Word. That's what I'm talkin bout.

From Oregonlive's The Mom Beat.

Bye. Again. My girl.

If there's anything to take away from this blog, it's that a stay-at-home dad can't handle two kids and two blogs.

daddy dums was a dud.

It's time to go back to work. Tomorrow, in fact. I decided to write Paige a good-bye note, since it was her birth that triggered this leave, even if she didn't get all my attention during it.



Paige: We've spent three months together, at home, with your sister, getting to know each other during my parental leave. It all ends tomorrow. It kind of ended two days ago. I went to work Saturday for the first time since late August. I'll return for good Tuesday.

I've taken little time to write you or reflect upon our time together. Sure, I've been busy. Keeping up with two young girls is harder than keeping up with the police scanners at work during weekend shifts. There was also the buyout, forcing a sudden exploration of school and a new career. That was quite an unplanned distraction. Unfortunate, but necessary, I guess. We traveled as a family a bit. Otherwise, I had no excuses. I just rarely stopped to think. When I did, I usually thought about myself. For that, I apologize. It was what life threw at me and all I could do to field it.



I fear this could be the story of your adolescent life. You are an adorable baby. You sit and play alone for long stretches. Strangers marvel at your ability to entertain yourself. That's one reason why I worry you'll be taken for granted, overshadowed by your ebullient sister, left by us too often to tend to your own needs when you could really use a little attention yourself. Sure, you scream like a chimpanzee when you need something. When you tire of playing in the middle of the floor. When you're done laying in your crib. But generally, you're just fine playing solo. You find things to occupy your fingers, fill your hands. You flash knowing smiles up at us while you do.

I will miss those flashes. I will miss those quiet times when Claire went to Dana's. You sat on my chest as I laid on the couch. You fell asleep sitting up while I read the paper or watched 'Mad Men.' You buried your gums in my shoulder when you got hungry for milk. I'll miss your spastic bursts of glee when you saw mom walk through the door from work. I'll especially miss those, even if they reinforced you as momma's girl.



We can still play peek-a-boo. I can still tickle your tummy with the whiskers of my chin. I'll change your diapers. I'll take you for jogs. I'll feed you spoonfuls of peas. We'll make coffee. I'll read you books, tell you stories. We'll just do these things less often.

And that will be my loss, too.

By request

Some grandparents reportedly felt deprived of this little girl. So, here she swings....

Claire the loudspeaker

Been a long time, I know. I could write post after post about why. How figuring out what to do about work consumed more of my time than it should have. How I likely ignored opportunities to go hiking in great weather with Paige, like I did when Claire was 6 months old, to instead research graduate schools and language immersion programs.

But I won't. It's almost Halloween. I've got two weeks of leave left before returning to work for good as long as work as I know it lasts. Two weeks to enjoy these girls as they will only exist now and never more.

Yesterday I took Claire and Paige to story hour at the library. Claire settled herself on one of the risers while I sat a step behind with Paige between my legs. The room was nearly full -- maybe 20 kids about Claire's age and their caretakers took their seats around us.

Near the end of the half-hour, the librarian wrapped up another Halloween story with a description of kids opening their bags of candy. Claire's voice shot up over the narrator's. "But... but .... but... candy is not good for you!" Claire yelled. The librarian looked annoyed but every parent laughed aloud. I buried my head in Paige's hood. One mother leaned over to me: "You've taught your daughter well."

This was Claire to a T: Bold. Interactive. Earnest. Wanting to help.

Later that day we went to the park a block from home. Claire was thrilled to see it peopled with other boys and girls. "Oh!" she yelled. "There are lots of people there!" She ran toward the crowd at the jungle gym. She eventually persuaded a girl to give up her scooter so she could ride it and made friends with an older girl on the slide.

Eventually, of course, everyone left, leaving just me, Claire and Paige. Claire wondered aloud, "Who else is coming, daddy?"

"I don't know," I said.

A minute later, a mom rounded the corner with a toddler in tow. Claire, standing on the top of a knee-high wall, quickly found them and sounded the cry. "Oh, here comes a little boy!"

Then she turned to the other side of the park and spotted someone else. "Oh, here comes another person." Joy overtook her, I kid you not. "Everyone is coming!" she yelled. "Hooray! Hooray!"

I find I can hide behind my kid, let her do all the talking and just sit back and enjoy the show. Field credit without doing anything. That's how my girls make me feel. Pretty proud and humbled.

Connections

This weekend, Claire created a new game. She asked me to sit at the end of the slide so that she could slide feet first into me.

