Father's Day Tribute Continued: Daddies Are Different

This past weekend, Ryan and his two little boys were enjoying a Father's Day stroll along one of the neighborhood golf courses when Cavan's tricycle spun off the golf cart path and down a small hill, landing my toddler into the murky lagoon. I was still cleaning up from breakfast when the lot showed up at the front door. Ryan, shoeless because he had torn one in the fight to rescue Cavan, was wet from the knees down. Cavan, who was soaked but otherwise happy, was trying in his limited toddler vocabulary to tell me all about the accident at the pond. Camden, unscathed, was holding his Daddy's broken flip-flop and telling me his own version of the story. They were a mess, but they were safe and adorable.

I can't tell you that the same thing wouldn't have happened on my watch, because the truth is, it has (see my previous story "Meet the Swim Team" when both of my tots let themselves outside to go for a swim in 1ft.- deep mud puddles). Parenting is not for amateurs. I run a tighter ship than Ryan, and it's not because I love the boys any less or more-I just tend to worry about everything, whereas Ryan doesn't. For instance, Ryan might let the boys swim in diapers, or naked. He'll let them stay up later, play with tools, and he'll let them watch all the Cartoon Network they like. That's what dad's do right? Well, that's not all. They fix toys, they fix boo-boos, and they also share every minute of their children's joys and sorrows. Ryan always comes home to remind the boys they are first in his life, and no matter how long or strenuous his day, he still makes time to read to the boys for a solid hour every night before bedtime. We're blessed.

For Ryan: A Father's Day Tribute In Pictures

Because sometimes words aren't enough (or they are too much), I have decided to post a few family photos that capture Ryan with our precious boys. He is our hero and the definition of every little boy's dream of a dad.

Precious Bedtime

Are all the children all in bed? Now it's eight-o-clock.

Ah, sweet nightfall. The hour of repose. The blessed bedtime hour. I'm guessing that's when many stay-at-home moms get their second wind. The time to finish all the things that kept getting pushed aside because of the demands and needs of the little ones in their care. For me it's laundry. I can only fold laundry in absolute peace-and-quiet (i.e. no sounds from the children or husband). I like to pile the clothes on top of the bed, sit with my legs crossed, and watch TV, folding only during commercials. Sounds wonderful doesn't it? You'd be correct in assuming that never happens, and as a result, I am constantly behind on laundry duty. Maybe the truth is that, by the end of the day, I am left winded (as opposed to getting my second wind). I am out of breath, out of time, out of words...

Every night I sit in front of this smart laptop and think about how I can put a funny or insightful spin on what is usually a very chaotic day with the boys. Not every day is without control mind you, but as they say in the biz, "if it bleeds it leads," and in my house, if it's not bleeding, it's peeing, or pooping, or on fire. I like to fantasize that I am like Carrie from Sex and the City: hair down, Jimmy Choo's kicked aside, relaxed at the computer, and typing away at the next day's column. I like to write for fun, but I admit it is not my greatest talent. Neither is accessorising, so there is no world in which I could ever be mistaken for the fun-loving, drama-seeking, martini-drinking, fashion-forward New Yorker, Carrie Bradshaw. Regardless, here I am typing away at tomorrow's blog, Old Navy flats kicked off, tired but relaxed, and thinking it funny that my husband has been asleep in our three-year-old's room since 6:30. Bless his his heart, he works for a living too, you know.

My life can't quite compare to Carrie's; however, it is not without drama. Today Cavan (who will be two next month and is eager to use the big boy potty but sometimes misses) changed his own dirty diaper before I could get to him. There's really no telling how long he was in his crib standing in his own filth before I found him. I am really not a terrible mother, but finding my youngest in that condition really made me question my abilities. In my defense, it was naptime, and I thought all his chatter was regarding the books I left for him to read (lately he has taken to having books in his bed, and he'll cuddle with them as if they were stuffed animals). I gave him a bath and noted that it was another one for the books (or blog), and we spent the rest of naptime enjoying quality time together while his older brother slept.

Naptime and bedtime are sacred moments for us "at-homers". When else would we have the time to read, write, or study music? I can't even go to the restroom without someone following me. Right now, my youngest is asleep in his crib, my husband is asleep in Camden's bed, and Camden just came tip-toeing in the room to remind me he is still awake and that he needs something to eat. I am glad to see his sweet face, and I am all of a sudden very tired of this computer. It's not quite bedtime, and we are headed to bed to cuddle and read and watch toons 'til one of us falls asleep. Blog schmog.