Bunnies and Babies

My sweet babies nearly fainted when they found that the Easter bunny had left eggs in their ROOMS (how did we not HEAR him?!) There was only a few moments of tears fighting over eggs, but everyone shared very well in the end. It's lovely that I have one choc-oholic and one straight sugar craver.

Dad Entry #93

Protective cups are required this year in Michael's baseball league. We explained to him, and to Megan who was eavesdropping, that it will protect his private parts. Megan was jealous; it's another activity or object that Michael - just because he's older - gets to participate in or possess before her. Megan said, "Well, I need one too, because my privates were burny the other day." She clarified it was the 'burny' feeling one gets from soap (we covered this shocking discovery in a previous entry). We explained that cups protect boys from a different kind of trauma. “They’re not really designed for girls,” I said, imagining their shape. Could I be more vague if I tried? Poor Meggie; I think she still wants one. I can't decide if it's because she likes baseball – she absolutely likes sports and is good at them – or because she views the cup and special holster-like underwear as another fashion accessory, sporty, unique, wearable over tights. With matching belt, scarf, shoes, jewelry... BAM!

The other day I heard, "Daddy is always happy." It was Megan's voice in the backseat and she said it again, "Daddy is always happy, Michael." I don't know what happened or what Michael said to get that response. But I was, well, happy to hear Megan say that.

Megan and Michael both had baseball / t-ball pictures Saturday. Michael's been through it before but it was the first for Mego. She was proud. So cute. She wore her baseball hat all weekend. My heart just about explodes whenever I think about it.

The route to Beijing usually takes us over the North Pole now, which is where I am as I type this, in seat 23B of a 777. I’m daydreaming how wonderful it’d be to have Megan on my lap now, sleeping peacefully (it just became an impossible dream), her soft hair under my chin. Maybe I could hold her dirty little hand. Even I cringe at the sight of her jagged cuticles and dirty nails after she eats anything at all. Of course, if we were snuggling together in this economy seat, we’d be terribly uncomfortable, crabby as hell, smashed and sweaty. We’d be smashed in the spatial sense, not via alcohol, although that can be arranged for free on international flights. For me, not Meg, of course, although a little sedative for Meg would be required FOR SURE on this 13 hour flight. She would go postal. Actually, in my daydream I just moved her to her own seat; her bony bottom was charlie-horsing my thigh every time she shifted, which was every 10 seconds. For 13 hours. This trip, door to door, is kind of an endurance test. Michael would do okay I bet; I can imagine him right now seated by the window, looking down at the Arctic Circle, or Siberia, or wherever we are, imagining it was Hoth, pretending the giant AT-AT walkers were tromping through the snow on their way to crush the rebel base (see ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ if none of this rings a bell). I mentioned to the kids this morning that we fly over the North Pole. Megan got pretty excited. I told her I’d look for Rudolph and that red-suited fat guy. I’m sure you can see it from space, Santa’s massive compound, all lit up, the toy factory and elf dormitory and reindeer stable. There must be confectionaries, a sleigh repair and auto body, a chocolate factory, a Starbucks. Regarding my latest trip to China, Megan asked me, “Do you talk Chinese?” I said, “No.” She said, “Dad, that’s bad.” I remember the rhyme. Megan continued, “How are they gonna tell you where the chocolate bunnies are, and the Pokemon cards, if you can’t find them at the store?” Yes, Easter is here and Megan wants chocolate bunnies… from China. Ha. I don’t think they’re really big on Christianity – or Easter – in China. I’ll find some chocolate for sure, because, as I told Megan, “Don’t worry Sweetheart, Daddy has lots of Chinese friends in China who can speak Chinese.”

On the eighth day, God made Skype. After napping on day 7. Getting to see and interact with the kids via portable video is pretty remarkable. Sara moves her PC so I can ‘be with’ the kids when they’re at the table eating, at the Lego table playing, on the couch, in the bathtub, etc. We have a ‘no screens’ rule at bedtime (no Nintendo DS, no cell phone videos, no cell phone games), but maybe Sara will let me read or tell them a bedtime story from China.

