Happy Halloween!

That's Right. She looks Adorable.

Progress

I am sure you think that I mean progress as in "wall•e is coming along nicely" but in fact, what I mean is "megan finally let me put the wall•e costume over her head without completely freaking out."

Dad Entry #37

I may have mentioned this before, but I’m aware that Michael has likely started to accumulate lifelong memories. Or at least memories that will exist until he’s 33, as I am 33 and I still possess – or can recall – distinct memories of the timeframe that Michael is in (I remember my kindergarten days when we lived in Milwaukee; and I have some recollection of preschool and living in Davenport before that). So maybe I can’t speak for the ability to keep or recall these oldest of memories past my current age, like, say, when I’m 80; but from my own experience, I’m pretty certain that God has pressed the ‘record’ button inside of Michael’s head. And that means we need to start putting some awesome memories in there! I think we’re doing okay, so far. Sara is terrific about keeping the kids busy and engaged in activities like art, playing, swimming, running around with friends, going to the park, visiting memorable places like the zoo, birthday parties, etc. And I join and play with them as much as possible; we bike, play catch, hit balls, wrestle, build spaceships with legos, and fight with ‘light sabers’. Memories, though, might be tied to specific events, holidays, or traumas. Maybe Michael will remember his first visit to the Shedd Aquarium. Or the wound and stitches in his eyebrow. Or the awesome orca costume Sara made for him last Halloween. Or his Anakin Skywalker costume he’ll wear this year.

Megan pooped all over the house last night. At least it seemed that way. She did it right before I needed to leave her with the sitter (Emily) to go to my basketball game. Sara was at a Madonna concert with Gretchen. Sara has already done this cleanup drill several times (and God bless her; it isn’t fun). But this was my first. Megan made it to her portable potty seat and most of her poop was in there (a scary, huge amount, actually). I looked at Megan with concern but she was beaming a smile. No wonder, it must’ve felt great to rid herself of that. Then I noticed bits and smudges of poop on the floor. I had to clean her undies and her tights, her bottom was a mess too, and then a big portion of the floor because – of course – she stepped in some of it and tracked it around before I stopped her, told her softly “DON’T MOVE!”, undressed her, and cleaned her up. I was upstairs getting my shorts for bball on when it happened and I was summoned back to the kitchen where her little ‘toilet’ was. But Meggie did okay on her own; she got to her potty seat and I don’t think Emily knew exactly how to help. So, despite the mess, we celebrated! Good job, Meggie! Five more chocolate chips for you! That’s her reward for every ‘big girl potty’.

Megan almost exclusively uses the toilet now, or her little portable potty. She’s practically an adult! I’m sad. But no diapers is cool. And I’ve enjoyed taking Megan into public restrooms lately. Thankfully, she’s only done ‘pee-pee’ so far with me. We haven’t done a ‘number two’ – as my dad would say – in public yet. It’s about the cutest thing in the world, though, sitting Megan down and holding her so she won’t fall into the toilet after I’ve cleaned and rubbed the seat so furiously with toilet paper that I’ve removed its glossy finish. Proof that cheap TP is like sandpaper. Actually, I rub the seat until I see a wisp of smoke. Then I decide it’s clean enough for Megan so I help pull her pants down and I lift her onto it (she doesn’t need much seat space for her little bottom). Yes, Megan does her business with a smile, a bright-eyed, proud smile! I know she’s done when the tinkling stops but I wait for her to say, “I did it, Daddy.” Then I lift her off, set her down on her feet again, help her pull her pants or tights back up, untwist any uncooperative waistbands, then smooth her dress or put her back together in whatever way necessary. And I do this while making sure she refrains from touching ANYTHING! Last night we had a close call. Sort of. Megan saw the pink ‘puck’ in the restaurant urinal. I think everyone knows the cleaner / freshener ‘puck’ or urinal cake I’m referring too. Anyway, it was pink and Megan noticed it and started to lift an arm while taking a step toward it. I just about tackled her even though I was so close I could easily prevent what I was afraid of. Yeah, I sort of pounced on her like the Secret Service must do if the President is threatened and they need to instantly shield or move him. Then I calmly reiterated to her that we really don’t want to touch anything nearby – or in! – the urinal. Even if it’s pink.

