Happy Easter!

Two Zoo Kids

Taking Megan to the zoo is the best. Well, taking BOTH kids to the zoo is the best. Taking Meg HOME from the zoo is another best. In the car, she nearly always passes out (this child is not a sleeper, either), defining gravity and defying skeleton-ity. It's so funny. I will try to scrounge up one that I have gotten with my phone cam while driving 65 mph. Here she is after I lugged her in and tossed her on a couch.

Location: Megan's bed

Situation: Snuggly, cozy bedtime, just before sleep.


Megan: Mommy? Where in my body do I keep buggers?

Me: Um...do you mean boogers?

Megan: Yes, my buggers.

Me: Well, honey...you really don't have a place that you KEEP them. Your nose just MAKES them.

Quiet pondering.

Megan: So God couldn't figure out a place to keep them, so He made a machine to make them?

Me: Yes, Meg.

Bang Bang

I got a wild hair (get it?!) and for the first time, I cut bangs. On Megan. I will probably take her in to my stylist to help them out a little in the next day or two. Maybe she can teach me how to do it for next time.

Dad Entry #61

Megan’s hair is long; it makes her head seem big when it’s tousled a bit, with a little breakfast stuck in the ends somewhere, falling over narrow shoulders, long but not long enough to cover her skinny-mini body and her pancake-flat bottom. Her bottom is visible because too often she runs around in nothing but a cute pair of undies with cupcakes or mermaids on them. Cupcakes, mermaids, princesses. It's sad to think how someday soon her socks won’t have Tinkerbell on them, no bunnies on her jammies. She has a nightgown with Ariel on it. What will happen to Megan’s ‘footie pajamamas’?!?! Her painfully gaudy, over-accessorized princess get-ups? Some day her undies won’t have 'Cute Chic' printed on her butt. At least they better not!!! I suppose she won’t carry a handbag with Polly Pocket dolls in it to junior high school, or wear her 'My Dad Rocks!' shirt in that phase when it's not very cool to be seen with your parents. Speaking of handbags, Meggie loves to put things in purses, pouches, or any kind of container she can lug around all day. I’ve noticed this ‘purse habit’, if I can call it that – likely embedded instinctually in cavewomen gatherers a zillion years ago – is alive and well in my own 21st century offspring. My sweet Meg-Pie will even ask for and put things in an empty mayonnaise jar – if one is suddenly available and rinsed – and carry that around all day.

My friend John Malina and I were chatting; he has Abby, a darling little daughter like Megan. He said, yep, it won’t be long until they realize we aren’t quite the rock stars they think we are. Right now we’re the Superman in their universe, all big and strong and smart, but they’ll notice soon that maybe we’re more like Clark Kent. No cape. Not made of steel. But my Godmother, Donna, reminded me last week how special it is to be the father of a daughter. Sadly, Donna sent out a note on the first anniversary of her father’s passing. She said some amazing things about 'the first man she ever loved, how much she misses him, the man who made her feel safe, who never insulted her, who was an island of calm and reassurance.' I thought it a tremendous reminder of the gift, the duty, the privilege. Thanks, Donna. Sorry, this is heavy stuff. I do wish I was faster than a speeding bullet. How useful for basketball and softball. Not so much for golf, though.

Lately, we’ve been playing what the kids call ‘Sidious’. This is in reference to the Star Wars character Darth Sidious. He is the baddest of the bad guys. So I am expected to fill that role, chasing the kids around, attacking them in mock light saber battles with spins and slashes while emitting full-on sound effects to the point where my mouth gets dry and I need water. When I am wounded, or drop my weapon, I grab my 'enemy' which allows me to snuggle one of them a little. I can also practice jujitsu holds and chokes on my severely outweighed opponent. No, I don’t hurt them. But the hard part is, in the process of our battling, I’m also expected to hoist the kids over my head. And drop them on the bed. Over and over again. They love it so won’t settle for less than 10 reps. Apiece. Michael’s heavy; it’s a workout. Cleans and presses. Even Meggie isn’t so easy to lift and twirl and flip around anymore. Or I have to throw them over a shoulder and carry them to the ‘Jedi dungeon’ under the stairs. Apparently it’s fun, this game called ‘Sidious’, because I say, “Come on Michael, lets just shoot some hoops now for awhile,” and he says. “No, I wanna be Kit Fisto next, and Meggie is Master Luminara,” – yes, I know who these Jedi characters are – and then Meggie says, “No, I wanna be Ahsoka,” who, of course, is Anakin Skywalker’s Padawan (aka apprentice), everybody knows that, and so this game called ‘Sidious’ begins again and I swear the kids could play forever and not get tired of it.

