Breaking Mommy Dearest - Afterthoughts

In summary -

• My mother truly is an amazing woman.  She is strong, both physically and mentally, sometimes painstakingly so.  She's smart, beautiful, and has proved time and time again that she would do anything for her children.
• She only wishes the best for my brother and I and to see us succeed in life, love and the pursuit of happiness.
• But I've come to realize that our versions of life, love and the pursuit of happiness are going to be radically different and that is okay.
• I'm learning to apply the advice that my brother gives me on an at least weekly basis - Don't let it get to you.  Whenever she starts in on you, just let it roll off of your shoulders.  (Hence why he has managed to not lose his mind or his temper during the times she's being insufferable.)
• I can't change her, I can only adapt my attitude in order to make my own life a little less guilt-ridden or aggravating.

So there we have it.  It's going to be a long, tough road but it's one I'm willing to take because I never want to reach the point where I end up resenting my own mother.  I never want to move far away just to get away from family.  I never want to purposely ignore her phone calls or be one of those people that only speaks to their mother very seldom.  She is my best friend and I don't want that to change, so I have to let her be her E-Bomb self while I remain my own self.

Maybe things will change if I get married one day.  Maybe things will change if I have my own children one day.  But until then, I'm going to fight back and defend myself when the situation calls for it.  (Ironically this is probably the "secret" part of E-Bomb's relationship with her own mother that she has kept from me, for reasons wholly unknown, but it makes sense.)  Maybe it will affect other areas of my life in a positive way, maybe it won't.  Only time will tell.

        

Breaking Mommy Dearest - Moving Forward

So I've spent the last two weeks analyzing my relationship with E-Bomb.  She has no idea what's been on my mind because, well - Get over it.  Stop analyzing it.  There's nothing wrong here.  Maybe I haven't come to any real conclusions or solutions to my little problem, but it has given me insight on moving forward and the future of our relationship.
I am saddened by the fact that things have to change, something has to give and I have to be the one to initiate it.  She is too stubborn, she is set in her ways and like I've mentioned before, I don't have the energy or patience or even the will to change her.  She's made her choices, she's established who she is in the 50+ years she has spent on this earth.  Now it's time for me to make my choices and to establish who I am because I'm already 30 years behind.
The one conclusion all of us have come to is that deep down, E-Bomb is sullen because she's lonely.  But that won't change if she doesn't change (We have all noted at one time or another that she's not going to find anyone if she doesn't become a little more open minded and she has proven time and time again that she refuses to.) 
If she wants to find a companion to live out the rest of her time with, then it's on her.  I'm putting down the burden of trying to explain how things work these days.  I can't help that she spent half of her life married to my father and that she endured more emotional abuse than I want to even think about.  They had been separated for four years and Pop has been gone for three.  She claims she is ready to move on with her life, but her feet are encased in emotional concrete.  If her own children, her own siblings or her own friends can't help set  her free, then obviously it's left up to her.  We've done all we can.
All I want is to see my mother happy.  She can claim her life is grand until she's blue in the face, she can continue to hide her true feelings and emotions all she wants, but we all know she feels something lacking.  And there's nothing we can do about it.  I cringe every time I hear her say to a friend, "Don't they know anyone who's single?"  I cringe because even if they did, that person would not live up to her standards.  No one can, and until she realizes that things are a lot different these days - that people as a whole have adapted to changes in society and have learned to accept the bad along with the good, she's going to remain lonely. Her knight in shining armor is not going to knock on the door on a weeknight while she's sitting at home.

     

Breaking Mommy Dearest - Would You Like Some Guilt With That?

