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DEREK
Igroan in the front seat of the car as my four-year-old son kicks my seat repeatedly.
“Eli, I swear to God, I will turn this car around.”
“No!” six-year-old Maggie yelps. “I want a cake pop, Daddy!”
“Cake, cake, cake,” Eli chants.
These two are more than just a handful and all I want is to go and grab some coffee before work. Unfortunately, the daycare doesn't open until seven and I’m already wary about leaving them there just as drop-ins. Maggie and Eli are great kids, but they can be a little rambunctious.
Eli kicks my seat again and I take in a deep breath and count to ten. I’m what many people would call a “permissive” parent, and I practice gentle parenting as much as I can, but right now, I feel like my head might explode.
“Cake pops,” I mutter, and Eli finally stops kicking my seat and favors me with a smile, showing his little teeth.
“Cake pops and a strawberry milkshake!” Maggie cries, as if she’lldieif she doesn’t get those two things immediately.
“Only if you two are good,” I say firmly, and Eli pouts.
“Eli in trouble, Daddy?” he asks me, holding out his arms for me to pick him up after I get out of the car and open the back door.
My heart seems to swell two sizes at the look of him, his green eyes so much like mine.
“Not in trouble, Eli. Just be good in the shop, okay?”
“Okay,” he says easily, wrapping his legs around my hip as I lift him out of his car seat.
Maggie is already trying to unbuckle herself from the safety seat, so I hurry over to help, but she wants none of that.
“I can do it, Daddy. I’m a big girl,” she says, and her little tongue is peeking out at all the effort she is making. She is starting to get frustrated and that is not good. For any of us.
“You know?” I tell her. “Even I struggle with that sometimes, so maybe we can do it together and you can help me?”
She looks at me suspiciously at first, but then smiles and says, “Okay, Daddy. I can help you.”
I sigh inwardly in relief that the crisis was averted and let her hands settle on mine as I finally unbuckle her, pretending to expend a lot of effort along the process, causing her to giggle the whole time.
Once we are done, she insists on getting off the chair by herself and I take her hand in mine as soon as she is out of the car.
She looks up at me with her chin upturned. “I can walk bymyself,” she says firmly, but I keep hold of her hand.
“I know, honey. But I’m getting old and I can’t do it by myself, or while I’m carrying Eli here, so please keep holding my hand and help me, okay?”
She is getting more independent by the hour, almost, but I know she’ll do anything for me and Eli, so I have to play all the cards I can to make the whole process easier and still keep her safe, because there is no way a six-year-old should be crossing a road by herself, if there is an adult close by. Especially not my baby girl when I’m right here to keep her safe.
So, holding her hand, I walk right beside her as she looks both ways dutifully and walks across the pedestrian crosswalk.
Taking a four-year-old and a six-year-old to the coffee shop at six in the morning isn’t exactly my idea of a great time, but I’m sort of between childcares. My parents kept the kids for me for a long time after Suzanna left, but they’re getting older and it’s hard for them to chase them around.
So, for today, I’m trying a drop-in daycare to see how the kids do. I’ll need a long-term solution, and fast, but it takes time to decide who you want to watch your children.
They’ve been through so much already.
Eli scrambles to get down and he runs immediately to the cake display, pointing at a big piece of cheesecake. “Cake!” he shouts and starts banging his little fist on the glass like waiting for someone to open it or ask who it is from the other side.
“Eli, please stop banging the glass. You’ll break it. Also, cheesecake for breakfast, buddy? I don’t think so,” I grumble under my breath, taking his hand and pulling him away from the display case.
