Posted in coping mechanisms, death, Family, Family Time, growing up, life lessons, memories, Uncategorized

Goodbye, Old Friend…


Last week, my mother invited me to go out of town with her. When I left Kansas City, I didn’t realize I would be seeing my grandfather for the last time that week. I guess I’ve always been a pretty optomistic guy, and although I knew he was not doing well, he’s always persisted in the past.

On our way to Illinois, my mother and I conversed about anything and everything. As we crossed the Mississippi River, leading into Illinois, the tone of our conversation became a little more serious. The doctors had given my grandfather possibly, a couple more months of life on earth. Turning down small country roads, we passed through St. Elmo, and we wondered if that was where “St. Elmo’s Fire” was filmed (I looked it up — it wasn’t).

As we pulled in front of his house, I was a little uneasy. We had visited numerous times over the years, and he had met my oldest four daughters. I hadn’t been to his house, however, since high school. He had moved since then, and it was surreal seeing my grandpa through a different set of lenses. My mother told me that more than likely he would not ever be coming back to this home. It hit me pretty hard as I walked through his house trying to learn about him through his acquired possessions.

Walking into his home, I was greeted with oxygen tanks next to the doorway. A grandfather’s clock hung on one wall, a rifle next to his rocking chair. Sitting on his coffee table, was a picture of our family we took at Christmas this past year. Another wall displayed a picture frame with my nephews and my oldest four kids. His coffee table reminded me of my other grandparent’s coffee table. There was a small office space, and a small guest room. One of the closets was filled with Western genre books.

I have never read a Western novel, but I do enjoy watching them occasionally. In his bedroom, his cowboy boots filled the bottom of his closet, and his clothes were neatly hung. Although he was already fairly small in stature, as he aged, he appeared even smaller.

My mother invited me out to the back yard, so we could take a look around the property. We spotted the well, and the old outhouse. There was a large barn, with a broken-down tractor, and a dilapidated bike. Into the edge of the woods, an older bus had been tucked away. IMG_20170731_154733 We walked around to the front of the yard, trying to avoid the hornet’s nest we had awoken when we first arrived. His garage told the biggest story about him. His main passions in life were fishing and hunting. In the small guest bedroom, you probably could have guessed he liked to hunt, by the amount of rifles that were in there. However, if you hadn’t guessed that by now, maybe the amount of antlers hanging up on the garage walls would have given it away. In the back of his pickup, a single fishing rod was still hanging out, just hoping for one last trip to the water.

After a few minutes of looking around, we headed to the hospital. Since he lived in a very small town, we had to drive over an hour to get there. Seeing grandpa lying in the hospital bed, he looked even smaller than I had remembered. He looked up at his daughter, his grandson, and smiled. Although he was having an incredibly hard time breathing, he insisted on talking with us. He sat up, had dinner, and inquired about the girls. He was doing better than I had thought he was going to be, and we had a good conversation. I shared the newest pictures I had of all the girls, and reminded him of just home much they loved him. He said he loved them, too and it felt so good to say those words, and hear them reciprocated back.

On the way back to his house, we stopped at his sister’s house to visit with her and her husband. I may have met her when I was a child, but I cannot recall. Either way, after spending a couple hours with them, I felt so much better about the quality of my grandfather’s life. I know he has been in good hands with them. In fact, they had been taking that hour-long drive back and forth to the hospital every day, and helping him with anything he needed. I am truly thankful he had them looking after him.

With life, the only thing guaranteed, is death. It is inevitable. Too many times in our lives, we lose people, just to have regret over something we said–or didn’t say. As a younger person, when I was just eighteen years-old, I lost my grandfather on my dad’s side. We all said our “goodbyes” to him in the hospital, as the doctor’s said he may not make it through the night. However, he willed himself out of the hospital, and back into his own home for a couple more months. Not one time, did I go back to see him. In my mind, I had already told him goodbye, and I have lived with regret ever since.

When my mother told me last Thursday night (after I had driven home), that the doctors had given her dad only seven to ten more days to live, I had a little bit of regret creep back in. Although she had spent hours at the hospital that day, without him even waking up, I still felt like I could have maybe seen him one more time. I could have hugged him one last time. I could have told him one last time that I loved him.

