So the four of us are in the car and I’m talking about a friend of mine who has a daughter named, “Olive.”
I am completely in love with the name. Olive? So cute.
Vivienne: “The baby’s name is Olive?”
Me: “Yep. Cute, huh?”
Vivi and Lila: “Yes. Totally.”
Vivi: “Daddy, it’s like your favorite food! Olives!”
Craig: “Sure is, Vivi.”
Me to the girls: “If Mommy named a baby her favorite food, what do you think it would be?”
Lila: [rather loudly and accurately] “DONUT!”
Me: “Absolutely! I’d have a baby named, ‘Donut!'”
Me snickering to Craig: “And when the kid was a jerk we could call it a donut hole.”
Craig: [laughing] “…that was good. A donut hole. That’s funny.”
Us: [still laughing as we say, “Donut hole” again and again. Using it in various scenarios. ‘Um, my kid is sort of a donut hole.” ]
The girls: [completely perplexed. As they should be.]
We continued laughing about our imaginary child, Donut Hole, more than once.
It’s times like these that I know we were meant to not only be friends, but marrieds.
I love you with all of my heart.
You’re the hole to my donut.
Wait, maybe you be the donut and I’ll be the hole?
You drive me crazy.
You make me laugh.
You support me.
You encourage me.
You are kind.
You are confident.
You are strong and wise.
You are loving and intelligent.
You are such a good man.
You are always raising the bar… for yourself.
(I love that about you.)
And you are their “Cutie Daddy” and they love you, too.
(More about that fatherhood thing. You are incredible. You are hands-on. We’re in this together. You excel at being their Dad. I’m pretty happy you’re my co-pilot.)
Even more? I am so happy you’re mine.
I love you.
You’re so cute.
Forever, it’ll be our team against the Donut Holes.