about weekends.

The office has fresh coffee as well, but it's office coffee, and understandably inferior. Taryn's got the French press down to a fine art and I'd never go back to the old drip brew again.

Here's our French press in action. This amount gives us each one massive cup and starts the day off right.

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You never know what song is going to stick. My kids might be exposed to dozens of new songs each week, but only a select few become favourites that they memorize and sing ad nauseam.

For the longest time Michelle was in love with K-OS' "Sunday Morning", and then the kids really got into Phil Collins' "In The Air Tonight" and Linkin Park's "Bleed It Out". These days, they're all about Ozzy, Michelle in particular.

Her Ozzy of choice is "Crazy Train". She does the "Aye, Aye, Aye, Aye, Aye, Aye" in the beginning and really belts out the "I'm going off the rails on a crazy train" refrain. She just loves to sing "Crazy Train", and that's perfectly fine with me.

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I'm trying to come to grips with the fact I'll never be able to grow a full bushy beard. I can grow facial hair, but after a few days it just looks weak and begs me to shave it off. I've been trying to grow a solid goatee for over fifteen years and it ain't happening.

We recently had the family over for my son's birthday and my brother strolled in sporting a big bushy goatee. This would be like a woman being told she'll never be able to have children and another woman refusing to shut up about how easily she gets pregnant. It's rubbing salt in the wound.

As a guy who can't respectably advance beyond a 5 o'clock shadow, show me some respect and keep your wonderful beards away from me. Until the wound heals, at least.

More about my battle with the beard:

• Why I Won't Grow A Beard
• Quirks & Quarks
• Call Me Grey Beard
• Bad Beard Grower

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Am I really the proud father of a six year old? Time flies when you're having fun, and James has made these past six years more fun than a barrel of monkeys at Monster Jam.

It's fitting James turns six on the day of the NFL playoffs because I was preparing to watch the Rams and Packers when I got the call to haul my ass to Women's College Hospital. It was January 20, 2002, and I had no idea what to expect from fatherhood. I've since learnt it's essentially one mind-blowing moment after another and that I have the greatest son on the planet.

<parentalgush>James is bright, inquisitive, sweet, a good brother, an amazing son, full of spirit with passion in the belly. He's naturally kind and generous, careful never to hurt a fly and a very hard worker. In other words, James is all the best parts of his parents in one adorable package. He's already a far cooler dude than his old man and I love him to death.</parentalgush>

Here's the best of James' first six years. Happy 6th Birthday, son!

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All my life, I've been told I look like my mother. It's strange being told you look like a woman. Whenever I doubt the resemblance I just have to delve into the vault to see it's true.

This picture below is an old photo of my mother I recovered when I was cleaning out my grandmother's cellar. It's my mom as a girl guide and if you isolate the face and trim the hair a bit, it could me me when I was 14.

I look like a chick. Freaky.

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One of the cooler gifts James got for Christmas is this Optimus Prime mask. It looks cool, but that's not what I love about this gift. When you wear this thing, there's a voice synthesizer that makes you sound like Optimus Prime.

I grew up watching Optimus Prime and when I put on this helmet, I am Optimus Prime. I love giving orders to the kids in this voice, but there's one problem. It scares the bejeezus out of 3-year old Michelle.

I'll tell Michelle it's just daddy in the mask, she'll watch me put it on, but the moment I speak she starts crying. In my Optimus Prime voice I'll say "It's just daddy, Michelle... it's just daddy," but that won't help.

The thing is, she doesn't get scared when James wears it. Maybe it's because I've mastered Optimus Prime's lingo. Autobots, roll out!

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We've owned a Nintendo Wii for about three weeks now, and we're still loving it. Just about every day we play WiiSports or WiiPlay. I'm a big fan of the training exercises, particularly the baseball drill where you face 30 pitches in a row and you see how many you can hit. I could play that one all night long.

James is pretty good at bowling, but his favourite game is boxing. I've noticed an improvement in his hand-eye coordination over these past few weeks. He's making better contact at the plate, getting pretty competitive in tennis and actually hitting home runs in the home run derby.

My only competition thus far has been a five year old and three year old, except for golf which is Taryn's favourite game. She's never beat me, but she did have a two stroke lead heading into the ninth hole once.

