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at Miss Norah! Her little pigtails kill me. I couldn't resist letting them have the spotlight for a moment too!More to come... :)Krysta
When I was five, he put pigtails in my hair for my kindergarten picture. And when I started to whine that they weren’t “perfect”, he patiently took them out and started over again and again and again. Not once did he complain at the massive amount of time wasted that morning on school picture pigtails. As I looked in the mirror and smiled, he told me I looked beautiful...
When I was 7, I came home from school, nervous for my first real homework assignment. We were to write a one page report on an animal and present it to the class. My father asked me what animal I had chosen and I told him I had picked a dog. He challenged me to pick something else telling me that everyone was going to pick something obvious. He came back with a huge encyclopedia and together we decided on a platypus. Yes, that’s right. The duck billed, beaver tailed platypus. I had never heard of it before and he sat with me and read everything I could ever possibly wanted to know about the platypus. The next day I proudly stood and gave my speech as the rest of the kids, just as he said they would, presented on dogs, cats, and horses. I obviously didn’t realize it, but even then he was teaching me to think outside the box, that’s it is okay to be different...
For my 10th birthday, my father gave me the most beautiful hand-carved dollhouse I had ever seen. It was four feet tall and had two huge wooden doors that swung open. He had taken left over remnants of carpet and wall paper from my room and put it in the dollhouse so that it was a miniature version of my bedroom. It was the last dollhouse the craftsmen made before he died. I was in love with it and was scared to play in it for fear of breaking it. Years ago when my parents moved from my childhood home, my dad asked what we were going to do with the dollhouse. I protested that it would be coming with to the new house. We bantered back and forth. He thought it was too big and was sitting unused. I told him it was to be handed down to my daughter one day. And then he told me the man who made the dollhouse now had a granddaughter that he had never met and she would never get to have one of his dollhouses. He told me it was the right thing to do and that when I had my little girl, we would go together to pick out a new dollhouse that was perfect for her. I couldn’t imagine this little girl never knowing something so beautiful that her grandfather had made so I let it go. Still, my heart hurts. Not in the absence of the dollhouse. It’s a material thing. It hurts in the reality that he will not be here to go with me, as he said, to pick out one for my own daughter and even more in coming to terms with the fact that he will never know her.
When I was 18, my parents moved me to college. I couldn’t be a normal teenager and accept hand-me-down furniture. I had to paint it all white and make sure it looked “shabby”. My father was loading the “shabby” white furniture into our SUV and ripped his hand open on a nail protruding from a bookshelf. He didn’t say a word about it. He wrapped his bleeding hand in a towel, drove himself to the doctor, and told him to stitch it up quickly as he had to get his daughter moved to college. I didn’t even find out about it until we arrived. I saw his hand bandaged and asked what had happened. He said it was nothing and continued to unload all of my belongings. He didn’t complain about it once that day. It was my mom who told me that he had cut his hand very badly, but wanted to make sure my moving day went smoothly…
When I was 23 I graduated from college. My parents threw me a graduation party and two of my best friends from college traveled many miles to come. When we awoke the next morning, my father had a gourmet breakfast waiting for us. The table was lined with french toast made from homemade raisin bread, hand squeezed orange juice, fruit parfaits in champagne glasses, "The Big Dog" omelettes, and hashbrowns made from scratch. Michelle and Lisa couldn't believe their eyes. He was so happy to have them there and when they left Michelle said "Thank you Mr. Manthe" and he corrected her saying, "You can call me Steve...you're family now." ...because he made everyone he met feel like family. Michelle and I still talk about that to this day...
When I was 27 I wrote about my father on my blog for Father’s Day to let him know how much I adored him. My words didn’t do him justice. Little did I know that two months later those same words would end up being printed on the inside of his memorial booklet…the words that would lay him to rest in this life and carry him onto the next. After we said goodbye to him, I sat in his office one night, in his chair staring at the computer monitor wondering how, so very quickly, this “new” life of ours had come to be. I had knocked a stack of papers sitting on his desk to the floor and when I went to pick them up, a printed out version of my blog entry to him had fallen out. He had printed out several copies and tucked them away. It meant more to me than anything...
