Shhh...

Earlier this afternoon, we learned the word precarious.

For instance -- every now and again, Edan is still asleep when I pick her up from daycare. This puts dad in a precarious position. Wake her up while she's still in bed, and you're stuck for 15 minutes, waiting for groggy toddler angst to run its course. That, however, is nothing compared to the shit storm you'll see if she wakes up in her carseat -- oh, the screaming; oh, the pain.

So, standing over my slumbering child is like being Idiana Jones in that freaky, booby-trapped cave at the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark. As Indy sizes up the rock, gauging its weight, I size up the kid, trying 2, 3, even 4 different grips before I find one that seems least likely to get my ass shot with poison darts. But when the deliberation is over, the action must be swift -- so he switches the rock with a bag full of sand, and I hoist Edan into my arms, whispering: "Shhhh."

For a moment, I'm still, and all is quiet.

Then move, move, MOVE! Sleeping toddler in my arms, and a big ass boulder chasing me out of the bedroom, through the living room, over the toys, past those dusty skeletons that gave me nightmares as a child and out the door! -- grabbing bags, shoes, artwork, teddy bears and my kick ass leather hat moments before the front door clicks shut. She's in the carseat, belts are buckled, and we're on our way before there's time for questions.

Later that night, I spent the better part of an hour soothing, calming, coaxing and manipulating my daughter into closing her eyes, lying still, and drifting off to sleep. She didn't care that we read books in the most boring voice I'm capable of, and didn't even yawn while I rocked her in my arms, softly singing: "Go to sleep, Little Edan, go to sleep."

But then, finally, I'd tricked her into staying motionless just long enough that her body caved in, and began to rest. I rubbed her back one more time, and whispered...

"Shhh."