I love my family

I love that Danny is perfectly willing to go outside in nothing but a diaper, but he always grabs shoes and a hat on his way to the door. It might me my bunny slippers and a toy hard hat, but he feels he needs shoes and a hat more than he needs pants. He's like a 1950s sitcom dad, but with bare legs.

I love that Tommy thinks he has more money if he counts the same bills twice. Like currency depends entirely on the numbers you say as you count. I'm confident he will grow up to be a very successful economist some day. He'll probably run Wall Street.

I love that Ryan, with her teenage girl body and her Malibu Barbie looks, is still a 9 year old tomboy sometimes. The other day she came home from a walk and said she found a dead thing by the creek. When I asked her what it was she said it's lower jaw was just bone but the rest of it was "kinda there" but she couldn't get close enough to see what it was because the smell was too bad.  Just when I worry that she's growing up too fast she reminds me that she's not quite at the date nights and curfew extensions age yet.

I love that Tom lets Tommy help him in the kitchen even though it involves spilled flour and an eggy floor.

Damn uterus

Diaper bags. Baby Mum-Mum crackers.  Gerber Puffs. Folding the front of the diaper down for the umbilical chord. The Moby wrap.
Oddly enough, I don't want them.  I truly think that even if I won the lottery and all my kids died, I wouldn't want to have a new baby.  I think I'm done.
I want a hysterectomy. 
I'll have to think on it  a while. My Mirena is still good for another 3 1/2 years so I have time. But if I'm done using my uterus, why deal with periods at all?

Merry Christmas, with Rum!

I have, on my mother's side, eight first cousins. Of those eight, two are genuinely nice to me.  Last year I mentioned on facebook my (then) newfound love of rum balls and one of my genuinely nice cousins posted a quick "Feel free to bring me by a batch. lol"  And so I did. This year I am making him some as well.  The thing is his sister, the second genuinely nice cousin, is a recovering alcoholic so she can't have any. In fact, I don't know if there will be any alcohol at all at my extended family's Christmas festivities this year and I don't want to be responsible for some showing up. (I never attend the festivities because of the 1-4 ratio of genuinely nice to me people there so I have no idea what's there or not.)  So now I have to smuggle rum balls to my cousin.  This has become so much more complicated than I thought it would be. 

hahaha I think I broke my uncle.

So "Emmanuel" called me last night wondering if I wanted to ride with him when he went to visit Mom today and I had to tell him that she didn't want visitors.  At all. No exceptions. So he got all sad and pouty on the phone. Then he asked how she was doing, so I told him what I thought was good news. I said that she's recovering wonderfully and could come home now except that they want to keep her to run some more tests because they can't figure out where the cancer came from so they're just gonna do another scan.

"She has cancer?"

*shake my head.*  *smack my forehead*
"Emmanuel, she just had a brain tumor removed. She has cancer.  Didn't she tell you that?"

"She said they didn't know what it was or where it came from."

"They don't know where it came from. It's not brain cancer; it didn't start there. It spread to the brain and they don't know where it started or where else it is."

"But they took it all out, right?"

"They took out the big tumor. They couldn't get to the little ones so they're going to get them with chemo and radiation and hope that gets them wherever they came from."

"I don't know what that means. What do you mean, where it came from? And what other tumors?"

"Em, this isn't something they caught early. She has Stage 3 or 4 cancer. It is spreading throughout her body and is in her brain  now. She has cancer and they say she's had it for a while, and they can't find all of it."


Sometimes it's funny to mess with idiot family members.  Sometimes it's just sad.  I think I'll just text "Sheila" if I ever have anything really bad to tell him. On the bright side, though, Mom called me today while I was at the grocery store and told me I needed to come pick her up because they were sending her home today anyway.  But just in case you've never tried to get into the University of Iowa Hospital as a University of Iowa football game let out directly across the street, let me just advise you never to try. The fucking cops won't let you in the parking garages, there are tailgaters in there if you do manage to sneak in, and the football fans all act irritated that the hospital doesn't just shut down for them.  We live in a really fucked up society when football trumps hospitals as a priority.

A letter to unnamed members of my family

I shall call her Sheila, and he Emmanuel, because those are in no way their names so if they ever read this they can't really sue me.

