Friday, April 15, 2011


Walking across a parking lot last weekend, Moiya kept bobbing and weaving while she walked. When I tried to get her to stop, she explained "I'm stepping on your head.” I grumbled that she was nowhere near my head and to stop being so bloody silly. She just laughed, hopped a bit further, and said “Not your REAL head, Daddy! I’m stepping on your SHADOW HEAD!”

And sure enough, when I looked, she was jumping to land wherever my shadow moved across the asphalt. And, well – I was having none of that. So I ducked, and tried to step on HER shadow head instead. And before long we were lurching and ducking across the parking lot like two drunken spastics, trying to step on one another’s shadowheads while keeping our own out of reach. And laughing like loons.

Of course an hour later Moiya was howling that I was evil, that she wanted to live permanently with Mommy and Larry because they were her “real family” and I would be sad and she wouldn’t care because I was mean.

But that’s just how things goes I guess.

Parenthood. Keeping the makers of Prozac rich since 1977.


It’s dandelion season again. I love seeing the bright splashes of yellow, no matter what damage they do to well-manicured lawns. And I respect their tenacity and ability to prosper in the unlikeliest of places. They are a gift – and one that I too often overlook until Moiya brings them to my attention. She’ll disappear from my distracted view when we are out and a short time later will reappear at my side with a fistful of bright yellow flowers which she presents with a “I picked these for you, Daddy.” And suddenly the day is brighter.

Occasionally they will expire by the time we get home. But usually I can get them there unscathed and we put them in a cup of water on the kitchen windowsill. And we wait for them to begin their magic dance.

The first time her dandelions closed after we put them in water, Moiya was disappointed. “Aww!” she exclaimed “they all died!” But I told her to wait and explained that they weren’t dead, but changing. “It's like a cocoon." I said. "Like butterflies. Inside they're changing and when they come out, they’ll be something different.” They first time she clearly thought I was bonkers. But a week later we awoke to find that the dandelions had reopened – come out of their cocoons. And that they were now perfect gossamer balls of white fluff.

Now after we’ve enjoyed the bright yellow flowers for a few days and they begin their sleep, we check on them every day for their reopening. And when they do, we take them into the back yard and blow on them, watching their seeds float away until they disappear from view into the blue summer sky.