Right now I am remembering the days when our babies were small enough to stand on our laps and play. When they tried to balance on wobbly legs as they reached out to touch our faces…. maybe pinch a cheek or grab the nose. When they were all drool and wide eyes soaking up the world behind angelic faces and mops of hair. Right now the little girl is back to her bottle, and mom is probably thinking she is looking forward to getting her off of that thing one day. And she probably means it. Right now.

Right now the baby has a grasp on mommy’s wrist with one hand, and mommy’s thumb with the other. She is enjoying the bottle and drifting off to sleep. Off to dream baby dreams and enjoy her place on mommy’s lap, where she fits so comfortably. Right now. And I miss my boys. And I remember watching Kendra hold them for the first time. And I remember Logan calling me “dad” for the first time. And I remember knowing my life had changed so much for the better. I am so proud of all our sons and their development in life so far. I just sometimes wish I could go back and hold on to those moments… hold on to them… instead of just holding on to memories…. like right now.

Right now Logan is almost done with his first day of high school. Jaden and Dillon are now second-graders. Right now this mom is several years away from having to deal with saying those good-byes. Right now she won’t have to worry about planning the right things to say, but somehow getting caught up in the rush of a morning and not quite getting the right words out in just the right way. She won’t have to worry if they all went off into their new environments armed with the message she hoped to deliver….not right now.

Right now the little girl has fought off sleep. She is rubbing her eyes and picking at a new wafer. Mom is yawning. Right now she’d probably like them both to get some rest. But right now she is enjoying her daughter. Maybe she realizes how quickly all this will pass. Maybe she understands how much she will appreciate this moment some day. Maybe she realizes she is sitting among other parents who would give anything to hold their babies in their laps again… or have their children with them on this flight. Right now.

Baby has droopy eyes. Sleep will have its victory soon. But she is managing to smile through it right now. Logan and Jaden and Dillon are off facing new challenges and learning to handle their new experiences. They are focused on the events of their days. But as they go, whether they realize it or not, they remain in my and Kendra’s hearts and minds. Not only today, but every day…. and especially right now.

Thanks for coming along for the ride….

Kiss your kids

She managed to relay the details of the drop off: the tears, the screams, the clutching on. The mournful wails that could be heard from within the house as she forced herself out the door hurry the boys off to school. I could picture his little outstretched arms and his bottom lip in fully pouted curl with his face streaked with tears. But I knew it wouldn’t last (or at least I really, really hoped it wouldn’t) and I attempted to console Kendra and committed to calling the house to check on him and provide a swift update. She drove on with the boys toward school… somehow weaving her grief into some type of rationalized contempt for me for having suggested or agreed to dropping Ethan off in the first place (As a man, I don’t try to understand these things, I just learn to recognize the warning signs).

I waited about 5 minutes to place the call. I needed her to be far enough down the road that she wouldn’t turn around if he was still crying (I hoped) and long enough for E to settle down and allow the Papa magic to take effect. The minutes crept past. I could feel my future growing more dim with each passing moment…her hatred was building…I was growing weak. I hit the speaker button. My eyes grew heavy and tight as I punched the telephone numbers. My head was cloudy. Did I dial correctly? How could I be sure? The phone rang. It sounded distant. I knew if I heard crying on the other end of the line, that morning may well have been my last. Ringing…ringing. “Hello?”

Silence in the background! Grim death released me from its tightening vice. “Hey dad”, I was able to respond as the strength quickly returned to my voice. “Everything Ok?” I asked. “He’s fine. We are doing fine. He’s just sitting up here hanging out with me. We’re about to go play soccer in the backyard.” Well played Papa… Ethan can hardly resist when the sports card gets pulled. So began their day. They kicked the soccer ball, explored the house, had some snacks, and watched a little TV. They had always been buddies, but this experience was giving them a chance to bond on an individual level and in a new setting. I texted Kendra the news. All was well, and she was able to focus and enjoy her time in the classroom. When I came home from work, I asked Ethan if he had a fun day. His response: “Papa”. “What did you do with Papa?” He jumped down and thrust his leg forward, “Kick!”

The following Tuesday saw a similar series of events. The initial meltdown was drastically less severe, and the sensations of panic and imminent doom decreased substantially. Ethan went through the motions, but was soon playing and into his routine. The next week included only a pouty face that never produced a tear or a wail. The week after that, nothing; and nothing since. He just settles in and takes command, directing my parents from room to room and playing games.  When it is time to go outside, he runs after Papa, “Ball! Ball!”, then runs to the door. Sometimes he let’s Nana play, but most days she gets to watch. When it is time to relax, Papa joins him on the patio swing. Nana is always welcome to sit on the other furniture. Sometimes she gets to swing too; but Papa goes first. At lunch, he selects three pictures (I’m told it’s always the same three) to join him at the kitchen island: a wedding picture of Kendra and me; a wedding picture of Kendra and our niece; and a picture of him and Papa.

I never had a routine like this. I didn’t know either of my grandfathers. I did get to spend a little time with my grandma’s husband, Daddy Walter when we traveled out to visit them a couple times. He was always so tired from working. He would sit in his chair in his big blue overalls and fall asleep. He’d alternate between snoring loudly and grinding his teeth. So much so that he would wake himself up sometimes. He didn’t say much, but every word I remember him saying to me was kind. I’d sit and watch him and think about how hard his life was and imagine the horrible things he probably had to endure every day. He had big coarse hands. I always thought they looked like they could smash bricks. When he’d pat me on the head, his palms would be soft and heavy. It was like anvils with pillows lowering down. When he died, I felt like I missed out on a lot that I could have learned from him.

