It’s a two-fer! I have defeated writer’s block for at least a day or two.
Today is Father’s Day. I will admit that I did not buy my father a gift, nor did the kids put together a handmade card or anything of that sort. I spent time with him today and shared caramel rolls with him and my sister made him a badass rhubarb torte. Not that Dad wants or needs gifts. He spent his weekend remodeling our bathroom, which I thought was rather generous on a weekend devoted to relaxation for dads, but I think it’s well understood that when his body is falling apart someday that he’s got a promise from his girls to take care of him in his old age.
As for the Daddy in our house…..I started talking to Hillary about Father’s Day a couple of weeks ago. It took her all of 2 minutes to come up with an entire agenda for Daddy and not all of it self-serving on her part.
This is how it went down – exactly as planned.
Okay, so after that I forgot my camera for the rest of the stuff we did. Hillary wanted to take Daddy to the food court in the mall for lunch. She had actually first suggested Mcdonalds with the big play area, and I said NO! So she settled for the slightly more hygienic dinosaur play area at the mall. And then at the last minute decided she’d rather go the park after lunch but still wanted to eat at the mall. So we ran with that.
We spent quite awhile at Lindenwood Park this afternoon playing on the giant play structure there. Perhaps not related to Father’s Day at all, but I have heard several accounts of a popular new(ish) book about the French parenting style and how Americans are doing it all wrong. French people sit on park benches while their kids play and let them “figure stuff out” themselves, which apparently somehow translates into becoming a better human being in the end. Today, I saw almost no people sitting on park benches, true to this book’s crazy allegations about Americans. Parents were everywhere all around the giant play structure. But what I saw didn’t seem crazy to me. They were interacting with the kids, chasing them, playing with them, encouraging them in some cases (ours). If that kind of American behavior is what’s wrong with this world than I don’t want to be right. Granted, I didn’t read the book about the French parents, just heard a couple of anecdotal pieces from the book, so maybe I’m missing the point. But I rather enjoy the constant interaction I have with my kids.
The day was prettymuch wrapped up after the park. Sunday nights are crazy at our house. By the time we get everyone fed and bathed, get toys picked up, clean off the kitchen counter, put away clothes and all the usual bedtime stuff, there is little time to relax. It’s more like crash and burn. Maris prettymuch walked herself to bed and Hillary fell asleep on the living room floor until I tried to take her picture.
But I do know that these girls have one amazing dad.