Magic

Originally published July 24th, 2010. 

I knew a man who was magic personified.
 
Many little kids believe in Santa Claus while growing up, and I was no different. The only difference, is that I had my own personal Santa Claus. I knew he was the real one. His cheeks were always the perfect shade of pink, he wore bells around his wrists, his blue eyes sparkled, and his smile never faded. He was the real deal. I knew all of those Santas at the malls were just helpers, since the real Santa was busy up at the North Pole, getting ready for Christmas. Yet, he was never too busy to visit my brother Tim, and me.

Every year, a couple weeks before Christmas Day, he would show up, always unexpectedly for Tim and myself. Sometimes it was close to bedtime, other times it would be on a weekday afternoon. My brother and I always wanted to follow him out of our house when he left to watch him fly off the roof, being carried away by eight magical reindeer - but my parents always stopped us, the magic wouldn't work if we were watching, they said.

Tim answering the door to one of Santa's surprise visits.

Our Santa was also very crafty, just as Santa should be. He was very good at making things out of wood. One year, my brother had asked for a train set for Christmas, and when he came by for his pre-Christmas visit, he brought Tim a train whistle made out of wood. A few years later, I had asked for a doll house, and when he stopped by a couple weeks prior to the holiday, he brought me a wooden dining room set, perfectly sized to fit in a doll house. It was magical.

There was a brief year when I was a little unsure about this guy, but I came around.

My Santa gave the warmest hugs. He smelled so wonderful too, sweet and pepperminty, just as you would expect Santa to smell. It was better than meeting any movie star or celebrity; I was good friends with the SANTA.

Tim getting a hug from Santa.

Going over my wish list.

So who was my Santa? His real name was Bob Comingore. My mom found him through an ad in the newspaper in 1985, and hired him to play Santa at our house for all of the neighborhood kids. They all got along so well, that he kept up the part, year after year, even coming to visit us each time we moved to a new home, in a new city, no matter how far of a drive it was for him in his red truck (not a sleigh with reindeer).

Bob and his wife, Gloria were probably in their sixties when Bob became our personal Santa Claus. Though they were never able to have children of their own, they loved kids, and after I found out who he really was, they both became like a third set of grandparents to me. I admit, the first time we had them over for dinner as the Comingores, it was a bit strange for me, but Bob had a light and warmth inside of him so enveloping, that I couldn't help but be captivated by his presence. As Santa, Bob brought so much magic and fun to my childhood, and I hope he knew how much he meant to me.

In August 2005, shortly after my brother got married, I wrote Bob and Gloria a letter. I hadn't talked to them in awhile, and I thought they would get a kick out of hearing that the little boy they had known from the time he was three, was now a husband. I never got a response. A few months later, my mom heard from Gloria, and she relayed the sad news that only a couple weeks before I had written that letter, Bob had passed away. I was heartbroken at his passing.

Bob Comingore was a truly special human being; people like him are few and far between. He was just a genuinely kind, warm-hearted person. When I think back on my childhood, having my own Santa Claus, and all of the wonderful memories he gave me is something I will never, ever forget.

Gloria is still alive, and lives in Oregon, near a nephew of theirs. Earlier this year, she mailed my mom a box full of wooden toys that Bob had made before he passed. Most of the toys were little cars, although there was also an adorable wooden airplane that my brother's daughter now has. These wooden toys are so simple, yet they hold so much meaning for me. I can imagine Bob carving them with patience and care, and smiling at the thought of the little children who would enjoy them. I love when my sons play with the cars; I can't wait for the day when I can tell them all about the great man I knew. My only regret now is that Bob never got to play Santa to my own kids, so I am especially grateful for these toy cars, as they are a link from him to my children.

A few years ago, my mom gave me this figurine, to always remind me of the joy my Santa brought to me as a little girl.
I put it out every Christmastime, and whenever I see it, it reminds me of the wonderful man who brought so much magic to my childhood.

