Dad Entry #36

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

PT

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

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

Coach Meg

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

Dad Entry #35

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

She is perfect.

Most of the time.

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

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

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

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

My Dancing Queen

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

Ode to Michael

The face that launched a thousand kisses.

Cookie Bakin' with Cookie

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

Apple Festival

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

Proof...

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

Oh My Pink

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

Dad Entry #34

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

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

Epic Battle

Pigs are Flying and Hell Just Froze Over

Michael and I just got back from a little girls birthday party at Build-A-Bear in the mall. Michael was none too excited about his options for animals and decided to make a bear for Megan. Yes, you read that correctly: Megan, his arch-enemy. He picked a pink bear with a pink princess shirt and pink bows. He then named it "Double Pink" and had the birth certificate issued to Megan.

This Kid Kills Me

Last night, after his prayer, Michael asked me to say one. At one point in the prayer, I mentioned that Megan had been pretty grumpy that day and could God please help her be better tomorrow. After I was done, Michael asked me, "Mommy, does God control us like robots?"

I said, "No, why?"

He said, "Well, then how is he going to make her act better?"

Good question, Michael. This is all getting pretty deep for a five-year old, but I explained free will and how it is a great gift. I said that while God can't MAKE Megan act nicer, he can give her the DESIRE to. But he's going to have to have a long talk with her. And she'll fight it, I have no doubt.

May The Force be with You

So today we met Darth Vader. It was quite the to-do. Pottery Barn Kids introduced Star Wars bedding with a "meet-the-characters" event. The event was at 10, but I had to go early to get in line, as if I were waiting for Michael Jackson tickets in 1989. Some friends, Stacy and Charlie, joined us. When the doors opened and a storm trooper emerged to welcome us to the event, a little boy in line with us screamed in absolute terror and ran like the wind into his mothers arms. The kids were a little leery of Darth ("the guy in black" according to Megan), but agreed that the storm trooper and the Jedi were cool.

Dad Entry #33

Megan and I will both – officially – be one year older this month. Megan will be 3; I will be 33. Man, I feel like Sara and I were kids when we had kids and yet I’m 30 years older than Megan. I read recently that men continue to perceive themselves as younger than they are. I guess so. The secret’s out; the psyche of men revealed. Oh well. Although, I do feel my age occasionally. Examples: after a long night out with friends, after playing basketball with guys 10 years younger, while noticing my thinning hair in the bathroom mirror.

Speaking of hair, Megan’s is really long. It’s so soft and beautiful. I love it. I love her. I think I’ll weave a hair-shirt out of it. Just kidding. We need to cut it again. It’s constantly in her face and it’s very good at collecting things like the caramel she dips her apples in, the glue she makes cotton-ball art for me with, oatmeal, toothpaste, stickers, yogurt, etc.

Megan, Michael, and I went to Minneapolis for Labor Day. We had a blast with Gramma and Papa Mike and the Laurienzo's while Mommy visited a friend in Georgia. We started with a day at the lake for swimming and shell collecting. Snail shells are not pleasant smelling. Then we hit the state fair which had everything from carnival rides to zoo- and museum-quality animal exhibits. They had cotton candy there too, and Michael, Alissa, and Elle took advantage. Megan, however, thought it strange and refused to eat it. Good girl. It does have an unusual texture. On Labor Day Monday we golfed with Alissa and Michael (Papa Mike and Uncle Scott rounded out our group). Alissa is cute as can be and is also a great little ball striker. Michael didn’t hit many shots but he did drive the golf cart. He sat in between Papa Mike and me. Only once did our lives flash before our eyes. We were driving on a hill and Michael had ‘the pedal to the metal’ – which we encouraged him to do most of the time and it was challenging for his short legs – anyway, ‘pedal to the metal’ isn’t advised if you are on a hill and turning. Papa Mike and I both white-knuckled our respective side rails and screamed, “STOP!!” at the top of our lungs. Michael – a little shocked by the intensity of our synchronous and sudden plea – did as instructed before the cart barrel-rolled down the hill with the 3 of us in it.

