“Birth-Father’s Day,” as Cam Called It.

bday….And no, Cam doesn’t have a foster father or a stepfather or an adoptive father. Yesterday was Dave’s birthday as well as Father’s Day, so Cam combined the two all day. I had asked Dave what he wanted to do yesterday– we were out of town overnight on Friday and would be returning home late Saturday– and Dave was emphatic: “Nothing,” he said. Subtext: “We’ve been at parties, or hosting parties, or in Vegas, or at a ball game, or a dance competition, ad infinitum for weeks. I just want to hang out at my house with you guys and relax.” So that’s what we did– with one quick detour for lunch and a movie, and then another for some birthday ice cream (more on that in a minute). It was so low-key and nice; I actually can’t remember the last time we spent an entire Sunday together, doing nothing in particular.

I thought a lot about my dad yesterday too. It’s only the third Father’s Day since my dad died, and although I’m not particularly sentimental about holidays like these, I know that we would have been at my parents’ house for a cookout. Dad would have grilled burgers and hot dogs, and he would have hung out on a the patio with a beer, holding court as the afternoon wore on. I think we must have spent a thousand Sunday afternoons like that, and if I allow myself to think about it, I’ll be furious all over again that those afternoons were stolen from us. So I’ll just say, again, that I miss my dad. And I missed him yesterday, too.

But back to the ice cream shop. We each had gigantic sundaes (as I texted Jill this morning, I need to go for a run this morning, because the cellulite from that sundae is closing in on me), and I took the above adorable photo of my kids, loving on their dad. Then the kids brought our dishes back in while Dave took a birthday phone call. Cam came strolling casually out. “Addie needs you,” he said. I replied absently, “Okay,” as I gathered up my bag. He said, “I think she needs you now,” his tone still light. I said, “Why?” and Cam hit me with, “Because she’s throwing up into the trash can in there.”

Startled, I looked up. Through the plate-glass window I could see some sort of happening right by the counter. I walked in to see my little one, indeed refunding her ice cream while the patrons of the shop tried to order not six feet away. Gabby, bless her heart, had stayed with the J to help her. “Mom, first she threw up into her bowl, and then it got filled up, so I dumped it out in here!!” she reported loudly, with that child’s something-major-is-happening excitement. “And then she just came over here and started REALLY throwing up!!” When the fireworks appeared to be over and I was sure she wasn’t going to create a barf trail through the shop, I took Addie into the bathroom, calmed her down, cleaned her up, and we headed out to the car. “What took you so long?” asked Dave, and I looked over at Cam in disbelief. “Oh, yeah, Dad– Addie J tossed her cookies inside,” he offered.

So. That happened, too.

Anyway. If you see my husband today, please tell him Happy Birth-Father’s Day. I’ve got to go outrun that birthday cellulite.


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