Mice On Ice

My husband earned another Pater Ex Animo stripe today. Through his work, he was able to secure tickets to Disney on Ice.

At any other time in my life I would have scoffed at the idea of sitting in a stadium watching over-sized and slightly freakish mascot-versions of our favorite childhood characters wobble and teeter on a makeshift ice arena. Instead I held back on the cynicism, reserving judgment because I knew my kids would probably enjoy it.

Let me say that I stand corrected. The show kicked ass. My kids sat wide-eyed and slack-jawed for nearly the entire performance. While I thought my daughter would be excited to see the princesses, I was in no way prepared for the sheer enthusiasm of my son. He practically shrieked Look! It's Aladdin! And Jasmin! And PINOCCHIO! AND IT'S MULAN!!!!

I must also sheepishly admit that their delight brought tears to my eyes. It took a good five minutes or so to get my shit together. For every shout of joy, for every point and jab of their chubby little fingers, a tear fell.

It has been four and a half years since my daughter was born, five if you count my pregnancy. Those five years have somehow not entirely erased those three years of limbo when I did not know whether or not I could have children. I used to get like this at birthday parties and playdates. Not enough so as to draw attention to myself, but a burning behind the eyes and a lump in my throat as I sat in. the. moment. As I took in my surroundings and watched my children and realized how god-damned lucky and fucking privileged I was to be there. To bask in the light my children shine on the world around them.

One would think I would have outgrown those moments. Somehow, I still seem to get blindsided. Now don't get me wrong. The show, while awesome, was not weep-worthy. It just felt so amazing, so huge to be a part of something so momentous to my children. Yes, it seemed like it was just a mouse on ice. But it was so much more than that.

The Good Father Caveat

I have often bitched and moaned about the sorry men my friends have married. Hell, it is part of my header. While pointing out the shortcomings of other people often makes for better blogging, I feel I must give due credit to the exemplary fathering* I witnessed this weekend.

There were several fathers who came to the party we threw this weekend. These dads helped their daughters decorate princess crowns. They hung out in the playroom, helping the kids up and down the slide. One of the dads even wore a crown around the house to the delight of his daughters.

When it came time for the cutting of the cake, I engaged one of the dads in the unwrapping of the dessert plates. I realized I needed an extra pair of hands. This guy went to the kitchen, grabbed the ice cream scoop and stood by my side dispensing ice cream to the girls with a smile.

It was so refreshing to see a group of dads act like fathers. There was none of this not my job attitude I see with so many of the husbands of women I have met. The ones whose wives do all the diaper duty, day or night. That do all the feeding. All the bathing. The day-time, fun-time dads who leave all the night time parenting to the mother under a million thinly-veiled excuses.

In honor of these three guys who so impressed me this weekend, I officially induct them into my secret society:


This secret society is for fathers who are fathers not only in name, but in action. As my bastardized Latin so succinctly puts it Father In Sincerity. A father from the heart.

These are the dads who keep the kids occupied so you can take a shower in peace. Who sleepily roll out of bed to change a diaper even though you offer to do it yourself. Who read stories to their children and makes silly voices for the characters. Who hug their sons when they cry and kiss their tears with no suggestion of a recriminating tone. Who feed the kids dinner for you because if you see one more piece of macaroni sail off of the chair onto the floor you are going to lose your shit.

These are the actions of a father. Of a man who wants to partake in the lives of their children, not sit back and watch childhood slip away. To the three men who obviously enjoyed their daughters so much this weekend, welcome to Pater Ex Animo. I look forward to telling more of your stories.

*No, not that kind of fathering.