Category Archives: daughter

Out

I’m not much for the mall. I grab what I want and get out.

Yesterday as part of my daughter’s birthday, I took her and a friend to the mall to shop. Sounds like a horrible time for an older guy, but we do what we have to for our kids.

So I took the hit. I walked behind and held back. I let them do their thing.

And I watched.

I watched my daughter interact with her friend. And it was kind of magical.

I don’t get to see this side of her much. Her face lit up and actually having conversation. And seeing her purely happy not worrying about homework and matching band, etc.

Her friend, Kimmie, is one if the best influences in her life. That kid works at school, home, and even has a job at sixteen. She appreciates the value of a dollar. She appreciates the importance of friendship. I have a lot of respect and admiration for her.

I sat on benches outside stores for more time than I have in all my fifty-three years.

But it was worth it.

Just to see them smile.

That’s it. That’s the post.

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BACK

I left the house at 4:30. For the first time, I was late for a reset.

It is what it is.

I’m not going to stop caring, but I have to stop letting this stress me.

Basically, I’m resetting a whole aisle of potato chips today. We do this every year, twice a year. Usually it’s with three people. Today I am alone.

I am following the old patterns. Set 8’, take a break. I can’t let it overwhelm me, I’ve got a lot of other stuff to do in the store, and then I have to go to another store.


Not bad. Four hours and seventeen minutes on the reset. I could have done it in three hours with help. Maybe.

OR help would have slowed me down.


There’s a goal for today. Not just to stay on my feet after the first part of the week.


And done for the day. So tired. It ended at 4:00.

Came home. Browned some hamburger for supper and set up for the festivities later.


She turned seventeen today. It has been quite the journey the last couple of years. I posted to Instagram today about it being one big adventure, and it has.

I never imagined being a father. I can’t remember not being one for the most part. She, her brother, and their mother are my world.

They’re the reason I put in long days when I have to.

It ain’t all sunshine and roses. If life was like that it wouldn’t be worth living.

You wouldn’t recognize the good times.

Grumpy teenager shows teeth in rare display of happiness.

That’s it. That’s the post.

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First Day And Accomplishments

It’s only August 5th, and the kids are already going back to school. It is way too early for school. Summer isn’t over. We used to get out in May and go back after Labor Day.

I wouldn’t say I like this.

I now have a sixth-grader and a junior in High School.

I am getting old.

I wouldn’t say I like this.


Both of the kids are in the High School marching band and I am extremely proud of both of them.

Logan shines in the band. It’s her thing. I have never seen such a change come over a person when they take the field. She goes to battleβ€”a completely different kid from her usual laid-back self.

Sam was invited to try out for the high school band this year (he’s a sixth-grader), and he made it. He’s in the percussion section. Today was the first day of middle school.

He’s in middle school band class with a couple of kids from his elementary. One of them is Mallory, with who he has been in a rivalry since kindergarten. Grades, sports, etc.

She is a pretty thorn in his side.

He was talking about band class and mentioned that Mallory was in that class with him.

I look over and say, β€œSam, you did it. You beat Mallory. You’re in the high school band!”

He’s been walking around the house grinning like an idiot for the last thirty minutes. β€œI did it! I’ma have a celebratory donut!”

Celebratory Donut

You take the losses with a good attitude. But everyone should celebrate themselves every once in a while.

That’s it. That’s the post.

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Band Stuff

πš†πšŽ 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 πš—πšŽπš πšœ πšŠπš—πš 𝚠𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 πš‹πšŠπš πš—πšŽπš πšœ.

πšƒπš‘πšŽ 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 πš—πšŽπš πšœ πš’πšœ πšπš‘πšŽπš’ πš‹πš˜πšπš‘ πš–πšŠπšπšŽ πšπš‘πšŽ πš•πš’πšœπš. πšƒπš‘πšŽπš’β€™πš›πšŽ πš‹πš˜πšπš‘ πš’πš— πšπš‘πšŽ πš‘πš’πšπš‘ πšœπšŒπš‘πš˜πš˜πš• πš–πšŠπš›πšŒπš‘πš’πš—πš πš‹πšŠπš—πš.

πšƒπš‘πš’πšœ πš πš’πš•πš• πš‹πšŽ πš‘πšŽπš› πšπš˜πšžπš›πšπš‘ πš’πšŽπšŠπš›, πšπš‘πš’πšœ πš’πšŽπšŠπš› 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 πš“πšžπš—πš’πš˜πš›. π™°πš—πš πšœπš‘πšŽ πš‘πšŠπšœ πšπš˜πš—πšŽ πš—πš˜πšπš‘πš’πš—πš πš‹πšžπš πšŽπš‘πšŒπšŽπš• πš’πš— πšπš‘πš’πšœ. π™»πš˜πšπšœ 𝚘𝚏 πš‘πšŠπš›πš πš πš˜πš›πš”, πš•πš˜πšπšœ 𝚘𝚏 πš›πšŽπš πšŠπš›πš. π™Έπšβ€™πšœ πš‘πšŽπš› πšπš‘πš’πš—πš.

