My ode to Father’s Day

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My ode to Father’s Day.  That day that children and moms across America come together to honor the man that already gets away with a lot of shit.  I love my husband.   He is a great man.   He is loving, he works hard, and he sacrifices so his kids don’t have to.  But he also gets to nap.  Like at the drop of a hat.  In any chair in the house.  Without making sure the little ones are sleeping first.

He also gets to leave the house without getting said children ready.  He can literally be napping, wake up, and the kids are miraculously dressed and ready to go.  It’s a freaking miracle.  Almost like somebody else is putting in all the dirty work.

He gives the kid’s baths.  I wash their hair and bodies and he gets to help them out of the bathtub and dry them off while I mop up the bathwater that is all over the floor.  He gets all the fun stuff.   He helps with dinner, but doesn’t set the table.  He never clears his plate from the table and I can count on one hand how many times he has done dishes.

He can get a shower and go to bed anytime he wants.  He can play video games for up to 10 minutes without interruption.  He gets to wake up and enjoy the quiet of a house full of sleeping children.  I am not bitching. I am just stating facts here.

Do you know what else he gets to do?  He gets to work 10+ hours a day no matter what the weather or holiday.  He misses out on school events and family functions because he is working to provide for us.  He has to depend on us to make sure that the yard is mowed, the cars are serviced, and the drains are unplugged because he is not home to do it.   He will start his day before the sun rises and everybody is asleep and on some nights he comes after the sun has set and everybody is asleep.

He will wear old boots because he doesn’t want to spend the money on himself.  He will take leftovers to work for lunch and eat leftovers for dinner.  He will eat in a tractor, in a farm shed, in a truck without the luxury of going out to lunch or even a cold drink.

And he does all this because he wants to make sure we have everything we need.   He works outside when it is 95 degrees in the shade and works outside when it is -10 degrees in the sun.   If it is pouring down rain, he is working on farm equipment.  If it is nice outside, he is in the fields.   If it is in the middle of spring, summer or fall he is at work when we are playing.   He can take vacation in the winter as long as the work is all caught up at the farm.

He gets to hear second hand about what his kids have been up to and what they have accomplished.  He gets to be a bystander to the little moments: #7 going potty like a big boy, #6 losing her 2nd front tooth, #5 bringing home a bunny, #4 taking his first behind the wheel spin, #3 picking out his prom tuxedo, #2 dropping by to visit before work and #1 moving into her first house.   He missed these not by choice but because he was doing what he has to.

He dries tears, his own and theirs and mine, and he tries to make the most of the time he has at home.  He is not perfect.  He will become impatient.  He will be grouchy and cranky because he is tired but refuses to go to bed.  He will not want to go anywhere on a rare day off because he only wants to be home.

So, Happy Father’s Day to the man who has blessed me with my children, helped me make our house a home, and naps at the drop of a hat.  I couldn’t do it without you, wouldn’t want to do it without you, and love you.  You are the best!

 

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