When a Book Hangover and Reality Crash

Book Hangover:  Inability to start a new book because you are still living in the last book's world.

I've been kicking around this post for some time and after I saw and pinned this from, of course, Pintrest, I knew I could start writing.

Do you ever read a book and think..."Hey, that is my life!"  Well, this just happened to me.  Yesterday I finished the book, A Family Affair, by Mary Campisi.  I think I liked it because I sure lost enough sleep voraciously reading it til way past my bed time.  The funny thing is, I had no idea I would like it.  It was just a free book on my iPhone and so I downloaded it.  This time, I could judge the book by its cover.

Now the whole of this book did not resemble my life, but one part of the story line hit me in the head, or rather the heart, and left me with the proverbial Book Hangover.  In A Family Affair, a young woman finds, through her father's death, that he has another child and a mistress of 14 years that he has been hiding. Feeling rather betrayed and quite angry, she embarks upon a journey that in every way smells like, looks like, sounds like a mission of folly.  She wants to hate her dad, hate the woman and child he loved and hate the whole entire community for condoning their illegitimate relationship.  Obviously, she finds them wonderful, warm and is drawn to them with her entire being.

That's all you get.  If you want to know more, download it and read it yourself.

Now before I discuss my Reality Crash, I want to put this out there.  If my Spokane family or parents ever read this...may I convey, this is how I am feeling TODAY.  It may not be how I feel TOMORROW or FOREVER, but today it is where I am at.  Don't judge, I am on a journey of figuring out where I fit in my family, new and old and what that whole situation looks like for me.  Enough said.

Lately, I have been feeling extremely drawn to me Kansas family.  They don't know all my goods and bads and quite frankly they just love me where I am at.  I think they find me smart and pretty and loving and energetic and thoughtful and kind.  Another thing is, that I don't know all of their junk either.  They may get grumpy and testy and grouchy and curt and judgemental too; I just haven't seen it yet.

I do know this.  My mom is still pissed at this new development in my life and she is even more pissed that I won't share it with her.  HELLO!  Every time I say something, I get a snide comment or a rude comment.  Why would I want to share ANY of it with you?

Unfortunately, I am also starting to see some things that I didn't before, or at least I didn't want to see before.  My dad, who's pedestal has been tall for years now, is showing some cracks.  Cynicism, criticism, and rudeness is not pretty on anyone, but certainly not on him.  I expect better than that and because I have that damn "outside voice" that comes on out, I have created a bit of conflict/tension in our relationship.  I don't let people I love treat me that way, so I tend to call him out on it.  I am sure we all see where that goes...

So here I am feeling somewhat guilty about being drawn to my dad and step mom.  Should I feel this way?  Am I betraying my other set of parents?  I just don't know.  Is it because of the tension that is always residing just under the surface in those relationships?  It could be for sure.  All I know right now is that I find my heart aching for the people of the flat lands and southern accents.

Mammy

Today I experienced my first Mammogram. I think of it as a Rite of Passage day in my life. Sweet 16. Right to vote at 18. Beverages at 21. Lower insurance and rent a car at 25. At 40...mammogram! You know…all the big days! I am exhausted due to lack of sleep last night. Too much wine and I don’t sleep well. My brain won’t turn off and I don’t sleep well. The two of them together. Not good.

On my way I am struck by the notion that one of the things I was perseverating on all night long was not forgetting coffee in the morning. It would be such a night ride to my first mammogram with a Cup of Joe in hand with French Vanilla Creamer. I forgot to even make the coffee. Lovely.

When I get to the office, the check in lady seems a little off. She is on the phone and then is off and says she will be with me in just a minute; she is in the middle of something she must finish. I am totally cool with that. What person doesn’t have that and the gal is perfectly polite about it. Then she gets up and leaves. Another gal sticks her head around the counter and says, “Did she help you?” “Nope.” I am quickly ushered over to the check in area and within a minute, I am all set. Profuse apologies ensue about not getting to me quicker. I am kind of humored, because quite frankly, I am just fine.