I'd like to try the true baseball for the Wii. According to this video, it comes with an actual bat. I've just got to remember to use the wrist guard.

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We've planned a birthday party for my son on Saturday. He's turning six and he'll take a bunch of his friends to a movie to celebrate. Normally, since it's his birthday, I'd let him see the G-rated film of his choice. But this time, I vetoed his selection.

James chose to see "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything: A VeggieTales Movie". Now that he's too old to watch Treehouse TV, he sees ads. The ads for "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything: A VeggieTales Movie" did what they were designed to do, because both he and his 3-year old sister were sold. When I found out I'd have to sit through "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything: A VeggieTales Movie" on Saturday, I pulled rank.

I love my son, but watching "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything: A VeggieTales Movie" is cruel and unusual punishment and I just won't do it. At least "Alvin and the Chipmunks" has David Cross in it, and I can ride 92 minutes on fumes of nostalgia.

Sorry James, I don't care if it's your birthday, I ain't watching "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything: A VeggieTales Movie".

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Twelve years ago today, on a cold January afternoon in Toronto, I married Taryn. It's funny what you remember a dozen years later. I remember all the costs. $53 for a marriage license at City Hall, $53 for the ceremony at Old City Hall and $165 for a couple of rings from a guy in the basement of the Eaton Centre. I also remember watching Melrose Place that night and feeling like we were pretty mature. She was 20 and I was 21.

Twelve years later, I'm happy to say it was fantastic foresight on my part. This easily could have been a disaster, but twelve years later we're still in love, we have two amazing kids, we still dig each other and the spark is still there. She's my best friend and I love her to pieces.

Happy 12th Anniversary, Taryn.

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We attended my Uncle Bruce's wake today. This prompted many discussions with my five year old son and three year old daughter, before, during and after the visitation.

My wife and I decided long ago to openly discuss such unfortunate parts of life with our kids so death wouldn't become something scary but a natural part of the human life cycle. Before we left to pay our respects, we talked about what had happened, where we were going and what it all meant.

I'm frequently blown away by how understanding kids are if you talk to them frankly and respectfully. My five year old in particular seems to have an extremely healthy grasp on the subject, fully understanding that a loved one had passed away leaving behind a very sad wife and children. This made him sad, and he wanted to say goodbye before tomorrow's burial. My three year old actually asked to approach the body and seemed totally respectful of the situation. Both were pleased our flowers were by the casket and roses were included in the bouquet.

Tonight, as we ate spaghetti and sausage, we talked about Uncle Bruce, about his spirit and body. It was a great discussion and I was so pleased with their perspective. I've only been in this parenting game for six years, but it's become clear to me that our young are primarily limited by us. They're most capable and understanding if entrusted to be so. Today, James and Michelle made me very proud.

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I'm still in shock. At 10:39 am I received this instant message from my mom. "Bruce is dead michael" followed immediately by "i feel sick".

Bruce Gowan was married to my mother's only sister for over 35 years. That made him a key part of my family from the moment I was born. He passed away quite suddenly this morning at the young age of 58 leaving behind a loving wife, two children and a grandson. A granddaughter is on the way.

When I got the news, I left work to be with my aunt and cousins. There is nothing as sad as the sudden passing of a loved one. There's no time for goodbyes, no time for a final hug, no time to prepare yourself for the fact an integral part of your life is departing. All we're left with are the memories.

My memories of Uncle Bruce are good ones. He was a very kind man who was always there if you needed him. As a teenager, he helped me buy my first car. When I struggled installing a 240 volt outlet in my basement, I called Uncle Bruce for advice. He put others first, loved his family and is already missed like crazy by those who knew him and loved him.

This is Uncle Bruce a couple of summers ago at my brother's wedding. He's here with his son. The two were inseparable. Life is fleeting. Carpe diem.

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I borrowed every season of "Arrested Development" on DVD and I'm making my way from the pilot to the finale. I've seen every episode at least once before but it's just as good the second, third or fourth time through. The cast and writing is deliciously funny.

