Baby Update: Psych!

Sorry kids… it was a fake pick. Jeff-Jeff was messing around on a site and cooked up this pic… and I thought it was too funny not to share.

I am baby-free - thank the gods and goddesses. Those tiny pink pills make the difference!

Baby on Board

Monkey Free Day

I’m taking back this day and making it something special!

Today’s is not just any other day anyway - it’s Jason’s birthday and so work night be damned, we are partying tonight!

We are off to Croc’s downtown to celebrate with some drinks and some karaoke.

This day will forever be known as the one and only Jason’s birthday.

And monkey’s be damned.  Stoopid poopy creatures.

Of Meerkats and Ferrets

Actual conversation over drinks with coworkers/friends about reality shows:

Him: She loves that show about rodents…

Me: They are not rodents, they are meerkats!

Wife of coworker: Ah Meerkat Manor.

Him: Anyway the writers make up these elaborate, drama-filled back stories for these ferrets…

Me: They are not ferrets!!

Him: And Sean Astin is the narrator…

Me: He doesn’t know what he’s talking about…

Him: I’m certainly not going to believe a hobbit!

Me: I am not a hobbit!

Him: (laughing) Not you - Sean Astin!

Wife of coworker: Ohmigawd, that’s funny! You’re a hobbit!

Rolling With The Punches

Wow life is crazy beautiful. So weird. It comes full circle sometimes in unexpected ways.

Say you make a bad decision once and hurt yourself. You keep it to yourself, thinking its your burden to bear. Then, years later, you decide you should confess for the sake of honesty and hurt a friend. But you find forgiveness… only to have it yanked away abruptly, with no discussion, no recourse - just silence.

Then you find acceptance - inside yourself for what is meant to be… only to learn about a betrayal from years ago from another person. And realize your own internal struggle over a feeling of what is done to you versus that ability to forgive… and find yourself struggling.

How do you reconcile your heart and your head? Forgiveness is too simple really. It is more about acceptance… and moving on.

Life. It’s just one damn thing after another, now isn’t it? I realize this more right now - in this moment.

So simple. So beautiful.

Missing Something

Actual conversation:

Him: Are you sure you haven’t seen the white spatula?

Me: No. Are you sure you haven’t seen the white spatula?

Him: I was out of town last week.

Me: I used it to cook breakfast on Saturday. You were here this weekend.

[pause by him]

Him: I don’t know what you did with it. You cleaned up the dishes.

Me: I cleaned up the bird dishes and toys. You cleaned up the dishes after breakfast.

[another pause by him]

Him: I cleaned up the dishes, but I don’t know where the spatula is - it wasn’t in the sink.

Me: What does it matter? It was a cheap 99 cent spatula. We have ten others.

Him: [inaudible, soft whisper]

Me: [laughing softly] What?

[another pause]

Him: It was my favorite spatula.

Man vs. Cat

Every morning Jeffery has a battle of wills with the kitties. He feeds them at the same time every day, once in the morning at 630 a.m. and a second feeding at 630 p.m. We both are generally awake long before 6:30 a.m. Prior to my boot camp class, we both would get up about 4 a.m. and work out at the gym. Jeffery continues to get up at 4 a.m.-ish, while I sleep in until 4:40 a.m.

Apparently kitties don’t understand the concept of feeding times because they incessantly meow from the minute we get up until the food hits their plates at 6:30 a.m. The two sister kitties aren’t all that meowy to begin with, but Simon - the lone boy kitty - meows enough for all three of them. He has one of those long, drawn-out, whiny full-mouthed meows. It was cute for about three days, but now eight months later, it’s lost its cute appeal. Especially at 5 o’clock in the morning.

Another thing about kitties… yeah they don’t understand about weekends. Their little internal clocks have set themselves to 4 a.m. ish - the time the alarm clock normally rouses us humans from our nightly slumber - and that’s the time those adorable balls of fur expect us to get up. If for some reason we don’t get up during that time, like said weekends, they rouse us themselves, all I’m sure in the name of being helpful.

And they are persistent little fuckers too. They are not deterred by yells of “shut up” or slaps off the bed or even items thrown at them in anger. Nope, they pop back up on the bed a few minutes after we fall back asleep. The only thing that works is to feed them. With their little bellies all full with kitty food, they cuddle up contentedly next to a warm body and go right back to sleep.

Here’s where the battle of wills comes into play. Jeff believes in the two feeding times and no matter what - that’s when those kitties get fed. To him, feeding those kitties before that 6:30 cut off means defeat.

So we hear a lot of meowing - full-mouthed, spine-chilling meowing - from Simon the cat. It’s endless.

Me? If I’m alone in the house and I want to sleep in - I feed the cats. I don’t look at it as defeat. I look at it as happy sleepy time.

To each his - or her - own.

