I’m not the fun parent and I’m (mostly) okay with that
A few weeks ago, I was goofing around with my younger daughter, who’s four-and-a-half. “Oh, Birdie,” I said, as our giggling tapered off. “I love being together. Isn’t it so fun"”
“But I like being with Daddy,” she replied, in her sweet little voice.
Ouch. Her sudden bursting of my love-bubble kind of stung. But honestly, it’s been that way in our family for a few years now. My two daughters (the older one is eight) pretty much explode with glee when Daddy walks into the room. What’s more, they’d be the first to admit that they often prefer to be with him over me.
I’m not so blind as to not know why. I’m the taskmaster, the parent who is much more frequently nagging them to putyourshoesonforcryingoutloudwearealreadylate.
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I never wanted my daughter to play with dolls, until this happened
I’m the one who drags them home from playdates (invariably much! too! soon!) and gives them a hard time when they’ve lost yet another pair of gloves.
I’m the clothes hamper-reminder, the homework eye-baller, the TV remote grabber and the clock-watcher?that is, the one who actually sticks to the bedtime we’ve set or turns off the iPad ex...
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Leighton Park School Stages Their Very Own Student Election
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