C (making homemade sock puppet toy talk): Sweetie, we have to get married! I’m pregnant!
A (holding other puppet toy, talking for it): It’s okay, you can just have the baby. You’ll see, everything will be alright. You can have a baby first, before you get married.

Memo to self: have that birth control talk with the girls before they turn, what, 10?

C: Dad, what would you say if we brought home a puppy without talking to you about it first?
D: I would probably say a lot of things, but I’d say most of them to Mommy.
C: Yeah, I bet you’d say to her exactly what I thought you’d say.
D: And what’s that?
C: “What the FUCK1NG HELL!??”

Carla’s been sick a lot lately, and I have had to go to work anyway. She’s been sick but not so sick that I feel she really required me to stay home. Of course, she would prefer to have her momma at all times when she’s feeling crappy, but anyway, she has been able to manage pretty well without me. (Cammy is taking good care of her for me!)

So to help Carla with the whole lack-of-momma thing, we wrote my cell phone number down for her so that she can call me if she wants to.

Sometimes I just don’t hear my phone, so she leaves a message. Here are two examples, VERBATIM.

“Hey Mom, I’m just calling to let you know that Annie tried to cut my hair just now. So when you get home, I sure hope you will give her one of those Talkings To and make her NOT cut my hair? Ok. Thanks. I love you. Bye.”

“Hi Mom, this is Carla. It’s already 6:47 and I thought you were supposed to be home. That’s all I wanted to say. Bye, Luv Ya.”

She knocks my socks off!

I have been thinking a lot about my brother and about my sister.

Those who’ve been following my story know that I have an uneasy relationship with my brother, whom I grew up with, and a brand-new unknown relationship with my half sister, whom I have never met.

Prior to talking with my sister on the phone, and exchanging some email and photos, I never really realized how sad it is that my brother and I are not close. One visitor to my blog pointed out that I should consider my relationship with my sister in light of my relationship with my brother (or something like that.) This made my whole perspective shift dramatically: I had not thought to consider the two of them as “my siblings” before. In other words, I had drawn truly no connections there.

Starting to mull things over, I find it really disconcerting to think of how much I’ve lost since childhood. My half sister is someone I simply never had access to; a strange decision born of the times in which she lived as a young child. Those were the days when “doing what’s best” meant avoid complex family configurations like bio dads and step families. So I don’t count her as a loss, so much as an opportunity for connection that was denied.

But to really consider what I’ve lost since childhood, I could make you a sad long list. My brother and I were very close at the time he left for college.  His issues with depression came to light as a teenager, and continue to this day. As his younger sister, a full five years behind him, I was not in any reasonable position to help him, but I knew that he needed help. I thought (as twelve year olds, and other people, tend to do) that by loving my brother as much as I did, that I could heal him of whatever sadness or anger he was feeling.  My clueless parents, at a loss as to how to help him either, thought that sending his little sister in to “talk with him” when he was feeling suicidal was a good way to help him feel better, since he wouldn’t talk to them at all.

In spite of his emotional troubles, he was able to use his smarts to finish high school, and get into college.  Off he went, and leaving me behind of course, and soon little sister was easily replaced by college pals, girlfriends, marijuana and jazz. We lost touch, and I supposed he no longer needed a little sister to love him, or bake him apple pies when he came home to visit, or to follow him around and bother him when he was showing his visiting college girlfriends around the town.

I was also quite busy by then, learning how to be a holy terror teenager myself, as my parents picked that time to decide to split up in the most agonizing ways they could think of, with my dad slinking off to sleep somewhere other than my parents’ room. First, he colonized my brother’s empty bedroom, then trudged downstairs to the basement guest room. Finally, as my grandparents died, he crossed the street to live in their house “in order to fix it up and clean it out.”

And so it was that within the course of a few years, I lost my brother (to college - 1985), my parents (to their self-absorbed separation / divorce - begun in 1986 and finalized in 1992), and my grandparents (died in 1988, and 1989).  Plus, my best friend’s family moved to Germany (1987). I really cried when she told me they were moving away, it seemed so unfair.

Fast forward to now. My dad’s health is less than stellar. My mom drives me insane. I speak to my brother about twice a year. And I want to connect with my half sister — Why?

