Megan read to me tonight. "Go, Dog. Go!'" was the book. Megan said, "It's pretty long, Dad, but I can read it to you fast if you want." I said, "No, Sweetheart, don't read fast. Don't hurry. Please don't hurry. You don't have to grow up, I mean read fast."
We went fishing in Minnesota. Papa Mike, Michael, and I drove to our friend Paul's near Deluth. Paul lives on a big lake, complete with two docks, boats, a four-wheeler, two boxers (dogs, not pugilists, although that would've been cool too), a bonfire, remarkably bright stars, bunk beds, a slingshot, waders, and a garage full of fishing gear. And lots of beverages. Michael had a blast. So did the rest of us.
While we were at Paul's, Grandma and Meg dined at the American Girl Doll store. I have yet to visit one of these fabulous shops, thanks to Megan's grandmas, aunts, and Mommy who always take her without me. Michael and I enjoyed fishing so much we threw our lines in Prior Lake, also. Megan joined us and it was biblical, we landed so many largemouth bass. Megan used her new pink fishing gear. Michael was happy with a lightweight setup of mine, which I officially gave him along with all my tackle. Megan was quite the animated, cheerful fisher-woman. Michael was more focused and moody; dour one minute, elated the next, depending on his cast length and accuracy, the presence of any line tangles, and time elapsed between catches. I mostly helped Megan, who occasionally missed her cues; "Hey Sugar-Bean, I think you've got one," I'd say, as I saw flashes of her pink and purple bobber under the surface moving sharply one way or the other.
Michael noticed a condom dispenser on the wall of a truck stop bathroom during our trip. I watched as he studied it, bracing myself. I didn't interject awkwardly with an attempt to distract or draw him away. I assumed he was reading the descriptions of his four choices, each with its own receptacle for payment via quarters above an opening where the handy item, once purchased, can be retrieved. Thankfully, he didn't ask me what it was, not to mention inquire about brightly colored product slogans like 'extra safe' and 'maximum pleasure'. I would've only piqued his interest further with clumsily fibbed and fumbled answers. We'll have this discussion soon enough, I'm afraid. Megan's not the only one - alluded to above - growing up too fast.
Megan, despite her petiteness - and her immaculate cuteness, of course - can let loose terrific farts. I mean real doozies, the kind any man's man would proudly call his own. It's all fun and games now; I just hope she never does it at the prom, or on a date sometime. Wait a minute, I take that back....
Friday, March 30, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Dad Entry #126
We are nearing 500 posts on the blog. We've lost a little steam, perhaps, but Meg-Pie won't be one of those youngest-in-the-family siblings whose childhood goes undocumented, compared to the oldest kid at least, the firstborn for which the parents compile a tome of photos, notes, nail-clippings, and everything else, totally burning themselves out in the process. No, we are recording and saving roughly an equal amount for both kids, in case they need evidence someday of their lives as infants, toddlers, and little-school-goers. Of course, if they're like me, they'll only look at these pieces of their history every decade or so.
I have two great friends at work named Limei and Maggie. The three of us lunch together sometimes. They are both from China and can flawlessly switch between English and Mandarin. There are many other wonderful and impressive things about them. For example, they get my jokes. And, even better, they both think Megan is gorgeous. Of course they do; they're brilliant and beautiful, also. It takes one to know one. They were studying the picture I posted of Megan standing on the stool looking at books. Limei said, "She is so skinny!" and Maggie said, "She's going to be a supermodel, a European-looking supermodel." I didn't ask her if she meant pouty and sophisticated. Or ferocious. Or just skinny. Whatever. I'm only praying for 'happy and healthy' right now.
Regarding Megan's skinniness: I mentioned many posts ago that Megan has a Nelson butt. This is, in fact, a misnomer. A Nelson butt - a physical characteristic distinctly present in descendants of the Nelson family, Megan's paternal grandmother's line - is really the absence of a butt; it's a non-butt. Those of us afflicted might prefer the description 'flat butt' but I'm not sure that's accurate. Okay then. Glad we cleared that up.
