Two of my most favorite language mistakes Meggie makes:
crispy = frisbee
don't coffee me! = don't copy me!
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Monday, November 02, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Dad Entry #52
On Sunday, Meggie looked out of her car window and said, “Daddy, I wanna touch a cloud up in the sky.” Like Hugh Jackman said about his kids in a magazine article I read, “It’s frightening how much we love them.” Honesty, I was admiring the sky too when Megan made her almost poetic announcement. Of course, Michael corrected her and said, “Well, you can’t really touch them, they are like fog, so maybe you just get your hand wet is all.” Yes, Michael is sometimes quick to burst Megan’s bubble. But I told Meggie I agreed with her, I would love to touch a cloud, and in fact we could fly through them in an airplane, and she probably did when we all flew with Papa Mike to Minneapolis. But Megan is observant; it was a gorgeous sky, a nice mix of blue and the intense white of Megan’s clouds, which were fat and full and lit up by the sun.
“Daddy, does looking at cake make you want cake?” Michael asked me recently. He was looking at a miniature plastic piece of cake that was part of a “Littlest Pet Shop” toy. I think it quite mature of him to sort of step back and observe his own mind. He identified a trigger (the cake) and was curious or intrigued by the fact it caused a physiological response, it caused him to feel hunger (for cake). He observed, and therefore separated himself, from his own thought process. Is he a Yogi? Or the youngest Zen master ever? Probably neither, but I won’t be surprised if he lectures me soon on the mind / body connection, or the psychology of things like stimuli, desire, attention, appetite, advertising, and marketing. I answered, “Yes,” to his question about cake. He said, “Me too, I think that’s the deal with everyone.” Maybe sooner than later Michael and I will discuss how we are not our thoughts. And yet we should take care to control our thoughts; we need to control the focus of our consciousness. This more than anything will determine the quality of our life. But we can also momentarily detach, and observe ourselves and our thoughts - like Michael did with the cake - because we are separate, we are not our thoughts. And in this way we have a tool, a buffer that dampens emotion like anger and fear and sadness. I will tell Michael to try this when times are tough, to be a little calmer and more level-headed to deal with things, pilot his ship, make decisions. Michael will counter and say, "No, we should never detach to ‘observe ourselves’, never, not even for a second. We should always be present and passionate and spontaneous. Because that’s life!" "Sure," I'll say, "But what if the chips are down?" And he'll say, "Then I'll be even more passionate." And I'll say, "Yes, you will be." Then he'll say, “We can withdraw when we die.” To which I’ll say, “I was young once, too.” Perhaps you are rolling your eyes, but here’s the deal… Michael will engage in this crazy conversation with me. And he will only be like nine years old!
Jim, Deb, and Greg were joking over the weekend about how well-spoken and sharp Michael was as a 3 to 4 year old. Specifically, they remember Michael telling them about dinosaurs and whales at a level of clarity and scope rivaling the average narrator on Animal Planet or Discovery Channel. Now that he’s six, they assume he’s a flat-out genius. And honestly, he still talks a good game! Indeed, he’s bright, and he loves to learn (and teach), but maybe Greg is exaggerating when he says things like, “I called Michael last week, I needed to know real quick how much interest I'd pay if I amortized a 25k loan over 48 months at six percent on a quarterly payment schedule with fees at half a percent rolled in” … and so on.
“Daddy, does looking at cake make you want cake?” Michael asked me recently. He was looking at a miniature plastic piece of cake that was part of a “Littlest Pet Shop” toy. I think it quite mature of him to sort of step back and observe his own mind. He identified a trigger (the cake) and was curious or intrigued by the fact it caused a physiological response, it caused him to feel hunger (for cake). He observed, and therefore separated himself, from his own thought process. Is he a Yogi? Or the youngest Zen master ever? Probably neither, but I won’t be surprised if he lectures me soon on the mind / body connection, or the psychology of things like stimuli, desire, attention, appetite, advertising, and marketing. I answered, “Yes,” to his question about cake. He said, “Me too, I think that’s the deal with everyone.” Maybe sooner than later Michael and I will discuss how we are not our thoughts. And yet we should take care to control our thoughts; we need to control the focus of our consciousness. This more than anything will determine the quality of our life. But we can also momentarily detach, and observe ourselves and our thoughts - like Michael did with the cake - because we are separate, we are not our thoughts. And in this way we have a tool, a buffer that dampens emotion like anger and fear and sadness. I will tell Michael to try this when times are tough, to be a little calmer and more level-headed to deal with things, pilot his ship, make decisions. Michael will counter and say, "No, we should never detach to ‘observe ourselves’, never, not even for a second. We should always be present and passionate and spontaneous. Because that’s life!" "Sure," I'll say, "But what if the chips are down?" And he'll say, "Then I'll be even more passionate." And I'll say, "Yes, you will be." Then he'll say, “We can withdraw when we die.” To which I’ll say, “I was young once, too.” Perhaps you are rolling your eyes, but here’s the deal… Michael will engage in this crazy conversation with me. And he will only be like nine years old!
