I Want To Be A Dad

It was raining when I picked up my daughter from school this afternoon.  Her high school shares its building with a Head Start program.  We arrived early, just as many of the Head Start kids were dismissed.  One by one, big burly fathers appeared at the door.  From my observations, dads don't talk much.  They come, pick up their kids, and go.  One carried an adorable pink backpack and raced his little girl through the rain.  Her ruffled coat flapped open as she ran to the car, where he opened her door for her and tossed the pack onto the seat.  Another dad stomped through the rain while sharing an umbrella with his son, who took no notice of the umbrella at all.  He was all about the puddles.

A few moms came, too.  The scenes look very different when a mom leaves the building.  She's got her son's hand firmly gripped in her own - safety first, you know.  Her child carries his own backpack and his coat is safely zipped up to his throat.  She looks busy and purposeful, as does the child she escorts.  She has a lot to say as they walk: Did you eat all your lunch?  Do you have your homework in your bag?  Don't get your shoes wet!

At our home, Mom oversees schoolwork and chores.  Bedtime and wake time are regulated by Mom, as well.  Dad is in charge of entertaining the kids while dinner is being made and cleaned up.  While this job is primarily focused on the Toddler, his influence quickly spills over to the Tween and Teen, as well.  Dad is the Wii master, the about-to-be-defeated Undefeated Wrestling Champion, the silly-voiced narrator.  When Mom announces bedtime, three voices rise in dissent:  Teen's, Tween's, and Dad's.  I don't complain about the lack of help in the kitchen.  Dad has a very stressful job and needs the evening to detox and regroup.  I enjoy training the kids and running the home (to an extent).  But I envy the liberty.  It would be nice to be seen as the playful parent, and not the insistent one, now and then.

Every once in a while, I'd like to be the dad.

The Bear Truth

Tween has a bear.

Booxie has been Tween's companion since he was one and a half.  Booxie is an every-night bear, a find-him-if-he's-missing-no-matter-what bear.  They've been together through thick and thin: secret midnight conferences, under-table "club" meetings, hospitalizations, vacations.  Naturally Tween wanted to share his honored friend with Toddler.  He hoped that his little sister would esteem Booxie with the same reverence that Tween had.  Accordingly, one evening after dinner he cautiously introduced them.

Toddler's response was not quite what Tween expected.  First she drooled on Booxie - drooled!  Imagine the indignation!  Then she ran around the living room, carrying Booxie by his tie like the lump of stuffing he was before he met Tween.  The more Tween chased Toddler to rescue Booxie, the faster Toddler ran (you knew that, of course).  She gave Booxie slobbery kisses, hugged him downside-up, sat on him, tossed him carelessly about.  Tween was outraged.

He gave her Booxie again the next night.

At this point, he says he will not give Booxie to Toddler completely.  After all, Booxie is a very special part of Tween.  Booxie still has confidante duties to fulfill.  You don't hand over your best friend of many years just because someone cute and needy comes along.  And yet, Tween offers Booxie again and again.  It's as if he wants her to love Booxie, but at the same time is afraid she will.

Booxie

It's been an interesting exchange to watch - this giving and pulling back.  It must be hard to hand one so loved over to someone of undetermined character, who might devalue, or even damage, the one loved.  

I think I understand how Tween feels.  I feel the same way, in fact, about my Teen as she grows and weans herself of our home.  I want all the world to love her, yet I'm afraid they will.  A giving and a pulling back, for sure.

Random Acts of Concert

I love all of my children, but my teen and toddler are definitely at more lovable stages than my tween.  Tweens are not as cuddly and charming as very small children, nor are they as companionable as teens.  Parenting a tween is very hard work for me (...she said, having never parented a defiant, rebellious child to adulthood).  Tweens are physically, socially, and emotionally awkward, and they test all fronts at all times.

It is rare to find a point of agreement between my tween and I.  He is over-the-top goofy except when he's brownnosing me or being sulky and sullen.  Sometimes it seems that everything he does grates on my last nerve.  Luckily, I seem to have lots of last nerves!

Once in a while, though, something strange occurs - and I think you will agree with my definition of strange here.  One of us will begin to invent a jingle about some mundane happening.  A jazzy tune will accompany a lyric about losing yet another pencil, for example.  The pencil song develops a bit, and then the other of us jumps in.  First we do a little echo.  Then we alternate lines or verses.  Finally we throw a little harmony, a little embellishment in the mix.

Sometimes a lost pencil becomes a full-fledged musical, complete with choreography and the Big Ending.

We laugh, pat each other on the back, hum another bar or two.  Then it's back to struggle and strain.

Sometimes it scares me that this child, who lives to drive me insane, is so like me.  Though he's in the driver's seat on this journey, he sure can make the trip fun!

And now you know my tween is a boy.  So goes the anonymity.