On my toes

Life goes on, whether or not you're ready to go with it.

The past few weeks have been a blur of wonderful newness, of comfort and bliss. They've also been full of stress, cancer, death, uncertainty, and pain. But that's how life goes. Sometimes it throws everything at you at once, just to make sure you're on your toes. So that's where I've been. On my toes.

The first funeral was on Friday. I put on the black dress only to find that I had shrunk (or it had somehow stretched two sizes) and it wouldn't be suitable. So instead, I found another black dress. This one still fits. (I really do need to start with this eating business. I'm a little bit bony.) I wasn't going to go, and I didn't tell Dad that I was going until I was on 6th Avenue, headed west, but I feel like I was in some ways obligated to go. It was good. Merrilee was such a funny person, and the last time I saw her was at Jeanie's graduation party earlier this summer. It was good to meet the people who meant so much to her. They had pairs of nose glasses that she used to wear on a board, along with pictures of people wearing the nose glasses. It was good that I went because that meant that I got to chat with Jeanie while Dad talked to everyone else. On a nearly irrelevant note, they had mini quiches. I am such a fan of any party that has mini quiches.

But mini quiches aren't the point. (Unless they are? Wouldn't it be so nice if the entire meaning of life could be reduced to mini quiches? I could get down with that.)

Life doesn't last forever.

Marshall died late Thursday night. He is now listening to the harp music at the great golf course in the sky. (What? It could totally happen. Maybe my personal heaven is bubble baths and wine.)
I sat next to him at Thanksgiving and watched as Juanita fussed with him about whether or not he was happy and comfortable. I was really touched by the fact that after so many years together, they were still taking care of each other. He was constantly aware of her presence and she always made sure that he had what he needed - although there was that one time when someone was missing a cup of coffee and she just grabbed his and said, "Here, have this one." That's the kind of love that everyone should be looking for. It might not always be the most effective, but at least it's real.  They are seriously the best non-grandparents I could have had. (Although, now it's our turn to make Juanita cookies just because.)

Cancer cancer cancer cancer. I've not got a lot to say about this one. Seriously, every time I turn around, someone else has it. We've got two at work, two on one side of the family. I was talking to Mom about this and she reminded me that this is just a bad spell. I warned her that she wasn't allowed to get any more cancer just because everyone else was doing it. So we go on. I come from a family of tough people, particularly the women. We've got this. We'll tackle it like we tackle anything else. Everyone will help where they're needed. We'll cover the gaps and everyone will emerge alright. I promise. And if anyone wants a healing animal, they're welcome to borrow Carlos for a few weeks. Nothing will make you want to heal like having the very grumpy Carlos around. (He's currently at the bottom of my bed with his his paws wrapped around my foot. I love him so much. Best worst decision ever.)

Got an email from the other side of the family today. God, I hate holidays so much. When I am ruler of the universe, there will be no family obligations unless, of course, you want to. I am already stressed at the thought of them cornering me. I'm already imagining it happen. And I'm already tense and terrified. Gross.

The grad school application is limping along, coming together bit by bit.

The giant proposal due at work remains unfinished. Tomorrow will be the ultimate race to the finish line.

But those things don't really matter. I mean, of course they do. I'd be an idiot not to get my application in, since I still have a month left. And I'd be an idiot if I didn't bust my ass to get that proposal done. But in the larger scope of things, there is so much more that matters, well, so much more.

On the brighter side, guess what's awesome?

We went up to Keystone yesterday. Day 5 of snowboarding this season. I'm starting to get it. I did a Blue run with the boys then headed back up to find Emily. Spent the rest of the day on some long greens. It was good. Kevin and his brother came down from Vail to meet up with the group. The boys that we went up with are fun - one of them is in town from Boston, and he'll be on our New Year's trip. I'm starting to be able to do my toe side stuff, which means I'm actually able to snowboard properly. Pretty soon I'll be doing sweet jumps! (That's actually what I dream about.) Mom, best Christmas present ever. Without your insistence, I'd never be doing this. And I think it's pretty rad. Also, pass is officially paid for now. Be stoked on that.

