Thanks to Papi

Dinnertime at my house last night:

Food was set on table.
Girls bowed their heads and said grace.
As they do each night, Eva says "And, thank you Mama for dinner."

"And, thanks to Papi."

Papi. 

"Eva, do you see Papi around here somewhere?  Was that him in here the last hour making your dinner?"

"No, but he makes all the money.  You don't do anything."





He's been gone ten months.  For the year before that, he was almost never here.  Before leaving, he couldn't tell you how old they were, what school they went to, a single one of their friends names, or really any detail of them as human beings.  He's never bathed them, taken care of them when they were sick, jumped up and down for joy at their accomplishments, had a conference with a teacher, made them a sandwich, felt their breath on his neck as they slept.  Not even once has he sat down to console them when they cried, seen their eyes light up at a new experience, held tiny hands as they learned to walk, sat and listened to them put together their first sentences, argued over which hairbow matches better, stalked the playground making sure they were adjusting to the new school year, broken out in a silly dance to make them smile, confronted the parent of a child who was bullying them, sat still as they "style" his hair, woken up to the feel of one of them reaching out for consoling from a nightmare .  In their entire lives, he has missed every single opportunity to marvel in their frustratingly beautiful growth.

But he gets all the credit.  Because he is Superpapi.  In the last few months, he has decided to step up.  Only, he's stepping on his terms.  No homework or chores or discipline.  He takes them swimming and to the movies and out to eat.  There are no bedtimes or bathtimes or quiet times.  Every other weekend, unless he has something else to do, it's all playtimes.  And, to three little girls, that makes him great.  To the mama who can't afford to keep up, it makes him...well... it would be inappropriate to use that kind of language.

I am glad he's learning a little bit about my children.  Really, I am.  Girls need a father and he's becoming one.  I am happy for the girls.

And, everyone says they'll see one day which parent was there all the time.  One day they'll understand which of us sacrificed everything for them.  One day I might get to be Supermama.

Until then, though, I'm just the witch that brushes teeth and enforces rules.  You know, the one who doesn't do anything.



"You're right, Eva.  You should call and thank your Papi too.  Now eat your food before it gets cold."