Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Dad Entry #65
One of my fondest memories of being Megan's dad will always be the scene in the truck stop bathroom. No, I'm not after cheap laughs here with bathroom jokes. I simply find it funny - and touching - when I have to bring my itty-bitty, cute-as-a-button little girl into the truck stop men's restroom. It still happens - we drove to Minnesota last weekend - since Megan can't 'hold it' for 7 hours and I can't go into the ladies room. (It'll be a while before I let Megan go anywhere, even the women's restroom, by herself.) The experience is a bit different these days, but early on, over a year ago, it was Megan and I in a stall, me holding her over the toilet, trying to make sure she didn't pee on her little undies or pants that were pulled down, or somehow on her shoes. Megan would gleefully try to look between her legs - in the beginning it was a novelty to go on the 'big potty' like a 'big girl' - which made it hard for me to hold her back far enough over the seat. I learned that too far forward meant she'd need a change of clothes. Now that Megan's a seasoned four-year-old, she goes into the stall alone, but only after I select the cleanest one, inspect it thoroughly, wipe it down, and advise her not to touch ANYTHING... as I've always done. And although it's very cute, it wouldn't be so memorable if not for the sudden clash, the striking incongruity, that registers with me the moment Megan speaks. That sweet little voice in the otherwise quiet truck stop bathroom. "Look Daddy, I did it," she might've said a year and a half ago, loud enough for everyone to hear. Of course I had to respond, also, "Yes you did! Good job, Baby!" And truthfully, early on, I was delighted she was out of diapers. Now I take it for granted. The truck drivers are always a bit grisly; nothing against truck drivers, but they are usually bearded, hatted, tired, and disheveled or shuffling around in a daze after countless hours on the road. And this bright, sweet voice kind of pierces the quiet fog hanging over the men's room, "Daddy, I can't reach the toilet paper." You are bonded forever with the beautiful, dainty creature you escort into this place.
Michael is there too, and that's cute also, we had moments like our first time using the urinal, but it never seemed so funny, or out-of-place, as it does with Megan. Soaping, rinsing and drying hands - and not obstructing the path of a driver who needs to go badly after 10 hours of driving - are also part of it with both kids. But Megan's loud, sweet voice there is quite a memory-maker for me.
It's an old cliche, but Megan is truly a 'good little helper'. She is eager to help cook, water the plants indoors, pot flowers and vetables outdoors, and so on. She wants to be a doctor or a nurse (some of you may recall her ongoing fascination with 'body books' about human anatomy). She told me that doctors wear gloves. I asked her what other things doctors wear (I was maybe looking for white coat, surgical mask, or stethoscope) but Megan said, "Nothing. They just wear gloves."
We play T-ball in the front yard. The kids were alternating, one would hit and the other would help field, then they'd switch. Finally Michael said, "We should let Daddy hit some too." Megan said, "Oh, no, Daddy will hit it all the way to Africa." I'm not sure why Africa was on her mind, but she's been to some of my softball games; she knows I can hit it pretty far I guess. Like out of the park and into the trees. A lot of guys in my league can do that. But it made me feel good when she said it! Of course, Megan 'giveth, then taketh away', because later that night she was brushing my hair - something she likes to do now - and she started giggling and said, "Daddy, you have a bald spot back here." Thank you, Darling. Did you notice all the grey, too?
Michael is there too, and that's cute also, we had moments like our first time using the urinal, but it never seemed so funny, or out-of-place, as it does with Megan. Soaping, rinsing and drying hands - and not obstructing the path of a driver who needs to go badly after 10 hours of driving - are also part of it with both kids. But Megan's loud, sweet voice there is quite a memory-maker for me.
It's an old cliche, but Megan is truly a 'good little helper'. She is eager to help cook, water the plants indoors, pot flowers and vetables outdoors, and so on. She wants to be a doctor or a nurse (some of you may recall her ongoing fascination with 'body books' about human anatomy). She told me that doctors wear gloves. I asked her what other things doctors wear (I was maybe looking for white coat, surgical mask, or stethoscope) but Megan said, "Nothing. They just wear gloves."
