Saturday date day

Don't worry, this isn't actually a story about the sort of date that you see in the movies. In fact, the mere fact that a blog is being written about a Saturday date at 11 A.M. indicates that we're not talking Cinderella at the ball type stuff here. Disclaimer, let me invite all you single folks, young couples etc. to keep your Friday date nights whenever possible as they have a rather odd tendency of flying out the window when you have children. Friday date nights turn into watching something on Netflix and falling asleep at 9:30, ah the stuff of fairy tales. That said, I'm fairly certain that most folks who've cracked about the five year barrier on married life have largely ended Friday date night as it is, and spend the evening reading dueling copies of Fifty Shades  with furrowed brows. Anyhow, dates are now with lil s.

6:15-9:15 "Things start amazingly well"

This particular date day started out better than I could have expected, with me sleeping in for an extra three hours while S got up and took care of lil s, made breakfast, and generally kept her entertained. Obviously your idea of a date has changed when the most exciting thing about it is sleeping in. Welcome to parenting.

9:15 "The day begins"

I've been talked out of taking lil s to breakfast and have been asked, read, told, to eat the cold breakfast that's already been cooked. I oblige because I'm easygoing. I expertly dress lil s for the day, noting that white pants should not be worn with a white shirt. I put on a pink sleeveless top. A sleepy voice from the next room informs me that it's probably best for her to wear a sweatshirt given the time of year. I pick out a sweatshirt and zip her up in it. It's only when I'm watching her run along the trail that I realize I've picked out a white sweatshirt, and doubled down anyhow. I wasn't cut out for fashion. Before we slip out the door I try and grab a chocolate chip muffin. Sadie, as she always does, demands some, and I oblige because I'm easygoing. Of course, I realize after a couple of bites that I probably shouldn't have given her the muffin because I'm getting over a cold, and also that chocolate chip hands don't actually mix all that well with all white outfits.

9:45 "Coffee"

I'm not sure where to take her, because she seems borderline exhausted, and it's just rained. I figure she could probably go for some coffee. In the store I assume that everyone is smiling at me because I have a darling little girl. Either that, or they're annoyed that I'm holding up the line.

10:00-11:00 "Hiking or Like a horse poop"

We drive over to Rock Creek Park after lil s confirms that we have a "good plan." I'm trying to plant the idea in her head to avoid any hysterics. We walk off into the brisk fall morning, towards a nice muddy path with her all clothed in white. Woopsie. As soon as we hit the sand and mud path she falls. We're off to a good start. It's tough to get kids to hike. What she really wants to do is touch the water. However, it lies at the bottom of a semi-steep precipice. I have to reiterate roughly 100 times that the edge is dangerous. She doesn't seem to believe me. The best way to get her to move on the way there is to point out all the joggers on the path. "Runnning, running," lil s says, trailing in their wake. Sometimes, when I ask her to be careful, she says, "slower," and I congratulate her on her safety. When we run out of interest in jogging I point out the horse poop on the road. I let her know that it's yucky. She stands, peering down at the horse poop and then says, "step in it." Things don't always get through. To keep her moving on the trail I let her know that we'll find more horse poop up ahead. This inspires her to continue though I'm not sure it's the best B.F. Skinner plan ever.

We finally reach a portion of the trail where we can approach the water, and I guide her down to the water. I don't really want her to touch the water, so I tell her we can throw some stones in instead. She decides that the best way to do this is from a seated position, taking up residence on the river bank, sitting squarely down in her white pants. I've made a huge mistake. I supply her with a steady stream of rocks that she chucks into the water. Like any good father I analyze her arm angle, trying to get her to throw it with a little more overhand zest. For a while I'm afraid she might be left-handed, but I don't let her know. I realize that some of the things I'm handing her might not be rocks, but dried out dog crap. "Hands dirty," she says. She may have a point. She really wants to touch the water before we go, and I know that she shouldn't because all water is dirty and full of giardia. She cant' reach the water, so I have to hang her upside down and let her reach down, and I worry that joggers might think I'm attempting to drown my child rather than being a good dad, but I suppose that's life.

We start our journey back slowly. I remind her that we might find more horse poop over the next hill, and she says, "like a horse poop. Funny horse poop. Touch it." I'm glad that I've taught her well today. However, even the prospect of delightful horse poop over the next hill cannot inspire her little legs. She asks to be carried. I comply. Young happy couples jog by, smiling about how in shape and in live they are with being awake and alive and young on such a fine fall day. I can sort of feel my rotator cuff tearing as I hold her, but I smile back at them anyway to not give them the satisfaction. She asks to hold the coffee, and I figure that it will keep her happy. Except, the coffee isn't entirely empty, and she winds up pouring it over her white pants. So, awesome. I'm realizing that daddy daughter days should now include black jeans and black sweaters.

We arrive safely back at home, her right hand tucked firmly in her mouth, as she gazes sleepily up at me, making sure that if the water had giardia, she's certainly going to acquire it. I feel like we had a good day. I take her instead, strip off her clothes and put her down for a nap. I pile the clothes in a sink downstairs, dutifully putting them in cold water. Thank God we have a maid or someone who takes care of these things. In the meantime, lil s drifts off into a peaceful sleep.