At 28, I am slowly learning how to adjust to a life without my father. His absence overshadows so many moments. I try to find peace with the knowing that one day he was here and the next day, very unexpectedly, he was gone. The day he left everything changed. Life changed. I changed....
Today. Father’s Day. My first without you. I am reaching for anything that will ease this relentless ache. People can say many things….that you’re where you’re supposed to be, that you’re happy, that it was time for you to go. The truth is you’re not where you’re supposed to be because you’re not here. Beyond that today, I don’t have the energy to believe that anything else matters.
Happy Father’s Day. I hope you’re looking down on us. I hope you know how much we miss you. I hope you’ll be a good Papa today and take away this pain if only just a little...
* At two with my dad. How fitting the picture is. You can't fully see him, but he's there...*
I love you. Always and Forever,
Your Cowcie
And to my Brady, Thank you. Not only today, but every day for being Michael's favorite person in this world. For being a constant Star Wars playmate, a traveling human jungle gym, and a healer for all of his tears. For being something solid for me to lean on this year, without fail. For loving my own father as much as you did. For making every day a day full of new possibilites... I love you more than you could ever possibly know. Me xx
Truth be told, this vacation meant more to me than just a trip to California, a place I love dearly. It meant that instead of e-mailing, talking on the phone, MSN chatting, or texting across thousands of miles, I got to see my Sheye. The time in between this visit and the last has been too long. There have been days when the notion of having tea, shopping, or staying up into the late hours of the night chatting were merely an impossibility that left me missing. There have been too many days when tears were shared over the phone or we signed off of the computer with so much more to say. This trip meant that I was here and she was here and we were finally in the same place at the same time...something long awaited. It also meant that I got to meet the most beautiful family. From the moment Brady and I walked in, we were welcomed with open arms. And walking in behind her beautiful mummy came Ivy. The little girl I have heard so much about, have sent dresses for hoping they would fit, and have come to adore through her mummy's pictures and words. Yes, there was Ivy. My heart melted. She is beyond beautiful. We bonded over bubble gum, the love of pink, and the song "Caravan Girl." How her face lit up when she realized I knew all of the words. We sang along in perfect harmony until she leaned over and whispered, "This is my favorite song...is it your favorite?" And so with pigtails and a vintage retro bike in tow, we took Ivy, Mason, and Luca down to the beach. The boys body surfed, Ivy giggled as she ran through the water, the sun started to set, and Sheye and I stood smiling. It was beautiful...the whole week was beautiful. I have written about it in my journal so I can have it with me wherever I go...I don't have words to describe what it was like to say goodbye. Today.I am caught in missing. For all of you Sheye. So many luvs and just as many misses, K xx Ivy - your song, with love, Sweet Girl.
We're baaaack! Our feet have left the California sand. Brady had to drag me kicking and screaming through the airport to get me on the plane. We had SUCH an amazing week and my heart is feeling a bit heavy today for more reasons than one. I have many pretty pictures to proof this week and can't wait to share! Until then a tiny peek at a little bit of delicious-ness that I got to cuddle all week... :)
I am suffering from sleep deprivation and have a little boy tugging at me to play. The combo together isn't good soooooo more to come!!
Much Love,
Krysta
Mr. B and I are heading out to "our little happy place" as I like to call it.
WARNING: I may never return. I know I say it every year, but there is a good chance that one of these times it may very well be true... :)
I will have many pretty things to post when/if I return. Promise.
Much Love,
Krysta
Do you remember this post? The crowns? The crowns I HAD to have. Like, wanted so badly, I e-mailed the woman that very second and asked her how to make them mine. Well, my box of shiny and beautiful showed up the other day complete with many goodies. I can't show them all now to you because some of them need to be saved for a later post, BUT how amazing is my crown? A special thank you to Rosemary over at Roses Petite Maison for making them for me! I.am.in.love. (and will be putting in another order soon!)
Happy Weekend!!
Krysta