Dad Entry #92

We visited Minnesota recently. The seating arrangement at meals is a pressing matter for Megan and Ellie. Who gets to sit by Gramma? (This is the most coveted place.) Then: What about Uncle Dan? Whadda we do with Papa Mike? And so on. Frenzied negotiations ensue. Important stuff. Sometimes bitterly fought over. And protested. As adults we long for the days when our biggest stressors were these kinda things.

Megan and I were discussing lucky numbers. I told her mine is eleven, because Papa Swede was in the 55th Armored Infantry Battalion of the 11th Armored Division. Megan didn't understand any of that. I said, "What's your lucky number?" She said, "One thousand!" I said, "Oh, wow, I guess we can fit that on a jersey." I think preschoolers drop big numbers like adults do big names. Megan: "I have like fifty hundred stickers." Daddy: "Oh yeah, well Steve Jobs called Papa Mike one time."

In church Michael leaned over and said to me, "Did you know that in a black hole, there's no time?"

I said to Michael, "Did you know if you turn off a lamp, there's no light?" Just kidding. (Nice little hint at "The Breakfast Club" there.) I never poke fun at Michael's enthusiasm for amazing things. It's awesome. He has an awesome brain!

Earlier Michael told me, "Did you know that Americans eat enough pizza every year to cover New York City... twice." He gets these cool facts from his National Geographic Kids magazines.

Megan has fun facts of her own. She told me, "Daddy, it takes 9 hours to fly to Hawaii, did you know that? You have to fly, and it takes 9 hours!" (Megan's teacher went to Hawaii.) Or a couple days ago when we were driving Meg said, "Did you know there are trucks full of pigs, and when you drive by them you can see their snouts! They all stick out! And pigs make bacon, did you know that?"

Megan has had some deep thoughts lately about the 'Jesus world'. This is synonymous with earthly death for her; you die and go to 'Jesus world'. Cool. I dig it. I agree. She's in CCD or 'church school' on Sundays, plus she goes to a Lutheran preschool. And we pray and so on... I guess we shouldn't be surprised. Megan will say, "In the Jesus world we could see Belle!" Or, when Mommy threatens to take Pokemon cards away for bad behavior, and she makes it clear they are gone 'for good', the kids will never get them back, Meggie might say, "What about in the Jesus world?" While looking up into the night sky Megan asked Mommy, "So after all that space and moons and stuff, it's pretty much all Jesus world, right?"

Save The Earth

I am so proud of Michael. He really is such a cool kid. A few weeks ago, we were going to the park. When we arrived, he decided that he wanted to clean up all the garbage stuck in the winters undergrowth. Conveniently, the park we were at was across the street from the police station, so we went to ask for a bag for our clean up session. The police in the office were very impressed with Michael (of course).

We proceeded to clean up for an hour and gathered a huge garbage bag full of gunk. I was shocked that there was so much, and Michael was disappointed in the human race, that we could be so careless. He decided right then to start a club: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle Club. He came home and made posters for his friends that wanted to join, as well as permission slips so that their parents would be aware of what they had committed to. We resolved to pick a new park to clean every week this summer. How awesome is THAT, coming from a 7 year old?!

He makes my heart happy and hopeful.

Cheerleader Extraordinaire

Freakin' adorable.

Another Day at the Courts

Michael's last game in this league. They lost by two and crying boys abounded, but Michael told me he didn't even pay attention to the score. Good or bad? Michael did score, which was a great feeling as much for me as for him!

Dad Entry #91

I'm very proud of my son today. It's mostly because he's shown no signs of ending up like Charlie Sheen.

