Dad Entry #200

Megan is so tall and skinny she's like a giraffe. She seems so, at least, around other eight-year-olds. Meg's bestie Izzi is also very tall. I play softball with Izzi's dad, a big fella who can crush the ball. We hope our twin-tower daughters are the next Misty May and Kerri Walsh (perennial beach volleyball champs), but with different uniforms. The Brazilian teams, for crying out loud, wear thongs. I mean I've never noticed myself, I've only heard about it. That's not why I watch beach volleyball. Seriously. Should I stop digging? Anyway, for sure I think big mesh jerseys over long baggy shorts would be perfect for Megan and Izzi, when they're in the Olympic gold medal match on worldwide TV.

Yesterday, a lemon seed in my iced tea reminded me of a fearful thought I had as a kid: If I swallow this seed, will a tree grow in my stomach? I wonder what youthful, fearful, fascinating thoughts M 'n' m are having. Do they think about aliens, ghosts, or genies? Stuff in the attic? Superpowers? Talking animals? Time machines? I remember at my Grandma's house in Clemons, Iowa, I encountered a piece of candy called a 'Dinosaur Egg.' I was younger than Megan - and not very bright even then, apparently - because, yes, I was suddenly curious and excited and a little bit afraid, and certainly not because I thought the 'Dinosaur Egg' was a confection.

So 200 times now I've put pen to paper, or fingers to keys actually, and scribbled, even if poorly, bits and thoughts about my kids and how much I love them, although the latter is sort of indescribably enormous, especially in mediocre prose. I know my writing here is like my parenting, which is imperfect, sometimes barely so and other times egregiously, but certainly not without effort and fulfillment. It would be nice if someone appreciates all this rambling nonsense down the road. Maybe if M 'n' m have their own offspring? Holy shit, am I talking about grandkids already? Strike that. Withdrawn. :)