Not the Daddy

Ah baby dinosaurs and just really good out-of-the-box (think Kraft-style) TV sitcoms. Remember the show The Dinosaurs? Came out in the mid 90’s? Sort of, but not really? In the show (which was about, as you might guess, a modern day family of dinosaurs) everyone, even the Dad Dinosaur, was referred to as “Not the Mama” by the baby.

So, in our household, we’re having a bit of a reverse situation.

There is a beautiful tear-jerking ballad of a love story happening between two of the members of household: our 15-month-old toothy little toddler and her daddy. And I don’t blame either one of them. I snicker at web-reads that refer today at the “nurturing dad” of this century. I joke that G has not 1 but 2 mamas. I actually find myself at the gym on most weekends, out to dinner occasionally with girlfriends, and pondering the occasional pedicure. Not sacrificing the precious minutes I have with my G and her daddy, either... and although I still marvel at the mystery, it really isn’t a mystery at all. My mystery has a name, M, and he happens to be more like a scrubs-wearing dude driving his grandma’s old volvo than a knight in shining armor. But wow, did I pick the right door.

So another part of the marvel is how smart my little is, because she gets it, too. Like “hey, I’m a pretty lucky little to have this guy as my daddy.” She totally gets how great he is! And yes, she also gets how great her Mama is, but oh that gleam in her eye is for Daddy. I remember reading a babycenter.com bit about what to do if a baby clearly has a preference for one parent over the other, and thinking, oh, poor M, I hope G never does that; I would feel so bad for him (because clearly she will always prefer me). Of course, right? I mean pregnancy, delivery, breast-feeding simply must go a long way! At least till she’s like 11, and then all girls have a bit of a shall-we-say “vacation” from remembering how great their mothers are, right?

Well, as for now, I am pretty great, by G’s standards, I am, but then there’s Daddy. It’s like he’s her team in the superbowl, and she’s always rooting. And I’ve been, shall we say, “snubbed” a few times by our little, and not always in private. She practically ran me over to get to him when we both showed up to at daycare to pick her up a few weeks ago. Sometimes, if I lean in to nuzzle her, when she is already nuzzling Daddy, her fat little arm will come out and wave back and forth, as though she is holding a chalkboard eraser and wants to erase me. Ah, I laugh.

So, a little addendum to that babycenter.com post: if you are that parent, the “other” parent, the forlorn, slightly cast aside parent, know that you very likely chose your partner very well. Your little knows that too, and probably also basks in your unconditional love so much that her excitement for you is just masked by her never-ending feeling of being loved and being protected by you. Your partner may be the the moon and all the excitement and mystery it brings, but you are like the tide, always to be counted on to rush up and over with love.

I hope that analogy brought more sighs than groans; all I know is that every time I feel like I get a “Not the Daddy” treatment from my little, I think, “hey, I can’t blame you. I think he’s pretty great, too!”

Hun, I got my orders.

Ever got the wind knocked out of you? Remember falling off jungle gyms as a kid? That’s what those words just felt like to me. That feeling of having to will yourself to breathe again, to force your heart to start beating again.

And I knew these words were coming. I’ve known for so long; months, even more than a year. M was always going to deploy, some time after fellowship, and hopefully before too long so that he could be home with us again. You know, get it out of the way.

We’ve also known, for a few weeks now, that what we thought would be a summer deployment got moved up, thanks to another doctor who was supposed to leave this February but was medically disqualified for deployment and failed to tell anyone about it... (Yes, many questions about this person, the reason, the situation, and why the “system” didn’t know about it will forever remain unanswered.) But we’ve known that M was going to go, and going sooner means coming home sooner. So, day by day, we’ve waited, inched along and tried to pretend like everything was as it always has been, though now we were beginning lists of what has to happen before he leaves (household fixes, extending our lease, filling out all kinds of legal paperwork, and finding childcare coverage for work trips and evening responsibilities that I thought M would be here for).

But to hear those words. To see the jibberish that is the actual written orders; it’s just not the same as before, when you thought maybe, just maybe, this was all some conversation. Not your life, your loved one.

So, if you're reading this, please do something for me. Let’s all put aside politics and idealogies and for one moment, take a deep breath, and embrace each other (at least virtually) for all those moments when news like this is delivered. We've all been or will be there. It is so powerful, feels so final, and is so solemn.

And let’s fast forward to another day, when I will be writing an eekonward post entitled, “Homecoming.”

