My Sweet Little Girl

My little girl turns five today.  And that's messing me up a little.  I do not know where the time has gone.  I know every parent says that.  I know every parent means it too.  But, I mean... wow.  I don't just mean it.  I feel it.

I'm pretty good with her up until about three.  Then, somehow, these last two years happened.  They happened with a velocity that will leave blur marks on the timeline of my life.  It makes me uncomfortable when I make myself think about it.

She is the third of my four children.  Even that sounds scary sometimes.  She's my only girl, so there will always be an innate specialness that comes with that.

She (back before I knew she was a she) was the first and only child whose gender I had prayed about.  The day my wife told me she was pregnant again I began praying for a girl.  I'm not entirely sure why.  I knew I had always wanted sons and daughters.  I guess part of me knew that this one was going to be a little girl.

I wrote about it in my journal back when I used to keep one.  It's been one of the few things in life that I just kind of knew.  God answered my prayers one morning as I was writing.  That confirmation was so assuring.  I didn't tell anyone though.  I was too scared to really write it.  It was just between me and God.

When we went for the check-up to find out the gender, I already knew what the report would be.  The thing is, I can't tell you how reassuring it was to hear it out loud from another person.

I remember the tingly feeling in my palms as I watched the ultrasound tech preparing the machine.  My anticipation grew as she put the blue ultrasound gel on Nell's body.  I could hardly stand it, when she finally asked us if we wanted to find out what we were having.  I'm not sure if I was more joyful about "officially" knowing I was having a daughter, or seeing one more example of God's faithfulness in my life.

Happy birthday, Selah!  I waited so patiently and faithfully for you.  I'm thankful you're such a sweet little girl.  My sweet little girl.

A Nice Little Cuff

The crisp bite of Aqua-Velva always smelled good to me when I was a kid. I can remember my dad putting it on after his shower before he would go to work.  Sometimes I would sneak a little bit out of the bottle when I went to the bathroom.  I liked smelling like my dad.  He worked a shipping dock in the evening loading and unloading trucks.  I don't think he liked that job very much.

After he was dressed, he would come and sit on the couch and talk to us while he put on his socks and shoes. They were cheap, white Spalding sneakers from Walmart.  But I didn't care.  I wanted a pair just like them.  I loved those shoes because I loved my dad.  He always wore shorts to work since it got so hot on those loading docks.  I don't think he liked that job very much.  He would turn his tube socks down to make a nice little cuff.  I used to wear my socks the same way.

He would fix some supper for my brother, sister and me before he left.  It was often macaroni & cheese and these little chicken fried steak patties.  My dad used to make the best macaroni and cheese.  It came out of this generic white box whose bold black letters told the world it was simply Macaroni and Cheese.  My dad didn't make a lot money.  I don't think he liked that job very much.  But I sure did like that macaroni and cheese he made for us.  I make it for my own kids now.

*     *     *

I really don't think my dad liked that job very much.  But he did it anyway.  Maybe he disliked having cheap aftershave and sneakers too.  But he had them anyway.  Maybe he couldn't stand that he had to make the generic macaroni and cheese.  Be he made it anyway.  And he did part of it for us. 

So often I get caught up in the things of life.  I worry about the tangibles instead of the intangibles.  I worry too much about the stuff and too little about the people. 

I loved my dad because of who he was, and not because of what he had.  When I was young, I just wanted him.  I need to remember my kids are the same way.  It's easy to give things.  It's a lot harder to give yourself.

Breaking the Fast

Zeke: 2 waffles with butter & syrup- stacked and cut into 8 triangles, 1 cup of water (no ice), 2 pills, 1 purple kid vitamin
Eli: 1 bowl Sugar Frosted Flakes in 2% milk (aka blue milk) and a small spoon, 1 cup of 2% milk, 1 orange kid vitamin
Selah: 2 waffles with syrup (no butter)- stacked and cut into 8 triangles, 1 cup of whole milk (aka red milk) with a pink straw, 1 red kid vitamin
Titus: 1 bowl Tootie Frooties in whole milk and a large spoon served in a yellow plastic bowl on top of a napkin, 1 sippy cup of whole milk, 1/2 kid vitamin
Dad: 2 500mg Tylenol, 1 16oz tumbler of strong coffee


÷ 2-slot toaster + 1 whiney mouth + 6 grabby hands x EVERYDAY = Breakfast  


...Oh, and don't mess up or you might have to start all over.


Enjoy!

Photo by borja iza | argazkiak

My Daddy Can't Whip Your Daddy

I wrote a post for the Teacher-Dad blog.  It's about fear, fathering, and sports.

You can read it by following the link:
My Daddy Can't Whip Your Daddy

A Cheap, Plasticky Walmart Affair

I slammed the phone down. Hard. Not an angry kind of slam, but a scared "I don't want this thing in my hands" kind of slam.

I can still feel the smoothness of that dark green phone- one of those cheap, plasticky Walmart affairs. The coiled cord was the length of an orange industrial extension cable I'd see in my dad's garage.  It was permanently knotted in spots.  The buttons lit up a putrid yellow when you pressed them, and the whole thing felt like it would crumble if you squeezed it too hard.  Cruddy for sure, but, always remembered. It was on this phone that I finally got the courage to call Nell for the first time.

I'd had her number ingrained in my subconscious for a while now. 275–2288. My quivering 16-year-old hand attempted another dial. I made it to the first 8 this time before I flung the phone back down. Bah. Why was this so hard?

I knew she had watched the movie. Forrest Gump had just finished on TNT. I knew she had watched it. I knew.  I'd overheard her say something about that movie at school before. That was going to be my in for the call.  I'd thought up a hundred excuses to call her before, but I always psyched myself out of it.  But tonight was going to be different.  I'd made a deal with myself.  I had to call.  I just had to.

A big chug of Dr. Pepper.  Cheek slaps.  I'm doing it.  This was not going to be like all those other nights.  I am doing it.  Tonight.  Do or die.

Hand shaking, I eased up the clunky green phone.  Dial tone.  Deep breath.  2.  This is so stupid.  Why am I so nervous?  I see her at school every day.  I have classes with her.  I know her.  It's fine.  7.  What if her mom or dad picks up first?  Do I say who's calling or just ask for Nell?  5.  What if nobody answers?  What if they're not home?  2.  What if she doesn't know who I am?  What if I have to explain who I am?  2.  What if she didn't watch the movie after all?  8.  What if I just totally freeze?  She is so breathtakingly beautiful.  What if I can't remember what to say?  The last digit.  Uncharted waters.  What if...  8.

Ringing.
Ringing.
"Hello?" 
"Uh.  Hi.  Is, is this Nell?"
"Yes."
"Oh, hey.  It's, uh, Justin- from school.  So, did you watch Forrest Gump tonight..."

[Photo courtesy of Oldphoneworks.com]