He Has 3

*I love, love, LOVE this article.  Read it.  It will make you cry.  In a good way.

"They say that from the instant he lays eyes on her, a father adores his daughter. Whoever she grows up to be, she is always to him that little girl in pigtails. She makes him feel like Christmas. In exchange, he makes a secret promise not to see the awkwardness of her teenage years, the mistakes she makes or the secrets she keeps."
-Anonymous-

Dear David, 

Sometimes I think I need to apologize that there are no sons to be had in our family and its future.  And then I retract that thought because I can't imagine we could be any more blessed than we already are.  But what's even more amazing?  These girls could not be any more blessed than they are to have the father they have.  If there's one thing you are better at than being a good husband, it's being a good Dad.

Happy Father's Day.

 

Dad

Tonight I will most likely post something about my husband - one of the best fathers "in every contri" (as Malia so eloquently put it on her card to him).  But right now I feel compelled to talk about my dad.

A lot of people who met me after my time moving out of the house at 18 have never met my father.  They've met my mother and possibly most, if not all, of my siblings.  But most of my acquaintances have not met my Dad. For this reason, I feel the need to introduce him to you, through my eyes, on this day that celebrates fathers.

My dad is not an emotional man.  In fact, I could count on one hand the number of times I've seen him get emotional in my 30+ years of life.  He does not like to be a vulnerable man.  He's not mushy or sentimental.  He is proud.  Very proud.  He is an extrovert.  He enjoys the knowledge and wisdom he's accrued in his 75 years.  And he especially enjoys sharing it with people.  If I were to list what I think are the things most important to him, I'd guess health, hard work, music, family, the Gospel, old cars, and Diet Coke.

My dad and I are close in a weird way.  I am not close to him in the way my brothers are, because I am not his son.  I am not close to him in the way my older sister is, because he isn't sensitive with me as he feels he should be with her.  I'm not close to him the way my baby sister and he are, because he isn't tender with me and because I am not his baby.  I'm like the son he never had and the daughter he never wanted.  I don't mean that in a negative way at all, despite how it may sound.  I feel like my dad talks to me the way a man talks to his sons, but because I am his daughter, it is still different.  There isn't pretense or caution with me.  He says what he means with me.  In fact, of all of my dad's children, I acknowledge my personality is most like his.

People have commented that this is the case for years.  I generally nod my head and laugh, and he denies it.  I'm not sure why he denies it.  I mean, come on. I'm wicked awesome.  I think he denies it because it terrifies him.  Like me, he appears incredibly confident, self-assured, and ready to take on the world.  But I think, like me, he's incredibly insecure, desperate for approval, and in constant fear of the offenses he may have unintentionally caused.  He likes to tease.  I'm easy to tease.  The combination has occasionally been volatile.

My dad is a talented man.  He is so very proud of the talents of his children.  And even though a large deal of the credit goes mainly to a stay-at-home mom who worked endless hours teaching us, I believe strongly in the influence of genetic make-up when it comes to a person's skill set.  And the gift of music comes from his blood as well as my mother's.  He plays multiple instruments and plays them well - the majority of them having been self-taught.  He has an ear for harmony and a love for the music of his youth.  He is incredibly closed-off to modern music, and I'm not sure if that's because of or in spite of his great appreciation for good music.

He's loud.  (See? I told you the apple doesn't fall far from the tree...).

He loves animals and always has to have dozens of them around.  He grew up on a farm.  This also speaks to his respect for hard work and discipline.  He's sustained multiple work-induced injuries in his life.  This aspect alone makes me feel like I need to get on writing his life story.  Oh, the stories he tells...

My father was the disciplinarian.  When we misbehaved, we felt guilt towards our mother... but we feared Dad.  Some people think that's not necessarily the best way - but 5 children who are all active in the Church and worthily hold current temple recommends speaks for something.  My dad was always the one to say "no."  Sometimes, even to this day, I think he said it too much.  But he didn't want to take chances with his children straying.  He didn't trust the world, and sometimes, maybe, didn't trust us.  It was frustrating sometimes, especially when we felt we were trustworthy, but my dad is not the kind of person who likes to tempt temptation.  When people try to tell me about their strict parents and how sheltered they were, I want to laugh, loudly, in their face.     

My dad is not openly preachy with his testimony of the Gospel.  In fact, I've heard him bear it a very small number of times.  But I've never doubted he has one.  His strict self-discipline and hard-working nature combined with the moral choices he makes in his daily life were testimony enough.

My dad is always himself.  He doesn't put on a show.  What you see is what you get.  I like to think I got that trait from him.

