Like-Ability

What with this human growing inside me, I've been thinking a lot about the kind of parent I want to be, and really, I'm realizing, that I have to first think about the kind of person I'd like to be. Because the truth is....I'm not there yet.

For starters, I'm horribly selfish. I mean it. I'm the world's worst roommate. I never clean, I eat all the leftovers, and I nap on the couch- inconveniencing everyone around me. Seriously awful. It is a wonder anyone who lived with me in college still speaks to me, and even more of a wonder that I am still happily married to such a wonderful guy. To top it all off, I'm downright bossy and I can't control the volume of my voice. Seriously, I'm a delight.

Therefore, it's natural that when I think of this baby coming in March, I panic. I mean, there are so. many. ways. to parent. I've tossed and turned and thought a lot about it, and I'm still not sure what kind of parent I want to be, but I do know that I have a few things to work on before this human starts looking up to me as their first life example in this big crazy world. So I'm trying to make some changes.

I've decided I want to be a person that makes others feel good when they're around me. Sounds easy, right? Don't be an asshole, have a sense of humor, and people will like you. But making others feel good after spending time with you is a different beast. I've realized that I feel best around people who make me laugh, but not necessarily at others' expense. People who listen to me as much or more than they talk, and people who value what I have to say and make me feel important. I feel the best around people who make me think (especially when I don't want to) and who illuminate my bad habits by showing me a better way.

Spotting these kinds of people is really easy. Being one is really, really hard.

I talk a LOT. Like, a lot a lot. I think it's why I became a teacher- so I always have a captive audience. (seriously, it's a nice perk) But to make people feel good about themselves, I have to listen. I have to ground what I say in what was said before me, which means I have to listen in a more holistic way, instead of dividing my time. I have to work to make the people who are important to me feel that way, by inconveniencing myself at times to make them feel better. I need to be more thoughtful about holding doors, helping others, and being kind to strangers- even if they are the scary people on the bus.

I guess I want my kid to feel good about being with me most of the time, but most importantly, I want this baby to be the kind of person that is...well...kind. That helps others. That is better than I am at being naturally thoughtful. That adds to the world. But before that can really happen, he or she is going to need an example. Thank goodness these kiddos take a long time to cook, because I'm going to need the next five months to work on making others happy more naturally. In fact, I may need all the practice I can get.

Shit Sandwich

I've been avoiding you, imaginary friends. Mainly because things have kind of sucked lately. I don't think I realized how many crappy things had been going on in the past week or so until my co-worker, H, complimented me on my sparkly shoes.

"Thanks," I replied. "IneedsomesparklebecausemylifesucksandmygrandpagotmovedtohospicecareandKevandIgotjumpedintheparkonMondayandIjustNEEDEDtowearmyglitterTomstoday."

Yep, because that's how rational people respond to compliments.

Sorry, H. Thanks for being a pal. I guess I need to get it all out there.

So, anyways, things have been kind of crappy lately. A real shit sandwich. To make two long stories short, last Sunday my grandpa fell and hit his head. He hadn't been doing so hot before then, but he had to have emergency brain surgery, which he had a 30% chance of coming out of without brain damage. He was in a coma for most of last week, and things have been touch and go since. Knowing that the man who gave me my love of family, hyperbole, ice cream, storytelling, gin, and troublemaking is slowly riding the tide out is tough. It hurts really badly. I just feel like a piece of my childhood is going to. Growing up blows sometimes. Shit sandwich.

Then, this past Monday, Kev and I were cutting through the large, well-lit park at 8:45 pm during the halftime of the Bears game to walk the four blocks home from a friend's house. Laden with work bags and a grocery bag full of leftover snacks, we pass two skinny teenage boys in hoodies who are sitting on a bench together not saying a word. Weird. We walk by, then hear a flurry of footsteps. One punches Kev in the face. He staggers, then they immediately run away. Kev's nose gushes blood, we walk to the corner bar and file a police report. Terrifying. I hate that it happened in my backyard, I hate that I was scared to ride the train and take the bus home after dark (at 7 pm). Most importantly, I hate that Kev got hurt and I was helpless to do anything. Shit sandwich.

But, as with any good sandwich, the shit sandwich is not really about the filling. Which, in this case, is metaphorical poop. Any sandwich is really a good or bad middle surrounded by a soft pillow of bread. As I'm writing this, I'm realizing there is a nice cushiony bun surrounding all this nasty stuff.

