The intensity of the gaze locks me onto your tiny face and as I study the gorgeous speckles in your increasingly hazel eyes, I begin to reflect on my world and all that consumes me. All the clutter that crowds my mind in an almost endless stream comes flooding to the forefront and the all too familiar rush of stress strikes at me from a distance. Complications from work, internal struggles, external stressors - all of these bang against my pysche like beat up drum and I try to keep it from reaching the surface like I have for so long.

Then, just as the emotions are about to spill over, still locking onto your gaze, a slight change happens in the outline of your face. And as I pull my vision back from just your eyes I begin to notice something that makes all the stressors melt away into the darkness of the night. I see your smile.

You smile at me, GirlyGirl, and, all at once, the world seems right. I smile back at you and just the act of smiling - of sharing this moment with my third child - brings me back to what is important and what is not. I lean down and kiss your fleshy cheek and feel the coolness of your skin against mine. It is at this moment that I have some clarity. I have clarity of who I am and what I need to do and it has nothing to do with anyone or anything else.

I breath deeply as I lay you gently in your crib and rub your little back as you drift off to sleep. With every exhale I feel more grounded than I have for a while and I try to make a note of how this feels. It feels good.

I’ve got work to do. But I’m also going to be just fine.

My daughter’s smile told me so.

On my lunch break the other day, I stopped off at the local store and picked you and your sister up a knit hat for a whopping $4.01. Bargain. I was excited to bring it to you and you were equally excited to receive it. The first night, you slept with it on your cute little head and it was evident you were excited to wear your hat to school.

As I returned home from work after your first day at school with your new hat, I was eager to find out how the day had went. It was then that I received some news that made me hurt for you.

You tell me, “Some girls in my class made fun of my hat today, Daddy.”

I can see the sadness in your face and that you are struggling with the conflict between the love of your hat and the acceptance of your peers. I give you a hug and as I pull away I ask you if this made you sad. You nod yes with solemn eyes and I pull you close again, searching for a way to take away the hurt.

As I hold you in an embrace, I whisper into your ear, “Buddy, the important thing is that you love the hat. These girls are being mean and if you don’t wear this hat tomorrow to school, you are letting these girls - these haters - you are letting them win. It doesn’t matter what they think, buddy. We don’t make decisions based on what others think, okay?”

You pull away again and you nod. I’m not sure my talk has sunk in but we leave it be for the rest of the night. As I walk you to the bus the next morning, you carry the hat in your hand and I’m still unsure what you will do. As the bus comes, I lean down to give you a longer hug than usual and I whisper in your ear, “Don’t let the haters win.”

With that, you smile and turn to board the bus. As you walk on and find your seat I can see you sitting with your sister and your best friend. And as the bus pulls away I notice something that makes me smile.

You’re wearing the hat.

Fast forward six years and I knew that Baby #3 would need a blog name. So, rather than learn from the past, I attempted to create a name. M&M was used at first based on some letters in her name. But that didn’t sit with me. So then I used Special K - which was another nod to her name. But that wasn’t resonating with me either. And during this time, of course, organically derived nicknames began to emerge. And the one that seems to be used the most is Girly Girl. So, why fight it? From here on out, the baby will be known as GirlyGirl.

Unless, of course, we change our minds.

I looked at them from across the table and a heaviness weighed on my heart as I struggled with how to answer this question. I glanced at their mother and she looked back at me with a look that said, “How are you going to answer this one?”

And so I told them the truth:

I believe.

And while I kept it short and neither confirmed or denied the existence of a fat man in a red suit, I affirmed that I believed in him and that was good enough to end the discussion. But as I sit here now, a day removed from the unexpected question, I feel the need to elaborate even further. Because no matter your age, 6 or 60, believing in something is important. So, years from now, as you read this, my little ones, I hope you still believe.

Because I do believe. I believe in a warm, genuine love that makes kids feel safe and wanted and adored. I believe in the magic of Christmas mornings and the anticipation of promises delivered. I believe in cookies with egg nog and carrots for reindeer and stockings hung by the chimney with care. I believe in fantastical stories of ’round the world trips and radar systems that track His every move. I believe in the power of Santa’s lap and the tears of terror and smiles of joy that accompany it. I believe in naughty and nice and a list that is checked twice - a list that holds such esteem that behavior is changed between Thanksgiving and Christmas morning. I believe in the North Pole, Silver Bells and Reindeer Games. And I believe in the power of a man, real or imagined, that spreads joy to countless kids across the world. Yes, my children, I believe.

And I hope you always do too.

And while Swee’Pea was clearly excited, she was also apprehensive. She has a history of being scared to try new things and this was no different. She shed a few tears and asked for her old bed back. TheMonk, also feeling vulnerable and unsure, did the same. It was heartbreaking to see the looks on their faces as they faced the great unknown that stretches before them. It was like they understood the significance of this moment - that they would be going their separate paths - and weren’t quite ready.

