Dad Entry #156

Michael is pretty tidy when it comes to schoolwork. I'm most aware of things that require my involvement, of course, things like his reading log which I bless with my autograph. Not so valuable, my autograph, but it's nice to give it. Michael puts papers I need to sign (his reading tracker, yes, but also stuff like permission slips and notes about curriculum) in front of me like an attorney at a closing, neatly ordering, stacking, and sliding them across the table. "Oh, and here's a good pen, Dad," he'll say, clicking one to arm it and handing it over with a smile, pleasantly, expectantly, ready to sweep away each paper once signed. He's a pro. Instead of asking him appropriate questions about the upcoming field trip, or school subjects, I pretend I'm Lebron or Verlander with a Sharpee signing posters. (I wonder if my son realizes how juvenile most adults are. Probably not. I didn't realize this until I was about 35.) Well, it seems logical, or chronological, to talk about Megan next, in this context, but I'm unenthusiastic. Oh, Meggie. Unlike her brother, Megan will ask me if I've signed her stuff before she's even taken anything out of her backpack. And sometimes her backpack is still in the car. "Umm, Honey, I'm not going to dig your papers out for you, if I can even find them. Get your binder, and bring it over here, and we'll review things together, please and thank you." We're working on it. But, this part is equally true; Meg practices her spelling words over and over again, and she asks for math problems to do on her whiteboard. She's a good student, also.

Megan's desk is fascinating. Why, exactly? Well, I'm simple-minded, I guess, and achingly in love (two reasons will do for now, hopefully). Please don't disapprove of my strangeness (too late) but I enjoy sitting at her cramped, little desk, imagining how she interacts with the mishmash of stuff I see littering its surface. This exercise relieves me instantly of any family-familiar OCD concerns, at least of the 'sock drawer' variety, because it's quite obvious that Megan's desk is not clean whatsoever, many miles from the flawlessly ordered and arranged sock-drawer scenario referenced above (the scary-perfection of which is terrifying; if you've seen one, you know what I mean), but instead Megan's desk looks like Barry Bonds - at his PED peak - took a swing at a bulging pinata nearby. I sit there and envision Megan concentrating on the works of art, the colored pages, the Shrinky Dinks, the Mosaic crafts. Right now there's a Geronimo Stilton book she's so very proud to have finished. It's a "chapter book!" There are various hair-thingies, ponytail holders, barrettes, headbands. There are plants, pens, crayons, markers, erasers, photos, knick-knacks from China, a "Tangled" activity book, an "Angry Birds" coloring book, a pink lamp with a zebra-striped shade, a pink peace-sign stencil, a few pieces of candy from who-knows-where, one of the 'big four candy holidays' I presume; it starts with Halloween, and then Christmas, Valentines Day, and Easter all do their thing, nearly on top of each other it seems, and even if given in moderation, the pieces and piles of candy somehow come back faster and thicker every time like beard stubble. Endeavoring to raise healthy children is really a grind sometimes.