Music Madness

In KC, we went to a concert that the kids flipped for. They went beserk. Dancing, running, laughing, tackling. And they slept well that night.

Trauma

Well, Zeke really went and did it this time. He bit my baby. On the eye. Luckily it was not terribly deep and only required one stitch, but it was very traumatic nonetheless. Nothing like pinning down your child so someone can skewer her eyelid with a fish hook.

She was so sweet on the way home. She told my dad and I that she "doesn't want Zeke-y to bite her again." And also she taught us that "friends don't bite, mommy."

She had another moment with Zeke before the 'situation.' She was eating breakfast and started crying. Here was our exchange:

Megan: Mommy! I want a muffin!!!
Me: But Megs, what happened to the one I just gave you?!
Megan (sobbing): It's in Zeke-y's mouf!!!

Tales from the Road

The kids and I had a amazingly easy trip to Kansas City. I was waiting with bated breath for them to start screaming like banshees or crying uncontrollably, but even while no sleeping occurred, they were completely reasonable the entire drive (9 hours!). Michael and I had two funny exchanges:

Me: I am so tired you guys! I am going to have to run through McDonalds to get a big coffee.
Michael: If you're tired, just take a little rest.
Me: I can't do that, babe. I have to drive, so I have to pay close attention.
Michael: I have an idea! I've been thinking about how whales sleep. Do you know how they sleep? They keep one eye open and the close the other one!


Michael (after receiving Twizzlers for a snack): I LOVE licorice. It is my favorite candy.
Me: It is good, isn't it?
Michael: My mouth is full of cherry happiness.

My Mother will be So Proud...

that I bought a pair of light-up shoes. I am not excited about it, but I would have had to erect a rubber room right there in Payless had I not bought them. They are a fairly hideous pair of plastic Disney princess sandals. I went in looking for a cute pair of girls shoes that I just saw in a Parents magazine ad this morning. They did not have them, and assuming they were so new the store had not gotten them, we went home and looked online. I then looked at the ad again to see if I could find the name or brand of the shoe when I noticed that the magazine was from September 2007. Right on top of things, I am.

My Baby's Growing Up....sniffle sniffle

Well, Michael had his preschool graduation party today. There was no real ceremony, which was kind of disappointing, but the kids enjoyed the party and picnic just the same. And the plate full of brownies, cookies and chips. He is going back for summer school, so we did not have to bid his beloved teachers adieu just yet, gratefully. The beauty in the middle with Michael is Haley, his wife. That's right, his wife. They made it official in a ceremony unbeknownst to any of the parents involved. All of the kids at school know about it, some even got to attend. Haley has big plans for them to live at Disney World.

What?

Awwwwww...

Meggie's first trip to the home salon. She LOVED it. She was so proud. A few days later as it started to wear off of her fingernails, she kept telling me that her fingers were broken. I was starting to worry and came in close to inspect them (as if I might have missed dangling fingers) and realized that she meant the nail polish needed re-doing. Addict!

Dad Entry #28

We’ve been busy. Fixing closet shelving, tiling our bathroom, chasing Megan, going to Cubs games. Michael wanted badly to join us for the Cubs game on Papa Mike’s birthday. I’ve invited Michael before and he’s declined, so Josiah, Greg, Papa Mike, and I had to go. Had to. Yeah, it was fun. There is no slowing down Papa Mike. Or Greg. Or Joe. I like hanging out with Joe, a former bouncer who can bench 500 lbs, a former UFC punching bag, I mean training partner, in the Miletich Camp. But when Michael saw Joe, he just wanted to know where Deanna and Casey were. I will get Michael to a Cubs game soon. So he can have cotton candy (of course that’s the draw, not Wrigley, Zambrano, Soriano, Lee, or Fukudome).

It’s funny how kids have different fears. Just like adults I know, but let’s examine Megan for a second. She will scale the most difficult ladder or rock wall on the playground. And she’ll do it fearlessly, breathlessly, smiling and giddy, even though she’s not big or strong enough yet and often bumps her head or chin or elbow or shin. Of course we catch her, help her, but also let her climb (she gets angry and refuses help most of the time, anyway, so we let her struggle and take some lumps). Obviously we prevent her from falling and crashing to the ground which certainly, without a spotter, would’ve happened several times already. Megan will jump into the deep end of the swimming pool with no one there to catch her or keep her afloat. She’d probably – gleefully! – jump out of an airplane, too, or base jump off the Sears Tower. But turn on the vacuum cleaner and she’ll run screaming through the house, petrified, frantic, looking for Mommy or Daddy (whoever is not holding the vacuum!). Poor thing. Like Aunt Jenny used to say – when she was Megan’s age – “Sweeper get you!” Megan struggled with the saws we fired-up constantly to cut sub-floor and tile. ‘Noise machines’ she called them and asked repeatedly if we were done and could we put them away please and thank you. I don’t think Megan’s fears – or ‘non-fears’ – are irrational at all, they’re just an interesting mix, as they are for all of us. Michael could care less about the vacuum (though he doesn’t like other loud things like industrial strength toilets at gas stations or restaurants that threaten to suck the whole room down when they flush loudly), but for years Michael was afraid of the slides at the playground.