Jim, Deb, and Greg were joking over the weekend about how well-spoken and sharp Michael was as a 3 to 4 year old. Specifically, they remember Michael telling them about dinosaurs and whales at a level of clarity and scope rivaling the average narrator on Animal Planet or Discovery Channel. Now that he’s six, they assume he’s a flat-out genius. And honestly, he still talks a good game! Indeed, he’s bright, and he loves to learn (and teach), but maybe Greg is exaggerating when he says things like, “I called Michael last week, I needed to know real quick how much interest I'd pay if I amortized a 25k loan over 48 months at six percent on a quarterly payment schedule with fees at half a percent rolled in” … and so on.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Dad Entry #51
My children are insatiable consumers. And I don’t mean at the dinner table. I mean at the store. Five minutes after a toy is purchased with gift money at Target, we are instantly plotting our next purchase (for which we do NOT have any money left). Can’t we enjoy what we just bought for, say, one day at least?!
Megan is a little bike-rider now. Her bike is small and pink. Very cute. She has a helmet and pads with velcro straps that we put around her elbows or knees. While I was putting them on her knees today, Megan blurted out, “God gave me those to protect my body.” Maybe she sensed I was kind of surprised and touched and amused by her comment because she added, “But God is not in our human body world, you silly, he’s in space.” Of course, kids say these things – interesting, funny, bizarre, cute – all the time, but we don’t jot them down immediately or remember. Although, now I’m thinking, I hope Megan doesn't join some mothership / space / god cult... I think they exist.
Megan is writing her name now. It is so adorable I about burst with admiration for my little Stephen King as I watch her do it. M – E – G – A – N she writes, each one scribbled sort of laboriously at this point, pretty shaky but all clearly distinguishable except maybe the E. It kind of looks like those TV antennas mounted on the roof of every home before cable and satellite and internet video and all the multimedia whiz-bang stuff we have now. How did we survive only 5 channels of network television? (I guess we did other things, like live life.) Now we have 500 channels. In HD. On demand. On 50 inch flat screen LCDs. No one even remembers the pre-MTV / pre-ESPN era of only 3 decades ago. At Michael’s age, I recall watching only one movie on TV; there were no VCR’s yet, no DVD’s. It was the “The Wizard of Oz”. I watched it without blinking.
Although some teams are still playing in the postseason, of course the Cubs are done. For over 60 years other teams have played longer than the Cubs – their last World Series was in 1945 against the Tigers and my Grandpa wrote home from Germany during World War II saying he thought the Cubs would win it. No kidding, I have the letter. Hopeless optimists even then. My Grandpa was a Cards fan when I knew him, perhaps he switched after decades of Cubs futility. Now we have centuries of Cubs futility. Well, maybe I’m bitter, but it doesn’t matter to Mego yet, whenever she sees any sport on TV – baseball, football, you name it – she perks up and says, “Look, Daddy, the Cubs!” Good girl. And I realize now it kind of makes sense; the Cubs kick it around on defense (soccer), and collide and drop it (football), and the other team often hits it a long, long ways into the crowd (golf).
Megan is a little bike-rider now. Her bike is small and pink. Very cute. She has a helmet and pads with velcro straps that we put around her elbows or knees. While I was putting them on her knees today, Megan blurted out, “God gave me those to protect my body.” Maybe she sensed I was kind of surprised and touched and amused by her comment because she added, “But God is not in our human body world, you silly, he’s in space.” Of course, kids say these things – interesting, funny, bizarre, cute – all the time, but we don’t jot them down immediately or remember. Although, now I’m thinking, I hope Megan doesn't join some mothership / space / god cult... I think they exist.
