Dad Entry #174

For several weeks now, both kids have had a rattling cough, and very robust – and often visible – mucus masses blocking one or both nostrils. Megan's wet snot often sags and teardrops to the extreme of coating her upper lip at which point I recommend a Kleenex. I hope she catches on before high school. Megan's nose was dry – and nearly clear – last night, though; there was only a single, crusty hanger I desperately wanted to pick as I admired her flawless face. She was reading to me. I said, "Booger, Sweetheart," and pointed to the right side of her nose and she dug and flicked it away. Who cares; I vacuum. Megan was reading aloud a book about a girls basketball team. This is good, since I will coach her soon and want basketball on the brain! On her brain, I should clarify; basketball is always on my brain, especially with Michael’s team at 3-0 and Iowa State ranked 17th. I’m excited to coach Megan’s squad of eight-year-old girls. I’m also terrified. But if my suspicion is true, I’ll benefit from the fact that girls pay more attention and work harder than their male counterparts. Michael's team, albeit older and maybe less tearful, is rambunctious and easily distracted and pretty much annoying as shit. They are also very good and undefeated. Do you think I’d take fewer wins if it meant fewer annoyances? HELL NO!

Outsmarting eight-year-olds isn’t easy. And that holds true for seven, and six, and five, and so on. Speak for yourself, you say? Fair enough; I realize I am the one and only common denominator in my experiences with all the precocious, prodigious kids I’ve been parent, uncle, cousin, coach, friend, and acquaintance to. Maybe you know how to outsmart grade-schoolers, but I don’t. I have a long record of failure. So yeah, anyway, I can’t wait to be in charge of a whole team of eight-year-old girls.

I mentioned Kleenex above. I really love it when Megan leaves a tissue in her pants-pocket, and it ends up in the washing machine with a huge load of laundry. It leaves beautiful little snowflakes – super-thin and impossible to remove – on all of our clothes. It’s so festive!