My real work-buddy

Before I was a mom, I didn’t realize that in becoming a mom, you don’t don a cape with the letter “M” emblazoned on it, only to somehow take off at times to wear your other roles. There’s no Clark Kent/Superman, there’s only... ok I’m not going to say Supermom, but this other person. Of course the other roles, the other costume changes, are all still there; my point is there’s no taking off the cape. You own your mom-ness. You own it, obviously every moment you spend in the company of your child(ren), but you also own it at any job you may have, any errand you run, and certainly in all social settings. Parents out there know how much they talk about their kids when their supposed to be having adult time, and the non-parents know how difficult it is to get their parent friends to not talk about their kids when their supposed to be having adult time.

So it’s impossible to turn it all off. The conversations I have with my husband at trendy restaurants, while loving sitters mind our baby monitor, are about our daughter. Not all, but most. Okay, so before I was a mom, I had heard about this phenomenon but swore against it. Of course I would be one of “those” people. Turns out, kids give you a lot to talk about; so much so that it takes dinners (and a few glasses of wine) out of their reach and cry to actually process all that they go through (and in turn, put you through). It’s amazing when your partner all of sudden becomes your work-buddy; you then realize all those office happy hours out, when you swear with your colleagues that you’re not going to talk about work, but then you inevitably do, well, this parenting this isn’t completely different from that. You two have a job to do, the biggest and most important, nonetheless, but a job.

Which is why it is so great to have a good work buddy for a life-partner. M, thanks for sharing a baby and a cubicle with me. I’d totally write your TPS reports any day.

What we notice

“I don’t have any regrets, really, except that one. I wanted to write about you, about us, really. Do you know what I mean? I wanted to write about everything, the life we’re having, and the lives we might have had.”
-Richard, from Michael Cunningham’s The Hours, p. 67

In this part, Richard, a dying writer, is talking about how he feels that he failed, that he wanted to write about everything, but the task proved “insurmountable,” that there was too much to write about; the “weather,” “the water and the land,” “the animals,” “the buildings,” “the past and the future,” “space,” “history,” and more. This passage resonated with me for years so deeply that although I couldn’t remember the exact words after I read them that I had to buy my own copy of the book so I find this part and save it.

Of course we can’t write it all down; there’s so much beauty, it’s so overwhelming, and the words to do it can’t ever be enough. But when we do get it right, even almost right, and we use words to do it, we bridge our own meaning to another’s. From one mind to the next, it’s never an exact translation of meaning, but it connects us. It’s in that struggle to get it out, the meaning we have trapped within us, that belies so much our sociality, the innate need to share, to get out of the infinite spiral staircases of our minds and find windows: not ways out, rather, but ways in, in search of connection, of shared truth.

I can’t help myself; it is so late, but it is my time, my mind is racing and I must get this out for fear that it would be lost for ever; so much it’s hard to type... heck I just wrote a poem on my iphone. Time to head to the big guns, a real keyboard.

I have been struggling about writing about people, no, certain people, in my life, who continue to surprise, fascinate, amaze, and just enliven me with their strength, their courage, their brilliance. My friends! My touchstones! These souls, all nodes in my social network, and so much much more than that! I am just marveling at the ways in which and how I know them. People, real people, that I get to know intimate details about, share and laugh with, cry with, and watch and learn from. My pillars, my mentors, my confidantes, my loves, my family... I thought about writing about them generally, as if in sepate bins/categories, but in relation to me, even, they are all intersecting subsets in the venn diagram space that I am so honored to be a part of. I can talk about my mother as a mentor, but she’s also my friend; my friend S is daily inspiration, but she’s also a pillar, giving my strength. My friend G peppers so many of my days with laughter, but also holds a flashlight, and a map to lead me out of my dark-mind days. My sister, a constant source of inspiration for her relentless commitment topursuing her dreams, and also a mentor at so many times, but also my charge. But to talk about these individuals in relation to me is so limited, so one-sided; I want to ode them, and perhaps the only way I know how to here and now is so abstract, that I will attempt to do in poem (which is a much more forgiving form for the spaces in between, the not-said).


So my friend G photographs (and so many other things!!)
But she takes pictures, and her pictures make your heart stop, just for a moment, to allow you to be frozen for the 1/32nd of a second that it took to take that frame, and when it beats again it’s racing as you chase her daughter up a sand dune, into a wave, or up high on a swing. And you are happy.

