Annie
Sometimes Words Simply Fail
Moments in time.
We all have them. Some of these moments are brilliant. They shine so far beyond our expectations that we wonder if we really had anything to do with it at all. Other moments are more everyday, mundane, routine, but beautiful none-the-less in their simplicity. And then, there are those moments. Those are the moments we would like to take back, or wished never happened, or worse, revealed so great a conundrum about ourselves that it leaves us speechless. Those are the times that we just shake our heads and wonder what in the world we were thinking at all. Yep. Moments in time, or shall I say, less than great moments in time.
It was such a typical day. It was just the three of us at the time: Marm, Annie, and me. Annie was just a tyke in diapers and not very old at all. We were in those early stages of being first time parents. Everything was a big deal in regard to our baby. We were the over-the-top vigilant parents. Nothing got past us. (Ha!) and nothing ever would. (Ha again!)
Everything was new and unusual. We were knee-deep in working out routines, schedules, and all those things that contribute to having your entire world turned upside-down by the smallest of people. Everything had changed forever. This was not bad, mind you, just the truth as any parent will tell you. Nothing was or ever would be the same as before.
Take the laundry for instance. When it was just Marm and I laundry seemed to be a fairly simple task. Once or twice a week there would be a couple of loads to wash and dry and that was it. Who knew a baby could change something as droll as laundry into one of the biggest time challenges of the week? It was only one small kid. How could she routinely mess up so many clothes and cloth diapers.? As Vizzini from The Princess Bride would say,”Inconceivable!”
I’m telling you. There were diapers, onesies, tops, pants, sleepers, dresses, jumpers, skirts, socks, bibs, towels, more diapers, plastic pants, blankets and the like. She was just one kid, but the piles of laundry she could produce were inappropriate. I still shake my new daddy head when I think about it.
The reason we had so many diapers was simple. We were part of the early eighty’s parenting movement known as “natural childbirth”. This meant Marm had no meds during labor and delivery, she nursed the kids faithfully rather than feed them a bottle, and we used cloth diapers with rubber pants over them. We would have none of those plastic diaper thingies on our girl’s little tush.
At that time the environment and plastic diapers hadn’t become a pop-cult item like today. We just didn’t want to use them, and didn’t want to have to pay for them. Cloth was cheaper, more natural.
Compared to the cloth diapers our daughters use on their kids today, ours were from the stone age. No deluxe shapes, snaps, colors and patterns. No fancy inserts for better absorption Nope. Simple, plain, white, cotton diapers that had to be folded after every use. These were our tools of the trade, and this brings me to the point.
I really did want to help Marm out with all the work load this little angel of ours created on a regular basis. Marm had her hands full with everything that went into being a first time mother. I don’t know if I really helped that much or not, but I would like to think I did. She could probably give you the 411 on this much more accurately than me.
What I do remember was one of those glorious moments when I did one of the stupidest things I could do. What’s so pathetic about this is that I didn’t even realize how stupid it was, and how immeasurably dumb I sounded in defending myself.
It went something like this.
“Don, please put the wet diapers that are in the washer in the dryer so I can have them ready in the morning.”
“Sure thing Sweetheart,” I said as I trotted downstairs to the laundry room and switched the diapers from the washer to the dryer.
We spent the rest of the evening uneventfully. Next morning Marm heads down for the diapers and finds them in the dryer right where they should be, still soaking wet.
“Don! Why are the diapers still wet?” she asked me.
I came down to take a look and had this sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Did you turn the dryer on after you put them in here?” she asked.
“No,” was my reply.
“Why not? You now I needed them this morning.”
“You didn’t ask me to. You told me to put them in the dryer, and I did.”
“Are you kidding me?” she exclaimed as she stood there incredulous. “I have to tell you to turn it on once you put the cloths in?”
Here would have been the best time just admit defeat, but alas I wasn’t that wise.
“You said to put them in the dryer,” I insisted, “and, I, did.”
Her eyes turned to fire on the spot. Not only did she have a pile of wet diapers that she needed for the day, but her husband was being the hugest of idiots.
“I figured a grown man would know that when you put clothes in the dryer you have to turn it on. I guess you proved me wrong!”
