Life Lessons Essay

Since the essay I submitted to Real Simple's Life Lessons essay contest did not win (I would by been notified by a month ago, so it's safe to assume it's not going to be published), I'm posting it here  now. The  theme we were to write about was "When did you first understand the meaning of love?" I didn't want to do anything cliche and write about falling in love or marriage, since I was sure there would be lots of stories like that. So instead I chose to write about my relationship with my sister during a very difficult period in her life and what I learning about loving someone through crisis. Without further ado:

One of my earliest memories (I was not quite three) is of my sister joining our family.

She was “born on vacation”-my mom went into labor while we were at a cabin on Lake Michigan, where we went every summer when I was young. My parents had to make the two and a half hour drive back to the hospital and doctor in Illinois and I stayed in Michigan with my Grandma. I don’t remember much about the separation from my mom and dad. Standing in front of what seemed like a giant wall of toys to pick out something for my sister is my only cognizant memory of the time. Most clear is the moment when the three of them came back to the cabin. I ran up the endless flight of wooden stairs from the beach to see this new little creature, my sister, for the first time.

As I ran, I let my hands graze the wooden handrail and got dozens of splinters in my palms due to my error of haste. The splinters meant I wasn’t allowed to touch my baby sister when I finally arrived at her side. My next memory is getting the splinters taken out (naturally, THAT experience made it into the permanent memory bank!). And through it all I remember my feelings of excitement at being a big sister.

People joke about opposites in families or other relationships, but my sister and I fit the bill to a T. We look alike enough; you can tell right away that we are related. And we sound exactly alike! Our children have, on more than one occasion, been soothed by what they thought was their mom’s voice, only to realize that it was their aunt. But in most other ways, we couldn’t be more different.

I am cautious, studious, stoic, reserved, and shy. I learn by watching, avoid unnecessary risks, am the peacemaker and tend to make “right” decisions. I have a daring side, like to have fun, and have a silly sense of humor, but I would be described as dependable more often than fun. I am the one who got married at twenty-one and was the first in my family to graduate from college, but I’ve also been skydiving and gotten my navel pierced!

She is extroverted, unpredictable, fun loving, risk-taking, emotional, and sensitive. She has a very responsible and take-care-of-business side that impresses me greatly but most people wouldn’t describe her as responsible and logical. Blonde jokes are regularly aimed at her, but she isn’t even in her thirties and already has a savings account, numerous other investments, and follows a budget as a single, working mother who is also going back to school!

I learned a lot from my sister growing up. Most of it was an anecdotal lesson in what NOT to do. We spent a lot of years at odds with each other. Fighting (screaming, physical fights) did not happen in our immediate family. But we had our share of disagreements, silent treatments, passive aggressive battles, etc. All I had to do was mention her trouble in school to make her feel bad, and she could turn around and make fun of my acne and big glasses to bring out all of my insecurity.

By the late 90s, we were able to become friends again. We bonded over tough financial times when my father lost his job and family crises like chronic illness and the loss of loved ones. It was nice.

In 2000, my sister began her first serious dating relationship. She was at school in Wisconsin and I was in Illinois preparing for my 2001 wedding. We didn’t keep in touch much. I met her boyfriend the day before my wedding. He seemed OK. Young and immature, but OK. And she seemed happy. I had no idea what was really going on, or what lay ahead for her, and our family.

The next couple of years were a steady, nauseating, dizzying downward spiral for my sister. Most of the worst things you can imagine she did, had done to her, or somehow fell into. From the “minor” (having her debit card stolen, losing jobs) to the major (abuse, addiction, loss of reputation, bankruptcy). Our family went through a lot by proxy. She was a whirlwind of drama, fear, sadness, depression, mania, addiction, lies, pain and so many other things.

I tried to help in whatever way I could. Not knowing what she was going through personally, I just had to guess at what might help her. I hope that I got it right at least sometimes! I know I failed a lot of the time. I carried all the ups and downs with me, and still do carry some of them.

