A case of the blahs...

Today is shaping up to be a pretty bad day. And it's only 8:47am. Nothing particularly horrible happened, you see; just a chain of events that are getting under my skin. It doesn't help that I appear to have awoken on the wrong side of the bed. Except there's only one port of entry and departure on our bed.
Maybe it's all the sleep I'm missing from these horrible and bizarre dreams I keep having.

We're having an especially judgemental and white-glove wearing family member over for dinner tonight and I have to pick up something to cook and take my mom to the grocery store, clean the house and oh, there's about 4974 things I need to do at school. That's annoying to begin with.
Then, when I dropped Olivia off at school, I was getting weird vibes from people there. Maybe it was just me.
Naturally, I walked into a pile of crap at work and had to get straight to it instead of easing in by reading blogs all morning.

I've written a Sincerely 'Fro post but the photos are on another computer so that will post later tonight. After I'm not so ornery. I hope.

I didn't know we were a part of THAT family!

Kristen @ We Are THAT Family invites everyone to write about how their family is THAT family. This is my first official submission to this weekly and boy, it's a good one.

I've recently been telling the horrors of Brown Re-decorating episodes 1 thru a million but in order to do this story justice, I have to re-tell some points.

Because we are THAT family, I'd been using thumbtacks to hang precious family portraits on the wall. And because my husband only married into THAT family, he insisted we use spackle to cover the holes instead of say, toothpaste. He went to work, I couldn't wait and so I proceeded to apply the spackle with my gloved hands - it was not a good job. Each thumbtack hole had about half an inch of spackle and the hole wasn't even covered. He said he'd help me spackle but he took a nap first - I bet you can predict the next part - I couldn't wait. Using a .50 cent foam sanding block, I went at that spackle for five hours. By the time Danny woke up, my entire house (and by entire I really mean from one end to the other) was covered in drywall dust. This was including our brand new TV and entertainment center but was not limited to areas such as my hair.

While I was in the shower scrubbing my skin raw and washing my hair times six, I heard screaming. This is not unusual for my family. (I guess that should have been my first clue that I was part of THAT family.) Olivia runs into the bathroom like a crazed lunatic is chasing her with weaponry and with her shrieks are giggles. "What's wrong?" I said. "dfsdfjleurewiouqpc" she answered. Huh? Oh, that's all the shampoo blocking my line of hearing. "Daddy farted on me and he's going to do it again and it really stinks." Sigh. My first instinct was correct - a crazed lunatic chasing her with weaponry.

As she's escaping out the 2nd bathroom door I hear that scream - a blood curdling scream that can only come from a small child, usually a girl - when she's really hurt.

Picture this: I am in the shower with so much shampoo on my head that more of it has dripped into my eyes, nose and ears than it has cleaned my hair. I cannot see, hear or smell (thank God for the last sense lost) but my child is screaming. "WHAT'S WRONG?"

She slammed her finger into the door as she was making her big getaway from the FartDaddy.

So, friends. I admit - I did not know that we are part of THAT family but it's true. When your daughter gets hurt while running away from her father who's farted on her and threatens to do it again; there's no denying it.

Uncle Roger

My Uncle Roger died last week. For 10 years, he fought the good fight against cancer; throughout random places in his body. I am pleased to tell you all that cancer did not beat him, he beat it; even if he died as a result. I really think he would like that we think of him in this way.

Before I go on to tell you more about Uncle Roger and the good fight, I should preface it with some background in the crazies (ahem - family). My grandmother was a divorcee in the 60's living in Brattleboro, VT with 4 children - two deaf, one with serious emotional needs and the cutest little boy who ever lived. Across the Connecticut River in Walpole, NH, my grandpa had just lost his wife shortly after she gave birth to their 6th child. She left him with a drunken teenage boy, two wild and loose teenage girls, another pre-teen boy, another girl with uncontrollable hair and of course, a colicky newborn. My grandpa had a good job, was responsible and had an ass-load of kids. My grandma; with 4 kids of her own, didn't mind 6 more and could make a beef stew like no body's business. They wed and piled all 10 of their children into a great farm house on a nice piece of land. Grandpa worked for John Deere, Grandma raised the kids, sewed dresses for the girls, slacks for the boys and only slightly struggled with what was an unusual situation during that time in America. But the kids got along and there was enough money to survive and the biggest battles were held over who got to use the only bathroom first in the morning. I imagine their land; on a hillside in Walpole, NH at the end of a windy road, was fertilized with more boy urine than anywhere else this side of the river. Things were so great, in fact, that Grandma and Grandpa thought it would be fun to have a baby together. Grandma wanted another girl of her own and grandpa's job was pretty secure and so they had their 11th (and thankfully, final) child. The story of how this family came to Florida is really irrelevant. Grandpa's oldest boy (the drunk) was killed in a car accident shortly after moving here in the late 70's. Some children graduated high school, some got pregnant on purpose so they could move out early, one even went to college. Throughout the years, our family would face feuds, deaths, births and run-aways.

