This year Father’s Day shaped up into a personal dream scenario: a brunch buffet with Lynnette’s family at the Willows followed by dessert with my family at my parents house followed by a winner-take-all NBA Finals game 7 followed by WWE’s Money in the Bank PPV. It almost didn’t matter that the Mets were swept by the lowly Atlanta Braves early this morning. Almost.
Now that those festivities are over, I have fallen back into my more traditional role of worker bee. The washer and dryer are turning circles. Half (the half the twins crawl around on) of the living room has been vacuumed. Lynnette and Madison just fed Cole and Avery so I could take a break and write this piece, and there are also rumors that Lynnette has one more gift waiting for me but as I am a superstitious man, I don’t want to jinx it.
My family gifted me some underwear (essential) and a brand new watch which does two things: 1) it brings the number of watches I own to 11, and 2) it brings the number of watches I own that actually work to 3. The Father’s Day tradition I look forward to most, though, is Madison’s fill-in-the-blank answers to Lynnette’s standard Father’s Day questions.
A few observations:
A) She wasn’t totally sure about my age, but two days ago when the groomer at Petsmart asked how old Abby was, Mad shouted “5!” before I could even think about answering.
B) Be-bah-dees is further evidence that I have imbued my daughter with the vocal qualities of a moke. Every time she speaks like this a tiny crack appears in my heart. But every once in a while she’ll say something so profoundly pidgin that I I feel like I’ve failed her completely. Case in point: sometimes when I one-hit KO another Pokemon, Madison will comment “Ho, he’s one real scrappah, yeah?” Just an unmitigated disaster.
C) I corrected her as soon as I saw the error. “Mad, I eat sushi that’s mostly on red plates,” I said. “But isn’t the yellow the cheapest plates?” she replied. “Yes,” I said. “I thought you like to keep the costs down?” she asked. “Well, I do, but-” I said. Lynnette cut me off “That’s my job,” said the queen of seafood salad and fried tofu.
D) The obvious winner is “Daddy always tells me ‘eat steak meat’.” My daughter has an aversion to meat – any food that’s not candy, really. “Steak meat” is the term Madison uses to label steak. I don’t know why, either, because she doesn’t say “pork meat” or “chicken meat.” But I really do say this all the time. She doesn’t eat enough protein. “But I’m strong already!” she rebuts. “I go to the workout equipment at school everyday!” she says in a vigorous attempt to avoid the steak meat. “Then why can’t you take the cap of the twins’ bottles?” I ask. There is silence, save for the sound of angry teeth ripping apart steak meat. It is beautiful music to my ears.
The first two weeks of summer were pretty rough on Madison and me. We didn’t work too well together as a team. My expectations were too high. She wanted to do her own things. This tension culminated in a shouting match about a week ago. Lynnette brokered a peace between us and we’ve been better since. This summer has been the biggest challenge of any kind (college was way easier by comparison). I think Madison and me have both been frustrated by the fact that this summer hasn’t unfurled like our more adventurous ones, and since we can’t take it out on the twins, we only have each other. But that’s why we’ll make it. We have each other.