“Daddy would you put this on?”
It’s Sunday morning. I’m sitting at my laptop, reading messages, grading papers, taking notes for a number of ideas: for posts, for poems, for lectures, articles. I have many items on my plate in the coming months. The girls are playing with various toys and dolls, and I like the way that they use their imaginations, rather than relying on the television to do all the imagining for them.
My youngest is playing with her big sister’s American Girl doll. It could have been any doll, of course, and I’ll probably write an entire post about American Girl at another time, but this morning, she’s playing with Marisol the dancer. She’s going through the doll’s trunk of clothing.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Can you put this on?” She brings me Marisol’s white tank t-shirt.
“Sure.” Back to reading a business communication message where the student had to courteously reject a claim filed by a customer concerning some sick puppies.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Can you put this on?” Marisol’s light, pink vest, and a summer dress.
“Sure.” Now, to jot some notes about a graphic novel from the 1980s which I will be analyzing for a paper that hopefully will be presented on a conference panel in November.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Can you put this on?” Marisol’s white windbreaker with the AG monogram on it.
“Sure.” It’s a bit of a struggle, with all the other stuff on, but I manage, and get back to answering a student e-mail about an upcoming midterm exam.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Can you put this on?” Two tiny Marisol shoes.
“Sure.” Back to an idea for a blog, or maybe a poem I’ve been thinking of for this little one, or for a girl I knew a hundred years ago.
This is how I often spend my time, squeezing in a little bit of work while the girls make the occasional request.
There’s a Tess Gallagher poem called “I stop writing the poem.” In it the speaker notes that she has stopped writing a poem in order to finish the laundry. She could have stopped to wash dishes, or to sew a hole in a glove, or to find the band-aids. “I’m still a woman,” the speaker says, I’ll always have plenty to do.” The poem also shows how this idea gets passed on from mother to daughter.
Well, I can certainly appreciate the sentiment. I am not a woman. I make no pretenses to comprehending all the expectations heaped upon a mother. But as one who also does a lot of writing as part of his job, and as something he likes to do, as one who also has his responsibilities at home, I can give a knowing smile as I finish reading the poem.
I too have laundry to fold, bills to pay, phone calls to make. And I too must respond to the needs of others.
But it’s kind of hard to say no, especially when they look so cute and ask so nice.