Dear Sheila,
I realize that you still blame me for reporting you to the state for medical neglect, even though I didn't report you and you were totally guilty of medical neglect, for the time you joked on facebook about how your diabetic 4 year old's blood sugar was in the 400s and it was so cute that he didn't understand why he felt sick while you didn't take him to the hospital, and then followed up with the fact that you were told by his doctor to take him to the hospital at 300 but just wouldn't.  Yeah, that happened but I forgive you.  For the accusation, not for being an awful mother, but we'll let the state handle that.  Anyway, about your dad.
He's a vagina. Sorry to be blunt but he's a big weepy ball of mess.  I understand that you hero-worship him in a way bordering on creepy and West Virginia, and that he's totally the most wonderful man ever to gut animals for fun, but he needs to stop blubbering on my mother about my mother. Seriously, you cannot call someone who is scared for her life and bawl incoherently into the phone about how scared you are for her life. This isn't about him, and she had about a million more important things to focus on than making him feel better. Give him a xanax, tuck him into bed (because I totally believe you do that already) and take away the cell phone.

Also, I text. When I get news about mom, I go through my phone and send out one update to about half a dozen people.  If Emmanuel doesn't know how to text, or can't afford to text, then he doesn't get updated. Not just because he makes me want to punch him in his weepy face, but because I simply do not have the time to call everyone who wants updates. I am not going to tell a brain surgeon to hold on while I call your father. Not gonna happen. Because I'm a bitch that way.

So, good luck with the whole reverse Oedipal thing, and the son you'll make blind before he becomes a teenager, and I'll text you updates if I feel like it. Or not. Whatever.

Love,
the black sheep

Beyonce the dragon. Rawwwwrrrr!

One dog resulting from Tom's sister bringing her dog over while ours was in a friendly mood, one cat rescued by lesbians, one turtle kidnapped from the New Mexico desert, one albino catfish that survived by eating all the goldfish, two parakeets in a teenage girl's bedroom, two tree frogs (the last of their kind after a mass pool-cleaning genocide killed off the rest of the tadpoles), and now a bearded dragon inherited from a friend's daughter who got tired of upkeep when the novelty wore off.  I thought Tommy would love the lizard (I've named it Beyonce) since he loves dragons. But he alternately tells me that dragons are scary in real life (he has a point, there) and that dragons fly, therefore this must be a "Caymen" (chameleon, which just means small lizard to him).
So, maybe Beyonce's a bit much for this house.  It's not a large house, and the tank it came with is huge, and as we learned this morning, not at all cat-proof.  So I asked on facebook if anyone would like it.  I got an almost immediate response from a friend whom I've known for 15 years, but by then Tom was talking about maybe keeping the thing so I said I'd have to get back to her.  Then this morning, after we fished the cat out of the tank admit screams of "Tee tat, don't bite my caymen!" I got another response.  My half-brother, who will not speak to me because I remind him of my father whom he never knew, has children I have never and may never meet. And my brother's wife says their oldest son would LOVE to have a bearded dragon.  So, if we do get rid of the thing (and it's looking like keeping it would require buying a whole new tank with a cat-proof lid, there's a slim chance I could meet my unknown nephew, and maybe my half-brother if he comes to get it.  And I would love to get to know my half-brother, or at least see him once.  He looks just like my dad, and he's a close enough relative that he's on the list of people I need to suck up to if I ever need a kidney transplant, and I like to know relatives that close.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go chase the cat off the top of the entertainment center again. He's peering into Beyonce's tank.  I think he just wants the crickets, though. When he was in there earlier, he never even looked at the damn caymen.

I'm sure I'm saying this wrong, because that's what I do.

I am so tired of feeling like everyone's happiness and mood depend on me. Everything I say seems to be insulting or mean and then people are pouting and moping and slamming doors. It's like, if I'm not tongue kissing their ass, I'm insulting them.  If I tell Tommy to quit pushing Danny, or to share a toy, he bursts into tears and lies on the floor and then slams the back of his head into the floor, and then wants lots of hugs and kisses because he's hurt. If I tell Tom that I think we should let professionals dig up the perimeter of the house and waterproof the basement, I have no faith in him and I never think he can do anything and I called him stupid.  I causally mentioned to my mother today, in response to her asking me what I've been up to, that I've been going through the boys' room getting rid of old toys, and her response was "Well go through and add up how much every toy cost and then remember that when you buy them new stuff for their birthdays and Christmas!" I said, "So now I have to leave teething rings and rattles in the toybox forever because getting rid of toys they don't play with anymore is a waste of money?" and she got all huffy and offended and apparently my response was needlessly insulting.  I just feel like I can't contribute to a conversation, or make a suggestion, or have an idea, without it somehow being taken as second-guessing someone or correcting them.  I feel like I just don't want to talk, to anyone, about anything, for like a week. Not a "hi" or "bye" or anything, because hi leads to what's up and what's up leads to why whatever is up must be wrong.. Just take a break from it all. But that would be insulting and rude and then they'd pout and slam doors and hang up. Although, to be honest, there's not much you can do but hang up when someone's completely mute.

