Happy father's day to the best guy

In the spirit of Father's Day I'm taking a moment to celebrate our guy and be so grateful for his provision and humor and companionship. He makes life better just because he's another set of hands to hold down a small toddler who is covered in poop and trying to wipe his hands and feet in it (Clarify: Maddox, not evan); he does the dishes when I am absolutely not moving one more muscle; he is there to the rescue when a certain someone takes a head-first tumble into a wall or down some stairs; he makes the best scrambled eggs for baby breakfast; is the best at taking out the garbage for the days when I'm definitely not putting on a bra; is the best speed-cleaner in the history of the world and can make our house presentable in less than a minute; and is the best at laying on the ground so Maddox can dive onto him and hit him with spatulas and lego blocks and drive cars and trucks over his arms and legs.

What I'm saying is, I'm so glad that I get to watch Evan be a dad. Everyone in the world always comments on Maddox's happiness and charming personality and let's be honest, he totally doesn't get that from me. He drew that charmingness and happiness and all the other good -nesses out of Evan and didn't draw one little bit of my temper or impatience (unless there's a delay in getting him his sippy cup and then you've got a two and a half foot problem on your hands).

And I'm super thankful for that. That I can have two guys in my house to show me unconditional love on a daily basis and who make me laugh until tears are streaming down my face and who love to give hugs because I have never in my whole entire life gotten hugs as good as the hugs that these guys give. Does that sentence even make sense? Probably not.

I love this guy and I'm so glad that he is ours. Happy Father's Day, boo.

And Happy Father's Day to my dad and my father-in-law, both of whom love me because I am an endless supply of home improvement projects and I don't have a picky bone in my body. (That's a joke.)