“No.”

It’s your favorite response to a question. Even questions that one would normally say “Yes” to. “Do you want a cookie?” I ask. “No.” You reply.

This is my favorite part of your ever expanding vocabulary. You recognize speech patterns and identify that questions are being asked of you. You just aren’t sure how to answer them.

Although, now that I think about it, your confusion of the word “no” is probably not your fault. Like your brother and sister, your mother and I have tried hard to avoid using the word no with you. It has been our experience that this will greatly diminish your use of the word when you get into the terrible two stage. Perhaps, through our infrequent use of the word, you have become confused by its true meaning.

In fact, it seems that you really think that No means Yes. Or maybe you think that No is a word that has a good chance at being correct for any question that is asked of you. Either way, it’s pretty darn cute.

I also love that you have different ways of saying the word. Sometimes, it comes out in a very short, staccato-sounding “No!” – as if you are certain that is the right way to answer the question. Other times you say it in a sing-song “No-oooo” with the last part of the word dropping an octave or two that almost signals resignation or sadness at responding to the question. And other times still, you say it while shaking your head and looking at me saying, “Nooo” without any variation of tone at all.

Yes, you know the word. But, no, you don’t really know the word.

Do you?

You only look back when I call your name.

And even then, as I call out to you to stay close, you look back at me and laugh… and then run faster in the other direction, your little 18-month-legs churning furiously beneath you.

It has become a game to you. Run away from Daddy. And while I chase you down, whether it be on a sidewalk, a field at the park or in our own house, you laugh deliriously at the thought of running away from Daddy.

I always scoop you up and plant kisses on your soft, chubby cheeks and admonish you for running away from me. But deep down, I like it. I like that you have a sense of independence that gives you the confidence to wander freely on your own. You explore and relish the opportunity to break out on your own and I can’t help but hope that this trait continues into your adulthood.

Your brother and sister were never like this. I have many memories of one or both clinging tightly to my legs in new situations or even recurring situations like daycare or camp while crying and begging me not to leave them. But not you.

No, you seem to embrace your independence. You seem to embrace the chance to strike out on your own. And I hope you know that while I will always be here to cheer you on as you explore your freedom that I’ll always be ready to pull you back to safety and give you kisses and playfully admonish you for running away.

But secretly loving it.

One year ago, 2012 had yet to reveal what it was to become. 2012 was to be a year of struggles, both professionally and personally. It was also to be a year of personal exploration and the realization that my life is better when I’m surrounded by those who love me and cherish me for who I am.

If you had asked me for my resolutions last year, I’m sure it was along the lines of eating better, exercising more. This year, however – a year later – I am looking at 2013 with a sense of optimism that I haven’t had in a long time. Even with the unfinished business of a divorce and helping my kids adjust to a different life, I am still optimistic that this year will open the door to the rest of my life and I am looking forward to seeing what is behind that door.

I have already so much to be thankful for. I have beautiful, healthy children who I can love and hold and cherish. And I have a wonderful new relationship that I hope continues to blossom and build on the promise that has presented itself so far. I had forgotten how good it feels to be loved.

So with 2012 in the rear-view mirror, I look to 2013 and my resolutions have more to do with internal happiness than anything else…

I resolve to laugh more and stress less.

I resolve to accept the past, honor the present and embrace the future.

I resolve to listen to my heart as well as my mind.

I resolve to be passionate about things that matter to me.

I resolve to do things that scare me.

I resolve to be the person I want to be.

2013, let’s do this.

I am settling GirlyGirl into her car seat after we have seen Swee’Pea and TheMonk off at the bus stop. It is cold and my fingers struggle with the buckle and GirlyGirl begins to become restless until she notices herself in the mirror that is positioned in front of her that allows me to see her from the driver’s seat.

She points at her reflection and says, simply, “Pretty.”

I smile at her as we make eye contact in the mirror. “Yes.” I reply. “You are very, pretty.”

Of course, she’s heard this from me before. I feel it is my duty as a father to my daughters to impart a feeling of self-worth. Yes, this should be focused on intrinsic characteristics like kindness and self-esteem but I feel it’s equally important for my daughters to feel pretty. Too many women in our society grow up thinking they are ugly. I have personally witnessed women struggle through eating disorders or body image problems because they don’t feel they are pretty or don’t measure up to what society dictates beauty to be.

I may be naive to think that I can counter all the media and outside influences my daughters will face as they grow up into women but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do my best to make sure my daughters feel beautiful – both inside and out.

Pretty.

