The Kids Might Be Alright

Today my youngest brother and his first real girlfriend broke up. Secretly my jaded old soul was kind of relieved. "They're teenagers," I said with the gruff tone of somebody who thinks she knows better. "They have so much life to live."

I seem to have lost touch with my heart for a moment. Forgotten or shellacked over holes in my plastic armor. I forgot what it feels like to hang up the phone, indefinitely.

It was the first time I felt like a big sister. There are seven years dividing the two of us. I was always doing my own thing as my brothers sort of grew up together in their own world of boyhood. A world more concerned with asserting their own prepubescent testosterone through the jumping off of roofs, the scraping of elbows and jokes that earned punishments instead of laughter. They knew nothing of my birth control or hidden life of secret parental deceiving . My perpetually locked door kept out any inquiries as to what it was like to be a seventeen-year old girl. My turned up speakers leaking out hormonal disenchantment and a heart too blue to be true from under the door acted as a translator for the alien tongues us boys vs. girls spoke. We had nothing in common but the name and blood we shared and the love that punctuated boughts of sibling torture. And before they evolved out of their baby fat I had already moved out.

When he posted heartsick status updates on Facebook tonight I felt a twinge of pain in so many different ways. I felt bad for him sure but I also felt guilty. I felt guilty for not being there enough. For not counseling him more through our parent's divorce because I was too busy running away from them and finding myself.

"But I was alone for everything," I try to justify.

But it isn't about enduring the pain alone that defines oneself is it? It's about what we do for others in THEIR pain, in their time of need.

And so, I ignored the part of myself that plays the wiser when I know I'm not. I'm just another human being. And I commiserated and listened. And I remembered the day I thought I'd never be happy again and all the songs and angry, hurt lashing out that followed. I spoke honestly and I hoped it helped.

I think kids of divorce perceive love differently. For my brother it was tragedy to see something fall apart because he wanted to be different than my parents, wanted to keep believing in love and holding on to it. For me, well, I'm still trying to work on not seeing every relationship as impending heartache, a broken home; restart at thirty-nine with little to nothing but mouths to feed and hearts to mend.

Cynic or believer, we had both had a broken heart. And now we had something in common.

I sent him a text before bed and I reminded him that life goes on. That experiences that he won't even be able to perceive yet will happen. That people are good. That yes, yes, you'll probably be depressed for awhile but one day you won't and things will be different. And that I loved him.

Even if he didn't love anybody, or feel loved, tonight.

This and that

I've been all sorts of scattered lately. Things going through my mind-

*Enrolling in beauty/esthetician school soon (well, at least within the next year) and trying to figure out how I'm going to handle the crazy schedule and child care that will have to go with it.

*Trying to figure out a future burlesque routine and wanting to work on costuming.

*Wanting to "nest", for whatever reason.

*Needing a haircut...bad. I spent about twenty minutes last night picking at split ends (it is one of my bad habits, and I don't do it often) and once I finished I looked at the sink and it looked like I molted.

*Wanting to play more with fashion.

*This blog.

*Jack's vocabulary (or lack thereof).

*Family and the impending holidays.

It actually feels a little better to put it all down that way it isn't just sitting there in my cabeza bumping into neuroses and to-do lists.

So to expound on those bullets-

*Regarding this blog, I would like to do a "Fashion Friday" post on this blog just to mix it up and give me a reason to dress up or play in my closet. I may start it tonight. Anybody who wants to join in is welcome. I REALLY enjoyed playing along with the Fall Fashion posts that happened a couple weeks ago. It was really fun to look and see and comment.

*The holidays are coming up and I'm feeling as though I should take the reigns this time and make the plans. Maybe even get my ass in the kitchen (this would be a feat!). I've been checking out cabins to rent for a weekend when my family is all down here in the Ol' Pueblo (this is pretty rare) and it may give this decorating/nesting fixation a decent outlet. If I could wrangle my entire family into one cabin (we generally run around visiting people at their abodes like chickens with our heads cut off) a gold medal should be in order. Seriously, so unorganized we are.

