This weekend is Fathers’ Day, so today we bring you a special daddy edition.

There’s something about fathers that make them so special. Mommies are good for nap times and fixing snacks but when daddy is around, it’s all about piggyback rides and wrestling and fun outings.

And why is it that daddy’s approval seems to be worth a lot more? I’m always telling the kids that they did a great job and momma’s so proud of them and they’re like “Sure, mom, whatever.” But when daddy says the same thing, they’re look all pleased with themselves.

Although, I can’t really blame them because growing up, I thought my dad was the smartest, strongest, coolest person in the universe. He was more awesome than Superman and Batman and the Hulk all rolled into one. When I got pushed around by other kids, my trump card was to yell out “I’ll ask my daddy to whip your ass“. And I really believed it. In fact, I was also certain that my daddy could whip the other kid’s daddy’s ass too. I never got around to witnessing it, mostly because the other kid would usually shut up or leave me alone after that.

I have a feeling my kids feel the same way.

Case in point: baby girl. Kirsten is a classic daddy’s girl through and through. She’s totally biased and I KNOW YOUR DADDY IS SO SPECIAL BUT YOU DON’T HAVE TO RUB IT IN. Even though she’s capable of calling mama (she does it when the stars align), her favorite word is dada. No prizes for guessing who she’s referring to. As I was changing her diaper today, I tried my luck again.

Me: Say mama, baby girl. MA-MA

Kirsten: Dada

Me: No, MA-MA

Kirsten: DADA

Me: You’re rubbing it in, aren’t you?

Kirsten: DADA, DADA, DADAAAAA *claps her hands to emphasize her point*

Me: Dada is at work. You’re stuck with me.

I can just see it. One of these days, she’s going to climb onto the husband’s lap, gaze into his eyes and say “When I grow up, I’m going to marry a boy that is just like you, daddy“, and the husband’s heart will instantly melt into putty and he will buy her anything she wants, including every single piece of that ridiculously exorbitant Sylvanian Families dollhouse set.

Tru is less obvious because there’s that alpha male vibe going on but I bet he secretly wants to be just like daddy when he grows up. The way he looks at daddy is so different from the way he looks at me, like he’s observing everything daddy does intently. Then next thing I know, he’s doing the exact same thing.

He’s got this tool box set that looks like a briefcase and from time to time, he arranges his toy cars inside neatly, gives me a kiss and announces, “Bye mommy, Truett go work.”

Most of his minor boo boos are easily solved by momma but the really serious ones, we have to bring out the big guns – daddy’s giant biceps. They are strangely effective in making them feel better. It’s either that or daddy’s masculine smell that’s the secret. Whatever the case, it works and that’s good enough for me.

Typically, Fathers’ Day comes with less hype and fanfare as compared to Mothers’ Day. I’m guessing that’s because us mothers are very protective of our turf when it comes to the kids and also, most fathers are happy to take a backseat because there are more pressing matters to attend to, like killing zombies and watching soccer.

While I agree that dads are less inclined to be maternal (they’ve got less of those soft bits that are oh-so-comfortable for babies), they’re no less important to a kid’s growth and development. They add that little extra – the stability, security and giant biceps. Of course it helps that daddy can change a diaper in 30 seconds flat and hold the fort while I go out for a shopping spree.

In short, Happy Fathers’ Day, sweetheart. You rock my world too.

Good cop, bad cop is a strategy we use all the time in disciplining the kids. From the onset, we agreed that we’ll rotate the roles so that it’s fair and we both get to be the good cop at some point. Because nobody wants to be the bad cop. Besides sociopaths, that is. Or masochists with a sadistic streak. But well, neither of us fall into those categories.

Unfortunately, it’s becoming quite apparent that daddy is emerging as the resident bad cop. Why? Because mommy has no backbone and she can’t keep a straight face when it comes to discipline. Also, it’s terribly weird to talk about myself in the third person.

The kids seem to sense that weakness and they have been exploiting it. They do their cute I’m-so-sorry-didn’t-mean-to-do-it move and I feel bad about being upset because they’re obviously just babies and innocent and all puppy dog eyes looking at me. That makes me immediately forget about how they spat out food all over the floor 30 seconds ago. WHILE I’M STILL STANDING IN THE SPITTLE. I’m such a cliche.