We play T-ball in the front yard. The kids were alternating, one would hit and the other would help field, then they'd switch. Finally Michael said, "We should let Daddy hit some too." Megan said, "Oh, no, Daddy will hit it all the way to Africa." I'm not sure why Africa was on her mind, but she's been to some of my softball games; she knows I can hit it pretty far I guess. Like out of the park and into the trees. A lot of guys in my league can do that. But it made me feel good when she said it! Of course, Megan 'giveth, then taketh away', because later that night she was brushing my hair - something she likes to do now - and she started giggling and said, "Daddy, you have a bald spot back here." Thank you, Darling. Did you notice all the grey, too?
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Dad Entry #64
Michael was a little irritated that I traveled to China again for over 2 weeks. He wasn’t very talkative on Skype; I could tell he was bummed. And I love him for it. I missed him like crazy. Maybe I’m flattering myself; maybe he didn’t miss me tons and was only preoccupied with Star Wars Legos or his Nintendo DS when I called. But I remember, when I was a little older than Michael, missing my Dad when he traveled for work; Papa Mike was a traveling salesman, still is, albeit at executive levels now. He probably doesn't fly coach anymore like I have to.
I bought Michael a Nintendo DS game from the Silk Market in Beijing. I bartered and got a good price for it. Then I prayed it would work. It is notoriously risky to purchase electronics, movies, and games there. Countless salespeople agressively hawk everything under the sun in aisle upon narrow aisle of shops, stalls, and glass counters. When something works, it's a great deal (if you bartered well, which is a contest I think most sellers respect and enjoy as much as the buyers). And usually it works. But sometimes, no. Michael's game worked. Phew. And he really liked the one I picked (Star Wars: The Clone Wars). Cool.
Sara told me what Michael said from the top of the Sears Tower. Looking out from the skydeck over Chicago, he said, “I cannot believe that God has all this under control.” Awesome. He said it as an affirmative statement. The same sentence could mean otherwise; but by his inflection – Sara confirmed there was a kind of awe or appreciation in his tone – he meant God has things under control, it’s just hard to fathom when you’re looking out over one of the biggest, busiest cities in the world. What a deep thinker. Unfortunately, he’s going to give himself a headache, and a heartache, and a soul- or spirit-ache too, thinking so deeply. But Michael must agree with Socrates. “The unexamined life is not worth living.” I look forward to growing old with Michael and talking about these things. Hopefully we inspire each other, rather than become grumpy, old cynics. We will. Inspire each other.
Megan made a sort of deep observation too. See told me via Skype, “I can count in my brain.” Then she added some clarification with, “I can count inside my brain.” I knew what she meant the first time. In a way, she has identified her inner voice. She can count, and speak, inside her brain. Words don’t have to escape her lips. Words can just stop, or stay, inside her head. Very good. It’s important to learn this. (Some people never do!) This brings to mind all kinds of thoughts about our inner dialogues, our compassionate or critical inner voices – hopefully the latter – and our explanatory styles for life events as it relates to our levels of optimism (the quality positive psychologists are now saying is most revelatory or indicative of the amount of success and fulfillment a person experiences). How optimism, success, and fulfillment are determined objectively, I don’t know. But it sure sounds good! Let's hear it for optimism! I hope M & M are optimists.
During a Skype call, Megan said, “Daddy, I wish I could pull you through the computer!” Me too! Why haven’t we figured that out yet? Teleportation. Didn't Star Trek pioneer this travel method decades ago? Video calls are like so 2007. Although, seriously, I bet there are scientists out there really looking into 'beaming' people around. I think I read somewhere they can teleport electrons now. Maybe atoms. There's no way engineers will figure it out for humans, will they? I volunteer Uncle Scott and Uncle Jake for the first human trials of this amazing technology.
Megan cut her finger the day I left for China. It bled like crazy; blood was running down here fingers past her wrist. She cut her finger with what she later indicted as 'naughty scissors'. She said, “They are some naughty scissors, they snipped off the pad on my finger.” Indeed, they cut off a perfect circle of tissue, rather deep, from the end of her finger. Sara took her to the ER where they used some kind of synthetic skin, that adhered but later fell off, to patch her up. Megan officially hates the ER now since they also gave her a tetanus shot during her visit. “They stuck it in my shoulder,” she told me. I know. Ouch.