I have a boyfriend-thing going on. That was unexpected. I blame the Real World for making me question our relationship situation. So I asked him if we were dating. He said yes. Apparently, that was enough of an exclusivity conversation for him. (We later discussed all of this and figured everything out. It was very reminiscent of our first date.)
I am so ridiculously happy. He's wonderful. He's smart, funny, sarcastic, sweet. We are different enough that it will continue to be interesting for me. But we are similar enough that we just mesh well. He takes good care of me. The thing that I think I like the most is that he's up for anything. When I'm like, let's go to this concert (I've done that twice so far), he's always open to it. He likes the random adventures that I like, which is good.

Broncos game today. I realize that the tickets came to us in the midst of sadness, but on the plus side, Mike and I are sort of going on a double date. I am bringing Kevin, who is awesome and driving back from family vacation in Vail in time for this. Mike's bringing a girl! I think I'm probably more excited for this than I am anything else.

This is not one of those "live every day like it's your last" posts, because those are dumb. But seriously, if you're not doing something awesome, or something that you love, or something that's wonderful, what are you doing with your life? After babysitting, I slept for nearly twelve hours last night. (that's the something wonderful I was talking about.) That was exactly what I needed to do after being an idiot and going out with Katie before I went snowboarding. So today is marching forward and if I don't hurry, I'm going to miss all the excitement.

I almost forgot: I started writing about being on your toes and life and then I looked down and remembered all the bandages on my toes. Yesterday morning, sometime in the pre-dawn hours, while I was frantically searching for snowboard gear in my room, I somehow managed to step into the side of a laundry basket, taking skin off of two of my toes. I didn't think anything of it until I saw little bloody toe-prints. As it turns out, sometimes being on your toes doesn't quite work out the way you'd planned.

Have a beautiful day, world, you deserve it.

Odds and Ends. Weekend Edition!

Oh Friday, the promise of a weekend that will fly by too quickly, that sense of release building in your body, the way your mind floats around, outside, like a lost bird.

I imagine that prisoners must start anticipating their release date months in advance, and I can only imagine the immensity of the first footfalls outside the gates.

That is overly dramatic, but that is how I feel on Fridays.

I'd like to have a quick chat with you, dear reader, about sacrifices.

Because right now, I am considering myself god-like. (And by god-like, I mean Jesus-like - it's all part of the holy trinity, so I'm technically correct. Full of hubris, of course, but correct.)

I am missing the ONE concert I'd like to see at Red Rocks this year to go to Barney's Birthday Bash live at the Pepsi Center with three small children. I love them dearly, but I'm so creeped out by things in costumes. Like mascots. And giant purple dinosaurs and their primary colored friends.

So creeped out.

Don't know I'm going to explain why I'm covering my eyes with my hands and peering through my fingers.

Ah, Slightly Stoopid and Shwayze - I've been dying to see you. I guess that want will have to slowly simmer inside me until next year.

I already have the "I love you, you love me, we're a happy family," song stuck in my head.

In future news:

I'm excited. S will be here in a week and a half (ish)! And he's meeting Mom. I think he's more scared to meet Mike. I told him that I'll do way more damage to him than Mike ever will. And I'm not wrong.

I've not been this twitterpated since, well, the college boyfriend. I mean, that ended poorly, but it was fun while it lasted, which was a good long while. Someone was asking me about my past relationships, and it was weird to think that I spent most of college in monogamous relationships - there was D and H, both of whom lasted between a year and a year in half. For someone with my attention span, that's remarkable.

But this kid is driving me nuts. Usually in a good way. Ugh. I secretly don't like this vulnerability, although it's kind of nice. There I go, reinforcing gender stereotypes. Don't worry too much, I'm not going to go all soft on you.

Not yet.

I hope you're eagerly anticipating the Barney recap. I know I am.

Dreams

It's been one of those weeks where your dreams are too real. I am living in those moments, making conscious decisions, and ultimately, freely thinking my own thoughts.

That's the weirdest part for me. The thoughts.

I woke up startled, not quite terrified, on Thursday morning. I'd just had a pregnancy-labor dream. I realize I've probably just been reading too much of NPR's Baby Project (it's sort of cute; if you're into that sort of thing, you should check it out).

In my dream, I was in labor, at the hospital, walking around with my mom and wearing one of those horrible hospital gowns. But the strangest part of the dream was that I kept thinking how I was only x amount of time into labor and already bored.

I sincerely hope that someday, my worst fear for childbirth is how bored I am. I reached down and felt my flat stomach and breathed a sigh of relief. Carlos meowed as he usually does when I bother him too early in the morning, and then came up to snuggle me, and I fell back asleep just as the sunlight was starting to creep through the trees that shelter my window from the street.

