Dad Entry #83

Last week Megan told me, "Daddy, I can smell the throw-up in the back of my throat." This was not a surprise as our princess had been up sick all night. I asked her, "Do you wanna brush your teeth, Sweetheart?" Megan: "No, it's fine." Huh?! Megan added, "Daddy, I threw up like 10 times last night in the bucket. Like when the doctor was going to cut me out of Mommy's tummy, and Mommy threw up in the bucket." It’s cute she remembers that… ha. It’s cute she mentions it, though. She likes to hear about the day she was born. Even though it's common, there's still a bit of fuss in the operating room during a c-section. And I embellish. And I'm pretty sure she likes the part at the end when we tell her it was one of greatest days of our lives. Days of our Lives… I wonder if crazy Sami is still on the show. Oh yeah, years ago I tapped the vein. Not really. But I saw bits of a few episodes.

Michael and I won a pumpkin pie at the annual Sanborn Elementary Turkey Shoot. I think that was 2nd prize. 1st prize is the bird. I told Michael that 2nd place is the first loser. No mercy! Cobra Kai! Hardly. We were thrilled with a pie (until we had to eat it). We were so proud of ourselves; we touched fists, blew ‘em up, and puffed out our chests. After all, lots of dad / kid combos compete; everyone in the school is eligible. Michael did great. But, yes, basking in the pleasure of our award – the pie – didn’t go so well. Michael didn’t like the taste. (Neither did Megan.) Michael lobbied for something else instead, "Ice cream? Or anything chocolate?" Sorry, we told him, but pumpkin pie is the prize. It’s Thanksgiving. You don’t win the heavyweight belt and ask for a necklace. You don’t get a Super Bowl bracelet. There’s no Stanley fork. You don’t invade France and get Spain. I know, I begged myself to stop, also. Terrible analogies, every one, but there was a point to make. And clearly I didn't make it because Michael blurted, “All of my hard work for nothing!” I was irked at this; gracious winner he was not, and – even more irksome – only winner he was not. “First of all,” I said, “Did you even break a sweat? We didn't get to warm up and we only shot for two minutes.” He gets sweaty practicing in the basement though, maybe that’s what he meant. But I added, “And, umm, didn’t you have a partner?” I hit everything but one shot in fact - I would dominate the grade school ranks! - and I drained two long ones for extra points. But then I pumped Michael up so much it’s no wonder he went all NBA prima donna on me. The knowledge of our victory was all I needed, but somebody had to eat the pie. With a whole can of Reddi-wip. I even put some on the pie. In case you live on Mars, a while back someone invented the pressurizing and propelling of cream out of an aerosol can. Amazing. I put it somewhere between the filament light bulb and velcro. Although adding the fluted top for decorative application was just showing off. With Reddi-wip you can dispense dollops – or massive amounts for that matter – of whipped cream directly into your mouth. The kids and I did this repeatedly like marvelous gluttons.