About sixteen years ago, I met him for the first time. My trainwreck sibling brought home this adorable puppy he had no business adopting because he had not one thing in his life that wasn’t a mess. I was furious at my sibling – he didn’t even take care of himself, how could he drag
It’s easy to forget when it happens once a year. The twinkling, winking fairy lights and the festive holiday wreaths lull me into a false sense of peace. Then I go home and my heart breaks into seventeen pieces again.
It starts from the moment I pull up outside and see the state of disrepair. Much of this is the Sibling’s fault. The half finished lumps of “art project” still litter the browning lawn, the fence is more decayed, and is that a whole section missing? Dad’s gardening projects are scattered around the foyer, messy but less depressing than the signs of a mind far in decline.
A cat darts underfoot seeking a way indoors. This is new. Since we liberated the health-challenged Seamus, stray cats have taken his place.
I step inside and none of the furniture is familiar. Mom’s photos are everywhere, snapshots from my childhood on, and my breath catches. I think of her everyday. Sometimes it almost feels like she’s watching over LB. Maybe she is, I don’t know. It doesn’t make me feel better or worse to believe it. But to see her image, from when she was younger and healthier? I’m not ready for that flood of pain. Am I ever?
I retreat to my room and everything is nearly the way I left it last time. It’s my room, I could sit back in the chair and get to work on figures and making things work again just like fifteen years ago.
***
Dad and I have several conversations, all avoiding the issue. Finally, it comes to a head. My frustrations with his inability to really hear me, to give me the one thing I’ve ever asked for, it all bubbles up. I can’t take one more of his “I thought it was best not to tell you, then it all went to hell” scenarios. So we talk. Really talk.
I tell him that it hurts me when he lies or omits important information. It doesn’t matter if I can do anything about it, chances are likely I can, but even if I can’t, I need to know before it becomes a BFD.
I tell him that it’s nonsensical to say it’s for my protection when, in the end, it has always cost me more stress and more money. See, car towing, for one example.
I tell him that in 17 years, I’ve busted my butt for him and Mom willingly and happily, and only asked him for one thing: honesty.
I tell him that while he may think hiding things is for me, it’s not. It’s his unwillingness to sacrifice a bit of his pride to spare me pain in the only way I asked him to.
I tell him that he has repeatedly promised it and never delivered when it mattered, and this has had a lasting impact on our relationship.
I tell him that in the depths of my health decline, I seriously considered getting a life insurance policy big enough to take care of them for at least a decade and offing myself because his actions made me feel like my only value to him was monetary. That he didn’t value me as a person in the least, that he was only willing to pay lip service to his gratitude for all my willing sacrifices.
I tell him that his latest, going behind my back and then confessing only after I had inadvertently trapped him, was exactly what Sibling would do. It’s exactly what he’d done his entire life: taking advantage of my trust, and then tearfully apologizing after he’d already gotten what he wanted.
I tell him Sibling’s pattern of behavior ruined that relationship and I was not prepared for it to ruin ours.
I tell him that Mom’s dead, Sibling’s as good as gone, he’s my only family left. He needs to remember that. He also needs to remember that LB is his only shot. He is unlikely to have any chance to try again with another grandkid so he needs to make choices that show he knows that. He spent years trying to make up for not being there for us as kids, this isn’t the time to repeat that pattern.
I tell him that I wasn’t telling him to get it off my chest, I don’t vent for emotional release. I was telling him because I expect it to change. It has to change.
*
I don’t tell him that I don’t ask him questions because I don’t want to be lied to.
I don’t tell him that because of them, if you plan to ask me for forgiveness rather than permission, you don’t deserve either.
I don’t tell him that I’m at the absolute end of my tether with them all and I almost no longer care if LB has a relationship with hir grandpa. Because it’s not entirely true. I care a lot. I stopped caring for me, so much, but I will be damned if I sit back and just let Sibling’s wreck of a life and poor life choices, and Dad’s guilt complex, deprive LB entirely of hir maternal grandparents.
*
He apologizes.
He admits that he’s been wrong this entire time, and most especially this last time.
He explains that he’s been pushing himself to earn any income because he needs to cover Sibling’s expenses, because at the very least, the few dollars that go toward Sibling’s care aside from shelter should come out of his pocket, not mine. At least not directly.
