Father's Daze

Today marks the sixth Father's Day that I can rightfully celebrate as one who is being honored.  My dear wife, Lois (names have been changed, if you haven't already figured that out), is always very good about making Father's Day extra special for me.  One year we had grilled steaks topped with an amazing herb butter.  Another year she made brownies with caramel in the middle.  How does she get the caramel in there?  It's a mystery, but I'm telling you now that there is nothing better than those brownies.  If you told me you had perfected time travel, I'd say that these brownies are better.  Then I'd take your time machine and -- what?  I've used that line before?  Well am I the author of this thing or not?  Am I not allowed to plagiarize myself?  Fine, let's just say that Lois is always good about making me feel like a king on Father's Day (and Michelangelo, these brownies are better than you!).  

This year Lois had a great idea.  She, her mom, two sisters, and her brother's wife cooked up a doozie of a plan.  This morning after a hearty Father's Day breakfast, Lois left for the airport and headed out to meet them all in San Francisco for a few days of mother-daughter girlie time, leaving the husbands to their own devices.  And in my case, not only to my own devices, but to those of  two boys, aged 6 and 2.  A two-year-old who is almost, but not quite, potty trained.  I say almost... but not quite.  This year I will truly learn to appreciate what it really means to be a father.  Priceless.  

I'm not like most husbands who would brag about being able to do everything their wife does, and perhaps even do it better.  I harbor no such illusions.  I am fully aware that Buzz and Rocky, allied together, will be my superiors in nearly every way for the 4.3 days their mother will be gone.  Meals will be unbalanced with extra emphasis placed on gummy bears and other gummy-based foods.  Clothing will be left to languish on the floor along with unfinished puzzles, the ruins of building-block cities, and the aftermath of violent and bloody Playmobil wars.  Dishes will be done promptly after every meal (What?  We're not complete barbarians.).  And oh, the potty training, the POTTY TRAINING...I do not wish to think on this just now.  

Okay, perhaps I am exaggerating just a bit.  Violence, tantrums and public urination are not new to me.  I do work in human resources, after all.  

Seriously though, this will be a fun time.  Most fathers will have to settle for their breakfast in bed, Hallmark cards, and phone calls.  Or from the slacker children, text messages.  But as for me, the boys and I have planned all sorts of fun things to do.  Among other things, these plans involve dinosaurs, pirates, dirt, sprinklers, and whipped cream administered aerosol-ily.

Check back here for updates describing our daily adventures.  I'm certain there will be plenty of hi-jinks, shenanigans, and maybe even a lark or two.  Wish me luck.  

Oh, and Dad, I am dedicating this blog post to you in honor of Father's Day.  This is in lieu of my usual text message, acknowledging your contribution to my existence.  Thanks for those 23 chromosomes you gave me.  Especially that Y one.  Happy Father's Day!