Pigs are Flying and Hell Just Froze Over

Michael and I just got back from a little girls birthday party at Build-A-Bear in the mall. Michael was none too excited about his options for animals and decided to make a bear for Megan. Yes, you read that correctly: Megan, his arch-enemy. He picked a pink bear with a pink princess shirt and pink bows. He then named it "Double Pink" and had the birth certificate issued to Megan.

This Kid Kills Me

Last night, after his prayer, Michael asked me to say one. At one point in the prayer, I mentioned that Megan had been pretty grumpy that day and could God please help her be better tomorrow. After I was done, Michael asked me, "Mommy, does God control us like robots?"

I said, "No, why?"

He said, "Well, then how is he going to make her act better?"

Good question, Michael. This is all getting pretty deep for a five-year old, but I explained free will and how it is a great gift. I said that while God can't MAKE Megan act nicer, he can give her the DESIRE to. But he's going to have to have a long talk with her. And she'll fight it, I have no doubt.

May The Force be with You

So today we met Darth Vader. It was quite the to-do. Pottery Barn Kids introduced Star Wars bedding with a "meet-the-characters" event. The event was at 10, but I had to go early to get in line, as if I were waiting for Michael Jackson tickets in 1989. Some friends, Stacy and Charlie, joined us. When the doors opened and a storm trooper emerged to welcome us to the event, a little boy in line with us screamed in absolute terror and ran like the wind into his mothers arms. The kids were a little leery of Darth ("the guy in black" according to Megan), but agreed that the storm trooper and the Jedi were cool.

Dad Entry #33

Megan and I will both – officially – be one year older this month. Megan will be 3; I will be 33. Man, I feel like Sara and I were kids when we had kids and yet I’m 30 years older than Megan. I read recently that men continue to perceive themselves as younger than they are. I guess so. The secret’s out; the psyche of men revealed. Oh well. Although, I do feel my age occasionally. Examples: after a long night out with friends, after playing basketball with guys 10 years younger, while noticing my thinning hair in the bathroom mirror.

Speaking of hair, Megan’s is really long. It’s so soft and beautiful. I love it. I love her. I think I’ll weave a hair-shirt out of it. Just kidding. We need to cut it again. It’s constantly in her face and it’s very good at collecting things like the caramel she dips her apples in, the glue she makes cotton-ball art for me with, oatmeal, toothpaste, stickers, yogurt, etc.

Megan, Michael, and I went to Minneapolis for Labor Day. We had a blast with Gramma and Papa Mike and the Laurienzo's while Mommy visited a friend in Georgia. We started with a day at the lake for swimming and shell collecting. Snail shells are not pleasant smelling. Then we hit the state fair which had everything from carnival rides to zoo- and museum-quality animal exhibits. They had cotton candy there too, and Michael, Alissa, and Elle took advantage. Megan, however, thought it strange and refused to eat it. Good girl. It does have an unusual texture. On Labor Day Monday we golfed with Alissa and Michael (Papa Mike and Uncle Scott rounded out our group). Alissa is cute as can be and is also a great little ball striker. Michael didn’t hit many shots but he did drive the golf cart. He sat in between Papa Mike and me. Only once did our lives flash before our eyes. We were driving on a hill and Michael had ‘the pedal to the metal’ – which we encouraged him to do most of the time and it was challenging for his short legs – anyway, ‘pedal to the metal’ isn’t advised if you are on a hill and turning. Papa Mike and I both white-knuckled our respective side rails and screamed, “STOP!!” at the top of our lungs. Michael – a little shocked by the intensity of our synchronous and sudden plea – did as instructed before the cart barrel-rolled down the hill with the 3 of us in it.

