In what seems like another life entirely, I took my 3 year old (now he's 8) to the park on a regular basis. We stopped first at the edge of a small plot of wilderness adjacent to the park to check for coyotes (actually saw one once) and then headed to the little window under the slide to play McDonald's. After our fill of pretend Happy Meals, we headed to the other side of the playground to play Missing Boy, a game invented by the 3 year old in which he is carried away by bad guys in a helicopter or plane. My job then was to miss him. I did so extravagantly, calling his name mournfully, asking Who, who will be my Super Q now? I wept, I begged for him to come back. And miraculously, the bad guys always brought him safely home for a happy reunion on a bed of mulch near the park bench.
Today that boy is worried about missing his dad. There were tears, which he blamed on a variety of other things. We finally faced our fears, though. We're afraid we're all going to miss the Daddy around here quite a bit in the next few years.
The past few months have been long ones in some ways, as dh has been working 60-65 hours a week. Today he was called to serve our ward (congregation) as the 2nd Counselor in the Bishopric (a sort of assistant pastor), a position that usually requires a lot of time and lasts for several years. I didn't see it coming at all and I'll admit that I cried about it. It's a difficult position to be in: wanting more time together as a family while knowing that in our church we all take our turn at heavy responsibility to serve each other. I have benefited from the service of others and now it's my turn to give back a bit. That said, when bedtime rolls around and it's just been the 3 of us since 7 am, we'll really be missing the Daddy around here.