little one

the littlest big things you don’t know about me:

1. My youngest sister passed away when I was 10. She was 4 years old and died of brain cancer.
2. My parents divorced shortly after.
3. I lie all the time and say that I only have 2 brothers and a sister, although I really had 2 sisters. It still feels like a lie 13 years later.
4. I miss her a lot, and still talk to her every once in a while.
5. I believe in heaven and angels, if only for her.
6. When I was younger I used to talk to her nightly, and pretended she was in guardian angel school, training to be someone else’s guardian angel.
7. I have trouble imaging what it would have been like to have her when we were being shuttled between my parent’s houses in the midst of the divorce. I can’t decide if it would have been better or worse.
8. We used to write a note, tie it to balloons and let it go every year on her birthday and the anniversary of her death. Some years were harder than others.
9. I can’t imagine what my parent’s must have felt. They must have wanted to die themselves.
10. I still get envious when I hear my friends talk about younger siblings that would be the same age as her. They have no idea how much it stings.
11. She would have turned 19 years old last month.

grace in small things twenty four

I am feeling lucky, and happy and maybe a bit hungover from a crazy-ass weekend.

5. Thankful that UCSB taught me to play beer pong very well. It is a skill that has impressed the male-sort on many occasions.

4. I only barfed once this weekend. So thankful, because it could have been much more than that.

3. Pants went out of town. All the good shit goes down whenever one of my closest friends leaves. Strength in un-numbers?

2. We are throwing a Halloween party and my bee costume fits!

1. My sister kicks ass, and she’s got the body to prove it. She completed a 20 day backpacking trip with her boyfriend. I would say hanging out with your BF for twenty straight days would kill you, let alone doing it in the wilderness and hiking 15 miles a day. Plus, she lived off of shitty camping food they carried in and was basically hungry for 17 days.

fighting words.

I want the will power to visit my mom and not get in a fight. I want the will power that when she screams, I respond calmly and don’t fight back.

I want the will power to not disagree when it really doesn’t matter.

grace in small things twenty one (backwards edition)

5. being 21. I like drinking, it seemed appropriate for this post.

4. Someone complementing me on how quickly I have caught on at work. In front of my boss.

3. My brother. Amazing.

2. cupcakes. ahh.

1. Gwen Stefani’s abs (currently regretting the cupcake.)

She turns 40 this year!

mother knows best

I have a bone to pick with mothers in general. More importantly, I have a bone to pick with people that think that their mother did it best. Their mom’s way is the only way to load the dishwasher or make spaghetti. The only way to grill a hamburger or the right way to bleach a sink.

DID YOU NEVER STOP TO THINK FOR A SECOND THAT THE WAY YOUR MOM DID IT MAKES NO SENSE?

Everyone does things differently, and one person’s mom isn’t going to be the best at everything. Sure, she might grow the best tomatoes, but her sense of style sucks. So when you say that you do it that way, because your mom does, know that I am going to be looking for ways to do it better. We like the way our mom’s do things because it is the only way we know how. So don’t get mad at me or assume I am doing it wrong, because my way doesn’t match yours. You can’t annoyed at me or take over, because your mom isn’t here.

I love my mom. She does some things very well. But she isn’t good at everything and I feel like you thinking your mom is, is a smidge naive on your part.

Simple as that. And don’t even get me started on your Dad.

Brothers are better than boys

Dear Brother,

I am writing to tell you that I need you today. I need you to look at me and tell me that it will be okay. That this is going to happen to me time and time again and every time I will pull out of it. I need you to tell me about how you loved her and it just didn’t work out, and I need you to tell me how one day you found her. I need you to tell me that the near misses make you stronger and the devastating disasters make make it worth it. I need you to tell me that me getting this upset over this means that time on your own is what you need. You were doing so well before, you would say. Why do you let all of you go when a boy walks in. Hug me and tell me that there is too much to love about me, you are probably just making his head spin. Tell me that one day there will be someone that makes you feel so complete that the entire world just stops and you will know. Tell me that even then it will not be easy, it never comes easy and there will still be waiting and uncertainties and everything you hate about this in the first place. Tell me that even when I am certain, the shitty parts don’t stop. Tell me that I am lucky to have had him walk into my life because each new visitor is a new lesson. Tell me that over time you add all of the lessons to a little place in your heart, and one day your heart will be ready for someone. Maybe not even someone, one day your heart will be ready for yourself.

He will say, I know it seems like you can’t do this again, but this is a little bump in a very long road. There will be just as much excitement in the next one, and you will not be timid. You will love it, just like you loved it before, and you will be okay.

This much I know, he will say, there is no life without love, and there are no highs without lows. You may never know why he didn’t call, but you will know that you are strong enough for this. You can do this.
Don’t be scared, he will say. You and your sister are smart, beautiful girls, who don’t put up with any shit. Any boy who deserves you will work for you. Please don’t be scared. You are amazing. I talk about you girls all the time to my friends, I am so proud of all that you do. You are making a life for yourself, and this is just one of the things that is a little harder, than say, paying the bills.