Time Machine

Dad Entry #36

I am looking at a strip of Megan stickers tacked to my board at work. Sara made silver-dollar sized stickers with Megan’s face on them, along with the word ‘Thanks’. The stickers are pink – of course – and they were made to seal party favor bags given by Meg to her birthday guests. The ones I’m looking at are extras that I stole. There are six stickers in the strip. Six Megans. So I was admiring them, admiring that cute face, six of them, and I thought… yep… what if I had six Meggies instead of one? My first instinct was real excitement. That was tempered by some mild curiosity – then major concern – about the personality distribution. And six times the drama. Six times the fun, though, too. Too many hurts and hairdryers in the house, though. Too many tears, moods, and fashion crises to navigate, too many outfits for me to veto. Too many boyfriends! Would it be heaven? No. It would be hell. But the good times would be really fun! Six Megans! Of course, Megan is way too unique and super-special to think of having any extra Megans, any more than just the perfect one we have. Almost perfect.

PT

As in "potty training." That's right, the coolest chick in town had finally ditched the Huggies (most of the time) in order to join the world of people without diaper rash. She is impressing us thus far (it's only been a week, knock on wood) and seems to really enjoy her new "big girl" status. Oh, and the bribery tool of chocolate chips.

And is it just me, or does her stomach stick out further than her tush?

Coach Meg

Meggie warmed me up for my game last night. Though her tosses are a bit softer than the shots ripped at me by beasts on opposing teams, Megan is much cuter, she doesn't grunt, and her throws are just as erratic; they're a nice tune-up for my reflexes. She loves throwing, kicking dirt, and running the bases; I'm pretty sure I'll be watching her play before long.

Dad Entry #35

Megan’s pink party was super. Sara did a great job putting it together, every detail. Megan is indescribably cute, a little chatterbox in boot-cut jeans and pink shoes. Yeah, I still must try (to describe her). She’s a pretty tall, thin little thing these days, bejeweled with big eyes, long light hair, tiny painted nails, the softest skin. A messy eater though, and still in diapers, but the things she says, blurts out now, her ideas, comments… precious.

She is perfect.

Most of the time.

Megan is starting to use the ‘big potty’. I have mixed feelings about it. A potty-trained Megan is too grown-up! Our baby on the big potty already?!?!

Whenever Megan sees any teams playing baseball or football on TV she says, “Look, Daddy, the Cubs!” I have mixed feelings about that, too. I want the best for Megan. 100 years of futility is not ‘the best’. But Wrigley is the best; and Chicago is the best; and our ‘loveable losers’ are still loveable and fun. They’ve even won their division two years in a row. But nobody disappoints like the Cubs (who've also been swept in the playoffs two years in a row).

Michael is learning to read and spell with enthusiasm. But it’s tough; English is tough. Of course – unlike, say, the Spanish language – letters in English don’t always sound the same; they can be silent or grouped with other letters to produce a totally unique sound. Michael got excited the other day and said, “Daddy, I know how to spell another word! I know how to spell ‘talk’. It’s T-O-C.” I didn’t have the heart to correct him. I chose to emphasize – and not injure – his enthusiasm about spelling, reading, learning. I told him, “You are excited about learning and that’s great, you’re learning so fast! And it’s fun, isn’t it? You’ll be able to read all your Star Wars books before you know it.”

