Father’s Day


Dad got breakfast in bed—Krispy Kreme Doughnuts and milk—and then he got presents!



I helped pass the presents out.


I wrote a lot of stuff on my card to Dad, thanking him for tickling my tummy and changing my diaper every morning and singing my favorite song (the ABC song, in case you didn’t know) and putting lots of butter on my vegetables (which Mom never does) and hugging me and kissing me all the time and for being so patient with me, even when I’m really, really mad and for throwing my ball to me over and over and over and for teaching me how to say “poo,” which I think is probably the funniest word ever.


I helped Mom pick out a Cincinnati Reds T-shirt and we also got him a gift certificate to go shopping for a new suit! (He says his current suit is a little too tight. I told him that that’s OK because when I wear my cloth diapers, sometimes my shorts are too tight, too.)



Later that afternoon, at the Mangan Family Reunion, we celebrated Father’s Day with Grandpa, too. (Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I love you!)

“Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away.” —Dinah Craik