Week 03 Day 05 - Father Daughter Day finished

If Santa was awake, you couldn’t tell. He still carried the same slumped over and defeated posture George noticed standing twenty feet away. Up close however he noticed a few more details: a thin layer of dark brown mud on the bottom his boots, intensely blue eyes, and a finely brushed white beard that merged perfectly with the fur of his costume. The man had all the trappings of Santa Claus, but something was missing. George couldn’t help but think of animals at the zoo.

George placed his girls in Santa’s ramshackle embrace: Sophia, ever-adaptable, on the right, sporting a confused half smile, that in future years would be spark numerous light-hearted questions about what George was thinking; and Charlotte on the left, her wide-eyed countenance conveying: I’ve just woken up and am slowly realizing I’m in a very weird place. As the photographer rattled his tambourine and snapped pictures, goading the babies to smile, George tried to puzzle together an explanation for the man despondency. What did he do the other eleven months out of the year? How do you become a professional Santa Claus? It seemed like a job that would require a passion to keep you involved, a passion that this man certainly lacked. The questions were not malicious, but a genuine curiosity for George. Before he could find any answers the pictures were over and Sophia was slowly sliding out of Santa’s hold, down the front of the chair, and onto the floor, until her pants had ridden up to her knees and the back of her shirt to her underarms. She remained there until George stood her up and adjusted her clothes. He held Charlotte, and prompted Sophia to show her appreciation.

Say thank you, Sophia.

Dada.

Good enough. Thank you Santa, enjoy your holidays.

Ohthanyou merrchrimas, hrrmmm

George wasn’t sure if Santa had actually finished his gurgle before falling asleep, but he liked the idea of him falling asleep mid-gurgle. He stepped over to the cashier’s work station and was prompted to pick the picture and package he wanted. Seeing his daughters in the setting brought him unending joy, he was looking at a picture that would soon be an artifact saved for years, shown to relatives, friends, classmates, boyfriends, spouses, and eventually grandchildren. As much as George disliked the faux-sentimentality manipulated into every aspect of American culture, used exclusively for profit and not genuine emotion, he was finding that it was those moments that were having the most profound effect on him as a father, this one notwithstanding. That was until he looked half an inch north at Santa, who, at best, could be described as present. To Santa’s credit, his eyes were open, but his smile left a lot to be desired. It looked more like he was grinding his teeth than smiling; maybe he thought the beard would compensate for the lackluster effort, but it only exaggerated the problem. On top of all of that, Santa was the only unchanging thing in the series. George could understand if he had been smiling at the beginning and trailed off towards the end, but it was as if Santa himself were a picture the girls were getting their picture taken with. He may not have been able to force a complete smile, but he held the incomplete one flawlessly.

The drive home found both girls asleep in their car seats, and George’s thoughts returning to Sad Santa; specifically about the man’s parents, and what role they played in his life. A question he had been wondering about frequently after becoming a father. George began projecting the best possible future for his daughters, then realized he had no concept of what that would look like in twenty years, and conceded that was something for his daughters to decide and for him to facilitate; except, of course, if they wanted to be Mrs. Claus, or a wrestler; unless that’s what they really wanted.

George was able to carry Charlotte in successfully without waking her up. He knew he didn’t stand a chance of that with Sophia, and the thirty minute nap she got in the car would be enough to energize her for the rest of the day. George brought both girls into the playroom, leaving Charlotte in her car seat to nap, and sat down on the floor with Sophia. After a few minutes of digging around her toy chest she revealed a book called, Daddy’s Little Princess, something his mom had unquestionably bought for her. Sophia crawled into his lap with the book in her hands, and opened the cover. George, who was already very skeptical, started reading. The book opened with an illustration of a man holding a newborn baby and read: Today, daddy’s little princess was born.  George was doubtful, but he had not prepared him for this level of garbage, and it had only been the first page. He tried to close the book and prompt Sophia for something different, but she had already grabbed the next page and begun turning.  The next page was illustrated with the same man standing beside a little girl, holding her hand: Today, daddy’s little princess learned how to walk. Sophia grabbed a handful of pages this time, and turned them in unison, landing on a page with the man waving good bye to a backpacked elementary school girl: Today, was daddy’s little princess’ first day of school. Something began stirring inside George, but before he could check it, Sophia had grabbed and turned again: the man, next to a teenager wearing a cap and gown: Today, daddy’s little princess graduated high school. The image and description sent a severely unexpected torrent of emotion through George’s face, leaving him somewhat shell-shocked, all of a sudden wanting years back that he had missed with daddy’s little princess, feeling cheated. Sophia kept turning the pages: an older version of the man dancing with a woman in a wedding gown, followed by the now-grandfather staring in amazement at the daughter’s newborn baby. George was overwhelmed completely.

