My Philosophy

I recently read (and by read I mean skim random pages because between two children, dishes, laundry, yardwork, garage sale, fair season, garage renovation, and work there isn't much time left for reading a book with more than 32 pages) the book "52 Projects: Random Acts of Everyday Creativity." And in the introduction I found the philosophy of my life the words I could never write. All through my house I have projects in various stages of progress but that never stops me from starting another one and here is why:

I feel the most alive when I am creating something.

I live for those times when its well after midnight, and with sore shoulders I'm hunched over the kitchen table working on a project, bleary-eyes but clearly focused on the task at hand, tired but having no desire to hit the sack. Or when I'm on an evening run through the park, huffing and puffing my way through five miles of pavement-pounding exercise, and the only thing I'm thinking about is the concept of my idea for a project - connecting the dots from the list of needed materials to what it looks like at the moment of the unveiling - every other though and worry pushed aside by the effort to keep on running, keep on breathing, faster and faster, farther and farther, one foot in front of the other as the idea for my project crystallizes and becomes complete in my mind. And of course the feeling I have when I finish a project - despite having to battle back worries that its not good or that I could've done better - there's a powerful sense that if I put my mind to it, I can do anything, anything at all.

Thats why I'm always working on projects. I like the way the process of creating a project makes me feel, the things that I learn, how it energizes and inspires me, the opportunities I find within each step along the way, and, of course, the end result.

Now if only I could get to that end result more often. :O)

Bittersweet

** Disclaimer: this is one of those blogs that I just needed to type and type it fast to get the feelings off my chest. I apologize for any spelling mistakes and/or rambling sentences and thoughts. Any attempt at proof reading would only lead me to put it off for another day and probably never publish this blog. Sometimes you just need to let your raw feelings hang out.


Today is a bittersweet day. My little man is 6 months old already. He's been on the move since July and in the past week he's begun pulling himself up on things. The crib has been lowered, baby proofing has begun, baby spoons have been dug out again. Its been a rough six months trying to figure out whats causing a lot of his belly problems. We've been through a lot of infant tylenol and oragel but we're making it. He's yet to settle into a routine of any sort so everyday is unpredictable. But I suppose this is a way of showing us what life with a little boy will be like for the rest of our lives.





And with every monthly and yearly milestone of Jacob's also comes the constant reminder of losing Dad. Today marks the five month point since Dad left us. Sometimes it feels as if its been five years already, sometimes it seems like just yesterday. Just a month ago, I made a discovery that just made me smile and my heart laugh and I thought to myself "Oh my god, I've got to call Dad." Then the reality sunk in of I can't call Dad, he's not there to call. Oh how upsetting and unfair life was in that moment. However, my innocent, free speaking daughter gave me the reminder that I needed just this past weekend.

I had borrowed an item from my in-laws and while out running family errands this weekend, we stopped by to return it. My father in-law had come down with a cold so Jacob, Bree and I stayed in the car while Jim ran inside. As she does anytime Jim leaves her sight, Bree asked "Where Daddy go." I explained to her that Papa Dominique wasn't feeling very well, he was sick so Daddy was just running inside for a moment. Bree began to ramble on about Papa crying because he was sick and other things that I could understand so I tuned her out. However my ears perked up when I heard her day "Papa not crying any more. Papa not sick." Tears instantly stung my eyes when I realized that she was no longer talking about Jim's Dad, but about MY dad. So just to be sure what I was assuming was right, I asked her where Papa was and she replied "Up in heaven." I cried all the way home. But she was right. Pap's not crying anymore. Papa's not sick. He's up in heaven and we'll be there someday too.

I spy with my little eye - 2

A sleeping Bree is somewhere in this picture. Can you find her??





I spy with my little eye - 1

Get a Grip

What would she write if only she could spell?

How many pictures does it take...

to capture a smile?

One. What just happened to your smile? I think I can see down to your stomach!


Two. Hmm.. Deer in the headlights look wasn't what I was going for.


Three. Not too bad but a little too blurry. Stupid camera. Lets try to get a better one.


