Bowling Is SO a Sport!

A Great Season

St Louis Cardinals Spring 2012

Dad Entry #134

I’m in China again. Before I left we enjoyed an amazing day at the farm where Kirby and Diane have horses. Megan rode Doc all over the place. I think she's ready for a lasso, or a pair of shootin' irons, matching colt six-guns maybe. Or not. For sure, she's becoming a relaxed and confident rider thanks to generous guidance from Kirby. Michael and I fished the pond. We muscled several largemouth to shore. "Big Daddy Bass" is what Michael calls them. Sounds perfectly redneck to me. I love it. Mego caught some fish too, and tended to the minnows. She grabs them with her hands and holds them, and bless their little hearts because they are surely traumatized by all her well-intentioned handling. Of course, then she gives them to me for a stabbing and skewering on a hook so they can be eaten by bigger fish. Clearly Megan's not the one who really traumatizes them. We are blind to our own flaws :)

Michael batted 3rd in his last baseball game. He batted 2nd in the game before and drove two balls into the outfield. Launching the ball over the infield is sort of herculean in Michael’s nine-year-old league. What I'm most excited about, however, is that he’s confident and wants to play; he wants to bat; he wants to hit; this is a bit of a different disposition than he possessed last year.

Megan likes to sleep with photos of family members. At any given bedtime, she might select - along with her butterfly pillow and a few stuffed animals - a picture of a loved one to nestle while drifting off. Seriously. It's a very sweet gesture. Sometimes the pictures are framed though, and I worry about her sleeping with glass. I need to buy some plastic frames.

The actress Zoe Saldano, in an interview, described her childhood self as a "feminine tomboy." She said, "I had my plastic swords, my ninja stars - but I still wore lipstick." I kind of hope Megan is this way. So far, so good. Mego likes to pet minnows and collect baseball cards (of which she has a modest assortment but one that she thoughtfully arranges and straightens in nine-pocket trading card pages in her Chicago Cubs binder). There really ought to be an international holiday celebrating her cuteness. Parties, fireworks, gift-giving, you name it. Worldwide. And hors d'oeuvres. I love hors d'oeuvres. Anyway, yes, she has some tomboy tendencies but she loves dresses and accessories (jewelry, scarves, hair-thingies, gaudy shoes, bulging handbags with random, completely non-utilitarian objects spilling out with every jostle). I suppose her dirty toes are tomboy-ish, also. As is the near perpetuity of residual food on a lip or cheek. That reminds me: I miss the days when shoes were put on the wrong feet. More than 50% of the time, as I recall, which was puzzling to me. Clearly I wasn't the only one puzzled. Speaking of how smart my kids are... they both had great report cards. They both are smart. Sara and I are pleased with their performances in school. We rewarded them with dinner at Heng Wing, where the Mongolian beef is heavenly and massively over-portioned. And apparently the Fried Won Tons aren't bad; Megan eats them by the dozen. Afterwards, we were all stuffed. We were also extremely happy and positively comatose. Although Megan - who it seems can stubbornly go long periods without eating if only presented with unspectacular options - still asked for dessert. Go figure.

Zooboomafoo

Last week the kids and I went to the zoo to see the Kratt Brothers of Wild Kratts fame. There were a zillion people there and it was a zillion degrees...a perfect combination! It was pretty cool to see the guys we watch on tv up so close. Megan thinks their hair is grey-er in real life.

We also got to see the polar bear arise from his lazing and dive in for a swim, and we spotted the wolves in their really big enclosure that usually makes sightings impossible. We saw the baby aardvark, Willie, who was cute and almost as big as his mom at 5 months old. We walked through the bat room where all the bats are loose...eek. We petted stingrays in Stingray Bay and searched for all the butterflies in the butterfly garden. We only made it through half the zoo, but we did have ice cream, so we called the day a success.

