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.

Butterflies Approach

Today is the first time I have felt physically nervous about meeting my Kansas family. It actually ran through my mind that I could cancel my trip. I wouldn't really do that however; I would be a liar if I said it didn't go through my mind.

I have been wanting to get a some little gifts for my niece and nephews-I know how to smooze the kiddos-and so I wrote to my sister.

All of a sudden that small feeling of panic came creeping in like the first snow flake that falls every so slowly out of the sky in ever so slow motion.

My mouth watered, my stomach tightened...I felt the good old not good enough fear come slowly, upon my body and set me off kilter, just a little bit.

How will I fit in?

Will it be uncomfortable?

What if the family does not like me?

What if I am an emotional train wreck?

What if my brother feels I am intruding?

What if I don't get along with my sister after all?

What do I call Diane and Steve?

So many insecurities I figured would eventually arise. Now they are here and and I am just not so sure how to handle them. So I pray and plan and think positive thoughts...and the butterflies approach.

Dealing with the Holidays

Well all, we made it through the holidays. It wasn't easy, but we did it. In earlyish December I sent a scrapbook to Steve and Diane. It had some pictures of Seattle, some of me growing up, some of me as a young adult, one in my wedding dress (even though the marriage didn't last), and some of me with the kids. I added ones of my hugely pregnant and ones of my precious children: little, medium and big like they are now. I am very proud of my gift I made for them and have heard how they treasure it.

In mid-December we got a rather large box, marked from Kansas. Inside were gifts for my children and gifts for me. My son had a hilarious fit wanting to open a gift and so he had to call Steve and ask. He conceded and the boy did a happy dance. He got a very cool Nike Mariner's sweatshirt and a remote controlled car and the girl received a nail set-which glittered my bathroom to the hilt-and a very cute cupcake apron. Both were elated.

A beautifully wrapped basket came for me. Sunflowers -I love the irony of Kansas being the sunflower state, me loving sunflowers and people in Kansas loving me! It is just too cool.-adorned the beautiful yellow ribbon and inside. It was a sight to see. I waited to open mine mostly because I was nervous and I think part of me really did not believe that this basket could actually be for ME. Finally, I couldn't stand it and inside was a wonderful assortment of Kansas paraphenelia. Towels adorning the phrase, "Somebody in Kansas loves Me", a Kansas survival kit and several little sunflower notepads. What a treasure and a sign of Kansas times to come. Also were three other gifts that were wrapped for Christmas day. I happily put them under the tree feeling so spoiled by people who barely knew me, but were easily figuring me out.

Mom and Dad came for Christmas. Shortly before they came it occurred to me that I may need to figure out how to navigate my mother's feelings and my feelings about this upcoming holiday and my communication with Steve and Diane. I certainly wasn't going to rub my budding and growing relationship with their family in my mother's face. I didn't want to hurt her, but I wasn't willing to hide it either. So in great Melinda fashion, I hit it straight on. While getting ready with Mom one morning I told her there were gifts for me and the children under the tree from Steve and Diane. Was she going to be okay with that? Mom responded saying she may cry. That was it. "I will open them privately with the kids then." "NO! They won't know, I always cry." "They will know and I won't have them seeing your issues." That was the end of that conversation. I knew we weren't finished however. It is funny how I always know, this is just one of many conversations that will likely occur. The next day getting ready this came out "I get you Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter and all holidays." I am thinking, "Like you really get me now Mom." Instead, "Well Mom, we'll just have to see. I will not promise you anything." I don't know what the future holds and from past experience I do know to never say never. It always bites you in the butt. I have the experience to prove that one.

Christmas morning came and Christmas morning went. Mom didn't cry, she just said, "Was that them?" when I went upstairs to talk to Steve and Diane on the phone. She did very well when Matt called them later in front of everyone to say thank you for his gift. I did well too. My inside voice that sometimes escapes, stayed inside and we all made it no scars induced.

Grateful for that.

Headed to Kansas

Been wanting to write this post, but didn't feel I could because I wanted to wait and tell my mother that I was making that trip. I spoke with her this morning.

During the Thanksgiving Holiday I was able to do a few things. First I figured out what it was like to be alone on a holiday. I did it. I didn't think I was going to do it, but I did. I went to Brandy's house for a fabulous breakfast and then came home, took a nap and then pretty much watched TV for the rest of the day. No drama after all. Probably a bummer for you, the reader, but it was a breakthrough for me. Whew!

Another event of the holiday weekend was a new laptop...ours had died and when the night came when my kids couldn't do their homework, I knew I had to pony up. I got a good deal and am fairly happy with my purchase. That is another story.

Finally and the best experience of the weekend, I purchased tickets to go to Kansas. Yes, I did. I had to think about it, get nervous about it, let the butterflies and moths of past memories flutter. A lot. Then I pressed purchase.

Steve had mentioned all of us meeting at some point and I had kind of sloughed it off. That I had "met" him had been good enough. I wasn't really allowing myself to think that they would really want to meet me. I think my fears of rejection were creeping in and cluttering the issue. The magnetic pull of curiosity, DNA and family history overcame me.

