I make a bad-ass Hamburger Helper.
Megan gave me a pair of pajamas yesterday and said, "Donate 'em, Dad." I unwadded the clothing bundle she'd handed me. It was her 'Cuddle Monster' PJ's. "Too small now," she muttered and walked away. It was all very sudden. I guess I hoped she'd wear them forever.
Last night Michael and I landed, somehow, on the subject of 'World's Most Important Jobs.' The phrase itself sounds important; I think that's why I just capitalized it. Anyway, I said, "Well, you know what the most important job is, right?" I think I've mentioned this before because Michael answered quickly and correctly, "Being a great parent." I said, "Bullseye." Then I added, "How am I doin'?" Michael smiled and said, "You're exceeding state standards." Ha! I think he noticed we thought it cute (and maybe, admittedly, we thought it a little silly or nerdy also, but we love him for it and I can be nerdy with the best of 'em!) when he said the same thing in a discussion months ago about his standardized test results from school. He scored in the high 90's percentile - of course :) - in every subject or category. So we were lauding his academic focus and prowess, and he said, "Well, I am exceeding state standards." My son has a great sense of humor. And, uh, does anyone else think that's kind of a tongue-twister? Say 'I am exceeding state standards' 25 times. Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
We're off to the Quad Cities again this weekend to see Grandpa Byard. We'll stay at the same hotel we're pretty familiar with now. A Marriott. Since Dad and Papa Mike both have a zillion Marriott points we just pull in and stay for free. We love the place. It has a pool.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Slips of Paper
Often I write down the insanely adorable things the kids say, and then they float around on my desk for days, months, perhaps years. I just gathered up a few and am posting them so I can finally recycle the paper. Bear with me if I have posted these before.
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While playing doctor with Megan, I was the patient. She checked me head to toe and at one point, she lifted my shirt to check my heartbeat. Following is the ensuing (and confidence-destroying) conversation:
Megan: Is there a cat in the home?
me: No, why?
Megan: Aren't those cat scratches on your tummy?
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Megan: Did you know when you have lice, they like, build little stick houses and stores and a whole life in there?
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January 2011
Megan: I'm feeling tired today. Maybe Jesus went to a store. Maybe he went to a store and he's not watching us or controlling us. Maybe when he goes to a store, people have bad days.
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In response to the info that we can't always buy every single thing that we want and that our money is limited:
Michael: Okay, so like, how thick is our pile?
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June 17, 2010?
Michael: Mommy, this morning, Meggie and I played together.
me: Yes, I know, I heard you.
Michael: While we were playing, there were tears in my eyes.
me: Why?
Michael: I dunno. Tears of joy?
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June 13, 2010?
Michael: Am I ever in your dreams?
me: Sure. You're in my dreams a lot!
Michael: REALLY?!
me: Well, I think about you all the time, so it only makes sense that you'd show up in my dreams.
Michael: Okay. This is going to sound bad. but I don't really think about you very much.
me: Well, I'm a mom and it's my JOB to think about you. You're a kid – your job is learning and growing, not thinking about your mom.
Michael: So I don't ever really dream about you, cause I don't really think about you.
me: Well, I know you love me, so it's okay, buddy. Don't sweat it.
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February 2012
Megan: It would be wierd to be you.
me: It would be wierd to be you.
Megan: Oh, mom. You would LOVE being me.
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-------
While playing doctor with Megan, I was the patient. She checked me head to toe and at one point, she lifted my shirt to check my heartbeat. Following is the ensuing (and confidence-destroying) conversation:
Megan: Is there a cat in the home?
me: No, why?
Megan: Aren't those cat scratches on your tummy?
--------
Megan: Did you know when you have lice, they like, build little stick houses and stores and a whole life in there?
--------
January 2011
Megan: I'm feeling tired today. Maybe Jesus went to a store. Maybe he went to a store and he's not watching us or controlling us. Maybe when he goes to a store, people have bad days.
---------
In response to the info that we can't always buy every single thing that we want and that our money is limited:
Michael: Okay, so like, how thick is our pile?
---------
June 17, 2010?
Michael: Mommy, this morning, Meggie and I played together.
me: Yes, I know, I heard you.
