Christmas Lights

I took Natalie and Ethan to see the lights at the Mormon Temple in Mesa tonight. Kids like bright shiny things, and there were plenty of those. I called ahead and had Anna (the nanny) get them ready and bundled up to handle the 40-degree temperatures. I swung by the house, picked them up and started Anna cleaning the place up. She's good like that.

I am lucky to have a good nanny. As a single parent, it's way important. Natalie and Ethan will grow up with divorced parents, and while that's best in the long run, in the short term they need their basic needs taken care of. Anna does that well, and more. She will never be able to provide for them the type of attention and love that Mommy and Daddy do, but Mommy and Daddy time will be just a little more special now and not taken for granted. At least I hope.

So I pick up Natalie and Ethan, and we head over to my parents place down the road to pick them up. But as always, they had "something for me to do" before we could go. This time, it was renewing the registration on my dad's car online. Why he can't do it himself is beyond me. So I did. It took 5 minutes. I'm from their gene pool.

Inconceivable.

After about 40 minutes of getting strollers loaded, kids loaded, cars registered, the New World conquered, trans-continental railroads built, and men landed on the moon, we were on our way. And the kids both promptly fell asleep. Great. So Mom, Dad and I had a conversation. That's always interesting. Both of them in a car, at least 30 minutes of driving, 40 if you count the drive-thru, and their oldest son fresh out of the fog of war of his divorce . Somewhere in there, we got out of the car, bundled the kids, saw the lights, got back in the car, and headed home. Hilarity ensued.

Me: "So, what or who do you see me with. In the future."

Dad: Quizzical look.

Mom, without even finishing her breath: "You should marry a returned missionary."

Oh for the love of all that is good and holy! Even Pavlov's dog hesitated a second after the bell rang.

I turn to her and say "Are you serious? Serious like a heart-attack serious? Would you like a do-over?"

Mom: "No, I think you should. Really."

At this point, Dad is chuckling like he does when he grasps the absurdity of the moment. So I go with it.

Me: "Okay mom, here's how it will go then. Hi, Miss Returned Missionary with your own set of baggage because you're a returned missionary. I'm divorced with 2 kids, so I've got baggage too. I had a few women in college, followed by a 10-year stint with my ex-wife, would you like to be next? I also like a little nip from the flask every now and then. Are you feeling the connection?"

My Dad laughs. My Mom gets somber. The kids continue to snooze. And then it gets real. Mainly because my Dad starts talking.

He says it is what it is. You are what you are. If you're not happy, and you've given it your best, you need to move on. The Bible says nothing about prohibiting divorce. Catholics and others will disagree, but that's because they don't read the whole thing and mis-understand what He said. Don't get hung up on the social constructs and mis-interpretations that get propigated. They all serve a purpose, and it's not in your best interest. He then goes on to quote Old and New Testament scripture that I've never heard before. Then he goes on to connect verses and characters (Naman?) that I don't recognize off hand. Okay, then I get lost. My Dad gets it. I know, because he has read and felt scripture, not just read scripture, his whole life. Fair enough, I feel what he is saying, and it hits me in that place that only the gods can touch. And I really did give it my best, for 10 years.

Then I ask him about the 3-generation San Francisco connection. And he recants the stories. I cry as I listen. And that deserves it's own entry.

We get back to my castle in the suburbs, and the kids are both awake now. Ethan is happy, Natalie is not. Nightmares, or whatever. So I take her in the castle, tell Anna to make a bottle for Ethan and get him ready for bed, and I take Natalie up to her room. She is crying and frantic. Just like I was from time to time when I was her age. Her legs hurt, and I remembered the growing pains I had at her age. Part of the price you pay for being tall. I laid her down on her "big girl" bed in her room, changed her into her PJ's and rubbed her legs until the pain went away. My little girl. My precious, sweet, perfect little girl. She lays there, under her covers, and I sit next to her on the floor, our pinkys locked in that pinky swear connection that we've done since she was old enough to understand. And I said the words I tell her every night.

Me: "Daddy loves you always and forever. Always and forever."

Natalie: "Always and forever."

Me: "You know that, right?"

Natalie: "I know Daddy. I know that, Daddy".

I felt like Daddy. Not just a parent. Not just the sperm donor. Not just the provider of the cash to make her life comfortable.

Daddy.

And after a few minutes, Natalie is calm and secure. But Ethan is not.

This whole time, my parents and Anna couldn't figure out the "get Ethan ready for bed and make him a bottle" concept. Whatever. So I ask Natalie, now that she is secure and okay, if I can go take care of Ethan. We could both hear him crying.

Natalie: "Take care of Ethan, Daddy."

And my heart goes to a place I never conceived was possible. Natalie was strong now. And she always will be.

I go into Ethan's room, and there is my mom trying to get Ethan to sleep. Anna had made the bottle too hot, so my dad was trying to cool it off in the bathroom with cool water. Hey, Anna's not perfect. (ONE frickin minute in the microwave, is that so HARD to remember???????) Anyhoo, I grab the bottle, test the temperature (perfect) and go in to Ethan's room to give him and my Mom the bottle. He takes the bottle, but he can't take his eyes off me. Nana is there, but it's all about Daddy now.

Ethan is different. He stopped breast feeding at 2 months so his mom could go back to work. He was the second child, so I suppose, and I could be wrong, that she already experienced the whole breast-feeding thing and was done. Its painful, right? I've seen those raw nipples, the uncomfortable engorgement...I don't blame her. So for most of his life, I've been the primary one feeding him his formula/milk before he goes to bed. Daddy and a bottle at night before going to bed is his nightly ritual.

So as Ethan is sucking on his bottle in Nana's arms, following me with his eyes, he notices I'm heading out of his room. I was heading back to Natalie's room. He starts crying.

So I go back into Natalie's room and tell her:

Me: "Natalie, are you okay?"

Natalie: "I'm okay Daddy"

Me: "Can I go back and take care of Ethan? He needs me now."

Natalie: "Yes, Daddy."

Me: "Thank you Natalie, I love you."

Natalie: "I love you too, Daddy."

That girl is strong, and mine. No doubt.

So I go back into Ethan's room and signal to Nana that I need to hold him. I get in the La-z-boy, give him his bottle, and he's out within 5 minutes. Ah, Fatherhood. I felt like more than just a Dad last night. I felt like I was the only one that knew these children and their needs.

I felt like more than just a Dad.