"We are sisters. We will always be sisters. Our differences may never go away, but neither, for me, will our song." Elizabeth Fishel

My sister got an apartment. For the past few years, she, her husband and her young son have been living in the basement of her mother-in-law's house. She calls it the cave. They were doing it because housing is so fucking expensive around here, and she was working nights while her husband worked days, and it kind of didn't matter that they lived in a dungeon for a while. They made do.

But at the end of the month, they'll be moving into an apartment, close to where her husband works, and in a good school system for their soon-to-be-kindergarten-age son. She got laid off from her night job at the end of November, with a pretty nice severance package, and decided to start a home business selling bath salts and essentially-oiled-soaps, and she seems happy. Excited. I'm happy for her.

But I haven't asked if the apartment is on the first floor yet, because I know it's basically just another opportunity to have my heart broken.

Because this is the sister who gives me a lift whenever I need it and doesn't complain or make me feel like a huge burden for needing the lift in the first place, but she's also the sister who was getting married and told me she wasn't having a bridal party because she and "my real sister" were fighting and there wasn't any point in having the rest of us.

(By real sister, she meant the only sister who is 100% blood related to her, and with our mishmash of halves and steps and somes, our sisterhood is a wee bit complicated that way, I suppose. But I'd never considered it so until that moment, until the second she told me that she considered me to be some second tier sister, with the carelessness of someone who's just mentioning the truth as they know it, as simply as saying "fish swim in water": As if it was given, a thing that everyone already knew and acknowledged.)

Sisterhood is a complicated, messed up, confusing mix of shit, sometimes.

I have five sisters.

One of them - the one who joined us last, by marrying our only brother - is dead. I watched her die, with both startling suddenness and screeching slowness. I let her down, and let her kids down, because I allowed her to live those last months in a denial that seemed impenetrable at the time, although I recognize now that that was mostly my own cowardice: I knew the end was coming long before anybody else here could recognize it, and I so wanted to be wrong that I allowed myself to be convinced it wasn't true. I knew what was true, though, and not confronting her with it, not presenting it to her in a way she could accept robbed her of her goodbyes, I think. Robbed her kids of all the letters she should have written them to open on graduations and birthdays and weddings. When I think of the hole she has left in our family, in the threads of us, I couldn't be sadder. I feel guilty that I am raising her children, or talking with her sister, or having Easter dinner with her parents, knowing that it should be her there instead. I miss her laugh, and her "let's do it" spirit, and I'm still mad about the time she told me to suck it up, and guilty that I felt vindicated when she was sick enough herself to apologize for having said it. The feeling of missing her is a feeling of weight in my chest, of tears that want to flow for her, and her children, and her husband, and her family. I hope that she knows that I loved her, and that my love for them is not just because of my brother, but because of her, too. I know I'm just a placeholder here, but I hope she knows how much I miss her.

My older sister, the one that came with the dad my mom chose for us, is distant in a different way. She's independent of the rest of us in a way that I both envy and pity. She has her own happiness and her own path, and I wish her well on them both, but I'd rather not be lectured on them any more, if it's all the same to you.

You know that pop psychology saying where the things you don't like about other people are the things you don't like about yourself? This sister is the one who makes me most feel like a hypocrite. Because I talk about what I need and making it work with what other people need, but when she does it, it seems so selfish to me that I almost cannot process it. Our needs are different of course, but I'm not sure hers are any less mandatory (in her mind) than mine are to me. That's a hard thing to face - to feel like you are being self-less when you are in fact being selfish.

This sister has a laugh that I miss: A cackling snort that was a staple of my childhood, and that I doubt I've heard in years. She's aloof in a way that makes me feel aloof. I know she's a mama bear, but she protects her cubs in such a different way than I would, that it's hard for me to hold out my hand to help. She says she has healing ... abilities. She has never once offered them to me. (And I cannot think that I would be anything but pissed off if she did. Hello, hypocrisy. Hello, mirror.)

She shuts doors with an enviable ease, but I think they're the wrong doors, so we find ourselves on opposite sides. I have never felt like she was my big sister: I feel like in everyone's eyes, I have always been the oldest, and I'm jealous that she somehow avoided all of that responsibility. Her favorite board game when we were children was Aggravation, and I'm not sure there could be a more apt description anywhere of how our relationship has evolved.

The rest of my sisters are younger, and they are all babies to me in some way, even though the youngest will be thirty this year, and the other two are mothers.

The other two are amazing mothers: Such different mothers, but both so caring, so capable, so determined to avoid the mistakes of our parents. And yet, their mothering reminds me so much of our mother, that sometimes it's indistinguishable. They have their own relationships with our mom, fraught with the opposite complications of my own (I was her chronically ill child; they were the children who wished for the attention I had stolen. I cannot find it in me to blame any of the players in that play for resenting the roles they were cast in, even as I regret and resent our casting.), and so to say to them "You have the best parts of our mother, mixed into your mothering" is a bridge I haven't crossed with either of them, unsure of the reception I'd get on the other side, but it doesn't make it any less true.

One sister mothers with an ease and grace and adult-ness that was shocking and unexpected from one of our family's 'babies'. And yet, somehow, mothering is as natural to her as breathing, and her bond with her son is mesmerizing and sweet, complete and thoughtful. I know she is hurt, as I am, by the children who haven't come, the siblings she wishes for her son. Maybe they'll come in time for her; maybe they won't, like me. I'll be sad with and for her, if she doesn't get the family she wants, but I also know the family she has is enough. I hope she feels it too, if she needs to. Her boy is her heart, her guide, her star, and only good things will come from/for either of them.

The other mother is anxious, and eager to avoid the generational mistakes that plague us. It's hard, when she's living in our parents' house, having to balance a pregnancy and a tantruming toddler, and a chronic illness or two that are untreated/able. But here's the thing I can't make her see, although I have tried, and will continue to try, every day if she requires me to. Every day, she battles, and she believes, and she begs and barters and bends her way through the day. Every. Day. And there's nothing that could make me more proud of her. Nothing that could make me say "You are the mother your kids deserve," than that. The need, the drive, the willingness to keep going, in the face of all that she has to handle, makes her a mother, full stop. Makes her THEIR MOTHER, and that's all they will require from her, if only she could step back and see it.

