I have one picture to sum up our Father’s Day:
Hollis screamed bloody murder half the day (teething + no nap)
Isca cried, for no reason, half the day (she’s a girl + sunburn + dehydrated)
Noa whined and/or was a destructive wild-man creature all day (he’s a boy + late night + also dehydrated)
Then there was me. I had a pounding headache (little sleep + dehydrated). I was stressed about subbing Isca’s Sunday School class at church. I was stressed that I would forget to call my dads. I was stressed that dinner wasn’t going to turn out. I decided to make 29 different things in an elaborate Thanksgiving-esque meal that would show Luke that we love and appreciate him more than any other family could adore their own dad.
So, here I am, late Sunday night, exhausted. My house looks like it was broken into because the kids destroyed it while I cooked all day. I’m too tired to even think about cleaning it. Luke is passed out on the couch. Did I mention that I made him buy his own gift? He went grocery shopping late last night and I said, “I didn’t buy you anything. I don’t even know you. WHAT DO YOU LIKE? Ugh. Just buy something for yourself, alright?”
Tonight at dinner, which happened well after 8pm, I said, “If anyone has a problem with anything on their plate, quietly dump it in the trash and go to bed. If you say one thing to me, I will go insane.”
It was hard to love me today.
PS- the cake was amazing, even if it stuck to my WELL GREASED bundt pan and baked up and over the sides, filling the bottom of my oven with burnt batter. You can see pretty pictures of it and get the recipe here!
If you need another laugh, click here.