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Saturday, November 28, 2009

The Person Called "Dad"

Have you ever noticed that when a person named “daddy” enters the house the proverbial poopoo hits the ceiling fan? Seriously, I am not knocking the ever loved man figure we know affectionately as “daddy” I am just making a point. When I have been home with the kids in the afternoon for even just an hour before the man (daddy) gets home the kids have eaten and are calmly playing with their toys or reading books while I prepare dinner. As I lift the last piece of Salmon from the skillet I hear door hinges creaking and a gruff voice saying “hi ladies.” This is the beginning of the end.

Those calm, mild mannered little ladies are nowhere to be found. From their bodies emerge things that I can only describe as wild animals and hope you get the picture. What was a calm and peaceful home seconds before has now turned into a barn filled with wild animals. Now commence the shrieks of “daddy, daddy let me tackle you” or “daddy up, daddy up.” Well, when the answer to “can I tackle you” and “daddy up” is given as “not right now ladies, can I just get a hug?” you would think that daddy came into the house and stomped on the heads of their baby dolls. This is when my job gets harder (that’s why they call me mommy); almost impossibly hard. Now comes the part where daddy wants to go back to work because of the never ending and ever dramatic crying, wailing and screaming of a three year and 23 month old girl.
My husband now looks at me and asks “have they been like this all day?” or my favorite “what is wrong with them?” and I can taste the blood from my tongue being bitten dripping down my throat as I kindly reply “dinner is ready are you hungry?” when what I really want to say is “you taught them to act like this in the first place, if it wasn’t for you they would not even know what ‘tackle’ meant, they are excited to see you and this is for some strange reason the way they show that they are happy to see their daddy.” Finally after about 30 minutes we (I) have managed to turn their frowns upside down as Toys R Us would say and then it is time for the bath. We are at it again.

When I take the girls upstairs by myself they do what I say. I don’t know why, they just do. It is simple. Get undressed, sit on the potty, get into the tub. One, two, three. Every time it is the same. When daddy accompanies us up the stairs it takes an extra ten minutes to get both girls into the tub because ultimately my oldest has to be peeled off of her daddy panting madly and crying all the way to the tub in the middle of their WWF World Wrestling Championship in her princess tent. After all of the effort and time spent I then have to be subjected to “what is a few extra minutes anyway?” from daddy dearest. Seriously, what is a couple of extra minutes? Easy for you to say when I am the one who is going to have to contend with super excited children who don’t want to wind down and I am the one who is going to have to get them into bed and off into the land of nod myself. So did I answer the question about a few extra minutes, daddy? We all love our daddies, no doubt about it but I wonder if it is the same at your house?

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