Megan is writing her name now. It is so adorable I about burst with admiration for my little Stephen King as I watch her do it. M – E – G – A – N she writes, each one scribbled sort of laboriously at this point, pretty shaky but all clearly distinguishable except maybe the E. It kind of looks like those TV antennas mounted on the roof of every home before cable and satellite and internet video and all the multimedia whiz-bang stuff we have now. How did we survive only 5 channels of network television? (I guess we did other things, like live life.) Now we have 500 channels. In HD. On demand. On 50 inch flat screen LCDs. No one even remembers the pre-MTV / pre-ESPN era of only 3 decades ago. At Michael’s age, I recall watching only one movie on TV; there were no VCR’s yet, no DVD’s. It was the “The Wizard of Oz”. I watched it without blinking.
Although some teams are still playing in the postseason, of course the Cubs are done. For over 60 years other teams have played longer than the Cubs – their last World Series was in 1945 against the Tigers and my Grandpa wrote home from Germany during World War II saying he thought the Cubs would win it. No kidding, I have the letter. Hopeless optimists even then. My Grandpa was a Cards fan when I knew him, perhaps he switched after decades of Cubs futility. Now we have centuries of Cubs futility. Well, maybe I’m bitter, but it doesn’t matter to Mego yet, whenever she sees any sport on TV – baseball, football, you name it – she perks up and says, “Look, Daddy, the Cubs!” Good girl. And I realize now it kind of makes sense; the Cubs kick it around on defense (soccer), and collide and drop it (football), and the other team often hits it a long, long ways into the crowd (golf).
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Field Trip
Here is Michael with his future wife Sam and someone almost young enough to fit into the category of possible contender, his teacher. We went with approximately 6,057 kids downtown on the train today. I *might* be exaggerating.
The Question
What do you want to be for Halloween?
Michael: A Bakugan guy.
Megan: Michael.
Just kidding, although that would have been far more honest. That girl would morph into him if she could. Instead she will have to settle for being a Bakugan guy, too.
Michael: A Bakugan guy.
Megan: Michael.
Just kidding, although that would have been far more honest. That girl would morph into him if she could. Instead she will have to settle for being a Bakugan guy, too.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Friends Fuh-evah
Meggie and Mia all butterflied out and being cute at the Long Grove Apple Festival.
Friday, October 09, 2009
Dad Entry #50
I missed the kids terribly while I was in Europe. I started thinking about the Moms and Dads in our Armed Forces. God bless ‘em, they leave for much longer than 10 days. And then, well, they’re not exactly on vacation. In Rome I saw Michelangelo’s Renaissance masterpiece called the “Pieta” at St. Peter’s. I had never heard of it before. So I think I will comment on that in my 50th blog entry. Sorry, no funny anecdotes today. The Pieta. To me, it is a remarkable symbol or reflection of the beauty, and also the depth and power and commitment and, for lack of a better word, the price of being the mother – or father! – of another human being. It’s sad, of course, the scene depicted, a mother holding her deceased son. But there are some interesting things going on in the sculpture. First of all, according to experts, Mary is ‘unusually youthful’ and ‘in repose’, which is to say calm or at peace as opposed to sorrowful. We are told these twists are intentional. In addition to the Christian significance, the peaceful Mary, to me, says that regardless of what happens, it is a fathomless and amazing and immeasurably fulfilling gift to be a parent. Parents adore their children, and that is its own reward. The chronologically impossible or historically inaccurate young Mary (she is perhaps too young to be the mother of an early-thirties crucified Jesus) speaks to her perfection – more Christian theological meaning – but to me, it also touches on the reality that parenthood is a lifelong responsibility, or rather, it has lifelong relevance. It is timeless. It is relevant from our first day to our last because even when we are young, and have yet to enter into the various phases of parenthood, we are accumulating experiences that will hugely feed into the role (and its many phases as our own experiences predate some of the same milestones or occurrences in the lives of our children… but not all; undoubtedly we encounter events, challenges, highs, and lows with our kids that are new to everyone involved). And another point about the intentionally sculpted young Mary…… mothers are beautiful. They are beautiful and perfect and very needed in the eyes of their little children (maybe some of that in the eyes of their big adult children, too). Psychologists make careers out of this stuff but I know nothing! Although, I would add that maybe we can sort of replace ‘mothers’ with ‘fathers’ in my statement above about the needs of kids (although, I wouldn’t call fathers ‘beautiful’). And no doubt mothers and fathers have similar and strong – strong to the point of overwhelming at times – feelings about their children.