  

When people ask me to describe my Dad, the word I use is "eccentric."  He is an older man who works out at the gym 3-4 times a week, has an addiction to garage sales, has - very possibly - the worst fashion sense I've ever encountered without a care that that's the case, keeps an odd array of animals in his backyard (we've had pigs, sheep, cows, emus, swans, dogs, lizards, etc.), goes bottle hunting whenever he gets the chance, has no qualms approaching perfect strangers with an observation about their body and how they can improve it, gets up in the middle of Sacrament Meeting and goes to the back to jump up and down and wiggle his joints in an effort to avoid stagnation and the pain it can bring about (he's a Chiropractor), will repeat a story over and over if it has been successful at garnering laughter before, is convinced that hydrogen peroxide and exercise are the perfect prescription to any ailment, and, despite a near obsession with the health and well-being of the human body, drinks liter after liter of Diet Coke and will even consume expired food & beverages in an effort to not be wasteful.  There are so many more things I could say as evidence to his eccentricity, but I have children to take care of and a life to live...

I remember meeting the fathers of my friends as a kid, and there were definitely moments I would think to myself, "I wish my dad were more like their dad."   I think all kids go through that.  

But if you were to ask me today with the gift of hindsight and the humility of adulthood if I wished I'd had a different father, I would reply, without hesitation, "Are you kidding me?!  So much of who I am comes from who he is."

That, and I think other dads would've been boring...

 

 

"Don't Go, Daddy"

In the last week or so, CC has really taken a liking to her father.  Every day for the last few days she's let him know she'd rather he didn't have to leave. "Don't go to work, Daddy.  I will miss you," she says.  

(I really wish these were better quality.  They were taken on my phone while I nursed Daphne).

6/4/2012

Dear Daffodil -

I intended to write you this letter last week when I wrote letters to your sisters.  That's not to say I forgot about you.  Quite the contrary.  It was because of you I just didn't have the time.  You have proven to be my most "complicated" newborn. I can't quite figure you out.  Your oldest sister, once I resigned myself to the fact, was the "screamer."  For 6 months, all she did was cry with brief moments of intermittent smiles.  Your other sister was a totally chill baby, fairly submissive, for the most part, predictable.  I think I've hesitated pinpointing exactly what you are because obviously, with your sisters, I was way off.  Malia ended up being a very cheerful and happy child while Cecily has become quite the firecracker and totally unpredictable.  I think that, despite your being my 3rd child and my supposed "experience" having done this 2x before, I know less about you than I did about your sisters.  I don't know if it's because I've become more humbled with each child.  I don't know if it's because it's impossible to pigeonhole whatever your disposition is because your moods shift unpredictably (and maybe that's the result of being born to a mother already riddled with anxiety).  I don't know if I'm just too tired and thus loosing my once fairly-honed skill of discerning people.  Or maybe, just maybe, it's because no 2 people in this world are alike and you are just as unique as can be.  Yes.  Probably the latter.

Before I continue this letter, I want to make one thing perfectly clear to you: you are not my last baby because of anything you've done or been.  As you grow, you may wonder why we never provided you a brother or even another sister.  You may wonder why I, coming from a family of 5 kids, and your father, having 5 siblings of his own, decided to stop after you.  No matter what amount of teasing may ensue (as is inevitable in this family), know that you are my last baby because I wanted to mentally and emotionally still "be around" as you aged. Believe it or not, your mother was once an energetic, free-spirited, funny, kind-of-awesome-to-be-around person (or so I've been told). I just have a hard time in the first 1/2 of a baby's 1st year.  And as I feel my energy and personality depleting, I realize that, as my 3rd child, you're beginning to get the raw end of the deal with me because so much of me has been lost.  Not to blame you or sisters, by any means.  It's because I, having many other talents, simply struggle in the beginning of motherhood every time a new life comes into this home.  The sleep-deprivation coupled with my self-doubt and PPD-induced guilt slowly chips away at my fragile spirit.  The transition wears on me.  Throw any musical challenge you want at me; I'll conquer it.  But give me an amazing little human that I can't control or communicate with?  I'm a disaster.

So remember - it's not BECAUSE of you that you're (most likely) my last, but FOR you.  

You are an incredibly beautiful baby.  I could stare at you all day.  I don't know how long your dark skin will last.   And although your hair has thinned out a little in these first months, it is black as night and straight, with the exception of a little cowlick on the crown that curls up like Alfalfa after your bath.  Your eyes are still so dark I can't quite pinpoint their color.  They look to me like dark, silvery mercury for now - some sort of a metallic liquid.  There seems to be some blue, but I don't think that will last.  They are so dark, I am currently leaning towards the possibility of them being green like your sister Malia's or hazel like your father's.  I don't believe there's any possibility they'll end up blue like mine or CC's, but if they do, we'll be in trouble.  With your dark complexion, if you have blue eyes, we'll have to fend the boys off with a stick and a pair of Rottweilers.  Who am I kidding?  I can already tell we'll be doing that anyway.

