I love old movies.
I laugh at the old 1950s idea of Father coming home to a clean house, clean kids, a happy wife with food on the table and a martini before a little much deserved "alone" time after a hard day at work.
Women's lib brought a few wonderful joys my way.
I have an amazing job. I have equal rights for equal pay.
I work a standard work week and come home to immediately pick up "mommy duty" where I left it in the morning pre-coffee. As a twist, my husband is at home for most of the day with the kids. They run to him for comfort and look to me for discipline.
Whoa. Back up.
I'm the hammer?
Oh yes.
I have become the hammer. This is not to say that Brad doesn't discipline... he does. Absolutely. I just have a little quicker follow through (probably because we have little girls and I know exactly what they're trying to pull with Daddy.)
What Daddy can't give into their cries? Their plea for him to hold them both while he tries to eat. Their sing-song chant of "Daddy-My-DADDY!"
Yes. "Daddy-My-Daddy", much like "Captain, My Captain".
With the cry of "Daddy-My-Daddy", my angels could probably bring down small countries. With their whimpers, they'll likely end up with convertibles by their 16th birthday.
I came home late today after an errand to pick up a pool motor (very woman's lib of me, I know... I just nodded and asked the young man to put the thing in the car for me... I'm much to delicate for this "man's work", you know).
I was home late and slow to pick up on my nighttime activities as Mom. Ana picked up on this and ran to Daddy for attention, instead of sitting on my very empty lap.
I was a little annoyed with this recent preference for Daddy. I looked up at my husband, who was holding both of my girls... and I thought... damn.
I'm one lucky man...err.. woman.
As I'm typing this, Brad is out installing the new pool motor (thank god... wires and dirty messes... bleh). I love him for all of those qualities that make him sensitive to the needs of a 2 year old girl. I love him for fixing things that I would smash with a hammer or move to a new home to avoid. I love him for how much my girls love him.
Now, if he could only have a martini ready for me when I get home from work...
With that... he might be the perfect 1950s housewife.