I think Megan is, well, instinctively a little sweeter than Michael right now. I hope Michael isn’t offended if he reads this one day. First of all, Michael is a boy. Second of all, these types of trends reverse themselves during different ages and phases. If he doesn’t mind being called ‘sweet’, I just might call him that one day when he’s in a ‘nicer than Megan’ phase. But for now, Megan is more willing to share, is more of a ‘nurturer’, and is more forthcoming with words like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ (though admittedly I’m more mesmerized by her soft, sweet voice than Michael’s). Megan is not, however, a doormat. She stands up for herself when overly provoked. She barked loudly and abruptly at all of us over the weekend at least once. And she’s been pretty crabby the last couple days. I guess she isn’t perfect after all. But she does give great hugs now. She really wraps her little arms around your neck and gives a good squeeze. Heaven on Earth.

Report

After Michaels first day of school, I asked him how it went.

Mommy: What did you do there?
Michael: I don't remember.
Mommy: You JUST left, and you don't remember? I am worried about your memory.
Michael: I remember. She just bossed us around to do a bunch of stuff.

Meet the Teacher

Michael has his first real day of school tomorrow, but today was 'Meet the Teacher' day. He was quite nervous, but while we were there he decided it was really fun. His teacher, Mrs. Kravitz, was super nice, too. Believe it or not, we had HOMEWORK. Ugh. Add it to the list.

Yes, Baby. He Can.

Tonight while I was putting Michael to bed, I talked to him about our Aunt Maxine, who he loves. She has been very sick and probably won't be with us much longer and I was trying to explain to him that he won't see her again, but that we can always love her. He thought about that for awhile and asked, "What is heaven like, mommy?" I told him that I didn't know, that we don't get to know until after we die, but that I imagine it is the nicest place that we could possibly think of. He thought about that and then asked, "Mommy, can God fly?" To which I answered, "Well, I bet he can, yes. I think he can do anything." Michael looked at me hard with a furrowed brow, like I might be a little crazy. He then asked incredulously, "Can he do a back flip?"

Dad Entry #32

Megan is a pacifier connoisseur. The other day I grabbed a ‘paci’ out of the cabinet and she complained about the color (it was blue; she prefers pink). Then, after one taste, she grimaced and said, “It has a crack.” It did, in fact, have some holes where she’d bitten through it. She’s also rejected paci’s because of a brushed, matte finish on the tip that changes the texture. She prefers the smooth-tipped variety. These are the details that can ruin an otherwise familiar, satisfying experience. We’ve compared the paci habit to smoking before, and now, with her connoisseurship in full swing – and the paci about to go away for good, she only gets one at nap and bedtime now – the parallels to smoking are more obvious than ever. Smokers have preferences too, their brand, package type (box / hard pack / soft pack), and other options like lights, ultra-lights, mediums, menthols and 100’s. Does anybody smoke unfiltered anymore? The variables, the recipe, have to come together just so. There’s a ritual and, of course, the addicted need the fix they crave. Another similarity I noticed: Megan handles paci’s with amazing dexterity now. When she first gets one, there’s an urgency perhaps, not to mention countless repetitions behind her. If she pops one in her mouth and it’s rotated or askew she rights it instantly, snapping it into place with her lips and a little suction. Yep, same as a smoker on that score. I’ve seen smokers light cigarettes in windstorms. Confidently. With their last match. No problem even as swirling, high winds are scattering debris around them. Steady as can be they flip out a match, strike it in cupped hands, move the cigarette tip into the flame, inhale. And they do this without breaking eye contact with you while you’re talking. Impressive.

We went to the horse farm again. Michael is a regular Lone Ranger now. He will likely be too big to ride in the Derby some day (when I imagine an adult Michael with other jockeys, Will Ferrell in the movie ‘Elf’ comes to mind). But Michael is quite comfy on animals that, frankly, scare me they are so powerful. Next we’ll teach him how to shoot a Winchester Repeater while on horseback, or maybe do a little calf roping. He could join the rodeo. Or lead a posse. I’ll join. I bet vigilantism is back in vogue because of all the superhero movies in recent years. Of course, Michael’s crew would be tougher than Billy the Kid’s Regulators in the Lincoln County War. Although the theme at the horse farm is distinctly ‘Tombstone’ and not ‘Lincoln County’ since Diane and Kirby’s horses are named Wyatt and Doc.