After years of this struggle, we were all worn down. After years of trying to be there and love her, I often felt used and abused by her and her circumstances. It felt hopeless, to be honest. So many tears were cried for her. The fact that many of the circumstances she faced were on my list of worst nightmares didn’t help. It’s always uncomfortable to face your fears, even when you are facing them through someone else’s life. On top of that, I started to feel she was taking advantage of my concern. My advice was ignored. I was one moment the sounding board and refuge for her mangled emotions, and the next moment a burden and loser who didn’t deserve to hear the truth, or even know what was going on in her life. At least that was how I felt.

It was confusing and painful. I wanted to give it all up. I sort of wanted to give her up as a lost cause. When you have someone who uses up so many of your resources on a daily basis, you start to wonder whether it is even safe to have them in your life. How can one person have and take so much when there are so many other people in the world (or even just your immediate family) who have needs as well? How long should you care for and help someone who never gives back, and often doesn’t seem to realize the depth of what you are doing and feeling on her behalf?

As a person of faith, the duty and opportunity I feel I have to express love in difficult situations is very much a part of who I am and my thought process. In ruminating over the way love is described and shown by biblical figures (specifically God and Jesus), eventually, thankfully, I was given the answer to this family conundrum that had sucked up hours of my waking and sleeping: it didn’t matter if she EVER understood what I was doing for her, ever reciprocated, ever thanked me, ever showed me any love in return. My love for her shouldn’t be conditional and was completely my responsibility.

The forgiveness and grace I’ve been shown by God has no condition attached to it. Forgiveness for liars, tax collectors, murderers-none of it really makes sense, yet I believe it has been freely given. God showed me that I had a chance to extend some of that difficult, makes-no-sense forgiveness and love that is set forth in so many of the bible’s stories in a real life setting.

It was a revelation, to say the least.

But it was liberating. I could finally love my sister without all of the caveats and reservations that had troubled me for years. I could move beyond what came naturally and do what needed to be done. I could make the effort without worrying about my reward, or whatever unexpected or unexplainable backlash might result from my actions or words.

My love for her, in many ways, had nothing to do with her. At least in the sense that her actions didn’t mitigate or negate the love I should show her as a family member, friend and person.

In embracing an unconditional love, things did not improve immediately. We still had years of struggle ahead. But my internal fight about what to do, what to say, how to help, etc. became a dull ache for my sister’s release from her pain and a true empathy.

Years later, we now have a better relationship that is more reciprocal. The splinters we’ve received and caused are healed, or at least healing. Instead of a constant stream of drama and fear, there is much more peace. Nine years ago I couldn’t have imagined sitting serenely on the shores of Lake Michigan and playing in the water and sand with my sister and our kids, in the same manner that we did as children. But this summer, we did. 

You can't make this stuff up!

Last week I had a few very strange things happen. Those moments where you can't help but laugh and where you have to stop and say, "Did that really just happen?"

The first was while I was walking down the hall of the University where I work. There was some type of event happening in one of the banquet/meeting rooms and a few older people were leaving. I passed a white-haired woman getting her coat, then I had to look again. SHE was wearing a TOUPEE! Not a wig, because it didn't cover all of her head. She had very short hair at the back of her head, about two inches of it. On top of that, with a very different texture and color, was super straight hair that sort of curled at the edges. It looked exactly like a strange toupee plopped on top of her other hair!

When I left work that afternoon to walk to the bus, I was stopped by a nun. I know she was a nun because she told me. As I walked down the sidewalk, she was getting out of her car. She was tiny woman, probably in her seventies, with dark, short  hair. She called across the parking lot to compliment my hair. When I smiled and said thanks, she vehemently beckoned me over. Thankfully she didn't touch my hair at all (it's always weird when strangers touch you) but she wanted to discuss the virtues of curly hair and confirm that mine is naturally so. Then she felt the need to inform me that when she was little you could never leave the house without curly hair (which she was sure my grandmother had informed me of) and she always wished for curls like mine. She told me she was a nun and taught at the school sometimes (it's a Catholic University, so nuns abound, though none of them wear habits) and was there for some meeting or something. She said a bunch of other inconsequential things, that I listened to politely and tried to interject a few contributing tid-bits of conversation while also starting to worry about missing my bus! I had to hurry, but I made it! My gorgeous hair getting me in trouble yet again. (Ha, ha!)

