Father’s Day began as promised. A bowl of warm-ish oatmeal, blueberries, slivered almonds, cinnamon and a dollop of yogurt.
Daddy reviewed his selection of home-made crafts from the girls and fussed for just the right amount of time over each one, keeping the competition to a minimum and boosting each girl’s proud-cicle to the appropriate level.
We spent most of the day touring south western Ontario for various Father’s Day commitments and smiled when two of the three children finally fell asleep on the car ride home while car-seat baby, on a sleep-strike, perhaps for being left in her car-seat for so long today, gurgled and cooed out the window.
I would say the disastrous part of the day started when we rolled into our driveway and were forced to make the decision to wake the girls and bring them inside. It wasn’t so much forced as, is the law, but you really should listen when people tell you not to wake sleeping children.
We heard nothing but sobbing, complaining through tears about anything from a dolly’s shoe that wasn’t tied properly to, “I’m so tired I just want to lie on the kitchen floor and go to sleep.”
Our second mistake was making two sleep-walking girls have a bath. Again, it’s the law to clean your children on Father’s Day but the crying is only amplified over the running water.
I tried to calmly discuss the day with the girls while Daddy was booted out of the room for not being Mommy.
Hanna jumped out the minute her cleaning was complete and while I coaxed Ellie to come toward me to dry off, I dropped her towel in the tub. Shrieks of horror bellowed from the suds and she screeched, “Are you going to dry me with that towel?” How could I dry her with it? It was fully submerged in the water. “Are you going to dry me with Hanna’s towel?” as if she would immediately fall to the ground and crumble into tiny pieces if I did.
I couldn’t get them into bed fast enough, reminding them this was Daddy’s special day and that they had done a lovely job making their special gifts. They were happy. They were happy and quiet. At least, for twelve seconds until I heard sobbing.
Ellie dragging her teary, hunched over, half-asleep princess nightied body into the bathroom, reaching for a Kleenex, gasping for air shouts, “I need a KLEENEX!” Certainly not worth crying about but recognizing she’s over-tired, I acknowledged her.
“I NEED A KLEENEX BECAUSE I SHOVED MY BRACELET UP MY NOSE!!!”
Happy Father’s Day!!!!