She's the most closely connected to our mom, right now, and I am both envious (because I miss that for myself) and grateful (because I don't miss it ALL). She was the sister closest to me by age, who came along and stole whatever attention I must have been getting at the time (I was a pretty cute four year old, guys), and that made some of our relationship pretty rocky. She's the teenager who planned her sweet sixteen up a huge flight of stairs, then got mad at me for "making a scene" when I needed to be almost carried up them. Who my college roommate called a bitch (but only to me), the 300th time I was crying about some illness-related issue that she refused to accommodate. (She was big on perfume, as a teenager. And tantrums, including name calling her 'lazy ass, fake ass' pretending poser of a big sister.) But she's also the only sister who's apologized for all of that, who has acknowledged that teenage-her's behavior was shameful and horrifying. She's the sister I've sat, huddled under the table with, as she battled her own demons, and who would text me hysterically laughing during The Office. ("He's wearing Kleenex boxes for shoes: This shit is TOO MUCH!") She has a fierceness that made me sort her into Slytherin before the Sorting Hat could choose, but with such a Hufflepuff heart, it's hard not to build a giant shield around her so nothing bad in the world can hurt her. She's the one who calls me her person, and who tries to make me recognize that I am probably not a hideously dreadful human being, when I most feel like one.

She's jealous of the connection the next-in-line sister and I have; I'm jealous of the one they have. There's so many twists and turns between us all, we could outdo most soap operas, pretty easily.

That next-in-line sister and I have a physical proximity now that has helped us be closer, and a nephew we both love that we work hard to show our love for, together. She's become a friend I wish I could have, to her chronically ill best friend - the kind that listens and does your grocery shopping if you need milk, and calls your husband an ass if he calls you lazy, and remembers what you're allergic to - and I wonder where the girl who made me feel like the biggest imposition for daring to STILL be sick on Christmas, or her birthday, disappeared to. Her evolution as a human being has been so impressive and inspiring, and I wish I didn't have to tip toe so much around her that I don't get to enjoy all the benefits of that. But she never treats me like I should stop asking for favors, and she genuinely seems to appreciate my helping hand and occasional words of wisdom when it comes to her kid.

She's the baby I carried around on my hip the most, the one I learned how to fill bottles for and change diapers on, and I remember her tiny, chubby little hand holding mine as she hid behind my leg, from whatever people my parents had over. She has a level of warrior and witchcraft I wasn't expecting, and I feel lucky to be able to watch them bloom.

The youngest of us, the true baby chronologically, lives the furthest physical distance away. She came to us late - a voice on a phone, a high, happy giggle - and everyone who should have loved her most abandoned her (either through death or by choice, or both) her whole young life. Some of us have stood up for her, and I think she knows that she is an integral part of us, a vital finger on the hand of us, but I also think that she's the furthest away because she's afraid of the abandonments to come: Her adoptive father, my uncle, is elderly. I am unwell. My brother checked out a long time ago. There are only so many times you can say goodbye.

She's our scholar, our high achiever, and I may have spent some time in my younger days resenting her nabbing the title away from me, and still managing to be the bohemian adventurer at the same time. I may spend some of my older days doing the same thing: who knows? She's careless with money, and has the same lax communication skills we all have, but she knows what matters, and how to say it out loud. She's a word wizard, a poetess (by both trade and temperament), and whatever she decides is what she does. Another independent spirit, somehow scattered in our flock. Maybe she feels like the black sheep, but I see her as yet another fuzzy cuddler. She non-ironically owns a typewriter, although she was not around when I was using one way back in grade school. She thinks up last minute crafts for Christmas gifts, and makes sure every piece of tinsel on the tree is strategically placed. Her artists eye may arrive a tad bit late, but you can depend on it, no matter what. She does not give up on the people she loves, even when they turn their backs, even when she maybe should.

These are my sisters: Spread out amongst the world, and another world, and always in my heart. It's hard for me to not be physically near them all, and yet, when I am physically near them, that is often hard too. Sistership is a more tangled thread than friendship: It comes with it's own weight and weariness, it's own rememberances and remorse. And yet I would not trade it for anything.

I wonder often about my mother, who lost her own sister so young - How did she go on from that? Did she ever feel that missed connection feeling of sending out signal into the universe only to have it bounce back unanswered? Does she feel it still? (It has been 30+yrs since my aunt died.) I do not remember my aunt well enough, as an individual adult, to recall what their relationship was like - there was more than 12 years separating them, after all: My mom was the baby, my aunt the eldest. I wonder too, how my remaining aunts and uncles go on, having lost so many of their number - They started (in my memory, anyways) as a clan of nine; their ranks now hold only 4. Less than half of them, and hardly ever in the same space. My heart hurts for them, and I can see how they hurt when we're together. How they reach for the stories, or the storytellers, and that pang when the only other one who'd remember isn't there to tell it with you.

One of my goals lately has been to strengthen the connections I know mean the most to me. Sometimes this has been easy - making more dreaded phone calls (only the doing is dreaded: once we are talking there's nothing but warmth), poking and checking in on people who'd rather live in their shells. Often, though, it has been difficult. Sucking up my pride and apologizing for a thing I didn't mean to do wrong, but did wrong. Listening to opinions I do not agree with and not responding with sarcasm or spite. Leaving space for the needs of others, knowing that I may not (will not) be able to fill them all. And sisterhood has proven to be one of the trickiest.

Because we're all these diverse, different people, and in some ways we're exactly the same. Some of us hate texting; others hate talking on the phone. Some have heartfelt meaningful discussions, told only in meme form. Others have no idea what memes are, or why we think they're so funny. All of us are hurting, in our own ways. All of us love each other, even if love means deeply different things to each of us. But I'm working on it. I'm working with it, and as much as I can, with them. Trying not to hold on too hard, but never giving up the fight.

They're worth it. Each and every one of them.

