Eating Out of an Ashcan

A dirty truth about being a Dad.

There is that saying about mothers having eyes in the back of their head. I think that’s probably true. I don’t know about most fathers, but this one is more like a cyclops. I miss things in front of my nose. I have not my wife’s supernatural ability to read and understand all the needs and emotions in the room at once.

Here’s what I mean. The other day we had a situation. I had finished taking a walk with the girls and come in. It was just us. I set the sleeping baby down in her car seat. Then I went and changed the two year olds diaper. After the diaper change I got carried away and lost track of time. I dropped something off in the bedroom then I went to brush my teeth. Meanwhile the two-year-old is following me, narrating my every step.

At some point I looked up. I turned the faucet off. It was quiet outside. Too quiet. I walked softly down the hall to check on the little one and lo, the car seat was empty and the blankets tossed aside. My heart skipped. When I turned the corner my jaw dropped.

The baby was standing on her knees eating lunch from an ashcan. Literally, the bin where we clean out the fireplace. Her mitts were sticky and black with soot. Gobs of ash dribbled down her chin and smeared her mouth. She was munching on something, and she turned and looked up at me very nonchalantly, like a piglet at the trough.

I rushed her to the bathroom and scrubbed charcoal crumbles out of her gums and later I swept the ash off the floor and we all sat down and took a breather. Mostly I took a breather. While I sat there collecting myself, chastising myself, puzzling what went wrong and what lesson could I learn to make sure this doesn’t happen again — I realized, this is the lesson. To be here. Even with no great answer.

Parenthood is a lot like writing. It’s creative. It’s wonderful. And it’s full of folly. As much as you can outline, plot, envision some master plan of how the story will go, some days the story goes its own way. And that’s ok.

You must muster up a little humor to laugh at yourself, count on some luck – and keep going.