Food Chain

Last night, as we were reading yet another book about dinosaurs, there was a picture of a salmon on one of the pages. Michael said,"Mom, when you say 'salmon' it makes me want to have ham, which is a kind of meat, which is protein for my body."

The last part of the sentence was said with a Sean Connery accent. I kid you not.

Dad Entry #19 (Sorry, a long one but I make two movie references and even mention Michael!)

Yeah, I really should say a little more about my son. What’s his name again? Of course, I actually spend more time with Michael, as Megan’s response to my presence is, “I want Mommy.” Thanks, Megan. I love you more than anyone else times ten and that’s what I get. Nice. (Wow, I’ve already switched gears to Megan. That didn’t take long. Michael got one sentence. It might be best if I never let Michael read this. ‘Journal? What Journal? That thing Megan’s reading? Oh, that; it’s nothing.’)

In case you’re wondering, or, rather, in case you’re ‘accusing’, I love Michael more than anyone else times ten, also. Actually, it’s times one-hundred! One-thousand! One-million!!! (And not an outdated ‘one-million’ underbid like that from Dr. Evil).

Michael’s not very timid, at least when he’s in familiar surroundings, with family or friends or the preschool he’s attended for a year or so. I wouldn’t call him aggressive, but I wouldn’t call him wimpy, either. I really narrowed it there, didn’t I? Michael will invade someone else’s space, maybe even relieve them of a toy if it’s one he wants (and he gets scolded for it). So what am I trying to say? Hell if I know. I’m like every parent – that’s why it’s a cliché – I’ve got a product here with no instruction manual. A son. And it’s the most important thing I’ve ever been affiliated with. Oh well. Actually, I guess I’m saying – what any father would say – ‘I want my son to have some toughness.’ When it’s needed. Michael has it, no question. (Now the issue is, ‘when is it appropriate to call on?’) But where does Michael’s toughness come from? Yes, of course. I know. Sara. Michael inherited toughness from his mommy. But I think it’s also because I had a personal ‘Forrest Gump’ realization. Remember when Forrest visits Jenny, near the end of the film, and Jenny points to this little boy sitting in front of the television. “He’s yours, Forrest,” is what Jenny says. I was touched because Forrest, despite his limitations, has self-knowledge and he turns to Jenny and Jenny senses his concern. “No Forrest, he’s the brightest kid in his class.” Awesome. So anyway, my thing is I don’t want Michael to be a 'worrier', I don't want him to worry about trouble or confrontation, to avoid it at all costs. A lot can be avoided or circumvented - and it should be, especially needless, pointless trouble - but some confrontation is inevitable in life, dealing with it is essential. So I want Michael to face it head on, not avoiding or denying or being unprepared for it, not facing it ‘head down’. I want Michael to understand this, despite, say, the fact he regularly sees me with head down receiving orders and tongue-lashings from Sara. He might think a man has to operate this way. No, a ‘man’ doesn’t have to operate like this, just a ‘husband’. I’m kidding. And Sara doesn’t give me tongue-lashings. Very often. Uh, only when I deserve it. Do you see why I’m concerned!!! But not like Forrest exactly. Though I will be nothing but proud when Michael surpasses me in intelligence, like, when he’s in 5th grade. The problem is good 'thinkers' are often good 'worriers'. I just want to make sure Michael isn’t too risk- or conflict-averse. My silly, juvenile way to address this concern: lots of rough-housing and wrestling and roaring like dinosaurs and physical activity. For some reason, I think this helps. So I regularly tackle Michael and put him in an arm-bar or some other Brazilian Jujitsu hold I learned watching Ultimate Fighter. Michael’s at a tiny disadvantage. He’s too young to watch violent UFC bouts (otherwise he would surely learn faster and more than me). And I outweigh him by 150 lbs. My cousin Josiah, who actually trained with these fighters a while back, taught me a move or two, also. Michael says, “Daddy, don’t put me in a body triangle,” as I maneuver him into a leg lock where I have both his legs and arms pinned but I still have one of my arms free to tickle his armpit and ribs. Michael has fun with it. He’ll laugh and grunt and growl and grit his teeth and wrestle ‘like an orca’. I hope this translates to Michael gritting his teeth and persevering when life demands it. Of course, what we also see, on occasion, is Michael gritting his teeth and staring down Megan in a kind of threatening pose. Like he’s ready to rip that whale he wants out of her hand. But he pauses and doesn’t do it. Most of the time. And we remind Michael that you don’t act ‘tough’ and take toys from your cute, little, two-year-old sister.

