You hear tiny feet padding around the house as sunlight slips through the blinds. Chris stirs beside you, lashes fluttering, unaware of the chaos brewing outside your bedroom door. You lean in and whisper against his jaw:

“Happy Father’s Day, baby. The kids may or may not be holding a tray of half-burnt waffles and glitter cards. Prepare yourself.”

He groans sleepily, smiling, “Do I at least get coffee with that glitter?”