Not the Favorite

I've grown pretty used to being the second favorite parent in this house.  I mean, I think it's pretty common if moms work at home that kids are excited (and relieved) when dad finally arrives to give them a break from too much mom-time.

Our kids spend a lot of time with me.  I "mom" them, I teach them, I chauffeur them, I put them to work in so many ways.  I'm usually the one to play board games with them or take them places like the park or Target.

Dad comes home after all day at the office and he feeds them real food (I mean, aside from whatever I've tossed together or gotten at a drive-thru during the day), he watches television and movies with them (Mom doesn't let them turn the TV on for most of the day usually, unless she has a headache), he decides on impromptu fun like ice cream sundaes or Disneyland (slight exaggeration).

So I get it.  I think I like spending more time with him than myself, too.

But, what gets me is on the rare occasion I get to escape from this den of crazy and go to, say, a dentist appointment, and it happens to be at the same time Dad's not home, it's extra sad when I walk back in the front door only to have Z running to give me a big hug and then -- when he recognizes my face -- he drops his arms and head, lets out a heavy sigh and turns to slump away.  He was waiting for Daddy.

Am I that disappointing?!  I mean, come on!