Four. Now I think I've lost him.


Five. YAY!! He's laughing but, dang it, look at the camera!


Six. No Jacob. Look at Mommy and laugh.


Seven. Stop it! Leave the camera cord alone!!


Eight. Burp rag! Burp Rag!! WHERE'S THE BURP RAG?!?!


Nine. Yeah, I'm getting a little tired too buddy.


Ten. Stupid %#!**^ camera taking fuzzy pictures!!


Eleven. WOW!! I think I can see down to your toes!!


Twelve. Awww. So innocent looking but not what I'm going for. Please Jacob, just one smile??


Thirteen. Its a keeper!!


Yes, people, it takes thirteen pictures to capture a half-way decent picture of Jacob. Boys are so much work.

I had a dream

I've randomly been having dreams about Dad. Sometimes they are just small little "clips" that the only thing I remember is that Dad was there. Then sometimes they are full blown dreams. I search and search for a meaning and a purpose to apply to whatever life situation I'm facing at the moment but so far nothing makes sense. I don't want to forget these dreams no matter how minute or trivial they seem. Maybe once all the pieces are put together, the whole picture can be seen. So without further ado, here is dream 1.

I was in my parents basement. Everything setup as it was when I was in elementary school. I was sitting on the counter in the laundry room talking to my friend as I did many times in my youth when I had to put the phone down to tend to something else. When I picked up the phone again to continue my conversation my friend was no longer on the other end. But Dad was. I jumped up and started running around the basement screaming "Its my Dad! Its my Dad!" I was crying. I was laughing. I was so excited to hear his voice again. I could actually hear his voice in my dream. Oh how wonderful he sounded. However, I could not stop screaming or crying enough to make out what it was he was trying to tell me. In my head I kept telling myself to shut up and listen but it just didn't work. Then I unfortunately woke up, not knowing what it was he was trying to tell me.


Since having that dream, we've had more than a few rough patches that we certainly could have used dream advice from Dad. One night as I laid in bed I had a little conversation with Dad that went something like "Dad we could use some help down here. If we're missing something or if you have any pointers for us, please let us know. But to go tell Becki because you remember what happened last time you tried to tell me something."

Father Day Trip - Take Three

Anyone who knows my husband knows that we could not discover a store called Cheesehaven and NOT stop there. To him this place is a little piece of Heaven on Earth. And seeings how it was his fathers day trip and all we went in and spent the next hour wandering around, discovering (and sampling) varities of cheeses I never thought possible. Such as chocolate cheese. Not my favorite in any way.



And of course, as any adult knows, you can't have cheese without some sort of alcohol beverage. I just didn't realize my daughter knew that already too.



Then for the last stop of the day we went to SofaMart where Jim could pick out his offical "Dad's Chair" recliner. The chair that you are only allowed to sit in if Dad is not home. And if Dad is home and you're sitting in his chair, he has every right to kick you out. The chair that even guests know to not sit in if "The Dad" is home. The chair where many future nights will be spent rocking a sick one to sleep, soothing a fussy baby, or cuddling up to while watching Christmas specials ( I can fit Christmas into any conversation). A chair that brings a comforting feeling to adolescents dealing with lifes trials. And a chair a housewife can sit and wait for her husband to return from his many outings and guys nights and not feel so lonely. Oh how much sentiment a chair can hold.

Of course when you're at a funiture store you must try out a couch or two while you're there.





Then its on to more serious matters. Good thing we had Bree there to help test out chairs with Daddy. However, once she discovered the massage chair it was all over.





It didn't take too long for Jim to decide which chair he wanted. Yes the comfort level of the chair is pretty awesome. And yes he liked the fact its leather. But seeings how we are avid lovers of the tv sitcom Friends, when Jim discovered the recliner he had just sat in was an honest to goodness Barcalounger, well price didn't matter after that. He was taking that chair home. Much to his disappointment though, the recliner was not in stock and we had to wait two weeks for it to be delivered. Once at home, assembled and put into position the barcalounger rarely sits empty.







Father Day Trip - Take Two
Fathers Day Trip - Take One