03 ¬ Maybe I'm just like my father, too bold.
I'm not a fussy person. Well I don't think so. I can usually tolerate most things and if I don't like them then I ignore them or look the other way. I try to avoid conflict because it's messy and not worth wasting time over. But there is one thing that irks me to no end. Badly enough that I have to sit here and journal about it. I can't stand it when people question me as a parent. I try not to let magazines bother me or the media either. They attack everything and I am able to dismiss it . . -- but NOT this. They were critiquing Reese and I as parents. Does this person even had children? More than likely, no.
We do not drag Ava around. She does come before our work and that's never been questioned. Because I refuse to have babysitters unless in extreme situations in which case I stick to family, but even THEN I don't like it. I feel better knowing that Ava is under my or Reese's care. I don't want other people holding her or teaching her things. I want to be that person and because I would rather have her with me and work at the same time does not make me a bad father. If anything it's something I think most should be doing.
Why am I defending myself? This is lame and I'm stopping now.
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:: a fairly sleepy trudge into the hallway, brightened by the sunlight of the opposing living room window, she scrunched angelic features slightly, a tiny fist brought to rub one eye, and then falling. per usual, she had wooby lovingly grasped by the ears, but also there was a pink piece of paper, she had brought in with her. cheerios were on her mind, as she could hear a little commotion in the kitchen, letting her know that her parents were awake. material of her footed pajamas gliding for a moment's amusement across the hardwood of the kitchen floor, she offered a small smile, still too tired to muster much of anything else. and seeing her daddy sitting at the kitchen table, his reading glasses on and no doubt immersed in some reading, she strode up to him without saying a word. turning a bit towards a chair beside his own, she placed one hand at that polished surface, no doubt a struggle to get up. one material-encased leg lifting to set itself atop where that hand was, her attemtps were futile, and so she settled for simply handing over her present without sitting beside him. an outstretch of the pink bunny and pink paper, she smiled a little::
daddy . . fowers! here.
:: after giving it to him, she rubbed her eye again with wooby in her hand, and glanced to the side, looking for her mommy. bright blue eyes blinking slowly with each glance, she hugged the pink bunny to her chest, chin tilting downwards over its plush shape, and curled her toes a little against the colder panels of the wooden floor. ::
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