Get over it.
Stop over-analyzing it.
Move on.
These are the responses I get from E-Bomb whenever I try to talk to her about any type of issue I may be having at a particular moment.  Ma sees the world in black and white, I see it in every shade of the color spectrum and am persecuted because of that - something I have no control over.  I concern myself with the hows and whys of a human being's behavior and finding a reason behind it.  Ma - not so much.  I also am passionate about the arts, about reading, music, I love to shower those I love with attention and affection.  Again, Ma - not so much.  She teases me about how worked up I get over a good book, she criticizes me for wanting to do little things for whoever I may be dating at the time because to her he's not worth it or good enough.
It sucks because I've come to realize I've spent my entire life walking on eggshells.  Instead of focusing on myself in order to live up to my own full potential, every decision I make comes with the thought, "Ugh, what is Ma going to think?"  Now, I know she supports me and any endeavors I choose one hundred percent, like when I decided to go back to school, when I decided to switch careers, things like that.  IT'S THE STUPID, TRIVIAL SHIT THAT GIVES ME PANIC ATTACKS.  
Oh, my God I didn't have time to cut the grass.
Shit, I took a nap this afternoon, I'm going to hear about it.
Is the house clean enough?
Even when I was away over Memorial Day weekend this line of thinking wouldn't disperse completely.  Following me everywhere I went was the nagging little thought that my mother was pissy about me going to the beach, even though she never gave me any reason to feel that way.  I felt guilty about not being at home to help pull out the deck furniture and finish getting the backyard ready for summer, even though I never once heard "It would have been nice if you were there to help," and I was shocked.
Mother's Day was a nightmare.  I had wanted to make her brunch since I had concert tickets that evening, (which I had told her about the night I ordered them,) but she decided she wanted the pool opened that day.  When she emailed me her plans to have the guy come out around noon, I responded that it was fine, but it nullified any plans my brother and I may have had since I wouldn't be around that evening.  Her response back led me to believe it was no big deal; she didn't really care.  Something along the lines of, "Oh, you guys don't need to do that."
So where she got the idea that I was going to cook dinner that night is beyond me.  A whole scene erupted in the garage in front of Philip and my next door neighbor, nothing short of Ma throwing the back of her hand up to her forehead and saying, "Woe is me, my children do not love me enough to cook me dinner on Mother's Day."  (I must note here that it was after my brother rebuilt the retaining wall behind the pool and Philip and I had turned over the entire length of the flowerbeds to prepare them for planting, which is what she wanted.)  I had to walk away.  Later on in the car on the way to Philadelphia, Philip remarked that while we were all standing in the garage listening to my mother cut me off at the knees he was wishing that he was married to me so he could appropriately come to my defense.
And I balked a little bit of course because he said the M-word, but mostly because E-Bomb does not handle criticism well.  At all.  Even if it's constructive.  Even if it's in an attempt to make her realize that she talks to (at) her adult daughter as if she were still a child.  But it made me sad to think that a man who cares so much about me feels he needs to defend me against my own mother.      
I didn't want to tell her that next Saturday I will be attending a birthday party for one of Philip's nieces, even though he's not in town.  His sister invited me and I thought that was very sweet of her.
"Next Saturday I want to finish the flowerbeds."
"Ma, I told you, I have to work in the morning and am going to a birthday party afterwards."
She makes her little snippy noise.  "Why are you even going to that party?"
Instead of defending my decision, I snapped right back.  "You know, I wasn't even going to tell you."  And she shut right up.
So is this how it's going to be?  I have to close most of my life off to her so as to avoid being made to feel like shit?  I was always so proud of how close her and I were, how I always made a point to fill my mother in on what goes on in my life and it used to be a good thing.  Now all it does is cause tidal waves of guilt to wash over me and aggravation beyond belief.

Breaking Mommy Dearest - Chipping at the Walls

"...Yet she her feet still hit the ground every morning.  She kept her head up.  Her faith remained strong, when most would have thrown their hands up in despair and given up.  If she did any of that, my brother never knew or witnessed any of it."
This brings me to the difficulty I have in getting my mother to open up about what's going on inside her head at any given time and why I have such a hard opening up to her.  This past weekend I had the opportunity to have a few heart-to-hearts with one of my aunts during some breaks in the craziness that is Dewey Beach during Memorial Day Weekend.  I can talk about anything and everything with my aunt.  She's the youngest of my mother's siblings (her and my mother are 10+ years apart,) and helps give me insight as to why Ma is the way she is.  Although sometimes, both of us can end up at loss.
I've come to the conclusion that it's because of the ripple effect, as is common with just about every family.  My aunt had her two older sisters to discuss "sensitive" stuff with; she didn't go to my grandmother and I can only assume that my aunts are the ones I go to when I'm in the same situation because I don't have any older sisters.  Ma has continued much in the same fashion as her own mother as far as keeping her feelings to herself and not really wanting to know much about her own kids'.  Every time I try to share what's going on in my head, Ma can be downright insufferable, sometimes to the point of attacking me verbally for feeling the way I do about particular things.
I wish it weren't like this.  I've been trying to focus on the pleasure the little things in life give me (like a good book, a song that gives me goosebumps, sweet things Philip does for me or says to me.)  I wish I could share these things with my mother and get an equally excited response from her.  But I can't because, let's face it - I don't think she ever really cares.
I do want to chip away at her tough exterior but I get exhausted just thinking about the energy it would require.  I don't want to break her completely, I just want to see that she is capable of bending.  It wouldn't make just my life a little easier, but plenty of others as well.

Breaking Mommy Dearest - Starting From the Beginning

This brings me to my first set of points.
"...so I can only imagine that they were an even more amazing set of parents to my mother and her siblings."  It's common knowledge that the relationships people have with their grandchildren are completely different than those they had with their own children when they were young.  I would balk at stories of MomMom being on the warpath because I could not imagine my sweet, chunky, salt-and-pepper-haired Italian MomMom with the singsong voice being a tyrant.  (Ironic because I threw "Italian" in there...)  But as I got older I started to get it, obviously.  And now that I have "grown up" conversations with my aunts, I learned that MomMom wasn't always sweet and may not have always spoken in a singsong voice.  Well, okay.  There's a rumor that my own mother was a bit of a troublemaker, and everyone knows that my youngest aunt was a hell of a troublemaker - to this day she claims that she learned it all from my mother.  (Yeah, that's still very, very hard for me to believe.)  
Anyway, my mother isn't the "sharing" type.*  Her personal feelings are usually pretty closed off, unless you get her mad as hell and then the whole neighborhood learns just how she's feeling.  Getting my mother to open up is like pulling teeth.  I want to know the intimate details of her relationship with her mother growing up because, dammit, maybe it would give me some insight as to how to deal with her in her role as a mother of two adults and the grandmother of my nephew.
And the light bulb just went off over my head.
My aunts will open up to me.  They don't sugar coat anything.  My first plan of attack has been laid out for me and I didn't even see it until just now.  (I knew there was a reason I decided to write this all out.)  They know my mother better than I ever will, and they haven't built up walls as tough as the ones my mother surrounds herself with.
Maybe I can prod my youngest aunt a bit while we're at the beach this weekend....

