Father's Day, both early (the celebration) and belated (my documentation of it)

The kids and I went to Duck Beach this Father's Day. This was ironic for several reasons, the first being the fact that this is the only Sunday we have been apart from John in 2011 (and may be the only time all year we are separated on a Sunday). Also, Duck Beach is somewhat of a Mormon singles destination once a year, so apparently John got some funny looks when he told people I had absconded with the children to that particular destination, especially for Father's Day.

In any case, we celebrated the week before. Really and truly. We started Saturday night with grilled hot dogs, which we enjoyed al fresco.

The next day, Evelyn gave John homemade gifts and sang him the Primary song the ward would sing a week later. I made crepes with berries and whipped cream for lunch and short ribs (more like jerky, but it's the thought that counts, right?) with roasted potatoes and a salad for dinner; we dropped by Grand Central as part of a family walk/scooter/skateboard ride to help our digestion along in between.

In fact, we celebrated so completely that I kept forgetting it wasn't Father's Day for everyone else, too, which allowed me to "traipse off to the beach" (i.e. pack my children into a rental car and drive ten hours alone - including three vomit stops) six days later with very little guilt. After all, if being late evidences a lack of feeling or care, shouldn't being early show the opposite?