Last night Michael furrowed his brow and asked, “Why are we going to die?” I remember thinking, moments like these are when Dads earn their stripes. I asked him first what he meant, wondering, for example, is he afraid of dying soon? Is there an impending emergency or natural disaster I’m not aware of? And is Michael clairvoyant, a prophet, or just an existentialist? Michael clarified he didn’t have any specific or immediate fears. I told him that he will live for a very long time before he has to think about death. More than a hundred years. And then, I told him, he will go to a better place called heaven. And Mommy and Daddy will be there. “But do they have toys there?” was Michael’s concern. “Yes, they have toys,” I assured him. Michael was silent for a while, still ruminating, so I asked if he wanted to talk more. “But why do we die?” he said. I asked him why he was thinking about this today and he answered, “Because Papa Swede died.” This really got my attention because I didn’t realize Michael knew enough about Papa Swede to speak about him or recall him from memory (but haven’t I learned yet that Michael’s mind is a massive steel trap that catches and cages everything!). Michael said Alissa told him Papa Swede had died (Michael hasn’t seen Alissa for many weeks now, though… hmm?). So I explained to Michael that people don’t live forever, but he has a long, long time still so he should only think about living! Then Michael asked his best question of the night! “When we die, does the world stop?” Awesome! I praised him for such a great question, then told him, “No, the world goes on for other people like his friends and loved ones, his children and grandchildren. And isn’t that wonderful!” I added. Michael said, “No, I’m not going to have any children.”

Already

Some one got my eggs in the night. She had been only been incubating for a mere 24 hours. I imagine it was a coyote, however, there may have been a fight since there are still about 6 eggs untouched in the nest. The mama has not returned for them and has been gone too long for the eggs to be viable. I am leaving them out for another night before I clean it up since I assume the culprit will return for the rest and they may as well provide someone some protein. Sad.

5:12 pm

Just peed on the basement floor. 1 hour and 4 minutes.

Elmo Never Looked So Good

So we're giving it a go. Cross your fingers. It's been about 17 minutes and no pee pee on Elmo!! Not the best pix...one blurry and one drunk. Drunk with "unda-wee-uh" giddiness.

Dad Entry #27

I’m not sure how I feel about Meggie’s haircut. I think at the heart of my reflection is a simple question: can you add to, or subtract from… perfection. No. No you can’t. You can’t improve Meggie. By trimming her hair?!?! Please. Some might argue – and fairly well - that you can detract from perfection. But you can’t. Not this kind. Maybe ‘infinity’ is the right word then and mathematically we can ‘prove’ or say with certainty. But what does math have to do with this; we’re talking about – in this case - a bad haircut. Of course there’s no impact. No more than a drop of rain can damage the ocean. What about misbehaving? That’s just a big wave here and there, the kind surfers love. What about wrecking my car when she’s sixteen? Um, maybe that’s a little storm, a tiny hurricane (but think how HUGE the ocean is). What about picking the wrong boyfriend? I think maybe that’s a tsunami and devastating tidal wave and let’s change the subject.

Michael burned himself on the edge of a baking sheet. We keep him away from hot pans and the hot oven but he came in fast, threw up an arm, and got a nice burn on his arm. He won’t do it again. It blistered into a white line across his wrist. He was bandaged in a ‘mummy’ gauze wrap. This part he was pretty excited about. Maybe he won’t be so careful after all.

Megan stopped doing something I really enjoyed. I don’t think she fully grasped that ‘reading’ meant there were words on the pages that told a story which we relayed to her, straight from the book, the same every time. Very rarely do I skip or improvise (because Michael always busted me when I did that!). With Megan, I would start a book and she would say, “Talk about dat,” as she pointed to one of the pages or pictures. “Talk about dat, Dad.” Sweet thing. I have read a book called “Double Pink” to her about a thousand times now. I guess she knows the words are always the same and they come from the letters on the pages now. In fact, she knows those letters. I love it when she belts out her ‘A-B-C’s’ which she usually follows with a super rendition of ‘Bilo Baby Buntin’.

A Nest, Mommy!!

A few days ago, while swordfighting with sticks in the front yard, Michael discovered our favorite duck had made her nest perilously close to our front door. She laid us a beauty of a nest (7 eggs!) in the irises last year with disastrous results thanks to a coyote. But she came back with a vengeance and with some babies to make up for, laying an even dozen this year. I hope that her location is beneficial for the chicks and that the proximity to our door/light scares off foxes and such. She seems completely fine with us coming and going (though we do avoid the front door some) and with the kids yelling and tearing through the front yard. Cross your fingers that I don't have to explain the too-early broken shells this year.

I ran out to take these this afternoon when she left the nest uncovered in the rain for some reason. I have a baseball bat near the front door to beat down any predator that arrives in her absence.

Chop, Chop

Well, the deed is finally done. I have been avoiding it for such a long time, so it was funny to have to fight the urge to just hack it all off á la Victoria Beckham. Only took about 3 inches in the end. She was so good the whole time...perhaps it was because she was sitting in a police car for the cut. Those photos will have to come later...I forgot my camera and had to buy a one-time-use cam for the occasion. I barely even remember how to have film developed.

Dad Entry #26

Sorry, this is longish, I threw a lot of notes in here….

The other day, Michael was playing with a ‘scupa’ diver in the bathtub. He told me the diver was “diving deep for crustaceans.” I said, “If he goes really deep he’ll need lots of air. How big is that tank on his back?” Michael thought hard and said, “It’s 150 gallops.”

And that’s a perfect segue into mentioning Wyatt. Wyatt is Aunt Diane’s beautiful, big thoroughbred horse. He’s really an impressive animal. He has a dark, solid coat with just the right amount of sheen to give him that sleek, powerful look. He’s, well, a thoroughbred. But Wyatt has a timidity about him too, a humility, perhaps, although some of that is due to the horse hierarchy at the stable. He was very nice to Megan and Michael, as were all the horses there. They sniffed and licked at both kids and let them touch their long faces. We’re anxious to go back. Maybe this summer we can ride Wyatt.

At the shark aquarium in Minneapolis, Alissa – my niece – asked me to read a sign to her. So I read aloud, “There are less than 100 shark attacks worldwide each year, and only 10 of those are fatal.” I should’ve ad-libbed or substituted something more cheery or at least left off the second part. But I didn’t so Alissa asked, “What does ‘fatal’ mean?” I said, “Oh, um, that just means they got hurt a little worse than the others.”

I was talking with Michael and used the word ‘intense’. I’m sure I was demonstratively reacting to some super dinosaur story of his. He asked, “What does ‘intense’ mean.” I told him, ‘serious’. He said, “Well, what does that mean?” I couldn’t grab another synonym quickly so I changed the subject.

Michael told me yesterday, “Daddy, do you know why this is called a battleship?” The way he phrased the question told me he wanted to give an answer, not get one. So I said, “No.” “Because they battle,” Michael told me. Battleships battle. Yes, sir. But the point of this story, or rather what I realized when this happened: Michael won’t share toys but he will share knowledge. And it’s quite useful knowledge, stuff like ‘battleships battle’ and ‘Triceratops was not a meat-eater.’ So that’s something, anyway, something he willingly shares. Man I feel better now, as a parent I mean. I’m not totally failing. But I really wish Michael didn’t, like, become physically ill every time we made him share toys with Megan.

Today Megan wiped at her nose several times then declared. “I got da booga, Daddy, I got da booga!” She was pretty excited. After all, clear nasal passages are paramount to refreshing, deep breaths. I share her pride – and urgency – when pursuing this kind of accomplishment. I don’t remember where she put the booger, though. Did she even have a Kleenex? Maybe one of you will find it on our couch.

I love watching Megan with ice cream. Especially when served in a bowl with a spoon. When in a cone, it just melts and gets everywhere as she licks and takes bites of it. In a bowl, however, we get utensils, and how fun is that! In a bowl, she takes her spoon and kind of chips away at the glacier that is her scoop of ice cream. She stabs at it, eventually scrapes a piece loose, struggles forever to get it onto her spoon, then lifts it to her lips. Yes, of course it does. It slides off the spoon just shy of her mouth and falls to the table (or worse, in her lap). She doesn’t get angry, though; she’s still just excited to have ice cream. And she’s focused, determined. And maybe she knows at two years old she’s a bit short on dexterity. So she looks at it momentarily as a puddle forms around her ice cream bite now melting and flattened on the table. She tries to pick it up, a very slippery thing now, with the fingers of her left hand. The spoon is still in her right hand. Eventually she gets some of it into her mouth. Then the process repeats itself. Forever. Even after there’s only liquid in her bowl, she keeps scooping and spilling.

I could describe Megan all day long; sorry to bore you.

I asked Megan to do something the other day, I don’t even remember what it was. But her answer was pretty cute. She said, “Daddy, no, I’m too little.”

Megan smiles at Nemo and Dory

Papa's Girl or Daddy's Girl? Daddy's Girl. (Megan's shirt is already in the wash, covered in marinara)

Auditions for 'That 70s Show' or Daddy's / Uncle Dan's Friday Workout (30 - 40lbs up 100 times)

Thank You, Aunt Jenny

This morning we took a trip to Michaels, the hobby shop. I add the qualifier because Megan was devastated when we pulled up to the store and there was no Melanie or Mia to be found (she thought we were going to Michael SILVESTRI'S.) Aunt Jenny had sent gift cards for Easter and the kids were SO excited. Michael said, "There are so many things here I'd like to buy!" After much deliberation, animals were chosen. Megan went with a tiger, a clown fish and a jellyfish. Michael chose a tube of boats and a hermit crab. The world is good. Thank you, Aunt Jenny!

A Little Dressing Up

In an effort to play with his sister, Michael went above and beyond a few days ago. What else to say?

Dad Entry #25

The house is empty. No kids. The difference, of course, is striking. Less noise, fewer dishes, no diapers, no schedule, we eat whenever, come and go as we please. Michael and Megan are at the Ploehn’s for 5 days and, yes, it’s a bit eerie, sort of timeless, or just retro, the way Sara and I were free to run around Chicago over the weekend, our favorite dives, nice places too, streets and storefronts, our old apartments, old neighborhoods. Places marked by memory or a particular charm. Ambiance is a good word for restaurants, the low-lit kind, but some of our favorite places don’t have ambiance really; they just have history, the kind fashioned by decades and millions of patrons. Character is a word, but it’s overused. These places are comfortably worn down, wise. Some are beat up, not super-clean. But they are fun; they smile at us. And they have great salsa. Or tacos on corn tortillas with cilantro. Or Pad Thai, Pasta Giovanni, a sandwich no one else can make, service you remember, the perfect line-up of tap beers for both taste and cool handles which the bartenders pull nonchalantly when they draw us a beer. We caught some live music for the first time in ages. Now we’re going to buy two guitars. Why not? So we didn’t have the kids tugging on us. And we couldn’t tug on them (I have to give Megan regular squeezes when I’m with her). No entertaining chatter from Michael. No questions like, “Daddy, does summer come after winter?” Yes it does, Michael, yes it does. There’s a little thing called spring in there too, but spring is nice, very nice. And the Cubs, Michael, the Cubs are in town again in two weeks. And I have tickets.

Hot Wheel Hat

Flames + Hat = Hot Wheels Hat

Dad Entry #24

Megan is so sweet. If she drops something she says, “Sowwy, Dad.” Or if I drop something she says, “It’s okay, Dad.” Though, my favorite is still when she approaches, with hands in the pockets of her little blue jeans, and she says, “Hey Daddy, what-ya workin’?” I think Megan is in the sweet spot of cuteness right now. Three feet tall and putting sentences together in her sweet, little, high inflected voice. Of course, sometimes she says, “Go away, Daddy” and I don’t think that’s very cute at all.

Michael doesn’t like to have his toenails trimmed. Today, when Sara said he was due for a trim, he said, “Trimming is ridiculous. Trimming is NOT part of this world.” I guess he hasn’t fully suppressed the memories of Mommy drawing blood when trimming his nails as a baby.

