In My Father's Arms

When I was poring through photos, looking for appropriate pictures to use on the CD cover for my Dad's Father's Day gift, I noticed that most of the photos of just the two of us involved a hug or his arm around me.

We're touchy people. I find his affection especially amazing since his mother died when he was very young and his father was a cold man, incapable of showing affection.

I spent several hours with my Dad yesterday. We're still touchy. We hug. We pat each other's arms or knees. We still link arms. I don't think we've ever gone through a conversation without the words, "I love you." Even when he doesn't agree with my decisions or I get on his nerves, he's on my side. Or, at least there to pick up the pieces.

No offense to the husband, my mother or the many other people who hug me. But, I breathe a little better in my father's arms.

You Have No Right

I'm pretty laid back about most things. Every once in a while, something will cause my hackles to rise. Here's my latest list:

You Have No Right:

To touch me in a way that might be uncomfortable for me, unless you are a VERY good friend or I've taken vows with you. (I've been thrown around and dragged under tables.)

To make fun of my husband or family, unless you love them almost as much as I do. (Then it's okay.)

To take advantage of my hospitality while making comments about my housekeeping.

To think your politics supersede mine. (But, I love the conversation.)

I hereby give permission to everyone in my world to:

Correct my grammar and punctuation.

Tell me my dog is obnoxious.

Kiss me hello and goodbye. Hug me repeatedly.

Kindly tell me when I'm REALLY screwing something up.

Tell me kindred spirit stories when I'm flipping out.

Plan a trip and invite me.

One caveat. If I love you, all the rules go flying out the window. You can do whatever you want. And, you have every right to do so.