The Guilt Trip of a Lifetime

"Every time you go away you take a piece of me with you." -Paul Young

"She's old enough," we said. That's how we justified it. She's old enough to be without us for a couple of weeks. Sure, she'll be aware that we're gone. She'll definitely miss us. But she'll be just fine. Most important, she'll still have a lot of fun. Without us.

There we are. Young and in love. Venice 2004.
(I still have that shirt.)

So My Director and I went ahead and followed through on a promise we made to each other on our honeymoon. Our favorite place on that whirlwind Italian odyssey was Venice. But we were there for just two days. "I wish we had more time here," we said at the time. So we promised each other we'd come back for our tenth anniversary. We even shook on it. Or pinky swore. I can't remember exactly. There was definitely a lot of wine involved.  Either way, it was clearly a binding agreement.

You never know where you're going to be ten years from now when you make promises like that with your spouse. Financially, physically, or professionally. You can never know. Peanut wasn't even a glint in our eyes when we made that promise to each other, and ourselves.  So as we sat on our couch shortly after New Year's this year, contemplating whether we should follow through, it was she who weighed mostly on our decision.

Every time I think about her, talk about her, choose to write about her, or do anything at all in fact, it is with Peanut in mind. And anytime I think, talk , write, or do, it dawns on me that she will be this age only once. I want to savor every last moment in time with her and of her. All through her life I've done this. Not so much lamenting. But enjoying. Documenting. Mentally, pictorially, and verbally. Beaming with pride and amazement. We recently watched some videos of her from when she was a baby. What a wonderfully magical yet simple time. How much joy she brought us. How truly blessed we are to have witnessed her discover this awesome world, and for us to rediscover it along with her. Reliving these memories didn't make me sad. It made me thankful. It also made me realize how many times I must have squealed a high-pitched, "yay!" during Peanut's babydom.

I am also thankful to have had those two weeks in Europe with My Director. From Venice we went on

Paris 2013. Still young. Still in love.
(I wear glasses now.)

to Geneva and then Paris. I like to think our marriage is strong, but I also believe all couples need time away. Alone. To reconnect, rekindle, and have an actual conversation during a meal without someone who is either complaining about their dinner or forgetting basic details of their day. All of that being said, I am sad to not have had those two weeks with Peanut. While in hindsight I do not think this trip was for her (a subject for another blog post), that doesn't mean we didn't think of her. Especially during down time and on travel days, we both found ourselves missing her a lot.

The one time we managed to connect via Skype a few days into our trip (communicating was much more difficult than we had anticipated), we could tell by the look on her face that she was so excited to see us. She was missing us, but putting up a strong front without us. That's my girl. She stayed with my sister and her family at what we called "Zia camp." (Zia is aunt in Italian.) Her second week was spent in Wildwood, NJ on vacation with my extended family. A vacation we normally attend. Besides that shaky Skype call that cut out after five minutes, her only true contact with us for two weeks was a daily letter we each wrote her, one for every day we were gone. We wrote them before we left. Some were funny. Some were informational. Some were sentimental. And some were accompanied by gifts inspired either by where in the world we were or she was. Turns out, this was a very good idea. Peanut loved her letter every day and looked forward to that little bit of interaction with us.

My sister said Peanut was very well-behaved. A pleasure. A true joy. This came as no surprise to us. She also adopted our policy of not saying no on vacation, so Peanut never had to wear what she didn't want to wear. Those dresses My Director packed for dinners out, for instance, stayed in the bag. (Peanut currently prefers an active chic look.)

Back-at-home-for-first-tim-together selfie

When we returned, Peanut looked so different from when we left her. Her hair was more blonde from the sun. She was tanned from her vacation. She looked older. Rarely one to be outwardly affectionate, she hugged us both very hard and buried her head into My Director's chest when we first saw her. And because she comes from a long line of guilt trippers, every time we asked her about her vacation she would say, "But you guys went on an adventure. I didn't get to go on an adventure." Way to lay it on thick, kid.

Later that weekend, Peanut and My Director baked a birthday cake for me. We had a belated celebration since we were in Paris on my actual birthday. Peanut knew exactly how she wanted to decorate it with icing in my favorite color - green. She wrote the names of my favorite sports teams on it and spelled "Happy Birthday Dad," too. When I blew out my candles, I told her I had made a good wish. In following tradition, I didn't tell her what I had wished for. But she was quick to tell us she also made a wish and that it was for "you to never break up our family again."

How cute is this cake she made for me?

Ouch, babe.

We had an amazing time in Europe. But I couldn't help but miss her, and I can't help but think of what I missed. And lament. She is at such a great age. An age of learning and understanding. Of critical thinking and reasoning. Of giggling and joking. Of exploring and discovering. And she's just so adorable. I feel this summer has come and gone like every other before it and all of the ones that are yet to be. Too quickly, yet jam-packed with great memories. We made the most of our time with Peanut. A lemonade stand. A dinosaur park. An amusement park. Camping in the backyard. But more often I feel her drifting away. Already.