I don’t really know what I expected to gain from this. Did I track her down for my father’s benefit, or mine? If I want so much to connect with family, why am I also so estranged from the ones that I actually know?

I spoke to my brother for the first time this year on Easter. His wife is apparently recovering from major surgery,  and their family is doing their best to adjust to life in which the mom of the house is significantly disabled (temporarily - it is hoped she’ll be able to recover fully within 6 months or so). I feel very sad for my nieces and nephew, and for my brother, that life is so difficult for them right now.

I find myself thinking, “What can I do? What should I do? How can I help my brother?” It’s a familiar and painful feeling. I think I’ll send them a care package, at least. In the long run, I can’t help him, really — his life is what it is. He and I are very different and his choices have molded him so extremely.  We grew up together, but then, apart.

Did you ever see the Muppet movie in which Gonzo is contacted by his alien relatives and he finds out that he’s not really alone like he thought he was? I think my hopes concerning my sister were something like that. That I would find this long lost sister and learn that there’s a reasonable, creative, kind and interesting person in my family who is something like me.

Is that so much to ask?

This morning I got to be the victor in the Tiramisu competition: mine didn’t fall over (as much). Does anyone else feel funny about eating vast quantities of raw egg? If the stuff wasn’t so freaking delicious, I’d avoid it like the plague.

Some readers may not realize that my mom isn’t from the U.S.; she’s a citizen of the U.S.A. at this time, but was in fact born and raised in Italy. Two of her best friends (a pair of sisters) from Italy happen to live in New Jersey, and one of them is my godmother. Easter — every year– is held at my mom’s house. PERIOD. And Sonia and Milena (my godmother and her sister) come to share easter dinner with us. Every year.

It’s nice to have traditions. I’m sitting right now in the living room while the three of them yak in the kitchen. Their Italian is dotted with dialect; what I actually think of as lazy italian, though that may be unfair or inaccurate. It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t know the language: but to me, hearing the dialect always sounds like chickens clucking.

Thus, they are in the kitchen clucking. I’m not really following the conversation, though I can understand italian quite well. When I tune into what they are saying, I realize that I am not listening because I am not interested.

Dinner was filled with a number of awkward moments; I’d crack some rather lame jokes and be met with quiet stares that seem to be trying to figure out what I’m saying. My godmother and her sister both speak english just as badly as any american; plus a heavier accent.

“Did they broke their egg?” asked one of them about the easter eggs.

I have to restrain myself from correcting the way I would if my kids (who don’t make such grammatical errors) had said the same.

My mom’s english is not flawed, however. She speaks perfectly, with just a hint of an accent. People have a hard time placing where she’s from when they hear her speak. For the longest time, I didn’t think she had an accent at all. I simply could not hear it.

Now I can hear it, though, and part of me wonders if her accent somehow got stronger since I was a kid. Like maybe she’s just not bothering to speak properly anymore. The word “the” is a good example. Now when she says it, it sounds more like “duh” which bugs me.

I guess a lot of things she does and says bug me. (Can you tell she doesn’t read this blog?!) Though I can’t fault the food: predictably exquisite.

This morning she decided I’d slept long enough. Get up, she told me, your kids are hungry. I’d not slept well; just felt really ill at ease, tired, and also a little worried that C would wet the bed. (7 year old Carla, that is, not Cammy!!!) So I waited til about 2 AM and took C to the bathroom and emptied her before I went to sleep myself. So you can imagine I was pretty sleepy when my mom decided at 8:30 that I was really sleeping way too late.

The girls had apparently been up for about an hour at that point: and they were hungry and yet my mom didn’t bother to offer them any food or drink. (NICE ! HOSPITALITY! SUCH ! A ! GREAT !!! GRANNY!)

“I’m going out for my walk,” she told me, adding: “There’s english muffins in the fridge, and a little coffee left over.” Bleary eyed, I dragged myself downstairs and fed my hungry kids.

When she got back, she made sure to tell me that I had to get dressed now, and make the antipasto, and cut up the bread, and do it in such and such an order and such and such a way. She is such a control freak: she didn’t want me, for some reason, to make the antipasto until I’d changed out of my nightshirt and into regular clothes.

This continual combination of criticizing me with telling me what to do is the sort of thing that makes my skin crawl and also makes me heave great sighs of relief as as soon as we leave my mom’s. It’ll be good to be back on the road. Soon!

