I got to have a bunch of Father’s Days. You’re jealous. It’s ok. No one will know.

Hunter left to spend most of the summer with his Dad, but wanted to celebrate with me before he went. So, Nikki and I saved our quarters and I took Hunter to the same place we visited on our first Father’s Day together. We went to Pinball Pete’s. Quarters were inserted into slots, fighting and driving games were played, skee balls were rolled (and rolled and rolled and rolled), and tickets were collected. We got over 425 tickets between us, which Hunter spent on things that make a Hunter happy. (Yes, there was a sword.) On the way home, when we babbled about how much fun that had been, he decided that I needed a souveneir. He handed me the 8 ball keychain that he’d bought, and it’s been on my keychain since.

The Thursday before Father’s Day, Aidan, Cian, Acelyn, and Nikki came parading through my office shouting Happy Father’s Day at the top of their lungs and carrying a large foil covered plate. They had spent the morning baking me peanut butter and apple cinnamon cookies together. Many of my coworkers ate yummy cookies that day, I can tell you. That evening, we all went to MSU Dairy for some delicious ice cream. And it was. Delicious. DELICIOUS!

On the morning of Father’s Day proper, Cian, Acelyn, Nikki, and I went to the Fork in the Road diner. It was a good sign when I noticed the meat smoker going as we walked up. We got there just as they were opening, and there was already a line to the door. By the time that we were seated, the line had gone out the door. And I tell you what, the food was worth every penny (not a cheap place to eat). Cian had the American Breakfast, and shared his potatoes with Acelyn. Nikki had the biscuits and gravy. I had the smoked pork belly hash. Yeah, smoked right out in the parking lot. When we left, to quote my good friend Peter, I was fat, dumb, and happy.

Soon after that, we were on the road to the TWP to celebrate with my parents. “Uncle Joe Awesome” was there, there were burgers and brats fresh off of the grill, and there was much grandkid doting. I hope Dad has gotten some mileage out of his gift, because he was all smiles when he opened it.

This Father’s Day really brought home how lucky I am, and how amazing the gifts I’ve received are. They didn’t come in any form close to what I expected, but maybe that’s part of why.

I never thought I’d have a daughter.

Truth be told, I had convinced myself pretty thoroughly that I’d never have kids at all. That is, until I met Nikki. Hunter and Aidan came with her, as a package deal, you might say. Then Cian came along. Three boys was a hell of a lot of work and stress and crazy, and then just as I got let go for the second time in my life, we found out that we were pregnant again.

We made it to three months before the miscarriage hit. The night before, I’d placed a lit candle outside on the snowy porch railing, as if I knew something was about to happen. I hit a pretty deep depression after that, and after a while, I decided that it wasn’t worth trying again. Three boys were more than enough. Nikki wanted to try; she wanted a little girl to raise. The disagreement almost ended our marriage. In the end, we agreed to wait and see if time changed our minds after a year or two.

Time decided that we’d get months instead of years. I figured it out one morning when Nikki had beef jerky and orange juice for breakfast as we headed out on a road trip. She’d not had her usual signs, but sure enough, Acelyn was on her way.

On June 10, 2011, we welcomed a screaming banshee of a girl into the world. She was wailing before they pulled her out, which made the weirdest gurgling sound I have ever heard. EVER.

This past Sunday, Acelyn Elizabeth Crampton turned a year old. She was surrounded by family and friends, soaking up every ounce of attention that they were willing to shower her in. She’s completely unlike her brothers, and fearless to boot. I’ll tell you something else: that cake never stood a chance.

I’m fairly certain that the breakfast gods are taunting me with the ever-elusive over easy egg.

That’s how Nikki likes them, so she can mop the yolk up with her toast. I’ve gotten it right a few times, but that’s usually when she’s requested them be over medium. And for the ever-important Mother’s Day breakfast in bed, the yolk broke as it exited the shell. I raised my fists to the sky (ceiling) and roared my lament at the gods (wondered if that paint was chipping). Ah, well. At least I got her bacon floppy.

With the baby wanting her morning nursing session, and the three- and five-year-olds in their natural, hyperactive state, I knew that Nikki wouldn’t get much of a chance to sleep in.  I gave her what I could, though, and we all brought in her breakfast (DAMN YOU, EGG YOLKS!) and wished her a Happy Mother’s Day.  I gave her my homemade card, which let her know in no uncertain terms exactly what her Mother’s Day present was. A date with yours truly to see the Avengers! The kids were a bit disappointed that they couldn’t come along, but they got to give her tissue paper flowers. How am I supposed to compete with that?

Later, it was off to the T-W-P to hang out with my parents and my brother.  My Dad cooked steaks under the guise of not letting Mom cook, but she still ended up putting out snacks and making her potato salad. Sometimes I have to wonder if that’s Mom’s need to be a host, or if it’s Dad’s idea that an entire meal can consist of steak. Not that I disagree with him…

The kids were their usual wild and crazy selves, Joe hung out a lot with Aidan and Cian, and Acelyn soaked up as much attention as she could get, as always.