Triage

lol

Wingapo, Pocahantas

Feeding into one of Meggie's passions, Grammie made an Indian Princess Pocahantas dress-up outfit. Meg was smitten. Now she insists she needs a stuffed raccoon Meeko and a stuffed hummingbird Flit. I wonder if the real Pocahantas was this demanding.

Real Genius

In the car on the way home from the Chicago Auto Show with Aunt Gretchen, both kids were just beat. They were zoned out in the back and as I was getting on the highway, I said, "Don't you wish we could just snap our fingers and we'd be in our living room?"

No one really answered and a minute ticked by. Then Megan, still in a trance staring out the window, said, "Actually, mommy, if you snapped your fingers we'd be in the living room in the CAR."

Don't go messin' with Megan + logic.

Miscellaneous Quote

I just found a slip of paper in the pile on my desk:

Aug 4, 09

"I think I am starting to learn that I don't need to feel mad at her all the time. My heart is like so full of love for her right now."

Michael

Dad Entry #60

Michael and I were at the Lego store. Just to look. Most of the boxes and sets there are big and expensive. So when he picked up a little box with only one Lego guy in it (a Lego Atlantis Manta Ray Warrior if you must know), I said, "That is only three dollars, Michael, you might have enough in your piggy bank to get that next time." But Michael said, "No, I don't." I thought he was disappointed he couldn't buy it now so I said, "Yes, you might." He said, "No, I don't." I said, "Yes, you might, you have dollars in your piggy bank sometimes." He said, "No Daddy, I don't. I don't have anything in my piggy bank right now. I gave it all to Haiti."

So Michael, bless his heart, is a budding philanthropist. He wasn't whiney at all about it either; he wasn't disappointed he couldn't buy the guy because he donated his money. He corrected me about his liquid cash position, then went about happily looking at Lego's. Good man.

Megan can write her name now. And Michael can read just about any word. Except for maybe 'chrysanthemum' or 'anesthesiologist' or 'psychopharmacology'. When I told Michael that eventually he'll be able to read even the biggest, gnarliest words, he said, "If only writers would eschew obfuscation and espouse elucidation." To which I said, "Allow me an interlude while I endeavor to elicit the denotation of your utterance." Ah, that's silly, but, honestly, I think Michael is very bright. And suffice it to say, I can't wear my "I love Megan" T-shirt anymore because he'd take a quick look at it and say, "What am I, chopped liver?"

Meg still doesn't understand that the good guy always wins in the kind of shows she watches. For example, during an episode of 'Super Friends' showcasing Wonder Woman, after our heroine has sprung a trap set by her nemesis, The Cheetah, who is determined to steel Wonder Woman's Magic Lasso, Megan might say, looking very concerned, "Daddy, is Wonder Woman going to get away? Will she get her lasso back?" Yes, Sweetheart, Wonder Woman is on the cover of the DVD. With her lasso. She's going to escape and win and appear in more episodes. Or when Scooby is locked in a barn by the monster, who is actually the farmer, Megan might say, "Can Scooby get out of there, Daddy?" Yes, Meggie, he'll be fine, he's the title character.

A Little Bonding

This image has not been photoshopped.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Do Not Disturb

the Glamorous Reader.

Dad Entry #59

Michael is so comfortable in briefs, only briefs – in nothing but his underwear – he is destined to work for Calvin Klein. Or maybe he's regressing to a previous life (caveman / loincloth).

Meggie was pinching the skin on the back of her leg, kind of above her calf. She said, "Daddy, did you know it's squishy behind your knee?" The revelatory things we learn from our kids. Amazing discoveries! Megan also told me the story of the Titanic. She said, "Somebody poked a hole in it."

This morning Megan said, "I just don't know why boys don't like pink." She sounded really troubled by this huge disconnect. How could anyone not like pink?!?! I understand where she's coming from. I don't know why girls don't like UFC. Or football. Or action movies. It makes no sense. Actually, I know a few girls who like football. I told Megan that for some reason most boys prefer blue, or green. I told her boys can be crazy and unpredictable. And I added, "Almost as much as girls." Just kidding.

Michael and I had a 'light saber battle'. Megan joined in. She said, "I am Cinderella and I have a gun!" (She had a full princess get-up on – dress, shoes, tiara, jewels – and was aiming a nerf-ball shooter.) She shot me. Three times. Then Michael rapped my knuckles with his light saber. They won.

