It’s Father’s Day and as any good wife, I promptly made my escape for my morning run and left the husband with a well deserved opportunity for some quality time with his three angels. My cheeky little grin as I donned my headphones and yet again pinched his shades and sang out a sweet sounding ‘have fun’, followed by a little chuckle was met by a squint eyed scowl. Because lets, face it, I’d basically abandoned him to breakfast time with the kids. Which basically means 40 minutes of ‘what do you want for breakfast’ on repeat, whilst stopping the Kid from eating a dead fly and physically separating the Girl from the First Born. All whilst quietly crying on the inside for the need of coffee. Only to spend the remainder of the morning picking up coco pops from, well, everywhere, including random ones found the the Kid’s wellies 2 hours later.
That said I did spend my morning run thinking of a kick ass post to dedicate to this lovely man. Because whilst I go on and on (and on) about all the shit I do around this place, whilst I like to repeatably hint at how awesome my multi-tasking juggling skills are and my moaning about housework knows no end. I also know that Dad’s are pretty cool too (especially this one).
OK, so maybe he can’t cook a five star meal without completely destroying the kitchen. Perhaps he can’t manage two loads of washing whilst refereeing 14 highly intense arguments between the kids, all while balancing the worlds largest Martini in one hand and neatly folding the washing with the other. But I know that if the internet goes down or my work is lost and I stupidly hadn’t hit save for the past hour, or even if my car just needs fuel and I can’t leave the house because I’m chained to the kitchen sink washing a endless amount of sports bottles. This Dad’s got it, he’ll fix it, he’ll turn it off and on and he’ll even pop to the garage to fill up the car (and bring home an endless supply of M&Ms). You see, that’s just how he rolls.
Whilst I might stress about the fact that the washing basket never seems to empty or that the kids can’t eat crisps in a non-caveman like way. Whilst I will watch the clock and huff and puff that I have to start cooking or cleaning or changing bedding or the washing machine (my real master) beep – beep – beeps just as I sit down. Whilst I might shout at everyone because work was just too stressful this week and every week before it. When shit breaks, when we run out of bread, when we need coal or the grass is due a cut. When the tortoise stinks or there’s a spider that is just to big for Mum’s nerves or when I can no longer function, see, breath or stand during hay-fever season, I know he’s got that shit.
So, I hope he knows when I moan, about shoes, sinks and random placed drones. When I point out every single day, all the shit he needs to move and put way. When I sound like a broken record, because I feel so ignored and when he’s too slow to move his washing from weeks ago. When I fall over his work boots and he wants to put me on mute or when I huff and I puff because I’ve just had enough. When I call for a moan and he holds in his groan and when he knows that I just can’t go on. When he is covered in grass and my nose is harassed and he heads to the shower before I’ve even asked. I hope he can see when that me and these three all miss him when he’s can’t get home for tea. That they miss their old man, you see, we’re his number one fan and I might even like him more than….a cuppa tea.
