Daddy? Daddy? Daddy!

Carey continues to learn how to create a children's book with Duncan Ewald and the South Orange Maplewood Adult School on Tuesdays from 7:30-9:30 p.m., so I get to play Mr. Mom, something I've done much less of with Lincoln than Greta. Chalk it up to odd work hours and Carey being so incredibly good at it now that she's staying at home. Anyway, Lincoln was bathing when I got home, so Carey finished that up and kissed the kids goodnight. We played hide-under-the-covers for a bit, then I convinced Greta to hit the potty and brush her teeth. She opts out about twice a week these days to "skip bath," as she puts it. Personal hygiene out of the way, I attempted to put Lincoln down first. We read a couple books and he pointed to the crib and said, "Bed." I laid him in and he happily murmured to himself, index and pointer fingers of his right-hand jammed in his mouth (his typical "I"m tired" signal since the day he was born).

So on to Greta. We read Too Many Toys and Where Do You Sleep, Little One? then swap butterfly kisses. (She's getting very good at them... tickled my nose and ear last night).

7:49 p.m. and I'm downstairs wondering what's on TiVo. At about 8, Lincoln stands bolt upright in his crib and says, "Daddy?" Just one word, but what I hear is: "Did Daddy just try to tuck me in? Where the hell's Mommy?" I run upstairs, much faster than safe, and scoop him out of the crib. "Book," he says. So we read Good Night, Washington, D.C., a horrible riff on Goodnight Moon. But he likes to ID the animals on the first page as the National Zoo wakes up. Repeat the lay down and tuck him in. Fast forward to 8:15, dinner finally warming in the microwave. Cries this time of "Daddy? Daddy? Daddy!" Just like that -- inquiring at first, then plaintive. I pick him up, pat him on the back and tell him all the people who love him, led by yours truly and ending with the neighbor's dog. That does the trick and he goes down for the rest of the night.

Not as seamless as Carey's bedtime routine, but as my 67-year-old father always reminds me, "It's nice to be needed." (Happy Birthday, by the way, Dad!)