Daddy's Girl

Several months ago, during a trip home to visit my family in Pittsburgh, I witnessed my younger brother helping his daughter get dressed up for dinner. He had helped her wiggle into her red dress, pull up her white tights, and strap on her shimmery red shoes. As she was standing on a step stool, looking in the mirror, my brother quizzically brushed her hair, evaluating how to pin it up, away from her face. Inside, I imagine he wished Mom was there to work her magic, but outwardly, he confidently tied a rubber band into her silky blond hair and swept her bangs up with a little red bow. Their eyes met in the mirror and he told her that she looked beautiful. 

A couple weeks later, thinking back on that portrait of love and attention, I texted my brother and told him what a great dad he was. He humbly said that he tried; and that he an amazing role model to follow. Noted. We have share an incredible father.  

Thinking back on all the times my Dad did my hair as a little girl; brushing it one hundred strokes before I went to bed, tying it back in two french braids for dance recitals, and holding my crimping iron steady so I could turn my poker straight hair into a decadent 80s do; I realized that even at his young age, my brother must have been paying attention. 

***

As a woman, there is something inside you, a void waiting to be filled, that beckons many of us to become mothers. And in many ways, the bond you form with your children can be rather universal. It's starts at interconnected place deep inside, it is nursed through the early stages of life, and it is cradled in the soft lap and tender hugs you provide.

On the other hand, the role of a father or father figure is a little more interpretative. There are commonalities: love, patience, security, beers, tees, tools, suits and neckties that help color the character. But after that, each Dad seems utterly unique: distinctive styles of play and education, and varying ways of solving for the moments in life when Mom is absent. 

Every night, as I'm nursing Bobby to sleep, I hear Mary and Peter chasing each other, running around, and laughing uproariously in the basement. They are playing the Orange Ball or the Green Ribbon game. One of the two. Silliness leads to a more serious state as Mary asks her Dad to play tools. Peter gets out his tool box and challenges Mary to match a particular bolt to the right sized wrench. Nine times out of ten, she will find it. He asks her to identify the needle nose pliers and sort the sharp from the blunt. After that, I can hear them ascending two flights of stairs. 'Where's Mommy, Bobby? I want Daddy read me stories.' No longer does Mommy do bed time best. Daddy now has his own rhythm for Dr. Seuss' rhymes, key in which to sing Bobbidy Boop, and good night message to signal her eyes to shut. Last night as lightening flashed and thunder cracked, Mary told me that she wanted Daddy to keep her safe. Not Mommy. 

Watching Peter's Dad with his kids and grandchildren, I can see there are many aspects of Peter's parenting that he learned from his father. He has taken those nuggets, layered on his personality, and found a way to bond with Mary and Bobby that is his own. And there's no doubt that they will be smarter, more thoughtful, more discerning, and more adventurous children because they have Peter for a Dad. 

I can sense, that sometimes Dads doubt themselves. That perhaps Mommy knows where or how or what's best. But what I've observed over the years, is that the best Dads jump in, and figure out their own way of doing things. And it's those ways; those breakfasts for dinner, icy toboggan rides, dollhouse assemblies, calculus lessons, duets, stick shift tutorials, college tours, father daughter dances, and beautiful hair dos; that makes kids who they are.

Thank you to my Dad, for helping shape me into the woman I am today.

And thank you to my husband, for helping our kids become who they are meant to be.   

Lo.

We celebrated last night during a little cookout at our house: rotisserie chicken, salad, bread, and Rose; cousins running around in the yard; toasts to three wonderful fathers; and a raccoon crashing the party.

Nannyship

12 and 13 years ago, I spent two summers in a row working as a Nanny. While my undergraduate colleagues were polishing their egos with unpaid corporate experience, I was sitting by the pool, playing with three great kids and getting paid. To this day, I commend my choice of summer professions. My classmates returned in the fall with another bullet to add to their resume, and I returned with a tan, a couple new pairs of shoes, and some life lessons that I could only have learned in Speedo's version of a power suit.

I learned how to stop fights before they began and how to prevent tennis bags from ending up in the pool. I learned how to divvy up my attention and how to dry sad, frustrated and I'm really mad at my brother tears. I learned how to make kids laugh, deep down in their bellies, I learned that being a big kid is way better than growing up, and I learned that having three kids and two careers shouldn't prevent a household from eating, drinking, and being merry. Take that interns.

One of my favorite things about working as the Vernallis Family nanny for two summers, besides the special bond I formed with the kids, was the leftovers: the expertly grilled vegetables and lemony summer salads; the tabbouleh, hummus and parceled chicken kebabs; the brownies, lemon squares, and plump chocolate chip cookies. Mom Vernallis wasn't just a kick-ass lawyer with a sharp sense of style and humor, she was her own personal caterer, with a portfolio of rehearsed recipes that had me salivating and sampling every Monday morning.

A handful of those Mondays, I wasn't only greeted by side dishes sealed in Tupperware, but by a tiered yard, sprinkled on every level with the remnants of a great party. Wine glasses with one sip left, stray bites that rolled off a plate or two, and a couple upended patio chairs told the story of great friends having a great time. Lesson learned. Yes, you can do it all, and still have fun.

***

12 years and two kids later, I'm still putting lessons from my Nannyship to use. I've taught Mary and Bobby how to play nice, they laugh at my slapstick humor, and for the most part, I'm able to get a somewhat boast worthy meal on the table each night. I'd say my Nanny can attest to the quality of leftovers, but she's a vegetarian and my recipes are bound by the ultimate carnivore.

However, now, with two kids and a more stressful work environment, I was doubting my ability to throw, but at the same time craving, a good party. On Saturday, I decided we should bite the bullet and do it. And believe given a few guidelines, it was completely manageable, not to mention utterly enjoyable. To summarize:

• Party started at 4:00 PM. I never thought I'd be that person, but hey it's 5:00 somewhere.  
• The backyard was the backdrop. When kids are invited, it's best to keep everyone outside.
• Which meant, a rain date was a good idea if the weather hadn't cooperated.
• Paper and plastic. Picnic style. Probably should invest in more patio furniture though. 
• A specialty keg was a big hit.  
• Made sure there were leftovers. After entertaining, I didn't want to have to worry about dinner for a few days. 
• Party ended at 9:00 PM. Babies needed to sleep. So did (this) Mom. 
• Figured out which neighbor was hosting the next party.  

    

As a new wave of very serious, very studious interns floods my office, I can't help but smirk, thinking my summer job won (hands down.) To the babysitting and burger flipping; life guarding and lawn mowing summer workforce out there, enjoy your youth. And never doubt how much these experiences can prepare you for the future.

Lo.