The last 2 or 3 nights I've sung Megan to sleep. I've sung her songs "from the paper" - what she calls my printouts of lyrics - until she's peacefully, blissfully REM'ing. But my sleeping beauty can still surprise me, like yesterday, when I noticed her eyelids were heavy, then closed, then her body seemed to sink, relax. Her breathing turned rhythmic, dispupted only by a series of lip smacks and a perfect, graceful snort. How sweet, I sung her to sleep. But... to make double-sure before I tip-toed out of her room I decided to repeat the same song, rather than shuffle the papers and change the melody, things that could stir the beast. Did I just call my precious little thing a beast? Yes. Yes, I did. Anyway, I was singing "What Child Is This" - Megan is young and loves Christmas carols all year round - and I was starting my third consecutive rendition, feeling proud cause I knew she was way under. But Megan squinted her eyes half open, annoyed, and said, "Daddy, quit singing the same song over and over again." Fussy people are the spice of life. Not 'variety'. We would be so bored without fussy people. Happy, and at peace, but bored.

Today Megan said, "We need to go back to the forest preserve, because I think once, a long time ago, I found a penny there." Hmmm. I guess we should boost Megggie's 'abundance mentality'.

Megan and I watch - and sometimes even do - instructor-guided exercise routines offered 'On-Demand' on cable TV. Megan asked me today, "Daddy, why do you workout?" Before I could answer she added, "Do you want to be really, really skinny like Aunt Gretchen?" You betcha!

Dad Entry #90

Megan’s such a tall, thin, Nelson-bottomed little thing I’m surprised they make jeans that fit her. But they do. Her ‘skinny jeans’ fit perfectly. It’s a fad that struck at the right time for Megan. FYI, 'skinny jeans' are a newish designer cut that makes aspiring punk rockers look silly and my sweetheart look adorable. Also FYI, a ‘Nelson bottom’ is flat. Imagine a great white shark biting off both of your butt cheeks. You would be left with a Nelson bottom.

Michael had some impressive gas today. Withering. Potent. Fear Factor worthy. Would’ve made Bear Grylls dry heave. Michael was so proud he suggested we have a ‘fart tournament’. I knocked him down a peg when I acted unimpressed that he'd made his mother and sister gag. I told him he wasn't ready for a title shot. I told him he'd be seeded much lower than both of his papas in any kind of fart march madness. And even they couldn’t take the belt from Uncle Scott. "Keep practicing, young Jedi," I advised. But I asked him to practice when I’m not around; I conceded that much.

When I hold Megan now and she puts her arms around my neck and rests her head on my shoulders, her legs hang almost to my knees. That, friends, is sad. Very sad. She’ll start school in the fall! Public school. Kindergarten. She's growing up too fast.

Megan says she's good at the board game Candyland. She's okay with the notion you can be good at a game that's entirely chance; she has exactly the same chance of winning as her opponents. And yet she wins more than I do, so, technically, her superiority claim holds water. One of us is easily discouraged by, say, that little bastard the Gingerbread Man who sends you backwards. He drives me crazy!!! And one of us is more sensitive to repeated losses. So I steer the game, if needed, much like dealing from the bottom of the deck in Euchre, which I did unashamedly in high school when in need of a victory against drunk rivals. Megan doesn't suspect anything, although she offers subtle suggestions like, "Daddy, you want me to win, right?" Yes, Sweetie, I do. I really do. She doesn't win every time though. It can be a tough, competitive world out there depending on the games we join; we can't forget that lesson now can we :)

It occurred to me when I was in China and I couldn't read anything around me (everything’s in Chinese characters), that it's a taste of how Megan sees the world. I see people and objects but I can't read the signs. And there are signs and words everywhere in public places; on storefronts, menus, billboards, buildings, funny T-shirts, products for sale. But I suppose – since she hasn’t learned to read in any language yet – Meggie doesn’t exactly know what she’s missing.

