Party Dad

It’s an all-too familiar pattern. The girls, having asked me for something, then ignore my response and go straight to Dad. Cuddles and kisses and ‘we love you Daddy’ ensues and suddenly they triumphantly walk away with the response they were after. I swear they also flip me the bird as they walk by. Well not really, but I can see they want to do it in their eyes. If they knew what flipping the bird was. Which they don’t. They only know swear words, not gestures. THANK GOODNESS FOR THAT.

We used to joke about it pre-kids, that he would be the pushover doting Dad, and I’d have to lay the smackdown. And like a bad horoscope it’s all come to fruition. He doesn’t bat an eyelid when they go traipsing around with a fistful of sultanas they stole from the cupboard (OK…. fistful of chocolate. Who even am I trying to be all wholesome and stuff?) , he’ll agree to whatever they ask….. when they’ve come directly from No-town via cranky-Mumville, and when they’ve gotten in trouble from me, they’ll run to him for a cuddle. I swear he’s got a glint in his eye when they come over too. A glint of glory, from someone who has secured their spot as favourite parent. It’s like his eyes are flipping the bird.

He.is.Party.Dad.

From the Left Field- Party Dad post
Look at that Dad, dropping the beat. I HATE YOUR SNAZZY MOVES.

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