Father’s Day

Father’s Day has been a tough day for me as long as I can remember.  Without getting into details, I can simply say that my childhood could have been better.  The positive side of that declaration — and what led to it —  is that I learned early what I would and wouldn’t want to do as a parent.  Or really, just as a family member.  And I think that my children will be able to serve as proof that my priorities were at least in the right place.  I may not have it all down to a science, but they’re tops in my books and always will be.

This leads me to the current father in my life — my husband.  He loves our children to no end.  He may never be on time to anything in all of his days, but they’ll always know that they’re loved.  (And they’ll learn — just as I have — to lie to him about what time he needs to be somewhere in order to get there as close to on-time as possible.)  He may drive me crazy as he feeds them food that is not on my approved list, but they will always know that they’re loved.  (And I just hope that my being there 99.9% of the time to keep the Pop Tarts at bay will overrider the moments that I’m not.)  And he may — in the way men with Lumbering Oaf Syndrome (LOS) do — knock down and break things on a daily basis, but our children will always know that they are loved.  (They may just keep their prized possessions in places he’s not able to get to.  If they’re smart about life they will anyway.)

Yesterday, at the end of a very busy and hard day of work, I snapped this shot of my husband and two of our kids. I think it says everything that needs to be said.  This is what our home often looks like.  The intertwining of happy little limbs and heartbeats at the end of a long day.