I was asked to leave immediately.
I had no defense, none. To this day I still have no defense. I would love to justify this somehow. I would love to recover from this and make it seem rational, but I can’t. It simply goes down in the family history book as one of those moments when sometimes… words simply fail.
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The Day I Was Done and Gave My Daughters Away.
I remember all the feelings I had as we stood at the back of the runner. Breathe I told myself. Soak in every moment, every step. Don’t be in a hurry. It will go so fast and you won’t have another chance like this with her. It was hard to believe it had already come to this.
Several months later as we stood atop the flight of outdoor stairs I had the same rush of feelings tearing at me as before. Breathe I ordered myself again. Soak in every moment, every step. Don’t trip and don’t miss the smallest detail of this walk. I knew it was going to pass by so quickly and I felt like I had no time to get my feet under me.
I was ready for this and yet, completely unprepared for this, all at the same time. So many memories and thoughts running through my head as I walked down that aisle and stairway. So many things I wanted to say. So many things there was no time to say. In the blink of an eye it would be over and everything will have changed forever. Nothing would ever be like it was before.
As a new father I had no idea what to expect. I really had no clue. I had no idea that the long nights would really be LONG. I knew nothing of being mature and consistent as the dad. I had no idea how much fun my kids could be, and what memories we would make together throughout all their childhood years. I didn’t have much confidence in myself about being a good dad at all. I was scared at times. Not scared of the unknown, but scared about myself and what I was capable of as their father.
I didn’t know how deeply I would love my children. How could I until the little buggers were filling up the house? I was in way over my head, but was loving being their dad. No other man had the inside track that I had to these wonderful people. No other man would have them calling for him to come and tuck them into bed at night. No other man would hug them as dad, or kiss them as dad, or whatever them as dad. I got all of that. It was mine. I was Daddy.
I watched them grow, and mature. I watched them stumble, fall, skin their knees both literally and figuratively. I watched them grow in their faith and commitment. I watched them struggle as they wrestled with who they are as people. I watched, and watched, and watched.
Marm and I were so vigilant about being present with the kids. “Don’t miss the time as it passes”, was our mantra. We took to heart the sage old advice of those who had gone before us.
“Pay attention! The time passes so quickly.”
We worked hard at being there for the kids. They were an inseparable part of our family fabric and were woven deeply into its tapestry.
So how did it come to this already? How in the world did I get here? I paid attention. I was involved. I was there. I watched and participated. How did it come to this so soon?
In a mere few minutes my daughters would no longer be just mine. Their hearts had been given to other men. They were pledging their entire lives to these men, and I watched it happen, or in my case, helped in the process.
I was being asked, “Who gives this woman…?” and I was simply to say, “Her Mother and I.” That’s it? A whole life time together and in one simple statement of release she is gone from me forever.
I know it was what we wanted for them. What we prayed about and prepared for, for them. It was the right thing for them. The best thing for them. The blessed thing for them. There was no denying it, nor would I try. I wanted this for them all along. It was just…just… just that it happened right under my nose when I wasn’t looking. Well, maybe I was looking, but just wasn’t prepared for how I would feel on those two days when I was done and gave my daughters away.
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I Sayed it!
Lost Lake has been our family favorite since Marm introduced it to me shortly after we were married. All of the kids have grown up on its shores, and innumerable adventures and escapades there have dotted our family timeline.
This pristine lake is a magical place where no boat motor touches it. It’s water is crystal clear and COLD if you venture in too early in the season. Mt Hood towers as its backdrop and it’s encircled by beautiful Pacific Northwest forest and fauna.
There is camping, hiking, fishing, swimming, and boating with various non-motor options. The best for me however, is snorkeling. Almost from the first time I saw the lake I wanted to snorkel in it. I had never snorkeled before, but I did here. Boy howdy, did I snorkel here! (More on that in future posts.)
