Father's Day. Do the laundry.

Well, Father's day came and went, and to celebrate, I got barfed on.

It all started Fathers Day Eve, which some less observant people might not recognize, but let me assure you that it's a fine occasion for scrubbing vomit out of your clothes.

Sorry. I know, gross.

My four year old puked through that night and the next. So Fathers day saw us nursing a sick kid through the day and night. He was feverish, sad, bored, really needed to be taken care of.

It's really hard to see your kid suffering with an illness. But I gotta say, despite the obvious disgusting-ness of being puked on, it was a great way to mark the occasion. These tiny little people really need us. It was an undeniable marker of how important I am to these little guys.

It was scary to look at him all sweaty and pale, and to recognize the massive responsibility we have. I tried to make him comfortable, held his feverish little body and attempted to dodge the chunks. (sorry, sorry, I know, gross)

He's feeling better now.

And I took a shower.

So happy belated Fathers day. I'll be the tired guy who smells a bit weird and has the big smile on his face.