Just Ducky

I had convinced myself that my father's day sucked. Turns out it didn't, but we'll get to that later.

Deb had her wisdom teeth pulled on Thursday. This left her bruised, swollen and unable to do most of the common things most of us take for granted. I'll mention chewing, in particular. No chewing made for a cruel weekend for Debbie. Her parents and sisters came to see us and we ate hamburgers, corn-on-the-cob, steaks; most of Deb's favorites. All she could do was watch us eat or retreat to the bedroom for some pharmaceutically aided slumber.

Deb was, understandably, a little cranky. She started to bristle at all of our suggestions to help her feel better. I wasn't very understanding of her tone and chastised her for treating us like idiots whenever we threw recovery tips her way. I supposed after three days of watching her suffer I'd had enough myself.

Needless to say Deb wasn't in any kind of shape to make a big deal out of father's day. She went into town and got me some truffles. Two were in the shape of tiny ducks. I discovered later that the ducks are my favorite. Not only do I enjoy eating their little faces off, turns out ducklings are filled with caramel and marshmallow cream. I'll keep that in mind the next time I'm lost in the wilderness and have to depend on nature's bounty for food.

My sister-in-laws insisted on buying me a cool shirt. These women have introduced me to several northern delights not the least of which is the pre-dinner Old Fashion (taken in multiple doses). So I had drinks, gifts, good company, cute greeting cards and a hand-crafted, ultra-cool mouse pad featuring outlines of both Allie's and Julia's hands (which I forgot to take to work today).

How could I possibly say my father's day sucked without sounding like an ingrate?

I suppose it was a matter of Sunday not being the give dad a day-off to indulge his whims sort of day that I anticipated it would be. I did some kitchen duty and took the girls away so that Deb could rest before returning to work today. That meant instead of wandering around Home Depot unhindered I found myself making vague threats of torture beneath the ceiling fan display to stop all the screaming and clawing. Instead of checking out a movie or window shopping for motorcycles I plugged quarters into the riding toys at the mall. Rather than sampling something exotic in some out-of-the-way restaurant for lunch I sat in a food court and watched Happy Meals disappear.

This wasn't Father's Day, it was just like every other trip into town on any given Sunday with the girls.

But it wasn't, really. I drove to work this morning and thought about Sunday. I remember the guy at the carwash looking at the girls in the back seat and smiling at me while he said, "Happy Father's Day, man!" I smiled when I thought about rubbing Allie's head while walking around Home Depot. She said, "It's father's day and you get to pat both your bubbies on the head." I remember the feeling I had in the car when I glanced back at both girls as they slept during the drive home. And later this evening, I'll get to go upstairs and bite the head off another chocolate duck.

In retrospect, I had a kick-ass father's day.