In the earlier years when the kids were small I would spend hours in the water finding crawdads. I would search up and down the shoreline poking under the rocks in the shallower warmer water, or dive down as far as 20 feet to overturn a log on the lake bottom. It was here on the bottom that the monstrous leviathan dwelt. I would bring back the best prizes of the dive and show them to the kids. They would clap and cheer, squeal and run up to see them more closely. They wanted to hold them, but would scream and run away when they wiggled their legs at them. Once I caught one that was as big as a small crab. No fish story here. It was huge. I had a serious aversion to getting pinched by that big boy. No… thank you!
One summer we stayed a full week in the cabins during our family vacation. Like usual we were all spending the day together down along the beach in one of our favorite spots. The water had warmed nicely from the weeks of summer sunshine and I was out snorkeling around in search of the elusive creatures.
While the kids were playing on the beach, Annie and Aaron kept looking into the old metal coffee pot where we housed the captive crawdads. Annie was five and Aaron was almost three at the time. They kept taking peeks at the two or three wee beasties that were all meshed up together in a churning ball of pincers and antennae inside the pot. They were obsessed with them and couldn’t leave them alone.
While they were taking their peeks in the pot, Annie had been trying to get Aaron to say “crawdad”. For whatever reason he would not or could not say the word. Then, suddenly, out of the blue, he mumbled his toddler version of it.
He looked up with the biggest, sweetest grin on his face and shyly proclaimed with glowing three-year old pride, ”I sayed it!”.
That was it for us. That was the moment of the day. Everything else paled in comparison and those three words have been immortalized in our family ever since.
“I sayed it!”
Yes son, you surely did “sayed it”.
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About Balrogs and Daughters
In-laws. There’s a word.
In this instance I am referring to my daughter’s spouses. As loving and dutiful parents we pray for the wonderful people our children will someday marry, God willing. We ask Jesus to “grow em up real good like”. The thing is…there is no guarantee. There is trust that the Lord has heard our prayers, not a small thing, and the understanding that He has our kids best interests at heart. Again, not a small thing. Still we as the parents are not in control of these events. A lesson better learned sooner.
Being the dad I was used to my wife having that mama-bear-thing going on when some misinformed person actually had the audacity to take on one our kids. Big mistake. Huge! What I never expected was what I felt when my daughters were more than just serious about a guy. The hidden papa-bear-thing awakened unexpectedly from the deep. Picture the balrog in the mines of Moria from The Fellowship of the Ring and you begin to get a glimpse.
Before I go any further, however, please allow me set the record straight. Both of my daughter’s husbands are amazing men. I love them both dearly and for two main reasons: 1. They are exceptional men of honor, and 2. They love and treat our girls well.
None-the-less…it still took some time for the taming of the balrog.
Ever see the movie Father of the Bride? I have because I have four daughters. I felt just like George Banks did.
“Dad! I met a man and we fell in love and we’re getting married.”
Says who? thinks the balrog. Never mind my daughter Annie was an adult successfully living on her own for a few years. (Don’t confuse the issue with the facts.) Oh, and Abbey, she had been dating her fella for years. No surprise there. Still, there was the balrog with his protective low growl simmering just below the surface; watching and waiting patiently.
Oh I was all smiles and lighthearted for sure, but I was eyeing these men like a hawk. I was ready to bring down the fire whip if needed.
As it turned out there was no need. Darn it. That could have been really fun. Instead, I found myself liking both these gents immensely. Totally different in personalities, totally different in temperaments, totally different in interests and hobbies at certain levels, yet both perfectly suited for our girls. They were the direct answer to our prayers in an overwhelmingly big way.
Annie married Tristan, and Abbey married Tom. Tristan took the family by storm, while Tom took the slow and steady approach to winning us over. Both have succeeded unconditionally. We couldn’t have better sons-in-law if we growed ’em ourselves.
Now there are four men in the family and the odds are shifting to a more even playing field. It’s no longer just Aaron and myself holding down the male side of the family fort. We are four strong with opportunity to be six someday.
I do feel for the men who want to marry Amber and Amy in the future. I think there may be four low growling balrogs circling below just waiting for an opportunity to rise from the depths. I wonder if these yet-to-be-known fellas have ever heard about balrogs and daughters?
It’s a good thing they are in our prayers.
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Terror at the Coast
It’s a new parents worst nightmare. Your 13 month old child is nowhere to be seen.
