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For those who follow my sporatic excessive blogging habits, you might have noticed that I set up two paparazzi/Abigael sites: Abbyrazzi and Abirazzi.

Why? Good question.

Five and a half years ago, Kerry and I named the best person we know 'Abigael.' It was a name that wasn't really on our moniker radar but the night that we brought her home, we tried it out on her and it seemed to work. We went for a slightly non-traditional spelling simply because we thought it looked cool -- but decided that she would be Abby to the rest of the world because (a) it's cute and (b) there would still be a chance that we could find some personlized dollar-store garbage for her in the future. We were really thinking ahead about the important stuff!

Fast forward about five years. Our little Miss is growing up just fine thank you very much -- either because or inspite of us. And one day she declared that from now on, she would be 'Abi' and not 'Abby" (though she would still like to be 'Abby J' at school to counterbalance the presence of 'Abby L.')

I've been preparing for the days when everything I do is wrong and everything she does is right. In my mind, I know there will be a time when the best person I know will think that I am the worst person she knows. I know that she has a mind of her own and that the only constant in her big little world is change. But I didn't expect those 'changes' to start so soon.

So... okay. Abby is 'Abi.' And from now on this will be the home of my daughter's stalker photographers -- even if the picture-maker happens to be... Abi.

The Morality of Cheating

It must be tough to be five-and-a-half years old. I personally don’t remember but Abi is here to remind me that there are more than physical growing pains to contend with in this world.

Often before bed, Abi and I will play cards. Uno is a favourite. Though the game is meant for players aged seven-plus, she doesn’t know that and she legitimately wins half of the time. She understands the rules and you can see her strategize her wins. It’s brilliant to watch her scheme and shark. She can even add up the value of the cards that she leaves everyone else holding. Math at age five! I’m still using my fingers to calculate how many days are left before the weekend.

Another game we have been playing is ‘Go Fish!’ The rules are simple. You are dealt seven cards. You can ask your opponent if they have any of a specific card that you already have in your hand. (“Do you have any Jacks?”) If they are holding any number of that particular card, they must hand all of them over and the receiving player gets to ask for more cards. If your opponent doesn’t have any, they might say, “No. Go Fish!” and you would draw a card from the slush pile. When all the cards are gone, whoever has the most sets of four wins!

Last night Abi and I are Fishing and she asks, “Do you have any Jacks Daddy?” I hand over the three that I have in my hand. She says “Thank you” and slides them into her hand. Then she asks, “Do you have any eights?”

“Wait. Why don’t you take the Jacks out of your hand so you don’t have to hold all of those cards? I ask.

“’Cause I only have three of them.”

If this were anyone else, I would accuse him or her of cheating. I might assume that someone else figured out that I was collecting Jacks and just wanted to get them out of my hand. But this was Abi.

“That’s not how you play the game Abi. You know that. You know that you can only ask for the cards that are already in your hand, don’t you?”

“I know,” she said with her head tilted down but her big blue eyes looking back up at me. “I’m sorry I cheated.”

I don’t think she cheated. I think she really did forget the rules. And I made sure she understood that. We ended the game (she won) and I tucked her in and said good night. Before I left her room, she asked to see Mama.

Upstairs, Abi told Kerry that she had cheated playing cards and that she was so sorry and that she was worried I was disappointed in her.

Wow. How could I ever be disappointed in this little girl? She has more moral fiber in her five-and-a-half years old body than pretty much everyone else I know – combined.

It must be tough to be five-and-a-half years old. But it’s tougher not being five-and-a-half years old.

The Real You

There are nothing like those quiet candid moments when you think that the world is not watching. Or maybe you know the universe is tracking your every move -- and you just don't care. It doesn't matter. So in those moments, you dance and sing and talk to yourself and make faces as you stare at your reflection. It's during those moments when you are truly you -- or you are the you that you always wanted to be. Or you are the you that others wish they could be too.



*The wonderful surprise of opening the camera roll on your phone and realizing that your daughter left you 27-self portraits.

Snow Angel

Cheesy title -- I know.

For whatever reason, Abby likes snow. Maybe growing up in the lower mainland of British Columbia where most of our snow comes in its liquified form has made her love it all the more. You always want what you can't have.

