Vitamin Dad

As a mother, I must admit to a large dose of jealousy.

No, I'm not jealous of the freedom of my children. (Well, at least not much.) And no, I'm not jealous of the freedom of those who have no children. (Again - at least not much.) But I am insanely jealous of the freedom I see in my husband.

You see, I'm of the old-fashioned sort that stay home with the children while my breadwinner wins bread. This means that on most occasions, by the end of even the most idyllic of days, my children are ready for some change. My husband walks through that door - the telltale string of bells on the doorknob starts to jingle - and all yell breaks loose.

"DADDY! DADDY'S HOME!"

It echoes from the far reaches of our abode like the war cry of a mutant tribe of small Amazonian warriors - warriors bent on hugging their opponent to death. They run screaming at him, eyes alight with a fierce glow that's seldom reserved for their mom . Is it the glow of conquest?

I shake my head. That can't be right. No, the sheen in their little pupils has more in common with the same light I see in my hubsand's eyes. It's the light I see in the eyes of those who are not yet married, but hope to be - the light of freshly-found love.

And oh, is that light beguiling. My husband and my children fling themselves at each other with wild abandon. They wrestle. They cuddle. They sing and they snuggle.

And I, in the background, mutter half-hearted threats. "Oldest boy forgot to clean his room. Youngest girl is walking all over her daddy. Middle boy just cannot stop shrieking."

Of course, I would not interrupt this love-fest at any cost. And any practiced ear could tell my threats are just second-nature and not borne out of any real malice. But perhaps that's where the real annoyance might lie. Since I am cheek-to-cheek with these hooligans day in and day out, I see a different side of them (and they of me) than is visible in the father-child relationship I so jealously observe from the sidelines. Some mothers call it the Chopped Liver Syndrome: Once Dad arrives home, Mom becomes, well, you know. We wouldn't want it any other way, of course - we just wish we might experience the joy of being the Glorious Returning Parent at leats a few days out of each year.

But alas: We mothers are often relegated (or perhaps relegate ourselves) to the role of Wendy next to Dad's Peter Pan. It's a shame - it's a crying shame - and it's a shame I should very much like to remedy. But until I figure out how to turn off my mother-brain and turn on the minds of my children to the idea that my steady and reliable presence is just as desirable as Dad's, I do have one consolation - and it's a big one.

Dad's presence in my children's lives gives them a beautiful glimpse into spiritual Fatherhood, as well. Their joy upon his return - indeed, Dad's exuberance at seeing them again - offers an unforgettable insight into the sold-out heart of their Savior for each of their precious souls. While my own daily presence offers a special kind of security and insight into the nurturing heart of their spiritual Father, the return of their Dad every evening is equally, beautifully a blessing. Together, he and I offer a picture of Grace that reaches beyond ourselves. Together, our differing roles touch separate needs of our kids. Wish as I may to experience both sides of parenting, and hope as I do that I somehow will, I do see the good in this present arrangement. And I hope, looking back, my children will, too.