Moments of Clarity

Moments of Clarity

Our individual realities are always shaped and formed by our varying circumstances and life experiences.  My sister had a profound effect on mine.

Growing up with an undiagnosed bipolar sibling was at the very least unpredictably terrifying.  Living with the reality that my parents were in total denial was devastating. 

From my earliest memory Susie emotionally hijacked our family.  I was sure the phrase “walking on egg shells” was coined expressly for us.  Susie was and still is one of the most intelligent, beautiful and funny people I know.  Her ability to turn a bad situation into something glorious was only predicated by her unpredictable, wildly aggressive temper.  One moment you were lured into laughing, smiling and letting your guard down.  Like a snake charmer she could will you to get comfortable, tell her your innermost secrets, ask you how you really felt about something personal and then SNAP!  It was an actual physical transformation.  Like a contortionist she took shape into another person.  Ugly, angry and venomous, she would strike out.  Using words and expletives beyond description she would verbally assault.  Physically her 5’3” 100lb stature changed into a hulk-like creature capable of taking down people 3 times her size. 

The undeniable fact that my sister suffers from a debilitating mental illness is not lost on me.  Her outbursts unprovoked and nonsensical were horrifying as a child yet my love for her always outweighed her episodes. I wanted so badly for her to

be the sister everyone else had.  The one who braided their hair, took them to the mall, helped them with boy problems.  I had glimpse of that sister.  She had moments of clarity.

She was fiercely loyal.  The one saying our family used still holds true.  “You definitely want her on your side and not against you”. 

Susie is the middle child.  A lot of her behaviors were written off to “being the middle child”.  I was so convinced that this was a viable reason that I was very concerned when I became pregnant for the third time that my middle daughter would be doomed to exhibit the same traits as my sister.

My brother, Lee, the oldest was usually the target for the more physical attacks.  He was under strict orders to NEVER hit a girl.  He was relegated to hitting the walls or doors in the hallway.  When we sold our home we spent an unusually large amount of money patching the drywall.  My clever mother mod-podged flowers cut out from existing wallpaper scraps on the holes in closet doors. 

Susie was great at psychological warfare.  She knew my brother hated peanut butter so everything she baked for home economics had peanut butter in it.  She didn’t eat any of her creations but she enjoyed torturing Lee by ruining any chance he had for eating yummy desserts.  Things would take “a turn for the worse” when Lee would ask her why she did that.  The result was usually a battle of words followed by punching and hitting, by my sister.  For me, it was the allure of “The Twilight Zone”.  It was a super scary TV show that was on Friday nights past my bedtime.  When my parents were out and Susie was babysitting me she would encourage me to watch the show promising a happy outcome.  The happy outcome never happened and Susie would then shut off the lights and chase me around in the dark.  Locking me in the hall closet was always an option too.

I'm not sure when or how the power shift happened from parent to child. 

I can hope and dream that somehow there's a special reason she's like this.  Maybe Motzart was like this.  Maybe her brilliance cannot be understood  or processed by me.  "Let go and let God" is given a whole new meaning when it comes to my sister.  It's so hard to stand by and watch someone seemingly unravel before your eyes and know there is not a thing you can do about it.  She won't allow it.  I just wait for the moments of clarity.



"Shoot out at the OK Corral" or "You think I'm Old Enough To Qualify for the Senior Discount??!!"