You say tomato, they say kenihopter

There are a few reasons I decided to start this blog, the main being to keep myself occupied while Richard was on deployment last year. It also provides a creative outlet for me, because as much as I love being a stay at home mom, I would go just a little crazy if I didn't have a fun way to express myself, and my favorite form just happens to be writing. But another great thing about keeping a blog, is that I get to chronicle milestones my kids hit, or funny things they do, or just keep record of fun memories of them. 

Lately I have been enjoying listening as they try to learn the English language, and giggling at the funny ways in which they pronounce certain words. I don't expect a lot of my friends to really care about this post, so this is mostly for myself to be able to look back in a few years and remember how cute it was when the boys were learning to talk.

First up is Binker. He's usually really good about saying things correctly, but there are a few words that tend to trip him up:

Peep-a-boo = Peek-a-boo - He has actually already outgrown this one (sniffle, sniffle), I always thought it was super adorable though, and didn't want to forget it.

Beegles = Wiggles - Binker is really into The Wiggles, a kid's show/musical group from Australia. But whenever he talks about them, it sounds like he is talking about the dog breed instead!

Lackberry = Blackberry - We picked blackberries from our yard this year, and both the boys LOVED them, but apparently the "b" is silent.

Pasketti = Spaghetti - So I'm pretty sure this one is not unique to Binker, but it is freaking cute nonetheless!

Lellow = Yellow - Binker learned his colors this summer in preschool, and my absolute favorite is how he says "Lellow". I might even ask him 50 times a day to tell me what color yellow things are, just to hear him say it!

Music-seum = Museum - I took the boys to two different children's museums last week, and they had a blast! I'm not really sure why he inserted the word "music" in there, aside from the fact that he absolutely adores music? But he keeps saying "I like music-seum! Let's go music-seum!" 

Now for Bug. He has always been harder to understand than his brother, but that only makes his attempts at talking that much cuter!

Jeetub = Jacob - speaking of his big brother, this is how Bug pronounces his name.

Frower = Brother - As in when Bug will tackle Binker in a hug and say, "I ruv you frower!" Awww!

Kenihopter = Helicopter - Totally stinking cute. That is all.

Bumbrella = Umbrella - My mom bought each of the boys their own little Cars-themed umbrella, and Bug will run around the house with it shouting, "MY bumbrella!"

Stinker = Sticker - I looooove how he says this, and I think I will seriously cry when he stops saying it like that.

These are the only ones I can think of for now. I'm sure as soon as I post this I will instantly remember five more words that they say in a funny or unique way, but at least I have a record of these ones. I really love the ages the boys are at right now, it's so fun being able to communicate with them...you know...as much as one can with two and three year olds, and to watch them try to communicate back. They are little boys for sure, but then they will say something totally adorable that melts my heart and reminds me of the sweet little babies they used to be.

10 Years Later

On September 11th, 2001, I was addicted to my No Doubt Return of Saturn CD. I had it on repeat in my car; I didn't bother turning on the radio on the way to school. It was the second week of my senior year of high school. Life was simple.

I made my way to the building where my first class was, probably around 7:40 in the morning. I saw a group of people huddled around a TV. I realized that something was happening, but had no clue what. Our teacher let us watch the news for maybe 15 minutes, before forcing us to our studies. I remember that whole day was filled with lots of questions, and confusion, until I got home and was able to really get caught up on the horror of what had unfolded earlier that morning in New York, Washington D.C., and Pennsylvania.

I was a 17 year old girl. 

So naive. 

I clearly remember thinking on the afternoon of the attacks, that we would never know who was responsible for them. At that time, I knew nothing of terrorists, or Al Qaeda. I equated the acts of 9/11 with murder, and in my mind, murderers usually try to hide who they are, to save their own skin. It was beyond my comprehension that anyone would actually claim responsibility or take credit for the villainous acts of that day. 

How my eyes were opened.

I was at an age where I was old enough to fully comprehend what had happened, and how terribly tragic it was. At the same time though, it was my first real exposure to anything so horrific. It was jarring.