One character on "Arrested Development" reminds me a great deal of my son. George Michael Bluth and James share an eerily similar personality. They're both sweet, a little naive and genuinely kind. They're both eager to please and try awfully hard to be cooler than they naturally are. Even George Michael's mannerisms and vocal styling reminds me of James'.

Taryn and I watch these episodes together and feel the same way. When the most likable character reminds you of your kids, it makes an amazing series that much better.

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Taryn caught this moment of nerd zen yesterday and snapped a picture.

It's a nerd trifecta.

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Ignorance might be bliss, but knowing is half the battle. I just wrote about the agreement I struck with my wife yesterday and already we're coming to our senses. We'll call this the morning after chill.

The pros of having a third child:

• children are awesome
• another person to love and care for
• the more, the merrier

The cons of having a third child:

• they're expensive
• the early years are a lot of work
• a third child creates a middle child
• adding a third theoretically diverts focus and attention from the first two
• if it ain't broken, don't fix it

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I feel awfully blessed. I'm in love with both my son and daughter and I'm very comfortable stopping with my millionaires family. I could go for three, but I think life would be easier and just as fulfilling if I stopped at two.

My wife sees my point. I don't think she'll hold me to my six month promise. When you're presented with fantastic art work like this on a daily basis, life isn't going to get any better.

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We bought this gingerbread house kit at the grocery story that seemed easy enough. It came with ready-made icing and all the pieces. There was even instructions. How could we fail?

It was easy enough to put together, but decorating it was a challenge. James wanted it to look like the picture on the box, and that wasn't going to happen. I've never been very good at arts and crafts.

I documented the gingerbread house for dummies experience in this photoset. The end result isn't quite what we expected, but I'm pretty sure it's edible.

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Back in September I wrote about negotiations discussions I was having with my wife. She wanted a third child and I was pretty sure I was done. I've got the two best kids in the world and I'm not feeling an urge to do it all again.

Today, with my mom by for some wine and holiday cheer, the topic came up again. It seems to pop up now and then, usually the day after my wife is around a friend's newborn. I had just had an amazing time on the ice with James and then me and the kids attempted to build a ginger bread house (more on that later), so I was feeling a fatherly buzz. During this conversation, my wife and I arrived at a compromise.

She has my explicit permission to stop taking the pill. I don't even want to know if she's taking it or not, I'm cool either way. If she stops taking it, she gets six months without it. If I slip one by the goalie during this period, I'll be very happy. If I don't, I'll be very happy. It's a can't lose scenario.

This agreement came with one caveat. I don't want to hear any more about a third baby unless she's showing me a positive pregnancy test at some point. Now back to my Leafs game. We're up 1-0 in the first.

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Michelle is three and a half years old and today she had her first haircut. James was a little younger when he got his first cut and I'm not surprised Michelle lasted a few months longer. Michelle was bald for the longest time.

The barber gave me a lock of Michelle's hair as a memento. At first I declined the offer, thinking it was kind of creepy to hold onto a lock of hair, but then I changed my mind. What the heck, one day I may be glad I held onto it. Now I sort of wish I had done the same when James got his first haircut.

Here's Michelle's new do.

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Santa showed up at Michelle's nursery school Christmas party yesterday evening. I was there because watching kids see Santa is pretty sweet. They gaze at him as if he's larger than life, sort of like how I'd look if Eddie Vedder put me on his knee and asked me what I wanted.

Michelle told Santa she wants a Baby Alive. Her message has been consistent. That's what she told me she wanted back when I took notes last month. Rumour has it she won't be disappointed in ten days.

Kids with Santa typically follow the same pattern. At first they're cool with the big guy, because they're little blobs who don't know any better, then they fear him, because he's a white bearded stranger, and making strange with such people is probably a good idea, then they start to accept him again, because they know he'll bring them gifts. That's where both of my kids are at right now. They look at St. Nick as their money ticket. It's a lot like requesting something of the Godfather on the day of his daughter's wedding. It's a very big deal.

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It's official, the Christmas season has begun. This weekend, several key indicators took place. It can no longer be denied.

• We put up and decorated our Christmas tree
• We put up the lights outside
• We decorated the house with Christmas season artifacts
• We put a wreath on the door
• I added a wreath to the TorontoMike.com header

There ya have it. Enjoy the next 16 days.

