A Day Out

In a cute downtown near us. We went early and stopped in for coffee as we got started. Megan and Michael got chocolate milk. We then got cheese popcorn and fudge for breakfast (or maybe it was lunch by then). Megan sometimes forgets that when she uses a straw, she doesn't have to tip the glass...long story short, she dumped it all over her lap (click on photo to see large). We decided to stay a bit longer, until people giving us "looks" over the fact that Meg looked like she had had serious blow out all over her pants drove us out of town.

Speaking of Daddy Love

Here is a cute one. I asked Meg to "snuggle" daddy's head.

A Snuggle

A rare glimpse at a snuggle with Daddy. This happens so infrequently, that it is a bloody miracle that I got it here. At the zoo. Like sighting an almost extinct animal.

The Scar

After Dan had gone on about how scars are cool for guys, when I did finally take off the LAYERS of bandages, he said, "WOW. That is really bad." Great, so now I can't fall back on the "it's cool" mentality when I look at my perfect son's not-so-perfect eyebrow. Now it's just not perfect.

He's a Natural

Speller, that is. A few days ago, Michael yelled, "MOM! I spelled PUZZLE!" When I looked over, he had this going on on the side of the fridge. Nice.

Dad Entry #10

Megan was feverish yesterday; she’s getting her molars or maybe it’s a little cold / flu bug. Fevers subdue her. She slows, softens; she’s very snuggly all of the sudden. It’s my personal heaven. I hold her and she leans her head against my chest, gets comfy, sighs. Very snuggly. It’s pretty wonderful. Maybe she loosely grabs my shirt with one hand but otherwise she’s very relaxed, warm, sort of needy even. I can take both her little hands and hold them in one of mine... and she doesn’t immediately whip them away and scowl or grunt, all irritated. No calls for Mommy either, no squirming or trying to spin away from Daddy – like she does otherwise when I just want a quick hug - no whining or repeating the same word over and over like, “Down, down, down.” No movie requests even, like “Shark Tale, Shark Tale, Shark Tale.” Last night I just held her for a while and we watched the Crocodile Hunter. Hmm, that doesn’t sound very fitting, very calming, it’s a very energetic show, but Michael was absorbing it all for us, watching and imitating, running “like a cheetah,” attacking my legs “like a lion,” and wrestling pillows into a death roll “like a crocodile.” Yeah, practicing a ‘death roll’ sounds pretty violent, but that’s what it’s called. Michael knows wild animals hunt and kill prey for food. It’s a fact of life. Death and taxes. Even so, I guess we should try to use friendlier words when available. Michael already runs around talking about ‘Orcas.’ Who calls them Orcas? Nobody. They’re Killer Whales. So be it, we’re getting PC with our animal terminology. Before Michael, I didn’t even know Orcas and Killer Whales were one and the same, that they could / should be called Orcas now. Fair enough, but I can’t think of another name or description for ‘death roll’ above. Sara told me Gretchen would like to hear more about me (Dan / Dad) on the blog, maybe a little less about the kids. Okay, sure. Umm, let’s see… I’m going to have spaghetti for lunch. And I wore my dark jeans and a light green polo today.