My friend B crafts (and so many other things!!), and when she does she invites you in, and together you create such a beautiful, genuine treasure, like homemade jam, magnets, buttons, or cards, and in all that time the treasure is the words you share, the lessons you learn, the meanings you make.

My friend S paints (and so many other things!!)
But she paints, and when she paints, if you get the chance to see, be prepared to stop breathing. Just for a moment, because when you do inhale again, you will breath in so much light and mist and presence, for you are there, walking with her, being led by her hand, through the windows of her beautiful mind.

My sister makes people laugh (and so many other things!!), and when she does she does it with style, and she does it through wedding speeches, as a clown for little ones, in her hilarious scripts. She reminds us that the laughter is always there, in all parts, in every day, in everyone, just needs to found, let out, released.

My mom listens (and so many other things!!), and when she does she gets it, the down-deep, the hard to put into words, the pain, the sorrow, but also the love and the courage. And you sit and tell, and connect, and know that you are not alone.

My dad takes care of (and so many other things!!), and when he does he does it so silently, so thoughtfully, so completely, and never expects acknowledgment. A smile and a nod and maybe just time enough to get the paper, a coffee, and a hug.

My M loves in every way he knows how (and so many other things!!), and when he does he does through his shoes, which carry him to work every morning and his family every evening;
through his eyes, which read through so much data, which cherish so many moments of our growing daughter’s life;
Through his hands, which help and heal, which make music, which hold his family.

My people, my pillars, my reasons.


I wrote this over a week ago, and only now just had the guts to post.

A girl and her chair

Christmas came a little early to the Kent household... Nanna and Poppy, please don't be mad, but we couldn't resist opening up the GIANT box that came our way for two (well, three) reasons... (1) we just had to see what was inside; (2) the only thing cooler than a GIANT box is an OPEN GIANT box; and (3) Spot asked us too (no really, he loves GIANT boxes).

All I can say is, it was a win...

With Festivus upon us, this is all I had time for, but I'm brewing some more substantial bloggage. Till then, peace out, Cyber Monday (and good riddance!).

A Day of Grace

Well, it’s about time, Mommy finally let me play with her Button Machine. We struck a deal, something about how if I hugged her lots and promised to not to wake up and sing at 3am, she’d let me test out her Button Machine. I know she’s been writing you all to say what it’s been like to become my Mommy, but now it’s my turn. So I thought I’d tell you all about my day. It was pretty fantastic, but I’m pretty good at having fantastic days.

So, I didn’t wake up at 3am, but I decided I wanted to see Mommy earlier this morning; I could tell when she put me to bed last night that she missed me. So I yelled for her to come in. She did, after a few minutes, but she didn’t look like she usually does in the morning; she smelled more like bed then soap and had on an old t-shirt, not the shiny clothes she usually wears when she comes to get me. Her hair looked really silly too! I offered her one of my pacis to make her feel better. She brought me a bottle and then I helped her get ready. Mommy thanked me for doing a real good job letting her shower; I even took all the white paper off the role in the bathroom and made sure to dump all my toys on the floor, just like she asked.

After we got all ready in our outside clothes and went downstairs, I went over and tried to eat Cat. No, I didn’t; that would be silly!! I did give him lots of pets and was really GENTLE like Mommy I always says. Mommy made me put on Jacket, and I got real mad at Jacket because he always pins my arms down for a second, but then it was okay. We went outside and scraped all the Cold off the car windows, and then Mommy put me in Seat. I get mad at Seat just like I get mad at Jacket, but Mommy I always tells me that I’m okay and then I am. It helps when I get to squeeze Car Bunny; he always gives me great hugs back.

Then we got to School! My favorite. That’s because Miss Sakineh and Miss Matilda and Mr. William are there and they are my teachers AND my best friends. Except for Mommy and Daddy, they’re the best. They teach me all sorts of things and give me lots of hugs and tell me what a Good Girl I am and feed me yummy food and do Art Projects with me. And they have a special room with furniture that’s the size of me and the rest of the Littles (that’s what Mommy says I am, a Little). I don’t even cry when Mommy leaves because she always plays with me at School and I have so much fun there and I like that I have Family and also School. The other Littles are fun, too; we do everything together. Mostly we show Miss Sakineh and Miss Matilda and Mr. William how to make the Toys work, because they’re always asking us to show them.

