children
And They Love Their Daddy
Walking into the house for the first time with our new baby Annie was an experience that defies description. Both of us were over the moon. We were parents! We weren’t parents yesterday, but we were today. Now there were three of us in the home. We were a family, not just a couple.
I felt that same rush of exhilaration with the birth of each of our five children. One by one they joined our family until the house was full of the competing sounds coming from all five of them. That was a truly joyful noise. (Pardon the misapplied quote.)
As a brand new dad I didn’t have one practical clue about what it meant to be a father to my child. Don’t confuse the last statement to mean I was without role models, Scriptural direction, or the myriads of available books and articles at my fingertips. No. What I mean is I had no experience what-so-ever at being in the trenches. None!
It didn’t take too long for me to begin to see a pattern that each of our children went through starting from their births. When Annie did it I wasn’t sure what to do. When Aaron came along and presented the same behavior it wasn’t new to me, but still confusing. By the time Abbey arrived and modeled the behavior I knew what I was dealing with. Amber and Amy both did the same as their older siblings, but by then it was old news and expected.
Initially I wasn’t prepared for each of my children to ignore me. Well, that’s what it looked like and felt like in the beginning of things. I understood how the baby was going to be bonding with Marm since she had carried her/him around all those months. I understood in-my-head. Since we were products of the “Natural Childbirth” revolution all our babies were breastfed. This obviously added to that strong bond between mom and baby. This part was easy and explainable. What was hard to accept was even after 18 months or more I was still not a favored choice. I was the proverbial “chopped liver”. Dad is fine, but mom is the world. It was easy to feel left out. They all had ignored me, one after the other.
What was I doing wrong? Was I supposed to be doing something differently? Why doesn’t my child want me? Am I a bad father? Maybe I’m messing this whole thing up?
All very reasonable lines of thinking back then, but completely off the mark. Nothing could have been further from the truth. It all became crystal clear to me one evening when Abbey was about 18-20 months old.
It was routine to find a massive ball of intertwined arms, legs, bodies, and clothing all tangled up together in the middle of our living room each night before dinner. Annie, Aaron, and I would wrestle together once I got home from work. There was hollering, and shouting. Laughing and squeals of delight pierced our ears continually as they jumped all over me. It was so much fun, and dangerous too. We weren’t known for our gentleness when it came to attacking each other. Truth be told it always seemed to end with someone getting hurt and tears would flow.
I remember the first time Abbey wanted to join in the fray.
“Abbey’s watching you,” Marm said from the doorway. “I think she wants to play.”
“She’s too little and will get hurt if she wrestles with us,” was my lame-husband-not-wanting-to-tone-it-down response.
“Play with her,” Marm insisted. “She wants to play too, just don’t be so rough.”
I pulled Annie and Aaron over to the side and told them, “Abbey is going to wrestle with us. We need to be extra careful around her so we don’t squish her, or pounce on her, or hit her accidentally.”
They both understood completely, and the game of four began. It was so sweet watching the two older kids helping Abbs pounce on me. They made sure when all three of them jumped on me to give her extra room to fall flat on my back so she wouldn’t roll off. Abbey loved it and was grinning from ear-to-ear. I was so proud of Annie and Aaron for being such a great sister and brother to Abbs. It was a wonderful time, and I saw the kids learning how to have fun, and include baby sis too. That wasn’t the only thing I saw however. I had an epiphany.
My kids didn’t ignore me, they just hadn’t grown up enough to start bonding with me more intentionally. I wasn’t “chopped liver” after all. I hadn’t messed up somehow, or messed them up either.
With all the 24/7 nursing, the nap time in laps, the sleeping in bed next to mom, and the being packed around the house, of course they would be more attached to Marm. I just had to be patient. That night when Abbey was ready to join in with us, she was the one who changed. After that, she was part of the gang and was continually finding time for me ever after. Later I watched for it in Amber and Amy, and looked back over Annie and Aaron. All of my kids had done the same thing.
Dads! You. Are. Not. Crazy. You do see this. It’s not your imagination. It’s as natural as can be. Relax! You have done nothing wrong. On the contrary, all is well and is as it should be. Brace yourselves because very soon they will be toddling your way wanting a deeper relationship with you, Why? It’s simple. You’re their Daddy, and they love their Daddy.
Enjoy!
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Fun Stories for Children at Bedtime
I know I have mentioned it before in at least one previous post, that bedtime with the kids when they were little was my gig. I was the one to steer them through the pre-bedtime checklist. Jammies on, teeth brushed and flossed, drinks, fluoride rinse, potty, the story, kisses and hugs, and ended with the good night prayer.
Once Amber and Amy were grade school age a new tradition was born. We still continued with the standard pre-bedtime checklist, but the story time change dramatically. I began to make up a new story each night for them.
The setting for the story remained the same, and so did the main characters. Night after night I would take them on a new adventure with these cute bedtime friends.
“Daddy tell us a new story tonight”, they would plead.
“Okay, but you have to get ready before we start, so hurry”, was my usual reply. This of course sent them scurrying to get the checklist finished asap. I loved the leverage the story time had on their motivation. Admittedly, I took extreme advantage of it. For sure I used it as a bribe more times than I can remember.
After they had finished the checklist the three of us would plop down on their bed together and they would eagerly wait for me to start. Sometimes the wait was too much for them because I was too slow.
“Start the story Daddy! You’re taking too long,” they would moan.
“I’m trying girls, but I have to think of a new story and I haven’t thought about this at all today.”
“Hurry please. Start the story, we’re getting bored.”
Oh, the pressure.
Once I started they snuggled in closer to me and were all ears. I would take them to their favorite and familiar spots. They would find their best story buddies up to their necks in trouble, or in some adventure too big for them to handle. Sometimes it became unbearably dangerous and they thought something scary was going to happen.
“Maybe I should stop since you’re so worried?” I would ask.
“Nooooo! Don’t stop now,” was their big eyed answer each time.
Over the three years I told these stories they began to change, to morph into something different. Even though the main characters and setting stayed the same, I would introduce a mystery character. I would use vague descriptions about this mystery character throughout the story. Small clues that would reveal their identity. The girls had to pay close attention if they were to guess who it was once the story was finished. These mystery characters could be anyone. They could be a real person, a movie character, a book character, a cartoon character, a Bible character, a family member, a pet or animal, literally anyone.
The stories had become interactive now. After the story ended they could ask me all the questions they wanted to. Only questions with yes & no answers were allowed. Each of the girls was granted only one guess at the mystery character’s identity. If they both were wrong, I would win the game and tell them the answer. If one of them figured it out and named the character correctly, they won the game.
Sometimes they asked a gazillion questions and still never figured it out. Other times they asked one, two, maybe three questions tops and nailed it right off the bat. I remember times that I thought I had the perfect character that neither of them would ever figure out, only to have them guess correctly after one solitary question. How rude!
Other nights when I was especially tired I would pick the easiest character possible only to have them trip over it forever, or never figure it out at all. Maybe they knew my game and played me instead. They are very bright girls after all.
No matter who may have been working whom, these are moments I will never forget. They will always be a part of our bedtime memories together when they were little. It was just last year when Amy came up to me and asked me to tell her another story. She’s a high-schooler, and still wanted to hear another one.
I would love to tell you all about them, really I would, but I won’t. I’m writing them down for my grandkids, and maybe for others too if you will. After all, everyone can always use fun stories for children at bedtime.
Curls & Capes 