Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Her Work
Megan often comes to visit me early in the morning and asks me if she can do "her work." Her work consists of reading, drawing, writing, organizing, whathaveyou, as long as it is quietly in her room. If this visit is before 7 am, I personally consider it to be the middle of the night. However, if it is after 6:30, I will allow work to be done. Before that, she must go back to sleep. This drawing was done last week during her worktime. I love it. Time so well spent.
Dad Entry #139
Michael got a question wrong on his standardized math test. There were 70 questions and he missed one. Sara and I were PISSED! We screamed in unison, "This kind of carelessness is UNACCEPTABLE!" Not true, of course. He scored very high. He's a good student and we're happy for him, what he's doing for himself, learning, growing, building a big, agile hunk of gray stuff between his ears.
At the Sanborn Fall Fest dance party my sweet, sweet, sweet, little Megan was a wallflower! For a little while anyway. She was a bit shy and self-conscious watching other kids run, jump, and skip all over the dance floor. Ha! I know the feeling! I didn't push her. I said, "Do you wanna dance with the other kids, Love?" She said, "No," and stepped a little closer to me and leaned against my leg and my heart expanded and I wanted to hug her forever. It was awesome! She stuck to me like velcro while we watched and chatted with friends and listened to the music. I loved every minute of it until she finally left me. Then she was gone, never to return, dancing and laughing with friends, spinning, flailing, chasing and being chased in a throng of unpredictable silliness and confusing self-expression. Suddenly the music seemed painfully hip-hoppy and annoying. Yes, it was hugely metaphorical.
Megan enjoyed a new experience recently. She rode in the front seat of a moving automobile. For the first time EVER! Woo-hoo! What a novelty! Michael was there too – with Megan in between us – but he projected the been-there-done-that aloofness of a prideful veteran; he's ridden upfront before. But it was new for Megan, and she sat tall and bright-eyed, craning her neck over the dashboard. "I can see everything!" she said with refreshing enthusiasm. We rented a flatbed truck from Home Depot. There was no backseat. So we all buckled up – there were three seat belts in the front – and I drove very carefully as I explained how the role of 'riding shotgun' has evolved from the days of covered wagons and bandits. "If robbers tried to stop the stagecoach it would be your job to blast 'em," I said to the kids. Okay, I didn't say that. But if I'd really chronicled the history of front-seat-riding, I would've included the period when seat belts were ignored and it was legally okey-dokey for Dad to pull the kids up on his lap to steer. And the front seat would have an open, dirty ashtray and maybe a can of Old Milwaukee somewhere. Every car wreaked of cigarettes and every dad had a mustache. The good ol' days!
At the Sanborn Fall Fest dance party my sweet, sweet, sweet, little Megan was a wallflower! For a little while anyway. She was a bit shy and self-conscious watching other kids run, jump, and skip all over the dance floor. Ha! I know the feeling! I didn't push her. I said, "Do you wanna dance with the other kids, Love?" She said, "No," and stepped a little closer to me and leaned against my leg and my heart expanded and I wanted to hug her forever. It was awesome! She stuck to me like velcro while we watched and chatted with friends and listened to the music. I loved every minute of it until she finally left me. Then she was gone, never to return, dancing and laughing with friends, spinning, flailing, chasing and being chased in a throng of unpredictable silliness and confusing self-expression. Suddenly the music seemed painfully hip-hoppy and annoying. Yes, it was hugely metaphorical.
Megan enjoyed a new experience recently. She rode in the front seat of a moving automobile. For the first time EVER! Woo-hoo! What a novelty! Michael was there too – with Megan in between us – but he projected the been-there-done-that aloofness of a prideful veteran; he's ridden upfront before. But it was new for Megan, and she sat tall and bright-eyed, craning her neck over the dashboard. "I can see everything!" she said with refreshing enthusiasm. We rented a flatbed truck from Home Depot. There was no backseat. So we all buckled up – there were three seat belts in the front – and I drove very carefully as I explained how the role of 'riding shotgun' has evolved from the days of covered wagons and bandits. "If robbers tried to stop the stagecoach it would be your job to blast 'em," I said to the kids. Okay, I didn't say that. But if I'd really chronicled the history of front-seat-riding, I would've included the period when seat belts were ignored and it was legally okey-dokey for Dad to pull the kids up on his lap to steer. And the front seat would have an open, dirty ashtray and maybe a can of Old Milwaukee somewhere. Every car wreaked of cigarettes and every dad had a mustache. The good ol' days!
Monday, October 22, 2012
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Megan is Ruined
We've lost her to the good life.
This weekend, Dan and Michael went to Iowa for a fishing trip. Shockingly, they did not want to have Megan tagging along and complaining the. entire. time. So she stayed with me and Dan booked us a room for Friday night at the Marriott near our house with his 600 bajillion Marriott points, so we could have a girlie night.