Thursday Thirteen, #45

Thirteen Reasons Why MON-MON Should Be In Bed 1. She’s been up since 4am. 2. She worked her ass off at boot camp class today. 3. She ended her work day with a stressful meeting where people were yelling. 4. She left work with the beginnings of a migraine. 5. She then went to happy hour at Croc’s where her friend, Jason, works. 6. She had two Vodka-7s w/ lime. 7. The she went to the Samba room with Jason to say hi to his love, Jeremy - and had another Vodka-7. 8. Her head still hurts - despite taking ibuprofen, aceteminophen, and Aleve (not all at once). 9. She has to get up to go to work tomorrow morning. 10. She has to get up early enough to take out the trash. 11. She’s tired. (wow that makes too much sense!) 12. She really likes sleep. 13. Did I mention how late it is?

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A Kind Of Goodbye

In January, I went to visit my brother who had just returned from the hospital after his stroke. I’d visited him in the hospital between that time, and of course, we talked frequently on the phone. For months, my brother had wanted to talk about our past, to talk about what happened, to give his side of the story… to find forgiveness.

I’d not exactly put him off, but I’d really not responded in kind either. I’d listened to his stories and comments without providing any feedback, good or bad. I mostly listened in a kind of awe as I realized how differently we remembered our past.

My brother asked me once what I remembered about him when I was a teenager, as a father figure to me, and I responded, “what I remember most is how angry you were… just so angry.” He called me later to thank me for opening his eyes to that anger, and he wanted me to know I was right.

I couldn’t find the words to express what I was feeling about our past, so I decided to print out the posts from this blog that I’d written specifically about him. I took them all and asked him to read, keeping in mind that some were written prior to us talking again.

He read the post I’d written about our parents’ death first; I sat silently while he read. After a few minutes - a lifetime - he set the papers down and said that was how he remembered it too. He then said to me, with tears running down his face, “Even when it was bad, I knew we’d be together again as a family - you and me and Joe (our other brother).” He stood up and I stood up and then we wept together. In sadness and in happiness, we clung to each other and cried out our mutual pain. He said again he was sorry and we let our past go.

I left before he read the other posts but he called me later about them to share that he’d forgotten some things and those posts brought it all home. But we’d said our goodbyes to those painful times. He still spoke about our past at times, still asked me if I remembered this or that - sometimes I didn’t remember things he did and it was eye opening. Other times, I remembered it differently, and we’d start to bicker until I remembered that it wasn’t all that important right now.

Jeff told me once he couldn’t understand how I could forgive Richard for our past, for the things he did or didn’t do when he was my guardian. But what I realized as I listened to Richard’s stories was that we were at a point in our story where we were both beyond forgiveness. We were both learning about acceptance. Because my brother was dying and this was our last chance. This was my last chance to grow the hell up and realize it isn’t always about me, and this was his last chance to face what he’d done.

The truth is my brother lost a set of parents too. He lost a mother and father who adored him. He had to be the adult, the big man - he was the one who everyone turned to and expected him to make it alright. He was 24, true, but how many of us are truly adults at 24? How many of us have to face the burial of not one, but two parents and the responsibilities that entails AND the responsibility of a 13 year old sister?

I never once really considered what my brother went through when my parents died. I got a little taste of it with my brother’s death now, and I feel great sorrow and empathy for the 24 year old boy my brother was at that time and facing such a daunting task. All these 17 years, I held on to this anger and pain about what my brother did to me. I never thought of what he did to himself. In the end, my brother lost his whole family - his parents, his brothers, his sister, aunts, uncles, cousins… what a steep price to pay when I believe, with all my heart, his original intentions were good.

I don’t know exactly what’s changed my perception of my brother but I can’t look at the past with the same eyes. With the same venom and spite. With the same anger and hate. I just don’t have it in me. What I see is the sick, suffering soul I saw in the hospital about a year ago. Down, out, sick, without his family. I never wanted that - not for anyone and especially not for my brother.

So I got over myself. Dealt with my shit and learned how to be there for a man on borrowed time. I became the sister he needed. Not out of duty but out of love.

He was my brother. He deserved his family. It was the best choice I made in my life ever. To let go of my pride, to let go of the past, to stop being a victim to my own perceptions - no matter how justified they may seem. I let go of what he did to me long enough to meet the man he became. And found something in my self I never knew I needed to find, didn’t know I was missing - I found a sister. I was - I am - Richard’s sister.

Maybe he couldn’t be strong for both of us 22 years ago but I could be strong for both us now. I wanted to be strong. This is what love is -this is what it means to really love someone; not self sacrifice, just acceptance.

Goodbye, Richard. May you be at peace. May you know that you are loved and missed by your family. You are loved by me, and I will miss you.

I’m Leaving On A Jet Plane

We are on our way to Missouri for a family get-together - Jeff’s family that is… considering he was immersed in my family this past four days (for less than fun times), I guess I’m due.

I’m a little nervous because he says his family is even larger than mine… and that’s after he met and hung out with my family…

(gulp)