He admits that he had been planning to hide his health issues from me, particularly if it turned out to be cancer, on the premise that burdening me with the knowledge when there’s nothing I can do would be selfish.
He acknowledges that it is my choice to insist on having the full picture, no matter for good or ill, big or small.
He promises to stop hiding things.
*
I don’t know if he’ll keep this promise, or if it’ll go the way of the hundred other broken promises. I don’t know if this is real progress, even. I’d say that I can only hope but I’m not sure that I can do that, even. I can only wait and see.
I understand his instinct to hide dire health issues, I’d do the same. Hell, I have done the same. For 15 years I hid my chronic illness from them. They knew I had some pain issues, but didn’t know how severe they’d become, and I didn’t tell them because there was absolutely nothing they could do about it except hurt for me as my parents. But there’s a huge difference between a chronic illness and a potentially terminal one, and still, either way, I’d want to know because there are things that I can do to ease discomfort and to help. I don’t just sit in my hermit-cave and worry uselessly, I do things. I get shit done. I can’t fix the world but I can help, a little.
Understanding is not the same as agreeing.
***
The holidays were never particularly special in our family. We couldn’t afford the time and energy to celebrate, and really didn’t have the money to. But they are now the time we go back to spend time with family, and they are when all the miscommunications (intended or not) are brought to light, and all the facades get knocked over. They’re the time for regrets over the years we lost, for nightmare fights with Sibling as my subconscious wrestles with this reality it hates, for pretending good cheer even as I discover how much worse things have gotten since last year.
Someday, the holidays won’t be preceded by six weeks of nightmares about Sibling, or an acidic gut from anticipating what truths will out this time. But the way things have progressed, I’d be lying if I said I was optimistic about what someday holds instead.
Have we been throwing money away on our auto insurance?
I semi-regularly shop around for better rates but totally forgot to reconsider the coverage itself. We tend to select fairly comprehensive (not to be confused with the coverage itself called “comprehensive”) policies, but the recent kerfuffle reminded us that our vehicles are old and not worth much so any real damage wouldn’t call for a repair job, it’d be a total loss so far as the insurance is concerned.
Car #1, the 11 year old that took the hit this Christmas is a great road tripper, with generous space for us and the kids, and relatively good mileage. We love the little amenities that we’d never considered before when buying newer and therefore pricier: seat heaters are pretty awesome. Not necessary but awesome. Unfortunately, for all its utility and functional value to us, the KBB value hovers around a paltry $4000. That’s not even halfway to a used car even the way we shop. It’d be a Major Surprise if insurance will agree to cover the repairs, but we live in hope. Cross your fingers for us while we work on that.
Meanwhile, Car #2, my 12-year-old car that serves my dad has nearly 200K miles, and is (probably generously) BlueBooked at about $3100. It likely only clocks in at that much because they stopped making that model a year later making it a “limited” edition.
And Car #3, my 12-year-old daily driver is worth an astounding $5000 if we were to sell to a private party now. That’s not terrible when you consider we didn’t pay much more than that for it 4 or 5 years ago but it’s still only enough to dent the cost of any replacement on the used private-seller market.
(We’re resolved never to buy new again unless there are such major discounts as to negate the drive off the lot depreciation, so only the used market has any bearing on our decisions.)
Our comprehensive coverage/deductible runs $42/year for Car #3 while Car #2 costs $90/year. That plus the $62/year we were paying on the Crunched Car doesn’t add up to the wildly extravagant waste of money I was imagining when I fired up this train of thought.
We have the savings to replace any of the cars outright if we have to, not that I’d love paying that bill, but we can. Then again, at $200 a year for all cars ranging from $3000-5000, does it make sense to keep our comprehensive coverage? The math suggests we wouldn’t want to pay that for more than five years before that cost and the deductible combined are about half any money we’d get back assuming it’s totaled. Less than that if it’s just a minor thing. (My math may still be iffy, I’m still recovering from holiday horrors.)
What kind of coverage do you carry? For what kinds of cars? Are you happy with your insurer?
Y’all, I’ve never been so cold in my life in Southern CA. Our semi-mountain hometown is already seeing temperatures below 30 degrees F, it’s just the start of winter, and this year may be the biggest El Nino ever. As it is, for us native Southern Californians, these temps are just cause to burrow indoors and not emerge til Spring. If this gets much worse…. well.
