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Here is an image that caught my attention for one reason or another at some point in time.
So what are your thoughts?
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
1 day ago
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Sunday Image #3
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Sunday Image #2
Here is an image that caught my attention for one reason or another at some point in time.
So what are your thoughts?
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Saturday Ramblings
I sat down to work on my "List" update, but I'm just not feeling it. I am continuously thinking of things and thoughts that I want to post and I never seem to make it to my keyboard to make the connection between brain and screen. I am currently rocking out to Girl Talk, so a huge thank you goes out to Miss Sex and Food for turning me on, and just felt the need to start typing. I apologize in advance if this post jumps from thought to thought and topic to topic.
Last Friday I escaped work a bit early, so the hubby and I could go watch my fabulous spoiled brat of a niece sing Taylor Swift's Love Story in her school talent show. I must tell you that little girl was amazing, actually all of the kids were impressive, but I'm a bit partial to the one who runs up to me every time I see her and jumps into my arms. I did however almost break into tears a few acts later when a little girl did a ballet dance to Miley Cyrus' Butterfly Fly Away. It was not her dancing that evoked the tears and I had no idea who was singing as I listened to the lyrics of this song for the first time. If you are not yourself familiar with this song take a moment to read the opening lines before proceeding.
So here I am in the first row of an elementary school talent show seated between the hubby and my father holding back tears as I listen to a Miley Cyrus song, sometime my life surprises even me. Okay now for the explanation.... My dad is amazing, that's the short story and here is a longer version: After my parents divorced when I was five, my father was twenty-eight and my mother was twenty-four, my dad proceed to raise me, alone. My mom has always been around in her own way, but has been much too wrapped up in her own world to actually play the role of mother. My father on the other hand paid the bills and took care of me, all the while dealing with a daughter who had to push the limits and got away with murder by simply spending the night at Mom's. When she was too wrapped up in men and drugs to return phone calls, he was there every time without doubt or question. When I sat in the halls of the courthouse nervous as hell that I may be called to testify, he sat holding my hand, while she walked by holding hands with the defendant without even looking at me. Every other weekend when I waited hours for her to pick me up, he assured me that this time she didn't forget to pick me up, she always had. When my mom was overwhelmed by her life and disappeared for months, he held me when I cried, but never stopped her from seeing me when she returned, although I'm sure it broke his heart. At my wedding, he was there early and helped clean-up and packed up all my gifts to store at his house until after my honeymoon, she arrived late and left early. My father waited over ten years to live with his girlfriend, so I would not have to change schools and still asked me if I was okay with her moving into our house when I was eighteen. He still calls it "our" house, even though I moved out years ago and own my own home with the hubby. My mother once left me sleeping in a house with her two boyfriends while she moved into a hotel room with her new young stud and then finally called a week later, as I laid sick as a dog in bed, asking me to tell them she wasn't coming back, "feel better, baby, bye." My father still stores Barbies and My Little Ponies in his rafters; I store my mother's Bible and keepsakes in mine. I never understood when I was a teenager just how thankful I would be for everything my father did, but I do now, and I am constantly hoping that he knows how grateful I am and how much I love him. I learned never to expect anybody to stick around in my life, but I've always known he would be there no matter what. So to summarize, my dad... well there are simply no words to describe him properly and my mom... is my mom.
Last Friday I escaped work a bit early, so the hubby and I could go watch my fabulous spoiled brat of a niece sing Taylor Swift's Love Story in her school talent show. I must tell you that little girl was amazing, actually all of the kids were impressive, but I'm a bit partial to the one who runs up to me every time I see her and jumps into my arms. I did however almost break into tears a few acts later when a little girl did a ballet dance to Miley Cyrus' Butterfly Fly Away. It was not her dancing that evoked the tears and I had no idea who was singing as I listened to the lyrics of this song for the first time. If you are not yourself familiar with this song take a moment to read the opening lines before proceeding.
So here I am in the first row of an elementary school talent show seated between the hubby and my father holding back tears as I listen to a Miley Cyrus song, sometime my life surprises even me. Okay now for the explanation.... My dad is amazing, that's the short story and here is a longer version: After my parents divorced when I was five, my father was twenty-eight and my mother was twenty-four, my dad proceed to raise me, alone. My mom has always been around in her own way, but has been much too wrapped up in her own world to actually play the role of mother. My father on the other hand paid the bills and took care of me, all the while dealing with a daughter who had to push the limits and got away with murder by simply spending the night at Mom's. When she was too wrapped up in men and drugs to return phone calls, he was there every time without doubt or question. When I sat in the halls of the courthouse nervous as hell that I may be called to testify, he sat holding my hand, while she walked by holding hands with the defendant without even looking at me. Every other weekend when I waited hours for her to pick me up, he assured me that this time she didn't forget to pick me up, she always had. When my mom was overwhelmed by her life and disappeared for months, he held me when I cried, but never stopped her from seeing me when she returned, although I'm sure it broke his heart. At my wedding, he was there early and helped clean-up and packed up all my gifts to store at his house until after my honeymoon, she arrived late and left early. My father waited over ten years to live with his girlfriend, so I would not have to change schools and still asked me if I was okay with her moving into our house when I was eighteen. He still calls it "our" house, even though I moved out years ago and own my own home with the hubby. My mother once left me sleeping in a house with her two boyfriends while she moved into a hotel room with her new young stud and then finally called a week later, as I laid sick as a dog in bed, asking me to tell them she wasn't coming back, "feel better, baby, bye." My father still stores Barbies and My Little Ponies in his rafters; I store my mother's Bible and keepsakes in mine. I never understood when I was a teenager just how thankful I would be for everything my father did, but I do now, and I am constantly hoping that he knows how grateful I am and how much I love him. I learned never to expect anybody to stick around in my life, but I've always known he would be there no matter what. So to summarize, my dad... well there are simply no words to describe him properly and my mom... is my mom.
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