Right after my brush with clergy [Are nuns clergy? Wikipedia: No. So, brush with... the sisterhood?] , I found myself having to engage in my now weekly conversations with my bus boyfriend. He's about 70 as well, is missing most of his teeth and wears a very snazzy Sean John jacket (which he got at a great discount store on 63rd Street, and wears despite the fact that he is white). He works at a printing shop that makes circular ads. I learned on this particular day that he works 12 hour shifts and has a bone spur in his foot, among other things. His chatter mixed with a bright sun in my eyes made me miss my stop, but thankfully only by about a block and half. And the driver let me off at the train tracks, where he had to stop anyway, instead of making me wait until the next stop.

All my craziness of the day culminated in my mom bringing my kids to meet me as I walked home from the stop (including the back-tracking from getting off at the wrong place). That was a very fun way to end my work day-with hugs and chatter and kids bouncing all over the sidewalk. So, despite the fact that I was unable to use my super awesome earmuff phones that Kiah got me for Christmas, and that make walking in the cold actually very exciting, because it was so warm that day, my commute home was chock full of interestingness! As was the rest of the day.

(Me rocking out on a different day's commute, submitted as evidence of my wonderful earmuff phones, and my silliness.)

Questioning

Have you ever heard or thought about that question, "If my house were on fire, and all the people/pets were safe, what one thing would I want to save?" I've thought about that question many times over the years. Partly because I feel that it helps me to deal with the idea of something horrific; it's not as scary if I think through what I might do. Partly because I want to check up on myself to see what is truly important to me. It's one way to arbitrarily take stock of what I'm putting my faith/attention into.

Most of the time, I don't come up with many/any things that I feel I would HAVE to have. Pictures of past events would be nice, but if I have the people themselves, then I don't really need pictures to remind me why I love them. Mementoes from people I have lost, or that I find special for some other reason, like my first Bible, given to me by my grandmother (who died 13 years ago); my husband's, children's and my own baby books; maybe jewelry because some of it is meaningful or worth enough to get at least a little bit of money if we needed it. That's about it.

Honestly, most of the time I end up thinking along practical lines. If I had a bit of time, I would grab clothes, shoes, wallets and a toy for each kid so they'd have something to comfort them. And blankets/coats if it was winter. Then I think of grabbing things like birth certificates and other documents that would help us rebuild.

This exercise usually makes me feel like I'm doing a decent job at combating materialism in my life. My lack of attention to objects is genuine. I'm not manufacture a lack of concern for my stuff to trick myself into thinking it's not important when it really is.

However, the way you'd react in a difficult situation is a pretty arbitrary test. The harder test is in the here and now, the everyday. Am I reflecting a lack of materialism in what I buy, keep, and pay attention to? I have to admit that too much of the time the answer is no. I'm guilty, like many others, of buying things to make me feel better and buying things I can't technically afford. Nothing extravagant. I've never been a big ticket spender.  A new shirt here, a new toy for the kids there, an extra meal out. It isn't about how expensive or how often, it's about my heart. And too often my heart wants to spend money for the short term endorphin rush, or to avoid making a meal, or make me feel like I'm giving my kids a good life by creating a memory or making them happy.

But it's all short term. And too often I feel crushed by the weight of my stuff, which is the biggest indicator of all that I have too much.

To be completely honest, there are times when I go through my mental fire exercise that I almost wish something like that would happen and take all my stuff away (though I don't want the damage or risk of injury to myself or others). I wish for freedom and I often don't feel I can get it without it being forced upon me!

