cat named pig

I had lots of ideas about things to post on Father’s Day, about Matt and what a great dad he is, and about my dad and Matt’s dad and my Grandpa Hu, who is in town for a few days. They are all wonderful fathers and interesting people, and I bet I could have come up with plenty to say.

Instead, I got a migraine on Thursday that lasted a full twenty-four hours and left me dazed and sensitive to light for days. It was like having a brutal hangover, only without the awesome night before. Matt stayed home with the kids on Friday, instead of going to his ten-year college reunion as he had planned. I felt somewhat functional by Saturday, so he headed out for the night with a case of Bud Light and a sleeping bag. (From what I gather, the Bud Light came in handy but he may as well have left the sleeping bag at home for all it got used. He said he and his friends were just going to bed about the time the kids woke up on Sunday morning.)

We had a nice brunch with my dad, then spent the rest of Sunday in a family competition for the title of Most Exhausted. The kids hadn’t slept well while Matt was gone, and I still felt like the day after Spring Concert in college (which is to say I felt: dehydrated, headachy, tired, fuzzy, grumpy, and slightly nauseated).

Our Father’s Day weekend was not a Hallmark-style success — more of an ordeal to be survived.

I didn’t put it in a gushy card or glowing blog post, but I’m sure Matt saw how much I loved him when I begged to him to “stay here with me — I’m dying” on Thursday night. Maybe my grumbled comments on Sunday about “I don’t see how single parents do it” conveyed to him just how much we all appreciate his presence and his many contributions here. Maybe the kids’ whiny behavior on Sunday showed him how much they missed him when he was away the night before.

Or maybe we should all start working on our Father’s Day cards for next year.