Daytime Dad

Little One #1 steps to the edge of the pool and without hesitation leaps into the water.
His arms outstretched, he executes a perfect 10 for a belly flop.
If it hurt, he didn’t show it.
The instructor tells him to try and swim he length of the pool.
Daytime Dad, with Little One #2 in his arms, waits in the shallow end.
Little One #1 flails his arms and thrashes the water like a hooked fish resisting capture.
But Daytime Dad isn’t concerned about form, not yet anyway.
For now, the goal is simple: Just make it from one end of the pool to the other.
Little One #1, now five, first took swimming lessons with Daytime Dad when he was 10 months old.
Hard to believe.
Daytime Dad, who got Little One #2 in the pool when she turned six months, is equal parts awed and impressed with how far Little One #1 has come.
He remembers holding him in his arms when floating was about all the little guy could do.
Daytime Dad remembers wondering what it would be like to see Little One #1 swim on his own.
Those days arrived months ago, yet it’s still a surreal experience today.
Little One #1 digs at the water like he’s scooping sand from a box. His goggles partially shield excited eyes.
He makes eye contact with Daytime Dad, which triggers an dogged determination to swim faster.
“Keep going,” Daytime Dad says.
Little One #2 claps.
“Her day will come,” Daytime Dad thinks.
Little One #1 swims closer and his brow creases.
Daytime Dad knows he’s debating whether to stand or not.
“Don’t stand,” Daytime Dad says. “You can do this.”
He doesn’t (stand) and he does (make it).
“Excellent job!” Daytime Dad yells. “You did it.”
It’s a quite a feat, and the moment isn’t lost on Little One #1, who is beaming with pride.
“I did a good job?” he asks.
“You did an amazing job,” Daytime Dad responds.
Little One #1 smiles and jumps in the water.
It’s clear he grasped the sense of accomplishment.
It’s a moment, Daytime Dad thinks, that will forever stay with both of us.

Little One #2 pulls herself up to the couch in the living room, turns around and … slowly … lets go.

Daytime Dad fixes his eyes on the video camera that rests on a desk. It’s tantalizingly close but not quite within striking distance.

Little One #2, who hasn’t quite grasped walking despite previously taking a few steps on her own, holds her hands outstretched to her side like she’s walking on a tightrope at some circus.

Wobbly but undeterred, she spins around and starts her voyage.

The video camera now seems to mock Daytime Dad.

“Come to daddy,” Daytime Dad says as he stoops down to his knees. “Come to daddy!”

Little One #2 takes one step, then two, her mouth gaping wide with anticipation and excitement.

She lets out a giggle-scream and starts wobbling like a bowl of unruly Jell-O.

“Steady,” Daytime Dad says. “Steady.”

Little One #2 takes a third step, which is a bit shakier than the previous two, but she remains upright.

Step four is followed by step five.

Then, sensing what appears to be an imminent fall, Little One #2 gains speed and closes in for a crash landing.

The video camera is, mercifully, forgotten for the moment.

“Come to daddy!” Daytime Dad says.

Little One #2, all 20-plus pounds of her, crashes into Daytime Dad and grabs a hold of his ankles.

“You did it!” Daytime Dad yells. “What a good girl!”

Little One #2 claps her hands in approval. She flashes a smile that will forever resonate.

It took 17 months, but Little One #2, for the first time, is finally a walker.

Yes, it’s been awhile.
Too long, indeed.
Truth be told, Daytime Dad spent a few days trying to think of a good excuse for the recent idleness in this space but couldn’t come up with anything.
As Little One #1 would say, “poop!”
OK, that made no sense, but hopefully at least some of this will …
Little One #1 turned (gulp) 4 recently.
A Lightning McQueen party that attracted about 50 cake-gobbling friends and family marked the special occasion.
The bash featured a box car race, a craft project, cake and otherwise pandemonium only 4-year-olds can create.
Little One #1, as anticipated, was in his glory.
Pre-school friends to his right. Others to his left.
He loved every moment of the party.
Daytime Dad, despite needing three full days to recover, loved it as well, albeit for different reasons.
It’s not often Daytime Dad has a moment to observe his children interact with others.
To see how they communicate. To see how they play. To see them size up a crowd. To see them throw cake.
Amidst the chaos, Daytime Dad found a bit of serenity in the maturation of a child who only four short years ago met the world.
The maturation stretches beyond vocabulary, shape recognition and the ability to zip up a coat. It’s more than just singing parts of the alphabet song or dressing himself — although that’s pretty significant.
It’s something far greater. It’s a recognition, however basic, of his world around him. It’s compassion for the well-being of others.
It’s amazing, really, to see and feel the evolution of infant to toddler to little boy.
But here Little One #1 was, on this day, more grown up than ever before.
The threes, just like the twos before them, are indeed gone.
Parts of them will be missed. Others, not so much.
This much is certain: Daytime Dad is ready for the fours.
He thinks.