So now whenever we do good cop bad cop, Kelvin gets to be the bad cop while I dangle bribes of ice-cream and Yakult. It never works though and I don’t even know why I bother.

Me: Tru, if you finish your food mommy will let you have a scoop of ice-cream.

Tru: ICE-CREAM!!! GIVE ME ICE-CREAM! GIVE ME GIVE ME!!

Me: I meant you have to FINISH your food first.

Tru: I’m all done. Give me ice-cream!!!

Me: No, you’re not done. You can’t be done if you haven’t even started.

Tru: ICE CREAM!!!!

That goes on for a while until he grabs his head and slumps onto the table, which is his sign for “I don’t care about your stupid ice-cream anyway. It’s not worth having to swallow this broccoli for.”

That’s me wasting 15 minutes of my life trying to bargain with a two-year-old.

So it’s the cue for bad cop to step in.

Kelvin: Tru, open your mouth, say ahhhhh.

Tru: No, don’t like.

Kelvin: Do you like the naughty corner?

Tru: No, don’t like.

Kelvin: I’m going to count to three and if you don’t eat by the time I get to 3, you know where you’re going to. 1…2…

And it works like a charm. Once in a while he tries his luck and ends up in the naughty corner. Daddy says it’s about consistency, which I have none of. I keep trying to find excuses to cut him some slack, to not have to put him in the naughty corner because it breaks momma’s tender little heart to see him cry.

If this goes on I’ll be the kind of mother that has to leave the discipline to their husbands and the best they can do is pull out their killer phrase “wait till daddy gets home” whenever the kids start becoming bratty. But that won’t work very well for me because by the time daddy gets home, I’ll have a VERY LONG list of things, some of which I’m likely to forget.

I think I better start lessons on being a bad cop before Kirsten gets smarter and I get eaten alive by TWO kids with innocent baby eyes.

Daddy’s been home these two weeks, the longest break he’s had since he started work. I heart having daddy around at home, he does all the manly stuff like cleaning poop and yelling at the kids while I sleep in. In case you missed that, I actually said sleep in. That’s like the Holy Grail of motherhood. And you would think that it’s going to feel overrated after you have it but oh no, it. is. good.

I can really get used to this, not having to do everything on my own. A 2:2 (two-parent to two-kid) ratio is so much easier because we can divide and conquer. One to hold the fort while the other takes five.

I’ve also noticed that the kids are closer to Kel whenever he’s at home. Tru asks for daddy all the time and he shouts for “dad-dyyyyy” in that sweet baby voice, which is a relief because I can escape diaper changes but I’m also bummed about being displaced as his favorite person.

I know boys need a strong, masculine presence to give them security and all but I miss that special look he used to give me like I’m everything he needs. Now everything is morphing into something once in a while and soon it’ll be “mommmm, don’t kiss me in public anymore, it’s WEIRD and EMBARRASSING!”

I hate to break it to you, kid, but momma’s going to kiss you till you’re 65. Maybe not all over because that would be weird. But kiss you, I will.

We’re all going to be a little sad when daddy goes back to work next week. Tru’s going to throw a hissy fit when I have to tell him that “daddy’s at work, sweetheart”. Baby girl will look all forlorn again. Momma will cry a little and maybe dust under the sink for a place to hide.

But we’ve got three days left, right about the time where you start to feel the blues sinking in. The last few days of any holiday are always bittersweet because at the back of your mind, you’ll always be thinking about how it’s going to suck after. That’s why the last three days of our honeymoon was spent in Disneyland so we wouldn’t have time to sit around and mope.

Three more days and I’m going to par-ty like it’s 1999. We’ve got Kirsten’s baby dedication and a wedding coming up so it’s going to be fun. Hopefully we’ll have some good pics for you guys. Here’s one first, for the record.

Mothers get all the fun baby accessories. You have the awesome but also feminine-looking beco baby-carrier, Kate Spade diaperbags, the Medela Twin Turbo Breast pumps, to name a few.

