Daddy, make a picture

We’re going through a serious Daddy-love phase here at Casa Parmet. And of course, Daddy is just loving it. Never before (and sadly probably never again) has a member of the female species looked upon me with such love and devotion as do my daughters. And, of course, they have me wrapped around their fingers.

Yesterday L was standing in front of the couch in our living room - the very same couch she covered with magic marker scribbles - crying for a ball that rolled under. So I got down on hands and knees and found not one but three balls amidst the dust bunnies. So I found a broom stick and managed to knock out one ball without twisting my shoulder.

Not good enough. Not the ball she wanted.

So I dug a bit further and managed to get the second one out.

Still not the ball she wanted.

There was one more ball, all the way in the back, blocked by a mountain of dust and dog hair and spider web shmutz.

“Is that the ball you want?”

“Yesh.”

I knelt back down, got all the way flat on my stomach and reached. Still couldn’t reach it even with the broom stick.

“Are you sure?”

And then she gave me the ‘you’re Daddy, you can do ANYTHING’ look.

And of course I pulled out the couch far enough so I could walk back there and get the ball, which involved moving several other pieces of furniture.

“Thank you daddy…”

I am in such trouble when they learn to drive.

[Posted with ecto]