One of the biggest considerations was how long to go. While I have the whole week of President's week off, I didn't want to invade their work lives, since they didn't have all that time off. Also I was scared, terrified, actually. What happened if it didn't go well. So I picked 4 days instead of a week. A good first meeting, without my kids, just as someone's kid. That they desperately want to get to know.

After the purchase I knew I would have to tell the fam. I was pretty sure that Daddy would be fine. He was, in fact. He said he was happy for me and I should have fun. Then he had to go and I couldn't talk to Mom. I tried to talk to her several other times, but the timing wasn't right. She's looking for a new job due to budget cuts, so...surely she would be supportive though, right. Again, it was almost 40 years ago. I know she's been struggling with this reunion, but I can't base my actions on hers. Mom needs to work through her "stuff" and I have to move through mine.

The last few times we spoke she has been very quick to tell me how she loves me and has always wanted me. These are things I already know. Due to these and a few other behaviors and actions by the woman who bore me, she's bugged-really bugged. And I can't do anything about it.

As we were finishing our Saturday morning conversation ritual this morning, I blurted out, "I am going to Kansas in February." After a rather long, lengthy pause, her only comment was, "You are moving fast on this." Really? Nothing else...oh yes, there was...."I guess you would want to do that." I told her they were really kind and wonderful people, she said people could change in 30 years. I am not sure of what the hell happened all that time ago, but holy toledo is there baggage.

Unfortunately, it is not my baggage and so I why did I bawl for on and off for the day. Good lord, family can sometimes suck.

I am happy, excited, nervous, thrilled to go to Kansas. These are people I want to meet. I really don't care what anyone else thinks. This is my life.

Been wondering what I could add to my story next. Maybe how all my friends have been so supportive and fabulous. Perhaps how it feels to be the only child of two people and now that all your siblings are only 1/2 or adoptive. No one full blood at all. I find that kind of not disturbing, but alone. Lonely? No, but different for sure. I have always, always, always figured my siblings as my siblings. I made smart ass comments to my mother several times; upon relection, not to be rude, but perhaps to find myself. The reaction from Mom didn't help me. I learned to button up.

Now; however, I am in this new vaccuum. The only child of two people who did not work out. The two people moved on and had other children with new spouses. More than one, they are full blooded siblings. The truth is I am a halfer....

Does it really matter though? Famly is family, friends have become family. I share no blood with them. No matter, I still consider them family. Still, I am struggling. It doesn't feel bad, but it nags. Where do I really fit in?

Oh! What Will I Tell My Family????

I have been thinking about this blog for days....not sure how to write it, not exactly sure what to say...How do I feel about telling the truth? People are funny. How they feel depends on their perspective and perspectives are funny. Just ask me...my student's perspective change on a dime sometimes to meet their own needs. I have found through experience, that so do adults. I guess we will tackle this post together...one by one.





The very first person I told, was my kids' dad; he was here, he brought me the letter. He knows the ins and outs of this story. He knows how I feel, how my mother has felt and to his defense, he is not really a emotional person. When I realized who sent the letter, he was surprised, but also very unattached.."Hmm, what do you know," was kind of his reaction. Since then he has asked several times if things are ok, but I certainly know he wasn't the man I could jump up and down with hugging and crying. That wouldn't be right...





As soon as he left, I immediately call my confidant, best bud, super, secret keeper, sister, Jessica. I can tell her anything, and boy diddy do I mean anything and she won't judge, rebuke or criticize. I love it and I love her!!! She, just like me, was in shock. "Are you kidding me, are you ok?" "Oh gosh, I guess I never thought that would happen." Yeah, me either Sis...but it did. Immediately we start taking about our parents, "What will Mom say?" Really, she is the one we worry about. Talking about her past hasn't been always a good thing and so we quit a long time ago. I am extremely concerned about the conversation...for now Jess and I decide I will email Steve back and go from there. Jessica is supportive no matter what. Even though we may not share the genes of the same dad,we value the same family and love the same man, as our dad, just the same.

As I drive to Spokane, my tummy is a tumulous ocean. Do I tell this weekend? Do I tell at all? Should I wait to see what will happen with Steve? Well...I am not a liar by nature, nor can I hide when I have "something" going on. I want to talk to my dad first, and luckily I have that opportunity. Early Saturday morning on my 40th birthday, Daddy and I have the opportunity to chat over coffee. In my best nonchalant conversation voice, I tell him we need to chat. Then...in stead of just easing into it...I blurt it out. "My biodad wrote me a letter." Daddy looks at me and says, "It is about time. I figured if he was any kind of man, he would do it at sometime or another." My mouth drops. Dad had told me that if I wanted to find him, I should. I investigated, but never really felt like it was the time. Because it wasn't, obviously. What a frickin' load off my mind. I read Dad the letter and he is happy. He asks me what I am going to do, I say email back-although I already had, but hadn't heard back yet. I am elated that he is happy. He raised me and will always love me and I will always love him. He told me he isn't threatened nor should he be...ever. I ask what I should do about Mom, he says tell her and tell her soon...that oughta be good.