PopPop & MomMom, 1974, Ma, 1974 (?), and me, 2012

Breaking Mommy Dearest - She's My Best Friend

Yes, I am one of those girls who considers her mother her best friend.  Maybe more so than most because I live with the woman.  How have I managed to never completely desert the nest?  Well, it's really my own fault because I screwed up my financial situation and am still in the process of repairing it, thankfully getting closer to the light at the end of the tunnel with each passing month.
Anyway, I'm incredibly lucky that at age 30 and still living under the same roof as my mother is not so bad.  Usually.  The way it has typically worked in our family is that the kids move back home after college, enter into their own relationships, eventually get married and move out.
Que the old joke about Italian children living in their parents' basement until the age of 40.
Okay so, it happened for my cousin, the oldest of the bunch.  She moved home after college, within a few years married her sweetheart, moved out and begin building her own life.  Same with my brother.  He bought a house not long after school and within a few years married his sweetheart and began building his own life.  And then there's me.  I broke up with my sweetheart when we were on the cusp of getting engaged and any dreams I had of moving out of my childhood home were put on hold for an indefinite amount of time.  Just how indefinite never really occurred to me.*
Anyway, once I got my shit together and made a giant effort to calm down with the destructive behavior I was engaging in, Ma and I grew closer than ever, especially after Pop died.  I would tell her (just about) everything.  She would hold me as I cried over a broken heart.  We leave each other notes in morning just to say have a good day.  She nursed me back to health when I broke my sternum, when I had walking pneumonia, when I had the flu.  I give her pedicures, surprise her with elaborate home cooked meals when I have a day off.  She is the queen of the little things - chores or tasks that are so embedded in our brains that we don't usually think twice about them, so I make it a point to do all of those little things - taking out the trash, cleaning the upstairs of the house, picking up milk, etc.  We vent to each other when we have rough days at work or triumphant ones, we play fashion consultant if one of us isn't sure about an outfit we're going to wear out.  Just the other day that woman spent a half an hour trying to dig out a splinter that was buried almost an inch deep in the ball of my left foot.  If that's not love, I don't know what is.  
But now I feel the tables turning and I'm pulling away.  At first I didn't understand why, but it's beginning to dawn on me...*
Over the years, it has worked out.  I've been by my mother's side through everything.  For a while it was us against the world - my father had moved out and my brother was busy with his own growing family.  We came dangerously close to losing the house.  If something broke, guess who fixed it?  There was no man out cutting our lawn or taking care of the pool, shoveling our driveway, among other things.  Whatever, no big deal because bitches get shit done, right?  Ma and I bonded over these kinds of things.
Now that I am finally coming close to truly establishing my own identity, (can we say late bloomer?) Ma and I have begun to butt heads.  We are two very different people, regardless of much we look alike.  Our mantras, our outlook on life, love, sex, politics - so incredibly different...

Ma and I, Thanksgiving 2013

Breaking Mommy Dearest - A Back Story of Sorts

I don't remember my mother always having a damn near insufferable attitude, but then I think back on all she has been through in her life.  The woman is tough as nails - at least I like to believe so - despite the emotional and physical trauma she has endured.  [I'm going to do my best to be discreet out of respect for her private life and not go into gory detail of some events.  Just trust me when I say, things got bad for a while.] 

MomMom & PopPop, circa 1950s

She was 41 when her father succumbed to leukemia.  Eight years later her mother lost a short battle with pancreatic cancer (MomMom was officially diagnosed on Ma's birthday and passed away less than three months later.)  Now I know that I was blessed with the most amazing set of maternal grandparents EVER.  They were involved in every aspect of their grandchildren's lives, showered us with affection and disciplined us when need be (i.e. if Ma wasn't around.)  I could go on and on about how awesome they were but that would take days, even months.  So I can only imagine that they were an even more amazing set of parents to my mother and her siblings.*
Throughout my childhood Ma was in the hospital every other year for various operations, the biggest one coming to mind the total knee replacement she had while she was still in her early forties - unheard of at the time.  Not to mention that, well, she raised my brother and I as her marriage became a constant state of falling apart while my brother and I were still in elementary school.
So she's been through all of this shit - losing both of her parents at a relatively early age, enduring more physical pain than anyone should ever have to for an ungodly amount of time - with barely a complaint, mind you - while doing everything she could to salvage her marriage to the man she loved.
For simplicity's sake, I'll say this all took place over a fifteen year span.  The shit hit the fan with my father when I was 11, PopPop died when I was 13, the shit continued to hit the fan with Pop all through my high school and college years, MomMom died when I was 21, and Ma finally told Pop to file divorce papers when I was maybe 23, Ma's knee problems, back problems, and weight problems ensuing the entire time.  Yet she her feet still hit the ground every morning.  She kept her head up.  Her faith remained strong, when most would have thrown their hands up in despair and given up.  If she did any of that, my brother never knew or witnessed any of it.*
Then, three years ago, we got the 4 AM phone call that no one should ever receive.  Pop had been in a car accident and didn't survive.  I'm not going to go into the sordid details of this tragedy.  All I am going to say is that in the blurry nightmare following my father's death, I learned just how much Ma still loved him.*

My college graduation, circa 2003.