We headed over after school, armed with swimsuits and crafts. When we arrived at the check in counter, Megan had hit a maximum level of excitement. The guy who checked us in asked us where we were from and I told him, "Oh, just Palatine. We're here for a little girls night." He asked me to wait for a few minutes and went to the back. When he returned, he told us that since we were only there for one night and the hotel wasn't full, he had hooked us up in a top floor suite. Little did we know he had just put us in the best suite the hotel had! Since Dan is a preferred Marriott guest (thank you, Motorola) we also got to choose a treat from a little menu to be sent to our room. The guy and I both laughed after I read the list and Megan chose fruit and pretzels over ice cream. He told me quietly, "I'll send up some ice cream, too."
When we got to the door with our number on it, I thought we were mistaken. There were two doors. I never get two doors in a hotel! When we opened them, we literally walked into an apartment. I wish there was a video of us, running around like crazy people..."A kitchen!!!" "There's another bathroom over here!" "I'm in an OFFICE!" "There are ten chairs in the dining room!" "MEGAN. GET IN HERE AND LOOK AT THE MASTER BATHROOM." We were giddy and silly and laughing like maniacs. Some time after that, there was a knock on the door. In came a guy bearing snacks: a lovely plate of whole fruits, a bowl of pretzels, a bowl of M&Ms, a bowl of Skittles, a pint of ice cream and the water Megan ordered. It was like we had been dropped into Shangri-la. Megan said, "If this was our house I would be digging it so badly!"
We made the most of it! We spent time gazing out at the lovely 16th floor view which was floor to ceiling in each room (Megan noted that "when you are on the ground, there just aren't as many trees as this!"), building Legos in the office, warming ourselves by our fireplace, doing crafts in the living room. I am bummed as I realize we didn't spend any time in the dining room or the kitchen. Missed opportunity! We swam in the pool and lounged in the hot tub. We took a hot bath in our cavernous bathtub. We ordered room service and I had a good laugh when Megan couldn't understand why I liked crabcakes...turns out she thought they were crapcakes. We watched a movie in bed and snuggled the night away. That's my nice way of saying Megan hogged the bed and basically slept on top of me most of the night.
In the morning we lounged around before heading down for a swanky breakfast buffet where Megan decided that that is where she would be getting married and our Romanian waitress took a shine to us. Then we had friends come over to our humble abode for another swimming session. The girls all got to squeeze in a quick kidwash in our unbelievable shower before we had to check out.
Megan is now damaged goods. She cried at bedtime tonight, wishing we were back at the hotel. Never again will a normal hotel room, or even a normal suite, cut it for her. This new level of maintenance may affect her wedding plans.
This weekend, Dan and Michael went to Iowa for a fishing trip. Shockingly, they did not want to have Megan tagging along and complaining the. entire. time. So she stayed with me and Dan booked us a room for Friday night at the Marriott near our house with his 600 bajillion Marriott points, so we could have a girlie night.
We headed over after school, armed with swimsuits and crafts. When we arrived at the check in counter, Megan had hit a maximum level of excitement. The guy who checked us in asked us where we were from and I told him, "Oh, just Palatine. We're here for a little girls night." He asked me to wait for a few minutes and went to the back. When he returned, he told us that since we were only there for one night and the hotel wasn't full, he had hooked us up in a top floor suite. Little did we know he had just put us in the best suite the hotel had! Since Dan is a preferred Marriott guest (thank you, Motorola) we also got to choose a treat from a little menu to be sent to our room. The guy and I both laughed after I read the list and Megan chose fruit and pretzels over ice cream. He told me quietly, "I'll send up some ice cream, too."
When we got to the door with our number on it, I thought we were mistaken. There were two doors. I never get two doors in a hotel! When we opened them, we literally walked into an apartment. I wish there was a video of us, running around like crazy people..."A kitchen!!!" "There's another bathroom over here!" "I'm in an OFFICE!" "There are ten chairs in the dining room!" "MEGAN. GET IN HERE AND LOOK AT THE MASTER BATHROOM." We were giddy and silly and laughing like maniacs. Some time after that, there was a knock on the door. In came a guy bearing snacks: a lovely plate of whole fruits, a bowl of pretzels, a bowl of M&Ms, a bowl of Skittles, a pint of ice cream and the water Megan ordered. It was like we had been dropped into Shangri-la. Megan said, "If this was our house I would be digging it so badly!"
We made the most of it! We spent time gazing out at the lovely 16th floor view which was floor to ceiling in each room (Megan noted that "when you are on the ground, there just aren't as many trees as this!"), building Legos in the office, warming ourselves by our fireplace, doing crafts in the living room. I am bummed as I realize we didn't spend any time in the dining room or the kitchen. Missed opportunity! We swam in the pool and lounged in the hot tub. We took a hot bath in our cavernous bathtub. We ordered room service and I had a good laugh when Megan couldn't understand why I liked crabcakes...turns out she thought they were crapcakes. We watched a movie in bed and snuggled the night away. That's my nice way of saying Megan hogged the bed and basically slept on top of me most of the night.
In the morning we lounged around before heading down for a swanky breakfast buffet where Megan decided that that is where she would be getting married and our Romanian waitress took a shine to us. Then we had friends come over to our humble abode for another swimming session. The girls all got to squeeze in a quick kidwash in our unbelievable shower before we had to check out.