Ok, the end! Thank you, Sophia; we’re not going to read that book anymore, ok?

George took a deep breath. Sophia stood up and took a few steps with the book in her hand before she dropped it on the ground in exchange for a blanket. She flung the blanket over her head and started walking in circles, giggling to herself. She yanked the blanket off her head like an amateur magician pulling a tablecloth off a teeming dinner table. Sophia walked behind George, rested her head between his shoulder blades, and hugged his back. In that moment, George could stop worrying about plans, and futures, and what would or would not happen. In the next moment, Sophia buried her face in his back and started making fart noises.

Week 03 Day 04 - Father Daughter Day continued

The mall’s Christmas centerpiece was a twenty foot tall artificial tree decorated decadently in red, gold, and silver. The tree was flanked on both sides by similar trees that descended in height starting at fifteen feet and shrinking all the way down to five. The display formed the semi-circle backdrop for photos with Santa, the front half finished by a four foot tall green iron fence. George recognized Santa as the man stumbling through the exercising crowd earlier in the morning. He was sitting in a chair that was easily half the size of the twenty foot tree it was placed in front of, and he was asleep. George and his daughters were parked outside, waiting for a welcome. Unlike the Santa displays in movies, there were no elves running around, or lines that stretched through half the mall, filled with exhausted parents and irritable children. Besides Santa, there were only two other people in the attraction, both wearing red shirts with a green smock and black pants. The person in charge of printing the photos and cashing out was busy perusing Facebook, while the photographer had his face buried in his phone.

Excuse me, when do you open?

Ten minutes.

Is there a line, or anywhere I should stand specifically?

No. You can wait there. You know there’s a playground right down that hall if you don’t feel like waiting, we’re not going to be busy until late tonight.

Have you seen that playground? Everything’s shaped like breakfast food.

Yeah, it’s called The Breakfast Frolic.

It’s weird right? Who designs a playground around food?

I guess. The kids seem to like it though.

I just tried to eat breakfast after spending fifteen minutes in that place. I couldn’t do it. I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to eat breakfast again.

That’s a little dramatic, it’s just a playground.

But who thinks about breakfast when designing a playground for a mall? That’s such a weird connection to make. All I can imagine is some jerk scrambling for inspiration because he’s late for a deadline, and he spills some coffee on his blueprint, or his wife calls him to breakfast. Then he’s like, that’s it, like it’s some kind of revelation. If anything the playground should be full of giant plastic shoes, or khakis, or have a ball-pit full of rolled up socks, with shirtless greeters giving the creeps to anyone that walks by.

What kid is going to want to slide down a pair of khakis?

Who knows? What kid wants to slide down a piece of bacon? Or spin around on a giant cup of coffee?

I don’t know, that sounds pretty fun; I think I would’ve loved that as a kid.

Kids love everything. They don’t care if the slide is a piece of bacon or a pair of pants, all they care about is if it’s a slide, and whether or not they’re going to get shocked when they get off. All I’m saying is whoever designed this breakfast playground is a weirdo. It’s just an observation.

Alright, look, I don’t totally disagree with you, I just don’t know why you’re so passionate about it.

I’m not passionate, like I said: it’s just an observation. It’s not like I’m starting a campaign to have the monstrosity removed.

