Maybe I complain too much.
Looking at my last two columns, I wonder if I’m coming off as a whiny malcontent. There is magic in my life, even though I’m mired in more stress, sadness and frustration than I’ve felt in a long time. I could be happier (a LOT happier), but things could be so much worse than they are now. And I never forget that life will get better eventually.
And of course I have Simone, the magical creature who forces me to recognize what’s good about my world.
Last Sunday, I received a call from an acquaintance I hadn’t heard from in months. She was having a few friends over to dinner that night, and wondered if I’d join them. I told her I had Simone, so it wouldn’t be possible, but that didn’t deter her.
“I have an Etch-a-Sketch she can play with,” she said. “You’re both welcome.”
I didn’t have any inspiring food in the fridge, and I’m always interested in making new friends, so I agreed to bring Simone along for an early meal. That’s when my friend told me she’d also invited someone she wanted me to meet. She wouldn’t give me details. When I told Simone about the dinner invitation, she was excited to go someplace new and meet some new people. She didn’t care that other kids wouldn’t be there; she said she’d bring some toys along to “occupy myself while you talk.” I pondered the “whose needs are being met by this decision” question, and decided that a delicious dinner and a change of scenery would be good for both of us. Plus, you know, there was the possibility that we’d meet the next member of our little family. Not that I thought about it too much…
To my mild dismay, the “someone” was a woman I’d met before. She was very sweet, but, to put it simply, I wouldn’t be asking her out to dinner anytime soon. I bit back my disappointment, introduced Simone around, and thanked my host for the glass of wine she brought me.
But the dinner turned out to be wonderful. Simone was the life of the party, opening doors of joy and laughter that would have been closed without her. She was perfect, in that she was on her best behavior but still acted like a kid. Simone charmed the guests with her complex tales about life in kindergarten, but still crawled under the table and put plastic snakes in people’s laps. She explained why a salamander was an amphibian rather than a reptile, but still flirted shamelessly with the married guy sitting next to her. She had everyone in stitches, ate her fill, and by the time we left, I was on a proud daddy high that lasted through the next day.
I am so lucky
How many times would I have driven myself over the proverbial cliff in the last few years if I didn’t have the thought of her to keep me on the road? How many more bad decisions would I have made if I didn’t have the physical memory of Simone sacked out on the couch with me on a lazy afternoon, a proprietary arm slung over my neck, a damp forehead pressed against my cheek?
It’s not that I depend on Simone to cheer me up; no, it’s the knowledge that she depends on me that keeps me from losing hope and focus. I want to be the daddy she can count on, and that can mean sublimating the stomach aches and desire to curl up into a ball and give in to despondency — at least until she’s been fed, bathed, read to, cuddled, and put to bed. And often, by forcing myself to act like I’m okay, I actually do feel a little better, a little less hopeless, a little more equipped to handle my world.
On my bluest days, when it’s hard to see the path back to a happy existence, I can always count on my devotion to my extraordinary daughter to keep me from straying too far in the wrong direction.
Plus, life is so much more fun with Pixar movies, sticky chocolate fingers, hide and seek, and jokes about poo.
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