The following morning, my dad called me to let me know my grandfather had passed early in the morning. My oldest two had already been told of his recent situation, but my middle two were out of town. My youngest, being only one, will have to rely on pictures and stories to know her great-grandpa. That night, was my twenty-year class reunion. I tried my hardest to suppress any sadness, and enjoy my night. Although I truly enjoyed seeing my classmates, it didn’t take away the fact that he is gone now.

My middle two children were out of town last week, and my wife and I agreed that their first day back should be a day of relaxation, happiness, and them telling us stories of what they did on their trip. Yesterday afternoon, my wife and I had the talk that no parent enjoys having with a seven and eight year-old. My wife was cool, calm, collected, and worded everything perfect for them to understand. Perfectly-formed words, however, do not turn away tears from a child’s mouth, and hurt from their hearts.

It was a pretty rough week for my mom, and she is still out of town tying up all the loose ends. For a few more days, she is still battling hornet’s nests and his neighbor’s twenty dogs who like to show up unannounced in the pitch-black. My mother has worried about him for years since we lived so far away, and now the worry part has gone.

grandpa

We all love you grandpa. Goodbye, old friend.

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Posted in confessions, coping mechanisms, Divorce, Ex Wife, expectations, Family, Family Time, Husband, Inspirational, love, Marriage, My Wedding, Relationships, responsibility, The Meaning of Life, Uncategorized

Can We Talk About Love?


Can we talk about love? Is that OK? I know some subjects may be a little taboo; and love may very well be one of those subjects, but I think we should talk about it. Cool with you? Good…

Love has a lot of stages doesn’t it? There are good days and bad days. There are so many different types of love that it would be impossible for me to hit on every single one. Let’s go over some of them though…

There’s the love you get from family. There’s the love you give to family. This type of love is usually there for a long time. Even when fights break out, arguments occur, divorces happen—usually “family love” is a pretty lasting feeling.

There’s the love you have for your friends, and that they have for you. This love feels pretty amazing usually. No matter what, your friends have your back, and you have theirs, right? Maybe…This type of love sadly does not stay forever in most of our lives. Don’t get me wrong, there are definitely exceptions to this. I’m just saying, don’t automatically assume that when you have a friend in Kindergarten, that they will be crying at your funeral.

Then, there’s the love you have for certain things. Every single one of us loves something. Maybe it’s quiet time on the front porch watching traffic drive by. Maybe you love reading a certain author, or type of story. I have a kid that loves purple! She really does! Maybe you love a certain food, or a certain type of car. Maybe you love Taco Tuesdays. Maybe you love watching baseball. I love this kind of love! See what I did there?

When you first see your newborn child, and you zone out, and just look and stare at them…That’s an amazing love. That kind of love is reserved for your older years. When a kid sees their newborn sibling, or another baby at the store—they usually think “Aww, that baby is so cute!” They don’t normally immediately start thinking about where that kid will be in twenty years, what they’ll look like, what job they’ll have, how many babies they’re going to produce, etc…

When we go to school and start meeting other kids, sometimes we get a boyfriend or a girlfriend. Sometimes your age, a lack of maturity, or naivety play a part in making us think we’re in love at a very young age. Nothing I can say to my kids will ever truly make them understand that, and that’s OK. My job as a parent is to guide them by example, teach them right from wrong, and trust that they will make good choices along the way.

The next kind of love I want to talk about is the grown-up kind. The kind of love that makes you willing to do almost anything, sacrifice almost anything, to ensure their happiness in life. This kind of love unfortunately doesn’t reach every soul. Life happens, death happens, and sadly but truly sometimes love ends because of that. Temptation is a word I wished didn’t exist, because without it I’m sure a lot more “love” would last a little longer.

Grown-up love is pretty cool. By the time you fall in love the grown-up way, you’re usually mature enough to realize it. You hope/assume that the other individual in the mix is mature enough to realize it as well. Now, you guys know I’ve been divorced from my older kid’s mother for almost eleven years now. We got married pretty young, and if either one of us knew what grown-up love was yet, it sure wasn’t apparent. By the time either of us figured that part out of life, we had long since parted ways.