*Regarding Jack- This kid is a boy of very few words. He knows some ("mama", "dada", "hi", "bye") but he refuses to actually use them very often. He's 20 months and by now I expected him to at least say a couple words to form baby sentences. I read to him multiple times a day, talk to him, point out things and say what they are, emphasize words when they're on Sesame Street, etc and still not much. It's kind of frustrating being in a house all day with this little human and a language barrier. I know he'll talk in his own time and I shouldn't push him but c'mon Jack! Could I interest you in buying a vowel? Otherwise, the kid is awesome. He's healthy and growing like a weed. He's generally pretty happy but experiments with "terrible two" behavior from time to time. He gets cuter as he grows which I thought was impossible, but I figure it's nature's defense mechanism. Make them cuter so parent's wont don wigs and jet to Canada once the terrible two's hit.


That's really all for now. I'll leave you with a video.

Long lost honeymoon footage prt.deux

"Great. This is just great. The minute we get a night to ourselves and everything is against us!" I bemoaned. I walked away and looked ahead.

I was at least thankful that the slight overcast kept us slightly more cool than the usual 100+ degree Arizona desert heat and the wind blew my hair in my face disguising the tears.

Being in the middle is always a precarious situation. If you're closer to home you can just as easily turn around and go back. Or if you're close to your destination, at least you have the wherewithal to push on. But there looking at the desert and becoming increasingly hateful of cactus and highway I decided now was a good time to start turning lemons into lemonade. For starter's we would have to start cracking open a couple of our concert beers.


I flipped through my phone and thought of my cousin Jessica. She lives in Phoenix and since we were half way there maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to pick us up.
"Hello?"
"Soooo...guess where we're at?"

And then- "I'll be there in about 45 minutes."

Sure enough, even before the tow tuck was supposed to arrive, she was there.


We decided to wait for the tow truck and an hour later, we were still waiting.

"Screw this. They said they're on their way. They know what to do. I already talked to them. Let's go."

Jess drove us through Phoenix to our hotel where we sat and contemplated what to do for the night. Should we still go to the concert even though we were already running late? Stay here? We don't want her to have to chauffeur us around. This is such a clusterfuck. But Jess insisted we go to the concert. She was free for the night and being the person she is, she sacrificed her evening to make sure our one night in Phoenix went according to plan. Did I mention how much I love my family and how badass they are?
We got there about an hour late (we broke down at 4:30, and the concert was scheduled to start at 6:00. Between waiting for the tow truck in vain for an hour, driving though Phoenix to get to our hotel, check in, drop off bags and drive back through Phoenix...yeah, we were late). We excited the car and were greeted with the echo of "Taper Jean Girl." We made it.



(Not the BEST quality, but were in the middle of a huge amphitheater, AND if you listen closely that's "Arizona" they're playing. Yes. "Arizona" in Arizona).

We stayed for about an hour and when the show was drawing to a close we decided to beat the rush and Jess picked us up. We all decided chicken wings sounded good and headed to Native New Yorker where Greg ordered this-

Why yes, that IS an order of EVERY flavor wing Native had to offer. I had a slightly smaller version and Jess had an even smaller version. We sat and laughed and marveled at the fact that despite the day's beginnings we were all happy at that moment.

Jess dropped us off at our humble abode for the evening-



The San Carlos is a historic hotel in downtown Phoenix. It was quaint and lovely and Mae West evidently stayed in the room right next to ours back in the day. We were going to explore the hotel and swim in it's rooftop pool until Greg mentioned something about "The Shining" (the hotel *seemed* like it could in fact be haunted) and spooked me. I shut us in our room for the evening and we watched TBS all night because "I was tired." When in all honesty, I couldn't get this image-

out of my head. So we called it a night.

The next morning we got up and called the tow truck company to check on our car. Apparently it was still on the side of the highway. Also, this wouldn't be covered by our car insurance. Our morning was shot and we headed back to making phone call after phone call to our car dealership, insurance people, and tow truck trolls. They finally picked up our car only to drop it off at the dealership across town in Tucson, despite us explicitly telling them-"The dealership on the north side. NOT the east. Thank you." They said they'd be charging us mileage and fees for their mistake and after about two or three hours of the most aggravating customer service representatives EVER, we finally got the car in it's right place and thanks to a manager who understood, we got all fees dropped. Persistence people. Don't let people try to shove you around for your money. Car repair was about $750, a big financial donkey punch for us. But at least we were back home and Jack's molars were in and the storm had passed.

In the end it was all about the company. Whether you make it to your destination or not, be thankful for who may be there to see you through, hold your hand and give you hope.

We just may tackle this marriage business. We survived the honeymoon after all.