Breaking Mommy Dearest - A Prologue

So Philip left for his month-long road trip, his walkabout if you will, last Thursday.  He's off the grid, by choice and I'm hating it, but I get it.  The night before he left, I stuffed a card for him to find into one of his tubs packed for the trip -
"I have come to learn - and respect - how much this trip means to you.  I wish you an amazing journey and hope that you find whatever it is you're looking for and that you are returned safely home.  I will be here when you get back.  I love you, Philip."  [sic]
A picture of the front of the card made it into his daily post as he was leaving New Orleans (how appropriate) on his way to Texas and it made me smile.
Anyway, I said all of that to say this.  Since he won't be back until mid-June, I have a bit more free time on my hands.  Not much, but enough to do a little self-searching of my own, albeit from the comfort of my hometown.  For a while I was wondering just what it was that I could focus on in order to take my mind off of him not being around and then it hit me like a ton of bricks - how about I work on my relationship with my mother?  
You see, my relationship with E-Bomb is probably what most would consider atypical and the next few posts are going to be dedicated to figuring out why I'm beginning to feel resentful towards her.  I'm hoping, through this little exercise of mine, to find a way to prevent this problem from getting out of control and get my relationship with her back on a healthy level.
Love her to pieces, but right now she's driving me crazy.

Ma and I at the family reunion, August 2013

Points that I will address in following posts will be marked with asterisks.

Stay tuned...

311 Day 2014

How does one describe one of the best experiences of their lives?
My brother and I just got back from four days in New Orleans where we did nothing but celebrate peace, love, unity and beers the size of our heads.  Thousands of 311 fans from every state in the US and something like 18 different countries descended on the town for the infamous 311 Day festivities and friendships were forged between members of the 311 Familia that will last a lifetime.  The best part was that my brother had the opportunity to experience it as well.
We landed late that Sunday morning, dropped our bags off at the hotel on St.  Charles Avenue, and walked about three blocks to what was to become our favorite day time bar, a place called Lucky's where you could have a drink, grab something to eat or do your laundry.  (A brilliant concept in my opinion.)  From there we walked around the town, killing time before we could check into our hotel, then stopped for beer and some amazing fish tacos at a place appropriately called Beer and Tacos.

My brother and I on Bourbon Street.

Once we sated our appetites, we got cleaned up and took the trolley halfway across town to meet up with my cruise buddies at the house they were staying in.  How awesome it was to be reunited with the people I shared yet another amazing experience - the 311 cruise last year - with.  We then headed to Bourbon Street and partied the night away.
It's really hard to describe the feeling of elation as you walk through the streets of an amazing town, waving at, saluting, and exchanging a "Happy 311 Day!" with complete strangers.  It kind of reminds you that there is still good in this world.  The fact that five guys from Omaha have put their heart and soul for the past twenty years into creating music that spreads the message of peace, love and unity just blows my mind.  And they're not finished yet.

Hammie and I with my cruise buds.

We must have waited in line to check out the merchandise for four or five hours on that Monday, but did we
really care?  No, because we were with like minded folks.  When drinks needed refilling someone would volunteer to step into the nearest bar.  When someone needed something to eat, another would accompany them to the nearest eatery to satisfy their hunger.  We laughed, we got to know total strangers, and had a damn good time.  We met people from all over the country - it was basically a giant tailgate minus the cars.
Bourbon Street was in a constant state of "Stay positive and love your life!" during our time there.  You could hear 311's music being cranked out of every bar you walked by - to me, that's a little slice of heaven.
Why?  You may ask.  What's so special about this silly band?  I can't really explain.  It's a passion for most of us.  Some get it, some don't.  Everyone who knows me says they think of me whenever they hear 311 on the radio.  Just last night Philip texted me to tell me that he was thinking of me while shooting pool and so he played Don't Stay Home on the bar's jukebox.

Homemade shirts are the way to go.

The concert at the New Orleans Arena on March 11 was nothing short of extraordinary.  The band played three sets totaling five hours and 66 songs, at times accompanied by either native jazz musicians or a small orchestra.  I don't know of many artists that do that for their fans anymore.
I plan on keeping this experience I was blessed enough to have tucked deep inside my heart for the rest of my life, and look forward to many more like it....I should probably open up a new savings account titled "The 311 Experience," being as that I will be on the boat again come 2015.    

A Boy & His Na-Na

Something that slapped my perspective back into (some kind of) focus was when my nephew came into my bedroom early last Saturday morning.  I heard my door open and sensed him standing at the edge of my bed, where I was burrowed under a mountain of blankets.  I peeked at the clock and saw my alarm wasn't to go off for 45 more minutes.  Instead of getting out of bed, I motioned for him to climb in with me and I'll be damned, he did.
He tucked his little 4 year old self with me into the cave of pillows I had created and fell right back asleep.  His quiet little snores lulled me back to sleep as well, and when my alarm went off he didn't budge.  I got up but he kept on snoring so I let him be.

One of Nico's Christmas gifts to me this year.

How can you not be reminded that there is no secret to life or happiness, it just is, when you look down at the little one tucked safely under the covers next to you?  Everything else seems almost painfully insignificant when you look down at that little one who has latched onto your heart with a death grip, realizing he looks up to you as his Na-Na, his aunt that will always love him and protect him.  He is sleeping in your arms because he trusts you, he knows you will never hurt him, that, in essence, you will always be there.  

Whenever I dare to let myself think that I might not ever actually get the chance to have my own children, I quickly divert my thoughts to Nico, my crazy, energy-charged, blue-eyed "baby."  (I know, I know, he's not a baby anymore - he reminds me all the time.)  My love for this little boy transcends everything I thought I knew.  The other day I remarked to my mother, "I never knew I could love something as much I love that little stinker.  It blows my mind sometimes."