And last night, again. But nothing like babies this time. Last night I was an assassin. Don't ask - it was one of those vivid, shifting dreams where it's suddenly winter and you're in Minnesota and then you're creeping around a house/building/warehouse and you're killing people. I went down a faux-grass (astroturf) slide like a fish and killed a Japanese guy with crazy hair and a nice suit who happened to be a better at imitating fish movements than me.

That was probably really weird for you, so: Imagine a dark room with a giant, twisty slide that's not a slide at all, but rather an astroturf covered ramp, and in order to get down it with your gun in your hand, you have to flop like a fish. (I'm not even graceful in my dreams. Great.)

This is the prime example of why I'll never work for the CIA. I'm not graceful, I'm bad at stealthily fish-flopping, and I have a conscience.

Usually, these wild dreams mean I have a lot on my mind and that I'm overtired. Surprise! Guess what? Both are correct.

The Chicago trip was so worth it, but it nearly killed me, even though I got to spend most of Monday asleep on the couch (as much as I hated missing work, it was so nice to veg out and watch bad television).

Anyway, I'm hoping to get caught up on my sleep this weekend. Babysitting means I'm usually exhausted by the time I get done, so there's little chance I'll want to go out dancing (which so bums me out - I haven't had one of those wild, reckless and possible regrettable [just kidding] nights in ages). Which means sleep - definitely necessary since I have to work essentially a full day tomorrow. The 9-5 hours I missed on Monday and then more babysitting!

Maybe I'll be able to get to the park before I babysit on Sunday. Or maybe I'll get to work and log more hours! (That's ambitious - it won't really happen and we all know it. I'll sleep, I'll probably make some pasta, I'll be slow to get going - and by then, my weekend will be over.)

But I'm excited for real work tomorrow because I am in creativity mode and thus more prone to devoting my attention to the task of brochure creation. We'll see how it actually turns out.

Odds and Ends and Saturdays

I got an email from Mama P this morning. You'll remember Priscilla, my absolutely insanely wonderful host mother in South Africa.
Her emails are always short and to the point. They never say much, but I'm grateful for them. Today she said that the weather is turning cold, and to say hello to Mike and James Dean for her. I laughed out loud when I read the last bit; I had completely forgotten about that. So here's how it goes:

The night that James was coming to pick me up for our first date, I realized I had no idea what his name was. I knew it was either James or Dean. So we had all just referred to him as James Dean the entire week. I realized that this was eventually going to present a problem, so I called him, and luckily, he didn't answer his phone. Voicemail clued me in on his real name and that was that. But we still called James Dean.

It's amazing how much I miss that place. I know it will never be the same, but it will always have a beautiful place in my heart. I want to get back there, to stand at Muizenberg Beach and feel the waves crash against my feet and fight my way onto the train and off again.

However, my life here is growing daily. While I like that I'm learning a lot at my current job, I'm not satisfied with the compensation and have taken on babysitting to make extra cash. (This supports my lifestyle, which you may be surprised to hear isn't quite as wild as you might think.) Anyway, I've got four families in the rotation and the balancing act is getting a bit hectic.

This week, for example, I will be working all seven days. And twice this week I had to go straight from work to babysit. The other nights I went directly home and was in bed relatively early. It's all fine and well, but I'm not getting any decompression time and am beginning to get a bit stressed.
Hopefully this week will provide ample opportunity for sleep as I'm not scheduled to work any week days.

Alas, today brings more babysitting, volunteering at a choir concert that one of my co-workers is singing in, and then date night. And tomorrow brings babysitting.
I really love the families that I'm sitting for this weekend - I find it much easier to babysit when I'm actually enjoying myself as well. One family has three little girls, and then, of course, there are the twins.   I find myself hoping the symphony season won't end!

Last night, Jacob and I went to see a production of Macbeth at UCD. Jacob was personally invested - he did the music for the show. I went because I waffle back and forth on my hate/love of Shakespeare. This play was pretty well done. The costuming choices were interesting - mostly just corsets - and the cast was tiny, but the leads delivered their lines really well.
After that, we went to an art gallery where they were serving pancakes and alcohol (strange combination, but hey, whatever). After paying $5 to get in and being told that drinks were free - we ended up having to pay $4 for a small cup. Ridiculous. The gallery was cute, but it was trying too hard to replicate the scene in New York. There were topless models being spraypainted (when done properly, it's actually really beautiful), but it just felt like an afterthought, especially as the crowd began to diminish.  After meeting up with our friend Claire and her girlfriend and wandering around looking at some art, we bailed to go dancing.