“In my closest circle of friends — you know the ones, the ones who are the family you choose instead of the one you are assigned — when someone is having a difficult time, we will remind each other that there are as many paths as there are people, and that while none of us can walk another’s path for them, we can all raise our lanterns a little higher, and let some light spill over to make the going less difficult and scary and lonely. ”Commenter, Teaspoon, via Kate Harding's Blog

Hey guys!  I know it's been forever (only five months, but who's counting?), but can we just agree to put aside the awkward part where I say how sorry I am, and you all read it and forgive me anyways?  Agreed? Good.

I can't make any promises about writing going forward, as things here are even less settled than they were the last time we spoke, but I miss this.  I miss you, and our weird conversations, and having a place that nobody I know in real life ever comes.  I miss the words - so much - and I think, just maybe, that my brain may be turning that light bulb back on a bit, which is a relief, let me tell you. (I don't think you ever get over the fear that the words just... won't come back this time.  At least, I don't think it's a fear I'll ever get over.) 

So anyways ~ how's about a quick update?  Next week, my brother, my mother, his kids, his sister-in-law and I are off for a quick jaunt to the Happiest Place on Earth, and it feels so incongruous to where everybody's actual feelings are that it may just be the most ironic trip ever.  -- Excepting the nine-year-old, who has a countdown on, and can't hold any non-Disney related conversations, and it's adorable and annoying in (nearly) equal measures.  -- We're nearing the anniversary of their mother's death, and it's definitely being felt: there's so many other anniversaries on the way to that one - her brain surgery date, her last hospital admittance, the day I came to stay 'for a bit' - and each one is a little dig in someone's heart, a little pinch they can't seem to ignore. 

My brother's grief continues to be overwhelming.  He's made some positive steps since last year, but as the anniversary approaches, I can feel a lot of them sliding away.  His mood vaciliates between pissed off, checked out, and maudlin, and the kids and I seem to often be at the mercy of them - it's hard to help a kid through their tough day, when their dad is upstairs slamming doors and ignoring people.  I'm cutting him as much slack as I can, because I DO get that some days are harder than others, but... tantrums in front of your children are a line I am dragging him back across, some days to both of our peril.  The thing is, I can see how hard he tries - on the days he's trying - and I guess I know him better than anyone else does, because I can SEE how much he's hurting, all the time, and I can feel what an accomplishment it is that he even gets out of bed most days.  And I wish he had the space for his grief and the time for his grieving... that's what I'm attempting to do here, anyways, is make it a little bit easier on everybody else, but... when you have kids? You just don't have the luxury of grieving the way you want to.

He can't afford to bury himself in a hole, or hide himself in his room.  And neither can these two kids. 

Both of whom are doing exceptionally well - with various issues here and there: The little one knows a lot more about anxiety now then I wish she'd ever have to know, and the older one walks around some days as if it's his responsibility to... do everything.  Which, at 15, I do not want him to feel, but I'm unsure how to prevent it.  Everybody's got stuff they're working on/out, and November 10th is fast approaching. 

So why the Disney, you might be wondering?  Well, a cousin is getting married in Florida, which normally, would just require us to send a card.  But between my brother's regrets that he and Nancy didn't just spring for the Disney vacation they might have taken a few years ago, and the 9-yr-old's puppy dog eyes, my brother decided that they had to go.  So: from Tues - Saturday, we'll be hitting up the parks, and attempting to draw out as much of the happy when can for some kids who could desperately use it.  (Although the 15 yr-old is not onboard our happy train - AT ALL - he's upset about missing school, and thinks he's too old for Disney (ha!) and all sorts of other cliches about sullen teenagers that get dragged off on their family's vacations.  I may as well be living in an 80's movie, honestly. )

This is going to be very difficult, spoon-wise, and health-wise for me, but they need me, so off we go.  Wish us luck.

In other sad news, SisterS's mom passed away - suddenly, of a heart attack - last week.  She's understandably shaken, as is my Oldest Nephew, and my heart breaks that I can't be more there for THEM right now.  Not that there's anything you can say when your mom dies (as I have learned quite extensively over the past year), but not even being able to just sit at her table and let her cry or rant or whatever she wants to do is making me feel extremely guilty.  I am doing what I can by text message, and I have to hope that it will be enough.  That I can help, in any small way.

Two of my other sisters have relocated over the summer - SisterCh to her mother-in-law's basement, which is not optimal, as you may have guessed, and SisterK to a far superior apartment out in Berkley, California, while her beau does some graduate work & she works for a literacy non-profit. 

And our best news of all is that SisterJ and her husband are expecting a new little bundle of joy to add to our hoard!  (Let's be honest: we all know if I was a dragon my horde would consist exclusively of books and babies.  Like: for real.)  The baby will hopefully making his arrival in February, which means a baby shower is in the works for the next little while as well. 

So, I'm apparently full up and bursting with news guys - a real mix of who knows what. 

But the light bulb - while still slightly dimmer than one of those energy efficient ones - has clicked back on.  So hopefully, we'll all be around when it hits full strength. 


 Thanks for hanging in, you guys. 

Things that shouldn't be hard, but are.

I'm in the handicapped stall in the Bertucci's bathroom, staring at the same four little tiles underneath my feet, trying to breathe, afraid to do anything more, anything other, than that. Outside are 4/5 sisters, a handful of my niblings and not my brother. Inside the bathroom, an older lady who'd held the door open for me when we were both coming in, is coughing in her stall. Peeing.

I'm just sitting and breathing.

In the movies, or books, when a character goes into the restroom to have a breakdown, it is conveniently huge, echoing and empty, or otherwise a single stall with someone rudely banging away on the door. Here, it's me and these four tiles and the old lady in the stall next to me.

And I couldn't have a breakdown even if I wanted to, because everyone is counting on my to be an adult, there has already been enough drama. My brother and older sister already had a disagreement that ended with him leaving the restaurant before we'd even been seated. There was no actual yelling, and it was probably better that he left, because restraint is SO not his thing, but the kids are on edge, the remaining adults are feeling a little awkward, a little off. (Or at least, I am.)