I have no association for the emotions that are tied up in these Tuesday morning sessions. It’s like I am outside looking in on them when I hear about their day or when I see Ethan light up when he looks at Papa’s picture on our wall. But I don’t feel left out or cheated. I just feel amazed. I never knew the magic in that kind of a relationship first hand, but now we have a day for it. I am appreciative for the opportunity we have for our kids to interact with their grandparents and for my dad to be able to enjoy playing with his grandkids.  Eventually, the routine will change, but for now Ethan begins to look forward to Tuesdays like he looks forward to hunting the moon every night (and I do mean EVERY night). When I wonder what these Tuesdays will mean to him when he is older and thinks back on his relationship with Papa, I think about him eating lunch with his three pictures by his side. He brings them all to the table, but there’s only one that he picks up to kiss.

Thanks for coming along for the ride…

Kendra unloaded the boys and their Day 1 supplies as I unfolded the stroller and strapped Ethan in for the ride. It was not quite 8:15, but the heat was noticeable, and it was being compounded by the humidity from the previous night’s thunderstorms. I smiled pleasantly at the parade of vehicles that passed, trying not too look too pleased with myself for finding a parking space close to the crosswalk at the entrance to the school. After all, it was a stressful day for parents, and I didn’t need to come back to slashed tires or anything like that. We made our way past the backs of parents pressed closely to the fences of the Kindergarten Corral over to the grade-school playground, and as we turned the corner I felt as though I’d suddenly found ourselves on Main Street in Disneyland. The crowd was unbelievable. Jaden, who had to this point exhibited no sign of concern or apprehension, paused in his tracks and allowed his jaw to drop slightly in amazement before snapping to and beginning to fight his way through the masses over to the designated waiting area.

We struggled upstream like determined salmon and the heat began to become an active player in the growing chaos. Grandma attempted to capture the occasion through photography, but the heavy backpacks and mounting heat rendered the boys unwilling to stand and pose for very long. We finally made our way to the teacher and their classmates, and the boys happily set down their burdens. Jaden ran off to the swings to try to generate a breeze to cool himself down, and Dillon… where is Dillon?

The next 3-5 minutes (felt like 30 – 50) provided a decades worth of terror. The heat (now registering just north of 98 degrees plus the humidity at 8:30 am – you read that correctly), combined with the swarming crowd was having a dizzying effect on me. Sweat was beading down my forehead and into my eyes… I couldn’t focus on faces… Kendra and I were searching the crowd for faces, for clothing, hair, anything that would point him out for us. I circled the area while Kendra wove through the lines. There was no use calling out for him… the noise level was immense. Suddenly the bell. All the kids froze, and the noisy roar was immediately reduced to murmured conversations. I walked slowly trying to take advantage of the motionless herd…my mind racing with images of the press conference where we are flashing photos of Dillon and I am screaming threats into the cameras at whomever stole my son…my heart was racing and the heat was very intense… I could hardly breathe… Kendra and I exchanged glances…nothing…she was calm… she knew he had likely just wandered off to explore… I was approaching a meltdown…the second bell. Now all the children hurried into lines. The smaller children took cues from the older kids and sought out teachers waving signs with the teacher’s last name and class written on it… they lined up single file… the parents began to separate from the students… my vantage point improved…still no Dillon. I was about to be in full panic at this point…I searched the area for the principal to alert her of the situation… then casually from the far end of the playground strolled Dillon. I resisted the urge to sprint to him and ask if he was ok and find out what happened, where he had been… I walked toward him and he toward me…”I can’t find my backpack”. “Oh…it’s over here buddy”. He was unaffected… I had to let go of my hysteria so he wouldn’t be alarmed. I took him by the hand over to his classmates. He eagerly strapped his backpack on and soldiered along with his group toward the flagpole for the morning pledge.

The school put together what would have been a beautiful harmony concert of God Bless America as part of the morning activities… had it been performed indoors under the air conditioning of the cafeteria or even outdoors in a sub 90 degree morning, I think it would have been more widely appreciated. As it was, the children waited patiently through all the pomp and circumstance… sweaty little pink faces stared blankly as they marched obediently from place to place. Sweat dripped down tiny faces; new sundresses and polo shirts were soaked with kiddy sweat and wrinkled and gathered from restless hands clutching at collars for relief from the heat. Little hairdos fell flat, and pigtails and ponytails began to unravel. Moms and dads escorted our little ones down the hallways and into the classrooms. The AC provided little relief for those brief moments in the building. Kendra maintained her composure admirably as she bid farewell to her little men… her daily companions for all but a couple months of their six years of life. I was proud of her bravery (even if she was the last parent to leave the room). I stood in the hallway with Ethan in his stroller, both of us trying to recover, and I exchanged shrugs and curses of the heat with the other exiting parents. I looked in and saw Jaden look down at a piece of paper that had been handed out to the class. He smiled and looked over to his classmate and said, “1st grade is going to be easy!”

Kendra left the room with a sad smile on her face… she knew her guys would be just fine… she was just a little unsure if she would.