Life in the Middle Lane

I have 3 siblings.  You’ve heard me talk about my brother that’s in Afganistan, and my youngest sister, Kelly Belly, who is the smartest person I know.

I don’t often talk about my sister Maretta, so I’m going to tell you a story about her today.  Maretta (Retta Feta) is only 18 months younger than me.  Apparently, my mother didn’t realize that she could get pregnant so quickly after birthing me.  For all intents and purposes, I cannot remember my life without Retta being a part of it. We went to the same elementary, middle and high schools. I used to hang out with her class and go with her on field trips. (I don’t know how I got out of my classes to attend all her events.) Maretta and I were never in the same class because Maretta has Down’s Syndrome.

Maretta’s Down’s Syndrome was never a issue in our family. Often when friends meet her for the first time they are surprised by it because we don’t think it’s something that needs to be explained in some way.  She was never treated any differently. Mama expected her to go to school and do well, the same as the rest of us.  Specialness was not a hot commodity in our family. Everyone is special. I’m special because I was the oldest, Maretta’s special because of Down’s Syndrome, Matthew’s special because he’s the only boy, and Michaele’s special because she’s the youngest. See how that works? No one was ever jealous and no one had “middle child syndrome”.

I’ll be the first to admit that my siblings and I don’t have a traditional sibling relationship. We just love each other too much, and we’ve always gotten along way too well.  That doesn’t mean that there haven’t been times when I’ve wanted to bang their heads together.  With Retta, I rarely wanted to bang her head against something; I was more likely to want to bang my head against something. She has never liked it when I’ve told her what to do, and she is WAY more stubborn than I am. And quite honestly, she’s stronger than I am, so I never could bang her head into anything the few times I’ve tried.

Maretta is very caring and loving but, like all of us, she has her flaws. Maretta had a couple of years between her birth and our brother’s.  She was none too pleased to have Matt in the family.  She didn’t want to touch him, she didn’t want to play with him, she didn’t want him around and she had HELLA tantrums when he was a baby.  I, on the other hand, treated him like a new toy.

And when Kell was born a few years later, things weren’t much better. Maretta was indifferent to her at best.  Kell was is an attention whore, and I don’t think Maretta liked having this little screaming meanie monopolizing Mom’s and Dad’s and my attention. Maretta ignored her when she could and tolerated her when she had to. (Now they have a great relationship, and their closeness makes me proud and a little jealous).

Maretta’s disdain for children extends to all babies and toddlers. Under the best circumstances she ignores them and pretends that they don’t exist.

So when I, my Mom, Maretta and Michaele decided to visit Matthew’s wife and babies this Christmas we weren’t sure how Retta would react to the little ones.  Honestly, we weren’t sure how ANY of us would react.  We all were meeting Matt’s family (wife included) for the first time and it was a little scary for all of us.  Moreover, since Matt’s in Afghanistan, we could not even use him as a buffer.

Luckily, Christmas was AWESOME. My brother’s wife is really sweet and we had a lot of fun. We each made sure to get some one-on-one bonding time with Maria. And I, personally, think Matt did a good job of adding her to our family. And my boy has made some pretty babies.

The babies are the cutest creatures I have ever seen.  They are cuter than puppies, kittens, bunnies, and strawberry pie a la mode.  I am madly, dangerously, irreversibly in love.  And I’m not the only one.  Maretta couldn’t get enough of those children. Almost immediately she was curious about them, peeking over our shoulders so that she could get a good look at them while we held them, or showering them with kisses whenever they were close to her. And before long she wanted to hold them by herself and talk to them.  This was the ONLY time that Maretta has ever given two hoots about a kid, and now she’s cooing, and kissing and rocking this beautiful child. *shaking my head*

Life is grand. And I’m an auntie.

If we are Facebook friends, check out my “Christmas in Colorado photo album”. And if we aren’t facebook friends, check my photos out here.

For the past 10 days, the prodigal son my baby brother has been in town. He hasn’t been home in over 2 years, and the last time I saw him, he had a cast covering his entire right leg (courtesy of a roadside bomb in Iraq) and I couldn’t stop petting him out of gratitude that he was still alive. So it was EXCELLENT to get to see him this year whole and walking without assistance. Additionally, my super awesome cityslicker baby sister has been home from college since my birthday.

As my siblings and I are unnaturally close, I’ve been spending a LOT of time at my mother’s house since their arrival. Beating each other up, fighting over the remote, laughing at mom (and each other), burping in each other’s faces and blaming each other for eating the last of the banana pudding (I promise it wasn’t me). It was amazingly fun and I’m so glad I was able to play with them.

