So it feels weird talking about that now, you know. Now that we had an awesome weekend and her behavior was really, overall, pretty great and all those devilish things she did and the way she acted last week seem like a distant memory (not really).
I'll just save that post in my drafts for a day I'm pulling my hair out, mmk?
For now, this.
Friday and Saturday I spent a lot of time with my dad. My mom was out of town and so it's just kind of natural to check in more with him, make sure he's doing alright, have him over for dinner, etc. On Friday night he came over for a "pizza paw-ty", I'm not sure what qualifies it as a party, but-look, pizza=momma didn't have to cook. So, yea-party alright.
Emeline is c-c-crazy about her Pop Pop. I mean, completely and ridiculously in love with him. She talks about him non-stop, has so much fun playing with him--he gives her undivided attention, teaches her new things, explores with her, and talks with her about everything and anything. If you know Em, she can talk. and talk. and talk. She wants everyone to be talking to her at all times.
So, at dinner--she completely monopolized the conversation. My dad would go back and forth with chatting about her day, about the details of Lucy's doctor appointment earlier, about blowing bubbles on the deck. Then, my dad would try to talk to me about the newest product at work he was excited about, for example, and before I could get a word in edge-wise, Emeline would say, "Excuse me Pop Pop--talk to meeeeee!"
It sounds really, really cute. And she's mostly polite about it. But I assure you, after the 3983948th time you've tried to have the same conversation, never getting to complete it without being interrupted by that familiar sing-songy voice and "talk to meeeeee, please"--it's not really that cute anymore. Except it never seems to bother my dad.
He'll flow in and out of deep conversation with my 3 year old. Squeak in a little bit with me. Back to more conversing with his granddaughter. Over and over again, like a pro.
When dinner was done and cleaned up--I decided to put my brave face on and be The Fun Mom when I proclaimed, Let's go get ice cream! It was raining. And I mean, pouring down buckets of heavy rain. Lucy had just been put on antibiotics for an ear infection. We don't even own raincoats (let alone coats that fit anyone right now). Lucy had a pizza-stained onesie. I was in sweatpants. Emeline's hair looked like she'd been through the spin cycle of the dryer. It was much too close to bedtime for my liking. But we threw our hoodies on and headed up to Dairy Queen, anyway.
On the short drive there, my dad and I began talking about this or that. But, not a few seconds into our conversation a little voice pipes up from the back again---Excuse me, guys--but can you talk to ME?
My frustration grew even more. Can't I have a conversation with my dad, for the love, child? I talk to you all.day.long. But, I gently explained to her that sometimes adults have conversations, and we will be happy to talk to her, too. But right now we're talking about _____ (I can't even remember anymore, mom brain is real, folks.)
She didn't really like that answer. And again, after a few minutes, she said--But excuse me, Pop Pop, can you talk to me now?
Before my blood could even boil over, my dad kind of giggled--and smirked at me in that way that he does....and he said, It's really okay, Kate. I mean, one day she might not want to talk to you, right? Enjoy it.
I sort of breathed deeply and muttered a you're right. I let it sink in a little more.
Then I listened as they began talking about the details of the rain, what kind of dessert they'd get when we got there, why her Hello Kitty boots are her favorite to wear in the rain, and what color sprinkles would be on her ice cream cone.
He wasn't trying to be profound or anything. He was just being honest. Despite his illness, despite his own obstacles, he teaches me how to love better.
and that's just one of the reasons I adore him so much.