The Newest Obsession

Lego® fever has gripped our house with a fervor. And hand in hand with that, Star Wars. Michael has become quite the creative battle station builder. From two vantage points (please note impaled alien):

She Bit His Ass

Today we went to lunch with our friends Stacy and Charlie at Steak 'n Shake, which was nice to begin with but even nicer when the manager comped our meal due to the few hundred ants we found under our table noshing on a french fry.

When we got home, I told the kids to go wash hands while I put things away. Shortly after that I heard silence, then a scream, then crying. I came to the kitchen where Michael was sobbing and standing on the stool in front of the sink with Megan loitering nearby looking guilty. I asked Michael what had happened...if Meg had hit him. He choked out, "She....she....she BIT me!" When I asked where, he pointed to his tush, where I did in fact find teeth marks.

I have been sitting here for a full minute trying to figure out how to end that story, but I find myself unable to say anything else about it.

Rocking with Dinosaurs

A girlfriend of mine hooked me and Michael up with tickets to Walking with Dinosaurs. It became a little date-day for the two of us. We started at Spunky Dunkers, which is (no joke) the local donut haunt. Michael took one bite of his chocolate long john and said, "MOM! My tooth is coming out!" While the tooth did not let go completely, it is in fact, barely hanging on. So number three comes on the heels of losing number two.

We went downtown to my old neighborhood, Wicker Park, which has gotten over-the-top cool. We stopped at the farmers market and the great park they built for the kiddos (finally...it was a hazard to life and limb when I lived there). Then we headed to the United Center for the show. We had amazing seats, right up front. The dinosaurs were unbelievably lifelike (we can only assume) and Michael asked several times if I was sure they were not real. He didn't seem too frightened, except for one point when the T-Rex stood looking at all of us for awhile...he screamed, "He thinks we're FOOD!"

Speaking of which, we finished up the afternoon with a stop at Costello's in Roscoe Village, one of the very best sandwich shops ever. Michael was thrilled that we had pigeons eating scraps from right under our feet. And with the cookie he didn't know came with his sandwich. A sweet ending to a perfect date.

Clean Bill

The docs called today and the EEG was completely normal. For those of you that did not know, Megan has had two seizures recently, which we are fairly certain are directly related to being mowed down by Michael on his big wheel (accident!) and hitting her little baby head on the pavement.

So the course of action is...drum roll please...wait. That's right, wait and see if it happens again, at which point we will embark on a medical mystery tour of MRIs and cat scans and more wires and sedatives. Hopefully the seizure road ends here.

EEK! It's EEG Girl!

So Megan was a CHAMP. She stayed awake all night with no real moments of fading. Amazing. At about 5 am, we hit the Dunkin' Donuts and Walgreens to browse. She got a Cars sticker book and was quite content. She thought it was so neat to be up all night...but the promise of a nap at the hospital was so alluring that she actually wanted to go there before the donut shop! Once we arrived (and took a ride on a sweet little cart like the airports have), we got her all hooked up 'á la WALL•E' (to make it less intimidating) and she fell asleep about five minutes post light-dimming. Good girl. And now she's back to sleep, hopefully for several hours. Results pending.

It is 2:09 am...

and Megan and I have been awake for an hour and a half! We're up for the night of no-sleep EEG prep. Right now, Meg is eating grapes and cinnamon toast and playing with a stacking toy. Thought everyone might want to join in on the fun. If we're both awake (and we better be) I'll try to post again later to show how pathetic we look. This is the BEST NIGHT EVER.

A Gem

A few days ago, Michael and I were sitting at the table discussing our family tree. We talked about how mommy and daddy have a mommy and daddy...and "who are they, Michael?" He correctly answered those.


Then the line of questioning got a bit tougher.

Me: "And who do you think Grandma's mommy is?"
Michael: "Grandma Bev!"
Correct!

Me: "And what about Papa Mike's?"
Michael: "Grandma Marilyn!"
Correct!

Me: "And his daddy?"
Michael: "Papa Byard!"
Correct!


Then Michael's young, but typically impressive, brain gave away its limits.

Me: "You know Papa Byard has a mommy and a daddy, too."
Michael: "Were they prehistoric men?"