I watched some Larry King interviews of past U.S. Presidents. At one point, he talked with Bush 41 (the dad, George H. W. Bush) about losing his daughter. I didn't know this about the Bush's. Big tears welled up in the former President's eyes. His chin quivered. She was 4 years old when they lost her to leukemia. I fought back tears myself. I also resisted a strong urge to go upstairs and lift my sleeping Megan out of her bed and just hold her for a while.

Dad Entry #58

Meggie helped me build a shelf. I ripped the boards in the garage while the kids 'headed for cover'. The table saw is pretty loud. It scares me too. I wear glasses and am super careful, but it still kicked a piece of board at me once at about 500 mph. It woulda bloodied my face but luckily I took it in the chest. So I told the kids to 'run for cover' (in the house) because they were playing in the garage. They thought it a fun game, shouting the alarm to each other, "Run for cover!!", then running inside and hiding somewhere each time I flipped on the saw. Then Megan screwed all of the boards together with my Dewalt. I started the screws but she finished them, pulling the trigger on the drill and sending them into the wood. She was tentative at first, but then started over-driving them, sinking them too far, so I had to bridle in her effort. She was excited. My little carpenter. Then she played with the tape measure. She said, "Let's see how long my body is with this measuring thing." They are both growing like weeds.

It's no secret that brothers and sisters bark at each other a lot, and accuse, correct, and taddle on each other. Sadly, my children are no different. So it's cute when they actually have a cooperative and happy play session. Together. Like today, they were co-conspirators. They were hiding in the low double cabinet, waiting to scare me. Of course, I had to pretend I didn't see them, then eventually go over to the closed cabinet (inside of which I could hear giddy whispers), open it, and feign terror when they both hollered and 'surprised' me.

I counted Megan's Barbie's. She has 14 if you include the 2 Ariel Mermaid Barbie's by the tub. 14! I think Jenny (my sister) had 4 or 5. I think Sara and Gretchen had 7 or 8 between them. And I bet my mom only had 1.5 (the half being a hand-me-down missing a leg or maybe her hair - sheared off by a demented, or just mean, brother). We have not given Megan any of her Barbie's. They are gifts, and some are, in fact, hand-me-downs too, but still.... 14! Don't get me wrong, Sara and I are grateful for the generosity of family and friends. What interests me, though, is the trend. How many Barbie's will Megan's daughter have? Enough to play Barbie chess (32)? Enough to diagram football plays (22)? The number of Barbie's appears to double, at least, every genereration. Trends discussed at work are typically graphed, as well.



Meg-Pie really likes what she calls 'smelly pictures'. They're the perfume and cologne adds in magazines that have dried samples inside fold-overs.

The kids had a fight the other day. Sara interrupted it and Michael said, "She was being mean." Sara said, "Okay, but were you being mean to her also?" Michael answered, "Well, I guess. Well then... well then I just hate both of us!" This puzzled Meggie. She said, "You hate you?" Michael's self-deprecating or self-implicating comment was uncharacteristic you might say. It surprised us all. They usually play the blame game. It was funny. "You hate you?" We calmed them both down and maybe talked about how we really shouldn't 'hate' anything.

Megan was wearing her leopard print fleece pants the other day. I told her, "Mego, I love those pants, they're my favorite." She frowned and said, "Well you can't have them, they're too small, they're only medium, not 20-size. Daddy, you're like 20-size." I laughed. Not just because she thought the compliment meant I wanted her pants, but at her way of expressing 'big'. Although, maybe that actually makes sense, maybe if I tried on a dress I'd be a size 20.

Dad Entry #57

We went sledding twice last weekend. For the record, we didn’t go small. Picabo Street would’ve wiped out on this hill. It was steep. And fast. The kids found it a bit scary at first and would only go with an adult. Sara and I were eager to be their copilots. For a couple of reasons. First of all, we like sledding too. And second, well, let me explain: on Saturday, a pair of girls showed up and took off down the hill together. They spun out and flipped over badly on their first run. One of the girls cried, said she couldn’t move her arm, and was immediately escorted home – or to the ER – by her mother. On Sunday, we arrived to find the EMT’s there with an ambulance and fire truck. A girl had crashed and then jettisoned her lunch; I heard an EMT comment to his colleagues he suspected concussion or abdominal trauma. Yeah, most of the hill was fast, so we kept adult arms tightly wrapped around Megan or Michael. But, eventually, Michael wanted to go by himself. He survived (we sent him down a gentler slope). That was on Saturday. On Sunday – no doubt after 24 hours of psyching herself up – Megan gave it a shot, too. I know she was thinking about crossing ‘solo sled run’ off of her ‘daring to-do list’ because of what she said right after she finished. I was there to ‘catch her’ at the bottom of the hill. She popped up and said, “This summer I’m gonna jump off the diving board now and Aunt Gretchen will be proud of me.” Yes she will! With 'sledding' checked off – and with a kind of renewed or validated sense of courage – Meg had immediately moved to her next challenge. Good girl. Get after that list! I told Papa Mike all of this, including the injuries, and he commented that when they were kids, they had those old-school sleds with steel runners. Of course, the picture he painted involved bloody lacerations and lost limbs. No doubt, like everything else – except for little things like the pursuit of happiness and fulfillment – sledding was tougher then too.

