Dad Entry #147

Megan is a crumb factory. The most prolific and industrious of its kind. EVER! At meals, crumbs fall and drift like snowflakes under her chair. Other crumbs are captured in the folds of her clothes, to be incubated and generously sprinkled about. Still others take up residence on her face, only to be rudely dusted off and sent to the tile, the carpet, the couch, her bed, in between cushions, swept this way and that, under appliances, beneath pillows, and stuck to socks. Awesome.

Megan got her 'magical old men with white beards' mixed up yesterday. During a prayer, Meg said, "And God, I hope you eat all the cookies when you come down the chimney." She hesitated, about halfway through the statement; I think she knew she was off. Michael sought immediately to correct her, a favorite pastime of his. I was more gentle and playful in straightening out the two celebrities who, I pointed out, "Probably know each other!" It occurred to me that my fundamentalist friends - who perpetuate, more perfectly than anyone, the woefully inadequate and unbecoming image of God as an old, white-bearded human male who makes lists - might be concerned by this mix-up. Not me. Little bits of happiness, gratitude, and love just tumble out sometimes, when Megan prays. I think that's a good start for a seven-year-old. She never gets scornful and never asks for cash (things many professionals do). Thinking of Megan, and the unconditional love I feel for her, excites my belief that God loves us the same way, and is a very creative and generous maker of things besides. Toys included? Sure. Definitely children included; I'm so very happy He made my children. And their mother helped an awful lot too; thank you, Sara.

I feel pleasure, and a pang of something else - dignity? - when I put a decent meal in front of the kids. It has nothing to do with 'bringing home the bacon' or 'putting food on the table,' because one phrase uses the word 'bacon' and the other is boring - and I'm not chest-pounding (which sounds funny to me in the context of cooking even if some chefs are ass-kickers) as in, I made a very nice white wine reduction with shallots that I drizzled over Megan's chicken nuggets. No, it's just that baking chicken, boiling noodles, concocting sauces, setting a table, chopping and steaming vegetables - AND making sure each thing is ready within a TV show of the others - is just not easy enough to be inappreciable to my sensibilities. I'm aware it hints at the possibility that "putting a decent meal in front of my kids" is the exception, and not the rule. I wouldn't go that far. No need for snickering, Mothers. But do the kids and I still hit the drive-thru a lot? Hell yeah.