We Band of Butlers

we few, we happy few

Happy Father’s Day

From the time she was very tiny, Monkey has adored her father.  She’s always been a Daddy’s girl.  “Daddy’s at work” will prompt a trip to the front door.  “Car?  Daddy?  Peese?”  Any sound on the front porch will prompt a glance at me.  “Daddy?  Daddy?”  And him actually ARRIVING can stop a tantrum dead in it’s tracks.  Somehow not getting that piece of chocolate way high on the shelf doesn’t seem nearly as important when Daddy has come home.

Daddy wrestles, tickles, kisses, swings, carries, tosses, rocks, feeds, changes, hugs, bathes, reads to, cuddles, and leads his little daughter.  He’s tough when he needs to be tough and gentle when his baby girl just needs a bit of reassurance.  He carries her on his shoulders when she’s too tired to finish her walk.  He plays with her in the backyard before the mosquitos come out in the evenings.  He’s always the one to discover new funny sounds she likes, and new spots for her to be tickled, and can have her laughing breathlessly faster than anyone else on the planet.  And she looks forward to the many nights when Daddy is the one putting her to bed.  She curls up in his lap, snuggled in pajamas and still a bit wet from her bath, pops her binky in her mouth, rests her head on his chest and waits for her “nigh nigh book.”  And she remembers.  Those nights, it’s not Mommy who gets called for at three A.M. when we’ve decided to accidentally toss our binky under the bed.  She calls for Daddy.

Happy Father’s Day, to a man who has already made all his little princess’s dreams come true.

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