Quickly, my name is called and I am led into a room that distinctly reminds me of a spa waiting room. Lockers for personals, a pretty pink and white robe to go on top. Then a delightful light turquoise room with a beautiful couch and chairs and nice foot rests. I notice the sign that reminds us ladies that women come to the Breast Center for all types of tests, so if someone who comes to the waiting room after you, gets called first, it is okay. No one will be left behind. I figure that is the polite way to say, “Hold your britches and wait your turn.” So I sit and wait.

After a bit, a technician comes into the room and says my name. Both myself and the only other woman in the room answer:

“I am Melinda, are you Melinda too?”

“I am, are you?”

“I am.”

We give the gal both our last names and she takes back the other Melinda after we do proper introductions. What are the chances? So funny. Life is like that, gives you a little humor when you need it.

The room then begins to fill up and other women are called back, before me. I, of course, don’t even let it phase me, because I read the sign and it says not to worry. So, of course, I don’t worry. By chance, the woman who checked me in comes in and looks at me.

“You haven’t been called back yet?”

“Nope.”

“Let me look into that.”

All of a sudden she comes out and apologizes profusely again. My tech then comes to get me and explains that the computer system is having troubles today and I didn’t go through. No biggie, I am not in a hurry and all is good. But no, the poor mammographer is just beside herself that I had to wait. She tries to put me in the computer, but I won’t go, so she just says let’s do the exam and worry about the paper work later. Okay, I am cool with that too.

Having another person touch my breasts is a little weird. Okay, a lot weird. The tech is gentle and acts like those suckers will break if she moves them too much. I am just thinking that this is a little undignified of a test. I am bothered by it more than my pap. I find it is uncomfortable, but doesn’t really hurt. It is quick, but again, weird. I get the spiel about if I get a call back it is not a big deal and does not necessarily mean cancer. They just want to look a little closer that is all. Whatever lady, if you call me back in, I will be freaked. You have been forewarned.

The funny thing is that I am not worried about the mammogram or the impending results. I don’t really worry that they computers are down and I had to wait. I am over my weirdness about having someone touch, but not fondle my breast. More than ANYTHING else about this could be life-altering test of prevention…I didn’t get to put on deodorant and lotion. I am totally obsessing about it. My hands look like a lizard. I need a mani. Do I smell? Yeah, life altering, Rite of Passage I tell ya.

Of Construction and Lizards or The Things we Endure for Family

Lately, I had been feeling lonely for the Spokanites. As I chose to go to Kansas for Mid-Winter Break, I hadn’t been there since my 40^th birthday and there was a 7week old nephew calling my name…”Auntie Mel, come see me!” So we planned to go on Monday of Spring Break. As Sunday rolled around and Rachel’s cough was just subsiding and the Boy’s game got cancelled due to the infernal, horrid weather of April in Seattle; we packed up early and went on our merry way to Spokane.

About an hour from town, my sister in law text we could stay at her house because of the construction zone. Hmmm…I knew my parents had work done on the house, and I knew it involved bathrooms, but I truly thought they were put back together and things were finished or nearly so. Should have known. Home projects are not my Mom & Dad’s forte’. At. All. In fact, they have started them more than several times in my life and many have been left unfinished. This time it was supposed to be different. They had hired out and the projects were to be completed. Until the money ran out, that is. Then they were having a brother finish it…don’t know what happened there. The long and short of it is, I walked into a home that not only had one working toilet, but no working bathroom sinks. In fact, the main floor bathroom was empty. Yes, empty. It gets better. When the construction began, the idea was to bring the laundry upstairs and put in a shower/bath/apartment of some kind in the downstairs. Well the washer and dryer did come up and the shower did go down. So now the only shower in the house is in the basement that is so filthy that you have to wear shoes of some sort down to it in order not to get dirty coming up. You have got to be kidding me! Nope, I am not. Those are the construction zones. Then there is the rest of the house. The kitchen is usable and you can sit in the living room. That is about all the usable space available. You cannot sit at the kitchen table-it is PILED with boxes of who knows what, because I was too upset to even look.

