I realized this week, not for the first time, that as a Dad, I’m playing the long game. A very long game. The kids will get annoyed or exasperated with me when I ask how their day was or what happened in school or how so-and-so is doing and I try not to take offense at the huffy answers or the eye rolling replies. I’m playing the long game and hoping that this gentle interest will pay dividends in the future.
They might think they know it all but in reality they don’t have enough experience or perspective to know how they are feeling or if they are actually struggling. And they certainly don’t have enough maturity to open up on their own. At least my kids don’t. They’re probably afraid I’ll bring out the feelings flashcards.
So I play the long game. I try to not just be there but be proactive in the most lightweight way possible. I’m not above using Dad jokes or Dash to get them to smile. That’s the job.
We, or at least I, started early yesterday with a real, live in-person race. It was a small field with expected safety protocols but once you were out on the course it felt normal. It felt really good to be racing again. It hurt, but the good hurt. Snow had melted.
Just what this blog needs. More pictures of me in lycra.
Back at Grammie’s (race staging area, as it was in Rhode Island), Ce was teaching Grammie how to make proper pancakes.
Ally needs her routine, home couch or not.
While the girls waited for me to come home, they got into the old school photos. The ordering form has not improved in thirty years, but I think the photographers might have.
I also think I must have ate my own evil twin before my sophomore photo.
After the race, we hit the turnpike to travel down to the wilds of New Jersey to see the other grandparents for the first time in eleven months.
School photos might have improved incrementally over the years, but long car rides for kids are infinitely better. Snacks, wifi, shows, apps, lap dog. Not a lot to complain about.
Can’t take visits for granted anymore. Definitely calls for some champs.
It’s not Saturday without some interpretive dancing.
Can’t be all bad as a twelve year old when you get to celebrate your birthday twice.
Always nice to end the day with a smile. No feelings flashcard required to interpret this one.