August 2008
Megan is a pacifier connoisseur. She's selective about color (pink), brand (Avent), type (multi-piece), airflow (yes), texture (smooth; there's a brushed finish she bitterly rejects) and quality/durability; yesterday, she took a 'paci,' grimaced, and said, "It has a crack." She was right; I found a tiny puncture in the silicone. These details can ruin an otherwise satisfying experience. I can't help but think of the preferences and routines of smokers. Camels, menthols, after a meal, with a drink. Megan only gets her paci at nap and bedtime now. And she handles it with impressive dexterity, just like a seasoned smoker who can light a cigarette in a windstorm. Kicking the habit won't be easy.
September 2008
Megan's hair is finally long. It's soft and beautiful. I love it. I love her. But she needs a haircut. It's constantly in her face, and then in the caramel she dips her apples in, the glue she uses for art, her oatmeal, toothpaste, syrup, stickers, yogurt, and so on.
On labor day, Papa Mike, Uncle Scott, and I played nine holes with Alissa and Michael. Alissa is impossibly cute and a good little ball-striker. Michael didn't hit many shots but he drove the golf cart for me and Papa. He sat in between us and did his best, despite short legs, to put the "pedal to the medal." At one point, Michael raced down a hill and turned. Papa Mike and I both white-knuckled our respective side rails and screamed "STOP!" Michael, startled, took his foot off the gas, which likely saved the cart, and the three of us, from flipping and barrel-rolling down the hill.
Darth Michael is strong with the Force. He has a lightsaber (a plastic telescoping one from Target) and his skills are prodigious for a young Jedi. I act as a training partner (with my skinny, yellow wiffle ball bat) and have the welts on my forearms and knuckles to prove it. Michael's aggressive attacks aren't easy to deflect. Thankfully, Jedi Knights adhere to a code, with tenets like 'never whack your little sister' and 'don't wallop your dad when he's not looking.' Megan wants to play too. She will pick up anything that resembles a lightsaber and swing it and talk about Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker and 'The Yoda.'
Megan is starting to use the 'big potty.' I have mixed feelings about this. A potty-trained Megan is too grown-up!
Whenever Megan sees any teams playing baseball, or football, or any sport on TV, she says, "Look, Daddy, the Cubs!" I have mixed feelings about this, too. I want the best for Megan and 100 years of futility isn't the best. But Wrigley is the best, and Chicago is the best. I guess we love our lovable losers. They've actually won their division two years in a row. But nobody disappoints like the Cubs; they've also been swept in the playoffs two years in a row.
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