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In the Albert Brooks comedy Mother, Brooks' character moves back home to sleep in his childhood room as he reexamines his life. Lately, as my oldest child progresses through his own childhood, I've been finding myself in several Mother-like situations drenched in surreality. Today was another example of such a moment.

The last time I remember skating was at Rennie Park when I was 12. It was the final game of the season for my team, the CN Towers, and I was going to be moving up a division as a 13 year old. There was body checking in the next division and I wasn't a very big kid, so I decided to hang up my skates and focus on my blossoming ball hockey career.

This morning I found myself at that very same Rennie Park, tightening my new skates as I prepared to take the ice for the first time in twenty years. It was the same old clubhouse, with those change rooms I remember well, and although the actual rink had a face lift recently, it was like getting caught in a time warp. This time though, it wasn't about me, it was about helping James learn how to play hockey.

Most parents opted out of this part of the program, preferring to watch their kids from behind the glass. I was one of four dads to participate and I'm proud to say I didn't fall once. Compared to a bunch of 4-6 year olds, I was actually pretty damn good. I can't wait for next Saturday when I get to do it again.

It wasn't just getting out there on that familiar ice that was fun, it was doing it with my son. The coaches do a great job of instructing, but being there to reinforce points and help James along is pretty awesome. He got #6 and was thrilled when I told him it was one of only two numbers retired by the Leafs.

The time warp strikes regularly these days. I'm already back in the same Beavers lodge, swimming at the same pool and playing hockey at the same old rink. I wonder what's next...

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I rarely buy tickets to sporting events. I buy the odd Blue Jays ticket, but usually when I'm at a live sporting event it's because someone offered me free tix. So when I bought four tickets to last night's Raptors game, it was because the price was right and there was someone special I wanted to see.

The tickets were $15 each, $60 for the four of us. You're tucked away in the Sprite Zone, but I don't mind that one bit. In fact, it's better. The kids are entertained during breaks in the action, Michelle actually won a tee-shirt that James wore throughout the game, and the crowd is young, enthusiastic and sincerely happy to be in the building. If you're taking kids to see the Raptors, I highly recommend the Sprite Zone. It's the best bang for your Toronto sports scene buck.

The atmosphere itself is completely different than that of a Leafs game. The music is hip-hop and R&B, with Kanye instead of Nickelback. The crowd is much younger, less comatose and much less white. My wife, who I've never caught watching the Raptors on television, loves going to Raptor games at the ACC. My daughter keeps her eyes focused on the dinosaur mascot and James was blown away by the whole experience. Raptor games are fun, even when you lose by 13.

And of course, I was there to see Captain Canada, the greatest basketball player this nation has ever produced. Steve Nash didn't disappoint, dishing off a season-high 18 assists while chipping in 10 points. Leandro Barbosa scored the baskets but Nash was everywhere. He was worth every cent of my $15.

Here are pics I took. A good time was had by all.

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I've lived in Toronto all my life and I follow the Leafs closely, but I don't think I've been on ice skates in about fifteen years. I realized this the other day when I signed up my son for a local "Learn to Play Hockey" program. This particular class requires that a parent join the child on the ice as they learn the fundamentals of hockey. Each session is wrapped up with a fun game of hockey.

Our first class is Saturday, and I don't own a pair of skates. I played organized hockey until I was thirteen, and then I got out for some games of shinny at Rennie Park in high school, but I haven't been on the ice since.

I don't think James will be the only one needing practise out there but I'm glad this is happening. I needed a reason to get back out there. It's embarrassing being a Canadian hockey fan who doesn't own ice skates.

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With a five year old and three year old running a muck in the house, there are all sorts of bruises and bumps. Ever since James was a baby, I've treated these injuries in a fashion taught to to me by Mr. Miyagi.

Remember in The Karate Kid when Mr. Miyagi heals Daniel's leg with that hand rubbing trick? That's what I do. I get all serious, channel Mr. Miyagi and rub my hands together fast and furiously. Then, I place my warm hands upon the wound and make this ooohm sound. This technique never fails to work and the kids now demand my "Miyagi trick" when they hurt themselves. When I remove my hands, the pain is gone.

Thank you, Mr. Miyagi.

