father's day

This is the man who brings our babies home from the hospital.

Who lovingly holds them in just the right way so that as newborns they fall into the deepest of sleeps and then who sleeps right along with them because I'm convinced that he knew right from the start that the time spent holding them is more important than the dishes and tidying up and all of those other things that really can wait.

Before we were married, way back in the carefree days of college we talked about the things our future might hold. We dreamt of our babies we might one day have. We listed off names we'd call them.

And then the magic happened to us. We watched, huddled together as the little plus sign appeared on a test stick in our guest bathroom of our first house on Rocksbury. Before Henry was even born and all we had was that little plus sign and the grainy black and white pictures that showed him growing in my belly, before we ever held him, I just knew that Patrick would be this amazing father to our children.

And he is.

He is this amazing calm father to our boys. He knows just how to cure a bloody lip with ice and paper towels and how to cure an attitude with the right dose of humor. He is patient. At the times when my patience is worn very thin, his stretches and covers for my lack thereof. It's enough at those times for both of us. For me to be silent and let him clean up the spilled antibiotic white mess of liquid covering the kitchen floor and William's ankles.

There are times that I stop and watch. I have stayed inside to do the dishes, but now I am done and as I pass by the front window I pause to watch. Soaking it all in. Because this moment is just too good for me to spoil by stepping into it.

He would deny this, but he is unbelievably smart. He really knows something about everything going on in this great world around us. I love that he will load our family onto a boat, start it up and spend the day sailing it around the lake as Captain. And he tells the children things about the corn that's growing all around us. Things that make them shout excitedly from the backseat "that corn is tasseling, mama!" as we drive down these country roads. Now I can't say that I know exactly what that means, but it's amazing that my boys have a father who does and who teaches them these things. He makes their world brighter and more magical.

He doesn't worry. I spend a good part of my day thinking about falls and sprains and sanitizers, organics and pesticides, spf's and bpa's and ufo's and all of the what ifs in between. Not Patrick. He lets our boys explore and have adventures. He lets them ride on the mower with him. He tosses them in the wheelbarrow and totes them right along with the pile of mulch. He lets them jump. From high places. And he cheers and they give high fives and look at me and all laugh together when they land on their feet before they promptly say "let's do it again". He let's them hold the chainsaw, not use it just yet. But they get to hold it, to weild its power before they stand aside and watch him cut a dead tree stump into logs. And they talk about their plans to start a big fire with that wood and cook s'mores over it all while brushing sawdust from their eyes and blowing it from their lips.

 He is an amazing father alright. He loves our boys. He gets our boys. He digs his fingers into this earth and gets dirty right along with them. They laugh together when they find toads.

They fight over who will get to sit on daddy's lap and drive the van home from grandma and grandpa's. They beam when his car pulls into the driveway after a long day without him.

And even though it's a little bit late on this first day of July,
Happy Father's Day, Patrick.
We are all so very blessed.