So much death. So much loss.

I was beginning my senior year of high school; was this the world I was about to enter as an adult? Because I wanted none of it.

I can never stand up and say that my life was personally affected by what happened on September 11th, 2001. I didn't lose any loved ones, I didn't even know anyone who lived on the east coast at that time.  I know that the significance of that day to me, is eclipsed by the thousands and thousands of families and friends who did lose close ones on 9/11.

Yet, the words 9/11 will always feel like a bruise on my heart. Our country was irrevocably changed that day, and I think that most Americans share my sentiments toward it. Even if we weren't affected personally, we still take that attack personally, as U.S. citizens. And I believe it is something that will be hard for those to understand who did not live through it - my children, for instance. September 11th will simply be something they learn about in history class - it will be far away - removed from them. 

The day after the attacks, a beloved middle school teacher of mine died in a plane crash while on vacation in Mexico. The news was an added assault to the fragile state that I, and many of my classmates were in. To our young minds, it seemed the world was suddenly filled with evil and injustice. Good people die, and bad people triumph? I couldn't make sense of it.

The afternoon of September 12th, I sat in our back yard, in the sunshine. It was such a beautiful day, but it felt so wrong. It was as if someone forgot to tell the sun not shine; too many people were hurting.

My dad came outside, and started talking to me. I think he could see that I was hurt, afraid, and confused. After a while, he picked a rose from our yard, a lovely shade of pink. He handed it to me, and said, "This is something beautiful that God has made. There is still beauty in the world, and you need to hold on to that."

I have never forgotten what he said. There is pain in life, this is something that I have learned tenfold since that day ten years ago; but beauty does remain. Good remains. Oftentimes it is right in front of us, we just need to open our eyes to see it.

My heart will always break when I think of September 11th, 2001. So many dreams never reached, so many innocents taken from this earth, so many lives forever changed.

One lesson stands out though: that life is short. So very short. I try to hug my children a little longer (when they let me), and memorize how their faces look as they lay sleeping in their beds at night. Every day I kiss my husband, and tell him that I love him before he leaves for work in the morning. None of us know which day will be our last. No one can change the events of 10 years ago, and no one can prevent whatever tragedies may lay ahead. But I try to to hold onto faith and hope, and believe that through it all there is still goodness in the world.

Love your family, hold them tight. Enjoy every beautiful moment with them.

This is Totally Random

I'm kind of paranoid when it comes to my front teeth.

I'm always afraid that they're going to be knocked out from one of my kids head-butting me, or from me clenching my teeth so hard at night, I even had to get a night guard. Yes, I look super hot when I go to bed...a little something like Tina Fey from "Date Night", if you know the scene I am referring to. 

All kinds of hotness.

Anyhow, my fear probably comes from the fact that my front teeth have been knocked out several times in the past.

It started with my baby teeth. My brother is actually responsible for both of those.

The first time, we were on a family vacation in Florida in the spring of 1989, and we were taking a boat ride. I was laying on one of the benches on the boat, and my brother was leaning over the front rail, trying to get a good look at the swamp below. The captain told him he needed to sit down. So like any normal person, he just backed up, without looking where he was going, and he sat down.

Right on my face.

Tim: 1, Front teeth: 0.

I cried and cried, but then we went to Disney World and I forgot all about it.

A few months later we were back home, and Tim and I went to the park one day with friends. We were throwing a football around. I don't think Tim really wanted his little sister hanging out with him and his buddies, so when I asked him to pass me the ball, he threw it a little too hard and it hit me right in the mouth.

Tim: 2, Front teeth: 0.

Only, that tooth didn't get completely knocked out.

I walked home, with my mouth bleeding, tooth hanging by a couple of nerves. My dad had to pull it out with pliers. I'm thinking I must have blacked out or something, because all I remember is him showing me the pliers, and then nothing after that.