Dad Entry #31

Last night before bed, I challenged Michael to a round of “I love you more than….” I led off with an impressive volley of massive quantities. “Michael, I love you more than all the water in the ocean, all the stars in the sky, and…” – my kicker – “all the Legos ever made!” I figured this was unbeatable, and the Lego reference sheer genius. (Legos are the most popular toy at home lately). But Michael is a cool cat. He kept his composure, and very shrewdly countered with, “Daddy, I love you more than a hundred and a thousand Jupiter's.” Hmm. A hundred and a thousand. Maybe that’s 1100 technically or maybe it’s simply the largest amount, numerically, Michael could conceive of and express. Maybe I should teach him millions, billions, trillions and tell him, “Daddy deserves at least a trillion Jupiter’s, Michael.” But here’s why Michael just might’ve outdone me anyway: Jupiter is the largest planet in our solar system! Much larger than Earth and all its oceans and Legos. And the reason I know things like the relative size of Jupiter? Because I chat with Michael every day.

I'm Grooming him for Greatness

Yesterday Michael called to me from the playroom, "Mom! I made something that looks like a building!"

I didn't know how to respond since he has built things that actually ARE buildings many times now. Out of curiosity, I went in to him and he handed me this little Lego® creation. I asked him what on earth he meant. He explained that he meant it looked like a thing ON the building that I stop at sometimes near his preschool. Chase Bank.

http://www.chase.com/Chase.html

Tales from the Car

Exchange in the car:
Michael: Mommy, I do NOT like Megan. I do NOT like anything about her.
Me: Wow, Michael. That's not the nicest thing to say. That might make Meggie feel sad.
Megan (spaced out until this moment): Yeah, Michael, that makes me sad. It makes my head hurt. And my hands. And my knees.


Statement in front of Target:
Michael: Mommy, guess what? As I get bigger, my heart gets bigger and that means I can love people more! I already love Grandma and Papa Mike and Grammie and Papa John...and now I have room to love Gretchen, too!
Me: Oh, she'll be so happy to hear that, Michael.

Little Einstein

It is shocking, really, when you consider what this generation of kids will know about computers at such a young age. Michael has mastered my mouse, inspired by the Lego® website. Not PBS Kids, as I would have hoped, but Bionicle and Mars Mission Lego® sets have captivated his little technological heart. After a long day of surfing, I think I will have to limit screen time.

That's Right

So this photo does not even begin to tell the story of Megan's obsession with band-aids. You see four, maybe five if you look closely, on her left arm...but in reality, there were at least ten on there. All on one arm. It's a good look and does not garner stares (at me) at all when we go places.

A Little Laugh Helps...

At the kitchen table this morning, Michael looked at me very wide-eyed for a moment. Then he said, "Wow. I just had a burning hot pertz. Burning hot like a lava pertz." Most of you are familiar with what a pertz is (if you know my family), but if not, I assume you can sort it out with minimal effart. I mean efFORT.

Dad Entry #30

Michael had a great week at Gramma’s. It’s Papa Mike’s house too, but Gramma gets top billing, kind of like A-Rod gets a little more attention than Jeter now at Yankee Stadium. Both are still All-Stars. But even with Gramma, Michael had his moments; their relationship was stressed a few times in their 8 days together. At one point Michael declared he and Papa Mike should “put Gramma in jail.” That was after Gramma ended playtime in favor of bedtime. Or maybe she made him ‘go potty’ which Michael refuses to do until his eyes water and he pees “like a firehouse” as Papa Mike recalled. Michael asked every night how many days he had left, followed by negotiations for more. Michael cried on Saturday when he realized the clock was ticking down on his last day.

Megan and I joined Michael and company for the weekend. Uncle Bill drove the boat fast at Clear Lake! The kids loved it, but Megan was especially breathless when recounting the details to Mommy! Both kids swam and played in the sand so much we’re still finding grains of it in places like ears, scalp, under nails, in every crack and crevice. Actually, that’s not true, the sand is gone since I scrubbed the heck out of them immediately afterward. But it was indeed trapped in many places.