With all of the times our family has moved, we have been able to really pare down our stuff. When a move has to be done quickly, especially, you get pretty ruthless with it. "Do I really want to haul this 1,000 miles across the country?" So we haven't held onto as much as we could have. But I still see a problem. I still want to stop buying new stuff, and stop putting too much sentiment into the stuff we have by holding onto it when it is no longer needed. I want to feel free of the burden of too much and focus more on what is important. That's the part of my life journey I find myself walking in lately.

Show me the money

So, I have some cute kids. And, yes, I know everyone thinks that (that their own kids are cute). But then you have the times when other lovely people (mothers, usually) start saying things about making money off the little cherubs. You know, "You should put him in modeling." "I think he would be so cute in a diaper commercial." And, about the following picture, "This should be in an ad for blueberries!"

First of all, I have never seen an ad for blueberries that 1, wasn't in a grocery store circular, and 2, featured anything but a picture of blueberries.

Second of all, I have NO idea how to get a get into "The Biz" (of commercials and other money-making print endeavors). And I suspect I'm far too lazy to pursue it. AND I'm pretty darn sure that my spirited children would never follow directions at a photo shoot, making the whole thing moot since I'm sure professional photographers don't put up with crap like kids acting like kids.

But it sure would be nice to finance my kids' future sure-to-be-even-more-astronomically-priced college educations with their very own adorable mugs. Any advice is welcome, but also will probably not be taken. (Since I'm lazy, as aforementioned.)

The trouble with children

When there are kids involved in your life, everything is not just a little harder, it's a LOT harder. When you go out to run errands it doesn't take twice as long, it takes FIVE times as long. I only have two children, but I have to imagine that as you add children you add at least three times the difficulty per additional child. I plan not to test this theory, however. :)

Today was a perfect example of the upped difficulty level. And we were home all day!

It started at 6am with K waking me up to tell me he and his bed were wet. He is a bed-wetter, which is SO annoying (tons of laundry, grossness factor, inconvenient timing). But I don't chastise him for it since I was one too. And it's hereditary. So technically it's my fault. I do get upset with him because he puts up a huge fight if I ask him to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and only recently has consented to even go before he goes to sleep without a huge fight. I'm careful not to blame him, but make him see the need to deal with this issue. So far, not much is happening. Nothing is easy with this boy!

But anyway...

So I was woken up early, had to change K's clothes and bedding and get him tucked back in. Half an hour later, he came in asking for his bear, which he usually sleeps with and couldn't find (and later discovered was in the laundry basket with his sheets). Jim took care of that one since he had to get ready for work anyway.

Another half an hour later, when I was still very groggy, K came back in the room to tell me firmly that it was 7am (the earliest he is allowed to get out of bed) and he wanted breakfast. I was not a happy or gracious mother while getting him his food. I hate mornings and yet have to put forth tons of effort each day to take care of my family and try not to bite their heads off. I don't yell or lash out, but I guess I still need to work on not resenting them.

The next fun part of the day was when I decided to workout. I need to get back into a routine to stay healthy and in shape, so I've started making more of an effort after slacking these past few months. Kids make this endeavor three times as hard! K actually played in his room most of the time (miracle!) and only came out to ask questions and bother S, but S was with me the whole time. My half hour workout took about an hour, with him crying, sitting on me, stepping in front of me, turning off the TV, stealing my hand weights, pushing me, etc. Sigh. I guess it ups the difficulty level, but when he renders it impossible for me to really move, then I'm not getting much benefit.

Later I tried to do the dishes. K wanted to help, but today I just wasn't up to his "help". I just wanted to be done. While working on this chore, however, S took all the recyclables out and threw them around the kitchen, took clean dishes (plastic) from the side table and threw those around, got between me and the cabinets to try to push me away from it, stood on my feet to try to make me pay attention to him, took my hand multiple times to take me places, asked for every kind of food he could see ("na-na?", "bread?") and so on.

