THE LONG COLD SUMMER

At the beginning of the summer I had two seemingly healthy kids who didn’t have a care in the world. Well, actually Arden had developed an unhealthy fear of germs, thanks to her second grade health class, and Alex had developed a case of separation anxiety after getting lost in the mall. Other than that, they seemed perfectly happy and healthy. That was until we stopped off at Yogurtland one afternoon and Alex said her teeth hurt. When we got into the car it wasn’t it her teeth that were bothering her anymore, it was her tongue. It was getting bigger. And so were her lips. She thought it was funny. I thought I was going to shit my pants. Off we rushed to the emergency room.

“Thanks” to Alex’s anaphylactic reaction we were hurried in to see a doctor immediately where Alex was given a big ole cocktail of adrenaline, Benadryl and steroids. That did the trick, but she was kept under observation for the next five hours. During that time I was trying to figure out what she had eaten. She had several toppings on her frozen yogurt so maybe there was some cross-contamination with something she was allergic to. But what? The only thing we knew she was allergic to was penicillin and I was pretty sure there weren’t any penicillin-flavored gummy bears on her yogurt. At the end of the night we were told to avoid the typical allergy inducing foods such as chocolate and nuts and strawberries. They also gave us an Epipen because if Alex got another reaction before her system reset, “It could be bad.” Not the most reassuring words I’ve ever heard.

The next day went without incident until after dinner when I gave Alex a Popsicle and her lips started to swell. Back we went to the E.R.  Jen and I both scoured the ingredients of the Popsicle to see if there was a match with anything from Yogurtland. The only thing we found in common was guar gum, which is in basically everything – dairy, meat, baked goods, condiments. We thought it would suck if she were allergic to something like that. Little did we know it was worse. Meanwhile, while I sat in Children’s Hospital with Alex asleep in my arms and my iPhone battery dying by the second, I saw someone on Facebook suggest maybe she was allergic to the cold. The cold? There’s no way. But I looked it up. It was a real thing so I asked the doctor. He said WebMD was the worst thing to happen to hypochondriacs and parents alike. Unfortunately I’m both. He said she wasn’t allergic to the cold. But something inside me couldn’t help but wonder.

Two days later we went up to Lake Arrowhead for a quick family vacation. It was 115 degrees when we arrived so as soon as we checked into the resort we headed down to the lake for a quick dip. The water was chilly so the kids took their time wading into the lake. I watched Alex carefully and noticed she was starting to turn red where the water touched her legs. I pointed it out to Jen who took a closer look. Alex had red welts all over her legs. We told Alex to get out of the water but before she could she turned ghostly white and started to convulse and throw up. She was going into anaphylactic shock. Her organs were shutting down. But because we thought she had a food allergy the Epipen was miles away in the hotel room. So Jen rushed ahead with Arden while I carried Alex’s limp body up the side of the mountain. We eventually met in the parking lot where the valet gave us directions to the local hospital, ten miles away. Alex started to wretch again. Jen commanded me to use the Epipen. I’ll tell you, if you haven’t used one before, it’s not easy. It’s not the physical act of stabbing your child in the leg that’s difficult. It’s mental hurdle of the action. And I was told later that many parents can’t bring themselves to do it, even in a crisis. But I did it. And I instantly knew Alex’s lungs were working because I had never heard her scream so loud. We then tore off for the tiny mountain hospital where the doctor on call said it was a good thing I had that Epipen because, “It could’ve been bad.”

24 hours later we were at an allergist’s office back in Los Angeles where it was determined that Alex had a rare condition known as Cold Urticaria and Angioedema. She was allergic to the cold, which meant no more cold beverages, no more air conditioning. She could never swim in the ocean again or get caught in the rain. Our research showed that most people with this condition couldn’t walk past the cold aisle at the grocery store without breaking out. Our hearts were breaking by the second. The doctor wanted to put her on three different kinds of allergy medications for life and even then it wouldn’t totally prevent an outbreak or another case of anaphylaxis. Our world had been rocked. We would have to change the way we lived. And for the next few weeks the smallest things would cause her to break out. Her own wet hair after a bath would cause her to get welts on her forehead. Her own sweat cooling on her brow after running around at the park would cause her to break out. An orange from the refrigerator would make her face look like Heath Ledger’s Joker. And hearing Alex say things like, “When I can eat ice cream again…” would break our hearts even more because “when” would likely mean “never.” Our whole life was about to change, but still not even the way we expected. Because, Arden, not Alex, suddenly started to lose weight. It didn’t matter how much she ate, she was getting thinner. And her thirst was unquenchable. And then her hair started falling out. So we took her to the doctor only to find out she had developed Type 1 Diabetes.