Dad Entry #133

Megan has jewelry in her ears now. She's very deliberate and meticulous about cleaning her new piercings. We helped her the first few days but now she does it on her own. The cleaning steps, as I remember them, are as follows: 1) The disinfectant solution is applied to the lobe very liberally, to the point of dripping all over the place, or accusations of carelessness, incompetence, and laziness may surface and be directed at the helper. A cotton pad is the best instrument for application. Pray to God you have cotton balls laying around if the pads are used up. 2) Once wetted with solution, each earring shall be twisted three times in each ear, "In both directions, Dad! No, you didn't spin it the other way yet!" 3) The twisting is followed by three pushes forward, then three pushes backward. This is difficult since Megan's earlobes are tiny and her earrings, minuscule. Big ones can wait. 4) Perhaps most importantly, cleanings shall be undertaken three times a day. Without exception! .... Ahh, I shouldn't poke fun, since we're actually very happy Megan's being so responsible. No skipped cleanings, no shortcuts. Good girl. I must add, however, the earrings do nothing to enhance her beauty; she's unalterably perfect already, of course.

Megan, in a moment of irrepressible pride after her trip to Claire's, said, "Michael, you should get your ears pierced." Michael said, "No, I don't want to." Megan said, "But people would think you're cool." Michael said, even more flatly this time, "I don't want my ears pierced." I decided to chime in, "Yeah, Mego, most boys don't wear earrings." Megan said, "Justin Beiber does." I changed the subject.

Megan asks questions like, "Daddy, will I get presents on Michael's birthday?"

The kids lost their great-grandfather, Papa Byard. They knew him well. I wondered how they'd react at his services. They didn't cry. I did, but that didn't seem to bother them either. Emotion, and sadness, are part of life. They know this; they're children. I hope they never forget, or try to repress it. They were mostly happy that Papa Byard would see Belle in heaven. Beller-Feller! Belle was the golden retriever my parents had until last year. I told the kids that Papa would see other dogs he knew, also. And he'd get to see his mother again (who he lost when he was a boy), and his father, and his daughter (Aunt Denise), and all his family and friends and loved ones who went before him. I think the kids understood. Papa Mike eulogized his dad. It was awesome. Funny, touching, a great tribute. I was on the hairy edge already when it occurred to me, watching my father speaking and recollecting and pausing, with his father laying behind him, that it would be Michael standing there someday. And me in the casket. As I said before, it's part of life, and life is good. But these thoughts were not very stabilizing; I said goodbye to composure for a few minutes.

Hitter

Random Adorableness

These kids are so cute. I swear. They do funny, darling, infuriating things constantly. They are such cool little people and I really do look forward to finding out who they will become. Some days they make me think this experiment in child-raising will be a smashing success in the end, other days I think we're going to crash and burn. I have a notebook on my desk with a page that says MUST NOT FORGET. These are the kinds of things that end up on this list:

• Megan is always messing with what she calls a "button" on her lips. She has dry lips often (yes, I try to help, to no apparent avail) and she gets these little patches of hard skin on her lips that she likes pushing on, like the drink selection buttons on the top of a take out soft drink cup.

• Michael and his "swingy thingies." I don't know if I could ever forget this...I have taken a few videos in order to avoid that. Michael's most effective calming/coping mechanism: swinging little lego creations in front of his face really fast, making explosion-like noises. In his mind, I think he is playing out an attack or a war or something, but he uses it to just relax. It's awesome.

• Michael and I sniff each other. Its like a primal display of affection. We each sniff around the others nose. I know it's weird, but we like it. It makes us laugh.

• Megan constantly organizes her bathroom stuff. She has an impressive amount of things she requires on her side of the sink, and she loves to spend time in there, fitting it all together like an efficient puzzle. It nearly always leaves a fine layer of glitter on the entire counter when she does this.

• Megan calls boogers "buggers."

• When he is doing something mindless, like watching the thousandth episode of River Monsters, Michael does a strange thing with his face. He squeezes his cheeks between his thumb and last three fingers, and uses his index finger to pop his upper lip in and out. He does it all the time.

• Megan has re-named her "front bottom" her "peanut." I almost died laughing when she said it the first time.

• The white roses Dan gave Meg after her first ballet recital were hands down the most beautiful roses I have ever seen. They opened up like they were working for a magazine, not a touch of browning or wilting on any of them. The spots where I had pulled off leaves to arrange them in a vase began to sprout new growth. I have never seen anything like it. Totally note-worthy.