Meggie still says, “Like an orca, like an orca,” when she’s eating or running around. It’s cute but it’s so, well, Michael. My little Megan has learned a lot from, and imitates, big brother Michael. I guess that’s okay, though I wish Michael was nicer to her. He still views her as an annoyance, mostly, and he’s very bristly and overprotective of all his things when Megan is near. “No, MAY-GAN!” he says. He shouldn’t scold her in the first place. But the condescension in his voice is what really what makes our skin crawl. Yep, Michael doesn’t share or care for Megs like Sara and I want him to. Oh well, other parents advise us that sibling rivalry and jealousy – especially at this age – are common. “Yeah, we had to deal with that,” they say while rolling eyes and smiling, “But just wait, some day they’ll look after each other. Michael will take pleasure in protecting her and putting a scare in younger boys that show interest in her or, even worse, are mean to her.” I hope so. We continue to work on the way Michael treats Megan day after day after day after day after day after day...we are persistent. And we are still waiting for consistent, noticeable progress.

The other day Michael was drawing on his white board and told me, “Daddy, I’m drawing Jupiter’s moon. It has a lot of volcanoes on it.” Interesting. I didn’t know that. To date, around 700 species of dinosaurs have been named. Michael has studied every one of them. Some of the names are unpronounceable to non-scientifically minded or trained people. Indeed, they are no problem for Michael. He isn’t even in kindergarten yet but it seems he can recognize and flawlessly pronounce the name of every dinosaur that ever lived. And yes, like any arrogant academian, he will eagerly – almost gleefully – correct someone who attempts to pronounce – and subsequently butchers – a species name like Pachycephalasaurus or Deinonychus or Sinosauropteryx. Perhaps Megan will imitate Michael’s inquisitiveness and capacity to learn. And capacity to verbalize and communicate. But not his capacity to manipulate or argue pretty please. Yes, Megan will learn a great deal from Michael like all of us younger siblings learned from our older siblings. (Thanks, Jen. Jenny did tons for me. No question. Those of us who are younger siblings are lucky to have our older counterparts).

So Michael appears to enjoy scholastic exercise more than physical exertion or challenge. Michael prefers not to swim alone or get dressed by himself. Megan, on the other hand, insists on doing such things unassisted. She is fond of saying, “Do it self,” when anyone tries to help her with anything. And she will run and jump into an empty swimming pool without fear. Contrast that with Michael who agonizes before going down a slide at the park. Michael will actually argue that he can’t do something. He’ll sit and frown and sigh loudly with one leg in his pants, for example, certain that he needs help, refusing to continue trying without it. Of course, with proper instruction and encouragement he can, and will, finish putting on his pants. Alone, that is, without any physical help. But he is frustrated much quicker by physical challenges than intellectual ones. Oh well, we all have strengths and preferences and so on. And we all develop different skills and different areas of our lives at varying rates. Amen. Live and learn. Or, as a song by Limp Bizkit puts it, “Life is a lesson, you learn it when you’re through.” I think that kind of says what I mean, although Limp Bizkit is pretty wild and crazy and profane. I really ought to quote Ben Franklin or Lincoln or Churchill or Socrates, instead.

I realize two things. Number 1: This is a long entry. Sorry. If you’re still reading, thank you, you are the only one, thanks for your interest and support, the Cox family loves you! Number 2: I know I haven’t been very kind to Michael in this entry. So let me tell you something: Michael is the greatest thing that’s happened in the last one hundred years since the Cubs won a World Series in 1908. And, while we’re on the subject of baseball, let me tell you something else: Michael is a good hitter. He’s been hitting off his tee in the basement a lot lately. Thanks to Papa John for making the tee. Michael is making good use and almost killed me one time already with a rocket he crushed right at me. I couldn’t get my hands up or out of the way fast enough (I was only about ten feet away) and the hard, solid plastic ball left a perfectly round, nasty, stinging welt on my chest. Awesome! It was good pain!

Jim Gill

We went to a concert for the kids yesterday...everyone seemed to really like it. There were obviously tattoos and face painters beforehand. Here's Michael with his guys...Silvestri and Ben Lamonica.

Are You Kidding?

I must be the most negligent mother on the planet. My children have had more accidents and illnesses in the last few months than anyone I have ever met. Today, Meg split her chin open. In all honesty, I had a little something to do with it. Here's how it went down:

Megans bumper pad from her crib has been laying on the couch since The Night of Vomit. Washed, of course, and waiting to be stitched where it tore in the wash. She started playing with it. At some point, I thought it would be funny for her if I wrapped her up in it like a burrito. So I did, arms and all. As soon as I tied it off so it would stay on, I thought, "This is a bad idea. She could fall and she wouldn't be able to catch herself." And before the thought was even finished, she had wiped out and caught her little baby face on the wooden stool that the kids use to wash hands. I was scared to death to pick her up, for fear that I would be greeted with another set of snaggle teeth. But I had to pick her up, as she was wrapped tightly and could not move! So I did and at first all looked fine, until I caught sight of internal anatomy gaping in her chin area. AUGH!

But I have done this before. As I yelled at Michael to get on his shoes and get Megs, I had her cleaned up, butterfly bandaged and Motrin-ed within minutes. By the time Dan arrived at the pediatrician, she had already been Dermabonded and calmed. Now I think we'll go out to dinner to make her happy. Plus, I don't want to make it.

Did I mention that last night was The Night of Vomit II? Michael this time. And he was afraid to tell me, so he slept in it all night. So not only am I carrying around an Atlas-like ball of guilt, I now have some majorly set-in stains. He told me, "A stranger came in the night and threw up in my bed." What do you say to that? He's less afraid of the idea of a stranger entering his room than he is of my wrath. Wow.

