No one knew what Sunday would bring.
We tucked ourselves into bed Saturday night under a heavy blanket of anxiety.
JP wasn’t going to see his dad. “It’ll be fine,” I assured him, “we’ll spend the day together and you can pick what we do.”
That wasn’t entirely true. We went to Stax Original for brunch – JP would not have chosen to eat out in a (very) crowded restaurant.
But it was fine. He was fine. The way to JP’s heart is through their bacon, by the way.
Dad swooped Faye out of town for their fiftieth wedding anniversary, so it was just the four of us.
I didn’t want to listen to the sermon on the importance of fathers in the home, so we played hooky from church. It was the right thing to do.
After brunch, we hung out at Barnes & Noble (aka JP’s happy place) for a bit before heading home.
I purchased the new Cruella movie on Disney+, but Papa and Nanny rolled in before we could press play…
I’m staring at the cursor with tears in my eyes. “Happy Father’s Day” isn’t good enough.
He’s loved me well my whole life, and is everything to these two boys. They don’t understand how blessed they are.
Not yet anyway.
One day they will.
I didn’t fully understand until I became a mother. After my divorce, my admiration jumped to a whole new level.
We love you, Papa. More than you can imagine.
Father’s Day ended up being pretty great.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.