People might think it's strange, and if they do, I feel sorry for them and hope that one day they experience a relationship like the one I have with Nico.
"Wait, your nephew's separation anxiety is just as bad with you as it is with his own parents?"
Sometimes, yes, like when he needs "one more huggie" 60 times  when I'm about to leave for work or going out with friends.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Christmas Blues

I will probably bitch and complain about the holidays a lot this year.  It doesn't mean I'm a total Scrooge, nor have I always been this way.  There's a big reason why I'm just not feeling it.
I had planned on spending the holidays going to parties, driving around looking at Christmas lights, snuggling up in front of a fire watching Christmas movies, attending church services, going to Longwood Gardens, and exchanging gifts (some of which are sitting in the back bedroom until I figure out what to do with them) with the man I love.  But all of those plans have gone down the shitter since he came to the realization that he can't love me back at this point and time in his life.  So being newly single during the time of year everyone is posting pictures of themselves with their significant other doing wonderful Christmas-y things really fucking sucks.
I'm lonely and down in the dumps, along with probably more than half of the population I'm sure, but I'm not friends with or related to half of the population.  I'm friends with and related to people who are not alone, people who have that someone to cuddle up to while watching Christmas Vacation.
I know, I know - wah wah wah.  Whatever.  I had it all and it slipped right through my fingers.  The first Christmas party I attended this year was fun, I met some really nice people and didn't pay for one drink.  The second party I attended, immediately following the first, was fun as well.  I participated by making my delicious beer cheese soup and providing a homemade bottle of Limoncello that was given to me at the first party.  (You could say it was a hit, because it was gone in less than an hour.)  I remember announcing my arrival - "Ladies and gentleman, Snooki is here and she is trashed!"
By the time 2 am approached, I was sober and while driving home, regardless of the fun I had, the tears came on hard.
I don't want it to be this way.  I didn't want to decorate the trees with a shitty attitude, but it has consumed me.  I don't want to finish my Christmas shopping because I had to cross him off of my list.  I don't want to bake because I just don't care, and it shows - about half of my cookies ended up burnt and now I'm even less enthusiastic about tackling the pizzelles.
I know it could be worse.  I know there are people losing their loved ones this time of year; they can join my club.  I don't have my father anymore, or my MomMom & PopPop.  But don't think for one minute that I am not thankful for those I do have in my life, the ones helping me through the mess of my life this year.  They are always there for me.
But still, I just want to crawl into bed and wait until it's all over.  It hurts to see everyone so excited and happy and having a grand ole time while I'm on the sidelines, dead inside.  At least I can put on a facade that still works on the untrained eye.

Pepperoni Purgatory

We're not even halfway through December and I'm already breaking out the Tylenol.  Although this year I might need something a little stronger.  (Horse tranquilizer maybe?)

My brother and I baked a dozen loaves of pepperoni bread last night, keeping the tradition our father started with us going.  I had insisted we do it this past Sunday but, God forbid, the Eagles were playing at 1:00.  Instead my brother and my 4-year-old nephew came over last night, a school/work night.  Big mistake, because guess who got stuck with having to finish baking, cooling and slicing half of the truckload we made?  This girl.  The one who had to get up at 4:30 this morning.  And guess who was rushing around just trying to get it done instead of enjoying our time spent together and baking this stuff with the love and care that we used to when our Pop was alive, because Nico was wired as hell and doing his 4-year-old thing while our mother is down for the count with an upper respiratory infection?  Yup, my brother.

Four burnt loaves of pepperoni bread and one small grease fire later, the chaos finally ceased and the seasonal treat our friends and family love so much was finished baking.

To keep in mind for next year,
- Buy the dough at least a day in advance.  An hour to thaw?  Bullshit.
- We need 4 pounds of sliced pepperoni - 3 doesn't cut it - and not from just any deli counter.  I believe that to be the cause of the grease fire.
- We also need to have about six pounds of mozzarella cheese on hand.  I did not appreciate having to make another grocery store run in the middle of the baking proceedings.
- It's smarter to start during Nico's nap time because then he's less apt to be a maniac while we're fighting grease fires and ending up covered in shredded mozzarella and flour.
- Ma's baking pans are shit.  Guess what she's getting for Christmas this year?

Now to brave the snow and go get chocolate chips so I can bake even more.  Because, you know, I forgot all about them the two separate times I was in the grocery store yesterday.

It's March Already?

We are about 3 and a half months into 2013 and what a year it's been already.  I'm feeling the need to do a quick recap so let's run down the list.