Commercial Kid
Yesterday Michael got out of the car and on the way into the house noticed something on the garage shelf.
Michael: Oh. My. GOSH. You bought OXY-CLEAN?!
Me: Well, yes, apparently I did.
Michael: That gets out the HARD STAINS!
Michael: Oh. My. GOSH. You bought OXY-CLEAN?!
Me: Well, yes, apparently I did.
Michael: That gets out the HARD STAINS!
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
The Big Oh-Four
She finally made it. After a year of lying about her age, one day made an honest girl out of Meggie. She's four now! She had a cute little butterfly party with all her "little frennies" complete with butterfly crafts, wings, stickers and cupcakes. The girls were all adorable, of course. And Meg was Queen Adorable.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Dad Entry #49
Most people are as quick as possible in public restrooms. Of course, Michael is an exception. It takes him an entire minute to pull his pants and underwear down. No less than seven minutes on the toilet (typical man). Naturally, it takes him forever to pull his pants back up again and then his waistband must be straightened and centered, often with help from me (that underwear elastic is tough, and prone to twisting and rolling itself up). Occasionally there are distractions or novelties like a double toilet paper holder. Two spools! Or like today, in the Arby’s bathroom (the very mention of it makes me wanna scrub my hands again), Michael stood up from the toilet only to spot a fly. He began watching and swatting at it with his pants still around his ankles. Oh, get comfortable, we haven’t even gotten to the hand washing part! Paper towels, soap dispensers, automatic faucets, big mirrors, motion sensors, lock buttons on the most germ-covered doorknobs in the world, hand dryers (the new, super powerful ones that will temporarily deform the skin on the back of your hands… wow!). Did I mention stall door latches and interesting flushing mechanisms. And Megan’s favorite, the colored deodorizer / disinfectant urinal cakes. Is there a more exciting place on Earth?!?! I help Meggie so she doesn’t take so long, but I kinda think Michael is old enough to do most of the bathroom ritual on his own. I try to be patient. I know afterwards, Sara probably wants me to just dip the kids in a vat of hand sanitizer.
So I thought we could play a quick game of “Where are they now?”…
Megan’s pacifiers: I have one in my work bag. Sara kept one also. Good luck charms.
The bouncy seat: loaned to a friend.
Baby Einstein DVDs: still on the shelf.
Michael's Thomas Trains: in storage under the stairs. Already?!?! Seems like a waste. Megan likes to get them out sometimes, though.
Pillpo-Zings: I saw both of them in his closet last night, the now threadbare original, and the replacement Grammie kept at her house for a while. I thought he might take those to college with him! But they were kicked to the curb by…
Snakesy: in Michael’s bed. And now he has ‘Makesy’ (the same beanie snake but not so worn out… kind of like the two Pillpo’s).
Megan’s little giraffe: was last spotted in Megan’s stuffed animal bin. Also threadbare.
Megan’s incredible WALL-E costume that Sara made from scratch: in the basement.
The Lightning McQueen Cars book that little Michael memorized and 'read' perfectly for many audiences: still on the shelf.
Merle the Squirrel: can be seen this fall on the NBC hit “The Biggest Loser”. We fed him so much corn he weighs a hundred pounds now. Actually, he still resides in our yard with his mother Pearl, and brother Earl. I saw him dash up a tree trunk yesterday.
Michael Silvestri: still in the same house with his family in Arlington Heights.
So I thought we could play a quick game of “Where are they now?”…
Megan’s pacifiers: I have one in my work bag. Sara kept one also. Good luck charms.
The bouncy seat: loaned to a friend.
Baby Einstein DVDs: still on the shelf.
Michael's Thomas Trains: in storage under the stairs. Already?!?! Seems like a waste. Megan likes to get them out sometimes, though.
Pillpo-Zings: I saw both of them in his closet last night, the now threadbare original, and the replacement Grammie kept at her house for a while. I thought he might take those to college with him! But they were kicked to the curb by…
Snakesy: in Michael’s bed. And now he has ‘Makesy’ (the same beanie snake but not so worn out… kind of like the two Pillpo’s).
Megan’s little giraffe: was last spotted in Megan’s stuffed animal bin. Also threadbare.
Megan’s incredible WALL-E costume that Sara made from scratch: in the basement.
The Lightning McQueen Cars book that little Michael memorized and 'read' perfectly for many audiences: still on the shelf.