Going to the coast is always a family favorite. The Oregon coast is beautiful, accessible, and the water is COLD. When the wind isn’t blowing and the weather is sunny and warm it is a slice of the heavenly.
When Annie was young we were on vacation from our home in Washington and had scored a beautiful campsite at Beverly Beach State Park in Oregon. Our small four-man tent was pitched, picnic table arranged, food stored, fire pit readied, and the sound and taste of ocean waves were lingering in the air. It was paradise.
Each night as we went to bed we made sure the tent was securely closed. Annie had been walking/running since she was nine months old and nothing was off-limits as far as she was concerned. We made sure that both zippered doors were zipped tight , the luggage was set up as a barricade at the exit, and Annie slept on the opposite side of us as far from the doors as was possible. With this set up in place, we went to sleep each night secure in the idea that we were safe. That was about to be proved frighteningly wrong.
It was early, too early when Marm asked me, “Don, where’s Annie?”
“She’s over there where she sleeps,” I said while loosely flapping an arm in the general direction of her bed.
“No, she’s not,” Marm insisted. “Where is Annie?” This time the question was tinged with alarm.
“I don’t know. She’s got to be here somewhere,” was my irritated response. I was trying to sleep.
“Don! The tent door is open and Annie isn’t in here! Get up and find her now!”
That got my attention. I jumped out of my sleeping bag, stood there in my underwear, and looked through sleep encrusted unfocused eyes at the loose tent flaps. Marm was right, Annie was gone.
“Don’t just stand there. Go find her,” was Marm’s repeated encouragement to me. As I was hopping on one foot while trying desperately to pull my pants on, she was frantically shoving me toward the tent flap.
“Stop it!” I said. “I gotta get my pants on first. She’s probably playing in the campsite.”
When I stepped outside the tent half-dressed and unshod it became obviously clear that Annie was not there. In fact, she was nowhere to be seen.
Marm tumbled out shortly after me and said, “She’s been up awhile. Look at the cans on the table.”
It seemed that Annie had taken out some of the canned food and had been playing with it on the table. Other things had been moved around as well.
“I’m going to go check the bathrooms. You check the road,” Marm said as she ran off down the path.
I raced to the edge of the road, which was actually a loop that ran circular through our camp section, and looked both directions. Nothing! I sprinted to the end of the loop where it connects with the main park road to see if I could spot her anywhere. I couldn’t find her. Then I heard him, an older man with an amused grin on his face standing across the road from me. ”You look like someone looking for a little girl,” he said plainly.
“Have you seen her?” I asked more frazzled than I thought.
“I’ve been watching her for a while,” he said. “I knew someone would be looking for her shortly.”
“Where is she?” I asked.
He turned and pointed to her. I stood there frozen by what I saw next.
Annie was a couple hundred feet to my right. She was sitting up-to-her-chin in a box happy as a clam. The problem was that the box was sitting squarely between two full length cots about four feet apart. On the cots were two women fully asleep. I thanked the man profusely for keeping an eye on our baby and then headed toward our girl.
As I approached closer a horrifying thought ran through my head. I’m going to get right up to her and as I reach for her she’ll scream, “No!” and wake them both up. They’ll see her, then me, and proceed to beat the living daylights of me before they know the truth. I involuntarily moved my index finger to my closed lips using the international sign for keeping quiet. I hoped she knew what that meant. Now I was stepping between the two sleeping ladies and was one foot from the box when she said, “Hi Daddy,” with a huge and happy grin on her face.
Reaching down with outstretched arms she leapt up into my grasp without another word. Tenderly and slowly we slipped out from between the two unconscious women and made our way back toward where the man was still standing and watching us. I looked at him quizzically.
“I wanted to see how you were going to handle that before I left,” he said with a twinkle in his eye and a slight chuckle. I thanked him again as he turned and left us.
I headed back toward our campsite and met Marm coming toward us. She was so relieved to see Annie in my arms safe and sound. She took her from me immediately and hugged her like she had been gone for weeks. Blood pressures were beginning to return to normal.
A word to the wise: Be vigilant, and if you think your kids can’t escape, think again. They’re too smart for their own good. Maybe duct tape is the answer…
Curls & Capes 