Needless to say due to my lovely cynical inferences, my mother’s house has been a l-o-n-g standing javelin in my side. It looks like a museum-or maybe more like an antique shop that has no prices, because NOTHING is for sale. Several years ago, my mom asked me to help her clean out and organize her home. I asked if we could throw things away or donate? Upon her answer, I declined helping her. It was just too much and I knew with my feelings it wouldn’t be pretty. More like WWIII and our already shaky relationship probably couldn’t handle it. I try VERY hard not to be judgmental and to rather be very graceful and polite about the house. I used to go and clean, clean, clean, pickup, pickup, pickup-but I just wanted to cry. Total and utter frustration. Unfortunately now, I just tear up and have decided I am not enabling their behaviors anymore. Mom starts something, doesn’t finish, wants dad to finish-it is his duty to their marriage and she moves on to something else. Dad never signed up for the project in the first place and is now passive aggressive about the expectation of help. It is the vicious cycle which is my parent’s relationship. It has driven them for over 30 years, I don’t expect it will stop soon. Sometimes, it then becomes my brothers’ issues and they will help. I feel badly for them, because they live there and I think they feel maybe not obligated, but something. One day when we are there, my mom turns to me and says, “You want to paint my bathroom?” First, I am on vacation. Second, I have my own home I take care of on my own. Third, no enabling. That really should be first, huh? Last, if you have read about or know about the week of my wedding…yeah, not ever painting for Mom again.

Another thing we do when I we are in Spokane is visit a reptile store my son has found online. He has always had a great love of animals and right now he is into Crested Geckos. I like them, they are easy to take care of and he is enthralled by them. So we go to the store only to find that the gal is out and ends up being 2 hours late. Sis and I end up at the Hobby Lobby with Mom, which isn’t as bad as I expected it would be. Because she is late, the owner gives my son a large discount on a yearling Crestie. He doesn’t have enough money and my dad ponies up. Great…now we get to take a gecko on a car ride across the state. Here is where the rest of the story begins.

We pick up my son’s new lizard on the way out of town. The woman is very helpful and makes a habitat box for us to transport the currently nameless gecko. All is well and our trek back to Seattle assumes. At our first rest stop, Sis and I need to make a pit stop. As we come out of the rest room and back to the car, I notice my 13 year old, ultra-confident son in the back seat from the front with a panic on his face. It doesn’t even dawn on me what is about to occur. “Mom, he got out. Since it was quiet in the car I went to pet him and he jumped, and now he is under your seat.” You are kidding, right? No, not kidding. We look under the seats, we move luggage to look in the car, we look under the other seat, we look everywhere. Then we spy the little bugger by the gas petal. Mind you it 41 degrees and snaining (snow/rain) outside and I am half in and half out of my car, my butt hanging out for anyone to see. Good thing I had on my “best butt” jeans…right? I finagle my body into a contortion where I should be able to reach the little bugger and I do. Right on the frickin’ tail. Do you know what happens to a reptile tail when the animal feels threatened? Let me be the one to inform you…they let it drop. It is their evolutionary defense mechanism. By the way, when they drop their tail, it isn’t done…it writhes and wriggles and moves like a worm-for a LONG time. I am horrified and mesmerized all at once, and then I remember the gecko and I realized it has scampered into the console of the car. Yes, the console. No way? Yes, way…

