Over the weekend, I fought many sleep battles with Alston {and his daddy} and lost them. He wouldn’t go to sleep on his own, would wake up starving and ate 2 bottles both nights. He was unusually fussy during the day and acted like he was exhausted. Not to mention the hoarse voice he has {which I’ve decided is from a mix of allergies/drainage and crying}. His daddy couldn’t stand it and put him in the bed with us almost every time he woke up. Last night, on the way home from picking Alston up, he fell asleep in the car. When we got home, I decided to take the bumper pad out of his crib, so that he couldn’t climb up on it and flip out of the crib. When I got him out of his car seat to put him in his bed, he woke up. So I decided to sit down and rock him for a few minutes. I sang him a song and when he was really sleepy, I laid him back in his bed. Then, I sat back down in the rocking chair and turned on some Baby Beethoven. He never shed one tear. He grunted, and crawled around, tried to reach the finial on the corner of the crib, looked at me through the rails…. once he realized that I wasn’t going anywhere, he just laid down and drifted off to sleep. While I was rocking, I was just sitting in the quiet, and reflecting. I never jut sit down and relax. If I’m not doing something with Alston, I’m trying to get something else done. I don’t watch tv. The only time I rest is when I’m asleep. While I was sitting and thinking, I was going over all of the things on my mental “to do” list… things I needed to do, things I should have done… when it hit me: I never called my dad on Father’s Day. It was TUESDAY and I had just remembered. I sent him a little brag book I had put together, with pictures of Alston from every month and had mailed it to him. I had tried to call him on Saturday morning to see if it had made it there on time, but didn’t have good service on my phone because we were driving to see my mom’s best friend and her new twin baby girls. Saturday evening, I remembered that I needed to try to call him back… When Sunday rolled around, I got out of bed with a cranky baby, and let his daddy sleep in until 10:00 while I tried to get some stuff done before we headed out for the day. It was, after all, Father’s Day… I was excited about the boys wearing their matching shirts, worrying about whether or not I should try to get everyone up and ready for church or just not go, trying to figure out if/when Bull & Isabella were coming swimming with us, trying to figure out if Patrick’s parents were going to join us at the pool, medicating the dog who has crazy skin irritation and allergies going on, and by 11:00 it was time to go. I got to Mink’s rigged up a dessert that I had forgotten to bring the recipe for. Patrick was complaining because he was starving and I wouldn’t let him stop to get something to eat on the way there and everyone was running late, so there wasn’t any food ready… then everyone arrived and we ate and swam… Alston had to have 2 naps while we were there and a bath before we left… When we got home, the house was still a mess, and Alston was still cranky.
I never called him. I know its no excuse, everyone gets busy, but sometimes I get so busy, I forget what’s really important. I tried to call him last night as soon as I realized what I had done, but got his voicemail. I sent him a gift & a card, but I know that he would much rather have had me call him instead. I feel terrible and I’m sure his feelings are hurt, so, Dad, I’m sorry. I’m a terrible daughter. I forgot to call my Father on Father’s Day. What could be worse?

Here’s a picture of my sweet little sleeping prince and another of him and his Poppa Jo… Happy Father’s Day, Dad. We love you and miss you!