There is nothing more affirming than the unbiased opinion of a young stranger manning the checkout at your local grocery.  I have an unrealistic image of myself.  I know how old I am, I know what size I wear, and my glasses prescription.  When I get dressed in the morning, gussy up my hair and make-up, and tilt my head to the side while looking in the mirror...I see who I want to see.  Who is apparently someone completely foreign to the rest of the general public.  I see a well put together, middle age , confident, happy (most of the time) person.  I do, occasionally, catch a glimpse of a really overweight, frumpy, frazzled and disheveled older woman in desperate need of a wardrobe make-over and cosmetic surgery following me.  I look over my shoulder in the reflection of the glass in a store window.  There she is! She is definitely stalking me...  I am convinced that "she" isn't me, or well, I was...Until a few weeks ago.  I went to the grocery with my happy attitude and cute "flattering" ensemble.  I made my way through the store smiling at strangers, making small talk with clerks.  Then it happened...The most unspeakable event in my life thus far.  At the check out counter after I put in my frequent shopper number and got ready to swipe my credit card for payment I nearly collapsed, which doesn't help my case, being the happy, jazzy, middle aged mom.  The unassuming clerk made a, horrifying to me, assumption...He gave me the Super Senior Discount!!!  He didn't ask , are you 55?  No he just hit the, She is OBVIOUSLY old enough for the discount key.  Mouth dry, ears ringing, and heart racing I swiped my card graciously accepting the receipt, and walked at a faster than normal pace out of the store...I am 46, 46!!!! 

  So thank you, young, store clerk for giving me more resolve than I've had in years.  I have given up sweets, and fried snacks. I am changing up my every day outfits, wearing more lipstick and  I'm working my apparently older than I think I look,  tush off every day.  

We will meet again!!!   

Next time, by summer's end, I will be asked if I'm old enough to have college aged children, because I OBVIOUSLY don't look old enough...

When I grow up...or, Do I have to grow up?

I am reminded today of how many things there are,  that I still need to learn and do...and of those childish things I refuse to give up.  Today as a colleague celebrated his 39th birthday, I say, knowing many of you are 39ish or younger, "Really, ugh, only 39? I wish!"  I stood and watched the interaction of he and others in our office, and I swear if I squinted a little I could see their true 16 year old personalities.  The awkward laughs, juvenile jokes, which we all think are hilarious, and that ever present need for approval. I am right there too...I know I am "technically"   a grown up, but, if truth were to be told I don't feel grown up at all.  Most of the time I think my kids are more mature than I am, and they would agree wholeheartedly. I can certainly kick into grown up mode when necessary.  When a problem arises or one of my friends or children have an emotional meltdown looming on the horizon I can dress up in my grown up costume and handle the monster problems with the best of them...but, most of the time I catch myself day dreaming of driving with the convertible top down,  singing Eagles songs at the top of my lungs.  When I walk by a mirror or window and catch a glimpse of the pudgy older lady starring back at me I am horrified!  Wow! She looks awful. Glad I'm still young, svelte and beautiful!  We spend so much of our high school and college years wishing to be done and on with our "adult" lives only to be tricked that we are still those gangly, free spirited, goof balls...Who now have to punch a time clock and pay mortgages.  Some days I really wish there was a Neverland, an island of lost boys and Peter Pan leading the charge against the perils of adulthood.  I did, as a child,  have an unhealthy obsession with pixie dust, and am probably alive today because we didn't live in a two story home.

So here I sit, and as I have those haunting memories of my parents embarrassing me to the point of certain death by their  display of very un-adult like behavior.  I have turned into that same un-adult like person.  I think, or rather know, that losing those childlike qualities is not fun, attractive or necessary.  We need to be goofy, day dream, sing at the top of our lungs!  If we forget how to be childlike than how can we appreciate our own children, grandchildren...Here's to giggling, to playing hopscotch, listening to the car radio loud enough to burst your eardrums.  There are plenty of opportunities to don our grown up costumes and tackle the problems de jour.  If I can't feel like a kid, I won't be able to act like a grown up...Just sayin'  