• Megan wants me to "tickle" her always. Always. Tickling is when you very lightly run your fingers over her back or arms or legs. She cannot get enough of it. Michael prefers scratching.

Dad Entry #132

Megan's cuticles need some attention. Real bad. Just sayin'.

I was the 'mystery reader' for Megan's kindergarten class last week. A mystery reader is a surprise visitor who - you guessed it - reads to the kids. When they saw me, one of them blurted, "Wow, you're tall!" and I wanted to give that kid 10 bucks. Hey, it was a nice thing to say, and like so much uttered by six-year-olds, it was spoken with near awe. So genuine and emphatic. You just don't get energetic compliments like that from adults. And I'm not that tall, actually. Anyway, my friends and I enjoyed a book about ladybugs. The kids all sat cross-legged on the floor. "Criss-cross-apple-sauce!" They hunched forward just enough they had to crane their necks to look up at me, like baby birds peering out of nests, or puppies. I was demonstrative and loud. I read with passion! Wonderful creatures, ladybugs! Everyone was attentive. Megan was front and center, right beneath my chair. She hugged my leg and beamed a smile and the world was just perfect for an instant.

Michael and I watched the last inning of the White Sox / Tigers game. Michael was pleased when the Tigers closer, Jose Valverde, came in. Valverde's a flamboyant character; he smiles big and hops around the mound, pumps his fists, and does other silly things. He's also an All-Star who's very tough to hit. He throws high-90's fastballs mixed with filthy breaking pitches. Nasty stuff. And he's big; he's 6-4 / 250. So I told Michael, "You're gonna be a big guy too, My Man, and if you put your whole body into it, every ounce of yourself, and deal it over 95 like Valverde here, and you have to precisely locate it, that's important too, but you'll figure that out," - at this point I had to stop speaking momentarily because I was working myself into a lather and breathless - "Anyway," I continued, "Michael, if you can do that, you can make millions and, AND... do you know what that means?!" Michael seemed both curious and concerned. Then he said, "I'll be rich?" I said, "Sure, yes, you'll be rich, of course, but what I was thinking is YOU CAN BUY YOUR OWN BARNES & NOBLE!!" Oh yeah, that got his attention!! Michael has asked, sincerely, what it would take to buy an entire Barnes & Noble store, and he's crystal clear about stating, "Not just the building, but every book on the shelves too." So, like any good father, I'm giving him practical advice, and an easy path to his dreams.

Michael and Megan often fight like cats and dogs, or, well, like siblings. Makes sense. When I tell them to cool it, they stop for a minute until, inevitably, one of them jabs or prods the other again - either verbally or physically - and the scuffle continues. That's when I'll give them a dramatic rendition of a speech, something short but lofty, something like, "Hey, knock it off and listen up! Is this what you want? Really?! You wanna be mean to each other?! You should reconsider... because this is life, and we're all in this together!!" Their annoyance is blunted by confusion after that, and only directed at me.

Tiny Dancer

So this recital was a big deal. It was at the local college, in a decent-sized venue. The show was longer than two hours, not that that's too long at ALL. Megan's class was the best, of course, outperforming the teenagers even. Michael leaned over during one pretty cool, kind of funky geisha number and said, "Except for Megan's, this is BY FAR my favorite." And he was right, it was awesome, but his disclaimer about Meg's class warmed my heart. He might have a supportive bone in his body after all!

Megan was proud and just thrilled with the whole experience. I think it made her feel like a movie star...and daddy giving her roses afterwards (you are welcome for the tip, Dan) sealed the deal. I think we might be signing up for dance again in the fall.

Dad Entry #131

Megan is a slow eater. She dawdles and chirps and smiles. Even if she's starving and presented with something she REALLY loves - like a scoop of ice cream - she might take hours to eat it unless reminded there are other events - like bedtimes, and birthdays! - we'll miss if she doesn't eat a little faster.

