In a very 'parent' place

(HOME) — Mrs. Family Man Muser and I have been parents for five, almost six, years. Our little family of three in 2006 became a family of four in 2007 and finally a family of five two years after that.

In that time, we have evolved immensely.

And as people who obviously had no parenting experience prior to becoming ‘mom and dad’ what seems like a lifetime ago, we are acquitting ourselves well in the herculean task of raising children.

I am always amazed, after having been at it for years now, that I still have ‘I-can’t-believe-this’ moments.

Moments of the mundane, for the most part, when the simplest of parenting tasks reminds me that we are, in fact, parents.

Like last night.

Last night, we hustled the kids home from school, as always we do.

Two ran out the back door as quickly as they came in through the front, eager to capitalize on the fading light of a mild winter afternoon.

Another snuggled into the giant, filthy living room chair, enveloped by a giant, filthy pillow, captivated by a spider man weaving webs through the NYC skyline, absorbed by an episode that first aired probably decades, if not decades and decades, ago.

A night like any other night really, the kind of night that I presume repeats itself in countless other households, on countless other streets, in countless other towns like ours.

After dinner, the boy disappeared to the basement for roughly an hour, this time sitting in a clean chair, mouth agape for the most part, watching Woody and Buzz and the whole Toy Story 3 crew go about their business on TV.

It was upstairs that the parental pause occurred, of all things as I was wiping down the countertop, putting the final touches on cleaning the kitchen.

I felt like a dad.

Not cool, hip dad.

But dad.

Responsible, taking care of the family dad.

And over at the head of the table, Mrs. Family Man was being mom.

With two little daughters by her side, she went to town on Valentine’s Day trinkets for the girls to bring to school.

Stickers and tattoos to accompany the Valentine’s Day cards, each with a daughter’s name meticulously, in some cases not so meticulously, scrawled across the side.

I watched them, in between shakes of a grimy kitchen rag, thinking back upon my own childhood, to the days when it was my folks washing down countertops and making Valentine’s Day goodies, to the days when it was them being mom and dad.

It happens that way periodically, when past, present and future collide at once, reminding me of who I am, where I am, and how much my role has changed, even in just my near-six years as dad.

I still feel young. I still am young.

Yet from time to time, as the gap widens between then and now, between childhood and parenthood, it sure does feel like I am getting older.

Not old.

Just older.

Moseying around the kitchen with a dirty dishrag in hand can do that.

But I don’t mind.

I like that my frame of mind matches my frame of reference for a particular time in my life.

Just as my kids should not have to concern themselves with the business of being adults, as an adult, it probably is best that I do.

The same applies to being dad... a cool and hip dad, when I should be, but also just dad when I must.

Signed,
The Family Man Muser