The Trouble with Four Year Olds

The trouble with four year olds is that have discovered the power of negotiation.  They know if they eat their green beans they can successfully argue that green beans and ice cream cancel each other out. " Mommy, don't you want  ice cream too?"  You do of course and who can argue with this brilliant force of nature.  Four year olds have the uncanny ability to make you laugh, cry, and question your sanity all at the same time.  My friend's four year old, " Hey Mom, see those sun shine streams through the clouds? That's God. He's smiling at us."  When my daughter was four, she was obsessed with two things.  Barney and Ariel.  Unfortunately, she received a dingy Barney sleep shirt from a yard sale while "junking" with her grandparents.  She also had a pair of Ariel leggings.  Surprise!  This was her outfit of choice for months.  Did I mention four year olds insist on being their own stylists?  It's true, every four year old must pick out and don outfits they put together themselves, or you will face the dreaded tantrum.  Not only did my daughter dress herself she refused to have her hair brushed, and always seemed to have a rash on her face.  I was certain I would be hand cuffed and taken away by Child Protective Services.  She would proudly wear her sloppy Barney shirt, dirty kneed Ariel leggings and flip flops in January as if she was about to be on the catwalk during New York's Fashion Week.  All of you who haven't had a four year old or have conveniently blocked the memory out, let me remind you that reasoning with a four year old, hell bent on doing something, is like watching a presidential debate during the primaries.  It is far easier on everyone to pretend you're the babysitter and convince them to call you by your first name when in public, than to coif their hair dress them in pressed clean adorable matching outfits and having their heads spin around like the exorcist. Trust me I've done it, not pretty.  That same four year old can touch your cheek softly and sing you the lullaby you've been singing to them since before they were born.  I guess the problem or "trouble" with four year olds is that as their amazing minds expand and their beautiful personalities become solidified you lose the control you once had over their every step.  It is the natural ebb and flow of the parent child relationship.  "Relationship" being the key word here.   My four year old is now 21 years old.  How I long for the days when she would sing " A Part of Your World" at the top of her lungs while trying to brush her hair with a fork. Believing for certain anything was possible.  Release your inner four year old!  God Bless...

 

Things I Know...or, It's okay, I'm a mom

I admittedly am not the smartest or most successful person, but there are a few things I know for sure.  Having one child is a life changing, beautiful adventure.  Having two children is manageable chaos.  Having three children is circus mayhem.  There is a reason they call it a three ring circus.  If you're lucky enough to have three children.  You have officially earned the title of "Ring Master".  Put on your top hat grab you whip and bull horn, own this title or you will be eaten alive.  I know that in 2 minutes several day destroying things can happen.  A crayon can be lodged up a 2 year old's nose.  An eighteen month old can successfully scale the counter to the cupboard where you keep the Dimetapp, and drink the entire bottle.  Your two adorable dogs can take a perfectly cooked, 14 pound turkey off the counter, eat it, leaving nothing behind, not even the wishbone and feel no ill effects or remorse. Your three year old can decorate your yellow lab with colorful Sharpies. In the next minute they can paint all of their big sister's stuffed animals ,"toes" with nail polish and confidently say the dog did it.  A barbie placed on top of a lamp, can become "disabled" barbie when their arm melts off.  Dog food  becomes a crunchy, healthy, in between meal snack.  Bangs that didn't exist before suddenly appear, and are significantly shorter than your hairdresser would recommend, again, the dog has done this. A VCR can become a make shift depository for money and grilled cheese sandwiches. I know that your children can and will repeat everything they hear, in front of your Mother in law, at church, or to a group of other children who will then repeat everything to their parents. " I love you" and "I'm sorry" mean more than you know and aren't spoken often enough.  "Sticks and stones will break your bones." Broken bones heal. "but words will never harm you." Words can leave scars that last a lifetime so choose them carefully.   People who say they feel better in their 40's and 50's are obviously suffering from dementia and don't remember what it felt like, physically, to be 20. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.  Get the "Joy of Cooking" and use it!  A thoughtful word or a gentle pat on the back can turn someone's day around.  I know that there is no easy way to get gum out of hair, lipstick out of carpet or red latex paint out of car flooring.  I know for sure that good friends, family and faith can get you through anything.  Laughter is good medicine, and being able to laugh at yourself is the best medicine.  I know that bubble gum, a rubber band and a paperclip can fix just about everything. I know for sure as you get older time does goes by faster.  Enjoy your children.  Stop. Smile. Get on the floor and play with them while you can.  I know for sure that there is a God, he is awesome, sovereign and he answers prayers. Pray, a lot...for humility, patience and forgiveness.

Time for Change or Watch out for the lava!