Megan is suddenly fond of the word ‘expert’. While reading a book with a butterfly in it, she blurted, "I am an expert about butterflies." Then she paused and added, "And Michael is an expert about Star Wars." I thought it funny she said 'an expert about' instead of 'an expert on'. Who knows, maybe she's correct, and the way I say it is wrong. Regardless, I love to hear very young people feeling their way around language. Sometimes they misuse or incorrectly alter a phrase or cliche. And then, my favorite, sometimes they come up with an ingenious new way of describing or conveying something very typical or common. Like when Meggie told me, "Daddy, you have a stinky chin." She was indicting me for bad breath.

Megan has her flaws – she is too cute for example – but one of them is not selfishness (if you ask me). She offers Michael her candy, gum and stickers. She attempts to show Michael things, to share with him, and even do things for him on occasion, like make or get something for him. By the way, I asked Megan what her favorite thing from Santa was. Her answer? Gum. Santa put a pack in her stocking. With that in mind, Santa might not bring her so many toys next year.

We came to my office a couple Sundays ago in hopes of ‘sneaking in’. This is how I billed the excursion to the kids, I wasn't sure about security, if we could go in or not. When I am alone, I can come and go 24-7 for work. Of course, it's different for guests. So Michael, Meggie and I arrived and I ‘badged’ us in. This means I put my badge on a sensor which activates an otherwise locked, electronic door. Then all three of us crammed into a slot in the revolving door and shuffled our way around. I held Megan and Michael stood in front of me. Anyway, once in, I felt relief until I looked up and was greeted by a security guard. I recognized him, and vice versa; I chat with them once in a while. The guard advised us we couldn’t go further, that the kids were too young to come in without an approval form which I didn't have. Megan, rather confidently – and uncharacteristically as she is normally very shy around big strangers – looked right up at our imposing adversary and said, “Well, we were going to sneak past the security guards.” Believe me, in today’s competitive technology environment, the protection of designs and intellectual property is not taken lightly. I assured the guard that Megan had no intention of telling Apple or Google or any of our competitors about the cutting-edge, whiz-bang stuff she would see inside. Regardless, we couldn't go further and the kids were REALLY disappointed.

Just like Gwen Stefani

Well, maybe she needs a little practice.

Christmas Face

One might think that would be Santa. Or Jesus. But to me, Christmas face looks like this. On Christmas Day, my kids can eat what they want, no holds barred (kinda). Which means that Megan sustains herself solely on the chocolate found in her stocking. I quit cleaning her face after about ten o'clock, as it seemed pointless. She ate ALL of her candy in one day. And much of Michaels, since he traded her all of his Tootsie Rolls for a Littlest Pet Shop animal.

It's MY TURN!!!!!!

(I am kidding. She was just being silly. Although her screaming IT'S MY TURN isn't terribly far-fetched.)

And...Meggie's Show

Which was adorable. Megan was a good little singer and kept up with all of the hand gestures. Cute.

First Grade Holiday Music

There is not much to say here other than Michael had a very cute little music program at school last week. He was not the most enthusiastic performer, but he did his duty. Megan was sweet as pie for the first two thirds of the show, at which point she began to melt down (it was way after bedtime) and started freaking out about how hot she was. She had a hot flash.

Dad Entry #56

My sweet Meg-Pie sang Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer to me three times over the phone this morning. I think it was one of the greatest moments of my life. I heard Sara laugh a little in the background, smiling as big as I was I’m sure at Meggie’s adorable recital. She nailed the melody and only stumbled once or twice on lyrics. She sang it once, then said, “Can I sing it again?” Yes, please! And then, “Again?” Of course! A slice of heaven (when you’re in China for work). It’s pretty rare to see a non-Chinese person in the streets or in the stores. Only in the hotel and a few restaurants. So walking around the city, I see cute little Chinese girls and I miss Megan. I see the curious and active little guys too, and miss Michael, too, of course. (I hear you.) Some kids are with moms and dads, but many are being watched and chased after by grandparents. Extended families are very devoted to each other here – same as everywhere perhaps – but I think it more likely in China that extended family members live very close to each other or in the same home even. Megan and Michael are devoted to their extended families and vice-versa. Sara and I are very grateful for and happy about that.

