When I met Tony, I was a total prude. I was the prudeliest of prudes. I was a goody two shoes and proud of it. I was naive and had no idea. Junior High boy joking was a foreign language.
Shortly after Tony died, my kids informed me separately, on their own, that I needed to do "dad" stuff for them. One of the kids wanted me to check out their poop...gross...I want to puke. One kid wanted me to watch yucky videos. They both wanted me to continue to do that "dad thing" that only dad could do for them. Totally easy...I can do it...dude, Tony's disgusting.
I found myself looking through the mystery blinds at the coroner's office. I touched the wet paint at Target. I laughed when someone said "do do."
This week we went to Santa Cruz. I found myself doing way too many "dad" comments. We went to a marine center. There was a worm thing. I had to make the crude comment. Okay, I didn't have to, but my kids got a kick out of it. I don't know what they think is funnier...the comments or the fact that MOM is saying them. I truly enjoyed the trip. I enjoyed being mom. I got a weird, happy feeling being dad. Other than wanting to text Tony during dinner to find out how he was doing, it was all good.
So I chose joy by accepting a fun request from my kids...keeping dad's legacy alive through us. We continue to talk about him, tell his jokes, and speak his crude humor. Not exactly who I dreamed of becoming. JOY