Let's Rhyme

We are eating lunch and Michael and I are playing a rhyming game. I tell him a word and he has to come up with something that rhymes with it...and it has to be an ACTUAL word, not just that word starting with a different letter. Anyway, he is getting annoyed with all the times I am saying, "Michael, 'toor' isn't a word! You have to come up with a real word that rhymes with 'door'."

So he said, "OK, mommy, I have one for you. Are you ready?"

I said, "Yes, of course."

He said, very slowly so that I would not get confused, "Car-na-taur-us."

Yeah, right, kid.

Let's Talk about Poop, Baby

So Michael has had some trouble in the elimination department lately. I have explained to him that it is probably due to the fact that he doesn't really want to drink very much anymore. That staying hydrated is a really important thing in keeping things, well...moving (not to get too graphic). So he's been trying to finish his cup of whatever at every meal.

He just went into the bathroom and told me, "I am going to make sure this is really soft!" After a bit, I got the "I did it!!" which means 'come help with the rest of this insanely complicated process.'

While he was washing up he said, "That was so comfortable, I cannot even BELIEVE it! That was just SO fascinating!" And then after a moment, "Mom, what does 'fascinating' mean?"

She Rests after The Night of Vomit

So this was the day after Meg (and Evelyn) was up half the night and vomiting spaghetti and blueberries into every corner of her crib (ever done laundry at 3:45 in the morning?). She was very tired and pretty crabby, though it's hard to tell from the smile on her face. She was so so happy to be all cuddled under the blankets and propped up to watch Elmo. She laid there, nearly motionless, for a full hour. And I let her because I was tired, too.

Little Cyclones

My girlfriend Leslie and her yummy girl, Evelyn, came over last week. She loved the play kitchen Megs has and the kids whipped us up a little feast. Megan was very sweet and wanted to just chat with Evy, who she called 'Eppleton.' She loved her so much that one of them gave some killer virus to the other, and the next night both of them threw up all night. We just want to be sure Evelyn's immune system is prepared for preschool.

Winter Walk

Here's Meg, the ultimate mommy, checking on her baby in the snow. The baby who has no mittens or hat, or actually clothes to speak of, on. In the snow.

And Michael, hiding in one of the mailboxes...who still, at four, thinks that when I say 'where IS Michael?!' in an exaggerated tone, that I have zero idea of where he is.

Dad Entry #23

Michael and I play the “I love you more than…” game once in a while. I say, “Michael, I love you more than all the Blue Whales.” (I’m sure you realize that’s a good one because Blue Whales are the biggest animals in the world.) Then Michael comes back with, “Well, I love you more than all the Triceratops!” To which I say, “Oh man, you got me there!” So last night I threw Michael a curveball. I said, “Michael, I love you so much that when you were born, I cried, I was so happy, I cried like crazy, more than you did in the first hour I could see and hold you.” I actually didn’t cry when Meggie was born, I kind of steeled myself against it, although – as evidenced by the majority of these entries about her – I was moved. Anyway, I realized I’d gone overboard in my ‘love you more than’ game with Michael; I figured I’d just confused him. But Michael said, “Daddy, I know you were the guy who made me come out of Mommy’s tummy.” Sara and I raised an eyebrow and asked, in unison, “Really, how do you know that?” He said, “Because I saw pictures.” Sara and I smiled, we were thinking the same thing. Don’t worry, we never filmed or photographed that part. Anyway, I explained to Michael that a doctor – someone highly trained and qualified – had to ‘make him come out of Mommy’s tummy’. Then I braced myself for Michael to ask, “Well, didn’t you do anything to help me get born, Daddy?” But he didn’t ask. And we changed the subject.

Megan might be the cutest thing ever, but her diapers are very stinky. At least she warns us now, “I’m poopy, Mommy, I got poopy out of my bottom.” Then, like a skilled HazMat team, Sara and I scramble to get the offending diaper off and out to the garage. We have a garbage can for Meggie’s stink bombs in the garage. Our garage smells like crap.

Meggie’s a good talker now but she doesn’t always make sense. Yesterday I had this brief exchange with a barefoot Meggie:
Meggie: I took my socks off, Daddy.
Daddy: Why did you do that, Honey?
Meggie: Because it’s cold outside.

I went to the bookstore with the kids last weekend. I explained – to Michael mostly – that the three of us would stay together. That meant, to avoid separating, we might have to look at books Meggie likes first, then books that Michael likes, then books that Daddy likes. Michael was frustrated by this, “Well, uh, well, I don’t like princesses and I am allowed to NOT look at a princess book if Meggie finds one!” I agreed that was fine, he didn’t have to look at a princess book if he didn’t want to.

Michael has seen and read about how animals kill each other, how some eat each other for food. He knows killer whales and sharks attack seals, etc. Heck, we have chicken for dinner half the time and he’s a sharp kid, so he has caught wind of this reality. But, while playing, I caught him narrating stories like, “Hi, I’m a Protoceratops and I’m going to kill you now, Lambeosaurus!” I told Michael to go easy on the ‘killing’ storylines. I emphasized how it’s especially not nice to use that kind of plot or language when narrating stories about people or humans. Maybe they just wrestle and fight and stuff, I told him. Of course, then, while playing, I heard Michael say, “Watch out Brachiosaurus! Here comes T-Rex to make you not alive anymore!”

Kids at Work

Michael is very into extensive setups. He really likes the Sorry board as a "dinosaur land." He also discoverd this perfect "ocean" in a library book. And Meg, doing a puzzle. She really has a knack for puzzles, she does them very quickly. It's cute to watch...but do NOT try to help. Good Lord.

A New Game

Aunt Gretchen gave us some ideas for helping Michael identify lowercase letters AND work on his fine motor skills for pencil-holding. Here he is, proud as a peacock, after getting all the letters finished. He didn't want to play again;)

A Pair of Princesses

I have started Meggie's training in earnest.