Serenity! Soon!

Ever since Harley first joined our household, there has a been a lot more hissing and arching of backs than we’d had previously. But I am really pleased to say that today, for the first time, all three cats have deigned to hang out with me on my bed at once.

Thus, I am now able to try to accomplish one of my favorite activities: the Three Cat Nap.

Wish my camera were working at the moment (batteries dead!) so I could get a photo of this historic event.

I did use my laptop to get Harley and Moonlight. Harley’s the one with white ears.

C: I think I want Hillary to win. She could be the first female president and that’s exciting. I think a woman should be in charge next. But if Obama wins, he’ll be the first african-american president and that would be exciting, too. Either way, it’s good.

A: You know who I think should be president?

C: Who?

A: Grandpa.

C: Why?

A: Because Grandpa would never lie. Not like George Bush.

I feel as though I haven’t posted in ages. It has been a wonderful week, and I just keep thinking about all the different things I’d like to write about. A little glimpse into my life, courtesy of these conversations between my conscience angel and my real self devil’s advocate:

Angel:  Well, good thing it’s a snow day! I can now get right to tidying up the living room and dining room, putting away the laundry and cleaning the cat boxes!

Devil: Sure, but there’s plenty of time to do all that boring stuff! Play with the kids in the snow! Blog about it! Take a nap! Drink hot cocoa! Read the rest of Midwives.

Angel: Um, sure, playing with the kids is good. They do need a mom who attends to them, rather than hyperfocusing on a clean house.

Devil (snortling with laughter): Yeah, this looks like a house that’s run by someone hyperfocused on cleanliness. NOT!

Angel: Oh shut it. We’re going out to play. I will do all this housework later. Plus I’ll plan next week’s after school program, update the website to reflect these plans, plan meals and shopping, and more. But first we do need to play. Before the stuff melts, ya know.

* * * Later on * * *

Angel: Well, that sure was fun. The girls can have their lunches now, and we all sure enjoyed the hot cocoa. Time to get to the living room mess. These wet clothes need to be dealt with, after all.

Devil: Sure, but don’t you think it would be good to blog a little about this?

Angel. Um… I should really not get sucked into the computer vortex. There is too much to do.

Devil: Yeah, but life is too rich to not examine it closely. Or so I’ve heard.

Angel: Riiiiiight…. just one little blog post then.

Have you ever received an invitation to something and felt turned off right away by it?

What’s your gut response to this one? I am printing the whole thing here as it was forwarded to me, but with the names changed.

——–FWD———-

Maris says she has tried to send this message to you and it bounced back. So I am forwarding it for her.

- Louis

—– Original Message —–

From: Maris

To: (many family members whose names and email addresses have been removed, but the list did in fact, include my address. Don’t know why I didn’t get it)

Sent: Monday, February 11, 2008 3:56 PM

Subject: Passover!

Dear everyone,

This year we will have a Seder on the actual first night of Passover, Saturday, April 19. It will be at our house. As the date nears, we can decide in the menu. If you’re hot to make something special, you can chime in now.

If you’d like me to arrange for rooms at a local motel, please let me know.

I hope everyone can make it.

Love,

Maris

—————-end of FWD message——-

I suppose that on the face of it, this message is not so bad. It was actually last year’s big family Seder that caused such a ruckus, and left a sour (or bitter? or at least, plague-ish) taste in my mouth. I think it was one event that made me seek out starting this blog in the first place, so that I could have a place to put some of my angry thoughts into order, although when I looked back to find the posts, I think I must have never quite gotten them down. I was really, very, very angry.

Some background information might be helpful in explaining.

In the not-too-distant past, Maris and her family would invite our budding family to stay in their spare beds in the finished basement of their very large and beautiful home in one of the rich suburbs of Connecticut. My family would snuggle up in a queen sized bed, with maybe a kid on some cushions on the floor. This way, we could visit for the Seder dinner, and not have to either drive the 4 hour trip back to Philadelphia and also not have to spend money on a motel. In the morning, we and other members of the younger generation, would all have breakfast together with our kids playing, and have a nice time bonding with third cousins and such before heading back home.

