Tomorrow, November 11.

For the time he let me help build a swingset. For the time he snuck a $20 bill into my palm so I could get my nails done for prom. For the time he held my hand at Grandpa's visitation. For the times he watched me compete in cross country races. For the time he helped me move in the rain. For helping me move all the time. For the time he drove me to the emergency room when I fractured my wrist.

For the times he's caught me coming home far too late at night. For all the state quarters he's saved for me. For the time he sat me on his lap to tell me my cat died. For the times we've gone to see Harry Potter, Star Wars and The Lord of the Rings at midnight at the theater. For taking me out for Chinese food. For fixing everything I break. For helping buckle my shoes before prom when I couldn't because my nails had just been done.

For tucking me in at night. For introducing me to peanut butter and cheese sandwiches. For putting my hair in barrettes as a little girl. For taking me to Packers games. For understanding boy problems when he likely would rather not know. For being protective. For living in a home with three women. For doing a good job.

For paying attention to my work. For being proud. For his emails. For letting me drive his Jeep. For telling me he'd give it to me when he died. Even though I'd rather have him, not a Jeep Wrangler. For calling me a "jail bird." For writing letters to us on Christmas morning, and signing them, "Love, Santa." For spending Man Time with the man I'll marry. For the fact he'll walk me down the aisle.

For reminding me to drive careful when the weather's bad. For helping with math homework. For picking up my birth control pills from the pharmacy. For building campfires and setting up tents. For introducing me to 24. For taking my side in arguments. For marrying my favorite woman in the world. For taking care of her. And a dog. And three cats.

For everything. Happy birthday, Dad. I love you.