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Challenge: What Do Fathers Do Best?

Daddy's Home! We're SAVED! (Six Ways Daddy is Way More Fun Than I Am)

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“Daddy’s home! We’re SAVED!” we shout each evening around seven o'clock. It’s hard to tell whether it’s me or my just-turned-three-year-old who most looks forward to the rumbling sound of the garage door announcing our imminent rescue.

But whether dinner plans have gone up in smoke or it’s just been a day in which our “Head of Demolition” has particularly lived up to her name, we meet Daddy’s arrival with much glee, in part because he’s just more fun than I am in so many ways:

1) Daddy RSVPs “yes” to more tea parties than I do.

Sure, I’m willing to point my pinky finger for a cup or two, then pretend to gobble everything like Cookie Monster. But that’s about the end of it for me. Daddy on the other hand, is an ever willing tea party participant, able to drink cup after cup, accepting his fate with a grace that the Mad Hatter could never have imagined.

2) Daddy is a willing canvas.


3) Daddy is a better swim buddy than I am.

It’s true that I will drag myself into the pool every single dad-gum day of summer with the reasoning that if you keep a kid wet enough, she will learn to swim. But my motive is clear: entertain the kid while studying water safety.

The one who loves to cannonball and splash, float and toss an energetic child into the air? That would be Daddy.


4) Daddy is more willing to hire a sous chef.

It takes a lot of patience to work with employees who are under five years old. I have that patience. Sometimes. Daddy has it more often than I do.


5) Daddy likes movies.

Yesterday I responded to a question about TV by saying, “I don’t know anything about a 'show' unless it’s followed by the word 'tunes.'” For me, The Little Mermaid is a virtual babysitter at best. Daddy not only doesn’t mind watching, but actually enjoys it.

6) Daddy roughhouses.

Call me a wuss, but barely a day goes by when I don’t whine about one “extreme parenting” injury or another. Being accidentally poked in the eye is almost as thoroughly a part of our bedtime ritual as the nightly picture books. Daddy takes it all in stride, whether he’s initiated the rough behavior or it just comes with the territory.

Daddy’s arrival heralds the restoration of at least a small degree of sanity. With him comes the long awaited dinner, what little adult conversation we can manage to grab between outbursts and demands to “Look at DIS!”, and, most importantly, more fun than we’ve probably had all day!

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