Kind of a Downer

Today, while Addison ate her delicious lunch of turkey cheese dogs and goldfishies, I let my mind go numb by scanning Facebook.
Facebook is the devil - but I am hooked.
I have learned to limit my time on it, but the amount of time is sucks from me is astounding. I can go blind reading other people's useless information.
I was scanning who was eating what, and how everyone felt about Friday, and who jumped to the next level in Mafia Wars when I got slapped in the face by one update.
A mentor of mine's posting announced a memorial service for an amazing guy that I on occasion worked with in my previous life.

I had no idea that he had passed. At 37. Unexpectedly. The father of a one year old.

I ushered Addie off to her nap and then sat down to read about Joe. And everything I read reminded me exactly of the person I collaborated with. Full of energy, dedicated, motivated, passionate, funny and focused on bettering the lives of kids.
I sat a few more minutes, and then I wrote a letter to my old mentor (his former employer) with my condolences. I wrote a memorial check to his scholarship fund.

And I felt quietly sad.

Sad because he was an inspiring, intelligent man.
Sad because I barely knew him and thought highly of him - what possibly could his family and friends be feeling?
Sad because hundreds of children benefited from his spirit, but even more will never have the opportunity to know him.
Sad because remembering working with him made me miss my old existence - in the thick of the chaos, mess and joy of other people's children.
Sad because he had recently become a professor of social work, and had much to offer the field.
Sad because he had a one year old and a wife.

Sad because there is a shortage of amazing men in the world.

And it made me take stock of the amazing men I am fortunate enough to know. The men who come home and play with their children even though they are tired. The men who know a foot massage or a bottle of wine can brighten the day of their wife. The men who show up to work everyday during chemotherapy. The men who mow lawns at dusk, who grill dinner and who take bath time duty. The men who teach, who coach, who care.

I know that my mentor will honor Joe's spirit with her organization. I know that there are many children whose lives were changed for the better because of him. And I am sure that out there, somewhere, there are other men who are amazing and dedicated and motivated and passionate - just like Joe.

A reminder to breathe.

A reminder to revel in the little moments.

A reminder to slow down and take it all in.

Swinging in the front yard tree at the end of the day. Bliss.

Contentment

Sometimes, right as Andy and I are falling asleep, I like to wrap my index finger right around the end of his nose and then inform him it's the most comfortable I've ever been. He does not particularly care about my comfort and shoos my finger away, usually while grunting something in a grouchy tone.

Last night, and again tonight, while I Addie and I sat huddled on the couch reading bedtime stories, she leaned into me, reached up her left hand and held my chin between her thumb and index finger as I read. I shooed her away once last night, and right after she turned to me and said: "Cudd, Mommmmeeee, cudd" and then she sighed.

Tonight, when she reached up to hold my chin again, I asked her if we were cuddling...she said yes and sighed oh-so deeply and contentedly. I kept reading. She kept a firm grasp on my chin.
I realized, she might be feeling the most comfortable she has ever felt.

And I didn't shoo her hand away.

Five Hours

At 5:45 a.m. she shouted out "DaaaaaDeeeee". I woke up.
At 5:46 a.m. she fell back asleep. I did not.

At 6:40 a.m. we headed downstairs for milk and the morning news.
At 7:26 a.m. I received a text message from Genna offering to take Addison. For. The. Day.

At 9:10 a.m. I kissed my kiddo buh-bye.
At 11:00 a.m. I was sitting at the salon getting my hair highlighted and cut.

I read my book.
I window shopped.
I tidied the kitchen.

At 2:00 p.m. Rylan came over to visit for a bit.

That's right, people, five hours of quiet childless freedom.
Go ahead, be jealous.

Artichoke Bread filed under M

I can't blame her. It's really my own fault.

It's just that the kitchen was already tidied up.

Her toys had been put in their bins.

The house smelled good and the news was on.

And I could sit and listen to it.

And she was being so quiet...it just seemed worth it.

I may never find another recipe again. That's okay.

She was quiet.

And content.

Of course, I have no idea what we're going to have for dinner and my recipe box was of no help.