Wall Winter Fun

We decided to try our luck with homemade snow ice cream during this last big snow.  My kiddos love the snow, love to cook, and most of all love ice cream, so this was right up their alley.  I'd recommend to any family plagued by cabin fever and just looking for some plain old, easy fun.   

SNOW ICE CREAM

Approx 8 cups of snow

2 eggs

4 cups of milk

2 cups of sugar

2-3 teaspoons of vanilla

We played around with the ingredients as we mixed and added more to suit our taste.  

HOW TO

In a giant bowl whisk two eggs until bubbly.  Add your milk and continue to whisk away!  Make some bubbles!  Add your vanilla and...WHISK!  Then add your 2c of sugar and keep on a'whiskin'!  Now comes the fun part.  Start adding big heaps of snow.  Our whisk didn't do the trick, so we broke out the potato masher.  Watching the transformation was super fun, and the best part, eating it of course!  We added sprinkles, of course.  No ice cream is complete without sprinkles!  Hope you try this on your next snow day.  It makes for great memories with the kids!

That Nine Year Itch

Originally, I was going to just do a status, but I thought, what the hell?  I don't get to my blog often enough, so I'll just put 'er there.  So, here I am.  

It's been nine years today.  Nine years ago my whole world was shot down; changed for ever and ever and ever...

Mostly, I miss his calm presence; his reassurance.  Him.  The security he provided in my life.  I feel, at times, lost.  My past is gone.  My parent's have gone.  Every year I think that I can't believe it's been this many years since I've seen his face, or hugged his round belly, or cried to him (hyperventilated).  He always had the paper bags handy.  Maybe David should get some paper bags.  God, I miss him so; to the very depths of my soul--the innermost part of my heart.  I could never convey into words or text how badly I want him here with me.  I just do.  We are selfish humans.  Don't say to me that I'll see him again one day, those words don't help me right now; they bring me no comfort.

He told me to write.  Write something, somewhere at some point and time --I don't care where, just do it.  So, I do.  Mostly about him.  If he only knew that.  My paper thoughts are almost always of him.  

K-

It's exhausting trying to be brave all the time.

“Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.”

― Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sometimes it surprises me how many times a day I think of them. Never a day goes by that I don't, and not just once, so many times a day. The pain, it never goes away, I don't care what people say. You just learn how to live a new life without them because you have no other choice. You have to build an almost impenetrable tough skin just to survive. If you don't, that hurt could kill you. Sometimes I feel like I'm dying anyway. Others, they don't understand, so you just try and keep it to yourself. You don't want pity, you just want back what you've lost. I know everyone loses someone; I know that, but why did so much get taken? Why did they all have to go? I have so much, I know that. I'm grateful for the people and things I've been blessed with, but all through my life there is and will be a huge aching gap that will never go away. So many things I want them to see and experience with me. I want to feel the hugs, I want to hear them say, "Kris, I'm so proud of you," again. I want to hear their laughs, hold their hands and just have my life back with them. I want them to meet my kids. I just want it all back.

I promise...I won't ever let them take your fire.

My only son was born on New Years Day of 2006.  It was a great day.  Ryder Davis Wall was six weeks early, but big, strong and beautiful.  He was the Hulk baby in the NICU.  He immediately pulled the oxygen tubes off of his face.  My boy was born feisty and ready to take on this world, and nothing has changed.  I've always said that when they let me go home with Ryder, they should have sent me home with a lifetime supply of Xanax.  I remember when he was just two years old, sitting on the floor crying, surrendering to him.  

It's safe to say Ryder has always been work.  He was a high maintenance baby, and when his

feet hit the floor, they hit the floor running.  It's been six years, and I'm still chasing him.  He never shuts up; he interrupts incessantly just like his father; he can be high strung; he chews with his mouth open; he jumps off couches; he runs in circles; he hits his sisters; he fights with me about clothes; he has awful aim in the bathroom; he is loud; he is a show-off; he is obnoxious; he is greedy; and he throws fits (yes, sometimes even kicking the floor).  It's impossible to get him to focus unless it's something he is truly interested in; he argues with me constantly; he could stare at the TV for days; he decides what food he doesn't like based on what he doesn't feel like eating on any given day; he has the most hideous cry-face; he embarrasses me in front of my friends and family, and he puts more holes in clothes than Swiss cheese has.