So a few years went by and I had my fancy permanent teeth. It was the fall of 1993 and I was playing outside with my dog. The ground was wet and I was wearing Keds - not exactly known for their traction.  The bottoms of my shoes were wet and I didn't realize that I was literally walking into the perfect storm of slippery shoes meeting cement flooring.

I ran into our garage, and had only take a couple steps when I slipped and my face smacked against the cold, hard floor. I immediately knew something was wrong, and I was terrified. My mom made me open my mouth, and I could tell she was trying to control her reaction, so as not to upset me more. She later told me that she thought my teeth were irreparably damaged.

My two front teeth were broken, so that there was a gap that looked like a large, upside-down "V". It was brutal.

Thankfully, my dentist opened his office that Sunday evening, and was able to put fillers in, so that it looked like I had normal teeth again. I had those fillers until 2003, when I finally got veneers.

While my teeth look and feel real, I know that they are not as strong as actual teeth, and every time that I bump a glass against them, or Ryan knocks his head against my mouth, I think that they're going to break.

I try to be cautious. 

I avoid Gobstoppers and peanut brittle, and when I eat an apple I cut it into thin slices, rather than eating it whole, and I keep my dentist's number handy. I also remember as a kid hearing that if your tooth falls out you are supposed to hold it in place while drinking milk? Or something? I don't know, but I always make sure we have milk in the house too. Although, I'm not sure if the milk thing would work since my teeth are pretty much just tiny pieces of fine China.

Oh, and I don't let my brother get anywhere near me, with or without a football.

Mine

I never liked babysitting. 

I hated when people would ask me to babysit. They just assumed that all fourteen year old girls love little kids and babies, and I was too nice to tell them no.

I hated it though. Every minute of it. 

I hated the whiny voices and the messy meals. I hated how all the toys in the house were always sticky and dirty. I wasn't comfortable holding babies. They were so wiggly, and their heads bobbed around unnaturally, and I just knew that I would break them. And when they cried? It was all over. 

I think the little ones could smell my fear.

I didn't want to play with the kids; the idea of hide-and-seek or pretend play was so dull to me. I would simply plug them in front of a movie and then write notes to my friends that I would give to them the next day at school, (sadly for me, there was no texting or Facebook when I was a teenager).

Yeah, I was pretty much an awesome babysitter.

I have just never been crazy about other peoples' kids. 

I didn't melt over their photos, or want to hold their babies. I just had no interest in them, and yet, I always knew I wanted my own kids. I knew that all I wanted in life was to be a stay-at-home mom. And I wanted lots of kids.

When I got pregnant with Jacob, I wasn't scared to be a mom. I was ready. I was excited to have my own baby. I remember when I had my first ultrasound done at 10 weeks, and the doctor printed off the pictures and gave them to me, I had never felt so proud in my whole life. That's my baby, my very own baby, and look at how perfect she is! (I assumed Jacob was going to be a girl until we found out otherwise). 

Nevertheless, when I was leaving the doctor's office and went back out to the waiting room I had to bite my tongue because all I wanted to do was shove my ultrasound pictures in the face of the waiting room attendant and tell her all about how awesome and perfect my baby was.

When I was in labor with Jacob, I remember being in horrible pain, it was the worst I had ever felt in my life. I had my eyes squeezed shut and was just trying to get the process over with. All the sudden my mom said, "Oh my gosh, Kellyn, look!"

I opened my eyes, and Jacob was out, and they were holding him up in front of me and oh my God. 

All that pain instantly went away; I had never seen a more perfect, beautiful sight in my whole life. It was amazing. I just fell in love.

And then they put him in my arms and I melted into him, and it was perfect. It was like he'd always been in my life, and I was so comfortable holding him and caring for him.

While Ryan's birth was a little more complicated because of his prematurity, the same thing happened. It was like he had always been a part of our family and even though I worried over his skinny limbs, I wasn't afraid to hold him or love him.

Now my sons seem so big in my eyes and they make me laugh every day. I love getting on the floor and playing with them and tickling them. I love making them meals that they enjoy. 

