My Bag

Picking up my luggage from the airport baggage carousel is always the same for me. I see a bag and think, "Oh, is that my bag?" I check the tags, and nope, it's not mine. Then I see another one. It looks like it might be my bag, so I check those tags, and...wrong again. This may happen a couple more times, but when my bag finally comes through the curtain, I recognize it immediately. That's my bag.

The instant I met my husband, I knew. Now that I see him as a father to our children, it's even more obvious.


He's my bag.

My husband is the kind of man that bathes the boys, gets them ready for bed, and pulls bedtime duty every night he's home.

He plays cars, builds train tracks, and reads the same story five times in a row.

He makes up songs, runs through sprinklers, and watches Dinosaur Train on a Saturday afternoon.

He puts things together, takes things apart, and fixes stuff when it breaks.

He shares the cooking, helps with the cleaning, and documents our lives with the most beautiful photographs.

He talks to our boys, listens to them, and teaches them what is right.

My husband is the kind of man that loves his family with all of his heart.

And that is definitely my bag.

Thank you for being a wonderful husband and daddy.

Happy Father's Day! We love you!