Dear Dad,
I don't know if I am more mad at you, or myself. Why you? Duh, because you are not here! But really, really, at myself for not knowing anything about being a home owner (2.5 years later).
This realization came last month when, on a balmy 100 plus degree day, I noticed it was sweltering hot... in the HOUSE. Checked the thermostat. 85 degrees inside. So I turned the temperature down figuring someone messed with it (did I mention I know NOTHING about being a home owner?).
It wasn't until hours later when Brett got home (and it was still hot as HELL) that I realized the AC was not actually working (no matter how low I turned it). If I ever swore, it would have been that day. The kids were pink faced and sweating, Brett was frustrated and all of a sudden in panic mode about the money it would cost to fix, and me? Well, we both know what a lovely person I am when I have to deal with something that wasn't anticipated.
Lucky for us, we know a guy.
So we call my friend Georgia. Do you remember my friend from way back in elementary school? She lived by Safeway? I got in trouble for prank calling "penis" with her when we were 12? Yeah, her. Anyway, her father-in-law is an AC guy. We got his number and made the call. George (the father-in-law) promised to come over in the morning.
The next day, bright and early, he was knocking at the door, tools in hand. That was the first time it hit me - this should be MY father standing on the stoop. He was the one who promised to help me with my house when I became a home owner.
I couldn't shake the feeling, so I made Brett show George where everything was. After I thought I pulled myself together I went outside to find out what the prognosis was.
It wasn't good. George and Brett had been tearing apart a box that I had built around the outside AC fan unit so that the kids wouldn't stick their fingers inside. The box didn't allow enough air flow and burnt out the AC.
George looked up and said seven words that almost killed me, "I am very disappointed in you, Jillian."
He didn't say it with malice, he just meant that I should have gotten a better contractor who would tell me that the box I wanted built would kill the AC. All I heard was YOU telling me you were disappointed in me.
Then he asked me, "If you didn't know what you were doing, why didn't you ask someone?"
I choked back my tears in silence wishing I knew how to say the "someone" I usually ask was now a box of ashes on my dresser.
I just feel abandoned and totally helpless in these situations. You were supposed to help me. You promised. You told me that real estate was the best investment I could make, and I would never have to worry about having a good handy man. Now I have this house, which I love, but every time something breaks, so does my heart.
I wish you were here.
Love you,
Jill
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Please Magic Light Turn Green
Dear Dad,
Remember that "magic trick" you would play with me in the car when I was little? "Please Magic Light Turn Green?" When we were stuck at a red light, you would wait until you saw the light turn yellow for the cars going in the opposite direction and then say, "please magic light turn green!," right as our direction turned green. Man, I thought that was amazing (until I figured out your scam). You did have me going for several years though. And I made sure to keep up the facade for Katelyn until she figured it out on her own too.
Well, I wanted to be amazing too, so of course I started doing the same thing with Peter and Aaron. They love it, although sometimes they say it as soon as we stop (wonder where they get the impatient gene from - oops!). But, like you did, I remind them that only Mommy can make it work.
Part two of this story - Peter has moved to him big boy bed! Only 2 years after Brett and I built the bunk beds, but he likes to take his time with things. The only problem with the new bed is that Peter did not want to stay in it! So after several days of fighting with him (he is as strong willed as me... or you for that matter), I started looking online for tools to help.
Then I found the "Stoplight Sleep Enhancing Clock" - not only did it match the decor of Peter's room, but it was supposed to help with sleep training during the transition to a big boy bed. It worked great! When the light is red he has to stay in his bed and be quiet. When the light turns green, he is allowed to call for me to come and get him (which means my alarm clock is Peter yelling "MOTHER, COME AND GET ME!).
Peter has been doing great! Every once in a while Peter will be playing a little too loudly during nap time when he can't sleep, so I have to go and remind him to be quiet so he doesn't wake Aaron. But he hasn't gotten out of bed ONCE! However, just because he is following the rules, doesn't mean he likes them.
They other day I heard him calling out during nap time, "PLEASE MAGIC LIGHT TURN GREEN!"
I had to stop laughing before I went in to remind him that Aaron was sleeping, and that only mommies and daddies can do that trick.
