With my daughters firmly rooted in teenhood, attitude and all, it's sometimes hard to remember when they wanted to be with me.
These days, when they want to be off with their friends, or to be left alone in their rooms, I sometimes pine for the times when they heard me come through the door and came running to me, screaming, "Daddy's home! Daddy's home."
In November of 2008, I was to head to Chicago, on business, my kids plead with me not to go. I told them that I would be home as soon as I could, that I would be gone from Sunday to Friday night. That we would have the following weekend to spend together.
The night before I left, my kids clung to me, wanted me to read them stories, to sing them a song before bed. Heading upstairs, both girls insisted that I carry them, at the same time. I happily obliged.
DW captured us on our journey up the stairs.
weren't going to be this size forever. I wasn't going to be able to
carry them for much longer. There's no way that I could carry them
upstairs, together. I'm not even sure I could carry them one at a time.
Every once in a while, my teenage girls still need to be next to their dad. They'll curl up with me, on the sofa, while we watch a movie. They don't say it, but there are times when I come home, I can see them look up from whatever was occupying them before I opened the door, and I can see in their eyes.