I Wanna…Blog Some

It was 5 years ago, after not hearing from my dad for a few days, that I finally called the staff at his apartment and asked them to please check on him and ask him to turn on his phone ringer.  Did I know something was wrong?  Is that why I didn’t just get in my car and go knock on his door myself?  How long did I know?  Was I just putting off saying good bye to my dad? 

It was someone from the fire department that called me back.  I answered the phone.  I don’t remember the conversation.  I do remember yelling out for the man who had replaced my dad as my best friend a few years before.  I remember where I was sitting.  I don’t remember much else.  I asked for my dad not to be moved until I could see him.  I don’t know who watched the two kids I had at the time.  I remember getting to Kivel, the "Independent Living Center" where my dad lived and sitting in the hall way waiting.  I don’t remember what I was waiting for.  I think it was for a crisis worker sent out because I was pregnant (with a due date about 3 days away) and that freaked every body out.  I think the idea was to have someone there to prepare me for what I was going to see and then be prepared to catch me if I needed to do one of those pregnancy swoons seen mostly in older movies.

I didn’t swoon.  I just looked at my dad and told him I was sorry.  Sorry for not finding him sooner.  Sorry for being angry sometimes for feeling like I was his parent.  But mostly sorry that he had such a difficult life. 

My dad was 2 when his mom died of polio.  My dad was raised by his dad and his paternal grandparents.  I’ve been told they weren’t very good at meeting basic needs including making a child feel loved.  Growing up my dad must have been a tightly wound ball of sadness, confusion, and anger.  My dad did not turn his life around or make any type of silver lined lemonade out of the cloud of shit lemons he  was given.  And eventually he did what he could to not repeat the lessons he learned on how to parent.  What I like to say is that both of my parents did the best the could with the tools they were given.  They were given some messed up tools. 

Regardless of the mistakes my dad made as a father, I always knew that he loved me.  I knew he really wanted to do right by me.  I think he felt like if I judged him poorly it would be one of the worst thing that could happen to him.  For that reason, I once decided to tell my dad a small lie.  I told him that I was proud of him.  Even though it felt like a lie at the time I knew it was important to say.  It ended up meaning a lot to my dad.  I was proud of him, but it was more like "Gee dad, given the circumstances you really could have fucked up way worse than you did" rather than "Wow, dad!  You were really a great father to your three kids!"

No matter what:  I loved him and knew he loved me.  And now it has been five years.  And I miss him.

My dad. 

I never saw him this sad & pathetic looking. 

He was always telling funny stories & making everyone laugh.

His name was not Rufus, but that’s what I called him sometimes.

It’s calm after the storm.  The house is quiet.  It’s just me and the kids now (poor husband had to go to a work meeting).  But what a day we’ve had.

Today we celebrated my youngest kideroo’s 4th & 5th birthdays.  It had to be both because last year we kinda forgot to throw a birthday party for her.  Every kid’s birthday got screwed up last year, but they all got a day with at least 2 friends singing happy birthday.  All of them except for Abby.  I really felt like I needed to make it up to her this year and I think I did.

I love parties.  I love throwing parties.  I love coming up with an idea or theme and then making it all happen.  I had talked the youngest one into a bowling party last year when we still thought we’d squeeze it in and luckily we kept that same plan this year.  But we made it a two part party.  First part was bowling with friends and family and the second part was going back to our house for pizza, cake, and just plain hanging out with friends.  It was a blast! 

Bowling was good fun.  Most of us sucked.  We all needed the bumpers that get put up to keep the balls from going into the gutter (that’s funny…think about it).  And a lovely woman kept asking me if I wanted booze.  Which I did, but I didn’t have any.  Figured that could wait until later when the kids were in bed. 

Having a bunch of our friends & family over at our house after bowling was the best part.  It was mostly Tribe friends (for those not in the know, that’s like my second family, the one I could pick not the one I was born into) and relatives of the husband (most of whom are speaking to me) and my cousin, her hubby, daughter, and mom.  It was great seeing my aunt.  I love that woman.  And she got to be here to talk with while tons of kids were running through my house and backyard.  Everyone seemed like they were having a good time.  

The only problem with parties like this are not feeling like I can spend enough time with everyone.  My favorite part ends up being when things are winding down and I can just sit and talk to a few people.  That is when I finally get to eat also.  But it’s okay because I’ve always had a good time.  Just like today. 

The 5th birthday is traditionally my kids’ last big hurrah party.  After 5 they get the invite-the-number-of-kids-that-matches-your-age kind of party–although those end up being with awesome themes where we all dress like characters (like the Harry Potter Party when the husband was Dumbledore or the Star Wars Party when I put my hair into pastry looking buns on the sides of my head, or the High School Musical Party when I was the drama teacher, Mrs. Darvus).  I think today’s party was a great last big hurrah party and might have made up for last year’s missed party.  

The youngest girl’s actual birthday is next weekend and it will be just us having a mellow day.  The kind where I look at her all day and wonder how 5 years could have gone by so quickly. 

Oh, on a side note.  After everyone left and things were getting cleaned and trash was being separated so that recyclables didn’t end up in the landfill I had to poop.  And it was a weird poop.  One kinda long one and one kinda small one.  It looked a little like an exclamation mark just floating in the toilet.  What a way to end a really cool day.