rascalthon:: thoughts from a father

We are swiftly moving along with the adoption process, and I hope to soon be able to jot down some thoughts on the movements of our hearts and family. It’s been quite daunting thus far as we taken each next step. The more questions that we are asked, the more we realize that we do not have answers, just a direction. We are adding two rooms onto our little house as well as wading through the Ukrainian adoption process. Thanks to many of you for your interest and encouragement on this next leg of a journey we would have never chosen, but are learning to love. We appreciate you.

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Ginny awoke earlier than usual last Friday morning, toting a couple of bags, each chocked full- the larger one with attire suited for a warmer climate and the smaller one on her shoulder with rolled magazines poking out the top like miniature chimneys. This was a look she had not sported in quite some time. The look of a gal going somewhere. Alone. Noticeably absent was the mother-tote; the mainstay of her daily fashion as of late- with snacks, diapers and cups with lids.

She headed off to Phoenix with women she calls family, and I set out to my pass a self-imposed father test. The one whereby if you cannot take care of the ones you spawned, then you fail.

Four days without the woman who tirelessly and joyfully captains the home front for our family. Not because she is the woman. But because she is gifted and she is good, and she would have it no other way.

Due to my introduction to fatherhood. The one whereby, through Eliot’s life, I was allowed to stay home with my son and with Ginny. The one where I prided myself in doing everything he needed. With his care we took shifts, and there was no way I was going to wake up Ginny from the 5 hours of rest she got in order to ask for pointers. I did rouse her in fear a few times, but I tried to never lean on her just because. Truth is, even with this attitude it was never hidden that Ginny was the honor roll parent and I was scrapping to pass.

It is with this backdrop of fathering that I admit that I now rarely feel as if I am doing enough for my children. These children. This recurring notion can spiral into feeling as if I am not living out the lessons that Eliot’s life taught me. That I am toiling at petty fare while beauty is dismissed beneath my own nose.

I do not get to be with my kids as much of the day as I did with Eliot, nor as much as I would prefer. I have missed some doctor appointments for Hazel and Anders. I quizzed Eliot’s doctors at every visit as if they were trying to date my daughter. With the rascals, the gap has widened between Ginny’s competencies and my own. I listened intently to the tale of Anders’ first steps. The ones that took place when I was in some meeting with someone.

Therefore, I was looking forward to this time with my kids, but I was also a little scared that my gaps would be exposed. Of course Ginny is better at the thing that she does every day. But I was dead set to pass the test and enjoy the moments I often miss.

And I did. We had a ball. At the least, they played along for my feelings. Though I did not know with precision the size of bites that Anders could handle, we made it. And, hear me, I was not babysitting, not doing daddy daycare, not pulling a Mr. Mom. I am a father. It’s not noble, but it is wonderful.

Thank you Ginny. For sailing the ship with a steady hand and a grace that makes it look easy. You’re the kind of mom that misses one, mothers a couple and sets her gaze halfway around the world for another. With you and these, my blessing is obvious.