So we gave hugs and kisses and reassurances and on the first night in her new bed, Swee’Pea chose to sleep with TheMonk. Notice the holding of hands, even as they sleep. May they always have each other when they need it most.

Lyrics:
I used to write a blog
About Swee’Pea & TheMonk
But then came #3
And now they’re in a funk, Boo Hoo Hoo
But Santa’s on his way
So we are being good
We tell Santa we love our sis
We’re just misunderstood!
Oh, Jingle Bells, The Baby Smells
But she’s here to stay
She only sleeps, eats and poops
But we love her anyway, hey!
(Repeat)
At least three times a week
The baby cries at night
I haven’t slept a full 8 hours
And now I’m quite a sight
But they say this soon shall pass
When she’s not quite so new
Yes I’m tired, but it’s ok
At least it isn’t two!
Chorus

In another week or so, new beds will arrive at our house. I will assemble them and, for the first time, put Swee’Pea’s bed in one room… and TheMonk’s bed in another. Even as I write this, the tears well up in my eyes at the prospect of the twins being separated at night. I knew this day would come but now I’m not so sure I want it.

I want to hold onto the love and comfort that these two give each other. i want to hold onto the innocence of youth and the love of siblings that has never been stronger. I want to hold onto the notion of Swee’Pea and TheMonk being an inseparable team, conspiring, sharing, protecting, supporting and, yes, even fighting. They’ve always had each other and now… it feels like they won’t.

Tonight, I turned up the baby monitor that has never left their room (but not always turned on) and listened to them talk about computer games and canopy beds and everything that’s important to six-year-olds. I reminisced about all the great conversations I’ve heard. Singing. Arguments. Constant talking and cute comments. Wonderful memories that I hope I never forget.

And as we head towards this bittersweet milestone, I pray that they will always remember the closeness that only they can share and that this bond can survive the distance of a wall and two doors.

In the meantime, forgive me if I shed some tears.

First, if you recall, TheMonk and Swee’Pea had a fundraiser where they had a goal of selling 75 items to win the coveted runaway alarm clock. Well, we didn’t quite get to 75 but they did sell 27 items and were very happy with the collection of various swag they won. My favorite? The 5 foot bendable pencil. Who knew that we needed this pencil? Thank you to all of you who participated. Swee’Pea and TheMonk were very excited by the support they received.

Second, you may recall that I was involved in Movember - growing a mustache for cancer awareness and fundraising. I was part of a team of some great Dad Bloggers, led by my friend Doug at Laid Off Dad. Unfortunately, I had to shave my mustache just prior to the end of the month but I raised $170 and our team raised over $34,000 which included a match from Norelco. You can see some great videos of gentlemen shaving with Norelco razors here.

Third, it seems that the good people of Babble.com felt that this little corner of the blogosphere was one of the Top 50 Dad Blogs of 2011. I’m totally honored to be on the list and to see some of my old-skool dad bloggers on the list as well. If you want some great blogs to check out, do not miss this list. For an arguably better list, you can also check out the Top 100 Mom Bloggers of 2011. My cousin Maggie is #20 - a travesty, if you ask me.

Finally, this year we celebrated Christmahanukwanzaakah (what, you’re not familiar with this holiday?) by making our very own music video for Neil’s 6th Annual Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert. If you scroll down, I’m 8th from the bottom, but there are some great videos on there - go and check them out.

That catches you up! Regularly scheduled programming to follow.

Swee’Pea reports that she jumped up three frogs in reading level and got to check out harder books at the library today.

“You are such a good reader, Swee’Pea.” I say. “I’m so proud of you reading these new books.”

Swee’Pea takes a bite of food and, with a mouth slightly full, replies, “And I slap your butt.”

“What did you say?!” I choke out, in disbelief that my sweet 6 year old would even go there during a standard dinner conversation.

“I said, ‘And I read chapter books!’” She says indignantly.

I breathe a sigh of relief and laugh as I tell the table what I thought she had said.

We all get a good laugh - except the baby. She isn’t old enough to appreciate butt humor.

Someday. Someday.

“Jamaica!” Says, TheMonk. “It’s tiny, Daddy.”

“Yes.” I reply. “And they go around saying, ‘Jamaican me crazy, man!’”

TheMonk looks at me with a wary smile. “You’re making me crazy?” he says slowly enough to where I’m not sure if it’s a question or a statement.

The globe gets spun again and Swee’Pea stops it with her tiny finger. “Turkey?!” she shrieks as she obviously finds it hilarious that there is a country named after the bird she just ate for Thanksgiving dinner.

“Yes.” I reply. “Now, can you tell where the country called ‘Chicken’ is?” I ask.

Immediately, both Swee’Pea and TheMonk begin closely investigating the globe.

Being a dad sure is fun.