I hope Michael doesn't read his own press because I'm going to say this about him: his origami is sometimes hurried and imprecise. I was tempted to say 'shoddy' even. His folds and creases can be soft and ever-so-slightly misaligned. For shame! Where's that obsessive-compulsiveness I see in most other members of our family?! Will it appear someday in a meticulously arranged sock drawer? Will it lead to umpteen unnecessary shoe and watch purchases? Will he worry all vacation that he left the garage door open? We'll see. It'll be something. And that's good; I think if you don't have a 'something' then you're not pushing yourself hard enough.
I have two great friends at work named Limei and Maggie. The three of us lunch together sometimes. They are both from China and can flawlessly switch between English and Mandarin. There are many other wonderful and impressive things about them. For example, they get my jokes. And, even better, they both think Megan is gorgeous. Of course they do; they're brilliant and beautiful, also. It takes one to know one. They were studying the picture I posted of Megan standing on the stool looking at books. Limei said, "She is so skinny!" and Maggie said, "She's going to be a supermodel, a European-looking supermodel." I didn't ask her if she meant pouty and sophisticated. Or ferocious. Or just skinny. Whatever. I'm only praying for 'happy and healthy' right now.
Regarding Megan's skinniness: I mentioned many posts ago that Megan has a Nelson butt. This is, in fact, a misnomer. A Nelson butt - a physical characteristic distinctly present in descendants of the Nelson family, Megan's paternal grandmother's line - is really the absence of a butt; it's a non-butt. Those of us afflicted might prefer the description 'flat butt' but I'm not sure that's accurate. Okay then. Glad we cleared that up.
I hope Michael doesn't read his own press because I'm going to say this about him: his origami is sometimes hurried and imprecise. I was tempted to say 'shoddy' even. His folds and creases can be soft and ever-so-slightly misaligned. For shame! Where's that obsessive-compulsiveness I see in most other members of our family?! Will it appear someday in a meticulously arranged sock drawer? Will it lead to umpteen unnecessary shoe and watch purchases? Will he worry all vacation that he left the garage door open? We'll see. It'll be something. And that's good; I think if you don't have a 'something' then you're not pushing yourself hard enough.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Some pics from Dad's phone
Siesta with Papa Mike
Meg, Godfather Corleone I mean Josiah, and Casey
We love used bookstores
Meg's 'favorite color is pink' and her 'favorite animal is a puppy'
Meg, Godfather Corleone I mean Josiah, and Casey
We love used bookstores
Meg's 'favorite color is pink' and her 'favorite animal is a puppy'
Monday, March 12, 2012
Dad Entry #125
Iowa State beat Connecticut. Then lost to Kentucky. Not a bad showing in the NCAA tourney, really. I washed Megan's Iowa State t-shirt with pride.
Michael's friend Nahum was with us yesterday. They get pretty wild together. We were at Dick's Sporting Goods when Megan asked me, "Dad, why do boys run around being crazy all the time?" I said, "Oh Honey, we could spend the rest of our lives talking about that."
The fart jokes are pretty nonstop lately. It's a running comedy, a stand-up script that never ends. There are songs. There are poems. And yes, there are celebrated moments of olfactory disruption, discomfort, disgust. Oh well, we'd have a pot / kettle scenario if I cracked down too much. And I suppose it's better than a lot of things we joke about in life.
We were reading Megan's 'National Geographic Kids' magazine last night. There was a story about a baby ostrich named Madoc who was abandoned by his mother. The article was really about how a toy ostrich, a stuffed animal, was set in his habitat and now he follows it and sleeps by it. It comforts him. Plus, it shows Madoc he's an ostrich; baby birds learn what kind of creature they are by watching family members. (That happens with many humans too, I'd say, for better or worse.) The story used the word 'orphan' which Megan was unfamiliar with. I said, "Well, it means without parents; it says little Madoc's mom left him." The enormity of this gripped Megan. She said, "Oh, he doesn't have a mommy?" I thought this would bum her out, sort of kill the mood of our pleasant bedtime reading, but Megan cheerfully continued, "Well, he'll get new parents at the zoo, right? He'll be happy there, maybe get into a new family, right Dad?" They were leading questions for sure, but I liked her positivity about it. Meg's an optimist! And I agreed with her. "Yes," I said, "Fuzzy little Madoc is probably growing up and doing super-great right now." Optimism, by the way, is strongly correlated with happiness in scientific research.
