Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Dad Entry #65
One of my fondest memories of being Megan's dad will always be the scene in the truck stop bathroom. No, I'm not after cheap laughs here with bathroom jokes. I simply find it funny - and touching - when I have to bring my itty-bitty, cute-as-a-button little girl into the truck stop men's restroom. It still happens - we drove to Minnesota last weekend - since Megan can't 'hold it' for 7 hours and I can't go into the ladies room. (It'll be a while before I let Megan go anywhere, even the women's restroom, by herself.) The experience is a bit different these days, but early on, over a year ago, it was Megan and I in a stall, me holding her over the toilet, trying to make sure she didn't pee on her little undies or pants that were pulled down, or somehow on her shoes. Megan would gleefully try to look between her legs - in the beginning it was a novelty to go on the 'big potty' like a 'big girl' - which made it hard for me to hold her back far enough over the seat. I learned that too far forward meant she'd need a change of clothes. Now that Megan's a seasoned four-year-old, she goes into the stall alone, but only after I select the cleanest one, inspect it thoroughly, wipe it down, and advise her not to touch ANYTHING... as I've always done. And although it's very cute, it wouldn't be so memorable if not for the sudden clash, the striking incongruity, that registers with me the moment Megan speaks. That sweet little voice in the otherwise quiet truck stop bathroom. "Look Daddy, I did it," she might've said a year and a half ago, loud enough for everyone to hear. Of course I had to respond, also, "Yes you did! Good job, Baby!" And truthfully, early on, I was delighted she was out of diapers. Now I take it for granted. The truck drivers are always a bit grisly; nothing against truck drivers, but they are usually bearded, hatted, tired, and disheveled or shuffling around in a daze after countless hours on the road. And this bright, sweet voice kind of pierces the quiet fog hanging over the men's room, "Daddy, I can't reach the toilet paper." You are bonded forever with the beautiful, dainty creature you escort into this place.
Michael is there too, and that's cute also, we had moments like our first time using the urinal, but it never seemed so funny, or out-of-place, as it does with Megan. Soaping, rinsing and drying hands - and not obstructing the path of a driver who needs to go badly after 10 hours of driving - are also part of it with both kids. But Megan's loud, sweet voice there is quite a memory-maker for me.
It's an old cliche, but Megan is truly a 'good little helper'. She is eager to help cook, water the plants indoors, pot flowers and vetables outdoors, and so on. She wants to be a doctor or a nurse (some of you may recall her ongoing fascination with 'body books' about human anatomy). She told me that doctors wear gloves. I asked her what other things doctors wear (I was maybe looking for white coat, surgical mask, or stethoscope) but Megan said, "Nothing. They just wear gloves."
We play T-ball in the front yard. The kids were alternating, one would hit and the other would help field, then they'd switch. Finally Michael said, "We should let Daddy hit some too." Megan said, "Oh, no, Daddy will hit it all the way to Africa." I'm not sure why Africa was on her mind, but she's been to some of my softball games; she knows I can hit it pretty far I guess. Like out of the park and into the trees. A lot of guys in my league can do that. But it made me feel good when she said it! Of course, Megan 'giveth, then taketh away', because later that night she was brushing my hair - something she likes to do now - and she started giggling and said, "Daddy, you have a bald spot back here." Thank you, Darling. Did you notice all the grey, too?
Michael is there too, and that's cute also, we had moments like our first time using the urinal, but it never seemed so funny, or out-of-place, as it does with Megan. Soaping, rinsing and drying hands - and not obstructing the path of a driver who needs to go badly after 10 hours of driving - are also part of it with both kids. But Megan's loud, sweet voice there is quite a memory-maker for me.
It's an old cliche, but Megan is truly a 'good little helper'. She is eager to help cook, water the plants indoors, pot flowers and vetables outdoors, and so on. She wants to be a doctor or a nurse (some of you may recall her ongoing fascination with 'body books' about human anatomy). She told me that doctors wear gloves. I asked her what other things doctors wear (I was maybe looking for white coat, surgical mask, or stethoscope) but Megan said, "Nothing. They just wear gloves."
We play T-ball in the front yard. The kids were alternating, one would hit and the other would help field, then they'd switch. Finally Michael said, "We should let Daddy hit some too." Megan said, "Oh, no, Daddy will hit it all the way to Africa." I'm not sure why Africa was on her mind, but she's been to some of my softball games; she knows I can hit it pretty far I guess. Like out of the park and into the trees. A lot of guys in my league can do that. But it made me feel good when she said it! Of course, Megan 'giveth, then taketh away', because later that night she was brushing my hair - something she likes to do now - and she started giggling and said, "Daddy, you have a bald spot back here." Thank you, Darling. Did you notice all the grey, too?