I love how Jacob's finger nails are always dirty, and how Ryan always seems to have grape jelly in his hair. I think they are adorable when they have little runny noses, and when they get grass stains on their clothes from playing outside.

I'm so different with my own children, versus the teenage Kellyn who used to babysit. Becoming a parent is truly unlike anything else in this world. There is a bond that no one can replicate. 

When I used to babysit, I would watch the clock and pray the hours would go by fast so I could go home and get away from those loud, messy kids. 

Now I pray that God will make the days go just a little bit slower, and keep my babies from growing up too fast.

Flash Back Friday

Today I am introducing a brand-spankin'-new concept on my little blog here. Flash Back Fridays! It's like my own version of going to watch a black and white movie on a Friday night...except that instead, I will be posting vintage stuff on here every Friday. This may include old writings of mine - diary entries/school papers, old photos, or even some old videos if I can get my hands on them. I just thought it would be a new, fun thing to try! Hope you all enjoy it.

So, to start us off, here are some vintage diary entries of mine:

July 4th, 1999

Hi again...Tonight I spent with my parents and brother watching the firework shows all around Edmonds and such. It was pretty cool...I love spending time with my family. We always have such a great time, and we sure do laugh a lot. I think my family is just so great, I only pray that someday I will have my own family that is as great and loving as the family I have now...Sometimes I worry myself. I think about the future so much, and I'm afraid I am trying to grow up too fast, and someday I'll look back and wonder where all the years went, and why they are so blurry in my memory. Sometimes, every so often, I just get the most wonderful feeling, and I realize how precious and short and GREAT life is. I only wish I could always feel like that, cause I truly appreciate life more in those few minutes than in any other time...

July 23rd, 1999

I sometimes think I'm dyslexic. I mean, I can't tell you how many times I have switched letters in words. I don't know...Maybe I don't have a clue what I'm talking about, and I just mess up on words sometimes. I mean, that's normal, right? Oh well! Right now Backstreet Boys is on the radio with their song "I Want it that Way". I tell you, as long as I live, I will NEVER understand what that song is talking about....Oh, you know what? Today I drank a teaspoon of Habanero sauce. EWWW!! Sick! It burned my mouth for probably 15 minutes after, even though I drank a ton of milk and even some ice cream. I HATE IT! I put it in my mouth and it started to burn and I just started running around the house SCREAMING while my "loving" family laughed hysterically.

August 27th, 1999

Hey!! So school starts in a little over a week. I personally can't wait! Oh, on a good note: I passed driver's ed! I'm sleeping in the family room tonight cause I was just laying in bed and I swear I saw a spider crawling toward me. Tim is out here watching TV, and he says I am being crazy, but I know what I saw!...Guess what? Tim left the front door WIDE open for like over an hour and now I'm like freaked that there is a psychopath in our house. Lalala...So, like is great. I'm serious. Lately I've been feeling SO wonderful. I've never felt this terrific!! Everything is just great!

-Kellyn

Sadly, these were among the most entertaining of my entries. As you can tell, I had some seriously exciting things going on in my life. Oh, and in that last entry, I can't tell if I was on something or suffering from undiagnosed ADHD. Holy smokes.

Anyways, this was just a taste of what I've got in mind for this segment. Hopefully Flash Back Fridays will get more exciting as we go along!

Paradox

Sometimes I feel caught in a paradox between not wanting my boys to grow up too quickly, yet wanting the days to fly by so that Richard will get home. I know I can't have it both ways.

The boys have already changed so much in the nearly three months since he left, it leaves me speechless. Jacob becomes more and more like a little boy every day, leaving his baby days behind him. Ryan is quick to keep up with his older brother, and sometimes he seems half baby-half little boy, as he vacillates between the baby-ness of jibber jabber and naptime, to big boy things like saying the words "Ball", "Go" and "Car", and running around.

