The Young and the Restless

Happy Kiwi Father's Day

By 6:00 pm Jason was curled up in the fetal position on the couch. The jet lag hit him hard this time. He had four days worth of travel for a three day conference and by the time he got home he looked like he was on the tail end of a weekend bender. He did manage to get all the Christmas shopping done while in the states, which never in the history of ever has happened by September. And our pantry is stocked with Halloween candy, a month's supply of cold cereal (a month's supply for the average family, more like a week for us), Libby's canned pumpkin for a Thanksgiving pie, and seasonings that I can't get my little paws on here.  After eating spaghetti for like two weeks straight in the motel when we first moved here I remember being so excited to finally be able to cook a proper meal. Tortilla soup was the first meal I made in this house and I learned the hard way that ground chili is most definitely not the same thing as chili powder. A tablespoon of ground chili is like a nuclear explosion in a pot. We were glad that Jason and the chili powder made it home safely, and just in time for Father's day. Mother's day is celebrated the same day as the states, but for some reason they celebrate Father's day in September. I was sweating bullets during my first attempt at french omelets, then the rest of the morning was dominated by BYU football and nerf wars. We had the missionaries over for a lasagna dinner after church then rounded the night off with a daddy Q&A session where we wrote down any questions that have been burning deep in our bosom. Among others, Ryder wanted to know if he went to kindy and what cereal was his favorite. Maddox wanted to know what he played in the olden days before ipads and what his hair looked like. Jayden wanted to know when he started becoming a trouble maker and who his best friend was, and Kylie wanted to know where he got his first job and who his first crush was. It was fun sitting around the table laughing as he showed how his mom put a bowl on his head to cut his hair and demonstrated the important role he played as the Pistol Pete's Pizza mascot. I loved seeing the kids with smiles on their faces and eyes only for their dad as they were caught up in his stories. He's a good dad. He's a good husband. I have a hard time putting my feelings into words. It's so much easier for me to write about insignificant things, like my paralyzing fear of aluminum cans (I'm certain my finger is going to be severed by a whole kernel corn lid at some point in my life), than it is for me to write about things that are closest to my heart. Maybe it's a defense mechanism, like the way I always laugh whenever I'm uncomfortable and don't know what to say. As a general rule of thumb, it's not appropriate to crack jokes and make light of serious things such as prostate cancer. Ever. Maybe it's just that the feelings I have for my family are so personal and special to me that I want to keep them for myself. Maybe I don't want to come across as cliche'. Maybe it's a little bit of everything. So this is me not saying "He's the best dad and husband in the world". Instead it's me saying that I'm grateful for this man who tells me my cinnamon rolls deserve an award. Who makes out with me in the corner of the kitchen when the kids aren't looking. Who is sensitive to the fact that I get the nervous poops every time I fly. Who rents "Ride Along" because he knows I've got a thing for black men. Who tells me I'm a good mom even when I pretend to go to the bathroom when really I'm just sitting on the lid of the toilet playing candy crush. There is such a sense of security knowing that he is aware of all my faults and chooses to love me just the same. It might be a bit presumptuous to claim that he is the best dad and husband in the world, but in our world he is just that.