Saturday, April 12, 2008
Already
Some one got my eggs in the night. She had been only been incubating for a mere 24 hours. I imagine it was a coyote, however, there may have been a fight since there are still about 6 eggs untouched in the nest. The mama has not returned for them and has been gone too long for the eggs to be viable. I am leaving them out for another night before I clean it up since I assume the culprit will return for the rest and they may as well provide someone some protein. Sad.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Elmo Never Looked So Good
So we're giving it a go. Cross your fingers. It's been about 17 minutes and no pee pee on Elmo!! Not the best pix...one blurry and one drunk. Drunk with "unda-wee-uh" giddiness.
Dad Entry #27
I’m not sure how I feel about Meggie’s haircut. I think at the heart of my reflection is a simple question: can you add to, or subtract from… perfection. No. No you can’t. You can’t improve Meggie. By trimming her hair?!?! Please. Some might argue – and fairly well - that you can detract from perfection. But you can’t. Not this kind. Maybe ‘infinity’ is the right word then and mathematically we can ‘prove’ or say with certainty. But what does math have to do with this; we’re talking about – in this case - a bad haircut. Of course there’s no impact. No more than a drop of rain can damage the ocean. What about misbehaving? That’s just a big wave here and there, the kind surfers love. What about wrecking my car when she’s sixteen? Um, maybe that’s a little storm, a tiny hurricane (but think how HUGE the ocean is). What about picking the wrong boyfriend? I think maybe that’s a tsunami and devastating tidal wave and let’s change the subject.
Michael burned himself on the edge of a baking sheet. We keep him away from hot pans and the hot oven but he came in fast, threw up an arm, and got a nice burn on his arm. He won’t do it again. It blistered into a white line across his wrist. He was bandaged in a ‘mummy’ gauze wrap. This part he was pretty excited about. Maybe he won’t be so careful after all.
Megan stopped doing something I really enjoyed. I don’t think she fully grasped that ‘reading’ meant there were words on the pages that told a story which we relayed to her, straight from the book, the same every time. Very rarely do I skip or improvise (because Michael always busted me when I did that!). With Megan, I would start a book and she would say, “Talk about dat,” as she pointed to one of the pages or pictures. “Talk about dat, Dad.” Sweet thing. I have read a book called “Double Pink” to her about a thousand times now. I guess she knows the words are always the same and they come from the letters on the pages now. In fact, she knows those letters. I love it when she belts out her ‘A-B-C’s’ which she usually follows with a super rendition of ‘Bilo Baby Buntin’.
Michael burned himself on the edge of a baking sheet. We keep him away from hot pans and the hot oven but he came in fast, threw up an arm, and got a nice burn on his arm. He won’t do it again. It blistered into a white line across his wrist. He was bandaged in a ‘mummy’ gauze wrap. This part he was pretty excited about. Maybe he won’t be so careful after all.
Megan stopped doing something I really enjoyed. I don’t think she fully grasped that ‘reading’ meant there were words on the pages that told a story which we relayed to her, straight from the book, the same every time. Very rarely do I skip or improvise (because Michael always busted me when I did that!). With Megan, I would start a book and she would say, “Talk about dat,” as she pointed to one of the pages or pictures. “Talk about dat, Dad.” Sweet thing. I have read a book called “Double Pink” to her about a thousand times now. I guess she knows the words are always the same and they come from the letters on the pages now. In fact, she knows those letters. I love it when she belts out her ‘A-B-C’s’ which she usually follows with a super rendition of ‘Bilo Baby Buntin’.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
A Nest, Mommy!!
A few days ago, while swordfighting with sticks in the front yard, Michael discovered our favorite duck had made her nest perilously close to our front door. She laid us a beauty of a nest (7 eggs!) in the irises last year with disastrous results thanks to a coyote. But she came back with a vengeance and with some babies to make up for, laying an even dozen this year. I hope that her location is beneficial for the chicks and that the proximity to our door/light scares off foxes and such. She seems completely fine with us coming and going (though we do avoid the front door some) and with the kids yelling and tearing through the front yard. Cross your fingers that I don't have to explain the too-early broken shells this year.
