So, here’s what’s been going on since I last posted. In April, Clare’s Mom, Clare and I visited Disney World. This was Clare’s eighth visit. Do you think we go too often?

In May, Clare performed in her school’s production of Alice in Wonderland. She was a singing, dancing flower. Also in May, Clare took her final ballet class. Next year, her ballet school would require her to take class at least three hours each week—and she’s decided that she’s not that dedicated to ballet. I just can’t believe that she’ll be nine years old this year. Where has the time gone?

Clare—having taken to directing lately (her Barbie in Beauty and the Beast was extraordinary)—may be changing that. I found this scene set up this morning.

Clare wouldn’t confirm that this was The Last Supper, but c’mon. Thirteen at a skateboard table set up just after Holy Thursday? What else could it be.

What I’m not sure of is who’s playing who. Having seen this company’s work though, I’m confident any of them could play any role. What I’m also not sure of is whether the Vatican will approve of this mostly female retelling of the Gospel. (The Vatican has bigger things to think about anyway.)

So, by next Easter, there may be a new Barbie movie for the baskets. Check the director’s credit and you may be able to say you heard it here first.

Have a happy Easter, a happy Passover, and a great weekend, everyone!

I’ve already blogged about why I’m become such a bad blogger—at least a couple of times. There’s no need to go over that again. (Okay, the short version is more work, plus there’s less to share when your kid is eight as opposed to three or four.) I’ve realized in the past few weeks though that there’s something else taking up my time.

We’re overextended.

And by we, I think I mean Clare. I never expected to be a parent who would encourage (or even allow) a child to be involved in too many activities. I understand and promote the benefit of playing, hanging out and watching TV, or even doing nothing and being bored. But, somehow over the past school year, Clare has become involved in Brownies, ballet, drama classes where I work, a school play, choir, and student council. She has a schedule that’s almost busier than mine—some weeks she has only one day with nothing scheduled.

For now, Clare (and Clare’s Mom and I) are committed to finishing what Clare started. So, through May at least, I’ll continue to be chauffeur four, five, or sometimes six days a week. Next school year, this madness has to stop. Kids need time to be bored—and I need time to blog about all that Clare’s doing.

This post isn’t really going anywhere important. I’m curious though. Have any of you done or allowed things as parents that you never thought you would?

Could it be that technically this isn’t the end of a decade. Ten years ago, journalists reminded us that the new millennium didn’t start until the end of 2000 because there was no year zero. Purists still insist that 2009 isn’t the end of a decade. Technically, most of us don’t care. The year 2009 is the end of a decade.

Could it be that the decade has been so devastatingly bad that we’re in disbelief that it could finally be ending? After terrorist attacks, wars, natural disasters, and financial crises worse than any in generations, maybe we find it hard to believe that we could get a fresh start.

Or could it be that the past decade hasn’t really had a feel? I remember the end of the 70s, the 80s, and the 90s. Those decades each had unique fashions, styles, and fads. For me, those decades also pretty much corresponded, respectively, with my childhood, my high school and college years, and my twenties. This past decade has felt more fast-moving and more like anything and everything goes—but not for any significant length of time—which maybe was its feel. The decade really hasn’t even had a name. Ten years into it, has anyone really said the “naughts” or the “aughts” all that often?

The more I think about it though, the past decade has had a very specific feel. Yes, it was a terrible span of ten years for many people. But for the feel I’m talking about, I have to look closer—not at the fashions or fads, not at the world or the country, but at myself.

Ten years ago—on December 31, 1999—I was an attorney living in New York. Clare’s Mom and I—still relative newlyweds—spent the last night of the last millennium at Madison Square Garden where we had paid a ridiculous amount of money for two tickets to see Billy Joel. After midnight, we walked through the confetti-covered streets of Times Square. Today, I’m executive director of a children’s theater in Connecticut—a nonprofit where I’m earning far less than I did one decade ago. Clare’s Mom and I have been married eleven years. And of course, there’s Clare. That’s a lot of change in ten years.

So, for me, the past decade hasn’t been so much about what’s happened in the world as what’s happened in my own family. I’ve certainly never been Father of the Year—some years far from it—but overall I think I’ve been a pretty good dad. Clare, at least, gives me her seal of approval—and that’s all that really matters. For me, the past ten years have been the Decade of Being a Dad—and that’s a very good feel. (And, just think, if I make it through another decade Clare will be eighteen. We’ll call that the “Decade of Being Worried.”)

Have a safe, healthy and happy 2010, everyone!

A very happy holiday season and a wonderful 2010 are wished for all of you. Happy Holidays, blogmigos!

I was okay with six. I accepted seven. But on November 8 Clare will turn eight and it’s time for the madness to stop.

More and more each day, I see Clare turning into a smart, talented, conscientious young lady. She’s not the toddler who’d run and bounce around willy nilly and lose her shoes.   She’s not the Kindergartener who didn’t mind kisses at the bus stop. She’s not even the first or second grader who still needed—and accepted—help buttoning buttons or brushing her hair. And worse than that? In Clare’s opinion, being eight years old will make her a ‘tween.

