Father’s Day

My boys LOVE Daddy. They run for the door when he gets home. I understand it completely, Daddy is fun. I want to run for the door myself. Some days I do. Daddy will let you run around and around the living room, even though it’s almost bedtime. He lets you fall asleep downstairs.
Ethan, at age 1, already new that Daddy was the one to go to when he didn’t want to go to sleep upstairs.
Or in his own bed very early in the morning. Mummy is the one who’ll put you back. Once you’re past the need for milk in the night, Daddy is the one to go to in the wee hours. Mummy will sort you out and get you to back to bed, Daddy will sometimes just lift the cover and let you climb in. This is clearly an innate parental response, I remember the same rules from my own childhood.
Daddy was the one to introduce Sam to Ethan. It went very well, about 30 seconds after this picture, Ethan gave Sam his Raffey, a very big deal. I believe at this point, I was flaked out on the couch having finally run out of adrenaline.
I’m seeing a theme here…
Now that Ethan is at pre-school, he gets to make pictures and things like this, which I think are just the cutest.
 
Daddy’s head looks strangely skeletal, but has a close to accurate amount of hair 😉 I also just noticed he seems to have his feet on backwards, but I love it.
Sam loves to climb all over him, at 18 months that’s about as complex as his games get. Ethan, now 4, loves to sit with Daddy, play with Daddy, read to Daddy. He’s grasped the fact that we can send pictures to Daddy at work, and this is a frequent request. I try very hard not to get frustrated, as he tends to ask while I’m doing the washing, or cooking dinner, or cleaning the toilet. Daddy doesn’t want a picture of that. But I let him as much as possible. So I might be second place in their affections – I really don’t mind that much, first place has gone to someone pretty amazing.
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