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I just spent some one-on-one time with each of the kids. I played the role of Santa and asked them, if they could only receive three gifts this Christmas, which three they'd want the most.

Michelle was up first. Here are her preferred gifts, in order.

1. Baby Alive
2. A Cinderella suitcase
3. A big Cinderella doll

James followed and asked for these three items.

1. Optimus Prime
2. A Transformers mask
3. A Nintendo Wii

The only item that had me Googling was this Baby Alive Michelle wants so badly. This is from Hasbro's Baby Alive page.

Originally introduced in 1973, the much-loved BABY ALIVE doll is back to play with a whole new generation of little girls.

She still "eats" and "poops", and now she's more "life-like" than ever. Best of all, your little girl is sure to love playing "mommy” to this special doll as much as you did years ago.

Let me get this straight. Michelle has to feed this doll and change this doll's diapers? Sounds like a lot of work to me.

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While in Arizona, my wife bought our three year old daughter Michelle a new tube of Hello Kitty toothpaste. It was sort of minty, and Michelle hated it. When it comes to toothpaste, she prefers a bubblegum flavour.

Here in Toronto, my wife bought her a new tube of Dora toothpaste. This was a fruity bubblegum flavour, but Michelle won't use it. Every night is a battle as she begs and pleads for a plain bubblegum flavour, but not just any plain bubblegum flavour. She wants the plain bubblegum flavour with Cinderella on the cover.

Before giving up, we tried to get her to use James' toothpaste, which is a fruity bubblegum flavour with Sponge Bob Squarepants on the cover. That didn't go over very well. Michelle, in so many words, demanded a plain bubblegum flavoured toothpaste with Cinderella on the tube. So today we went to Shopper's Drug Mart and got her the toothpaste she demanded.

Now we have two kids and four different tubes of toothpaste, all either full or nearly full. If you need kids toothpaste, give me a shout and we'll make a deal.

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The following exchange is real. It took place between my wife and I about 90 minutes ago.

Me: I'm still upset about that $1.99 milk.
Me: I'm pretty sure that price is illegal. Remember, I worked five years in the grocery business. I know a thing or two about dairy.
Taryn: The 4 litre bags of 2% milk are $1.99 there. Helen always gets her milk there.
Me: I was so upset, I called the Dairy Board today to complain.
Taryn: Why'd you do that? Now we won't be able to get $1.99 milk!

I actually didn't call the Dairy Board to complain about Shoppers Drug Mart on The Queensway selling 4 litre bags of 2% milk for $1.99 and Taryn can't believe she actually believed me.

I still think it's illegal to sell milk at that price...

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Michelle was going to be a baby butterfly for Halloween. That's what she decided weeks ago, and that's how she was dressed minutes before we left last night to go trick or treating. Then, all of a sudden, she didn't want to be a baby butterfly anymore. She wanted to be Cinderella.

Luckily this was an easy change, because she got a Cinderella dress for her birthday in July. I still think this 180° about face in the finals seconds is unprecedented. The change made me dizzy, but she was sure she no longer wanted to be a baby butterfly. My Halloween photos show Michelle in both costumes while steady James stayed firm with his decision to go out as Darth Vader.

Here's a photoset from the night. The kids did well as the chocolate should last me until Christmas.

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James wanted to be Darth Vader for Halloween. He's not alone. I just dropped him off at a Halloween party for his Beavers lodge and I counted three Evil Sith Lords formerly known as Anakin.

The dark side is making a comeback.

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When it comes to my Flickr account, I'm very organized. Every image I upload is tagged appropriately so it's very easy to quickly view all pictures of Michelle with a Jack O'Lantern. I realized this afternoon that the annual pumpkin carving made for a great little benchmark to see how the kids have changed from year to year.

Let's take my daughter Michelle, for example. This is the fourth year of Michelle's life that we've carved a pumpkin. Therefore, I have pictures of Michelle and the completed Jack O'Lantern in 2004, 2005, 2006 and 2007.

Here's a year-by-year measurement of Michelle's maturation momentum.