When I met the woman I’m with now, I had no idea that over eight years later we’d still be acquaintances, let alone be husband and wife. Sometimes it’s like that. When I used to tell the story of meeting her, I used to say it playfully, and I got into way too many details. Nobody wanted to hear that. Not for real. Maybe they did kind of want to hear that, because they hadn’t found that grown-up love yet, and they think that I hadn’t either.

Somewhere along this road of life I’ve been traveling these past thirty-five years, I found her. I found my grown-up love. She is amazing. I really do love her. Not only would I do almost anything, or sacrifice almost anything to ensure her happiness in life, I made a vow to her a long time ago to love her, to cherish her, in sickness and in health. I meant it.

A couple of years ago, my wife and I separated. We spent a lot of time apart from each other, and we ended up filing for a divorce. Being divorced is not the end of the world. However, when you love someone…like really love someone, it’s pretty hard to forget. There were many days I would literally have tears in my eyes almost the entire drive home after dropping our children off to her for the night. However, I wasn’t the only one who had fallen into that grown-up love. Luckily, she had too.

Realizing that we still loved each other after every argument, after every disagreement, after every hurt word said—was one of the happiest feelings I had in a very long time. I started asking her to “hang out” with the kids and I for lunch, or the movies. I thought I was being slick, and honestly not very sure in myself if my plan was even going to work. Winning your wife back is hard work people. It’s not like you can just divorce someone, act like you don’t care about them anymore, because they started acting like they didn’t care about you anymore, and then think they’ll just come running back into your arms like nothing happened. That’s not how life works, and that’s definitely not how love works.

Love is earned. Period. You earn love, or you don’t. You prove yourself, or you don’t. You be the man/woman he/she needs you to be for you and the family, or you don’t. You put in the time, or you don’t. You put in the effort, or you don’t. You make them feel special, or you don’t. You help them succeed, or you don’t. You become one entity, or you don’t. You make a pact, you raise a family, and you love each other the way you want to be loved—or you don’t.

My wife is beautiful. She is smart. She has a very dismissing attitude towards some people, and she does not take kindly to people who pry too deep into our life. Our lives have been exposed through this blog, and through our “BaileyLiving” YouTube Channel many years now. She can sing very well, and she can cop a mean attitude even better. She loves our children we have made together, and more importantly, she loves my oldest two daughters just as much. She is an excellent mom, my very best friend that I’ve ever had, and I grown-up love her.

I hadn’t truly realized how much I meant to her until she proposed to me. Yes, you read that right. She proposed to me the second time around. She sang to me, she was sincere with me, and I absolutely loved the proposal. She started working on wedding arrangements almost immediately. I swear, it was like a day or two later, and she had already planned the entire thing. Just typing this out right now makes me smile so big thinking back to her voice on the phone telling me all about it while I drove home from work one night.

November 20th, 2014 I married my best friend again.

US!
US!
There wasn’t a lot of people there. There wasn’t a lot of hoopla about the event. We went to Las Vegas, we saw friends and family, and we got married. When we came home, life is just life now. It seems a lot better now. I like looking down at my ring on my finger. I look at it a lot and feel a sense of relief come over me.My Family

Love fixed my broken family, and made me feel whole again. I freaking love that!

Posted in Ashleigh, Audrey, confessions, coping mechanisms, dad, daddy, Divorce, Ella, empathy, expectations, Family, Family Time, fatherhood, Inspirational, jobs, Kids, love, memories, mommyhood, moving on, Parenting, Relationships, responsibility, Taralynn, The Meaning of Life, Uncategorized

You Can Judge Me…


You can judge me…after I’m dead.

After my life has finished here on earth, by all means, judge away. However, I don’t want you to judge me by my accolades. Don’t judge me by the amount of trophies I won, or the amount of certifications I earned. Don’t judge me by my social status. Don’t judge me by my place of employment. Don’t judge me by the amount of hair left on my head, nor by the changed color of it.

After I’m dead, and you start your judgement, don’t judge me on whether or not I went to church. Don’t judge me on whether or not I finished college. Don’t judge me by the type of car I drove, or the house I lived in. Don’t judge me because I thought differently than you. Don’t judge me because our politics didn’t align. Don’t judge me because I talked differently than you. Don’t judge me because I got divorced. Don’t judge me for falling in love. Don’t judge me for falling out of love. Don’t judge me because I didn’t understand.