My grandpa came out of his coma with no brain damage, and has recognized everyone who visited. Yesterday, when discussing his discharge options from the hospital, after they declared they can't do much for him anymore, he very clearly said "enough's enough." He over and over said he wanted to go home, he was ready for hospice, he knew these were his last days and he was ok with letting go. He gets to end his life the way he has lived it- with bluntness, dignity, and class. In the meantime, I've talked to my siblings nearly daily, a minor miracle considering two of them are in college and the other is in law school. I didn't realize how much I need more of them in my life. Kev has instinctively known what to do for me, and I've realized I can handle the crap with a helping hand.

Which leads me to the other shit- my swollen faced guy. Who immediately after the attack, while he was bleeding, asked me if I was ok and said "I'm fine. I'm just glad they didn't do anything to you." Who does that anyway? My guy. Not to mention they didn't have weapons, nobody was seriously injured, they didn't take anything AND we got the chance to warn a guy walking into the park when we were leaving. We are safe, we have a very secure home, and we learned a healthy lesson about exercising caution. Not to mention, the police called Kev back the very next day to follow up. In the middle of Chicago's most violent year in decades, they responded to our tiny incident promptly and with respect. Thanks, CPD.

So all in all, I think I need to pick my head up a bit. This is life. It is messy. But sometimes, your shit sandwich comes with really delicious bread that makes you appreciate the act of eating all the more.

Thanks for the therapy, imaginary friends.

Graduation Thoughts

This weekend, Kev and I traveled with his family up to Minnesota for his younger brother Bobby's graduation from college. His fabulous girlfriend, Becca also graduated that day, and we spent all of Saturday bopping around to parties and celebrating the end of one chapter in their lives. Winona, Minnesota is a beautiful place in the springtime, and I found it easy to be festive in the sunshine.

Some people, on the other hand, weren't feeling so festive. What is it about a college graduation that inspires people to say horrible things? Some of the gems I overheard as people were "celebrating:"

So, do you have a job yet?
It's all downhill from here, buddy.
The real world sucks, it's definitely not the same.
I can't wait for you to start working so you can see what we all deal with.
College were the best years of my life, you're never going to have that much fun again.
Have all of your friends scattered yet? They will.

I'd like to say that I'm exaggerating, but I'm really not. Quite frankly, this kind of negative talk irked me. Yes, moving on from college to the next steps can be scary. For the first time, you are in charge of starting your life. Yes, the economy sucks and these kids probably won't get their dream jobs right out of school, but at the same time, there are so many options to learn from out there, and things have a funny way of working themselves out. I think you can tell a lot about a person from the advice and commentary they give graduates.


I personally felt ecstatic for Bobby because I know that the best is yet to come. I had an amazing time in college, but the years following have been the best of my life. I reconnected with Kev, got married, made amazing friends in Chicago, learned a new city, gained independence, landed two jobs that made me extremely happy most days, traveled, learned, read, and bought a house. Tried to manage money. Bought my own wedding dress with money I earned with my own hard work. Became a mother to two pesky hairballs. Watched my siblings grow. Grew myself. Cried. Loved. Lost. Gained.


I think that anybody who says college were the best years of their life probably is missing out on amazing opportunities in front of them. I miss my college friends, as we've moved to different states and drifted apart. I miss having instant access to my friends whenever I wanted, and the freedom to organize my days as I saw fit. But I am much prouder of the person I am now and the life I live then I was back then. I may be a little more arthritic, and a little more outspoken, but I've made a life for myself with my amazing husband that I'm proud to call mine. I've made mistakes I've learned from, and some choices that I would make again if given the chance. But they've all been mine.


I can't wait to watch more of my siblings become themselves in this way. I can't wait to watch as they stumble, then walk, then run towards the things they want in life. I can't wait to see where life takes all of us, and I know the truth- after college, the best is yet to come.


Were college your best years? What were some of your favorite years in life?

New Wife, New Life

I admit, part of the reason that my blog posts have been a bit...ahem...sparse lately is due to the fact that Kev and I have been in a rough patch lately. At least weekly for the past few weeks, we had been getting in fights. Like most couples, it was all about the same damn things, too. Who does what for the other, who communicates, whose family gets more time around the holidays. Stupid, stupid stuff.

