I've been avoiding posting on my blog because I knew when I did, I'd have to post about my dad.  I haven't really had the best relationship with my dad ever, really, but I thought I had finally come to be at peace with the way things were and accept them.  Then he died a few weeks ago.  My initial thought was that I'd never have to feel disappointed again because he could never let me down now.  I felt like I could finally forgive him for good.  But that initial feeling wasn't cemented.  I've gone back and forth and up and down.  I've talked with my brothers and sisters and mom, and we all have different feelings and similar feelings and have just been trying to help each understand our feelings.  I think we all feel guilty to some extent for not feeling worse about his death than we do.  At least, I know I do.  But I even waver back and forth as to how guilty I feel.  Sometimes I don't feel that way at all.
I went down to Utah to visit my brother for the last two weeks while Chris had a training course for the Army down there.  While I was down there, I had a realization hit me that I know some of my siblings have already had (heck, maybe all of them have).  I don't know why, but the thought chain had just never occurred to me.  My dad chose to leave when he did.  He came to the hospital for my birth because my mom told him he had to (not to say he didn't enjoy it; he found the c-section to be quite interesting).  Then he went home and packed his things, so he could be out of there by the time my mom's parents got there.  They didn't like him, so he figured he'd get out before then.
I can't speak for everyone, but for Chris and me, the day our son was born was amazing.  Nothing can compare to the magic that I felt when my child came into this world.  How could my father leave his family on such a day?  I've continued to think about it, and the train of thought has gone further, but I don't want to talk about it on here yet.  It just really hurts too much.  And as betrayed as I feel by my father, I still don't want to speak too poorly of the dead.  He was my father, and I always loved him unconditionally for it.  It feels fake to accept condolences for his death, though.  I'm not hurt by his death; I was hurt by his life.  I have to find a way to forgive him and at least accept the choices he made in his life, even if I can never understand them.

Firelight

Our house still has its original electric furnace.  Blech.  That means it costs us an arm and a leg to use it.  We found that out the hard way.  Chris and I don't like to be cold.  We hates it.  And because we are self indulgent, that means our furnace has always been set on 71 or 72 in the winter.  Because we also like lounging around in our underwear.  We're way spoiled, obviously.  So our power bill for December was absolutely outrageous and somewhat crippling, really, and now we've had to change the way things are meant to be. 
Luckily for us, our house came with a wood stove.  It's a smallish old thing and it's a bit drafty, but it appears to actually work well enough to keep our entire house warm.  We were thinking about getting a new one, but I think we've nixed that plan.  We were also thinking about getting a new furnace, but that was dismissed as well.  We are determined not to go farther into debt. 
So I've been learning how to build a fire in the wood stove.  I've had limited experience trying to build them in my in laws' wood stove, but I've always failed.  I've also pretty much failed in building lasting, hot fires in our little stove- until today, my friends, until today.  I woke up too late to revive the fire Chris built this morning.  I tried, and I'm actually a bit decent at fire revival (but let's face it, it's pretty easy), but there just weren't enough live coals left.  And then I built a fire that I had to fight a bit to get going, but eventually, it was beautiful.  I'm so proud of myself, folks.  It took a while for it to start radiating heat into the rest of the house, but right now it's comfortable enough that I could be in just my underwear if I wanted to be.  But, uh, don't worry 'cuz I'm not. 
My husband and I sat down yesterday to look at our finances and make a plan for the next couple of years.  First off, it was really apparent how much less we make without me working.  I realize that what I do at home in caring for our kid is valuable, but I still feel guilty about not contributing to our income.  I'm not sure I'll ever stop feeling guilty until I find some way to add to our bank account through my own efforts.  Chris doesn't feel the same way as I do, though.
The process of looking ahead and making plans was really upsetting for me.  Chris already talked about it on his blog, so I guess I can say something here.  He's *probably* (but not certainly) going to be deployed again sometime later this year.  I've done pretty well about not dwelling on it, but we had to talk about it last night, and I'm just really messed up about it.  I hate it so much when he's gone.  And this time I'll have Ben, and and just wish we could all be together.  We've been trying to look at the positives like the extra pay that will be coming and how much we'll be able to save, but to be honest, the money just isn't worth it to me.  I just wish he could stay home with us.  But time will probably go even faster than it did last time he was deployed.  We were thinking that we'd record Chris reading a bunch of books on video, so Ben can see him every day.  I want him to be able to recognize his Dad when he comes back.  Any other ideas on what we could do to keep them close during the deployment?

I've got to wrap this up, but I don't want to end on such a crappy note.  My title reminded me of this SNL short.  It makes me laugh so much.