This means post-Christmas is now about looking for warm things for Dad and somehow making sure that he uses them. The house is a mess, the landlord still hasn’t fixed some key things that ever so frustratingly affect the heating situation so while of course he wouldn’t actually tell me, I’m quite positive that Dad neither has enough warm clothing or enough warm blankets for the frigid nights. It’s horrible to harbor the suspicion that if I don’t do something about it, he cannot survive the rest of this El Nino winter.
Naturally, not doing something isn’t an option. A heavy fill down comforter is on the way, and it had better arrive this week! Now the quest is on for a really warm jacket. He’ll probably feel ridiculous in a puffer jacket but that may be the best choice to keep him from freezing and shattering into tiny Dad-bits and pieces. I’m scouring Amazon, LL Bean, and REI for a reasonably priced, minimum 700-fill, good quality coat. My store requirements, as always, are a good return policy, and fast/free shipping. Most jackets seem to run above $100 and are closer to $200. Is that normal? Probably is for a good high-quality jacket which should really last him years. It’s been more than a decade since I shopped for men’s jackets.
Maybe a few flannel or thermal shirts and pants would be useful, too? While I’m obviously willing to spend some money to make sure he’s comfortable, it’s also clearly not limitless, so I have to make the best use of the funds I have. Any frugal keeping warm solutions are welcome.
Gratitude, when frosty or toasty
While I’m searching, and click click clicking online to find the best deal for the best thing, I am ever so grateful for the ability to see a problem and having enough that I can throw some money at it. And it’s one of the many things that, though we’re not wealthy, makes me feel wealthy.
Some of the most trivial things but therein lies the privilege of having enough.
Turning on the heat when we are bundled in socks and sweaters so we don’t have to pile on a jacket inside. Also, not having to sleep bundled in our winter coats at night.
Owning books. As a child, I was starved for books. We didn’t own any, my parents encouraged reading in the abstract but our $20-30K (at best) annual household income meant I spent a lot of time reading all the books at the local library and gobbling up any books I encountered anywhere. If you had a book, I was willing to be your friend long enough to read it before I had to go home. (If there’s anything I would overcompensate on for LB to make up for my childhood, it’s this right here. I already do.)
Machine washing clothes. It wasn’t that long ago that we were visiting Gram in the countryside and handwashing and linedrying all our clothes. Robots that automatically clean AND dry your clothes? LUXURY.
An investment portfolio. 15 years ago, “savings” meant filling my piggybank, a gift for my 7th birthday, with all my paychecks that weren’t already spent on bills. Now, I can spend a fairly respectable sum each year on the gift of future income. How incredibly rad is that? (hint: OMGOSH so rad)
Really warm socks with no holes. Growing up, all my socks were hand me downs and/or the sort of cheapish variety that practically came with holes in them. About six years ago, we splurged on three pairs of these incredible Thorlos and they are practically still as good as new, even after heavy duty wearing during Comic Con and just generally keeping my feet warm.
A close second: fuzzy socks. They’re not as luxurious, they tend to run thin, but they are fun and warm.
Having enough postage, toilet paper, toothbrushes. You wouldn’t think much of any of these until you run out and there’s no money for more. Or you use your toothbrush until the bristles only go sideways because you can’t imagine throwing out a toothbrush. This is why I’ve got a package of toothbrushes and toothpaste made up for Dad, too. I’m sure he won’t spend any of his cash on them.
:: Over to you, what makes everything feel cozy and luxurious and safe for you?
I feel prolonged guilt over the most nonsensical things. I was participating in a volunteer project years ago when the depression set in. I felt so bad about not completing my part of it, even though it was totally voluntary and it didn’t significantly affect anything that I stopped, that just a month ago I had one of those dreams where the person I “let down” (during only one of the worst times of my life) asked me about why I stopped.
Meanwhile, it’s been nearly 15 years since I’ve spoken to my maternal grandparents and some aunts & uncles. Not an ounce of regret. Didn’t invite them to my wedding and ignored them at Mom’s funeral because they’d been utter dipwads from forever before, and then harassed me every single day after she died because they wanted to pay for her funeral so they could pretend they loved her.
