Have you ever heard the saying "If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans"? Or is it just me who's watched entirely too many Woody Allen movies?
That's kind of how Father's Day and my birthday went down around here. I had such lofty aspirations of picturesque family fun. However, the day ended with Brad telling me he realized turning 34 probably did not make my list of top 10 birthdays. That was kind of sweet. Other then walking into the day with fairly unrealistic expectations, I just hadn't given it a second thought!
The morning started off with Brad announcing he needed to go to the doctor because he was pretty certain he was sick. Sure enough, bronchitis. Prescriptions for a Z pack and an inhaler. So he was out for the count and any plans for the day that included leaving the house were out of the question.
Side note: Later in the day, when I called my dad to wish him a happy father's day he asked "who gets bronchitis in June?" Ummm Bradford! And probably one day Charlie. They share the same asthma/allergies/lungcrap.
But - did I mention that morning there were also Sister Schubert's cinnamon rolls? And coffee we bought from our favorite coffee shop in Silver Spring the weekend before? Little things... focus on the little things.
A few hours later Aunt Flo showed up in a mighty tirade, determined that I pay attention to no gifts but hers. That was fun with a sick husband and rambunctious (boisterous!) toddler. Oh and many apologies if that's TMI, but it was an integral part of the day.
When Brad got back from the doctor, I had some fun opening gifts from my family. They always know what to get me. It was hard not ripping open the boxes as soon as they arrived in the mail.
Also fun: giving Brad his Father's Day gift that Charlie lovingly picked out at Tommy Bahama and paid for with his saved-up allowance. Ok, yeah, that last part's a lie. But presents are fun and we had a good time opening them.
To help him cope with an unfair Father's day illness, Brad needed to spend the rest of the day watching the World Cup. By the end of it, if someone had handed me a vuvuzela, I probably would have broken the television with it. That sound! So grating!
Side note: Am I the only one for whom this might as well be the very first World Cup to occur ever? I don't recall it ever happening before but now it's like everyone is obsessed with it.
I had already decided I would make dinner that night and settled on this incredible Tagliatelle Bolognese recipe in one of my Italian cookbooks. It's really more of a cold weather dish, but I wanted something authentic to go with the wine we brought home from Italy 2 years ago.
It was... OK. Didn't taste as great as I remembered. I may have just been so sick of smelling it cook (takes about 3 hours of simmering) that it was destined for mediocrity.
I also made a little appetizer of toast rounds with prosciutto, mozzarella, basil and balsamic vinegar. They would have been awesome if Zoe hadn't eaten them when we turned away for 15 seconds.
Dessert was non-existent since I didn't realize homemade ice cream takes about 15 hours to make when you account for all the freezing that has to go on of the machine, the ingredients and then the final product. Consider that a word of warning to all of you planning picturesque family ice cream events this summer.
The wine, however, did not disappoint. So. Good. A highlight of the day. If I'd been thinking of it, and there was an actual way to do it, I could have just stuck a candle in that!
We watched Avatar that evening, which I've been wanting to see. Correction: we watched Avatar after I gave Brad a very scary look when he tried to turn the TV from the World Cup to the U.S. Open. Sharing Father's Day with your wife's birthday kind of stinks like that. Anyways, the movie was good. It was like watching an on-screen version of my very weirdest pregnancy dreams.
So that was kind of our day. There was also some laundry and Brad got packed for the next week out of town. Made some phone calls. Wrangled a rather grouchy Charlie. Tried to take some pictures...
As part of my unrealistic expectations, the wannabe amateur photographer/mommy blogger in me was hoping for some heartwarming shots of father and son on Father's Day.
Instead I got a bunch of photos that look sorta like this:A blurry hissy fit. Charlie was just not in the mood for photos. His Dad is #1 but also very heartless and uncaring for taking things away from Charlie that he wants like sharp objects and household toxins. Now we must cry and be uncooperative whenever Mommy picks up the camera. Bad parents. Bad.
After rolling with the punches all day, I laid in bed that night thinking about it all and then just felt so grateful that my biggest worries are so trivial. Everyone is healthy, we were all together, we had a nice day. I'm fortunate my biggest frustration was my dog eating my much anticipated appetizer. The blog isn't named Bad Poodles for nothing.
It is the other 364 days a year that make up what is special in your life. It's awesome to have a day like your birthday to sit there and dwell on it, but real life is going to do what it's going to do. Some ups and some downs. The day was great reminder to just go with the flow and enjoy what comes - something I wouldn't necessarily write down as a strength of mine. I have to work at that kind of thing.
Most of all - Happy belated Father's Day to an amazing dad to our little boy. :) Sorry you had to share your day with bronchitis, aunt flo and very little of the U.S. Open. We'll make it up to you next year!!