A Young Richard Avedon? Or maybe Man Ray...

Michael got ahold of, and figured out, my camera. Following are a few of his gems. There were so, so many to choose from.

Dad Entry #12

Sara, you turkey, you've already updated my age on the header above to 32. I was thinking you'd forget for a while so that, unbeknownst to the world, I could remain 31 for a while longer.

Dad Entry #11

After reading a whale book, Michael told me that orcas fight bears. Recall that orcas are killer whales (Michael had to teach me this). Anyway, Michael said orcas win because they are more ‘bitery.’ Phonetically, that’s ‘bite – er – ee’ and, as Michael clarified for me, “It’s like the word bite, Daddy.” He must’ve known his word was not so common. I don’t think he would’ve stopped, furrowed his brow, and felt the need to clarify otherwise. It’s funny; it’s like a feeling-out process with the language. But Michael speaks with authority. He didn’t ask me if ‘bitery’ was a word; he told me what it meant! Come to think of it, he is a know-it-all chatterbox at times. But we’re happy he’s good verbally. He’s expressive and clear; and he’s unafraid to try new words which, at his age, can result in made-up or ‘non-words’ (e.g. ‘bitery’) and mispronounced words (e.g. ‘scupa’ diver). I don’t correct him much yet; I don’t want to squash his creativity. He’ll be challenged and corrected a million times in life – especially if he gets married – so I let things like ‘bitery’ go for now. And obviously I knew what he meant. Orcas have bigger mouths and bigger teeth. The Chicago Bears defense is the toughest thing on earth but bears, as a species, are simply not in the same weight class as orcas. After all, male orcas can weigh-in at over 6 tons. They can eat 500 lbs of food a day. And yes, they will, though rarely, take polar bears as prey. Wow. By the way, did you know that a blue whale’s heart is the size of a car (and it can pump 60 gallons of blood per minute)? Nature is amazing. Michael knows this – that nature is awesome – but I seem to have forgotten momentarily.

Sara and I are going to re-tile our master bath. So I’m ripping out the old tile this week. Michael is ‘helping.’ He mostly pounds nails into the sub-floor, only a little bit so I can just yank them out with my hands. He also pokes around in the little gap between the drywall and the floor, stuff like that. I have to keep my eye on him, though. Not for safety reasons – with hammers, chisels and tile shards laying around, who cares about safety (just kidding DCFS). It’s because I heard, “Look Daddy, I’m working on this thing here.” Michael was referring to the exposed air vent. He’d mangled the aluminum air duct opening. Yikes! I was able to bend the opening back to its previous rectangular shape. Sort of. But in the spirit of not stifling creativity – as above with his uncorrected use of ‘bitery’ – I cringed but commended him on his good craftsmanship. Then I told him to alert Daddy before he undertakes any special projects – like HVAC improvements – and, yes, I told him he can cause damage if he’s not careful, if he does things incorrectly, or if he does things I haven’t okayed first. I’m the foreman, I told him. The contractor. And he’s a laborer. So he has to take orders. And get used to it, I told him. And then I think I mentioned ‘marriage’ again.

My Megan update: she’s cute. The other day she was caring for her baby. She wrapped up her baby, a.k.a. dollie, in a blanket. She held it, rocked it and fed it with a toy bottle. She said "dollie" a few times in her sweet, soft voice. Then she got flustered – because she’s so cute I had to give her and her dollie a hug – so she frowned, whined and twisted away from me. Then she tossed her baby and it crashed headfirst on the hardwood floor. Ouch!

Brief Exchange with Michael

We are having a lousy day. The kids are grumpy and mean and I am an angel, of course.

They just ate lunch and then headed into the living room to play. I walked by the door and saw Michael looking for me guiltily.

I asked him,"What?"

He replied "I'm NOT hitting MEGAN!!!! She's too far AWAY from me!"

I said (facetiously, of course), "Is that the only reason?"

He said, "Yes."

A Day Out

In a cute downtown near us. We went early and stopped in for coffee as we got started. Megan and Michael got chocolate milk. We then got cheese popcorn and fudge for breakfast (or maybe it was lunch by then). Megan sometimes forgets that when she uses a straw, she doesn't have to tip the glass...long story short, she dumped it all over her lap (click on photo to see large). We decided to stay a bit longer, until people giving us "looks" over the fact that Meg looked like she had had serious blow out all over her pants drove us out of town.