I ran out to take these this afternoon when she left the nest uncovered in the rain for some reason. I have a baseball bat near the front door to beat down any predator that arrives in her absence.
I ran out to take these this afternoon when she left the nest uncovered in the rain for some reason. I have a baseball bat near the front door to beat down any predator that arrives in her absence.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Chop, Chop
Well, the deed is finally done. I have been avoiding it for such a long time, so it was funny to have to fight the urge to just hack it all off รก la Victoria Beckham. Only took about 3 inches in the end. She was so good the whole time...perhaps it was because she was sitting in a police car for the cut. Those photos will have to come later...I forgot my camera and had to buy a one-time-use cam for the occasion. I barely even remember how to have film developed.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Dad Entry #26
Sorry, this is longish, I threw a lot of notes in here….
The other day, Michael was playing with a ‘scupa’ diver in the bathtub. He told me the diver was “diving deep for crustaceans.” I said, “If he goes really deep he’ll need lots of air. How big is that tank on his back?” Michael thought hard and said, “It’s 150 gallops.”
And that’s a perfect segue into mentioning Wyatt. Wyatt is Aunt Diane’s beautiful, big thoroughbred horse. He’s really an impressive animal. He has a dark, solid coat with just the right amount of sheen to give him that sleek, powerful look. He’s, well, a thoroughbred. But Wyatt has a timidity about him too, a humility, perhaps, although some of that is due to the horse hierarchy at the stable. He was very nice to Megan and Michael, as were all the horses there. They sniffed and licked at both kids and let them touch their long faces. We’re anxious to go back. Maybe this summer we can ride Wyatt.
At the shark aquarium in Minneapolis, Alissa – my niece – asked me to read a sign to her. So I read aloud, “There are less than 100 shark attacks worldwide each year, and only 10 of those are fatal.” I should’ve ad-libbed or substituted something more cheery or at least left off the second part. But I didn’t so Alissa asked, “What does ‘fatal’ mean?” I said, “Oh, um, that just means they got hurt a little worse than the others.”
I was talking with Michael and used the word ‘intense’. I’m sure I was demonstratively reacting to some super dinosaur story of his. He asked, “What does ‘intense’ mean.” I told him, ‘serious’. He said, “Well, what does that mean?” I couldn’t grab another synonym quickly so I changed the subject.
Michael told me yesterday, “Daddy, do you know why this is called a battleship?” The way he phrased the question told me he wanted to give an answer, not get one. So I said, “No.” “Because they battle,” Michael told me. Battleships battle. Yes, sir. But the point of this story, or rather what I realized when this happened: Michael won’t share toys but he will share knowledge. And it’s quite useful knowledge, stuff like ‘battleships battle’ and ‘Triceratops was not a meat-eater.’ So that’s something, anyway, something he willingly shares. Man I feel better now, as a parent I mean. I’m not totally failing. But I really wish Michael didn’t, like, become physically ill every time we made him share toys with Megan.
Today Megan wiped at her nose several times then declared. “I got da booga, Daddy, I got da booga!” She was pretty excited. After all, clear nasal passages are paramount to refreshing, deep breaths. I share her pride – and urgency – when pursuing this kind of accomplishment. I don’t remember where she put the booger, though. Did she even have a Kleenex? Maybe one of you will find it on our couch.
I love watching Megan with ice cream. Especially when served in a bowl with a spoon. When in a cone, it just melts and gets everywhere as she licks and takes bites of it. In a bowl, however, we get utensils, and how fun is that! In a bowl, she takes her spoon and kind of chips away at the glacier that is her scoop of ice cream. She stabs at it, eventually scrapes a piece loose, struggles forever to get it onto her spoon, then lifts it to her lips. Yes, of course it does. It slides off the spoon just shy of her mouth and falls to the table (or worse, in her lap). She doesn’t get angry, though; she’s still just excited to have ice cream. And she’s focused, determined. And maybe she knows at two years old she’s a bit short on dexterity. So she looks at it momentarily as a puddle forms around her ice cream bite now melting and flattened on the table. She tries to pick it up, a very slippery thing now, with the fingers of her left hand. The spoon is still in her right hand. Eventually she gets some of it into her mouth. Then the process repeats itself. Forever. Even after there’s only liquid in her bowl, she keeps scooping and spilling.
