SuperDad

This is a warning to everyone reading: I am about to blatantly and incessantly and to-the-extreme-ly praise my husband. My wonderful, lovely, HOT, resourceful, smart hubby.

One of my bestest friends had her bachelorette party at the beach this weekend, and one certain SuperDad kept Bennett all weekend by himself!

We had offers on the table from Grandparents to "take him off our hands," but Oh NO, SuperDad would have nothing of it.

I left for my wonderful, much needed girls weekend on Friday around 5pm. Stephen and Bennett headed to the hunting camp (bc if you were a guy, where else would be the number one place to take a boys weekend but up in the woods). I learned later that the two hour ride did indeed end up taking 3.5 hours. Two masterfully timed diaper blowouts in prime Bennett fashion, which put the trip back around thirty minutes total, caused that 7 o'clock eating hour to creep up earlier than planned. Bennett (who is a little alarm clock) started fussing again around 7, so Stephen stopped at a truck stop (this would be such a bad story if it was me...I would be in such trouble from my husband) and fed his babe some dinner.

Arrive at camp, unpack all the baby stuff (bc you know it is a TON) and put sleepy B to bed in his pack and play. Nite nite.

Stephen wakes up Saturday morning, feeds B his breakfast

and takes his little B on a ride around the camp to all the green fields with the farmer who is to ready them all for this hunting season. I get this picture message as a visual

With this caption: "That's right Bennett, 10 and 2" *

Back to the "country home" (note: I am forbidden to call it a trailer, per mama and papa Roe's instruction) and B refuses to nap. So what does one dedicated SuperDad do? He loads up all the baby stuff (bc he has yet to unpack his own stuff from the truck yet) puts B in the one place he KNOWS he will sleep, cuts his camp weekend short, and drives home. They have a nice Saturday evening watching the games and "doing boy stuff" as Stephen describes it.

Playing in my...um...Auburn onesie and orange and blue sandals at the camp. Please dont call the fashion police I am only 8 months old and I promise I didn't do this to myself. Work those thighs boy...

And THEN, Then what does our SuperDad do? He gets up bright and early Sunday morning, dresses our B in "the poofiest thing I could find in his closet," packs "whatever I could find" in his diaper bag, and heads to church. ALL BY HIMSELF. I am beaming.

Stephen said he walked in to the church nursery and the ladies, who know B and are used to both Stephen and I bringing him in , or maybe just me, start laughing. Stephen says "what?" and they say "is it Daddy weekend?" Stephen says yes with a quizzical look on his face and then one of the ladies points out that Bennett NEVER wears his Auburn paci clip to church. He always has on his monogrammed silver one. Oh sweet Daddy. Don't you want to just hug the man??

My sister calls me after church to tell me they walked in to church to find Stephen sitting all by himself, early, and with an exasperating "I dont know which way is up" tale of his weekend.

And our story is not over. I come home from my lovely, re-energizing, longest-break-ever-from-my-baby weekend, to find my boys sitting on the back patio, "waiting for mommy." Stephen in one chair, Bennett on his knees looking at me over the back of another.

Stephen took this right before I drove up into the driveway

I cried.

And THEN - I walked inside to find (oh yes you are about to hear me right) a cleaner house than I left. Toys were picked up, papers were stacked nicely, the dishwasher was loaded, THE BED WAS MADE, and everything was generally spotless.

Sorry ladies, this man belongs to ME.

*Before any of you go and file a Britney moment on me (or Stephen) let me assure you that this was on private property, no other vehicles, on a closed course, by a professional.