Happy Father's Day!

Our day went something like this:

• Barely heard Hubby get up and leave to go to church in time for first service, taking his mom's minivan (she's been visiting with us the last few days).
• Got up, got kids ready to go, remembered to bring the folder Hubby called to ask me to bring but forgot my Bible, and dashed off to church in time for Sunday school and second service.
• Medium proceeded to sit in her usual spot with Jester, while the rest of us--Gramma Bevvie, me, my parents, Large and Small Fries--all filled up the pew behind them.
• Lunch out at GVD, which was yummy, as usual.  My mother nearly died a thousand happy deaths when she learned that GVD offered sugar-free butter pecan ice cream (her favorite flavor, and also corn syrup free).
• Cards were passed out and enjoyed.  Dad was really amused when I related the story of how Small Fry was most put out when I refused to let her sign my card for Hubby.  Realized I forgot to add an s or three when I was pluralizing Hubby's card from the girls.
• Got to sit on my nice patio with Gramma Bevvie and my folks and chat for awhile.
• Went to the community pool (we bought a summer membership, so we can go whenever, and I will likely drive Hubby to work a couple days this week so the kids and I can go to the pool when it's insufferably hot this week) for a couple of hours.  Gramma Bevvie stayed home to nap.
• Exciting box mac & cheese here for dinner.  And that's when the fun began.
• My brother called.  Because, after all, it's Father's Day.  He deserves to have his daughters recognize that he is their father and he should get "a little extra" because it's Father's Day and, well, he's their father.  (My thoughts: no, the Fries got to spend all day with their father.  The one who hugged them and loved on them and let them sit on his lap and dragged them all around a pool.  They've had plenty of time with their daddy today.)  Our supper was late because of our pool trip, so when he called the first time, we were just sitting down to eat.  Hubby was going to let the kids talk to him, and then the call got dropped, and Bro didn't answer when Hubby called back.
• Hubby orchestrated what was undoubtedly a superb plan to get me out of the house so that I wouldn't have a conniption, which had the benefit of letting his mom get some gas and a few groceries.
• Our trip out a success, we came home just in time to hear the phone ring again.  "This is reaching the level of harrassment," Hubby observed.  He pointed to the house phone, and said, "23 times."  Then he indicated his cell phone.  "13 times."  In two hours, he'd called our home phone or Hubby's cell nearly forty times.
• I went upstairs and sang to the Fries.  I love the sound of "I love you, Mommy" in sleepy little voices.
• Hubby spent probably thirty minutes on the phone with Bro, who threw everything but the kitchen sink proverbially into Hubby's face, saying he's been "trying" to reconcile with us, and see how we treat him?  Yeeeeeah.  Like we saw his reconciliation intentions loud and clear through his hateful actions and his leveling of false accusations against us.  It was so freakin' obvious.  How did we not know?!
• Hubby's mom was gracious enough to listen to us vent a bit, and then pray for our peace, since we were now both supremely irritated and more than a little upset and annoyed over the way our evening had gone.
• Ending the day with James Bond on BBC-A.  Bond + cake + ice cream + Pringles = not a bad way to wrap up the night.  (No, not all at once.)