But it’s okay for Daddy to act ‘tough’ and wrestle with four-year-old Michael. Hmm?

Shock of all Shocks

He gives "her" a kiss! "Her" being the girl who is constantly relegated to the garbage!

Minnesota Zoo

So here is Michael and his cousins and the cousin of his cousins, Vinnie. They might have sat here all day, but we made them leave.

Thorough Thought Process for a 4-year old

Conversation on the way to get hamburger buns at the nth hour:

Me: Should we go to CVS or Eurofresh (grocery store)? I think we'll go to Eurofresh, I want to make sure we get fresh buns.

Michael: What does fresh mean?

Me: Fresh...like yummy. Not hard.

Michael: Hard to chew or hard to make?

Dad Entry #18

Meggie had a good Thanksgiving. I didn’t really pay attention to anyone else. I took videos of her talking, singing, dancing, eating, saying “No Daddy,” as she turned away, annoyed – no doubt thinking get that camera outta my face – annoyed like Jennifer Aniston with paparazzi circling. Yes, I am Megan’s paparazzi. But no, Megan will never get dumped, not by a megastar like Brad Pitt, not by some pimply-faced Joe-teenager. No offense to pimply-faced boys. I was one myself. Megan’s so cute I want two-year-old Peg-pie frozen in time, captured for eternity. She’s talking more these days, expanding on old favorites like “Dit self” and “I nee dat” (which, translated, mean ‘Leave me alone, I want to do it myself’ and ‘I need that cool thing over there that someone else has right now’). Meg sings “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” and her ABCs. She’s kind of a ham once she’s going, actually, which is surprising, as most of us had her ‘pegged’ (no pun intended) on the timid side of quiet. Maybe not. Though maybe I prefer timid. Timid but strong, really strong. Megan also sings an old family favorite that starts with “Bilo baby buntin’, Daddy’s gone a huntin’….”

We went to an indoor jumping gym last week. Lots of blow-up jumping areas and big slides in a high ceiling warehouse. Megan is gutsy. She couldn’t get down the slide fast enough her first time. It was a big slide, especially for Megan, maybe 10 stories for a little pint like her. At the top, Megan beamed a smile and wiggled free of the arm that had hauled her up – my arm, which was on fire with lactic acid. Once free, she scrambled for the shoot a couple feet away and – whoosh! – down. She loved it. Getting her to the top another 500 times wasn’t easy, though. We tried but she couldn’t make the climb by herself. In less than 30 minutes, at least. And the boys climbing behind her would get restless. But I didn’t care about the boys, I was thinking more like the 500 reps would turn into a paltry 50, and Megan wanted to SLIDE! So no Everest for Megan. Yet. Maybe just a skydive. Oh man, I hope I don’t have to go with her. Sara? I did my part at the gym though, scaling the rope ladder while carrying her, pulling myself up with one arm, trying to get my adult feet anchored on kid-sized ladder rungs without slipping, then falling backwards and wiping out all the little kids climbing behind me like bowling pins. I got some looks from nervous moms (including Megan and Michael’s mom). There were some other adults on the equipment, though maybe I was the biggest. Michael slid too, but, God bless him, he had to really think it over first, agonize a bit, assess the probability of grisly injury. Michael is very bright. Apprehension comes with that territory, I’m afraid. One of my favorite quotes right now, from Bertrand Russell:

“The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt.”

