“Brooks, look at this.” Annie held out the baby monitor for me as I slipped on my reading glasses. Regina had not fallen asleep yet. She had a different plan–She ALWAYS has a different plan. She was right up close up to the camera, struggling to maintain her balance as she wrestled her body into a pair of footie pajamas that were much too small.
Something like this happens nearly every night. We tuck her in and have the following conversation:
“Sleep tight! I Love you!”
“Love you too.”
“Stay in bed, keep your head attached to the pillow. Only get out of the bed to go potty or in an emergency. Okay?”
“Okay.”
That’s the loophole for her. When I add that little bit about an emergency, it’s because I have this image of her staying in bed while an actual emergency happens. I really shouldn’t bother dwelling on that image. She rarely does what you wish the first time you ask anyway. Her ideas as to what actually counts as an emergency are far broader than my definition. Apparently the need to change whatever pajamas we put her in is an “emergency”.
What I would do to have her priorities again!
This happens nearly every night. And every night we reset her and tell her to stay in bed. And every night she tries to get away with it a second time.
Last night was different. We decided to let her do her thing this one time. Annie slid in next to me and we continued watching her struggling to get into those footie pajamas that were a third too small for her.
“Five years old tomorrow. Can you believe it?” Annie said, her voice was smooth, soft and tender, I call it her “Contented Mother Voice.”
“No. I really can’t believe it. It honestly has been a blur.” I replied, we continued watching her. She had given up on the footie pajamas and was now struggling to get out of them. The baby monitor screen was completely taken up by her little tiny butt and little tiny underpants. Annie and I snort-laughed.

“Can’t wait to see what she’ll be wearing in the morning!” Annie said as she returned the monitor to its charger. I replied to that with a roll of my eyes. I thought about Reggie again and decided I was going to write about her the next day.

The next day…
Annie headed out for work. The plan: Get cleaned up, and get to writing. Hopefully the girls give me a little time to get something started. They wake, I feed them then get the laundry going.
There was a knock at the bathroom door. I opened it a crack. It was Reggie. She was holding herself and doing “the dance”. With a heavy sigh, I stepped behind the shower curtain, and let her do her thing with instructions to head back into bed when she was done.
Freshly cleaned, I checked the monitor, they were both in Lyd’s bed. Lydia was reading to her. Great! That’s maybe twenty minutes!

It was more like five minutes. I wasn’t three sips into the coffee, I hadn’t even started the first sentence.
I spent all day trying to write a piece about Reggie, today (yesterday) is (was) her fifth birthday. I couldn’t find a flow, or a voice. Lydia had been pulling me aside for any number of odd jobs. One involved me helping her cut up a paper plate so that she could make yet another “gift” for her sister (I swear, we only actually eat off of one third of our paper plates). The birthday girl requested a movie after she needed help putting together the Velcro for a princess dress. The movie had them both occupied long enough for me to throw in a load of laundry and get back to writing this piece for Regina. Except I couldn’t. They had made four requests for a snack, they would not leave it alone until I threw some food at them, plus it was lunch time anyway. I pushed myself away from the laptop to make some sandwiches. “Finally!” I thought, “I can get some time to write this piece!” But the movie ended and they were getting restless again. As if it mattered, I needed to take Lyd to her cheerleading practice, followed shortly by ballet class. I was thinking I could write something while Lyd was gone. All I had to do was keep Regina occupied, maybe crank off a paragraph or two. You know, try writing in earnest.
Or not!
She had switched dresses again, and needed help again. Then she wanted to dance with me. “First we spin, then you dip, now twirl me!” I followed her instructions.
“That’s it?”
“No! We finish by kissing.”
“My pleasure your highness.” She glowed a little at the title. Writing was still on the back of my mind.
Just as I was going to sit again, she requested a birthday snack platter (a banana, some chunks of cantaloupe and a handful of crackers). She didn’t want any TV. She wanted to sit next to me and hold onto my arm as I wrote. Fine enough, so long as we avoid a repeat of the mouse incident of 2016.
“What are you writing about?”
“You!”
“Me?!?” She squealed. Can you write a 5? Because I’m five years old?”
“5”
“That’s me!” I smiled back at her, deleted it and continued writing. “Wait. What happened to the 5?”
“I deleted it so that I can keep writing.”
“But I’m five. That is a number. You are just using words now.”
(Just using words? JUST using words???) “Well, words are awfully handy when you are writing.”
“Can farmers count?”
(Huh?) “Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” (Where the hell did this conversation come from?)
“How do you know?”
“Because they need to keep track of their cows.”
“I’m not talking about cows Daddy. I’m talking about Farmers.”
(I believe strongly in the “question everything” philosophy, but not here, not now) I took a deep breath and maintained my cool, “Do Farmers raise cows?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you think Farmers can tell you how many cows they have?”
“By counting them.”
“Right! So do you think Farmers can count?”
“Yeah.” There was silence, save for her open-mouthed chewing on her cracker before she spoke again, “Can’t you write words using numbers?”
“I suppose I could, using some sort of code. But I’m guessing it would become pretty exhausting after a while.”
“Just use 5.”
“Write words using only the ‘5’ key? Problem solved! I could become the Groot of the writing world.”
“Want a chunk of melon?”
“Nah. I’m good. Thanks Sweetie.” I continued typing.
“You’re a nice Daddy.”
“I try, not as successfully as I wish. But when you say things like that, maybe I’m doing okay.” I resumed my typing but couldn’t concentrate. “Sweetie? I’m trying to…” I scrolled over what I had written, “write something about you.”
“How are you doing Daddy?”
Staring at the document, “Nearly twelve-hundred words so far…”
“Good job Daddy!” She gave my arm a kiss. “I helped! You’re welcome.”
“Thank you Hun.” I replied vaguely, shaking my head.
My Regina, “The Bean”, “Slightly”, creating order by embracing chaos. On your fifth birthday, teaching me a lesson, reminding me what really matters. It didn’t feel like a favor at the time, but thank you for that.
Happy Birthday Sweetie!