Happy Father’s Day.
I’m not sure any fathers actually read these stories, but on the outside chance that one might, Happy Father’s Day.
So far it’s shaping up to be a nice day for me. Ivy is knitting in the next room, the twins and Elaine are not up yet. Elaine will be up when she knows the coffee is ready. The twins will get up when I scream down the stairs for one of them to feed the dogs.
Why is it that kids want pets until it is time to feed them? (Sorry, I might have drifted off topic there.)
The kids have been sneaking around the last few days, asking what I wanted for Father’s Day. I really just want them to clean their rooms, but that wasn’t on my list of choices. Hey, I can dream, can’t I?
Friday, Elaine asked me if I was going to the store with her on Saturday, Since I have went to the store every Saturday for the last five years, I thought maybe the kids wanted me out of the house so they could surprise me by cleaning their rooms.
I didn’t want Elaine to know I was wise to her, so I told Elaine I had better go to the store to help her when it gets busy. I think Elaine was wise to me being wise to her. (Does that make any sense?) Elaine knows that I can’t do anything in the store regardless of how busy it gets.
It’s not like I don’t do anything for Elaine on Saturdays. I drive her to town, pick up a breakfast burrito and turn on the store lights. check store emails, check personal emails, and read the news on the internet; all before I even think of sneaking upstairs to lay on the couch. (Yes, we have a couch in our office.)
I can hear when Elaine gets busy from my couch. That’s when I get up and go to The Orange Depot. I hate to see Elaine working that hard!
Wait a minute, weren’t we talking about Father’s Day? Anyway, the twins (and Ivy) showed up at the store and I realized their was not going to be any cleaning of the rooms. Maybe next Father’s Day.
The twin’s have never called me Father, Dad, or Daddy. They have always called me Monner. I wrote a story a few years back about why I am called Monner. For those of you who didn’t read the story, when the twins were learning to talk I chased them and growled at them. They thought I was was a monster, but they couldn’t quite articulate the word.
As time passed, Ivy started calling me Monner. If you want the entire story go back and read some of the old stuff.
Those were good days. I was more than ten years younger and the twins didn’t talk. I had the best of all worlds. (Sorry, I was drifting again,)
Girl Twin likes to tell me she doesn’t need to be nice to me on Father’s Day because I am her Monner. I think Ivy puts her up to that.
That said, I’m going to enjoy my day; just yelling at the twins to feed the dogs and then clean their rooms.
Happy Monner’s Day
Our crazy lives!