The man of the house returns tomorrow morning and everyone
is excited.
Cutiepie's been most excited lately. She said, “finally, someone to hang out
outside with me. I’ll have someone to walk the dog with me and practice camogie
and football!” We all have our places I suppose. Nevermind that I’m sporting hot
pink nail polish of her doing and just yesterday, I drove to three petrol
stations before I found her a slushi.
Last month when Babydoll had an exploratory procedure and
needed anaesthetics, I naturally treated it as very routine, as it was. Not so
for our loopy 11-year-old emerging from induced sleep. Immediately with uncertainty
in her eyes and pained certainty in her voice, she said, “can I call Daddy?” She looked up at me and lifted her hand and
gestured two little fingers to less than that of an inch, and said, “sorry, but
Daddy, gives just this much more assurance.”
We have a lot of changes ahead of us, so I guess it is only
fair we all cherish our own needs and desires. For the last two weeks we’ve
been reprogramming this all girls house. The girls are sulking their way back
to their own bed at bedtime. HIS barca lounger is back in its resident corner. Groceries were beefed up, with, well, more
beef.
It’s like if my girls went to University and I unfolded my sewing
in their bedroom in their absence. Of course, I’d gladly pack it all up in anticipation
of their return. I think the daily
struggles and life’s plans make us absent minded of all the little details that
help to show what we mean to one another.
And discoveries can be surprising, even to some. Yesterday Roisin opened
the fridge and gasped loudly. It was just the day before that Babydoll upended a golden syrup container across two pantry shelves, multiple
cans, jars with sticky strewn past the washing machine to the floor. So what
could it be now in the fridge? With big
eyes, Cutiepie looked at me. “Wow. Why do
we have that in the fridge? We never have beer!”
Because, I remember
the details, that’s why.
