It's Father's Day. I'm a big fan of holidays and holy days. I love to make a fuss. But I am going to admit, this one slipped off my RADAR screen--the victim of being between the infamous weekend and the trip to Denver. I've had a wicked sinus infection all week and I've been bumbling about trying to get ready to go again. "Daddy" was around a bit this week,
getting into trouble playing with the kids, but it didn't hit me until late yesterday, as we were driving to the airport, that he was leaving town and would miss Father's Day here on the east coast. I'm a bad mommy. We should have celebrated yesterday. Maybe we'll move it to Tuesday.
For now, the best I can do is lock myself in his office and call California so we can start the day with a long phone call. I'll tell him how much I love him and how I know of no other man on earth as dedicated to his children. I'll probably cry because it will hit me that he's alone in a hotel room on Father's Day and that just doesn't seem fair when you've worked so hard as the father of eight kids. And then I'll feel really badly for neglecting to tuck some special reminder into his suitcase. Finally, I'll tell him to log on because someone in this house didn't forget.