It's late and the house is quiet. I like this time. I'm getting used to the new house, its sounds and smells. I'm starting to get into a lil groove in my office/sewing/writing room. I'm trying to decide what color to paint it. I'm tempted to paint everything green - my favorite color.
The baby is getting used to sleeping in his bed in his new room. And it feels so good to put him in his bed and have grown up time. I'm starting to feel like myself again, slowly but surely.
I need to write more. I need it. It makes me better in a lot of ways. It gives me an outlet for my thoughts and it's proof to myself that I'm still Me.
One of my best friends dad died yesterday. She and I have known each other for almost thirty years, so we've been through a few things together. We both had contentious relationships with our fathers when we were teenagers. I've become much closer to my dad as an adult and we've pretty much ironed out most of our issues. I don't know if my friend and her dad ever worked out their differences. I don't know if her dad ever said the things daddy's need to say to their daughters after they haven't been very good fathers. It doesn't change the past but it does help us to know that they know they screwed up and that they regret it.
My daughter and her dad have had conversations about his short comings as a parent. She still has a few issues with him, but I know it helped to hear him take responsibility for his failures and try to make amends.
I hope my friend had that time with her dad before he passed away.