My sons’ father

Father’s Day came and went and I wasn’t cliché by writing something about how great of a father my husband is. But I will now. Because he is. Every day he comes home from a long day at work and without me nagging or asking, he changes the boys’ diapers. He plays with Brandon outside in our muggy, humid, bug-infested backyard. He watches Oliver and Company on a loop with Brandon. He plays with Holden until he coos and then tells him to say, “dada.”

There are so many other things, too. Things that aren’t so blatantly obvious: like how hard he has worked over the past few years to set us up with this house and so that I can stay home with our boys. And how hard he continues to work and how he challenges himself with new tasks.

And possibly the most important way he is a good parent to his children is in loving their mama. A couple of weeks ago I was in our other car behind him at a stop light and he was unaware it was me. He told me when we got home that he had checked me out in the rear view mirror and said to himself, “that girl is hot. She looks kinda like Holly.”