Play

I am all shades of feeling bad tonight.

We were eating lunch (well, I was cutting up food for M, pouring milks, refilling plates), and Z asked, "When is Papa coming home?"

I thought maybe he wanted to work on the clubhouse with K and I wanted to let him know it'd have to be after his quiet time. "After your quiet time. Why?"

"Well, I just like him better." (Fork through heart)

Of course, that begs the question, "How come?", which was answered with a "He plays with us more."

And I just didn't respond. And I really don't think he was trying to make me feel bad. He said it all matter-of-fact. Like he was saying just any old fact; like the table was brown. Or B picks his nose and eats it. Or balls are round.

"I just like him better..."

And it kills me, because I feel like I do play with them. I just played Simon Says and read piles of books with them. But I also did the laundry, changed and fed M, cleaned up breakfast, made beds, and planned my menu for the week.

I know that I don't play with my kids as much as K does. He works at work.

I work at home.

I have way more stuff to do at home than he does. He has time to play with the kids when he is home, because he is actually DONE working. I still have laundry and dishes and bills and phone calls to make.

I know I shouldn't take it personally. That's dumb. But still..."I like him better?!" Sheesh. Punk.