Tomorrow: Part II

40 (FORTY)

It’s been a while since my last post and a lot has obviously happened since then. There have been many misadventures like on Easter weekend when Alex mistakenly downed a mimosa thinking it was orange juice. Or the continued “fun” of receiving iPad text messages from a 7-year-old, most of which point out my deficiencies as a parent i.e. “Hey Daddy, you do a bad job doing my hair.” Or deciding to take a family vacation with Bacon. Wait. You can’t take a dog into restaurants? What’s that? You can’t take a dog into Hearst Castle? Huh? The dog doesn’t want to be left alone in a strange hotel room? 

There have also been many milestones. The girls both had birthdays and Arden got glasses. Alex swore an allegiance to the Super Friends and we all got to witness the final flyby of the Endeavour, signaling the end of the space shuttle program. This in itself was a bittersweet moment for me. It brought back childhood memories of waking up at the crack of dawn to watch the shuttles launch on TV and remembering how excited I got when there were new pictures of Saturn in the Boston Globe. Between that and Star Wars, I wanted to be an astronaut. So it was sad to see the end of something so integral to my youth. But I was also happy to feel that excitement once again, if only for a brief moment. And in that same moment, I got to see that same spark of excitement in Arden.

I guess I’m waxing poetic about the past because this past summer we also saw the passing of the girls’ great grandmother (Jen’s grandmother) Gertrude Thornley. She was one of the first female marines and served during World War II. At her funeral I heard so many touching stories about her. Things I never knew. And I also heard how she touched so many lives. And at the end of the service, when the marines played Taps and saluted her tombstone, I just about lost it. But it made me think about the legacy that we leave behind.

Okay, okay, the real reason I’m getting all nostalgic today is because I turned 40 this past weekend. I know, I know 40 is the new 20. But still, a lot happens in 40 year’s time. And even though I don’t feel any older, besides the chronic heartburn, the high triglycerides and the need to now bend over and cough at my annual check up, it still gives me pause. It’s still a milestone. But a good milestone. That’s why Jen threw me a whopper of a party that included people from all different chapters of my life – family, high school, college, industry friends, friends of friends who became better friends than the friends who introduced us and now none of us know where the original friends are today. I felt like I was on This Is Your Life. And it felt great to think about the past.

But certain aspects of our lives happen by destiny. Others by chance.  And a few days ago I was reminded of one of those big chance encounters. I learned of the passing of Phylis (Fox) Ravel, my college drama teacher. She died of complications due to cancer. Apparently they diagnosed her late so she decided to forgo treatment and enjoy her final days. I bring her up because when I was in college she was writing a play (Censored: On Final Approach) that would go on to be performed nationally. It was a vehicle for one of her students and she asked me if I would take a small, but “pivotal” role in that play. Well it turns out that the student she was writing the play for would one day be my wife. So without this playwright, who I haven’t talked to since I graduated college almost twenty years ago, I would have never met Jen and had the two wonderful children that I have today. So I would say it was definitely a pivotal role Phylis Ravel offered me that day.

I’m excited to be 40. I’m excited to see my kids growing up. I’m excited to see Arden throw herself into everything she does whether it’s teaching herself fashion design or figuring out how to make Microsoft Word do things I never knew it could do. (And I’ve been using it for over 20 years.) I’m excited to see Alex finally sleep through the night and start to solve problems on her own. I’m excited to see my girls look out for each other (most of the time.) And I’m especially excited that I get to watch all of this with the woman I met and fell in love with while helping my drama teacher workshop a play, nineteen years ago. I truly am excited to be 40.

Arden's first text message

Arden in her new specs

 

Alex and Super Bacon

The Girls and Great Grandma Gert

SOMETIMES YOU JUST GOTTA GO

I’ve written about the perks of being a stay-at-home dad (the women who flirt with you because they think you’re “safe”; the unnecessary kindness of strangers because they think you’re a helpless sack of testosterone). And I’ve obviously written about my various misadventures. But I haven’t really gone into many of the drawbacks of being an actual man in this traditionally female role. More specifically being a man with two daughters. A man who can no longer take his two daughters to the men’s room.

