Cheering Up Dad - New Project

Dad worked a lot.

Some days he left before the sun came up over Wasilla. Some nights he came home after the moon was already over Grandpa Malcuit’s motorhome.

Bitty noticed. She noticed because the kitchen was quieter without his loud laugh.

Dassah noticed too. “Where Dada go?” she’d ask Mom — Brandy — every morning.

“To work, my little lovely lady,” Mom would say. “So we have a house. And food. And heat for the U.S.S. Grandpa.”

Nation and Psalm were older. They understood. They missed him too, but they had school and friends and their own things.

But Dad always said he missed four people the most: his “lovely ladies,” Bitty and Dassah, and his “boogers,” Ocean, 12, and Harbor, 10.

“Those are my crew,” he’d say. “The ones I don’t get enough of.”

One Friday, Dad came home late. His shoulders were down. His smile was tired. He dropped his keys on the counter and just stood there.

Mom saw it first. She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Rough day?”

“Rough week,” Dad said. “I miss my kids. I miss the noise. I miss the chaos. I even miss the Mt. Poopsalot talks.”

Bitty and Dassah were in the living room. They heard. They looked at each other.

“Lovely Law #1,” Bitty whispered.

Dassah nodded. “Love Dada as ourself.”

Operation Cheer-Up-Dad

Ocean and Harbor were already on it.

“Booger Protocol,” Ocean said, serious. He grabbed a blanket.
“Deploying,” Harbor said. He grabbed two pillows.

They all marched into the kitchen.

Dad was sitting at the table, head in his hands.

“DAD!” all four shouted.

He looked up, startled.

Then the ambush happened.

Bitty ran first. She climbed right into his lap, Freckles the stuffed dog squished between them. She kissed his cheek. “I love you, Dada.”

Dassah was next. She threw her arms around his neck and hung on. “You my best Dada! No more sad!”

Ocean wrapped the blanket around all three of them. “Booger Hug, activated.”

Harbor piled the pillows on Dad’s head. “Booger Snuggle, now with fluff!”

Dad laughed. Really laughed. The tired kind that turns into a good kind.

“My lovely ladies,” he said, squeezing Bitty and Dassah. “My boogers,” he said, ruffling Ocean and Harbor’s hair. “You four… you’re my favorite part of every day.”

Mom leaned against the doorway. “See? We missed you too. But we’re right here when you get home.”

Grandpa Malcuit poked his head in from the back door. “Heard there was a hug emergency. Brought backup.” He held out his arms.

The whole pile turned into a family dog-pile, with Rowdy in the middle, licking everyone.

Dad’s eyes were wet, but he was smiling. “This. This is better than any paycheck.”

Two weeks later, it was Bitty and Dassah’s turn to be sad.

It rained for three days straight. No backyard. No motorhome. No Castle Lovely. The “Poop Patrol” was on hold because of mud.

Bitty sat by the window. “I miss outside.”

Dassah sat by Bitty. “I miss sun.”

They were quiet. Too quiet.

That night, Dad came home. He took one look at his little lovelies on the couch, all droopy, and he knew.

He didn’t say anything. He just went to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later he came back.

In one hand: a box of chocolate doughnuts.
In the other hand: two candy bars.
In his pocket: nothing. Because the best stuff doesn’t fit in pockets.

“Candy helps,” he said, setting it down. “Chocolate helps. Doughnuts definitely help.”

Bitty and Dassah lit up. “DADA!”

But then Dad sat down. He opened his arms. “But you know what helps most?”

“What?” Dassah asked, mouth already full of doughnut.

“This,” Dad said. He pulled them both into his lap. He kissed Bitty’s head. He kissed Dassah’s curls. He wrapped the blanket from Operation Cheer-Up-Dad around them.

“Snuggling,” Bitty whispered.
“Hugs,” Dassah said.
“Kisses,” Dad said.
“And time together,” Mom finished, sitting down with them. “That’s what works. At least for Dad.”

Nation walked by. “At least for all of us.”
Psalm popped in. “Doughnuts don’t hurt though.”

Ocean and Harbor dove for the box. Grandpa Malcuit yelled from the motorhome: “Save me one!”

Dad held his lovely ladies tight. His dark brown-haired, fair-skinned, beautiful little young ladies.

“I work a lot,” he said quietly, just to them. “And I miss you like crazy. But when I come home to this? To you two loving me as yourselves? That’s why I do it.”

Bitty snuggled closer. “We love you, Dad. Even when you’re gone. Even when you’re tired.”

Dassah nodded. “You da man. Sometimes.”

Dad burst out laughing. “Sometimes is good enough. As long as I get to be your dad all the time.”

And in Wasilla, with rain on the roof and chocolate on their faces, the Lovely Law held again:
Love others as yourself. With candy if you can. With hugs if you can’t. But always with time.