Saturday, February 18, 2012

Doctor Sana

I have about a million things I could have blogged in the last month or so: actually describing the Death Valley trip alluded to in my last post, talking about the fantastic new camera that has totally changed how I see the world (I now see it as That Which I Have Photographed and That Which I Intend One Day to Photograph) or talking about the various work-related obligations that have, at various points over the last month, removed the competent parent from the household, leaving my precious daughters in my unreliable care.

Such a trip is happening right now, though fortunately only for a day (Amynah’s an invited speaker at a conference happening in a nearby resort town: she was supplied a Motherf***ing Mustang with which to transport herself there. I am NOT best pleased).
Sana liked the horsey.

These trips leave me much to write about, and absolutely no energy to write it: no one wants to read my self-deprecating sneak compliments for performing the basic task of keeping my children alive.

My story, instead, is about how Sana is a better daughter than I am a father. Earlier this week, I was afflicted with the worst migraine headache I’ve had the misfortune to have suffered in well over a year. Over dinner, Sana noticed I was not well, and asked if I was sick. I told her my head hurt.

“Let me kiss it Dada!” I leaned over to receive her blessing, and she looked at me searchingly: “All better?”

What could I say? I told I was better.

After dinner, it was the beginning of the bedtime ritual – bath, pajamas, bedtime story. Ever since the latter stages of Inara’s gestation, this has been almost entirely me responsibility. Change, in Sana’s world, is not to be tolerated. However, as the bath went on, my head got worse and worse. I explained to Sana that I needed a nap, but she got upset. Out of the bath, she gave my head another kiss, and in a tone that brooked no argument, declared “There. You’re much better.

What could I do? I need to be able to use that same technique to distract her from her scrapes and bumps. I pretended I was better, even though I was seeing double at that point. She seemed very pleased with herself.

Nonetheless, demanding that I suffer through reading her three longest books after effecting her "cure" me seemed to be a little cruel.