Fortunately I’ve never been the cause for an emergency trip to the bathroom. I think when you’re a parent your system just shuts down while you’re on child watch. Children on the other hand gots to go when they gots to go. On the weekends when we’re out with the family and nature calls, Jen has the privilege of taking the girls to the bathroom. During the week, when Arden was a toddler, I’d take her into the men’s room and line the toilet with enough toilet paper to make her feel like she was sitting on a pillow top bed. Same with Alex. But today, with Arden being 6 and refusing to use the men’s room, yet being too afraid to go to the women’s room herself, I found myself in a bit of bind…

While out on a Costco run with the girls this afternoon Alex said she had to pee. Now if you’ve read this blog long enough you know that Alex has a “lazy bladder,” which means she never has to pee. In fact we have to remind her to pee. So when she said, “Daddy, I gotta pee,” I knew we were in trouble. But knowing what our local Costco’s bathroom looks like I urged Alex to try and make it until we got home. Of course on the way out the door Arden says to me, “You know, I think I gotta go pee too.” I said, “Well I know you can wait until we get home.” But about half way there Alex started to cry. She really had to go. Crap. So I pulled over at an Albertson’s and rushed inside and asked where the bathroom was. We went into the back of the store and I tried to get the girls to use the men’s room. Arden, in her typical sass said, “Maybe if it was a one-er.” But it wasn’t a “one-er.” And Arden wasn’t budging. If the ladies room had been a one-er, this would be a no-brainer, we’d all go into the ladies room, lock the door and do our business. But this was a full-on restroom with multiple stalls and a bevy of sinks. So I asked the girls again if they could wait until we got home. I got a resounding, “No.” So it looked like we were all going into the ladies room.

I knocked on the door and called inside to see if anyone was in there. No response. So I hurried the girls into the handicap stall. Alex went first. When she was finished she insisted she had to wash her hands immediately so I let her out of the stall and put Arden on the pot. Then my biggest fear happened, a woman entered the bathroom and took the stall next to us. I figured I’d just camp out in the stall with Arden until the woman left. But then Alex starts yelling, “I can’t reach the soap!” I decided not to answer because I didn’t want this woman to know I was standing in the stall next to her, trying not to look at the skivvies wrapped around her ankles. But then Alex yelled to me again, “I can’t reach the soap!” So I put on my best Mrs. Doubtfire-meets-Monty Python voice and said, “I’ll be there in a minute, sweetie.” Then Alex said, “Daddy, why are you talking in that funny voice?” The urine stream in the next stall stopped immediately. Alex then said, “Hurry up, Daddy!” But I didn’t want to leave the stall and face this woman. But apparently she didn’t want to leave the stall either. We were at a stall-mate. Then Arden said, “What are we waiting for…DADDY?”  I shushed her and hurried out of the stall and said, “Let’s go!” The girls said in unison, “We have to wash our hands!” Why did I raise such germaphobes? I quickly scrubbed their hands and dragged them out of the bathroom protesting, “We need to dry our hands too!” I shot back, “We’re air-drying them today!” As we left a trail of water in aisle six I looked back and saw a security guard walking after us. I don’t know if I was paranoid, or if the guy just needed a box of ninety-nine cents strawberries. Either way I got in the car and sped off as fast as I could.

DOG DAYS

Whether my wife wants to admit it or not, she’s got baby fever. When one of our friends has a baby, even one of our fringe friends, I’ll wake up on a Sunday morning to the smell of a quiche in the oven, because we’re having a “Brunch to meet the new baby.” And whenever she holds that new baby in her arms she says to me, “Dontcha want another one? Dontcha?” No. I’ve done my sentence. I’ve put in my time as a stay-at-home dad. I’m done. I even went to see an urologist this past summer to discuss getting the boys snipped. Granted I chickened out, but it had nothing to do with my desire to be done procreating. It had more to do about the idea of smelling my own burning flesh well it was cauterized. Anyway, with Arden in first grade and Alex now in preschool full-time, I’ve finally got my pre-kid daytime life back. Or so I thought…

I don’t know how it happened (well maybe I do), but not a month after Alex started her full-day preschool school program in January, we got a puppy.

