It's kind of amazing what a great father does each day, isn't it? He breezes in the house in the evening, leaving all work stress at the door and is totally present, trying to fit in eight hours of quality time into the twenty minutes before dinner. He's tackled and tickled by little people before he can even get inside the house. He's listening to how my day went and answering questions about dinosaurs and space and pirates and watching a ballet recital/rock concert all at the same time. He helps with dinner and puts the wash into the dryer as he changes out of his work shirt while simultaneously playing, "Hey, hey, you crazy!" [monster game]. He's spraying for aunts, watering the garden, pushing the kids on swings. He serves as DJ and professional kid-spinner for the after dinner dance party and referee for the many mini-battles during bath and story time. And with kisses and hugs and prayers its bedtime. A whirlwind of an evening, every evening. But somehow he makes it magical. And for that we love him even more.
Just one of the many reasons I love this man - the bedtime stories he tells the kids. It's no wonder they love him as much as they do.