Forgive me reader, for I have sinned. It's been almost a month since my last blog confession.
I'll just jump right in. And it's going to be a bunch of random spew as these thoughts just stream from my head, so bare with me.
Side note. I've been hearing so much blah blah about the rise of the "mommy blog" lately that I guess tonight, Blogtobia becomes a daddy blog. A single working daddy blog from a daddy who busts his ass to spoil and take care of his little one.
Remember that word "spoil..."
I'm not a perfect father. I try pretty hard. I fail pretty hard, too, sometimes.
And I admit that I'm a pushover for my daughter.
I generally try very hard not to yell at her, a trait I think I get from my dad who only yelled when pushed or when we - the kids - pushed him to the point of yelling. I tend to believe my little one, and, yes, I know they can stretch the reality, and yes, I know they can say certain things which are designed to get "daddy" to do certain things.
In fact, Kyla's mom and I have discussed that we've probably spoiled her and that we need to get that in check pretty quickly before it starts to spiral out of control, and so we're working on that.
I'm not a disciplinarian, but I do expect the respect that I should get as a father. Generally I do get it. But there are times when Kyla moves at her own speed. She doesn't necessarily jump when I say to jump. She doesn't ask "how high..." I'm somewhat okay with that as long as what I've asked her to do gets done.
Tonight, the tussle was over the shower. She did a half-ass job washing her hair and she was called out on it. Kyla got defensive, I stepped in and said, let's go wash the hair, Kyla, and we did.
I love my daughter unconditionally. I think she loves me the same way.
Its hard to hear that someone you really like won't be coming back around, but I guess that's part of life.
It's even harder to see your little one tear up when they sorta realize the reality of the situation.
I wish life were perfect. I wish it came with an instruction manual. I wish parenting as a single dad was easier. I wish other people could have the patience which just comes as part of being a parent. But not everyone can. Nor should they. Not everyone is called to be a parent. And not everyone parents as liberally as I do.
I don't mind that she stays up a little late from time to time. Daddy gets home late from work anyway, so it's not really her fault, is it?
I guess I take the blame for all of it. Hopefully I'll learn for next time.
My boss would say to me to "keep it moving..."
And that's what I'm going to do.