I was reading Koly's blog this morning as I do every morning, and today's topic struck me as awfully familiar.
It is a scene that plays out in my house, in a different setting, but ... same plot. Turf wars. And when you are a Jet, you are a Jet...
There is no easy way to do this. I have to do it like you peel a band aid.... Quick and with intent.
I love my daddy. I love him from the bottom of my toes to the tip of my tail. What's not to love? He does things for me, for us that make us feel special. And apparently, momma is not on board with that.
The recurring "discourse" [I love that word... it makes it sound so civil... so palatable...] has to do with daddy feeding us. Nahhh I am not talking about preparing our food. OCD poster girl barely allows him to do that when she is sick. I am talking hand feeding us. Allright, you still have problems visualizing this?
The Wendy, JD and I like to sit next to daddy and quietly wait our turn as he hand feeds us each delectable bite. From his hand to our mouth. JD, then Wendy , then me... then JD, then Wendy... then me...until each bowl is empty. It elevates our food from mere food to a bonding experience. LOVE IT! You have not lived until you have been hand fed. But, momma gets all bent out of shape with this. You know, she could just get in on the action and sit between The Wendy and me. I am even willing to give her my spot in line. But noooooo.... she has to roll her eyes and verbally attack that "sainted man".
Daddy loves us. He likes babying us. it makes him feel good to do it. Why does it make momma crazy? Yea... we think so too. The old green eye monster... jealousy.
She whines that we are all adults and that she is not about to start hand feeding anyone who is not on their death bed. What a sucky attitude!
And there are things I am not privy to discuss, things that go on when momma is out of the house. You know, special things. Let's just say, daddy is not as OCD about what gets buried in the pillows on the bed. He is not as hung up on measuring what goes into our bowls. He is more liberal with treats. [More as in he actually gives them out! Momma is stingy] And he does this special thing, we love that momma just thinks it's nuts. Daddy shaves our lamb slices very thinly like what you would find a gyro. Nooooo, he has never made himself a gyro with OUR lamb.... what would even make you think that??? BTW, we are just about out of Greek Yogurt momma..
And, yes, daddy has access to the raspberry sorbet. He does share.
Oh and at the height of any "discourse" momma pulls out the BIG GUN... you know... the "I am calling Robin!". Apparently that escalation indicates that momma is pulling rank. There is no more discourse. All that is left if for us to do is to walk daddy upstairs and snuggle him to death and provide him with refuge from the tyranny of ... the momma. We do that happily. He is OUR daddy and we love him to pieces.
casualty of the turf war
So, are you a Jet ?