And so we danced. The night drew to a close, and I was grateful, because the tired had begun creeping through my bones. I went home, said hello to Carlos and Mike, and was asleep nearly immediately. I woke up tired - I didn't get nearly enough sleep. I'm hoping for a nap while I do my laundry.

Tonight, once my obligations are over, I've got a wild night planned (as usual). The guy that I guess I'm dating (I don't know - we eat dinner together sometimes. He made me waffles. I think that counts as sort of edging toward dating?) is going to come down from Boulder (and maybe bring his adorable dog!) and we're going to go see Claire's band play and then (depending on how tired I am or how bored he is) head to a weird art gallery/warehouse for a space party ordeal.

Jacob is super into the electronic scene, which means I find myself at a lot of events. I joking called it a "space cult" based on the theme of the first party he invited me to. Now, we call them space parties. They're not really - just a bunch of people in a room listening to really good (or really bad, depending) music and maybe drinking.

And yes, we may have to relocate Carlos for the evening. Jacob is more than happy to babysit and Carlos has been itching to get out and explore.

Wikileaks: Or, How My Nuclear/Extended Family Fell Apart

It's been awhile since you've been party to an angry rant directed at someone you're familiar with, so get ready:

Preface: I understand that the airing of "dirty laundry" in the internet is frowned upon. I thought about that for a long time before I did this. It's all based on the lack of transparency. I don't want anyone to question where I'm coming from or think that I'm neglecting my duties.

I don't have a solution to the problem below. I'm just thinking thoughts. I do my thinking when I'm typing. I like to record bouts of emotional turmoil for reflection and later, growth.

I love everyone in this post. I've taken out names. I want the same things they want. A husband, a family, a full life.
I have a very full life. I am very loved. Don't question that for a minute.
So what if I like "alternative" culture? We can't all live in polo shirts in plaid (it makes my thighs look fat). Black is much more slimming. And the vampire look is all the rage these days. (Ew)

Of course, this is very personal. But it involves me, too. And yes, it's incredibly self-centered. It's how I feel. This is my space. I can write about whatever I want, and that's what I've chosen to do.
I'm pissed, so this might lack the eloquence I'd usually try to use to cloak the emotions I'm feeling.
I don't sleep well; I have dreams about this situation all the time; I'm generally annoyed.
For once, I'm at a loss for words. I've let an email reply sit out there on the interwebs for more than two months because I literally cannot think of a suitable reply to that reply. I'm stumped by the inability to respond without losing my dignity by accepting a weak excuse, or without burning a bridge, or grovelling. And if there's one thing I don't do, it's grovel.

It's been a long time coming.
It started long ago. It's part of who Dad is. Weird.
I get that, and I understand that sometimes it's hard to be around him. But my argument against that is thus: You're his family. You can stand to be around him for four hours at a time, like four times a year. It's much harder to be his daughter than to be his brother, or his sister, or his mother.
Your counter-argument: But, our children!
I counter like this: He's not a sexual predator. He's not on drugs. He's not a drunk. Yes, he's a completely degenerate bum, but he's not (at heart) a bad man. Your kids will have to learn how to interact with people who aren't as affluent or as socially graceful as you someday, they might as well start now.

I've been talking to Mom about this for awhile now, trying to puzzle out why we're so often excluded from Barry family events.
And then Christmas happened.
The text message came in just before 7pm Christmas Eve. "We now have other plans tomorrow. Hope to see you soon."
Burn. Well played, Uncle [redacted]. The smoothest dis-invite I've ever had, without any admission of the actual invite ever existing. (Actually, the only one. I don't think I've ever been dis-invited from anything.)

Here's the email I sent:

Hello,

I hope you're all having a good start to the year.

Now that all the holiday rush has died down, I just wanted to drop you

a note to let you know how incredibly disappointed I was in the way

that Christmas was handled this year, and in the way that many

family/holiday events are often handled.

In the future, if you choose to renege on invitations at 6 o'clock the

night before a major holiday, please just don't bother inviting me at

all.

I can't speak for [redacted], so I won't, but I am incredibly hurt. It's not

that I minded crying a little bit, but even worse was having to listen

to [redacted] cry on the other end of the phone the day after Christmas.

