We’ve been busy. I’m at a Starbucks in Beijing right now. That sounds a little self-important, but that’s my intent: to impress my audience. Maybe it's the adult versions of my subjects. I hope my kids are proud of their parents the way this kid’s proud of his. Working long hours and traveling isn't easy for anyone. But Sara and I get it done; my kids have shoes. I think. They grow out of ‘em so bloomin’ fast now.
First grade is not on Megan’s list of favorite things. Yesterday she said, “I don’t wanna go to school. We can only do what Mrs. Palm says. And she tells us what to do all day.” I thought, Oh Honey, you have 15 more years of this. But Meg’s adjusting. It’s a longer day now, plus an earlier one. The longer part was all I recognized at first, because I’m slow. (Meg was only in class from 12:50 to 3:20 last year, 2.5 hours.) But the earlier part is a change too, and girls – even little ones – get all fancy-pants about hairdos, outfits, accessories, shoes! Meg has to complete this checklist by 8:30 now! Even so, I hope her complaints peter out soon. I still laugh when I think of Michael’s first grumble about school: “Mrs. Kravitz is kind of bossy.”
Michael’s pretty awesome but he’s no paragon of spotlessness (to steal a phrase I just read in Sports Illustrated). Sharing is a difficult concept for him. Destined for Wall Street? There are worse places to work. I mean if ethical pitfalls are a concern. Washington DC, for example. To be honest, I suspect Michael shares generously with everyone except Megan. But I don’t have a shirt that says, “I love everyone.” My shirt says, “I love Megan.” So we have a problem. Both kids have a scarcity mindset sometimes. They hoard and guard things like stickers and pencils, things that just seem undeserving of so much protection and accumulation. Michael will bristle when Megan reaches for one of his markers. If he complains, I say, “Dude, can’t you share your markers with Megan?” He might very matter-of-factly answer, “No.” I say, “No? Are you joking? You have a thousand of them.” He doesn’t disagree. He says, “But Megan has her own markers.” And around we go. Although sometimes, since reasoning with a mind that’s very bright and logical – and wrong! – can be so arduous, not to mention fruitless, I just give Megan all of Michael’s markers for a while and that’s the end of it. Parenting is not a license for tyranny, or some lifelong imperious regime, but it’s no democracy either. I tend to forget this. I don’t have a gold and bejeweled throne to remind me. I only have a ceramic one. Two, actually. That need frequent cleaning. It all makes sense now.
The kids did so much this summer! There was constant swimming, biking, sport-playing, movie-watching, art-creating, and pillow-fort-building! There were birthday parties, parades, fireworks, and bonfires with marshmallows. There was ice cream! And lots of fishing, boating, festival-going, and traveling (to Prior Lake, Olathe, Iowa City, Omaha, Bettendorf, Clear Lake, Battle Creek, downtown Chicago, the Wisconsin Dells… to name a few).
Monday, September 24, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Summer's Out for the School Year!
We are mid-way through a successful first week of school, though both kids are beyond exhausted already – thinking is tough work! Megan had no growing pains starting first grade...no tears, she didn't bat an eye at eating lunch at school and her fear of gym has miraculously disappeared (as of one gym class). Michael is stressed because his two little friends-that-are-girls from last year seem to spend all their time whispering and not playing with him the same way. He was mortified when I suggested that they were probably whispering about how CUUUUTE he is. He said 'relationships are gross.' I agreed that they probably are when you are a 9 year old boy, but he might change his mind later. Or not, whatever suits him.
Wednesday, August 08, 2012
Dad Entry #136
Michael has a rash. It spread quickly at first, but has abated some (kind of like reality TV addiction). It's scary if you take a closer look (also like reality TV). The skin on Michael's face is nearly reptilian in texture. It's like the bumpy leather of a good football or basketball. Although, maybe I'm exaggerating; it's not that bad. But I'm happy tonight isn't prom or homecoming or his first date with a VERY lucky girl. Other than bouts of itchiness, he doesn't seem bothered. I suspect he'll feel differently in a few years. He'll be less accepting of reptile skin. On his face. Spreading like a Colorado wildfire. He'll need some assurance these things are no big deal. Or maybe I'll take a different tack; I'll say, "Let the game come to you, Kid. When a reptile rash pops up, embrace it. Wear it. Own it! It's the new thing. You make everybody want one, you understand?" Kidding.
We go to pet stores a lot. There's a type of little animal, I think they're hamsters, with - I'm just gonna come out and say it - enormous testicles. I don't know why they appear so overgrown and disproportionate. And I'm not going to look it up for you. You have guesses, and probably one of them is correct. Imagine the comedy on Q&A forums online following this inquiry. Anyway, we passed by these rodents at Petland last night and Megan pointed and said, "I don't like those. They look like they have huge boy bottoms." I agree. My sweetheart. In Megan's world, your private areas are your bottoms, and if more specificity is required, the terms 'front bottom' and 'back bottom' can be used to differentiate. Also the terms 'boy bottom' and 'girl bottom' apparently. I think we covered this in Dad Entry #52 or something, but it was time for a refresher.
