When Jude was first born, my husband found it challenging to feel really involved, as I was breastfeeding, babywearing, cosleeping, and baby-whispering as a new mother does. I assured him that in a few years, Jude would run to the door to greet him at the end of the workday, happily calling, "Daddy!" Then he'd get his chance to really be Daddy.
A few years later, a few more children later, and my heart still lifts to hear this familiar ritual. Someone spots daddy's car coming up the laneway, and he is greeted at the door by little arms reaching up for hugs, overlapping voices telling of the adventures big and small that the day held for us, and questions about how his day was.
I am so very grateful for this steady, loving man coming through the door at the end of the day, sweaty and tired, but with just enough love and energy to show the kids his tools, give them a cuddle or a wrestle, read them a story, and embark on the evening dinner-baths-play-stories-snacks-teeth-bed adventure that marks the end of another day.