While Skyping from China, I panned my webcam so the kids could see out my hotel room window. I was on the 15th floor. Looking down at the traffic zooming by outside, and the distant people and bikes below, Megan asked, “Daddy, how do you get to the bottom in China?” I told her I use an elevator. But the perspectives and questions about new things from kids are always interesting. Hey, it was a good, practical question. I didn't take the stairs. I didn't scale down the building like a rock climber; I didn't use crampons and ice axes, a rope, suction cups, or a ladder; I didn't jump, parachute, hang glide, water slide, or fly. She used the word ‘bottom’ again a little later when she blurted, “Daddy, I have to scratch my bottom.” Okay, Sweetheart, sometimes it’s best to go ahead and do something like that without calling attention to it.
I bought Michael a Nintendo DS game from the Silk Market in Beijing. I bartered and got a good price for it. Then I prayed it would work. It is notoriously risky to purchase electronics, movies, and games there. Countless salespeople agressively hawk everything under the sun in aisle upon narrow aisle of shops, stalls, and glass counters. When something works, it's a great deal (if you bartered well, which is a contest I think most sellers respect and enjoy as much as the buyers). And usually it works. But sometimes, no. Michael's game worked. Phew. And he really liked the one I picked (Star Wars: The Clone Wars). Cool.
Sara told me what Michael said from the top of the Sears Tower. Looking out from the skydeck over Chicago, he said, “I cannot believe that God has all this under control.” Awesome. He said it as an affirmative statement. The same sentence could mean otherwise; but by his inflection – Sara confirmed there was a kind of awe or appreciation in his tone – he meant God has things under control, it’s just hard to fathom when you’re looking out over one of the biggest, busiest cities in the world. What a deep thinker. Unfortunately, he’s going to give himself a headache, and a heartache, and a soul- or spirit-ache too, thinking so deeply. But Michael must agree with Socrates. “The unexamined life is not worth living.” I look forward to growing old with Michael and talking about these things. Hopefully we inspire each other, rather than become grumpy, old cynics. We will. Inspire each other.
Megan made a sort of deep observation too. See told me via Skype, “I can count in my brain.” Then she added some clarification with, “I can count inside my brain.” I knew what she meant the first time. In a way, she has identified her inner voice. She can count, and speak, inside her brain. Words don’t have to escape her lips. Words can just stop, or stay, inside her head. Very good. It’s important to learn this. (Some people never do!) This brings to mind all kinds of thoughts about our inner dialogues, our compassionate or critical inner voices – hopefully the latter – and our explanatory styles for life events as it relates to our levels of optimism (the quality positive psychologists are now saying is most revelatory or indicative of the amount of success and fulfillment a person experiences). How optimism, success, and fulfillment are determined objectively, I don’t know. But it sure sounds good! Let's hear it for optimism! I hope M & M are optimists.
During a Skype call, Megan said, “Daddy, I wish I could pull you through the computer!” Me too! Why haven’t we figured that out yet? Teleportation. Didn't Star Trek pioneer this travel method decades ago? Video calls are like so 2007. Although, seriously, I bet there are scientists out there really looking into 'beaming' people around. I think I read somewhere they can teleport electrons now. Maybe atoms. There's no way engineers will figure it out for humans, will they? I volunteer Uncle Scott and Uncle Jake for the first human trials of this amazing technology.
Megan cut her finger the day I left for China. It bled like crazy; blood was running down here fingers past her wrist. She cut her finger with what she later indicted as 'naughty scissors'. She said, “They are some naughty scissors, they snipped off the pad on my finger.” Indeed, they cut off a perfect circle of tissue, rather deep, from the end of her finger. Sara took her to the ER where they used some kind of synthetic skin, that adhered but later fell off, to patch her up. Megan officially hates the ER now since they also gave her a tetanus shot during her visit. “They stuck it in my shoulder,” she told me. I know. Ouch.
While Skyping from China, I panned my webcam so the kids could see out my hotel room window. I was on the 15th floor. Looking down at the traffic zooming by outside, and the distant people and bikes below, Megan asked, “Daddy, how do you get to the bottom in China?” I told her I use an elevator. But the perspectives and questions about new things from kids are always interesting. Hey, it was a good, practical question. I didn't take the stairs. I didn't scale down the building like a rock climber; I didn't use crampons and ice axes, a rope, suction cups, or a ladder; I didn't jump, parachute, hang glide, water slide, or fly. She used the word ‘bottom’ again a little later when she blurted, “Daddy, I have to scratch my bottom.” Okay, Sweetheart, sometimes it’s best to go ahead and do something like that without calling attention to it.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Dad Entry #63
Megan loves giraffes. We were at ‘Reptile-Fest’ surrounded by snakes and lizards, and Megan said, “I wonder if they have baby giraffes here.” Sweet thing. It was a serious inquiry so I gave it a sincere answer. “No Baby, just reptiles. Turtles, frogs, gators and snakes. But this is a big gym, the ceiling is high enough for giraffes.” We were in the UIC PE building (University of Illinois at Chicago Physical Education). Meggie knows what a reptile is, and therefore knows that a giraffe is not one; I think she simply, while surrounded by animals, succumbed to a moment of hopeful delight.