At age six she has such a busy social life. Between after school activities and play dates, I could go days sometimes without quality Peanut time. There are days where I'll skip the gym to come home early if the weather is nice, only to find her at a friend's house or with a friend over at ours. It's our own little real-life "Cats in the Cradle." And then I lament some more. Then again, there are few sounds I enjoy more than Peanut and a friend giggling at each other in some far off corner of the house. Or even better, hearing her channel her mom's diplomacy and settle a difference of opinion without drama, making her guest feel at home.

As Peanut grows older I realize I want her involved in our once-in-a- lifetime memories from now on. Soon enough she will be making those memories on her own. Our choices cost me some of the best and most precious days of her lifetime. As much as we may try there is no getting them back. I realize this is a nice problem to have. That I am complaining about an otherwise awesome vacation with My Director. Still, no more leaving Peanut behind. I miss her too much. There will come a time where she'll leave us behind. I'll miss her then too. At least I won't have the guilt.

Oddly enough, last summer I wrote a post about being away from her for ONE NIGHT and missing her. You can read it HERE.

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Hope Still Floats

I missed Valentine's Day this year. That's not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, and it was not due to any fault or ignorance on my part. I was sick with Man Cold before, during, and after. (It was actually more flu than cold. I was in rough shape for a few days.) Valentine's Day was on Thursday. When Saturday rolled around, I finally felt well enough to go to the grocery store to buy some essentials and make up for my absence. In addition to stocking the pantry and fridge, I bought cards, cupcakes, and balloons for the two women in my house.

Love will keep us afloat.

More than a week later, I noticed those balloons are still flying strong. I pointed them out to Peanut, who then reminded me of the time last year that the "Balloon Fairy" left balloons for her. She said those balloons also lasted a long time, "probably because they were magic." I thought it was amazing that she remembered that one little gesture from an unknown "fairy." Magic, even.

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A Day Without Sunshine

"Sometimes it's so easy to let a day slip on by without even seeing each other at all." -Billy Joel

Things just aren't right. It's too quiet. I have too much time on my hands.

Not a creature was stirring

As I got ready for work one morning, the door to Peanut's room was wide open. I had no reason to go in there but I did anyway. There was her bed, empty. Perfectly made. Most of her stuffed animals that keep her company each night are gone too. They were all still down at the beach with my in-laws. Peanut and all of her friends.

You think you're going to enjoy this time alone, just the two of you. (Three, with Luna.) But the void could not be ignored. It hit us on our way to a friend's party that we stopped at on our way home the night we left Peanut at the beach with my in-laws. Everyone commenting on how nice it will be for us to have alone time; everyone joking that we'll have a second child nine months from now. (We won't. Trust me.)

Don't get me wrong, having a couple of days off is nice. There was no need to rush home for pickup or to make dinner. We ordered out and were able to do the daily chores: walk the dog, water the lawn, clean up the kitchen, guilt-free and hassle-free.

Still, we miss our crazy little Peanut. Not having her here is so foreign. But this is just the beginning, isn't it? Kindergarten in the fall. That's a whole new ballgame. Homework. Sleepovers I'm sure are not far behind. Maybe day camp next summer? At least a week or two with her grandparents. Maybe even my sister in Virginia. There she goes already. My little Peanut. Old enough to have an entire day or two without me, without us.

Not that she didn't miss us. When we talked to her on the phone that night, she informed us that she had told my in-laws that she missed us no less than five times that day. Not bad. If my math is correct, that's about once every two hours up to that point. So she's not going too far just yet.

I've reached the point in my life where I have lived away from my parents more than I have lived with them. When I visit their house, my old house, it seems foreign. When we visit I often feel like a stranger in my old neighborhood. Everything looks so different now. Or older. That tree is gone. That house is a different color. That storefront is empty.

Peanut has a while before she reaches that point. But it goes by so fast, doesn't it? My goodness I feel like it was just yesterday we were picking a town based on the schools. And now she's going to one of them in September.

One night at the beach, we went out for ice cream. We got caught in a torrential downpour. One of the fiercest thunderstorms I had ever seen. And the radar showed that it had apparently just hit the island we were on. So we waited in the swagger wagon for the storm to pass. Sheets of rain, strong wind, hail, flooding. You name it, this storm had it. All in a matter of a few minutes.

Peanut got scared. She started to cry. "I want to go home," she said through her tears. We thought she meant back to the beach house. "We can't, honey," I said. "The street is all flooded. Besides, the car is the safest place to be right now."