Well said, Bertrand, though you were an atheist I think, so I don’t always agree with you.

We also went to the Minnesota Zoo. Michael was mesmerized by the marine life there, sharks, dolphins, rays, crabs, shrimp, Nemo, Dory and tons of other fish. They didn’t have any whales but the big sand tiger shark, the leopard shark pool and the dolphin show momentarily took Michael’s attention off of sperm and bowhead whales. Michael’s a big triceratops fan now, too.

**A FOOTNOTE FROM MOM
about how maybe Michael being so bright is adding some anxiety to his life. He asked me this yesterday: "Mom, are humans going to get extinct soon?"

A Park Day

Dad Entry #17

Well, I survived a weekend without Sara. She flew back to Kansas City for Becky and Chad’s wedding. Here’s what I observed: Michael is perceptive, bright, and manipulative. Megan is the sweetest thing ever. Unless she’s angry. Which happens a lot. And Megan always takes her socks off. Ice rink, blizzard, bed of coals, it doesn’t matter. Ice-skates, moon-boots, firewalker shoes with flame retardant soles. Regardless of need or environment, they will come off. Then the socks. In a few months, I’ll hear a grunt and turn around in our snow fort; one little foot will be bare already and Megan will be pulling hard at the other sock that is elongated but still catching on her heel.

I also observed that kids spill things, and dump things… everything. I suppose parents should head off these messes. Anticipate. Prevent. Come on, Dad! No open box of cheerios within reach of Megan. Cheerios and Cheerio dust everywhere. But it was fun for Megan; she giggled quite a lot. And beware of cups and elbows. It seems there is a ‘swing diameter’ for kids’ elbows, a danger zone not directly in front of the child, but offset to either side. If a glass is placed within range of the elbow, the odds it will get knocked over are quintupled. Actually, there are no odds; it is a certainty. Death, taxes, and chocolate milk everywhere. We spilled a lot of water this weekend, too. On Sunday, Megan asked for “Chicken McNuggets.” She said the words clearly, albeit slowly, and it was very cute. So Megan got nuggets.

Halloween was great. Sara did a masterful job on Michael’s costume. She definitely put some hours into it! But it was worth it, he was proud to be a Killer Whale! Though he felt obligated to clarify – for a few confused people who just wanted to compliment and give candy to a four-year-old – that, “Sperm Whales are really the largest predators in the ocean, but Orcas are the fiercest hunters, they hunt in groups called Pods and eat seals and Sperm Whales only dive down and get fish and squid but did you know that Orcas and Sperm Whales are toothed whales and there are other whales called baleen whales….” Michael doesn’t notice yet when the eyes of his audience glaze over, or reveal concern or astonishment or a frantic desire to escape. I think I recognized all those sentiments while I was with ‘Michael the Killer Whale’. Megan loved her costume, too. The wings were her favorite; she wanted them on all the time. Though it was a bit challenging for her to sit in a chair or lay down with big wire-wings on her back. Whenever she saw them, she practically squealed, “Wings, wings, wings!” What a doll.

The Colony

Megan has recently discovered the joys of nudity. "Naken gull! Naken gull!" ("Naked girl") she yells at all times. As in "Take my clothes off!"

One More Since it is TOO Cute

I mean, really?! they are HOLDING HANDS, for pete's sake.

All Saints Day...oh, Fine. Halloween.

So the kids officially LOVE Halloween. The amount of candy in our house at this moment is staggering...it is more than I would want my children to eat in an entire YEAR, yet they seem hell-bent on polishing it off by Monday. Don't tell, but I am going to weed it down to a respectable level and take the rest to the food pantry in town. Anyway, many of you are waiting for pictures. Please note Michael's new chica. It has taken some time, but he has finally gotten over (and seemingly completely forgotten about) Caitlin, who went to a different preschool this year. THIS is Haley.