Michael started T-ball again. I am in China so I missed the first practice, but Sara told me he is by far the tallest kid on the team. He’s a big dude. But a sensitive one. I think that’s a good combo.
Sometimes when I plop myself down on the couch next to Meg she says, “No Daddy, you’ll sit on my dress.” And I think, where was this concern for your princess dress when you dripped waffle syrup on it at breakfast, and wiped Cheeto cheese on it at lunch?
I mentioned this already, but Meggie can’t wait to be 6 years old. I think her observations of Michael indicate the big ‘6’ is a breakthrough year. A real milestone. I’m smiling, but I also realize the difference between 4 and 6 is a 50% increase in lifespan. That’s nothing to sneeze at. It’s the same, by that measure, as the difference between 20 and 30. Would you like me to tell you about that?! And the ripe age of 6 really did mean big things for Michael; he started 1st grade, learned to read (even ‘chapter books’!), and is at school for a full day now (Meggie misses him in the afternoons). Michael also played on a T-ball team (Meggie loves to play ball too), went to Minnesota by himself for several days with Gramma and Papa, and possibly has other unique privileges or status I just can’t perceive or understand, even when I try to think like a 4-year-old. You bet, easy for me. But whatever the hierarchy or progression – or giant chasm! – that separates a 4- and 6-year-old, Meggie is feeling the gravity of it; she wants badly to cross, to leap! She says, “I want to be 6.” I know, Sweetheart, I want to be 25. When does it change, anyway; when do we go from wanting more years to wanting less?
Michael started T-ball again. I am in China so I missed the first practice, but Sara told me he is by far the tallest kid on the team. He’s a big dude. But a sensitive one. I think that’s a good combo.
Sometimes when I plop myself down on the couch next to Meg she says, “No Daddy, you’ll sit on my dress.” And I think, where was this concern for your princess dress when you dripped waffle syrup on it at breakfast, and wiped Cheeto cheese on it at lunch?
I mentioned this already, but Meggie can’t wait to be 6 years old. I think her observations of Michael indicate the big ‘6’ is a breakthrough year. A real milestone. I’m smiling, but I also realize the difference between 4 and 6 is a 50% increase in lifespan. That’s nothing to sneeze at. It’s the same, by that measure, as the difference between 20 and 30. Would you like me to tell you about that?! And the ripe age of 6 really did mean big things for Michael; he started 1st grade, learned to read (even ‘chapter books’!), and is at school for a full day now (Meggie misses him in the afternoons). Michael also played on a T-ball team (Meggie loves to play ball too), went to Minnesota by himself for several days with Gramma and Papa, and possibly has other unique privileges or status I just can’t perceive or understand, even when I try to think like a 4-year-old. You bet, easy for me. But whatever the hierarchy or progression – or giant chasm! – that separates a 4- and 6-year-old, Meggie is feeling the gravity of it; she wants badly to cross, to leap! She says, “I want to be 6.” I know, Sweetheart, I want to be 25. When does it change, anyway; when do we go from wanting more years to wanting less?
Monday, April 12, 2010
Dad Entry #62
Recently, in a cookies induced euphoria, Megan announced, “I don’t like to be naughty anymore. I like to follow your guys’s rules.” Excellent. Meggie’s not really that naughty, but I assured her I support the new policy.
Sara mentioned Megan’s inquiry about ‘buggers’. That was the cutest part. Not boogers. Buggers. She consulted Mommy before approaching me. So she wasn’t asking anymore; she was teaching. It seems kids go fast from ‘asking’ to ‘knowing’, from unaware to expert; and then they teach. They share. Especially important stuff like the origin of buggers. ”Daddy, did you know that God put a machine in your nose that makes buggers? It has the special power to make buggers and drop them down your nose.” Sara rightly told her that our bodies make them, but Meggie wanted a more spectacular answer, one with direct divine involvement. I love that about her, she likes to reference God when discussing how things are created. Even buggers.
