So . . . I Cried Today

I don't cry very often, unless we're talking gripping emotional cinema, like The Last Samurai and Game of Thrones (Nooooooo! Not Ned Stark! Why Ned?), and of course Bambi—and potentially Old Yeller, which I confessed tonight that I've never seen. But it wasn't a movie that had me all choked up today.

I called my incredible pops and wished him happy Father's Day. He is the most loving man I've ever known, and he's instilled in me a great appreciation for all things men. I miss him, because he lives so far away, but he's not the reason I cried today.

I had another great date tonight with a really wonderful guy, so only smiles there.

My oldest and youngest daughters were together today in Fort Polk, Louisiana, and they called me three times while I was on my date. I didn't realize they did, so I didn't answer. They also sent me a bawdy text I bet most kids don't send their parents (I so love their spirits), so of course I called them back to share a good laugh. But then they said, "We just wanted to wish you a happy Father's Day."

I wasn't sure at first why those words hit me so hard—like in that place right at the core of you, where you normally don't let anybody get to—but I almost couldn't talk with that big lump in my throat. And I realized that after all these years of being the only parent they've ever known, it was the first time they had acknowledged that I was both their mother and their father out of necessity, and that they understood it wasn't always easy. I felt validated. They got it. They got me and what I went through.

Ah, parenthood. Who but your kids could take you out with a one-liner?

Tonight I got the best Father's Day gift ever. Made me exceedingly proud to be their mom. Then we had a good laugh about the adult things their mother might be up to these days. Those apples did not fall far from this tree.
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Binky Boys and My Girl

The Binky Boys have been ruling our roost. I'm talking two almost-3-year-old cousins who have joined forces for four weeks of mischief, mayhem, and mooning. As toity trainees, those itty-bitty buns tearing through the house are a sight to behold -- and with such wreckless, gleeful abandon, makes you long for the days when you had no sense of propriety. Only a pure and unobstructed awareness of being. Of eating, sleeping, and pooping. Traversing the world with a binky in your mouth, a blankie over your shoulder, and a new toy in your hand -- one you have no intention of sharing. Touching and tasting and trying out things -- cuz everything is intriguing and new -- like Nana's shoes. No judgments here. Baby boys are allowed to try on heels in Nana's house, wear pink toenail polish and perfume. And bracelets.

And now one of the Binky Boys has to go home. NAS New Orleans. His daddy's due back from a short mission in Japan and Guam via Anchorage. Yeah, a Navy guy. New family man. Macho. Don't tell him about the pink polish, okay?

Beyond the joy of hanging with my grandson, I've been able to spend the last four weeks with my daughter (#3 of 4 in the lineup), and it hasn't been nearly long enough. Feel like I'm just getting to know her all over again, because she's no longer the precocious little chatterbox, the sullen teenager, the rebellious 21-year-old Navy recruit. She's a beautiful woman, a doting mom, a loving wife, and a grownup I'm proud of. I love her, of course, but I also really, really like her.

Come back soon, Binky Boy, and bring my precious girl, cuz I miss you guys already.
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