You’re getting a little loud though.

I’m not getting loud; it’s just the natural inflection of my voice when I’m trying to make a point.

That’s called being loud.

Can we just get these pictures taken please?

Yeah, let me wake Santa up.

Week 03 Day 03 - Father Daughter Day continued

George walked aimlessly through the mall, leaning forward on the stroller's handlebar, it politely creaking under his weight. Sophia had adopted the half distant stare of all fatigued toddlers, and Charlotte had begun stirring in the lower seat. When George checked his watch he realized that Charlotte would need a bottle soon; he decided it was as good a time as any to grab breakfast. George found the only sit-down restaurant open that served breakfast and grabbed a booth. He sat Sophia next to him, and left Charlotte in the stroller until either her bottle was ready, or she had woken up fully.

Hi, my name's Jennifer, do you need a high-chair for your little one?

No, thank you.

Can I start you off with something to drink?

I'll just have a water, and can I get a water for her with a lid on it.

Sure thing, here are your menus, and some crayons, the breakfast items are on the first two pages. I'll be right back with your waters.

Thank you. Oh, and can I also get a cup of hot water, I need to steep a bottle.

Sure.

Thanks.

The waitress hadn't even turned the corner before Sophia was putting the blue and pink crayons in her mouth and reaching for the orange. This was a losing battle for George, he knew complete removal of the crayons would result in a meltdown, so he had to be satisfied with removing them every ten to fifteen seconds from Sophia's mouth or nose until she lost interest. George began looking at the breakfast menu, trying to hone in on what he was hungry for, but quickly realized he didn't have much of an appetite. He tried to frame the search differently, looking instead for something he thought would be best to share with Sophia, but that didn't work either. The pristine, staged photos, looked dirty somehow, George couldn't quite pinpoint it, but there seemed to be an almost invisible layer of grime on the food. He had been looking at the menu so long it started to turn into a psychedelic optical illusion: everything moving in his peripheral, while the center remained neutral. George intensified his focus on the menu, looking for hard, undeniable, evidence of dirt on the food, what he saw instead, shocked him even more: the moving parts were actually kids, kids the size of ants running rampant on breakfast platters. Kids gliding head first down strips of bacon like slip-n-slides. Popping their heads out of blueberry holes in muffins. Diving from stacks of pancakes into a river of syrup, or relaxing in individual waffle pocket hot tubs.

Ok, here are your waters. Be careful with the mug, that water is extremely hot. Are you ready to order?

Have you seen that play area on the first floor?

You mean the Breakfast Frolic? Oh yes, the kids love it.

You don't find it to be weird?

Weird? I've never really thought about it, but no not really.

It's a playground where everything is shaped like breakfast food.

Yeah, the Breakfast Frolic.

I can't look at this menu without seeing kids all over the food. I look at this menu and all I see is kids crawling in and out of sausage links.

Sir, I can assure you that at no point during the preparation, cooking, or serving of our food, are kids allowed to participate.

What would you recommend I order then?

Everyone loves the waffles, they're the most popular breakfast item by far. We have a great meal that comes with two sides and unlimited waffles.

I can't do it. All I imagine are kids filling up those pockets with syrup and lounging in them like a hot tub.

What?

Can I just get a cheeseburger?

Sir, it's nine thirty in the morning, we don't start selling lunch items for another two hours.

Just give me a kids sized order of scrambled eggs, and two pieces of toast please.

Ok, I'll put your order in, and have it out as soon as it's ready.

By the time the food came out, George had already fed Charlotte and put her back to sleep in the stroller. Sophia was able to feed herself, and did so dutifully, shunning all distractions and focusing solely on the task at hand. The waitress returned with the check, instructing George to take it to the counter whenever he was ready. After tidying up as much as possible and loading Sophia back into the stroller, they approached the cashier to check out.

Spending the day with daddy huh?

Yeah, I took the day off work.

You should take them to go see Santa Claus on the first floor, I bet they would love that.

