Ø dads allowed
She loves her father. The minute he walks in the door, she's climbing all over him, "Daddy! Lets play What Time is it Mr. Fox! Lets go in MY room without HER!" she'll scream, pointing her bony little finger at me. I pretend to get offended and scamper off into my room, excited to have some time to myself.
In our house, I'm what the two of them refer to as, The Hammer. I'm the one who makes sure she brushes her teeth, gets dressed, goes to bed on time and anything else that may require the least bit of effort on her part. When daddy's around, I am enemy number one and I am NOT welcome. They exclude me from tea parties, finger-painting, and tennis lessons in the front yard... pretty much anything that involves the two of them. It's a very special little bond they have and, quite honestly, I rather enjoy it.
One Saturday afternoon, as I was being shoved out the front door by my sweet little princess, I was told to, "Leave now... and never return!" followed by a maniacal laugh that gave me chills to this day. I got in my car, drove off and knew that I'd get at least three phone calls from her father before I ever made it into work. "Yes Richard?" I said. "Do you know where Isla's pink bunny is? The one that she got from grandma?" Five minutes later: "Yes Richard?" "She's hungry now, is it okay if I make her a hot dog? That's what you mean by snack, right?" Two hours later they are standing in front of me with our dog, Sadie. "What are you doing here?" I laugh. "Oh, Isla just wanted to come say hi to mommy."
When I got home that night, the sun was just beginning to set. I hopped out of the car and made a beeline to the door. Then it hits me: I'm surrounded by pink, blue and neon green graffiti, and it becomes clear that she has been hard at work abusing our walkway with the chalk-paint she got for her birthday. There it was... the most poetic three words I had ever seen: No Dads Allowed!
Moral? Your kids really do crave structure; and sometimes they might even miss it a little.