We go to pet stores a lot. There's a type of little animal, I think they're hamsters, with - I'm just gonna come out and say it - enormous testicles. I don't know why they appear so overgrown and disproportionate. And I'm not going to look it up for you. You have guesses, and probably one of them is correct. Imagine the comedy on Q&A forums online following this inquiry. Anyway, we passed by these rodents at Petland last night and Megan pointed and said, "I don't like those. They look like they have huge boy bottoms." I agree. My sweetheart. In Megan's world, your private areas are your bottoms, and if more specificity is required, the terms 'front bottom' and 'back bottom' can be used to differentiate. Also the terms 'boy bottom' and 'girl bottom' apparently. I think we covered this in Dad Entry #52 or something, but it was time for a refresher.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Dad Entry #135
You know, there is tremendous inertia around writing about my kids. When it's time for a new entry, when it's been a while since I scribbled anything about them, I struggle to get started. And then... I can't stop (trying to write the best I can for them). They are such fascinating creatures. Of course, so are the rest of us. Ideally we keep things simple, but to be human is complex, it's multi-layered, multi-dimensional, it's big and thorny, but with roses too, and interactive; yes, life is social (whether we like it or not, we are intertwined). So I think we should choose openness and depth over simplicity sometimes, depending on how much we want to peel the onion. My kids don't like onions. But I suspect they might down the road, when eating a bratwurst, for example, or Mongolian beef (I'm pretty sure Heng Wing restaurant in Palatine puts narcotics in their Mongolian beef). The kids and I ate onion rings over the weekend, although if Meg-Pie had her way she'd only eat the batter.
Megan asked me, "Have you ever been jealous of anyone?" I said, "Yes, Honey, I know exactly what that feels like. Who are you jealous of?" Megan answered, "Alissa." When I asked why - thinking we might plunge into a piercing and powerful discussion, one about self-esteem, for example - Meg said, "Because she has an American Girl doll suitcase and I don't have one." Oh. Okay. So maybe I'm over-anxious for that depth and complexity I mentioned above.
The other day, Michael mused, "I don't know how adult palates adjust to beer and coffee." I'm accustomed to impressive comprehension and eloquent phrasing from Michael, his adult-like attempts to use not-simple words. He has a nice vocabulary. But this comment just seemed especially... Michael-like. He is nine years old now. I don't think I employed the word 'palate' in conversation until my third decade, nor did I conceive of how a palate is something that 'adjusts' to given objects of consumption, objects like whiskey, a pleasing beverage to certain loved ones, but something I just can't enjoy like I do beer and coffee. It doesn't matter if it's Scotch, Irish, or Canadian whiskey. Michael would describe my palate as obstinate, intransigent, or intractable when it comes to embracing Johnnie Walker, Jameson, or Canadian Club. I love Michael. He's smart.
Megan will be in first grade soon. This means she'll eat lunch at school. Woo-hoo! Yes, apparently she's excited, and she shared one reason for this the other day, "Next year I'll get to see Michael at school lunch!" My first thought was: he better not ignore you, Megan, or be dismissive or aloof or anything other than perfectly awesome to you... or I'm gonna be pissed. Megan adores Michael. And I love her for it. I love her for a zillion other reasons, or in a zillion other ways, or with a zillion times a zillion units of force or volume or whatever the best metric. But you gotta start somewhere, and now if I list all the reasons I love Megan, I only have a zillion minus one to go.
Megan asked me, "Have you ever been jealous of anyone?" I said, "Yes, Honey, I know exactly what that feels like. Who are you jealous of?" Megan answered, "Alissa." When I asked why - thinking we might plunge into a piercing and powerful discussion, one about self-esteem, for example - Meg said, "Because she has an American Girl doll suitcase and I don't have one." Oh. Okay. So maybe I'm over-anxious for that depth and complexity I mentioned above.
The other day, Michael mused, "I don't know how adult palates adjust to beer and coffee." I'm accustomed to impressive comprehension and eloquent phrasing from Michael, his adult-like attempts to use not-simple words. He has a nice vocabulary. But this comment just seemed especially... Michael-like. He is nine years old now. I don't think I employed the word 'palate' in conversation until my third decade, nor did I conceive of how a palate is something that 'adjusts' to given objects of consumption, objects like whiskey, a pleasing beverage to certain loved ones, but something I just can't enjoy like I do beer and coffee. It doesn't matter if it's Scotch, Irish, or Canadian whiskey. Michael would describe my palate as obstinate, intransigent, or intractable when it comes to embracing Johnnie Walker, Jameson, or Canadian Club. I love Michael. He's smart.
Megan will be in first grade soon. This means she'll eat lunch at school. Woo-hoo! Yes, apparently she's excited, and she shared one reason for this the other day, "Next year I'll get to see Michael at school lunch!" My first thought was: he better not ignore you, Megan, or be dismissive or aloof or anything other than perfectly awesome to you... or I'm gonna be pissed. Megan adores Michael. And I love her for it. I love her for a zillion other reasons, or in a zillion other ways, or with a zillion times a zillion units of force or volume or whatever the best metric. But you gotta start somewhere, and now if I list all the reasons I love Megan, I only have a zillion minus one to go.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Tuesday, July 03, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 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.
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.
Friday, June 15, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, June 11, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 05, 2012
Saturday, June 02, 2012
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.
• 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.
Friday, May 25, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, May 05, 2012
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:
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:
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