Speaking of Daddy Love

Here is a cute one. I asked Meg to "snuggle" daddy's head.

A Snuggle

A rare glimpse at a snuggle with Daddy. This happens so infrequently, that it is a bloody miracle that I got it here. At the zoo. Like sighting an almost extinct animal.

The Scar

After Dan had gone on about how scars are cool for guys, when I did finally take off the LAYERS of bandages, he said, "WOW. That is really bad." Great, so now I can't fall back on the "it's cool" mentality when I look at my perfect son's not-so-perfect eyebrow. Now it's just not perfect.

He's a Natural

Speller, that is. A few days ago, Michael yelled, "MOM! I spelled PUZZLE!" When I looked over, he had this going on on the side of the fridge. Nice.

Dad Entry #10

Megan was feverish yesterday; she’s getting her molars or maybe it’s a little cold / flu bug. Fevers subdue her. She slows, softens; she’s very snuggly all of the sudden. It’s my personal heaven. I hold her and she leans her head against my chest, gets comfy, sighs. Very snuggly. It’s pretty wonderful. Maybe she loosely grabs my shirt with one hand but otherwise she’s very relaxed, warm, sort of needy even. I can take both her little hands and hold them in one of mine... and she doesn’t immediately whip them away and scowl or grunt, all irritated. No calls for Mommy either, no squirming or trying to spin away from Daddy – like she does otherwise when I just want a quick hug - no whining or repeating the same word over and over like, “Down, down, down.” No movie requests even, like “Shark Tale, Shark Tale, Shark Tale.” Last night I just held her for a while and we watched the Crocodile Hunter. Hmm, that doesn’t sound very fitting, very calming, it’s a very energetic show, but Michael was absorbing it all for us, watching and imitating, running “like a cheetah,” attacking my legs “like a lion,” and wrestling pillows into a death roll “like a crocodile.” Yeah, practicing a ‘death roll’ sounds pretty violent, but that’s what it’s called. Michael knows wild animals hunt and kill prey for food. It’s a fact of life. Death and taxes. Even so, I guess we should try to use friendlier words when available. Michael already runs around talking about ‘Orcas.’ Who calls them Orcas? Nobody. They’re Killer Whales. So be it, we’re getting PC with our animal terminology. Before Michael, I didn’t even know Orcas and Killer Whales were one and the same, that they could / should be called Orcas now. Fair enough, but I can’t think of another name or description for ‘death roll’ above. Sara told me Gretchen would like to hear more about me (Dan / Dad) on the blog, maybe a little less about the kids. Okay, sure. Umm, let’s see… I’m going to have spaghetti for lunch. And I wore my dark jeans and a light green polo today.

Dad Entry #9

Michael told me last week, at bedtime, “Daddy, I might get scared tonight.” I asked him what might scare him. He explained that the ‘Veggie Tales’ movie with the ‘Island of Perpetual Tickling’ wasn’t a good movie and that I should take it out to the garage right away, and then we should sell it in a garage sale. I said, sure, we can do that, or I could take it to work and give it away. Michael said that would be fine if I took it out to my car immediately so I wouldn’t forget to take it to work. I asked Sara, “What’s up with the ‘Island of Perpetual Tickling?’” I tickle and wrestle with Michael all the time. She said even though it’s animated, of course, there is a faceless, grim reaper look-alike who runs the island. Though I explained to Michael it’s nothing to be afraid of, I banished the movie to the garage. Michael also said he was scared of “the three letters.” When I asked him to identify the perpetrators within a recitation of his ABCs, he explained, “No Daddy, not like that, the loud letters.” And then I understood. Michael doesn’t like unfamiliar noises that are sudden, unexpected given the source, or just too loud. Industrial strength toilets in public restrooms, for example. The ones that are so loud when flushed it sounds like the whole room will get sucked in. Michael has entered many a public restroom with hands over ears. I guess loud flushes fall in the ‘unexpected given the source’ category. Who knew toilets could be so loud? The ones at home aren’t like that. (I wonder how often a child thinks - about anything worthy of comparison, not just toilets - ‘The ones at home aren’t like that?’) Anyway, sorry, getting back to the ‘loud letters’ bit, I realized Michael meant the big ‘THX’ banner before movies with THX surround sound technology. The ‘three letters’ fill the screen and the volume is slowly increased and blared. Meggie has a lot of words now. She totes around a cleaned-out mayonnaise container full of whale figurines. “Whales, whales, whales.” She also has a whale book she calls out for. She likes to read “Cake,” her Strawberry Shortcake book and who can resist when she says, “Hep, pease. Hep, pease.” It’s so sweet it’s hard to deny her request, even if she wants ‘help’ reaching an open bottle of nail polish, or Mommy’s glass of red wine, anything she will undoubtedly spill or break. Prompted by Mommy, Megan will advise anyone leaving in a vehicle to “Dive fafe.” And Mommy has Megan tell Daddy, “You a bum!” once in a while; it’s from her book ‘The Paper Bag Princess.’ Megan’s long hair is gorgeous. And when she runs, or laughs - or does anything - it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