I make the best PB & J for Michael's school lunches. We go with peanut butter and jelly when the turkey is slimy and smells bad. Just kidding, that never happens, although I do run out of Michael's favorite lunch meat sometimes. Anyway, I use good sturdy bread, but not too thick. A nice split-top whole wheat with honey and flax works, since you're dyin' to know. And here's the big secret: I score the bread. Score it before spreading the peanut butter on one half, and the jelly on the other. Then it kinda soaks in; it's almost a filling inside the bread, not just in between it. Yeah, I know, I'm a genius! Emeril, Martha, Jamie-what's-his-head who reinvented school lunches... they haven't called yet but they will.

The kids and I played with magnets the other day. It's the surest way to feel telekinetic. I tell Megan, "Just wait, Honey, don't touch the paperclip, I learned how to do something really amazing today, but I need to concentrate, if I really focus, if I really, really concentrate, I can actually move this paperclip without touching it...." Of course I have a magnet hidden under the paper or between my fingers. Meg-Pie's my favorite audience for simple tricks.

A favorite band of mine - called 'Live' - has a great song chorus that's apropos here. People like me who went to college in the mid-90's probably know Live's album "Throwing Copper" with songs like "Selling the Drama", "I Alone", and "Lightning Crashes". We overplayed this CD - while overconsuming cheap beer - for hours on end in bars and in my fraternity house. I remember abusing stuff by Blind Melon, Stone Temple Pilots, and Pearl Jam in much the same way. So I guess Live grew up like the rest of us. Someone in the band must have a daughter now because they have a song called "Heaven" with a refrain that goes like this: "I don't need no one to tell me about heaven, I look at my daughter, and I believe." Well... I agree.

Dad Entry #130

We ate at Billy's today, our favorite breakfast joint. Three teenager guys sat at a table next to us. They were tall. Almost as tall as me :) They wore loose sweats and Under Armor hoodies with "Palatine Pirates" printed on them. High-schoolers. They had that deliberately languid swagger of big, athletic 18-year-olds. They ate a ton. They lounged and laughed. Michael in about 10 years? I hope so.

Megan still can't eat chocolate chip pancakes without making an impressive mess, getting her favorite waxy substance on everything, in her hair, on her face, on her sleeves, under her fingernails. Under every fingernail. I thought about checking her little toes even though she had tennis shoes on.

I wonder how much longer I'll be able to wash Megan's hair. She asks me to help. Her hair was especially glossy and silky today, during her bath, since I used a humongous dollop - and some extra drizzles - of conditioner. I rinse her hair by dipping and pouring a Minnesota Twins souvenir cup from Target Field. I NEVER get shampoo in her eyes. Regarding the Twins cup, Papa Mike took us to a game there last summer. So we'll say this hair washing ritual is a mini-combo of two things I really love, Megan and MLB games with both Michael Byard Cox's.

Michael and Megan came to my softball game. They mostly dug in the dirt and tormented earthworms. That's okay. I didn't launch any homers or make any diving plays; I can see how the worms were more captivating. But do I wish it was a praying mantis, instead, that distracted them - perhaps one devouring its mate - or a toad or wounded bird or a colony of miniature aliens? Sure. My ego is telling me I was upstaged by worms. Although, I did hear Megan's sweet voice cheer for me a few times, and that's enough.

Wedding Sickness

A turn as a flower girl has left Megan reeling. She walked the aisle for our cousin Sarina at her wedding to Zac in Omaha last week. She had a hair appointment and her first updo and she was pleased as triple berry hawaiian punch. She was dazzling in sparkly heels and a pink dress with a giant bow in the back.

On the way to Omaha, we listened to "Where the Red Fern Grows." It was a pretty intense story...I remembered from my own childhood the sad ending. The kids were riveted. Michael and I marveled at how this kid spent entire nights out in the woods alone with two dogs, hunting wild animals. The story begins with the boy, Billy, pining for a pair of hunting dogs, describing the feeling as "dog sickness." Megan was listening intently and broke in with, "Oh, mom. I think I might have WEDDING SICKNESS."

Look at this beauty:

Dad Entry #129

We enjoyed a severe thunderstorm today. Before the downpour, we watched a wall of clouds approach. They looked thick and dark. Since I fancy myself smart and eloquent, I said, "Those clouds look thick and dark." Michael said, "Yeah, they're cumulonimbus clouds." I said, "Oh, sure, rain clouds." Michael said, "Well, no, you can't call them rain clouds because cumulonimbus also produce hail, sleet, and snow. And tornadoes. And lightning. Did you know lightening is hotter than the sun, Dad?" No, I didn't know that. How the hell did scientists figure that out, anyway? And what the hell is a coolio-whatsit cloud again?