Add to this that every time the kids DO leave me alone, they are usually employed with wrecking whatever room they are in. So one chore is done (yay, clean kitchen!) and two other rooms are destroyed ("Why did you take out every car you have and just leave them all over the living room?").

No wonder all I want to do once they are in bed is lay on the couch!

Pyogenic Granuloma

Even though this is a bit out of date, I wanted to post about S's latest health "issue". Kids have a way of helping you find out all about weird things you've never heard of or thought of before!

In August, S developed a little red spot on his right cheek, near his eye. You can just barely see it on the left side in this picture, taken August 6th. That little spot on the apple of his cheek. It was red, round and flat against his skin, not raised.

This was not too long after he began walking and was always running into stuff, falling, etc. Here is another shot, taken one week later, after he had fallen A LOT when we were in Maine, to demonstrate his pitiful state, and show the spot again. All that walking on uneven surfaces didn't work out for him. Poor kid. But you can see that the spot is still pretty small. I just thought that maybe he had spent too much time in the sun. Baby skin is sensitive, and we're pretty white anyway, so it was a definite possibility. So, I thought it best to wait and see if it would fade.









It stayed small for quite a while. By October first, it was a little larger, but not much. Here is another picture, for reference:

Another month went by and it was still growing slowly. People started to ask what was on his face. I was still reluctant to take him to the doctor. I've had far too many experiences at the doctor when other people have freaked out and I've gone down that "what if this is one of those things that is really serious and can only be caught early" thought road, but then when I see the doctor, they tell me it's nothing. So I waste lots of time, go through extra effort (that is usually tough on the kids in some way, because they've been cooped up in an office for over an hour, sometimes in a state of undress, waiting to be told to just go home and wait it out), spend money for the co-pay and get nothing in return. Anyway, I wanted to avoid that.

By November 18th, more than three months after the spot first appeared, it was getting a lot bigger.

You can kind of see it here. The spot was raised from the skin, red and kind of an imperfectly shaped circle. It looked like a red mole. Once it got to this point, I knew we should go in to the doctor. I would touch the spot to see how it felt or if it hurt S at all, but he never had any reaction. The spot was soft and fleshy and didn't seem like it had any fluid in it. But by this point I was ready to see the doctor about it. A growth that keeps getting bigger on the face of my 19-month-old was not a good thing!

Of course, this was the week before Thanksgiving and everything was crazy. We were preparing to leave for Ohio to visit family for a week, so I planned to get an appointment when we got home. I waited too long, however.

While in Ohio, the spot started getting larger and looking strained, like it was growing too fast and filling up. On Thanksgiving Day (naturally) I was cleaning S's face after he ate dessert and saw what looked like chocolate on the spot. I wiped it a little more and it started pouring blood! Not a fun thing to see on your baby! We rushed him to the bathroom, cleaned him up and fashioned a bandage to stop the bleeding and keep it covered. Takes a little finagling to make grown up gauze and tape fit a tiny face without getting in his eyes, covering his nose or getting too close to his mouth. Daddy held him while we opened presents (we do Christmas with my sister-in-law's family then since that's when we're all together) and S was pretty worn out and quiet for a while. He cried about the cleaning and bandaging, but I think it was mostly because he didn't want to be restrained and didn't quite understand.

By that night, the bleeding had already stopped and S had taken off the bandage. He had a scab at the bottom of the spot, where it had opened up, but there was still a pronounced bump remaining.

It was fine all day, but that night when I took his shirt off to change him into pajamas, it started bleeding again. We re-bandaged it with a band-aid and he left it on until the middle of the night. I put a new one on in the morning, to protect it, and all was fine until he woke up from his nap in the afternoon. I came in to get him when he was crying to find S covered in blood! Face, hair, hands, clothes, bed, etc. Another terrible site for a mother's eyes! Cleaned him up and kept him bandaged non-stop after that. It wasn't as easy to stop the bleeding anymore, but it was OK while covered. The bloody nap scene was repeated the next day, but thankfully that was also the day we were going back home.

