He had been excited to see me when I picked him up. His daycare provider came up to me just to tell me about how great he had been that day. My son practically dragged me out of the room to the car.

On the way to my parents’ house we listened to Christmas music, singing along to the ones we knew. He’d interrupt songs to tell me about parts of his day. He ate all his lasagna at lunch today. And he sang Carol of the Bells in music class, complete with different parts. He did well on his spelling test. He got to be the math leader today, standing up front and writing the math problems while the class figured out how to solve them.

“Were you nervous?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said honestly. “Well, only in the beginning. Then I wasn’t.”

“Just remember that when you are in front of the whole class, you are only in front of friends,” I advised him.

We got to my parents’ house and he raced me to the front door. His sister was already eating some noodles that my dad made, so I dished him up some as well. When both kids had finished eating, they joined my mom and me in the living room to watch some TV. My daughter held the phone, fumbling with it until I asked her to put it on the ground. My son couldn’t sit still. He was a bundle of nerves and energy, all wrapped up in a wriggly 6 year old body. And I realized what all this energy was coming from.

“You’re excited, aren’t you?” I asked him.

“I can’t wait to talk to my dad!” he said. I looked at my watch. 6:00 pm. We had 15 more minutes until he was supposed to call. The kids hadn’t talked to him in a long time, almost two years. But he was supposed to call today by order of the court, a step in reunification. And I had been preparing them cautiously, trying not to make a huge deal about it in case he didn’t call. But it didn’t matter how I said it. My son was beside himself in anticipation. He kept holding my hand, hugging me, sitting in my lap, wiggling around. I knew he was excited. I also knew he was nervous. And I hoped for his sake he would call.

6:12 pm. My son asked to hold my watch so he could look at the time. At 6:16 I asked for my watch back. I didn’t want him to focus on the time. 6:22 pm. My son was getting antsy, and was irritated that we weren’t watching the show he wanted to watch. 6:35 pm. He became more agitated. His frustration mounted and he started getting more aggressive in his playfulness with me. When I told him to stop, he took my hand and hit himself with it. I told him that it was not ok to hurt himself, and it was not ok to make me hurt him. 6:45, the official time to wait was over. I gave it another 5 minutes before I told the kids it was time to gather their things so we could drive home.

“I knew he wouldn’t call,” my daughter said matter-of-factly. My son collapsed into my lap, a mess of tears.

“Why didn’t he call?” he cried. I pet his head as my heart broke with his.

“I don’t know, baby,” I said as I continued petting him.

And I didn’t. It was unclear to me how a parent could let their kids down so devastatingly. Their dad didn’t understand that while I fed and provided for these children, offered them emotional support, helped them with their homework, listened to their dreams and their heartaches, tucked them in at night, sacrificed everything I could to make them as comfortable as possible…did all this without his help…..it was HIM they held in the highest regard. What he didn’t understand was that to them, he was their hero, the man who epitomized all men. It didn’t matter that there were so many better men to look up to out there. He was their dad. And that made him the best.

Each disappointment had already started overflowing on my daughter’s mental tally sheet. Her look said it all, that she had expected this even though it was apparent that she had hoped she would be wrong. But my son could not understand, and I lacked the words to explain it to him. And I realized that no words could really take away his sadness. At least, not MY words.

He got his shoes on, and we all went out towards the car. I had them pause to look up at the clear night sky where a million stars twinkled down on us.

“Maybe we’ll see a shooting star,” I said. But none came before we were too cold and had to get in the car. I cranked up the heat, and cranked up the Christmas music, and we all sang along again to the music. We reached our neighborhood, and all the Christmas lights from our house and our neighbor’s homes looked so bright and festive that I took an extra 20 minutes to drive down every street to see the lights. And we “oohed” and “aahed” at all the different ways to hang lights and displays, and all the different colors that shone back at us. I swore that next year our house would be even brighter.

We got back to the house and we all got into our pajamas. My son helped me make the popcorn, and I prepared three warm cups of cocoa with a splash of eggnog. Then we all curled up on the couches to watch a movie together. My son wouldn’t leave my side. When he finished his cocoa, he curled up against my belly, holding my hand as his fingers played with mine. I squeezed him occasionally in a bear hug, amazed at how big he was getting, yet was still so small. And when the movie ended, I kissed his cheek and told him it was time for bed. He didn’t move, though he was awake. His sister was already asleep on the other couch.

“I really miss my dad,” he murmured, moving closer to me.

“I know you do, baby,” I said.

Email me at winecountrymom@winecountrymom.com