I have not slept - and I mean in any way for more than three minutes at a time - for over eighty hours. No real reason; just a shitty painsomnia cycle combined with brain overload and pills that stopped working all of the sudden. Not completely unexpected or unheard of, just another joy of life with chronic illness. I know I've made it over 100 hours with no sleep before, but it's been a while, and it's definitely disorienting. Everything seems either too close or too far away - as if I'm looking down the end of a spyglass, or as if they are all looking down the end of one towards me. Sometimes both, at the same time.

I've left the table rather abruptly, but when I get back, only one of my sisters notices. She claims I have a weak poker face "The worst poker face", she says. She has no idea how wrong she really is. If she can see through it even that much though, imagine if I had just started bawling in the ladies' room? Imagine if the one who puts everybody else's pieces back together - who can see that my brother's leaving is worrying my nephew and attempt to joke him out of it, who can see that the sister who tried to plan today's visit is poaching in self-recrimination (our first restaurant had been too small, too hot & unable to seat us quickly enough for my brother's patience; this next choice seemed to have no food options for our nephew with multiple food allergies) & try to give her a bit of a bolster (as the one whose plans USUALLY blow up in her face, I know that particular stew too well); who can see which little one is jealous of the baby and which big one is itching for his phone; who notices the fake smiles plastered on and rushes to fill the cracks in between - Imagine if she were to suddenly lose some of her own? 

It is not a thing that any of us wants to find out.

I know I don't always have to be the strong one, or the bossy one, or the one who notices, or the one who tries to help.  It feels like I do, but I don't. Usually, almost always, I WANT to be that one. I don't ever want to be the indifferent one or the one who doesn't care, or the one who walks away. Still,  I try to step back and give people space, and let others step up and fill different roles.

 But sometimes, like today, sitting in the Bertucci's bathroom, staring at those four tiles, trying to pull myself together enough to go back to the table instead of collapsing into a large puddle, I wonder "Why doesn't anybody ever put my pieces back together?"

I hope, some day, that there'll be someone I can depend on to do that for me. With me.

It's a lonely feeling, and I know it's not even 100% valid - I DO have people who care, who help, who fight with me to put my pieces back together: Even today, my sister noticed, asked, tried to help. But sometimes, just sometimes, it feels like I don't have that help, that I can't accept it. And that's a hard way to feel.

And if it took me a little bit longer to put my poker face back on, then I'm just going to have to be ok with that. Because I managed. I pulled through, and ate food, and coaxed smiles out of infants and adolescents and adults alike. I put a smile on my face that was semi-natural and I made it through. And we all made it home.

And that's today's triumph. And I'm going to take it.

Tonight I went out of the house

and did a grown up thing, with, like other adults!  That did not require me being poked with any needles. Shocking, I know. 

SisterCh & I decided, last minute, to jump on a Groupon deal and head out to one of those Paint Nite adventures that are probably popping up all over your Facebook feed (if my Facebook feed is any indication). 

So, in lieu of a lengthy post, here's a thing I painted (I would've included my sister's but she wrote her name on hers):

On being an auntie (again)

Dear DD ~

 Tomorrow you will be two weeks old. I hope these first two weeks of getting to know your mom and dad, your two big brothers, and as much of our crazy family as possible have been wonderful for you.  I'm sure you're pretty overwhelmed with this whole "being alive" thing: let me give you a clue - the rest of us are too: It never gets old.  Just enjoy the ride as much as you can.

You were the first baby I've ever seen being born, and ~ let me tell you ~ it is not something I'm ever going to forget.  I know you won't remember it, but for the rest of us there (and all of the aunties and uncles and cousins and brothers and grandmas and friends who weren't lucky enough to be in the room at that moment, but who were thinking of you and your mama with all of their might) it was a miracle, a treat, an honor.

If I were going to tell you your story, I could start waaaaay back at the beginning and tell you how hard your Mama and Daddy tried to make you into a reality: how they took all different sort of tests and medicines and shots and procedures to make sure that someday, there would be a little you.  But that's not the fun stuff, not really.  The fun stuff started two weeks after all of that when Mama found out you were coming.  Soon, you had all sorts of nicknames: Baby Cold, Little Nugget, Lil Man, but the one Mama & Dad used the most was Baby Dash.

We had to keep it a secret for a while, because being a baby is a dangerous proposition, but thankfully, you were up for the challenge, and soon everybody knew that there was a little guy - a little you! - in your mom's tummy. Well, almost everybody.  There was that little mix-up at your cousin's birthday party in May, when Auntie N's sister said "So I hear it's a boy!" in front of your brothers, who didn't know yet.  Poor Mom was so upset she hid in the bathroom for a while, only coming out after mean Auntie J refused to bring her food in for her. ;)

But you kept on growing big and strong in Mom's tummy, and soon there wouldn't be any hiding you; not that she wanted to.  Mama always looked lovely pregnant, even when her poor piggys got all swollen and she felt like she had "a face full of chins" - I think she was gorgeous the entire time, and she was lucky enough that (up until the last month or so) you didn't really cause too many problems.  But then there was heartburn and not sleeping and all sorts of discomfort, and by the time September rolled around, Mama seemed pretty ready for you to be born.  Of course, like a true NTE's Larger family baby, you had your own ideas about that, and kept everybody waiting until the very last week!

Even when your labor started, you took your sweet time in coming out, playing peek-a-boo with the midwives for the course of an entire day, till your poor mom was so sore and so tired and so... DONE that I'm surprised she didn't leave Daddy for the anesthesiologist when he came to give her her epidural.

Of course, that was almost 20 hours after her water broke, and 10 hours since she'd been in active labor, and 5 hours since she was at 9 centimeters only to go back to 8 when you decided you weren't quite sure that you wanted to make your entrance that day. 

Your mama is a warrior, kid: and don't you ever forget it.  I know she'll doubt it more than once in the next couple of months (years, eternities), but she wasn't the one watching the battle, she was too busy fighting it. As an observer, let me tell you that she fought FIERCE.  I wanted to sing her every song about heroes I'd ever heard:  to have Beyonce echoing "Who Run The World" down the empty corridors, "Eye of the Tiger" blasting out over and over again to help her stay pumped up.  Not that she needed it, but because she deserved it.  