Sometime over the summer Jen met a cute little French Bulldog and decided if we were ever to get a dog, that’s the kind we should get – they’re small, they’re cute and they don’t bark. So at the beginning of the year we started to discuss getting a puppy. And to Jen that meant we were getting a puppy so she told the girls we were going to get one. Point of no return, right? I thought wrong. After doing a little research on puppies I realized, they’re a lot of work. And I started to tell Jen about all the trouble involved with getting a puppy – eating furniture, peeing on the carpets, vet bills. Eventually she said to me, “Way to suck the fun out of getting a puppy.” She knows I can be guilted into almost anything. But I held strong, “I don’t want a puppy. I just got my pre-kid life back. I want to keep it that way for a while.” And she said, “Fine. You tell the kids they’re not getting a puppy.” So I said (to myself,) “Fine. I will.” And I fully intended to tell Arden when I picked her up from school that day. I had it all worked out. I was going to say, “We’re not ready for a puppy. But in the meantime, how about you and me skip school one day and go to Disneyland?” I knew I could appeal to her sense of Space Mountain. And then when I arrived at school she showed me a picture she made in art class. It was a French Bulldog. I was sunk. I was getting a puppy whether I liked it or not. So I told Jen, “Okay, let’s do this.” But I told her the deal was that I would take care of the puppy in the morning when she got ready for work, and during the week when I was home working. By default I also got the nightshift because Jen would never hear the puppy whine. She could sleep through an atomic blast and not even stir. Her responsibility would be taking care of the dog the rest of the time – evenings and weekends. She said, “Deal.”

So I found a good breeder who had a cute little cream puppy and arranged for the family to check him out at the park that weekend. Ten minutes later we were driving to PetSmart to buy all the essentials for the newest member our household – Bacon.

I quickly learned that raising a puppy is much like raising a baby. As Jen put it, “Puppies are like babies. Only mobile. And on speed.” And they pee on the floor. Every fifteen minutes. And of course my deal with Jen instantly went out the window. Deep down I knew this going in. But if I wanted Jen to cook dinner, I would have to watch the dog. If I wanted her to do the dishes. I would have to watch the dog. If she needed to clean up my half-assed attempts to keep the house in order, on the weekends, I would have to watch the dog. And watching a puppy isn’t easy. You have to watch them like hawk. Even taking them out every thirty minutes doesn’t guarantee they won’t piss on the rug.

I was in hell. I couldn’t do any work because I was constantly watching the dog for accidents. I couldn’t even pay attention to my kids, if I wanted the puppy to not chew on the furniture. I was already bad at multitasking, as the title of this blog suggests, but now I couldn’t even attempt my half-ass attempts at keeping the house in order. Dishes remained in the sink. Laundry piled up. I couldn’t even find the time to shave. Sometimes I’d just skip showering all together. Yes, we had a crate, but at that point I didn’t know you could crate them during the day. I honestly wanted to give the dog back.

Cut to two weeks later: I’m sitting in a veterinary ER on a Friday night, because our brand new little French Bulldog puppy had eaten something toxic and couldn’t stop throwing up. $600 and a roll of Tums later, I’m sleeping on the living room floor next to Bacon’s crate, making sure he makes it through the night. At dawn he’s licking my face, happy to see me. And you know what? I was happy to see him too.

I’ve since learned that you can crate a dog during day. Though if I don’t want him to cry I have to pretend I’m leaving the house. So I grab an energy bar and a Coke Zero and wave goodbye and then sneak around the back of the house, into my office and work for a few hours. Then we have lunch together and he sacks out on the couch next to me while I finish my work on my laptop. And now Bacon can tell me when he wants to go out (he sits in front of the gate and gives a headfake to the front door). It may be every 30 minutes, but at least I don’t have to watch him in between. We’re starting to understand each other. He may still nip a bit. I may still find him gnawing on a chair leg. But hey, he’s a puppy. My puppy. And I love him. I guess Jen’s baby fever was contagious.  

BONDING - THE NEXT GENERATION

I saw Star Wars in the theatre seven times when it was first released in 1977. I may have only been four years old, but I can still vividly recall the first time Darth Vader marched onto the big screen. Like many of my generation, that moment and my fascination with the world of Star Wars has stayed with me to the point where almost 35 years later, I’m still contemplating going against my religion and getting a light saber tattoo.

Five years ago there was a Star Wars convention in Los Angeles, only the fourth official Star Wars convention in its then 30-year history. I thought it might be fun to go with the man who started me on this crazy journey, all those years ago. And I was pleasantly surprised when my father said he would gladly fly out from Boston for the event. I could go into detail about how this 60-year-old man snuck me into the sold-out Carrie Fisher panel or how one of the vintage collectable vendors actually knew my father by name, but ultimately it added up to one of the best father-son bonding experiences I’ve had in my adult life. And it’s something that I will forever treasure. So a couple weeks ago when a friend asked me if I wanted to take my six-year-old daughter Arden, on an all-expenses paid trip to George Lucas’ Skywalker Ranch in San Francisco, the place where most of the Star Wars films were assembled, I immediately said, “F@$% yeah!”