That makes me question whether we are related. My idea of winter sport is opening and closing the door as quickly as possible so the dog can squeeze outside to do his business all on his own.

I wasn't always like that. I grew up in north-eastern Ontario. I used to snowshoe and cross-country ski. I even had my own snowmobile when I was a kid. But I am an adult now. (Thank you Moe Berg!) My main winter responsibilities consist of swimming through the slush that people refuse to shovel from their sidewalks because they know it will melt eventually -- and shovelling my sidewalks while trying to ignore the numbness in my left arm.

But Abby believes in snow angels and forts and snow tubing at Mach-Two down Mount Seymour. Even when she caught a tube with her pink frosty face, she was still ready for more gravity-propelled fun.


I am not totally against winter sport. Next time it snows, Abby and I will sit outside and see who can down a hot fudge sundae the fastest.

Catching-Up

My college friend Mark was in Vancouver for business. Thanks to Faced-book, we had recently hooked up again and had been shooting emails and start-ass status comments back and forth for a while – but this was the first time we’d seen each other face-to-face in about 25-years.

A lot had changed in that quarter century. Fatter (me). Less hair (me again.) Same rapid-fire pop-culture-laced conversations we had started in the eighties. To be honest it was like no time had passed at all.

But there was something else we had in common now – we were fathers. Specifically, we had daughters. Mark’s little girl is just three-months old. Abby is nearly six-years old. And there’s another thing – we both conceded that we really looked forward to The Talking Years. Mark has a bit of a wait. I’ve been in my full conversation-Abby-glory for a while now.

I always envisioned my relationship with Abby sort of mimicking the final season of “Mad About You” with Paul Reiser’s ‘Paul Buchman’ sitting with his daughter Mabel making fun of all the people that passed by on the street. Abby and I aren’t quite to that level of debauchery quite yet. For now, it’s just the two of us at a McDonald’s Play Place on a Sunday afternoon chatting about the important things in life: Build-a-Bear, Scooby-Doo and how she beat me playing Uno… again!







It was good to sit down and reminisce and catch-up. And it was good to connect with someone who I could go all goo-goo-daddy with over a plate of spaghetti and meatballs at White Spot. Next time we’ll have to bring our daughters – though I doubt we will be able to get a word in edgewise.


*Photos made of Laura Zeke of the Digital Photography Program at VanArts

A Pretty Party Dress

I wish I was this self-assured. I used to be. Sort of. There was a time when I didn’t think about whether I would or should rule the world – I just did. I’m not sure what changed.

What we all need to do is think like a five-and-a-half year old. Abby wakes up in the morning and puts on a pretty party dress because she wants to. She dances and sings and laughs because she has too – it’s her nature. And she does things like this crazy eyes-closed thumbs-up shuffle because she knows that it makes me laugh.

She’ll draw a picture of a cat and colour it purple because… well, just because. She’ll skip to the closet to put her boots on before school. She’ll tell you you’re doing good job playing Angry Birds – even though both of you know that you are not.

I may not rule my world in the same way I used to or the same way I thought I might – but Abby makes me believe that maybe I could again someday.











*Pictures made by VanArts Digital Photography student Laura Zeke

This IS Abby

As much as I love the idea of video and hearing and seeing Abby running around singing and laughing and being 'Abi' -- there is something about photography and one picture that can capture a moment and say so much more in a single frame.

I work at a media arts school that includes a digital photography program. Part of the course covers family and child photography. They were looking for willing subjects to volunteer. I volunteered Abby. And the minute she walked into the studio, she ruled the session. When she wasn't being given direction, she steered the shoot. And the student photographer had no choice but to ride shotgun and snap the shutter.

Take this shot for example. While the instructor talked with her student, Abby walked over to the side of the set, grabbed the table, placed the mats, and gently deposited Blue Bear on top. Then she crawled under the table and waited for someone to notice. This turned out to be one of the best pictures of the session.



I have literally taken thousands of pictures of Abby over the years. You will slowly begin to see some of my work soon. Most of my stuff is candid slice-of-life shots; the kind of sly photography that, when you look back, makes you wonder when and how I got that shot. And this picture makes me think of moments like that.

This... is Abby! Bare feet... Blue... the head-tilt... and a smirk that suggests there is a whole lot more going on than you will ever know or understand or appreciate. I dare a video camera to capture a moment quite like this.