My life, like all of our lives, is in a constant upheaval.  I compare mine to those videos in science class we watched in Jr. High of the earth's crust erupting with moving molten lava, as they tried to liken the video footage with what they assume is how our planet was formed.  I know if I breathe, and stand still for just a moment I realize that others have more tumultuous events occurring in their lives.  Eventually, it all comes back to the hot molten lava...I can justify any and every event as a  cosmic collision.  "I know you're going through a lot right now,but, let me fill you in on my latest catastrophe!"  It's really funny in a ridiculous, sitcom kind of way when I think about it...I have, undeniably, been through a lot these past six months.  My mother, 74, was blindsided by a petition for divorce from my second stepfather.  My sister was evicted from her apartment and happily reported she was eating hotel patrons leftovers placed outside their rooms for Thanksgiving dinner.  I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, not life threatening, stable in growth for now.  My dear friends daughter was diagnosed and successfully treated for Leukemia. We are being hounded by the IRS...I could go on and on, the molten lava overtaking every nook and cranny of my existence until I am perched on the corner of an end table hanging on to sanity so the lava won't swallow me up and burn me alive!  That's when breathing is a really good idea.  I know everyone else is living with the "lava effect".  Our church recently added a contemporary service to our worship options.  Now, understand, we are a Presbyterian church in an predominantly white, upper middle class neighborhood.  We have been doing the same thing for more than 25 years...Adding this service was like asking the congregation to accept live sacrifices on the alter every Sunday.  Don't misunderstand.  It wasn't the idea of contemporary worship.  We talk about it, embrace the principles, encourage those who want to participate in worship in any form,but...Change?  Add something, different? To our worship schedule? Hmmm, not so comfortable.  Here comes that lava!  Every aspect of this monumental event was scrutinized.  Where will people park?  Won't this pull people from our traditional service?  It was almost as if we were taking ownership of worship itself.  "their way might be okay, our way is the right way".  This Sunday, in the traditional service, yes, I go to the traditional service.  Don't hate me.  I like it, I sing in the choir, I feel comfortable there. Anyway, in the traditional service the sermon was about being who God wants you to be...Living up to the expectations He has for us.  Stop, breathe, listen...Listen to your own heart.  Don't let the lava over take your life.  It isn't about you.  It's about Him working in your life.   It is time for change.  I am trying to envision the waves crashing on the lava, cooling it, washing away the stress and tumult of the day.  I know that my life will always be in upheaval.  I can look at it as destructive, or...look at it as growth.  Those layers of lava in my life once cooled by love and faith give me strength...

February 14th...No, not Valentine's day, Arizona's Birthday!

100 years ago on February 14th, Arizona became the 48th state of the union...I am a fourth generation Arizonan...my family was here when we were a territory, we fought in the only battle of the civil war at Picacho Peak...We were confederates...We won. We protected our border ensuring Tucson was, and is a part of our great state and not taken by Spaniards. My Grandmother attended Tempe Normal, ...now ASU...when it was a college for women educators. My father was born in a midwife facility in Tucson and was Scottsdale's first city attorney. We are a diverse, bright, complicated group of amazing citizens. We are quirky, brash and outspoken.  My great great grandfather brought his family across the country by horse drawn wagon and was a first family of Tempe...no, I am not a Mormon.  He then moved to Glendale where he was a farmer.  He took his crops to Tempe to sell and crossed the Salt River using Hayden's Ferry. Lattie Coor, Carl Hayden, and my great grandfather had their hair cut by the same barber every week.  Prescott, is pronounced Preskitt.  My grandmother and her sisters summered in Flagstaff .  It was too hot in the valley and they didn't have air conditioning.  Hanging wet sheets between trees and sleeping on mattresses outside was their  air conditioning. I grew up in Scottsdale before it was cool.  The big indoor mall was Los Arcos.  We were influenced by Wallace and Ladmo, a local "kids" TV show where adults were laughing harder than the kids.  The Phoenician was The Jokake Inn and I rode my horse on the golf course regularly.  Fashion Square's coolest department store wasn't Barney it was Goldwater's, yes, owned by Barry Goldwater's family.   I am an proud American and Arizonan. I know we have far to go and aren't perfect. I could live anywhere, but couldn't dream of living anywhere else. Happy Birthday Arizona!