A Good Daddy

Written by Lee

I'll never forget the night of our very first date. I was 22-years-old and the world was big and mine. I arrived with my friend to his Hollywood apartment. We were going on a casual group date to see Blues Traveler play at The Palace in Hollywood. He was hanging at home with my friend's boyfriend and a few others who would cruise on over with us to the show.

I was nervous.

He was cool. He was gorgeous. He was sexy.

And he didn't even know any of those things about himself which made him all the more all of those things. My friend and I had just come from my apartment in Brentwood where we had chosen the appropriate early 90's clothes to wear for a festive night in Hollywood at The Palace seeing Blues Traveler. I guess it was a mixture of hippie and denim if I remember it right. Black leggings, some kind of undershirt, a long denim overshirt, some hippie necklaces. My hair was still in the permed category - long blonde curls.

We knocked on his door but he wasn't the one who opened it. Some other dude did. As soon as the door swung open, I saw him. He stood in his living room in the midst of a small group of friends in a mellow loose button-down shirt, a pair of jeans, and longish blonde hair that hung mellowly at his shoulders. He looked a tad thinner than I had remembered but there was no denying it. This guy made my heart skip a beat. He had one foot propped up on the coffee table and over his shoulder was draped a shiny black cat. When he saw me, he smiled a sweet hello and all the while, he gently pet his cat with such tenderness that the image is seared into my memory. And I am not known to have a good memory. At. All.

In that instant, I thought to myself, "Wow, this guy is gonna be one amazing daddy someday."

The journey from that fateful moment is filled with twists and turns and adventures and passion and freedom and youth and spontaneaity and music and reckless abandon and fear and faith and youth and growing up and doubt and decision....and it all ended in a lifelong commitment that I am certain will be just that. Life. Long. And even beyond.

I never quite understood how love could create new life but our love showed me the way. And from the moment we walked hand-in-hand to witness the results of our first home pregnancy test and that little line hit us between our hearts like a ton of bricks and fear shot through me like a bolt of lightning, I knew the only way I could survive becoming a mother was if he were by my side. And thank God he was. And thank God he is.

His strength is quiet but there is no denying that he is my rock. Gently holding me in place as I waver and slowly pulling me to safety when I have wandered away too far. His love for our children is humbling to me. His patience and tenderness is beyond what I could ever ever give to them.

He looked me square in the eyes as I pushed and pushed to birth our firstborn after hours and hours of excrutiating labor - with my feet on each of his shoulders - and he calmly, with love and conviction, encouraged me to keep going. As we welcomed one, then two, then three souls into the world, I was reminded again and again and again that although I do not generally believe in soulmates, I had found mine.

This tender soul of a man knows no boundaries when it comes to his children. There is nothing he can not do when it comes to caring for our kids. His affection and focus and loyalty is rare. His identity does not come from work or friends or hobbies. He is a daddy first and foremost. He is most fulfilled hanging on the sofa with three giggling creatures climbing all over him in one big entangled mess of love.

Our children are so incredibly blessed to have him in their lives. Their love and their hearts and their souls will feel a safety and security and strength and centeredness and belonging because he is theirs.

He is their daddy. And I'm telling you, he is good.

Belonging

I do a lot of things wrong as a mother.  

I yell way too much, I have a controlling nature which I'm more aware of with each passing day, I'm impatient like no other person I know, I'm still way too selfish for being a mama of three young ones, and I generally lack in most areas domestic like cooking and sewing and being able to whip together a craft project on a rainy afternoon. 

And too much of the time, I get caught up in the wrong stuff. Focusing on it. Stressing about it.  Wondering why this mother gig doesn't come a little more naturally to me.  

But today, at church, (I'm Catholic and although the road hasn't been a non-questioning one, I can honestly say that going to mass has become a refuge for me), the priest said something in his homily that I know but I often forget.

And I wanted to write it down so I might remember to think about it more often.

He said, "The greatest gift as parents that you can give your children is your love for one another.  It is this love and showing them this love that gives them a sense of belonging.  That they belong to a family."

