Monday, June 18, 2007
We don't celebrate Father's Day for the very same reasons we don't 'do' Mother's Day. My husband knows how much we appreciate him as Dad in our little family. I tell him all the time what an excellent father he is, even though he's never at home very much. Not being home is a sore point with him but when he is, he's there and spends quality time with our son. This, I think is better than having a dad who comes home each evening at 6pm and completely zones out in front of the telly or computer, ignoring his wife and kids. What's the point of being home everyday when you're not around in spirit?
My son adores his dad. In his little eyes, Dad's The Man. They do man things together like go to the DIY, garden or recylce centres; watch F1 races, soccer, darts or whatever's in season on the telly; take turns at the PSP, PS2, whatever and eversince my son inherited the old PC, play computer games side by side.
They have their little conspiracies and jokes against mum too - whispering and then chuckling away when mum needs them to do something or is trying to make a point. Boys!
As usual, the kids at school made Father's Day presents. We, as biased parents, were really impressed at how well the gifts turned out. This year, my son wrote out a poem and made clusters of chocolate covered peanuts - my husband's favourite. Kudos to his form teacher for handling twenty odd boisterous kids handling hot liquid chocolate.
Here's how the chocolates were packed. Too cute! No photos of the contents though - they were all scoffed down by the two men before I could even take aim. Pfft!
This is the poem my son copied out:
On this occasion, my son jazzed up the background a little but his script is still scarily neat.
What I really want to say is this: H, you are a wonderful father. No woman could want better for her children. If I didn't have such a phobia about being pregnant, we would be churning out kids by the dozen now. As matters stand, it looks like we have to make do with this one precious boy. A boy who hurls himself on you when you get home from work or gets weepy when you're away on business. A boy who keeps asking me what time you'll be back from the office and who won't take no for an answer when I tell him we can't phone you because you're in a meeting. If that's not love, I don't know what is.
Labels: home life
The Dutchess of Cookalot whipped this up at 9:24 am