Ninety-nine percent of the time.
My youngest is quite a character who is always thinking, always kidding around, always looking to get a reaction from whomever is near her. I call her my little button pusher.
And though she gets a kick out of pushing my buttons, she knows that I love her and I know she loves me.
On Saturday, it dawned on her that the following day was Father's Day and she went into a bit of a panic, saying she hadn't done, made, or bought anything for me.
"That's okay," I said, "just take me to the Star Wars exhibit, and we'll be just fine."
She became excited, because she wanted to go as much as I did, perhaps more. "Okay!"
Last night, as my girls were getting ready for bed and I was wracking my brain trying to come up with an idea for a blog post, my young daughter placed a huge gift bag next to me. Inside, was a card with a bright, red bow attached with Scotch tape.
"How lovely," I said.
"Read it," she said, "quick, before I have to go to bed."
I turned over the card and read it.
For those of you who can't read the silver pencil crayon on black paper, here's what it says:
Daddy I love you because you're myI removed the bow from the card and gave it back, with a hug. Interest.
father, and I know that sometimes
I can be a bother, I am a pest
but you still love me so, Just
take a day off I'll even throw in
this bow. I love you as much as
Sarah likes cows and by the way I
need that bow back now.
That's my button pusher.