I always thanked Maris for sharing her home, for hosting such a nice dinner, for offering breakfast and a place to stay. I always complimented her on how lovely and comfortable her home was, and commented on how much I loved the tradition of staying over, and how it really made me feel like family.

Naturally, over time, our families all have kept growing. Maris has two daughters who are moms, too. In fact, the three of us had our first babies within six months of each other, and our second babies within 3 months of each other. Then one of her daughters had a third… So Maris has a total of 5 grandchildren, some of whom are rather loud and difficult. One of her daughters lives nearby her, the other lives about 3 hours away. I can completely understand that Maris would want to have her far-away daughter stay there with her, and of course great-grandma will stay there too.

But there’s still that big empty basement with the beds, and the three bedrooms upstairs. In other words, there is plenty of room for all of us and more to stay at her house. My children are very well behaved. I believe that our family has always been considerate and polite as guests at their house. So I feel really put off that we are no longer invited to stay over and be part of the family.

There’s that.

And there’s the Bad Stuff that Happened at Last Year’s Seder.

Looking back, it is all so very petty that I even don’t want to write it all out. And yet it is really hard to explain without giving the full story, so those of you with long attention spans can choose to Read the rest of this entry »

In case you’re not familiar with winter driving in Philadelphia, let me just tell you this: it is absolutely ridiculous. First of all, our city doesn’t get a lot of horrible winter weather, but when we do, it’s not often a big snowfall. No, what we get is ICE - ice falling from the sky, rain that turns to ice upon hitting the windshield, ice that forms along the wet streets, and snow that starts out as slush and then melts and freezes, and becomes ice once again.

And because this only happens once or twice a year, it seems that drivers around here are completely CLUELESS about what to do about icy roads.

Last night, after about an inch of powdery snow accumulated, a steady pelting of ice began around 4 PM. This ice continued to fall, mixed with rain, until about 7, at which point it was mostly rain. Rain on top of snow, on top of ice.

Where was I from 4 to 8 PM, last night, gentle readers? Why, in my car, of course! Cammy’s plane was scheduled to arrive in Philadelphia at 4:48 PM though of course it was delayed due to the icy weather.  She got to fly around and around Philadelphia in a holding pattern for about an hour or so while we inched along the evil Schuylkill Expressway  (har, har, expressway to fender benders).

Long story short? Read the title of this post.

Long story long? Well, my kids and I got to play “count the car accidents” while thanking our lucky stars that we were not #13 in the 12 car pile up that we witnessed directly in front of us.  After we got to drive around the bus full of weeping girls from Liverpool who just wanted to get to the airport to fly home, and all the others who were delayed by crashing on the bridge to I-95, we counted another 11 vehicles, including a school bus that all had slid on the ice and crash into guardrails and one another.

We didn’t crash.

I credit my dad with having taught me well how to use the gears of the car to navigate snow and ice without using the brakes. A single touch to the brakes on that bridge and I’d be blogging today about how we crashed on the bridge on our way to I-95.

When the weather is icy, I usually stay home. I was not happy to be taking my kids on such a harrowing journey, but I didn’t want them to be nervous so I made light of all the accidents. Luckily, the accidents really were all just fender benders– we did not see anyone who was seriously injured. Good thing for seatbelts, huh!

All the way to the airport, and while we sat idleing (illegally!) in the should near the airport (just under the huge flashing sign that said, NO P RK NG ON SHOULD R)  waiting for Cammy’s plane to come down, I clumsily (but excitingly!) recounted the story of Abdullah and the Magic Castle, hastily stolen from the book Castle in the Air. It kept the kids happy, as did the snacks I had brought.

Today is my first day of work - and I am exhausted.

In spite of all the ICE of yesterday, today it’s mostly soupy slushy mush, and not as dangerous. Although this morning a SEPTA bus crashed on our block. Yeah, I couldn’t believe it either: school is OPEN today. And that means AFTER SCHOOL is open, too.

And that means I have to work, too! But I don’t mind too much - because Cammy is here and all is well. I kept Annie home from pre-school  so that Cammy won’t have to try to navigate an unfamiliar neighborhood in the ice. And because it’s freaking INSANE that school is not closed today, in my opinion.

Then again, I am just kind of traumatized. I’ll get over it soon.

Now, for a hot a shower and another cup of coffee!