The kids and I had a amazingly easy trip to Kansas City. I was waiting with bated breath for them to start screaming like banshees or crying uncontrollably, but even while no sleeping occurred, they were completely reasonable the entire drive (9 hours!). Michael and I had two funny exchanges:
Me: I am so tired you guys! I am going to have to run through McDonalds to get a big coffee.
Michael: If you're tired, just take a little rest.
Me: I can't do that, babe. I have to drive, so I have to pay close attention.
Michael: I have an idea! I've been thinking about how whales sleep. Do you know how they sleep? They keep one eye open and the close the other one!
Michael (after receiving Twizzlers for a snack): I LOVE licorice. It is my favorite candy.
Me: It is good, isn't it?
Michael: My mouth is full of cherry happiness.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
My Mother will be So Proud...
that I bought a pair of light-up shoes. I am not excited about it, but I would have had to erect a rubber room right there in Payless had I not bought them. They are a fairly hideous pair of plastic Disney princess sandals. I went in looking for a cute pair of girls shoes that I just saw in a Parents magazine ad this morning. They did not have them, and assuming they were so new the store had not gotten them, we went home and looked online. I then looked at the ad again to see if I could find the name or brand of the shoe when I noticed that the magazine was from September 2007. Right on top of things, I am.
Friday, May 16, 2008
My Baby's Growing Up....sniffle sniffle
Well, Michael had his preschool graduation party today. There was no real ceremony, which was kind of disappointing, but the kids enjoyed the party and picnic just the same. And the plate full of brownies, cookies and chips. He is going back for summer school, so we did not have to bid his beloved teachers adieu just yet, gratefully. The beauty in the middle with Michael is Haley, his wife. That's right, his wife. They made it official in a ceremony unbeknownst to any of the parents involved. All of the kids at school know about it, some even got to attend. Haley has big plans for them to live at Disney World.
Awwwwww...
Meggie's first trip to the home salon. She LOVED it. She was so proud. A few days later as it started to wear off of her fingernails, she kept telling me that her fingers were broken. I was starting to worry and came in close to inspect them (as if I might have missed dangling fingers) and realized that she meant the nail polish needed re-doing. Addict!
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Dad Entry #28
We’ve been busy. Fixing closet shelving, tiling our bathroom, chasing Megan, going to Cubs games. Michael wanted badly to join us for the Cubs game on Papa Mike’s birthday. I’ve invited Michael before and he’s declined, so Josiah, Greg, Papa Mike, and I had to go. Had to. Yeah, it was fun. There is no slowing down Papa Mike. Or Greg. Or Joe. I like hanging out with Joe, a former bouncer who can bench 500 lbs, a former UFC punching bag, I mean training partner, in the Miletich Camp. But when Michael saw Joe, he just wanted to know where Deanna and Casey were. I will get Michael to a Cubs game soon. So he can have cotton candy (of course that’s the draw, not Wrigley, Zambrano, Soriano, Lee, or Fukudome).
It’s funny how kids have different fears. Just like adults I know, but let’s examine Megan for a second. She will scale the most difficult ladder or rock wall on the playground. And she’ll do it fearlessly, breathlessly, smiling and giddy, even though she’s not big or strong enough yet and often bumps her head or chin or elbow or shin. Of course we catch her, help her, but also let her climb (she gets angry and refuses help most of the time, anyway, so we let her struggle and take some lumps). Obviously we prevent her from falling and crashing to the ground which certainly, without a spotter, would’ve happened several times already. Megan will jump into the deep end of the swimming pool with no one there to catch her or keep her afloat. She’d probably – gleefully! – jump out of an airplane, too, or base jump off the Sears Tower. But turn on the vacuum cleaner and she’ll run screaming through the house, petrified, frantic, looking for Mommy or Daddy (whoever is not holding the vacuum!). Poor thing. Like Aunt Jenny used to say – when she was Megan’s age – “Sweeper get you!” Megan struggled with the saws we fired-up constantly to cut sub-floor and tile. ‘Noise machines’ she called them and asked repeatedly if we were done and could we put them away please and thank you. I don’t think Megan’s fears – or ‘non-fears’ – are irrational at all, they’re just an interesting mix, as they are for all of us. Michael could care less about the vacuum (though he doesn’t like other loud things like industrial strength toilets at gas stations or restaurants that threaten to suck the whole room down when they flush loudly), but for years Michael was afraid of the slides at the playground.