Michael and I had a terrific phone conversation today. I told him I ate some shark and some scorpions last night. He said, “Why do you eat so many gross things there! I am so grossed out!” I thought he might think it cool that I ate Shark, but no, he was not impressed. At the grocery store, in the meat and fish area, they have several tanks with frogs, turtles, eels, shellfish, jellyfish, and various other types of fish. I was taking a picture of the tanks for Michael when a fish jumped out and splashed all over me. It flopped on the floor at my feet for only an instant before an attendant appeared and scooped it up in a net and tossed it back in the tank. Michael would’ve loved that! I took a picture of an octopus for him too. It was dead and packaged, but it was most definitely an octopus! I bought Michael a Pokemon character cutout book and Megan a Barbie Mariposa sticker book today. They are exactly the same here, of course, except for the Chinese characters. Christmas is pretty big here, to a degree that surprises me. I always thought of Christmas as more of a western thing! Despite its frenzied commercialization, it still has deep religious meaning. But the Chinese do love holidays, and who doesn’t? I see Santa’s picture on many storefronts; there are Christmas trees and Christmas lights in public areas, and decorations for sale and on display inside many stores and restaurants. The kids were relieved to hear that. They would feel very sorry for me indeed, if I was in a place not getting all excited for Christmas!!!

Dad Entry #55

I’m in China. I’m wrapping up my 2nd of 3 weeks here for work. I miss the kids. A lot. But Skype is helping; I have video-called them many times already. Skpe is free and over the internet (VOIP – and video data – to be exact). We’re 14 hours apart, so I typically Skype them at 10:00 PM from China which is only 8:00 AM back in Palatine. Last night I chatted with them while they jammed powdered-sugar donuts into their mouths for breakfast. I blow them kisses, say bye, and go to bed. They go to school. Michael has been great; he’s pretty easy goin’ about the whole thing. He’s bummed it’s taking so long for me to come home again, but we have nice video chats. I show them Chinese money and the Chinese sticker books I got them. I can point the web-camera out my hotel window so they can ‘see China’. They pan their webcam over to the Christmas tree so I can enjoy it for a moment. They tell me about their days at school and their Christmas lists. I tell them all the crazy things that are on the menus here (like scorpions, chicken feet, donkey, shark fin soup, sautéed bull frog, jellyfish, fried pigeon, marinated duck tongue, stingray, turtle soup, flower tea, and much more). I didn’t mention the dog dumplings on the menu last night. Meggie has been great too, she’s talkative and goofy and wonderful to chat with although at least once I caught her having a bad morning; she was very crabby. She’s intrigued by the fact I’m ‘on the other side of the world’. She asks me, “Daddy, why do you have to be on the other side of the world?” I tell her it’s because of work. I called them once via cell phone while they were in the car. When I had to say goodbye, Meggie said, “But Daddy, I wanna talk to you for a long time!” Me too, Sweetheart, I always wanna talk to you for a long time. I can’t wait to get home. Mommy is holding up okay, too, and Grandma and Papa Mike were there to help for a while, but I really can’t wait for next Thursday – my flight home!

My Mom's Water Does the Wierdest Stuff to our Hair

I Confess

I laughed at a fart joke at the dinner table.

Michael:
Newsflash. (pretends to type, rips paper from typewriter and holds it up)
The last time I farted was at school.
Newsflash. (pretends to type, rips paper from typewriter and holds it up)
The last time I farted was at Top Shelf Books.
Newsflash. (pretends to type, rips paper from typewriter and holds it up)
The last time I farted was just a second ago.

A Joke

Michaels joke:
Michael: Knock, knock.
Me: Who's there?
Michael: Norma Lee.
Me: Norma Lee who?
Michael: Normally I don't go around knocking on doors, but would you like to buy an encyclopedia?

Megans version:
Meg: Knock, knock.
Me: Who's there?
Meg: Norma Lee.
Me: Norma Lee who?
Meg: Normally I don't go around buying stores, but would you like to buy a pediacycle?

Oops

Conversation in car:

Me: Green means...

Megan: GO!

Me: And red means...

Megan: STOP! And yellow means GO!

