.:Tradition Time:.

It’s that time again! Where we put back on our hiking boots and truck through those hilly muddy terranes.  Throwing discs.  And hearing that familiar clinking sound when our dics fly (hopefully gracefully) into the baskets. 

  
We just love playing discgolf.  Even if we only manage to get through 7 holes, because McKinley has to use the restroom and Cora is covered in mud.  It’s our family tradition. 

  
It was Coras first time being able to walk with us and carry a disc. I’m happy to report she shares our enthusiasm! 

  

   
Anyone else feeling like it’s already spring? I’ve brought up all my yellow pillows and spring decor from the basement.  Which is risky. Especially living in Ohio. Let’s get real–it might very well snow 5 inches tomorrow, but for now– getting muddy and soaking up the sunshine just feels right

~g

Morning Conversations 

Sometimes, Monday mornings are rough. You know, rolling out of bed groggy while attempting to re-establish weekday routines. Playing out the idea of hooky on a Monday inside your head.  Wishing to sink back into your pillow. Little things can feel rushed Monday morning. Like, conversations with your three-year-old. (Almost four-year-old).   

Over peanut-buttered-jelly toast and applesauce McKinley discussed her dream to me.  And we didn’t rush.  

“Were you by the pink and blue hydrangeas last night?” McKinley asked. 

I played along, “Oh yes! I was.” 

“And did you see Papa? He was playing with me in my dreams last night!”  (She is referring to my late father who passed away). 

“Oh really?! What were you guys doing?” 

“Papa was pushing us on the swings, but I was younger,” says McKinley very grown up. 

  
Sometimes it stirs these bottomless emotions inside me, but other times it brings comfort knowing he visits her. Still keeping us all safe. Still staying close.  

~g

Sibling Spegetti 

McKinley’s sister Cora eats spegetti
For the first time: 



 😁😁😁 “Yikes! Sorry mom.”  

“I’m cute though!”   

“Oh my gosh—look at this mess mom! What are we gonna do!?”  

“OOh well! What are Ya gonna do about it? We live and learn, right Ma?! ” 

“Hahah! Yessssssss! I totally got mom!”  

 
“Woohoo! She’s cleaning up! Victory is mine!”  

 

~G

Little Philosophers. 

Three year olds ask the best questions. Those tough-sometimes-you-just-can’t-fully-answer type of questions, don’t they? 

My father called this phase, “The Little Philosophers phase,” because they are curious thoughtful thinkers. And always asking, “why?!”  

  
This morning, after we all finally got buckled into our cozy CRV, McKinley started out, “Why do we need to save the earth? No no no no..Mama. HOW do we save the earth? That’s what I mean.”

“What a great question McKinley.  There are many reasons to save the earth and many ways we can save the earth.  Like, using less water.  Turning off our lights when we’re not using them.  Recycling. The list goes on.” 

I told her to ask all of her friends and teachers, because there was something to  learn from everyone.  So, I said, I would do the same. What are your thoughts on why we should save the earth and/or how we can save the earth?! 

-G

One thing at a time.  

It’s days like yesterday when I miss dad the most.  The long grey-color-pallet days of winter and the feeling of 1,000 things gone wrong. Just wrong. All my mistakes and shortcomings and the mistakes and shortcomings of others.

I just need to talk to him. “Dad, I’m having a hard time,” but that’s not actually what I would say.  

It would be a phone call and he would pick up, “Gorrrrdita!” rolling out the “r” for an exaggerated effect. (I forget how, where, and when that nickname actually came to be). His excitement to hear from me is warming, but my heart accelerates and my breath is heavy–

“Hey Dad,” with an exhale.  

“What’s goin’ on?” he says casually to not be presumptuous. But come on–he knows. He always knows. The wooshing wind from his rolled down window distracts me.  No matter what season it is his window is down and  he’s driving—always driving.  

“I dunno. Not much,” I mumble. 

“Uh-huh, well don’t put too much stalk into what other people say.”

“I know.  It’s just…I know. You’re right dad.”

He continues, “Seriously Don’t let other people dictate things for you.  Fuck em.” 

Dad had a way of making things seem OK again. I remember a night 3 years ago after the birth of McKinley.  My anxiety level was at a new high.

I called to talk to mom first, because they worked best as a team.  

“What’s the matter?” mom asks softly. 

Working through my sniffles, “I don’t know if I can do this. It’s too much.” 

“Oh Georgia, of course you can.  I know It’s not easy–trust me!  But, you are going to be an amazing mother.” 

Then dad.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“I don’t think I’m ready for this.” 

“Well, shit–you never are.” 

“What am I gonna do when she’s 15? How am I supposed to teach her right from wrong?” 

“Well, just take it one thing at a time. Don’t think about 15…She’s not even 1 month.  Every age and stage is different.  Don’t think or worry about it until you get there.”

I also miss dad on days like today– when the sun is finally starting to break through. When something happy happens and you get that good news

We’re moving into our first home. No extended family this time.  Just our immediate family unit. 4 elements under 1 roof.  And a dog. 

Dad would have embraced me in his tight hug, kissed my forehead, and whispered, “I’m so proud of you kiddo.”  And, he would have said that on my worst days too.