Dad Entry #8

Today, I just wanna say thanks to my Godmother, Donna. She’s been a wise influence since day one for me. I think wisdom and humor are related. I think people who identify and contribute the latter – whether they realize it or not – possess the former. It’s relevant to the blog because I hope my kids have people like Donna in their lives, people that bring a smile to their face, just the thought of them even if it’s months or years between visits. Donna is still rolling her eyes at my description of her. Hey, I’m only offering my impression and God knows, with all my insecurities and idiosyncrasies, I have a distorted view of everything! But Donna is wise and fun and calming because she will offer a shrug and a laugh even if the topic deserves harsher treatment. I appreciate that attitude and the people who subscribe to it. Now, I hear you Ashley and George, but everyone deviates, once in a while, from their ‘steady state’ mode of behavior!

I think I See an Object!

Today we went with some friends to a cool little exhibit with these massive mosaic tile sculptures by Niki de Saint Phalle. It was seriously neat and the kids thought it was, too...Michael coined the phrase 'o' the day: "I think I see an OBJECT!" An object is a sculpture. Don't know where he picked up that lingo. But he and his friend Ben used it a lot today.

I think I See an Object! Part Two

Dad Entry #7

Sara, please remove your "Too cute" post and picture below. Megan's top is too tight. And where are her pants?!?!

You're Squishing Me!

A rare moment of the kids actually enjoying one another. Well, sort of. Michael tackled Megan and draped his entire body weight over her tiny body and then laid there posing for the camera as Megan, smiling since she's unsure of if this is supposed to be fun and if she should accept the "game" Michael is playing, squirmed to no avail. Not to worry, I promptly removed him after 3 or 4 pics.

Too cute

not to post. I think this one might get daddy through a few long work days. Look at the sweet face. You would never know a raging demanding independent diva inhabited that body.

The Injury

Not easy to see under the load of bandages. Michael was in heaven. And TYLENOL. His elixir of choice.

Don't Mess

with Megan when Michael is around. Only HE is allowed to push her, hit her, head butt her, biff her, bash her...the list goes on but you get the idea.

Come Hither

You know you can't resist the "Girl in a Cooler" look. ME-ow.

Another Accident

Well, more news to report. On his apparantly never-ending quest to look like an NHL hockey player, Michael took a dive yesterday from Meggies doll stroller and cracked his face on the wood file cabinet in the living room. Why exactly he was standing on the worlds' most unstable and unable-to-sustain-his-body-weight toy is not yet understood. Unfortunately, his eyebrow/forehead caught the edge of the cabinet and about 3/4" in and right above his eyebrow actually popped open. It was a VERY traumatic moment. He was VERY upset. I was VERY shaky. We were VERY lucky that Grandma was there to help gauge the situation, send us to the ER and take care of Megan. Michael was so afraid he'd have to get a shot and begged us not to go to the doctor. After we wiped off the blood, we took a look and the cut was extremely deep. Luckily, when we got to the 24 hour Care Center near us, the doctor told us that we could use super glue instead of stitches. Michael was still really struggling and crying a lot (quietly, though) and I had to sing "Raindrops on Roses" multiple times (in front of the nurses!) to help calm him. They washed it all out and gave him a touch of a numbing agent and then glued him up. Very wierd. He seems much better and has only complained of pain a few times. The edge mark is still swollen and bruised...we can only hope the actual cut heals well and that his eyebrow isn't off kilter!

I can't take much more of this.

War Paint

Ahhh, another day at the painting table. What usually starts out and ends in a realtively orderly fashion went tragically awry a few days ago when Michael deemed it necessary to paint his face. Immediately Megan decided it imperative that she do the same. She became very upset when she rubbed the paint in her mouth...it does taste a little bitter.