He is seven going on eighteen. The speed in which he is growing up continues to amaze me. The little hands that used to seem so fragile against my own are now big enough to throw a baseball and hit Ctrl+Alt+Delete at the same time.

And as he continues to grow, both physically and emotionally, I keep trying to remind myself that I am not only watching a child grow, I’m helping a boy grow into a man. I am keenly aware that how I act, what I say, how I say it, will have a lasting effect on who TheMonk becomes.

To this end, I have to say that it’s not easy. I have to practice patience when patience is in low supply. I have to listen when I’d rather tell. I have to give time, even when time is short.

I also need to remember that I am his father. I have to discipline when I’d rather look the other way. I have to say no when I’d really like to say yes. I have to teach that there are consequences to poor choices – even when I could easily shield him from the consequences.

And finally, I have to show him what it’s like to live freely. To love openly. To take risks when the reward can be great. To be honest, respectful, and caring. In short, I have show him the kind of man I want to be.

Only time will tell if I’m successful. But time is short and this is the one time where patience can’t be had. I hope that one day, he’ll look back on his childhood and recognize that his dad sure loved him. And that maybe being like his dad isn’t such a bad thing.

Every now and again my ring finger feels naked. I absentmindedly reach for my wedding band with my thumb, as I’ve done probably thousands of times before, and realize that it’s no longer there. That symbol of eternity, as the priest described it over 12 years ago, now sits in my overnight bag, tucked unceremoniously under the bathroom sink.

What led to this life change is complicated and, yet, simple. While I’m not inclined to air my laundry in such a public forum, I am at peace with the decision. For too long I gave and, in my mind, received little. Or, at least, not enough. I’m not sure if blame is to be cast – it just is. And while I am mindful that the person I will no longer be married to will always, and hopefully, be in my life as we continue to parent our beautiful children, I am also mindful that my life can be mine again.

Again, this is not to place blame. Blame implies anger and resentment and that’s something that I don’t have. Not anymore. Sometimes I feel a melancholy sadness that mostly percolates to the surface when a childhood milestone is missed as the family we once knew – but I am also filled with hope for the future and a sense of peace that the decision is the right one.

And as I look at the faces of my children, I hope they will one day understand that this decision was made, in part, because I want something better for them. I want them to learn what a healthy, strong relationship looks like and I feared they wouldn’t learn that with the status quo. Perhaps they can see what two loving parents can do for their children – even if it’s done in two separate households.

As for me, my life feels at ease for the first time in a long time. The irony is that there are many reasons to feel differently but I feel, for the first time in a long time, a sense of optimism that I thought had died long ago. I know who I want to be. I know what I want for myself. I know that I can take the lessons I learned from my marriage and apply it to my next relationship. I am a work in progress but the final chapter hasn’t been written. In fact, this middle chapter might be the defining time of my life – as a father, lover, friend.

Here’s to the next journey. One where the symbol of eternity won’t be a ring of precious metal but a resolve to give and receive and love and be loved.

Hello my littlest one.

You are almost 15 months old and I cannot believe how the time has flown. In the past few months you have gone from baby to a toddler and the changes are almost too numerous to mention. But I’ll try.

You have five teeth now and four of those five appeared within a week of each other. I was certain you were going to end up looking like a baby great white shark with several rows of teeth at the rate you were popping them out. Lucky for you and for your dentist, your tooth sprouting has slowed considerably as of late.

What hasn’t slowed down is you. You have gone from the fastest crawler in the West to a daring but not-quite-graceful walker. You stagger around like a drunken sailor with a smile to match. If you go particularly far, you recognize this achievement by plopping down on the ground so that you can give yourself a hand. You clap in a way that only a 14 month old can. Your joy is contagious and, pretty soon, your brother, your sister and your dad will join in the applause.

When you’re not clapping you’re waving bye-bye. While I’m not certain, the pleasure you get from waving bye-bye to everyone you meet – including complete strangers – is that you’re saying to them “So long, suckas!” I could be wrong, but your devious smile suggests otherwise.

You are beginning to talk now. You get pleasure when we realize you are saying words. To be fair, you aren’t the most articulate person in the world so sometimes it’s hard to understand what you are saying. For example, you say “Abba” a lot. I’m fairly certain you’re not asking for me to play Dancing Queen so maybe someday you can enlighten me on what that means. What I do understand is “Dada, Mama, Nana (banana), kitteh (kitty), ball, and your sister’s name. I’m sure your brother would love it if you could say his name but he seems to be accepting the fact that you know everyone else’s name but his.