Thanks for listening, I will say.
And he will say hey, that’s what brothers are for.

simple as it should be

My favorite part of visiting my grandma is asking her open-ended questions, and then watching her recount her reality as if it were yesterday. In the present, she usually stumbles over words and tells the same story repeatedly. When discussing the past, her stories flow flawlessly as though she is reading subtitles to a movie of her own life. She smiles at the right times and looks as though she can feel what is being said. It is moving.

I asked her if she has favorite Grandpa moments and she replied,

“Every time he sees me, his face lights up. I am sure mine does the same, but he looks so happy.”

After so many years together, and so many moments of showing each other thier best and worst self, it is that easy.

Shameful heart

I have never seen my dad heartbroken, until now.

My dad divorced my mom and he didn’t seemed phased. This woman, however, is putting him through the blender and she is holding down the pulp button with her little finger and looking the other way.

My grandma was talking about how he dated her for 9 years, and there were mountains of issues looming in the distance, but he married her anyway. He had hope and he believed in her.

My cute oaf-y dad looked at his feet. I hope he was okay. He seemed ashamed to be called out in front of me. My teddy bear dad, that used to buy me candy bars on bike rides, looked so deflated. All 215 pounds of him just looked at the floor, questioning where he went wrong. I think he married her partly out of love, and partly out of necessity. Regardless, I wish I could have taken the pain away.

Maybe, I could be a heart fairy. He puts his bruised and broken one under his pillow, and I will replace it with a new, happy one.

One is the lonliest number

My grandma is getting there. and by there, I don’t mean over the hill, toward the light or any other metaphorical place people go in life. She is old, her skin more translucent and scaly with every visit. She tells the same stories twice and questions my slang.

My dad and Crazy are having marital problems. He was disappointed I didn’t support his sulking at dinner, and commented about it at the rehabilitation center where my grandma was staying.

Somewhere in the conversation, my grandma blurts out, “I don’t understand men.”

76 years old and she is nowhere closer to understanding than I am. Fortunately, understanding a gender is not my goal.

One man at a I time, I think.

plaid jacket and slicked hair

My mom and I have an amusing relationship. Every one of my siblings does the perfect “mom voice”, because that is how she speaks to us all of the time. If you were a stranger, you would think it was rude. If you were her child, you would just want to strangle her and hope a stranger notices, so someone can stop you.

Three minutes into arriving at my mom’s house, and she was already annoying. And no, ladies and gents, that comes nowhere near the record.

The night’s excursion began with an agreement. I said, “There will be no tone, and there will be no yelling” She, of course, only got more upset. We were off to look at cars because my mom wanted my opinion and needed to review some pricing. It went surprisingly well, with my mom asking appropriate questions, and our banter providing ample entertainment for Rick, the lucky salesman for the evening.

I had all of these notions of what it would be like. We were going to sit there for 4 hours and haggle over tax and features. Instead we sat there and spoke with Rick, partly about cars, and partly about families. I am in sales, and we were expecting to be sold. In reality, there was no Matilda-esque gluing of bumpers, rolling back of odometers, or good ol’ bait and switch schemes.

Rather, we were offered a painful glimpse into another person’s life. Someone else just trying to make it day by day. Rick had photos of his son plastered around his office. It was probably intentional, but I’m not sure the discussion of his personal life was. I think that had something to do with my mom. She has that way about her. Like she can solve anyone’s problem, and if not, then she can at least make you feel better simply by listening.

He had hinted at not wanting to go home. Rick had a 7 year old son. He was never married to his son’s mother. Then talk about cars cars cars. Then he said that his girlfriend (should have been ex girlfriend?) lived with him, and she had a boyfriend. And they agreed she would move out in March because it was his house. But he wanted his son to live there, and know where he was, because she had an irresponsible streak. She went to bars occasionally. He corrected himself. He reworded, she goes to bars frequently.

More talk about cars cars cars.

He said she wanted to move to Connecticut. My mom told him about a California law that doesn’t allow a parent to move a child more than 150 miles away, under certain guidelines. He spoke about how he had already lost one son to a wife that moved away and now lives with her new husband.

Then we talked about custody and children.

And then we decided it was time to go, without buying the car because my mom needed some time to think it over. And Rick talked about the hours he spent at the dealership, and joked about how he was practically a virgin. (Seriously I almost fell out of my seat, and I am pretty sure I was bright red. Not to mention the fact that my mom doesn’t talk about sex. AT ALL.)

And that was the cue to go. And we were officially sold on the idea that Rick needed therapy. And we left knowing that our car buying excursion had a presented an unexpected twist: Our salesman was brutally honest. Maybe too honest.

So maybe we were sold on how sad Rick’s life was, but at least he didn’t have the hair to match. There sure was a lot of pain standing in those shiny shoes though.