With Gramma and Papa Mike, Michael did the movie theater, the aquarium, the zoo, the Mall of America amusement park, Cleary Lake (not to be confused with Clear Lake farther south in Iowa), and Aunt Jenny and Uncle Scott’s house with Alissa and Elle. Michael and Alissa play well together, as do Meggie and Elle. Cute. Michael and Alissa scuffle and scold each other on occasion, but based on the many hours they chose to play and swim together, they are fast friends. Good times.

There were four big dogs at Clear Lake though, and I don’t blame Megan for not trusting an animal that bit her. She wasn’t afraid of Belle at Gramma’s, but Belle is the most passive pet in the world. You can steal Belle’s food, tug on her ear, and poke her in the eye and she will only smile. Megan loves Beller-Feller (and doesn’t do any of those things to her, I was only making a point). Megan’s even forgiven Zeke, I’m told. But she screamed whenever a dog sauntered too close to her, or stood in her way, at Clear Lake. The cabin there is pretty cozy, so this was nearly 100% of the time. She swatted at them a couple times which I observed with raised eyebrows, pleasantly surprised. I like the fact she wasn’t submissive or defenseless! That-a-girl, you swat anything that bites you! Of course I didn’t want them to ‘swat’ her back. But I was right there, she was swinging at them with one arm while clinging to my leg with the other. I do love it when she clings to me!

Another One Bites the Dust

Well, another of Michael's pearly whites has jumped ship. This one fell to a DQ dilly bar while in Minnesota with Grandma and Papa Mike. They noticed a bit of blood on his ice cream and saw that the tooth was gone...but gone where?! We're pretty sure it went down the hatch. They had to employ some creativity for the tooth fairy...I can't wait to hear about it in the morning. Thanks for the photo, Papa!

Dad Entry #29

I haven’t posted a journal entry in over a month. Well, I read this today online and I have to post it. This is an excerpt from an article entitled “My Father: The Outlaw” by Juan F. Thompson, the son of Hunter S. Thompson, “I understood him when I became a father. Only then could I understand how completely and totally a father loves his child, from the day he is born, and how that love just increases. A couple of months after my son was born, I called my father and told him that I finally really understood that he loved me and always had. He didn't say much, something like, "Well…uh…good. Did you see the Raiders game on Sunday?" It was okay. He didn't have to say anything more. I understood.” My sentiments, exactly. About love between father and children, I mean. My father is, and always has been, expressive and affectionate so that part doesn’t apply to me, just the fact that experiencing fatherhood puts the feeling, the love, into another place in terms of realization or recognition, like going from black-and-white to color, 2-D to 3, like thinking about sky-diving vs. doing it… whatever. In fact, not that long ago, I scribbled this onto a piece of paper, “Just imagine if God loves us like we love our children. Just imagine.” That’s a rather pleasant thought, actually (sorry, I feel a sudden need to sprinkle levity) and when held or achieved or believed, even the slightest bit, not much can disturb.

We saw Kung Fu Panda the other day. Right in the middle of the movie, Michael turned and said to me emphatically, “You were right, Daddy, this IS a cool movie!” It was a little too much stimulation for Meggie, though. Her eyes were very wide during most of the film and when I whispered a question to her once or twice like, “Are you okay, Love?” or “Po is funny, don’t you think?” she chattered on, mostly gibberish around words like ‘fast’ and ‘loud’ and ‘flying’ and ‘crash’, for several moments in response while I tried to get her to lower her voice in the theater. I love sitting by Megan at the movies. Of course, her knees don’t bend over the edge of the seat. They don’t reach the edge of the seat. Her feet barely do. We can fit a little bag or bowl of popcorn in between her short little legs though and she’s quite happy. So cute.

A Five-Year-Old Boy!

Michael had his birthday today! And his birthday party, too! Unlike last year, I went with the INDOOR pool party and guess what? It was a beautiful day.

Here's the birthday boy with his mom, Michael Silvestri and then Ben LaMonica. And Megpie playing in the pool, then Michael opening presents surrounded by the paparazzi.

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.