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Dad Entry #64
Michael was a little irritated that I traveled to China again for over 2 weeks. He wasn’t very talkative on Skype; I could tell he was bummed. And I love him for it. I missed him like crazy. Maybe I’m flattering myself; maybe he didn’t miss me tons and was only preoccupied with Star Wars Legos or his Nintendo DS when I called. But I remember, when I was a little older than Michael, missing my Dad when he traveled for work; Papa Mike was a traveling salesman, still is, albeit at executive levels now. He probably doesn't fly coach anymore like I have to.
I bought Michael a Nintendo DS game from the Silk Market in Beijing. I bartered and got a good price for it. Then I prayed it would work. It is notoriously risky to purchase electronics, movies, and games there. Countless salespeople agressively hawk everything under the sun in aisle upon narrow aisle of shops, stalls, and glass counters. When something works, it's a great deal (if you bartered well, which is a contest I think most sellers respect and enjoy as much as the buyers). And usually it works. But sometimes, no. Michael's game worked. Phew. And he really liked the one I picked (Star Wars: The Clone Wars). Cool.
Sara told me what Michael said from the top of the Sears Tower. Looking out from the skydeck over Chicago, he said, “I cannot believe that God has all this under control.” Awesome. He said it as an affirmative statement. The same sentence could mean otherwise; but by his inflection – Sara confirmed there was a kind of awe or appreciation in his tone – he meant God has things under control, it’s just hard to fathom when you’re looking out over one of the biggest, busiest cities in the world. What a deep thinker. Unfortunately, he’s going to give himself a headache, and a heartache, and a soul- or spirit-ache too, thinking so deeply. But Michael must agree with Socrates. “The unexamined life is not worth living.” I look forward to growing old with Michael and talking about these things. Hopefully we inspire each other, rather than become grumpy, old cynics. We will. Inspire each other.
Megan made a sort of deep observation too. See told me via Skype, “I can count in my brain.” Then she added some clarification with, “I can count inside my brain.” I knew what she meant the first time. In a way, she has identified her inner voice. She can count, and speak, inside her brain. Words don’t have to escape her lips. Words can just stop, or stay, inside her head. Very good. It’s important to learn this. (Some people never do!) This brings to mind all kinds of thoughts about our inner dialogues, our compassionate or critical inner voices – hopefully the latter – and our explanatory styles for life events as it relates to our levels of optimism (the quality positive psychologists are now saying is most revelatory or indicative of the amount of success and fulfillment a person experiences). How optimism, success, and fulfillment are determined objectively, I don’t know. But it sure sounds good! Let's hear it for optimism! I hope M & M are optimists.
During a Skype call, Megan said, “Daddy, I wish I could pull you through the computer!” Me too! Why haven’t we figured that out yet? Teleportation. Didn't Star Trek pioneer this travel method decades ago? Video calls are like so 2007. Although, seriously, I bet there are scientists out there really looking into 'beaming' people around. I think I read somewhere they can teleport electrons now. Maybe atoms. There's no way engineers will figure it out for humans, will they? I volunteer Uncle Scott and Uncle Jake for the first human trials of this amazing technology.
Megan cut her finger the day I left for China. It bled like crazy; blood was running down here fingers past her wrist. She cut her finger with what she later indicted as 'naughty scissors'. She said, “They are some naughty scissors, they snipped off the pad on my finger.” Indeed, they cut off a perfect circle of tissue, rather deep, from the end of her finger. Sara took her to the ER where they used some kind of synthetic skin, that adhered but later fell off, to patch her up. Megan officially hates the ER now since they also gave her a tetanus shot during her visit. “They stuck it in my shoulder,” she told me. I know. Ouch.
While Skyping from China, I panned my webcam so the kids could see out my hotel room window. I was on the 15th floor. Looking down at the traffic zooming by outside, and the distant people and bikes below, Megan asked, “Daddy, how do you get to the bottom in China?” I told her I use an elevator. But the perspectives and questions about new things from kids are always interesting. Hey, it was a good, practical question. I didn't take the stairs. I didn't scale down the building like a rock climber; I didn't use crampons and ice axes, a rope, suction cups, or a ladder; I didn't jump, parachute, hang glide, water slide, or fly. She used the word ‘bottom’ again a little later when she blurted, “Daddy, I have to scratch my bottom.” Okay, Sweetheart, sometimes it’s best to go ahead and do something like that without calling attention to it.