The First Leaf Pile

I am ashamed to say that my kids have never jumped in the leaves. One of the downsides of having someone take care of your lawn...no access. They were...what's the right word....gleeful. It was adorable and hilarious and later extremely difficult to pick out of their hair.

Another Meggie Gem

Terrifying lotion = Calamine lotion

Dad Entry #54

Surely there is nothing cuter on earth than Megan. Her bedroom gets quite cool at night (it hangs over the front door so two walls and part of her floor are outside facing surfaces not insulated by other rooms). Despite the cold, Megan likes to shed her jammies. She enjoys putting them on at bedtime and getting ‘comfy-cozy’ as we call it, but at some point they must get constricting, or bunched up, or – when she’s actually under covers – too warm. So off they come. Tonight I checked on her and she was sprawled on top of all the blankets in nothing but her undies and slipper-boots. Her new, polka-dotted slipper-boots. Yes, she is fond of tossing aside her jams but then putting on her slippers. Especially if they are new slippers I suppose. I covered her up. At least her feet will stay warm when she kicks off her blankets again.

Michael enjoys a good story at bedtime. I try to oblige but it’s tougher than the movies make it appear (when, say, a gravelly-voiced grandpa narrates an amazing yarn, perfectly paced and inflected and vividly detailed, to a pair of mesmerized, wide-eyed little grandchildren sitting comfortably on his lap). Story material is sort of finite, or it seems that way when I’m trying not to use a setting or plot from so many previous nights. I’m thinking, last week we had underwater adventures, a couple nights ago we were in the caves and mountains, I guess it’s back to outer space. We both enjoy thinking of characters (there are several who have made appearances now in multiple stories including Addibooha, Turkhaloo, Anishahbay, Master Oats, Servo and his sidekick bear named Kodiak, Rahkesh, and Brazen). And, naturally, we love to think of enemies. Swarming tarantulas tonight? Or a giant squid lurking in the castle moat? The plot is always the same, though. Good guy characters search for some awesome weapon or relic imbued with magic (like the Ring of Stone, the Mask of Ice, the Bracelets of Power, or the unbearably-bright-when-unsheathed Sun Sword). The good guys encounter the enemies, defeat them, and secure the treasure. Michael participates quite a bit in the storytelling these days, often describing an enemy or battle or encounter. We are not rescuing any ladies yet, though.

Dad Entry #53

On several occasions now I’ve heard Megan say, “I need a fiber bar because my bottom hurts.” My little sweetheart sounds like an old man. She has battled constipation, and is aware that fiber can help. But I think she mostly wants chocolate; the fiber bars have chocolate on them and are really quite tasty.

Megan very often thinks of Michael when, for example, she gets a piece of gum. She’ll ask and take another piece for Michael. How sweet. Michael doesn’t always reciprocate this way. He will, however, stand up for her when things appear more extreme, like when we discipline Megan. If our threats sound too harsh, he will get involved. I might say, “Megan, if you don’t stop playing and get your shoes on NOW, you will NOT be going to Molly's birthday party.” Megan might begin to cry and frantically scurry around (even though she’s ignored the request twice already). It can be a pitiful display. Sara and I are unmoved but sometimes Michael gets genuinely concerned and challenges us on her behalf. He will make a comment like, “You guys are being mean to her.” I actually feel pride when he does this, so I just look at him and say nothing and let it slide, since I told Michael he needs to always stand up for Megan. I tell him standing up for Megan is my job and his job, also. Sara heard me say this recently and added, “And Megan’s job is to look cute and have lots of shoes.” Michael was bummed and said, “For real?”

We go to Dick’s Sporting Goods often just to look around and play. It’s a candy store for me, and the kids mostly agree. We putt golf balls, work the weight machines, test-drive ellipticals, leap frog all the treadmills lined up in a row. We look at bikes, throw the football, dribble the pumpkin, try on baseball gloves. We play soccer in the aisles and check out the taxidermied animals and deer stands by the guns. Sometimes an air hockey or foosball table is set up. But our favorite: playing in the tents. There were four little hunting blind enclosures on display last time and we ‘hid’ in them, sneaking around and ‘spying’ on fellow shoppers, ‘scouting’ their positions, ‘patrolling’ the area. We could zip them up so the inside was totally closed and dark. Looking at fishing tackle is fun too. Megan held up a lure and said, “Look, Dad, a toy for the fish.” She was thrilled they had pink rubber worms, and several with glitter. I told her it works on the fish like it works on her; she was attracted and excited and she grabbed them.

