contentment

Graeters, a Cincinnati favorite, makes a mean banana split. The other night Monica and I had a Papi daughter date. I told her we would share – I’d pick a flavor (strawberry) and she’d pick a flavor (chocolate) – and we’d eat from the same dish. She kept saying “compartir (share)” with a mixture of desire (she really liked sharing with her papi) and agony (she really liked the banana split).

At one point she said “we don’t have to eat fast.” But then proceeded to plow a spoonful of whipped cream and chocolate syrup into her mouth.

I felt love, sadness, and hope. All kids deserve to have their father take them out for a banana split. It should be a basic right. And I want to make it a habit.

***

Since giving them their own rooms, Kelly gets up before Monica. No doubt this is because she goes to bed earlier, and faster, than when she shared a room with Monica. She’s also conquered her tendency to run into our bedroom and wake her sleeping Mami.

What she does is stumbles downstairs and runs into my routine. Mid-shave, making coffee, tying the tie, she stands there with muddled eyes. And then raises her arms for me to pick her up.

Lately the morning weather is downright awesome. Cool, damp, and sunny (the sun actually rises by 6:15). We walk out the door, her in my arms, and say our good mornings to objects of the day.

“Good morning baby robins,” who have a nest right outside our kitchen.

“Good morning bunny rabbit” who sleeps in Mami’s flower bed.

“Good morning flowers.”

“Good morning dirt.”

We then swoon together near the end of the drive way and pick up the newspaper (my one major link to a bygone era). Kelly holds it to her tight (I tell her it’s important). We go back inside and I give her a strawberry to chew on until her sister wakes up.

***

The other day the girls entered a sisterly spat. Sisterly spats are a normal occurrence (in every family – I remember Leah and Anna going to town on each other), but the outcome differed from the norm. At one point Kelly grabbed Monica’s hair and gave a tug-of-war yank. It was 7:00, close enough to bed time, that I marched her up the stairs to start the routine.

Kelly, who can go from soul wrenching sobs to happy laughter in .5 seconds, screamed the entire procedure of brushing her teeth, putting her pajamas on, and combing her hair. Indeed, she almost inhaled a huge glob of toothpaste while screaming.

But in the midst of me walking her down to give her Mami a goodnight hug, she stopped crying for a second to nestle into my neck and give me a kiss.

“Luv you Papi.”

And then she continued to scream.

***

When I get home from work the girls want to play outside. Yesterday the entire family, with Grandma Kissee watching from the porch, played baseball.

I pitched. Mami played catcher. And Monica, whose physical talent constantly amazes me, hit wiffle ball homers into the primrose patch.

Kelly ran around in loopy circles, sometimes playing with her yo-yo, sometimes looking at ants.

It felt very cheesy American. That moment. But we were so happy. Monica would leap and sprint and laugh and laugh every time she hit the ball.

And that’s where I’m at. Happy and content. Some days bring challenges. Some days bring humor. All days bring hugs and kisses and random needs. Yet I fall asleep at night and the words of Psalm 63 roll around in my head.

My soul will be satisfied as with richest food and with singing lips I will praise you.