Waiting for Monday

So yesterday was the day when we all take a moment to recognize the amazing contributions of dads, grandpa's, husbands, and uncles. And as great as that day is, I think that there is an even more important day; today.

On Father's Day we tend to gloss over the shortcomings of the favorite men in our lives. We buy them witty cards, sports jerseys, and electronics to show them our devotion.

And then the day ends, and it is just another Monday.

And it is on this day, a regular old Monday, that I think I appreciate the father of my children most of all.

A regular old Monday where he gets up with the kids (who do not understand they can sleep past 6 a.m. in the summer) and gets them breakfast while I am still sound asleep.

A regular day where he completely ignores the dishes in the sink in the morning and then unloads and reloads the dishwasher after 8 hours of work and an hour commute. All without making one comment about me being home all day and failing to do so.

A regular day where he has to pull a clean shirt off of the floor instead of out of the drawer. Sometimes the shirt is still in the laundry basket, but most likely the kids have used the baskets to make space ships, or boats, or stages. And he would rather me play with the kids and the laundry baskets than match socks or fold towels.

A regular day where he kisses me goodbye even though I haven't brushed my teeth yet.

A regular day where he plays tickle monster with the kids, even though his head and his back hurt.

A regular day when he watches Cars 2 for the fourth time, even though there is a Rangers game on the other channel.

A regular day when he takes out the trash without being asked because he knows I hate to do it.

A regular day when he realizes that the size of the mess in the house and the amount of fun had during a day are directly linked.

A regular day when he gives the kids baths, reads them some books, and tucks them in, because he realizes the number of nights he will get to do this are running out.

A regular day when he goes to the grocery store on the way home from work because we are out of milk and he knows I don't want to drag the kids to the store.

A regular day when he tells me I am beautiful even though I spent the entire day in my pajamas without any make up (and a slight possibility that I still haven't brushed my teeth).

There are no cards, no presents, and many times not even a thank you. But these are the days when I know that the father of my children is exactly the man I want my son to grow up to be like.

The man I want to grow old with and watch open Grandfather Day cards.

The perfect man for our imperfect life.

Every day.