The time spent with your children is maddening yet fleeting. Every morning you're awaken by a kid that is different then the one you put to bed. Sometimes the change goes unnoticed and others can be more significant like a new word or their head overcomes the height of the bed. Every word or word-like thing they say changes, and fades away in the clutter of routine. All you have are the pictures on your iphone, or what's scrolling across your screensaver to offer a distant memory of these perfect days. The days when you had it all and didn't even know you were basking in the warm glow of perfection achieved.
The last few months for me have been very special. I've never been so tired, and happy at the same time. As a father you try so hard to keep your kids happy and entertained, while simultaneously teaching them some profound lesson about life. You don't want them to grow up ill-equipped to handle the perils of adult heartbreak, failure, and overwhelming cynicism. I've spent more time than most fathers are afforded at this point in my life. We've worn out the Chicfila playground, the Waynesboro playground, GypsyHill Park playground--then we've ventured out of the city to the Bounce-House in Charlottesville and on to the next adventure all in the hopes of expending that limitless energy with the feint hope of a moment to shut your eyes and take a breath. (If we could only harness this energy we could power the world for the cost of a juice box.) As all of you with children know, that energy is theirs and only theirs, and it's exhausting.
This year I've spent mornings getting them ready, pulling together a breakfast--usually cereal or a cereal bar and fruit. Then I rush Aubrey to school. Liam and I then sojourn to the house or run some type of errand. The morning is usually full of Skylander Giants, or Batman. Then the questions that he asks, that have no answer that suits his infinite imagination. I then usually try to get him to take a nap, and try in the most futile sense of the word. We usually grab some type of lunch from the house. In the afternoon I try to preoccupy him as much as I can so I can get some things done around the house. After all of that failure, I go and pick up my darling at school. This is one of the most precious memories I will try to hold on. The dropping off, and picking up of Aubrey is truly a memory worth fighting for. She saunters to the door, and ever so gracefully adorable she looks back at the car, and waves and smiles. When I pick her up she is so excited to see me. She tells the teacher that I'm her daddy, and points with such happiness on her face. It's hard to tell where the smile starts, you would assume the face, but I can feel it from inside.
My children have reinvented me, once the engineer of my next great distraction to the purveyor of their laugh, and the passenger on their next flight from the mundane. I would be lying if I said that every moment was this warm glowing image of happiness and laughter, but that's part of the journey of parenthood. Sometimes it's raising your voice and the surfacing of your parental ire so often for the most insignificant of infractions. I imagine that my transgressions as a parent, to this day, are quite common and in fact--expected. And I think we all have to come to terms with that.
As I imagine the kind of kid, I can't help but think of the life that is in front of Aubrey and Liam. Will they have the friends that I've had? Will they have some of the same crippling fears, and passionate beliefs? I know that my parents were not perfect, and yet they were. Both in their own ways. Because being a great parent isn't about being perfect, it's about the mistakes and the growth where we are weak or remiss in the moment. When it's all said and done, the lessons learned are both profound and sometime unemphatic. For the children, as well as the parents these moments are precious.
I can't be more blessed. I hope to bestow them the same blessings as they reflect back on this time that we've had together. As we all know-- we never get this time back. 