• I have embarked on a new career.
  Monday I started my new job.  So far so good.  I'm catching on quickly and the boss said I did an excellent job my first day and it proved he made a good decision when he hired me.  (Yes, I "squee'd" inside when he told me that.)  You all know I had been incredibly frustrated with my career as a photographer and needed a change, and it's finally beginning.  (See Perseverance Pays Off - 2/19/13.) 
• I went skiing for the first time in almost 15 years.
  Philip and his friends took me to the Poconos on February 24th and it was the perfect way to pay  tribute to my father.  He and my mother taught my brother and I to ski when we were little and it was a passion we shared as a family.
• Two years have gone by since my father passed away.
  I can't believe it's been this long.  Like my mother said, time does not heal, it just forces us to adapt, and we are still adapting to life without Pop around.
• We had the 2nd annual Mid Winter Classic in Ocean City, NJ.
  Last year my brother and sister in law started a new tradition, weekend-ing in Ocean City during the month of February because, well, there's not much to do between Christmas and Memorial Day.  It started out as a sort of reunion for the bridal party from their wedding and has evolved (or de-volved,) to include other friends and family members.  We average about 14 people crammed into my sister in law's parents' beach house - Friday night staying in drinking and playing games; Saturday night we venture into Atlantic City for a night of dancing and/or gambling.  Philip came with me this year and let's just say a great time was had by all.
• I had the opportunity to be a part of the 311 Caribbean Cruise 2013.
  I barely have the words to describe the sheer awesome-ness of this experience still, and I've been back from Miami since last week.  I will detail this adventure in a post all its own.
• My relationship with Philip has been tested and I'm pretty sure we passed with flying colors.
  We are still moving along, doing our thing with no real definition.  I was planning on laying it on the line for him when I got back from the cruise, but a big part of me is hesitant to mess with a good thing.  Not being too concerned about it is a big thing for me, it is what it is and I can say with confidence that we both know where it's headed, and I'm content.

So yeah.  That's about it right now.  I have to go get ready to leave for work at my new big girl job.

Trying Hard To Stay Positive & Love My Life

Since one of my recent posts focused solely on negativity and the demise of the human race, I feel the need to write one with a positive vibe.
We all know that it has become hard to see the good in the world, but I usually don't have to look any further than within the circle of my family.  I realize how fortunate I am to be a part of it.  If I'm having a bad day all I have to do is look at my nephew and I'm reminded that good does exist in this world.  I mean, is there anything better than coming home from work to have a dance party in the kitchen with your brother and 3-year-old nephew after a rough day?
It's funny how it usually only takes something small in order to make me smile.  The other day I was very agitated because of work, and had to stop at the grocery store on my way home, which I didn't feel like doing after driving down three quarters of the New Jersey turnpike and then dealing with the tension and misery in the company office.  I ran into the store, grabbed the loaf of bread I needed for dinner and got in line at the self checkout lane.  As I'm standing there, trying not to look annoyed with the people in front of me, a gentleman said, "Excuse me miss, there's a lane open over here," and let me go in front of him.  I smiled and thanked him, and as I walked out the door, the kid who runs the carts told me to have a good evening.  I said the same to him with a smile.  It made me feel nice.  Some other things that restore my hope in humanity, or brighten up my day when I think about them -

• Occasionally someone lets me merge in front of them when I'm exiting 95 into the construction mess on 141.  I always make it a point to roll down my window and wave a thank you to them.
• Occasionally someone lets me in front of them when I have a jackass tailgating me on the highway.  I wave to them as well and return the favor when said jackass is then tailgating the person who was in front of me.
• On one of my jobs the other day, the principal of the school my coworker and I were at came down to the library to introduce himself and welcome us, even offering us coffee from his own personal stash.  The lady who was overseeing the shoot bought us lunch.  Such niceties are rare in my field, and my coworker and I were so appreciative.
• While getting gas at the Woodrow Wilson rest stop on the Jersey turnpike one day, as the attendant handed me my receipt and card back he said, "I hope the red jolly fat man brings you everything you ask for this year!"  I laughed and said, "Same to you!" with a big smile on my face.
• On the drive home from The Smashing Pumpkins concert, my brother and I laughed so hard the entire time that my chest and abs hurt for two days.  It's good to know that even though times are tough for the both of us, we can still act like kids, have fun, and laugh until we cry.
• Last weekend my house was filled with friends and family during the annual Evans Family Christmas Party.  The majority of guests have been a big part of my life since the day I was born.  They have been by my family's side for all of the good times and held our hands while we coped with tragedy, and to celebrate the holidays with them is a blessing I am so grateful to have.
• Little things like having someone get a whiff of my perfume and comment on how nice it smells, or when a rockstar tells me he wants to take me home to New York with him (you know, those little ego  boosters that we all like to hear every once in a while.)

These days we can't switch on the news without hearing of tragedy throughout the world.  It's depressing, it's heart-wrenching and seems to be never ending.  That's why I make it a point to take a break from social media and networking every once in a while and focus my attention on the things that are invaluable - the love I have for my nephew, my family and my friends and the time I get to spend with them.  Those things cannot be bought, but they can still be taken away from me in the blink of an eye, so I know never to take them for granted.

As Of Late...

I haven't been posting a lot, mostly because work is kicking my ass.  But that's a good thing because it's keeping me super busy.  So is life in general and I don't want that to stop.  We all know an idle mind is the devil's playground.

Oh, I have to be in Seaford at 6 am?  No big deal, nothing is going to stop me from going to see The Dirty Pearls open for Bret Michaels at Moodswing on a Tuesday night.  So glad I went, because the boys were fantastic, performing songs from their new album Whether You Like It Or Not.  The place was packed with hair metal fans young and old sporting their delightfully trashy 80s gear.  My friend Jay pointed out that I was five years when he was going to see Poison live.

I think Tommy London likes me!

Tommy Mokas, lead guitarist from The Dirty Pearls.

We recently celebrated Ma's 56th birthday and let me tell you, cooking for twelve people takes some planning.  It was wonderful - my uncle Anthony and two of his kids were in town, Aunt Mare and Uncle Bob, Ma's best friend and her husband, my brother and his family, Ma and myself all enjoyed the three pounds of lobster macaroni and cheese I labored over.  Damn was it good.  I can chalk that dinner up to another culinary success.