Michael has scored in two consecutive basketball games. I'm excited, but not about the scoring as much as the fact he enjoys doing something I enjoy also… playing basketball. Ok, that’s BS, I’m excited about the scoring too. But I think it’s fair to say many competitors and performers gravitate to activities they’re good at. They’re more likely to stick with efforts or groups they make positive contributions to. So yes, I hope Michael keeps scoring and getting rebounds and playing tough D. I hope he's the next Dirk Nowitski.

To say Megan is only a little dramatic is like saying Muammar Gaddafi is only a little crazy. Tears are a heartbeat away. Fake tears. Or sweet-voiced suggestions that are somehow transparent, or come across as shtick, an act she hasn't perfected, like this weekend when she saw a Barbie she wanted at Target and said, "Daddy, I've always wanted this for weeks." Something about that statement sounded contrived to me. And confusing. Even though I've worked in Corporate America for 15 years, where I’ve certainly been desensitized to insincerity. And confusion. You can’t fool me, Megan.

Ballin'

He Shoots...

often, but this time, he SCORED!!!! Michaels very first scoring shot of his life!

Kansas Blood

Michael has discovered the joys of bbq ribs. He clearly relishes the experience, not slowing down for facial cleansing or even a quick finger wipe.

Dad Entry #89

Michael's playing hoops! There's a referee, numbered jerseys, a scorer's table, a scoreboard, coaches yelling... it's for real, man! Michael's first step to becoming a Jayhawk. If he insists. I'll still root for the Cyclones against him. Ahh, that's not true; I almost cried watching him play for the first time (I'm pretty sure I said that during his first baseball game too). Oh well, no big deal, I want him to have fun. (And maybe shoot a thousand shots a day). Nope, I know without the fun, you can forget about a player becoming a player. Michael's team is undefeated, thanks to 3 or 4 little dudes that dribble circles around everyone. I missed the first 2 games while in China, but last weekend I watched 'em smoke a team about 40 - 10. Some of the kids played last year and clearly have an edge. Michael gets better, and more engaged, every game. He has the body for it; he's one of the tallest players in the league. He is, however - poor guy - a chip off the old block I'm afraid; suffice it to say he does not have a 'win at all costs' mentality. If the two of us can't fight our way out of a paper bag, at least we'll be in there together. Of course, plenty of cool cats do well in sports; there are mellow players, mostly unflappable, with mad skills. Am I getting ahead of myself? Watching the kids play on a smaller floor with 8-foot rims reminded me of my first games at Neil Armstrong elementary in Parkview, Iowa. Almost 30 years ago. Gramma Barb and Papa Mike were my coaches. Good times.

The other day when I told Michael I was gonna start the shower, he said, "I don't wanna take a shower."
I said, "Five minutes ago when I asked if you'd take a shower instead of a bath, you said, yes, you would take a shower."
Michael said, "Well, do you ever answer a question without thinking?"
"Yes," I admitted.
"Well I do too," he said.
It didn't feel like I was debating a seven-year-old. Felt more like a rebuttal from another adult, or a teenager, or a lawyer, or a psychologist. Michael ain't no dim bulb.

The kids experienced something terrible recently. Both of them. "When I pee, it's burning hot," is how my sweet Megan described it. I remember it happening when I was young. I haven't experienced it much in recent years. It involves washing. And soap. We started using real soap, bars of Dove and even real shampoo occasionally, mixed in with the 'no tears' stuff. We've had one or two episodes with the eyes, but this was the first time both kids got stung... there. I was afraid we'd never get 'em to wash again. At best only a cursory lathering of nearby regions. Stuff like, "Okay, I rubbed some soap on my thigh, so my privates are clean." That sorta thing. But I think we're over it. That's not to say things are done without caution. There's a kind of seriousness to that part of the bath now; we suspend the playing and splashing and laughing. Concentration and dexterity are suddenly paramount. And I sense a palpable relief once certain areas are cleaned without any four-alarm fires in private places.

