A Daddy Bailout

I’ve been a parent now for the last 4 ½ years. And yet, even now, there are words that can cast a pall of fear over me:

“I have to work this weekend, so you need to take care of Josie.”

The chill that runs up my spine is not a result of the broken furnace.

Never mind that Kari has to do it all the time, given the kind of work that I do. I work nights and weekends all the time, so Kari and Josie have their fun times together.

But me? I love spending time with Josie. I just don’t know how to do it very well. But you don’t babysit when you’re watching your own kid, so we were forced into close contact a few weekends ago.

The night before, I pored over the Weekend section of the Washington Post. The Weekend section used to be a great repository of information, providing all sorts of information about free or cheap family events. It was going to be a rather gloomy and chilly weekend weather-wise, so I tried to find some interesting indoor things to do in my area.

I’m sure the paper had that information. But it was presented so poorly that I couldn’t find anything. I looked through it once with curiosity, then again with panic. If the Post can’t tell me what to do with my daughter, then what will I do?

Josie and I ended up spending the morning running errands. It sounds like a chore but turned out to be an entertaining way to pass a morning. I told her the stores we were going to, and she was very excited that Target and Trader Joe’s were on the list, the latter in particular since she wanted a green balloon. (“Not white. Not yellow. Not rosa. Green!”)

I let her do all the things you aren’t supposed to let your kids do in these places. She climbed on the flatbed cart at Home Depot. She played with some of the dog toys at Target. She rode in the basket at Trader Joe’s. (She also tried to ride the side of the shopping cart. Trader Joe’s almost had a mélange of cheese, vegetables, and coffee on the floor.) She got to lay down on the nasty love seat that is inexplicably rattan in the dry cleaner’s. And even though she sighed in resignation at the beginning of the morning, “That’s a lot of stores, Daddy,” she and I actually smiled and giggled a lot.

And, by gum, she got the green balloon.

Feeling quite proud of myself that I managed to get through a shopping morning with a busy three-year-old, I began to unload groceries and put things away. As I was maneuvering around in the unfamiliar territory of the refrigerator – my wife’s domain, including finding places for the beer – I heard a rattle behind me. Thinking it might be the dog once again trying to eat the cat’s bowl, I pulled my head out as fast as I could.

As the vertigo cleared, I saw Josie waving a DVD at me. “Daddy, can I watch this?”

“How about after lunch?”

“NO I WANT TO WATCH IT NAY-OW!”

Deciding that the path of least resistance was the way to go while there were perishables on the counter, I put the DVD on while I finished with the groceries and making lunch.

As I cleaned up the lunch dishes, I heard a scrape across the floor as she got her chair ready for the continuation of the cartoon.

“How about this,” I began. “We watch this in the front room and then go take a nap?”

Negotiations ensued. We decided that she would watch the video twice – only about an hour or so – on the mini DVD player while I had football on the big TV. “But football is not too loud.” The tense was wrong but the demand was clear.

So she sat in her chair and watched videos, in between her taking a two-hour nap, and I watched football and read the newspaper. As she woke up from her nap with the all-time favorite “Harold and the Purple Crayon” playing and a cup of chocolate milk in her hand – both weekend treats – it occurred to me that I was wasting an opportunity.

Josie and I should be playing Candy Land! Or raking leaves! Or running around outside! Never mind that it’s cold and wet outside! We should be drawing or reading or looking at pictures or…!

My childhood as a Lutheran (Missouri Synod/Catholic Lite) built a strong, sturdy foundation of guilt that to this day withstands all attempts at going with the flow. There’s always SOMETHING I should be doing that isn’t what I’m doing right now. And if I don’t do that something, then it’s two guilts for the price of one.

I was sitting on the couch, some random college football game smearing across the television, looking at the back of my daughter’s head and wondering if she will resent me not spending the right kind of time with her. I was doing it wrong.

Soon after that, my wife came home, and Josie ran to her mother and gave her a big hug. She told mommy how she liked the Christmas decorations at the Home Depot and how she got a green balloon at Trader Joe’s. I told Kari how much I had wasted the day and how little actual interaction Josie and I had. She spent more one-on-one time with Harold and his purple crayon (STOP THAT!) than she did with me.

I was certain that the daddy’s-girl account was as bankrupt as the US auto industry. I mean, I was resorting to metaphors like “bankrupt as the US auto industry.” I was spent.

And then something amazing happened: I was proved wrong. Doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it is cause for celebration. Sort of like the US auto industry actually selling cars.

Josie wanted me to give her a bath, not Mommy. And I’m not good at baths. She told me this after she walked past a hug from Mommy to give Daddy a hug. And it was Daddy that not only read her stories but got her in her jammies (the pink ones, with no feet, so she could wear her new Hello Kitty slippers, thank you very much) and tucked her into bed.

After Josie went to bed, all Kari had to do was look at me and go, “See?”

Spending the day watching television is not high on my list of activities, either with or without Josie (football Sundays notwithstanding). But it was so fun going shopping with her in the morning, and we interacted directly for hours. I even put on her Dora soundtrack (“Dora regular,” rather than Dora Dance Fiesta, which is “Dora Celebration”) and we danced in the car. As I lay in bed going over the day, it occurred to me that over the course of the time she was watching movies, she would come over to me on the couch and sit with me, just for a minute, like a butterfly lighting on a partially eroded statue, and then she’d flit back to the colorful cartoons.

In the days after, it became clear that I was panicking about the withdrawals from the daddy’s girl account. There was no need to create a great depression. There’s a deep reserve there. I will jealously guard it, and not rush to spend it.

And the next time, I will remember that enforced Josie time is enforced joy, not enforced fear.