This month, Simone’s mom had a two-week camp deal of some sort about 75 miles north of Denver, which meant Simone wouldn’t be with her at all for somewhere around 12 days.
The good news for me was that I’d get extra time with Simone that first week, and we were headed to Montana for several days to see most of my immediate family.
When I picked up Simone from her mom’s husband at her Yellow House that Sunday, she was already a little bent out of shape—I hadn’t realized her mom would already be long gone by the time I got there, or I would have arranged to pick her up earlier. Simone gave a despondent wave to the husband, and I buckled her into the back seat.
I’ve said in the past that Simone is craving some female company in our lives, but lately, I’ve realized there’s more to it. I call it Girl Energy.
And our trip to Montana was just what Simone needed to recharge that energy, with her mother gone.
If you want to know why I’m so picky about who’s next in our lives, or you wonder why I’m such a sucker for smart, powerful, opinionated women, just spend some time with the ladies in my family. My middle sister lives in Helena with her two wonderful sons and her very wise, easygoing husband. She has built a life there for her family, and, even though she’s a mere 37, her presence is matriarchal. She’s tiny and intense, and no matter where we went in the city, people sought her out to pay their respects. My youngest sister, who also joined us, is no less a presence, though her energy couldn’t be more different—she’s the wacky aunt who’ll wrestle you to the ground so she can stick her nose in your neck, but won’t hesitate to remind you how to act in a restaurant. My youngest sister is also the first person to tell me I’m being a total idiot, whether it’s about money, or relationships, or even the state of the bathrooms in my apartment. My mother was there, too. To top it off, a first cousin who’s always been more like a big sister to me, and her daughter, two forces of nature in their own right, made the pilgrimage to Helena as well. The only men were my brother-in-law, my cousin’s husband, another cousin, and me.
So Simone was immersed in an impressive array of girl energy. My sisters, my mother, and my cousins are brilliant and beautiful women, and fiercely protective of me. It’s humbling and wonderful. Their manner with Simone is no less powerful, but there’s also this ineffable transmission of energy that seems to be uniquely feminine. I don’t mean to be at all condescending in the term “girl energy”; I just think “woman energy” doesn’t ring as well, and doesn’t capture the true vibe.
Returning from our trip, I understood that there’s a real limitation in what I can provide for my daughter. I can be the best father possible, but I’ll never have that girl energy, and it’s an essential component of her spiritual, emotional, and intellectual wellbeing.
We guys know all about girl energy. It’s why there’s a hush when a woman walks into a room of men, and it’s why our behavior changes when a woman is in our presence. It’s why even the most competent men can feel hapless when a woman shares some simple, everyday fix for what seems like an insoluble problem. It’s in the way two women who’ve never met before somehow seem to already share a secret, and it’s manifested in subtle exchanges of glances, minute changes of expression (the twitch of the corner of a lip, the movement of an eyebrow), and body language (in the neck, the fingers, the legs).
I believe women, and especially girls, need to give and receive girl energy—it’s vital. And it’s something I’ll never, ever be able to provide for my daughter.
But that’s okay, because I know her mother is there to provide it, and I know that, before long, we’ll have someone to bring girl energy to our clean-but-cluttered home. And knowing what’s missing, and my own limitations, is powerful impetus to be very selective in the kind of girl energy I welcome into our little family.
And, anyway, I had one of those “I really am a good father” moments last week. While Simone’s mom was away, Simone was to stay all week at her Yellow House with the husband and her very kind grandfather. But the husband sent me email a couple days in, saying that Simone was out of sorts, and he wondered if I’d mind keeping her for one night, just to help her feel like her schedule wasn’t so out of whack. I gladly agreed.
When I picked up Simone the next day, her grandfather gave me a warm handshake and her a hug goodbye. Simone’s hair was a bramble patch and she was wearing mismatched clothes, but she was cheerful (though I could read the sadness in her mien—she really missed her mommy). We picked up some dinner on the way home and cuddled on the couch all evening. I even let her crawl into my bed when she couldn’t sleep, and I held her close until she drifted off.
In the morning, when I dropped her off with her grandfather on my way to work, she was clean, fed, her was hair combed and pulled back in a neat side-ponytail, and she was wearing a cute outfit. Her maternal grandfather is a wise, wonderful man. But, as I drove away, I couldn’t help feeling just the tiniest bit superior. I may not have girl energy, but I can still get my girl out of bed, fed, dressed and ready to face the day with warm kisses and hugs in 45 minutes or less.
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