On Saturday, Rob asked me not to make a big deal out of Father’s Day. I didn’t totally understand what this meant—no billboards?—but I tried to keep things chill yesterday by having a slight relapse in my pneumonia symptoms and sleeping all afternoon. Rob took Scarlett and some other visiting family members to the beach, while I stayed home with my own Dad.

So I think I can safely say that not only did I NOT make a big deal out of Father’s Day, I barely acknowledged the fact that it was a day at all. We did give him gifts, does that make things a little better?

I think that maybe one of the things my very private husband meant when he made his Father’s Day decree was that I shouldn’t feel it necessary to blog about him and his Dadness this week. But that is just too bad. This is a guy who works all day at a very demanding job, comes home, serves dinner, cleans it all up, bathes Scarlett, gets her ready for bed, and then when he is finally ready to relax for the night, has to help me with…everything.

Rob is a great Dad. A few months ago, I asked Scarlett to give me one word to describe him, and the word she chose was “Batman.” This isn’t because he hangs out in a dark lair or because he wears a cape, but because she thinks that he can do anything, solve anything, lift anything, fix anything. It’s probably also because he tells her Batman stories every night before bed. I sat in the bedroom with them the other night and listened to one. After the lengthy tale involving Catwoman, Commissioner Gordon, and Batman and Robin trapped like fish in a net, Rob and Scarlett sang the old TV show theme song together. I sat there, smiling like an idiot, wishing I could quietly slip out of the room, instead of busting up the moment with wheelchair noises.

They play catch together, go skiing, watch football/golf/basketball, and most recently women’s soccer. They are solidifying their mutual love of sports and activities, which is a beautiful and often interesting thing to watch. For example, we are trying to teach Scarlett that rooting for one team doesn’t mean rooting for the other team to fall down and hurt themselves. She was so excited watching the NBA finals that she screamed, “If I was there, I would punch the other team in the stomach!” I swear we didn’t teach her that, but Rob does kind of giggle to himself when she gets worked up and competitive.

He and I don’t always agree on parenting strategies (who does?), and l am probably too vocal in some of my criticisms. Like I didn’t really think it was the best plan for her to eat a cinnamon roll many mornings before preschool when they stopped at the nearby coffee shop. I voiced my concern over starting the day with that much sugar, and he countered that it was something they enjoyed doing together, and anyway, he simply couldn’t convince her to order a hard-boiled egg when the cinnamon rolls were sitting there looking at her, dripping in sugar studded frosting.

I imagine there are people who agree with me on this, and just as many who agree with him. It was their routine, it was fun. Plus after she dosed up, he dropped her off at school and her sugar levels were someone else’s problem entirely. I still maintain that there are better morning meals, and a lot of them, but my guess is that she’ll remember those decadent days with dad quite fondly.

The three of us are a team, but the two of them are a team, too. Though we used to go biking together, it’s not something I can do anymore. So it’s theirs. Like skiing is theirs. Like taking care of our new dog (a boy who arrives in July and may or may not be named Charlotte) will be theirs. I’m jealous, and it probably makes me even more critical at times, but I can’t deny that this Batman Dad is an amazing guy, who would do anything for his little girl. Who would do anything for his family.

I must also add that while I was typing this blog post, my own Superman Dad made me a cup of tea and did all the dishes. Dads are the best.

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