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Dad! Dad! Dad! Today, it’s all about you. My dad is the best. He shows up around here now and then (I mean, I tell you stuff about him, but also he reads — you know), because I have a lot of stories that make better sense if you know the dad. Anyway, he’s good....
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Category Archives: DadsI sort of promised you a story. And here it is. Once upon a time, we lived in Oklahoma. No, I am not making that up. We lived there for 51 weeks. And we loved everything, everything about it. Everything. (Except the job.) (And the weather.) Oklahoma is a lovely, wonderful place. As long as... I love the idea of gardening. My dad is a champion gardener, and I have decades-worth of weeding memories, eating the warm-tomato memories, corn-shucking-on-the-run memories, overwhelming zucchini harvest memories, and random other garden memories, including the time that snake slithered right over that foot. (It wasn’t my foot. But I remember the skin-crawl as though... (If the proper accent with which to deliver that title doesn’t come directly to mind, never fear. We can still be friends. It just means I’m … old.) Is thirty-seven really that old? My Kids think so. They’re quick to reassure me – “You’re cool, Mom.” But it’s the following eye-roll that sort of negates... In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m here to remind you that it’s November. For many, many writers, this is the time to do NaNoWriMo. I got on board last year. It’s manic. I love it. NaNo is a bizarre, online community that has Writing Output as its goal. (It stands for NAtional NOvel WRIting MOnth... Do you know what I hope for you? That you have a great dad. I have a great dad. My kids, too. They have a great dad. My nieces and nephews have great dads, too. They sort of fill the earth, all those nieces and nephews and their great dads. Sometimes, when I was a... So there’s sadness. Grief. Sorrow. My sweet, wonderful, generous, laughing, picture-taking, movie-loving, wave-running, Beach Boys-listening, Elvis-adoring, milk-drinking, compliment-giving father-in-law passed away yesterday. As I held his hand in the ICU this week and listened to him breathe through the oxygen mask, I wanted that hope that his girls felt, that hope that he would pull... When Husband and I got married, we used to talk about the kind of parents we’d be. He’d be the fun, soft-spoken, happy Dad. I’d be the gentle, supportive, singing Mom. Reality has leaped in here and changed our details a little bit. I am not the gentle mom. I am the nag. I am... |