I called the pediatrician in the car and got an appointment for the next morning. Had to find a baby-sitter for K next, because he freaks out whenever something is happening to his brother. It's very sweet how much he cares about S, actually. The triage nurse thought it was something that was essentially a bundle of veins that break the surface of the skin, but I can't remember the name she gave it.

The pediatrician didn't seem to know what it was when he saw it and referred us to a plastic surgeon. Because it was on S's face, they wanted someone with very specific skills to take care of it. We saw him that night and finally got a diagnosis: pyogenic granuloma. It is caused by some kind of injury, either surface or something that pierced the skin. Then the blood begins to pool in the area and increases. This is his face right after taking the bandage off to show the surgeon (on November 29, if you are keeping track of the timeline):

It had finally stopped bleeding (we had to keep changing the bandage and using a lot of gauze for two days before). You can see it was still raised, but this was honestly about 1/3 the size it was before it broke! The plastic surgeon had to shoot novocaine into S's cheek (definitely the worst part for S) to numb it. I held his body down, the nurse held his head, and the surgeon then cut the bump off with a scalpel and cauterized it with silver nitrate (which comes on a stick that looks like a large, gray tipped match). They put a band-aid on it and we were done!

S did so well with the whole thing! He cried, but didn't try to squirm away or really even fight against our restraint. I was so proud of him! He had also let the doctors and nurses remove and apply the bandages, look at his face and everything else that day with barely a peep. He had even left the bandages alone for most of the time we had them on over the few days. And this is a kid who won't leave a hat on for more than five seconds! God really protected him, and I think S figured out it was helping him to have the bandage. The doctor and nurse were impressed with him too and said he did better than most adults do! As soon as I lifted him up after the procedure, he calmed down and went back to normal. I was so thankful that he didn't seem too affected by the whole thing.

By December 3rd, he looked like this:

He had a little bruise near the area, and half of that redness is from the injection site for the novocaine.

Here is a shot from this past Sunday, when we went to the zoo:

Not a super close shot, but you can see that it is healing very well! We had the first follow up with the plastic surgeon, and the next (and last) one is January 12th. So far, so good.

From what I read online and what the doctor said, it is possible for something like this to happen again. At least now I know what it is and who to call. And, like my mom said, if your kids have to go through something medical, at least it was something pretty minor and fixable like this!

A fun little game

I did this little game on Facebook about a year and a half ago with K. I thought it would be fun to do it again now!

Ask your child(ren) to answer the questions and type their answers in.
Tag other moms with older kids who might have fun with this.

1. What is something mom always says to you?
 Be good.

2. What makes mom happy?
Doing nice things.

3. What makes mom sad?
I don't know.

4. How does your mom make you laugh?
 By doing her funny teeth face.

5. What was your mom like as a child?
 She liked unicorns.

6. How old is your mom?
How old are you? I just don’t know.

7. How tall is your mom?
I don’t know. These are hard questions!

8. What is her favorite thing to watch on TV?
 Football.

9. What does your mom do when you're not around?
 Play with Simon and do funny things with Simon.

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
 What does famous mean? I just can’t answer this one.

11. What is your mom really good at?
Taking care of us.

12. What is your mom not very good at?
 Taking very, very long walks.

13. What does your mom do for her job?
 Sending people letters.

14. What is your mom's favorite food
Olives. Candy.

15. What do you like about your mom?

How sweet you are. (Gives me a kiss.) And the soft of your cheeks.

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?
I don’t know. An old man.

17. What do you and your mom do together?
 Play games, play with each other, play with Simon.

18. How are you and your mom the same?
 The soft of our cheeks. We like candy just the same.

19. How are you and your mom different?
It’s because how my hair is and your hair is and how I don’t have glasses and you do and you have holes in your ears and I don’t.

20. How do you know your mom loves you?
It’s because I’m your son.

21. What does your mom like most about your dad?
Um, like, because he’s your husband.

22. Where is your mom's favorite place to go? 

 You like to go to your stores you want to go to. Starbucks.