MOM. I think of her every day. Not because I love her and wish her well, which, obviously, I do, but because I desperately need all of her accumulated motherly wisdom for the job at hand: raising our two daughters. Yes, I am the primary caregiver in our household. The stay-at-home dad, the maker of the home. Call me what you will (except Mr. Mom, of course – cringe cringe), the fact is that it is mostly me at home with the little ones every day, washing the dishes, folding the laundry, picking up toys, settling disputes, sweeping the halls, cooking meals, consoling them when sad little tears run down their cheeks, arranging play dates, shuttling them to school and dance class and the park and the grocery store. All of the responsibilities that I would normally associate with my own mother have somehow, inexplicably and undeniably, become my own. Is that the universe laughing heartily?

As a youngster, I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. I think if you had asked me I would have figured that I was destined for the office, shirt, tie and briefcase in hand. I can certainly say with confidence that the thought of becoming my own MOM never even remotely surfaced in my adolescent brain.

And so now, at the age of 45 and with 6 years of parenting under my belt, I look more and more at my mother in sheer AWE. As I scramble to organize our family photos and video, I marvel at her wonderfully handcrafted scrapbooks. As I sweat in the kitchen trying to come up with creative kid-friendly dishes, I think fondly of my mom’s assortment of yummy lasagne, quiche, and hot dish. And as I obsessively attempt to keep our house clean, where rooms can suddenly explode into great messy fireballs, I feel the need to honor my mother’s wonderful organizing skills. She made it all look so easy.

I keep trying to figure out when that moment occurred – when a simple, mid-western girl transformed into the most amazing person to ever walk this planet.

And what of all of the other moms in my life? All of them, family and friends, have each taught me such valuable parenting lessons. I have gained compassion by watching my sister, mother of three, struggle daily with her addictions. I understand dedication more clearly now thanks to my mother-in-law. I have seen such courage in the eyes of our family counselor. And my wife has given me such love and shown me what it means to be pure of heart. Sharing childbirth with her and watching as she has nurtured our two daughters with every fiber of her being has been the most incredible experience of my life.

As I fumble with ponytails and diapers, I often think of my mom and feel eternally grateful. It is because of her that I cherish parenting.

And so, Happy Mother’s Day everyone! One can only imagine what a better world this would be if MOM were in charge.

It happened on a Monday. During P.E.

The “Incident”.

Up to now, in her brief 6 years on this planet, Maddie has cruised through life incident-free. Many minor “accidents” – a bruised elbow here, a bumped head there, but no real scary “oh my god” moments. We have been lucky.

And yes, many “mis-communications” – mostly with her parents. Frustrating times, these. Her little face will turn red and her feet will stomp all the way to her room, a loud slam as her door shakes in its frame.

Moments of sadness as well, tears welling up in her big, beautiful, brown eyes.

But none of this quite prepared me for what was about to happen.

Upon entering 1st grade Maddie quickly made a friend. They became best friends. They did everything together. Maddie followed her around like a puppy. Since she is one of the youngest in her class, she tends to defer to her older peers. She let her best friend take the driver’s seat in their adventures. Maddie was happy just to tag along. Soon, a playdate was set up. We met her parents and we all clicked. Everything was progressing swimmingly.

And then it happened.

The “Incident”.

Maddie and her friend were in line participating in a P.E. exercise. Maddie’s friend turned and told her that she smelled and that she should go to the back of the line. Maddie complied, and crumpled inside.

That night during bath time Maddie mentioned what had happened to me. It had taken her by surprise. I could tell she wasn’t sure what to feel. And I wasn’t sure what to feel, either.

Initially, I didn’t realize what a huge, traumatic event in Maddie’s life this really was. I thought, ‘Hmmm, P.E., they don’t really sweat much in 1st grade, do they? How could she smell? Something she ate?’ I failed to grasp the emotional impact.

Then, later that week, during our parent-teacher conference, it came up again. Maddie’s teacher had noticed a change in their relationship and she was sad. She thought it was wonderful that Maddie had confided in me and felt it was a testament to the strength of our bond, our father-daughter connection. I felt two very powerful emotions:

1. PRIDE – I was so elated that Maddie had shared her experience with me. There I was, on the bow of the Titanic, tears in my eyes, screaming, “I”M ON TOP OF THE WORLD!” This was the moment I had been waiting for, the moment that I had worked for these past 6 years, the whole reason I had become a stay-at-home dad in the first place.

2. ANGER – After the shock subsided, I was mad. I wanted to grab Maddie’s little “friend” by the shoulders and shake her: “What the hell is wrong with you, you…bully??!! Do you see what you did to my daughter?!!”

It became an awkward moment for me, every day before and after school, having to face the mother of the “bully”. She is the nicest mom in the world, a wonderful parent, and yet a small part of me was blaming her for what happened to Maddie.

We never found out what exactly happened. We put our collective parenting minds together and tossed around some theories. Maddie’s friend has an older sister…maybe she was transferring some anger or frustration…we don’t know.

Maddie is doing fine now and has made a new friend. All has been forgiven.

We eagerly await with trepidation the next “Incident”.

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, Life goes on, yeah

La La, how the life goes on…

Or, should I say, she will be ‘advancing’ to the next grade level.

She will be ascending the great academic ladder, trading in her letter K for a number 1, and moving from a half day to a full day. It is a proud and happy moment for us all, ripe with possibility.

In the course of one short school year she has become an honest-to-god, thinking, breathing, independent little person. Her brain is a buzz with new information, skills and knowledge. She has made new friends and has adjusted beautifully to her new school. Truly, it is all so very inspiring!