Don’t judge me because you’ve seen me drink in excess. Don’t judge me because you’ve seen me places I shouldn’t have been. Don’t judge me because I didn’t have as much money as others. Don’t judge me because I had more money than others. Don’t you dare judge me because of the way I looked. Don’t judge me because of the way I looked at you. Don’t judge me because I didn’t ask, and don’t judge me because I did.

This may seem like a fairly long list, and rest assured, it should definitely be a little more lengthy. However, the list is there for a reason. It’s there because like every one of you, I have a side that is not the prettiest. It’s not the most insightful. It’s not the most handsome. It’s still me, don’t get me wrong. Just be sure to understand, that it is not the only side of me.

As I’ve gotten older, and the years go by, I’ve learned a lot. That, you can be sure of. I’m still a work in progress as are each and every one of you reading this right now. I do have many things I’m proud of. Some of them are accomplishments. Some things I’m proud of are intangibles. You may not be able to see every side of me at once. In fact, you should consider yourself lucky if you catch the majority of them as I pass by your lives.

As far as accolades and trophies, you’re right—there’s not that many. I’ve earned a diploma, sure, and I’ve even received a few certifications in a few things after that. I’m not a wealthy individual, but I do work (a couple of jobs) to ensure I’m not in poverty. I’ve actually worked lots of jobs over the years, and I don’t regret a single one of them. I may not go to church every Sunday, but that does not mean I do not strive for what’s morally right in most cases. There have been times I’ve been fortunate enough to have a pretty decent car, and other times that I went months without one. There’s been times when I’ve lived in a nice house, and others where I was fortunate people cared enough to take me in.

I’ve fallen in love at last count at least 145 times—and that was just the first year of high school! I married young, divorced young, and didn’t learn a thing from it. I married a little older, divorced a little older, and learned lots from it. Am I happier now? Yeah, most of the time. I have been drunk. I have thrown up all over the side of a couple of my friend’s cars because of it. I’ve thrown up in my house because of it. Some of those times I was younger and thought nothing could phase me. The other times I was older and thought nothing could phase me.

I’ve been in numerous places I probably shouldn’t have been. If you saw me there, then before you judge, let me hold the mirror up for you. Sometimes I thought I was rich, when really I wasn’t. Sometimes I thought I was poor, when really I wasn’t. Either way, money is overrated, and I hate that we have to use it to get things. I’m all for going back to bartering for stuff. Sometimes in life, I’ve taken good photos. Like, really good ones. Ones that made me take a second glance, because that model looked a lot like me. Other times, I’ve taken some not so flattering ones. Especially recently. Maybe it’s because I’m gaining weight. Maybe it’s because my hairline is retreating inland like a hurricane is on its way in. Maybe it’s because now when I look at a picture it’s just “me.” That’s what I look like now. Life, in general, has made me look like this. “This,” by the way, is NOT like a model.

Anyways, back to this judgement people like to pass on towards others so much…Here’s what I’d like you to judge me on:

thegirls

My kids. Judge me by THEM. Judge me by their kids. Rest assured, my life at some point in the last few years went from “me, me, me, me, me” to “I have to protect them, love them, be there for them, love them some more, study with them, teach them about boys (trust me, their moms don’t know the half of it like I do), and love them even more.

TARA
TARA
I have to teach them every single thing I know, both good and bad. I have to teach them to trust themselves, believe in themselves, and to be GOOD people. I have to teach them to reach inside their souls and find something, anything that they have a strong passion for, and to follow their dreams.
ELLA
ELLA
It’s such a thin line, we as parents toe each day, as we strive to LIVE through them. Watching them grow, watching them play, watching them learn, watching them argue, debate, cry, laugh, whatever it is.
AUDREY
AUDREY
It is my life. They are my life. They truly are my everything. And I guarantee that by the time you decide to judge me, after I’m gone…You’ll see that I did OK. I am so freaking proud of my children in everything they do. I delight in the smallest things. They make me laugh like you would not believe.
ASH
ASH
They give my life a purpose. Because of them and their acceptance of me, as their dad, I will never worry again what others think about me.

Go ahead, you can judge me…after I’m dead.