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About three years ago I wrote about Halloween being one of those things you're forced to care about when you have kids. If I hadn't procreated, I wouldn't think twice about this silly holiday. The kids, however, love everything Halloween, and the next thing you know you're hanging up little ghosts outside, putting cobwebs in the tree, sticking a skeleton on the door and, every year, you're carving a pumpkin.

Last year I confessed that I'm not the world's best pumpkin carver. All my Jack O'Lanterns follow a similar pattern, and this year is no different. We just finished carving up this year's pumpkin only this year I gave the kids more say in the finished product. They insisted Jack have a rectangle nose, even though I always go with a triangle nose. Looking at the finished product, I should have trusted my instincts, but the kids are happy and that's all that matters.

Here's our pumpkin carving photoset and below is the finished Jack O'Lantern, rectangle nose and all.

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For the first time in almost six years, we recently became a diaper-free household. Michelle is all about the underwear now and that means no more Huggies or Pampers or whatever on our weekly grocery list.

If all goes according to plan, the next time I buy diapers they'll be for me.

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Last Saturday, while I ran with the giraffes, my wife and kids boarded a plane to spend a week at my mother-in-law's boyfriend's son's condo in Scottsdale, Arizona. I picked them up at the airport last night, thus ending 8 days of bachelorhood.

Here's a collection of thoughts and observations culled from a week by myself.

• I produced very little garbage. I filled about 1/3rd of a single little bag during the week. I didn't produce a whole lot of recyclables, either. I found the reduction in waste fascinating.
• I forget to eat. Every night I had to remind myself to wolf down a meal, and bachelor Mike eats crap. I'm so glad the family is home because I'm starving.
• When I'm home alone, I work too much. The house is so quiet I ended up turning on the laptop and working until it was time to sleep. The bulk of both weekends were spent working, and all work and no play makes Mike a dull boy.
• I'm not messy. Living alone for a week, it was so easy to keep a clean and tidy home. I now know who to blame for messes, and it ain't me.
• I listened to a great deal more radio. At night I would put the radio on a timer and fall asleep to it, and in the morning I would let it play while I got ready to leave for work. I used to do the same thing before I got married.
• I suck at bachelorhood. It was too quiet, I missed my wife, I missed my kids, I missed the noise and I missed the demise of the dull moment. I've never lived alone, and it might be best that I never do.

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A number of women in my wife's circle of friends are preggers or have cute little babies. This has Taryn talking about having a third.

I've already decided I'm happy with the two angels I have. I've got a boy and a girl and both are smart, healthy, sweet, beautiful creatures. I also have a bedroom for each in a neighbourhood I love. I love things just the way they are and as the kids get older it just gets better. I think I'm done procreating.

Taryn appreciates my argument, but she likes to turn it around. She thinks that we should have more because we create such pretty, smart, healthy children. She thinks we should do it now while we're still sorta young. She sees these cute little babies and pregnant women and she gets a little baby fever.

I still think I'm done. Taryn's argument is falling on deaf ears. I've won the lottery twice and I'm not about to tempt fate by rolling the dice again. At least not until I win an actual lottery, and that's another game I'm not interested in playing.

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This being election season here in Ontario, it's all about equal time. That's why Zork Hun, Libertarian Party candidate for my riding, got to speak during the opening ceremony of The Terry Fox Run at High Park. That's why they can't air Arnold Schwarzenegger movies in California while he's running for Governor. And that's why this entry is all about my Michelle.

She suffers from extreme elation, which is both a good thing and a bad thing. The other day I told her she could stay up and watch the first period of the Leafs game and she got this huge smile on her face, started jumping up and down and screaming in delight. She had the same reaction when I told her she could watch the season premiere of The Simpsons. She also had this reaction when I told her she could have a chocolate chip cookie, so you see, she's extremely excited about just about everything.

I'm sure this will subside, because if you get that happy about a cookie, what the heck do you do when something really cool happens. What would you do if you clinched the RSPA Int-1 divisional championship with a two-run walk-off single in the bottom of the last inning?

You've got to leave some elation for moments like that.

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I haven't shared stories about the kids lately, and it's not because there aren't any. It's because there are too many. They're both at these ages where just about everything they do is priceless and precious and too cute for words. It's truly cuteness overload.

