Hidden Pictures

One of the harder things I’ve dealt with in my marriage is Greg working on Saturdays. Retail = Saturdays. People don’t want to go to the dentist on Saturday so my dad was always home. I grew up believing Saturdays were made for dads to mow, watch college football, wax the car, help make peach jam, and cross honey-dos off mom’s list. Even though I’ve had 18 years to get used to “retail weekends”, a little part of me still dies when I drive past Saturday dads sweeping out garages, playing catch, or hanging Christmas lights.

Saturday is when dads sit on mall benches guarding strollers and bags. They chew freshly roasted pepita seeds while moms secure Easter dresses, tights, patent leather shoes, and coordinating hair bows.

Saturday is when dads shift VW Rabbits all the way to Ace Hardware. They manually crank the sunroof open, squint behind Ray-Bans, and sing along to Don McLean. They explain to their daughter riding shotgun what a levee is. (No wonder it was dry!) Dads never lock the car and always leave their wallets under the seat.

Saturday is when dads take their leaving-for-college-soons to St. Louis Bread Company (pre-Panera) and in total seriousness teach about making covenants with God. Over bread bowls of chicken and wild rice soup (still my favorite) they say things daughters will remember 20 years later. Saturday is when dads show off how well they can flick bottle caps at unsuspecting people.

Greg shared with me something he read in President Monson’s biography. I guess an apostle visited President Monson in Canada when he was a young mission president in his 30s. The apostle essentially told him, “You’re only a mission president for three years. You’re a dad forever.” This struck Greg, who always prepares and gives a ton to work and church. He told me he wants to redirect his focus to make sure he is giving his best sermons, best efforts, and best self to his kids.

I’ve thought all night and day about what he gives and how it is received. I’ve thought about my own dad and how much I miss Saturdays with him. I realized something which forced me to put my gloves down. I can’t fight Saturday anymore. Saturdays are not alright for fighting, Elton.

Retail may be a weekend curse but it allows for long mornings at home. Greg has played board games with RE an hour each morning for most of her K-6 years. He has seen her from Memory to Candyland to dominoes to nines to Lumosity. He has also given her a solo ride to school nearly every day of her scholastic life. He conducts a father’s interview in those few precious minutes. He always gives her the same counsel. When he was sick last week I had to chauffer and did my best to say all the stuff he would say:

DON'T CHEAT

BE A BEACON

HELP SOMEONE IN NEED

DO YOUR BEST

RETURN WITH HONOR

She quickly corrected me, "Dad doesn’t say RETURN WITH HONOR." She knows what he says. They also have the same taste in annoying music and repeatedly blast their pop anthems on the drive to school.

Greg may work Saturdays but RE still knows how to throw a football, kick a kickball, toss a Frisbee, and sprint; he just had to coach her after dinner on school nights until it was way past dark. She also knows how to ride a bike, buy apps, and wrap her ankle because of him. He has been there for every night of math homework and I’m sure he will teach her to drive. (I sure don’t want to.)

Greg may get home after 7 but we still eat a (late) family dinner where important teaching can happen. Greg’s big soapbox is doctrines, principles, and applications. He has gone blue in the face trying to instill them in RE. After weeks of blank stares and deaf ears there came a night when RE wanted a homemade strawberry milkshake and Greg wasn’t biting. She got right in his face and said, “Dad, the doctrine of a milkshake is IT’S MADE FROM MILK. The principle of a milkshake is IT’S DELICIOUS. The application of a milkshake is WILL YOU PLEASE MAKE ONE FOR ME?” He made her that milkshake and felt pretty victorious about his parenting.

Our yard still gets done and we still date every week, just not on Saturdays. We still repair our roof and wash our cars (well, not me, I only wash my car three times a year…a huge waste of money in my opinion) and go to Costco and make jam. Just never on Saturday. Saturday has become the day I have adventures with my kids. They will remember Saturday as THE FUN DAY WITH MOM, nevertheless, they will have bountiful dad memories.

I guess what I’m trying to say is Saturday or No Saturday for dads who try it all comes out in the wash. I believe there are several focus groups who fear they are short on quality time and cross their fingers daily their best is good enough. I have the utmost reverence for single moms who do it all. I don't know how they do it, but I believe the Lord can make depleted cruses of oil and tiny handfuls of flour endure like everlasting gobstoppers.* The Lord can magnify anything, especially the willing. I feel for married mothers who have to work when their hearts are at home, but I believe good things can happen at odd hours in strange schedules and by the end of the pay period more than the financial ledgers will be balanced.

What Jen Vawdrey said in church last month is true, I’ve seen it again and again: IF IT'S IMPORTANT TO YOU, IT'S IMPORTANT TO THE LORD. It is important for me to have a house of order, to have my kids know their dad and vice-versa, and to have happy family memories of love at home. I was looking for all of that on Saturday because that's where it was when I was a kid. After lengthy focus and deliberate staring I found everything I wanted hidden in plain sight on the non-Saturday illustrations of my life.

*the miracle of Elijah and the widow with her cruse of oil is found in 1 Kings 17

Scratch-n-sniff sticker circa 1986, still smells minty! In honor of my dad, Dr. D, who only ever used and still continues to use original mint Crest. I also gained a love of hidden pictures from reading Highlights magazine at his office after school.

More stickers from my sticker book, still rocking their smells: