Happy Birthday, Babe!

Today is my husband's birthday. So begins the summer birthday gauntlet!

I know I ragged on his planning skills in my vacation post; so in honor of the beginning of his 32nd year, here are some things I love about him instead:

• Puts up with my crap, mostly. This is huge, as I am full of it.
• Actually does plan when he wants to -- he's doing a great job of helping me investigate preschools for B.
• Is a GREAT dad. A really, really great dad. When I watch him with B, my cold black heart grows three sizes.
  
• Serves as House Husband during the summer when he's working fewer hours. Hello, clean bathrooms; how I love thee.
• He always encourages me to go for whatever I'm interested in, even if it might make his life a pain in the ass for a while.
• He cooks. And bakes. Real men do both of these things, and do them well.
  
• After all these years, he's still cute. Seriously!

Anyway, that's just a short list of awesome things. Happy Birthday! I love you.

Something I Don't Talk About Often

So my husband and I like to check out PostSecret and when there's a theme, like Father's Day, we talk about how it seems like everyone has Daddy Issues. And how glad we are that we don't have those issues.

Except I do, kind of.

I don't know my biological father. He and my mom divorced when I was not even 2, I think? There were drugs involved on his part and my mom made the right decision to leave, obviously. I've seen maybe three pictures of him in my lifetime. His name is Mark. I don't know anything about him, save for an awkward run-in with his sister when I was 16 (she worked at a store that my mom and I popped into while back-to-school shopping). While I grabbed the nearest article of clothing and ran for a dressing room, my mom found out that he never remarried or had other children, and that he still lived in Maryland.

That's it. Lived so close, yet never wanted anything to do with me. I do wonder what the hell his deal was, and occasionally think, defiantly, about how much he's missing because he couldn't get himself together ... but I don't think about it much.

Because I have an awesome dad who came into my life shortly after my mom divorced. He is my real dad, adopting me once he married my mom. His name is Hank. He was the one who taught me how to ride a bike; ate my disgusting attempts at baking when I was younger; took me to just about every museum in DC when I would go to work with him; helped me with my homework (and notoriously helped me fail a math assignment, because he got confused about what we were doing. Thanks Dad!); took me out to lunch when I first started working in DC; and wouldn't let me lift a finger when I was pregnant. Now he's the proud grandfather who hogs my son when he visits--good luck getting a hug from B with my dad around.

Anyway, I guess my point is that yeah, you can have daddy issues--but they don't have to take over your life. I know I'm lucky to have a dad who loves me; not everyone gets that when they lose their father figure. So that's why I don't entertain that particular drama much.

Besides, why wonder about something that couldn't possibly be as fun and rewarding as being Hank's daughter? I love you, Dad.