Snow-maggedon 2011

While before the storm, weathermen were predicting that this storm could actually leave us all communists, we DID have supposedly the third most snow in Chicago's history. I am not sure it warranted the unavailability of bottled water at the stores, but still. It is a lot of snow. The craziest part was the thunder and lightening during the snowfall (or snowdump)...perhaps even God himself doesn't want Rahm on the ballot.

The kids made a fort, which I thought was maybe a little underachieving, since we have enough snow for a condominium. But I of course told them it was the best fort ever (slackers) and made hot chocolate and cookies.

Lions

I had no idea how arthritic my hands would feel the day after the cornrow debacle. I literally had to take two rounds of Aleve. But it paid off with the huge mane that resulted which Megan lo-o-o-ved.

Pictionary

Belated Christmasing photos...we had several rousing rounds of the old school pictionary, which the kids could not get enough of (until papa dished out the ice cream). Here is the Meg sequence, from hearing her word from Aunt G to the 'oh my goodness i can't draw THAT!' to the final execution. Uncle Jake had an uncanny way of guessing all of Megan's clues, regardless of how amoeba-like they looked. He'd shout 'Raking leaves!' and she would turn with a smile and say 'YES!" I am not sure what that could lead us to believe...Jake and Meg are kind of circling the same cerebral cortex?

Dad Entry #88

The kids and I watched the last episode - EVER! - of Hannah Montana. In the final scene, Hannah and her BFF! were at the airport together, about to leave for Paris for a year of excitement abroad - must be nice - rather than go straight to college. At the last second Hannah's best friend - I don't remember her name and thank goodness or I'd be disappointed in myself - decides she can't do it, she can't go, she wants to stay home and go to Stanford. It was a sad moment. I wasn't crushed exactly, but I wondered about Meg. Hannah and her friend embraced and said goodbye, and sappy music was playing, and naturally I assumed Megan was sad, about to cry probably, for sure in fact, so I felt a sudden need to console her. Megan was in the big chair next to me so I turned and said, "It's okay, Sweetheart, they're still best friends and they'll get to see each other again soon; this is a good thing really." Megan deadpanned, "It's just a movie, Dad."

I picked up Megan from preschool. The kids get about 10 minutes on the playground before they're lined up and released to the parents. Watching a bunch of 5-year-olds running around is fun. But later, for some reason, I had some crazy deep thoughts about the playground. Silly perhaps, but it's another metaphor for life it seems to me. I wondered if God views us - adults - this way as mostly we just run around full of emotion in life, spinning our wheels. We work and play. Occasionally we do something meaningful - maybe help a friend, face a fear - but mostly not. We might hurt ourselves here, or even each other, but to an observer - from the 'outside' - it's no big deal, everything's okay, lighthearted, unimportant, it's just a space to move around in and learn, fall and get up again, stretch, explore, until, well, we see it for what it is. Then preschool ends and we're off to kindergarten! Maybe the starter pistol is still echoing for us here. That was deep. I'm exhausted. Megan was so cute on the playground, climbing and running around all pigeon-toed in her high-heeled, knee-high boots. They're black patent leather. Fake leather, of course, from Target. Whatever, she looks like a Charlie's Angel, and thankfully she was impossibly agile like one in the heels that day; she never wiped out.

Dad Entry #87

Megan has big eyes and long eyelashes. She's gorgeous. But she has some beauty-related flaws. She gets food on her face, and snot around her nose. She wipes them on her sleeve. We'd prefer she use a napkin or Kleenex. She farts a lot. Surprisingly long, loud ones at times. She giggles kind of self-consciously afterward, at least, so that's good. Some of her outfits clash, but not in a pitiable, or even unstylish, way. It's more like, "Wow, leg warmers with sequined jeans and a tutu and big fuzzy slippers. Interesting. Creative. Bold! Comfort and warmth with panache. Voila!" Megan still brandishes a kind of whiny, or baby, or girl-about-to-swoon voice. Maybe it's multiple voices with multiple aims like sympathy, manipulation, permission, candy! Whatever the case, it fails to entrance Daddy, or sway Mommy, or generate a windfall of compassion or attention or whatever its purpose. It's just annoying.

