I'm going to take a break from pretty stuff today, and share a bit of my heart. I've vowed to myself to be more authentic and transparent, even if it's not always the most flattering light. (Like here and here.) Today I'm not thinking about paint, but rather I'm feeling grateful for the good men in my life...my husband, step-dad, uncles, friends.

To say my dad and I have a strained relationship wouldn't be a stretch. Unless you consider a once-a-year text message a strong relationship. My kids don't understand who he is to them, and we haven't seen him in years. I don't harbor much guilt or resentment over it anymore, since I finally realized it's okay to distance yourself from some people...even family. Especially if that relationship threatens your mental and emotional well-being. (Can you tell I'm married to a therapist?)

My dad was fairly absentee when I was growing up, but I had no shortage of love and support from the rest of my family. Especially my grandfather....he just filled all the voids left behind by his son.

Poppoo and his Sugarplum

I thought Poppoo was the biggest man on earth, and his booming voice could be heard (to my embarrassment) from across a school's parking lot. He came to every performance, knew all my friends, always regarded me and my opinions with respect, and most importantly...I knew without a shadow of a doubt, that he loved me. He was proud of me. He had time for me.

The older I get, the more I discover just how rare the good men are. The type of kind, caring, gentlemen we pray our daughters find, and our sons become. *gulp* I'm sure we've all had our share of experiences with bad boyfriends/spouses/significant others. I know I did. But I actually don't mind having gone through those times, because it just makes me appreciate the good ones even more.

This month is both Poppoo's birthday, and the anniversary of his death. It's a rough week for me, since four years later I still can't drive past our weekly lunch spot without tearing up. This blog was born from that grief....but what started as a means for distraction, has grown into one of my greatest joys.

I know he would have been my biggest supporter, and first to read each morning. He would have called me with ideas for projects or the next trip I should take, and when I answered the phone, he would have greeted me with a booming, 'Hi, Sugarplum!'

with poppoo
I miss you, Poppoo.


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