S mores

My daughter had all the dad relatives over for dinner last night so there were 4 of us and about twice that many females. All the grandkids are girls so when votes came for desert S mores won in a landslide. I'm not a desert person and watching toddlers race around with flaming hunks of marshmellows on sharp sticks gives me the willies but all of us were good sports in our own ways and actually the messy thing is pretty good.

Its taste, however, is a far and pale second to granddaughter types racing around with flaming hunks of marshmellows on sharp sticks and giggling and screeching their delight.

Of course there was the dropped glob on the deck which will never ever ever come clean and the one set of slight burnt lips and an owwwieee finger.  Don't you see though? That's what a S more is.  It isn't digested.  It never hits your tongue. It is all in the eyes, watching this, these kids, fireballs and spears, wanting them to have endless fun and be happy every waking second and that is the present.  That is father's day. Happy kids.

My daughter has another on the way.  Her first was perfection.  My son has two. One is the proverbial Einstein  and the other a female daredevil worthy of the Sir Edmund Hillary prize.  Geeze. And my kids ask me what I would like for father's day?  ohhhh let me think.