A few nights ago I found myself in tears as I was looking through old photos of them as little babies. I hardly recognized their cherubic faces; they look like different little people now entirely. I couldn't help but ask myself, Where has the time gone? I know I am tremendously lucky that I get to stay home with them every day, and I count my blessings for that. Yet, even for a stay-at-home mom, things can slip past me, and I find myself in shock that Jacob can sing and count and spell his name, and that Ryan is walking and talking, and will soon be 18 months old! There are no more babies in our house, not little babies anyway. And as awesome as it is to watch them grow and change and learn, it is still heartbreaking at times to know that those wonderful early days are over.

So even though I oftentimes find myself wishing my days away, wanting nothing more than for Richard to be home with us, I have been making a concerted effort to leave the dishes in the sink, to turn the computer off, and to just sit on the floor and play with my boys. I watch them in their play, we sing together, we read together, we chase each other, we tickle, we laugh, we cuddle, we build blocks. We just play, and it is the most wonderful thing in the world. While these moments may go by way too fast, I know that we are creating memories that I will cherish forever.

Reminiscing

I was updating the boys' baby books a few days ago. I do my best to keep them up to date, and I think that I do a pretty decent job. When Jacob was born I was really good about noting every new thing that happened to him, no matter how small: his first tooth, his first trip to the grocery store, his first smile...well, maybe that was a burp...nah, I'm calling it a smile - everything.

When I got pregnant with Ryan, sooo many people told me, "Oh you won't be able to keep a baby book for the second baby. Sure, you try, but about two months in you will completely give up, it's just too much work!"

I took this as a challenge though. Being a second child myself, I felt that I owed it to this new baby - and second children everywhere - to show that they matter just as much as the first! I have done a good job too I think, of noting all of Ryan's milestones. Sure, sometimes I get behind and I fudge a few dates here and there, but he'll never know. (Well, unless he should read this. In that case, sorry Ry!).

Anyways, back to the point. So as I was going through their baby books, I started getting nostalgic, looking through old photographs, having memories come flooding through my mind. I have only been a mother for about 27 months, yet so much has happened in that time with these two little guys. A couple memories I had though, were of incidents that happened before they came into the world.

When I was younger, I used to imagine how I would tell my future husband when we were going to have a baby. I remember some years ago there was a commercial for some store, where the wife gives the husband a present, like a sweater. And he's all, "What's this for?" and she's like "Happy Father's Day!" and I don't think I am explaining the commercial very well, but basically, it was her way of telling him she was pregnant. I thought that was kind of clever, and I wanted to do something along those lines, something fun and creative like that. I really haven't gotten the chance, though.

When I found out I was pregnant with Jacob, I had to tell Richard over the phone. He was in San Diego, and was scheduled to be there for another month, so there really was no other option. It was also completely unexpected, and I think I was in a state of shock; I was definitely not in any condition to be coming up with creative ways of spreading the news.

About two months after Jacob was born we had a pregnancy scare. "Scare" is such a negative word, but at that time we weren't thinking about having another baby. I was feeling weird and took a pregnancy test. It was the digital kind, there are no pink lines, it's quite sophisticated. The test reads "Pregnant" or "Not Pregnant". Well this one said "Pregnant". So I'm staring at it thinking, This can't be possible and ohmigod I don't want to have to give birth again! So I make up some lame excuse to Richard, race off to the store, buy two more pregnancy tests and a six pack of cranberry juice. I drank about four of the bottles on the drive home, ran into the house and peed on the new tests. They both came back negative.

So now I'm super confused.

Richard had been eying me, thinking I was acting pretty strange. So I finally decide to tell him what's going on. I sit down on the bed and just hand him the first test that was positive.

"You're lying," he says, "You faked that somehow."

"No, I'm not, look at me, I'm shaking!"

It starts to sink in. Richard's face goes pale, and all the sudden he starts talking a mile a minute, "First thing tomorrow I am going to talk to my Chief and see how I can get promoted and make more money and blah blah blah blah blah blah blah..."

I've zoned out at this point, all I can think is Ohmigod I'm going to have to give birth again!