I mentioned art and creativity in my previous post. It's interesting to me; I believe it takes courage to pump out art. Or - not so positively phrased - it takes a sufficient lack of self-consciousness. Kids have such creativity and curiosity. Of course they do, you might say, they're new to a world overflowing with sensory delight. As a toddler, Michael would move his fingers and stare at his hand in wonderment. I would say, "I know, Buddy, it's fascinating!" So much to see and do, so much to try. Despite my own issues, I still view the world this way; there are many places I haven't been, and many things I haven't tried, scuba diving, oil painting, rock climbing, fly fishing, big game hunting, surfing, snowboarding, sailing. And many things I've done that I want my kids to try, snow skiing, water skiing, deep sea fishing, bird hunting, traveling, rafting, camping, hiking, golfing an immaculate course, shooting a 50 caliber rifle, piloting an airplane (I only played with the yoke and throttle briefly and had nothing to do with the real flying, the take-off and landing). Both lists go on if I do more thinking and research. My point? This creative-kid-mentality inspires me, I guess. They make things with gusto. I know some kids are shy and some adults are prolific generators of art and work and excitement. Are my ruminations here unsubstantive then, or pointless? No. I'm certain too many adults allow the scales to tip; their doubts outweigh the creative energy they once possessed. I hope this doesn't happen to Michael and Megan. And we leak something else, I'm afraid... although kids can be mean, I've observed mostly an undampened sense of compassion in the littlest of their kind (sadly it can be corrupted or tempered quickly in our world). But Megan and Michael both have reflexive moments of deep concern for each other (I know, crazy, right?) and even for strangers. For a time it seems innate. I love these pure moments. They're instinctual. I'll admit it happens less and less every year. M and m's compassion for each other, and strangers, is flagging. Ha. Actually, I hope only the rawness of it is less. I hope the empathy and awareness is still there; they've only introduced more thinking, since they can better assess severity and consequences. I read this quote over the weekend and it resonated hugely with me, "Self-actualizing people have a deep feeling of identification, sympathy, and affection for human beings in general. They feel kinship and connection, as if all people were members of a single family." So what does it all mean? Hell if I know; I'm rambling. Although, I will say one more thing: I believe it's related to this scrap of wisdom, "Anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will not enter it."
Michael's friend Nahum was with us yesterday. They get pretty wild together. We were at Dick's Sporting Goods when Megan asked me, "Dad, why do boys run around being crazy all the time?" I said, "Oh Honey, we could spend the rest of our lives talking about that."
The fart jokes are pretty nonstop lately. It's a running comedy, a stand-up script that never ends. There are songs. There are poems. And yes, there are celebrated moments of olfactory disruption, discomfort, disgust. Oh well, we'd have a pot / kettle scenario if I cracked down too much. And I suppose it's better than a lot of things we joke about in life.
We were reading Megan's 'National Geographic Kids' magazine last night. There was a story about a baby ostrich named Madoc who was abandoned by his mother. The article was really about how a toy ostrich, a stuffed animal, was set in his habitat and now he follows it and sleeps by it. It comforts him. Plus, it shows Madoc he's an ostrich; baby birds learn what kind of creature they are by watching family members. (That happens with many humans too, I'd say, for better or worse.) The story used the word 'orphan' which Megan was unfamiliar with. I said, "Well, it means without parents; it says little Madoc's mom left him." The enormity of this gripped Megan. She said, "Oh, he doesn't have a mommy?" I thought this would bum her out, sort of kill the mood of our pleasant bedtime reading, but Megan cheerfully continued, "Well, he'll get new parents at the zoo, right? He'll be happy there, maybe get into a new family, right Dad?" They were leading questions for sure, but I liked her positivity about it. Meg's an optimist! And I agreed with her. "Yes," I said, "Fuzzy little Madoc is probably growing up and doing super-great right now." Optimism, by the way, is strongly correlated with happiness in scientific research.