At daycare you are learning to sit in a circle, share with others (not your strong point. I’m just saying), and do art projects. You really seem to love coloring, painting and tasting the occasional crayon. You have really blossomed with your personality since you started daycare a couple of months ago. You are getting comfortable around strangers and you smile and laugh all of the time.

Your favorite games are peek-a-boo and “where’s GirlyGirl’s belly button?” Believe it or not, it’s always in the same place.

So, my littlest one. You are growing and have blossomed into such a joy and wonderful little girl. I may be biased, but you’re such a joy to be around.

I think I’ll keep you.

Love,
Daddy.

You came late in the evening on a Wednesday. You had tortured your mother for days prior to making your entrance and based on the stubborn way you stayed five days past your due date and the dramatic conclusion to you arriving in this world, I had you pegged as one that was going to test me like no other.

But I was wrong.  The only thing you have tested is my capacity to love someone as much as I love you, little one.

It has only been one year and I already cannot remember what it was like before you were here.  You are such a sweet baby and your belly laughs and cute smiles melt my heart each and every day.

I love how you interact with your brother and sister.  They weren’t sure what to think of you when we first brought you home but ever since you began acknowledging them, they have loved you so, so much.  They are both vigilant watching what you put in your mouth – even if they were responsible for leaving the baby death traps on the floor in the first place.  They eagerly hold you or play with you when needed and they love teaching you the finer points of silly face making.

You are louder than your brother and sister at one year.  I chalk that up to the fact that if you want to be heard in this house, you better speak up.  And while your vocabulary is limited to a few words – Mama, Dada (infrequently!), kitt-eh – my favorite is the one that I recently taught you: “Uh-Oh.”

You drop things on the floor and I smile at the inevitable, “Uh-Oh.”  Lately, you play the “Uh-Oh” game by dropping things on the floor while Daddy fetches them for you.  I am fairly certain this is your favorite game.  But you don’t just say it when I am around.  Just this past week, I heard you over the baby monitor before you fell asleep utter aloud, “Uh-Oh.”

I’m not sure what that one was about but one thing I do know.  There was no mistake in our decision to have you in our family.  I love you with all of my heart, little one.  Happy Birthday, GirlyGirl.  May your second year be as amazing as your first.

“Uh-Oh”

Seven years.

I can’t believe it’s been seven years.  It seems like I’ve always known you.  The sound of your laughs, the way you speak, the smell of your skin during a goodnight kiss.  All of this is you and before there was you doesn’t even resonate with me anymore.

I am incredibly proud of both of you.  Swee’Pea, you really hit your stride this year in school.  You read at almost a sixth grade level and, socially, you blossomed into someone who makes good friends.  Monk, you loved first grade.  Your teacher was the perfect teacher for you and you soaked up school.  Your math and analytical skills are amazing and your love of Junie B. Jones is unmatched.

But I can’t believe it’s been seven years.  Just yesterday, you were snuggling in my arms.  Just yesterday, I was watching you take your first steps.  Just yesterday, you were clinging to my legs on your first day of preschool.  Just yesterday, you weren’t seven.

And now you are.  You are the most wonderful seven-year-olds the world has ever seen. You radiate joy and revel in the world around you.  You believe in magic.  You believe in fairies and Santa and the Easter bunny too.  I hope, in some way, you will always continue to believe what precocious little seven-year-olds believe.

But I also hope that you’ll slow this ride down just a bit.  Seven years.  It seems like yesterday.

Happy Birthday to my beautiful kids

It is a rare moment in time.  I’m playing with all three kids at once and as I playfully lift GirlyGirl over my head, Swee’Pea and TheMonk, jump around me shrieking in joy, kinda like a scene out of Lord of the Flies, only without the pigs blood.

I’m enjoying the laughter and the shouts of glee, particularly from GirlyGirl who is reveling in the moment as three of her four favorite people are having fun around her.  I swing GirlyGirl low, between my legs and then high, over my head.  I repeat this motion several times until I’m forced to change direction as Swee’Pea steps into the line of fire.

Unfortunately, the change of directions has placed GirlyGirl’s kicking feet right in line with a part of my anatomy that is near and dear to me.  She swings her feet hard and meets with a part of my body that rhymes with besticles, and suddenly, the world stops as I inhale deeply and make some guttural sound that only men in my situation can appreciate.

Everyone stops what they are doing.  Me, Swee’Pea, TheMonk and even Mommy over on the couch.  I make eye contact with the lovely wife and her look tells me she understands what just happened.  Apparently, Swee’Pea understood as well.

“What happened?” She asks. “Did GirlyGirl kick you in the nuts?”

The next 10 years are gonna kill me, I think.