Roger was the 2nd oldest boy for my Grandfather and man, did he love Roger. Roger got a decent job in New England, married and had 2 boys. He was more like my grandfather than any of the other kids; which I know Grandpa loves. In other families, favorites are not usually so obvious but Grandpa's love for Roger ran deeper than anyone could imagine.

In the early 90's Roger fell off Fall Mountain in New Hampshire and survived. This would serve for good story telling in the coming years because the guy obviously had 9 lives. That man could survive anything; which is why none of us were overly concerned with he was diagnosed with cancer shortly after falling off the mountain. You can guess correctly that he kicked that cancer's ass. And the other several cancers that would try to compete with Roger's pure will to live over the next 10 years.

Over those 10 years, his children grew up, he divorced and was lucky enough to have met the actual love of his life. They married this past March after a very, very, very long courtship. In April, while getting new, experimental cancer treatment, he collapsed in the hospital because apparently, his spine was ravaged by that bitch, cancer. He remained positive and confident as he signed up for more experimental treatments while we worried about his cancer.

Shortly before Roger passed, he called a family meeting and announced that the doctor has advised him to stop all treatments and simply enjoy life because he was not long for this world. Roger asked everyone to not be afraid and to simply make peace with him and enjoy what little time was left. He conducted this meeting with the same brilliance and dignity he conducted his life. I was not blessed with the presence of Roger throughout my life; he lived far away from us and our side of the family was not especially close with him. But I am so thankful that this summer, while vacationing in Vermont, I visited with him. I hope that Olivia will never forget the time Uncle Roger lay in hospital bed, located in his living room, and took a big whiff of her Crocs; "how does such a pretty girl have such smelly shoes?" he asked. We all laughed and laughed. Always a joker, that Uncle Roger.

I want to say - out loud and in writing - how proud I am of Uncle Roger. Not only for his bravery towards the end of his life but for all the joy he's brought to my Grandpa, too and for the legacy he's left for his two grown sons and brand new grandson.

Try not to fall off any of eternity's mountains this time, Roger and say hi to your mom for me.

The vacation that wasn't a vacation

You may have noticed that I haven't mentioned my vacation yet... I wasn't going to as I'm still emotionally recovering from what was the most exhausting (and by exhausting I do not mean exhilarating) vacation of my life.
My beloved grandmother experienced flu-like symptoms shortly before my arrival; nothing to worry about, just a little bug. Except the day I arrived, something was off. Except my grandmother is the type of woman who raised 11 children - 6 of them not biologically hers - who suffered from various handicaps (some physical, some emotional). So she refuses to be knocked down by anything - especially a tiny little flu bug. We were all muzzled from expressing our concerns on her health that day and decided Day 2 would be much better. You can probably predict this next sentence: She was not better; she was worse. Way worse. She was in and out of consciousness, didn't recognize any of us, even her favorite sister and was so sick, she literally could not sit up on her own. There were several hours of pleading, arguing and demanding before her favorite sister sat on my Gram's bed and said if she didn't go to the hospital, we would call 911 and that would create a big scene at the campground. A few more hours pass and we've finally got her into the tiny but efficient hospital. Assuming she is simply exhausted, dehydrated and with flu symptoms, we conclude "they" (hospital peeps) will keep her overnight with IV fluids, a couple of bottles full of pills and send her on her way. Turns out she was suffering from pneumonia and was bit by a (non-deer) tick and was very, very, very ill. She stayed in the hospital 3 more days - more than half of my time in Vermont.
I can handle physical illness - give me your best puking, coughing up phlegm and bleeding from limbs and I'm ok. I don't do emotional and mental illness well. Especially from my grandmother who's been a strong, sharp and quick personality in my life. Gram was confused. You could see it in her enlarged eyes; it was terrifying. I could not cry because crying meant something was wrong and there was reason to be scared.
I rented a car and took Olivia to a couple of planned visits throughout New England and to my sister's house for a sleep over with her cousins. We had a nice visit with my sister and spent a lot of time with my favorite Great-Aunt. But I still couldn't cry. Because we only cry if something is wrong and nothing can be wrong with my Gram. She's fine.
I was relieved to leave after seeing her gain a tiny bit of strength every day. She was able to keep food down a little more every time and was even enjoying some time outdoors.

