All Done Daddy!

So this morning I was doing push-ups, minding my own business, trying to lose weight.

Then, my daughter, who had just finished her breakfast of waffles and strawberries, decided to show me the plate.

Up close.

In my face.

As I was coming down for another push-up.

FACE FULL OF SYRUP.


These are the joys of parenting.

Who You Gonna Call?

One thing you should know is that my daughter is very articulate. She doesn't say "Daddy" like a normal American child may. Whereas most kids say, "Daddee," my daughter puts an almost British sounding spin on it. "Dat-tee," she will often say. She has various tones when she says it, too. For instance, when I break wind, there's a tone of disappointment in her voice: "Daaat-teee!" or if she needs something, a sense of urgency, "Dattee! Dattee!"

It brightens my day when I come home and hear, "DAT-TEE!!!" and hear small feet pounding into the carpet as she runs up to give me a hug.

I mean, as big, bearded and manly as I try to be, I love the kid and it melts my heart. It is the kind of thing every father should want to hear.

Last night, around 4 am, I thought I was actually having a dream about it, too. Which, to be honest, sounds kind of weird now that I think about it.

Sleeping, I heard, "DAT-tee! DAT-TEE!"

In my dream, I was surrounded by darkness and I could hear my daughter crying out for me and I couldn't find her, and I woke up scared something had gone wrong.

It had. I woke up and stumbled in the dark to her room.

My daughter stood there, just peeing on the floor. I picked her up and moved her to the toilet quickly, getting that wonderful feeling of urine on my feet that most guys only know when they wake up in the middle of the night and completely miss the toilet. But that's their own brand, and this was my kid's. So... extra gross.

She was crying, sad that she'd had an accident. I cleaned up the mess while she finished on the toilet, consoled her, cleaned her up and changed her clothes. Then, I put her back to bed and went back to bed myself. My wife had dealt with these situations enough recently, I figured I'd let her sleep and not try to wake her up any more than I had to.

Right before I dozed back off I realized something that made my Father's Day...

When my daughter is scared, afraid to have an accident or just needs someone to help, she calls for her daddy.

Dessert is Heck

Imagine if you will, a soldier. He's trapped behind enemy lines, fighting each day just to survive. He sleeps maybe three hours a day, gaining sustenance from whatever roughage he can get his hands on.

In the afternoons, he runs from the enemy, hides from them, and does whatever he can to avoid them in hopes that he'll someday be reunited with his unit.

He's lost all contact with the outside world. What thoughts race through his head? "Is the war over? It has to be ongoing, otherwise why are they still chasing me? What news do we have from Washington? Is there even a Washington DC still standing? What about my friends? My family?" A million questions with a million possible answers are all he has for entertainment.

One day, after everything has taken its toll, he loses his last morsel of hope. He lays down in a field to die.

As he hears shouting and gunfire, all he can hope for is that his captors grant him a swift death before the vultures have the opportunity to pick meat from his weakened bones. But they aren't the enemy... they're his friends. He's been rescued. He's safe.

Now, imagine a 3 year old girl being told before a meal that if she cleans her plate she'll be given ice cream.

From my daughter's point of view, these stories are pretty much the same.