But...

He has the best belly laugh--it's practically music.  He tells me he loves me all the time, and when nobody is looking (and sometimes when people are), he kisses me.  The first thing he does when he wakes up and finds me getting ready for work is to wrap his arms around me or plop onto my lap.  He hugs me so hard he knocks me over.  I love to listen to him read books and sound out the words; it's like listening to him figure out the world one word at a time.  Someday, he wants to be a "worker man" building houses for people who don't have one.  He has perfect red lips and a smile that will light up your world if you just let it. 

He is funny...so, so funny.  He loves to cook.  He is amazing with babies and adores his cat and dogs.  Even though he doesn't like his sisters most days, he will tell you one of his favorite things to do is to spend time with his family.  He swings a bat like a boy who eats Wheaties everyday.  He understands more about Heaven than any little boy should because he has people he loves there, and although he misses them, he knows he will see them again one day.  He is smart; smarter than people give him credit for and smarter than most people realize.  Even when he is mean to a friend, he knows that it's wrong and will say so later. 

Out of my three children, he is the most sensitive about what people think of him.  He is scared others will make fun of his clothes or hair.  He is frightened of making a mistake during sports and hates public performances for fear of messing up in front of others.  He gets embarrassed very easily; it's heartbreaking because you can see it in his eyes.  Most people don't know these things about him, because they don't look past the rambunctious, loud boy.  

I've bitten my tongue when I've been told medicine might benefit my child, but lately I've been feeling so defeated as a mother that I decided to do some research, some soul searching, and to get some opinions of a couple people I trust most.  I've never even more than glanced down that road before.  It is my personal belief that too many children are falsely medicated because either the parents have lost control (or never had it to begin with), or are lazy and don't want to face raising anything more than a zombie-child.  It is an easy out, and it makes it very difficult for the children who truly need that sort of care to be recognized and treated properly.  However, I don't want to shortchange my child.  If my stubbornness on the issue hinders being open to something that might benefit him, then maybe I need to step out of the box, out of my comfort zone, and do my homework.  

I started to research the difference and common confusion between being "all boy" and having an actual medical problem.  Twenty percent of American school-aged children are now on behavioral medications and nearly one million children per year are misdiagnosed with ADD/ADHD.  If I had listened to a few people who thought they knew my son better than I did, he would be one of those children.  Most of Ryder's problems are in school, but like some studies say, humans were not meant to sit in a classroom for eight hours a day being told what to be interested in. I

I love this paragraph out of the article: ADHD and School: The Problem of Assessing Normalcy in an Abnormal Environment:

"From my evolutionary perspective, it is not at all surprising that many children fail to adapt to the school environment, in ways that lead to the ADHD diagnosis. All normal children have at least some difficulty adapting to school. It is not natural for children (or anyone else, for that matter) to spend so much time sitting, so much time ignoring their own real questions and interests, so much time doing precisely what they are told to do. We humans are highly adaptable, but we are not infinitely adaptable. It is possible to push an environment so far out of the bounds of normality that many of our members just can't abide by it, and that is what we have done with schools. It is not surprising to me that the rate of diagnosis of ADHD began to skyrocket during the same decade (the 1990s) when schools became even more restrictive than they had been before--when high-stakes testing became prominent, when recesses were dropped, when teachers were told that they must teach to the standardized tests and everyone must pass or the teachers themselves might lose their jobs."

I'm writing this because I need to tell Ryder I'm sorry.

Ryder, I'm sorry because I doubted you.  I'm sorry because I've questioned whether I should try to calm who you are as not only a child, but as a person.  Anything negative you do is a direct result of my parenting and the result of us learning together.  You being you is NOT a negative thing.  I love you.  I should have listened more to the people that believed in you and to my own heart and less to those that were intolerant of your boisterous personality and never-ending curiosity; those people either don't have kids, don't have boys, or have boys that are girly-men. 