I remember on my wedding day almost 11 years ago, I got up at the reception and I said a few words before my parents took the floor to dance together.  I wanted to acknowledge in front of everyone what they had given me in my childhood.  And I said the very thing that the priest said today.

I said, "The greatest gift you have given me, Mom and Dad, is your love for one another.  Thank you for showing it to us all of these years because it has helped to make me who I am today."

And I meant it. To the core of my being. 

My parents love and adore each other. And without a doubt they created a place where myself and my three siblings felt like we truly belonged. And we have that feeling still. I think it's one of the main reasons we have been able to confidently traipse around the globe, create lives for ourselves wherever we are, and to roll with the inevitable punches that life has thrown our way.

When I think about my kids in the future and I wonder how they will "turn out", I usually have this feeling that they're gonna be "okay." Not necessarily rich, or perfectly educated, or have the most stellar job, but they will be people who know who they are, they will have an understanding of the earth they are walking on and they will feel that they have a place in the world because they belong to a family.

Belonging. 

Isn't that what life is all about, really?

So even though I do a lot of things wrong, I think I do one thing right.  I love my husband right and he loves me right.  And hopefully our kids are noticing.

So the next time I'm having the crappiest day a mama can have (uh, yesterday) yelling at the three whiniest, most disobedient, back-talking, messy, infuriating children, I'm gonna try and switch my focus. 

Instead of looking around my cluttered home and listening to the screaming of my crazy children and thinking about all of the wrong things that are going on, I'm gonna grab my dude, squeeze him tight, tell him I love him more than life itself, and then rest in the fact that at least ONE thing is going right. 

Dudes and Coupons...

...a seriously toxic combination, those two.  Am I right?  Or what?

Let's just say up front that I gave him fair warning.  When your wife decides to start an online playground, you should play by wifey's rules or be threatened with being the subject of a post.  Wow. That sounded bitchy, huh?  Hey, nothing wrong with a little dramatics.

So...

We've been involved in some organizing around this house like so many others across this great land of ours and our current projects have centered around our closets.  A good closet system is the answer to all of your organization prayers, I'm telling ya.  Just in case you didn't know.  

So when the love of my life was headed to the mecca of household bliss known as Bed, Bath and Beyond to return a couple of closet organizational pieces that didn't quite fit and pick up a few more, I ran to my coupon drawer (yep, my drawer devoted to coupons) and pulled out a stack of these:

I'm not sure exactly how to describe the look on my dude's face upon seeing the dreaded coupons come out.  I mean, after all of these years together, he knows me.  He gets it.  Coupons make my world go around just a little bit more smoothly.  I feel a sense of "Oh yeah, I'm beating the system, I'm saving a buck, I'm somehow winning in this whole crazy journey called life," and well, my dude?  He's all, "Holy crap.  She's standing there with the coupons again. Assaulting my manhood. Making me walk into a store with a literal mountain of papers screaming 'I need a discount on what I'm about to buy'."

So yeah, the look on his face is a combination of eye-rolling fear and dread and damn mixed with complete and utter love and understanding for his coupon-crazy wife.

Now, I'll grant him this.  The coupons for Bed, Bath and Beyond are HUGE. I mean, can they make them any bigger?They measure like 4" x 8" or something like that and  the numbers are all HUGE. They scream, "I WANT 20% off!" or maybe to him "I NEED 20% off!"  

So even though I see that familiar look on his face, I start explaining, "When you return these items, tell them you forgot the coupon the first time you were there and ask for the discount on the stuff we ARE going to keep. They're all cool with that. They totally allow that. And then when you buy the new stuff, you can use ALL of these because they totally let you do that even though they say they really don't and....and..."

And the dude replies, "Honey, really?  I'm not gonna do all that."

And as if I'm shocked by his reply, I'm all "Really?  Why not?"

"I don't want to deal with all of that, you know that. Plus how much are we really going to save with all of that hassle? Each item doesn't even cost that much so 20% off each little one doesn't even add up to that much."

I was prepared for that response so I pull out a brand new threat that has been percolating in my brain for moments just. like. this. 