Last night Michael furrowed his brow and asked, “Why are we going to die?” I remember thinking, moments like these are when Dads earn their stripes. I asked him first what he meant, wondering, for example, is he afraid of dying soon? Is there an impending emergency or natural disaster I’m not aware of? And is Michael clairvoyant, a prophet, or just an existentialist? Michael clarified he didn’t have any specific or immediate fears. I told him that he will live for a very long time before he has to think about death. More than a hundred years. And then, I told him, he will go to a better place called heaven. And Mommy and Daddy will be there. “But do they have toys there?” was Michael’s concern. “Yes, they have toys,” I assured him. Michael was silent for a while, still ruminating, so I asked if he wanted to talk more. “But why do we die?” he said. I asked him why he was thinking about this today and he answered, “Because Papa Swede died.” This really got my attention because I didn’t realize Michael knew enough about Papa Swede to speak about him or recall him from memory (but haven’t I learned yet that Michael’s mind is a massive steel trap that catches and cages everything!). Michael said Alissa told him Papa Swede had died (Michael hasn’t seen Alissa for many weeks now, though… hmm?). So I explained to Michael that people don’t live forever, but he has a long, long time still so he should only think about living! Then Michael asked his best question of the night! “When we die, does the world stop?” Awesome! I praised him for such a great question, then told him, “No, the world goes on for other people like his friends and loved ones, his children and grandchildren. And isn’t that wonderful!” I added. Michael said, “No, I’m not going to have any children.”
It’s funny how kids have different fears. Just like adults I know, but let’s examine Megan for a second. She will scale the most difficult ladder or rock wall on the playground. And she’ll do it fearlessly, breathlessly, smiling and giddy, even though she’s not big or strong enough yet and often bumps her head or chin or elbow or shin. Of course we catch her, help her, but also let her climb (she gets angry and refuses help most of the time, anyway, so we let her struggle and take some lumps). Obviously we prevent her from falling and crashing to the ground which certainly, without a spotter, would’ve happened several times already. Megan will jump into the deep end of the swimming pool with no one there to catch her or keep her afloat. She’d probably – gleefully! – jump out of an airplane, too, or base jump off the Sears Tower. But turn on the vacuum cleaner and she’ll run screaming through the house, petrified, frantic, looking for Mommy or Daddy (whoever is not holding the vacuum!). Poor thing. Like Aunt Jenny used to say – when she was Megan’s age – “Sweeper get you!” Megan struggled with the saws we fired-up constantly to cut sub-floor and tile. ‘Noise machines’ she called them and asked repeatedly if we were done and could we put them away please and thank you. I don’t think Megan’s fears – or ‘non-fears’ – are irrational at all, they’re just an interesting mix, as they are for all of us. Michael could care less about the vacuum (though he doesn’t like other loud things like industrial strength toilets at gas stations or restaurants that threaten to suck the whole room down when they flush loudly), but for years Michael was afraid of the slides at the playground.
