The scene: our kitchen (now) a couple of years ago.
The set up: I’m rounding out the first trimester of my pregnancy with baby #3 and dealing with nasty, somewhat debilitating, every-afternoon headaches. The only thing that seemed to make them slightly better was being horizontal… and the occasional greasy salty food.
The bacon I had purchased in a rare non-nauseous moment had been languishing in the fridge for days.
Until now that is.
That particular evening I shuffled out of the bedroom after my “horizontal time” to discover that my husband was feeding us all dinner!
Flanked by a silly little girl on either side, I remember sitting at the kitchen table and polishing off the very last bites of the best BLT I have ever eaten.
It was perfection.
There was buttery whole wheat toast (no mayo here thank-you-very-much), crisp salty bacon, beautiful ripe tomato, and a mountain of field greens and baby spinach. I remember it being SO good. And exactly what I was
needing wanting. (There’s no food passion like pregnancy food passion, am I right?)
The girls were finished eating and getting more wiggly and giggly by the second. Suddenly, a fat lazy fly had the nerve to start buzzing around the table. There was a brief wave of nausea for me and then slightly hysterical shrieking from the little ladies until…
“He did it! He got it!” The two-year old practically clasped her hands under chin and batted her eyelashes like an old-time movie maiden as she proclaimed “He’s our hero! He’s our hero! Daddy got the fly!!”
I grinned as we all cheered Daddy the BLT maker-fly killer extraordinaire.
After the roar of the crowd died down, our four-year old leaned over to me, eyes wide. She said (with an earnestness I will never forget), “You know Mommy, Daddy is NOT just our fly-hero.”
“No?” I mused.
“No!” He is ALSO a really good fixer.”
Her baby sister emphatically agrees and they begin listing off all the many things “the fixer” had fixed: books, doors, games, toys, remotes, holes in walls… They could (and do) go on and on.
Smiling to myself at his latest titles, I sneak a glance at my husband.
He’s standing over by the stove humbly trying not to bask in the glow of his fatherly prowess.
But we all know who he really is. And two years later, he still is.
Happy birthday to our (fly) hero and a “really good fixer!” We love you.