Tonight my daughter came into the house holding something tight. Hidden in her palms. A barely contained giggle seeping out of her smiling face.

UD: What are you laughing about?

Jane: I brought you a gift.

UD: Why do I feel like it isn’t a real gift?

Jane: Guess.

UD: Some kind of poop?

Jane: No. It is from an animal though.

Great. Mamaw walked in with a smile. I became very suspicious.

Mamaw: Did she show you her gift?

UD: Not yet.

She hands me a Great Value brand plastic bag with something small and furry inside. It looks like a rabbit’s foot but there are no toes or nails. I think that it looks like the world’s tiniest set of mittens. Something about the roundness and the flat dried circle on the other end told me what is was.

Jane: Do you know what it is?

UD: Looks like a furry ballsack.

Jane: (Beaming) IT IS! IT IS FROM A GOAT! Dad got it right!

UD: Jesus… Why did you bring me a goat scrotum?

Jane: Hahahaha.

Maybe she will be a vet like she says. Playing with dismembered body parts is a good sign right?

So yeah. My kid brought me the shriveled testicles of a farm animal. If that ain’t country, I’ll kiss your ass.

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We went to another Painting with a Twist to celebrate Jane’s birthday. We got to paint a rainbow unicorn doing The Dab.

 

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Supermom bribed the children to help clean the playroom. She promised them Sonic drinks if they helped her. I doubt she told them that she wanted Sonic anyway and her plan was to make me go when I got home. We didn’t plan for the severe thunderstorm that rolled in just as we got ready to leave. But that Tiger’s Blood Slush is a bomb-ass refreshment so we risked certain death.

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Sometimes efforts to get the children involved spark new action and an initiative to complete small tasks. Sometimes those efforts are misguided although well intended. One of the girls remarked that the new hand soap was very bubbly. So I investigated.

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Supermom met the new cow. We can never eat any part of this cow now. Supermom would be the worst farmer ever. The animals would be fat and happy and we would be near death from a no-doubt terrible crop of vegetables and a crippling inability to murder our pets.

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Father’s Day was going to be a day of rest. It was my day. I started it off right. Honeybun. Coffee. Netflix documentary on Hiroshima followed by another documentary on Happiness. An odd mix but I grew as a person through each story. The nuclear bomb has created a world of nervous peace and it did that through two truly horrific detonations. The eye witness testimony and stories were heart wrenching because the voice and the narrative had nothing to separate it from a typical day in heartland America. The whole Japanese society was trained to defend their isle to the death. To fight the evil Americans until the bitter end. It was a mindset that existed in every country involved in World War II. The idea that the monster is out there somewhere trying to get in. The real monster was the quiet whisper telling us that we were all different. The bomb revealed a monster beyond what everyone could imagine. I hope we never witness that brand of death on this earth again.

The Happy documentary was interesting because it tells us what we all instinctively know. Money and success don’t fulfill our needs like solid social connection and love. A group of people living in a shack can be just as happy with life as any millionaire in a mansion. It doesn’t stop me from wanting a mansion but it is interesting.

But back to my story. Father’s Day. Documentary. Daughters volunteer to cook me lunch. Pizza and a cold Coca Cola. Hell yes. I went to the kitchen to help place the frozen pizza into the hot oven. Just as I placed it on the baking stone there was an electrical zapping sound under the oven. A bright light burned for a minute and then orange flames began to creep out of the vent slots in the bottom. I got worried and sprayed the flames with a dry chemical extinguisher from under our kitchen sink. It worked. The downside was the heavy coating of white powder all over my kitchen. Happy Father’s Day!

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I hope my children appreciate the things they do voluntarily that other people often cite as a case for poverty. Once again, our summer standard has been all four girls sleeping in a pushed-together pair of twin beds. They insist on sleeping like this and get very upset when I don’t let them.

 

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Lady Bug had a birthday and suggested Chuck E Cheese but I am not a huge fan. We opted for Dave and Busters. All of the great games. Tickets for prizes. Booze for Daddy. Everyone wins. We had a great day and won enough for everyone to get a Pokemom stuff animal.

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The State of Tennessee has a really great system of parks. Within that system of parks is a junior ranger program that tries to allow children to experience the great outdoors. On Thursdays, our three oldest girls visit a local park and learn life skills from a real Park Ranger. Last week’s skill was hiking so I was picked to accompany the girls because Supermom doesn’t like to sweat and Mamaw doesn’t have “hiking knees”. I enjoyed the hike. Not the mosquitoes or the humidity but the conversations between lots of kids who don’t know each other and are scrambling to establish a social hierarchy in two hours. They say the craziest shit. I’m genuinely worried about our future generations. I want to hand out ranger badges next time but with a secret recorder so I could re-listen to some of the crazy stupid things kids say.

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While walking a project in town I saw several areas where the asphalt had been broken away to reveal the old brick roadway. I love the layers of history that places accumulate. The stories that they hold.

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We want to build a house. I don’t know why because our kids insist on sleeping in one bed and live like a resident of a tent city in Rwanda. We want enough room to separate everyone during an all out sister fight. And we hope to invite guests to our house someday. We found a house plan we would like.

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After my stove burned and my pizza was ruined, we decided to go swimming. Supermom got a new bathing suit and wanted her mom to see it. I took a picture and posted it on Facebook as the fastest route to make sure Noni saw the new outfit. I got in a slight bit of trouble but I think it is misplaced because a) she is a sexy lady and is rocking that 1950’s versus Minnie Mouse style and b) she knows me and this is not above something I would do. I mean the picture of her vacuuming the box springs at 2 am was worse than this one. I should be good.

 

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If you have had a slow start to a short summer, this post is for you. You’re welcome. I know we are making memories but they seem small and slowly acquired. I’ll try to do better about getting some stories on here but life is busy and I am poorly motivated at the moment.

 

-Underdaddy to the rescue.