My husband is exceptional. He’s not exceptional because he comes home most nights and helps put the kids to bed.
He’s not exceptional because he does everything from wiping noses to butts and everything in between.
He’s not exceptional because he can comb out tangles without a tear.
He’s not exceptional because he knows the right dress can make a toddler happy; and the wrong dress can make everyone unhappy.
He’s not exceptional because he can turn eating hummus sandwiches into a song.
He’s not exceptional because he can play hide and go seek with toddlers who don’t understand the rules.
He’s not exceptional because he will take a day off from work to help with the kids when I’m too sick.
He’s not exceptional because he figured out how to make mac-and-cheese on his own in the Instant Pot.
He’s not exceptional because he will grab a random two-year-old for an errand and bring them home covered in chocolate.
He’s not exceptional because he gets the kids to eat beans and spinach by offering to feel their muscles with great fanfare.
He’s not exceptional because he decorates cookies like a four-year-old.
He’s not exceptional because he encourages me to go to a random book club or moms night out.
He’s not exceptional because he will play tea party (even though he orders cappuccinos).
He’s not exceptional because he exposes the kids to multiple languages believing that two-year-olds can handle it.
He’s not exceptional because he will play “hop on pop” to the children’s great delight.
He’s not exceptional because he will initiate bath time times three.
He’s not exceptional because he changes the words to “Row Row” every time causing great giggles in everyone.
He’s not exceptional because he will take the four-year-old out to the grocery store at night and stop for ice cream on the way home.
He’s not exceptional because he’s willing to learn the different princess names… sort of.
He’s not exceptional because he wants the floors and walls covered in pillows to prevent ouchies.
He’s not exceptional because he put together three identical balance bikes before Christmas.
He’s not exceptional because he packs school lunches with salad greens.
He’s not exceptional because he has instilled the desire to brush teeth every night in order to show off one’s “movie star teeth.”
He’s not exceptional because he makes phonics a pure joy for our four-year-old.
He’s not exceptional because he lets me exercise as soon as two out of the three kids are in bed.
He’s not exceptional because he knows all the words to “Baa Baa Black Sheep,” “Campfire’s Burning,” and “Kookaburra” (if not the tunes).
He’s not exceptional because he validates the difficulty of parenting when he asks me, “How do you do this every day!?” after spending two days with the kids.
He’s not even exceptional because he still suggests I go away for two nights to a hotel to relax and write.
None of these make him exceptional; they make him a dad. (A great dad, but still just a dad.)
He’s an exceptional husband because he supports me in my endeavor to re-find myself. And I truly feel he believes in me. This makes him beyond exceptional and something to be grateful for every day.