Camping

In the living room. They love it when I pitch the tent.

Dad Entry #6

Well, not much happenin’, just the usual chaos. Sara slaving hard all the time while I chill out, at Motorola during the day and in front of the Cubs game at night. The Ploehn reunion was fun. Michael loved everyone there. He was high as a kite on chocolate the whole time. Now any mention of the reunion throws Michael into frenzied excitement. Someone slipped him his first brownie five minutes after we arrived. Then Sally, Maxine, Leroy, Troy, Kate, Patty, Alma… they all worked hard to keep his buzz on. I think he pooped a Hershey’s bar – 100% chocolate – in a rest area toilet on the way home. Parenting is hard. Michael is bright and sensitive, but that means manipulative and temperamental. And Megan is a girl. Clichés are clichés for a reason. I’ve never met a man with great skills or training when it comes to caring for women. That includes caring for wives and daughters, I'm afraid. By the way, women aren't experts on men, either. I guess that's the Mars / Venus thing. So with Megan, for example, I press on, blind, clueless, clumsy, but doing my best. Holding her, reading to her, playing with her, combing her hair and trying to braid it (what a gnarled, knotted disaster that was), teaching her words, teaching her to be nice, to share, helping her explore things, and making sure she doesn't break herself or anything else when she gets mad and freaks out. Michael didn’t do the tantrum thing but Megan gives it a try once in a while. Although, by way of critique, I must say her tantrums have lacked enthusiasm lately. I guess she sort of realized they don’t do anything for her. If she studied me closely, she’d notice they make Daddy sweat, but Mommy is a pro. Sara has never reacted much to fuel the fire so Megan learned quickly they’re pointless. Luckily, Sara is terrific with the kids. She’s firm but warm. That’s the magic combo, I think. She says she’s only doing her best, nothing more, learning as she goes. I don’t think so. Spare me the humility. I know she reads a lot, consults other moms, works at it. But there’s something natural there, too. She’s good. Of course, Sara is stubborn and strong; she approaches everything with a degree of confidence, with resolve. Gosh, I think I admire my wife. What’s wrong with me?!?! Am I not a man? A husband? Okay, enough of that. Michael is really getting comfortable in the water. That’s good. It’s fun and easy to hit the pool with him now. With his length – long arms and legs - he could be a great swimmer. Like his Mommy and Papa John. Maybe an Olympic champ or a Navy SEAL. That’s all. We don’t set the bar very high in this family. I do wish Michael would shoot hoops and hit the ball with me a little more, though, baseballs or golf balls. Eventually, he’ll get tired of Papa Mike, Papa John, Uncle Scott, Steve, Sally, Leroy, and the rest of the Ploehn’s, Dave, and his old man – that’s me, geez, I’ve never quite expressed it that way – anyway, eventually he’ll get tired off us all beating him like a drum on the golf course, and taking his money. He’ll start playing more, getting better. And this family is merciless. Cold competitors, everyone of 'em I mentioned above. Nice guys finish last in that crew. I learned the hard way. Michael’s Papas, his Uncle Scott and Aunt Sally, they’ll take the change he's saved, the piggy-bank he keeps it in, the shirt off his back, his toys, his college money, his beloved “pillpo-zings”, all of it “fair and square” on the golf course. “Sure, Papa, I’ll go play golf with you.” Oh no. That’s when I double-confirm Michael’s Papas don’t know about his 529.

"You are a Bum."

That is from The Paper Bag Princess, and was Megan's first full sentence. We of course immediately called daddy at work so she could tell him that he's a bum. The book is a favorite of hers and mine and everyone who has a little girl should get a copy.

Stickers

The kids love stickers. LOVE them. Can sit for an hour "doing stickers." Michael makes beautiful grid-like pictures...nothing overlapping, all fitting together like a puzzle. This is how Meg does them. Nothing on the paper, simply a stack on her shirt. All in her top right quadrant. There's about 7 dollars worth on her shirt here.