Thought you would get a kick out of that one. Gotta run to the kids playgroup, but I will write soon.
Love you and miss you lots!
Jill
Remember that "magic trick" you would play with me in the car when I was little? "Please Magic Light Turn Green?" When we were stuck at a red light, you would wait until you saw the light turn yellow for the cars going in the opposite direction and then say, "please magic light turn green!," right as our direction turned green. Man, I thought that was amazing (until I figured out your scam). You did have me going for several years though. And I made sure to keep up the facade for Katelyn until she figured it out on her own too.
Well, I wanted to be amazing too, so of course I started doing the same thing with Peter and Aaron. They love it, although sometimes they say it as soon as we stop (wonder where they get the impatient gene from - oops!). But, like you did, I remind them that only Mommy can make it work.
Part two of this story - Peter has moved to him big boy bed! Only 2 years after Brett and I built the bunk beds, but he likes to take his time with things. The only problem with the new bed is that Peter did not want to stay in it! So after several days of fighting with him (he is as strong willed as me... or you for that matter), I started looking online for tools to help.
Then I found the "Stoplight Sleep Enhancing Clock" - not only did it match the decor of Peter's room, but it was supposed to help with sleep training during the transition to a big boy bed. It worked great! When the light is red he has to stay in his bed and be quiet. When the light turns green, he is allowed to call for me to come and get him (which means my alarm clock is Peter yelling "MOTHER, COME AND GET ME!). Peter has been doing great! Every once in a while Peter will be playing a little too loudly during nap time when he can't sleep, so I have to go and remind him to be quiet so he doesn't wake Aaron. But he hasn't gotten out of bed ONCE! However, just because he is following the rules, doesn't mean he likes them.
They other day I heard him calling out during nap time, "PLEASE MAGIC LIGHT TURN GREEN!"
I had to stop laughing before I went in to remind him that Aaron was sleeping, and that only mommies and daddies can do that trick.
Thought you would get a kick out of that one. Gotta run to the kids playgroup, but I will write soon.
Love you and miss you lots!
Jill
To My Readers...
Welcome to "Dear Dad"
"Dad" in this case is Peter George BeVard - February 13, 1953 - June 18, 2006.
Even as I type those dates, I cannot not believe that there was an expiration date on a man like my father.
My dad was an amazing father. I learning that when I became an adult and stopped hating him for not letting me get bad grades, or drive with teenagers, or wanting to know where I was all the time. As an adult we were able to appreciate each other and not get so annoyed that we were so much a like.
I talked with him on the phone on a daily basis, he took me to lunch frequently, I went to his hockey games when I could and he even went on a business trip with me once to see what I did for a living. There aren't many dads who would do that, and the gesture did not go unnoticed.
We loved spending time together and much of that time we were laughing. I even had a boyfriend request once (when we were scheduled to go bowling with my father that night) that we aren't so loud because it embarrassed him when we did our loud belly laughing. Needless to say that relationship didn't last long.
I remember my last argument with Dad, it was May of 2006. We got in a fight over when I was going to pick up my car (which he borrowed while his was in the shop). We are both incredibly hard headed and clearly had different thoughts about how we should get the car back to me. It was so stupid, but I am always thankful that he lived a few weeks past that fight, so it wasn't my last memory.
I remember our last conversation, it was June 17, 2006 the day before Father's Day (and my sister's 21st birthday) and I was calling to see what he wanted to do to celebrate. I was walking down the street where I was vacationing in Abingdon, VA, he was moving some of his girlfriend's stuff into storage. We joked around a little bit about him "smuggling things into storage so he would have more room for his hockey trophies," and decided that the next day I would go to his 2 hockey games and then take him out to dinner.
The next morning I woke up to several messages on my cell phone, which had been silenced during the night since I was staying in a room with my Aunt and cousins. A bunch were from my baby sister, Katelyn, one was from a hospital, and one was from my boyfriend, Brett. All I could think was, "Great, Katelyn was celebrating too hard for her 21st birthday and got alcohol poisoning."
She was the first person I was able to reach by phone and she alerted me that I was wrong about the assumed bad news. Our father had a heart attack. He did not make it.