Merle the Squirrel: can be seen this fall on the NBC hit “The Biggest Loser”. We fed him so much corn he weighs a hundred pounds now. Actually, he still resides in our yard with his mother Pearl, and brother Earl. I saw him dash up a tree trunk yesterday.
Michael Silvestri: still in the same house with his family in Arlington Heights.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Dad Entry #48
It’s official, Michael’s eyes roll up inside his head at the mere thought of it, his favorite food is……… bacon. Salty, greasy goodness. His ticker is frowning though. Can plaque build up during a person’s first decade? Nah, they’re healthy as horses. And active as ants.
I know I’ve mentioned this before: Megan adores Michael and he doesn’t always reciprocate. During games of hide’n’seek, I will be counting with eyes closed in the basement when I hear Megan crying. I holler, “What’s going on?” but I already know the answer. “I wanna hide wif my brudder!” Megan stammers through tears. I know without looking that Michael is blocking her from the spot he wants to hide in alone, under the stairs, behind the furnace, under a blanket, behind a chair. It’s kind of heartbreaking, but I understand that Michael wants a little space, too. Most of the time he lets her join him. (He bosses her around a lot in the process, though.) But she only tolerates so much, she’ll yell at him once in a while, or take a swing. Michael will lift his hands to retaliate sometimes but, by then, Sara and I are ready to pounce; Michael knows if he hits her back at all, even a tiny push or swat… not good. It’s maybe a little double-standard but not much. He’s a boy. And he’s older. And he’s bigger. And we scold Meggie for hitting him (sort of).
Michael likes brunettes. He has a really cute blonde classmate named Samantha. Sam and Michael play together often (we are friends with the whole family and meet outside of school, too) but Sara told me he insists they are only friends. So it wasn’t surprising today when Michael was suddenly enamored with a cute, brown-haired girl at McDonald’s Playland. She was a few years older and kind of aware he had a crush on her. Actually, she was probably too old to be running around playland. Hmmm. Cute and, well, immature? Or not so bright? Maybe just really down to earth, not too cool for playland? Or maybe she preys on younger men? I don’t know. I hope Michael learns to recognize that common occurrence also, among men, namely, our collective ‘not knowing'. Men will never really know what women think, what their motives are. We learn eventually that women are marvelous and wonderful creatures, but they are unpredictable, difficult to read, complex when we think it’s simple, and vice versa. If Michael is like every man before him, he will, many times in his life, be perplexed, mystified, baffled by the opposite sex. Embrace it all, Son, the beauty and the mystery!
Megan is the worst backseat-driver in the world. “Don’t speed, Daddy,” and “You have to stop at red, Daddy” and “Daddy, when it turns green, you can go.” Over and over again. Thank you, Baby, but Daddy’s driven a couple hundred thousand miles.
I know I’ve mentioned this before: Megan adores Michael and he doesn’t always reciprocate. During games of hide’n’seek, I will be counting with eyes closed in the basement when I hear Megan crying. I holler, “What’s going on?” but I already know the answer. “I wanna hide wif my brudder!” Megan stammers through tears. I know without looking that Michael is blocking her from the spot he wants to hide in alone, under the stairs, behind the furnace, under a blanket, behind a chair. It’s kind of heartbreaking, but I understand that Michael wants a little space, too. Most of the time he lets her join him. (He bosses her around a lot in the process, though.) But she only tolerates so much, she’ll yell at him once in a while, or take a swing. Michael will lift his hands to retaliate sometimes but, by then, Sara and I are ready to pounce; Michael knows if he hits her back at all, even a tiny push or swat… not good. It’s maybe a little double-standard but not much. He’s a boy. And he’s older. And he’s bigger. And we scold Meggie for hitting him (sort of).
Michael likes brunettes. He has a really cute blonde classmate named Samantha. Sam and Michael play together often (we are friends with the whole family and meet outside of school, too) but Sara told me he insists they are only friends. So it wasn’t surprising today when Michael was suddenly enamored with a cute, brown-haired girl at McDonald’s Playland. She was a few years older and kind of aware he had a crush on her. Actually, she was probably too old to be running around playland. Hmmm. Cute and, well, immature? Or not so bright? Maybe just really down to earth, not too cool for playland? Or maybe she preys on younger men? I don’t know. I hope Michael learns to recognize that common occurrence also, among men, namely, our collective ‘not knowing'. Men will never really know what women think, what their motives are. We learn eventually that women are marvelous and wonderful creatures, but they are unpredictable, difficult to read, complex when we think it’s simple, and vice versa. If Michael is like every man before him, he will, many times in his life, be perplexed, mystified, baffled by the opposite sex. Embrace it all, Son, the beauty and the mystery!