Michael is facing a difficult decision, one he takes very seriously... who he should be for Halloween. He knows it's a tough call for other people too. Yesterday he reminded me, “Daddy, there’s a great Obi-Wan costume if that’s who you decide to be.” Michael maintains interest in many things, although he changes favorites. And, yes, describing them as ‘favorites’ is a bit mild; they are ‘obsessions’. Thomas and trains to Lightning McQueen and cars to instruments to whales to dinosaurs to Pokemon to G.I. Joe to Star Wars. Mix in a few other things like art, swimming, bicycling, some tee-ball, cicadas and an incomprehensible aversion to clothes with buttons… and you have Michael’s resume. At the top – or present occupation – is Star Wars. He’s so imaginative, energetic, bright; it’s hard to rein him in, calm him, once he’s in character as “General Grievous battling Anakin Skywalker in the hangar onboard a giant Imperial Starship.” Even though we’re all about Star Wars right now, I did bribe him to play tee-ball recently. I promised him a Starburst for every ball he hit past me. It took him a while – I’m an experienced fielder with impressive range – but he earned three pieces of candy and was quite proud of himself. Good.

My Dancing Queen

So Megan has a new favorite song: Wake Up Little Susie by The Everly Brothers. She wants it on all the time, and as soon as I put it on, the snow boots and tutu appear out of almost thin air. While she dances, she usually insists on being called "Ariel." It's interesting.

Ode to Michael

The face that launched a thousand kisses.

Cookie Bakin' with Cookie

Megan and Grammie made some candy corn (shaped) cookies this weekend and I was surprised at how on-task Meg was. She helped with the process until they went into the oven and I whisked her off to the tub. And then she even helped EAT them!

Apple Festival

My mom and I took the kids to a fall festival in Long Grove over the weekend and they LOVED it. They got to go down the slide 4 times (!), get in a moonwalk, ride a train and spend almost an hour decorating tiny pumpkins, a feat in itself. We then ate an enormous plate of homemade fried-on-the-spot chips with cheese and a chocolate-dipped strawberry kabob for lunch. I don't know where my nutrition standards were that afternoon. But that night at dinner we had an apple taste test. Michael and Grammie went with cortland but I preferred jonagold.

Proof...

that even beauties ALWAYS need to know where the camera is.

Oh My Pink

The pink fest had it's closing ceremony several hours ago, and somehow my house still looks very...pink. The girls had fun and I had fun with my new camera. So I would call it a success! But thanks goodness it's over. No more pink, please.

Dad Entry #34

Darth Michael is growing strong with the Force. His light saber skills are exceptional for a young Jedi. His is a plastic collapsible light saber from Target. Mine is a skinny, yellow wiffle ball bat (a tool I’m quite skilled with though not so much as a fencer). Although I’m no Yoda or Obi-Wan, I am a willing training partner. Michael’s aggressive attacks aren’t so easy to deflect anymore, he comes at me now with appreciable quickness, swinging his saber wildly, not afraid to whack my forearms or knuckles. He even took a few swipes at my back during our earliest battles, which I often leave exposed once I am ‘defeated’ and down. But I assured him in no uncertain terms that an accidental welt on my arm is okay (even if it’s raised and purple – ouch!) but a big welt stripe on my back is unacceptable. So Michael is a pretty chivalrous fighter now, after all, a Jedi Knight must adhere to a code, like never hit your little sister and don’t wallop your father when he’s down (unless you’re Luke Skywalker fighting your old man, Darth Vader). But that’s why it’s fun, I really have to be swift and sharp, keep dodging, blocking, defending. Otherwise I get a painful reminder that to be good Dad, you gotta pay attention!

Megan wants to play too. She loves Star Wars and will pick up a plastic bat – I mean ‘light saber’ – and swing it and talk about Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker and ‘The Yoda’. For some reason Yoda is not simply ‘Yoda’. He is ‘The Yoda’. I like that. Obi-Wan and Yoda are my favorites; so I agree Yoda deserves the prefix. We don’t say king, we say ‘the king’, and we don’t say master, we say ‘the master’. How come we don’t say ‘the dad’? Anyway, Megan is a little Star Wars fan, too. She is a fan of everything, actually. Except preschool. She doesn’t like that very much. But she’s going, and adjusting a little more every week. Bless her little heart. Michael is doing great in school. He’s learning letters, learning to sound out words and read. And he’s making friends like Dante and Samantha. Dante likes Star Wars, too. And Samantha, well, I hear she is very nice.

Epic Battle

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!