I have written several articles and a few posts about how hard leaving my children every morning is for me. To sum up: I hate it. I hate leaving them every morning and feel there is something fundamentally flawed with a society that makes it so difficult for parents to stay home with young children. (I know, I know…I need to work on expressing how I really feel).

Yesterday I had a surreal, but very good experience. Yesterday, I didn’t leave my children to go to work. Instead, I brought them with me! My wife and I and the Okapis took the train and transferred to the subway together. I kept reminding them this is how Daddy goes to work every day and they kept trying to absorb it all.

My wife had a meeting elsewhere in the city and she got back on the subway while me and the Okapis walked upstairs into the building I work. When we got inside they were SO shy. Everyone was excited to meet them (apparently, seeing two bulletin boards of pictures and the hundreds of pictures on my screensaver – using two monitors – is just not enough). When I started working there, we had only just found out my wife was pregnant with twins (which does mean, folks, that I was unemployed when I found out my wife was pregnant with twins…can you say, “Panic”? How about “Pure Terror”?). Now, the Okapis are closing in on 3.5 years. Where did it all go?

After awhile (after having to take them both to the bathroom at the same time and trying to squeeze the three of us into a stall – and we all know how comfortable I am with all of this – check out Pee and Poop…There I’ve Said It!), they did get comfortable and behaved very well – even letting me get some work done while they were there. Ironically, after they left I learned that it was Take Your Children To Work Day. Who knew?

I think they had a great time – especially Elijah who has more trouble with my leaving. That place, my work, is the cause of so much pain for him, I’m quite surprised he didn’t spit and stomp all over it. Instead, he enjoyed seeing the place that takes me away from them. When we had lunch afterwards he said, “Remember we went to your work?”

For me the experience was more like the bringing together of two worlds that were meant to always be separate. How many times have I been at work, looking at their pictures, wondering why I do this every single day? How many times have I gotten a phone call from Gem and wanted to leave work right then? How many times have I walked out the door, still hearing their screams in my head? How many times have I heard my Okapis ask me, “You have to go to work?” and wishing I could say no, but having to say yes. Work is the place I go everyday, where I am without them, where I try to simultaneously keep my connection to them, but not think too much about them so I can get through the day. It has been a balancing act.

Today, when I was leaving for the train, Elijah said, “I’m going to miss you, Daddy,” but it didn’t have quite the same pain that saying goodbye has often had in the past. Maybe seeing work, sitting in my chair, playing with stuff on my desk, seeing all of my pictures of them, is helping him with my leaving.

When I walk into work this morning, however, they won’t be with me as usual, but I will remember them having been there. Will those same images that might help my children deal with my leaving, help me deal with my leaving? Or will it throw off my delicate balancing act?

Tonight, while we were getting them ready for bed, we got to the subject of scars.

Jordyn: “I have a scar” She has a scar on her stomach from surgery to remove something that was growing and very scary. “Let’s see your scar, Mommy.”

Mommy: “Want to see my scar?”

Okapis: “Yes!” Oooohhh, what fun on a Thursday night!

My wife lifts up her shirt just a little and we can all see the scar running almost from side-to-side.

Mommy: “You know what that’s from? That’s where they pulled you guys out of me.”

Jordyn: “How did we get in there? Did you eat us, Mommy?”

That’s just not something that could wait until the train ride tomorrow morning, folks.

Yesterday, I reached out to some other fathers who are writing blogs about their experiences developing good, strong relationships with their children. It’s actually something I’ve thought about doing for quite some time, but kept putting off. I kept putting it off, I realized, because I believed they were somehow better than me, more successful than I am. So many knew about their blogs, so few people know about mine.

When I first started my own blog, I intentionally did not read other father blogs. I didn’t want to get confused about what I wanted to do and what they were doing. But I also didn’t link to them from Two Okapis. They were the competition! Why would I send the readers who actually came to Two Okapis somewhere else, to someone who may do this better than I do? They might never come back to mine!

I did finally start reading other father blogs and have really enjoyed what I’ve been reading. Sometimes something they wrote triggers an idea for me. More often I find myself laughing or with tears in my eyes because of how well I connected with their point. But I never commented on their sites – even the ones that moved me so much. Maybe I was afraid I would seem “self-promoting.” Maybe I was afraid I wasn’t good enough or that I didn’t belong. Maybe it was all that and more.

But when I got responses back from some of these father blog writers, I realized it was more than I even thought. I have found something kind of isolating about being a father, that I am a father blazing a new trail all by myself, going where fathers in my family certainly never have gone before. Captains Kirk and Picard always had an entire ship of extremely smart and experienced people behind them. I don’t really feel there is another male in my life to turn to for any sort of assistance or advice. Because I place my family so high on my priority list, people at work don’t seem to take me as seriously or don’t think I’m committed enough to the organization. I recently had a run-in with my synagogue’s softball team.  I had missed the first game because my kids hadn’t really slept the night before and I had been up with them. I didn’t go to the 8:00am game because I was exhausted and because they didn’t feel so well. None of the men on the team – all of them older men/fathers – seemed to understand. Again, where was my sense of commitment? I have made a very strong commitment – to my children and wife. The other fathers in my life don’t talk about fatherhood or don’t make the same kind of commitment and/or think I’m a bit crazy (maybe I am, but that’s another post).