Kansas City or Bust

Thankfully, our trips to and from KC this July went smoothly, free of random road debris puncturing crucial car parts. Between the trips we had SO much fun at Grammie and Papa John's house, swimming once or twice a day, going to the municipal airport, the Bass Pro Shop, Deanna Rose Farmstead and the farmer's market. Michael became quite the fish with so many pool visits, jumping alone into deep water and even swimming to the bottom of the pool to retreive one of many torpedos that he covets. He also ate so very many popsicles and chocolate bunnies galore, after Papa and I found the Russell Stover outlet in Bethany on our way home from dropping Dan in Iowa. Apparantly the demand for Easter candy has petered out, and a full size solid chocolate bunny was 63 cents. On Friday, after almost a week and a half, Grammie was sad to see us go, but Papa got to enjoy the eight plus hour drive with two young children for the second year in a row. His eyes are rolling back in his head and he keeps pestering me to get going to the airport.

June 25 11:41 pm Verbatim – This is Not a Joke (I Wrote it Down)

"5 little Megsies playing in the grass, one fell in the garbage and then there were
4 little Megsies dancing around, one fell in the garbage and then there were
3 little Megsies having so much fun, one fell in the garbage and then there were
2 little Megsies in the concert dancing, one fell in the garbage and then there were...was...
1 little Megsie in the house, a mommy came along and she saved the Megsie!"

Dad Entry #5

On Saturday night, I marched out the front door to escort my cousin, Sasha, to her car, to help her with her bag and say goodbye. Megan blew a gasket. It was awesome! She kind of yelped, teared up instantly, reached out to me, said, "Da-ee, Da-ee!" - how she pronounces 'Daddy' right now - then she turned to Mommy and tapped her chest, the hand signal for help. She did NOT want me to leave. It was the happiest moment of my life. Later I realized she just wanted to go outside. Once the door opened and closed without her getting through, she flipped out. Whatever. I prefer my first instinct on this one, she saw her Daddy leave with a suitcase and her little brain thought, "Oh no!"

A Girl and her Pillow...but wait, is That a Dog?

Meg loves Belle. She loves to poke Belle right in the eye and say "EYE!" She loves to lay on her tummy right in front of Belle laying down and trying to kiss Belle, who yanks her head from side to side in desperate attempts to avoid any contact with Meg's face. She knows not to get up, as we'll scold her because we think it's so cute that Meg loves Belle. Notice all the times I just said "Belle?" That's only a fourth of the number of times we hear it each minute when Belle is visiting.

A Birthday for a King

How apropo, as he thinks that he is a king...of the world, in fact. At least in all matters of this household. Here he is:

1- eating a celebratory sundae at CPK (his restaurant of choice)

2- at preschool, with mommy...preparing to hand out little treat bags to all his friends. When he started school, our lives got a LOT more expensive.

3- at the big rained out party...being sung to and being amazed at the sheer number of cupcakes! Please note ocean theme, which was not easy to acheive. Apparantly there are not so many requests for crab and sea anemone cupcake toppers.

4- in a sea of balloons, of which I have been finding and deflating all week. I think I may have gotten the last of them tonight, finally.

Dad Entry #4

Michael’s 4th birthday party at the public pool was rained out. The kids – and moms – came to our house instead to play, eat pizza and cupcakes, and open presents. The moms and kids meet weekly, so they’re used to it. It was sort of eye-opening for me, though. Chaos. Pandemonium. But fun. Super loud – crying, squealing – but fun. My favorite conversation was with Charlie, a gregarious, three-foot tall, four-year-old with a smile that – somehow – is both genuine and permanent. He said, “Hi, my name is Charlie. I’m four. My dad’s name is John, but I call him Dad.” Awesome! Refreshing! The party was a lot of fun. Michael was a gracious host, though he was on another planet at the beginning because of the Benadryl Sara gave him for allergy symptoms. The fog cleared after a couple juice boxes, though, and he had a great time with his friends.