I couldn’t help but notice, however, that I’m not 14. My sister isn’t a precocious 5 years old and my brother isn’t a shy preteen.  We are all adults. (That’s a f*cking scary thought).

In addition to our extremely juvenile antics, we also had some real conversations about life, love, depression and death. (Funny how those four go together).  At any rate, my babies are grown. They have opinions and ideas. Nevermind that our conversations, even on those heavy subjects, still result in oodles of raucous laughter.

The lives of my siblings do not revolve around our neat little nuclear family unit any more. I think my mother did a fantastic job of raising fully formed humans, even though, she sometimes (and I when it comes to my siblings) have a hard time adjusting to the way our family roles have changed.

My brother, who, when we were growing up, would easily toss my sisters and I around like his own personal rag dolls, acknowledged yesterday while he was struggling to carry my sister up a flight of stairs, either she’s getting heavy or he’s getting old (both, of course, are true). But I couldn’t help remembering how easily he would have accomplished that same task a few years ago.

Over this holiday break, I have had a chance to hang out with some of my “big” cousins.  I mean those cousins that were grown (and uber cool in my young eyes) when I was a teenager.  Lil’ Moni used to sneak and listen to the “adult” conversations that would flow around them.  They were usually about who’s having sex, is it any good, how often and with whom -apparently conversations that I was too young to hear then (and I didn’t understand them anyway), but now …. now is a different story. Now, not only is my participation requested in these conversations, it’s damn near mandatory. I can’t count the number of times this week that my family asked me about my “social life”.  And the stories that they tell, wow. I could write a book.

And now my big cousins have kids of their own, kids whose ears are routinely covered or who are flat out told to go outside and play, but who I am sure are smart enough to figure it out what the hell is going on.

But I have a very important question. Where did all the time go?

I say all this to say that time keeps on ticking, ticking, ticking, into the future. And there is NOTHING we can do about it.

As much as I’d like to keep my siblings young, carefree and innocent of the dirt, evil, and suffering in this world, I can’t. Life happens, man. As much as I will always remember my big cousins, some of whom are in their 40’s now, as young and bright and shiny twenty and thirtysomethings marching toward the prime of their lives, I must remind myself that I am now in that position.  If my life is to move forward (and it must) then I have be aware that time stands still for no one.

We get two choices: move of our own volition or get run over. I’m not getting run over, but repeatedly this holiday season has reminded me,

Cherish this time. Soak it up. Remember this. You will never live this moment again.

And luckily, I listened.

Check it: I looked into my crystal ball, and I saw that 2009 is going to be awesome (for all of us, but for me especially).

Last year, when I was myspace blogging, I made a big deal about the New Year and setting goals, not resolutions, and blah blah blah. Even this past fall, when the semester started, I took some time to set some goals. (Some of which I have done NOTHING about)

As I’m looking down the barrel to 2009, my brain starts ticking off stuff for the upcoming semester and the year. (Get a job, get my portfolio together, finish my thesis, prepare for a change, spend time with my friends and classmates, start my business, learn to swim, self-host this blog).

But my heart says, Oh, f*ck it. Can’t I just chill out and see what happens?

I’m not saying that goals suck and we shouldn’t make them (maybe I am???) What I mean is – If we really look deep within ourselves we know what the hell we need to do. Do we need to take the next step in our career? Step out on our own? Lose weight? Exercise? Eat healthily? Finally get our teeth cleaned?  Do we need to slow down? Spend more time with our loved ones? Concentrate on self-care? Get a life?

Whatever it is I (and you) need to do, WE ALREADY KNOW WHAT IT IS!!!!!!!!! Duh, it’s probably staring us in the face.

My problem, and I’m sure I’m not the only one, isn’t knowing WHAT I need to do. It’s the doing of it that trips me up.  I get scared or anxious or doubtful or LAZY and I cop out.

And that is unacceptable.

So I’m not going to make a never ending list of new goals or resolutions or whatever you want to call them.

I’m just going to make one.

Do the things I know in my heart I need to do.

No matter how scared I get or how crazy it seems or what other people think.  Some things I just KNOW I’m supposed to do.

So this year, I’m just going to f*cking do what my scattered little brain wants and I’m not going to over think it.

And as I write these words my brain says, but wait, you need to plan, you need to think, you NEED to worry…. and I feel the old self-doubt and anxiety pitter pattering through my chest.

SO I take a deep breath and acknowledge that this sh!t ain’t gonna be easy. But it is necessary. Didn’t Tupac say, “I don’t want it if it’s that easy”?

Otherwise, what would be the point? I believe that is would almost be stupid to add “Complete MPA school” or “Get a job” to my 2009 goals.