I'm super-happy Michael's such a curious and bright kid. He's ebullient about learning! And effusive about sharing it! There are hints here, of course, but I absolutely never mock him. The more intellectual, learned, scholarly, sponge-y, the better, as far as I'm concerned. Let's be honest; I'm a nerd too. But I will always encourage physical pursuits and challenges, also. For example, I don't think Leonardo Da Vinci was much of an athlete. What does this have to do with anything? Well, to me it has to do with everything, literally, as in the definition of a Renaissance man. Da Vinci was a stunning artist, painter, sculptor, musician, mathematician, scientist, engineer, architect, botanist, inventor, anatomist, geologist, and writer. Great. But could he play ball? Did he step away from the easel, from the Mona Lisa or Last Supper, and go jump in a ball game? If not, frankly, this egregious deficiency calls into question his universally accepted status as a Renaissance man. Not cool, Leo! Historians might disagree with me, but they probably aren't obsessed with sports either; they're flawed, also. Anyway, Michael's smart and I love discussing things with him; I love hearing about his latest interests and reading material. Megan picks up on the vibe, too. Like me, I think she'll benefit from having a whiz for an older sibling. Michael crosses the 'showing off threshold' on occasion (e.g. cumulonimbus), but it doesn't bother me. Although, following our exchange about the clouds, I couldn't help but think of a scene in "The Breakfast Club"...

Johnson / Michael: "Did you know without Trigonometry there'd be no engineering?"
Bender / me: "Yeah, well without lamps, there'd be no light!"

Megan and I played Hangman the other day. Hangman is a Wheel-of-Fortune-like word-guessing game in case you grew up on Mars, or under strict Sharia law or something. Keep in mind, Megan's just learning to read and spell. So she carefully counted out and drew three spaces for letters, before zealously drawing the gallows. She looked pretty bloodthirsty. She smiled and said, "Ready, Dad!" I said, "You're a little too excited to hang me, I think, Sweetheart." I decided I was up against a three-lettered noun, so I guessed A. There was, indeed, an A, right about where I expected it, in the middle. I figured it wasn't too early to sandbag, so I asked for a Q, U, I and whatever else didn't feel right. Megan merrily went about drawing my hanging corpse. Then I threw a T at her. She sucked air through her teeth and grimaced, confirming my hunch the word was almost certainly a common pet, furry and feline. She wrote in the T, after the A, but then looked up, still bright-eyed and hoping for victory! Awesome. I picked more incorrect letters until I lost. "It was cat, Dad," you missed it! Megan was genuinely pleased she had 'stumped' me.

Dad Entry #128

Megan has a terrific high-pitched staccato laugh. If evoked spontaneaouly, it is perhaps the greatest thing the world has ever known.

Megan asked me, "Dad, what does meditation do to your body?" I thought I misheard her at first; the question struck me as too weighty and abstract for a kindergartner. I answered flatly, "It can calm and relax your body, it can clear your head, it can oppose and deflate pushy emotions like anger, fear, and impulsiveness." I think Megan was a little overwhelmed by my answer :) But she tried to process it, because she furrowed her perfect little brow and was quiet for a moment. I said, "Why do you ask, Lover-Dove? Why are you asking about meditation?" Megan said, "Oh, it's something I've done in my life." Oh, gee, that makes it sound awful important. I smiled. And from there I just assured Megan that meditation is a healthy, positive thing. I hope someday Mego and I have a longer discussion about it, about the mind and the breath and self-control and how, if we're lucky, we can just maybe stay light and composed despite all the crazy moments and emotions we'll encounter as we age, the amazement, bewilderment, resentment, sorrow. I'll say, "Yes, it's all part of life, Sweetheart. And it's good."

