The First Man I Ever Loved

Of course, after all my pretty words and new found insights as I turned 30, there are still some grey areas that need work.  I do realise this, but it's easier said than done.

I spend alot of time thinking about and analysing my feelings for my father.

There is no doubt, even if he doesn't know it himself, that he was the very first man I ever loved and the one I compared all other men to since.

Yes, Daddy was my hero - still is, if I think about it.   Which I try not to, because somewhere inside, even though I am now 30 and a 'grown up', there is a piece of me that is still 13 and wants to be cross with Daddy, because Daddy went and married another lady after my Mommy died and try as I might for it not to, it does hurt very much.

I was always closer to my Mom.  She was the one I shared all my thoughts and feelings and secrets with, and I trusted her.  We had a very open relationship.  There is nothing on earth to fill the space she left behind in my life.

But this is Dad's space right now.  And while Mom was my best friend, Dad was my hero.  I always thought him to be a handsome man, his short dark hair and blue eyes and wonderful smile work well together.  My handsome Daddy.

And as a girl, my Daddy made me feel safe and protected.  Beware the boy who picked on me at school - I'd tell my Daddy.  

And let's be honest, when moms and teenage daughters butt heads, the neutralising presence of Dad goes a long way in smoothing things over. 

I loved spending time with him in the garage, watching him work.  I believed then, as I still do, even at the ripe age of 30, that my Dad could build anything and fix anything.  Not just 99%, but 110%. 

My Dad seemed to have high standards for me, which I always seemed to fall short of, even to this day.   If I could talk to him like I talked to my mom, I'd tell him that I really did try to be what he wanted.  I finished school, I got my license, bought my own first car, I partied a bit, but not too much and always behaved well.  I met a man, fell inlove and married him and I've been a true, honest and faithful wife - something my father always found very important.  I've worked hard, getting to where I am today on my own, without much help.  Just by persevering and putting in as much effort as I could.  My father hated 'half jobs' (which I was insanely good at as a teenager!).   Does he know that now I too hate half jobs and am almost pedantic about seeing something through? 

So I've really tried my best.  Where did I go wrong?  Why has Daddy never said 'Well Done'? 

Then then '30 year old voice' tells me to grow up and get real.  That I should bridge the gap somehow with my Dad and enjoy whatever years God sees fit to give us, so that somewhere along the line I don't end up writing another post about how I came to understand my dad too late, like with my Mom.  But the other part of me - the part that's just a daughter, regardless of age - wants Daddy's approval.

And I do not begrudge him his new wife, his new life.   He seems rediculously happy right now and I looked at his wedding photos with tears in my eyes, because truly, I don't ever remember seeing him look quite so happy, so healthy, so lively - Not with my mom and certainly not with me. 

My Dad always hated me 'talking out of the house' as a child.  He'd be pissed if he read this for sure!

And so I remain a closet Daddy's Girl, until my '30's' wisdom kicks me up the butt!

30 Regrets or 30 Blessings?

To add to my earlier post '30 Stepping Stones', I have more sentiments about turning 30.  Indeed, this was a big turning point for me.   A milestone.  I heard the echo of doors closing and another of doors opening, and as I said before, I started to think about the reality of dreams and what could still be, what never would be.

I remember a conversation with my mother when I was just into my teens.  It started with me wanting to take piano lessons.  I asked my mom if she ever had dreams when she was a child and she said she sure did.  I asked her about the ones that hadn't come true - the things she wanted to do that she never did.

Her answer to me that day was that it got to a point where it didn't matter anymore.  I can still picture that moment clearly.  I was leaning against her wardrobe and she was making up her bed, tucking the corners in tightly and smoothing the duvet so that there was no creases.  Only Mom made a bed like that.  I've never known anyone else to do it quite so precisely, except perhaps me. 

Anyway.  

I listened to what she said and found it infinitely sad that a point could come in one's life where dreams 'wouldn't matter' anymore, and vowed there and then, silently to myself that ALL my dreams would come true and that I'd go out and do all the things I wanted - before it was too late.

Somehow, I think, looking back - it was what sparked my headlong flight into life - my continued feeling of urgency - that time was running out and I wasn't getting to everything.

Sometimes I still feel like that, because there are things I want to do in this life...but there are other things that just don't...matter...anymore.

Mom was right.  Learning to play the piano is something I woudn't mind, but it sure isn't priority anymore.  It just doesn't matter as much.  Other things have taken its place.

She was right in so many things, especially when it came to raising children.   How is it that I only now begin to understand how she thought and felt about things...now that I have a son of five and a daughter that I'd sooner die than let something happen to. 

And how I wish she was here to tell this to, that now I finally do understand so much more, and that she wasn't just a good mother, she was a great mother.

Does this insight come with turning 30?  Well, it would explain alot!

Meet No. 3 - Enter Rocco

Okay, so I disappeared.  For three months.  Not good for business, I know!  Geez, time really does fly!!  Where have I been?  Indeed, where HAVE I been??   Well, Christmas, New Year and then a new baby, all in the space of a month...I've been recovering ever since!!

I went into 2010 with only one hope - not a resolution, just a feverent hope - that it's a better year.  That one hope sums up everything from finances, to happiness, love, friendship and the prayer that this year I lose noone I love.  May 2010 take no one from me. 

And with this thought still fresh in my mind, Rocco arrived on 19 January, exactly 17 months after his sister.

What a beautiful baby boy, weighing 3.8 kgs, which is close to 9 pounds. 

He is such a treasure.  A quiet and relatively undemanding baby that just loves Mommy.  And I love him.  No matter my previous thoughts, concerns, etc about a third - unexpected - child.  He certainly took his place in our family and I can't imagine life without him now.  He completed our family and gave me a feeling of peace and contentment that I wish could be applied to all the areas of my life.  

I wish I had spent more time on this blog in the last few months...I had such high hopes for it, but I gave up too quickly and shouldn't have.  So here's too a renewed start and a wonderful 2010!

Meet Rocco...