Little One #1 looks over the wood burning stove and then up at Daytime Dad.
He appears nervous.
“Daddy,” he says, before pausing.
“Yes,” Daytime Dad responds.
“How is Santa going to get down the chimney and into the house?” the inquisitive Little One #1 asks.
“Well, he’ll slide down the chimney and … ,” Daytime Dad says, before pausing as well.
It’s not often Daytime Dad is caught off guard. In fact, he embraces his ability to consistently stay one step ahead of his always-plotting Little Ones.
This is not one of these times.
Daytime Dad sits up right and pretends to cough to buy a little extra time.
The wood stove. How does Santa enter a home through a wood stove?
Think, think, think.
“Daddy,” Little One #1 asks, this time with a sense of irritation in his voice, “how does Santa come down the chimney and get into the house with the stove?”
Think.
As quick as it takes a little boy to throw back a “red” popsicle, Daytime Dad has the answer.
“Magic,” he says.
“Magic?” asks Little One #1.
“Yes,” Daytime Dad answers. “Santa is magical. He can gets down all types of chimneys and uses his magic to get through wood stoves and fireplaces.”
The mood of the room suddenly changes.
“YES DADDY!” Little One #1 screams. “But, daddy, we can’t have a fire.”
“Yes, no fire,” Daytime Dad promises.
“Daddy, promise me you won’t have a fire when Santa comes,” Little One #1 says. “Promise me.”
“OK, I promise,” says Daytime Dad, who wonders just who, exactly, is in charge here.

Tired and ready for a nap (wishful thinking), Daytime Dad and his two munchkins head for home after a round of errands.
“Daddy,” Little One #1 says, “I want to go to the library and read books. Can you take me to the library.”
Daytime Dad checks the time — three hours still remain before it’s time he leaves for work.
“I don’t know, bub,” Daytime Dad says.
“Please, daddy, I love the library,” Little One #1 exclaims.
Daytime Dad sighs and pauses at a stop sign. A left-hand turn will take us home. A right will lead us to the library.
Decisions, decisions.
We turn right.
Yes, we are all tired. But we had time and, most importantly, a little motivation.
In an age of computer games, video games and a bombardment of television programs aimed at the youth, it seems libraries these days are going the way of the dinosaur.
“Yay, we’re going to the library!” yells Little One #1.
Daytime Dad smiles.
After ushering both Little Ones out of the car, through a parking lot and into the library — a process that took about seven minutes longer than it should — we settle into the quiet but otherwise empty library.
Little One #1 rushes to the children’s section and begins to peruse. Daytime Dad, with a sleeping Little One #2 in a carrier, ventures to a computer to look up a mystery book he’s yearned to read.
“Daddy, what are you doing?” asks Little One #1.
“Looking up a book,” Daytime Dad responds.
“What kind of book?” Little One #1 asks.
“Oh, a mystery book,” Daytime Dad says.
With that, Little One #1 shuffles out of the children’s section and heads toward the front desk with the confidence of a lion, the speed of a tiger and the subtlety of a bull.
“Hello!” he yells to the woman behind the desk. “We need a mystery book.”
“A kids mystery book or an adult mystery book?” the silver-haired lady responds.
“It’s for daddy,” Little One #1 says with authority.
Daytime Dad laughs and the librarian proceeds with directions to the adult mystery section.
“Daddy, go get your book,” Little One #1 says.
“Aye, aye, captain,” Daytime Dad says.