I mentioned art and creativity in my previous post. It's interesting to me; I believe it takes courage to pump out art. Or - not so positively phrased - it takes a sufficient lack of self-consciousness. Kids have such creativity and curiosity. Of course they do, you might say, they're new to a world overflowing with sensory delight. As a toddler, Michael would move his fingers and stare at his hand in wonderment. I would say, "I know, Buddy, it's fascinating!" So much to see and do, so much to try. Despite my own issues, I still view the world this way; there are many places I haven't been, and many things I haven't tried, scuba diving, oil painting, rock climbing, fly fishing, big game hunting, surfing, snowboarding, sailing. And many things I've done that I want my kids to try, snow skiing, water skiing, deep sea fishing, bird hunting, traveling, rafting, camping, hiking, golfing an immaculate course, shooting a 50 caliber rifle, piloting an airplane (I only played with the yoke and throttle briefly and had nothing to do with the real flying, the take-off and landing). Both lists go on if I do more thinking and research. My point? This creative-kid-mentality inspires me, I guess. They make things with gusto. I know some kids are shy and some adults are prolific generators of art and work and excitement. Are my ruminations here unsubstantive then, or pointless? No. I'm certain too many adults allow the scales to tip; their doubts outweigh the creative energy they once possessed. I hope this doesn't happen to Michael and Megan. And we leak something else, I'm afraid... although kids can be mean, I've observed mostly an undampened sense of compassion in the littlest of their kind (sadly it can be corrupted or tempered quickly in our world). But Megan and Michael both have reflexive moments of deep concern for each other (I know, crazy, right?) and even for strangers. For a time it seems innate. I love these pure moments. They're instinctual. I'll admit it happens less and less every year. M and m's compassion for each other, and strangers, is flagging. Ha. Actually, I hope only the rawness of it is less. I hope the empathy and awareness is still there; they've only introduced more thinking, since they can better assess severity and consequences. I read this quote over the weekend and it resonated hugely with me, "Self-actualizing people have a deep feeling of identification, sympathy, and affection for human beings in general. They feel kinship and connection, as if all people were members of a single family." So what does it all mean? Hell if I know; I'm rambling. Although, I will say one more thing: I believe it's related to this scrap of wisdom, "Anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will not enter it."
Dad Entry #124
The volume of artistic output from my kids is staggering. Thankfully paper is recyclable. If I saved everything, I'd be buried in it. So would you; we like to share! They have shows now about this very phenomenon, 'Hoarders' and 'Buried Alive'. It's awesome (my kids' art, not hoarding); the outpouring of creativity and expression is truly astounding. It does, however, put a strain on my capacity to judge what's keep-worthy. It's a daily struggle. Most of it gets pitched. Tossing one of Megan's drawings can be excruciating. Michael's origami cranes are difficult to let go. There are times I think of saving it all and buying a warehouse, a space to radiate young Michael and Megan vibes, for eternity, just by virtue of the multitudinous masterpieces stored there, works created - sometimes not very painstakingly - by my two favorite artists. The presence of tons, literally, of their beautiful and imaginative energy would just imbue the place with the same feeling I get when I hug them. What a pleasant thought. I'm going to shop for warehouses now.
The Cyclones are in the Big Dance! They square off against defending champion UConn in the first round. What's this got to do with M and m, you ask? Well, they both have Cyclone t-shirts for one thing.
I viewed a talk the other day (on a favorite website, ted.com) given by a passenger on the airplane that emergency landed in the Hudson River in 2009. He said it was terrifying, of course, when the pilot turned off both crippled engines and said only three words, "Brace for impact." He was pretty certain he wouldn't survive based on documentary footage of similar incidents. But a sense of sadness overtook the fear; he explained, "I didn't want to go. I loved my life. And this sadness really framed only one thought. I only wished for one thing. I only wished I could see my kids grow up. About a month later I was in a performance by my daughter, a first grader, not much artistic talent yet (audience laughter), and I'm balling, I'm crying like a little kid, and it made all the sense in the world to me, I realized at that point, by connecting those dots, I realized that the only thing that matters in my life is being a great dad. Above all, above all, the only goal I have in life is to be a good dad." Amen!
The Cyclones are in the Big Dance! They square off against defending champion UConn in the first round. What's this got to do with M and m, you ask? Well, they both have Cyclone t-shirts for one thing.
