Blustery Day

Lillie knocked on door of her new plaything, our three-year-old-neighbor Holly.

Holly’s mom Trish answered.

“We are going to the park,” Lillie asked, looking up at her friend’s mom. “Can Holly come?”

“We are going to the park, too!” Trish beamed. “If it is okay with your dad, let’s all go together.”

“Hey Dad, Dad!” Lillie shouted, running back through our open door. “Holly can come with us!”

“Jefferson?” Trish knocked, standing in the doorway.

“Oh hi, Trish.” I was shirtless in pajama bottoms, just out of the shower. What does one do when unexpectedly found half naked in the presence of a neighbor? I pulled Jason close and hugged him in front of my exposed torso.

“Lillie says you are going to the park? So are we!”

“That’s great!” I replied. “We’ll get dressed and meet you in the hall in a jiffy.”

Trish is an at-home mom, mothering her daughter and a new baby son.

This week, I am an at-home dad, fathering my kids on spring break.

The children are happy for spring break, in part because it allows a reprieve for a month-long ban on television and video games. The ban was imposed by their mother—and supported, with a heavy heart, by their father—due to problems Jason and Collie were having in keeping their homework organized.

The ban has been an annoyance at times. How much easier my life as a single dad can be when I have Cartoon Network on my side. But it has had a few happen consequences. The kids are playing together well, resorting to toys and board games in the absence of Mario Brothers.

And Collie and Lillie have adopted little Holly as their own.

Holly, of course, is delighted for the attention. Her new baby brother is still an interloper in her world. It helps that she has “big girl” friends to distract her from her mother’s new distraction.

Trish, in turn, is glad to have my kids about to keep Holly occupied. I’m glad to have them at her place now and then, allowing moments alone with Jason, and providing a breather from the constant refrains of “Hey Dad!”

This is the first time we have gone to the park together. Trish carries her son in a snuggly, pushing Holly in a stroller. Lillie walks close by, holding Holly’s hand. Collie holds my hand, and Jason walks ahead, dribbling a basketball.

The old folks smile as we walk by.

They must assume that we are one large happy family. Trish has red hair, like my daughter Lillie. I have blond hair, like her daughter Holly. We present a plausible ensemble.

Where do they live with five young children? the old folks must wonder, mentally calculating the market price of nearby brownstones, the most likely residences for so large a Manhattan family.

We split up at the park, Trish taking the younger children into a playground, Jason and I heading to the basketball courts.

Already this is much easier than solo parenting. If I were the only adult, we would have chosen one activity and done it as a family. I would be fending complaints from Jason if we were at the playground (“This is so babyish!”) or from Lillie if we were at the courts (“This is so boring! Can we play invisible house?”).

Jason challenges me to a game of One-on-One.

For the first ten years of Jason’s life, I managed to keep him unaware of the fact that his father is no great shakes as an athlete. Now that he is eleven, he has caught on.

His shots hit every time. Nothing but net. Mine hit every other time, at best.

My only advantages on the court are my greater height—and my scathing intimidation.

“C’mon, you want a piece of me?” I scowl, as Jason soundly takes the ball I was just dribbling.

“You gonna take that shot, or is the defense too brutal?” I scorn, as he shoots over my arms for two more points.

He beat me, twelve to six, fair and square.

A boy Jason’s age, having watched this sorry spectacle, took pity and challenged him to a game. They were soon joined by two other boys, whose father was a very good coach.

Sidelined, I strolled to the playground to check on Trish and the kids.

Collie and Lillie were pushing Holly in a swing as Trish talked to another mom. I was introduced; we talked about the things parents talk about in the park—fresh produce, nanny gossip, tag-team parenting.

Tag-team parenting. When one parent takes over for the other, allowing each some down time to hit the gym, shop or whatever.

I remember that.

An ominous cloud was coming in from over the Hudson River. Nannies and parents gathered their charges into strollers to beat the rain home.

“Do you think . . . ?” Trish asked.

“We should,” I answered.

