In first grade I learned that two is greater than one. But my teacher should have told me that this was only true…in theory. When I had a daughter, the equation became two girls against one boy. Girls win. But simple math doesn’t work in real life. Otherwise, I would not have my husband and my daughter ganging up against me. (Yes, I know that’s still two against one, but the wrong two!) This is why I was an English major. Math gets too complicated in real life.

I had heard from friends and other parents about the special bond between daddies and their girls and boys and their mamas. I didn’t buy into all of that because it sounded like a rule set in stone, and I don’t like rules so much. I was determined that the relationships would be different in our house. There’s none of this “Daddy’s Little Girl” who gets away with everything while mom is the mean disciplinarian.

Humph. I don’t like being wrong. It annoys me. This week, my family converged to take me over the top. My daughter Lexi is five, and is a creature of routine. This is why she begins every morning with, “What are we doing today?” You’re going to school. “And after that?” You have a Girl Scout meeting. “And after that?” Coming home, doing homework, and eating dinner. “And after that?” Ummm…play time, bath time, and then bedtime by 8pm. “What stories are we going to read tonight?” I don’t know Lexi. It’s 6:15 am and I haven’t yet figured out how to solve world hunger, but when I do, I’ll let you know. This is the routine every day. Every day, people. We almost don’t want to tell her because when life happens to interrupt the routine, it gets ugly.

And life happens in our house every day. In the morning, Lexi’s modus operandi is to wake up and eat breakfast-one packet of oatmeal and two if she decided she’s hungry enough. Then she climbs back into bed to cuddle with her daddy before she gets ready for school. But what happens when Daddy needs to wake up early and is not in bed when Lexi finishes breakfast? It’s horrible. She ran to her room and sat on the floor and wailed. There was some thrashing and gnashing of teeth. The empathy in me came out, of course, and I said, “Seriously, Lexi? You’re actually crying about that? I understand you’re disappointed, but you can cuddle tomorrow. Get up and get dressed. Now.”

Oh no, that just precipitated more weeping and wailing. My husband wandered in and when he heard why she was crying, his response was, “Awww…that’s so sweet.” No, it’s not! I mean, yes it is sweet, but at this point, it was no longer about the cuddling, but about her over-the-top reaction to disappointment. I could see it on my husband’s face. He was ready to go climb back into bed just to appease the little monster…er, I mean, sweet child. I gave in. I threw up my hands with dramatic flourish and told them to do whatever they needed to do so that this child could get ready for school and be on time. And, of course, they cuddled.

You might ask what’s wrong with me. What kind of mother would deny her child the love and affection of a parent? What kind of mother would be so heartless as to withhold a few minutes of cuddling when the world can be so painful and ugly?

I’ll tell you who. The kind of mother that has seen the above Daddy/Daughter scene played out one too many times! My daughter will come into our room in the middle of the night and whisper into my husband’s ear, “Daddy, I just wanted to see you,” and in the bed she goes. His heart just melts when that child looks at him and asks for something. Now, don’t get me wrong. My husband can be a disciplinarian, and it’s totally awesome when he does, but…and he knows this to be true although he will deny it to the ends of the earth…I personally think he enjoys letting me be the bad cop.

I’m not a meanie though. Lexi knows I adore her, but I don’t fall easily for her dramatic displays.

What do you think? Do I need to just acknowledge that the Daddy/Daughter bond is a reality that throws math and logic out the window? Or do I superglue myself to them?