Dad Entry #19 (Sorry, a long one but I make two movie references and even mention Michael!)

Yeah, I really should say a little more about my son. What’s his name again? Of course, I actually spend more time with Michael, as Megan’s response to my presence is, “I want Mommy.” Thanks, Megan. I love you more than anyone else times ten and that’s what I get. Nice. (Wow, I’ve already switched gears to Megan. That didn’t take long. Michael got one sentence. It might be best if I never let Michael read this. ‘Journal? What Journal? That thing Megan’s reading? Oh, that; it’s nothing.’)

In case you’re wondering, or, rather, in case you’re ‘accusing’, I love Michael more than anyone else times ten, also. Actually, it’s times one-hundred! One-thousand! One-million!!! (And not an outdated ‘one-million’ underbid like that from Dr. Evil).

Michael’s not very timid, at least when he’s in familiar surroundings, with family or friends or the preschool he’s attended for a year or so. I wouldn’t call him aggressive, but I wouldn’t call him wimpy, either. I really narrowed it there, didn’t I? Michael will invade someone else’s space, maybe even relieve them of a toy if it’s one he wants (and he gets scolded for it). So what am I trying to say? Hell if I know. I’m like every parent – that’s why it’s a cliché – I’ve got a product here with no instruction manual. A son. And it’s the most important thing I’ve ever been affiliated with. Oh well. Actually, I guess I’m saying – what any father would say – ‘I want my son to have some toughness.’ When it’s needed. Michael has it, no question. (Now the issue is, ‘when is it appropriate to call on?’) But where does Michael’s toughness come from? Yes, of course. I know. Sara. Michael inherited toughness from his mommy. But I think it’s also because I had a personal ‘Forrest Gump’ realization. Remember when Forrest visits Jenny, near the end of the film, and Jenny points to this little boy sitting in front of the television. “He’s yours, Forrest,” is what Jenny says. I was touched because Forrest, despite his limitations, has self-knowledge and he turns to Jenny and Jenny senses his concern. “No Forrest, he’s the brightest kid in his class.” Awesome. So anyway, my thing is I don’t want Michael to be a 'worrier', I don't want him to worry about trouble or confrontation, to avoid it at all costs. A lot can be avoided or circumvented - and it should be, especially needless, pointless trouble - but some confrontation is inevitable in life, dealing with it is essential. So I want Michael to face it head on, not avoiding or denying or being unprepared for it, not facing it ‘head down’. I want Michael to understand this, despite, say, the fact he regularly sees me with head down receiving orders and tongue-lashings from Sara. He might think a man has to operate this way. No, a ‘man’ doesn’t have to operate like this, just a ‘husband’. I’m kidding. And Sara doesn’t give me tongue-lashings. Very often. Uh, only when I deserve it. Do you see why I’m concerned!!! But not like Forrest exactly. Though I will be nothing but proud when Michael surpasses me in intelligence, like, when he’s in 5th grade. The problem is good 'thinkers' are often good 'worriers'. I just want to make sure Michael isn’t too risk- or conflict-averse. My silly, juvenile way to address this concern: lots of rough-housing and wrestling and roaring like dinosaurs and physical activity. For some reason, I think this helps. So I regularly tackle Michael and put him in an arm-bar or some other Brazilian Jujitsu hold I learned watching Ultimate Fighter. Michael’s at a tiny disadvantage. He’s too young to watch violent UFC bouts (otherwise he would surely learn faster and more than me). And I outweigh him by 150 lbs. My cousin Josiah, who actually trained with these fighters a while back, taught me a move or two, also. Michael says, “Daddy, don’t put me in a body triangle,” as I maneuver him into a leg lock where I have both his legs and arms pinned but I still have one of my arms free to tickle his armpit and ribs. Michael has fun with it. He’ll laugh and grunt and growl and grit his teeth and wrestle ‘like an orca’. I hope this translates to Michael gritting his teeth and persevering when life demands it. Of course, what we also see, on occasion, is Michael gritting his teeth and staring down Megan in a kind of threatening pose. Like he’s ready to rip that whale he wants out of her hand. But he pauses and doesn’t do it. Most of the time. And we remind Michael that you don’t act ‘tough’ and take toys from your cute, little, two-year-old sister.

But it’s okay for Daddy to act ‘tough’ and wrestle with four-year-old Michael. Hmm?

Shock of all Shocks

He gives "her" a kiss! "Her" being the girl who is constantly relegated to the garbage!

Minnesota Zoo

So here is Michael and his cousins and the cousin of his cousins, Vinnie. They might have sat here all day, but we made them leave.

Thorough Thought Process for a 4-year old

Conversation on the way to get hamburger buns at the nth hour:

Me: Should we go to CVS or Eurofresh (grocery store)? I think we'll go to Eurofresh, I want to make sure we get fresh buns.

Michael: What does fresh mean?

Me: Fresh...like yummy. Not hard.

Michael: Hard to chew or hard to make?