She put Holly and her son into her double stroller as Collie and I went to collect Jason. He scored another basket before Trish joined us.

A strong wind blew in as the sun vanished. Large droplets of rain plunked around us. A tree branch groaned overhead.

“Come on, Lillie, let’s walk quickly!” Trish encouraged.

We stood exposed on a corner when the gusts picked up. It was suddenly a windstorm.

“Jefferson!” Trish shouted. “I need help with the stroller!” It tilted in the wind as she leaned against it with her full weight.

Collie burst into tears.

“Hold my hand, Collie! I’ve got you!” I shouted, holding the stroller with my other hand. Jason ran to hold Lillie’s arm.

Huddled over, linked by hands, we crossed the street. Holly’s ball was blown from the stroller, vanishing across the street. Collie saw it bounce away; no one else noticed.

We made it to the next corner and turned, so that a building shielded us from the wind.

“Whew! That was something!” Trish said, shaking her hair, composing herself.

Collie was still shaken. I knelt in front of him.

“That was scary, huh? But we are okay now,” I said, adjusting the hood of his windbreaker.

“I was afraid I would blow away,” he sniffled. “I’m not that big, you know.”

The way he said it reminded me of a worried Piglet. What would Christopher Robin say?

“If the winds were blustery,” I replied. “I would tie a string to you and fly you like a kite. And then I would reel you back”

He smiled, his eyes still teary.

Lillie reassured Holly, who seemed unfazed.

We avoided cross streets, and cross winds, all the way home. We found the building lobby filled with strollers and moms and nannies with stories to share.

Trish lingered to compare tales. Everyone checked on each other’s babies.

I was the only dad. Jason, Collie and I hung out, waiting. “C’mon, let’s go up,” I finally said. Lillie opted to stay with Trish and Holly.

For about a week, Lillie had been looking forward to this evening. Trish had promised a pizza party with Holly at six o’clock prompt.

“Dad?” Collie asked, once we were upstairs. “Can we make brownies for the pizza party?”

I was just sitting down to check my email. “Great idea!” I stood to preheat the oven. “Can you get the ingredients, and I will join you in a minute?”

I replied to a few notes as Collie pulled out a mix and a measuring cup, a bowl, an egg and vegetable oil.

“Ready!”

He mixed the brownies, cracking the egg by himself. I gave the mix a final whisk, and we spooned it into a pan. I put the pan into the oven.

When they came out, Collie decorated the brownies with M&Ms. We had a nice offering for the party.

Trish ordered a pizza and we convened in her living room. Holly wore a bib as she chewed on a sliver of pizza. My children balanced plates on their knees.

Trish’s stereo played Laurie Berkner. Her bookcases were stacked with Dr. Seuss and Marc Brown. Her infant son looked out at us, unblinking and fists clenched, still alert in the snuggly on his mother’s chest.

I remembered when my home was like Trish’s. Two parents, two babies, two bedrooms and one future together.

“Your kids are so polite and easy to get along with!” Trish said. “I hope mine do as well.”

This raised our “with the children” conversation topic: raising good children.

She said that she hoped to have one more child in about three years. She liked the spacing of mine—Lucy and I had planned our children a little over two years apart—but she wanted more time between her son and her future baby.

“I guess we’ll have to leave Manhattan then. No one can afford three kids in Manhattan, right? How did you find your house in the suburbs?”

I answered her questions, wanting to offer good advice. I have led the life she now plans. It didn’t turn out as I planned. But I know this stuff.

School districts, real estate, mortgages, tuition savings . . . it seems so long ago.

A young mother from down the hall stopped by. She is due any minute with her second. Could Trish watch her Sam for a few? She had a call to make and she had to pee in the worst way.

Sam toddled in.

Jason and I exchanged glances. “Maybe we will get back to our place,” I offered, my hand on Jason’s shoulder as if to suggest he was weary of baby talk.

“Oh sure,” Trish smiled. “You boys have fun.”

Jason had fun by settling on the couch with Jon Stewart’s America. I had fun by typing an outline for work, thinking of anything but what I was doing.

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