I'm very proud of my son today. It's mostly because he's shown no signs of ending up like Charlie Sheen.
The last 2 or 3 nights I've sung Megan to sleep. I've sung her songs "from the paper" - what she calls my printouts of lyrics - until she's peacefully, blissfully REM'ing. But my sleeping beauty can still surprise me, like yesterday, when I noticed her eyelids were heavy, then closed, then her body seemed to sink, relax. Her breathing turned rhythmic, dispupted only by a series of lip smacks and a perfect, graceful snort. How sweet, I sung her to sleep. But... to make double-sure before I tip-toed out of her room I decided to repeat the same song, rather than shuffle the papers and change the melody, things that could stir the beast. Did I just call my precious little thing a beast? Yes. Yes, I did. Anyway, I was singing "What Child Is This" - Megan is young and loves Christmas carols all year round - and I was starting my third consecutive rendition, feeling proud cause I knew she was way under. But Megan squinted her eyes half open, annoyed, and said, "Daddy, quit singing the same song over and over again." Fussy people are the spice of life. Not 'variety'. We would be so bored without fussy people. Happy, and at peace, but bored.
Today Megan said, "We need to go back to the forest preserve, because I think once, a long time ago, I found a penny there." Hmmm. I guess we should boost Megggie's 'abundance mentality'.
Megan and I watch - and sometimes even do - instructor-guided exercise routines offered 'On-Demand' on cable TV. Megan asked me today, "Daddy, why do you workout?" Before I could answer she added, "Do you want to be really, really skinny like Aunt Gretchen?" You betcha!
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