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.    

Leave It To Music To Soothe The Soul

I'm still coming down from my trip to New Orleans and let me tell you, the drop has been pretty brutal.  [I'm working on a recap post so stay tuned for that.]  In the months leading up to my trip, it was the One Big Thing I was looking forward to, and now that it's over, I need something else to Look Forward To, but I don't want to live my life that way.  I want to look forward to every new day.  I want to completely immerse myself in the present moment and squeeze every bit of joy possible out of it.  I see so many others capable of this, so why is it so hard for me?

We don't want to walk into the gray, solo rolling with no map in hand
so we reach out for someone to grasp, keep from sinking into the sand
Pick it up now brother help another pick it up
don't get stuck in the destruction looming near
pick it up now brother help another pick it up
This is the revelation of the year
Picking up all the pieces here and there to see if one might fit
Spinning them around and sideways and up and down it kinda stings a bit
Digging through all the ditches
Just unwinding all the stitches into thread then hang it out to dry so
what was I expecting just collecting balls of lint up in my head?
I know I know don't yell at me
- Revelation of the Year, 311

Right now, all that runs through my head has so much more to do with things other than Philip.  The constant struggle I feel is an existential reverberation of life.  I know it doesn't have to be that way so I need to make some choices to remedy this problem, because I'm missing out on so much.  You know how some people are functioning alcoholics?  Well, I'm a functioning depressive.  I get out of bed and go to work every day, I do laugh, I do smile, I do enjoy the blessings I'm lucky enough to have bestowed upon me.  But those demons are always in the back of my head waiting for a moment of weakness so they can attack.  Those moments come in the hour before daybreak when my brain hasn't fully woken up yet.  Sometimes they hit in the midst of reverie, but it's usually before the sun has come up that the waves of desolation sweep over me.
There are things I do have on my side - I have God, my family, my friends, and believe it or not, the music of 311.  Their new album has hit home.  The chatter going around social media is how personal the new songs are, and I'm right there in agreement.

Every time I think I've got it figured 
something bigger always jumps in the frame
something gets in the way
Now I'm ready to turn the page on yesterdays and forgive them
Now I'm ready to disengage to seize the day and move on.
-Boom Shanka

I'm getting better at reminding myself to
Try not to think too far ahead
The pendulum swings soon enough
We could stay on this side instead
But we wanna make it rough

But the kicker is teaching myself to
Journey in peace now
You don't have to be afraid
Though mistakes
they will be made
Journey in peace now my friend

No you can't go around it
You have to walk right through it
My father told me that so long ago
Every time that you ignore it
It gets a little more
You just have to walk toward 
The fear to go

Don't be afraid
it's all part of the plan for us
Don't be afraid
it's all part of the plan for us
All that you hold dear
is on the other side of that fear.

Still Writing For My Life

My anxiety level has been incredibly high over the past several days for quite a few reasons, but I'm doing a pretty good job of not letting it paralyze me.  So, go me.  Some of the reasons are self-inflicted [well, isn't all anxiety pretty much self-inflicted?] like my constant over analyzing of whatever the hell is going on between Philip and I right now.  Most are environmental - stress over money, stress over the wedding I'm participating in, other friends that are presently dealing with life-altering career decisions, friends and close family members dealing with life-altering situations concerning relationships.  Monday was three years since my father died, and I found out that morning that a close friend's father passed away suddenly the day before.
Last Friday afternoon I took a second to scribble some notes in my journal to try to help me sort my thoughts.  I listed the things that are bothering me right now, then listed how I can cope with them in positive ways.  In short,

• Regarding Philip - It is out of my control, therefore I have to stop letting the questions that plague me [What is he doing at this moment?  What's going to happen between us?  Does he still miss me?  Care about me?  Did he cut his ex out of his life yet?  Is he sleeping with other people already?  What if I had done this?  What if I had said that?] consume my mind, because regardless of whatever the answers may be, I have no control over them.  I have to Let It Be.  
• Regarding financial stress - Work is picking back up already and the winter will [hopefully] be over soon.  My paychecks will return to normal.  My bills are paid, and I can't ask for much more than that.
• This wedding thing...ugh.  I'll reserve that rant for a whole separate post.  Let's just say I highly doubt I'll ever agree to be in another one unless it's for a family member or a close friend.  But it'll all work out.

Once I got all of that out of my system, I felt better.  On Saturday I was telling a friend about what I had done, and she texted me Tuesday morning to see how I was doing and inform me that I had inspired her to do the same thing - she wrote down all of of her anxieties, took a figurative step back, and was able to pinpoint the cause of the worst of them, therefore allowing her to focus on making changes so that her quality of life can improve.  It just goes to reiterate the point I am always trying to make - writing is cathartic and good for the soul.

Right now it's a matter of going back and applying the advice I give myself and praying that all will be well in the end.