Last night Michael furrowed his brow and asked, “Why are we going to die?” I remember thinking, moments like these are when Dads earn their stripes. I asked him first what he meant, wondering, for example, is he afraid of dying soon? Is there an impending emergency or natural disaster I’m not aware of? And is Michael clairvoyant, a prophet, or just an existentialist? Michael clarified he didn’t have any specific or immediate fears. I told him that he will live for a very long time before he has to think about death. More than a hundred years. And then, I told him, he will go to a better place called heaven. And Mommy and Daddy will be there. “But do they have toys there?” was Michael’s concern. “Yes, they have toys,” I assured him. Michael was silent for a while, still ruminating, so I asked if he wanted to talk more. “But why do we die?” he said. I asked him why he was thinking about this today and he answered, “Because Papa Swede died.” This really got my attention because I didn’t realize Michael knew enough about Papa Swede to speak about him or recall him from memory (but haven’t I learned yet that Michael’s mind is a massive steel trap that catches and cages everything!). Michael said Alissa told him Papa Swede had died (Michael hasn’t seen Alissa for many weeks now, though… hmm?). So I explained to Michael that people don’t live forever, but he has a long, long time still so he should only think about living! Then Michael asked his best question of the night! “When we die, does the world stop?” Awesome! I praised him for such a great question, then told him, “No, the world goes on for other people like his friends and loved ones, his children and grandchildren. And isn’t that wonderful!” I added. Michael said, “No, I’m not going to have any children.”
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Already
Some one got my eggs in the night. She had been only been incubating for a mere 24 hours. I imagine it was a coyote, however, there may have been a fight since there are still about 6 eggs untouched in the nest. The mama has not returned for them and has been gone too long for the eggs to be viable. I am leaving them out for another night before I clean it up since I assume the culprit will return for the rest and they may as well provide someone some protein. Sad.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Elmo Never Looked So Good
So we're giving it a go. Cross your fingers. It's been about 17 minutes and no pee pee on Elmo!! Not the best pix...one blurry and one drunk. Drunk with "unda-wee-uh" giddiness.
Dad Entry #27
I’m not sure how I feel about Meggie’s haircut. I think at the heart of my reflection is a simple question: can you add to, or subtract from… perfection. No. No you can’t. You can’t improve Meggie. By trimming her hair?!?! Please. Some might argue – and fairly well - that you can detract from perfection. But you can’t. Not this kind. Maybe ‘infinity’ is the right word then and mathematically we can ‘prove’ or say with certainty. But what does math have to do with this; we’re talking about – in this case - a bad haircut. Of course there’s no impact. No more than a drop of rain can damage the ocean. What about misbehaving? That’s just a big wave here and there, the kind surfers love. What about wrecking my car when she’s sixteen? Um, maybe that’s a little storm, a tiny hurricane (but think how HUGE the ocean is). What about picking the wrong boyfriend? I think maybe that’s a tsunami and devastating tidal wave and let’s change the subject.
Michael burned himself on the edge of a baking sheet. We keep him away from hot pans and the hot oven but he came in fast, threw up an arm, and got a nice burn on his arm. He won’t do it again. It blistered into a white line across his wrist. He was bandaged in a ‘mummy’ gauze wrap. This part he was pretty excited about. Maybe he won’t be so careful after all.
Megan stopped doing something I really enjoyed. I don’t think she fully grasped that ‘reading’ meant there were words on the pages that told a story which we relayed to her, straight from the book, the same every time. Very rarely do I skip or improvise (because Michael always busted me when I did that!). With Megan, I would start a book and she would say, “Talk about dat,” as she pointed to one of the pages or pictures. “Talk about dat, Dad.” Sweet thing. I have read a book called “Double Pink” to her about a thousand times now. I guess she knows the words are always the same and they come from the letters on the pages now. In fact, she knows those letters. I love it when she belts out her ‘A-B-C’s’ which she usually follows with a super rendition of ‘Bilo Baby Buntin’.
Michael burned himself on the edge of a baking sheet. We keep him away from hot pans and the hot oven but he came in fast, threw up an arm, and got a nice burn on his arm. He won’t do it again. It blistered into a white line across his wrist. He was bandaged in a ‘mummy’ gauze wrap. This part he was pretty excited about. Maybe he won’t be so careful after all.