I bought Michael a Nintendo DS game from the Silk Market in Beijing. I bartered and got a good price for it. Then I prayed it would work. It is notoriously risky to purchase electronics, movies, and games there. Countless salespeople agressively hawk everything under the sun in aisle upon narrow aisle of shops, stalls, and glass counters. When something works, it's a great deal (if you bartered well, which is a contest I think most sellers respect and enjoy as much as the buyers). And usually it works. But sometimes, no. Michael's game worked. Phew. And he really liked the one I picked (Star Wars: The Clone Wars). Cool.
Sara told me what Michael said from the top of the Sears Tower. Looking out from the skydeck over Chicago, he said, “I cannot believe that God has all this under control.” Awesome. He said it as an affirmative statement. The same sentence could mean otherwise; but by his inflection – Sara confirmed there was a kind of awe or appreciation in his tone – he meant God has things under control, it’s just hard to fathom when you’re looking out over one of the biggest, busiest cities in the world. What a deep thinker. Unfortunately, he’s going to give himself a headache, and a heartache, and a soul- or spirit-ache too, thinking so deeply. But Michael must agree with Socrates. “The unexamined life is not worth living.” I look forward to growing old with Michael and talking about these things. Hopefully we inspire each other, rather than become grumpy, old cynics. We will. Inspire each other.
Megan made a sort of deep observation too. See told me via Skype, “I can count in my brain.” Then she added some clarification with, “I can count inside my brain.” I knew what she meant the first time. In a way, she has identified her inner voice. She can count, and speak, inside her brain. Words don’t have to escape her lips. Words can just stop, or stay, inside her head. Very good. It’s important to learn this. (Some people never do!) This brings to mind all kinds of thoughts about our inner dialogues, our compassionate or critical inner voices – hopefully the latter – and our explanatory styles for life events as it relates to our levels of optimism (the quality positive psychologists are now saying is most revelatory or indicative of the amount of success and fulfillment a person experiences). How optimism, success, and fulfillment are determined objectively, I don’t know. But it sure sounds good! Let's hear it for optimism! I hope M & M are optimists.
During a Skype call, Megan said, “Daddy, I wish I could pull you through the computer!” Me too! Why haven’t we figured that out yet? Teleportation. Didn't Star Trek pioneer this travel method decades ago? Video calls are like so 2007. Although, seriously, I bet there are scientists out there really looking into 'beaming' people around. I think I read somewhere they can teleport electrons now. Maybe atoms. There's no way engineers will figure it out for humans, will they? I volunteer Uncle Scott and Uncle Jake for the first human trials of this amazing technology.
Megan cut her finger the day I left for China. It bled like crazy; blood was running down here fingers past her wrist. She cut her finger with what she later indicted as 'naughty scissors'. She said, “They are some naughty scissors, they snipped off the pad on my finger.” Indeed, they cut off a perfect circle of tissue, rather deep, from the end of her finger. Sara took her to the ER where they used some kind of synthetic skin, that adhered but later fell off, to patch her up. Megan officially hates the ER now since they also gave her a tetanus shot during her visit. “They stuck it in my shoulder,” she told me. I know. Ouch.
While Skyping from China, I panned my webcam so the kids could see out my hotel room window. I was on the 15th floor. Looking down at the traffic zooming by outside, and the distant people and bikes below, Megan asked, “Daddy, how do you get to the bottom in China?” I told her I use an elevator. But the perspectives and questions about new things from kids are always interesting. Hey, it was a good, practical question. I didn't take the stairs. I didn't scale down the building like a rock climber; I didn't use crampons and ice axes, a rope, suction cups, or a ladder; I didn't jump, parachute, hang glide, water slide, or fly. She used the word ‘bottom’ again a little later when she blurted, “Daddy, I have to scratch my bottom.” Okay, Sweetheart, sometimes it’s best to go ahead and do something like that without calling attention to it.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Dad Entry #63
Megan loves giraffes. We were at ‘Reptile-Fest’ surrounded by snakes and lizards, and Megan said, “I wonder if they have baby giraffes here.” Sweet thing. It was a serious inquiry so I gave it a sincere answer. “No Baby, just reptiles. Turtles, frogs, gators and snakes. But this is a big gym, the ceiling is high enough for giraffes.” We were in the UIC PE building (University of Illinois at Chicago Physical Education). Meggie knows what a reptile is, and therefore knows that a giraffe is not one; I think she simply, while surrounded by animals, succumbed to a moment of hopeful delight.