Speaking of amazement and bewilderment: Michael's first baseball game this year was pretty momentous. Sara and I knew a good start to the season would do wonders; we also knew, conversely.... well, you get it. I would say Michael seemed the least nervous of the three of us. Hopefully he didn't notice his parents fidgeting as he put on a helmet, selected a bat, swung it a few times to warm up, and eventually exited the dugout for the batter's box. I told him before the game, as I've always told him, a good at-bat is to put good swings on good pitches, to see the baseball well, to have a little spring and optimism and intention in his movements. In short, I told him to look like a ballplayer. When good hitters strike out, and we all do, we shake it off, maybe learn something, consider an adjustment, but we stay confident, and plan on hitting the shit out of the ball in our next AB. Maybe I didn't say all of that, exactly that way, but there's a mindset I'd like him to settle into. So let me just say Michael had a great game! In his first at-bat, he took some bad pitches for balls, then swung and missed at a good pitch (I was thrilled, remember, the goals is to put good swings on good pitches) and then, THEN, after working the count to full, Michael punched a grounder through the infield! A nice hit up the middle for an RBI single! He batted 2nd, and his teammate in the leadoff spot also reached, and advanced to third on passed balls. Yes, the kids can steal bases this year when pitches get away from the catcher. It's real baseball! Woo-hoo!! Mom and Dad (psycho sports parents after all, I guess) were thrilled! And so was Michael. I should reiterate, though, that we know what's important. Kicking ass and taking names!! Hell yeah!! No. Not that. We'll continue to encourage Michael - who is still only an eight-year-old - to have fun and stay positive, regardless of hits, wins, strikeouts when he pitches, or strikeouts when he bats.

Yes, I just mentioned pitching. Michael pitched the last inning. I warmed him up since both coaches were busy. He threw strikes to me, and I had a sense he would do fine in the game. He did. He was elated when he struck out a batter. Two other hitters were retired by his defense. Three runners were left on base. He pitched out of a jam! He was VERY happy.

If a sleeping Megan turns or sprawls and tilts her head just so, her eyes might open, ever so slightly. This morning I awoke and went to check on my two favorite things. Michael was in the bathroom. Typical guy :) Megan, my precious angel, was still sleeping, and her right eye was so open I could see her pupil. This wasn't alarming at first glance since I do the same thing on occasion, or so I'm told; somehow I sleep with my eyelids partially cracked and open. So I assumed Megan was alive, and as I paused for a moment, admiring her cuteness, a crazy thought got a finger inside my mind's door. Funny how that happens, and funny to observe it, mindfully, for an instant at least, before the door is pried open and maybe flung off its hinges. I abruptly and suddenly focused on my baby's chest! Was it rising and falling?!?! Yes. Yes it was. Have I mentioned bewilderment? I could see Megan's blanket moving the tiniest bit. This little story may sound morbid. I know. I'm only reporting what happened. And then, of course, I put my face a little closer to sleeping Megan's, so I could, for just a minute before our lives raced on again, feel her soft rhythmic exhalations brush my cheek.

Amour de Jeunesse

Michael got a love letter. This was not your garden variety third grade love letter, one that says, "I think you're cute. Do you like me? Mark yes or no." Which, by the way, shouldn't even happen until fifth grade, at least. THIS letter was laced with heart and explanations of how he had earned the adoration. How many things they have in common (actually she says, "We're in common." Which is cute.)

This is the real deal: "I, I, I, I, I, I don't just have a crush on you like Gillian I have TRUE, GREAT, REAL love on you." She also requests that he PLEASE (8 please's actually) NOT pass this around or tell anyone about it. She did not, however, request that his mother also keep it on the down low. Though Michael doesn't need to know I posted this for the entire world to know until he is an adult, since I promised him it was just between us. Work with me, people.

Michael came home from school two days ago and told me he had something to show me that was not "for public." I thought he probably had something going on DOWN THERE. But no. He handed me the letter of love. He didn't seem to have much reaction to it, so I told him that it was quite a letter and asked how he felt about it. He shrugged. Poor girl.

A Beach Not At All Like the Tropics

...but fun nonetheless. The kids and I decided to spend our Good Friday off at the beach. It was cold and windy, but the sun warmed us and we had a great time! The kids don't seem to notice how lousy (I think) Chicago is, for which I am very grateful. It really was a lovely day, ending with pad thai at Penny's and a great first baseball practice of the season!