Michael: While we were playing, there were tears in my eyes.
me: Why?
Michael: I dunno. Tears of joy?
---------
June 13, 2010?
Michael: Am I ever in your dreams?
me: Sure. You're in my dreams a lot!
Michael: REALLY?!
me: Well, I think about you all the time, so it only makes sense that you'd show up in my dreams.
Michael: Okay. This is going to sound bad. but I don't really think about you very much.
me: Well, I'm a mom and it's my JOB to think about you. You're a kid – your job is learning and growing, not thinking about your mom.
Michael: So I don't ever really dream about you, cause I don't really think about you.
me: Well, I know you love me, so it's okay, buddy. Don't sweat it.
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February 2012
Megan: It would be wierd to be you.
me: It would be wierd to be you.
Megan: Oh, mom. You would LOVE being me.
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Wednesday, February 08, 2012
Dad Entry #121
Megan is a note-writer. With impressive range. Whether happy or sad, to praise or argue, lavish love or sling venom, she puts it all in letters now. I can sense from non-verbal cues if she's handing me fan- or hate mail, before I've opened the envelope or unfolded the paper. For example, over the weekend I received an 'I LOVE MI DODDY' note from a very smiley and bouncy deliverer. But when I denied Megan a heavy, slippery glass cup in favor of a non-breakable plastic one, I was given the following without eye contact or a smile: 'DER DADDY, WI CAT I YOOS THI GLAS IT IS JUST A GLAS, FROM MEGAN.' I should mention this was written on a store-bought Christmas card with the words "Peace On Earth" over a beautiful dove. Someday we'll discuss the finer point of coordination between a card's printing and what's later hand-written and personalized; I hear it's tacky to scribble 'Happy Birthday' under an embossed 'Thank You'. Megan knows this but will express, on an otherwise happy card, a discrepant complaint or accusation. Mommy and Daddy both get stuff like, 'WI AR YOU BIN MIN' on pink paper, maybe with a butterfly sticker that seems to clash with the theme of us being 'mean'. The good news is, you can get cards at the dollar store. Lots of them. Cheap. So on some level, Sara and I are just happy Megan keeps practicing her writing.
Megan's favorite breakfast is anything with frosting on it.
We went through seven boxes of Kleenex over the weekend. Maybe six. At least five! I'm certain there were four empty boxes in the recycling bag this morning, and a box in the car. And I wasn't using them. The kids have colds.
Megan's a lip-smacker when she sleeps. I stay with her after the bedtime ritual sometimes, while she drifts off. Heaven. I'll be reading via the kindle app on my phone when a small racket starts up next to me, like a beatboxer, or a taste-tester, or a ravenous person without manners. She might carry on for 30 seconds. Megan doesn't snore very often though; she's a stark underachiever compared to family standouts like Uncle Bill. But it's pretty cute when she gives it a try, when she's out cold and saws a log, even if quietly.
I told Megan her birth story the other night, one of her favorite bedtime yarns. I was weaving the usual, with minor embellishments; this one doesn't require any Hollywood-sensationalism to keep her rapt. (Although, Meg's a great story-listener, even if I lay an egg.) So eventually Megan said, "Did you forget about the pan?" I knew what she meant but played dumb. She clarified, "You know, the bedpan, the one Mommy threw up in." I said, "Oh, yeah, I forgot." Megan continued, "Mommy threw up because she saw me and I wasn't Rachel." I smiled - it was a funny thing to hear - but then I assured Meg she wasn't the cause, or at least that wasn't the cause; Mommy got sick because there was too much pressure on her organs. But Meg continued cheerfully, "No, you were gonna name me Rachel or Megan, you hadn't decided, I know it was hard." Yes Honey, it was SO hard, picking Megan or Rachel, and I had to do it I remember, by myself, the toughest part, while Mommy just laid there and gave birth. Seriously though, I realized she was just spicing up her birth story. (I do the same. They named the nursery after me at St. Luke's in Davenport. And erected a statue.) So Megan knows - because we tell her, probably too much - we were nothing but sky-high super-thrilled when she was born. As for the 'pan', well, I was hoping to banish that to forgotten history; it just seems unpleasant and unimportant. But Megan likes this story, her story, and apparently nothing about it is unimportant or trivial. I agree! The pan was actually plastic and kidney shaped; I'm not sure it's even called a bedpan? Would one of you nurses enlighten us, please?