Dad Entry #18

Meggie had a good Thanksgiving. I didn’t really pay attention to anyone else. I took videos of her talking, singing, dancing, eating, saying “No Daddy,” as she turned away, annoyed – no doubt thinking get that camera outta my face – annoyed like Jennifer Aniston with paparazzi circling. Yes, I am Megan’s paparazzi. But no, Megan will never get dumped, not by a megastar like Brad Pitt, not by some pimply-faced Joe-teenager. No offense to pimply-faced boys. I was one myself. Megan’s so cute I want two-year-old Peg-pie frozen in time, captured for eternity. She’s talking more these days, expanding on old favorites like “Dit self” and “I nee dat” (which, translated, mean ‘Leave me alone, I want to do it myself’ and ‘I need that cool thing over there that someone else has right now’). Meg sings “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” and her ABCs. She’s kind of a ham once she’s going, actually, which is surprising, as most of us had her ‘pegged’ (no pun intended) on the timid side of quiet. Maybe not. Though maybe I prefer timid. Timid but strong, really strong. Megan also sings an old family favorite that starts with “Bilo baby buntin’, Daddy’s gone a huntin’….”

We went to an indoor jumping gym last week. Lots of blow-up jumping areas and big slides in a high ceiling warehouse. Megan is gutsy. She couldn’t get down the slide fast enough her first time. It was a big slide, especially for Megan, maybe 10 stories for a little pint like her. At the top, Megan beamed a smile and wiggled free of the arm that had hauled her up – my arm, which was on fire with lactic acid. Once free, she scrambled for the shoot a couple feet away and – whoosh! – down. She loved it. Getting her to the top another 500 times wasn’t easy, though. We tried but she couldn’t make the climb by herself. In less than 30 minutes, at least. And the boys climbing behind her would get restless. But I didn’t care about the boys, I was thinking more like the 500 reps would turn into a paltry 50, and Megan wanted to SLIDE! So no Everest for Megan. Yet. Maybe just a skydive. Oh man, I hope I don’t have to go with her. Sara? I did my part at the gym though, scaling the rope ladder while carrying her, pulling myself up with one arm, trying to get my adult feet anchored on kid-sized ladder rungs without slipping, then falling backwards and wiping out all the little kids climbing behind me like bowling pins. I got some looks from nervous moms (including Megan and Michael’s mom). There were some other adults on the equipment, though maybe I was the biggest. Michael slid too, but, God bless him, he had to really think it over first, agonize a bit, assess the probability of grisly injury. Michael is very bright. Apprehension comes with that territory, I’m afraid. One of my favorite quotes right now, from Bertrand Russell:

“The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt.”

Well said, Bertrand, though you were an atheist I think, so I don’t always agree with you.

We also went to the Minnesota Zoo. Michael was mesmerized by the marine life there, sharks, dolphins, rays, crabs, shrimp, Nemo, Dory and tons of other fish. They didn’t have any whales but the big sand tiger shark, the leopard shark pool and the dolphin show momentarily took Michael’s attention off of sperm and bowhead whales. Michael’s a big triceratops fan now, too.

**A FOOTNOTE FROM MOM
about how maybe Michael being so bright is adding some anxiety to his life. He asked me this yesterday: "Mom, are humans going to get extinct soon?"

A Park Day

Dad Entry #17

Well, I survived a weekend without Sara. She flew back to Kansas City for Becky and Chad’s wedding. Here’s what I observed: Michael is perceptive, bright, and manipulative. Megan is the sweetest thing ever. Unless she’s angry. Which happens a lot. And Megan always takes her socks off. Ice rink, blizzard, bed of coals, it doesn’t matter. Ice-skates, moon-boots, firewalker shoes with flame retardant soles. Regardless of need or environment, they will come off. Then the socks. In a few months, I’ll hear a grunt and turn around in our snow fort; one little foot will be bare already and Megan will be pulling hard at the other sock that is elongated but still catching on her heel.

I also observed that kids spill things, and dump things… everything. I suppose parents should head off these messes. Anticipate. Prevent. Come on, Dad! No open box of cheerios within reach of Megan. Cheerios and Cheerio dust everywhere. But it was fun for Megan; she giggled quite a lot. And beware of cups and elbows. It seems there is a ‘swing diameter’ for kids’ elbows, a danger zone not directly in front of the child, but offset to either side. If a glass is placed within range of the elbow, the odds it will get knocked over are quintupled. Actually, there are no odds; it is a certainty. Death, taxes, and chocolate milk everywhere. We spilled a lot of water this weekend, too. On Sunday, Megan asked for “Chicken McNuggets.” She said the words clearly, albeit slowly, and it was very cute. So Megan got nuggets.

Halloween was great. Sara did a masterful job on Michael’s costume. She definitely put some hours into it! But it was worth it, he was proud to be a Killer Whale! Though he felt obligated to clarify – for a few confused people who just wanted to compliment and give candy to a four-year-old – that, “Sperm Whales are really the largest predators in the ocean, but Orcas are the fiercest hunters, they hunt in groups called Pods and eat seals and Sperm Whales only dive down and get fish and squid but did you know that Orcas and Sperm Whales are toothed whales and there are other whales called baleen whales….” Michael doesn’t notice yet when the eyes of his audience glaze over, or reveal concern or astonishment or a frantic desire to escape. I think I recognized all those sentiments while I was with ‘Michael the Killer Whale’. Megan loved her costume, too. The wings were her favorite; she wanted them on all the time. Though it was a bit challenging for her to sit in a chair or lay down with big wire-wings on her back. Whenever she saw them, she practically squealed, “Wings, wings, wings!” What a doll.

The Colony

Megan has recently discovered the joys of nudity. "Naken gull! Naken gull!" ("Naked girl") she yells at all times. As in "Take my clothes off!"