Daddy’s relevance restored

Over the years, the terminology has changed. The importance of the role hasn’t.

Housewife. Homemaker. Stay-at-home mom. Or dad.

My wife is part of the resurgence of women choosing to temporarily put aside the business world and focus on raising their children. She’s good at it, too.

Partly to give her a break and partly because of unexpected circumstances, I was thrust into that role during much of my last vacation. I’d like to think I passed the audition. Still, if our 2-year-old son could tell time, I’d guarantee we both counted down the minutes on that last day.

Daddy time was long overdue. That became clear shortly before my time off and not long after I had taught Sean that, when he really, really wants something, he has to ask politely.

One day he sat contentedly playing cars or blocks or whatever with his mommy, when I plopped down to join in. He asked me gently but firmly to go away, and I let him know that wasn’t nice. He dug in and I dug in.

“Pleeeeaaaaase, daddy?” he whined, using my words against me. Next time I’ll invoke the Fifth Amendment.

Somehow my wife figures I lose an appreciation for her daily routine. Maybe she’s right, but a week and a half at home reinforces it like a nuclear bunker.

So many hats to wear. Playmate. Disciplinarian. Conversation partner. Cook. Information service. Entertainment director. Hygiene monitor. Fashion consultant. While I’ve worn them all before, it’s a whole different deal to keep them on the whole day.

It’s never exactly the same when daddy’s in charge. I’m not the type to put together some imagination-spurring craft activity based on an article in a frilly parenting magazine. When I help the boy get dressed, his socks don’t always match the shirt, or the pants or whatever the comparison is supposed to be.

Unlike mommy, I stop answering after he asks “What’s that?” about the same household object three times in a row. And the lunchtime fruit gets chopped much more slowly, because I’m still rusty enough that losing a finger is a realistic danger.

But we manage.

It was a rewarding break from the usual grind — just a different grind, equally exhausting. The plus side was that I knew it would end and we could all go back to our normal roles, like wannabe cowboys vacationing at a dude ranch.

Well, this particular cowboy was able to herd himself back into the family picture. As we all hung out in his bedroom one night, Sean decided three was a crowd. One of the parents absolutely had to go.

“Pleeeeaaaaase, mommy?”

• Racine, Wis. Journal-Times Reporter Mike Moore writes Daddy Talk. Mommy Talk is written by reporters Marci Laehr Tenuta and Janine Anderson. Their columns run in a three-week rotation and can be found online at www.journaltimes.com/mom.