Well, a couple days later we found out for certain that the test was indeed wrong, somehow. I once had a friend tell me that there is no such thing as a false positive pregnancy test, so I'm still not sure why we got a positive reading, we must have just been lucky enough to be the only people in history to get a pregnancy test that would give a false positive!

So fast forward a few months, when I actually AM pregnant now, with Ryan. I wanted to be able to tell Richard in a more personal way this time. He was in San Diego, (yet again!), but was going to be home in a few days. So one night, Jacob and I were out to dinner with my father-in-law, Jeff, and two of his co-workers. Richard called me while we were eating, and I casually mentioned how I couldn't wait to see him in a few days, and that I had a surprise for him.

BIG mistake.

He wouldn't let it go, he had to know what the surprise was. He kept asking me for hints, and I kept trying to change the subject, all while looking nonchalant sitting next to my father-in-law. I didn't want to give anything away, and I wanted Richard to be the first to know, obviously. Richard must have been suspicious though, because at one point he finally says, "Are you pregnant?"

"Uhm...er...uhhh..."

"ARE YOU PREGNANT?!"

"Uhm, yes?" I whispered into the phone, hoping that the rest of my dinner party hadn't heard his question.

Richard was so happy though, I think our "scare" from a few months earlier had gotten us used to the idea of having a second child, and I wasn't so freaked out about the idea of giving birth again.

Still, I have never gotten to do anything creative, or even just give my husband a hug after sharing the news with him. Perhaps one day, but with my luck, who knows!

Happy Father's Day!

In honor of Father’s Day I wanted to write a blog about all of the wonderful Fathers in my life. This list includes my Dad, my Father in law, my two Grandpas, my brother, who became a father in the past year, and of course, Richard, who is the best father to our sons that I could have ever asked for. However, while I am so blessed to have these great men in my life, I realized that this blog was going to be super duper long. So rather than only being able to write a few sentences about all of these awesome dudes, I decided to devote a very long blog solely to my Dad.

My Dad made an effort from the very beginning to be an active participant in the lives of both my brother and myself. Four times a year we each got to go on a “Dad and Me” day with him, where we would basically just go to lunch or do something fun like that, but it was a chance to have some one-on-one time with Dad, where we didn’t have to fight for his attention, and he got to keep up with all the fascinating things that happen in the lives of four- and five-year-olds. My Dad also read to us every night. Some of my most loved stories I first discovered during nighttime readings with Dad: Indian in the Cupboard and Where the Red Fern Grows were two of my favorites. I remember he would get really into the stories, making up voices for each character and he would change his vocal inflection with the story’s drama; he made the books come alive for us.

Maybe it was those books that sparked my love for writing. From a very young age I began writing my own stories, and illustrating pictures to go along with them. I remember that I wrote my first thriller novel about a young girl named Rrrrebecca Danger (yes, that is how I spelled her name). While the main plot escapes me now, I remember it was supposed to be a pretty exciting, on-the-edge-of-your-seat story. Well, I came home one day, to find that my Dad had taken my written copy of it, and had his secretary type it up on a tyepwriter, and BIND it. Ohmigod. I thought my book had actually been published, like, for real. I was ecstatic! It was such a wonderful surprise, and meant the world to me that he would care enough about my story to do all of that, (I can only imagine the look on his secretary’s face though, when he handed her my notes, written in a first-grader’s language. She was probably like, “You want me to whaaaat?”).

My Dad has always been encouraging though. He has always told us we could do whatever we wanted, and that nothing was unattainable. When I was 10, I painted a watercolor picture of the Edmonds waterfront and ferry. My Dad loved the picture so much that he had me sign the original and hung it in his office. That wasn’t all though, he convinced me to make copies of it, and then sell them outside the Edmonds Library. I thought it was a great idea, but couldn’t understand why people who weren’t related to me didn’t seem to have any interest in buying my paintings?? (By the way, that original painting still hangs in his office, to this day).