In a surprising turn of events, your mama, who swears more on any given day then just about anybody I know (except for Auntie J, of course) ~ said only one word, over and over that day: Ow.  A multiverse of curse words at her disposal (and I thought up some really good ones later on, but that's skipping ahead), and all your Mama said was OW.  But it wasn't a nothing word, that ow.  It wasn't a throwaway or a waste - she meant it: Every. Single. OW. 

Each was a powerful OW, for sure.

 And behind them, I could hear how scared she was - for you, for her, for how long it was taking and how hard it was turning out to be, and the needles and the epidural (which she did not want at all, originally) - and, eventually, I could hear how exhausted she was, and how low her reserves were getting, but through it all, her OW was a freaking powerhouse of a word: A magic spell that she was weaving around the both of you, calling you, trying to get you to come out, to be here, to be safe at last. To be hers. 

I get chills just thinking of it.  How all day she moaned and whispered and prayed for you to just come out and be hers. 

Of course, there was also no small amount of whining that you weren't out already or ordering people around (Daddy especially got in trouble for things like moving his hands, going to the bathroom, or attempting to stretch), but who could blame her? She was doing all the heavy lifting, and the rest of us were just the back up.

And the back up team worked some magic in that room as well, I'll have you know: Grammy soothed with her tales of experience, her "no press here"s and  her trademarked 'brushing the hair of your forehead' move, which your mom usually doesn't allow, but couldn't get enough of that day;
Auntie J became some sort of squatting sumo-dancer, holding Mama's weight while they swayed together, trying to outlast the latest contractions, and told funny stories about how Papa used to bring them presents from the gift shop (which was really the lost and found) at work;
Daddy was a back-rubber extraordinaire, climbing into the bed behind Mama at one point and finding the exact right position (from which he could not deviate, not even for a second) to help the back labor pains feel just a little less devestating;
I did important things like guilt-eating donuts, trying to help Mama understand that taking the epidural was not a sign of failure, but a sign of progress that would help get you here safe and sound, and counting to ten really loudly and slowly.  (Also, like a dope, picking up Mama's leg at one point because she couldn't do it herself and the intern who was doing it left the room.  And that is why Auntie NTE's arm is still not working correctly today.  But it was worth it. :) )
Even Uncle Kand Papa managed to stop by after work (and, handily, after the epidural) to pass out cigars and tell you to hurry on up, respectively. And all across the Clan, phones beeped and Facebook lit up with all sorts of "C'mon kid!" and "You can do it Ch & DD!" messages.  We even had some 'haunting' visits, as the bathroom light kept shutting itself off, and we all decided that Nana, a constant "When you leave the room, shut of the light!" fanatic, wanted to let us know she was rooting for you guys too. 

We loved you already, you lucky devil, you.

But your Mama worked hardest of all, and longest of all, and eventually, after a day and some hours worth of labor, you were finally ready to make your final approach.  Hours of "Ow" and magic spells came down to a few more hours of pushing and counting and breathing and more magic spells and holding our breath and a couple more rounds of peek-a-boo with the midwife.

But eventually, there was your tiny head!- not feeling so tiny to your Mom at the moment - and all that hair! (You're our first really hairy baby, you know... most of your cousins were capital B Bald, but you're covered all over with dark downy hair.) You sort of had that cone-head thing going for you, at first, but then there was your squishy little face, your shoulders, and all the rest, and there you were!

Baby DD, all born and pink, and adorable. 3:34 am, Sept 27th.

By the time the midwife passed you to your nurse, your cone head had somehow rearranged itself into a perfectly small, round noggin, and you started crying before they even started rubbing you down. 

All fingers and toes, and fuzzy arms and legs, and heart shaped ears, and long-tree-frog toes, and button nose accounted for!
Your dad picked you up and you met your mom for the first time, and there were tears and smiles and congratulations all around!  (Grammy and I may have sniffled a little in the background, but you'll never be able to prove it. )

-------
And this is the part I will never tell you, DD ~ about how badly your Mama scared us after you were born.  How there was so much blood, that I knew, even though I'd never been in a delivery room before, that something bad was happening.  How it just kept coming, and with it came a swarm of new doctors and nurses and medicines, and machines, and how they all had that air of 'not panic' I know so well from hospitals and hospice workers.  'Not panic' must be a thing they practice, with the intended goal being that they keep their cool in emergency situations, but it has the adverse effect on any layman who's ever dealt with it before.  When they started buzzing, my heart  - so close to the surface now, thanks to your safe arrival - literally froze.  I watched the monitors as Mama's blood pressure zoomed down to meet one of mine, and searched the stone faces of the newly arrived doctors as the blood just kept pouring out.

And that's the only way I can describe it: literally pouring out. And when the meds they gave her didn't work, within five minutes, she was bundled up and was on her way down to the operating room, accompanied by the flurry of doctors and nurses and midwives, while Daddy, Grammy, your nurse and I were left in a now silent room.  It's the eeriest worst non-sound ever, honey bunch, and I am praying to a God I don't believe in that you will never have to hear it in your lifetime, even though I know it's a wasted prayer.  I was holding you as they took your mom away, and she was looking for you and I said "He's right here; he's fine. He's ok." Holding back tears, because now her face, instead of the warrior face I'd been seeing all day, was the scared face of my baby sister who used to curl up in my lap when strangers came into the room - and I told her "You're going to be just fine." in my most "I'm the boss here, I know what I'm talking about" voice as they rolled her out of the room. 

The times I use that voice the most? Are the times I feel it the least.

And then the nurse said this wasn't uncommon, and she was sure everything would be fine and that she had to take you to the nursery, and I passed you on to Daddy and took a couple of pictures and tried to stay calm and not think about how the pictures I had could be the only pictures I ever got of you with your Mom.  And I tried to use my fake "I know what I'm talking about" voice with Grammy, who never really buys it, but at least it stopped her from bursting into tears at that second, which is what we both felt like doing.  And then she went for a cigarette (which is her "I know what I'm doing" coping mechanism) and Daddy and the nurse took you to the nursery and I was left alone to pace a room with my baby sister's blood on the floor. (And her/your placenta sitting on a tray table looking gross ~ which, let me tell you, if things had gone differently, your mom wanted to EAT that.  Well, take it in pills, anyways.  And I literally thought about how it looked like liver and how I might possibly throw up on that same exact floor.)