I'm really happy Mary Ann suggested 'Grace' for Megan's middle name. I recall thinking it was a pleasant option, and I liked it, and we didn't have a better sounding idea, really. But now as I think of its meaning - as I age and roll with the ups and downs of life and consider, more deeply, the meaning of the word 'grace' - I'm so happy for its attachment to the little girl I often watch in amazement, this precious thing, because she started out so small and keeps growing and changing, or because she's so cute, or because she's so stubborn and defiant and dramatic sometimes I'm impressed by the effort.

My mom says a child is your heart walking around outside of your body. Sometimes it's wonderful; sometimes it's tough. Hearts are sensitive things, after all. I agree. Michael and Megan are certainly that, to me and Sara.

Megan saw me with my shirt off the other day and, referring to my chest presumably - I really hope it wasn't my shoulders or back - she said, "Daddy, why do you have hair on your body?" Without thinking much I answered, "Well, some boys do, because we're different than girls." I was satisfied but Megan wasn't; she said, "Why are boys different than girls?" The tide was pulling me into deep water here and I wasn't sure I could swim. I knew I didn't want to swim. I said, "There are a few reasons, but, oh, hey, let's go play Polly Pockets!"

Sara told me Megan wore a nude-colored leotard to gymnastics this week. Sara laughed and said, "You should see her, she looks like a skinny little naked thing running around the gym." I just don't know what to say about that.

Michael said he finished 2nd in the spelling bee at school. We aren't certain but we think this means he outlasted all but one of the eight to ten second graders who participated, only the best spellers from each class were eligible. He was undone by the word poetic. He put a 'k' on the end. We lavished him with compliments, well-deserved. He devours books. He's a smart dude, curious, sensitive, observant. We love him tons. But he farts too. Not as loud as Megan though.

Dad Entry #86

I am reading "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy. It's about a father and his young son. My bookmark is a picture of Michael. It's a tough book to get through; McCarthy is notoriously unpredictable - e.g. "No Country For Old Men" - so I'm holding my breath hoping the father can save his little boy.

Michael was selected to participate in the spelling bee at school. He said his teacher picked three people from his entire class. We're proud of him. Ever since the news, we've relentlessly peppered him with words to spell. Megan too. She asked him to spell 'Stickety-Dickety-Doo'. He nailed it. He isn't annoyed at all by our incessant drilling. We're not doing it because we're maniacal about his success in the spelling bee, it's just because we're, well, annoying. Michael is awesome. When I gush about Megan, or wear one of my two 'I love Megan' shirts, some people - especially my female relatives and friends - accuse me of loving Megan more than Michael. That, of course, is nonsense. Megan is cuter than a thousand puppies - there's no doubt about that - but much more stubborn and volatile and dramatic and likely to meltdown and tell me I'm the worst daddy ever. And when I first mentioned this minor criticism - 'worst daddy ever' - to Sara, she said, "Well, that's fitting, because she told me I'm the 'worst mommy ever' so she might as well have both for parents." Sara referred to Megan as 'our little tyrant' the other day. I nodded.

Michael asked, "What is an alibi?" After a moment of suspicion - what's with all the crime talk?! - we discussed it. Then I asked Michael, "Do you know what motive is? Michael immediately guessed - correctly - that it's related to the word motivation. Good man. Indeed, I explained that motive is the cause or reason for a person's actions, and it's considered, like alibis, when solving crimes. The hypothetical scenario we examined involved bank robbers. Megan was listening; she blurted, "Oh! Maybe bank robbers want more money!" Meggie catches on fast! She's right, obviously, although I was thinking of examples of criminal motive with a little more depth...

Christmas was terrific. The kids are really fortunate. I am really fortunate. A big thanks to family and friends for that.

Harry Potter Legos