On Father's Day, Kevin woke up at 5:00 a.m. (or maybe earlier), to take over the fussy newborn. By 6:00, he was preparing cereal for the toddler. And when I woke up around 8:00, he was cuddling Colin while rocking Archer to sleep. At 9:00, he took Colin swimming, to give me a little bit of breathing room. At 11:00 he ran out to pick up lunch, because there wasn't any food in the house. At 1:00, he put Colin down for a nap and spent the next two hours cleaning up our flooded basement and running four loads of laundry, because we had neither clean clothes nor clean diapers in the house.
I don't really remember what happened the rest of the day--it was a bit of a blur--but somewhere in there he made dinner (shishkabob on the grill, in the pouring rain), kept Colin in smiles and giggles, and later persevered for over two hours to get that same child to sleep (final bedtime: 11:00 p.m.). He received neither gifts nor breakfast in bed nor a single moment to himself, but when I apologized for the lousy Father's Day as we finally fell asleep sometime after midnight, he said it hadn't been such a bad day. But he "coulda done without the flooded basement."
Happy Father's Day to the best father in the world!