And then I called Auntie J and tried to tell her that you were here! and the scary stuff about your mom! without freaking out too much! Which I guess I didn't pull off, because she later told Grammy I sounded like I was freaking out.  But whatever. And then I eavesdropped on the nurses at the nurses station, listening for any news from the OR and Grammy came back, and the intern came back to tell us that your mom had stopped bleeding almost as soon as she'd gotten into the OR and all was well, no tears or anything, just contractions that forgot to stop after you were born, pushing out the only thing that was left in there, Mama's blood.  And although she needed a transfusion later that day, she is fit as a fiddle now, and that's the happiest ending in happy ending land, for sure.
-----

But I won't tell you that part.  I'll stop the story a few hours later, when your mom and dad are both sleeping in their beds and you are sleeping in your little rolling see-through bassinet and I'm watching the sun come up over Cambridge & Somerville, an area where our people (at least your Mama's people), have lived on/off for at least 100 years, thinking about how now we have a new people.

 I'll finish it with me seeing my baby sister and her husband, and her brand new baby, all dreaming the dreams of the innocent, or the warriors, or the rewarded.

 Whatever you guys were dreaming about that day, it couldn't have been anything better than what was actually happening, what was brand new, and vividly real & miraculous in that hospital room that September morning.  A new family, starting their first day together.

Welcome to the world, Baby D.  Thanks for getting here safely, for helping your Mama realize she's a warrior, and for looking at me with those big dark eyes.  I'd say "I couldn't love you any more than I do right now", but all of your cousins have dis-proven that theory already, as I love them more and more every day, year, eternity.  So you better get used to your Auntie NTE, pal, because I'm sticking around.  Now, convince Mama & Daddy that 40 minutes is too far away, ok?


 

Miracle of miracles.

July rolls out; August rolls in, NTE finally manages a new post.

We're gearing up for SisterCh's baby shower on Sunday - it's Baby Mickey themed, and although I haven't done a ton of the planning/crafting, I've dabbled a little and made some cute things. I'm excited, except for how I also hate showers, which seems to be the general consensus about showers: that they're boring and annoying, but we do it anyways, because we love people.  I, personally, hate the idea of having to open presents in front of a bunch of other people (although my brother did make a good point about, how, at Christmas time this is exactly what I want us to do, each person opening gifts slowly and one at a time, which NEVER HAPPENS, but that's different, because it's just us), and I find it awkward to be watching somebody else opening presents, so that's just a weird type of party to be having, I suppose.  Showers are awesome because you get stuff you really need (not that I would know: Being single and childless, you really get screwed on this whole gift-giving side of the deal, especially, since I'm living at home, I've never even got so much as a housewarming present), but pretty much every lady I know has showers on their eye-roll, 'is it mandatory' list.  Hopefully, Sunday will still be fun, regardless of said awkwardness, because SisterJ has put a lot into planning it, and has done some tremendous work.  I'll try to remember to post some pictures next week: when you see SisterCh's belly, you're just going to want to rub it, she's totally adorable.

What else? I've met with a new primary care doc, and he seems - ok.  No giant red flags; pretty good listener, did give me a speech about weight, but it didn't seem to be his primary concern (which is good, because it sure as hell ain't mine). I'm thinking of starting the search for a therapist, as my feelings seem to be at a constant simmer lately - as if just one little bump up on the heat and I'll boil over.  Not necessarily in anger (although there's that, mostly in relation to my dad), but also sadness, or jealousy, or boredom, or just feeling completely bereft. There's not a whole lot of happiness boiling over, unfortunately. 

    ALTHOUGH - and this is a big one - I am 95% finished with a project that has taken me nearly 3 years to complete: the organization of my aunt's photographs.  When I started, I never realized it would be this difficult, but there were so many stages -

•  Because she was a smoker, I had to air out all the books for months before I could even touch them; 
• Then I had to find a way to get the books that were in albums (all those sticky paged albums, complete with yellow edges and disgusting brown corners) out of the albums without ruining them, 
• Then I had to flatten them enough to be scanned (so, more months of waiting),
•  Then I had to scan them all; 
• After that came the arduous task of identifying the particulars of each photograph and labeling them all - both physically and on the computer file - which was not easy, because a) nearly 3/4 of them were not identified previously, so I had to do a lot of asking, and comparing her photos with our photos  - I am a total Veronica Mars/Nancy Drew/Girl Sleuth, btw: I know who had what haircut in which year, who moved to which house when; what year the back porch was screened in, which dog lived in which backyard, and who drove the green car in which years before they passed it down to the next person - to get to all the answers, and 
• Then I had to put them all in some sort of reasonable order  -3/4 chronological, with exceptions made for trips (which nobody remembers what year they took them in plus, they took pictures of every animal in the zoo and that is stupid boring) and things like car shows (again, that nobody really cares about in the timeline of their lives).  
• Now I am finally putting them into actual albums (non-sticky, thank the lord).
• After that all I gotta do is put all the computer files together and dropbox them to her kids/my sibs, whoever wants them.

    Plus, in the course of those three years, I was
 - living at Grandmother's house for the summer - once for my own good, and then for hers (but neither time with access to the photos);
- helping raise some childrens; -
 having major sinus surgery & then recuperating;
- dealing with at least 22 major flares;
- grieving;
- dealing with all my family's bs;
- and a whole lot of other things I can barely remember. 

So, it's not like it was three constant years of work, but it was in my brain as a "to do" for three years (and definitely in my aunt's brain: she did not let me forget that I had her pictures, not even a little bit), and so finishing it will be a huge relief and I cannot overestimate how happy it will make me. Just putting all the pictures in the books right now (final stages! hooray!) is making me want to do a happy dance, even if it is tedious to stuff albums for four hours.  But to be able to clear something off my plate at this point and go: That was freaking hard, and I did an awesome job?  Ah-maz-ing.  Probably nobody is going to appreciate just how much work I put in (nobody even noticed when I did ours, or Nana's, really): I mean I counted candles on birthday cakes and pulled out the family bible for names long forgotten, and dug out my grandmother's pictures so that my aunt could have more pictures from her own childhood in her albums, but all my aunt will see is that one picture she knew she took on a trip to Lake George in the late 1980s that I haven't been able to find.  But I'm going to be ok with that, because I know I rocked it, and I'm going to give myself some major kudos.  Maybe even buy myself a present. Suggestions welcome!

