Mara Love

Her small body on my chest is like a weighted comfort blanket in our dark room. 
All of my ambient thoughts are dissipated by the loud hum of the sound machine. 
How do you bottle a feeling?
Her body flinching.
Her lips softly smacking.
Her booty perfectly lifted up by an invisible string from the sky.
Her sweet fingers grazing my chest.
Her soft round head cupped into the palm of my hand. 
Her cat like purring and intermittent sighs.
I inhale her breath as she exhales, reminding me of our connection
and the big and small loops of daily life and death —
Day and night, summer to fall, a rosary, our strawberries dying, our watermelons growing, a kindergartener starting, a country collapsing. 
Constant impermanence. 
Everyday we show up for life 
and every night we come back to this place of rest, where we both simply exist,
and that is more than enough.
Maybe if I write my feelings down I won’t forget this random Thursday night in July of 2021. 
The time I fell in love with her for the millionth time.

Empty Threats

In a rousing game of “Who gave the best empty threat on the car ride”, we sat under the stars with our necks kicked back, telling tales from our 6.5 hour car rides up to Bass Lake for our Loftus family vacation. 

My brother-in-law, James, said he would pull the car over and make his kids get out on the side of the road (though he promised us he would actually do it!).

Ryan threatened that we just wouldn’t go to Bass Lake. He convinced the car that he would drop me and Mara off at the lake, and bring home whoever wouldn’t stop screaming and fighting. 

And the ultimate irrational threat of all? The winner? If Coura didn’t stop asking Ryan for his orange tootsie pop, he would reach into her stomach and pull out the one she already ate.

All of these desperate moments brought me back to my childhood, and the times my Dadio, the calm, cool and collected enforcer, followed through on those threats. Always the king of his word, the master of a good follow through. 

When I was around the age of 10, my dad was so fed up with all of us sisters fighting in church and again on the drive home, that he promised,  “If you don’t stop fighting I’m going to pull this car over and make you walk home!”

And he did. 

Michelle was acting like a classic teenager one Sunday afternoon and kept putting off her chore of washing the car. My Dad said, “I’m going to wake you up before school starts and make you wash it at 6am if it doesn’t get done today.”

And he did.

We tell these stories to our girls and they enjoy the levity of the moment in hindsight. I read on all of the conscious parenting strategies Instagram pages that threats and fears aren’t great tactics, and I mostly agree. But sometimes they become family history stories, badges of honor that we had parents who cared enough about us to stick to their word. 

Obviously we didn’t pull the car around and go home or remove the already ingested lollipop… but maybe next time we will.

Girl Dad

He confesses that he likes the pink door down the street. 
He wears crowns when asked and a suit and tie for the “big party”. 
He teaches all about Sally Ride.
He’s a feminist in the purest version of the word, always has been. 
He takes time for a puzzle and explanations of the golden rule.
He gives his girls a rocket boost on their scooters 
People call him: “Super Dad”.
We call him: “Cookie Monster”. 
He gets mad at himself when he’s not the picture of patience.
So what if patience isn’t the defining factor for a “good dad”?
What if it’s the way you teach, the way you love, how you practice braiding hair?
What if it’s showing them how quickly you apologize after making a mistake?
What if it’s defined by the lady at a “Yittle Moore” who knows your names and Friday morning order?
What if a good dad, a super dad is defined by the joy on their faces when you come home from hours or days away?
Or magic bravery water?
You have our whole hearts. Every part of you