Dad Entry #16

Thanks for the comments. We enjoy them. Feel free; it lets us know at least one person reads the blog (‘one’ happens to be the number of comments we’ve gotten this month I think). Alright then, what’s new? Well, Megan’s more of a chatterbox lately. That’s good; she was maybe a tiny bit language delayed. No worries; she can almost keep up with the rest of us now, griping and carrying on. Although, she does say sweet things once in a while, like, “Hi Daddy” or “Bye Daddy” or “Daddy hold you” or “Daddy Hep” or “Pees Daddy” or “Daddy, pees hep” or “Daddy, dink” or “Daddy, chap-tick,” and so on. FYI, pees = please, hep = help, dink = drink, chap-tick = chapstick. My favorite, though, is most definitely, “Daddy, fix it.” When a toy comes apart or her toy stroller seat comes loose, yep, she knows who to talk to! And if you’re wondering, the answer is ‘yes’ I have, though only once or twice, sabotaged a toy just so she’ll look up at me, hold out the toy, and say, “Daddy, fix it.”

Michael continues to be, well, kind of mean to Megan. It’s tough to admit, and we’re working on it. Though, really, we shouldn’t be that surprised. It was that way for Sara and me, too. Our older siblings were the same as Michael. Cruel. Just kidding! (Sara and I both have only one older sibling; although, in our cases, both are sisters… and both are wonderful, of course.) Megan seems to be more accepting of Michael, handing him toys, sharing, watching and learning from him, talking to him. But he mostly views her as an annoyance, ignoring her and then, when she touches a prized toy of his, he says, “No, Megan!” loudly and takes the toy away from her, yanking it out of her small hands or dashing ahead of her to the spot where he anticipates she’s going to – GASP! – pick up and play with one of his whales, or an instrument, or his favorite book that day.

It’s cute that Megan really likes certain themes or characters that were formerly favorites of Michael’s. For example, Thomas and Percy are making a comeback! And last week I must’ve read the Cars book about ‘Sow-ee and McKeen’ a hundred times to her. Sweetheart. The only thing keeping her from being the perfect daughter – other than the damage she does during temper tantrums – is the fact she still very much prefers her mother. For everything. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.” Yeah, yeah, ‘Daddy ain’t nothin’… but he’ll keep tryin’, one of these days you’ll trust him more than Mommy!’

My heart swelled a little this weekend – it was so cute – because of Megan’s response to my taking a chocolate shake away from her. I bought one shake to share after dinner. Sara and I put a nice dent in it, then gave it to Megan. Well, she got after it; the straw would’ve been gurgling in the bottom of an empty cup if we let Megan have it for 30 more seconds. Not to mention the crippling brain freeze Megan was headed for. So it was Michael’s turn. Except, he was busy trying on his Orca costume – and that’s a story for another time, like Halloween. But Michael hadn’t gotten his share of the shake yet. So I took it away from Megan and set it on the banister next to the TV, to wait for Michael. Megan grumbled a little, maybe flailed her arms for a second and kicked at some toys on the floor. But then she was suddenly calm. ‘Hmm,’ I thought, ‘Megan exhibiting a little anger management. Nice.’ But that wasn’t it at all. Megan was in problem solving mode. She trudged all the way to her stool by the fridge, grabbed it, and lugged it all the way over by the TV. The stool is practically bigger than she is. But she got it in place, stepped aboard, then reached up – on her tiptoes – for the shake. She could just barely touch the cup. She couldn’t move it, couldn’t grab it, but she was trying. I think she might’ve fallen off the stool if I hadn’t intervened. I gave her one more sip.

We Just Can't Get Enough

of the pumpkin farm. We went with Grandma and Papa Mike AND Aunt Jenny, Uncle Scott, Alissa and Ellie! We had apple cider, apple donuts, apple pizza...well, ok, really only cheese pizza. The kids had tons of fun hanging out and jumping off the stone wall and we had quite the little photo shoot amongst the pumpkins. Oh, and the older kids got a little sneaky outside the john.