Anyways, that's the latest from near the beach in Massachusetts (not that I've set one toe on sand this whole year, but it's still the truth).  How's all you fine folks out there in blogland?

You can't just sit there and put everybody's lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can't.*

The big news around here is that SisterCh is expecting her first baby in the fall - this is very exciting, not just for Woo Hoo, Baby! reasons, but also because she's been trying for a while, and I know she was super worried about whether it would ever happen at all. While I could not be happier for her, I will admit to also having some very complicated feelings around the whole situation.

First off, I'm super excited, as I said. She's a great step-mom to her husband's two boys, and I know she's going to be a great mama to a new baby, even if I really can't comprehend the idea of someone whose diapers I changed physically being pregnant. (This is probably something I will never comprehend.) I'm happy for her, because she was so worried about not getting pregnant, and fearful that maybe that would be a permanent problem. (Even though she has just turned 27, and we all tried to tell her she had plenty of time, that is not helpful if you are in the middle of the worry. It just isn't.)

But besides being excited and pleased, and more than a little eager to see how she copes with a newborn who is not a cat, I am also full of lesser and more shameful emotions for myself. I'm jealous, as I am now when anyone - or as it seems lately, everyone - in my sphere announces they're expecting. That's not something I'm proud of, but I'm also not particularly ashamed of it, since A)it's not the feeling that comes first or strongest and B) why the hell shouldn't I envy people who are experiencing things I want to experience? Should I be pleased that I'm seeing the PT instead of the OB? Because I'm not. To pretend otherwise seems ridiculous.

Which doesn't mean I shout and vent about my jealousy anytime someone with a baby bump approaches me - I have one or two select people who I can rant to about the seeming inequality of someone having triplets, but for the most part, it's happy face ahoy! It's weird, that you can be so excited for someone else, and so disappointed for yourself at exactly the same moment, but it's true.

But there are other issues surrounding SisterCh's pregnancy that keep all the feels creeping up on me. She was recently laid off, and didn't tell me about it. In fact, she continued to act like she would be going to work without straight up coming out and lying to my face about it. When I found out from someone else, I was confused. Then another sister said something about "Well she was embarrassed. And this house isn't exactly good at being positive about things." Which was like: OK. Well. I'll be over here in the corner, positively digging the pieces of this little dagger out of my heart.

 It doesn't seem like a lot, that sentence there, but the whole hiding it and then finding out that the reason she didn't tell us (she kept it from my parents as well, and I don't know if I was the main offender in the "less positive" rationale or a non-able-to-keep-secrets-bystander) was because we're negative about shit - it was an unexpected slap, I guess.

Because I try so hard to be positive that sometimes I feel like I should buy little pom poms and carry them around with me. I feel like I am the cheerleader for every freaking body in this family, all the fucking time! (And wow: this post sounds super cheerleader-y, NTE! Great evidence, all this ranting and raving about happy news.Well, no; but I'm not talking to them, I'm talking to you.) It was like a literal blow to me, sitting there at the table over Easter dinner, because I'm the one who says "You can do this" when nobody else shows up. I'm the one who sends cards that say "This day sucks, and yesterday sucked, but tomorrow might not, so let's find out together." I'm the one who knows you ain't going back to school this time either, but I'll spend three days tracking down the financial aid forms I helped you fill out last time - without rolling my eyes, even, because you need someone to be on your side.  I'm the one who tries so hard to find peaceful solutions in the midst of what seems like a perpetual family tornado, and it was like... wow, so, I guess a) nobody else thinks that I do that and b) why the hell have I been trying so hard for so long, then?


I'm not saying that I'm never negative - Hell, all you have to do is read two posts here to see that isn't true - but, for the most part, I'm negative about Me. I can literally think of only two things in my family that I am consistently negative about that other people are not - my dad (which I feel like I have to be, because I'm the only person who doesn't immediately forgive him for things that are not immediately forgivable, and because I feel like I have 33 years of evidence for believing the worst, plus I am the only one still living here - it is easy to say "let it go" when you don't have to live with it everyday) and my health (which, ditto: I'm the one living with it and all your cheery assessments and 'vinegar cures' in the world are only going to make me want to punch you).

But my family?  Is super negative about a lot of things, just in general - we're a sarcastic lot, by and large; we all make digs about things that happened 17 years ago (I just happen to have the best memory); we all shuffle and sigh when someone tells us they're going to change something we know they have no intention of changing; we'd all rather take a nap than take a walk - but that's just us.
I don't feel like I am a spectacularly negative person, and I feel like I make an extraordinary effort (on an almost daily basis) not to be negative - some people are naturally cheery and optimistic: I am not, and yet I try to be.

So I'm not Little Miss Sunshine, surely, but I do feel like someone you can depend on when things are falling apart, and to find out that at least two of my sisters don't exactly agree with me about that, it really hurt. I still just... can't.


Ok, there's more to this, but it was all sounding very martyr-y, and I am no martyr.  I just ... well it stung, and it was surprising, and it made me feel super unappreciated.  Which sucks.  But I think I'm maybe taking an off-hand comment really personally, and I'm going to try to let it go.  I like being the family cheerleader... I like it when other people are the cheerleaders too, so it doesn't feel like it's something that sits solely on my shoulders.  I realize that that is a responsibility I've given myself, and that I'm really upset by the idea that people can't come to me when they're in trouble because I know that sometimes they just can't.  It is a fundamental flaw in living a life with chronic illnesses - sometimes you are forced out of the loop, into unplug, back into your cocoon.  So I should be glad that they have each other to rely on, and I am.  I guess it's just another - less expected - place of jealousy.