I could describe Megan all day long; sorry to bore you.
I asked Megan to do something the other day, I don’t even remember what it was. But her answer was pretty cute. She said, “Daddy, no, I’m too little.”
The other day, Michael was playing with a ‘scupa’ diver in the bathtub. He told me the diver was “diving deep for crustaceans.” I said, “If he goes really deep he’ll need lots of air. How big is that tank on his back?” Michael thought hard and said, “It’s 150 gallops.”
And that’s a perfect segue into mentioning Wyatt. Wyatt is Aunt Diane’s beautiful, big thoroughbred horse. He’s really an impressive animal. He has a dark, solid coat with just the right amount of sheen to give him that sleek, powerful look. He’s, well, a thoroughbred. But Wyatt has a timidity about him too, a humility, perhaps, although some of that is due to the horse hierarchy at the stable. He was very nice to Megan and Michael, as were all the horses there. They sniffed and licked at both kids and let them touch their long faces. We’re anxious to go back. Maybe this summer we can ride Wyatt.
At the shark aquarium in Minneapolis, Alissa – my niece – asked me to read a sign to her. So I read aloud, “There are less than 100 shark attacks worldwide each year, and only 10 of those are fatal.” I should’ve ad-libbed or substituted something more cheery or at least left off the second part. But I didn’t so Alissa asked, “What does ‘fatal’ mean?” I said, “Oh, um, that just means they got hurt a little worse than the others.”
I was talking with Michael and used the word ‘intense’. I’m sure I was demonstratively reacting to some super dinosaur story of his. He asked, “What does ‘intense’ mean.” I told him, ‘serious’. He said, “Well, what does that mean?” I couldn’t grab another synonym quickly so I changed the subject.
Michael told me yesterday, “Daddy, do you know why this is called a battleship?” The way he phrased the question told me he wanted to give an answer, not get one. So I said, “No.” “Because they battle,” Michael told me. Battleships battle. Yes, sir. But the point of this story, or rather what I realized when this happened: Michael won’t share toys but he will share knowledge. And it’s quite useful knowledge, stuff like ‘battleships battle’ and ‘Triceratops was not a meat-eater.’ So that’s something, anyway, something he willingly shares. Man I feel better now, as a parent I mean. I’m not totally failing. But I really wish Michael didn’t, like, become physically ill every time we made him share toys with Megan.
Today Megan wiped at her nose several times then declared. “I got da booga, Daddy, I got da booga!” She was pretty excited. After all, clear nasal passages are paramount to refreshing, deep breaths. I share her pride – and urgency – when pursuing this kind of accomplishment. I don’t remember where she put the booger, though. Did she even have a Kleenex? Maybe one of you will find it on our couch.
I love watching Megan with ice cream. Especially when served in a bowl with a spoon. When in a cone, it just melts and gets everywhere as she licks and takes bites of it. In a bowl, however, we get utensils, and how fun is that! In a bowl, she takes her spoon and kind of chips away at the glacier that is her scoop of ice cream. She stabs at it, eventually scrapes a piece loose, struggles forever to get it onto her spoon, then lifts it to her lips. Yes, of course it does. It slides off the spoon just shy of her mouth and falls to the table (or worse, in her lap). She doesn’t get angry, though; she’s still just excited to have ice cream. And she’s focused, determined. And maybe she knows at two years old she’s a bit short on dexterity. So she looks at it momentarily as a puddle forms around her ice cream bite now melting and flattened on the table. She tries to pick it up, a very slippery thing now, with the fingers of her left hand. The spoon is still in her right hand. Eventually she gets some of it into her mouth. Then the process repeats itself. Forever. Even after there’s only liquid in her bowl, she keeps scooping and spilling.
I could describe Megan all day long; sorry to bore you.
I asked Megan to do something the other day, I don’t even remember what it was. But her answer was pretty cute. She said, “Daddy, no, I’m too little.”
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