I will Miss the Misspellings

I assume my person is the one with long eyelashes.  Then again, that person has blond hair when mine has turned almost raven black over the past decade, so I'm  not completely sure...or maybe the two boys were not-so-kindly alluding to my increasing threads of grey.

Either way, all that mattered was that I was there in the family lineup on this card, complete with the reason for its existence (stated twice), in case daddy couldn't figure it out on his own.

We love are daddy.

One card finished, Wyatt patiently sat and made a Lite Bright "daddy" with green (!?) spiked hair to go with the card.  I, on the other hand, kept catching myself silently mouthing the "ow" sound in "our" and thinking it did sound a lot like are when spoken quickly.

That precious spelling snafu is the second this summer to give me pause.  First came the "Do Not Disturv us.?" sign posted to keep sister Amelia out of the boys' bedroom.  I reach to twist the knob each morning and shake my head at the question mark after the period.  Is it a question or a statement?  Or maybe a statement with a question because the author is unsure whether mommy will tolerate excluding sister from "boys only" play.

Question mark or period--it hasn't kept anyone out of anywhere yet.

This newest card was propped up on the dining room table, just waiting for the second a well-loved daddy walked through the door.  Literally.  The Second.

By five minutes till six, everyone was dressed and ready for daddy's arrival to take them to Wednesday night worship at church. Amelia had already peeked out the side door too many times to count, the curtain permanently shoved back at an angle.  Then came the much anticipated sound of the turning doorknob followed by Emerson's outside-voice squeal of "Daddy's home!" followed instantly by Wyatt running to grab Papa Bear's hand and shepherd him towards the gift.

He acts as a daddy should, gushing over leftover paper and washable marker transformed by his bouncing boys.

Amelia feels left out and raises her voice loud above the fray to admit she didn't make him anything.  (She doesn't say it was because she was having more fun making her dolls dance the Nutcracker Suite with me.)  Daddy doesn't miss a beat before responding that there's nothing he needs more than a hug and a kiss from her.

In the kitchen with after-supper clean-up, I can't help but smile even though I'm a bit jealous at how easy it is for them to love this man they spend time with only a few hours each day.  Daddy is simply important.  Period.

I pick up the card, look at the misspellings and irregular handwriting, and think, I will miss this.

I will not miss the fingers always in their mouths so they catch every illness and pass it on to this mother after she has nursed them back to health.

I will not miss the splinted fingers, the glued-closed gashes on faces, the tears over not-even-close-to-end-of-the-world events, the whining, the sibling bossiness, or the bickering.

But this?  The outpouring of love "just because," the open expression of felt emotion, unrestrained and ashamed....

I will miss this.