I’ve moved!

I have been working on my personal website, and have now moved my blog to my site.  The content is the same…so please visit me at my new home.

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Unconditional

I swear I’m making this blog only about my children.  But it’s what I’m feeling and thinking about in this moment, so here goes…

A child’s love is unconditional.  Looks don’t matter, talents don’t matter.  They love you all the same.  My daughter will come running with her arms spread as I arrive from work, smiling ear to ear, eager to give me a hug.  As I walked up the path yesterday, she yelled from the window, telling me she had a gift for me (of course a small treat my wife had bought, but it was suppoused to come from her).  What a beautiful thing a child’s love is.

Today at work, a co-worker’s son-in-law was diagnosed with cancer and will need to undergo surgery.  Even with everything the doctors say they can do, there is not much hope, that after the surgery the cancer will not recur.  (The surgery is in his head and half of his face, therefore there is also a good chance that he will never look the same.)  The interesting tidbit about this story, is that he has 3 month old daughter.  My co-worker calls her his guardian.  And all that made me think of my daughters.  How they love unconditionally.  No matter what I look like.  No matter what I do.  Even after a stern look and forceful words (every once in awhile discipline is neccesary) she will still crawl next to me on the floor to watch tv, or ask me to read her one of her books.  When I think of him and his daughter, she truly is his guardian.  Because no matter what, everyone will look at him differently after this surgery.  Except for her.  She will still see her dad.  And she’ll continue to love him as her dad for as long as she lives.

Despite what he may look like.  Despite of what he might have.  When I was young my father had back surgery and truly was never the same man.  He could no longer toss me in the air, or give me rides on his shoulders.  He couldn’t wrestle or play fight.   But all that was ok with me.  In my eyes he was still the strongest man I knew.  Even still at times today, I think of what a great man my father is, and how much I want to be like him. 

It truly is remarkable to be able to have that love in your life.  To be a father.  To be a son.  Wouldn’t things be so much better, if we all loved as children do?  As parents do?  The irony of it all is, that at one time, we may have…

Web Searches

After reading Sharon’s post on the Google searches that lead to her blog, I thought it would be funny to post some of mine.  Although mine lack the obvious humor that was apparent in Sharon’s, they are equally odd.

inside the leo mind (inside the leo mind?  can anyone explain this?)
leo girls (looking for a specific type are ya?)
my girls (I put this in the search bar and came up with some interesting hits)
Cousin thoughts (which cousin?  and what thoughts?)

This morning, in my bed…

As I struggled to keep myself from falling, the edge of the mattress cut off the circulation to my legs.  The fan spun mercilessly above me, blowing cold air against my uncovered back.  What is going on?  As I pull on the cover, I feel the tug back, and a small elbow crushes the back of my neck.

I lift my head and look around, only to be met by hair.  Lots of hair.  I immediately realize what has happened.  I try to push her towards her mother, but she squirms closer to my side. 

My daughter.  Crawled into bed without waking us, and now fights for her spot in between us.  I dread this, it causes me to lose sleep.  I rise to lift her up and carry her back to bed.  Its where she needs to be, its her own place.  She was invading mine.  Before I do, I momentarily stroke her hair, which covers her face.  She smiles in her dreams and places her tiny fists under her chin.  As I pull her close, I can only smile.  I used to do it, and I’m sure my wife did as well.  I arrange the covers around her shoulders and fold my pillow in half.

She feels safe with us.  Warm with us.  And for now, that’s enough for me…

The Gift

As I have mentioned before my girls are my life.  My eldest daughter turns 3 in November and I still can’t believe how fast she is growing up.  It’s amazing to sit and have full conversations with her, watch her dance and enjoy music, even the funny faces she makes when she tastes something she doesn’t like are an adventure.  I have dedicated this poem to her, wishing she would stay this tall forever.

It’s an attempt at a rhyme, so please bear with me…

God granted us this gift,
a heavenly flower to look after
who fills our life with joy and glee
and greets us with love and laughter.
She has grown, beautiful beyond belief
alive beyond her years
inadequacy always causing us grief
but always calming our fears.
Thank you for this great gem
for this spark of life, all of our own.
We promise to protect and to love her
even after she’s all grown.

My Cousin

I received one of the most disturbing calls on Thursday night.  My cousins 2 year old daughter drowned in their family pool.  I cant tell you the grief and shock that shook through my core as I heard my mothers exasperated voice on the phone.  It threw my familys life in an uproar this weekend, and I didnt sleep for three days.

All I kept thinking about was my cousin.  How was she feeling? What was she feeling?  Inadequate?  Guilty?  I cant begin to imagine how much her soul must hurt.  I wanted to call her, I wanted to show her that I cared, that I was thinking about her.  But I felt guilty.  Guilty because I still had my two children and she had lost one of hers.  What could I say to make her feel better?

And then it occured to me.  In a moment of grief, you’re not looking to feel better.  Just to be understood.  To be cared for.  I knew there was nothing I could have done or said that would fill that void she now had in her life.  But I could show her I cared.  I could convey to her that she was loved and cried and thought about, during this difficult time.

Cousin, this is for you.  For your beautiful daughter.  We love you, we care and we’re here.