A week ago I said to Sharon, “It puts the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again.” Sharon stared at me blankly while I went, “Come on! You know where that’s from.” She didn’t know. I harangued her, “It puts the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again!” She patiently said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I got louder: “IT PUTS THE LOTION ON ITS SKIN, OR ELSE IT GETS THE HOSE AGAIN!” She said, “It doesn’t matter if you shout, I don’t know where that’s from!” I followed her into the dining room, “It puts the lotion….” She said, “I’m sorry you don’t have somebody who would know what you’re quoting right now.”
4 years ago, I would have quoted that movie and Greg would have gotten it, appreciated it, and topped it with a better one.
3 years ago, I would have quoted that movie, burst into tears, and locked myself in the bathroom.
2 years or a year ago I would have quoted that movie, pretended I was listening to a clever response, and then cackled wildly and inappropriately, prompting everyone around me to ask softly and oh-so-gently, “Are you sure you’re doing okay? Are you really okay?”
Now I quoted the movie, forced Sharon to listen to a gory retelling, and moved on- feeling grateful that I was well-educated cinematically and knowing that I could appreciate the joke all by myself.
Nobody can take away my history. I’m grateful for the fantastic movies I’ve seen, my appreciation of good pizza, my fondness for coffee, my political awareness, and my good heart. I’m glad to be the girl that people come to for book recommendations. I can hold my own in a conversation about the mafia, baseball, and Irish history. I know good music. I have comedic timing. I leave good tips in restaurants.
Yes, my dad still had so much more to teach me and share with me, and it is fucked up and frightening and unfair that he is gone, but I can’t dwell there anymore. I’m grateful for what I got. I got a dad that worked hard to be a good man. I had a father who made me feel special and important, but also humble. My father wasn’t cruel or careless. I will always know without a shadow of a doubt that my dad loves me.
Just think: some kids have dads that don’t EVER warm up their pajamas in the dryer on cold nights, and then tuck the pajamas into their sweatshirt to keep the warmth all the way back into the house. Some dads haven’t EVER picked up their daughter from the airport in the middle of the night or played hours of baseball with their son or obsessed over their son-in-law’s Christmas presents. Some dads don’t even KNOW that their daughter’s favorite candy is red vines and their son’s favorite donuts are plain cake. Some dads have NEVER bought their daughter an extravagant suede coat for a bitter New York winter!
Daddio, 3 years later and we miss you and love you.
3 comments:
This might not be the appropriate place to leave this message, but I just realized you left a comment/question on my blog about Everyday Math back in November. First, be oh so patient with yourself. It does get easier over time, and you will figure our what works for you. This is my 6th year, but the first 2 years I had 3 sections of math--mission impossible! I average 80 + minutes per day for math--about 35 for the lesson part 1 and 45 min. for the rotations. I rarely do stuff like checking homework together. Once every 4 - 6 lessons I have a "Math Lab Day" It's time for extra practice or time to catch up--whatever kids need then. I am tearing apart one math journal this year, where I record the answers for Math Boxes. Each day I add the new math box page to a protective sleeve. I do have some cheaters, but overall, it works better than any other system I've tried so far. Kids check with a red pen.
I hope this helps. It will get better or you will make peace with it! Let me know if I can help.
oh, beeeeerother, how does this happen? Rolling along just "fine & dandy" for days, maybe months.....then one crazy little thing can make my heart drop.....like helping dillon shave today, using his dad's razor, and then brushing out the whiskers while cleaning the shaver, and realizing that mixed in with our son's oh-so-tender whiskers, there are tough ol' gray whiskers too. Yikes....I wasn't ready for that. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't ever be ready for that, though...and I guess the good part is, if there is a good part, is that instead of saving them in a creepy, I can't let them go in the trash kind of way like I would have three years ago (but I did think about it..) I was able to just "let it be" and think about happy memories of giving that razor to greg for christmas one year, watching him shave while watching tv in his underwear, and anticipating some good smooching afterwards.....geez, I miss those days. Today's it not just about feeling the love, which I feel everyday still, but it's about missing my husband to share my days, and our son's shaving days, with..........I love you, BDG.
LORDY, the Ponderosa smells like a big corned beef brisket hug, and as I'm boiling and trimming and planning and shopping and making my little lists, I just KNOW that somewhere out there, in some way that I can't totally understand, but that I can feel deep in me, there's an Irish soul that is surrounding this home with the smell of jasmine and whispering in the wind, "good job, old girl, good job".......I will feel his love in the sparkle of our children's eyes as they party with our wonderful friends and family to keep our tradition alive.....and maybe I'll still hide one or two of his favorite cookies in the back of the cupboard, just like I did before to make sure they weren't all gone before he got one. This ol' Dutch heart is feeling a lot of ol" Irish love.........
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