Daddies basically carry around the aforementioned which is totally inergonomical and ill-fitting to our muscular frame *flex*.

Despondent by the lack of customised accessories and crackpot gizmos for the new father, I have spent the past year and a half working closely with Deuter to come up with the ultimate bag for dads that is called – wait for it - the BagDad.

In spite of the apparent misnomer it is well known that Iraqis do not make anything besides chemical bombs so I’m not too concerned about the implications here.

The Bagdad is a ground-breaking, cutting edge piece of technology that blends the best of military, motorbiking and culinary equipment.

The Bagdad

1. Milk Distillation/Hydration System

The man-boob debuted in 2004′s Meet the Fockers but the past six years have seen tremendous strides taken in the field of perfecting what is now commonly known as the “milk moob”.

The Bagdad’s milk moob involves a complex liposuction system that basically breaks down the fats of the carrier in yet another complex process similar to that of a woman expressing milk. Without going into the technical details, fathers can now lose anywhere between 10-25 kg wearing the Bagdad and also feed the baby for somewhere between 18 months to a year.

2. Helmet

A child’s mind is his most valuable possession. This helmet has a built-in audio system that will loop the theme song from Special Agent OSO as studies have proven that too much Sesame Street increases the intelligence of a person disconsolately. It was King Solomon who said that ”too much study wearies the mind” and I totally concur.

3.  Tantrum Stabilizing

This is for strapping the baby’s arms together similar to that of a mental patient in a straight jacket. Best used with the Contoured and Removable Hip Belt with Gear Loops (See below).

4. Food Channelling Sternum Strap

Older babies will move towards consuming solids like crushed oreos with melted butter or shredded lard deep fried in olive oil (cos its *healthier* that way). The food channelling sternum strap feeds your little twinkie baby from an interior storage compartment that maintains it at an optimum temperature to maintain a thin crisp,especially for the shredded lard.

5. Contoured Shoulder Straps for Baby’s buttocks.

There are times when you absolutely need to hoist your baby high up in the air; for example when you’re clubbing and there’s a hovering cloud of smoke just about face-height or when you get caught spitting gum onto the ceiling. It’s self-explanatory, really.

6. Poop Suction (the Deuter Alpine System).

The irritating thing about kids is that they do their business as and when they feel like it. By purchasing the S-plug or the Splug (sold seperately at $39.90) to connect your child to the Poop Suction or as the fancy-pants suit at Deuter insists I call it, the Deuter Alpine System, you no longer have to worry about diaper changes or wet-wipe warmers.

7. Contoured and Removable Hip Belt with Gear Loops.

I’m a firm believer that every child needs to be disciplined. Inspired by Mel Gibsons’s the Passion of the Christ, The Contoured and Removable Hip Belt with Gear Loops will ensure a memorable and life-transforming disciplinary session for your child. You can also customise it by purchasing Barb Hooks with Heatable tips at $9.99 or simply purchase a Whip Extension at $4.99 to give you that extra dimension (and length) for that escaping baby.

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To purchase Bagdad, visit www.deuter.com.

Key in [Motherinc] as the promo code for a 20% discount.

Parenting requires a lot of resolve. Which is why parents, of all people, should make resolutions. (resolve – resolutions – root word, geddit?)  Your approach may mean the difference between your child becoming a Hitler or a Ben Tennyson.

Here are my resolutions for 2010.

1. Must not refer to myself as Superdad.

Seriously guys, I’m totally overrated. I change a few diapers, take a couple of feeds and I get a prefix that implies overriding awesomeness and infinite ability? To me, a Superdad is someone who brings home the bacon – in a vehicle like this.

Honey, I'm home.

2. Must stop calling wife “retard” and “moron” (and vice versa – not in the sense of “must stop calling retards and morons ‘wife’”, but as in Daf should also stop calling me names, ah, you did get it the first time).

This started waaaaaay back in when we were first dating and we attended this “terms of endearment” course in school, the lecturer was going on about semantics,  semiotics and how 80% of  all communication is non-verbal. Which was to say you could call your honey-pumpkin “Nazi Puppy” if you say it in the most awshucks, sweety-pie-sixteen voice and STILL could make her goosebumps stand. You got to try it to believe it.

