The Nugget gives a play-by-play, his little feet stamping involuntarily with excitement, "Daddy take off boots, coat, hat, mittens!" The Nugget helps take off Daddy's backpack and unzips his coat for him. The Nugget gives Daddy a recap of the day's events, some actual, some imagined. The Nugget immediately attempts to shimmy up Daddy's body (he'd make a heck of a rock climber) to reach the ceiling fan in the kitchen. Then the boys exit the kitchen, leaving me to finish making dinner.
It's taken 2.5 years for us to get this rhythm down, and I am so thankful for the days when the transition goes smoothly, for the exhale I can release when the Nugget is safely in Hubby's jurisdiction.
I have to admit that my spring is tinged with melancholy, because apparently it is conference season for library software developers. 2 conferences in Feb. 1 in March. 1 in May. 1 in July. That we know of - more keep getting added to the calendar, all within this short span of time.
Oh, how the Nugget needs his Daddy, with his calmer demeanor and slower, more deliberate and thoughtful actions. The Nugget and I are made of quicksilver. We understand each other in a very primal way, because we have the same need for motion, desire for connection and attention, ability to sense, absorb, and effuse emotions without thinking. We can easily spiral upwards together into beautiful days full of laughter and fun, giggling over sunbeams and beetles, while the rest of the world smiles at our maniacal laughter. Or we can easily spiral downwards, absorbing and amplifying each other's every small stress and unhappy thought until we're both a bundle of ragged nerves. We are like loose kites, floating too high in the breeze, needing our grounding string holder. Travel safely, partner. Hurry back and find our strings!