I know people say this all the time, but it really does seem like it was only yesterday when we initially parted with our girl, leaving her in the care of others, oh so temporarily. And, just as we were concerned parents back then during those timid first days of preschool, so were we nervous and wide-eyed during her first days of Kindergarten. There I am, driving her to school, then walking her up to the classroom door, checking her backpack, then placing her in line along with all the other giggling and excited children. Stepping back, I  join the other line of  giggling, excited parents.

And so will we always be there for her, her mother and I, maybe not literally standing outside her classroom door, but there in spirit, at every transition in her life and all the moments in between, as she dances her way through life.

I just hope we can keep up.

Think of a mysterious island inhabited entirely by a tribe of parents. None of them are really sure how they got there. They do their best to survive using what little skills they have. Some will adapt quickly, others more slowly. They will all learn new methods of cooking, cleaning, shopping, packing, organizing, soothing, inspiring, empathizing. They will learn how to eat quickly, with either hand, while washing the dishes and holding a baby. They will grow stronger, both physically and mentally.

As time passes and hope for rescue grows dim, a society begins to form. A SECRET society, operating invisibly to the rest of the world, in which the wisdom of the ancients is passed on from elder to child through story and song. Small clans break off from the main body, held together by the shared interests of their children.

Some, desperate for information, will leave the safety of the tribe to search the island for a handbook on parenting, a magical text that is said to contain all the knowledge of generations past. They will scour the jungle for this fabled tome, eventually realizing that it does not exist. Along the way, however, they will gather weathered old books and magazines washed up along the shore, and will begin to piece together a rudimentary method of defining themselves.

A computer room is discovered in a small underground bomb shelter where access to the internet gleans more parenting information from the mainland. They soon become inundated with too much advertising and must sever their connection.

They soon realize that there is no easy way off this island, and that they must each walk their own path. Only by suffering first hand will they truly learn what it means to be A PARENT.

One day they will be rescued and will all be integrated back into the main body of civilization. But they will all realize that their experience on the island has changed them in ways they are still struggling to understand. They have evolved somehow. They will then spend the rest of their lives gathering information and watching for signs, preparing for the day when they can share their experience on the island with the rest of society. And the world will become a better place.

Roll credits.

I feel incredibly lucky to be in a position where I CAN reflect and muse and ponder, and set down those thoughts in writing, and share it all online. My wife and I have worked hard to create a shared parenting environment to give each of us some space to explore our own interests and goals while fully supporting the other and our children. Her salary supports us. Anything I make is a bonus. We don’t pay for childcare. Without support from family and friends, financially, emotionally, I don’t know how we could do it.

My days as a Stay-At-Home Dad have been filled with so many powerful and transformative moments, I wish I could record them all and share them with friends and family, and someday pass them on to my daughters. We capture what we can through photos, videos, memoirs and the like (like this blog), and recount with knowing smiles the small, hilarious, and touching stories of our children’s mis-adventures, and maybe this is all enough for us to feel satisfied, content that someone else on this planet knows how special they really are, like we do. And yet there is so much more that is not shared, that is not talked or written about, so many moments that we have experienced as parents that have enriched us and made us who we are today. It is all there, I know, sitting in our parenting minds, perhaps never to see the light of day, and maybe that’s ok. What would the world do with all that pain and frustration and sorrow? Surely the world would explode from so much joy, pride, and contentment.

I wonder if these thoughts ever occurred to my parents,and their generation, and those that came before. Maybe they did, but then were they quickly extinguished?  Who has time to philosophize when there’s a house to clean or a meal to prepare. Just keep moving and get through the day. No complaints. No excuses. It’s all just part of life. And at the end of the day, the last thing you want to think about is how to be a better parent.

Perhaps when I am older, when my children are older, I will have more time to breathe, and then I can reflect and look back on these days with an easy grin. But will I remember everything? I fear not. I do not trust my aging brain, and I feel that if I do not record it now in some manner, then perhaps it will slip away and be lost forever.

(This is the second part of a series. You can read the first part here.)

based on “To err is human; to forgive, divine” by Alexander Pope

They tell you it’s the little things in life that can make all the difference – a nice cup of tea, a daughter’s smile, a comfy chair.

I’m enjoying all of these moments in my life more and more now. Or maybe I’m just more aware of them.

They are each, on their own, such small and delicate gifts, so ephemeral and elusive.

They are taken for granted, often forgotten, and so easily lost, yet in our busy world they are what keep most of us sane.

An ice cold lemonade, a foot massage, a sunset. They are what we cling to when all around is dark.

In times like these, during our Great Recession, and amidst horrible natural disasters, I find myself thinking more and more about the little things in life, and how truly important they really are.

Of course, a Royal Wedding now and again is always nice, too.

I am reminded of one of my favorite scenes from The Lord of the Rings:

Frodo: I can’t do this, Sam.
Sam: I know. It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.
Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?
Sam: That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo… and it’s worth fighting for.

And how do I know this, you might ask? How do I really know?

Did a bluejay happily alight upon my shoulder, whistling a tune from Song of the South?

Or perhaps Maddie being home for Spring Break this week is enough reason to give one pause?

Maybe I can attribute it to the itchy feeling I have every time I see piles of stuff in the garage, waiting to be sorted.

All excellent clues to the fact that springtime is definitely upon us.

But no, what really gave it away, what really pronounced it and made it official, was when I brought the girls out into our backyard. Thus began a 2 hour frenzy of play, fueled by weeks upon weeks of being stuck indoors, where every outdoor toy we own was awoken from its’ hibernation. My oh My What a Wonderful Day!!