I think Megan is, well, instinctively a little sweeter than Michael right now. I hope Michael isn’t offended if he reads this one day. First of all, Michael is a boy. Second of all, these types of trends reverse themselves during different ages and phases. If he doesn’t mind being called ‘sweet’, I just might call him that one day when he’s in a ‘nicer than Megan’ phase. But for now, Megan is more willing to share, is more of a ‘nurturer’, and is more forthcoming with words like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ (though admittedly I’m more mesmerized by her soft, sweet voice than Michael’s). Megan is not, however, a doormat. She stands up for herself when overly provoked. She barked loudly and abruptly at all of us over the weekend at least once. And she’s been pretty crabby the last couple days. I guess she isn’t perfect after all. But she does give great hugs now. She really wraps her little arms around your neck and gives a good squeeze. Heaven on Earth.

Report

After Michaels first day of school, I asked him how it went.

Mommy: What did you do there?
Michael: I don't remember.
Mommy: You JUST left, and you don't remember? I am worried about your memory.
Michael: I remember. She just bossed us around to do a bunch of stuff.

Meet the Teacher

Michael has his first real day of school tomorrow, but today was 'Meet the Teacher' day. He was quite nervous, but while we were there he decided it was really fun. His teacher, Mrs. Kravitz, was super nice, too. Believe it or not, we had HOMEWORK. Ugh. Add it to the list.

Yes, Baby. He Can.

Tonight while I was putting Michael to bed, I talked to him about our Aunt Maxine, who he loves. She has been very sick and probably won't be with us much longer and I was trying to explain to him that he won't see her again, but that we can always love her. He thought about that for awhile and asked, "What is heaven like, mommy?" I told him that I didn't know, that we don't get to know until after we die, but that I imagine it is the nicest place that we could possibly think of. He thought about that and then asked, "Mommy, can God fly?" To which I answered, "Well, I bet he can, yes. I think he can do anything." Michael looked at me hard with a furrowed brow, like I might be a little crazy. He then asked incredulously, "Can he do a back flip?"

Dad Entry #32

Megan is a pacifier connoisseur. The other day I grabbed a ‘paci’ out of the cabinet and she complained about the color (it was blue; she prefers pink). Then, after one taste, she grimaced and said, “It has a crack.” It did, in fact, have some holes where she’d bitten through it. She’s also rejected paci’s because of a brushed, matte finish on the tip that changes the texture. She prefers the smooth-tipped variety. These are the details that can ruin an otherwise familiar, satisfying experience. We’ve compared the paci habit to smoking before, and now, with her connoisseurship in full swing – and the paci about to go away for good, she only gets one at nap and bedtime now – the parallels to smoking are more obvious than ever. Smokers have preferences too, their brand, package type (box / hard pack / soft pack), and other options like lights, ultra-lights, mediums, menthols and 100’s. Does anybody smoke unfiltered anymore? The variables, the recipe, have to come together just so. There’s a ritual and, of course, the addicted need the fix they crave. Another similarity I noticed: Megan handles paci’s with amazing dexterity now. When she first gets one, there’s an urgency perhaps, not to mention countless repetitions behind her. If she pops one in her mouth and it’s rotated or askew she rights it instantly, snapping it into place with her lips and a little suction. Yep, same as a smoker on that score. I’ve seen smokers light cigarettes in windstorms. Confidently. With their last match. No problem even as swirling, high winds are scattering debris around them. Steady as can be they flip out a match, strike it in cupped hands, move the cigarette tip into the flame, inhale. And they do this without breaking eye contact with you while you’re talking. Impressive.

We went to the horse farm again. Michael is a regular Lone Ranger now. He will likely be too big to ride in the Derby some day (when I imagine an adult Michael with other jockeys, Will Ferrell in the movie ‘Elf’ comes to mind). But Michael is quite comfy on animals that, frankly, scare me they are so powerful. Next we’ll teach him how to shoot a Winchester Repeater while on horseback, or maybe do a little calf roping. He could join the rodeo. Or lead a posse. I’ll join. I bet vigilantism is back in vogue because of all the superhero movies in recent years. Of course, Michael’s crew would be tougher than Billy the Kid’s Regulators in the Lincoln County War. Although the theme at the horse farm is distinctly ‘Tombstone’ and not ‘Lincoln County’ since Diane and Kirby’s horses are named Wyatt and Doc.