I viewed a talk the other day (on a favorite website, ted.com) given by a passenger on the airplane that emergency landed in the Hudson River in 2009. He said it was terrifying, of course, when the pilot turned off both crippled engines and said only three words, "Brace for impact." He was pretty certain he wouldn't survive based on documentary footage of similar incidents. But a sense of sadness overtook the fear; he explained, "I didn't want to go. I loved my life. And this sadness really framed only one thought. I only wished for one thing. I only wished I could see my kids grow up. About a month later I was in a performance by my daughter, a first grader, not much artistic talent yet (audience laughter), and I'm balling, I'm crying like a little kid, and it made all the sense in the world to me, I realized at that point, by connecting those dots, I realized that the only thing that matters in my life is being a great dad. Above all, above all, the only goal I have in life is to be a good dad." Amen!
Monday, March 05, 2012
Dad Entry #123
Megan has an interesting way of venting when other avenues, mostly crabbing and crying, are exhausted or inadequate. Crying is tiresome and ineffective - as a tool for protest that is - depending on audience and environment. And whining gets you only so far. (Farther with Daddy than Mommy, one might guess. And one would be correct. Go figure.) So how can a girl dissipate that lingering anger? Well, Megan retires to an art-friendly place to practice what I can only describe as a mild form of voodoo. She draws the frustrating person or situation and puts a big X through it. It's not exactly pins in dolls. So I'm not alarmed. Yet. Voodoo appears to be a Haitian thing, and I'm pretty sure Megan's never been there. I know my religious friends of a more orthodox persuasion are likely terrified of voodoo. I don't blame them. In fact, I just fearfully fidgeted a little. But mostly, so far, I'm pleased that Megan is a budding little artist. She has some real drawing talent.
The kids and I are looking for a house. My wish-list is simple; we need three bedrooms and we REALLY need a flat slab of concrete (some driveways work and some don't) for a basketball court. This area cannot be obstructed by trees or the home itself. We'll need arc on our shots and space for baseline maneuverability. Once we've identified the spot (heartlessly chopping down hundred-year-old trees if need be) we'll erect our hoop. Let me be clear: there are crappy hoops and there are good ones. Crappy hoops are flimsy and unsolid and, frankly, as disappointing to me as wet toast. The backboard should be glass that doesn't move AT ALL when the ball is put against it to bank in a shot. The rim is a different animal, of course; it should have a 'breakaway' mechanism for dunks (oh yes, there will be thunderous dunks, but only after lowering the hoop I should add in the spirit of full disclosure... until the kids are both older and taller than me). And our rim needs appropriate bounce too, or 'give', for the kind of shooting and rebounding rolls and touch and feel we're used to from the other hoops we compete under, in school gyms and so on. Hoops like this do NOT go on roofs or gutters (did I mention wet toast), they go in the ground via a big square post and it takes Paul Bunyan or a semi-truck to move them even an inch. And, as I noted above, it must be height-adjustable. I think that covers it. And I guess we'd like a house with indoor plumbing too.
The kids and I are looking for a house. My wish-list is simple; we need three bedrooms and we REALLY need a flat slab of concrete (some driveways work and some don't) for a basketball court. This area cannot be obstructed by trees or the home itself. We'll need arc on our shots and space for baseline maneuverability. Once we've identified the spot (heartlessly chopping down hundred-year-old trees if need be) we'll erect our hoop. Let me be clear: there are crappy hoops and there are good ones. Crappy hoops are flimsy and unsolid and, frankly, as disappointing to me as wet toast. The backboard should be glass that doesn't move AT ALL when the ball is put against it to bank in a shot. The rim is a different animal, of course; it should have a 'breakaway' mechanism for dunks (oh yes, there will be thunderous dunks, but only after lowering the hoop I should add in the spirit of full disclosure... until the kids are both older and taller than me). And our rim needs appropriate bounce too, or 'give', for the kind of shooting and rebounding rolls and touch and feel we're used to from the other hoops we compete under, in school gyms and so on. Hoops like this do NOT go on roofs or gutters (did I mention wet toast), they go in the ground via a big square post and it takes Paul Bunyan or a semi-truck to move them even an inch. And, as I noted above, it must be height-adjustable. I think that covers it. And I guess we'd like a house with indoor plumbing too.
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