Megan stopped doing something I really enjoyed. I don’t think she fully grasped that ‘reading’ meant there were words on the pages that told a story which we relayed to her, straight from the book, the same every time. Very rarely do I skip or improvise (because Michael always busted me when I did that!). With Megan, I would start a book and she would say, “Talk about dat,” as she pointed to one of the pages or pictures. “Talk about dat, Dad.” Sweet thing. I have read a book called “Double Pink” to her about a thousand times now. I guess she knows the words are always the same and they come from the letters on the pages now. In fact, she knows those letters. I love it when she belts out her ‘A-B-C’s’ which she usually follows with a super rendition of ‘Bilo Baby Buntin’.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
A Nest, Mommy!!
A few days ago, while swordfighting with sticks in the front yard, Michael discovered our favorite duck had made her nest perilously close to our front door. She laid us a beauty of a nest (7 eggs!) in the irises last year with disastrous results thanks to a coyote. But she came back with a vengeance and with some babies to make up for, laying an even dozen this year. I hope that her location is beneficial for the chicks and that the proximity to our door/light scares off foxes and such. She seems completely fine with us coming and going (though we do avoid the front door some) and with the kids yelling and tearing through the front yard. Cross your fingers that I don't have to explain the too-early broken shells this year.
I ran out to take these this afternoon when she left the nest uncovered in the rain for some reason. I have a baseball bat near the front door to beat down any predator that arrives in her absence.
I ran out to take these this afternoon when she left the nest uncovered in the rain for some reason. I have a baseball bat near the front door to beat down any predator that arrives in her absence.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Chop, Chop
Well, the deed is finally done. I have been avoiding it for such a long time, so it was funny to have to fight the urge to just hack it all off á la Victoria Beckham. Only took about 3 inches in the end. She was so good the whole time...perhaps it was because she was sitting in a police car for the cut. Those photos will have to come later...I forgot my camera and had to buy a one-time-use cam for the occasion. I barely even remember how to have film developed.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Dad Entry #26
Sorry, this is longish, I threw a lot of notes in here….
The other day, Michael was playing with a ‘scupa’ diver in the bathtub. He told me the diver was “diving deep for crustaceans.” I said, “If he goes really deep he’ll need lots of air. How big is that tank on his back?” Michael thought hard and said, “It’s 150 gallops.”
And that’s a perfect segue into mentioning Wyatt. Wyatt is Aunt Diane’s beautiful, big thoroughbred horse. He’s really an impressive animal. He has a dark, solid coat with just the right amount of sheen to give him that sleek, powerful look. He’s, well, a thoroughbred. But Wyatt has a timidity about him too, a humility, perhaps, although some of that is due to the horse hierarchy at the stable. He was very nice to Megan and Michael, as were all the horses there. They sniffed and licked at both kids and let them touch their long faces. We’re anxious to go back. Maybe this summer we can ride Wyatt.
At the shark aquarium in Minneapolis, Alissa – my niece – asked me to read a sign to her. So I read aloud, “There are less than 100 shark attacks worldwide each year, and only 10 of those are fatal.” I should’ve ad-libbed or substituted something more cheery or at least left off the second part. But I didn’t so Alissa asked, “What does ‘fatal’ mean?” I said, “Oh, um, that just means they got hurt a little worse than the others.”
I was talking with Michael and used the word ‘intense’. I’m sure I was demonstratively reacting to some super dinosaur story of his. He asked, “What does ‘intense’ mean.” I told him, ‘serious’. He said, “Well, what does that mean?” I couldn’t grab another synonym quickly so I changed the subject.
Michael told me yesterday, “Daddy, do you know why this is called a battleship?” The way he phrased the question told me he wanted to give an answer, not get one. So I said, “No.” “Because they battle,” Michael told me. Battleships battle. Yes, sir. But the point of this story, or rather what I realized when this happened: Michael won’t share toys but he will share knowledge. And it’s quite useful knowledge, stuff like ‘battleships battle’ and ‘Triceratops was not a meat-eater.’ So that’s something, anyway, something he willingly shares. Man I feel better now, as a parent I mean. I’m not totally failing. But I really wish Michael didn’t, like, become physically ill every time we made him share toys with Megan.