I still remember the long drive home from Abington, VA feeling numb, with moments of bursting out into tears. Sometimes life feels like that ride home.
Don't get me wrong, I love my life. Since June 2006, I married Brett, had 2 beautiful boys (Peter and Aaron), bought my first home, and live a life I have always wanted. But there is one thing missing, and he isn't coming back.
Sadly, many of the joyous moments in my life are pained by the realization that my dad isn't there with me. To walk me down the aisle, to see my kids born, to see my kids grow. And the hard times are worsened because the one person I always called on isn't on the line.
Until my husband bought me a navigation system for my car I would always joke that, "I was lost without my dad... no seriously, I used to call him several times a week because I was lost driving somewhere." But really, I am still lost.
Four years later, I still find myself bursting into tears, wanting to tell him about a new milestones the kids have reached, a funny thing I saw on TV, what is going on with our hockey team (DC is finally a hockey town, you wouldn't believe it!!!),... how much I miss him.
So, here is my self therapy... "Dear Dad"
A place where I can go to write letters to my father about everything I wish I could tell him.
"Dad" in this case is Peter George BeVard - February 13, 1953 - June 18, 2006.
Even as I type those dates, I cannot not believe that there was an expiration date on a man like my father.
My dad was an amazing father. I learning that when I became an adult and stopped hating him for not letting me get bad grades, or drive with teenagers, or wanting to know where I was all the time. As an adult we were able to appreciate each other and not get so annoyed that we were so much a like.
I talked with him on the phone on a daily basis, he took me to lunch frequently, I went to his hockey games when I could and he even went on a business trip with me once to see what I did for a living. There aren't many dads who would do that, and the gesture did not go unnoticed.
We loved spending time together and much of that time we were laughing. I even had a boyfriend request once (when we were scheduled to go bowling with my father that night) that we aren't so loud because it embarrassed him when we did our loud belly laughing. Needless to say that relationship didn't last long.
I remember my last argument with Dad, it was May of 2006. We got in a fight over when I was going to pick up my car (which he borrowed while his was in the shop). We are both incredibly hard headed and clearly had different thoughts about how we should get the car back to me. It was so stupid, but I am always thankful that he lived a few weeks past that fight, so it wasn't my last memory.
I remember our last conversation, it was June 17, 2006 the day before Father's Day (and my sister's 21st birthday) and I was calling to see what he wanted to do to celebrate. I was walking down the street where I was vacationing in Abingdon, VA, he was moving some of his girlfriend's stuff into storage. We joked around a little bit about him "smuggling things into storage so he would have more room for his hockey trophies," and decided that the next day I would go to his 2 hockey games and then take him out to dinner.
The next morning I woke up to several messages on my cell phone, which had been silenced during the night since I was staying in a room with my Aunt and cousins. A bunch were from my baby sister, Katelyn, one was from a hospital, and one was from my boyfriend, Brett. All I could think was, "Great, Katelyn was celebrating too hard for her 21st birthday and got alcohol poisoning."
She was the first person I was able to reach by phone and she alerted me that I was wrong about the assumed bad news. Our father had a heart attack. He did not make it.
I still remember the long drive home from Abington, VA feeling numb, with moments of bursting out into tears. Sometimes life feels like that ride home.
Don't get me wrong, I love my life. Since June 2006, I married Brett, had 2 beautiful boys (Peter and Aaron), bought my first home, and live a life I have always wanted. But there is one thing missing, and he isn't coming back.
Sadly, many of the joyous moments in my life are pained by the realization that my dad isn't there with me. To walk me down the aisle, to see my kids born, to see my kids grow. And the hard times are worsened because the one person I always called on isn't on the line.
Until my husband bought me a navigation system for my car I would always joke that, "I was lost without my dad... no seriously, I used to call him several times a week because I was lost driving somewhere." But really, I am still lost.
Four years later, I still find myself bursting into tears, wanting to tell him about a new milestones the kids have reached, a funny thing I saw on TV, what is going on with our hockey team (DC is finally a hockey town, you wouldn't believe it!!!),... how much I miss him.
So, here is my self therapy... "Dear Dad"
A place where I can go to write letters to my father about everything I wish I could tell him.
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