love is...

Two things:
First. This afternoon I put the girls down for a nap, and I decided to put myself down for one as well.  When I woke up, I found that the girls had not been sleeping.  Instead, they turned nap-time into craft-time.  Next to my head on the couch, I found the following items they made for me:  A miniature crown, complete with  jewels, made from construction paper, with the words "King Daddy" written in crayon.  A necklace made from various beads and small toys.  And a tiny bouquet, made from flowers picked in the backyard and tied together with a hair-tie.
Second. Later today, their mom came to pick them up. I could actually hear my heart breaking in my now silent house, as they drove away.  Same thing that happens every time.

I have no clue... but I'll pretend I do

(I just re-read this and decided that only the last paragraph has any substance... if you choose to read only part of this... read that part)
After work last night I was wired. So instead of driving home, I walked on the beach.  It's so cliche, but as I walked I wondered about love.   Why it hurts and also lifts, why it makes us so crazy at times, how so many people are looking for it without finding it, why sometimes when we do find it that it turns out to be so fleeting at best and counterfeit at worst... But mostly, I just wondered what it is exactly.
I have to say, I didn't really come up with much... until the sun came up.  When it did, I realized that my daughters would be waking up soon.  I wanted mine to be the first face that they saw.  I thought, this is love, real, unquestionable, lasting.  Though I still have no specific verbiage to define it, I am certain of the feeling of love, what it motivates me to do, and who I feel it for.  Then I thought well DUH... but that's kind of a copout on my introspection... that's obvious and easy... I still don't know what it really is.  And what about the different type of love, and the distinction of being in love...  
My thoughts began to yield more questions than answers at this point.  Two remain:  Is the only difference between familial love and romantic love, the addition of physical attraction? And is it possible that the way we categorize love, or the way we decide to speak of it, is just another way to separate ourselves from others, a way to categorize those around us to some degree.  (ie. I like you, but I don't love you... or I love you, but I'm not in love with you)
Yesterday I had a conversation with my ex girlfriend in which she told me that she is still in love with me.  I told her some approximation of I love you, I'm just not in love with you. I once was in love with her... what is the difference between what I felt then, and what I feel now.  I decided that sometimes it's a choice.  I do still love her, but there is a healthy dose of reservation, and caution, and hesitation built in to the kind of love I have for her, based on my overriding desire not to be hurt by her.  So maybe that's it, I've just chosen this feeling for her, over another that I used to have, as a means of separation, mentally (emotionally) placing her in a category that I can keep at arms length. safe. easy. comfortable.... terribly unfulfilling.
Now I feel like I'm rambling.  My self analysis begins to annoy me. My introspection has been replaced by psycho-babel... as I read what I have written I feel like a pseudo-intellectual trying out my powers of self examination for the first time and taking some brand new big words for a test drive.  I have overcomplicated something that often lends itself to oversimplification. I do feel, however, that I have some answers that work for me.
It's easy to know about things that we have, and difficult to know about things we don't.  What I have, what is easy to know, is my love for my daughters.  What I don't have, what is hard for me to know, is "romantic" love (and the longer I go without it, the more I question what I thought I knew about it).
In spite of that, here is what I think (intentional word choice) love is:
Love is the feeling that makes me get up and go to work when I don't want to, and the feeling that makes me race home afterwords so that I don't miss anymore time with her.  Love is the feeling that makes me seek her approval, keeps me trying to impress her, and sends chills up my spine when she smiles her approval.  Love is that feeling that makes me forget big words or how to use them when I look at her.  Love is the feeling that no matter how long we are together, no matter how much we say to each other, there will always be more to know, and love is the desire to know all of it.  Love is the feeling that nothing in the world matters more than the next words out of her mouth, and nothing is more desirous than the next kiss from her.  Love is the feeling that goes up my spine when her foot accidentally grazes my calf as we sleep next to each other, or when her hand finds mine in the dark.   Love is waking in the night, remembering who is in bed with me, and hating the two feet of separation between us.  Love is the feeling that we can have fun doing anything or nothing together.  It's the feeling that I would sacrifice almost anything for one more touch, one more chance to do anything... or nothing with her.