Today Megan wiped at her nose several times then declared. “I got da booga, Daddy, I got da booga!” She was pretty excited. After all, clear nasal passages are paramount to refreshing, deep breaths. I share her pride – and urgency – when pursuing this kind of accomplishment. I don’t remember where she put the booger, though. Did she even have a Kleenex? Maybe one of you will find it on our couch.
I love watching Megan with ice cream. Especially when served in a bowl with a spoon. When in a cone, it just melts and gets everywhere as she licks and takes bites of it. In a bowl, however, we get utensils, and how fun is that! In a bowl, she takes her spoon and kind of chips away at the glacier that is her scoop of ice cream. She stabs at it, eventually scrapes a piece loose, struggles forever to get it onto her spoon, then lifts it to her lips. Yes, of course it does. It slides off the spoon just shy of her mouth and falls to the table (or worse, in her lap). She doesn’t get angry, though; she’s still just excited to have ice cream. And she’s focused, determined. And maybe she knows at two years old she’s a bit short on dexterity. So she looks at it momentarily as a puddle forms around her ice cream bite now melting and flattened on the table. She tries to pick it up, a very slippery thing now, with the fingers of her left hand. The spoon is still in her right hand. Eventually she gets some of it into her mouth. Then the process repeats itself. Forever. Even after there’s only liquid in her bowl, she keeps scooping and spilling.
I could describe Megan all day long; sorry to bore you.
I asked Megan to do something the other day, I don’t even remember what it was. But her answer was pretty cute. She said, “Daddy, no, I’m too little.”
The other day, Michael was playing with a ‘scupa’ diver in the bathtub. He told me the diver was “diving deep for crustaceans.” I said, “If he goes really deep he’ll need lots of air. How big is that tank on his back?” Michael thought hard and said, “It’s 150 gallops.”
And that’s a perfect segue into mentioning Wyatt. Wyatt is Aunt Diane’s beautiful, big thoroughbred horse. He’s really an impressive animal. He has a dark, solid coat with just the right amount of sheen to give him that sleek, powerful look. He’s, well, a thoroughbred. But Wyatt has a timidity about him too, a humility, perhaps, although some of that is due to the horse hierarchy at the stable. He was very nice to Megan and Michael, as were all the horses there. They sniffed and licked at both kids and let them touch their long faces. We’re anxious to go back. Maybe this summer we can ride Wyatt.
At the shark aquarium in Minneapolis, Alissa – my niece – asked me to read a sign to her. So I read aloud, “There are less than 100 shark attacks worldwide each year, and only 10 of those are fatal.” I should’ve ad-libbed or substituted something more cheery or at least left off the second part. But I didn’t so Alissa asked, “What does ‘fatal’ mean?” I said, “Oh, um, that just means they got hurt a little worse than the others.”
I was talking with Michael and used the word ‘intense’. I’m sure I was demonstratively reacting to some super dinosaur story of his. He asked, “What does ‘intense’ mean.” I told him, ‘serious’. He said, “Well, what does that mean?” I couldn’t grab another synonym quickly so I changed the subject.
Michael told me yesterday, “Daddy, do you know why this is called a battleship?” The way he phrased the question told me he wanted to give an answer, not get one. So I said, “No.” “Because they battle,” Michael told me. Battleships battle. Yes, sir. But the point of this story, or rather what I realized when this happened: Michael won’t share toys but he will share knowledge. And it’s quite useful knowledge, stuff like ‘battleships battle’ and ‘Triceratops was not a meat-eater.’ So that’s something, anyway, something he willingly shares. Man I feel better now, as a parent I mean. I’m not totally failing. But I really wish Michael didn’t, like, become physically ill every time we made him share toys with Megan.
