Daddy-ism #562: The exact moment you relent to your daughter’s ceaseless pleas to paint your lips with bright pink lip gloss is also the same exact moment your preteen neighbor will ring the door bell to sell you a magazine.
Her: “Daaaaaaaad. Do I havta wash my hands?”
Me: “Yes. We always wash our hands after going to the potty.”
Her, exasperated: “But … I *had* my gloves on!”
Me, befuddled: “Wait. You were wearing those when you wiped?” Her, hopeful: “Yeah! So do I havta?”
Me: “Uh, yeah! And put those gloves in the laundry room on the way.”
Her, stomping away: “DAAAAADDD!!!!”
Somedays you are lucky enough to have a perfect moment. Lying on the couch with my daughter nestled in next to me, the sun beaming in through the window and the clouds unfolding overhead, enveloped in the warmth of her pink, bunny rabbit blanket, I found my perfect moment.
I had a moment today. It’s one of those specks in the sea of our lives that stand out, like a tiny island. It wasn’t monumental or life-changing. It simply … was.
Rebekah and I had walked up to the bus stop and sat down in a neighbor’s driveway, back against their minivan and in what shade it afforded. She instructed me in the proper way to sit “criss-cross applesauce,” or what we old fogies learned as “Indian-style.” Then she sat in my lap and we waited for the bus to come. Simply waited.
The weather was beautiful, there was a light breeze blowing. The blades of grass danced about and a tree nearby was resplendent in a pink spring gown of flowers. People drove past or waved from bicycles and Rebekah chattered away to me about this and that, kicked back in my lap and looked up at me leisurely. And I simply sat there, and held her, and tried to soak it all in.
“The birds are telling me I’m their mommy!”
Birdsong has been described a lot of ways, but I think I like my three-year-old’s the best.
Awoke to both kids curling up under the covers with me this morning. Who needs coffee, really? That was some bona fide sweetness there. Later in the afternoon, Bekah just curled up in my lap on the couch and we just snuggled. There’s this fantastic feeling for every parent to have their child just sit contentedly with them. It’s something amazing, like being lifted up by a thousand little kisses to the heart.
Tonight as I was putting her to bed, Bekah asked me to tell her “the Pig Story.” So I told her about the three little pigs. We all know it by heart, but to see it experienced as a child makes you appreciate the magnitude of how important they are. She hung on every word, worried if the pigs would get away. Each time the wolf huffed and puffed, she was wide eyed, hanging on every syllable. Magic. Just pure magic.
After Reed watched a documentary on coral reefs, I tucked him in. In the dark he asked me to tell him the best part of my day. I told him about waking up with them in the morning, about him being kind to his sister that day. But as I look back on it, I have to say: all of it.