Turkey Sandwiches: A Toddler Explanation of Daddy’s Job


My son is two-years-old. He just started to understand there are other people besides himself in the world. Sort of. This has made him become fascinated by where daddy goes every day. During the week, my husband gets up with both kids to let me sleep in a little longer because our ten-month-old daughter is a sleep saboteur and I am still up all hours of the night. So, daddy gets up with the kids, takes them downstairs, makes breakfast, makes himself a lunch, and then gets me up for the day. He’s my morning superhero. Our son, Tay has been watching him closely and has noticed that he makes himself a turkey sandwich every day. So now that’s what he wants to eat for lunch, too, just like daddy.

We recently went to visit my husband at work on the Nike campus and had lunch there. We ordered my son a turkey sandwich, which he happily picked at before wanting to run all over the place, and sit in all the chairs he could find. Because, toddlers. Ever since then when I ask him what daddy does when he goes to work he enthusiastically claims, “He eats turkey sandwiches!”


While Tay may not understand how hard his dad works, how much he misses him and his sister while he’s gone, or how he endures an grueling commute, I see it. I see daddy come home tired from the day, and light up when he walks through the door because the kids and dog barrel over each other to greet him. I see him leave work at work to focus all his attention on the kids when he’s home. He’s soaking up their childhood like a sponge. I even envy the sweet interactions and playfulness they have together because after a long day of mommying hard by myself, the last thing I want to do is play. I just want to run upstairs and soak in a hot bath with a cold drink. And some days that’s exactly what I do and daddy takes care of dinner because he daddys hard too.

I’m not saying my husband is a saint. I constantly find his balled-up socks stuffed in the couch cushions, and am always closing cupboard doors after him. But, he gets it. Raising kids is HARD and we have two that are barely over a year apart, so I’m not always kind or loving or even have the wherewithal to say “hi” when daddy gets home. I’m almost always sweaty, stinky, complaining about what to make for dinner, and exhausted. But my husband gets it; he really gets it, and even though I’m a mess, he loves me. We’re so lucky he’s ours.

Happy Father’s Day to all the amazing dads, grandads, step-dads, and anyone else who identifies as a dad out there! May you have turkey sandwiches brought to you in bed!


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