So there you have it: a couple of late-night, green-eyed confessions that make me feel both ridiculous and full of myself - I'm jealous of all the baby-having that does include me (even while I'm totally on board with the additional Auntie-ing that comes along with it), and I'm mad that people don't think I'm supportive enough that they can tell me things and depend on me when the chips are down.  It sort of seems like those two things might be two sides of the same coin?  Maybe I'm not as good at being a cheerleader as I'd like to be.  I know I'm not, since I'm hardly ever rooting for myself, which is a big problem.

Now that I've babbled it all out here, looks like a) my cheerleading skills are not as shiny as I hoped they were; b) everything else is about me feeling left out/left behind.  And that's a sucky feeling.  Gotta work on moving somewhere, anywhere, just so long as I'm not stalled here anymore. 


For tonight, though, I'm off to bed.  Night all. 

*The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Where have I been?

I see that it's been nearly a month between postings, and I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten you... nearly everyday I have a "You should say something to the nice blog people" moment, but it isn't accompanied by the energy and effort that's been required. There's a lot of reasons for that - health issues (surprised?), other people's health issues, summer with the kids, life in general. And there was SisterCh's wedding, which was nearly two weeks ago, and I am still recovering from it.

The wedding itself - the whole getting married part - was wonderful and sweet and short and simple, and I couldn't be happier for my sister and new brother in law.


Everything else? The planning and the crafting and the being the peacekeeper and the living in a family of 'always lates'? Was capital K Krazy. It was like drowning in a pool of anxiety for days at a time, and not knowing how to come up for air... as if I had dove into the deep end of an actual pool and someone through the plastic pool cover on while I was floating underwater: It felt like I spent a lot of time frantically clawing at it, digging for a way to surface. I don't exactly know why it was like that - some of it was me, some of it was other people, some of it was those stupid health issues I was talking about, and some of it just falls into the 'holy shit: this is my life?' category - but it was heavy, and - as much as I love my sisters & love to be able to help them out - I am so glad that nobody else is engaged right now. We'll talk about it more later, for sure, since I've been dissecting it in my head ever since, and trying to learn from my mistakes, but I'm too exhausted to go into it in detail tonight.

I am once again in recuperation mode, but there's a lot of unavoidable stresses that are making that pretty difficult. I'm getting there, though, slowly but surely. In the meantime, how about a picture of the happy couple, just so neither of us leaves with the impression that it was a completely horrible experience? (It really wasn't: I need to do a better job explaining soon, so it doesn't seem like it. Promise it won't be a month before I come back!)

I kind of hate bridal showers

So, Miss Janice asked me the other day who was getting married, and it occurred to me that I hadn't written about SisterCh's wedding since she announced she was engaged, last New Year's Eve. The reason for that is that it was, until about three months ago, a nebulous sort of thing - "We're getting married in 2012, so we'll be married before the world ends" or "We're getting married next year, when we've saved enough money" are both actual quotes regarding when the wedding would be happening. And then, suddenly, around April of this year, a near nervous-breakdown SisterCh came to the house one day and just let loose - Why weren't we helping her? Why didn't anybody care about the wedding? Why was she having to do everything all by herself? There was some other stuff, of course, because we are a family, and there's always other stuff, but this wedding stuff was mostly out of nowhere, for me, anyways. I told her that the reason nobody seemed to be helping with the wedding (even though I felt like I was doing what I could) was because it didn't seem like there was an actual wedding to plan yet: She had a sort-of date, but no real plans aside from that, and that I kept expecting her to change the date (for the third time) because they weren't ready financially. When she insisted that the wedding was happening this August 6th (as in less than two months from today) even if it meant courthouse steps and Little Debbie cakes, I let her know that I was totally on board to help out as best as I could.

So here we are, with a little under two months to go, and we just finished the invitations this weekend. And now, SisterJ (who has made miraculous and tentative peace with SisterCh, thank the lord) & I have to plan a bridal shower pretty much immediately. Ideas are easy - it's the follow through that's tough.

The other thing that makes it tough is that I find parties where grown-ups sit around watching another grown-up open presents for an hour or so boring, intimidating, and anxiety producing. I mean, I've never had a shower, but I've been to my fair share, and I know that no matter what, you're expected to open the gifts right there in front of people. Which brings us to Problem A and Problem B.

Problem A is not my problem so much as it is everybody else's, but they insist on making it my problem, which is annoying. I am a slow present unwrapper. On Christmas, I sit with my pile of presents and watch everybody else open theirs first, because I hate to miss anything. Then I start lifting the tape off of each end, and - without fail - at least one person will be complaining before I even finish that first present (sometimes before I even start opening that first present). When it's just my family, I figure "screw you" and do as I damn well please - unwrapping presents is almost as much fun as wrapping them, and why should I rush through it just to make you happy. Even so, I can't recall a Christmas where someone hasn't stepped in to 'help', and moved things along faster. But I think I'd be too self-conscious to take my time unwrapping in front of a larger group of people, who are all sitting there watching me, with no presents of their own to enjoy in the meantime. It would be wicked awkward.

Which brings us to Problem B, aka Why is everybody staring at me ? Seriously: at most parties, even birthday parties, there's a whole lot of mingling, a little bit of focused attention during cake cutting time (when it's dark, at least, while a roomful of people who can't really sing sing you a song as loudly as possible), and then more mingling and eating and then everybody goes home. Showers (baby or bridal, take your pick), are pretty much the opposite - a whole lot of undivided attention focused on that one person, broken up with occasional stupid games, nibbling of foods, or mingling with the people you're seated with. Too much eye of the storm for me, thank you very much.

And, thankfully, that is not a problem I have to deal with right now. Right now I have to figure out a date to have the thing, where to hold it, what to feed people, what to make them do while they're here. I have basically two ideas - a theme and perhaps the beginning of a family tradition? And I pretty much have to do all of that in the next three or four days, because there's very few weekends left between now and the actual wedding. So, I'm going to pin down SisterJ tonight, see if we can't get something started here.

Wish me luck.

And also feel free to comment on any non-boring bridal shower you've ever been to, because we could use all the help we could get.