It is all about dad

It is all about dad

I am ashamed to admit that Father’s day was a total bust this year. And if you would like some proof, I can show you the bag filled with unsigned Father’s Day cards. Extremely poor showing — we might possibly be switched to another family. Wouldn’t it be nice if that would be the “punishment”? Your family misses an important and relevant life event, you call social services, and they come and place you with a family whose parents also had to go away for doing something ridiculous. Probably something like making them choose to study for a test, when Central Park is right in their backyard.

This is how I see this holiday. Please forgive me if I offend anything that is part of your belief system. Every day of the week is Father’s Day. Why, you might ask. Well, let’s just figure this out. In most homes (and I am referring to most homes in the area I live in. This isn’t based on anything specific, anything I know about, or really anything at all, so everyone just take a deep breath and remain calm.) the dad goes to work. He works very hard to earn money to pay the bills, do nice special treats for his family (and his wife if he is smart). He gets his routine down, meeting new friends, etc. He comes home from work and his wife who “doesn’t work” has cleaned and ironed all of his shirts and pants. She also has gone to four different supermarkets to find certain things that her husband likes. She has cleaned all of the bathrooms, made the beds, made dinner, made extra dinner for any unexpected guests…. You get the point.

He is fed three meals a day. One or two are at work, and the rest are supplied by Wife #1. Who also has his robe and slippers waiting for him every day when he gets home. I also bring him the paper and a lovely Cuban cigar. Wait, is this Father’s Day or April Fool’s Day?? But I really am good with taking care of him, because he takes care of me by letting me do the things I need to do. And never making fun of me to my face.

Truth is, I am Wonder Woman, just with really large arms. We call them batwings, and it is just another beautiful term for “Hey lady, are you hiding small children under your arms?” Ya, the comments are really heartwarming, but who really cares?

So when actual Father’s Day arrives, I feel the only thing that is different is that we need to give Husband #1 cards. The cards are usually spot on, because he is a really great dad, and the jokes about fixing things around the house are hysterical, because as smart as he is, he has little aptitude for household situations. Ya, whatever. We will cross those bridges when we come to them.

So, Father’s Day. I did not get my own father a present this year, but his unsigned cards also are in the bag. And I will just have to hope that my charm and wit will win him over. In any case, we did get a present for Husband #1. We ordered him a pair of socks with the kids’ pictures on them. Yes, when you go to google and type in “socks with kids pictures on them,” it is absolutely amazing what you will find. You could be sitting in a waiting room, waiting. (What are our other choices to do in a waiting room? And asking questions is just annoying…)

In any event, the day is over. Husband#1 did love the socks and wore them on Shabbos. I am sure he will like his cards if they ever get signed — and that we will be having the boys all together for this coming weekend. I know he will really like that, because those events are few and far between, and they are more precious than any gift. And if you are a sleep-deprived young mother reading this, who is thinking that she will never be able to go to the bathroom, for as long as she wants, ever again — well, don’t even blink, because that just goes by way too fast. I mean waaayy too fast!

Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck is sleep-deprived because she lays in bed with her eyes open, trying to figure out what the meaning of life really is…

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