I’m not sure if there’s an official definition of ‘tween, but I do know that I’m not ready to be the parent of one. Not even one who may be one or two years away from ‘tween.

I’m glad of course that Clare is becoming a smart, talented, conscientious young lady. But I also think about all of the troubles and decisions that ‘tweens and teens have to face. And what bothers me most about Clare’s age is that the end of her childhood is almost visible on the horizon now. Eight years have passed so quickly, and before I know it the goodnight kisses, bedtime stories, lullabies, games, and toys of her childhood will all be distant past.

I know that things won’t change overnight. Next week, we’ll still read and sing at night, and I’ll kiss her before she goes to sleep. We have a few years left of that I hope. But, knowing how quickly the last eight years have passed, the next few will be all too short. One day she’ll crawl into our bed for the last time. One night—maybe without even knowing it—we’ll read and sing together for the last time. Until then, every day from now on will somehow be even more special than the last eight years.

Happy birthday, Clare. I love you more than ever.

Happy Halloween, everyone!

Can I even call myself a blogger anymore? Is there some authoritative panel that gets to determine that? Maybe the FTC? Or maybe the Blogher bosses (even though they refused to list dad blogs when I first asked four years ago)? Or maybe I should just ask Whit? He seems to be connected with every blog on the internet.

It is kind of shameful that I’m barely getting one original post up each month. In the past year or so, I’ve made some excuses about why I’m not blogging much anymore. More work. Too busy. Clare’s older and should have more privacy. But I think that Dan over at All That Comes With It may have hit on an even greater reason this week. In Blogging for Fun and Profit, Dan laments that blogging—and mom and dad blogs in particular—have become too commercial. I’ve noticed the ads and reviews too, of course. (I’m actually in favor of the FTC regulations.) I’ve been paid for links and have done reviews for free products too, but not within the last year (not that anyone has even offered in the past six months). And I’ve listed this blog on promotional websites and social networks for like-minded parent bloggers to connect. Somehow though, I didn’t realized where that was headed. Somewhere between the first blog promotions and today, blogging became less about connecting with other bloggers and more about “what can blogging do for me?”

Dan pointed out that four years ago I was able to include  just about every dad blogger on my blogroll. After a year or so, it became impossible to keep up. I even deleted dad bloggers who no longer write or who have never commented or linked to me. With the explosion of bloggers, there are so many more who seem focused only on increasing the number of hits they get and trying to make a buck or just get attention. I miss the days when blogging was more about reaching out than trying to hook people in.

Don’t get me wrong. Some of the dad blogs I still follow have become more commercial. I have nothing against advertising or product reviews, but I don’t follow these bloggers because of that. If anything, I follow them despite that. I honestly respect the bloggers who have found a balance between personal writing and blog promotions. (I’d be surprised if many of them spend much time promoting their family blogs at all.) To those of you who do work hard to promote your family blogs, I have to ask: why are you blogging?

It’s a rhetorical question. You don’t have to tell me why you’re blogging. I’ve told you a few times though: I’m blogging as a record for Clare to highlight some things we’ve done, some things we’ve said, and what her world is like as she’s growing up. Keeping true to that purpose can be increasingly difficult in the new commercialism of blogging. But, like Dan, I’ll make the effort. There’s still a great community of dad and mom bloggers out there that I’m proud to be a part of. I won’t post daily, and maybe not even weekly, but I’ll make a renewed effort to be here.

When I started typing this post, I was just going to upload some pictures from a hike that Clare, Clare’s Mom and I took in a state park a few weeks ago. A walk in the woods. Walks like that are always good for getting back to basics and spending some time in thought. Maybe this post has been about a walk in the woods in a couple of ways.

This blog is nearly in retirement. Nearly, but not quite there yet. Even if it were over though, one thing I’d come out of retirement to do is help a fellow blogmigo. Kevin over at Always Home and Uncool has asked me to post this as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife’s birthday.

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter’s cheeks, joints and legs was something he’d never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn’t admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions — none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner — then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn’t know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter’s knee showed signs of an “allergic reaction” even though we had ruled out every allergy source — obvious and otherwise — that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift — a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago — Oct. 2, 2002 — the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter’s first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn’t tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don’t know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter’s condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.

After a ridculously short, cold and wet summer (despite three vacations since May), Clare headed back to school two weeks ago. Clare’s Mom and I thought about encouraging her to take a year off to find herself, but until she can get a job that’s not really a practical idea. Plus she needs third grade—she’d  be no use to us until she can multiply and spell a few more two-syllable words. (If you’re reading this, Clare, I hope you know I’m kidding…nobody really cares about spelling anymore.)

So here are the obligatory photos. And now we have only about 170 school days left until summer. Maybe I’ll post again next May.