Megan is pretty tech savvy for a 4-year-old. She puts puzzles together and plays games on my Motorola / Google phone (did I just make a plug for my company?), which requires finesse with the touch screen and menus. She can navigate back to a game if she hits a wrong key. This is good, as I don’t want her calling, texting or emailing gibberish to a high level manager at work.
"Daddy, look at me!" These are fun words from Megan, followed by some goofy or inventive display, acrobatics or contortions or some breathtaking adornment of princess jewels around her neck, wrists and head.
I love it when the kids talk about Christmas in February. And not the one that just happened. Michael started his 2010 list. And he’s a good writer. It’s a detailed list. I guess there’s no harm in documenting your favorite toys in March; the list can be edited in December. Megan tells me she'd write a list but, as she very deliberately explains, “I’m only 4 and don’t how to write yet, but when I’m 6 like Michael I’ll know how to write, so I’ll write a list then, but right now I’m only 4, so I can’t write one.” I know, Sweetheart, some day you’ll be a terrific writer, just like Michael. For now, we help Megan, but she can write letters, so really we only have to spell for her. As for other holidays, we talk about Halloween in March, too. Only days ago Michael said he’s going to be Harry Potter this year and Megan plans to be Ahsoka from Star Wars. Woo-hoo! And Megan talks about her birthday – only 6 months away – almost daily now, albeit as a threat to anyone she takes issue with. She’ll say, “Daddy, can I play Bubble Burst on your phone?” And when I say no because it’s bedtime, she frowns and says, “If you don’t let me play, then you can’t come to my birthday party.” Then I tell her, “Oh, darn, I was going to bring you the biggest, greatest present in the whole wide world, but if I’m not invited….” So Megan withdraws her threat. Until the next day when she uses it on me again for telling her she has to wear something warmer because it’s chilly outside.
Sara mentioned Megan’s inquiry about ‘buggers’. That was the cutest part. Not boogers. Buggers. She consulted Mommy before approaching me. So she wasn’t asking anymore; she was teaching. It seems kids go fast from ‘asking’ to ‘knowing’, from unaware to expert; and then they teach. They share. Especially important stuff like the origin of buggers. ”Daddy, did you know that God put a machine in your nose that makes buggers? It has the special power to make buggers and drop them down your nose.” Sara rightly told her that our bodies make them, but Meggie wanted a more spectacular answer, one with direct divine involvement. I love that about her, she likes to reference God when discussing how things are created. Even buggers.
Megan is pretty tech savvy for a 4-year-old. She puts puzzles together and plays games on my Motorola / Google phone (did I just make a plug for my company?), which requires finesse with the touch screen and menus. She can navigate back to a game if she hits a wrong key. This is good, as I don’t want her calling, texting or emailing gibberish to a high level manager at work.
"Daddy, look at me!" These are fun words from Megan, followed by some goofy or inventive display, acrobatics or contortions or some breathtaking adornment of princess jewels around her neck, wrists and head.
I love it when the kids talk about Christmas in February. And not the one that just happened. Michael started his 2010 list. And he’s a good writer. It’s a detailed list. I guess there’s no harm in documenting your favorite toys in March; the list can be edited in December. Megan tells me she'd write a list but, as she very deliberately explains, “I’m only 4 and don’t how to write yet, but when I’m 6 like Michael I’ll know how to write, so I’ll write a list then, but right now I’m only 4, so I can’t write one.” I know, Sweetheart, some day you’ll be a terrific writer, just like Michael. For now, we help Megan, but she can write letters, so really we only have to spell for her. As for other holidays, we talk about Halloween in March, too. Only days ago Michael said he’s going to be Harry Potter this year and Megan plans to be Ahsoka from Star Wars. Woo-hoo! And Megan talks about her birthday – only 6 months away – almost daily now, albeit as a threat to anyone she takes issue with. She’ll say, “Daddy, can I play Bubble Burst on your phone?” And when I say no because it’s bedtime, she frowns and says, “If you don’t let me play, then you can’t come to my birthday party.” Then I tell her, “Oh, darn, I was going to bring you the biggest, greatest present in the whole wide world, but if I’m not invited….” So Megan withdraws her threat. Until the next day when she uses it on me again for telling her she has to wear something warmer because it’s chilly outside.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Reptile Fest
Whoever thought I'd be down with this? They loved it. That yellow one? An enormous albino burmese reticulated python. Why not?!