I've had so many people tell me the wonderful things you will do with your life because you are who you are, but I've been so focused on worrying if you were good for your teachers, if you used your manners, and if you acted like I thought a six year old boy should--a six year old boy that wouldn't embarrass me...that I just missed it.  I've been so worried about the people in your life that you drive a little crazy, to truly appreciate what the people who love you for YOU and see you for YOU think.  I should have been your advocate.  I should have spoken up for you more when I saw people treat you differently.  It took a  very wonderful aunt of yours just today to tell me, "No, don't let them take his fire."  I promise I won't.  I never ever will.  I promise to never again try to turn you into something you're not.  I love you so much, and I will not let them take your fire. 

Merrry Christmas From Heaven

Something I read each year at Christmas:

Merry Christmas From Heaven

I still hear the songs
I still see the lights
I still feel your love
on cold wintery nights

I still share your hopes
and all of your cares
I'll even remind you
to please say your prayers

I just want to tell you
you still make me proud
You stand head and shoulders
above all the crowd

Keep trying each moment
to stay in His grace
I came here before you
to help set your place

You don't have to be perfect
all of the time
He forgives you the slip
If you continue the climb

To my family and friends
Please be thankful today
I'm still close beside you
In a new special way

I love you all dearly
Now don't shed a tear
cause I'm spending my
Christmas with Jesus this year

I miss you so very much Mom and Dad and this Christmas has such an emptiness without the joy that you both brought to this holiday. Once upon a time Mom, you decorated your house in Santa's year-round. I can't say I miss that, but I do miss you. Although I have to feel the loneliness and sadness of being without you this Christmas, I do find comfort in knowing you are spending your Christmas with each other and Jesus this year. I pray that you are so very happy. I think of you everyday, every hour, some day's every minute. Thank you so much for making all the Christmas's you were here for so memorable and beautiful for me. The memories with be with me until the day I see you again, and for now, that will be enough. Love you more than you know, Kris.

I Fell Off The Burp Cloth Wagon

First let me recap the past few days. 3 days ago I decided out of the blue to test Sawyer. I put her down for bed to see how long she would cry for her beloved burp cloth aka burpee. As I closed the door I heard her cry, "bee-bee Mom, bee bee." I was fully prepared to run in there and save the day and give her one, but her cries only lasted about a minute. So, I went to bed-but first I set out a burpee in my room to grab when I heard her middle-of-the-night cries for it. They, my friends, did not come. It was then that I realized I wanted her to have this fixation. She holds onto her cloth, intertwines her fingers within it just so, then puts her right thumb in her mouth. To me, it is the cutest thing; it may not be in 5 years, but right now it just really is. I don't know if it's proof that she still "needs" something which means she still "needs" me. I didn't know it would hurt this much. Moving on with my story, the next morning I heard her cries letting me know she was awake. "MOM, I unt out!" over and over...I proceeded to go into her room to get her dressed. When I took her out of her crib she cried, "bee-bee!" over and over...she threw herself a nice sized fit and I waited it out thinking her behavior wouldn't get any better and eventually I would give in and give her the darn thing. I was counting on that. Surprisingly, for the next two days she didn't mention it. Today, however was a different story. Today was a set back. She, er, I, fell off the wagon. I was in the living room folding laundry, I had 3 basketful's sitting around me and I was elbow deep into my folding when I came across one of my, er, her, safety nets, security blankets, lovies...burpees. I hesitated; should I bury it quickly so she doesn't have time to see it? Should I act as if nothing has happened and just go about folding and see if she notices? I sat there pondering my decision, knowing that it could directly affect the next several months or years of our lives. On one hand, it would be great to not have to make sure we have burpee's every time we leave the house, but on the other hand, it's so sweet, it makes her, well...babyish. Not that I want another baby - Hell no. It's not even that I want her to stay little. I don't know what it is, that's the problem. I never envisioned myself being one of those types to coddle the "baby" of the family. So, to end, I'm ashamed to admit my behavior, but I'll tell it all the same. I laid it carefully on top of a basket, called her over and asked her for a kiss. She runs over, kisses me, looks down, sees "it", hesitates, exclaims "BEE-BEE" like she'd found a long lost friend, picks it up, laces her fingers within it and pops that thumb in her mouth. Ahhh...relief, more for me than her, I'm sure, but relief all the same. I may regret this decision a couple years, but for now, I'm going to let her take all the time she needs (I need) and when we're both ready, we'll go about the journey and recovery together.