Nikki and I have caught up on the Marvel movies that one or both of us had missed (Iron Man 2, Thor, and Captain America), so we’re ready to go for The Avengers. All we need to do is pick a date and confirm kid-watching, and it’ll be popcorn and superheroes for DAYS.

It’s been a hell of a weekend. There have been some seriously stressful points, and some seriously amazing moments. I’ll recap the top in each category, and leave the rest for a later time.

Major awesomeness of awesome. Also awesome. Riverdance. Live. At MSU‘s Wharton Center. Nikki was gifted two tickets to Saturday night’s show by the amazing Peter and Becky as a thank you for watching their kids. I went, expecting to have to suppress grumbling and complaining, as a favor to Nikki. What I got was an experience that filled my eyeballs and ear holes with symbolism, story, talent, and inspiration. Holy balls, was that an amazing thing to partake in. I was drawn in from the moment that I realized that those clicks weren’t time delayed because of distance, he was clacking his shoes together in precise time WHILE IN THE AIR. Also, that drummer was better than the fiddler because, c’mon, eighties hair.

On the other end of the spectrum, there’s lice. Our five year old’s Dad’s family discovered these little jerk faces minutes before Nikki was due to pick Aidan up for our weekend with him. (No judgement here, please. Clean and dirty people alike get afflicted with these bugs.) As previously mentioned, we sit for other kids, so we missed out on another weekend with him. On top of that, because the aforementioned kids were at our house on Tuesday, we spent the weekend turning the house upside down, piling everything that could be washed into the laundry, and everything else into plastic bags. We shampooed, we got haircuts (Nikki is becoming a pro with those clippers), and we sprayed furniture and carpets. All signs point to us being in the clear, and I’ve got my fingers crossed that that’s the case.

My hair needed to be cut, anyway.  The stylist at Walmart really screwed it up.

Cian is three years old.  It’s been three years since that morning in Ingham Regional Medical Center (now McLaren Lansing) when he came into the world, weighing a whopping 9 pounds.

He’s suffered through what we thought was a dairy allergy (and are now thinking is a mild case of FPIES), two collisions between his head and concrete steps (I had no idea a tooth could get pushed up into your gum, let alone pop back into place – but seriously, stop running on the stairs!), and the terrible twos.  He’s come through it all with a vibrancy that has shocked me, and made me once again believe that anything is possible.

If you ask him how old he is, he will proudly tell you “Fwee!”

Happy Birthday, Cian.  I love you.

But, seriously, use the railing when you’re on the stairs.

I love the Holidays.  I love the Christmas season.  I love the tree, the decorations, the hats, the carols, the unwrapping of gifts, the lights… I love it!

To me, Christmastime has always been secular, and  that’s how I continue to celebrate it.  The giving gives me a great feeling, and the receiving ain’t half bad, either!

As my kids are getting older, and their gifts are evolving, I find myself taking more enjoyment in their tearing open the paper, in their need to have the toy/video game/stuffed animal out of the box right now so that they can play with the awesomeness that has been bestowed upon them.

We’ve already had a couple of celebrations amongst family and friends, and with the way that our family is blended, we will be having them off and on through the middle of January.

I have to admit, my wife does the heavy lifting.  She braves Black Friday every year, so that we can afford things that we wouldn’t otherwise be able to purchase and give.  She meticulously wraps every gift, because she cannot abide my fumbling and inexact paper folding.  She juggles the schedules of two distinct blended families, not to mention both her extended family and mine.

It just wouldn’t be Christmas without all of her hard work, and for that, I want to wish her, most of all, Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, and a Joyous New Year.

When I opened this post and added the below picture, days ago, it matched my mood precisely.  I felt a connection to my Dad, through this image of his serenity, that I don’t often feel.

I’m hoping that I can feel that more as I continue to grow into this fatherhood business, and as I reach for wisdom. I’m not under any crazy delusion that I’ll grasp wisdom, but it’s a good road to walk, I think.  A good goal to strive for.

To be completely honest, I still sometimes have a hard time believing that I’m a Dad.  Since I’ve put on those boots, though, I have discovered a whole new level to the definition of the word “responsibility.”

In an environment of interruption and shifting priorities, focus cannot be determined by prioritizing a project.  If focus is to be achieved, let alone narrowed, choice must be used.  The question of “Why are you working on that instead of this other thing?” must be able to be answered, without fear of recrimination, “Because I chose to work on this now.”  Because, really, when the phrase “all things being equal” applies to priorities, my focus wanders all over the damn map.

This morning, I’m arguing on the internet to wake myself up.

My amazing wife has suggested to me that I not think about my goals in terms of which I should accomplish, and which I should discard.  She has suggested that, instead, I think about them in terms of which I should accomplish now, and which I should accomplish down the line.  This feels like procrastination to me, but upon further reflection, all deadlines for these projects are self-imposed.  My feeling of having to get them *all* done *right now* is internal, and is not a part of the goals and projects themselves.  If I look at my goals this way, I can arbitrarily assign importance, perhaps based on length of time required to achieve the goal, and then choose a goal on which to focus.  I can do all of this without feeling like I am abandoning the other things that I’ve started.

I need to finish what I start, after all.