Father's Day is coming up - only a week away. This is news to the one dad who resides in my house.
Really and truly, if we all kept our mouths shut, the event could just slide right on by without any gifts or special meals. In about September my husband might say, "Huh, when is Father's Day again?"
To which I might reply, "What? What you talking about?"
This will not happen, though, because No. 2 absolutely, positively cannot keep a secret and while she was still in school, she made a present for her daddy that's already wrapped and tucked in a special hiding place. I guarantee she's already told him what it is. I also guarantee he's completely forgotten the conversation.
But seriously, isn't every day Father's Day?
My husband is definitely the rock-star parent in our house. When he walks through the door at night, he receives a greeting befitting of the second coming of Christ.
"Daaaaaaadddy! Daddy's home!!!"
Not only do they scream, they will actually look away from the television - the teeny bit they're allowed to watch each day - to cling to him. They don't even hit pause. Now that's love. Well, they do rewind later, but still, everything stops for Dad.
It's sweet. And a smidge annoying. My welcome, which is typically whined: "Moooooom! I'm sooooo tired. What's to eat? I'm sooooo hungry!"
He's the A-list celebrity; I'm the D-lister doing the grunt work, schlepping to practices, feeding them, slathering on sunscreen, remembering birthdays and special happenings. He pops up at the big events to sign autographs.
But that's OK because together, we make a good team. We're like Lucy and Ricky. Mulder and Scully. Dr. Bunsen Honeydew and Beaker. The amnesiac from the movie "Memento" and his trusty Post-it notepad.
Sure he's supremely forgetful, but he's a good dad - a great dad, actually - who can spend a long day at work and come home with enough energy to play video games or shoot hoops and enough brainpower to figure out some middle-school math problem. I get worked up about even the smallest things while he's virtually unflappable.
Exhibit A: A TV reporter was interviewing him for work when No. 1, a potty-training toddler at the time, handed him her peed-in undies. He continued without missing a beat.
Cool, but not dry, Hand Luke.
So, I guess this is the least I can do - Hey, Joe, heads up. It's Father's Day next week.
Contact Kristen Cook at firstname.lastname@example.org or 573-4194. True story: Cook's husband threw a fantasy baseball party at their house a mere day after they brought their first baby home from the hospital. They were still trying to figure out which end to diaper. No, she's not at all still grudgy over that one.