What do we do? We crawl under with a flashlight and look for it for 30 minutes. I take apart as much of the console as I can to see if we can find it. We can’t. Sis is almost in hysteria in the back not wanting it to get hurt. I am being a good supportive mom and reassure her. The Boy is feeling guilty and apologizing and I am apologizing to him about the tail. In most varieties of geckos, the tail will grow back…not in Cresties though, just my luck. Finally, I make the decision that we are leaving. Either the animal will live and come out or it will die. Either way, sitting there is not going to help. So with my crying daughter and my concerned son, we continue. I do inform the kids that this could have a really good ending or a really bad one, so be prepared for either. They know and say okay. I begin praying that the gecko comes out, “Please Jesus let the gecko, come out, PLEASE!!!!” The realist also starts kicking in. “What happens if it doesn’t?” If it dies in there, my car will stink, if it is in there alive we gotta get it out! I decided if we get to Moses Lake and he hasn’t shown up, we go to the nearest Chevy dealership and see what they can do. All I am thinking is the $100 gecko is discounted and purchased for $65. Now how much will he be if they charge me to take apart me car? I just got out of debt…apparently, I may go back in. About 10 minutes east of Moses Lake, the boy yells, “There he is, I see his nose, pull over Mom!” And there, pointed like the A-framed roof of a house is the nose of this Dalmatian, Harlequin Crestie. I about shout, “Halleluiah Jesus!” I find a pen and touch the reptile; he once again scampers, but this time to the boy’s side of the car by his feet. I grab a sweatshirt and throw it over the animal; slowly I pick it up and back into its travel habitat it goes. It feels like the platform of bricks is lifted off my chest. The Boy holds on to that box for the rest of the way home with a vise like grip. He is grateful, I am thankful. Our second Crestie becomes Houdini.

Ponderous Occurrances

When you have an overwhelming experience in your life such as a marriage, a death, a divorce, a reunion, I have found that are always some things that you ponder over and over and over again. In each situation it is obviously vastly different; however, you still get things stuck in your head that you cannot get out. Here are a few of mine.

My Kansas parents are so incredibly kind to one another it is a modeling that, even at 40, I admire. Momma Wilder thanked Dad over and over for the things he did for her. She always asked him if there was things she could do for him and vise versa. The two of them laughed together, really laughed. Dad hugged Diane and gave her little pats all the time she received a lot of positive feedback for all the kind things she did. Finally, I couldn't stand it and I complemented the both of them for their behaviors to one another. Diane said that they had always worked on that and over time it is just the way it got to be. It was work however. Well, the poor man who gets me just got another behavioral expectation put on his plate. Poor man.

Another thing I found very curious were the family resemblances. People say there are things that have nothing to do with living with one another and I have always believed that, but until now, had never experienced it. I was humored over and over again by the little things and the big things. Now, I had never had communication with my brother David before I went to Kansas. To say the least, I was a little hesitant to see what he thought of this other sister he had and how we would interact. Funny thing was there were several times the words I was thinking came right out of his mouth. I was dumbfounded. And then I would laugh. My sister, Jenna, and I have similar mannerisms, are not the quiet, reserved type (who knew?), and I told my parents that perhaps it was good that they didn't have to raise the two of us together. We both have the same hazel eyes, both have the same chicken poc scar on our foreheads and we even said some things in unison a couple of times. It was really, really funny. There were the physical resemblances too. Cheekbones, smiles, eyes, hands for me and dad, just things that our DNA provide. My father and I walk around singing to ourselves all day and like the same classic rock genre. We both like to cook and I think our personalities have some similar qualities too.

Something that made me very sad and ponderous was how little information and photographs that the Wilder family had of me. There were only a handful of pictures from about age 3mo to about age 8...and that was it. Putting myself in their shoes, what a horrible place to be stuck- a daughter you cannot imagine beyond the year of age 8-that nearly broke my heart. Added on to that was the negligible amount of information they had of me after I moved to Spokane with my mother about age 2 1/2. And quite frankly, how little information I had of what my biological set of parents relationship was built upon. I pretty much knew nothing. Now I get to ponder why I was never told and is it even important anyway? I just don't know. I am not really good at just letting things go unfortunately, so we will see how that flies.

Finally, Momma Wilder, in all of our conversations about growing up and being the kind of teacher I am and my other life experiences would say over and over-"You really could write a book." Does she know how many times that has popped into my head? Then the Gremlin of the Month says, "You could write one, but it ain't getting published Sister. No one wants to read what you have to say." All the frickin' time...UGH! You never know...perhaps I do have something to say.

Something else to add to my list of pondering.

Open Arms

When we left the airport we went to Applebees for a drink and appetizers. I was starving and it was just right. When Dad left the table, Diane said, "We were in the grocery today and Journey's Open Arms came on. Steve said that was our song for my coming and started choking up." It seems he had been very emotional that day off and on. Me too, only differently. Mine was fear, his was excitement of sorts.