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Two Zoo Kids
Taking Megan to the zoo is the best. Well, taking BOTH kids to the zoo is the best. Taking Meg HOME from the zoo is another best. In the car, she nearly always passes out (this child is not a sleeper, either), defining gravity and defying skeleton-ity. It's so funny. I will try to scrounge up one that I have gotten with my phone cam while driving 65 mph. Here she is after I lugged her in and tossed her on a couch.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Location: Megan's bed
Situation: Snuggly, cozy bedtime, just before sleep.
Megan: Mommy? Where in my body do I keep buggers?
Me: Um...do you mean boogers?
Megan: Yes, my buggers.
Me: Well, honey...you really don't have a place that you KEEP them. Your nose just MAKES them.
Quiet pondering.
Megan: So God couldn't figure out a place to keep them, so He made a machine to make them?
Me: Yes, Meg.
Situation: Snuggly, cozy bedtime, just before sleep.
Megan: Mommy? Where in my body do I keep buggers?
Me: Um...do you mean boogers?
Megan: Yes, my buggers.
Me: Well, honey...you really don't have a place that you KEEP them. Your nose just MAKES them.
Quiet pondering.
Megan: So God couldn't figure out a place to keep them, so He made a machine to make them?
Me: Yes, Meg.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Bang Bang
I got a wild hair (get it?!) and for the first time, I cut bangs. On Megan. I will probably take her in to my stylist to help them out a little in the next day or two. Maybe she can teach me how to do it for next time.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Dad Entry #61
Megan’s hair is long; it makes her head seem big when it’s tousled a bit, with a little breakfast stuck in the ends somewhere, falling over narrow shoulders, long but not long enough to cover her skinny-mini body and her pancake-flat bottom. Her bottom is visible because too often she runs around in nothing but a cute pair of undies with cupcakes or mermaids on them. Cupcakes, mermaids, princesses. It's sad to think how someday soon her socks won’t have Tinkerbell on them, no bunnies on her jammies. She has a nightgown with Ariel on it. What will happen to Megan’s ‘footie pajamamas’?!?! Her painfully gaudy, over-accessorized princess get-ups? Some day her undies won’t have 'Cute Chic' printed on her butt. At least they better not!!! I suppose she won’t carry a handbag with Polly Pocket dolls in it to junior high school, or wear her 'My Dad Rocks!' shirt in that phase when it's not very cool to be seen with your parents. Speaking of handbags, Meggie loves to put things in purses, pouches, or any kind of container she can lug around all day. I’ve noticed this ‘purse habit’, if I can call it that – likely embedded instinctually in cavewomen gatherers a zillion years ago – is alive and well in my own 21st century offspring. My sweet Meg-Pie will even ask for and put things in an empty mayonnaise jar – if one is suddenly available and rinsed – and carry that around all day.
My friend John Malina and I were chatting; he has Abby, a darling little daughter like Megan. He said, yep, it won’t be long until they realize we aren’t quite the rock stars they think we are. Right now we’re the Superman in their universe, all big and strong and smart, but they’ll notice soon that maybe we’re more like Clark Kent. No cape. Not made of steel. But my Godmother, Donna, reminded me last week how special it is to be the father of a daughter. Sadly, Donna sent out a note on the first anniversary of her father’s passing. She said some amazing things about 'the first man she ever loved, how much she misses him, the man who made her feel safe, who never insulted her, who was an island of calm and reassurance.' I thought it a tremendous reminder of the gift, the duty, the privilege. Thanks, Donna. Sorry, this is heavy stuff. I do wish I was faster than a speeding bullet. How useful for basketball and softball. Not so much for golf, though.