Megan's favorite breakfast is anything with frosting on it.
We went through seven boxes of Kleenex over the weekend. Maybe six. At least five! I'm certain there were four empty boxes in the recycling bag this morning, and a box in the car. And I wasn't using them. The kids have colds.
Megan's a lip-smacker when she sleeps. I stay with her after the bedtime ritual sometimes, while she drifts off. Heaven. I'll be reading via the kindle app on my phone when a small racket starts up next to me, like a beatboxer, or a taste-tester, or a ravenous person without manners. She might carry on for 30 seconds. Megan doesn't snore very often though; she's a stark underachiever compared to family standouts like Uncle Bill. But it's pretty cute when she gives it a try, when she's out cold and saws a log, even if quietly.
I told Megan her birth story the other night, one of her favorite bedtime yarns. I was weaving the usual, with minor embellishments; this one doesn't require any Hollywood-sensationalism to keep her rapt. (Although, Meg's a great story-listener, even if I lay an egg.) So eventually Megan said, "Did you forget about the pan?" I knew what she meant but played dumb. She clarified, "You know, the bedpan, the one Mommy threw up in." I said, "Oh, yeah, I forgot." Megan continued, "Mommy threw up because she saw me and I wasn't Rachel." I smiled - it was a funny thing to hear - but then I assured Meg she wasn't the cause, or at least that wasn't the cause; Mommy got sick because there was too much pressure on her organs. But Meg continued cheerfully, "No, you were gonna name me Rachel or Megan, you hadn't decided, I know it was hard." Yes Honey, it was SO hard, picking Megan or Rachel, and I had to do it I remember, by myself, the toughest part, while Mommy just laid there and gave birth. Seriously though, I realized she was just spicing up her birth story. (I do the same. They named the nursery after me at St. Luke's in Davenport. And erected a statue.) So Megan knows - because we tell her, probably too much - we were nothing but sky-high super-thrilled when she was born. As for the 'pan', well, I was hoping to banish that to forgotten history; it just seems unpleasant and unimportant. But Megan likes this story, her story, and apparently nothing about it is unimportant or trivial. I agree! The pan was actually plastic and kidney shaped; I'm not sure it's even called a bedpan? Would one of you nurses enlighten us, please?
Monday, February 06, 2012
Bedtime Anecdotes
1
My entire family has been hit with a plague. It is dragging on and on...and dragging our spirits down and down. Tonight as Meg was snuggling down for sleep, she was coughing again. I suggested turning on the humidifier and getting her some medicine. She nearly had a heart attack remembering the cough syrup I gave her last time...apparently the off-brand isn't nearly as tasty. As I walked out the door to fetch the meds, she wailed, "No, mommy! I would much rather be miserable coughing all night!"
2
I was telling Megan what a blessing she was. She said, "God gave us to each other," all blissfully. I agreed and told her that, "When he looked at you and decided to send you to me, he made me the luckiest mommy ever." She immediately looked at me like I was an insane person and replied, "Mom. That's not really true. MARY is the luckiest mommy in the world. Mary is luckiest mommy in HISTORY." I stand corrected, Meg.
My entire family has been hit with a plague. It is dragging on and on...and dragging our spirits down and down. Tonight as Meg was snuggling down for sleep, she was coughing again. I suggested turning on the humidifier and getting her some medicine. She nearly had a heart attack remembering the cough syrup I gave her last time...apparently the off-brand isn't nearly as tasty. As I walked out the door to fetch the meds, she wailed, "No, mommy! I would much rather be miserable coughing all night!"
2
I was telling Megan what a blessing she was. She said, "God gave us to each other," all blissfully. I agreed and told her that, "When he looked at you and decided to send you to me, he made me the luckiest mommy ever." She immediately looked at me like I was an insane person and replied, "Mom. That's not really true. MARY is the luckiest mommy in the world. Mary is luckiest mommy in HISTORY." I stand corrected, Meg.
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
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