'Picture in Picture'

I learned a powerful truth this weekend: my kids are always with me, even if they're 3,000 miles away.

I'm amused that as soon as I write down this revelation it sounds like an obvious statement. All parents must know this, right? The reality is that I've known this truth, but I've never been apart from Bemma long enough to feel it. This weekend I felt it.

This past Friday I embarked on a two night jaunt to visit my grandma in Ohio. Gram and I share a special bond that was forged in the furnace of my early childhood. Her love has always been true and pure, a fortress of acceptance in a world full of people trying to discourage. I don't see her often, but I felt it was time to reunite, even if only for a crayon box of hours. As always, our time was rich. I learned a long time ago with Gram what I'm now learning about Bemma: she is always with me, even when we're 3,000 miles apart.

For weeks leading up to this trip--particularly when Ben and Emma were being especially 2ish-- I've fantasized about how I'd pass my time in the airports and airplanes; I'd drift away in the excitement of how I'd soon be able to sip a beverage and read a book without having to worry if Emma had broken into the bathroom and was brushing her teeth with the toilet bowl cleaner or if Ben had hopped the toddler gate and reprogrammed our computer so that it plays an endless loop of 'Thomas and Friends' videos. I reveled in the simplicity of being able to breeze through security and stroll through the airport, responsible only for myself and my belongings, which on that day wouldn't include a pink and blue diaper bag or two tiny people in tow. I was confident that I'd observe other parents traveling with their kids, take a moment of silence to honor their bravery, and then retreat to a quiet corner, snickering all the way.

And when the trip arrived, I sipped my beverages, read my book, and breezed through with my simple belongings, all with deep satisfaction. But when I observed the brave parents and their children I didn't snicker or run away. Instead, I was frozen, mesmerized by other people's children who in no way looked like Ben or Emma, and yet somehow looked exactly like Ben and Emma.

A dad walked the terminal, toddler daughter in hand, and all I saw was Emma's tiny palm and saucer eyes reaching for me. A little boy bounded from window to window and all I could hear was Ben's jumbled exclamations as he marveled at the giant airplanes. A family of three sleeps two rows behind me, woven together like a pretzel, and all I can feel is the warmth and gentle presence of my wife as our children settle into us and our four heartbeats meld into one living family.

Now, don't get the wrong idea. I loved my freedom, savored the uninterrupted adult conversations, and drank in my book ('Running with the Buffaloes'), but, in light of my pre-trip expectations, I'm a little surprised by the vice grip my toddlers have on my consciousness. I guess I wasn't being over the top in my previous blog ('Falling in Love') when I said that Ben and Emma have wrapped their vines around my heart.

The weirdest thing is that it wasn't even like I desperately missed Bemma. I wasn't calling them every moment to hear their voice or aching inside because they weren't with me. More than anything, I realized that they are at the center of my universe. Every conversation I had, picture I saw, song I heard, or place I went invariably connected back to them. I wasn't that guy that constantly talked about his kids, but it turns out that I am that guy whose family is the sun around which his world orbits. As I explained to dozens of strangers that I was wearing Vibram Five Fingers, not socks, a deep and still part of me was wondering which part of the playground Ben was playing on, and which food item Emma would be smearing on her face and hair when she ate her next meal.



From a scientific perspective, it's kind of fascinating. It's as if my mind has created a new feature that is devoted to Bemma, kind of like using the 'picture in picture' feature on your television. Whatever is happening around me is visible on the main screen, but I've always got on eye on the little box in the corner, attune to what my kids are up to. I may have been in the Eastern Time Zone, but my heart remained faithfully on Bemma Standard Time; I'd check my watch and instead of reading 1:34 pm, I'd know it was almost nap time.

It's been an enlightening experience, and now, as I soar 30,000 feet above America's heartland, I can readily admit that I miss my kids and can't wait to kiss my wife.

Before I sign off and dive back into my book I've got to add one more thing. As a dad, I sometimes hear a social whisper telling me that I should want to get away from my family, as if my manhood might wither away under the scorching presence of my wife and kids if I don't get the relief of time spent away. And while there is wisdom in having time to recharge my batteries, I reject the idea that to fully embrace my family, and all the minutiae that entails, is to sacrifice my manhood.

I have a wife and two kids, and they are my life. The revelations from this trip have crystallized my conviction that I am a family man. And in rebuttal to the social whisper, I can honestly say that I've never felt more 'manly' than in the moments when I love my wife and children with patience, selflessness, and gentleness. Being 3,000 miles away gave me the clarity to fully embrace my role as husband and father.

And now I'll sign off because I really want to finish my book, and all of us parents know that I have a better chance of making that happen in the pressurized confines of this airplane than in the toy jungle that is my house.

Yes, I'm excited to get home, turn off 'picture in picture', and put my family back on the main screen...