Yeah, we might do that.

Week 03 Day 02 - Father Daughter Day continued

Before he knew it, and without giving it serious consideration, George was driving towards the mall. He remembered a children’s play area there that was always populated with buzzing kids, but the more he thought about his natural inclination to head to the mall the more he began to feel like a mindless zombie from a George Romero movie. Being a weekday morning the mall was not busy, the only visitors being senior citizens walking for exercise, who would disperse when the mall stores officially opened in an hour. George strollered his daughters through the geriatric herd until he found the play area. He was unsure what to expect from the play area, his only expectations for it coming from seeing so many kids there whenever they were at the mall, but what he saw caught him completely off guard; it was breakfast-themed: bacon slides, waffle climbing walls, muffin seats, a berry ball-pit. Dinosaurs, Saturday morning cartoon characters, generic shapes, all these options made more sense than breakfast. As George was unstrapping Sophia from the stacked double stroller, and removing her shoes, he couldn't help but think of the engineer who gets tasked with designing a children’s play area and thinks, breakfast! How many stamps of approval do you have to receive to ok a children's play area? How many people saw Donut Themed Play Area, and thought, I'm ok with this. Was he nervous right before unveiling sausage link crawl tubes to investors?

George held the entrance gate open as Sophia quickly wobbled in; the spongy safety floor made it difficult to push the stroller, so George found the nearest muffin he could, and sat down. He looked down at his feet, which he was using to test the floor's give. The floor was as equally breakfast themed as the rest of the area, with graphics of pancakes, blueberries, bagels, sticks of butter, and other various breakfast essentials patterned across its surface. George looked over at Charlotte, who was in the bottom part of the stacked stroller; she was looking back at him, and behind the pacifier in her mouth, she smiled.

Sophia was enthralled with the breakfast play area, and was currently laying on top of one of the many over-easy eggs, with her legs sticking straight up in the air, swinging them back and forth. George turned his gaze to the mall-walkers; envisioning himself among the crowd in thirty years; trying to make the connection between the toddler lost in amazement on top of a giant plastic semi-cooked egg, the adult judging everything around him including said egg, and the seniors who didn't give a shit about anything; the transition from each as equally impossible as inevitable. Just then Sophia let out a shriek that would have been more appropriate coming from a choked balloon, and when George looked up she was running towards the berry ball-pit, the shriek becoming more staccato with each step. He stood up and guided the stroller across the play area to the ball-pit where Sophia was now standing tentatively, staring at the massive collection of fake fruits. George set the brake on the stroller, and in one swift motion scooped Sophia up in both arms and dove backwards into the ball-pit, sending hundreds of plastic berries flying in every direction; father and daughter screaming in excitement.

From inside the ball-pit George noticed a disruption in the elderly flow, a lone senior walking in the opposite direction as his peers. George followed the anomaly through the crowd and began to pick up random features: tall, overweight, brilliant white hair, giant clomping black boots, and flashes of red. George could tell by the rickety gait that the man wasn't there for exercise, and he was almost convinced his eighteen month old toddler had a better grasp on the concept of walking than him. George returned his attention to the play area to check on Sophia who had crawled out of the ball-pit, and was now trying to climb a stack of pancakes. By the time George had escaped the pit, Sophia had settled for sitting on a pad of butter; realizing she had finally spent her reserve of seemingly endless energy, George decided it was time to move on.

Week 03 Day 01 - Father Daughter Day

A Quick Note: Unfortunately I have fallen off the short-lived wagon, and failed to live up to my promise of posting something every weekday. On Monday Squarespace was subject to numerous DDOS attacks in the evening that left my site inaccessible, leaving me unable to retrieve anything I had worked on earlier in the day, and unable to post anything new. Tuesday I tried playing catch-up and had planned to post the finished versions of both Day 01 and Day 02 in one post, but amid work meetings and the last episode of something I love very much: The Best Show on WFMU, I couldn't devote as much time to the writing as I wanted to. Today, day 03, I will be posting all content for the days missed. 

