February 2008
Megan is so sweet. If she drops something, she says, "Sowwy, Dad," and if I drop something, she says, "It's okay, Dad." She's in a sweet-spot of cuteness right now, just a few feet tall and putting sentences together in her adorable voice. Of course, sometimes she says, "Go away, Daddy" and that's not nice.
Michael doesn't like to have his toenails trimmed. Today, he said, "Trimming is ridiculous. Trimming is NOT part of this world!" We all cope in different ways.
The other day, Michael was drawing on his whiteboard and told me, "Daddy, I'm drawing Jupiter's moon. It has a lot of volcanoes on it." Interesting, I didn't know that. To date, around 700 species of dinosaurs have been named. I'm pretty sure Michael can spout facts about most of them, and pronounce them too, which is no small feat since many have names like Pachycephalasaurus, Deinonychus, Sinosauropteryx, and so on.
March 2008
The house is empty. No kids. The difference, of course, is striking. Less noise, fewer dishes, no diapers, no schedule, no bathes and bedtimes, no kid shows, no Lego-playing, we eat whenever we want, we come and go as we please. It's a freedom I can't believe I ever possessed before in this lifetime, before M 'n' m.
At the Sea Life Minnesota Aquarium at the Mall of America, Alissa – my sweet little niece, although she's bigger than Ellie, my other sweet little 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 omitted or substituted something more cheery at the end, because 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 was probably reacting to a dinosaur story-fact he was sharing with me. He asked, "What does 'intense' mean?" I told him, "Very serious." He said, "Well, what does 'serious' mean?" And so it goes. I love it. I'm happy he keeps asking; I'm happy he wants to learn, especially about words. I'd say words are pretty important. I love words. I love Michael.
I wish Michael didn't, like, become physically ill every time we make him share toys with Megan. When Michael was a toddler at the hospital with newly born Megan, and everyone was fawning over her, I'll never forget Michael asking us to 'put her away,' and then, when it was time to bring her home, politely asking if we could leave her at the hospital.
Today Megan wiped at her nose several times and declared, "I got da booga, Daddy, I got da booga!" She was excited, and I know the feeling; clear nasal passages are paramount to refreshing, deep breaths, and it's with similar pride, urgency, and disregard for propriety that I undertake to clear my own nasal passages. Of course, Megan didn't have a Kleenex. So her booger is probably a crispy critter stuck to our couch now.
April 2008
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, you can't.
Papa Mike, Josiah, Greg, and I went to a Cubs game. Michael wanted badly to join us, but a Cubs game with those three isn't as kid-friendly as it is beer-friendly, bar-friendly, and so on. There is no slowing down Papa Mike. Or Greg. Or Josiah. I like hanging out with Joe (aka Josiah); he's a former college football player and bouncer who can bench 500 lbs, also a former UFC fighter and training partner in the Miletich Camp. Did I mention that Joe is Megan's Godfather?
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