Let's hear it for the boys.

My life has been pretty "Mom" centric the past few years: new moms are showered more than new dads. There's a mommies group; the guys just tend to get dragged along to a bbq once or twice a year to huddle in mass, discussing the best way to light stuff on fire. I had a little girl, which is a special mother/daughter bond. And, of course, with the passing of my momma, most of my thoughts and conversations and focus has been all about moms since November.

Through it all though - the ups and downs of new motherhood, the loss of my own mom - standing quietly and strongly, these two have been there:

Are they wearing the same suit? Cause that would be weird...

1985 Style

Growing up, my mom and I were close. But my dad... my dad and I could be the same person. We bonded easily over board games and politics. We shared a love of history and the same legendary stubbornness of our ancestors. We had Friday Night Date Nights that I will hold in my heart until I am old and gray. We had a yearly trip to Water Country until the summer I left for college and election nights were spent calling him every half hour to discuss the most recent results.

And through it all, he served as my moral compass. He taught my Sunday School class for 14 years and etched

Dad, his two oldest kids, and his favorite

Bible verses onto my heart. He taught me daddy lessons - and called them daddy lessons. They were always followed by a number ("Precious, do you remember Daddy Lesson #2342?) yet the numbers were never the same, even when I sometimes needed to hear the same lesson over and over. Some were more practical ("Precious, you are probably just better off calling AAA then trying to do this yourself again.") and others have shaped my life ("The only thing you ever have is your name. Make it an honorable one.")

More than anything though, he taught me love. Love of learning. Love of competition. Love of laughter and dark beer (not until I was 21, of course). Love of old movies. And an even more important love - love of God, country, and family.

He also taught me strength. Growing up when I would complain about something he would always respond with, "You know your ancestors were frontier people? You are frontier stock. You can handle this." It was his own original version of first world problems. It was said lightheartedly when I was whining

I am on a boat.

incessantly simply pointing out something I was not completely satisfied with at the moment. It was also, though, a guiding principle. Think about how much those before me have faced? I can face anything.

That love and strength in large ways shaped who I am today. It also, I believe, shaped my marrying RB. I wanted someone who was loving. And strong. And would be an amazing father. I wanted my future kids to have a generous, invested, fun dad like I did. Someone who could just as easily spend hours in the pool, goofing off as they could leading and teaching and being a father.

New Dad. Already so at ease. 

Fast forward  3 1/2 years into our marriage, and here comes B - 8 lbs of pure, never-stopping energy. With her arrival came all the new fears of motherhood. What kind of world is this to raise an innocent child? Will I read her the right stories? Sleep train? Teach her manners? Will I be enough? The one thing I never worried about, though, was would RB be enough.

He took up fatherhood like it was his destiny. He handled a crying B as easily as a happy go lucky B. He kept his cool when she choked in a restaurant and whipped out his Heimlich skills - while I screamed and acted like a total banshee. He has taught her the good (he really helped her master "please") and the... um... less than good (Babe, look how far she jumps if I throw her off the bed).

We are on Team Not-Mom 

I already see who she is becoming and so much of it is because of him. She is fearless. Quick to laugh. Kind and gentle with those she loves but a fighter when necessary (though in her 22 month old brain, necessary can sometimes mean someone looked at her. We are working on it.). She is fascinated by football and makes the same face he does when I try to feed her a new veggie. Her eyes sparkle like his and she paces the front hall when it is time for him to be home.

Especially this past six months, he has been her rock. Since momma's death, he has come home, scooping her in his arms, and softly said "upstairs?" Biting back tears I have been holding in all day, I have nodded and quickly escaped to our room to sob and mourn. He has stayed - focused on her, continuing her day of fun and joy - sparing her from having to experience the grief of the world just yet. Every step of the way, he picked up my parenting slack even though he was exhausted, commuting between Georgia and Virginia for six weeks to support us, and also grieving. He was the father she needed and still needs, never faltering.

Though he jokes about "may the next child be a masculine child," he is a champ at being a little girl's daddy. Just as my sweet daddy used to let me put bows in his hair and took me to see "The Little Mermaid" in theaters, RB knows all the words to Ariel's songs and was one of only two dads who showed up at story time with Elsa (if you can read this and assume Elsa is a sweet librarian in our town, you obviously don't have kids. Or kids between the ages of 1 - 10). At the same time, he has taught her about trains and every day suggests our activity be Lego World downtown (No. Too young. Too many choking hazards.).

Every day that she blossoms, he blossoms more and more as a father.

B and I are lucky girls. So loved. So blessed. So cherished. Happy Father's Day to the two greatest men I know. Even if B does make this face when she is with you...