The Man With Half A Face

So, there's this man. I see him almost every Sunday in church. He usually makes his way in after I'm already seated, but almost always sits where I can directly see him, his profile anyway...the part that matters. His face is never hidden behind people. This man is always in plain view to me. He's always in front of me, but to the side. Although he sits in different spots every Sunday...it's always the same. I look...stare actually, my heart swells, my eyes smile, then I reprimand myself for letting myself go there, at which point my eyes burn, and my stomach turns. I don't want to get caught, surely that would make me seem insane, I just want to look, to take it all in...to let myself pretend, if just for a moment. I know it's not healthy, it hurts, but in some sick way it makes him feel closer too. It's bittersweet, to stare at this man. I wonder what he would do if one day I raised my hand and touched his face, or wrapped my arms around him and laid my head on his chest. The differences are subtle, subtle enough that if I purposely blur my vision when I'm looking I wouldn't be able to tell the difference, that is, if I didn't know the difference. His hair is the same color, but straight. The cut and length are the same. His skin, a little less weathered and whiter than it should be. His nose, HA...his nose. When he smiles or laughs, I smile, because it's a smile I know, although when I knew it, it wasn't this man that was wearing it. The resemblance is uncanny. And I know each time I'm staring at him, the person I'm imagining him to be, is probably staring at me, shaking his head, telling me to invest in a good shrink. But to him I say, "I know Dad...I know I'm crazy, but I really do wish it were you."

Motherhood

Whew! Just reread my last blog and didn't realize just how angry I came across, but then when I think about it, I think it came across that angry because I was that angry. Being that it was only last night I can't say at all that I'm fully recovered. It's subsiding, coming and going only when I give myself enough time to think about it. Oh well, it is what it is & I guess all I can do is pray that it gets better, or that I figure out how to deal with it.

New Subject...

Mother's Day is this weekend, and it's got me thinking about my kids...how much I love them and then at other times how much I want to ring their little necks. I can't believe the school year is almost over. Madyson sailed through 6th grade in what seemed like 2 months time. God Bless her for being such a good student, because Lord knows I cannot help her with her homework. That stopped around 4th grade when her math homework became too much for me to understand. She gave band a shot this year and it quite remarkable on the clarinet for a first timer. I don't know if she will continue on with it through 7th grade and beyond though. She is such a go-getter. Great at anything she tries. She was inducted into Beta Club about a month ago which is a great honor and is also active in Student Counsel. I can't say I'm too excited about these 'tween' years we're dealing with. I've just never been at the same level of understanding or thinking as a middle schooler, & in all honesty they annoy me. I can't compete with that level of enthusiasm they have about things like High School Musical, The Jonas Brothers, etc. I wish I could be that free, that giddy. To feel that I can let loose and just 'be' without a care in the world. I'm afraid I've become one of those stiff old ladies we think we will never become. One that doesn't crack a smile. When did I become that way? What changed? I can't even roll the windows down in my car and jam like I used to, that's depressing. Could have something to do with the fact that I drive a minivan, who knows? I want to be more like that, but how? Anyways, back to my kids. Onto the subject of Ryder...aka 'the middle child'...aka 'the angel with devil horns'...aka 'my biggest challenge in life thus far'. What do I do with this child? "He's so cute," is what strangers say. My reply is "he darn well better be because that's about all he's got going for him!" No, that's harsh, I have a flare for the dramatic sometimes. In all reality he is adorable, and when he's sweet he's OH SO SWEET, but EVERYTHING is a fight. He's too smart for reverse psychology. Right now our goal is napping in underwear without peeing so we can get his butt to preschool a couple days a week. Preschool or military school, whatever comes first. ;) Really, he needs that. I NEED that. I mean, you give the kid a spoon, he wants a fork, you give him a blue cup, he wants the green cup. He's asserting his own independence, which is fine, but he can't pick and choose! He has to pick out his clothes but then to try and get him to wipe his own butt (another prerequisite for preschool) he is not having ANY of that! The other day I tried to show him, with both my hands and his wrapped around 20 plies of Double Charmin, as I'm reaching his hands back near his butt he starts shaking and whimpering. Mr. Big Man he is, huh? I'm thinking, "oh, you're all big and bad when you're yelling at me because you want goldfish crackers instead of cheese-its (friggin same flavor, but different shape, but I'll tell you the kid will pick a fight about anything) but to hell if you're going to wipe your own butt, huh? Sissy." Lord knows I love him, though. Ahhhh, now onto Sawyer. Sawyer is well...Sawyer; still very sweet and cuddly. Dainty as all get-out and seriously the baby of the family. She has her way with everyone. Although she isn't a baby you would go ga-ga over when you first see her you can't help but fall in love with her when she gives you a glimpse of her super sweet personality. You give her a 'burpie' and she's got that thumb in her mouth and her head on your shoulder. So sweet. She is looking a bit hillbillyish these days though, I gotta say. She's got her two bottom teeth in about halfway but on top she only has one front tooth coming in so far. When she smiles at you she looks like something off of The Beverly Hillbilly's. God Love her though, she's so sweet, I just pray she stays that way. There are plenty of days I go to bed and realize that I didn't do all I could have done to be the best mom that I could have that day, and I just pray that everyday He helps me to be a little bit more like the mom they deserve. Either that or that I can brainwash them well enough to never know the difference.