I say, "If you don't take these coupons, this will be a topic I'm gonna write about on the blog."

It doesn't take him long to digest that one.  He says, "Okay."  

And walks out the door coupon-free.

I better start working on a new approach.

Unexpected free time

My in-laws called this morning offering me the unexpected - some free time sans kids.

Holy shit.  

It's like hitting the jackpot when a call like this comes in.  I can barely contain myself with all of the endless possibilities.   

After all of the usual morning routines around our home, my dude pulled out of the driveway around 10:30 this morning to drop them off for a day of playing with the grandparents.  The kids were giddy, mama was ecstatic.

As I watched them pull away, my mind started doing what it does when I suddenly find myself with some unexpected free time.  It started racing. Thought after thought after thought of all the things I could do today.  

Kinda like this:

I could clean, the floor needs mopping, the kitchen needs scrubbing, laundry is piling up as usual, I should put away the basket of folded laundry first, I should clean the bathrooms, I should hang some pictures up in our room, I could go to IKEA and handle getting all of that stuff for our master closet, I could go to Bed, Bath and Beyond for stuff I need, I could go for a run, I could go to the gym, I need to start working out more if I'm gonna ever do another race, I could blog, I could blog surf, I could return many overdue emails, I could get a man/ped, I could call some friends, I could finish up my Christmas cards so I could actually send them, I could go grocery shopping, we need bread and eggs and just everything, I could finish baking those molasses cookies for my sister, I could pay some bills, I could organize our insanely unorganized office, I could clean out the kids' drawers of all of the clothes that don't fit them, I could go through the garage and get ready for a yard sale, I could get my Subaru ready to sell (we just got a mini-van, yep), I could drop my camera off to get fixed, I could spend some time working in my volunteer role at CR's school, I could take a walk on the beach, I could go buy some make-up remover that I need, I could plan a little getaway for the family this week, I could....I could....I could.....

...and the list goes on and on.

And as the mind races, the clock ticks.  And the longer I don't do anything, well, the longer I don't DO ANYTHING!!

So in the end, I cranked up a nice shuffle of Beck tunes, did just a tad of kitchen cleaning, just enough so I wouldn't feel like crap every time I walked in there, and then my dude and I decided to do this:

We took our two doggy creatures to an old stomping ground of ours...a hike we did many times before with the beasts before our three human creatures came along.  

And in the middle of the silent hills that stretch away from the Pacific, we took some clean deep breaths and remembered for an instant our previous life.  

When free time flowed like water from a faucet.   

And after an afternoon of remembering what a day alone together felt like, we jumped into the van, picked up the kids, hugged and kissed them crazy, brought them home and tucked them into bed.

Sans kids is cool....but only for a little while.

And when I started taking off my shirt, he...

...wait.  I'm getting ahead of myself.  Let me back up.

It happens almost every day.  When I finally find some quiet time at some point of the day to escape, I will head up to the only refuge I need in this life...

...my shower.   

My shower simply rules.  You'd have to shower in it to know what I'm talking about.  

So on more than one occasion, my dude comes with me.  To join in on the fun, get all steamy...and smiley.

And every time he is with me, the same ritual occurs.  

He hangs out in the doorway as I undress.  The anticipation is almost too much for him.  He starts smiling from the moment I begin....and the grin grows with each article of clothing that is dropped to the floor. 

I always leave my top for last.  Just a habit I guess.  And he likes it that way. Because more than anything else, I can honestly say he's a boob man.

So as I start to lift off my shirt, he is staring at me so intensely I feel naked already.  I pause a bit self-consciously.  He starts making noises...a little laugh.  Could he be growling?  Yeah, sounds like a little growl.

And then when I actually slip my top off over my head, he lets out a full-on scream. And he actually points at my breasts with a devilish smile.  It's weird really.  How excited he gets.  He simply can't wait to get his mouth on them.

Is it normal for a dude to act this way?  

I wish the other dude in my life would display the same kind of enthusiasm. 

The Birthday Recap

So the birthday was pretty killer as far as meeting all of my birthday needs.  

