A little ditty about our Sunday.
I am admittedly terrible at things like Father’s Day. Or Christian’s birthday. And Christmas. basically any day that doesn’t revolve around me. I think about gifts to get, cards to make, fun crafts to put together, and then BAM! It’s Sunday morning and I’m rushing to get the kids to scribble their names on the card I luckily picked up the night before, only because I happened to also be getting a birthday card for a friend. It’s one of my many faults, which sucks, because we all know how nice it is to be doted on, right?
And really? Celebrating dads in the middle of June? Come on, calendar. We live in Texas. Whiny kids + blistering heat = no fun for anyone. But we Torreses soldier on.
Christian told me months ago that he wanted either a new grill or a good pocketknife for his special day. Then a package came in the mail, and I was all, “What’s that?” and he was all, “Oh, it’s my new knife!” And I was all, “……..you mean the knife you said you wanted for Father’s Day?”
So that left me with the grill idea. A little more expensive than a knife, but it’s his day, and I’ve had a hankering for a good grilled burger. And then his truck needed $400 worth of new tires, so I was all, “Happy Father’s Day!” And now we’re trying to gauge the sanitation factor of cooking food on rubber tires using the heat of the afternoon sun. It just might work.
All in all, it was a decent day, despite the heat and the lack of fanfare. This man works so hard for us, and we love him so much for all of his strengths, like his never ending love for his girls, and even his weaknesses, like when he puts a pull up on the 3 year old instead of a swim diaper.
Even if we can only show it by buying him tires.
Sorry I only have pictures of us eating. It was the only time I had access to my phone, can you believe it? Which worked out well since I ended up with a pair of Rainbow Dash panties in my pocket at the dog park anyway.
Father’s Day doesn’t mean he won’t have to practically shove food down Zoe’s throat. Only the pieces without mustard please, sir.
Nose squishing snuggles are the best, aren’t they?