Lately, we’ve been playing what the kids call ‘Sidious’. This is in reference to the Star Wars character Darth Sidious. He is the baddest of the bad guys. So I am expected to fill that role, chasing the kids around, attacking them in mock light saber battles with spins and slashes while emitting full-on sound effects to the point where my mouth gets dry and I need water. When I am wounded, or drop my weapon, I grab my 'enemy' which allows me to snuggle one of them a little. I can also practice jujitsu holds and chokes on my severely outweighed opponent. No, I don’t hurt them. But the hard part is, in the process of our battling, I’m also expected to hoist the kids over my head. And drop them on the bed. Over and over again. They love it so won’t settle for less than 10 reps. Apiece. Michael’s heavy; it’s a workout. Cleans and presses. Even Meggie isn’t so easy to lift and twirl and flip around anymore. Or I have to throw them over a shoulder and carry them to the ‘Jedi dungeon’ under the stairs. Apparently it’s fun, this game called ‘Sidious’, because I say, “Come on Michael, lets just shoot some hoops now for awhile,” and he says. “No, I wanna be Kit Fisto next, and Meggie is Master Luminara,” – yes, I know who these Jedi characters are – and then Meggie says, “No, I wanna be Ahsoka,” who, of course, is Anakin Skywalker’s Padawan (aka apprentice), everybody knows that, and so this game called ‘Sidious’ begins again and I swear the kids could play forever and not get tired of it.
My friend John Malina and I were chatting; he has Abby, a darling little daughter like Megan. He said, yep, it won’t be long until they realize we aren’t quite the rock stars they think we are. Right now we’re the Superman in their universe, all big and strong and smart, but they’ll notice soon that maybe we’re more like Clark Kent. No cape. Not made of steel. But my Godmother, Donna, reminded me last week how special it is to be the father of a daughter. Sadly, Donna sent out a note on the first anniversary of her father’s passing. She said some amazing things about 'the first man she ever loved, how much she misses him, the man who made her feel safe, who never insulted her, who was an island of calm and reassurance.' I thought it a tremendous reminder of the gift, the duty, the privilege. Thanks, Donna. Sorry, this is heavy stuff. I do wish I was faster than a speeding bullet. How useful for basketball and softball. Not so much for golf, though.
Lately, we’ve been playing what the kids call ‘Sidious’. This is in reference to the Star Wars character Darth Sidious. He is the baddest of the bad guys. So I am expected to fill that role, chasing the kids around, attacking them in mock light saber battles with spins and slashes while emitting full-on sound effects to the point where my mouth gets dry and I need water. When I am wounded, or drop my weapon, I grab my 'enemy' which allows me to snuggle one of them a little. I can also practice jujitsu holds and chokes on my severely outweighed opponent. No, I don’t hurt them. But the hard part is, in the process of our battling, I’m also expected to hoist the kids over my head. And drop them on the bed. Over and over again. They love it so won’t settle for less than 10 reps. Apiece. Michael’s heavy; it’s a workout. Cleans and presses. Even Meggie isn’t so easy to lift and twirl and flip around anymore. Or I have to throw them over a shoulder and carry them to the ‘Jedi dungeon’ under the stairs. Apparently it’s fun, this game called ‘Sidious’, because I say, “Come on Michael, lets just shoot some hoops now for awhile,” and he says. “No, I wanna be Kit Fisto next, and Meggie is Master Luminara,” – yes, I know who these Jedi characters are – and then Meggie says, “No, I wanna be Ahsoka,” who, of course, is Anakin Skywalker’s Padawan (aka apprentice), everybody knows that, and so this game called ‘Sidious’ begins again and I swear the kids could play forever and not get tired of it.
Monday, March 08, 2010
Wingapo, Pocahantas
Feeding into one of Meggie's passions, Grammie made an Indian Princess Pocahantas dress-up outfit. Meg was smitten. Now she insists she needs a stuffed raccoon Meeko and a stuffed hummingbird Flit. I wonder if the real Pocahantas was this demanding.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Real Genius
In the car on the way home from the Chicago Auto Show with Aunt Gretchen, both kids were just beat. They were zoned out in the back and as I was getting on the highway, I said, "Don't you wish we could just snap our fingers and we'd be in our living room?"
No one really answered and a minute ticked by. Then Megan, still in a trance staring out the window, said, "Actually, mommy, if you snapped your fingers we'd be in the living room in the CAR."
Don't go messin' with Megan + logic.
No one really answered and a minute ticked by. Then Megan, still in a trance staring out the window, said, "Actually, mommy, if you snapped your fingers we'd be in the living room in the CAR."
Don't go messin' with Megan + logic.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Miscellaneous Quote
I just found a slip of paper in the pile on my desk:
Aug 4, 09
"I think I am starting to learn that I don't need to feel mad at her all the time. My heart is like so full of love for her right now."
Michael
Aug 4, 09
"I think I am starting to learn that I don't need to feel mad at her all the time. My heart is like so full of love for her right now."
Michael
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