Today Megan wiped at her nose several times then declared. “I got da booga, Daddy, I got da booga!” She was pretty excited. After all, clear nasal passages are paramount to refreshing, deep breaths. I share her pride – and urgency – when pursuing this kind of accomplishment. I don’t remember where she put the booger, though. Did she even have a Kleenex? Maybe one of you will find it on our couch.
I love watching Megan with ice cream. Especially when served in a bowl with a spoon. When in a cone, it just melts and gets everywhere as she licks and takes bites of it. In a bowl, however, we get utensils, and how fun is that! In a bowl, she takes her spoon and kind of chips away at the glacier that is her scoop of ice cream. She stabs at it, eventually scrapes a piece loose, struggles forever to get it onto her spoon, then lifts it to her lips. Yes, of course it does. It slides off the spoon just shy of her mouth and falls to the table (or worse, in her lap). She doesn’t get angry, though; she’s still just excited to have ice cream. And she’s focused, determined. And maybe she knows at two years old she’s a bit short on dexterity. So she looks at it momentarily as a puddle forms around her ice cream bite now melting and flattened on the table. She tries to pick it up, a very slippery thing now, with the fingers of her left hand. The spoon is still in her right hand. Eventually she gets some of it into her mouth. Then the process repeats itself. Forever. Even after there’s only liquid in her bowl, she keeps scooping and spilling.
I could describe Megan all day long; sorry to bore you.
I asked Megan to do something the other day, I don’t even remember what it was. But her answer was pretty cute. She said, “Daddy, no, I’m too little.”
Friday, March 28, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Thank You, Aunt Jenny
This morning we took a trip to Michaels, the hobby shop. I add the qualifier because Megan was devastated when we pulled up to the store and there was no Melanie or Mia to be found (she thought we were going to Michael SILVESTRI'S.) Aunt Jenny had sent gift cards for Easter and the kids were SO excited. Michael said, "There are so many things here I'd like to buy!" After much deliberation, animals were chosen. Megan went with a tiger, a clown fish and a jellyfish. Michael chose a tube of boats and a hermit crab. The world is good. Thank you, Aunt Jenny!
A Little Dressing Up
In an effort to play with his sister, Michael went above and beyond a few days ago. What else to say?
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Dad Entry #25
The house is empty. No kids. The difference, of course, is striking. Less noise, fewer dishes, no diapers, no schedule, we eat whenever, come and go as we please. Michael and Megan are at the Ploehn’s for 5 days and, yes, it’s a bit eerie, sort of timeless, or just retro, the way Sara and I were free to run around Chicago over the weekend, our favorite dives, nice places too, streets and storefronts, our old apartments, old neighborhoods. Places marked by memory or a particular charm. Ambiance is a good word for restaurants, the low-lit kind, but some of our favorite places don’t have ambiance really; they just have history, the kind fashioned by decades and millions of patrons. Character is a word, but it’s overused. These places are comfortably worn down, wise. Some are beat up, not super-clean. But they are fun; they smile at us. And they have great salsa. Or tacos on corn tortillas with cilantro. Or Pad Thai, Pasta Giovanni, a sandwich no one else can make, service you remember, the perfect line-up of tap beers for both taste and cool handles which the bartenders pull nonchalantly when they draw us a beer. We caught some live music for the first time in ages. Now we’re going to buy two guitars. Why not? So we didn’t have the kids tugging on us. And we couldn’t tug on them (I have to give Megan regular squeezes when I’m with her). No entertaining chatter from Michael. No questions like, “Daddy, does summer come after winter?” Yes it does, Michael, yes it does. There’s a little thing called spring in there too, but spring is nice, very nice. And the Cubs, Michael, the Cubs are in town again in two weeks. And I have tickets.
Friday, February 15, 2008
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