George shifted the car’s transmission from drive to reverse, palmed the headrest of the passenger seat, turned his head clockwise from twelve to four, and backed his car into the farthest possible parking space from the entrance of the Public Utilities building. He placed the car in park, but left his hand on the gearshift. The image of his two daughters, who he dropped off at his mother-in-law's every day, was still fresh in his mind: the youngest, Charlotte, only three months, was asleep in her car seat, wrapped in a blanket, while eighteen month old Sophia was in the arms of her grandmother, slowly realizing her dad was leaving, her face twisting with dreadful revelation. George tried to reassure Sophia, but the attempt had the opposite effect and she began wailing in anguish before he finished even one syllable. This was a new reaction for Sophia, and it was the first time George felt heartbroken for his daughter, like he was letting her down in some unknowable, unexplainable way. Unsure of what to do or how to comfort his panicked daughter, George stepped backwards out of the doorway like a cartoon character that’s tipped over an expensive vase. Before closing the door he glanced down at Charlotte who had been awoken by the outburst; when they made eye contact, she smiled beneath her pacifier.

George realized now that this was only the first in a series of irrational heartbreaks he would experience as a father. The scene continued to replay itself in his mind until he picked up his phone. He scrolled through the contacts until he found his boss’s name. There was a second's hesitation before selecting the office number and putting the phone up to his ear.

Public Utilities this is Bess, how can I help you?

Hey Bess, it’s George, how are you?

Good.

That’s good, hey, my daughter has a doctor’s appointment this morning that I completely forgot about, and she’s getting shots, so I think I'm just going to take her in this morning and stay with her the rest of the day, if that’s all right.

Oh, poor thing, well that’s not a problem at all, I hope everything goes well, I'll see you tomorrow George.

Ok, thanks Bess, have a good day.

George was unsure of how sincere his phony call-ins sounded. He felt like he was good at it generally, there were no alarming tones or hesitation in his boss’s remarks, but didn't everyone think they were good at lying? And his experience had been that the people who thought they were the best at lying, were actually the worst. Besides, George didn’t lie about anything major, it was a tool used mainly to get out of work; one that he had become easy to use, and that he relied on a little too much. George’s inner monologue was cut short when someone walked by the hood of his car and he realized he was still sitting in the parking lot.

His destination raised another question: what do I tell my mother-in-law? Fifteen minutes later, and standing at the front door with the doorbell’s ring a distant echo, George was still searching for the right explanation.

Hey George, back so soon?

Yeah.

Is everything all right?

Oh, yeah, everything’s fine.

Did you forget something?

No.

Ok. Well, come on in.

George had clearly missed his first opportunity to explain his reappearance; he briefly considered not explaining himself at all, just gathering up his daughters’ things awkwardly, and leaving, but knew that that wasn't a viable option. The return seemed to be just as confusing to Sophia, who, having heard her dad at the door, turned around slack-jawed.

Dada

Despite the toddler’s spot on utterance being used to describe everything she saw: her mother, grandparents, the dog, her toys, it still made George feel special. She toddled across the living room, babbling a secret code only she understood, and wedged her head between his thighs while hugging his legs. George bent over, grabbed Sophia under her arms, lifted her up, and cradled her in his right arm; the slobbery cipher intensifying with altitude. His mother-in-law had begun gathering the few things of Sophia’s that had already been scattered around. He knew she wouldn’t ask him outright for an explanation, but he also knew it would be really weird if he didn’t offer one.

I really didn’t feel like going to work.

Oh, I can watch the girls if you want to go home and relax.

No thank you, I wanted to take them out, spend some time with them.

Ok, well, have fun. Are you dropping them off tomorrow?

Yeah, they’ll be here tomorrow at the same time.

After his mother-in-law was done stuffing the scattered belongings into their travel bag, George lifted the car seat, and prompted Sophia to say “bye-bye.” Once the children were secured in the car, he sat in the driver’s seat, started the ignition, and thought to himself, what do I do with a toddler and an infant all day?