I woke up early this morning. Rather than run out the door to the office, I showered, started some coffee, walked upstairs, and sat down on the bed next to my daughter. She turned, grunted, and said, “Too early!” I sat for a while and watched her drift in and out of sleep.
“Daddy, it’s too early!”
“Honey, do you know what day it is?”
“It’s graduation day!”
A hint of a smile. She started nudging around some of her stuffed animals that were tucked in next to her. Within a couple of minutes, she was awake and we were rolling around, overcome by laughter at absolutely nothing.
Graduation from pre-school was cute. They wore gowns and homemade mortar boards, sang some songs and ate cake. My pager only went off a couple of times, and I asked the service to hold all non-emergent calls. We went to lunch at her restaurant of choice, and I dropped her off at my folks house for her usual Friday visit. Then, off to flu-central.
At three p.m., my cell phone rang, which was a bit of a miracle. The clinic is underneath the old radiology department, and cell signals don’t get through that often. It was my dad.
“Hey, Pal, do you know how I can reach your wife?”
“I assume she’s making full use of the empty house and napping soundly,” I said.
“Um, well, maybe you can help.” (The husband is always second-best.)
“Well, your daughter decided to brush her hair, and, ah, now the brush is completely tangled up. We’ve been trying for over a half an hour to get it out, and I’m not cutting anything without MrsPal’s permission.”
“Jesus, Dad, don’t cut anything! Look, take her to the hair salon down the street and ask for Terry. He’ll fix it.”
When I got to my folks’ for dinner (lamb chops, nom!) PalKid’s long, beautiful hair was intact, the brushectomy having been performed by a professional without complication.
The day ended as it started, me and my kiddo lying in her bed, cuddling and laughing, until she was so tired that she’d lost the will to beg me to stay.
Morning, evening, a perfect day.