Last night my wife, daughter and I had a nice simple Valentines night. I bought a good cheesecake from a local whoopteedoo restaurant (lines of people outside waiting to get in); complete with fresh whipped cream and strawberries. We made a heart shaped pizza and had slushies (read margarita for the adults). Simple without stress.
Around 1 am, my wife and daughter were sleeping in our room while I rustled around our kitchen cooking. Suddenly I heard the peal of my daughter's scream. I paused; listening for the sounds of my wife waking up. When my daughter continued to wail, I rushed to our room.
My wife had awoken and was on sitting in the middle of the bed cradling my daughter in her lap; warm crumpled blankets piled around them. My daughter was moaning as she was trying to talk and cry at the same time. She pointed at the pillows on the bed.
"It's there!" she cried, her eye wide with fright.
My daughter has been known to sleep walk and talk in her sleep. So my wife and I found ourselves watching my daughter closely to see if she was still asleep. I looked from my daughter to the pillows and back. She scrambled up higher onto my wife's lap as if to escape rising waters.
"What?" I said "what's wrong?"
"There!" she replied, pointing to the pillows.
I quickly flipped the top pillow. Seeing nothing there, I quickly flipped the pillow beneath; my imagination kicking in with images of huge fat spiders or the tail of a snake slithering off and under the bed.
Nothing but a rumpled pillow.
"There's nothing there honey." my wife said
My daughter's finger stabbed at the second pillow, "right there".
I looked closer at the pillow. Now my imagination expected wily bugs, dark writhing things with legs and antennae, zipping out of view again. I flipped the pillow quickly back over.
"THERE!" my daughter screamed, squirming up higher still.
God damned if I wasn't getting the heebee-geebees myself. I notice both my wife and I edging back.
Nothing, but wet drool marks.
"Right there", she emphasized, "it's a frog".
"A frog?"
...
I looked at my daughter again to see if she was awake. She was. She looked right at me. It was like one of those movies. You know the kind. The heroine is sitting in the living room of her apartment trying to tell the police that she's not crazy. While the cop's eyes might say "sure", their minds are thinking "where's the Valium". She's telling the cops how the man lying dead on her living room floor really did tell her he was part of an international plot to assassinate The Ambassador - just before she stabbed him with a handful of really sturdy fake flowers. The only part the cops seem to be buying are the several Gerber daisies and Babies Breath sticking up from the dead man's sprawled body.
...
"It was on my leg" she replied.
I had stopped looking at the pillow as my wife cuddled my daughter closer, rocking her gently and whispering reassuringly to her.
My daughter again looked at me with serious, frightened eyes; daring me not to believe her.
"He looked at me and said 'he-he-he'.", she added; sounding like a Jon Stewart impression of President Bush's snicker.
And so our pleasant valentine's night turned into a long vigil; my wife and I tag-teaming my daughter back to sleep. Valiantly she struggled against slumber. We took turns trying to soothe rattled nerves; describing what dreams are and how nightmares fit the picture.
"Dreams are like rewinding the VCR and watching what happened earlier in the day."
If my daughter had been 20, it might have made some sense. Given that she was only 4...most of it seemingly fell on deaf ears. My daughter would nod appreciatively as if accepting our sage advice. It was like we were telling her that that getting a shot from the doctor wouldn't hurt; even though through practical experience she knew better.
"I know that it was just a dream and not real. " She'd offer bravely; and then add "but I still want to sleep on the couch."
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Planting a life
Ok, so I sorta planned on only one post per day. Hell, often I can barely finish the one I start. I begin writing it and suddenly find myself obsessing over some sentence or idea. Before long, it's seveal hours, maybe even lunch time, and I've revised the damned thing twelve times and only have three sentences.So anyways, After this morning's wonderful hug, I found myself conversing withmyself (call it daydreaming, imaging, whatever...) about raising children. Often I become aware that I'm quickly plugging in some cliche' or used term for something. It's of epic proportions, or in a nutshell, etc, etc....that sort of thing; tired, used up ways for saying something.
The wonders
This morning, when I dropped off my daughter, something happened. It's something that parents will nod their head in understanding and non-parents will find out when they and if they become parents.
I brought my daughter over to her cubby, helped her get her coat off and with a peck on her head, sent her into her class; nothing unusual.
As I signed in at the sign in table
"Daddy, wait!"
My daughter shot from around the table with outstretched arms. She gave me a warm hug and then a quick kiss.
"Bye Daddy", she piped and was gone; back to her four foot something world.
That, as simple as it seems, is what so makes my day. It can turn a sour morning around. When I arrive home after work...tired, burnt out on the world...and suddenly this bright smiling child charges across the room and into my arms.
I would put forth that the love of a spouse, family member or close friend comes with emotional trials, expectations and issues. It's never pure, but mottled with as much potential and real conflict as it is nurturing. Yet the love from child to parent (and visa versa) is so pure, so full it's a tad intimidating. With the level of adoration comes a stunning obligation and accountability, in return.