My monthly free styling has dwindled because life has become nonstop go, go, go.  I'm going to make a conscious effort to remedy that though.  I read somewhere that if you want to be a writer, then write everyday.  It doesn't matter if it's two sentences or two hundred.  Now when something brilliant comes to me I'm typically cruising down the highway on my way to some town a hundred miles away.  The Notes app on my new iPhone is coming in handy.  Plus I've been splitting my time between home and Parkesburg and I don't always bring my laptop with me.
Now it's time to go get dressed, Jay and I are going to see Mr. Greengenes play up in Aston.  Apparently we've begun following them on the last leg of their career as one of the greatest local cover bands.  (Although I really wish I was in Chicago right now gearing up for The Last Vegas's album release party at the Double Door.  But I guess I can't do everything.)  *Kisses*

Labor Day Weekend - Drunk and Bittersweet

It was a weekend spent rallying one last time before the cold weather sets in and the bathing suits get packed away with the winter clothes.

"Hey, I'm star-6-9-ing my buzz.  You know, the one I've had since June."

"Yeah, I really need to star-6-9 my tan before summer is officially over."

"If you see him tonight are you going to suggest star-6-9-ing what you guys did last night?"

My brother called me while I was still working Friday afternoon to announce that he was going to Dewey for the night after the fucked up week he had at work and I was thrilled.  We hadn't been in Dewey together since my nephew was born, maybe even before that.
We partied hard Friday night with our uncle and various other friends and relatives we ran into along our travels up and down Route 1 - Starboard, Lighthouse, Northbeach...eventually ending up at McShea's for last call and of course getting a pizza from Grotto's on our way back to the house.

"Dane, you sleep like you're dead.  I almost put my finger under your nose to make sure you were still breathing."

The weather, along with my hangover, Saturday wasn't exactly cooperative; the sun didn't come out until around 3 pm and by then my headache was finally starting to fade.  I spent some time on the beach in solitude, reading and reveling in the feeling of sand between my toes.
Saturday night was spent with a bunch of the Weekenders, and I ended up going home with someone completely unexpected.  Nothing like doing your first legitimate walk of shame on the last Sunday morning of the summer.  I tried to be slick and take the back way home, through the alley behind the Bottle & Cork, down back streets through the clusters of beach condos and driveways,  avoiding Route 1 and figuring no one I knew would see me.  I was quite mistaken.
"Helloooo...hey!  Girl in the green!"
I looked up to see one of my aunt and uncle's good friends, a guy who has also known me for over 10 years, and known the guy I went home with for probably over 30, standing on the balcony of one of the beach condos.  Busted.  He's grinning and asking me where I'm coming from.  I mentally ran through the list of people who could have seen me leave with said cause of my little shame-walk and decided he wasn't among them, so I lied through my teeth.  I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.
My dearest friend came down that day, someone else I haven't been in Dewey with in a very long time, and we spent the day on the beach reminiscing about old times - baby sitting my younger cousins and my aunt and uncle teaching us most of what we know today.  We did two happy hours, one at Northbeach and then of course headed over to the Bottle & Cork for the last Jam Session of the year.  I believe we had dinner and then cleaned ourselves up to go back out and do it all over again that night.

This girl has been my lifeline.  Plus, she knows too much.

Dewey Beach is nonstop.  You can either hang tough or go home.  I love it, but there's a reason I only do weekends in the summer.  It's best to take it in small doses, otherwise I think my liver would just quit on me. So now summer is over, everyone has gone back home and all we can do is look forward to next year.

The blue moon, the Starboard shark, and myself.  Life couldn't get any better.

Stories That Need To Be Told

Saturday we had what I believe to be the 14th annual Papili Family Reunion at my house.  Each year it's held at a different location, depending on whose family has the banner at the time.  It became a tradition not long after my great grandmother passed away at the age of 99, because her birthday parties were the only time, aside from weddings and funerals, that the entire family was together.
Grandmom had 12 children, of which 6 brothers survived, my grandfather being one of them.  Now only Uncle Johnny, Uncle Louie and Uncle Leo are still around.
All weekend I caught snippets of conversations between the cousins, and it dawned on me that I need to seriously consider sitting down and writing a collection of stories about our family.  I miss my grandparents immensely, and I love hearing stories about how ornery my PopPop could be - like the time a cop pulled him for tailgating an ambulance and he flipped out on the poor guy.
The Papilis are something else.  I don't know too many families quite like ours.  We band together when things get tough, and we share all the good times.  It's completely normal for the 4th (my) generation cousins to all be out together on a Friday night.  Unfortunately, the 5th generation that is quickly expanding, will only know how things were "back in the day" through story telling.
I would love to sit down with my great uncles and record all of their stories. The same goes for my mom's first cousins.  We have our ups and downs like any other family, but we are truly a blessed bunch of Guidos, so I'm going to start talking to family members and get our long, crazy, funny, tragic, beautiful story down on paper.

63 members of the Pip Family; there was 20 or 30 of us who weren't able to be there.

