My Fellas!

A Gaggle of Girls

This picture always makes me smile.

The fact that it is May and I am just now posting a picture from Christmas is indicative of what my life has been like as of late.

While I love going home for any reason, I especially love it when I get to see all the young ones. I rarely go any length of time without someone on my lap...or four in this case. This is the face of happiness.

Cute...Cute...Cute!!!

Avery as Velma, Tate as Scooby, and Mya as Daphne this past Halloween. Definitely the cutest costumes (and kids, though I am partial) we saw all night!

I need help from the wily and creative!

Yesterday was my brother's 29th birthday...I have yet to get him his birthday gift this year, but am already thinking about what to get him for his 30th. You see, my brother is a creative fella...during my 23rd year he serenaded me for the twelve months with, "nobody likes you when you're 23." For my 3oth birthday he gave me Depend Diapers...there have been other creative ideas between those birthday years, but those two stand out most. So, I'm putting my thinking cap on...and asking for suggestions. Anyone have any really good ideas on what to give my little (big) 'funny' brother for his 30th birthday?

Daddy's Little Girl, With a Broken Heart

I am my father's daughter; I have his sense of humor, we share several physical characteristics, have many of the same interests, and we are both a bit guarded and yet very tenderhearted. For years I also thought I received my strength, sense of responsibility, and dedication to family from him...it has been in recent years I have learned these are qualities that come from my mother.

My dad has always been the most important person in my life. While growing up, there wasn't anything I wouldn't do to be in his presence: beg, plead, cry, purposely piss off my mom, skip outings with my friends, etc. Although a very social person, my father is a bit of a loner. He always had friends, but few of them would be considered close. It is because of this trait that I had to work really hard to have more than just a surface relationship with him.

Every decision I made was first sifted through the filter of what would disappoint my father. My interests were often determined by the things my father enjoyed, in hopes that we could bond over the experience. I was proud of my father and for him to be proud of me was all I ever desired. Pats on the back were few and far between, but those few were magical, and I can remember every detail of the moment.

In the last few years, I have been forced to see and accept the flaws that lie within my dad. While I was never naive enough to believe he was perfect, I realize now I had devised a different set of rules for my father...much different from the standards everyone else in my life was expected to follow. My father devastated my family by straying from his marriage vows. After thirty-five years of marriage, my parents divorced and I found myself making excuses for his transgressions.

I grieve the family I lost (age does not make divorce any easier), but more than that, I miss the rose-colored glasses that were stripped from my eyes in regards to my father. It has been painful to realize his disrespect toward my mother, my siblings, and myself.

Despite the choices my father has made, I love him and I want him to be happy. It is this undeniable love for him that also pains me. I find that as he moves in a different direction in his life the relationship I have worked so hard to build, for so many years, has also begun to deteriorate. I am forced to face the possibility that this relationship has always been more one sided than I ever wanted to believe. I hate feeling like I wasted years of my life chasing something that could never be obtained...I want him to do the chasing for a while. So much of who I am is wrapped in who I thought he was and the relationship I thought we had...there is a part of me that really needs him to prove to me that it wasn't all a lie.

The pedestal on which I placed my father has come crashing down and the splinters of reality have embedded themselves deep within my skin, quite possibly my soul. Never before have I been faced with the question: which is worse, disappointing my father or being disappointed by him? Right now, I'm not sure if I am strong enough to handle the answer that is staring back at me.