I can't at this time give an overall story to my trip to my new family. It is still too overwhelming. For now, I am posting the things that are at the forefront of my thoughts today...the rest will come later.

Things I remember vividly:

Hugging my Dad for the first time.

Jenna coming through the door and immediately taking me in for a sister hug.

My niece asking for Sis's info to text, because she wasn't there (160 texts in one day, I might add)

Meeting the important people in Steve and Diane's life and feeling their reaction to me.

My nephew T giving me a big hug before he left the first time I met him.

My nephew C and all his little loves.

My nephew L and his big smile.

Spending the day with my brother David and him putting his arm around me for a sibling and Dad photo.

Figuring out just how entirely similar Jenna and I are to one another. (Uncanny, I say...)

Meeting and getting to know my very wonderful brother in law and sister in law to be. My siblings are such lucky, special people.

Momma Wilder's unending kindness and sensitivity-she would let Dad and I talk when she thought it was appropriate-even on her birthday.

Figuring out Momma Wilder's Love Language for sure in about 2 seconds flat!

Her telling me what a hole I had filled and me dumbfounded that I could fill that hole.

Me asking Steve if it was appropriate and okay to even call him Dad.

Dad's huge hands that look exactly like mine, only in giant size.

Kansas thunder, hail and lightning

How badly my heart hurt to leave. I will never forget that pull all the way back to Seattle.

I guess Open Arms, really was appropriate.

Traveling

I figured I had better get this started, before what has happened since I got home befuddles my what happened when I was gone story. It could. Our brains do that ya know...it must be true, I read it in Brain Rules. I hope you are not bored by my blow by blow here; I think I want to remember everything.

I didn't sleep much the night before I left for Kansas...at this point I've lost the memory of what I laid there thinking about, but I think I wish I would have written it down. It could have been extremely insightful. I actually had a lot of peace that Saturday morning. Drank coffee. Had breakfast. Talked to Mom and Jess.

Getting dressed was a bit of a scene however. I had picked out my clothes before, pretty much knew what makeup I would wear, but had a heck of a time with jewelry. Yes jewelry. What does one wear to meet their father? At first it was pearls. Ya can't go wrong with pearls right? They're timeless. And too short for my neckline. Then it was the pretty 3 diamond necklace I got for my 39th birthday. That would be perfect...and too long. Why the hell was I perseverating on jewelry? Because I wanted to feel pretty, proud and confident. So FINALLY, I decided on a long chain with white stones embedded in it and wore it as a double. Jeesh, glad that was done. Bags packed, repacked and completely ready. I let my kid's dad know I was ready and he could come anytime...and by the way could he please bring an Americano with French Vanilla Creamer? He called me the high maintenance ex. That day I was for sure, and I was okay with that. Thank God so was he.

Steve and Diane had sent me flowers for Valentine's Day...I felt soooo spoiled and the kids were sent a package. Well it hadn't come until just that day. When the kids and their dad came to get me I took it to the care so that they could open their gifts. Inside, a Kansas University shirt for the boy and a very cute red heart watch for the girl. I took photos and text them to G'ma and G'pa Wilder. So cool.

SeaTac was so non eventful that quite frankly I can only remember checking in...only because I forgot my coffee on the counter...sacrilege! I apparently boarded and found my seat without any trouble and met a Financial Advisor from Bellingham, traveling to Miami to work and look at women in bikinis. "Eye Candy" he called it. Apparently, Bellingham is not a bachelor's paradise. He asked where I was traveling and why. I told him. His mouth dropped and was amazed. He asked some questions and then settled in to study for the test to get into financial grad school in Chicago. I took this as a nudge from above and studied for the GRE-cause I bought the GRE for Dummies book right? Might as well use it! That it took my mind off other things was just a side note.