Michael started T-ball again. I am in China so I missed the first practice, but Sara told me he is by far the tallest kid on the team. He’s a big dude. But a sensitive one. I think that’s a good combo.
Sometimes when I plop myself down on the couch next to Meg she says, “No Daddy, you’ll sit on my dress.” And I think, where was this concern for your princess dress when you dripped waffle syrup on it at breakfast, and wiped Cheeto cheese on it at lunch?
I mentioned this already, but Meggie can’t wait to be 6 years old. I think her observations of Michael indicate the big ‘6’ is a breakthrough year. A real milestone. I’m smiling, but I also realize the difference between 4 and 6 is a 50% increase in lifespan. That’s nothing to sneeze at. It’s the same, by that measure, as the difference between 20 and 30. Would you like me to tell you about that?! And the ripe age of 6 really did mean big things for Michael; he started 1st grade, learned to read (even ‘chapter books’!), and is at school for a full day now (Meggie misses him in the afternoons). Michael also played on a T-ball team (Meggie loves to play ball too), went to Minnesota by himself for several days with Gramma and Papa, and possibly has other unique privileges or status I just can’t perceive or understand, even when I try to think like a 4-year-old. You bet, easy for me. But whatever the hierarchy or progression – or giant chasm! – that separates a 4- and 6-year-old, Meggie is feeling the gravity of it; she wants badly to cross, to leap! She says, “I want to be 6.” I know, Sweetheart, I want to be 25. When does it change, anyway; when do we go from wanting more years to wanting less?
Michael started T-ball again. I am in China so I missed the first practice, but Sara told me he is by far the tallest kid on the team. He’s a big dude. But a sensitive one. I think that’s a good combo.
Sometimes when I plop myself down on the couch next to Meg she says, “No Daddy, you’ll sit on my dress.” And I think, where was this concern for your princess dress when you dripped waffle syrup on it at breakfast, and wiped Cheeto cheese on it at lunch?
I mentioned this already, but Meggie can’t wait to be 6 years old. I think her observations of Michael indicate the big ‘6’ is a breakthrough year. A real milestone. I’m smiling, but I also realize the difference between 4 and 6 is a 50% increase in lifespan. That’s nothing to sneeze at. It’s the same, by that measure, as the difference between 20 and 30. Would you like me to tell you about that?! And the ripe age of 6 really did mean big things for Michael; he started 1st grade, learned to read (even ‘chapter books’!), and is at school for a full day now (Meggie misses him in the afternoons). Michael also played on a T-ball team (Meggie loves to play ball too), went to Minnesota by himself for several days with Gramma and Papa, and possibly has other unique privileges or status I just can’t perceive or understand, even when I try to think like a 4-year-old. You bet, easy for me. But whatever the hierarchy or progression – or giant chasm! – that separates a 4- and 6-year-old, Meggie is feeling the gravity of it; she wants badly to cross, to leap! She says, “I want to be 6.” I know, Sweetheart, I want to be 25. When does it change, anyway; when do we go from wanting more years to wanting less?
Monday, April 12, 2010
Dad Entry #62
Recently, in a cookies induced euphoria, Megan announced, “I don’t like to be naughty anymore. I like to follow your guys’s rules.” Excellent. Meggie’s not really that naughty, but I assured her I support the new policy.
Sara mentioned Megan’s inquiry about ‘buggers’. That was the cutest part. Not boogers. Buggers. She consulted Mommy before approaching me. So she wasn’t asking anymore; she was teaching. It seems kids go fast from ‘asking’ to ‘knowing’, from unaware to expert; and then they teach. They share. Especially important stuff like the origin of buggers. ”Daddy, did you know that God put a machine in your nose that makes buggers? It has the special power to make buggers and drop them down your nose.” Sara rightly told her that our bodies make them, but Meggie wanted a more spectacular answer, one with direct divine involvement. I love that about her, she likes to reference God when discussing how things are created. Even buggers.
Megan is pretty tech savvy for a 4-year-old. She puts puzzles together and plays games on my Motorola / Google phone (did I just make a plug for my company?), which requires finesse with the touch screen and menus. She can navigate back to a game if she hits a wrong key. This is good, as I don’t want her calling, texting or emailing gibberish to a high level manager at work.
"Daddy, look at me!" These are fun words from Megan, followed by some goofy or inventive display, acrobatics or contortions or some breathtaking adornment of princess jewels around her neck, wrists and head.