The worst part about fighting with Kev is that he's so much a part of who I am. We've known each other for almost half my life, and we've loved many different incarnations of each other. My prep phase, his poncho and long hair phase. His cocky soccer phase, my close-knit roll with my girls phase. We've helped each other learn how to be adults, and we've supported one another through some really cockamamy ideas, but we still manage to love through it all. So when we fight, it feels like I'm just fighting with myself. His words cut deeper than other people's do, because his opinions and feelings are so much more important to me. And so much truer.

While things weren't great, I think this weekend really helped us to turn the corner. We spent time with both of our families, the weather was gorgeous, we spent some quiet time at church, and we visited two friends with babies- a six week old and a two day old. Somewhere in the middle of all the trees blooming, powdery fresh babies, and the faces of other people who have loved me a long time, I realized we are going to be okay.

Yes, we fight. But we also clear the air, and as we get older we are getting much better at fighting TOWARD something; in other words, having an outcome of our fights. Maybe right now, we need the raised voices as a crutch to solving problems in our relationship, but hopefully someday we will get to a point where we fight less and talk more. Yes, we aren't perfect. But we are perfect for each other. I'd rather spend the rest of my life fighting and sometimes running in circles with that man than with any other person in the world.

Surrounded by all those brand new things, I realized that even when things look bad, angry, and dry, something new is popping up beneath the surface. A pregnant friend becomes a beaming mother. A pile of woodchips becomes a tulip bed. Empty baskets become filled with treats. Beneath these tired phrases and cutting words, something good and true is building in our relationship. All of these fresh new beginnings are reminders that underneath it all is a man who loves me and wants us to be the best we can be. Even though we travel down different roads, our destination is the same.

Thanks, Spring

On Being a Sister

I am an older sister to two younger brothers and a younger sister. They are all unique, amazing individuals in completely different ways. One is in law school, one is in nursing school, and one is a host of wacky things, including thrift store connoisseur and undergrad communications major, probably in that order. Growing up, our house was loud, chaotic, and often veered wildly between angelic and World War Three. My mom had four kids in seven years, and now that I'm an adult, I'm fairly certain she qualifies for sainthood.

As we got older, my siblings became really cool, popular people. They won high school yearbook superlatives. They developed sweet dance moves. They became retreat leaders, prom queens, marathoners, bartenders, and all-around likable people. As I matured, it was hard to not feel eclipsed by them. I count those humans among the most precious people in the world to me, and my life of working, dating, and reading books often seemed rather vanilla by comparison. I'm constantly in awe of their general awesomeness. I'm constantly challenged by their deep thoughts, and reduced to tears by their offbeat hilarity. As such, it is often hard not to feel like a geeky older sister.

While my sister and I often have deep talks about everything from the existence of God to how one can craft the perfect set of reinbeers for Christmas, my brothers are American males in their 20s, and therefore don't talk about their feelings much. Therefore, the following gchat conversation with P made my day today:


P:listening to ben folds while reading. reminds me of your old "on a bender" cd
a golden oldie

me:Such a good one... I still listen to that mix

P: hells yes
your "practicum tunes" were also very good

me
Haha amazing memory for my old mixes....I'm super impressed

P:yes after a few car rides i stole them both for an extended period
that was my first experience with that genre and those artists
that genre and those artists
it was pretty exciting
gonna get some groceries
farewell

me: So glad I could mold your mind

P: haha you paved the way of much of my thought and experience
i am forever grateful

me: Aww that comment just made my day :) love you little bro

While I'm fairly certain that telling my brother I love him and using an emoticon in a text chat will both insure that he isn't that open about his feelings for awhile, I am in awe of the fact that he was listening during all of those long car rides to and fron The University of Iowa. And I guess what I am most awestruck by is the fact that he was listening at all.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that this conversation gives me hope. Hope that even when I'm not saying anything big, the ones I love are still watching and learning. That even when I mess up and act like a crabby jerk, these same people in my life know from a lifetime of watching me that it's just a blip in the radar. That some of the moments when I've felt farthest separate emotionally from the people I love, I still managed to reach through the barriers and connect anyway. That even if we seem different on the outside, my family and I are just going to get closer and stronger as we grow. Now, it seems, I'm the one listening to him