And He Loves You
And He Loves You
Posted in empathy, expectations, Family, Family Time, fatherhood, imagination, Inspirational, Kids, memories, Parenting, Relationships, responsibility, The Meaning of Life, Uncategorized

The Best Things in Life are Free…


“The best things in life are free.” It’s such a simple statement. You would be hard-pressed to find someone who is not familiar with that quote, or something very similar to it. It was a song, then another song. It is the title of a movie, and is the subject of many popular “feel good” images here on the internet.

It really is a lovely statement. If you think about it, and I do mean really think about it, it rings absolutely true.

In forty-five short minutes, one of my children will turn eleven years old. Although it is only forty-five minutes away, this kid has yet to really ask me for anything for her birthday. She gave me a little list to give to my mother and sister, because they insist on lists for birthdays. As for me, her father, however, I get nothing.

I have taken her to numerous stores, mentioned her upcoming birthday to her a few times, and still I get no hints. I get asked for nothing of financial value from her. No, she asked me to make her a lunch tomorrow of nothing but junk food. She wants donuts, cookies, pop, the works; just as long as it’s not healthy. She insists it’s only for one meal out of one day, and for that one day she’s going to be the star of the lunchroom.

When her oldest sister turned five years-old, I took her sister to Branson, MO and Silver Dollar City (just the two of us). For years now, she has reminded me that I took a vacation with her older sister, and not with her. She has come to realize that her dad is by no means a wealthy man, and has not only accepted it, but tries to live in a more humble manner because of it. She knows I have three other children, and she has trained herself to be more wary of my finances than I am sometimes.

For example, if we go out to eat, she almost always orders last. She listens to what everyone else has ordered, and then almost always orders something way cheaper than everyone else. If her sister orders an overpriced drink, she asks for a kid’s meal that comes with a drink usually, or she asks for water. Every time we discuss where to eat, I can hear her have a discussion with her oldest sibling on where it will be cheaper for dad.

I’m not poor, mind you. Like I said, I’m also not wealthy. This child of mine has taught me more about believing in myself than just about anybody I’ve ever met. She’s taught me to love my surroundings and be grateful for everything that I have. She believes that one day, the grass on our side of the fence will be greener, and I hope know that she is absolutely correct.

She’s beautiful from the bottom of her tippy toes all the way up to her lightly freckled, bright, blue-eyed face. Her inner beauty is truly a work of art, it really is. I’ll never be able to fully communicate just how much she means to me, but I hope she realizes what a vital role she plays in my life. She is just one of four, and they are all four very special to me in their own unique ways. Her sense of selflessness is one of her best traits, and she probably doesn’t even realize it yet.

photo (8)She is a comedian, no doubt, and she loves to be the center of attention. She is definitely in the top two for the backseat dancing awards in my family. The kid simply puts a smile on my face every time I see her face. She loves me more than I could have ever hoped she would, and I appreciate her more than she ever thought she could be appreciated. I hope she continues to shine bright wherever she decides to go with her life.

Today at the park, while her older sister and her friend played, she and I took a walk around the trail. Near the end of the trail she made us stop, pick a dandelion, and make a wish as we blew them into the wind. She then crossed them on top of one another, and placed them back intertwined together back into a hole in the ground. She placed grass on top of them, and it was probably the most sincere I’ve ever wished on a dandelion.

I won’t state what my wish was, because I believe that might break the “dandelion-wishing code of honor,” but I do know that my wish was very heart-felt.

I hope she knows, I want her to laugh more. I want her to give people second chances. I want her to learn to be patient with others. I hope she knows every day won’t be a good hair day, but some of them will be. I want her to be trustworthy, and I want her to be open-minded to other people and their ways of thinking. I want her to think for herself, and be the amazing person I know she is capable of being. I want her to find her purpose in life, and use her talents to bring it to fruition. I want her to appreciate the little things, but be willing to work for the bigger things. I want her to be happy beyond her wildest imagination. I want her to respect others, and I want her to earn other’s respect. A good reputation, a happy home, and a happy, trustworthy personality are all very good things in this life to have.

Everything you may ever want in this world, may not come to life, but plenty of it will if you just work hard, play hard, and enjoy the best things in life. After all, they really are free.

Posted in dad, daddy, Family, Family Time, fatherhood, Kids, memories, Parenting, Uncategorized

I Wonder…


I wonder what tidbits of information my children are taking with them as they grow older. I don’t wonder so much about the stuff that they’ll learn, but more about the stuff that they “did.”