As we flew into Denver, I thought for just a fleeting second...I was born here. Then the realization of only having 10 minutes to get to my next plane took over. Luckily it was at the very next gate. I boarded and sat quietly for a long time. The woman next to me struck up a conversation about living in Kansas. I asked what it was like. She said, "The people of Kansas are the salt of the earth." I liked that. She asked why I was visiting and I explained my excursion. She gasped. I mentioned that my life was currently much like a Hallmark channel movie. She laughed and we proceeded to have a wonderful conversation that calmed my ever tingling nerves. So thankful to that woman. As the plane arrived in Wichita, I was so calm, so put together. I was so proud of myself.

Then I walked down the hall to the lobby. Just at then end before I rounded the corner, where I knew I would see my father for the first time since I was little, I started to panic. Hyperventilate and had to stop. Catch my breath, say a little prayer and then begin the journey to a reunion of family lost and then found.

I saw them before they saw me. My father and his wife looking, looking, looking at the faces in the crowd. I waved and they saw me. Both waved back. About 20 yards away, I couldn't stand it anymore, I instinctively started running. I was thinking, why I am running...I look like such a nerd. So did he and I got he biggest hug you can imagine. I tried not to cry, but the tears just started coming. I wept and giggled and couldn't believe my biological father; the one I have wondered about and wished to meet and wanted to know wanted me wept and giggled too. What a lovely reunion.

Gremlins

You'd say the word "gremlins" around my daughter and she used to about blow a gasket; now she gives you the stink eye. One family movie night several years ago, my girlfriend & I tried watching this movie with our kids...let's just say it didn't go over well...at least not with my girl. From then on just saying the word was a way to antagonize her to the "nth" degree. Just ask my boy. He did this with the finesse only an older brother could provide. Gremlins was also a verb used by a life coach I once worked with to describe the lovely things in our life that hold us back, bring us down, keep us from our potential and pretty much what we allow to trip us up.

This week I have been facing a GREMLIN...100 feet tall, furry with bulging eyes and pointed teeth. His talons are inches long and the crevise like scars left on my psyche don't seem to fully heal. I have held this creature in the little box on the imaginary shelf in my closet for most of my life. Sometimes the little bugger gets out. Then he torments me to some varying degree of maliciousness and quietly sneaks back to his box to await another vernerable time in my life. Yeah, well, this is it. The opportunity has arisen and GREMLIN, A+, number one is out for blood this time.

I have a fear, a fear I have had all of my life. This fear, I have allowed to become a thin lining that underlies all that I do, think and feel. I don't like it. In fact, I f*&%ing hate it. Mostly because what I have allowed it to do or better said, keep me from doing in life. My fear is not being good enough. Not being a good enough daughter or student in my younger years. Not being a good enough teacher. Certainly not being a good enough wife. I have a failed marriage to prove that one. Let's talk about being a mom...I haven't done a good enough job raising my kids or they wouldn't sleep late or use sarcasm. Certainly, not a good one of those. Oh and relationships. Yeah, I suck at those too. I am not thin enough, quiet enough, slutty enough or beautiful enough to keep one of those going. Yeah, not good enough has been a big ol part of my life.

This week it has been that I am applying to graduate school (probably won't do well enough on the GRE to get in). I have started a business that I certainly can't handle because people buy from me because they feel sorry for me instead of like a really, great product. (Someone actually said that to me...) No matter that if I work this business I will be able to pay my bills and stand on my own two feet without help from others. Is there a chance that my budding relationship will fail with my biological father and his family because I am not good enough? Was I not good enough to relationship with all these years? How about the program I teach in...have I not tried hard enough to make it the best I can for kids? All these things came to a crashing, screeching, barrier based head this week. I came home from school with a whopper of a panic attack on Monday. Tuesday night I cried my eyes out to a friend who called to see what was up. Wednesday, I lost it a bit in front of my teaching partner. Thursday, I became a stoic wall in a meeting and today, I let it rest for a bit. Kinda wondering what tomorrow will be when I shop for my trip. Reality is sinking in folks. This IS my current situation. What in the world am I going to do from here?

When the gremlin gets out of the box things can get wild. They haven't gotten this wild for a while. Perhaps I need to hall my hiney back to the counselor. Perhaps. For now, I think my choice is to sit with the gremlin, let me feel him out, push through this hard time and then flip the f*#$er off.

That should send him on his way.