While I hope that I am correct in assuming that you didn't want to

have any contact with [redacted], I also hope you understand that [redacted] and I

are both independent adults who are capable of social interaction

without him. We haven't lived with him on any consistent basis since

we were 16 and have displayed none of his odd social proclivities.

If that's not the case, and there's something wrong with the two of us

or with me personally, I'd prefer to address it now rather than be

continually excluded from Barry family events.

Sincerely,

Katie

However, it turns out that I was incorrect. I spent hour agonizing over the text of that email. I consulted. I edited. I won't post the entire response, because I consider myself to be not that much of an asshole, but here are specific excerpts that relate to my post today. And I don't consider them privileged.

My text the night before was to make sure nothing was

"assumed" even though we hadn't discussed anything firm and to get [redacted]'s

number. The only way this was triggered was that [redacted] had begun to leave

several messages indicating he wanted to come over.

Another point that disappoints us is that you make no mention of the

numerous holiday events over the years in which you were included.

Often times those events were adjusted to fit your schedule with your

Mom's side of the family. We were happy to do this, but to be told that

we've "continuously excluded" you confuses us.

You mention [redacted] in your note. Right or wrong, holidays and family

events have certainly been impacted due to [redacted]'s behavior. For all of

his great qualities, it's no secret that his behavior can often times

add stress, drama, etc. I really hate pointing this out since he is

your Dad, but I want to be fair to you and as an "adult." I don't think

you'd find this surprising. Unfortunately, his impact has played a role

in not spending more time with you and [redacted] over the years. For so long

it was always a "package deal." I'm truly sorry that you've been

"caught in the middle" in so many instances. Thanks for pointing out

(right or wrong) that it's no longer the case.



I cried when I read this email.

But then I got mad. That's why I haven't been able to respond. I have nothing to say. I do, but I can't say it. I don't know. And now it's just too late to say anything.

RENEGE! (I'm not going to respond to that bit. I'm biting my tongue.)

I don't talk to Dad. I see him maybe once every couple of months. I'm not a pipeline of Barry family information that goes directly to him. I'm not inviting him to events. 

I was a child when they rearranged all of their schedules. I'm not the one who made up that horrible divorce custody schedule; I'm just the one who got dragged along for the ride.

You do realize I hate Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, etc? The only consolation is that divorce brought double the Thanksgiving dinners and two distinct styles of cranberries. I'm pro-divorce as far as Thanksgiving goes, and very thankful for them.

And I'm also thankful for all the rough rearranging that was done, but I apologize for it. If I had known it was such a problem, I guess I could have....wait a minute, done nothing. I was twelve. I don't want to hear about it.

Now, of course, complain. If we were demanding change now, you shouldn't have to acquiese. Don't rearrange anything for us. We're autonomous adults ("adults" is a term of debate for another day, but we're self-sufficient, theoretically productive members of society, which in today's world, qualifies us as adult). We are capable of handling ourselves in public, in private, wherever. We are capable of managing a schedule. I recently synced my Outlook calendar with my phone calendar and began actually logging dates in there. I'm legit. (Small step for me, large eye-roll for the rest of you.)

I don't manage Dad! It's not my fault he calls you!

I would also like to address the part where (you don't get to read that part) Uncle [redacted] says that he'd like me to list family events that I've been excluded from.

Let's start now.

The day after Christmas I'm housesitting. I get a call from [redacted]. She's nonchalant. We talk. She asks me how yesterday went, we're both tip-toeing around what we know is about to come up. She tells me that it was nice, they opened presents, they did this and that and the kids played with this and that. Pretty soon, we're both crying. I have to hang up because this is bullshit.
[Redacted] and I are both pretty chill people. We don't expect big dinners. I'll host! I'll cook (badly). [Redacted] will cook (better). We'll put on the dinner, we'll have a cold cut and cheese platter. I don't want to see you for your food, I want to see you for you. I love pajamas. I own a bunch, for all occasions, even Christmas.
I cry. That's when I know everything is really broken.

It's a Tuesday. I have dinner plans with Mom. I get a call from Aunt [redacted] saying that they're in town and want to have dinner. I call Mom and cancel.

At dinner, [redacted: cousin] asks me if I'm going to California. I ask, why? She tells me they're all going to see [redacted: other cousin] graduate from high school. Oh, I say, I'm sorry, I have to work. Inside, I'm thinking, huh, definitely wasn't invited to that.

