#272

Megan has asked for a puppy seventy-five million times. So far, no puppy, but my defenses weaken during hunting season. Also when Megan gets schmoopy-faced and pines for Tyrion, the family dog at Mom's house. I want Megan to whimper and yearn for Dad's house. I wonder what it feels like to be a sure-footed parent. Or at least one who doesn't worry about competing for a child's approval.

Michael is Megan's rock. It's sweet and it's strong, the bond. He's like her woobie (of "Mr. Mom" fame) except he isn't snugly. His presence comforts her. I've observed it for years and I'm grateful. With joint custody, Meggie needs a woobie, a rock, an awesome brother and she has one. He's perfect, except he doesn't hug her enough. Would it kill you to throw an arm around your sister once in a while? But perfection is dull. Megan loves him undyingly and he knows it; he knows he's deeply important to her. Even when she's dreadfully whiny and irritating, his retaliations are half-hearted. He's never mean. He's a rock, an anchor, a vital big brother.

Michael said, "There are tons of good police shows on TV now." Then he listed some, "Criminal Minds, Castle, Major Crimes, CSI, Law and Order." I said, "You ever heard of Hill Street Blues or Miami Vice or Starsky & Hutch?" He shook his head. "Pioneers," I said. "And Hawaii Five-0 is a remake." Then I walked away, smug, like I'd won an argument or something. I'm getting old and defensive about it apparently. Magnum, P.I. and Moonlighting were good too (before everything was good); I'll throw those in his face next time.

When my dad tells me not to worry about something, I believe him. Hopefully, I have this same calming influence on my son. Life knocks us around and it helps to have great cornermen.