On Daddy's Watch

There are so many places I can go with this picture. I could tell you about the time I picked Josie up from preschool and her mouth was encased with green ink. When I asked about it the teacher said, oh yes, Josie ate a green marker today. Then she was up half the night with a stomach ache. The next time we went to school I said something like: look, I know how fast she can be, they know us personally over at poison control, but seriously, can you try to keep her from eating art supplies? Thanks.

But I’m not going to tell that story (oops).

Instead, I’m going to tell you how much I love to kiss those cheeks. I have a friend who feels the same way about the temple. Not me, I’m all about cheeks. It’s been that way from the beginning. When I sat down in that hospital chair and the nurse handed four-day-old Josie to me, the little IV trailing from her arm, the orange bow stuck to her head with a dab of syrup. I leaned over and kissed her far cheek and told her how we’d been looking for her everywhere and how sorry I was it had taken four days to find her.

Ever since then my lips have been practically stuck to her cheek. It’s like a tic. I can’t control it. When she was a baby, I had free reign, she was captive.

Recently she’s learned to say, “No tiss (kiss) Mommy! No tiss!” And I try to respect her boundaries. I’ve been trying to exercise a little self control.

But then this! She painted a target right on my favorite kissing spot, just so neither one of us will ever forget where my lips belong.