I brag about him to my friends. About how I come home almost every day to dinner waiting. About how he tackles bath time. They tell me he needs to teach their husbands classes. They remind me how good I've got it.
He is the one who still gets up in the middle of the night. He picks up a snoring 3-year old, who crawled his way into our bed sometime around 3:00 or 4:00 a.m., and deposits him back in his own bed.
He is the one for whom they call most often when they are sick or upset. Sure, they've been through their Daddy phases, but he gives them reasons to prolong the phases, and they blend into each other so much that I can't ever tell when the so-called phases are over.
He is the better playmate. He wrestles. He pitches. He's funny. He leaves the monotony of teeth brushing, doctor appointments and babysitters to me. Instead of monotony, he deals in fun.
Today the Hawklets and I ran errands and discussed Father's Day. I explained the significance - that this is a day for us to thank Daddy for being such a great father.
"But he really hasn't been such a great father," Graham said. (Excuse me? Are we talking about the same saint described above?) "He puts us in time out sometimes."
Oh, did I mention he is an efficient disciplinarian?
Happy Father's Day, Hubby Hawks. Thanks for being so brag-worthy.