Throughout the meal, Aunt [redacted] is constantly saying how nice it is that we're so flexible, and blathering on about how it's so nice that we can just be spontaneous. It's all for Dad's benefit, because he's complaining and pressing them for details.

I get that.

Then I find out that they've been in town since Friday. Then I find out that we both went to the parade downtown on Saturday. I would have liked to have seen them. I was sober.

I bring that up because I believe that my father's side of the family has not received the most accurate information about me since I stopped living with my father. He's got a set of assumptions about my behavior that are entirely incorrect.

Yes, I drink. Yes, I go out.

Yes, I'm 22, and I have a full-time job and I babysit on the side. I have responsibilities and I'm not neglecting any of them. I have a cat-son and a dilapidated car that I love. I get regular oil changes. I vote. I can pretend to be Catholic when necessary. I'm spiritual. I believe in a g-d. I've never been arrested. I'm going to stop. This is getting weird.

(I don't know, what makes a person a good role model?)

Those are two recent examples, but I can dig further if necessary. I'd prefer not to, though.

I would like to have a good relationship with my younger cousins, but it's very difficult. I was really excited about this summer, when I had the opportunity to drive through the state where some of them live (most awkward attempt to talk around that ever) and stay with them. I had hoped that I was able to leave a positive impression and set a good example for my cousins. I talked with my Aunt and Uncle and was grateful for their hospitality and their generosity.

The base of the problem here is that I wouldn't be so upset if I didn't genuinely care. These people are my family, and just because I'm now mostly estranged from my father (for my own personal sanity), I don't understand why I've been shut out as well.

When I was a teenager, and just starting to have problems with my dad, I spent nearly every weekend at [redacted]'s house. She really saved me, and those are some really nice memories. We would go get our toes done, or we'd cook dinner, or we'd run errands together. I cherish those times and am eternally grateful to have had somewhere else to go when things weren't great. She never said anything about it, but I respect her for understanding that I needed somewhere to go.

When we didn't have any furniture or good sheets, she took me out and we bought flannel sheets, a comforter, and a rug for Christmas one year. I still have all of that (except the comforter). I still remember how excited I was to decorate my rom.

That same year, in what I now know was an attempt to pull my struggling self-esteem up, she and Aunt [redacted] took me to buy makeup. Oh my g-d, I still have dreams about that stuff. I was so genuinely happy. And I am still genuinely grateful. I love my Mom but she's not great at super girly stuff that like, and I really looked up to Aunt [redacted] because to me, she was epitome of what a woman should be. She was funny, smart, happy. I wanted all of that, too.

But now I realize that I'm not exactly like them. I have literally been racking my brain for months (years, really) to try and figure out what it is about me that doesn't jive.

I honestly don't know.

I think it's that sometimes I forget to send out thank you notes. I really do write them. Every time I move, I find a bunch of thank you notes that have been addressed, sealed, the whole works, just not sent. I'm sorry about that.

Or maybe it's that I don't send enough gifts. I want to blame Dad on this one, but here I am trying to assert my independence, so obviously that's not going to work. I'll try harder.

Or maybe it's that I'm not Catholic. But I went to Catholic grade schools, a Catholic high school, a Catholic university. I graduated. I did what they wanted. I'm not a heathen, I'm just not a Christian. But I don't tell their kids that. I answer their questions honestly but sometimes I do lie just to protect their upbringings. I know Catholicism in and out. I'm good.

Once, when I was like fifteen, Uncle [redacted] and Aunt [redacted] found a lighter at their house. At that time, I had just become a black-cotton-clad child and was expressing my inner rage, so naturally, they thought it was mine. I denied it, because it wasn't. I later found out it belonged to [redacted] but he was too scared to say anything. Maybe that was where it all started to go wrong. I'm sorry. I didn't lie.

I don't lie. I don't cheat. I don't steal.

(That's my life philosophy. It's not that hard to do, really. I feel like aiming for those goals is good. From there, you can expand yourself into the best person you can be.)

Anyway, those are my theories. I'm sorry my father is a nut. It's not all his fault. It's the [redacted] syndrome. It affects him socially. Granted, even after the mitigating circumstances, he's still a lot to handle, but a lot of that is also generated when the people who are supposed to love him unconditionally get irritated. (I'm guilty of being the ultimate hypocrite here, I realize that. But seriously, if there's a group, four hours doesn't seem so bad, does it? I manage dinners, coffees, whatever. It's not going to kill you.)