Happy Mother's Day!

I Stopped To See A Weeping Willow, Crying On His Pillow

So I've survived another week...sort of. I have a lot of distractions, which is nice sometimes, but other times I would really like time to pout. To crawl into bed and pull my nice fuzzy blanket all the way up to my face and just be. I try to think at night, because you need to think, it's healthy you know? But my thoughts branch out like a huge tree, and as exhaustion takes over all those thoughts spiral down like the branches of a weeping willow until I am jolted awake and forget what I was thinking about in the first place. Is it healthy that I cannot finish a full thought? I believe some are on medication for similar problems. Anyhow...back to what I was saying; I've compared this grief to an addiction of some sort, or should I say an addict trying to break an addiction. I find myself so many times a day, at times before when I would have called my mom, having to change my course, or distract myself. They say if you're a smoker, and you are trying to quit, to not do things or go places that you associate with smoking, and that is how it is for me right now. Hmm, could it be that I was addicted to my Mom? Doubtful. I think that even though many times I took on the parent role and she the child, that in my head I knew she was still my mom. When you have parents you know you always have someone to fall back on, someone to catch you when you fall. It's a scary feeling to have lost all that. It's incomprehensible to think that in the past 5 years my family tree, my weeping willow, has gone from flowy and flourishing to practically a stump.

Hello Grief, can't say that I've missed you...

Hello Grief - I was almost afraid you wouldn't come
I was patient and I waited
Your delay made me wonder why it felt so different this time
But you came, of course you did...and now I remember
Remember all too much how you feel
You hurt
You slice through me like a dull, ragged edged knife
Your fire burns down to the deepest depths of my soul and lashes outward making even my fingertips feel the pain
My limbs seem as heavy as granite
To move is work
To blink takes thought
The tears you produce within me seem as destructive as all Mother Nature's creations combined No hurricane of the strongest force can muster up the same amount of rain turned tears that I have cried
You kill me Grief, but I welcome you
I need you
For I know the pain I feel is a neccessary pain
A pain I will have to endure to heal
And I know how bad I hurt is but a testimony to how much I have loved

A poem from Madyson to me ;-) Too cute

I know many women,
though some not well.
but there is one special woman,
who i think is especially swell.

i call her my mommy,
as do my sister and brother.
we think of her,
as the very best mother.

she is pretty and smart,
and many other things.
including funny and awesome,
fun is what she always brings.

she is strong and mighty,
and does her very best,
to help us through appointments,
and all the rest.

we can count on her,
through the thick and the thin.
because we all know
she will be with us till' the end.

i just wanted to say, mom,
that i love you very dear.
and i am very lucky,
to have you here.

p.s. always remember that i love you and you will always be very close in my heart. I know that no matter what you and i will always stick together through anything. you mean the world to me and this whole family. you have done so much for this family and we can't thank you enough. Just always remember that no matter what i say or do, i will always love you and support what you say even if at the time, i roll my eyes and disrespect you and i am sorry when i do. I love you! :)

Where Can I Find Scrooge McDuck?

