I don't know how he does it.
Westley has been a total little preschool punk this evening, and Rob is sitting with him, calmly reading one last bedtime story. He hasn't snapped or grumped or glared once. In fact, I think I've heard him lose his patience with Westley twice ever.
It's no wonder Westley is always clamoring for "Daddy-Westley Time." I'm often dis-invited from outings minutes before we go out the door because Westley wants Rob all to himself. They have special games together and toys that only the two of them play with. There is at least one song that only Rob is allowed to sing.
They don't have a secret handshake, but I'm sure that's next.
Westley still talks about things he and Daddy did together over a year ago. Nothing has the appeal of Daddy's computer, Daddy's car, Daddy's lap. Daddy possesses the arcane, mystical knowledge of superheroes and robots (and robot superheroes), and he's always up for a game involving one or more of them.
I would ask Rob what his secret is, but it might just be that he's rad. And his kid totally knows it.