The Hero Daddy

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The Hero Daddy used to make me very angry. He would come home after a full days work at the office, and I a full days worth of in home war with two tiny toddlers.  I would be covered in peanut butter and jelly, a plethora of bodily fluids, and living in a sweat pants purgatory because nothing cute fit or because it  just wasn’t worth getting my one pair of jeans sticky.

And here he would come, Hero Daddy, swooping into the house in his clean clothes greeted by the sweet sound of tiny feet running and  little voices shouting “Daddy’s Home!”  When not two minutes ago those same tiny feet were trying to kick me in the face as I changed a diaper and the little voices were screeching things like “I don’t want to” and  “No Mommy” and just plain screaming.

Hero Daddy could all of the sudden make everything funny. All of the sudden when Hero Daddy tells you to eat your dinner its hysterical and a really fun game. When Mean Mommy asks you to its battle lines drawn. When Hero Daddy tells you its time to put on your pajamas its a laughable time filled with dancing while you jump into your jammies. When Mean Mommy tells you to put on your pajamas it really means its time to run away and throw your pjs into the dog kennel.

Hero Daddy

Mostly Hero Daddy made me angry because I wanted to be him. I wanted to be the one with whom the children laughed all evening long. I wanted to be the one to be able to solve tears with a joke and a playful threat of having to sleep in the chicken coop ( one of the children’s favorite). I didn’t want to feel like Mean Mommy all the time. The one who tells them to do everything and the one who seems to make them cry.

But then both girls finally started sleeping through the night, and it hit me, I’m not Mean Mommy I’m just Mommy. I am the one in the trenches every day with these little loves of mine and I am the one to enforce boundaries and do the disciplinary actions all day long. I am the one who tells them to eat every three minutes of every meal. I am the one who takes on the battle of what you can wear today and  how much TV you can watch and how far away you can run down the sidewalk and if you can eat those marshmallows you’ve just stolen out of the pantry.  But I’m also the one they call to in the middle of the night when they are sick or scared. I am the one they want to show their artwork to and the one whom they can ask to hang it on the fridge. I’m not Mean Mommy, I’m just Mommy and the more I realized that the more I loved Hero Daddy.

In truth, I have a Hero Daddy. My Mom was the everyday parent, the one I yelled at, fought with, laughed with, confided in and cried to. But my Hero Daddy was there every time I needed him to calm me down or make me laugh, teach me how to race a 400M or to sing harmony in a duet, take me out to ice cream before dinner and to make me feel like the most special little girl God ever created. And he still makes me feel like that.

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Every little girl deserves that. My little girls deserve that.

And Hero Daddy, with his clean clothes and loud dinosaur stomp as he chases them around throwing them into fits of hysterical laughter right before bedtime, does just that.  When he sneaks them cookies while I’m in the other room, makes jokes about stinky things and teases them out of a tear fest he really does make these two tiny girls feel like they hung the moon.

And as every child does, they deserve that feeling and will remember it for the rest of their lives.

Turns out, Mean Mommy and Hero Daddy make a pretty good team after all.

And it seems to be a pretty universal theme…

To quote Phil Dunphy from Modern Family “Let’s not play Good Cop/ Mom”

Obituary for a Chicken

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Henrietta the Chicken

Born probably about 4 years ago- Died August 26th 2012

Henrietta, at least I think your name was Henrietta. I can’t really remember what I named you all when we moved in last year. But I’m pretty sure you were my favorite and I would have clearly named my favorite chicken Henrietta.

She was a loving chicken. If a chicken can be loving. She was the most vocal, anyway, when the 4 of them accidentally got locked out of their coop on their weekly afternoons in the yard. She was always the most friendly of the ladies, and would walk up to a child sitting on the ground and peck at their sweet little hands sending some of them running to their mothers in tears.

Henrietta passed away at the hands of our bird dog, Roscoe. While staying the weekend, my Well Intentioned Mother In Law let Henrietta out  of her coop at the same time as Roscoe Dog was out in the yard. Roscoe, being a born bird dog and a well bread English Springer Spaniel took her life somehow. I don’t know, I wasn’t even home.

She was found by my Well Intentioned Mother In Law and laid to rest under a cardboard box in the yard until my husband got home to move her to her final resting place, the garbage can. Luckily for her, it had recently been trash day so the garbage can was empty and clean.

Henrietta gave us months worth of delicious farm fresh eggs in the year we have known her. At least I’m pretty sure she did. They all lay their eggs in the same nesting box ,but I’m sure she contributed. She was my favorite after all.

Our first Eggs & Hazel in her Spica
Summer 2011

Henrietta is survived by the other three chickens out in the coop, all whom have names that I can’t remember.

RIP Henrietta.