"No. I want to go back to OUR house." Back home. Where it's safe. Where she's loved. Where she's home.

Back where she belongs.

There's no place else she'd rather be. There's no place else we'd rather have her. That empty nest can wait.

Being away from Peanut reinforces our decision to go "hands-free" when we ARE with her. I wrote about that here.  (Full Disclosure: We've admittedly been slacking a bit lately.)

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Hope Floats

"Where there is charity and wisdom, there is neither fear nor ignorance." -St. Francis of Assisi (My dad's favorite saint.)

It was something so small, so silly, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Regardless, I don't think I've ever felt more helpless as a parent. Even when she's sick, there's always medicine, orange juice, and a good cuddle on the couch with Doc McStuffins on the television all day. A scrape on the knee gets a Band-Aid and a kiss. Then there are those times when she's upset, but she's most likely tired or just being ridiculous. So you listen to her frustration but ultimately, and kindly, tell her to get over it.

But what do you do when there is nothing you can do?

As Peanut and I left daycare one day recently, I was in more of a rush than usual thanks to traffic, putting me way behind on my evening checklist. Despite being forced to wait an extra 20 minutes for me; despite the fact that she was one of just two children in her class still waiting to be picked up, Peanut was no worse for the wear. After all, she had balloons. Two. A yellow one and an orange one. So I loaded my arms with all of her artwork, homework, trinkets, and tools and we headed out.

"Do you want me to carry your balloons so we don't lose them?" I asked. "You can carry your lunchbox for me." Because this is the stuff blog posts are made of, she, of course, answered "no thank you."

And what do you think happens next?

Reenactment:
No balloons were intentionally harmed
during the making of this blog post

Halfway to the car, she let them go. Even though I warned her to hold on to them. Now I know what you're thinking, and no I did not tie them to her wrist like a good parent would. Read: in more of a rush than usual. Still, parenting fail.

I made a feeble attempt to catch them. But my arms were, as you may remember, full. And my vertical leap is, as you may imagine, lacking. Peanut was devastated. Rightfully so. I can still see the look of horror and heartbreak on her face as she helplessly watched those balloons float away to destroy the ecosystem of some far-away land. She herself gave her own feeble jump in desperation. Arms stretched to the heavens, tears streaming down her now sobbing face. Her screams echoing through the near-empty parking lot.

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The Best Dad I Know

What do you say to a man who has no idea what he means to you? What do you say to a man who means the world to you?

There is a man who is reading this right now, and he has no idea it's about him... yet. He's a dad. But he's not just any dad.

He's my friend. He's my uncle. He's my godfather.

Me and "Unc" at my 29th Smurfday Party
August 2004

He has perhaps shown me how to be a dad, in good times and in bad - the worst, in fact - more than any other dad I know. Including my own dad.

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Finding Nemo

"When life gets you down do you wanna know what you've gotta do? Just keep swimming." -Dory from "Finding Nemo"

Showing up is just half of the job. The other half, is making your presence felt. Being there. Despite the hunger, the exhaustion, the last shred of patience, you've got to spread sunshine and put on a happy face.

Harvey Keitel in "Pulp Fiction"

Life's not perfect. It's messy and complicated. And it's our job as parents to deal with the mess.  We're Harvey Keitel in Pulp Fiction. And Point of No Return. We're The Cleaner.

One evening my wife and I were having a nice, quiet, easy time with our daughter. They went upstairs to start the bedtime ritual while I stayed behind to finish cleaning up dinner. Suddenly, crying broke out, shattering the peace. I headed upstairs to investigate and see what, if any, help I could provide.

My daughter had broken a new toy beyond repair. We had bought her a little blue fish (blue is her favorite color) that you wind up and set free to swim in the bath. She loved it. She loved it so much she carried it around everywhere. She loved it so much, in fact, she ripped off the tailfin in a fit of unbridled affection.

She was devastated. Usually, I sit on the sidelines and try to soothe her with platitudes like "It's ok, honey" while rolling my eyes at her inability to just get over it. But not this night. This night I sprung into action. I thought to myself, What would she want to hear in this situation?

A simple solution

That's it... I had to think like a 3-year old.

I headed to the bathroom... and got... a Band-Aid. And not just any Band-Aid. A Nemo Band-Aid. What better way to fix a fish's broken fin? (Actually, it was a Dory Band-Aid).

Smiling again

The crying stopped and a smile appeared on Penelope's tear-stained face. I got her back. Me. Grumpy guy. Annoyed guy. When-do-I-get-to-relax guy.

How you ask, did I manage to get her back? It wasn't the Band-Aid. I was there. With her. I wasn't thinking about work or chores or sports. No blackberry or television or telephone. I was able to help my daughter simply because I was in that moment.With her.

You are their world. Just showing up isn't enough. You have to be present.

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