This one is for their future therapists

I've never claimed to be a good mom.  Honestly because I don't really think I am.

I'm short-tempered.  I yell.  I don't play make believe very well.  Or at all.  And even with a name like Sarah Lee, I very rarely bake.  Unless it's brownies out of a box.  Then I bake those.

Or at least eat the batter.

Okay, anyway.

So I may not be a good mom but I'm a fun(ish) mom.

Driving by a park but don't wanna play for very long?  That's me.  My solution?  Pull up to said park and yell,
"seatbelts off! hurry! hurry!  jump outta the van, go down the slide twice, jump on the swings, do a round on the merry-go-round then run! run! back to the van!"

And they scramble.

And I don't have to get out.

And they think this is great fun.

It boils down to me being a strange mom I suppose.  Though they don't know it yet.  They don't know that most moms actually get out of the rig and push the babes on the swings and push em on the merry-go-round. They don't know that most moms don't roll down the window to bark at strangers on the sidewalk.  Or wear orange sunglasses.

Or wear prom dresses to the grocery store. Wait, whaaat?



Well this one does.  This mom will buy a prom dress 15 years after she's too old for prom, and wear it to the grocery store.

Just because.

Like I do.  Did.  Yesterday.

After all this time of people knowing me or being my friend on FB they wanted proof I'd actually go to the store like this.  So I asked Sugar to take my picture and seven year olds, if you didn't know, ROCK at taking pictures.

Of headless people.

I assure you.  That is me.  In the formal attire with flip flops.

And of course I'm sporting my orange sunglasses.  You just can't see them.

I feel like I need to print off two copies of this blog post and put them in the girls' baby books so they can just hand it to their therapist and say, "See.  See why I'm here?!"

And this post.  It will explain much of why my kids are whacked.

You do this stuff too, right?

13 years and it still ain't easy {he used to say ain't and that used to make me crazy, now if only i could hear him say ain't just one more time}

I've had an unsettledness to me for about a week now.

Because I feel this day is coming before it's actually here.  I know that sounds odd.  But there's no other way to explain it.

We've been going out in the boat and playing on the water for a couple of weeks now and everything's been good.  I've been fine.  I've been normal.  I've let my kids play in the water, be on the boat, ride the tube and I've been fine.

And yesterday on the boat I wasn't fine at all.

Because this day is here.  This 13th anniversary of my dad drowning.

And my God, I am missing my dad this day.  I'm sitting here, agitated and crying.  Why?  Why miss him so after all these years.  Why was I just fine last year but today I'm not?

Today I am short with my girls.  I'm quick tempered, more so than normal.  I can't concentrate on tasks more so than normal.  I finally loaded the girls up and made them go to the cemetery with me.  It was a quick trip, but it was enough.  Just to go there and see his name.  His simple head stone.  He was simple.

Yet so full of life.  I miss that life of his.  I miss that the adult me doesn't get the chance to know him.

Right now I think about how good of friends we'd be.  I know I'd need him as my dad and ask him to come over and do whatever a dad and adult daughter do together but I miss him as my friend.

I never had him as my friend.  How can you miss something you've never had?

I'm sure I'd be trying to find myself the perfect stepmom.  One who didn't call me a stick in the mud as one of his girlfriends had back when I was 16 or 17.  Maybe I was then, I'm definitely not now.  She would like me now.

I think if nothing else I've done in this life would make him proud, he'd at least be proud that I like beer now.  He'd think he'd done something right. :)

I wish I could hear him laugh and watch him walk.  Doesn't that sound funny?  Watch him walk?  He just had this easy way about him and I can picture the way he walked.  He was comfortable with him.

I remember after his best friend was killed by a drunk driver that I didn't hear from my dad for a long time.  I was 11.  When he finally resurfaced he tried to explain to my 11 year old self that he very nearly had himself committed.  He wasn't sure he could go on.  I never understood that until Amber.  I never understood how you could feel life wasn't worth much without your best friend until her.  I think as I get older I understand him  a little better.

Man he loved his friends.

They knew him so much better than I ever did.  Ever will.  I'm jealous.  I admit it.  Of the memories they have.  Pictures, videos, in their hearts.  I have so few.

I remember locking myself out of my car in the Wal Mart parking lot when I was about 17.  He came to my rescue.  And it was no big deal.  And it's just little things like this that seem so simple and yet mean so much.  I mean, that's what a dad is for, to save you.  Even if it's just from the Wal Mart parking lot.

I just wanna ask him to come over.  I want him to come over for dinner and sit out on the deck and drink a beer or 3 and hear his laugh and watch him with the granddaughters he never got to meet.

And I wanna not cry til snot drips down my face.  I want life to be fair and there not to be dads who die too young.  And like I said back in November, I just want my dad.

My 17th birthday.

I just miss my dad.

Two years ago I laid out my grief in this post, it wasn't an easy write, but it was healing.