She's still not 100% better. I'm afraid to wonder if she'll ever get back to 100%. We were in Vermont to celebrate her 70th birthday and I just cannot bear to even consider the facts of her age, illness and recovery rate.

I did finally cry for about a week when I got home. She's not going to die, you know. She's going to get better and live to see many, many more great grandchildren. I have to believe that because when she dies, it's going to be the most horrific experience of my life. And I don't know how I'll survive it.

My Sister

I'm going to spare everyone the back story of my sister and me and briefly mention that we came into each other's lives when I was 16 and she was 24. For the record, we are biological sisters and share a mother. (Confused yet?)
I'll never forget the first time I met her, I thought "we look nothing alike". We didn't need looks. We instantly have love. And the first time I talked to her on the phone (months before we met), I clearly remember standing in the kitchen after hanging up the phone and feeling like a small hole in my heart had just been repaired. I could have had any freak for a sister, someone who was opposite of me, who didn't "go" with me or frankly, didn't want anything to do with me. Instead, I got a sister who wanted me as much as I wanted her, who bonded with me in an instant and even though we weren't mirror personalities, I loved her fast. Later, people would comment on how great it was to have found each other and comment on the strong similarities, not in looks but in disposition. "You two sound exactly the same. You both talk fast and in the same rhythm. It's amazing." Those words came from the mother who raised her. Everyone around was surprised. And I was proud.
We were lucky enough to share pregnancies and she came to me, 6 weeks postpartum, to share in the labor of my daughter. I shall forever be indebted to her for her long 11 hours at my bedside (and ballside, rockerside and all the other fucked up positions they made me try). She shouted at the nurse when I was unhappy and shot looks at the doctor who suggested I couldn't do it. And she promised me it wouldn't hurt when they broke my water (she didn't lie).
Growing up, I was often the one in my family who was "strong". This was status quo for everyone from distant relatives to my mother. I carried many people at an age that I shouldn't have even been carrying myself and I never had anyone whom I could go and share my worst fears and deepest secrets. When my sister came along, she lifted a part of the burden. The burden of myself. She would allow middle of the night phone calls and irrational conversations. She continues to let me be myself in all of it's glory and misery. She lets me be the helpless child.
Within the past 9 years we've endured the roller coaster that traditional sisters ride. But inside the big picture, she tells me that I'm a great mom when I don't believe it and swears that I'm a good person when I'm in worst form.
In the past, my sister has credited me with many, many wonderful things. She announces to the Internet that often, I am her inspiration and has written words about me that not only caused deep emotion but rendered me speechless for a long time (a feat very few have accomplished).
Carianne, it is one of the greatest honors to be your inspiration. But truly, it's you that's inspired me to be much of who I am. You came into my life at a point where I was a very lost child and you guided me, showed me how to be a good person and mother by example without even trying. It's you that makes it look effortless and it's been my desire to be just like my big sister.
We may not have grown up together but I honestly could not have chosen a better sibling. Our connection and my admiration, love for you runs so much deeper than the blood line we share. I look forward to the rest of our lives where we'll always be making up for lost time.
So, thank you, for letting me be your little sister.

P.S. Top this one, bitch!

Cap'n Crunch

How come it's not "Captain Crunch"? This is really bugging me now. Whatever, the point is, I've rediscovered my love for this cereal. Yummo.

I know that I promised two additional blogs this week and I haven't delivered but I don't think it's actually been 1 week so I still have some time (hours). I'm trying to write about my sister and as I've said before, I start in my head and I'm just not sure how much to tell & how much to withhold. She said I could say anything I wanted but for me, it needs to be some of my best writing. I like her that much. Plus, I'm not really sure what to call her live-in lesbian lover girlfriend. I call that person my sister-in-law but what's the PC term?

In the meantime, I've been stalling by filling out some myspace surveys which I happen to know that the people on my friends list find very annoying. Hey assholes, you don't have to open & read them, ya know? Control freaks, I tell you! But perhaps I've been wasting my wit & charisma on those silly questionnaires.

A couple of updates: It looks like we're getting that big contract at work that I wrote about before. They promised me the contract this week...I didn't get it in my hands yet but I believe I will. THE COMPANY WILL GO ON!
Second, there are a couple of Trip Theory shows coming up in the South Florida area. I'll post more information when available.
Lastly, I have a really great story in my head about a friend of mine (and by friend, I mean really annoying person that gets on my nerves so I avoid at all costs) but she may or may not read this blog so I cannot post. But if you want to know, email me & I'll tell you the story.

Check again, soon. Sister story is coming, I swear! AND, I'll post a picture of us. That will be worth the wait. She's just as pretty as me.