Megan is the worst backseat-driver in the world. “Don’t speed, Daddy,” and “You have to stop at red, Daddy” and “Daddy, when it turns green, you can go.” Over and over again. Thank you, Baby, but Daddy’s driven a couple hundred thousand miles.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Dad Entry #47
Megan still puts her shoes on the wrong feet. It should be 50 / 50, right? As in, half the time she gets it right, half the time she doesn’t. No. We’re not even close to that success rate. Okay, I’m exaggerating; it’s getting better; I no longer plan on checking her shoes before I walk her down the aisle. Whoa!!!! Did I just think that?!?! Way too early. That thought should’ve never escaped my my internal dialogue. Oh well, it’s kind of amazing and wonderful to consider… Megan as a bright and beautiful adult (who wears her shoes on the correct feet).
Michael told me recently, “I want to go to Hawaii in a Limo, that is my lifelong dream.” Well… we set the bar high in our family. Sara and I encourage our children to dream BIG! If Michael can achieve this, he’s really done something. But, on a serious note, Michael has a tremendous memory; he recalls scenes and details precisely. He told me, “Dad, in limousines they even have, like, small wine glasses.” I was astonished. Not because I’m limo-ignorant. And not because Michael noticed that champagne glasses are a little different than the wine glasses he is familiar with. Rather, I was thinking, what bachelor party have you been to lately? Michael remembered a couple years ago when a limo picked up some extended family at our house for O’hare. Grandma Bev was mentioned, she and the family left their cars at our house and went on a trip. Michael explored the limo before they left.
Michael told me recently, “I want to go to Hawaii in a Limo, that is my lifelong dream.” Well… we set the bar high in our family. Sara and I encourage our children to dream BIG! If Michael can achieve this, he’s really done something. But, on a serious note, Michael has a tremendous memory; he recalls scenes and details precisely. He told me, “Dad, in limousines they even have, like, small wine glasses.” I was astonished. Not because I’m limo-ignorant. And not because Michael noticed that champagne glasses are a little different than the wine glasses he is familiar with. Rather, I was thinking, what bachelor party have you been to lately? Michael remembered a couple years ago when a limo picked up some extended family at our house for O’hare. Grandma Bev was mentioned, she and the family left their cars at our house and went on a trip. Michael explored the limo before they left.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Dad Entry #46
Megan does not run like Usain Bolt. She runs more like a hockey player, or a mascot (the Philly Phanatic?), kind of lumbering, maybe like a sausage in the sausage race at Miller Park (where the Bratwurst, Hot Dog, Polish, and Italian race around the diamond every Brewers game). I’m not sure how to describe Megan’s unique form but it’s cute. And, frankly, she wipes out less than Michael does. Michael stumbled and rolled down a ramp at Navy Pier the other day. Megan? Upright the whole way. Michael was bookin’ much faster though.
We saw the famous Jessie White Tumblers. They’ve been wow’ing crowds at halftime shows and street fests in Chicago for 50 years. Megan and Michael were impressed. So was I. Of course, we had to recreate the show at home. The kids ran and jumped on (and off) the bed in the basement. And then, just like the show, I had a broomstick I raised higher and higher for them to jump over. What’s funny is Megan would instruct me to lift the stick to ridiculous heights, like waist high for her, often helping me by precisely assessing and lifting it with her own hands before retreating to get her running start. The unrealistic height meant I had to very quickly dip and sweep the stick under her as she ran and jumped ‘over’ it, otherwise she would surely have banged her shins, or tripped and executed some kind of fantastic, acrobatic face-plant.
Yesterday, I told Michael I am a 1975 model. I said Tiger Woods is also. He wasn’t impressed. And Angelina Jolie. Still not impressed. (I agree with him; there are many actresses I consider more beautiful). I told Megan that David Beckham was built in 1975. No reaction. I told her he married a Spice Girl. Still nothing. I told them we can have ice cream later. Whooping, dancing, celebration!!!! So I told Michael he is a 2003 model. I was tempted to say, “They don’t make ‘em like they used to,” but thank God I resisted. That is something old people say. But I almost said it; I must be on the cusp. Regardless, Michael is six, bad clichés go unrecognized, dry humor unappreciated. We don’t have enough data on 2003 models yet. Maybe they learn faster, but what’s with all the allergies? I’m curious already, though; what marks will they leave on history? I bet they do great things. Mars mission? Cures? Nanobots? Brain transplants? World peace?!?! A Cubs World Series?!?!?!?! Maybe…. All except the last one, that is.