... i think.

little cheeks

Sometimes Drea farts when I tickle her. Like today. Sometimes Drea's farts stink. Like today. I've decided not to tickle Drea anymore today.

little arms do a lot

I got home from work at 4:35am. I snuck into my girls room to kiss them on the head and check if their blankets were doing their jobs, as I always do. I kissed Drea, and whispered my love to her, and she barely stirred. Then I kissed Kira on her head. I whispered, as I always do, "Kira, you are my princess, and I love you more than all the world." Her arms shot out of the dark to wrap around my neck before I pulled my head away, and she said, "Daddy, if I'm your princess, then you are a king. I love you daddy." I couldn't do much but try not to let my heart explode, there in the dark, with my 5 year old's little arms locked around my neck. After a moment, her grip loosened, and her arms became limp (though still around my neck) as she fell back to sleep. I held there, not wanting the moment to end, until her breathing became that regular and deep breathing any parent will recognize when their kid is really asleep. As I slowly pulled away, I couldn't do anything but drop to my knees, and thank God for that little moment, and that little voice, and those little arms, and that giant heart.

butterfly effect

Something about a butterfly flapping it's wings and creating a tidal wave across the ocean... Well, in CA, traffic can be jacked beyond belief by something similar. Today, a butterfly must have farted in Barstow, because traffic was completely f'd across southern cal. Actually a tanker truck turned over and caught fire, and messed up my trip to go pick up my girls. Ok, pull up google maps everyone... check this out. From my place in Oceanside, it takes about 55 minutes to get to Yorba Linda to pick up my girls, then another 55 to get back (usually). Today, instead of the round trip being somewhere in the 2 hour range, I spent 6.5 hours in traffic. Now, here's the weird part: that tanker truck fire was in RIVERSIDE. Yup. It doesn't take Magellan or Nasa reading the maps to realize that an accident in Riverside, creating a nightmare for traffic near the coast is ridiculous. The good news... I got my littles here, safe, sound, and cute as ever. The bad news is I think I aged 4 years in that 6.5 hours on the road.

hurts so good

Been missing her all week. It sucks. Especially since I know where we (I) went wrong and it doesn't do any good, no hope of fixing the situation. (It's kind of like spilling kool aid on your friends carpet. You try to make it right, you want to clean it up, but your friend says, "No... I got it... don't worry about it." Then your friend remains pissed at you for spilling the kool aid, even though they won't let you clean it up)
I am open to the probability that the above statement is a gross oversimplification.
Regardless... missing this girl as much as I do, is actually kind of cathartic (in a tragic and ridiculous way). I mean that it's been a really long time since I've missed someone this much. That says something... and it somehow feels like good news.

Time for more... me

I'm starting this blog on the same day that I've decided to stop paying so much attention to facebook. Nothing against facebook, but I feel it has made me stupid, not by lowering my IQ, but by distracting me from other "worthier" pursuits. I mean, I'm a grown ass man, and I don't feel that I should be so addicted to updating my status and "poking" my friends. (the latter can actually be pretty fun, but I digress).
Anyone reading this can thank the 3 girls who have inspired me to start writing again (4 if you count my mother who is in general an inspiration to me):
BG, who's writing is real, heartfelt, and very deep even when she writes about the shallow or mundane. I love her use of colorful language as much as I love her lack of use of spell check.
Kira, my firstborn. You make sense of the world and give meaning to my world. The term Daddy's Girl now makes sense and gives me laughter, chills, and tears all at once.
Drea, my second daughter. In 4 years you have smiled more than I have in 34. The way you love moves your daddy to move mountains. I love that you can't go more than 15 minutes without coming to find me for a hug, and my greatest fear is the day you stop doing that. You and your sister give me so much hope, and love; you provide the color in the painting of my life, and you are both the happy ending to my story. I'm realizing that is a story that has parts that are worthy of being recorded. And so, today I start.
The other reasons for starting this blog are:
I don't write enough. And it's a shame because I'm a damn good writer, but instead of writing, I read things that are mostly unfulfilling.
I don't think enough. And it's a shame because I am damn smart, but instead I fill my mind with trash.
I don't do enough. And it's a shame, because I'm very capable, but instead, I fill my time with the pursuit of some pretty frivolous things.
I don't play guitar enough. And that's a shame, because I'm damn goo.... well, because I like to play.
But those things are regretful at worst. The real tragedy is that I don't love enough. And that's a shame, because I've got a damn big heart, and there is a lot of need, and I could do more good.
It is my hope that I will be more accountable for the things I have listed above as I keep a better record of my time. Knowing that my daughters could one day read this, I want something to account for my time, as well as inspire them. In the process maybe we'll have a laugh or two.