I read blog comments from years ago and get verklempt that I don’t know what happened to them (M is for Money, 444 express, The Quest – if you’re still reading, I can’t find your new URL?)
How can I be of service to you? When I’m in a really bad mood, or crappy stuff has been going on, my only refuge is sending a nice card or gift to someone else having a hard time.
Babies are weird! So weird that sometimes I refer to them as “just like a human!”
A majority of minorities. I know nearly as many lefties as righties and more people who hail from US territories than I know people from any state but CA. Offline that is. Online, where would you say you’re from? Originally or now. And: lefty, righty, or ambi?
When stressed, clean the house or balance the books. Going over spending and savings spreadsheets calms me down better than anything else.
I’m more likely to give money to charities, say, for refugees, than give birthday gifts to people I know but are well off. My $20 to a charity is likely to matter more than any $20 gift I could give someone who makes perfectly good money.
Happy Friday to everyone and Merry Christmas to all who celebrate!
We were looking forward to a quiet season but it hasn’t been the smoothest of holidays. We all got sick, got better, and got sick again. All my devices have gone kaput so something will have to be replaced before I find myself in the Stone Ages communicating by pictographs and signs. Someone rammed our car full of passengers and left me irritably coughing with hopefully-not-cracked ribs. The car is very likely to be written off as a total loss which gets our goats because it’s a really good used car, and we just bought new tires and replaced the windshield. We don’t WANT another car, we like this one! Then Christmas Day plans went awry but at this point, who really cares? I just want to hunker down under a pile of blankets and stop coughing.
But we’re all still here and no one is seriously injured or ill. Seamus is thrilled to be meeting cats. The cats, not so much. But he perseveres.
LB is upbeat to the point where friends wonder, “is ze always this cheerful?” (Assuming a full stomach, yes.) What a change from several months ago when it was, “is ze always this angry?” (Yes) Ze is loving this winter and first Christmas and we didn’t need any presents to achieve Maximum Happiness.
We’re grateful all over again that we’ve made it through another year, and one full of change and growth, and come out the other end having learned a lesson or two about communicating and boundaries. Relationships are hard work, no doubt about that, but if you’re doing it right, there should be that feeling that it’s paid off with each cycle of lessons. There’s no yardstick to measure a successful relationship except whether or not you’re having new discussions / arguments / lessons that you’re learning from and moving on, I think.
And on that almost philosophical thought, I hope everyone is staying warm (or cool if you’re on the East Coast), happy, healthy, wealthy, and wise!
We’ve been enjoying Hamilton so much that it’s permeated our every day. The creativity of translating the American civil ha-ha just kidding Revolutionary war, focused on Alexander Hamilton’s life, into a musical is amazing – the breadth of musical references, historical references, literary references (was that a MacBeth reference? It was!), the combination of the early colonial language with hip-hop cadences and slang are perfection.
When’s the last time you were so thoroughly earwormed? It’s not possible to include all my favorites, I’d just end up posting the whole musical.
I’ve a sneaking suspicion that part of the overwhelming charm of the whole thing is how gracefully Lin-Manuel Miranda handles the explosion of love and admiration: taking the time to share more of their music even though they’re already on Broadway. Check out #Ham4Ham, it’s astonishing how much energy he and the cast bring to giving his potential audience a show.
I haven’t yet read the biography that the musical was based on but this makes me want to. The musical doesn’t try to make us love Hamilton by glossing over his mistakes and flaws, they’re showcased alongside his genius and accomplishments. And the flaws of the Founding Fathers (save for George Washington) are right there with Hamilton’s.
All this to say: I am loving the musical and am trying to figure out how we squeeze a trip to New York to see the original cast into our schedule and budget.
Parenting: Hamiltunesing with my baby
Who knew having a baby who’d go along with your musical shenanigans would be so fun?
Encouraging LB to stand on hir own, take a step, or do squats: RISE UP!
With a fantastic aside from George Washington on not taking the easy way out
Giving hir a bottle in hir room
Sing and lure with the bottle:Do you wanna be in the room where it happens, the room where it happens, the room where it happens? Answer: *rapid crawling after me*
Thinking about hir future and the world we live in
Dear Theodosia (naturally)
Bonus: Ze will stand up and clap along to this Ham for Ham:
Careering
Living with ambiguity while others excel and advance
Don’t be Charles Lee
Meaning, don’t: Take a role with responsibilities you won’t shoulder, run away from the disaster, then run around badmouthing your boss. Poor form all around, dude.
