When Daddy Comes Home

Did you attend a concert as a pre-teen?  If you are a female and you attended one, say for example a NKOTB concert, then you probably competed with others to scream the loudest for your favorite boy band member (“DONNIE!!!”).  Did you ever attend a grunge show and get dirty in the mosh pit shoving others around in angst? Have you ever visited a nice aquarium and observed a school of fish in a feeding frenzy?  Well, I liken my kids’ behavior to a combo of those three crowds when their Dad comes home.  


Tonight this behavior was at a max.  Boy, were they happy to see him.  I, on the other hand, truthfully speaking have to fly across country for a week or so to get that sort of reception.  Our nearly 18-month old was even screeching in sheer excitement and tossing his corn like confetti, my five-year-old was like a monkey hopping all and literally going bananas, and the seven-year old hid and hopped out as if Daddy had entered his own special surprise party.  Am I that really that less of a hoot to be around?


Moms, we often get a bad rap - don’t we?  I’m just saying that after I get the big kids ready and off to school barely on time, work for several hours at my paying job while also attempting to manage this mom gig that doesn’t pay, take my bus in for a recall with a baby crawling on the dealership’s floor, play Mrs. Claus fighting crowds in Toys R Us & Target again with baby in tow who’s becoming a crank, clean the house, oversee homework, change baby bum multiple times, wash sheets and three other loads of laundry, and cook some sort of dinner I’d love to be climbed on like a human jungle gym and kissed like I’ve returned from war or something. 


Daddy, you’ve got it good.  These kids adore you, and well, I do, too.  I have to fight for your attention just as much as they do which is why tonight’s blog is not of my typical long-winded, Rambling Rose nature…