Father's Day

 I love this picture of Adam:  carrying Mark's sweatshirt for him in a way that enables him to still hold two children's hands.

Last night we celebrated our dad around here.

Because he deserved it.

I made chicken tikka masala and bought Bundaberg Root Beer.  (Indian food with Australian root beer?  We're just international like that.)  Adam loves both of those things.

And I love Adam.

I could go on and on (and on) about what a good husband Adam is.  He is also a great father.

Whenever we are somewhere with two cars, our kids clamor to be the one to ride with Adam.  I wish I could let Braeden drive so I could be the one to ride with Adam.

(It's not because of the decrepit car Adam drives that we all want to ride with him, by the way.)

When we reach our destination, whoever is with Adam is engrossed in a conversation (often, but not always, about politics).  They reluctantly pull themselves out of the car and the conversation much like they pull themselves away from a Wii game they haven't saved.  They don't want it to end.  They walk away with a look on their faces that shows me they're mulling over the conversation.  Adam always gives them something to consider.  He listens to their views.  Then asks a lot of questions to make them really think.

I guess I can see why they'd rather ride with him.  I mostly listen to the radio.

Adam has a demanding job.  Most providers in a one income family do (and I admire them deeply).  Here's the thing about Adam though.  Despite pressures at work that give him around the clock work, the other night (after a scout court of honor he administered) he read several chapters of Percy Jackson and the Olympians to Mark.  Then he indulged me by watching a 1970's British sitcom with me.   After we were all in bed, he worked late into the night.

He's always been like that.

In graduate school (when he had a little homework) he'd first make time to take Braeden to the park, then spend time with me, then study.

(My children should be thanking me for marrying such a stellar father.)

This morning, observing the yet to be recycled root beer bottles, Mark said, "This was a waste to drink all the root beer."

I said, "What should we have done with it?  I bought it so we could drink it."

He said, "We should have saved it for a special occasion."

"It WAS a special occasion."

My charming son said, "Where's your evidence for that, young lady?"

"I DECIDED it was a special occasion."

He said, "Well, you are the mom, so I guess you're off the hook."

(You can imagine my relief.)