Meg-isms

Two of my most favorite language mistakes Meggie makes:

crispy = frisbee

don't coffee me! = don't copy me!

All Hallow's Eve

Dad Entry #52

On Sunday, Meggie looked out of her car window and said, “Daddy, I wanna touch a cloud up in the sky.” Like Hugh Jackman said about his kids in a magazine article I read, “It’s frightening how much we love them.” Honesty, I was admiring the sky too when Megan made her almost poetic announcement. Of course, Michael corrected her and said, “Well, you can’t really touch them, they are like fog, so maybe you just get your hand wet is all.” Yes, Michael is sometimes quick to burst Megan’s bubble. But I told Meggie I agreed with her, I would love to touch a cloud, and in fact we could fly through them in an airplane, and she probably did when we all flew with Papa Mike to Minneapolis. But Megan is observant; it was a gorgeous sky, a nice mix of blue and the intense white of Megan’s clouds, which were fat and full and lit up by the sun.

“Daddy, does looking at cake make you want cake?” Michael asked me recently. He was looking at a miniature plastic piece of cake that was part of a “Littlest Pet Shop” toy. I think it quite mature of him to sort of step back and observe his own mind. He identified a trigger (the cake) and was curious or intrigued by the fact it caused a physiological response, it caused him to feel hunger (for cake). He observed, and therefore separated himself, from his own thought process. Is he a Yogi? Or the youngest Zen master ever? Probably neither, but I won’t be surprised if he lectures me soon on the mind / body connection, or the psychology of things like stimuli, desire, attention, appetite, advertising, and marketing. I answered, “Yes,” to his question about cake. He said, “Me too, I think that’s the deal with everyone.” Maybe sooner than later Michael and I will discuss how we are not our thoughts. And yet we should take care to control our thoughts; we need to control the focus of our consciousness. This more than anything will determine the quality of our life. But we can also momentarily detach, and observe ourselves and our thoughts - like Michael did with the cake - because we are separate, we are not our thoughts. And in this way we have a tool, a buffer that dampens emotion like anger and fear and sadness. I will tell Michael to try this when times are tough, to be a little calmer and more level-headed to deal with things, pilot his ship, make decisions. Michael will counter and say, "No, we should never detach to ‘observe ourselves’, never, not even for a second. We should always be present and passionate and spontaneous. Because that’s life!" "Sure," I'll say, "But what if the chips are down?" And he'll say, "Then I'll be even more passionate." And I'll say, "Yes, you will be." Then he'll say, “We can withdraw when we die.” To which I’ll say, “I was young once, too.” Perhaps you are rolling your eyes, but here’s the deal… Michael will engage in this crazy conversation with me. And he will only be like nine years old!

Jim, Deb, and Greg were joking over the weekend about how well-spoken and sharp Michael was as a 3 to 4 year old. Specifically, they remember Michael telling them about dinosaurs and whales at a level of clarity and scope rivaling the average narrator on Animal Planet or Discovery Channel. Now that he’s six, they assume he’s a flat-out genius. And honestly, he still talks a good game! Indeed, he’s bright, and he loves to learn (and teach), but maybe Greg is exaggerating when he says things like, “I called Michael last week, I needed to know real quick how much interest I'd pay if I amortized a 25k loan over 48 months at six percent on a quarterly payment schedule with fees at half a percent rolled in” … and so on.

Dad Entry #51

My children are insatiable consumers. And I don’t mean at the dinner table. I mean at the store. Five minutes after a toy is purchased with gift money at Target, we are instantly plotting our next purchase (for which we do NOT have any money left). Can’t we enjoy what we just bought for, say, one day at least?!

Megan is a little bike-rider now. Her bike is small and pink. Very cute. She has a helmet and pads with velcro straps that we put around her elbows or knees. While I was putting them on her knees today, Megan blurted out, “God gave me those to protect my body.” Maybe she sensed I was kind of surprised and touched and amused by her comment because she added, “But God is not in our human body world, you silly, he’s in space.” Of course, kids say these things – interesting, funny, bizarre, cute – all the time, but we don’t jot them down immediately or remember. Although, now I’m thinking, I hope Megan doesn't join some mothership / space / god cult... I think they exist.

Megan is writing her name now. It is so adorable I about burst with admiration for my little Stephen King as I watch her do it. M – E – G – A – N she writes, each one scribbled sort of laboriously at this point, pretty shaky but all clearly distinguishable except maybe the E. It kind of looks like those TV antennas mounted on the roof of every home before cable and satellite and internet video and all the multimedia whiz-bang stuff we have now. How did we survive only 5 channels of network television? (I guess we did other things, like live life.) Now we have 500 channels. In HD. On demand. On 50 inch flat screen LCDs. No one even remembers the pre-MTV / pre-ESPN era of only 3 decades ago. At Michael’s age, I recall watching only one movie on TV; there were no VCR’s yet, no DVD’s. It was the “The Wizard of Oz”. I watched it without blinking.