Reading what other fathers write about, reading how they connect with their children or are so affected by having to leave them, I realized that maybe I am not alone as I think.  Hearing back from these fathers – all of whom have been supportive and welcoming, actually brought tears to my eyes. There are others out there not that different from me. It helped me to see that there is a community of fathers similar to the kind of father I am.

It’s time I stepped up and joined it.

Last night, while I was nebulizing the Okapis, Jordyn looked a little dazed.

Me: Are you okay, Jordyn?

Jordyn: Yeah.

Me: You sure, Sweetie Girl?

Jordyn: I was just finking.

Me: About what?

Jordyn: I was finking about all dat my brover teach me.

Me: All your brother has taught you? What has he taught you?

Jordyn: To be a tiger!

I don’t know what’s going on, but in the past several days I’ve had so many wonderfully special little moments with my little girl.

Over the weekend she looked at me and said, “I’m going to love you forever.” Unfortunately, I didn’t get it on tape or anything so I can’t play it for her when she’s slamming her door, because I won’t let her go out with that guy she calls a “boyfriend.”

Yesterday (check out Cracks In The Flood Wall) I wrote about how when I went upstairs to get their room ready for bedtime, she had called after me. Because she had missed me.

Last night, she came running to me after I walked in the door. She only has to wear her patch for six hours a day and lately has been done with it by the time I get home, so she is wearing her glasses patch free - which means you can see her whole beautiful face. When she comes running towards me to give me a welcome home hug, her face is all a glow, her smile is huge, her eyes are excited and her dress is flapping all around her. As if that isn’t a great feeling all by itself, my girl gives such great hugs. I mean, these are the kinds of hugs where she wraps her arms around me and then wraps her legs around me - she hugs with her whole heart and body and it is such a wonderful feeling.

Then, a few minutes later, she gave me a dandelion they must have picked earlier in the day and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Daddy!”

Oh, I’m so in love.

It has been building for a couple of weeks now, but I particularly noticed it after I found out that Elijah was asking my wife about why I had to go to work (check out Side Effects). I’ve been leaving my children to go to work for quite some time now and while you don’t get used to it, the pain and guilt becomes just a low hum, manageable. But in the past couple of weeks, the pain and guilt, the anxiety of leaving in the morning, has gone from a low hum to a scream, roiling my insides, putting me in a sad state of mind. It has developed so strongly that it even is affecting my good moments.

Though the weather this weekend was atrocious, I still had such a nice time with my family (even if you put aside the bizarre, but really cool, experience of being interviewed for The Today Show). All I want from weekends is quality time with my family, time where our connection is renewed and built up enough to last while they don’t see me that much during the week. This weekend was one of those times when my little girl was all about Daddy – such a great feeling. Saturday night, as I was getting their room ready before I took them to bed, I heard a beautiful sound.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” My little girl’s philosophy is why say it once when you can say it three times!

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy? Are you up there?” She’s on the stairs trying to figure out if I am already up there.

“Yes, Jordyn. I’ll be right there,” and I went to the stairs. “You okay, Sweetie girl?” I asked as I sat next to her on the steps.

“Yeah…I was just missing you,” she says as my heart melts. Then she leaned to give me a hug and I felt a pang in my stomach. This is exactly the kind of experience that will make my going back to work on Monday harder for both of us, I thought to myself. I didn’t used to think this way – having a special moment interrupted by such a negative thought – but that happened several times this weekend making it more difficult than usual to stay in the present with my children – one of the gifts I have developed from being with them.

I think this has all started because of Passover. This is my favorite Jewish holiday and this was the best Seder I’ve experienced in years (check out Just The Beginning). But along with the extra focus on trying to make Passover special for my children came thinking about my Passover experiences - positive moments with people who caused me immense harm. Normally, these people exist, but are safely contained outside my flood wall – protecting me from the flow of painful emotions that is always just under the surface. Remembering those times and thinking about those people has made me ultra sensitive, raw, exposed to the elements of parenting and life that I had been able to harden myself.

Because of what I went through as a child, I am hyperaware of trying to avoid inflicting any pain on my children. I think that is why I have become so sensitive to the pain I am causing them by leaving every morning and my pain and guilt over it has exposed cracks in my flood wall, allowing the pain from my childhood to flood over into my daily life. In my stomach and head is a mess of tangled emotions – most of them ugly and nasty – making me feel anxious, worried, and scared.

So I sit on the train this morning, trying to figure it all out, frustrated at how interwoven my being a parent is with what I went through as a child, not feeling any better than when I had started.