Note: Check out George Washington being classy. “History will prove him wrong”, indeed.
What’s more important? Career or Family?
Before LB was born, a father figure and a fellow workaholic tried to find a gentle way to tell me: enjoy this time. Ze will only ever be a baby, and a child, and my cuddly little one once. And it’s so important not to miss it like he did. I’m glad I’d already learned that watching him or I’m sure old workaholic me wouldn’t have understood his good intentions.
Relationships
Oh King George, you’re pretty much like every creepy ex boyfriend who couldn’t deal
This is going to serve as a cautionary song for LB and everyone in hir generation. Kids, if your partner talks like this? GET OUT.
*** I lied, I had to add one more favorite: YORKTOWN ***
So much to love here:
Immigrants, we get the job done!
Hercules Mulligan!
“it’s either than or meet the business end of the bayonet!”
“With my friends all scattered to the winds
Laurens is in South Carolina, redefining brav’ry”
LB has always been a bit of a Pull Everything Off Everything and Throw it Around kind of kid. Naturally, this is great motivation to get mobile and mobile ze is. These days, we often catch hir doing pullups on the most unlikely objects, and trying to swing hir leg up on said objects in order to escape or get into something. SMH.
Ze has now scaled piles of boxes, the bed, the sofa, and the refrigerator. I wouldn’t worry if ze demonstrated a lick of sense about getting down from furniture that ze does when climbing on boxes – at least climbing off boxes ze holds onto things. Beds? Nope. Just dives off, headfirst. This kid is jonesing for the world record in earliest self-inflicted concussion.
***
LB & sharing. I thought it was too early but ze started offering hir chew toys to Seamus, and then graduated to offering (forcefully offering) things to me. Ze thought I should enjoy tasting the folded clothes that ze was pulling back out of boxes and was quite insistent, mashing it against my mouth.
Ze offered hir auntie some prechewed snacks and saw right through hir fake eating motions. Ze was displeased by the fakery.
I’m seeing shades of past me and past sibling in hir.
There’s a story about how Mom once “had” to take a big bite out of a fake donut my sibling made. Heartless younger-me said: “why on earth didn’t you just pretend to take a bite? What does a kid know?” I’m starting to see why Mom just rolled her eyes, saying HE KNEW.
***
Things that are absolutely hilarious to hir: Scrunching up hir face with a grin and making the zzzzzzzzz sound.
Blowing mostly-spit raspberries. This might be a holdover from pool time when ze was encouraged to “blow bubbles” (baby translation: drink the pool water)
Having us pop out from behind things going BOO!!!
Going limp when we’re picking hir up. Just because. Not even because ze doesn’t want to go where we’re going, just because it’s fun. Ze also likes to hang onto furniture and hang backward as far as ze can like the tiniest gymnast that could. Then occasionally forgets to keep holding on and lands on hir head/butt. Still doesn’t stop hir.
***
“No!”
Ze has been hearing this since Month 4. No, we don’t tantrum to get our way.
No, we don’t chew on electrical cords, do you want to end up like that puppy who could only lick out one side of her mouth?
No, Seamus doesn’t want you to check his mouth while he’s eating! He’s gonna bite you accidentally and then feel so bad about it.
Ze still reacts to “no” with a grin and does whatever “no!” referred to, faster.
That’s my kid.
Speaking of Not Foods, we’ve officially joined Club Dog Food. Oh yeah. That’s right. LB found a dog bowl with kibble in it (fools! fools!) and sure enough, a handful went into hir mouth. Five kibbles later, I’m pretty sure I got them all but I’m not going to feel guilty if I didn’t. You’d quit diving into a chompy infant’s mouth after they sprout a couple of ivories, too.
I swear, ze bites more than 20 years of dogs combined.
Things we enjoyed…
We were reading regular books to LB because we like stress and fending off grabby hands. Ze loved it too, spending most sessions trying to “turn pages” more than listening (anyone who’s seen an infant knows that means “tearing them out”).
We are now converts to the board books, only about 6 months after they would have been super useful. What? We’re fighting clutter.
