A lot of times mothers get most of the credit when it comes to raising children and cultivating the family life. But I think there is something oh-so-special about daddies, and they definitely deserve their own holiday. I especially like to recognize this special day for the father of my children, a man my boys love and cherish and adore.
Most mornings when I go into Spencer's room, he'll ask where his daddy is, even though he knows he's at work. Then we go through the spiel about what day it is and list the days daddy does and does not work. When Dave returns from work, they excitedly run to the door, bombarding him with their hugs and squeals and excitement. I often hand them over to him eagerly, grateful for a few moments of peace, and then eavesdrop on their conversations. Indeed, there is something oh-so-special about daddies.
This Father's Day we celebrated at a semi-fancy restaurant, where we were lucky to squeeze into the only available table in the packed dining room, and proceeded to wait an eternity for our food. We always wonder why we torture ourselves just so we can pretend to be the kind of adults who can still patronize such establishments. Who are we kidding, though? Pizza Hut really is more our speed these days. Still, the boys did surprisingly well. We rewarded them with a piddly glance at the Mississippi River at a distance, through a fence and over the railroad tracks.
Happy Father's Day, David. Thank you for being the best daddy to my two little boys. They truly are blessed.
I was struggling with a homemade gift idea. I already knew I was going to buy the man a new pair of skinnier, better fitting jeans to replace his baggy, saggy butt ones he adores so much. But I love giving something homemade when possible. Then my friend sent me this link, and I knew it was perfect. I tweaked it a bit, and here's what I came up with. (I left room on the bottom for a third hand print for some future baby far into the future.) The boys proudly gave it to him on Sunday.