More Comic Relief From the Home Front, Part 3

I get a little upset when people say to me, referring to Nico, "Well, yeah, but he's just your nephew."  No.  He's so much more than that.  He's my brother & sister in law's baby, he's my baby, he's my mom's baby.  I love to look out the window and see my brother's big-ass white truck pull up, knowing our house is about to turn into chaos.
And the scenario today goes:
My brother is ordering pizza via online (something I still can't even comprehend,) Nico is playing with Ma's decorative stuff sitting on the china cabinet in our dining room.  When asked what he's doing, the response is, "I'm cooking!"  My brother and I discuss what pizza toppings we want while you can hear Nico in the background make believe cooking, "It's hot!  Ouch!  I drink mah coff-ee!"
Hammie goes upstairs to take a shower, (thank God, he smelled pretty bad,) so Nico is downstairs with me, content playing with a ceramic sugar bowl, coffee cups and coffeepot.  Until, of course, he realizes Daddy is no longer in the room.  Once he discovered Daddy was in the shower, he decided he needed one too. (Truthfully, the baby did, having come in the house all sweaty from playing on the playground at school and remnants of lunch still on his face.)
"Dane, does he have any clean clothes here?" yells my brother from the shower.
"I don't think so man, I think he's worn them all home to your house.  We have some pajamas..."
I turn around and Nico has his pull-up at his ankle and is about to hurl it in my direction.  Luckily I thwarted him because, damn, that thing was heavy with pee.
I mean, I don't think it's weird that I'm in the bathroom at the same time my brother is taking a shower, looking for a bar of soap for him - "Just use whatever body wash I have in there!"
"I don't like body wash!"
"Whatever dude, just don't use up a new towel, the one you used last time is still hanging up."


After pulling out Nico's "I *heart* MomMom" tee shirt and leaving it on the bed, I go back downstairs to work some more on my blog, (hence the start of this post.)  Nico bounds down the stairs a few minutes later, his MomMom tee shirt now short enough to show his belly, and runs around the house like a madman.  This is all before dinner.



Now my brother in weirdly engrossed in the movie D2:  The Mighty Ducks, & I find myself peeking up from my laptop every so often to watch.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                
This is time spent with my family that I wouldn't trade for the world.  The random facial expressions Nico makes at the dinner table, my brother pretending to fart on his head, then the baby in turn running up to me and pretending to do the same, hearing him tell Ma he loves her a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, playing This Little Piggy... with his toes, even the constant heckling my brother slams me with.  Nope, wouldn't trade any of it for the world.

More Comic Relief From the Home Front

Is it so wrong that my brother and I get a huge kick out of my nephew making farting sounds?  Or actually doing it and grabbing his little butt exclaiming, "Oh! My hiney popped!"  We for some reason think bodily functions are hilarious.  A classy people, we are.  My mother is always just shaking her head and telling us, "Don't teach him that!"
The scenario:
Last Thursday night we're sitting around the table after dinner and a conversation about how the word "fart" makes one of my aunts giggle uncontrollably, just like it did my grandmother.  I'm almost positive it was triggered by my brother ripping ass for real and Nico giving his infamous shocked expression.  So my brother just goes with it and yes, he starts making farting noises with his hand.  Like he's ten.  And we laughed and laughed.  I got the brilliant idea to try and videotape it like Nico was the one expelling gas.  It didn't work out quite as planned but the footage I got is priceless.

After all of the trauma this family has been through, we've learned that the stupid little things that make us laugh are what's important.  Even if it's something as crude as a fart joke.

Did Dewey Beach Save My Sanity?

Out of the past six nights, only one has been spent in my own bed.  It was a whirlwind of a week and I'm exhausted.

I took off for the beach Monday evening on a whim and ended up staying until Wednesday.  I met up with a girl I've been corresponding with via Twitter and other various blog sites.  She is one awesome, lovely woman and we had a great time.  I was honored to show her the ins and outs of Dewey Beach, complete with Devils and Grapefruit Crushes.

While I was down there, a few significant things happened that I never expected.

The first was that I realized my bank account had been overdrawn, twice.  I'm broke.  Again.  I was in a bad place about two years ago and I swore to myself it would never happen, but alas, due to my confusion about the changes the PA Department of Unemployment Compensation has made, my claim was all fucked up this summer.  (I claim unemployment during the summer months because, well, I don't work as much as I do fall, winter, and spring.)  When things like this happen, it messes with my head, bad.  I'm still trying to figure out what I'm going to do.

On Tuesday my aunt and I were sitting on the beach when I notice a man & his daughter stop not too far from our beach chairs, drop their towels & boogie boards then take off for the ocean.  This man was the Dave Grohl.  I didn't believe my eyes at first, but once I heard him speak, I knew it was definitely him.  I had the opportunity to shake the man's hand and thank him for all that he has done for rock & roll, and he couldn't have been nicer.

Wednesday I was sitting on the beach again, this time with my uncle, reading Traveling With Pomegranates.  As I sat there observing the goings-on around me, reading, smoking cigarettes, watching the ocean and bracing myself against the chilly breeze, it dawned on me - I want to be a writer.  I want to write alongside my photography.  How to go about it is another story, (I mean, yes, this blog is a start,) but I since I made the acclamation to myself, I now know I want to make it a reality.
Once the clouds became ominous and the lifeguards starting calling people out of the water, we packed it up and headed back to the beach house.  When the rain started I decided I might as well make the trek home, so I drove through the storm back to Wilmington, tears spilling out of my eyes here and there wondering what the hell I'm going to do about my bills, worrying whether or not I had enough gas in the car to get me home and if my cell phone would be shut off any time soon.
That night was the only one spent in my own bed, and the stories from the second half of my week are pending my next post.  Stay tuned.