Father's Day: A Photo Story

May 26th. It has almost been ONE whole month since I posted, dear readers! Instead of making apologies and lamenting about how incredibly busy I've been (I know, you don't speak Whine, either), I will attempt to make up for my very long absence with..what else?..a photo story of the M family's Father's Day. Brian and Kacie were our gracious hosts this Sunday and made our afternoon extra delicious and fun with some grillin' and chillin', kiddie-poolside. Check it out:

The sole reason for everything in our house being apple-cinnamon flavored for my entire childhood.

Oskar wears a bucket hat, Pop wears an Oskar hat.

Don't even think of stealing this kid's portrait idea, etsy-thieves, I've already patented it on legalzoom.

Assaulted by cuteness.

Ukulele with the Uncle-lele.

Salted Caramel Popcorn Cupcakes. They had incredible caramel middles. Niko ate his too fast for me to document it.

Bitty teeth!

This guy had to work, but as you can tell from the boys' faces, he is one loved Rad-Dad.

In spirit of Father's Day, many of my loyal readers already know that I refer to my dear ol' dad as the GOAT, or The Greatest Of All Time. Many of you also know that he gave himself this moniker for his BBM; however, after you read the following list, you'll understand why the label extends far beyond the world of Blackberry Messenger:

Ever the midnight oil burner, the GOAT worked many a late night when my brothers and I were kids. He also left the house pretty early in the morning for work. As a result, The GOAT would leave us notes on the counter to say good morning or keep us aware of our dog's bathroom schedule. The notes were and still are always in a very difficult to decipher form of shorthand known as Pollack. Ever heard of it?

Once, when I was seven or so, I was going to a pool party. Betty wasn't home and I needed my toenails painted. Had these toenails not been painted, the party would obviously have been a total bust. The GOAT came through, gave me a pedi, and made me promise not to tell Ashley's dad. Don't worry, Ken, I don't think he reads my blog. On a sidenote, my toes looked great.

The Girl Scouts have a one-sided tradition of hosting a father-daughter square dance. Why is it one-sided? Because all the Brownies LOVE dressing up like cowgirls, while their dads find it totally awkward. All the dads but the GOAT, that is. My dad pulled out all the stops for the father daughter square dance including a brown Stetson hat, a bandanna, and a denim vest. I'm also pretty sure that because the GOAT is a product of the 70s, he had much more cowboy gear that he wanted to showcase, but Betty made him hold back so as not to embarrass the other less enthusiastic dads. If there was a prize for best dressed, we would've won it. We also cut a mean rug on the dance floor, the GOAT and I. Still do, too. P.S. Look out Osters, we're coming for you in July. No promises we won't break out the denim vests, either.

The final reason the GOAT is truly the Greatest Of All Time, he saves the day. When I was a senior at KU, I planned a 300+ person banquet for an academic honor society. Not one for ad-libbing or speaking out loud at all (I have a blog for gods-sakes), I typed out everything, from introductions of keynote speakers to instructing the guests that the salad bar was open, everything I had to say was on this piece of paper. The banquet went better than I could've hoped for, until the end. As our chapter's president made her final remarks, I made my way up to the podium to make the announcements for honor cords. Low and behold, my notes were gone. She mistakenly had taken my notes with her when she left the podium. Before I could go into cardiac arrest or set the place on fire to save myself from embarrassment, the GOAT stood up from his table and fished a second set of notes out of his suit-jacket pocket. Before we left my apartment to go to the banquet, he made me print a second copy, "Just in case of an emergency." Besides the countless others, this reason alone is enough for me to proudly call my dad: the Greatest Of All Time.

Happy Father's Day to the GOAT and all the other Rad Dad's:

My brother, Brant  (Amazing storyteller, make-believe player, card-board weapon builder, and above-all, dad. Love him.)

Sissy-to-be, Kacie's dad, Tim (Another day saver, Tiki Torch fuel, anyone?)

New dads Adam W. and Pat H. (Making new parenthood look easy, these guys.)

Daddy-to-Be, Joe M. (So soon!)

Deacon Rich (Is there a cooler dad out there? I think not.)

Tricia Gail and Jillian's dad, Mr. M. (If there's a sign, it's a rule. He also makes a mean garbage can trapdoor invention thing.)

Steph B's dad, Brock  (I know we haven't met, but any guy who makes his dog an egg every morning and builds his daughter a second-hand above ground pool is OK by me)

Lydia's dad, Big Don (The Kraut King)

Keally's dad, Mr. G (Just try not to smile or escape a bearhug around KBP's dad!) and dad-in-law, Mr. P (The Master of Grills!)

Ashley's dad, Mr. M (I think he's the only reason I ever left the bench during my basketball career. Nope, I'm positive.)

Rosie's B's dad, The Braudler (Another day saver, can we say fourth of July fireworks debacle?)

Laura's dad, Mr. P (Only a rad-dad can make pleasant conversation with annoying teenage girls who invaded his home during a Mariners game)

Jenny's dad, Mr. B (Whatever comes out of the pot! He also owns a pub, 'nuff said)

Did you miss me, readers? Because I missed you.

-L