When Dad's in Charge
June 8, 2007

I love it when Dads are left in charge of babies and toddlers. It's like the funniest, most obvious thing on the planet. You see it at the park, you see it at the grocery store, and you see it at church...the child is always dressed completely crazy and the Dad looks half stressed and half confused. It's awesome.
A few months back, my friend Catherine left her husband Matt in charge of their four children on a Sunday morning. I ran into Matt in the hallway, as he was bouncing their small baby girl. I couldn't help but stop and make some small-talk with him. After all, his infant daughter was wearing a velour leopard print sweatsuit outfit, a bright pink onesie, and the piece-de-resistance--some sort of headband with tall, tri-colored feathers sticking out all over it. I could be mistaken, but I think the headband belonged with one of his older daughter's dance recital costumes.
So I was like, "Hey Matt, is Catherine out of town?
He replied, "Yeah, but she'll be here soon. How'd you know?"
And I said, "Yeah, I didn't...I just had a hunch I guess."
Catherine was more than embarrassed when she arrived at church that morning. Apparently she had instructed Matt to select a dress, any dress, from the baby's closet. I will, however, give him an A for effort--especially for his attempt to accessorize.

This morning, I have been privileged enough to experience the "Dad in Charge" phenomenon once again. My friend Beth is in Colorado for a girls weekend. Consequently, her husband JC is in charge of their two-year-old daughter Sophia. I've agreed to watch Sophia today and Monday while JC is at work. He called last night to set up the plans...he'd drop Sophia off at my apartment around 7:15. Simple enough. Well, this morning around 8:05, JC showed up at my door. He handed me the diaper bag, the carseat, and a surprisingly well-dressed child. He did, however, look a little bit ashamed when he had to admit that Sophia hadn't eaten breakfast yet.
A few minutes later, after he stepped out the door, I dug through the diaper bag that he had packed. I could hardly wait to evaluate the items contained within. Pictured above, you will find the entire contents of the bag artfully displayed on Sophia's carseat. The items, listed in no particular order, are:
  • a large baby doll
  • a mini baby doll
  • one single, solitary Goldfish cracker
  • a binky (please note, I have never seen this child use a binky in her entire little life)
  • two pairs of shoes (sandals and tennis shoes)
  • one single, solitary crayon
  • four diapers
  • a post-it-note with directions scribbled to who-knows-where
  • sunscreen (even though we're expected to have thundershowers all day long)
  • and one rubber duckie
Right now, the kids are fighting over that crayon. I'll tell you what, Sophia better get her act together and stop fighting or she's not getting that Goldfish cracker that her daddy packed her for lunch.

4 comments:

MillerFam said...

Once again Ame, you manage to explain the situation with such humor I can't imagine not laughing! Did Beth tell you about her trip to the airport yet? It was great seeing her for 24 hours, she is off to the mtns. with her "fatties". Hope you have fun with "phia" the kids missed seeing her, but Chloe loved feeling the baby in Aunt Bethy's tummy. Drew is still wondering where the baby is??? xo-Amy

Amy said...

The whole Dad-in-Charge phenomenon even applies when I'm present. Like the Saturday when we got home from the store and my husband asked me to unlock the front door because he was holding the baby (and nothing else). My arms were full of our purchases, and I wondered aloud, "How do you think I get in the house every day?" Granted, I probably couldn't go to his office and accomplish his daily tasks with any measure of success, but I can unlock the front door while holding a child and the groceries.

Grandma said...

flashback to you at age 2 in footed flannel pajamas. I started working nights at ECC and Dad got you ready for bed. It was summertime. You were a sweatball when I got home.

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