For instance, my youngest daughter, almost every single time we drive by this lake by our house, yells “Water! Daddy, look! Look at the water!” IMG_20130602_132243She does this, almost every single time. I wonder if she’ll remember that as she gets older. I wonder how old she will be when she stops saying it. I wonder if I’ll be too busy to even notice when she does…

I wonder if my oldest daughter remembers watching Kelly Clarkson win the very first American Idol competition with me. IMG_20130611_102919I wonder if she remembers her and I singing “A Moment Like This” at the top of our lungs as I held her in my arms and danced with her. I wonder if she understands why I still sing it around her sometimes…

I wonder if my second-oldest will remember when she rode her bike without any help for the first time. IMG_20130528_152624I wonder if she’ll remember telling me to “Let go,” even though I already had twenty yards back. I wonder if she understands why I still like to ride bikes with her…

I wonder if my second-youngest will remember drawing pictures non-stop almost every single morning with me for a few months span when she was 2-3 years-old. IMG_20130611_102102I wonder if she realizes that she got those sweet drawing skills from watching and copying me repeatedly, day after day…

Sometimes I wonder if I type this stuff occasionally, just so I don’t let the memories fade away…

I wonder if my kids will actually read this when they’re older. If they do, I wonder if maybe then they’ll realize just how much I so dearly love them…

Posted in dad, daddy, eating out, Family, Family Time, fatherhood, Funny, Kids, memories, Parenting, school, Uncategorized

Lunch Time…


Walking down the long corridor, I feel like a giant. I glance down at the water fountain that comes up a little beneath my waist line. I look at the row of sinks at the same height. There’s a sign posted above the sink that says “Remember, only take TWO towels.”

It looks almost as if I’m in a miniature art museum. There’s artwork scattered up and down the lengths of the hallways. I see a library to my right. Nobody is in it.

I turn right down the next hallway, then make a left before I finally see it. “There it is,” I think to myself as I spy the little people cafeteria. Directly to the right, I peered through the windows into the gymnasium, hoping to see a sweet game of dodgeball, or maybe some kids doing the “flexed arm hang.” But alas, the gym was empty.

I walk into the cafeteria, and immediately get stopped by a woman worlds_greatest_cafeteria_lady_cartoonpng_55_x_4wanting to know if I wanted to trade her food for my Subway I brought my daughters and I to eat. I laughed, thinking she was joking. A few minutes passed before they showed up, so I took a little time to study the room.

I sit down at a tiny table and sit on the tiny orange stool attached to said table. Almost instantaneously, I hit my kneecap against a metal pole connecting the table to the chair. There is only a couple of empty seats between a classroom of second-graders and myself.

I nod my head in acknowledgement and say a quick “hello” to the children closest to me, and in return I was met with about five death stares.

“OK,” I thought to myself. “Nice bunch.”

I start looking around the room, and all the different kids. They look so different. figure1.4-cafeteriaSome got dressed like they were going on their first date, others didn’t even attempt to brush/comb their hair. Some of the children were small, and some were a lot bigger. As I waited for my kids to get to the cafeteria with their classmates, I started taking mental notes.

“Two kids down from me…” I whisper under my breath. “He has gutted his banana, and looks as if he is about to de-vein it.”

Maybe I should’ve been more helpful, and informed him that a banana is not a shrimp. I would have, but I was too busy staring at the poor lad in front of me, sitting at the adjacent table. He was pounding his forehead into his cheese pizza for no apparent reason at all! It was quite amusing, actually.

Next to that same child, was another boy who was drinking applesauce through his straw, and then spitting it out through the same straw on top of his pizza. I didn’t watch long enough to see if he ate the pizza after that or not. nickcafeteria

I look over to a child a couple of spots past the first child I observed (the one with the banana—who, by the way, has now moved on from cutting the banana, to squishing it in between his little nasty fingers). This kid had a fork in his hand, and was stabbing mercilessly his pizza over and over again.

Then, finally, my fourth-grader shows up. I tell her what I just observed. She laughs. I tell her that the WHOLE cafeteria just lost five minutes of recess time, for talking too loud. She laughs again.