Dad Entry #15

Michael asked Sara if they make “small wet suits, like wet suits for kids.” I was pretty impressed with the question. These days, Michael wants to be a marine biologist. Gone, or back-burnered at least, are his dreams of driving a train or a racecar. He would prefer to swim with cetaceans (for those of you who failed biology – which must include me since I didn’t even recognize that word or know how to pronounce it, the first 'c' sounds like an 's' and the second an 'sh' – ‘cetaceans’ is the order that includes whales, dolphins and porpoises). So Michael is making plans to swim with whales; he’s thinking, “Hmm, I’ll need some scuba gear and a wet suit. Except – uh-oh! – the only gear I’ve ever seen on TV and in books is for adults. Oh shit!” JUST KIDDING. Michael doesn’t know that word. He knows ‘cetaceans’ but not ‘shit’. Man, we are good parents. Just kidding about that too. I wish Michael knew more about sharing and less about baleen. More about picking up toys and less about brass instruments. Michael still has trouble being nice to Megan, sharing with her, helping her. And some days I wish Michael knew more about things like homeruns and touchdowns. But his interests are great and they keep changing. Trains, cars, instruments, whales. I think Michael connects things well; he goes pretty deep into the details of his favorite subjects. Like wet suit sizes. He asks good questions for a four-year-old.

Random

I always feel like the moment I put up pictures, another daddy entry appears. Not that I don't like the daddy entires...I love them. Love, Fury, Love, Fury was one of the best descriptions of my lovely lady I have ever heard. Anyway, I am going to throw up another few pics so we can see some cute faces. Maybe subconsciously, I know it makes Dan want to write.

Dad Entry #14

I love Megan. She’s like a little explosive device. Or a severe weather pattern. A beautiful calm (before the storm). Then the storm. Big storm. Blessed calm again (and time to clean up storm damage). Then Hurricane Megan is back. She screams, flails and throws. She’s very fast (that part I’m kind of proud of). Her little hands can grab, push, slap, hurl and swat things in a blur. She lays waste to everything within reach. All because we gave her oatmeal instead of waffles. I know, Megan, you want waffles and you don’t understand grocery lists and trips to the store, how items must be purchased and brought home and prepared. And, alas, sometimes we run out of what we want! Especially those things we over consume, like wine (which Mommy drinks a lot of when you act like this) and waffles (the only thing you will eat this week, Megan) and now your milk cup is bouncing off the floor and I hear Velcro separating because you’re ripping off your bib which you will fling into the air momentarily. Here’s a high level view of Megan’s attitude cycle, her daily thought process. “Life is wonderful. Life is unbearable. Life is wonderful. Life is unbearable. Love. Fury. Love. Fury.” And so forth. It kind of goes like that.

Michael asked me this last night, “Daddy, if there is danger, does a mommy Orca protect her baby Orca from danger.” Yes. “Does the mommy Orca eat the danger?” Yeah, I suppose she could if she wanted. Orcas are the biggest predators in the ocean, other than Sperm Whales (which, Michael tells me, will dive deep and eat a big squid once in a while). Orcas will eat sharks, bears, other whales, etc. I wish I was so tough I could 'eat the danger' like that!

