MARY ANN FITZMORRIS

Second place is so much cheaper Shortly after the males in our family returned from the annual trek to scout camp, my daughter announced she had been shortchanged time with Dad, and he owed her some one-on-one activities. At first she wanted him to take her camping for a week, but I was able to steer her to a more reasonable compensation – seven Daddy Days. She cashed in the first one immediately. My son stared incredulously. “What am I supposed to do while you guys are at putt-putt?” My husband cast a quick glance in my direction and offered, “Here’s your chance for some one-on-one time with Mommy.” “Oh, boy!” he sneered sarcastically. Some moms might be hurt by such a response, but I know my place. Hanging with Mom is like getting stuck with the old maid card. Always has been. The kid might as well have asked “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone, sit home and knit?” Because time with Mom is just about as bad. While the Daddymobile is off to fun places like putt-putt, Mom wants to cuddle up and read. I want to play a board game or a math game or get some help with a house project. To them it would be a bored game. And math, did I say math? House projects are not even up for consideration. What they want to do is watch the same movie they’ve already seen eight times or they want to go to the same movie we’ve already seen eight times. But going to the movies costs money, which is another reason for my lack of popularity. My daughter explained it, “Mom, Daddy is fun because Daddy has money. Daddy always has money. You never have any money.” Gosh, maybe my M.O. all these years has come back to haunt me. I have always made it through errands with the kids employing the simple declaration, “I don’t have any money,” and my empty wallet was proof. But Daddy is the eternal spring of green. And each trip out with Dad reinforces the fact. When my daughter detailed the reasons for her parental preference, she had just returned from a Daddy Day. In her hand was a bag of expensive art supplies. Dad spent $50 on paints and brushes for the little artist. She and I go to the same store weekly, but on those trips the best she can hope for is poor, impoverished Mommy will suddenly feel moved to invest in her art career. I did, once. Two visits ago, I sprung for a pastel eraser. The small one. It’s not only specialty stores that inspire Dad to spend money. Any trip to Wal-Mart with the man is good for $200. It’s like shopping with Santa year round. Even I think that is fun. But to imply that Dad is only good for money is to minimize his appeal. There’s much more to it than that. Dad shares interests with the kids which Mom just doesn’t understand. The need to search out vending machines which offer Nehi Blue, for example. And claw machines, although I’m beginning to be seduced. Dad thinks up neat and silly car games. In Mom’s car, we fight. Dad finds, installs and plays cool computer games; Mom screams for everyone to turn it off and go outside. Dad buys useless snacks at the grocery store; Mom counts the ones crushed in the sofa. But my daughter does admit an crucial element in the parental popularity contest. Dad understands very well a simple universal truth – absence makes the heart grow fonder. Mom hangs around too dang much. One day I was feigning self-pity at my perennial status of also havng run in this parental popularity contest. “Mom,” she said sweetly, “It’s not that we love Dad so much more than you; it’s just that he’s not here nearly as often. We’re always with you.” I accepted her sincere and politically astute explanation, and soon after experienced the key to Daddy’s success firsthand. My husband was out of town for a week in the beginning of the summer. As he walked off the airplane, I felt a sense of warmth and relief, because…well, Daddy has money. MARY ANN FITZMORRIS writes this column regularly for L’Observateur.