Bonding

As evidenced by my last post, my little girl is growing up quickly. For one thing, she dislikes it when I call her "my little girl." I apologize when I'm around her---"Sorry, Rachel, but to me, you'll always be my little girl."

At any rate, mommy and daddy had a difficult time waking up this morning. Mommy, because she expended so much energy singing at two services last night. Daddy, because Rachel apparently unplugged his sleep apnea machine from the wall last night when she fell out of our bed. I put my mask on last night, but apparently fell asleep before realizing it wasn't on. I must have awakened myself all night, but not realized it.

Anyway, we attended the service for second through seventh graders. Rachel had her own chair, though for the most part, it wasn't necessary. Clad in a beautiful floor-length burgundy dress, he spent much of the service curled up in my arms.

She's not two anymore, so it's a risk of back pain for me to lift her, but G-d made her the perfect size to curl up into my arms. Usually, I wear my late father's old tie tack, which makes me feel like I'm bringing him along with me. No tie today though.

Instead, Rachel practiced buttoning and unbuttoning my shirt. She
sang gently in Hebrew and English. She ran to the Torah as it was paraded around the sanctuary and touched her handout to it, then kissed the handout. She danced a little, smiled a little and gave little waves to friends she recognized in the room. Yes, she got a little restless, but it was because her physical hunger had overtaken any spiritual hunger.

Afterwards, the three of us went to a friend's house for fellowship and food. Once daddy finished making about fourteen wrong turns, we found the place. Normally, we go to a restaurant, but this visit gave Rachel a chance for an impromptu playdate and her parents a chance to talk to actual adults.

Apparently, Rachel forgot about her hunger as she got to playing with everyone else. At one point, I looked outside and noticed she was the only child on the swingset. Gingerale in hand, I headed down the steps to check on her.

"There's nobody here to play with!" she said.

"Want to get on the swing?" I asked. "I'll push you."

She embraced the idea.

"Push me higher, daddy!" begged our little thrillseeker. I complied.

With each push, she went a little higher. Her delighted giggles hung in the air. I never saw her face, just her hair flying back and forth with each push.

I took a mental snapshot, knowing moments like these will be less common as she grows older and spends more time with her friends and less with her parents. In my mind, it was a magic moment when work and stress took a back seat to a dad and daughter becoming one. Just the creak of a swing, the feeling of a large hand in a smaller back, a joyous laugh. Just a father and his little girl.