Today my daughter turns four. Yes, now we are four, and all that. She has celebrated by maintaining a level of excitement reserved for nuclear technicians who are running between flashing alert bulbs on panelboards and notice that all the other employees are ensconced in lead-lined bunkers ten miles away and are watching the action through a telescope. Yesterday we celebrated in a fashion which can only be described in photos and, because I’m a mediocre father, I’ve left the camera at home so today, the day of my daughter’s birthday, there is no visual proof of said event. But I’m the best mediocre father because I made cupcakes in seven different colors and arrayed them in a rainbow arc across the dining room table, I helped hang roughly five thousand streamers from everything inside and outside the house, and I watched as Child Harbat opened all the presents my wife purchased and of which I was dimly aware. I am a mediocre father because I forgot about CH’s presents until the end of the day. I will wrap them today and give them to her because I am the best mediocre father.
In the spirit of mediocrity I can make great promises about tomorrow: there will be pictures and possibly a video of the Big Day. There will progress photos of the Glory to the Rainbow Cupcake in Excelsis Bake-a-Thon. There will be ear-splitting descriptions of the ear-splitting noise made by a gaggle of little children playing with mechanical hamsters in an enclosed and acoustically lively space. But because I’m mediocre I have none of that available today. Let’s just say I’m creating buzz in the marketplace about an upcoming release.
Writer, architect, father, husband.
You’re being way to hard on yourself. The cupcakes were awesome and I think everything turned out great. Afterall, no one fell in the pool!
I read that as “no one fell in the poo.” Does the fact that you didn’t say that mean that it happened?
No one fell in poo, no one fell in the pool, and best of all, no poo fell in the pool. I’d call that a big success!
Anticipating the excitement in the next installment. I want to hear the gaggle of shrieks at full volume–minus the poo in the pool!
I promise you she won’t remember your mediocrity at all! You are the best Dad she will ever have!