1) At 3:30 pm, my man drove our three children to the in-laws while I was supposed to be getting ready for our night out.  I fell asleep on the couch. Brilliant.  Truly.  Woke up when the dude got back home and yes, we were alone.  Our home without the kids is something that rarely, if ever, happens so I started wondering if I even needed to get out for that evening cruise.    But in the end I got my lazy ass up. 

2) Earlier in the day as I was driving back from CR's soccer game with both the Love Fairy and El Destructo, I found my dude washing the Ghia to prep her for our evening cruise.  It brought tears to my eyes.  (I'm known to be rather emotional.)    So the Ghia looked all sparkly but our beautiful sunset possibilities were being tampered with by the fact that all of Southern California is currently on fire.  Yikessss.  

But the white ash fluttering down from the eerie sky did not stop us.  We put the top down, cruised to the beach praying we wouldn't start having respiratory problems from all those embers and then a bird crapped on my head.  I. Kid. You. NOT.  That is the FIRST time that has ever happened in the 14 years I have been cruising in that Ghia.  Didn't that bird know it was my birthday?  

But fiery ash, no sun to be seen in a hazy sky, and bird poop would not stop us. We did an abbreviated version of my coastal cruise, but we did drive to the ocean, walk to the water on that balmy, firestorm of a night, snap a few photos (see below) and have some laughs.  

    

                The Santa Monica Pier with new solar-powered ferris wheel 

(that circle of light in the middle)

What it might look like when the world is ending

        (in my humble opinion)

3) Kids did NOT get along smashingly all day long but I guilted them enough in that good ol' "It's my birthday - won't you just stop all that screaming" fashion and it was at least kept at bay.

4) My birthday party in the comment section was a bit smaller than expected but it was mighty.   Thanks for the well wishes from you hardcores and new bloggy friends.  Made me smile.

After the beach adventure, the evening included trying to eat dinner at our favorite little Tokyo BBQ restaurant but there was an hour wait and we are so not into waiting for food.  So the back-up plan was put into action which was making my dude suffer through "The Secret Life of Bees",  one of my favorite books and one of my not so favorite movies.  There were some solid aspects of the flick (and I did cry more than once) but as usual, the book rules.

Okay enough birthday hoopla.  

Tomorrow we will get back on track to the mission here at MWOB - learning how to embrace our beautiful mommy inadequacy with both arms and squeeze tightly.  

My Very Own Personal Barista

You know what really works for me? Having my very own personal barista. I think every MWOB should have one especially if she needs some espresso-based coffee drink in the morning to get her a** in gear.

I wake up most mornings feeling like I'm utterly hammered.  I have grown to accept this dreaded morning feeling because I've known for most of my life that I am a "night person."   And being a "night person" when you have young kids simply means you're screwed.  

But alas, I have been blessed beyond description with a partner-in-crime who happens to be a "morning person."  Growing up in Southern California close to the water and surfing at a young age has instilled in my dude a desire to wake up before the roosters.  I have often wondered if he missed his calling and should have been delivering newspapers to all the sleepyheads around town.  

Not only is my man a "morning person", he is also my very own personal barista.  For many years now, on most mornings, he stands at our kitchen counter slaving over the espresso machine.   You see, I'm not a coffee drinker.  I actually don't like just coffee.  I'm way too snobby for that.   We don't even have a coffee maker.  (Actually we own one but it sits in a box in the garage until my parents come for a visit.)  I only like one thing - cappuccinos.  At Starbucks, it's actually a double tall dry cappuccino.  (And half the time, it shows up either like a latte or a super duper dry cappuccino)  At home, I don't need to say a thing.  My man knows exactly how I like it.

My barista prepares the perfect cappuccino and delivers it to me either when I stumble down the stairs into the kitchen all glurry (see previous post for definition) or on the really special mornings, it is delivered to my bedside where I take my first desperate sip before my eyes are even open.   

I know it sounds glorious, doesn't it?  Well, we MWOBS need daily divine intervention in order to get through the day and mine arrives in a coffee cup hand-delivered by a hot dude.