πšƒπš‘πšŽ π™΄πš•πšπšŽπšœπš

πšƒπš‘πš’πšœ πš πš’πš•πš• πš‹πšŽ πš‘πš’πšœ πšπš’πš›πšœπš πš’πšŽπšŠπš›, πšŽπš—πšπšŽπš›πš’πš—πš πšπš‘πšŽ πšœπš’πš‘πšπš‘ πšπš›πšŠπšπšŽ.

πšƒπš‘πšŽ π™»πš’πšπšπš•πšŽπšœπš

π™Έπš πš–πšŠπš”πšŽπšœ πš‘πš’πš– πšπš‘πšŽ π™»πš’πšπšπš•πšŽπšœπš π™Ίπš—πš’πšπš‘πš. π™°πš—πš πš–πšŠπš’πš‹πšŽ πšπš‘πšŽ πš’πš˜πšžπš—πšπšŽπšœπš πšŽπšŸπšŽπš› πš’πš—πšŸπš’πšπšŽπš πš’πš—. π™ΌπšŠπš’πš‹πšŽ.

π™Έβ€™πš– πšŸπšŽπš›πš’ πš™πš›πš˜πšžπš 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽπš– πš‹πš˜πšπš‘.


π™°πš—πš πš—πš˜πš  πšπš‘πšŽ πš‹πšŠπš πš—πšŽπš πšœ. πšƒπš‘πšŽπš’β€™πš›πšŽ πšπš˜πš’πš—πš 𝚝𝚘 πšπš›πšŠπš πš–πšŽ, πš”πš’πšŒπš”πš’πš—πš πšŠπš—πš πšœπšŒπš›πšŽπšŠπš–πš’πš—πš, πš πš’πšπš‘ πšπš‘πšŽπš–.

π™Έβ€™πšŸπšŽ πš‹πšŽπšŽπš— πšπš‘πšŽ πšžπš—πš˜πšπšπš’πšŒπš’πšŠπš• πš™πš‘πš˜πšπš˜πšπš›πšŠπš™πš‘πšŽπš› πšπš˜πš› 𝚊 πš‹πš’πš. 𝙸 πšŸπš’πšπšŽπš˜ πšŒπš˜πš–πš™πšŽπšπš’πšπš’πš˜πš—πšœ. π™Έπšβ€™πšœ πš–πš’ πš‘πš˜πš‹πš‹πš’, πšπš‘πšŽ πšŸπš’πšπšŽπš˜ πšŠπš—πš πš™πš‘πš˜πšπš˜πšπš›πšŠπš™πš‘πš’ πš™πšŠπš›πš. π™·πšŽπš›πšŽ πš’ πš‘πšŠπšŸπšŽ πšŒπšŠπš™πšπš’πšŸπšŽ πšœπšžπš‹πš“πšŽπšŒπšπšœ. πšƒπš‘πš’πšœ πš’πšŽπšŠπš› π™Έβ€™πš– πšπš˜πš’πš—πš 𝚝𝚘 πšŸπš˜πš•πšžπš—πšπšŽπšŽπš› πšπš˜πš› πš™πš’πš πšŒπš›πšŽπš  πšŠπš—πš πšπšŠπš”πšŽ 𝚊 πš–πš˜πš›πšŽ πšŠπšŒπšπš’πšŸπšŽ πš™πšŠπš›πš πš’πš— πšπš‘πšŽ πš‹πšŠπš—πš. π™°πš•πš• πš’πš—.

πšƒπš‘πšŽ πš πš’πšπšŽ πš’πšœ 𝚊 πš‹πšŠπš—πš πšπšŽπšŽπš” πšŠπš—πš’πš πšŠπš’. π™΄πš—πš˜πšžπšπš‘ πšœπšŠπš’πš.

H͟e͟r͟e͟ w͟e͟ β€ŠΝŸgo͟.

πšƒπš‘πšŠπšβ€™πšœ πš’πš. πšƒπš‘πšŠπšβ€™πšœ πšπš‘πšŽ πš™πš˜πšœπš.

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The Coupon

When my daughter was small she gifted me with a coupon.

Often I will put out my arms for a hug and just say β€œCoupon.” as she rolls her eyes but smiles and hugs me anyway.

This coupon also extends to her mother, although I am the original and current bearer of the coupon.

I have it hidden in a secret spot. Safe from anyone who might want to destroy it.

She’ll never find it.

I will leave it for her one day, when the inevitable happens.

Here’s hoping that’s gonna be a while.

That’s it. That’s the post.

Seegars

Old Pic

This was an old toy flashlight of my daughters. For years I had it sitting on top of the light on my work bench in the garage. It was a reminder of when she was little, I suppose.

One day it fell and smashed to bits.

We lose things along the way and only have memories of them to hold onto.

If we’re lucky, we’ll have an old pic or two.

That’s it. That’s the post.

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