For Father’s Day: A Miracle

We celebrated Father’s Day a day early.  Saturday morning Skye tried to discuss plans with me while I was blogging.  I know.  I know.  What could I do?  Our family ramps up several days in advance of all the Hallmark holidays.  During the ramp up, any personal rules, like “don’t do that thing you know I hate,” get to be broken by the person whose special day is coming.  Since Father’s Day is coming, Skye gets to talk to me while I’m blogging and all I can do is implode while smiling.  When my children were still in diapers, standing at a toy store train table and taking a very focussed crap, they made this same expression.

Even though I’m supposed to be ingratiating my husband with pre-Hallmark holiday pleasantries, I’m reluctant to let go of my “Don’t talk to me when I’m blogging” rule.  This is clashing with the pre-Hallmark holiday rule.  And I know it.

I uh-huh my husband, who later gets mad at me, because while I was blogging instead of listening, apparently, I said yes I’d go flying gliders in Amish country with him and I’d be in charge of forcing the boys to come and we’d leave right after he mowed the lawn and showered, and here I am still blogging and the lawn is mowed.  Obviously, I heard none of what I agreed to but he reminded me of the things I promised when he came in all sweaty from outside.  I couldn’t be sure he hadn’t added extra things I’d agreed to because I had no memory of the details of the conversation.  I was writing.

I can’t say, “I said yes to WHAT?” out loud because then he’d be right.  I wasn’t listening, and therefore I don’t care.  This card cannot be played.  There will be no drama in spite of the Hallmark holiday.  We will not be one of those families who unearths their grandest, “All my life, you’ve never once…..” drama on Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays and Father’s Day.  It’s bad enough he played the “I mowed the lawn” card.  All of these things have consequences.  The lawn is mine to mow.  If he mows it, I’ve got nothing.

He says, “Look.  Why don’t instead of doing anything on Father’s Day, we go to Amish country.  This is what I want.  It’s beautiful.  You guys will love it.  It will feel like you’ve gone some place completely different.”  He turns around and walks toward the shower, shoulders crouched in the humble “Is this too much to ask?” posture.

Ok.  No pressure.  I’m going to have to fake it ‘til I make it.  Isn’t that the advice in the latest “change your life” book I’m reading?  I save my draft and log off the computer.  I am surprised to discover it doesn’t kill me.  I don’t start gasping for air and flailing all over the floor.

Skye steps into the shower and I announce “Family Meeting in the living room!”  Once I have both boys in the same place I say, “Ok. Listen up.  Family meeting.  Daddy wants to celebrate Father’s Day a day early.  He wants all of us to go to Amish country to see this dam where he wants to fly gliders.  It’s beautiful.  You guys will love it.  It’s what he wants for Father’s Day.  We’re going.”

I hold up two fingers like a peace sign.  I say, “We can’t use our excuses.”  I tap on the pointer finger of the peace sign and say, “I can’t use the noble excuse that I want to stay home and mow the lawn.  Daddy already mowed it.  He pulled my excuse right out from under me.”  I fold down my pointer finger, which represents me and my excuse.  Null and void.

This leaves just my middle finger.  I hold my middle finger by the tip.  I say, “And your excuse?”  They are laughing.  They know where this is going.  “Your excuse?  The ‘I don’t want to go anywhere.  I’m tired.  I just want to stay home and do nothing’ excuse? Well,” I turn my half a peace sign around, waving the middle finger at my children, as if it’s storytime and I’m showing them the picture in the book, “this is your excuses.”  They break out laughing.  They love this kind of Mother of the Year shit.

“I want you guys to show Daddy the unexpected.  He’s going to come out of that shower all ready to go and expect to find three slugs.  Let’s shock him.  Shoes on, ready to go.  When he starts to put on his shoes, you guys head outside for the car.  You got it?”

They not only got it, they started getting a cooler and drinks and ice and emptying out the last cooler that was full of stinky water and garage temperature cans of soda and bottles of water.  They washed the slimy bottles and cans, washed the cooler, loaded it up with drinks and 12 ice cubes and brought it out to the car.

All four of us, the dog, the planes, the kids and the cooler are settled into the Fit, driving North for Amish country.

Once we get on the highway, Skye leans toward me while still watching the road.  In a low voice he asks, “How’d you do that?”

I wink, “I’ll tell ya later.”

You know you're in Amish Country when....

Skye told me that taking photos of the Amish is like taking photos of Native Americans. I was stealing a little bit of their soul. Guilt tripper!

Mowhawk Dam, built in 1935 by the Army Corp of Engineers. Awesome hangout spot.

From every angle this structure was impressive.

This is the part when we realized Dad was right.

Maggie found some shade underneath the staircase.

My 9-year old told me to hold the camera down in the clover and take this shot.

Can you spot the glider?

This is one of Skye's sailplane buddies, Tom.

The coolest thing about Tom is that he did pro bono work for Sierra club to sue the state for polluting our rivers. The second coolest thing about Tom is that he flew this plane over a KKK gathering and scared them all away. He calls it his US spy plane.

Happy Father's Day, guys. Is that really Gatorade in the bottle, Tom?

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