Happy Fathers’ Day to all those who celebrate it at this time of the year. Well, that’s no-one, but to those who celebrated it last weekend, like we did.
This is what we didn’t do. We didn’t get him a mug with Lauca’s cheesiest photo on it, as Lauca and I had planned, because the one and only damn place for miles around that still does that kind of kitsch has a broken down machine. I think that is like a florist breaking down on Valentines Day.
What we did instead is we let him sleep in. Don’t worry, there’s more. Lauca presented him with a hand-made card filled with rather empty promises about helping him with his household chores (little eye-roll) that she’d made at kindergarten, a bought coffee (I make terrible coffee), home-made breakfast in bed (I make great avocado toast), a fresh newspaper and supposedly the peace and quiet for us both to watch the political discussion show, The Insiders. (My sister has been to a dinner party with Barrie Cassidy, Heather Ewart, Kerry O’Brien and, Antony Green - I mean could you even pick better dinner conversation in your wildest dreams?)
A sleep in is the best present for any parent. The father in our house celebrated and got his sleep in in a motel. Then he took himself out for breakfast. The motel seemed like the only way the sleep in was going to happen. He had a lovely time by himself, then came home to a pay-ning the lad had done at childcare.
I took the kids to Questacon (science and technology museum, extremely kid-friendly) and Dad got some shed time.
And the first two in The Godfather trilogy, but I picked those
I am bad. I forgot all about it until the morning, and then I still didn’t actually do anything… It was my brother’s wedding that day – that’s my poor excuse.