father's day

 This is a week late, yes, but the girls' complete adoration of their father must be documented.

We had been planning Father's Day for weeks (at Junie's insistence). Though we intended our plans to be a secret, Junie spilled the beans dozens of times over: pieces of paper with Junie's writing on them littered our floor and kept reappearing as fast as I could dispose of them in the recycling bin:

father's day

breakfast (bacon)

pajamas

dinner (ribs)

We made the pajama pants - I use the word "we" legitimately: the girls helped cut them out and sew them. I stayed up much too late putting the finishing touches on them. And then I woke up late on Sunday morning. I knew the girls would find cold cereal an inexcusable breakfast for such an occasion, so I hurriedly began putting together a Dutch Baby. Emerging groggily from her room, Junie was still coherent enough to instantly gather that something was amiss: "Mom, I thought we agreed upon bacon!" Well put, Junie.

The rest of the day came off according to plan, with the addition of a hilarious booklet completed by each of the girls in primary:

 Junie's Book:

 

 

 Olive's Book:

Olive is the taller one with the curly hair.

Their explanations of Cody's job - to make money (to pay the people who live on top of our house*, as Olive explains) seem to trivialize the significance of Cody's profession, carefully chosen in an attempt to make service a part of his everyday life. But it is the explanation we give when they demand to know why Dad has to leave every day.

Cody, pulling off bedtime solo this past Friday and Saturday, sang Olive's bedtime songs in my absentia. Olive is in a "Leatherwing Bat" and "Pony Man" phase lately, probably because they are the bedtime songs I grew up with and can mindlessly rattle off at the end of a long day. Cody, who regularly makes up songs (with lyrics that rhyme, no less) at the girls' bequest, sang both songs to Olive with some poetic license. After listening patiently, she said, "Dad, you're not good at Leatherwing Bat or Pony Man, but you're still the best daddy in the world."

And so he is. After a long day at work, he musters up enough energy on the drive home to be fully engaged when he walks in the door. He obligingly throws the girls "out the window", swinging them around to their delight. He tries to remember back to what it felt like to be a kid, then uses that insight to help our kids make it through long car trips or a few consecutive hours indoors. He makes up stories and songs at the girls' every whim.

Happy Father's Day, best Daddy in the world.

*our landlords live on the second story of the house we rent