We saw the famous Jessie White Tumblers. They’ve been wow’ing crowds at halftime shows and street fests in Chicago for 50 years. Megan and Michael were impressed. So was I. Of course, we had to recreate the show at home. The kids ran and jumped on (and off) the bed in the basement. And then, just like the show, I had a broomstick I raised higher and higher for them to jump over. What’s funny is Megan would instruct me to lift the stick to ridiculous heights, like waist high for her, often helping me by precisely assessing and lifting it with her own hands before retreating to get her running start. The unrealistic height meant I had to very quickly dip and sweep the stick under her as she ran and jumped ‘over’ it, otherwise she would surely have banged her shins, or tripped and executed some kind of fantastic, acrobatic face-plant.
Yesterday, I told Michael I am a 1975 model. I said Tiger Woods is also. He wasn’t impressed. And Angelina Jolie. Still not impressed. (I agree with him; there are many actresses I consider more beautiful). I told Megan that David Beckham was built in 1975. No reaction. I told her he married a Spice Girl. Still nothing. I told them we can have ice cream later. Whooping, dancing, celebration!!!! So I told Michael he is a 2003 model. I was tempted to say, “They don’t make ‘em like they used to,” but thank God I resisted. That is something old people say. But I almost said it; I must be on the cusp. Regardless, Michael is six, bad clichés go unrecognized, dry humor unappreciated. We don’t have enough data on 2003 models yet. Maybe they learn faster, but what’s with all the allergies? I’m curious already, though; what marks will they leave on history? I bet they do great things. Mars mission? Cures? Nanobots? Brain transplants? World peace?!?! A Cubs World Series?!?!?!?! Maybe…. All except the last one, that is.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Dad Entry #45
Last weekend, I asked Megan if I could swoop her up and whisk her across a busy street. She said, “No, I can walk, Dad. Don’t worry, I won’t even get killed at all.” Thank you, Sweetheart, that’s so reassuring. At dinner last night, Michael told me how tests work. He explained they had one at school, and it involved writing, and they were not allowed to look at anyone else’s paper. What a concept; I wish I was unfamiliar. Instead I was thinking, sorry kid, you only have a few thousand more to go. But I love that about little people with developing brains and limited experience; they explain things, often eagerly, always sincerely, and always assuming the subject is as new to their audience as it is to them. They can’t wait to tell Grandpa that the world sent a man to the moon and he walked on it! Holy shit! Well they don’t say that, my kids don’t usually, but in adult vernacular that’s the emphasis they put on these facts and stories they relay with wide-eyed enthusiasm. Nevermind that Grandpa remembers Kennedy pledging to put a man on the moon and Grandma used to make out with Buzz Aldrin at the drive-in. Or maybe they smoked a celebratory joint together at Woodstock. (Hey, you never know, Woodstock was a month after Apollo 11 in 1969). Actually, those are fictional examples, they don’t necessarily reflect the actions or memories of any of M&M’s grandparents. Except the part about making out. And the joint. Ah, bad jokes. So I kinda know what a test is, but I hung on every word of Michael’s, I try my best to be attentive, interested, even excited, because they’re excited, and I’m excited that they’re excited (to learn). Megan told me today, “When I grow up, I’m never gonna cry.” I wish. Although tears might accompany meaningful lessons, so maybe a little crying is okay. But Megan was commenting on Michael’s accusation, “Megan, you cry all the time.” Michael has a point; Megan can turn it on faster than Dick Vermeil (for the record, I love that guy, one of the greatest coaches of all time). But Megan’s are crocodile tears. Where does that expression come from anyway? Hold on, in the spirit of learning and sharing neato info, I will google it… “The allusion is to the ancient notion that crocodiles weep while devouring their prey. Crocodiles do indeed have lachrymal glands and produce tears to lubricate the eyes as humans do. They don't cry though. Whatever emotion they experience when finding and devouring prey we can be certain it isn't remorse.” Wow. Wonderful. I will never use that expression again. But now you know.
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