Resslin' Around

Welcome to the Maddie and Daddy Show

By Casey Ressler

The phone rang last Sunday night for the 43rd time in eight hours, so I didn't even have to answer it -- I knew who it was, and what she'd be asking.

"How are you guys doing?" my mom asked on the phone. "How's Maddie Clare doing?"

Maddie Clare is my 2-year-old daughter, and for the first time since she made her grand entrance into the world, Mom had to leave town. For five days, it was the Maddie and Daddy Show, which seemed to freak out just about everybody but Maddie and Daddy.

For weeks leading up to my wife's trip, everyone kept asking me if I needed any help, what was I going to do and so on, as if I had no idea what I was doing in the first place.

I reminded them that it wasn't like I was showing up and introducing myself to her for the first time -- "Hi, my name is Casey and I'll be your dad for the weekend." Four afternoons a week, Madison and I hang out until Mom gets home, so it's not like I'm not experienced. Still, the paranoia had set in.

My wife called every day. She said it was so she could talk to me and Maddie, but I think it was probably to see if I had burned the house down or if Maddie had Duct-taped me to the recliner so she could watch Rolie Polie Olie over and over.

"What did she have for dinner?" Tracy asked me on the first night.

"Rice and gravy and green beans," I told her. "Huh? I thought you'd be giving her nothing but M&Ms and chocolate pudding while I was gone. Ressler, are you lying to me?" was her questionable response. "I know how demanding she can be, and how easily you can be bullied by her."

Needless to say, the five days went smoothly, and the house is still standing. I learned a lot of things, however. Among them are: it is physically possible to survive on nothing but pizza for five consecutive days, with macaroni and cheese thrown into the mix twice to break up the monotony; 2-year-olds don't have an "off" switch, which they should; if you watch enough NHL playoff hockey with your 2-year-old, they can pick up cool phrases like "stack the pads," "kick save and a beauty" and "My God, Cechmanek, make the easy save and get the puck up the ice to Roenick and Amonte," but the last one is a bit of stretch; and 2-year-olds repeat everything, so keep swearing to a minimum while watching those playoff games, a lesson I learned about five games too late, evidently.

Finally, Mom came home Tuesday. When she walked into the living room, she expected her loving little daughter to come running into her arms shouting "I love you" and professing how much she missed her mommy.

Instead, she found me and Madison sitting on the recliner together, watching the Flyers/Maple Leafs game and yelling at the referee, who I explained to Madison lives in our television and most certainly hates our beloved Flyers.

"Hey, I'm home," my wife shouted as she walked into the room. And the response from Madison was a simple one. There wasn't a hello, an I love your or an I missed you.

"Where's my presents?" she asked -- and subsequently answered all the lingering doubt about how she'd do with dad alone for five days.

Casey Ressler (valleylife@frontiersman.com) is the Valley Life editor. He's going to invent an "off" switch for toddlers and promptly retire.