It's just so dramatic

I hate drama. I abhor it, can't stand it, loathe it. One of the reasons I have such disdain for reality TV is that it's all alliances and schemes and all sorts of drama. I used to have drama; I fed into it and I fed off of it. But one night (I remember it well) as I sat in my car with the windows rolled up to keep some chick from punching me in the face, the thought suddenly occurred to me; I'm too old for this shit. I was 19 at the time, but from that night forward, I had no patience for it. If my ex was calling me all the time and wouldn't stop, I didn't plead and beg him to leave me alone. I threatened to call the cops and after the very next call, I did. If a male friend's girlfriend got jealous and acted all bitchy to me, I just walked away and wished him luck. I didn't get up in her face and demand respect.

At a couple points in my life since then I've worried that I've taken my intolerance of drama too far and just shut out all emotion. Where is the line, I wondered. But I smile when my kids do cute things and I get upset when my husband is selfish, and I feel remorse when I am selfish. What I don't do is get wrapped up in my tween daughter's social life, or take differences of opinion as personal insults. And I'm basically proud of that.

But I am, at heart, shy and insecure. It is why I mutter, and it is also why, if called upon to be any kind of aggressive, I will be passive aggressive. I hate confrontation. If somebody says something stupid that pisses me off and I respond to it, they are just going to say even more stupid stuff and then I'll hear it and get more pissed and then I'll get mad at myself for caring what they said and it's not even worth it. Or maybe I do care what they think, and they have just offended me, am I going to want to get into a huge fight before waiting to see if the insult rolls off my back after a good night's sleep? Ahh, it's just too much trouble. I am better off muttering.

I bring this up because I am trapped, held against my will, in family drama. Maybe it's my fault. There seems to be within me some defect which doesn't allow for loyalty. If I like something I like it for actual reasons I have thought of in my head, not just because it is mine. My country, my high school, my family. I don't tend to like blindly following along with something just because fate plopped me down in the middle of it. I assume my family can see that and that they don't very much appreciate it. Whatever the reason, there is a small handful of family that I actually would choose to associate with, and the rest is collateral damage at holidays. Sadly, this leaves me out of the loop for the most part, so I don't hear much gossip and never seem to know what's going on. Apparently one of my cousins had a visit from DCFS a few months back and blames me for it. I told her I didn't do it, but then I never heard any more about it so I have no idea how it turned out. Did she ever find out who called them, did she get them off her back, are they still bothering her? I will probably never know because if I ever asked anyone, it would only look like I was the one who sicced them on her. Ugh. Drama!

I have another family member who is apparently (I hear it all third and fourth hand) going through some very rough times. I would love to reach out to her and let her know that I'm here for her, but I'm not sure I can. I wouldn't know how. And then I think, would I just be taking on her drama? Could I actually offer her any help, any advice she couldn't get a hundred other places? Does the fact that we are related and I can stand her actually earn me a pass into her life? And while I sit here pondering these heavy questions, I realize that it's all drama.

I'm a pretty cut and dried person. Either it's worth worrying about, or it isn't, or it is but it's none of my business. I'm not the kind of person to cry at the evening news. I'm not going to go to a candlelight vigil for someone I've never met. I am always shocked when I read that some kid got killed in a high profile case and 1000 people went to the funeral. Who goes to a stranger's funeral? I mean, that involves taking off work or arranging child care, all so you can go stress out relatives who are already grieving. Yes, I understand that the death was tragic, but do you need to overflow a church to let it be known that you are not heartless? Send a plant! But when it comes to family I'm never sure. And when friends try to lean on me for things, I always have to blurt it out. Do you want someone to just listen, someone to advise, or someone to be supportive no matter what? Because otherwise, I'll tell them I think they're being stupid. And friends don't always want to hear that, oddly enough.