“So, is this a fairly normal day,” I ask. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Then, my sixth-grader walks up, sits down next to her, and almost immediately, I hear a loud fart. They both look at each other, start giggling, and denying it.

Thank GOD I’m not in elementary school again. And for those teachers and lunchroom aides, librarians, and anybody else working in that environment with children other than your own—God bless you, as well!

Posted in confessions, coping mechanisms, dad, daddy, Ex Wife, expectations, failure, Family, Family Time, fatherhood, Husband, Kids, losing, love, Marriage, moving on, Relationships, responsibility, Uncategorized

Coming to Terms…


COME TO TERMS: To confront squarely and come to understand fully and objectively. 526655_10152532066420611_1465192365_n

I’ve been meaning to do this for some time now, this “coming to terms.” There’s a lot of things going on all at once in my life that is forcing me to do this very thing.

By the way, before I get too far into this blog, I would like to point at that I have not one, but two children in my lap. One is being quiet with her blanket on her lap. The other is crawling all around, making a bunch of noise, shaking my arms back and forth, and talking non-stop. So, forgive me if half of this doesn’t make much sense. Then again, because of these kids, is possibly why it will make that much more sense.555929_959032310225_235572427_n

I am looking down at my hands as I type and notice my almost 4 year-old’s hand laying squarely on top of mine. She is very curious as to what I’m doing. Her inquisitive mind is asking questions about what I’m doing, and her fingers are lined up perfectly with mine. I would take a picture, but my phone is on the charger on the other side of the room. At any rate, it’s quite possibly one of the cutest things I have ever seen. It is times like these I can truly appreciate being a father…559975_958943084035_1831013832_n

OK, back to this whole “coming to terms” thing I was talking about. I know I have written about my impending divorce before, but there is just so much more to say. I have so many more feelings I need to portray. I know I don’t owe any of you an explanation, but typing these things out helps my mental health. So, here goes.

“I” am far from perfect. I am full of mistakes, from head to toe. I have made bad decision after bad decision for much of my life. I feel as if I have let so many people down, but at the same time, I know I have proved many wrong.

I am coming to terms with being a single father again. I am coming to terms with allowing myself to care about other people again. I am coming to terms with me not being the person I thought I was. I am coming to terms with my potential. I know for a fact, there are very big things ahead for me and my family.

I am coming to terms that change is inevitable. I am coming to terms that people aren’t always who they portray themselves to be. Sometimes your best friend, is the one who brings you down to size. I am coming to terms that telling the truth is a lot easier than trying to remember a lie. I am coming to terms with the fact that another man has been helping raise a couple of my kids. 181468_10151781129120611_1704243337_nIn fact, he has been with my ex-wife for seven years. I am coming to terms with the fact that although I am still their dad, he is their step-dad and my kids love him too.

I am coming to terms that my children are getting older. Likewise, so am I. I am coming to terms that life has not gone how I initially planned, by I am hopeful that my life will still go on as I am trying to plan it now. I am coming to terms that important things in one person’s life isn’t always important in another person’s life.

I am coming to terms, that my youngest kid will be 3 in two months, and my oldest will be a teenager in 7 months. I was forced to come to terms with my kids getting older this week, because my oldest got braces. I am coming to terms with me not being the nicest guy in the world. I am sorry, to those who have learned this the hard way. I am coming to terms that I have been hurt by people who love(d) me. I am coming to terms that I allowed that to happen. Although I think I know what’s best for me and my family, I have come to terms that me knowing what’s best, is not always what’s best.

I have come to terms with still wanting a family. I still want to wake up every morning next to someone who loves me, supports me, supports us, and does their best for “us.” I want that person, in turn, to force me to want to love them, support them, and forces me to want to do my best for “us.” I have come to terms that I have been a push-over for way too long.

I have come to terms that I really can control my own life. I have come to terms that some things aren’t worth waiting for, and some really are. I have come to terms that people really can change, but sometimes that change brings out the worst in them.

I have come to terms I have not been the best husband. I have come to terms with the fact that I am not the best friend. I am not the best dad I could be. I’m coming to terms with things by typing them out right now for one reason and one reason only. Coming to terms with things sometimes makes you want to do better. Doing better is a good thing. Trust me, I’ve come to terms with that already.