With tomorrow’s re-release of Star Wars: Episode 1: The Phantom Menace in 3D, George Lucas decided to do something different for this particular press junket. Instead of the same old cynical reporters flying up to the Ranch for a weekend of nostalgia, this time George only wanted kid reporters so that he could introduce Star Wars to a whole new generation. He wanted to give them a tour of the Ranch, have them meet with technical geniuses behind his creations and then offer them a tour of ILM (Industrial, Light & Magic, George’s special effects company behind not only Star Wars, but virtually all effects-heavy blockbusters from Ghostbusters to Transformers.) And then George wanted to show the kids the first advanced screening of the Phantom Menace in 3D. So my awesome friend Chapin, who works at MySpace asked me if Arden could be their kid reporter. However, there would be one little catch. I would have to “tag-a-long.” :)

So Chapin and I quickly whipped up some fun and irreverent interview questions for Arden to ask and Jen ran out to buy Arden a new Star Wars t-shirt to wear on camera and then I deleted all my music off my iPhone so I could film as much of the event as possible. After that, Arden and I packed our bags and jetted off to San Francisco.

First let me say that Arden, and quite possibly myself now too, have been hotel ruined. A couple weeks ago my sister got married in Cancun at the Ritz-Carlton and not more than two weeks later Arden and I find ourselves staying at the Ritz-Carlton in San Francisco. And not only was the room paid for, but they also covered all the incidentals. Which meant Ritz-Carlton style room service. Oh yeah. Though Arden was slightly more excited about the free cotton balls she found in the bathroom, which she took home to stuff a felt pillow she was making. Anyway, I don’t think we can go back to a Best Western again. At least not happily.

I could wax poetic about every last detail of the weekend, from the frost on the ground, to the wild turkeys running through the woods, but that would probably only entertain me, so I’ll just tell you about some of the highlights…

- Checking into the hotel and finding a bag of Star Wars SWAG, on the bed, that included a light saber and a note that read, “Don’t forget to bring your light saber tomorrow for Jedi training.”

- Riding across the Golden Gate Bridge and having Arden declare, “Why the heck do they call it the Golden Gate Bridge if it’s red?”

- Having a “Star Wars Breakfast” at the Ranch that included “Yoda’s Yogurt.”

- Proudly watching Arden interview the technical geniuses behind the movies on camera and not breaking a smile when she asked, “Have you ever said, ‘No’ to George Lucas?”

- Jealously watching Arden having a private light saber training session.

- Buying copious amounts of “Skywalker Ranch” merchandise at the gift shop.

- Taking Arden on a tour of Chinatown at night.

- The next morning having the Visual Effects Supervisor ask if he could join Arden and me for breakfast in the ILM commissary

- Seeing a working R2D2 wandering around the ILM building.

- Seeing the actual prop of Han Solo in Carbonite.

- Having Arden turn down dinner with a friend so, “I can have room service with just my Daddy.”

- Seeing the first 3D press screening of The Phantom Menace.

- Watching Arden shed a tear as she said goodbye to her new Jedi best friend, Cyan.

As a lifelong fan of Star Wars, this was a dream come true as both a father and a fan boy. I felt like a Make A Wish patient minus the death sentence. I literally woke up at 4:00 AM that first morning because I was so excited to be going to the Ranch. I was like a kid on Christmas morning. And it felt like Christmas. Every facet of the weekend felt like I was unwrapping another present. And not once did I get a pair socks. Well, maybe the box lunch they gave me on day two could have been better, but like my experience with my father five years before, this was one of the best father-daughter bonding experiences I could possibly imagine. Not only was it amazing to be able to share something you love with someone you love, but to watch my daughter really discover Star Wars for the first time and really love it too, was the greatest gift of all.

Below is a video of Arden giving her report for MySpace. Enjoy and May the Force Be With You.



Arden reporting for MySpace at the Skywalker Ranch from Rick Suvalle on Vimeo.