I just need to know who's bright idear it was to have taxes due in December? Obviously not someone with children...or any family for that matter. It must have been a millionaire...or billionaire. Scrooge McDuck, maybe? As I sit here and ponder these thoughts I wonder why Scrooge couldn't have made them due in June or July maybe? Was he too busy jumping off the diving board of his 3 story high piggy bank, swimming through his money to think about us little people? Must be, that's the only good answer I can come up with. And where do I contact this Scrooge to give him a piece of my mind? Explain to me why we have to pay them anyway? I can sort of understand the house taxes, but the car? Let me get this straight...we are paying for the house (which includes the driveway) and we are paying for the car (which sits in the driveway) so why are we paying for our car to sit in the driveway? Doesn't that mean we are paying like 3 times for the same thing? Hey, I've never claimed to be a genius.

On another note-Why do we have to have the time change? Why can't we stick to just one? Screw all this spring forward/fall backwards crap! The person who made THIS rule did not have children, for that, I am absolutely positive. Do you know how much of a pain in the behind it is to try and get the little ones accustomed to a new schedule? By the time you get them used to one, why, it's time to change the clocks again! Who has the authority to make this rule? When I find out who, Ryder is going to go live with them. That way he can wake their happy a$$es up at 4:30 in the morning.

I'll bet that Scrooge McDuck is related to the person who makes the time change rule...I'd bet my life on it.

Gym Class & Cheerleading Bloomers

Oh my, it's just been so long, hasn't it? I love to blog, and so many times something has happened and I've said to myself, "I want to blog about this," but, it just never pans out. Life gets in the way. I've had 2 subjects in my head lately, so today I will talk about both because they pertain to the same thing.

To fully understand we need to start at the beginning…

First grade was a whole new start for me. A new school had been built up the street and I was going to be attending with all my friends, exciting, I know! I remember the smell of crayons and to this day I love to open a box and smell them. My friend Tiffany sat beside me on the first day and we compared school supplies. I believe I had a pink backpack that year with an actual Cabbage Patch head coming out of it. Sounds weird, but I loved it. Unfortunately though, later that year I was diagnosed with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis and was unable to participate in sports at all. I had my good days and I tried my hardest. I actually got a PE award from good ol' Coach Koelling (which, by the way, was stolen from a boy who pushed me down on my way home from school that day). I'm not sure at what point and time I began to fear gym class, I think it was when I left the security of Truman Elem. & Coach Koelling and moved on to middle school. There, is where a whole new world began and where my views on jocks, coaches and gym class as a whole changed.

So, here we go, this, my friends is my soapbox…
P.E. class is a class of favoritism. The problem I have with it still lingers to this day and bothers me often. Many, many times I have thought about contacting the school district regarding it, and I guess my views have resurfaced and begun to churn again since Madyson just entered middle school. First off, the coaches/gym teachers pick their "favorites" to be captains, at which point their "favorites" pick their fellow jock friends to be on their teams. Who, you ask, is left standing until the very end, sending telepathic messages to the captains, God, and whoever else will listen? Me, kids like me, handicapped kids, fat kids, geeky kids. To me, all that does is make them/us feel littler than they are. Not literally, of course, but mentally, emotionally…Do you know what it feels like to be one of the last kids standing there against the bleachers with your cheeks burning from embarrassment? Now, don't feel too sorry for me, I had plenty of friends, I wasn't necessarily geeky and surely at the time not fat, but who wants the girl with braces on her legs to play sidelined soccer for their team? Schools these days are trying like mad to cut down on bullying to end childhood suffering, suicide, etc. but let me tell you what, standing there was suffering! I would have rather been bullied! The fact that they, the schools, haven't picked up on this type of team selection being hard on kids self esteem astonishes me! I would stand there and act like I didn't care, and thank God I usually had Kelly by my side, (for whatever reason we usually had gym together) we, the rejects that Coach Vanleer's protégée's didn't want on their team. (I'm not doing us much justice Kelly, am I? We weren't dorks, just not athletes.) Anyway, all I'm saying is with the school systems changing things so much to accommodate all children, yet overlooking something, in my eyes, to be so hurtful is nuts. I mean, look at me, all these years and it still bothers me. That's how much of an impact it had on me, and it kills me to know they are still doing that and that there are still kids standing there, like me, wishing to drop dead as they stand against the cold brown bleachers.