So we had lots of play time and lots of eating time, and then nap time. All that was fun, but not nearly as fun as when Daddy picked me up! Daddy comes and gets me most days, and it’s so fun because I have so much to tell him about School. He takes me home and then we play untl Mommy comes home and then we eat again. We have a great system for dinner. Mommy and Daddy give me a food, and I eat a little bit, put some in my hair, and then after throw it on the floor they then give me another food, and we go like that for a while. At the end I usually get Fruit - blueberries are my favorite. I could live on a big blueberry. Then sometimes yummy and delicious prunes. And of course milk! I keep trying to tell mommy and daddy that it’s really called “Nana” but they keep calling it “milk,” or sometimes, “em-eye-ell-kay.” We all know that it’s Nana, though, so I don’t know why they’re confused. Silly Mommy and Daddy. They started letting me have Nana while they put on my PJs. I get mad at PJs, too, just like Jacket and Seat, because they also restrict me for a moment. But having Nana helps.

Then the Best Part of Mommy’s Day comes; that’s when she holds me and I read her a story. Well, when she reads it, she only goes in one direction, but I think she’s learning that Books are made to be opened and shut lots of times and you can just pick whatever place you want. I like snuggling with Mommy, too. Daddy wraps me in Blanket; tonight Daddy rocked me in Chair, which he says is the Best Part of His Day.

I’m tired now, so I’m going to go to sleep; Mommy just reminded me that I have to go to the Land of Nod so I can welcome all the new babies into the world (I have lots to tell them). And Mommy loves me to the moon and back and I love her and Daddy that much too.

Sweet dreams! I’ll come back and visit again.

Father, Son, and the Holy... Comb?

A little flashback to August 14 here; I never did report on Grace’s baptism. And it was so lovely! We had G baptized at First United Methodist Church in North Hollywood, California. And, why did we pick a church nearly 3000 miles away from home? Because it's our family’s church, and the pastor that presides over the congregation not only married M and I, but he also baptized M and his sister (Grace’s Godmother). So the church and Pastor Joey have a lot of personal significance in our lives, and we wanted all our families to be there, which they were.

The family and friends that came were incredible, and everyone did a little something that week to remind us that our California peops, despite a 3 hour time difference, 5 hour flight, and 7-day drive, are really there for us. My parents, sister, and cousin took so much time out of their busy lives to spend with us that week. John, Grace’s G-Daddy, asked his friend Florence to sing a special song for Grace during the service. Pastor Joey gave such an inspiring sermon, and as he walked Grace up and down the aisle, my eyes teared with how much his faith has really fathered us over the years. Rosemary (Grace’s Grammy) and John bent over backward to transform their house and yard into such an inviting space for all of our family and close friends to gather. Troas, Brandon, Sydney and Landon (Grace’s aunt and uncle - and now Godparents- and her cousins) aligned their trip from Pittsburgh with ours so we could all be together. My brother Rob, his wife and their two kids, drove the long way from northern California to be there. Grace’s Great Gram also came down from Santa Barbara to be there for our G. So many friends gathered, for this special day; we were so touched, and we recognize just how blessed we are.

So the holy comb? Well, Grace was, and still is, infatuated with putting anything she can into her mouth. It’s as if she can see through her mouth, not just taste and feel. Like it’s her superpower. So when I went I tried to do run a comb over her head, as quickly as I could, right after we hoisted on her Christening gown, and she grabbed it from me. It went straight between her four little teeth. I think for a moment we locked eyes, and her expression basically said, “Listen, Mommy.... You've got this ridiculous dress on me, I’m in this weird big house with a bunch of people staring at me, and you can have it one of two ways: (1) I keep the comb, and I’ll chill out... or (2) you get the comb back; and we’ll see who’s louder, me or that organ over there. Your choice...” (said behind the two biggest and bluest eyes in the whole world).

So, we went with option 1, we all got to keep her eardrums, and she did great! My little angel and her holy comb.

In closing, the verse below really resonates with me. I am always moved by how we gather over ritual, and how those ceremonies unite us, helping us to recognize how connected we all are. Our gatherings do this, and so do the honesty of infants and the wisdom of the oldest among us: bring us together and show us how to love, from our toes to our noses, without even trying.

1 Corinthians 12:13 “For by one Spirit are we all baptized into one body, whether we be Jews or Gentiles, whether we be bond or free; and have been all made to drink into one Spirit.”