Pssst: Medusa's knitted mittens

Here I am, the only blogger in the world that didn't blog on Falker Satherhood day to talk about all the great dads I know. (And I know a lot, but probably my own and my hubs would have sufficed.)

It's not like I didn't sit down to attempt it. It's just, the stars were not aligned that night. And my English brain and English typing fingers were having a, you know, hard time. And I didn't even take a picture of cute little Tom and cute little Clara together so I had nothin'. You know, all the Dad's Day protocol and I was falling short. I mean, it's not like I could have plastered pictures of me in good conscience. Are you with me, or are you with me?

Then there's the fact that June's close is quickly approaching and I've only blogged once. (gasp!) I can narrow my absences to either we're really busy or we're really partying. I mean, shoot, all in one week we finally watched Season 3 of Prison Break and moved right along to Season 4, signed up for the Summer reading program at the library, went to Baskin Robbins AND took Clara swimming for her first time—and if all that family togetherness isn't blog-worthy then my name may as well be Rhonda. (No, Clara is not invited to the PB marathons.)

But as I was saying. Tom's a great dad, if you hadn't heard. He's definitely better at being a dad than I am at being a dad. And vice versa. Once we (me and Tom—try to keep up) were having a conversation about who's the more logical one around this household (we discuss this a lot) and I told him that although I may not outsmart him in most things, I was much better at being a mom than he was. I think I made a really good point that day. Isn't it wonderful that moms and dads do different things? (I think I'm making a really good point right now.)

Because, Tom? Well he's got it down when it comes to being a dad. He keeps it spontaneous, with hands-down killer nicknames for everyone—never the same one twice! And then there was last week, before we headed to Baskin Robbins, when I motheringly encouraged Clara to finish all her dinner so we could go get ice cream. Such jubilant news meant nothing to her. Tom and I figured that in a few years such news would not go without shrieks of joy. Whooping. Giggling. Dancing. Daydreaming. And down-right obnoxious behavior until the said ice cream excursion took place. When that day comes, we'll have to come up with secret adult code phrases that children don't understand. And get this, blogdom. I just so happened to marry the best code-phrase-generator in the entire world. Without even thinking he began rattling them off in poetic fashion. I'll share.

(whispered tone) "It's time for a St. Mary's Cathedral."
(hushed voice) "Hippopotamus' night club! Hippopotamus' night club!"
(quietly and mysteriously) "Medusa's knitted mittens..."

You get the idea. But you guys'll back me up, right? I am SO much more logical most of the time.

...Anyone hoping for me to get back to the Falker Satherhood bit? Well. If you have any idea what Falker Satherhood is, then that means you and I read the same blogs and therefore we are destined to be bosom friends and we should share a cherry cordial together and I promise no one would get drunk.

This works as a father's day picture because A: it says "Happy Father's Day" in it, and B: it feature's Tom's hand.