Who’s your daddy?

This weekend is Fathers’ Day, so today we bring you a special daddy edition.

There’s something about fathers that make them so special. Mommies are good for nap times and fixing snacks but when daddy is around, it’s all about piggyback rides and wrestling and fun outings.

And why is it that daddy’s approval seems to be worth a lot more? I’m always telling the kids that they did a great job and momma’s so proud of them and they’re like “Sure, mom, whatever.” But when daddy says the same thing, they’re look all pleased with themselves.

Although, I can’t really blame them because growing up, I thought my dad was the smartest, strongest, coolest person in the universe. He was more awesome than Superman and Batman and the Hulk all rolled into one. When I got pushed around by other kids, my trump card was to yell out “I’ll ask my daddy to whip your ass“. And I really believed it. In fact, I was also certain that my daddy could whip the other kid’s daddy’s ass too. I never got around to witnessing it, mostly because the other kid would usually shut up or leave me alone after that.

I have a feeling my kids feel the same way.

Case in point: baby girl. Kirsten is a classic daddy’s girl through and through. She’s totally biased and I KNOW YOUR DADDY IS SO SPECIAL BUT YOU DON’T HAVE TO RUB IT IN. Even though she’s capable of calling mama (she does it when the stars align), her favorite word is dada. No prizes for guessing who she’s referring to. As I was changing her diaper today, I tried my luck again.

Me: Say mama, baby girl. MA-MA

Kirsten: Dada

Me: No, MA-MA

Kirsten: DADA

Me: You’re rubbing it in, aren’t you?

Kirsten: DADA, DADA, DADAAAAA *claps her hands to emphasize her point*

Me: Dada is at work. You’re stuck with me.

I can just see it. One of these days, she’s going to climb onto the husband’s lap, gaze into his eyes and say “When I grow up, I’m going to marry a boy that is just like you, daddy“, and the husband’s heart will instantly melt into putty and he will buy her anything she wants, including every single piece of that ridiculously exorbitant Sylvanian Families dollhouse set.

Tru is less obvious because there’s that alpha male vibe going on but I bet he secretly wants to be just like daddy when he grows up. The way he looks at daddy is so different from the way he looks at me, like he’s observing everything daddy does intently. Then next thing I know, he’s doing the exact same thing.

He’s got this tool box set that looks like a briefcase and from time to time, he arranges his toy cars inside neatly, gives me a kiss and announces, “Bye mommy, Truett go work.”

Most of his minor boo boos are easily solved by momma but the really serious ones, we have to bring out the big guns – daddy’s giant biceps. They are strangely effective in making them feel better. It’s either that or daddy’s masculine smell that’s the secret. Whatever the case, it works and that’s good enough for me.

Typically, Fathers’ Day comes with less hype and fanfare as compared to Mothers’ Day. I’m guessing that’s because us mothers are very protective of our turf when it comes to the kids and also, most fathers are happy to take a backseat because there are more pressing matters to attend to, like killing zombies and watching soccer.

While I agree that dads are less inclined to be maternal (they’ve got less of those soft bits that are oh-so-comfortable for babies), they’re no less important to a kid’s growth and development. They add that little extra – the stability, security and giant biceps. Of course it helps that daddy can change a diaper in 30 seconds flat and hold the fort while I go out for a shopping spree.

In short, Happy Fathers’ Day, sweetheart. You rock my world too.