Can you do me a favor?  If you knew him, can you leave me favorite memory of him?  Or more than one.  You can leave 'em in the comment section or email them to me at truckfamily@gmail.com  That would be awesome.

Spanks.

Summa time random

We're a couple of days in on this blog reunion, so it's high time we have some random.

About a month ago I put sunscreen on my face.  The next day I broke out and looked like a 14 year old boy.  I still look like that 14 year old boy.  I'm not loving the zits.  Here I tried to protect myself from the cancer and I'm rewarded with acne.  Nice.

I took all the books out of one of our bookcases yesterday.  So far I've only put back about 3/4 of them.  The rest are waiting for me to finish blogging.  I might blog until Sunday or Monday.

Tuesday we went boating (we did on Sunday, too) and I went way outta my comfort zone and tried wake boarding.  Out of my comfort zone because I'm not super thrilled about water (the whole dad drowning thing) and because I don't like being strapped into stuff.  Freaks me out.  But I had to do it.  I need to get over these fears.  I didn't get up but I tried.  Four times.  And that counts for something!  (not sure what, but it does!)

I kissed Spice's armpit.  She had an owie.  She asked me to kiss it.  I did.

I meet my new(ish) stepdad soon.  Like in a week soon.  He's been my stepdad for nearly a year and it's weird, right? that we haven't met.  I think so.  Maybe this time has been good.  He only has a glimpse (my mother) of what he's in for.  I kinda feel sorry for him.  It's me we're talking about.  I'm also a lil worried.  What if he doesn't like me?  I don't have a dad, so to now have a stepdad is kinda cool but only if he likes me.  Not sure I could take the rejection.  But who wouldn't like me?  I'm a treat!

I've decided to buy anti-aging cream.

I don't whiten my teeth.  I get asked this all the time.  Especially when summer is here and I'm tan.  I brush them.  Once a day usually.  When I remember.  I credit my white teeth to my dead dad.  He had nice teeth.  Nice, white, straight teeth.  Mine are just white.  Win some ya lose some.

I need to blog about church.  Remind me.

My kids were gone for 19 hours Weds/Thurs.  I didn't get much accomplished.  About as much as when they are here.  Which equals nothing.

My Beagle is snoring.

I wish I had a motorcycle.  Or at least knew of someone who did.  I want a ride on one.

I'm really tired of my house not being done.  It's exhausting having a house that's partially re-done and partially not re-done.  My husband is busy.  Busy, busy, busy.  And I'm lazy, lazy, lazy.  Those two combined are not good.  It means nothing gets done.

I love flip flops.

I'm going to take a nap.

I can't quit words: On breaking up with my blog and getting back together with it. Again.

I feel like my blog and I are these 16 year old high school kids in a FB relationship status that reads, "it's complicated."

We break up.

We get back together.

And it's good.  Real good.

But then it gets bad again.

And well, lather, rinse, repeat.

I'm gonna admit, it was embarrassing getting back together this time.

I assumed people would roll their eyes and say, "I knew it!  I told you they'd get back together!" or the "yeah, but how long will it last this time?"

I had to decide that I cared more about my blog, my little place on the internet, than I did about what people may say.  Because they may not be saying anything at all other than, "Woohoo! She's back, uh huh. Oh yeah."

I'm gonna go ahead and choose to believe the latter.  Yes, I am.

There's no real good explanation for why I deleted or why I un-deleted.  It's me.  C'mon.  If you've been here longer than a month or so you know this is what I do.  I'm not going to say it won't happen again.  It might tomorrow.

For now, it's here.  For now I'm going to try to make my writing a priority.  It's such an outlet for me.

I love my bike riding.

I love cooking.

I love yoga.

But there's something about words.

And the flowing of them.  And the releasing of them.

I get something completely different from writing than I do from any other outlet in my life.

As hard as I try - I just can't quit words.

Just a day in my life

My blog and I broke up.

But we're back together now.  We'll discuss this at another time.

For now, here's a glimpse of the start of my Tuesday, July 17th, 2012.

My friend, Jana, is in town and I bribed her with Starbucks if she'd come over and hang out with me for a bit before leaving town.

So I load up my girls which is no easy task.  You'd think it would be by now.  I mean, they are seven and four and c'mon, you can put your shoes and your seatbelt on by yourself already!!

We're driving, we get to the store, we unload and I realize I don't have my wallet.

"Oh, yeah, Mom.  I saw it in the house.  Forgot to tell you.  Sorry."

Thanks, Sugar.  Thanks for nothin'.

We drive home and Sugar jumps outta the rig, brings me my wallet and then there's a gasping from the three of us girls as Justin Bieber's Boyfriend has just come on the radio.  Any fighting, any anything stops for those few minutes of glory.

Anyway.

I pay for the drinks, barista hands me my $1.33 in change and I go to put it in the pocket of my pants.

Only to realize the pocket of my pants is on the inside of my pants.

Because I have them on inside out.

This is why I blog.  To publicly embarrass myself in written format.

You're welcome.