Every Day Is Father's Day

If Blanden could read the words on the card he gave to Ed this morning, he would say, "Daddy, you mean the world to me." But since Blanden is too young to share verbally or in writing how he feels, I'd like to share just a few of many standout moments over the past year...

When Blanden was just a few hours old and still in the hospital, he sneezed for the first time. We both looked at each other and laughed, and we knew that we both thought it was the cutest, most adorable sound we had ever heard in our lives. It was the first of many, many times as parents when we have known, without saying a word, that we share an extraordinary, inexplicable bond and are on the exact same page.

But once, when Blanden was just a few weeks old, during one of our many middle-of-the-night wakings, Blanden was inconsolable. I kept saying, "It's okay. Everything is okay. You don't need to cry." But when you held him, you said, "It's okay, son. I know you're frustrated. You can be frustrated. You're allowed to feel however you need to feel." I was so relieved because I knew that although Blanden was going to continue to cry for a while, you had gotten it exactly right: You knew exactly what he wanted, which was simply to be heard. So many times, in these subtle and important ways, you have reminded me of the different perspectives you bring to parenting.

But I also love how you can bring Blanden out of a full-blown meltown by being silly and smiley -- and sure enough, soon he is being silly and smiley too. I love how the two of you share the same sense of humor.

At Christmas, I love you how you took the time to purchase and set up the wooden train around the tree. Although he was too young to play with it or remember it this year, he will grow up reaching as far back into his memory as he possibly can until the images are fuzzy in his mind, but he'll know that he always had a Christmas tree train, and the memories will always bring a smile to his face and a warm feeling to his heart.

I love how once this winter, when I was out and you and Blanden were on your own, you needed to fix the computer. You took it apart and rebuilt it, all while holding Blanden in your arms. He helped you every step of the way, holding onto the screwdriver right along with you and intently watching your every move.

• I love how you see something fun and silly and cool where I see something ordinary. I saw blue, boy PJs; you see Spaceman PJs. I saw underwater sea creature PJs; you see Shark Attack! PJs. (Of course, sometimes I see "adorable" and you see "little old man who just got off the golf course" -- ie., my favorite, the madras pants. :) )

• I love how his face -- and yours -- lights up when you come home from work at night.

• I love how you've been reading the same two bedtime stories (Goodnight Moon and Guess How Much I Love You) to Blanden for a year.

• I love how the two of you shared secrets in Boys Club long before Blanden could speak. And when he did begin to babble, I love how he could carry on the longest conversations with you. To this day, they are still longer than with anyone else.

• Sometimes when it's my turn to sleep in in the mornings (more often than it is yours, as you so graciously give me your days), I lie in bed listening to the two of you playing downstairs: tickling, wrestling, building forts.

• I know you think he looks like me, but when I look at him, I see you.

I love how when Blanden was ready to go to bed tonight, I said to him to say to you, "Happy Father's Day, Daddy." You smiled and said, "Every day is father's day." And so, if Blanden could read the words above, he would say, "You mean the world to me, Daddy," and he would add, "And you mean the world to Mommy, too."

Happy Father's Day, Ed!