Not Exactly According to Plan

When Husband and I got married, we used to talk about the kind of parents we'd be. He'd be the fun, soft-spoken, happy Dad. I'd be the gentle, supportive, singing Mom.

Reality has leaped in here and changed our details a little bit.

I am not the gentle mom. I am the nag. I am the picker. I find fault. I expect, I demand. Do I think I'm a bad mom for this? No. I have a whole list of occasional worries about being the bad mom, but this one's not on it.

I am sometimes the supportive mom. I go to lessons. I sometimes sit through practicing*. I do girl-talk, but not after 10:30 p.m. (I have my limits.) I can say with the best moms, "That guy is a jerk. He has no idea what he's missing," even while I'm silently praying my thanks that nothing is going on between him (whoever he is) and my little girl.

The singing mom bit - well, that's debatable. I had a singing mom, and we'd go on car trips back in the day and make our own music. We kids knew all kinds of cool folk songs and show tunes and silly songs and campfire songs. Our car trips these days require at least one iPod, but we sing along with it, so maybe that counts.

Husband is the great dad. Fun? Often (even though all our kids roll their eyes at him**). Soft-spoken? Often. Happy? Usually. But all those things we thought we'd be have been shoved aside for a few more urgent things, more necessary things. He is the dad who says No when No is the right thing to say. He is the dad who laughs when the kids are funny, even when I think "funny" leans toward inappropriate***. He is the dad who takes charge of work projects, who buys paint brushes for kids, who lets them knock sections of wall out (yeah, heavily supervised). He is the dad who listens to prayers at bedsides, and tells "crazy stories" and sings out of tune. He is the dad working every day to provide those little necessities like food and heat. He is the dad who shows what his priorities are, and those priorities all appreciate it. He is the dad who loves his wife.

And so, even though it isn't exactly like we planned, it's pretty awesome anyway, and we are so lucky that it is working out this way.

*Moms who regularly practice instruments with children earn rewards in my book. Big ones. Dipped in chocolate.

**He loves it, I can tell.

***Which reminds me of sitting on my parents' bed in the late 80s watching very naughty SNL skits, waiting to laugh aloud until I heard my mom laugh.

Dinner Gifts

At dinner the other night, Husband was trying to maintain some of that Terribly Important Family DinnerTable Conversation while waiting for Kid 4 to eat his food.* Husband said, "I remember when Kid 1 was three years old. She said, Daddy, of I'm still awake when we get home, can I pick the fuzz out of my toes?"

Everyone laughed. Then everyone looked at him in expectation. So he went on. "I remember Kid 2's first word." Everyone, even the ones who weren't alive when Kid 2 spoke first, said, "WOW!" and then there were comments about how it was at the circus, no, the Indiana state fair, and how it was on her first birthday, and how she didn't say another thing until six months later, when she started singing songs and speaking in full sentences. But what about when she was three? "I'm not the grumpiest fairy!"**

Kid 3 wanted her turn. "Dad, what did I say when I was three?" He winked at her. "Have you ever X-rayed a chicken?"***

"What about me? What about me?" Kid 4, actually working a bite of baked potato, wouldn't be left out. Since he was most recently three years old, everyone had cute things to remind him of: "Do llamas Moo? Daddy, baby Jesus is naked! You smell like a cookie - a yucky cookie. A little bit or a lotta bit?"

Lest you think we have some sort of super-memory in our house, I have to tell you that we cheat a little - we write these kinds of things on the calendar in the kitchen.**** And then Husband, in his Good Daddy way, reminds all those people how important they are by telling them what he "remembers" about them. *****

I love that he gives them little gifts like that - a story from their "cute phase" beats out any number of cheesy little trinkets. (Now if I could only convince Kid 3 that's true...)

*This is a new favorite game: If he eats slowly enough, all after-dinner jobs will magically get finished around him and he won't have to do any. Good thing he's so cute...

** There is a long, sordid story here, but let's get the basics: She loved her dress-up fairy wings, and one day, in a fit of the crankies, while wearing her wings, her big sister said something about her being the grumpiest fairy ever. In the angriest toddler-voice, head steaming, breath huffing, she exhibited her ability to crescendo with the best of them, starting fairly softly, "I" pause "am" pause, and get louder "NOT" big old pause, and louder "the GRUMPiest" pause for breath, and holler "FAIRY!!!"

***Maybe you had to be there.

****In fact, the #1 requirement for a kitchen calendar is "white space."

***** I was not safe. "Once, your Mom was tired of listening to you tease each other, so she said, We're a happy family, whether you like it or not!"

Dad Takes the Stage*

Mothers of small children are rarely trained in the arts, but are required to perform at the drop of a hat (or the onset of a tantrum) various musical numbers, frequently accompanied by proscribed dance moves which will be sorely missed if forgone or misapplied. In our house, these spontaneous shows occur at set hours (before and after naps, during station breaks on PBS, and while snacks are being prepared) as well as on demand at random intervals throughout the day, and at all times in the car.

This command performance, though tedious, is not the least pleasant part of my parenting regimen. I love to sing, and teaching songs to children is a great language training tool. We live in a “singing house,” which has always been one of my visions of homey happiness. We sing together as a family. All of us. Even those of us who can’t.

Husband, for various reasons, can’t carry a tune in a tin pail. But by the grace of the Lord and a miracle of childhood adoration, our babies don’t seem to notice. Of course, that can’t last; and by the time they hit three or four, stuffing fingers in ears is a common sight. But in the tremendous toddler years, nothing beats a snuggle and a song with Daddy. Even if that song stays on the same note throughout and the words are improvised on the spot.

I wish every tired mom of a two-year-old could know the joy and delight of turning away from the dishes in the sink and catching a glimpse of the man she adores stretched out on the couch clutching – not the remote control and a beverage – but that precious child. The one who spent two hours in the tub followed by thirteen seconds with a magic marker and now looks as if he has possibly never been bathed. The child who asks for Spagettios with such a cute voice that her mother temporarily forgets the darling’s tendency to wear in her hair what she didn’t use to fill the pockets of her overalls. The one who picked up the phone during Mommy’s sixty-second shower and dialed Fiji or Athens or Riyadh saying, “Hewwo, Gwandpa. I wuv you.”

The sight of that sleepy little head cuddled into Dad’s chest turns the headaches of the day into at least comic relief, and at best golden memories to savor over the years – accompanied by the beautiful sounds of an off-key lullaby. Thank Heaven for Daddies who love their kids (and their wives) enough to take their moment on the stage.

*I wrote this little tribute thing a few years ago and just came across it. Lucky me.

Father's Week

So this is the week leading up to Father's Day. I will remind you of it now and then, in case you might need to stop blog-reading and hustle over to Amazon or iTunes to buy something for your man/dad/grandpa.

I can sit here, comfortably blogging the day away, because I don't actually need to buy Father's Day presents for Husband. Husband has his own theories about Father's day, which I will detail below.

1: Father's Day is dumb.

1.a: If it's all about being nice and cooking me a meal, how is it different than every other day?

1.b: Presents cost too much money. Don't buy any.

2. If I really want to celebrate, I'll do it by honoring all those people who made me a Father in the first place.

2.a: I'll buy my kids a present, a really cheap one, that I can play with them.

*frisbees

*balsa-wood airplanes

*waterguns

*whiffle golf balls

2.b: I'll make a fabulous french breakfast (you know, french toast?) for all those people.

So Father's Day is a little different around here, and we all like it that way. Except sometimes I want to do something better... something surprising and happy-making.

Stay tuned.