So in a totally non-derogatory sense we have been calling each other “hey moron“, “what’s up, retard” for years and people around us are so used to it, they think our marriage is on the rocks otherwise “Did you call her ‘sweetheart??’ Are you guys quarreling again?” Plus it *helps* put people at ease when they’re doing projects with us.

[Sidenote: Daf and I pulled of this awesome scam a few years back. We were introduced through a friend of ours to this lady and for some reason she immediately assumed we were siblings (as apparently, we both look alike, fair enough). This went on for almost a year and every single time this lady bumped into us she would go "Hey, why are you guys always together? You're giving people the wrong idea, how to find girl friend and boyfriend, like that?"

We were having a meal one day with a bunch of friends and she couldn't help but to remark again on our perpetual proximity to one another until a bewildered mutual friend went "What the hell are you talking about, they've been together for 4 years!"

Total awesomeness.]

Thing is Truett has been a sponge of late and taken to calling Daf “baaaaaaabbbbbeee” in the way i call her when she’s across the room/hallway/hawker centre from a distance.  It’s only a matter of time – if we don’t stop – he’s gonna calling his friends mentally-handicapped individuals in the un-PC way.  If people ask, I’ll say something along the lines of how the nurses at Mt A thought he had failed the Oscar test and mentioned it to him repeatedly when he was under phototherapy. Poor boy.

3.  Must stop grinning and nodding approvingly when child does something awesome (but dangerous).

I’m a firm believer that parents should always think their kids are the most awesome (I know, i overuse the word. It’s an “honorable mention” sort of resolution to cut down on it) creatures to have roamed the earth, the finest species of mankind ever produced and vastly superior to all other children be it red or yellow black and white.

But when Tru attempts to fling himself off a 2m high platform and lands immaculately with a shoulder roll (that’s *how* parachutists do it, mate), one must not get carried away with thoughts of son being the incarnate of Maximus Decimus Meridius and do celebratory chariot race around the playground with him on piggy back.

That is because he may actually get injured or worse, die, although I do think its more important that what you do in life echoes in eternity!!

4. Must not play Winning Eleven/Football Manager/FIFA and leave kids unattended.

When you become a parent, you basically surrender all rights to personal rest and recreation. No afternoon naps, no late mornings, no movies, no GAMING.

So on the off-chance I get presented with the opportunity to cradle a Playstation 3 controller in the bosom of my fatherly being (ok, yucky expression), i unleash the repressed desires of my sub-thirty-year-old consciousness to get my GAME ON.

This happens on the weekly visit to Mother-in-law’s house, because Brother-in-law (BIL), despite being only a year younger, is very much single, certainly kidless, free from the shackles of feeds and woggly baby legs. As such his status enables him to be the proud owner of the holy trinity of gaming consoles – the PS3, the XBOX 360 and the Nintendo Wii.

The ideal is when everybody is around i.e.  the adult to baby ratio readjusted to a favourable 5:2 whereby I get to play reasonably undisturbed. The problem only arises in a 2:2 ratio where it becomes a rather iffy situation if the 2 adults are in question BIL  (player 1) and “superdad” a.k.a player 2.

BIL has a rather nifty stereo system hooked up to the gaming “altar” so it drowns out the sound of screaming kids in the adjacent room, not that I *ever* did that. I’m just saying it y’all.

5. Must not buy toys that promote either 300 B.C or 2010A.D violence.

It started off innocuously with two water pistols which i thought would be handy in giving me some added range for taking down those pesky ceiling lizards. However it also marked the introduction of “pulling the trigger”, “aiming”, and “shooting to KILL” to a nineteen-month old boy.

A visit to a friend’s house not too long after became the initiation to swords, then maces then death-by-steamrolling and finally, chainsaws. I’m not even joking about the use of chainsaws; without going into the details it was a game of “doctor” gone wrong – horribly wrong.

Therefore, Truett and Kirsten will play with cuddly bears, petite trucks and vegetarian dinosaurs at most.  That way they may secure a job in the United Nations or Green Peace. And we all know how important the United Nations are.

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So that’s my list of parenting resolutions. Feel free to be inspired. You’re welcome.