Hmm

Michael was just bugging me to find a guy that goes with his shark ship in the animal bucket. I told him that he needed to let me finish changing Meggie's diaper and that he should keep looking for it. Following is our conversation:

Him: "Mommy, I need HELP! It is NOT here. It is NOT. And I need it right NOW."

Me: "Michael, I wouldn't be able to find it right away either. I don't even remember what it looks like."

Him: "There is a scuba diver and a shark ship guy."

Me: "OK, well, keep looking."

Him: "They are NOT HERE. They are LOST."

Me: "Michael, I will bet you that they're in there. If I come over there and I find one, you are going to owe me one dollar. I will take it out of your piggy bank."

Him: "WATCH THAT ATTITUDE."

Dad Entry #22

Oh my sweet Megan. She’s a little chatterbox now and her sweet little voice is wonderful. As long as she’s happy. That’s Megan as Bruce Banner. If you don’t know Bruce Banner, well then, I’m disappointed. I’m an ‘Incredible Hulk’ fan. For some reason, I liked him when I was a kid. And I’m loyal; he’s still my favorite. Although who doesn’t like Wolverine. Anyway, yeah, Megan as the Hulk isn’t so pleasant. She screeches and screams. And throws things. Or knocks them over. She’s pretty combustible. I run for cover, unless I have to catch and juggle things that will surely break or spill. Nice arm on Megan, though. Future softball star for sure. Actually, we don’t run for cover. We deal with it. Actually, Sara deals with it. She appropriately admonishes Megan and calms her down. Then I come out from whatever I was ducking behind. Most of the time Megan’s a sweetheart. Things are less frustrating for her since she can communicate better. We can understand her complaints. Great. Maybe I prefer gibberish. But it must be frustrating to complain loudly and get no comprehension in return – and therefore, no effective help or sympathy. For a while, toddlers get nothing but confused looks, furrowed brows, purse-lipped frowns. Of course, being a toddler can’t be all bad. There are perks like naps and comfy pajamas. Megan seems more inquisitive now, too. She asks, “What ya workin’, Daddy?” Or, “What ya lookin’, Papa?” When she hears something suspicious (like a loud truck outside or an airliner overhead out of O’Hare), Megan says, “I her dat.” Then she kind of looks around cautiously. When Megan tacks on a “Pease, Daddy?” to one of her requests, it’s hard to say no. But I manage. Yeah, that L in please isn’t there yet, and Megan doesn’t say her J’s very well either, so we have Papa Dohn, Aunt Denny, Uncle Dake, and Aunt Dackie. Cute.

Like Meggie’s voice (when she’s Bruce Banner), Christmas was sweet and wonderful, also. I think Sara has more to say about that. By the way, belated Happy Holidays! Love to you and yours! Happy New Year! We hope you had a Merry Christmas!

Dad Entry #21

The other night, after I delivered an especially spirited Christmas prayer, Michael asked me, “Daddy, is God real?” I said, “Yes, God is real, I believe God is real.” He must’ve sensed my answer wasn’t a ‘slam dunk’ affirmative. So he had to clarify the question and asked, “I mean, does God walk on two legs?” I smiled and said God could do that, in fact he did and I was about to tell Michael how his question was so apropos since it was Christmastime…. but I was interrupted by Michael who was suddenly excited, “Or can God fly?!?!?!” Michael brightened a bit as he considered the cool possibilities. I agreed God can do anything but told Michael we’ll discuss this more in the future, for now we should be grateful for what God has given us and we should love one another, I think that would be pleasing to God. Michael quickly switched gears back to dinosaurs. What a question though, and at Christmas, “Does God walk on two legs?” Who needs theologians or philosophers when we have 4-year-olds?

Dad Entry #20

Michael’s favorite song right now is “Thunderstruck.” Nice! AC-DC still makes my hair stand up. An important legacy for my son. He liked a “Rusted Root” song I played for him too; it had a quick beat, a lot of percussion. We listened to both songs on the way to the “Cabelas” superstore nearby. Papa John has taken Michael to Cabelas in KC before. He loves it. They have taxidermied fish and animals all over the place. Bears, hammerhead sharks, even a safari scene with a rhino, lion, etc. They also have a pair of huge fish tanks with freshwater fish like bass, trout, catfish, panfish. But our prized discovery was a ‘snakesy,’ a stuffed rattlesnake. Michael started chirping in his high-pitched, ‘baby animal’ voice. It’s difficult to describe, it’s the voice he gives his animals – including his ‘snakesy’ and ‘pillpo’ at home – when they talk to him or each other. Michael is very imaginative; he weaves terrific stories and scenes. He narrates aloud as he acts out the scenes with the animal figures – or cars or trains – he is playing with. “Then the baby sperm whale said to the dolphin, ‘Watch out! I’m going to dive for a squid, and you should be jumping at the dolphin show,’” and on and on. But the high-pitched ‘baby’ voice of ‘Michael the narrator’ can be grating. It reminds me of “Caddyshack” when Bill Murray gives a voice to the gopher. Or the voice of “Toonces the driving cat” from Saturday Night Live. “Oh noooooooooooo!” says Toonces the cat as he drives off the cliff. So at Cabelas, Michael saw the rattlesnake and lit up with excitement. “Snakesy, snakesy, snakesy, snakesy!!!” I think I noticed a sideways glance from a couple of crusty hunters. The kind of guys that stop at Cabelas to buy bullets. So they can chew on them and spit fire. Actually, we were all kids once (except for Chuck Norris; he was born with a beard and he roundhouse kicked the obstetrician in the face). So, anyway, we all had annoying ‘play voices’ and our favorite toy animals. What? “Speak for yourself,” you say? Fine. But I‘ll admit it, I probably had a high-pitched, ‘play voice’ too. Of course, my ‘animal stories’ were always one animal kicking another animal’s butt! I can’t wait for Michael to start writing down his stories some day. They’ll be great! Maybe we can write together. He’s an inquisitive, creative dude, and I think that’s a great blessing.