Dad Entry #9

Michael told me last week, at bedtime, “Daddy, I might get scared tonight.” I asked him what might scare him. He explained that the ‘Veggie Tales’ movie with the ‘Island of Perpetual Tickling’ wasn’t a good movie and that I should take it out to the garage right away, and then we should sell it in a garage sale. I said, sure, we can do that, or I could take it to work and give it away. Michael said that would be fine if I took it out to my car immediately so I wouldn’t forget to take it to work. I asked Sara, “What’s up with the ‘Island of Perpetual Tickling?’” I tickle and wrestle with Michael all the time. She said even though it’s animated, of course, there is a faceless, grim reaper look-alike who runs the island. Though I explained to Michael it’s nothing to be afraid of, I banished the movie to the garage. Michael also said he was scared of “the three letters.” When I asked him to identify the perpetrators within a recitation of his ABCs, he explained, “No Daddy, not like that, the loud letters.” And then I understood. Michael doesn’t like unfamiliar noises that are sudden, unexpected given the source, or just too loud. Industrial strength toilets in public restrooms, for example. The ones that are so loud when flushed it sounds like the whole room will get sucked in. Michael has entered many a public restroom with hands over ears. I guess loud flushes fall in the ‘unexpected given the source’ category. Who knew toilets could be so loud? The ones at home aren’t like that. (I wonder how often a child thinks - about anything worthy of comparison, not just toilets - ‘The ones at home aren’t like that?’) Anyway, sorry, getting back to the ‘loud letters’ bit, I realized Michael meant the big ‘THX’ banner before movies with THX surround sound technology. The ‘three letters’ fill the screen and the volume is slowly increased and blared. Meggie has a lot of words now. She totes around a cleaned-out mayonnaise container full of whale figurines. “Whales, whales, whales.” She also has a whale book she calls out for. She likes to read “Cake,” her Strawberry Shortcake book and who can resist when she says, “Hep, pease. Hep, pease.” It’s so sweet it’s hard to deny her request, even if she wants ‘help’ reaching an open bottle of nail polish, or Mommy’s glass of red wine, anything she will undoubtedly spill or break. Prompted by Mommy, Megan will advise anyone leaving in a vehicle to “Dive fafe.” And Mommy has Megan tell Daddy, “You a bum!” once in a while; it’s from her book ‘The Paper Bag Princess.’ Megan’s long hair is gorgeous. And when she runs, or laughs - or does anything - it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

Dad Entry #8

Today, I just wanna say thanks to my Godmother, Donna. She’s been a wise influence since day one for me. I think wisdom and humor are related. I think people who identify and contribute the latter – whether they realize it or not – possess the former. It’s relevant to the blog because I hope my kids have people like Donna in their lives, people that bring a smile to their face, just the thought of them even if it’s months or years between visits. Donna is still rolling her eyes at my description of her. Hey, I’m only offering my impression and God knows, with all my insecurities and idiosyncrasies, I have a distorted view of everything! But Donna is wise and fun and calming because she will offer a shrug and a laugh even if the topic deserves harsher treatment. I appreciate that attitude and the people who subscribe to it. Now, I hear you Ashley and George, but everyone deviates, once in a while, from their ‘steady state’ mode of behavior!

I think I See an Object!

Today we went with some friends to a cool little exhibit with these massive mosaic tile sculptures by Niki de Saint Phalle. It was seriously neat and the kids thought it was, too...Michael coined the phrase 'o' the day: "I think I see an OBJECT!" An object is a sculpture. Don't know where he picked up that lingo. But he and his friend Ben used it a lot today.

I think I See an Object! Part Two

Dad Entry #7

Sara, please remove your "Too cute" post and picture below. Megan's top is too tight. And where are her pants?!?!

You're Squishing Me!

A rare moment of the kids actually enjoying one another. Well, sort of. Michael tackled Megan and draped his entire body weight over her tiny body and then laid there posing for the camera as Megan, smiling since she's unsure of if this is supposed to be fun and if she should accept the "game" Michael is playing, squirmed to no avail. Not to worry, I promptly removed him after 3 or 4 pics.

Too cute

not to post. I think this one might get daddy through a few long work days. Look at the sweet face. You would never know a raging demanding independent diva inhabited that body.

The Injury

Not easy to see under the load of bandages. Michael was in heaven. And TYLENOL. His elixir of choice.

Don't Mess

with Megan when Michael is around. Only HE is allowed to push her, hit her, head butt her, biff her, bash her...the list goes on but you get the idea.

Come Hither

You know you can't resist the "Girl in a Cooler" look. ME-ow.

Another Accident

Well, more news to report. On his apparantly never-ending quest to look like an NHL hockey player, Michael took a dive yesterday from Meggies doll stroller and cracked his face on the wood file cabinet in the living room. Why exactly he was standing on the worlds' most unstable and unable-to-sustain-his-body-weight toy is not yet understood. Unfortunately, his eyebrow/forehead caught the edge of the cabinet and about 3/4" in and right above his eyebrow actually popped open. It was a VERY traumatic moment. He was VERY upset. I was VERY shaky. We were VERY lucky that Grandma was there to help gauge the situation, send us to the ER and take care of Megan. Michael was so afraid he'd have to get a shot and begged us not to go to the doctor. After we wiped off the blood, we took a look and the cut was extremely deep. Luckily, when we got to the 24 hour Care Center near us, the doctor told us that we could use super glue instead of stitches. Michael was still really struggling and crying a lot (quietly, though) and I had to sing "Raindrops on Roses" multiple times (in front of the nurses!) to help calm him. They washed it all out and gave him a touch of a numbing agent and then glued him up. Very wierd. He seems much better and has only complained of pain a few times. The edge mark is still swollen and bruised...we can only hope the actual cut heals well and that his eyebrow isn't off kilter!

