A lot of fabulous people have done shout outs to Dad's for being awesome. I get that I am not the first to say a big THANK YOU to the Dad's. And I totally agree that the Dad-io's don't get the street cred they deserve.

My husband, my Mr Perfect, totally rocks in the Dad-io department. And in the Husband department. And in the Pom department. And in the keep-her-calm department. And cook-clean-iron department. Yes. He irons. I do not. Nope. Never. He is totes awesome. And I totes don't have enough time to list all of his awesome.

How often do we holler back to the Business Dad-io's? The forgotten ones. The night time guys wondering what happened to their lady. The ones getting roped in to helping with the business after the kid-io's have gone to bed. The ones we make wrap, pack, cut, glue, go to the post-office-because-we-just-cant-deal-with-crabby-post-lady-who-cant-be-assed-with-your-twenty-overseas-parcels. Sah sorry lady. Sheesh. Sigh.

So this one is for them. The Small Business Dad-io's. The Big Business Dad-io's. This is for our Dad-io.

Thanks for letting me Pom in bed. Pom on the couch. Pom on holidays. Pom errywhere. I know you wish 'Pom' was code for sexy time. But it isn't. It really is just Pom Pom time. Sigh.

Thanks for letting me lose my shit and tell you that you don't understand. Lots o' times. And not once getting cross at me. 

Thanks for helping me Pom when I had too many Poms. I'll never tell your mates you drank Peppermint Tea and made Pom Poms while watching The Bachelor with me. And The Bachelorette. You totally loved it. 

Thanks for letting me scroll n scroll n scroll n double tap tap tap all night. I say it's work. But we both know it's mostly online-shopping-and-a-heck-of-a-lot-of-stalking with only a smidgey-smidge of work. Eep.

Thanks for feigning interest in my colour combination queries. I know you don't know what chartreuse is. And quite frankly. Neither do I. But thanks for the many half hour conversations about which ball of yarn was more Duck Egg Blue. Neither were. They were all just bloody blue. Not a Duck Egg in sight.

Thanks for putting up with my meltdowns. My oh-good-god-this-is-crap moments. My highs. My lows. My ridiculous amounts of parcels. My argh-I-quit-because-someone-stole-my-idea-someone-doesn't-like-me-I'm-not-good-enough moments. Which happened almost everyday at the beginning. Before I grew a set. And stood up. And rolled with the punches. And got. Over. It.

Thanks for letting me chitty-chat-chat your ear off the minute you walk in the door. Mostly about work. Or how the kids got all up in my grill. While I was trying to work. Or that you have to be on dinner-bath-bed duty so I can get a heck load of work done. Ugh.

Thanks for getting genuinely excited when my work was featured in a magazine or on a blog. Or shown off in fabulous homes. And semi famous peoples homes. C Grade Celebri-tities. We never made it to the A Grade status. One day. Sigh.

Thank you for putting up with little foffy bits of felt-fluff-string-paper-feather-leather everywhere. All the time. And not even getting upset when the vacuum kept getting clogged. Or needing to be replaced. Or emptied. Which I never did. Ever. Oops. My bad.

Thanks for letting me take over the living room. The kitchen table. The bench. The sunroom. The office. They all became my 'work zones'. Even though you built me the best work desk ever. 

Thanks for pretending to understand the cray cray world of online mum small business. I don't understand the cray either. But you helped me cope. Or at least see the good. Not the bad. Or the ugly. And you always talked me down from jumping out the window after crying through one of those why-is-everyone-hatin-on-me-mean-girls day.

Thanks for being the start up bank roll. Even though I kinda kept most of the PayPal dollars as my monopoly-buy-stuff-give-back-to-small-business money. Sorry.

Thanks for the patience. The understanding. The pep talks, cuddles and oh-wow-that's-your-best-work-yet. The never ending support. The never ending love.

Sheesh. What a man. And that's just business. I won't even mention the non work days where the kids have broken me and I just can't be assed cleaning cooking or even breathing.

Thank you my main man.
Our Dad-io.
My number one employee. 
I owe you some serious 'Pom Pom' time.
The sexy-time kind x

PS I know you don't have Insta. Or ever read a blog. Even my blog. So I may never have to cash in on sexy-pom-pom-time. Ha. Oops. Phew.