I'm not invited to Easter, go figure.

Let's just all be estranged and call it good.

I will at least say that my mom's side of the family is always willing to rearrange things for us as necessary. And sometimes they even go out of their way to see us. It's nice. I know that if I call Aunt [redacted] for something, a favor, or a plan, or an activity, she'll respond. In a timely manner. Who'd have thought?

I guess it comes down to this: you can't choose your family (even when you're adopted), but you can choose to interact for the better or the worst. Some people love me for who I am, even if I'm not following their idea of the perfect life path. Some don't, I guess. It hurts. I'm not good at conflict; I'm not good at trying to figure out why I don't belong. But I guess this is a chance for me to get better at it.

Ugh, Easter. People wonder why I get so agitated around the holiday season. Wouldn't you?

Blues, among other things

I babysat the three little boys for the last time last night.
Blaise is two now, and he can annunciate my name. Hunter and Luke will be five in September, so we talked about me leaving and they told me that maybe they'd go on vacation while I was gone too, but wanted to know if I'd be back for their birthday. When I told them I'd be gone, Hunter looked at me and said, "Maybe you can come over the day before."
We had a good night. Two of them weren't feeling well, so we made juice popsicles and watched too much Thomas the Tank Engine. I choked back tears while we were reading stories, and then again when I put Blaise to bed. I've always had a special bond with him; he's such a happy baby.
Then, things got bad. I put Luke to bed in the boys' room and he wanted me to sing to him, so I asked him what he wanted. "A song about you," he said, so I sang something. "Actually," he said after I'd badly sung a short, made-up song, "tell me a story about you." So we talked about them, and Carlos, and life.
I told him I loved him and tucked him in and then went to find Hunter, who was in the other room. He wanted to sing to me, he said. He hummed me a song and then asked me what my favorite part was. "The middle," I answered.
"It's Tinkerbell's birthday song," he said. "Now you sing me one."
I hummed Blackbird.
And then I cried.
They gave me a beautiful card and each of the boys gave me a piece of paper they'd decorated.
It's been a wild two years, but as I told her when I left, I'm wildly more prepared for motherhood. I remember when I had just started with them and I'd find myself overwhelmed at times. Now, I can weather tantrums calmly without being stressed at all. Last night, there were those tired tears that only sleep can solve, a problem so simple it wasn't, and Luke telling me he had to have popsicles by midnight. The only problem? They weren't frozen yet.
I looked at him and I said, "What do you think will happen if you don't have one before midnight instead of waiting until tomorrow?"
He thought about it.
"Nothing too bad, right?" I said. "Now, you may have banana or applesauce."
The tears continued, but I continued doing what I had been doing and I didn't bat an eye. Later it was applesauce that solved the problem.

After I got home last night, I called my friend Patrick (who met Maddie a few months ago on his first night in Chicago) and told him I wanted to go out. Then I called my new Irish friend (how funny is it that we majored in the same thing? However, he also has a Master's degree and I do not) and asked him what he was doing. He was at a blues place. So Patrick and I went. The place has two stages, and the musicians switch back and forth between the two all night. One of their group had talked to the musicians after the first set, and they invited him up to play with them. The club was open until 3:30, so we stayed there as long as we could. (I'd only gotten there around one.)
I ended up home with McDonald's breakfast around six thirty, and I managed to find what I believe is legal parking (it's street sweeping day, but there weren't any signs) so all is well. That group of guys is hilarious. They're seven guys here for the summer, excited to meet American girls, but so far have only met Irish ones (and me, but I don't think I count. They keep asking me if I have girl friends. I tell them I'm working on it). I have thoroughly enjoyed the couple of weeks I've had with them and am going to be sad to miss their summer here.

Mike gets in tonight! I'm not sure what we're going to do, I have a huge final tomorrow, and still think I'm going to write a six page paper, but haven't decided yet, so it might be a laid back night in.
I'm miserably unprepared for this move and it's starting to make me nervous. I know that I don't have much to do in Colorado, but Dad is leaving just before I get to his house and the idea of being somewhere unfamiliar at a high-stress time with Carlos and other cats is stressing me out. I'm employed, though! I start at Subway next week. I'm about to the best qualified "sandwich artist" that ever lived.
But South African preparations must begin.
Ah, summer. Hopefully Denver is ready for me.