I can't take much more of this.

War Paint

Ahhh, another day at the painting table. What usually starts out and ends in a realtively orderly fashion went tragically awry a few days ago when Michael deemed it necessary to paint his face. Immediately Megan decided it imperative that she do the same. She became very upset when she rubbed the paint in her mouth...it does taste a little bitter.

Camping

In the living room. They love it when I pitch the tent.

Dad Entry #6

Well, not much happenin’, just the usual chaos. Sara slaving hard all the time while I chill out, at Motorola during the day and in front of the Cubs game at night. The Ploehn reunion was fun. Michael loved everyone there. He was high as a kite on chocolate the whole time. Now any mention of the reunion throws Michael into frenzied excitement. Someone slipped him his first brownie five minutes after we arrived. Then Sally, Maxine, Leroy, Troy, Kate, Patty, Alma… they all worked hard to keep his buzz on. I think he pooped a Hershey’s bar – 100% chocolate – in a rest area toilet on the way home. Parenting is hard. Michael is bright and sensitive, but that means manipulative and temperamental. And Megan is a girl. Clichés are clichés for a reason. I’ve never met a man with great skills or training when it comes to caring for women. That includes caring for wives and daughters, I'm afraid. By the way, women aren't experts on men, either. I guess that's the Mars / Venus thing. So with Megan, for example, I press on, blind, clueless, clumsy, but doing my best. Holding her, reading to her, playing with her, combing her hair and trying to braid it (what a gnarled, knotted disaster that was), teaching her words, teaching her to be nice, to share, helping her explore things, and making sure she doesn't break herself or anything else when she gets mad and freaks out. Michael didn’t do the tantrum thing but Megan gives it a try once in a while. Although, by way of critique, I must say her tantrums have lacked enthusiasm lately. I guess she sort of realized they don’t do anything for her. If she studied me closely, she’d notice they make Daddy sweat, but Mommy is a pro. Sara has never reacted much to fuel the fire so Megan learned quickly they’re pointless. Luckily, Sara is terrific with the kids. She’s firm but warm. That’s the magic combo, I think. She says she’s only doing her best, nothing more, learning as she goes. I don’t think so. Spare me the humility. I know she reads a lot, consults other moms, works at it. But there’s something natural there, too. She’s good. Of course, Sara is stubborn and strong; she approaches everything with a degree of confidence, with resolve. Gosh, I think I admire my wife. What’s wrong with me?!?! Am I not a man? A husband? Okay, enough of that. Michael is really getting comfortable in the water. That’s good. It’s fun and easy to hit the pool with him now. With his length – long arms and legs - he could be a great swimmer. Like his Mommy and Papa John. Maybe an Olympic champ or a Navy SEAL. That’s all. We don’t set the bar very high in this family. I do wish Michael would shoot hoops and hit the ball with me a little more, though, baseballs or golf balls. Eventually, he’ll get tired of Papa Mike, Papa John, Uncle Scott, Steve, Sally, Leroy, and the rest of the Ploehn’s, Dave, and his old man – that’s me, geez, I’ve never quite expressed it that way – anyway, eventually he’ll get tired off us all beating him like a drum on the golf course, and taking his money. He’ll start playing more, getting better. And this family is merciless. Cold competitors, everyone of 'em I mentioned above. Nice guys finish last in that crew. I learned the hard way. Michael’s Papas, his Uncle Scott and Aunt Sally, they’ll take the change he's saved, the piggy-bank he keeps it in, the shirt off his back, his toys, his college money, his beloved “pillpo-zings”, all of it “fair and square” on the golf course. “Sure, Papa, I’ll go play golf with you.” Oh no. That’s when I double-confirm Michael’s Papas don’t know about his 529.