Each time she plunged into my side, she burst into laughter and I grabbed her sides, started tickling her and buried my face into her neck. She cackled uncontrollably, losing her voice completely sometimes, and she climbed back up the ladder to do the crash course all over again.

It reminded me of how important physical play can be for a child. At lease for Claire it is. She lights up any time she makes physical contact with me, with anyone. She slithers up against me like a cat, wanting to continue that connection for a long time. It's why she loves to rough-house. She throws herself on top of me and rolls around on my torso, like a cat flopping on the floor.

I feel something between us too, too. I'm not talking about sexual attraction, of course. I'm talking about simple human connection, the verification that we are human beings who belong together, that we're safe close to each other. It's more than the feeling I get when I held Claire as a baby or when I hold Paige. It's a synergy, a reciprocal validation -- of love, I guess. It's one reason why I'm eternally grateful we had children. Because it's different than any other feeling I've experienced.

I'm sure it'll stop before she turns 15. But if it doesn't, I won't complain.

My own medicine.

Claire got mad at me today for moving her play-doh off a chair. Somehow, I messed up the play-doh in a way I don't fully understand.

She told me not to fool with her play-doh again."I mean it," she said.

She continued...

Claire: “If you don’t cooperate, I am going to leave.”

Brent: “Where are you going to go?”

Claire: “I don’t know. I will see when I get there.”

Week Two

Spent much of the day watching Paige or Claire or both while mom tended to errands. I was laundry to do, floors to mop, calls to make and dinner to cook. A typical parental-leave day.

On my lone break I went for a run. It was 3 p.m. The sun had an eerie burnt-orange light, as if it was shining through a stained glass window. The day was glorious. Running through Tryon Creek seemed a bit like running through some cathedral of light full of comfort and levitating beauty.

Claire has become an involved three year old. She's her own person now. She speaks in long, complete sentences. She corrects me when I use the wrong word. She jockeys to get what she wants, offering, for example, to put away the cookies so she can sneak a taste of one. She anticipates the impact of some of her actions. She forgives easily. Except when she hits, of course.

Paige began sitting up on the floor. She needs the support of a nursing pillow, but she can stay upright. She likes this view. She falls quiets and focuses on whatever's in front of her, be it a blanket, toy or pillow. It's a new view. Kind of like a run through a park on a fall afternoon.

Day One

My wife's first day back to work in five months. Leaving home for her was nearly as tough as labor. She actually tried to leave three separate times this morning before she actually, physically, departed us.

The girls were good to me. Their mom, before she went to work and while I was out of the room, pleaded with the eldest to treat dad nicely. To cooperate.

"I am cooperating," the eldest said twice today.

She was.

Paige was, too. She fell asleep just as we entered the library for toddler storytime, which Claire ate up. She jumped around. She clapped. She answered the storyteller's questions. Paige, meanwhile, slept like, well, a baby.

Later, at home, they both went down for naps at the same time.

Even later, Claire amazingly followed my directions. I told her to leave me and Paige alone and play outside on the swings. I was trying to quietly rock Paige to sleep at the time.

Not a bad day.

Funny, though. Early this morning, I found myself outnumbered at the park. In several ways.

I took the girls to our favorite greenspace a block from our house. Claire climbed the gym and the rocks. Paige hung out in the stroller.

Soon, three other women each with a toddler came along. All three, it turned out, weren't moms.

They were nannies.

"Oh really," one said to the other. "Which agency did you go through."

"I met the family on Sunday," said another. "They were soooo great. They want me fulltime. And it's great 'cause it pays really well."

At one point, one of the children fell from a rock, scraped her knee and burst into tears. Her nanny didn't see it because she was talking to me.



Later, back home, while she was swinging, Claire told me, "I pushed that girl off the rock."

"You did!?!?" I said, trying not to show my alarm.

"Yes," she said.

"What happened when you did that?" I asked, bending down and looking her square in the eyes.

"She fell down and scraped her knee," she said. "And she cried."

"I'll bet," I said. "That hurt her."

"Yeah."

"What could you have said to make her feel better," I asked.

"I sorry."

"That's right. I wish you would have said that."

"Yeah."

We hugged. She can be a devil. But she's learning to repent.

Why this?

Back at it.

Three years ago I took three months off to spend with my first daughter.

Daughter No. 2 gets me now. Actually, both of them do.

This family leave might not extend 12 weeks. Not enough money in the bank. But I figure with two, the potential for entertaining and enlightening strokes of parenting is almost twice as great.

Thus, this blog. Separate from this one.

We'll see how it goes....