A Snow Bunny and A Snow Brachiosaurus

So about 6" of snow came down a few days ago, and the kids freaked out. The morning that we woke up to it was a school day and I COULD NOT FIND MICHAEL'S BOOTS! Are you kidding me? He was the pariah of the class, and had to stay inside as the other kids gleefully slid down the mini-hill on the playground and threw snowballs at the teachers. I left preschool that morning and went directly to Lands End and bought another pair of boots (to ensure finding the other ones). So these pictures are from that afternoon after Meg woke up. Both of the kids were in absolute love with the snow...Michael so much that he "snuggled" it. Megan just kept saying, "I fall down, I fall down."

Food Chain

Last night, as we were reading yet another book about dinosaurs, there was a picture of a salmon on one of the pages. Michael said,"Mom, when you say 'salmon' it makes me want to have ham, which is a kind of meat, which is protein for my body."

The last part of the sentence was said with a Sean Connery accent. I kid you not.

Dad Entry #19 (Sorry, a long one but I make two movie references and even mention Michael!)

Yeah, I really should say a little more about my son. What’s his name again? Of course, I actually spend more time with Michael, as Megan’s response to my presence is, “I want Mommy.” Thanks, Megan. I love you more than anyone else times ten and that’s what I get. Nice. (Wow, I’ve already switched gears to Megan. That didn’t take long. Michael got one sentence. It might be best if I never let Michael read this. ‘Journal? What Journal? That thing Megan’s reading? Oh, that; it’s nothing.’)

In case you’re wondering, or, rather, in case you’re ‘accusing’, I love Michael more than anyone else times ten, also. Actually, it’s times one-hundred! One-thousand! One-million!!! (And not an outdated ‘one-million’ underbid like that from Dr. Evil).

Michael’s not very timid, at least when he’s in familiar surroundings, with family or friends or the preschool he’s attended for a year or so. I wouldn’t call him aggressive, but I wouldn’t call him wimpy, either. I really narrowed it there, didn’t I? Michael will invade someone else’s space, maybe even relieve them of a toy if it’s one he wants (and he gets scolded for it). So what am I trying to say? Hell if I know. I’m like every parent – that’s why it’s a cliché – I’ve got a product here with no instruction manual. A son. And it’s the most important thing I’ve ever been affiliated with. Oh well. Actually, I guess I’m saying – what any father would say – ‘I want my son to have some toughness.’ When it’s needed. Michael has it, no question. (Now the issue is, ‘when is it appropriate to call on?’) But where does Michael’s toughness come from? Yes, of course. I know. Sara. Michael inherited toughness from his mommy. But I think it’s also because I had a personal ‘Forrest Gump’ realization. Remember when Forrest visits Jenny, near the end of the film, and Jenny points to this little boy sitting in front of the television. “He’s yours, Forrest,” is what Jenny says. I was touched because Forrest, despite his limitations, has self-knowledge and he turns to Jenny and Jenny senses his concern. “No Forrest, he’s the brightest kid in his class.” Awesome. So anyway, my thing is I don’t want Michael to be a 'worrier', I don't want him to worry about trouble or confrontation, to avoid it at all costs. A lot can be avoided or circumvented - and it should be, especially needless, pointless trouble - but some confrontation is inevitable in life, dealing with it is essential. So I want Michael to face it head on, not avoiding or denying or being unprepared for it, not facing it ‘head down’. I want Michael to understand this, despite, say, the fact he regularly sees me with head down receiving orders and tongue-lashings from Sara. He might think a man has to operate this way. No, a ‘man’ doesn’t have to operate like this, just a ‘husband’. I’m kidding. And Sara doesn’t give me tongue-lashings. Very often. Uh, only when I deserve it. Do you see why I’m concerned!!! But not like Forrest exactly. Though I will be nothing but proud when Michael surpasses me in intelligence, like, when he’s in 5th grade. The problem is good 'thinkers' are often good 'worriers'. I just want to make sure Michael isn’t too risk- or conflict-averse. My silly, juvenile way to address this concern: lots of rough-housing and wrestling and roaring like dinosaurs and physical activity. For some reason, I think this helps. So I regularly tackle Michael and put him in an arm-bar or some other Brazilian Jujitsu hold I learned watching Ultimate Fighter. Michael’s at a tiny disadvantage. He’s too young to watch violent UFC bouts (otherwise he would surely learn faster and more than me). And I outweigh him by 150 lbs. My cousin Josiah, who actually trained with these fighters a while back, taught me a move or two, also. Michael says, “Daddy, don’t put me in a body triangle,” as I maneuver him into a leg lock where I have both his legs and arms pinned but I still have one of my arms free to tickle his armpit and ribs. Michael has fun with it. He’ll laugh and grunt and growl and grit his teeth and wrestle ‘like an orca’. I hope this translates to Michael gritting his teeth and persevering when life demands it. Of course, what we also see, on occasion, is Michael gritting his teeth and staring down Megan in a kind of threatening pose. Like he’s ready to rip that whale he wants out of her hand. But he pauses and doesn’t do it. Most of the time. And we remind Michael that you don’t act ‘tough’ and take toys from your cute, little, two-year-old sister.

But it’s okay for Daddy to act ‘tough’ and wrestle with four-year-old Michael. Hmm?

Shock of all Shocks

He gives "her" a kiss! "Her" being the girl who is constantly relegated to the garbage!

Minnesota Zoo

So here is Michael and his cousins and the cousin of his cousins, Vinnie. They might have sat here all day, but we made them leave.

Thorough Thought Process for a 4-year old

Conversation on the way to get hamburger buns at the nth hour:

Me: Should we go to CVS or Eurofresh (grocery store)? I think we'll go to Eurofresh, I want to make sure we get fresh buns.