Although some teams are still playing in the postseason, of course the Cubs are done. For over 60 years other teams have played longer than the Cubs – their last World Series was in 1945 against the Tigers and my Grandpa wrote home from Germany during World War II saying he thought the Cubs would win it. No kidding, I have the letter. Hopeless optimists even then. My Grandpa was a Cards fan when I knew him, perhaps he switched after decades of Cubs futility. Now we have centuries of Cubs futility. Well, maybe I’m bitter, but it doesn’t matter to Mego yet, whenever she sees any sport on TV – baseball, football, you name it – she perks up and says, “Look, Daddy, the Cubs!” Good girl. And I realize now it kind of makes sense; the Cubs kick it around on defense (soccer), and collide and drop it (football), and the other team often hits it a long, long ways into the crowd (golf).

Field Trip

Here is Michael with his future wife Sam and someone almost young enough to fit into the category of possible contender, his teacher. We went with approximately 6,057 kids downtown on the train today. I *might* be exaggerating.

Attack of a Cute Monster!

This is Meg trying her best to be a cover girl.

The Question

What do you want to be for Halloween?

Michael: A Bakugan guy.

Megan: Michael.

Just kidding, although that would have been far more honest. That girl would morph into him if she could. Instead she will have to settle for being a Bakugan guy, too.

Friends Fuh-evah

Meggie and Mia all butterflied out and being cute at the Long Grove Apple Festival.

Dad Entry #50

I missed the kids terribly while I was in Europe. I started thinking about the Moms and Dads in our Armed Forces. God bless ‘em, they leave for much longer than 10 days. And then, well, they’re not exactly on vacation. In Rome I saw Michelangelo’s Renaissance masterpiece called the “Pieta” at St. Peter’s. I had never heard of it before. So I think I will comment on that in my 50th blog entry. Sorry, no funny anecdotes today. The Pieta. To me, it is a remarkable symbol or reflection of the beauty, and also the depth and power and commitment and, for lack of a better word, the price of being the mother – or father! – of another human being. It’s sad, of course, the scene depicted, a mother holding her deceased son. But there are some interesting things going on in the sculpture. First of all, according to experts, Mary is ‘unusually youthful’ and ‘in repose’, which is to say calm or at peace as opposed to sorrowful. We are told these twists are intentional. In addition to the Christian significance, the peaceful Mary, to me, says that regardless of what happens, it is a fathomless and amazing and immeasurably fulfilling gift to be a parent. Parents adore their children, and that is its own reward. The chronologically impossible or historically inaccurate young Mary (she is perhaps too young to be the mother of an early-thirties crucified Jesus) speaks to her perfection – more Christian theological meaning – but to me, it also touches on the reality that parenthood is a lifelong responsibility, or rather, it has lifelong relevance. It is timeless. It is relevant from our first day to our last because even when we are young, and have yet to enter into the various phases of parenthood, we are accumulating experiences that will hugely feed into the role (and its many phases as our own experiences predate some of the same milestones or occurrences in the lives of our children… but not all; undoubtedly we encounter events, challenges, highs, and lows with our kids that are new to everyone involved). And another point about the intentionally sculpted young Mary…… mothers are beautiful. They are beautiful and perfect and very needed in the eyes of their little children (maybe some of that in the eyes of their big adult children, too). Psychologists make careers out of this stuff but I know nothing! Although, I would add that maybe we can sort of replace ‘mothers’ with ‘fathers’ in my statement above about the needs of kids (although, I wouldn’t call fathers ‘beautiful’). And no doubt mothers and fathers have similar and strong – strong to the point of overwhelming at times – feelings about their children.

Commercial Kid

Yesterday Michael got out of the car and on the way into the house noticed something on the garage shelf.


Michael: Oh. My. GOSH. You bought OXY-CLEAN?!

Me: Well, yes, apparently I did.

Michael: That gets out the HARD STAINS!

The Big Oh-Four

She finally made it. After a year of lying about her age, one day made an honest girl out of Meggie. She's four now! She had a cute little butterfly party with all her "little frennies" complete with butterfly crafts, wings, stickers and cupcakes. The girls were all adorable, of course. And Meg was Queen Adorable.