Happy Father's Day!

The girls went to great lengths to ensure Brent felt loved and appreciated on Father's Day. We made this Pinterest-inspired painting: 

Midway through this project, I realized the thick edges of the canvas were the perfect place to put the girl's names (four sides, four daughters!).

Brigitta screamed bloody murder when I rolled the paint onto her feet and made an impression on the canvas. Actually, I think she's still traumatized by it. Also Pinterest-inspired, we made these cards:

Liesel and Ireland helped with Brigitta and Sydney's signatures.

The MnM bags are cinched to look like bow ties. As soon as the girls gave them to Brent, they asked if they could eat the MnM's... I guess they thought he really only wanted the card part?

Typically, Brent is the one spending time in the church lobby with fussy children. He follows the counsel of Boyd K Packer, who in the 1991 General Conference gave a talk titled, Reverence Invites Revelation. He stated, "The reverence we speak of does not equate with complete silence. We must be tolerant of little babies, even an occasional outburst from a toddler being ushered out to keep him from disturbing the peace. Unless the father is on the stand, he should do the ushering."

However, I elected to wrestle with Brigitta so Brent could enjoy the speakers and get a little spiritual nourishment. After church, I snapped a few photos of Brent with his bevy of daughters. With so many little ones, it's never smooth sailing at first:

But eventually I caught a moment where everyone is more or less smiling and looking at the camera:

His girls really adore him and we are all anxious to be permanently living under the same roof again. For dinner, Brent asked for beef stroganoff (which is among the precious few recipes I know by heart) and we had some corn on the cob. He's also raved for years about a toasted coconut ice cream cake his mom used to make so we gave that a try as well.

I love this video. It sums up Brent as a father perfectly:

For some reason, I wasn't able to get a hold of my own father- being half a planet away might have something to do with it. Of course I was waxing nostalgic. In taking care of my parent's home, I've come to use the garage a fair amount. It may sound odd, but I've come to know my father a bit better by spending time in his garage. Although a deeply spiritual man, Dad swears like a sailor when he's working on a project. He has an old radio on a shelf and he once told me he could hardly think unless it was on.

Dad has a tool for everything. A pointy tool that is great for jimmying the bathroom doorknob when Brigitta has locked it. A big, black mallet that I've used repeatedly to smooth out something or more often, knock out something. He has drills (yes, more than one) with backup batteries sitting in the charger. There's a table vice and I swear when I set up my own garage, that is going to by my number #1 purchase.

Working in Dad's garage is like taking a trip into his mind. The wire snips are next to the wire caps (and there's a few packages of those in different shapes and sizes). Whenever I thought up a project, I knew whatever I needed would be out there and of course, I was raised to believe very few things are rocket science. Dad encourages us to just try and then learn from your mistakes... and if you're a Nielsen, preferably expensive mistakes. I'll be happy to have Dad back but man alive will I miss easy access to his garage.