Megan's shoes are still pretty small. Cuter objects don't exist. Megan - the entire Megan - is still pretty small; I can lift her over my head, spin or flip her easily, and hold her upside down so she can 'walk' on the ceiling. I can put her in a duffle bag and move it up and down and all around like she's in a roller coaster car. (The handles on the bag are key.) And I can catch her if she launches herself from a higher step or chair or ledge. I am very reliable as evidenced by Megan's trust; she leaps at me without warning sometimes. I actually feel an adrenaline burst as I have to instantly react and position myself for a safe and soft grab of this thing that's VERY precious to me. But - sniffle - I can't do this stuff with Michael anymore. I can pick him up and toss him around a little, tackle him, wrestle him, get him to tap out if need be. But that's about it. I don't hurt him. I know at 200lbs I'm in another weight class.
I worry about Michael being, well, a worrier. Now that is funny. Honestly, I just wrote that first sentence without any awareness of its circularity or obvious allusion to heredity, without any intention to highlight that. No kidding. So maybe he gets the habit from me, although Sara is a bit of a ruminator too. It is both helpful and harmful to be this way. More of the former, I think, but it lends itself better to certain types of careers, certain habits and ways of life in general. Surgeon: "Hmm, did I just sew up the patient with my scalpel still in there? I better make sure it's back on the tray instead." But there are numerous variables that impact, well, everything in life, so maybe we should just add it to the list. Sensitivity and awareness and analysis are important. Pain is a good teacher. But paralysis is no good. Nor is it when anxiety and depression gnaw at a person's happiness, or slowly erode their peace of mind. I can speak from experience. I'll remind Michael that motion changes emotion, I'll remind him do something productive, directly constructive to his concerns if possible, when he feels a little down. I'll tell him to get moving, literally, and keep moving, get his pulse up if he's worried about something. I find it difficult, as a parent, to consider the negative genetics I might've transmitted to my kids. It's possible I have one or two deficiencies that I passed on. And that's sarcasm at its finest if you didn't notice.
I write these things because I enjoy thinking and writing about my kids - selfish, I know, but who isn't vain and selfish, I mentioned vanity in a previous entry. Anyway, I also write these because I hope the kids will enjoy reading them someday. I tell myself it'd be cool if I had some realtime commentary scribbled over 30 years ago by my parents or grandparents. But they have tons of stories to tell, of course, and not all is lost or told through an altered, contemporary lens. And they were awfully busy working their asses off. I intend to try that too someday. We do have tons of pictures, though. And we have VHS video of when we were roughly teenagers - all 'cool' and awkward - but the reality is we don't watch it. We never watch it. And, it just occurred to me, I'm happy we never watch it. So now I'm wondering what M&M will really think about all this anecdotal nonsense I keep writing.
Yesterday the kids were singing the Lady Gaga song "Bad Romance" (I had to look up the title) with the lyrics - if you can even call 'em lyrics - "Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah, rahma-rahma-ma-ahh". Poignant stuff. That's the part the kids will bust into song with at random moments, like over a pile of Legos or at the dinner table. I asked them, "Do you know who sings that song?" Michael said, "Lady Gaga." I said to the kids, "Did you know Lady Gaga wore a dress made out of meat? The whole thing was made out of raw meat, like raw steak." Megan said, "Oh, then we would have to put her on the grill!" Yes, we would. One of many moments I've been so very proud of Megan.
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