Dad Entry #3

The family, including Gramma, came to my softball game last night. My Father’s Day gift, a new Rawlings, worked surprisingly well despite its newness. It’s pretty soft and I tightened some laces which formed a good pocket already. I made sure to tell the kids repeatedly their gift was the secret to my success. They were uninterested. Michael had a stomachache from eating his pretzel and dog too fast. Megan showed some life though, actually. She wanted badly to run onto the field despite all the grubby, angry men standing around puffing out their chests. In fact, Megan was so ‘not-intimidated’ that she blew kisses to the scariest-looking player on my team, a big, shaved-headed, ‘Mr. Clean’ look-alike with a biker goatee. While our Mr. Clean – Steve – is a great guy, that was disconcerting. We don’t approve of attraction to guys who look tougher – and are tougher – than Daddy. Bad girl, Megan. Sara coached Michael on how to best root for me, stuff like, “Let’s go, Cox, hit it hard for once!” and “Come on now, Eleven, get an average!” I was expecting a little ‘Cameron’ (of ‘Ferris Bueller’ fame) chatter but didn’t hear any. Michael did yell “Nice hit!” after a guy fouled out rather pitifully, though. Maybe the guy glared at Michael and mumbled “smart-ass” under his breath. I only heard one F-word escape the dugout and I think both kids missed it. I remember going to my dad’s softball games when I was little. I learned some new words, generally spoken loud enough for umpires and little kids to hear. I witnessed a couple yelling matches and scuffles, too. But mostly I ate candy, got stomachaches, played in the dirt, and ran around. And now I have fond memories of watching my Dad play softball. Oh how we love to perpetuate – and romanticize – the stuff of good memories!

A Bed is Anywhere You Make It

Megan loves it when I wash her bedding...she snags anything she can get her paws on out of the basket I am folding. She then parks her stash in any number of places and crashes down upon it in a big pile of snuggly, blankety Megan. I'm not sure where the paci got scrounged up from. I don't think I want to know.

Dad Entry #2

One other thing (yeah, now I won’t shut up). Megan’s had a pretty severe case of ‘the Mommy’s’ lately. I don’t mind a forearm shiver once in a while when I lean in for a kiss. And an obvious preference for her mother. But a total meltdown every time Mommy leaves the room? It’s too much. “Mama, Mama! Mommy, Mommy!” she whines, then screams, followed by sprinklers full blast. Tears? Really, Megan? Mommy went to the bathroom, she’ll be back in 30 seconds! “Mama!!!” Oh well, I had ‘the Mommy’s’ I guess… often. Maybe I still get them once in a while. I don’t scream about it though! And I can hold back the tears!

Dad Entry #1

Time for Dan: 31 to start contributing to the family blog. Before I'm Dan: 32 for crying out loud. I have done nothing other than pass on a few neuroses that are visible in the expressions and actions of my kids in these pics. Last night while I was reading to Michael he started talking about a matchbox car he got. He said, “That car ‘caused’ four dollars. Yeah, I think that's what it caused. Or maybe it caused eight quarters.” It was fun hearing him say it. They must’ve talked about money briefly in preschool. He didn’t have the word exactly right – ‘cost’ – but he doesn’t care, he talks and talks like he’s an experienced, well-spoken adult. He has a lot of confidence in certain ways. Like his mom. He argues points he is dead wrong about but since he can say it and it sounds good and his words keep flowing, he believes what he says and any declaration to the contrary – by which I mean any conflicting statement of undeniable fact – is simply not true in his mind. It can't be true. He is right. Period. I like the confidence. Sort of. It's a struggle too, of course. But his mom can be stubborn like that and, though I complain, it has an attractive quality that really tries to offset the annoyance. It fails - to offset the annoyance - but at least it's not all bad. It creates a real strength sometimes that is very useful. “I can play the saxophone without lessons,” Michael will say. To which I respond, by way of correction, “Well, actually Michael, even the best musicians learn a bit from other people, or take lessons, especially when they start, when they’re young.” “No, not me, I don’t need it,” he’ll reply. “I can play the saxophone. I can play the tuba and sousaphone too.” Don’t worry, I don’t know what a sousaphone is either, but Michael does.

The Man

While in Minnesota for a Grandma fix and Ellie's birthday, we had a little party for Michael, also. It was his first time at Chuck E. Cheese and he was very receptive to the idea of a giant playroom where you get to feed small gold coins into game machines. And Aunt Jenny hit a homerun with a saxophone he can actually play!

Little Girl, Big Shoes

Meg loves to put on our shoes. She struggles to get them on, proudly shows them off for 2.4 seconds and then cries for help getting out. Then the cycle begins again. Please ignore the pool of tomato seeds on her shirt. I never thought I'd be the mom with dirty kids.

A New Friend and a Sousaphone Sighting

So Michael finally met Ben, the son of my partner in crime (or, uh, work), Julie, at the Elmhurst Memorial Day Parade. They hit it off and were quickly "pretending it's our birthday!" The second is of Michael getting down to one of the many bands that passed by.