I was resentful. I was desperate. So I did the most rational thing: l urged my husband to somehow be less awesome.

M

y husband is the cool parent and I am jealous.

I’m cool too, you know. I leave love notes in our kids’ backpacks and I buy the brand potato chip they like; Lays, if you must know. I make potatoes lump-free and bake their favorite chocolate cake. I remember birthdays, plan elaborate parties, I buy games and I buy toys. And what do I get for all that? A mumbled thank you, and if I’m lucky, a peck on my cheek.

But my husband? He doesn’t buy anything. He doesn’t do anything. He just bounces in at six p.m. and immediately the kids are all over him. Even the baby who can’t rub her pudgy nose yet, waves and kicks her chubby feet.

Now don’t get me wrong, having alone time at six p.m. is awesome. But still, I wish my kids would look at me the same way. Or at the very least, on the rare occasion Daddy babysits they would yell “Mommyyyyy!” when I come home, like they do “Daadddyyy!!!!”

But they don’t, and I put up with it, because, well, what am I supposed to do? Bribe them with a pajama-clad, school-free month?

One day though, this absolute deify became too much. The kids suggested I stay behind with the baby while they go out for ice cream, and that was it. I had had enough. Out came the hip chevron journal and pen. Collecting data, that was the game plan.

Buying five doughnuts when we needed three? Gotcha! Bathing the kids with just soap? Duly noted. Wait, just soap? Ditch the shampoo? Really??

Over the next few days, I observed, wrote, and sighed. Here’s what I learned: He gives piggy back rides my petite body got charley horse watching; he bounces them up and down with an exuberance I would have to be seriously coffee-drugged to simulate; he has rights to incredible climbing territory; he needs to go on a diet. He is big and joyful and loud. Sparkly Daddy, that’s what he is.

What made it even worse? He wasn’t all that perfect. I saw him looking through his phone several times while he was supposed to be listening to my son. Sure, my son can put a filibuster to shame, but I hide my phone from myself to keep me from peeking and my husband is the one who gets to hear about his friend’s new diet?

Okay, I’ll pass on this one, but the gall of my son, talking to a Daddy who wasn’t even listening about how stupid a diet is because soon enough we won’t even eat at all ‘cause there will be an i-wire down our throat that will take care of all that calories and whatnot.

I was resentful. I was desperate. So I did the most rational thing: l urged my husband to somehow be less awesome. He laughed.