It really tears at my soul when I hear about those who hurt their own children. I see my daughter and cannot believe how anyone could harm their own.
When my wife was pregnant, I learned much about how important a mother's bonding with their newborn was. It was this delicate mythical attainment; unexplainable to non-mothers and something every mother to be hoped for and feared they might not get.
The bonding between fathers and their children was often relegated to few sentences; maybe a paragraph. I got the impression of a male wolf or lion - some predator - who would sniff their newborn, maybe establish some dominant crap and then stalk off. Consequently I had no idea how powerful the bonding between my daughter and I could be.
I smiled as I drove to work.
I brought my daughter over to her cubby, helped her get her coat off and with a peck on her head, sent her into her class; nothing unusual.
As I signed in at the sign in table
"Daddy, wait!"
My daughter shot from around the table with outstretched arms. She gave me a warm hug and then a quick kiss.
"Bye Daddy", she piped and was gone; back to her four foot something world.
That, as simple as it seems, is what so makes my day. It can turn a sour morning around. When I arrive home after work...tired, burnt out on the world...and suddenly this bright smiling child charges across the room and into my arms.
I would put forth that the love of a spouse, family member or close friend comes with emotional trials, expectations and issues. It's never pure, but mottled with as much potential and real conflict as it is nurturing. Yet the love from child to parent (and visa versa) is so pure, so full it's a tad intimidating. With the level of adoration comes a stunning obligation and accountability, in return.
It really tears at my soul when I hear about those who hurt their own children. I see my daughter and cannot believe how anyone could harm their own.
When my wife was pregnant, I learned much about how important a mother's bonding with their newborn was. It was this delicate mythical attainment; unexplainable to non-mothers and something every mother to be hoped for and feared they might not get.
The bonding between fathers and their children was often relegated to few sentences; maybe a paragraph. I got the impression of a male wolf or lion - some predator - who would sniff their newborn, maybe establish some dominant crap and then stalk off. Consequently I had no idea how powerful the bonding between my daughter and I could be.
I smiled as I drove to work.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
It pays to take a breath...
Yesterday, as I dropped my daughter off at her daycare; a father with his son in his arms stopped me as I stood by the sign-in table by the daycare's front doors.
"Do you own a Honda?" he said alarmingly
My mind flashed to my car out in the parking lot, flames licking out the windows as thick black smoke swirled in the wind.
"I do!" I replied without thinking.
Pulling out a set of car keys by the black plastic remote, he held them towards me, "I found these by the door, I think their yours."
"Oh thanks!" I said taking the keys.
We smiled at each other as he turned away with his son.
"Oops. These aren't mine" I blurted, finding the familiar lump of my car keys in my front pants pocket.
"Oh." He paused.
His son looked at us like we were nuts, then looked at his friends playing. I could almost hear him mumbling hurry up.
"I'll give it to the office" I offered.
Later, as I left for my car, I suddenly realized...I don't own a Honda.
"Do you own a Honda?" he said alarmingly
My mind flashed to my car out in the parking lot, flames licking out the windows as thick black smoke swirled in the wind.
"I do!" I replied without thinking.
Pulling out a set of car keys by the black plastic remote, he held them towards me, "I found these by the door, I think their yours."
"Oh thanks!" I said taking the keys.
We smiled at each other as he turned away with his son.
"Oops. These aren't mine" I blurted, finding the familiar lump of my car keys in my front pants pocket.
"Oh." He paused.
His son looked at us like we were nuts, then looked at his friends playing. I could almost hear him mumbling hurry up.
"I'll give it to the office" I offered.
Later, as I left for my car, I suddenly realized...I don't own a Honda.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Thursday, February 02, 2006
This morning, as I drove my daughter to daycare, I noticed an odd looking license plate on the car in front. As we stopped at a light, the license became clear. It had the background of an American Flag overlayed with a stylized bald Eagle. The words "support our troops" was on the bottom in white. It seemed sort of odd to me. I found myself imagining a conversation as to why they would get such a license plate and find myself struglling against making assumptions. It seems that when I find someone who is supporting enough to buy a license plate; they end up being on the conservative isle...
I feel that the term "support our troops" is a loaded phrase now. To some, it simply means that they are showing their support for the men and women who volunteered to go fight. For others it seems to also hold support for the current administration and their policies. It's almost as if it should really say "I support our president".
So when I see this licenese, I find myself looking at the car and the driver; trying to ascertain what sort of person they might be. I would expect them to be driving some big SUV, or some shiny big truck that will never see mud. the driver would be predominantly white and suburbanite.
I feel that the term "support our troops" is a loaded phrase now. To some, it simply means that they are showing their support for the men and women who volunteered to go fight. For others it seems to also hold support for the current administration and their policies. It's almost as if it should really say "I support our president".
So when I see this licenese, I find myself looking at the car and the driver; trying to ascertain what sort of person they might be. I would expect them to be driving some big SUV, or some shiny big truck that will never see mud. the driver would be predominantly white and suburbanite.
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