Let it snow

I like to sing, but often don’t know even a third of the words in a song. Fortunately that doesn’t keep me from singing. I make up my own lyrics and will fill in here and there humming and doodle-de-dumming until I reach the chorus, which I can usually belt out with splendor. I’ve taught my daughter Emily every song I know (and don’t know) from camp songs, to show tunes, to 1940’s classics my parents crooned on long car trips across the country.  At Christmastime when the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, we both rise in singing, “De-dum-de-de doodle-do, Let it snow; let it snow; let it snow.”

Sfathering

We all know what smothering looks like with too much attention and too much worry. I'm somewhat bothered that a word like smothering exists without its counterpart - sfathering. If a child can be smothered, couldn't a child also be sfathered?

Dads often are the ones who goad their children to climb higher in the tree, to ride faster on the bike, or to attend a college that's just east of East Jesus; sfathering can be just as annoying as smothering. Luckily, somehow our children find that safe and happy middle ground between our desires to smother them in protective bubble wrap and to sfather them to the roof of the car.