You are trying so hard to be the good sleeper Mommy wants you to be.  Even though, when you are awake, you are incredibly laid-back, easy-going, and pleasant, you struggle if I keep you up for too long.   The problem is, you don't start to tell me it's been too long until it's too late.  If I want to get a nice full nap out of you, I have to lay you down while you're still smiling, cooing, and babbling at me.  It's painful because I want to play with you; talk to you; learn more about you.  As I change your diaper before a nap and start to swaddle you, you are grinning at me and telling me all about yourself while also occasionally trying to frantically jam your fist into your mouth.  I know I've timed it right when I sing to you and you stay calm and quiet and then go down without any protest.  But if I keep you up even 5 minutes too late, you cry before your nap and wake up far too early.  You are like both of your sisters were - you are so alert and take so much in very quickly, and I think it wears you out fast.  I, admittedly, am anxious for the next few months to hurry by because I want you to be able to be up for longer stretches and to be able to handle going down 15 minutes late for a nap, if necessary, without it throwing you completely off.  I want to get to know you, and it's hard when you have to be napping almost all day.  (Also - if you could start sleeping through the night...?  I mean, I'm chunking you up fairly nicely with my milk, so I think you could handle the occasional fast).  You're chunky and in the higher percentiles with your weight, but your feet are still itty-bitty.  I can't even get size 1s to stay on your feet.  Even though you're good-sized now, I wonder if that means you'll be petite like Malia.  Feet usually tell.

You like to be a one-hit wonder.  The first time you smiled you were very young and it brought me so much joy, but then you waited a while before showing it to us again. You rolled over at an incredibly young age as well (2 weeks!) but never did it again consistently until at about 10 weeks.  I got a laugh out of you 2 nights ago (also early for a baby), and have tried, fruitlessly, to garner it again, and all it makes you do now is grunt at me in annoyance.  I guess I'm learning that one thing about you is for sure: you are smart but only ready when YOU are ready.  *sigh*  Just what I need.  Another brilliant child like your father with my strong will.

Your favorite person to talk to is Daddy.  Your favorite person to smile at is Malia.  Your favorite person to stare at and also ignore is CC.  And your favorite person to cry for is me... can I trade somebody?

You've been diagnosed with torticollis.  It's a condition where a muscle in your neck has been damaged and so you often favor looking to the right.  We noticed this when you were only 2 or 3 weeks old.  The pediatrician seems to think you'll grow out of it as long as we are consistent with doing physical therapy every day.  Your father and I are always stretching your neck.  Sometimes you don't mind it.  Sometimes you squawk at us.  It's getting better.  You are looking more to your left with more agility than before, but you still always sleep with your head to the right, which brings us to the other issue:  Plagiocephaly.  The right side of your head is getting quite flat and it's causing your beautiful face to lose some of it's symmetry.  One eye is starting to look a little smaller and one cheek is starting to look a little bigger, and your right ear is shifting closer to the front of your face than the left.  Next week we have an appointment with specialists to look into a cranial band.  I'm sad at the prospect of having to make you wear an annoying helmet for 23 hours a day for a few months, but at the same time, I hope you realize we want to do it to help you.  You are so very pretty, and we want to keep it that way.  When you are older (if the band is necessary) and you look at pictures of yourself as a baby, and think, "Man, my parents were cruel!" I want you to then look in the mirror at how stunning you are, and retract that statement.  We love you so very much.  We only want to make your life as wonderful for you as possible.

You are the namesake of your father and I combined.  Dave + Tiffany = Daphne.  And to look at you, you are just that.  Malia looks so much like Daddy, and CC so much like me.  You are kind of a little mixture, although your father's dominant traits are a bit more prevalent.  

I am anxious for you to begin to become more of a little person so I can more readily help you with what you need, and not feel (as I often do with babies) like I am failing to achieve that.  I apologize for some of the crying I've had to allow you to do.  And in turn, I apologize for the crying I've done in response to it.  I also apologize for the Cafe Rio I had last week that seemed to give you gas for 3 days.  If it makes you feel any better, I'm avoiding chocolate for you.  Some day you will realize just what sort of a sacrifice that really was for you.

I love you more than chocolate.  And that's big.

Love,

Mommy