Father Of The Blog

Kim leaves for work early, typically before the rest of us wake up, therefore she tiptoes around all morning being as quiet as possible. She switches the alarm clock off before it sounds, starts the shower, rattles the curtains, drops the soap at least once, shuts the water off, the curtains jingle again, she drums the toilet paper spinning the roll quickly out, flushes the toilet, scrubs her teeth, swishes, spits, the hairdryer hums for at least fifteen minutes, the medicine cabinet opens with a squeak and shuts with a bang, her make-up-tackle-box has a similar creak and pop sound, the bathroom lights flood, the closet light shines, she slips into her carefully selected clothes, the grind and brew coffee maker takes off from the kitchen runway, the toaster oven bell dings, the fridge door slams clattering all the contents inside, then she sneaks into the bedroom one last time to breathe in my ear, “ok babe, I got to go.” Lying in bed half-sleeping I can’t help but hear and sense her actions. Really, she is highly stealthy getting ready for work and her hour long grooming is a time for me to mentally prepare for the day.

Within minutes of Kim’s departure, Hailey wakes from her slumber. Relentlessly she calls for me “Daddieeee” until I brightly enter her room.

“Did somebody wake-up?” Gambling that my cheerfulness will be reciprocated. “Hailey woke-up, yea. How is my little girl today?”

“Mommy up?” Every morning she inquires.

“Mommy’s at work sweetie.” I console.

“Sissy up?”

“Sissy is still sleeping.” I whisper.

“Mimi up?” She methodically interrogates. Mimi is our dog. We work though the cats, Haskle and Kyle. She may even through in Bubbie or Nana or a cousin.

At last she eagerly declares, “Daddy up!”

Once out of her crib, I swap her saturated diaper for a fresh pull-up with pit-crew quickness. Lately she has been requesting her “(r)obe,” must be because I have been wearing mine. We get her milk, turn-on Dora, settle into our armchair and I’ll comb and style her hair, usually into some kind of pony. We get a few minutes to snuggle before I go rouse Olivia.

“Is it a daddy day?” Olivia’s first of a thousand questions for the day.

“Today is a school day.” I try to sound upbeat. She is only three and already prefers not going to school. “You’re going to have so much fun with your friends today.” Desperate to get her energized. “Today you’re going swimming.” Or “You get to do music today.” I’ll try whatever is on her preschool activity list for the day. I want to say, “You get to drive daddy’s car today.”

“Hmf” she sighs and pulls the covers over herself. “Is three the new thirteen?”

“We do carpool today?” From under the covers comes the second of a thousand. (Carpool means it’s a half-day and I pick-up early).

“Today is Monday” or “Wednesday” or “Friday” The toughest deadline I cope with is getting the girls to preschool before the breakfast cut-off, eight forty-five. Since Tuesday is a ‘daddy day’ and Thursday is a half-day, those mornings are not so hectic. “C’mon sweetie let’s get some underwear on.” She’s not yet night trained.

“You get Cinderella’s (character underwear) for me my daddy?” She slithers into her undies, then we go lay on the couch where she has some juice and watches Diego. I comb her hair and fashion it into a twisted-dirty-bun or Pocahontas-braids.

After ten or fifteen minutes I’ll request that everyone go pick-out some clothes and get dressed for school. Before potty-training, before wardrobe independence, before Hailey’s favorite phrase, “no! I do it!” There was a time when it only took an average of forty-five minutes to ready both girls and get them to school. Now, we struggle for an hour and a half.

Hailey is so picky about her clothes, she is a t-shirt and shorts kind of girl and if there is no clean yellow shirt for her to wear I am in for an ear-full. A major firestorm occurred a few weeks ago over switching from shorts to pants. Hailey was thrashing with rage at the mention of stretchy-pants on that first cold autumn morning. I attempted to coax her into the pants for a half hour, she kept refusing, we had to get going and I practically sat on top of her while wrestling the pants on. I felt like a fashion-goon.

Once the girls have chosen their apparel and have dressed themselves, taking approximately twenty to thirty minutes, its time to brush teeth and wash faces. They both have to do it all unaided, squeeze the paste out, brush, rinse, and return the brushes to the holder. Then, dampen their face-cloths, ring them out, pretend the wash-cloth is a hat and as I supervise, they must be reminded of every facial feature to cleanse. This is a twenty minute procedure.

Their self-sufficiency continues as it is time to get shoes and socks on. I would like to personally thank the inventor of Velcro strap shoes. Olivia is rather good now only taking five minutes to get her shoes and socks on, but Hailey strains with her socks refusing any assistance finally giving up asking for help only after her sister has both shoes and socks on. If I loosen the straps without her noticing prior to her attempts she can get the shoes on herself rather quickly.

“Time to line-up.” We are almost out the door when Olivia decides she has to go potty and of course Hailey follows suit. Oh and then they have to fish through the craft tub to obtain stickers for their friends at school. At last we are ready and getting into the car only takes another ten minutes. They both must climb in the Forester and into their child-safety-seats themselves too.

Every morning I do my best not to rush them. Try my hardest not to get upset with all the set-backs, accidents and procrastination. I remember to praise their successes, congratulating them for cooperation and helpful compliance. I realize that expending the time and effort of teaching self-reliance in the present will be beneficial in the near future, in spite of that, the concept of “we are running late!” only concerns me.

The drive to preschool is short; we live a couple miles away. Most mornings I will call Kim and put the cell phone on speaker mode so the girls can chitchat. As we pull into the parking lot we discus any problems that need addressing, for instance, “Hailey I would like for you to keep your clothes on all day today, ok sweetie.”

Fortunately both girls are beyond separation anxiety so drop-off usually goes well. Hailey is hungry by the time we get to her class room, she drops her back pack and jacket in front of her locker, I have to ask her to put her things where they belong and she tells me “daddy do it” then without any further ado she says her goodbyes and heads to the breakfast table.

Olivia has particular superstitious ‘drop-off’ rituals that if broken lead to ‘make-dad-feel-awful-for-leaving-me-here’ melt-downs. Her class room is located in another building on the schools’ campus so we have to walk over to the ‘big building’. We acquire a secure-card from the admin assistant’s desk, leaving my keys as collateral. Olivia must carry the ‘blue card’ to the other building and perform the magic of unlocking the outside door by gliding the security-card in front of the black sensor box. Once inside, there is a small vestibule and another set of doors with a ten-key-pad security lock to enter the building, she must be the one to press the correct combination of keys to unlock the door. “Maxwell Smart in training” Most mornings she shyly enters the class room behind me, sometimes attached to my leg. I promptly sign her in and remind her to put her back-pack and jacket in her locker. I can’t leave yet. I have to stay while she washes her hands and shows me how she gets her own breakfast put together. She scoops the cereal out of a gallon-sized plastic zip-lock bag into a foam bowl, pours the milk from a two quart measuring cup, spoons caned mixed fruit onto a six inch styrofoam plate, carefully carrying the bowl of cereal she finds the preschooler-sized-seat with her name on the back and makes a couple trips to the prep-table for her fruit and drink. Then she needs a big ‘pick me up and hold me for a couple minutes’ hug before she excuses me.

Leaving my baby girls for the day is psychologically muddy, slowly walking back to my car, involuntarily fumbling around in my pockets for keys which I have left on the admin assistant’s desk, I feel exhausted from another frenzied morning, relief that we got to school on time and liberated from parental duty yet sorrowful and empty; a part of me is left behind.

Originally posted on BabyCenter.com 10/05/06