Megan is now damaged goods. She cried at bedtime tonight, wishing we were back at the hotel. Never again will a normal hotel room, or even a normal suite, cut it for her. This new level of maintenance may affect her wedding plans.
Tuesday, October 09, 2012
Dad Entry #138
Michael has some dark hair on his legs now. So does Megan!
Sometimes I look at Megan and she is so gloriously angelic and perfect that for a kind of timeless, transcendent, wonder-filled moment nothing else matters whatsoever. Michael casts this spell on me too, on occasion, when he's doing something like writing in a notebook or standing in the batter's box. I just feel enormous gratitude. The kids hear this voiced regularly; it's how I start nearly every prayer with them. God, thank you for my children. Thank you for my son. Thank you for my daughter.
It's ridiculous how cute Megan looks in skinny jeans. They're tailor-made for her. She's pretty thin. She would eat up the whole potato chip aisle if we let her, but we don't let her.
Megan loves the board game Monopoly. She played a bunch with Grammy and Papa over the weekend. She viewed me as fresh meat, and I acted like it when we squared off yesterday. I let her explain the rules, which she did with an eager confidence and a dash of condescension. She said, "I just need to warn you, if you run out of money, you lose." She added, "And you can end up in jail, and there's lots of other weird things, and the game can last a long time." I thought, hmm, sounds like real life. Our game isn't finished but things are going as Megan planned; I'm slowly getting crushed and bled dry. While Monopoly isn't exactly analogous to real life, it is interesting to note that being responsible and generous hasn't served me very well. I didn't overextend myself financially, or buy everything in sight, or try to outmaneuver my neighbor. And yet I find myself on a downward slope, paying fees and rent wherever I land, hemorrhaging money while my covetous opponent straightens her piles of cash and – despite a sweet and gorgeous facade – seems to relish my every misfortune. Megan still throws me a look of doubt when I explain that five ten-dollar bills are not worth more than one fifty-dollar bill. And yet, I lose :)
Megan had her 7th birthday party! Ten seven-year-olds petting puppies and bunnies at Petland. Pizza, cake, presents... gluttony! It was fun. Only occasionally did I check college football and Ryder Cup scores. (Papa Mike held the Ryder Cup at the Wentworth Club in England years ago following a European victory.) Also, I should mention that Iowa State and the Bears are both 4 - 1.
Sometimes I look at Megan and she is so gloriously angelic and perfect that for a kind of timeless, transcendent, wonder-filled moment nothing else matters whatsoever. Michael casts this spell on me too, on occasion, when he's doing something like writing in a notebook or standing in the batter's box. I just feel enormous gratitude. The kids hear this voiced regularly; it's how I start nearly every prayer with them. God, thank you for my children. Thank you for my son. Thank you for my daughter.
It's ridiculous how cute Megan looks in skinny jeans. They're tailor-made for her. She's pretty thin. She would eat up the whole potato chip aisle if we let her, but we don't let her.
Megan loves the board game Monopoly. She played a bunch with Grammy and Papa over the weekend. She viewed me as fresh meat, and I acted like it when we squared off yesterday. I let her explain the rules, which she did with an eager confidence and a dash of condescension. She said, "I just need to warn you, if you run out of money, you lose." She added, "And you can end up in jail, and there's lots of other weird things, and the game can last a long time." I thought, hmm, sounds like real life. Our game isn't finished but things are going as Megan planned; I'm slowly getting crushed and bled dry. While Monopoly isn't exactly analogous to real life, it is interesting to note that being responsible and generous hasn't served me very well. I didn't overextend myself financially, or buy everything in sight, or try to outmaneuver my neighbor. And yet I find myself on a downward slope, paying fees and rent wherever I land, hemorrhaging money while my covetous opponent straightens her piles of cash and – despite a sweet and gorgeous facade – seems to relish my every misfortune. Megan still throws me a look of doubt when I explain that five ten-dollar bills are not worth more than one fifty-dollar bill. And yet, I lose :)
Megan had her 7th birthday party! Ten seven-year-olds petting puppies and bunnies at Petland. Pizza, cake, presents... gluttony! It was fun. Only occasionally did I check college football and Ryder Cup scores. (Papa Mike held the Ryder Cup at the Wentworth Club in England years ago following a European victory.) Also, I should mention that Iowa State and the Bears are both 4 - 1.
Friday, October 05, 2012
A Princess Turns Seven
Megan's party was a success! She decided on Petland as her location of choice, which was no surprise to anyone who knows her. There were puppies and bunnies...there was koi petting and live piranha feeding (this went over surprising well, considering they tossed in basically what many of the girls have for a pet)...there was pizza and strawberries and cake. What more could you ask for?!
Megan was pleased as punch and even thanked me for her party...twice! A few adoptions occurred at the party, as well, so we're happy to have helped a few animals find homes!
On another note, I am still reeling at the notion that the little girl I brought home from the hospital a few months ago turned seven YEARS old with these festivities.
Megan was pleased as punch and even thanked me for her party...twice! A few adoptions occurred at the party, as well, so we're happy to have helped a few animals find homes!
On another note, I am still reeling at the notion that the little girl I brought home from the hospital a few months ago turned seven YEARS old with these festivities.
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