I tell him that Rose is getting into Lee’s books. She’s pulling them off Lee’s bookshelf and tearing the pages. “I need a gate that Rose can’t open, but Lee can.”
We come home from church, and Phil goes marching into the house, drops his things and says, “I’m feeling inspired to fix something.” And then the breakfast porch door isn’t hanging askew anymore.
He takes both children for a walk Sunday afternoon so that I can clean up the kitchen and make peanut butter cookies and drink tea while listening to celtic music.
He spends his evenings drafting on a sluggish computer so that we can have extra money to pay for insulation in our attic or tumbling classes for the children or a new rug in our bathroom.
After dinner when my love and patience for my children feels rather absent, he takes them into the front yard and throws Lee in the air or has Lee fetch the whiffle ball that he knocks into the air with a giant green bat. Or he’ll announce that he wishes to run an errand and means to take Lee with him. He tells Lee the names of the trees and bushes on the way. And then they get ice cream for me on the way back home.
He knows how to change diapers and dress the children in clothes that match. He knows how to put babies to bed so I can have the night off. He can pack their bags and load them into their car seats too.
He wants to hear what we’ve been doing each day, what the children are saying or discovering. He lights up upon seeing them after work, and so do the children because they’re quite sick of me and I of them.
Thank God for the homecoming of the faithful, reliable, creative, and hardworking Daddy of my children.