Dinner with Crazy and Cute

As I walk through the front door the previous evening, I found myself greeted with a screaming voice yelling “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” as my three year old daughter comes rushing from the living room to the front door to greet me. Her jubilance at seeing me every night makes me feel like a king in her eyes.

Normally I park in the garage and enter through the side of the house each night and I play a little game of hid-from-the kids when I first hear them running towards me as I try to make my way to the front of the house to doff my shoes, coat, and anything else that I may be carrying in from the car. On this day, though, I’ve had to park outside since my usual spot in the garage has been taken by Brooke, and come through the front door and am ambushed without an escape-route to exit to. Jess plows into me like a locomotive giving me a great big huge hug and saying “Daddy’s home” in a very relieved sounding voice.

I ask where her brother is, since he usually joins in this nightly game.

“Well, he’s upstairs, he’s not feeling very good.”

Her mom had previously informed me that Joey had been to the doctor’s office that afternoon and was diagnosed with a severe flue. He was so tired from his illness that he fell asleep on the doctor’s office examination room table (you know, the tables with that oh so comfortable tissue paper all over them that makes you feel like your some sort of cold-cut sandwich being wrapped up at a deli) after stating ”I’m sleepy.”

Deciding to harass my daughter, which is something I take great pride in and developed my “toddler harassment” techniques to a fine art in the past several years, I tell her that I don’t see her as I throw my coat on top of her.

“Well, were did Jess go… she was just here a moment ago?”

A muffled voice can be heard from underneath the now wiggling blue colored Columbia coat that my wife bought me for Christmas.

“Right here Daddy! I’m right here!”

I circle around, acting like I’m still having a hard time hearing the now overpowering yells that has increased at least two full octaves since this search began.

“Hrmm, well, I guess she must have gone to bed. I guess I’ll just take a little seat right here until she comes back.”

At this point, she has almost gotten the coat off her head that I’ve been continually putting back on top of her each time she shrugs it off, all the while backing her towards a coffee table that sits in the middle of our living room. As she is trying to tell me that she is right behind me, I gently sit on her and hold my hand up to my face in a mock thinking pose.

“Wow, that’s really odd. I know I had just seen her here when I came in, it just seems so odd that she would have left. Now where could she be?”

Jess is so lost in giggles at this point that she can’t even make a single word come out of her mouth as I’m helping provoke her response by now tickling her sides.

By now, my one year old daughter, whom had supposedly said ‘Dada’ for her first time when I first came in the door (this event was unheard by me due to the above mentioned shrieking from Jessamyn), has spotted me and is making loud announcements in my general direction in her attempt to invite me towards her.

Actually, to her credit, Jocie almost always calls me ‘Da’ when she sees me, which absolutely love, since, from her, any acknowledgement of my existence is a gift, given her early life dependency belief that her mother was the world’s only satisfactory caregiver.

With a happy kiss and greeting from my wife, the greetings from the y chromosome deprived faction of my household are now complete.

Happy to no longer be a cushion for her father, Jess now escorts me to the dining room and ushers me into my chair. She helps sort out my food (tonight’s dining cuisine is from Burger King, a horrible choice for me since I had a burger for lunch, but, my flue ridden son had previously usurped the family dining plans with a feeble voiced request for ‘Nuggets’ which ended up diverted the entire family into a fast food dinner scenerio), sets my drink in front of me and announces “There you go Daddy, now you can eat.”

Like the Tasmanian Devil of the Loony Toons series so loved in my youth, Jessamyn now tears off into the living room screaming and bouncing from couch to couch, tossing pillows and cushions off as she flails.

Since Jenny and Brooke are busy straightening out the kitchen, I enjoy my dinner for two with the company of Jocie who now sits across the table from me. We both share smiles and little laughs as we enjoy the tableside performance of the extremely animated serenade of screams and bounces from Jessamyn.

Tonight, Jocie’s face is much more presentable than the night previous when she got to try ketchup for the first time and promptly took two fully drenched fists and planted them on top of her head (note: this happend after I gave her a bath not thirty minutes prior… L) leaving what looks like two spots where, if she were to act like her older sister on this night, I’m sure two horns could have sprouted from.

Normally an attentive listener, Jocie doesn’t provide very much insight into conversations I’ve held with her… Most of my serious life’s questions are either met with a ‘aieee’, ‘da’, ‘mama’, or just some cute looks which, although lacking in verbose substance, leave me with a residual feeling of elation. It seems to me that she tries to provide more inspiration than soulful insights, which is just fine with me.

I update her on the events of my day, tell her how work was stressful since I’m working on 14 projects simultaneously, spend half of the day on conference calls about the projects (something that sounds and is counterproductive, yet a part of everyday life in the IT industry), and ask her if she is as excited as I am about going to DisneyWorld in just over seventy-six days (my wife is tracking the countdown like she is some sort of director at Nasa’s Mission Control Center… thanks honey).

“da yaaaaaaa. Mama… a daaaa”

This sounds as plausible a response as any thus far in our dining discussion.

Quiet fills the room as the crazy whirlwind named Jess has now ascended to other parts, thankfully distant parts, of the upstairs portion of the house.

I can see that she must have finished her dinner at least fifteen minutes ago, yet this little one will eat and eat if someone remains in her company as she now attempts to place a few more bites of food into her well food-decorated mouth.

We smile some more at each other, and play a quick napkin shielded game of ‘peek-a-boo’ before deciding we’re both done eating.

I should also note at this point that she also enjoys the ‘peek-a-boo’ games that happen while I do the nightly dishes as she sits just around the corner from my view in the dining room. After each dish I place in the washer, I take a quick peed around to see her eagerly awaiting my glance, at which I am rewarded with an ear piercing joyous outburst of laughter. This game will last for at least the duration of the large dishes, but by the time I get to the silverware, she will have decided that she wants to help out and that I need to come get her out of her chair to assist me. Once free, she will come right into the kitchen and supervise my efforts and even verify my quality of work by climbing up onto the dishwasher lid and manually examining all of the spoons and forks (I place the knives towards the back where she can’t reach them). If she finds my work satisfactory, she will then continue her examination by verifying each plate is in its proper place by removing them and placing them next to her. A true hard worker in her profession, she never complains about the hazardous conditions she is often exposed to since there is often water on the dishwasher lid. She just climbs right in and starts helping Daddy out.

Not having any dishes due to chosen dinnertime meal, Jocie helps me clean up by bringing in the garbage from the dining table to the kitchen and then we both go upstairs to join the rest of the family in the kid’s playroom.

The perceivable absence of an older brother has left Jessamyn with three adults to herself, and in her after dinner playroom free time she decides to make the most of the attention by running around, dancing, and sharing quick exclamations while jumping up on our knees wanting us to interact with her.

Brooke finally gives in and starting playing with this wiggling and giggling infestation of exuberant energy disguised as our child while I play ‘Superman’ with Jocie (the game where I lay on my back and ‘foat’ her up in the air on my bare feet while holding her hands for safety).

This nighttime enjoyment continues until, like a roaring train that has suddenly run out of fuel and stopped, both of the energy bound bodies quickly descend into their beds and pass-out without even firing a single warning cry or protest, a true testament to the energy burned off in the “witching hour” events of the past several hours.

Amazed adults with puzzled minds try to make sense of the energetic chaos that has transpired, but feeling too tired and worn out from keeping up with bodies thirty years younger, decide on relaxation in the form of homework (if you can really call that relaxing…).

Another day has passed and yet somehow we’ve made it through it unharmed, still alive, and for some unknown reason, eagerly awaiting the next day.

jp