David, Elizabeth and I had the delicious pleasure of having Glen with us and, for the most part, all to ourselves for two glorious weeks in December and the first week of January. Glen and I spent wonderful hours together assembling Christmas morning on Christmas Eve, and we watched the kids' sheer joy in finding the treasures left for them under the Christmas tree. We drove to the Bay area, and spent time with the other Hastings cousins, visited Glen at the Facebook campus, and stayed warm and cozy in our small little apartment. We returned to the south land right before New Years, and David and Elizabeth spent several lazy days with nothing better to do but stay in their pajamas, play with their new toys, and bask in the glow of being with Daddy.
Of course, Glen had to return to his normal schedule in the Bay area sooner or later, and the kids and I took Glen to the airport on January 6. And David has pretty much not been the same ever since.
Sunday evenings are always difficult for David, given that's when he has to say "so long" to Glen for the week. But it's been harder this time. It's difficult to console an inconsolable child. David is so very young and very small, and I know it's difficult for him to process many of the facts that remain: 1) Daddy's job is a good one that he truly enjoys; 2) our commute schedule will not last forever, but it must last for a while yet; and 3) David needs some very real coping skills.
Elizabeth? She's easy. And she's noticed David's struggles of late, as well. When she sees him cry on Sunday evenings, Elizabeth puts on her game face, and puts her arm around her big brother. She even went so far as to say, "David! I am just trying to be a big sister to you!" after one of her affectionate overtures was sort of rebuffed by her very sad brother. It's amazing to hear a five-year-old girl say to her big brother, "there there, David. It's going to be okay."
Of course Elizabeth misses her daddy when he's gone, but it's clear that she
and Glen have a very different bond than the one shared by David and
Glen. David and Glen are soul brothers. They share a love of football, basketball, Lego and ... well, more Lego. The two days they spent together over the winter break building David's new Lego Death Star were nothing short of magical for all parties involved. And when Glen departs, he takes a little piece of David's heart with him.
It's no secret that David has inherited the uptight, anxious components of his personality from his mother. That's clear as day. For the most part, Glen is mellow, and I'm the worrier. Of course these roles shift from time to time, but it's safe to say that I'm the appointed hand-wringer in the family. I always have been.
And when I see David behave and act in a manner that reminds me of my own childhood anxieties, it's difficult to watch. Case in point: after a bout of "chirping" smoke detectors (whose batteries needed replacing) in the middle of the night a couple of months ago, David became terrified that the house was going to catch fire and burn to the ground. Flashback to when I was 9 years old: my grandfather purchased smoke detectors for our home in Corona (because, back in 1979, smoke detectors were the newest thing), and I was convinced that the house was going to catch fire and burn to the ground.
At the same time, after a while the repeated cries of "I MISS DADDY" get a little old, particularly when they keep a nine-year-old boy up at night, and then make him terribly groggy and cranky in the morning. And Glen and I agree that we're torn between several different ways to approach this: 1) seek therapy for the little guy; 2) console and comfort as best as we can; 3) tell him that, at some point, he'll need to get a grip. I hesitate to emphasize any of the three exclusively, but a balanced combination of the three might be in order.
The first Sunday Glen returned to the Bay area, I was snuggling with David as I tucked him in to bed. We chatted about how a son and daddy have a special bond, and one that is different than that between a girl and her daddy, or even a girl and her mommy. I explained to David that bonds are special, good, and important, and are real reasons why Daddy being up north tugs at his heartstrings so much.
As I kissed his soft hair and continued to wipe his tears, he confided in me the following thought: "Sometimes, Mommy, I think it would be easier for me if you were the one who left each week, and not Daddy. No offense."
I assured him that no offense was taken at all. I told him, "I am so glad you feel comfortable and safe enough to tell me that. It's all good."
Indeed, if Glen and I are creating and maintaining a home where David and Elizabeth feel completely safe to speak the truth, then we are doing something right. David doesn't need to know that, after we finally said goodnight, I returned to my bedroom, gutted.