I love it when the kids talk about Christmas in February. And not the one that just happened. Michael started his 2010 list. And he’s a good writer. It’s a detailed list. I guess there’s no harm in documenting your favorite toys in March; the list can be edited in December. Megan tells me she'd write a list but, as she very deliberately explains, “I’m only 4 and don’t how to write yet, but when I’m 6 like Michael I’ll know how to write, so I’ll write a list then, but right now I’m only 4, so I can’t write one.” I know, Sweetheart, some day you’ll be a terrific writer, just like Michael. For now, we help Megan, but she can write letters, so really we only have to spell for her. As for other holidays, we talk about Halloween in March, too. Only days ago Michael said he’s going to be Harry Potter this year and Megan plans to be Ahsoka from Star Wars. Woo-hoo! And Megan talks about her birthday – only 6 months away – almost daily now, albeit as a threat to anyone she takes issue with. She’ll say, “Daddy, can I play Bubble Burst on your phone?” And when I say no because it’s bedtime, she frowns and says, “If you don’t let me play, then you can’t come to my birthday party.” Then I tell her, “Oh, darn, I was going to bring you the biggest, greatest present in the whole wide world, but if I’m not invited….” So Megan withdraws her threat. Until the next day when she uses it on me again for telling her she has to wear something warmer because it’s chilly outside.
Sara mentioned Megan’s inquiry about ‘buggers’. That was the cutest part. Not boogers. Buggers. She consulted Mommy before approaching me. So she wasn’t asking anymore; she was teaching. It seems kids go fast from ‘asking’ to ‘knowing’, from unaware to expert; and then they teach. They share. Especially important stuff like the origin of buggers. ”Daddy, did you know that God put a machine in your nose that makes buggers? It has the special power to make buggers and drop them down your nose.” Sara rightly told her that our bodies make them, but Meggie wanted a more spectacular answer, one with direct divine involvement. I love that about her, she likes to reference God when discussing how things are created. Even buggers.
Megan is pretty tech savvy for a 4-year-old. She puts puzzles together and plays games on my Motorola / Google phone (did I just make a plug for my company?), which requires finesse with the touch screen and menus. She can navigate back to a game if she hits a wrong key. This is good, as I don’t want her calling, texting or emailing gibberish to a high level manager at work.
"Daddy, look at me!" These are fun words from Megan, followed by some goofy or inventive display, acrobatics or contortions or some breathtaking adornment of princess jewels around her neck, wrists and head.
I love it when the kids talk about Christmas in February. And not the one that just happened. Michael started his 2010 list. And he’s a good writer. It’s a detailed list. I guess there’s no harm in documenting your favorite toys in March; the list can be edited in December. Megan tells me she'd write a list but, as she very deliberately explains, “I’m only 4 and don’t how to write yet, but when I’m 6 like Michael I’ll know how to write, so I’ll write a list then, but right now I’m only 4, so I can’t write one.” I know, Sweetheart, some day you’ll be a terrific writer, just like Michael. For now, we help Megan, but she can write letters, so really we only have to spell for her. As for other holidays, we talk about Halloween in March, too. Only days ago Michael said he’s going to be Harry Potter this year and Megan plans to be Ahsoka from Star Wars. Woo-hoo! And Megan talks about her birthday – only 6 months away – almost daily now, albeit as a threat to anyone she takes issue with. She’ll say, “Daddy, can I play Bubble Burst on your phone?” And when I say no because it’s bedtime, she frowns and says, “If you don’t let me play, then you can’t come to my birthday party.” Then I tell her, “Oh, darn, I was going to bring you the biggest, greatest present in the whole wide world, but if I’m not invited….” So Megan withdraws her threat. Until the next day when she uses it on me again for telling her she has to wear something warmer because it’s chilly outside.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Reptile Fest
Whoever thought I'd be down with this? They loved it. That yellow one? An enormous albino burmese reticulated python. Why not?!
Sunday, April 04, 2010
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.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
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.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, March 08, 2010
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.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
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
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.
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.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Sunday, February 07, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, January 18, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, January 04, 2010
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.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
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!!!
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!!!
Friday, December 11, 2009
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!
Saturday, December 05, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, November 20, 2009
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?
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!
Me: Green means...
Megan: GO!
Me: And red means...
Megan: STOP! And yellow means GO!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
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.
Monday, November 16, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, November 06, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Meg-isms
Two of my most favorite language mistakes Meggie makes:
crispy = frisbee
don't coffee me! = don't copy me!
crispy = frisbee
don't coffee me! = don't copy me!
Monday, November 02, 2009
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