THE PEANUT GALLERY: Small Moments

Peanut came home from school yesterday with a stack of her writing work. Over the past few months, she and her classmates have been working on writing about "Small Moments." Here's how her teacher described the assignment:

"We taught the children to value tiny moments from their lives. We taught them that as writers we hold these moments in our minds and hearts, then we make a story about them."

Basically, for the past two months, Peanut has been doing in class what her dad has been doing on this blog since two months before she was born. I thought that was pretty cool.

Here are some of my favorite highlights:

"I was going to the American Girl doll store."
I love how she spells American: "uy mirikin." And how she
went there in a motor home with duck lips.

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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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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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Love Bites

"There is no love without forgiveness, and there is no forgiveness without love." -Brian H. McGill

It's amazing how much happens while I'm in the bathroom. Without fail, the scene I leave will be dramatically different from the one I return to every time. And last night was no exception.

My Director and her mom (the Associate Director, if you will) were getting the bedtime routine started. We had just come back from dinner, so Luna was all geeked up to see us. Since I failed to properly carry along a Lactaid for a dinner out, I had to make a beeline for the toilet.

Friends again (forever). 24 hours after "the incident."

A few minutes later, as I climbed the stairs I heard My Director scolding someone. But it wasn't Peanut. It was Luna. Now I'm wondering, "What did she do?"  Take a toy that wasn't hers? Have an accident? No. Worse. She bit Peanut.

Normally when I say "Luna bit Peanut," I mean a harmless nip where we scold the dog and quickly move on. Usually it's because Peanut has provoked her. Luna would never break skin. Isn't capable of it. Well, never say never because one glance at Peanut's face and I saw a little scar on her nose and another one on her mouth.

I asked if Peanut had once again provoked her by yelling in Luna's face or being too rough with her. "No, daddy. I was giving her love." My Director confirmed this. But she did say Peanut inadvertently touched Luna's behind, where she has always been overly sensitive. (She's also a big prude.)

Still, I was livid. Luna knew she was in trouble from the moment it happened. Even though My Director had already done it, I scolded Luna myself. Because I'm her person. Her master. And she gets really upset when I'm not happy with her. The nervously wagging tail. The sad eyes. The attempts to kiss or snuggle with me. It's hard to resist but last night I did.

About ten  minutes later, we were reading a book on our bed. The five of us: Me, My Director, Peanut, my mother in-law, and Luna. I was still giving Luna the cold shoulder. So My Director, always the voice of reason, said, "You have to forgive her. She can't handle it anymore."

"No. I don't want to forgive her. What if it were someone else's dog who did that? We'd be furious."

"But it wasn't. She's our dog and you love her."

I still wasn't convinced. That's when Peanut chimed in. "You have to forgive her, daddy. I did and I'm the one she bit." (Is this really an almost five year-old talking?)

"I'm mad at her. And it's my job to protect you."

"It's your job to protect Luna too."

I couldn't argue anymore. Once again, my daughter had taught me a lesson, and just a few days after teaching me about thinking the best of people. And it was while I was trying to teach her one. About consequences.

The magic moments come when you least expect them. You're rarely holding a camera. They're unscripted, which is what makes them so magical.

Forgiveness. Perspective. From my daughter. Thank you, Peanut.

This was a rare instance where I didn't easily forgive Luna. I even find it easier to forgive her than I do Peanut sometimes. I explain why here. 

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A Brand New Day

"Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children." - Charles R. Swindoll

Rare is it when your child provides you with a moment worth cherishing forever. A moment so simple yet so touching. A moment that makes all of the chaos and heartache and rushing around of parenthood so worth it. A life-flashing-before-your-eyes moment.

So you have to recognize them when they are happening. These are the reasons you wake up before the sun rises and work from the second you're dressed to the second you're back on the bus home more than 12 hours later. The reasons you endure the glares and the backhanded comments and the rolling of the eyes from your co-workers when you're leaving (to rush home to pick up your child) while they're still logged on and working long after you've left. The reasons you're always in a hurry. At the gym. In the car. Even on the toilet. You've got things to do, things to see. Moments to cherish. You can't miss anything,

And the moments come, of course, when you least expect them. While you are hurrying from task to task, going through the routine. Because the routine is the only thing separating you from absolute anarchy. But within that routine, as you are scurrying from place to place, while you are trying to maintain order, you must be prepared to pause at a moment's notice... to notice the moment.

Every morning as part of my routine, I sneak into the Peanut's room to steal a kiss goodbye and whisper to her in her sleep that I love her, and to wish her a good day. Four out of five days, the door will stick and I will - as part of my hurried routine - lack the patience and dexterity to open it with any kind of quiet or composure. The door will scream open, but on five out of five days she won't even so much as stir. She's away in dreamland... sound asleep and sweet as ever.

As good of a sleeper as she may be despite my best yet inadvertent efforts to wake her, there are rare days when she is indeed awake when I open the door. Up way too early. Sucking her thumb, holding her Lammie, laying on her back and staring at the ceiling. There is something indescribably special about seeing her in the morning on these rare occasions. Her day is new. A clean slate with unknown discoveries, untapped knowledge, new words, fun activities awaiting her. A range of emotions sit on the sidelines anxiously waiting to be called into the game. Laughter, tears, anger, grumpiness. Her day is new, and on this rare occasion I am the first one to impact it

I crack open the door slowly, and catch her in her awakened daze. She snaps out of it, quickly turning her head towards me. She turns it so fast, her thumb is left hovering in the air, still occupying the space where it had just seconds before been in her mouth. She's surprised, startled, and then... smiling. A great, big beaming smile. For me. At me. More potent than the strongest, blackest coffee you can brew.

Here is my moment. Maybe you get one a week. If you're lucky. And it's not gonna come when you want it to. Not when you come home and all you want is a hug but she's too consumed in what she was doing before you walked through the door. Not when you're tired and you just want to snuggle but she wants to play. Not when she's grumpy and you just want to make her laugh. Here it is. The moment you've been waiting for. Are you gonna seize it and risk missing that bus? Or are you gonna rush through it and ensure the continued success of the routine?

Seize it. Every time. Because you don't know when the next one is going to come.

I walked over to her bed, and whispered, trying to mask my excitement, "What are you doing awake so early?" She just kept smiling. "Do you have to pee pee?" She shook her head no, and just kept smiling. "Do you want me to turn on your turtle?" She shook her head yes, smiling still. I clicked the little blue button and the soft tones chimed through the turtle as the little underwater scene inside of its belly lit up and started dancing rhythmically and methodically, to lull her back to sleep.

"You go back to sleep so you can have a fun day at school." I bent down to kiss her, and she took her thumb out of her mouth and kissed me back. The rare kiss back! The even rarer smile-at-daddy-kiss-back combo! This was my moment.

A brand new day. For her. For me. I am the first one to impact it... and on this day I made hers special from the start. Little does she know what an impact she had on my day. How special she made it. All it took was a smile. All it took was a moment.

I use the lyrics to another Sting song (The Police, actually) for the title of this post describing another special moment:

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