After I had been blogging for a month or so, Dan noted that I barely ever mentioned him in my posts. Some of his friends said it almost sounded like I was a single mother. Dan’s analogy was that basically this blog is a lot like “The River Wild,” that old Meryl Streep movie where Meryl kicks crazy Kevin Bacon’s ass while her husband pees his pants in the raft for the entire 90 minutes.
Hey, Dan said that, not me.
The funny thing was that, about a month ago, we happened to find that very movie on cable. After getting sucked in and having some good laughs at the 80s feathered hair and acid wash jeans, we both realized something: the husband had a way bigger part than either of us remembered.
So, in honor of Father’s Day and all of your DORKS (the name Dan has affectionately dubbed for husbands married to stay-at-home/work-at-home STORKS), here are some truths I have learned about fatherhood from my very own raft-mate.
Dads make the best food: I feed our little menagerie every single day, but when Dan cooks anything from his pasta sauce to a cheese quesadilla superlatives like “world famous and “best ever” waft around the kitchen. I could take this personally— and one might say (OK, at this moment one is undoubtedly saying) that, in comparison to me, anyone is a Top Chef. But I do think this Daddy-food connection is a universal. When I was little, we’d all wait around to try and steal bites of my father’s perfectly seasoned steak. Mind you, my brother and sister were in their 20s at the time, which raises a lot of other weird daddy issues that we won’t dive into today, but I think I made my point: a dad in the kitchen can make a little magic.
Dads are baffled by little girls’ clothing: Never ask a dad to dress his daughter. Annie has had dresses on backwards and bathing suit straps in positions that it is surprising she survived. Oh, and while you’re it, don’t ask Dads to fold laundry. They somehow forgot this ability the day they decided to marry you.
Dads know everything (or fake it really well): Dads never say, “I don’t know.” Growing up, my dad could give you the Latin root of any word imaginable and answer any question. Frankly, I was shocked when he got Final Jeapordy wrong most nights. And then, in my 20s, he revealed his secret: a lot of his knowledge was made up. I think Dan may be practicing the same trickery with our brood but that’s OK by me. There is nothing more reassuring for a kid than a dad who can take his hand and show him around this big old world.
When a dad says he is watching the kids, he’s really not: Dads don’t have eagle eyes. Mothers can look in two places at once and text at the same time. But when a Dad takes a peek at his paper, your kid is on his own. Case in point: Dan’s “watching” of Baby Jay at Pismo Beach resulted in Jay playing with cigarette filters and old gum. Seriously, guys, this is one you could work on.
Dads tell the best stories, complete with voices: I used to think it was only that annoying park species of Super Dad that did three-act plays complete with multiple voices on command, but now I know it is just a dad thing. And it’s pretty cool.
Dads are ready in the case of disaster: Dan is definitely calmer than me in a crisis. He’s also bought a huge barrel of water that’s in our shed in case of emergency. Dads are like that. They are ready for anything—and a bit over-excited to kick that anything’s butt.
Dads really only engage when the baby is born: I’m sorry to say this, but I truly believe that although men may be “excited” when you are pregnant, they don’t really one hundred percent get into it until the baby arrives. Some just do a better job at faking it than others. And one more thing: I don’t think any dad really finds birth beautiful. Seriously, it’s not so pretty down there.
Dads need more sleep: While we’re on the subject of babies, it’s a biological fact: dads just aren’t equipped for the all-nighter. Dan still semi-jokingly refers to Annie’s first night home from the hospital as the worst night of his life. I used to let it aggravate me, but now I just accept it. And I even let him sleep. That is, until the kids get up.
Dads are better husbands: Maybe it’s just because they have so little time to think about themselves anymore. Maybe it’s because when you have kids, you have to become a team for the sake of your own survival. Whatever it is, having a child makes men better people. It brings out their hunter, their gatherer and their protector. There is nothing I love more than to watch Dan play with our kids, to see him race them down the street or play monster in the pool. I’ve loved my husband for a long time but watching him become a great dad has made me love him more.
Now, don’t get me wrong, Dan isn’t going to suddenly be starring in this blog every week. I do still think the 80/20 rule applies to parenting. We moms are stuck with 80 percent of the work no doubt, whether we work or stay home. It’s just the way it is: our kids expect it and so do we. It’s as biologically ingrained as dads’ love of the grill.
But here’s the thing: Dad is around for 20 percent. He’s there to cut the cord and put your child in your still shaky arms. He’s there to walk a croupy baby on the porch in the dark of night, willing her breath back. He’s there to run beside your daughter when she finally learns to pedal, and to kiss her boo-boo away when she topples over. He’s there to wrestle with your son, to teach him the moves his dad taught him so many years before. He’s there to race on the beach, to walk your baby when he just won’t settle down. He’s there to give baths, to give silent kisses before he drives away in the morning, with the rest of you still snuggled up, often all together in one bed. He’s there to tell funny jokes, to make up silly songs, to clean up after dinner. He’s there to watch TV for ten minutes before you both fall asleep. And he’s there to hold you and let you cry when your day has just been too long or when you’ve just had enough.
When you need him, he’s there. Dads always are. After all, as that rule itself insists, it’s the 20 percent that matters.