Onto soapbox numero dos…

Cheerleaders. Why is it okay for them to wear skirts that their asses hang out of when all the rest of the female (or male drag) population have to wear skirts and shorts that go down to their middle finger fingertip? Seriously, why is that? I have ALWAYS wondered. Once again, don't get me wrong, most of my friends were cheerleaders, but it is such a double standard! Just because they are wearing bloomers under their skirts doesn't make it okay! The dress code these days is hilarious! Madyson actually got in trouble by a teacher b/c her bra strap was showing from underneath her tank top. The tank top, mind you, was not a spaghetti strap; it had inch and a half width on the shoulders. I almost want to send her to school in a mini skirt just to see what they would say, I would put bloomers underneath of course, which I guess would make it okay, right?

I just miss him

February 21st, 2008

I miss him. Plain and simple, I just miss him. I do okay, better than I thought I would, but as February brings this cold and snow, along with it comes memories that I try and keep locked away. Has there ever been someone in your life that you've believed to be untouchable...a rock maybe, someone that you thought could or would not ever be taken down by anyone or anything? He was my someone...but cancer got him, and damnit I HATE cancer. I'm never angry at him, he didn't want to go away, but I get angry at the cancer. I get angry that I had to watch it take him deeper and deeper into someone that neither he nor I recongnized. I get angry that I refused to have a wedding because he was not there to walk me down the aisle. I'm angry that I had to watch my "untouchable" take his last breaths knowing he would never again live another day on this earth with me. I would be alone. We used to talk, we had deep, meaningful conversations and I asked him once why, if we all die, are we still afraid of death? His answer was because it's the unknown we fear. I held my head and sobbed and said, "You have to let me know you're ok, because if I don't know that, I can't move on." He said he would, but I'm still waiting. Sometimes I think he has told me plenty of times, but I am just to dumb to see it. There was this one time that I was driving into the city, it had been the first time I was driving somewhere I didn't know since he had passed. I was scared, because as my family knows I have some awful form of traffic dyslexia which causes me to get lost simply driving around a block. It was ok when he was alive because I would always call him and he would direct me out of the wet paper bag I had been feverishly trying to escape, but this time, I was alone. My palms were sweaty as I got into the car, I looked down at my directions and started the car. As I backed out I listened..."Daddy's Hands" was on the radio. That was our song. I'm not sure whether I smiled or cried first. He wrote to me in a letter I got after he died, "And when you hear our song, Daddy's Hands, know that it's your old man smiling down on you from Heaven...I'm so proud of you Kris, and I love you so much."
It will be 4 years tomorrow since he's been gone. I can't believe I've survived this long without him. A part of me is gone. I'm not the same person I once was. I'm quieter, calmer and deeper. Sort of an extremely subdued version of my former self. I can't sit here and say I feel him with me, but I know he is. I see him in myself and my kids. I am lucky enough to have found a husband just like him, so, I'm happy. But a huge piece of my heart died with him. I'll see him again, I know I will, and while I don't want to leave my kids without a mother, I do look forward to the day I can dance with him to "Daddy's Hands" once again. So, until then, I will live the best I can and try and be the best person I can be. I will think of him each day as I have every day the past 4 years. I will try and be strong...for him...but Dad, I miss you...plain and simple, I just miss you.