Dad Entry #13

Meggie practiced a valuable skill yesterday. All day long. She put her shoes on, then took them off. On, off, on, off. Her patent leather shoes, too. Fancy. It’s good practice for a woman, I guess. They buy a greater variety of shoes than most men (excluding Papa Mike, for example, and cross-dressers). Yes, women wear shoes with lots of different straps, buckles, snaps, heels, ties, laces, etc. And velcro. Velcro is an option if you’re a two-year-old chick. Or, probably, if you’re really stylish or eccentric. Meggie’s shiny shoes have velcro straps, which she mastered in a day. Good job, Megs! You’re learning the important things, Sweetheart! I will take care of you until you’re 40 anyway. Then your husband can start helping a little. Maybe. Just kidding, calm down all you feminists. Actually, I heard a minister talking about how God is as much woman as man, how women are not to be submissive; they are equal (funny, now I hear all you women saying, “Only equal? Ha! We’re better!”). This minister admitted his thinking was most definitely influenced by having a daughter. He said, “Nothing turns a good man into a raging feminist faster than having a daughter!” Very true. My daughter will NOT be submissive to anyone (the Bible only hints at that because it’s culturally conditioned). The Big Man in the New Testament was radically inclusive when it came to women, despite that being very contrary – offensively so, in fact - to the cultural norms of the day. Actions speak louder than words. Anyway, Meggie will have every opportunity. She can be the first woman President if Hillary doesn’t beat her to it. First NFL quarterback, first Cy Young winner, the real ‘G.I. Jane’ (first female Navy SEAL; and Megan’s more beautiful than Demi Moore), whatever. Actually, no military or football; she might get hurt. And Major League pitchers are often injured by shots hit back up the middle. So that’s unacceptable. But first woman to beat Tiger Woods works, or first person – man or woman - on Mars (although I’ll have to inform NASA that simple redundant designs won’t do on Megan’s spacecraft; we’ll need multi-redundant systems in place – can we do multi-multi-redundant, please? - to guarantee her safe return). Man, I do have more sympathy now for Danica Patrick’s parents. My parents got to know them a little through Bobby Rahal, and I had breakfast with them at a race once, too. I showed Bev Patrick a picture of Megan and she ooh-ed and ahh-ed over how cute Meg-Pie is. There are a significant amount of fatalities in racing, Indy-style racing in particular. Sorry, Megan. No way.

And for the record, in support of feminism: Michael is four and still needs help with shoes that aren’t flip-flops or slip-ons like Crocs.

I got home from a softball game recently just before bedtime (bedtime for the kids, I mean). Michael, already in his PJs, greeted me at the door and noticed it was dusk. He asked me, “Hey Daddy, can I come outside and see the darkness?” Michael goes to bed all summer before sundown. Being outside at night – aka seeing ‘the darkness’ – is pretty novel to him, at least in early fall, when it’s been months since the short days of his last winter. Four-year-olds haven’t experienced that many seasonal transitions. The seasons and changes are pretty awesome. One reason to stay in the Midwest. Maybe the only reason. So Michael and I walked around the yard just after dusk. We looked at the moon, some bright stars, looked at airplane lights as they approached O’Hare. We enjoyed some deep breaths of crisp, night air. He commented on the American flag and sign at our neighborhood entrance which appeared to glow in the spotlights. Michael was sort of in a state of wonderment. Call me crazy but it was a powerful moment for me. We take a lot of simple – but still cool – things for granted. Sunrise, sunset, the night sky, changing temperatures, fresh air, cool grass on bare feet (Michael enjoyed that, too).

Cider, Anyone?

So because it was about 150° yesterday, we thought it would be a GREAT day for the pumpkin farm! It has been uncharacteristically warm around here this fall so far, and something about pumpkins, cider and candy corn just does not mix with heat exhaustion. I don't know what it is. We met friends there, and a good time was has by all. All the kids, at least. We were all too hot to really even pay attention to what they were doing. Michael and Meg were thrilled as they basically ate caramel apple and cookie for lunch. Bad mommy.

We're Going to the Zoo, Zoo, Zoo...You can come Too, Too, Too...

Michael wanted to go on the carousel SO bad...and after Grammie bought the tickets and they got in line, the waterworks started. "I don't WANT to go!" We (well, ok, I) forced him to, since we had the tickets and goodness knows one should not waste $1.50. Turns out, it was fun! He got to ride on an "orca-looking" dolphin. Yea!!

A Young Richard Avedon? Or maybe Man Ray...

Michael got ahold of, and figured out, my camera. Following are a few of his gems. There were so, so many to choose from.