Is Daddy going to be there when we get home?"
"I don't think so sweetie. He will come later."
On the days that daddy comes, the diva is overjoyed. It is something she looks forward to all day if not all the previous week. She counts down the days then waits at the window. Every few minutes she asks "Where is he?"
For two weeks she has been planning father's day.
"Can we give him his presents today?"
I am puzzled. "It isn't close to father's day."
"I know but you said next time he came over, we would give him his gifts."
"I probably did, but I haven't bought them yet."
"Okay, we will just give him the things I made"
"Didn't you do that after Mother's day?"
"I mean the cards I made in art for him."
These evenings are a mixed blessing for me. I do not, in any sense of the word, keep him from spending time with her or seeing her. I would love them to spend more time together and encourage him to do so. He just doesn't. Other commitments, other obligations, another life that doesn't involve her.
I love seeing them together and watching them have fun. And yet, I know that she will be sad when he leaves. She will again start asking when he is next visiting. Then it will be "what time?"
She expects and wants so little from him. "I love Daddy - dinner and jokes" she tells me. For her, this is what Daddy is about.
For an hour once a month she is Cinderella. But like happens in all good fairy tales, the clock strikes and the coach turns back into a pumpkin. The magic ends.