The morning of Friday, April 10th, dawned bright and clear. This was the day my son had been waiting for for MONTHS. Every day he would wake up and say, "Mommy, is today kindergarten round up?" and I would say, "No, son, not until April 10th." And he would say, "How many days Mommy?"
Every.
Single.
Day.
So when it finally came, we were excited. Actually, excited is an understatement.
This is his face as we prepared to pull out of the driveway that morning. If you've followed me for long, you know my son does not take good pictures. He hates them and does not smile. Guess how long it took me to get this one? Yup - one take. The boy didn't stop smiling all day.
I had arranged to leave school early enough to take Charlie to lunch. We went to Red Robbin, which he did not understand. Food was not important. Why are we WAITING? he asked. This is taking FOREVER! he said. Finally, and even though we were half an hour early, we went to kindergarten round-up.
I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't for the teachers to whisk my boy off and send me to the gym. I was a little nervous when he left me, but not him! He posed for one more picture, and he was off!
Now, I need to explain that I brought my mother along with me. I did this for a few reasons. 1) She listens much better than I do. I tend to get caught up in things like looking at the principal's fingernails and wondering if they are real or if they are press-ons or if she goes to a nail salon and does that filler thing. I tend to hear a phrase and think of better ways to word it. I tend to start to count the ceiling tiles and then remember that ceiling tiles don't matter and what matters is what is coming out of the mouth of the person who is up front talking. My mother, bless her, does not have this problem. 2) My husband was unable to come. And when I say unable, I mean he was golfing in Oklahoma with my dad, my brother, and my uncles. It was a fundraiser for my cousin's volleyball team and it was a really cool, relational opportunity for him to get to spend some time with my family. I was happy to send him. Really.
Back to the gym. We sat at a table and were joined shortly by two women. We made nervous small talk and eventually got around to introducing ourselves. I introduced my mother and felt the need to explain why I brought her. I said something like, "I brought my mom because my husband couldn't come. He's golfing." I'm not sure I needed to say any of this, but as soon as it was out my mouth, I wished I hadn't said the last part. It made my hard-working, very loving and excellent father-husband sound terrible. Go golfing instead of going to your kid's kindergarten round-up?
I felt the need to elaborate.
"He's really a great dad, though. This was just on the schedule and it's in Oklahoma, and it was going to be awkward to cancel, so, well, you know."
"Well," said the lady at the end of the table, "He's doing better than my husband. He left when my son was two."
"And yours did better than mine," said the woman across from me. "Mine left when my son was 6 months old."
You know how when people are passed out, someone will throw a bucket of cold water on them and they suddenly snap right up? That's how I felt at that moment. The men in my life are reliable. My dad. My grandpa. My uncles. My brother. My cousins. My husband. Even my friends. They have always shown up. I listened to these women continue to talk about how their ex had neglected to be a husband to them and a father to their sons. I listened to them lament the absence of a strong, upright male presence in the lives of their sons. I listened to them talk about how hard it was to do ALL OF IT by themselves. I don't know if I had ever really thought about what that would be like until that moment. Don't get me wrong - I had thought about it. I frequently thought about it when my husband was working long hours and he hadn't seen the kids in three days and I was doing pick up and drop off and meals and baths and bedtimes and teeth-brushing and butt-wiping and all of that by myself. I thought, This is what it's like to be a single mom. But I was wrong. Being a single mom would be so much worse. The emotional toll - the weight of all the decisions, not having anyone else to talk to, feeling like you are a failure and not having someone to pull you back up to your feet - I simply can't imagine it.
And I kept thinking about it, even as the counselor, the secretary, the teachers, the librarian, the school nurse, the bus driver, the speech path lady, and the principal got up to talk. I thought about it as I was dismissed from the gym and went to gather my ecstatic 5 year old, who couldn't wait to show me all the things he had made and tell me all the places he had been. I thought about it as I picked up my daughter and drove home, as I prepared dinner, as I put the kids to bed by myself, knowing that my husband would walk through the door before I went to sleep. I wondered why my husband showed up and theirs didn't. I wondered why my kids have a dad and theirs don't. And I was thankful for the millionth time that my husband loves God and me and our son and our daughter. I don't have to worry about him showing up. He will show up for me and for them and for us because he loves us and he wants us and he doesn't know any other way.
I wrestle with that question - that tension. Why do hard, terrible things happen to some people and for others it's smooth sailing? I don't know. All I really know that I am very, very grateful to have dependable men in my life. Particularly my husband, who always always always shows up.
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