Tonight when I got home from work, James excitedly met me at the door to show me his temporary tattoo. It was a picture of Terry Fox. He wanted to tell me all about this Terry Fox fellow, about how he had one real leg and one robot leg, about how he ran so far every day and wanted to run across Canada to raise money for cancer. Hearing James tell me about my hero was pretty awesome, but it was his enthusiasm that got me.

He told me Terry Fox would run first thing in the morning and sometimes didn't eat lunch until dinner. He went on to say he did the Terry Fox Run, but he didn't go as far as Terry would go. He also told me they saw a video about Terry Fox because he couldn't be there in person, having died from his cancer.

He's only five, but James seemed to get it. He seemed to understand how special Terry Fox was and he seemed to be inspired by him. It was very cool.

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We spent most of yesterday in Whitby. For those of you from other parts of the world, Whitby is just a little east of Toronto off the 401. East of Toronto goes like this: Pickering - Ajax - Whitby.

We came for the super grub and hot tub but it eventually evolved (devolved?) into a karaoke contest that would make your ears bleed. Whitby Idol was a bust as I warbled my way through Oasis and Taryn murdered Eleanor Rigby. Ellen nearly saved the day with Olivia Newton John, but it was Olivia Newton John and that made salvation unpossible.

The evidence can be seen in this photoset. Luckily, no recording devices captured the audio.

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There are moments in a father's life when he's overwhelmed with pride. This week, I enjoyed such a moment.

James, my five year old, was told explicitly he could be anything he wanted for Halloween this year. It was completely up to him and we'd do our best to make it happen, so long as it wouldn't get us arrested. James thought about it, and then delivered to us his final answer.

James wants to be Darth Vader. Taryn found him a sharp looking outfit at Winners and on October 31 he'll be a dead ringer for the Imperial Commander-in-Chief.

I'm one proud papa.

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Today is the city of Toronto's recreation and cultural program registration day for Etobicoke and York districts. That means Daddy has to wake up early to battle other mommies and daddies for a valuable spot in desired courses.

James needs swimming lessons and Michelle is dying to take ballet, so at 6:59am I'm locked and loaded and hammering away at the F5 button. There was a time I would do the same thing for concert tix, but now I do it so Michelle can take ballet. Argh.

The first few minutes are always anxious as I hit that "maximum sessions exceeded" message and can't break through, but eventually I score and grab one of the last remaining spots. Success!

Don't cry for me. I'm already dead.

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Since I worked at the CNE for three years in the late 80s and early 90s, I've only been to the CNE once. I think I simply overdosed on the place, having walked that midway 60 days in a row. Taryn and I went once about ten years ago and we hadn't been back until today.

The Smell
The first think I noticed about the CNE was the smell. The Ex has an odour, and it's not necessarily bad, despite what some would say. It's a smell of carnival snacks and food more than anything. The Ex has an odour, and one whiff takes you back to your last visit, even if it's been about a decade.

The Memories
For me, walking the CNE brings back a trailer load of memories, many of which I shared here. The configuration has changed a little, and a soccer stadium has been built, but a great deal is exactly as I remember it. The Food Building still has those powdered doughnuts and 99¢ spaghetti, the Polar Express operator is still asking if you wanna go faster and the ring toss is still rigged.

The Ex
The Exhibition itself is a little underwhelming. I'm not a midway fan, knowing how foolish you have to be to play the games, and the rides aren't particularly inviting. That leaves you with the buildings, and they're no great shucks either, except for The Food Building, which I thoroughly enjoy. I enjoy the CNE for the sights, sounds, smells and the air show.

The Air Show
This was the primary reason we all went to the Ex today. My buddy Humble Howard came through with free passes to the grounds and air show and I've always loved the air show. It was three hours of awesomeness and a total blast. Michelle thought some of the jets were a little loud, but she loved it as did James.

Here's a photoset of our trip to the Canadian National Exhibition.

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I saw The Simpsons Movie again, this time with my kids. Although only five and three, they were dying to see this movie, and I was dying to see it with them.

You actually appreciate this movie more the second time through. For starters, it's a perfect family film. The only questionable scene involved Otto and a bong, and as far as the kids know he was blowing bubbles. Otherwise, it's good wholesome fun.

