Mommy Wants a Timeout

In which I contemplate absurd moments in parenthood, occasionally attempt to refer to myself as a “triathlete” while keeping a straight face, and maybe post some random pictures of stuff I’m knitting

The Bigger You Are, The Harder You Fall…

Being the preferred parent in a household is as transitory as holding the lead in the polls for the Republican presidential nomination…Just when it seems like there’s one clear frontrunner, another candidate sneaks up from behind to take the lead. Likewise, I seem to have lost my edge as favorite parent in my own household, as evidenced by the following (unofficial) poll results:

Kamran: “I love Daddy as big as all the planets and stars and the whole universe.”

Me: “How much do you love Mommy?”

Kamran (taking a moment to think it over): “This much.” (Holding hands about a foot apart.)

Ouch.

Just to confirm the findings of this poll, I conducted another, equally scientific one the next night.

Me: “How much do you love Daddy?”

Kamran: “10 billion, million, 400 trillion, gaZILLION!!!”

Me: “How much do you love Mommy?”

Kamran (without hesitation): “Fourteen.”

I’m not sure why my approval rating has been slumping so much lately. Maybe it’s all that time I waste on cleaning the house and cooking dinner while SuperDaddy plays computer games and does puzzles with the little guy. (Not that I’m complaining…SuperDaddy puts in 9-10 serious hours at work before he comes home to play.) Or it might be the fact that a car ride with me usually results in a trip to preschool or the grocery store, whereas a car ride with Daddy usually ends up at the science museum. Clearly, my candidacy for #1 parent will suffer until I get my priorities straight. But here’s a campaign promise I intend to keep: All the gifts Kamran gets this year will be labelled “From Mommy,” until I’m the frontrunner again. Except the socks and underwear…Those are from Daddy.

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2 thoughts on “The Bigger You Are, The Harder You Fall…

  1. kruzmeister on said:

    I wouldn’t worry too much, most guys grow up to be momma’s boys which means you’ll be numero uno forever, let daddy have his moment in the sun. – Simone 😉

  2. Mary Margaret Hite on said:

    Oh-ha-ha! I love that! Fourteen, huh? At least that’s a real, concrete number. A gazillion is just a fairy tale – I think.

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