My wife, Kristin, works weekends. It’s a 24 hour shift starting Friday evening and ending Saturday evening. Everything in between is called Dadderday (Dad + Saturday).

I apologized for getting so angry with her 8 hours prior and asked her if we can each try to not get so worked up over such things as crayons boxes, pieces of tape, and 30 seconds on either side of any single minute, 7:46 A.M. or otherwise. 

You’re pretty when you ask questions. You’re pretty when I answer, and then you ask another question. You’re pretty when you squint in disbelief and say, “Is that real or are you just joking?”

“Do you know what it is like to have a child with Autism?” You were not rude when you asked the question. In fact, you were quite sincere. Your daughter could not have been more than five years old. She was beautiful and looked scared that I was at the table. She looked like she thought she was in trouble.

Each Valentine’s Day, my daughters and I put our finest clothes on for the Father-Daughter Dance at our local YMCA.