Why?

Because those things are not OPTIONAL. They are GOING to happen. It’s a wrap.

But I haven’t always followed my heart (or exercised, for that matter). So I’m going to concentrate to those things that I have let fall by the way side. (ahem, me!!!)

(Aside: I heard somewhere that it takes a month to form a habit. So if I resolve to do the things I know I should, by February I should be good. )

So yeah, the crystal ball said it was going to be a super awesome year.  Can’t you feel it!!!?!?!?!?

Hello! Obama is going to be inaugurated, and W is headed back to Texas. That alone is a major achievement.

And

Recessions are hotbeds for innovation, so even though the economy is sh!t we need this time renew ourselves (like when the forest burns down, then it regrows as a more diverse ecosystem)

And

We get another year to grow and live up to our full potential; proving that we can be better than our former selves.

Yay for us!

Happy New Year, party people!

Tell me what your 2009 goals/resolutions are AND what are you most looking forward to in the OH NINE.

Every since Eysqueen wrote about Santy Claus, or maybe it was just seeing the fat man EVERYWHERE, or maybe it was the lady behind me in a store telling her kids if they didn’t straighten up she was going to tell Santa to give their toys to kids who could behave. Or maybe it is just after December 13 and no one is talking about my birthday anymore.

Whatever the reason, my HATRED of Santa Clause has doubled tripled.This week I went to a X-Mas party, and the host had Black Santas everywhere. And I wanted to stomp their little fat faces in.

On other occasions this week, I have gotten a chance to play with a few of my very cute little cousins, who have been very excited about getting presents (and having new people to play with). And every so often one of the stupid adults would say something stupid about Santa Claus coming, and I would grit my teeth and hold my tongue.

Why?

Because all I wanted to say was: SANTA CLAUS DOES NOT EXIST!!!!!!!!!!!

I think it is ABSOLUTELY wrong to trick kids into believing in this FAKE person. I mean, boogyemen don’t exist, right? And there isn’t (and has never been, according to my mother) a goblin living under my bed, waiting to eat my toes and suck me under the bed, right?

Then why the F*CK to very educated parents persist in lying to their kids about a fat happy man that breaks into homes EVERY YEAR?

My mother never told my siblings and I that there was a Santa Claus.

And I thank her dearly for it.

WHY?

Because when we got Christmas presents, we understand the SACRIFICE and HARDWORK, on my mother’s part that went into making sure that we had presents at all. AND we were F*CKING grateful and hugged and kissed our mother to let her know that her good deeds did not go unnoticed.

Unlike these badass kids today who do not understand the meaning of thankfulness, giving and sharing.

All they know is MINE and GIMME.

The meaning of “Christmas” has completely been forgotten. So forgotten that I was forced to send out the following Christmas Day message

Merry Hanukkah, Happy Christmas, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice and other pagan and commercial gift-giving season.

I feel that I have to acknowledge the season, but I kind of hate Christmas and all it has come to represent. I would rather get presents during the year for being good, rather than having the pressure and the competition of getting (and giving) the right present for Christmas.

And while I LOVE my family, I would rather visit them individually at their homes, than trudging from house to house on Christmas Day forcing myself to smile and be f*cking merry.

I’d rather be a home in my sweats watching a movie (or a House marathon on USA).

Why do we continue to buy into the forced merriness of this time of the year? (while it is cold as BALLS, and we can’t even go from house to house without repeated layering up (to go outside) and stripping (once we get into the house)).

At the very least, can’t we move Christmas to August? And make it a mandatory beach vacation full of beautiful half-naked people and margaritas?

*sigh*

Anyone wanna co-sign that?

In the meantime, I, evil demon that I am, have been whispering under my breath all week, “I hate f*cking Santa.”  And it has been oh so hard not to randomly tap little kids on the shoulder and say, SANTA DOES NOT F*CKING EXIST!!!!

Would it be so bad to just gather all the munchkins together and say, Kids, your moms and dads work hard. They work and save (or borrow and steal) to make sure that you get that Big Wheel or Xbox or Barbie doll, so when they tell you to do your homework, or clean your room or eat your veggies, YOU better f*cking do it! There is no Santa, there is no naughty/nice list. There are just the parents that you drive crazy 364 days a year. Be NICE to your parents, and be NICE to your teachers. Behave yourselves in public, and stop being an embarrassment.

It’s the least the little rugrats can do to repay their lemming parents for keeping Toys R US in business, right?

Ok, I’m done.

I hope everyone had a nice semi-religious, pagan holiday season.

Love,

Your neighborhood Grinch