Megan snores. Sometimes she ends up in a contorted position with her head tilted back and mouth gaped open. Then I can hear it, a little rattle in her throat. Sleep apnea? A life of fatigue and crabbiness and unrealized potential?! No, the snoring is rare; she’s usually silent as a mouse. A perfect angel. Until she gets crabby.
Michael’s bad sleeping habit – sweating – seems more frequent, and disruptive. He bundles up like an Eskimo, or a Bears fan at Soldier Field, many-layered, wrapped tight and surrounded by his comforter, blanket, sheets, another blanket, crayon pillow, and a jumble of stuffed animals. When I pull the covers back from his chin, a heat wave wafts upward, like I’ve lifted the lid from a pot of boiling water. No kidding. Steam. Then I touch his brow and it’s soaked. So is the hair on his temples. It’s like someone threw water in his face.
We were at a restaurant and a group of young women walked by. I’d say they were late teens or early twenties. Megan said, “I wonder if those girls are in Girl Scouts, Dad!” Like everything Megan says - except for, “I hate (fill in the blank)!” and, well, several other things - it was super cute. The comment warmed my heart. Was it the innocence of it? The inaccuracy? The appeal, to a little girl like Megan, of such an esteemed and illustrious group as the Girl Scouts?! The cookies? I’m not sure. I know young men can do Eagle Scouts, but I’m not aware of an equivalent for young women. The comment just sort of pointed to Megan’s ‘understanding horizon’ I guess I’ll call it. Limited by age, of course. It’ll be a decade or so before she understands teenager-hood, and after that, what it’s like to be a woman, to really know what women look and feel like, what scares, inspires, and delights them. It’s a complex subject, and diverse, but there’s a book about it, a manual; it’s a billion pages long and incomplete and never been written and incomprehensible anyway.
Megan likes minty gum. She calls it ‘spicy’ gum, which is one of the fifty million things I love about her.
I already mentioned this when he tried it on, but Michael looked super-GQ in his First Communion suit. With clip-on tie, shiny black shoes, and new haircut. Stud.
Michael and Megan bicker. They joust a lot now; it brings back memories! Jen? Regardless, the other day Megan said, “I wanna marry you, Michael.” Michael responded – and I don’t know where he heard this – “Umm, I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”
The kids like to tell on each other, too. “Dad, Megan tried to kick me” and “Dad, Michael won’t let me play.” Cries of “It’s not fair” are common. And they threaten each other. Michael says, “Okay, you did it again so I guess I have to expel you from school.” This upsets Megan, as she enjoys playing school. She likes the fake assignments and ‘notes sent home to parents’ and field trip announcements that Michael creates and hands out to her. So Megan acquiesces – or is a tiny bit nicer – unless Michael goes too far. Then, like the other day, she’ll say, “I’m telling Mommy, and I’m gonna tell her to punish you real good!” The ‘real good’ ending made it sound less painful or punitive or something. But it gives Michael pause. The other day Megan insisted on passing Michael on the stairs. We weren’t in a hurry; it was just one of those mornings full of competition, irritation, and sniping between them. When Megan pushed past Michael on the stairs he said, “How come Megan always has to be first, even at someone else's birthday party!” Ooh, I knew immediately this was a severe charge, maybe the supreme accusation of selfishness for persons of single digit age. The Everest of indictments for self-centeredness! Birthdays are sacred. Christmas is the only exception, the only day it’s okay to have more fun and more presents than the birthday boy. Although, hopefully he gets a lot of attention too. He does at our house. Did I mention Megan’s comments about the “Jesus world?” Yeah, pretty cool, fifty million and one.
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