and you’re the father of a 4-year-old and two 2-year-olds and you’re married to me you get:
(1) a Graeter’s ice cream cake as requested but with 33 candles on it that melt everything in the name of tradition.
(2) take-out Indian food because, let’s be honest, you’re the better cook.
(3) two children helping you blow out the 33 candles on your cake.
(4) plus one more, from afar.
(5) help opening your presents.
(6) a big, soft, gray blanket because your daughter, while shopping in Target for you said, that you “like blankets.”
(7) a fedora because your daughter, while shopping in Target for you said, “you like hats.” (I tried to explain the difference between a baseball cap and a fedora, but she would have none of it—simply because this one had blue on it and she knows, because she’s asked you at least 100 times, that blue is your favorite color.)
(8) homemade cards.
(9) a child who promptly steals one of your presents for their own amusement.
(10) children who fight over said present, resulting in a hat party.
Happy birthday, my love.
“Fatherhood is pretending the present you love most is soap-on-a-rope.” —Bill Cosby
