On Father's Day, the following happened:
- I made DT my unique, usually delicious, you-have-to-have-a-special-pan breakfast, and it sucked. Something was wrong, who knows what, and he ate it all anyway.
- We went for a bike ride with the kids, and he got stuck going up a brutal hill with WonderGirl on his bike and though she is slender, she is not as light as, say, Rocco, who was on my bike. He was in first gear (out of 21) and I still smoked him.
- After the bike ride, with two hot and hungry kids, we ended up in a knock-down-drag-out (emotional, of course, not physical) fight.
- Once home, we were knocked out, but the kids weren't tired (lazy jerks, just sitting in bike seats all morning), so we went to the market instead of having naptime. Along with everyone else.
- DT decided to grill for dinner, which he usually enjoys quite a bit. This time, it wasn't so fun for him because he stepped on a piece of charcoal at the outset and (after doing a pretty agile little dance through the grass) spent the remainder of the grilling time standing in a large Tupperware container of ice water.
- I didn't take a picture of DT grilling in Tupperware, although I really wanted to.
- We got to make up after the fight and we both feel hopeful that we might have turned a corner with some of our long-held less-pretty patterns.
- WonderGirl made him a card which said, among other brilliant insights, "You are the best Dad." She meant it, and she knows what she's talking about.
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