What Do I Do…?

I have two main vices that upset the harmony of my household.

  1. I leave hair ties all over the place. I use various devices in an attempt to keep my hair from getting spit-up all over it and to keep it out of Kara’s grasp. Eventually, however, having it tied back becomes so uncomfortable that I take it down, usually when Kara is sleeping. So whatever device was keeping my hair tied back ends up in my seat or on the floor next to my seat. And somehow I just don’t see these things when I head to the bathroom, which is where the hair ties are supposed to live.
  2. I leave my shoes all over the house. This one’s getting a little more under control since we now have a coat closet with a basket where my shoes live, so I can usually take them off on my way into the house. But sometimes I forget, and then my shoes end up in front of the couch, under my desk, beside Steve’s computer… Pretty much anywhere is up for grabs.

I’m certain I have more vices, but these are my husband’s pet peeves. You’d think after three years of marriage, I’d be better, but no. (Which isn’t too surprising, really, since it took my former roommate and best friend five years to break me of the habit of leaving every cupboard door open after unloading the dishwasher.) I’ll be very vigilant about it for a few months, then I’ll slack off, then Steve will gently remind me, again, when he starts cleaning that these things kinda sorta really drive him crazy. Then… he’ll ask it. The loaded-gun question.

Do I do anything that particularly irritates you?

The problem with this question is that the things that irritate me only irritate me if I’m already irritated.

Let me explain. If I’m having a good, normal day and Kara’s napping and I’m cleaning, if I see something that irritates me, I simply take care of it. There’s a wet towel on the bed? Oh, silly husband. I pick it up and hang it on the towel rack where it belongs. Same for dirty dishes on his desk, lights left on in vacated rooms, and so on. However, if Kara’s fussy and just spit up two gallons of bile on my t-shirt and I have to lay her on the bed while I grab a new shirt and there’s no room because there’s a damp towel on the bed, I’m very irritated that there’s yet another thing I have to clean up. Is it really that hard to hang up your own friggin’ towel? I want to scream. That’s always how I think it in my head. Is it really so hard to….

Every now and then, I have to stop and think to myself, Is it really so hard to put hair ties back in their drawer in the bathroom or to put shoes in their proper bin? Hmm.

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Ode to Superman and Santa Claus

The world lost a great man on August 27, eleven days after he turned 60.

The world probably doesn’t know it, but I do. My family does. And he even left a void at work—he worked in such a way that it seems that anyone who had any contact with him respected and liked him.

He was Superman—complete with tattoo, earring, wardrobe, and ring. His desk was full of Superman memorabilia, eclipsed perhaps only by pictures of the family he loved so much. In his small way, by influencing the world around him always for good, he fought for “truth, justice, and the American way.”

I can take great comfort in the knowledge that I grew up fully aware of how super of a Daddy I had. I have no regrets of wasted time; I loved my dad to the fullest and he knew it, just as I know how completely he loved me.

He was taken from us so suddenly that I still find it difficult to comprehend that there won’t be a giant Santa Claus walking around Nashville this Christmas, his pockets stuffed with small toys he can hand out to those children who recognize him as the real deal and come up uninvited (but not unwelcome) to tell him what they want for Christmas.

Impossible to believe he’ll never see Kara smile, or crawl, or walk, or go to school or get married or have children of her own.

Inconceivable to think he won’t be there to greet me with a hug and kiss the next time we visit Nashville.

But as I sit here drinking my coffee—a morning ritual that has always reminded me of Dad, who was an avid coffee drinker himself—I can take some small comfort in the fact that I myself am a living legacy of him. From the trivial things (such as drinking coffee and having a Zelda tattoo and watching bad superhero movies), to the foundational (such as faith and family values), I am my father’s daughter. I am where I am, happily married to a selfless man who is now in turn a wonderful father, because of the example he lived to show me how a husband should treat his wife.