Daddy and Cory arrive at preschool on Tuesday morning battered and beaten, the prior night and that morning having seen Papa in Seattle and Cory in complete “no” monster mode, leading to repeated time-outs, constant tension, and an emotionally-drained parent. The fever breaks and the screaming stops only as the car pulls up to the school and within sight of some classmates and their parents. Just the dash of cold water needed for her.
Eyes puffy, cheeks flushed, Cory limps into the building and classroom, moving numbly over to the sink to wash her hands as policy requires…
D (taking Fisher’s coat off across the room): Fisher, you need to wash your hands after Cory, okay?
F: Daddy, my sister is not crying so much anymore.
D (looking forward to quick exit): I know, Fisher, that’s awesome, isn’t it?
F: Daddy, my sister needs a hug. Can you please give my sister a hug?
D (after glancing around for another adult, any adult, who might give that little hellion a hug): Yes, Fisher.
…just the dash of cold water needed for him.
Daddy walks over to Cory, all wet hands and lips quivering: “Daddy, I do need a hug.” Daddy complies, looking over Cory’s shoulder at a smiling, sweet-souled peacemaker…