A WHOLE NEW WORLD

The Los Angeles Unified School District gets a bad rap. But last year, in kindergarten, Arden learned all the fundamentals of reading and now, not even half-way through first grade, she can read. I mean really read. When I was in kindergarten we made collages out of our mothers' Vogue magazines and watched our teacher make applesauce out of the crab apples we found in the woods. First grade was spent drawing pictures of my imaginary home planet Xenazonamus and learning the Pledge of Allegiance (neither of which are taught in school today.) I didn’t start to read until second grade. The book was called “I Am Sam” (not to be confused with the terrible Sean Penn movie or the protagonist in Green Eggs and Ham.) And as a reward for reading my first 10-page book, unassisted, my folks presented me with a Greedo action figure from Star Wars. If my parents had a scanner and actually knew what a scanner did, I’d post a picture of myself proud and front-toothless holding up my prize (now worth over $300 if I didn’t open it up.) But I digress…

Arden can now read pretty much anything these days, whereas Alex, who’s now 3-years-old still can’t recognize her own name. In fact this morning, after dropping Arden off at school, Alex looked up at the Hollywood Sign and said, “Hey, that’s my name on the mountain.” Close. Anyway, on the actual drive to school this morning, Arden starts reading all the signs and billboards we’ve passed a thousand times before. She sees a sign that says, “Keys” and asks, “Why does that sign say ‘keys’ on it?” I said, “Because they sell keys there.” “Huh.” We then passed a building and Arden says, “Citizens Medical Group? Is that like a doctor’s office or something?” I said, “That’s exactly what it is.” Arden says, “I had no idea. It’s kind of like a whole new world when you can read.” I smiled and said, “It is.” We then passed an HIV awareness billboard that featured a retro cartoon of two men about to kiss with the caption, “New Love?” Arden says, “New Love? What’s that billboard selling?” I replied, “I must have missed that one.”

DÉJÀ VU ALL OVER AGAIN

Today was the first day of 1st grade for Arden and the first day of preschool for Alex. A day of mixed emotions where I was a little sad to see my girls growing up so fast and let’s be honest, I was also a little elated knowing that I would finally be getting a small piece of my pre-kid life back. Where I could spend the day writing in the comfort of my boxer shorts and not having to pee in the woods behind my office so as not to disturb Alex and her sometimes nanny’s playtime rhythm upstairs. I’d been dreaming of this moment for quite some time. A year to be exact. Back when Arden had her first day of elementary school and Alex had her first day of…preschool.

That’s right, last year Alex also had her first day of preschool, but it didn’t turn out that well. I had to leave her in tears and when I picked her up later that day she was still in tears. She finished the first week off the same way she started, but by the end of that first week we realized she hadn’t peed in 42 hours so we rushed her to the urologist who told us that Alex had one of three possible problems. 1) She had a defective bladder and would have to be catheterized for life. 2) She had a neurological defect that was preventing her from urinating or 3) She had a tumor on her spine. He said most likely it was number one, which was ironically the worst scenario because if she had a neurological defect or a tumor we could at least fix the problem. That’s when the self-loathing began because deep down inside you’re hating yourself for privately hoping your child has a neurological defect or a tumor. Fortunately after putting Alex under general anesthesia for an exploratory procedure we found out Alex had option 4 – a big fat bladder. And there was nothing wrong with her. To comfort us the doctor did say, “The good news is that Alex will have a social advantage in school because she’ll never miss a conversation because she has to pee.” Yes, very comforting doctor. Personally I thought the good news is that Alex was fine. The even better news was that the next day she was done with diapers, but we decided, maybe we should keep Alex out of school until next fall.

So here we are, a year later. Arden went off to 1st grade this morning without a hitch (and by without a hitch I mean that she got assigned a classroom that had not one of her friends in it and a new teacher who didn’t bother setting up the classroom) and Alex walked into preschool with a newfound confidence, ready to take on the world of finger paints and Duck Duck Goose, without her Daddy.

However, there was another little girl at Alex’s preschool, crying her eyes out for her father who had just left. She was terrified of all the teachers in their blue aprons and saw me and said, “Please hold me, please.” I looked around, thinking she’s gotta mean someone else, but she meant me. I tried to help calm her down, tried to introduce her to Alex, but she was busy riding a trike across the playground. The little girl looked so sad and all the teachers were busy with other first day introductions. So what else could I do? I scooped her up and she put her head on my shoulder and wiped her snot on my sleeve, and within a few minutes she was calm and ready to start her first day. And as I walked out of school, I felt a little less elated about my newfound freedom and a little bit sadder that my girls are growing up.