Some of my favorite memories are the times that I got to hang out with my Dad, just the two of us. The summer before sixth grade, I went to bed one night, only to find a huge spider in my closet. Well, obviously there was no way I was going to be able to get to sleep with that evil arachnid watching me with its eight eyes, so I crept to my parent’s bedroom door and knocked lightly. I was hoping to have my mom come kill it, while not waking up my Dad. My Dad is a super light sleeper though, so he woke right up. Crap! I figured he would yell at me to go to bed and deal with it. I was pleasantly surprised though, when he got up, killed the spider, and then invited me to make some nachos with him and watch the Dick Van Dyke show. It was so awesome! Another time I fondly remember hanging out with my Dad, was when I had to pick out a formal gown to wear to the Tolo Dance in 11^th grade. My mom had always been the one to go dress shopping with me, but for some reason, she couldn’t make it that day, so my Dad came along. He could have easily acted uninterested or bored, but instead he took a real interest in hearing what I was looking for in a dress, and in the end, he actually picked out the one I bought. Out of all of the formal gowns I ever wore, that one is hands-down my favorite. It was such a unique and fun experience, I will never forget it.

My Dad has always been there for me. He is so good at showing his love and support. During college, my boyfriend of a year and a half broke up with me quite suddenly (and over the internet, loser!), and since I had just moved over a thousand miles away from home, to attend school in Montana, I was pretty broken up. A few weeks later, my parents flew out for a quick visit. I remember one night we all went out to dinner and they knew I was still feeling a little down about the break up, and my Dad told me he had a present for me, that he was hoping would brighten my mood. He then handed me a little jewelry box, and inside was a beautiful ring, in my birthstone, Aquamarine. It was so pretty, and just the fact that my Dad had picked it out himself, with the intention of trying to bring me a little happiness during a dark time, was so incredibly sweet.

I remember also, when I found out I was pregnant with Jacob. It was a little stressful, since Richard and I were not married yet. We knew our parents would be disappointed and upset, and we knew we had let them down. I was dreading telling my parents the news, especially since Richard was out of town and I had to do it alone. I knew it wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation with my mom, but I was TERRIFIED to tell my Dad. I imagined all of the worst things he might say or do. When he found out though, my Dad simply shrugged, and said, “Well, that’s life”. I was absolutely shocked at his response, I didn’t even know what to say, because that was the very last thing I expected. My Dad is a great example of unconditional love and acceptance of ones child. I know that no matter what I do in this life, he will always support, encourage, and love me. He has taught me so much, simply through his actions, as to the kind of parent I want to be to my own children.

Aside from being a terrific Dad though, he has led a full and exciting life. My Dad has so many accomplishments to his name. I have watched him leave a career that he loved and was very skilled at for twenty years, to risk everything to try his hand at a new career in the private sector. He has truly excelled in his new profession, and he has shown me that it is important to take chances, and to believe in yourself.

I am also proud of him for his most recent achievements in aviation. Just this weekend he passed some very difficult tests, and got his Commercial Rating. He is so brave and smart! I mean, I have seen some of his piloting videos and I’m pretty sure there is no way I could store all that information in my brain (especially not when flying thousands of feet in the air)!

In truth, I could go on and on about my Dad. His warmth, friendliness and generosity are unmatched. He’s been an amazing example to my brother and me over the years, and sometimes I just sit back and marvel at how truly lucky I am to have been blessed with him as a father. I had so many friends over the years whose fathers walked out on the family, or were absent from their lives in one way or another, but my Dad was never too busy to get involved, or find out what was going on in my life, even when he was traveling or away from home, he was still ever-present.

Dad, if you can’t tell from this novel of a blog I wrote, I think you are pretty awesome. I can’t tell you how much I admire you and how very much I love you. Thank you for being the best Dad I could have ever hoped for. Have a Happy Father’s Day!

Happy Father’s Day to all the great men in my life, you are each terrific fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers. I am so lucky to be surrounded by so many awesome men, and I hope you all have a terrific day, as you each deserve it!