They loved the pig scenes, and a gag near the end when they trick Russ Cargill into saying "I'm a wiener". They also love the physical humour, usually involving Homer and a hammer or a rock and a hard place. Here are the parts I thought were ultra special. Warning, there be spoilers below!

• Biting the Hand That Feeds You - The opening scene with Homer calling us out for spending money to watch something that comes on our television every week for free is pure Simpsons gold. We love to be roasted, and we'll pay for that.
• The Nude Scene - This entire montage was fantastic, especially the reveal. I remember the Austin Powers scene that inspired this, but Austin didn't have the gonads to show wang.
• Spider-Pig - Although his scenes are brief, the entire Spider-Pig subplot is pretty damn sharp. The song, of course, steals the show. The choral version of the song reached #24 on the British singles chart. At 64 seconds, it is the shortest track to ever reach the British top 40.
• The Scroll - The Fox promotional scroll was too funny. It might be my favourite part of the film.
• Bart and Ned - The subplot revolving around Bart's hunger for a supportive and nurturing father figure was handled with great poise and sensitivity. The scenes with Bart and Ned, juxtaposed with the hilarious scene of Bart and Homer fishing, is The Simpsons at its best. It's never just been about the laughs.
• Maggie's First Word - During the credits, Maggie utters her first word. Actually, it's not her first word, but it's her first word in front of the rest of the family. It was a great word, too... and I'm already looking forward to it.

There were many other great scenes, from Green Day to Alaska, but those were my favourites. The kids are still laughing at the "I'm a wiener" line. I must admit, I laughed at that one, too.

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Some study is suggesting the fact females prefer pink and males prefer blue is innate.

Boys like blue, girls like pink and there isn't much anybody can do about it, researchers said on Monday in one of the first studies to show scientifically that there are gender-based colour preferences.

Researchers said these differences may have a basis in evolution in which females developed a preference for reddish colours associated with riper fruit and healthier faces.

Recent studies have suggested there is a universal preference for "blue", and there has not been much previous evidence to support the idea of sex differences when picking colours, said Anya Hurlbert, a neuroscientist at Newcastle University who led the study.

"We speculate that this sex difference arose from sex-specific functional specialization in the evolutionary division of labour," she wrote in Current Biology. "There are biological reasons for liking reddish things."

I have both a son and a daughter, so I've conducted a little study of my own. James does in fact prefer blue and Michelle prefers pink, but it has nothing to do with science. It has everything to do with the fact we consciously crammed these colours down their throats since birth. From the moment we saw a penis on the ultrasound, everything for Sweet Baby James was blue. From the millisecond we were told our second child was going to be a girl, Michelle was drenched in pink. We created this pink loving monster. My Michelle didn't have a chance.

God shmod, I want my monkey-man! And I want him wearing blue, dammit!

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I know parents who won't let their children play with any gun of any kind. All shooting devices are completely banned from the house.

I don't judge these people, I'm not a big gun fan myself, but I'll let James play with a gun, so long as it's a massive plastic orange gun.

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If you want to make a movie that will appeal to young kids, go with talking animals. It seems to be gold in my house. If the dog or cat or mouse or rat talks, the kids love it.

The kids have been enjoying ads for Underdog, a movie about a talking dog with superpowers. A friend passed on free tickets to the premiere tomorrow night and the kids are ecstatic. Underdog is their Godfather. It's 84 minutes of highly anticipated hilarity.

I normally play ball on Thursday nights, but James and Michelle want to see Underdog and that means I'll be watching this movie which can't possibly be any good. At the risk of using a joke worthy of the movie itself, it's a dog with fleas and everyone over the age of ten knows it.

It's going to be bad, but it's a talking dog, and that's all that's going to matter.

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That's the thing about kids... they grow up. There's nothing you can do to slow this process down, so I recommend getting comfy and enjoying the ride.

One of the benefits of maintaining a blog like this is I can't forget things. If I want to remember the details of Michelle's birth, I just have to read this. As with James, I got to watch the whole thing, but this time I got to cut the cord. I also shot a little video.

My little girl is three years old today and she's amazing. She's smart, funny, enthusiastic and beautiful, not that I'm biased or anything. Here's how she looked three years ago and how she looks today.

Happy Birthday Michelle!