Michael: What does fresh mean?

Me: Fresh...like yummy. Not hard.

Michael: Hard to chew or hard to make?

Dad Entry #18

Meggie had a good Thanksgiving. I didn’t really pay attention to anyone else. I took videos of her talking, singing, dancing, eating, saying “No Daddy,” as she turned away, annoyed – no doubt thinking get that camera outta my face – annoyed like Jennifer Aniston with paparazzi circling. Yes, I am Megan’s paparazzi. But no, Megan will never get dumped, not by a megastar like Brad Pitt, not by some pimply-faced Joe-teenager. No offense to pimply-faced boys. I was one myself. Megan’s so cute I want two-year-old Peg-pie frozen in time, captured for eternity. She’s talking more these days, expanding on old favorites like “Dit self” and “I nee dat” (which, translated, mean ‘Leave me alone, I want to do it myself’ and ‘I need that cool thing over there that someone else has right now’). Meg sings “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” and her ABCs. She’s kind of a ham once she’s going, actually, which is surprising, as most of us had her ‘pegged’ (no pun intended) on the timid side of quiet. Maybe not. Though maybe I prefer timid. Timid but strong, really strong. Megan also sings an old family favorite that starts with “Bilo baby buntin’, Daddy’s gone a huntin’….”

We went to an indoor jumping gym last week. Lots of blow-up jumping areas and big slides in a high ceiling warehouse. Megan is gutsy. She couldn’t get down the slide fast enough her first time. It was a big slide, especially for Megan, maybe 10 stories for a little pint like her. At the top, Megan beamed a smile and wiggled free of the arm that had hauled her up – my arm, which was on fire with lactic acid. Once free, she scrambled for the shoot a couple feet away and – whoosh! – down. She loved it. Getting her to the top another 500 times wasn’t easy, though. We tried but she couldn’t make the climb by herself. In less than 30 minutes, at least. And the boys climbing behind her would get restless. But I didn’t care about the boys, I was thinking more like the 500 reps would turn into a paltry 50, and Megan wanted to SLIDE! So no Everest for Megan. Yet. Maybe just a skydive. Oh man, I hope I don’t have to go with her. Sara? I did my part at the gym though, scaling the rope ladder while carrying her, pulling myself up with one arm, trying to get my adult feet anchored on kid-sized ladder rungs without slipping, then falling backwards and wiping out all the little kids climbing behind me like bowling pins. I got some looks from nervous moms (including Megan and Michael’s mom). There were some other adults on the equipment, though maybe I was the biggest. Michael slid too, but, God bless him, he had to really think it over first, agonize a bit, assess the probability of grisly injury. Michael is very bright. Apprehension comes with that territory, I’m afraid. One of my favorite quotes right now, from Bertrand Russell:

“The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt.”

Well said, Bertrand, though you were an atheist I think, so I don’t always agree with you.

We also went to the Minnesota Zoo. Michael was mesmerized by the marine life there, sharks, dolphins, rays, crabs, shrimp, Nemo, Dory and tons of other fish. They didn’t have any whales but the big sand tiger shark, the leopard shark pool and the dolphin show momentarily took Michael’s attention off of sperm and bowhead whales. Michael’s a big triceratops fan now, too.

**A FOOTNOTE FROM MOM
about how maybe Michael being so bright is adding some anxiety to his life. He asked me this yesterday: "Mom, are humans going to get extinct soon?"

A Park Day

Dad Entry #17

Well, I survived a weekend without Sara. She flew back to Kansas City for Becky and Chad’s wedding. Here’s what I observed: Michael is perceptive, bright, and manipulative. Megan is the sweetest thing ever. Unless she’s angry. Which happens a lot. And Megan always takes her socks off. Ice rink, blizzard, bed of coals, it doesn’t matter. Ice-skates, moon-boots, firewalker shoes with flame retardant soles. Regardless of need or environment, they will come off. Then the socks. In a few months, I’ll hear a grunt and turn around in our snow fort; one little foot will be bare already and Megan will be pulling hard at the other sock that is elongated but still catching on her heel.

I also observed that kids spill things, and dump things… everything. I suppose parents should head off these messes. Anticipate. Prevent. Come on, Dad! No open box of cheerios within reach of Megan. Cheerios and Cheerio dust everywhere. But it was fun for Megan; she giggled quite a lot. And beware of cups and elbows. It seems there is a ‘swing diameter’ for kids’ elbows, a danger zone not directly in front of the child, but offset to either side. If a glass is placed within range of the elbow, the odds it will get knocked over are quintupled. Actually, there are no odds; it is a certainty. Death, taxes, and chocolate milk everywhere. We spilled a lot of water this weekend, too. On Sunday, Megan asked for “Chicken McNuggets.” She said the words clearly, albeit slowly, and it was very cute. So Megan got nuggets.

Halloween was great. Sara did a masterful job on Michael’s costume. She definitely put some hours into it! But it was worth it, he was proud to be a Killer Whale! Though he felt obligated to clarify – for a few confused people who just wanted to compliment and give candy to a four-year-old – that, “Sperm Whales are really the largest predators in the ocean, but Orcas are the fiercest hunters, they hunt in groups called Pods and eat seals and Sperm Whales only dive down and get fish and squid but did you know that Orcas and Sperm Whales are toothed whales and there are other whales called baleen whales….” Michael doesn’t notice yet when the eyes of his audience glaze over, or reveal concern or astonishment or a frantic desire to escape. I think I recognized all those sentiments while I was with ‘Michael the Killer Whale’. Megan loved her costume, too. The wings were her favorite; she wanted them on all the time. Though it was a bit challenging for her to sit in a chair or lay down with big wire-wings on her back. Whenever she saw them, she practically squealed, “Wings, wings, wings!” What a doll.