Moments are memories.

The moments.

They come and go.

I catch myself smiling and don't recognize that girl.

I catch myself crying and she looks more familiar.

I look in the mirror - and I look away.

Ah, who am I kidding? I look at my cell phone. I take the pictures. I watch as the smile on my face has shifted. It just isn't there the way it used to be.

I still smile.

I still laugh.

I have a 7-year-old daughter. Laughter is required. It's a means of survival. And it's the way life goes. When she smiles, G-d, the whole room lights up.

Is that how you felt about me?

It's how I felt about you.

I miss your smile so freaking much.

I see it in my dreams sometimes. Or I want to. I see you. But you're not smiling. You're just sort of there. I can't even explain what that's like. To wake up and eventually remember that I saw you. But now you're gone.

It hurts.

I'm raw.

So many people losing loved ones around me. I don't really know what to say. Except I can now say I know. I know. I know but I don't want to.

I don't want to know what it's like to say goodbye to my father.

I don't want to want your arms around me enveloping me in a huge hug and have to know it's not going to happen.

I don't want the only smile I'll ever see to be in photographs.

I want you. YOUR smile. In my face.

Your voice in my ear.

Your heart against mine.

I want your hand in mine. Playing with my fingers. Thumb-wrestling.

Holding onto my knee.

You're supposed to be waking up my daughter with her hair. Tickling her nose like you did mine. I do it. I do the things you did. I feel you - you're there - reminding me. Showing me.

I hear you in my mind.

But it's not nearly enough.

Where has your voice gone? How can I get it back?

I miss you, Daddy.

I love you. Forever and always.

I hope that you're somewhere, out there on the water, in the great vastness of blue that makes up this world we exist in. And I hope that you're riding the waves and feeling the sun.

And I hope that you're smiling.

* I'm linking up today with Shell over at Pour Your Heart Out. I'm a day behind, but she's awesome and doesn't care about stuff like that. 

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I'm only human.

Sometimes I feel like a hot mess as a blogger. I'm sitting here w. my cup of coffee (which is turning cold quickly) and jumping from FB group to FB group, I'm trying to get my job-job notes done from yesterday and realized I'm behind on another book review. 

My calendar has notes scribbled all over it. I use pen. It just LOOKS nicer. 

Pencil is great and all, but pen, pen makes it permanent. 

Yes. I use a pen and paper calendar. In today's electronic world. Don't be fooled. Many of the bloggers you admire do it. They're kickin' it old school without you even knowing. 

Ssshhh. It's okay. You can do it, too. I won't tell anyone. 

It's interesting that I started this off saying I feel like a hot mess as a blogger. Because sometimes I just feel like a hot mess as a person. Or a mom. Or just me. Andrea. The hot mess. 

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Dance with me!

Yesterday my daughter had her first school dance.

Not the kind of will you dance with me kind of dance we all remember loathing so much.

But the kind where parents attended and it was actually okay that they danced.

Ehem. WE danced.

I might have to admit that I danced more than my daughter did. My seven-year-old daughter. Have I mentioned yet that she's seven now? Probably not. I hold off on that sort of stuff these days.

Sometimes I look at her and see that face that's still the baby I held in my arms.

And then she puts scarves on us both and asks for her fancy shoes (with a request for high heels, but we're not there yet) and is ready to go to the "ball" at her school.

But then we get there and she's running around and sliding across the floor and laughing and crying over a ridiculous little plastic ball-pit type of ball.

It's amazing how she changes in the blink of an eye. Literally.

I know - that word - using that word - she's not really CHANGING as I blink my eyes. But at the dance? One blink meant she went from dancing next to me, all fancy-ish to running around like a little girl playing.  It was as close to literal as possible, so I'm going with it.

Anyway, it was so much fun. I lost track of what I was saying because I am sitting here listening to Pitbull and dancing in my chair. Honest. Dancing. In. My. Chair.

And this morning my daughter was singing about "$20 in my pocket ..." so it's all good.

Isn't it?

Because sometimes you just have to put the rest of your life on hold and DANCE.

Enjoy it. Feel it. Listen to the music. Sing along. Whatever it takes.

Just dance. Do it.

Even if you're sitting in your chair. It's all good.

Dance with me?*

*It's a video with the lyrics and no half-naked Ke$ha, promise. I needed it to be safe for my kiddo to watch with me when I show it to her later!



p.s. I'm linking up today with Tanya for her Small Victories Sunday link-up! Come on over and join me there.

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