We go to a delicious birthday breakfast; I am aloof. All I can think about is Mom...what will she say? Will she freak out? We run errands and go to my nephew's football game. Finally, when we are home and getting ready for the party, I recruit Jessica and we go to talk to Mom...she is putting on her makeup for my birthday party and I sit on the toilet and make Jess stand by the sink. There is no way I am doing this alone...with (ok without) finesse, I say to Mom, "I gotta talk to you about something, not bad, good actually, but serious." She gives me the look...the last time I had a conversation like this with Mom, I told her we had filed for divorce. I dropped that bomb on Thanksgiving Day. Nice huh? Like I said, no finesse. I just gotta get it out there, or I die of guilt. Not good...so I again blurt it out..."Steve contacted me the day before yesterday." She goes, "Steve who?" I almost scream, "Steve Wilder!" Mom get her best serious face and says, "Oh, I always thought he would." Are you even kidding me woman? You made it very clear when I was a tween that you didn't expect that; and I should never go that route. It would kill my Dad, Craig...well, obviously not. He has been good with it for years. Truly, I almost killed her; but I didn't. Then she pops off "Here I was thinking you got married or something behind my back." UMMMMM....first, there are no suitors who want to marry me Mom....but thanks for that.

Now...that was then...this is now. Two weeks in, Mom is worried I will pack up and move to Kansas. She even goes as far as saying, I am her baby....I remind her I am also his. She has just had me with her all these years. Mom is shook, unsure, I have to build her up. There are her own demons she is dealing with due to all this. However; they are not MY demons. They are hers and her 40 year ago memories. I can't help her, just reassure her of my love for her. That does not mean that I will not continue my search and my relationship with the Wilder Family, I will. The last time we spoke, her comment was, "I have always been glad I had you." I know Mom, it will be okay in time.

My brothers you ask. Brothers are brothers. Brett says that is cool and he is good. Hope it all goes well. My brother Matt, figured it out...He is so smart that way..."Oh I saw you were friends with someone named Steve Wilder on Facebook. I knew that was your biodad's name, so I figured you found each other." I felt kinda bad, not telling him first, but it all worked out.

My children are fine, I told them on the way home from Spokane. Matt says, "Do they have money?" REALLY????? Good Lord Matthew...he laughs and says he is just kidding. Actually, he has asked the most questions and been the most interested. We have looked at pictures together and it has been good. Rachel is curious and asks questions....one day we are working together and she says, "Maybe you got your weirdness from Steve." Yeah, Rachel, maybe that is it...

PS-How did you find me?

I remember thinking, after I got the letter, is this really happening to me? Today, two days before my 40th birthday. Shit, I knew it was supposed to be a biggie, but really???? Then the thought occurred to me that this was perfect timing. I had been needing a little "healing", if you will, and perhaps this was the beginning of just that. So that is the perspective I chose. I am still carrying that perspective at this writing.

Catching Up
I did email Steve the next day, from my classroom during downtime....I would compose what I would say, reread it, look at it again, tweak a word. Finally, I just pressed send. From that point, I figured, whatever happened, happened. It was out of my control. Whoa, out of my control. That is crazy.

More than 1 Man
Our first few emails contained mostly logistics. I live and work here; he lives and works there. I grew up here and this way; he works at one place or another. No talk about personal things. I don't mention my children, he doesn't mention his family either. Now anyone who knows me, even a little knows I like to converse. I want to build that relationship, get to know you. See if we are compatible. So it is no surprise that I put myself out there and eventually I write, "I guess a couple of things you might want to know are that I am a special education teacher, I am divorced (4 yrs ago), I have a 13 year old boy and an 11 year old girl...I also have a 39 year old brother, a 36 year old brother and a 33 year old sister." Let me just lay out my life for you in a sentence or less. That's me.

Floodgates open...apparently I have 3 aunts and uncles through my father all in differiing cities, and 2 aunts and an uncle through my stepmother. By the way...they all know about me and have met me when I was little!

Ok...I was just thinking one person, a man, who fathered me. Yeah, good job Mel being egocentric. The man moved on with his life. He's been married to his wife for 37 years-she knows me- and oh yes, you also have a 35 year old half sister and a 33 year old half brother. And another niece and 3 nephews and another on the way. Soooooooo....a whole family AND they've always known about me. I just never knew about them. That was a baseball bat to my mirror of thinking and I may be still digesting all of what that entails.

Birthday Letters
You hear of those stories where the father finds a child because he is dying or because he needs penance or whatever. This man wants to relationship with me. Learn about who I am, where I came from and where I am going. In one of his very first emails he mentions that he has written me every year on my birthday, but never knew where to send them. Who does that? A man who wishes he would have made other decisions concerning a daughter, that is who.

Several correspondences later-at this point I am watching my email like a hawk-to see if Steve writes me or has any more to say to me. I was half afraid there may be nothing left to say. Might just fizzle, but no, there is always more to say to someone you've been waiting your whole life to know about. I ask the question that is itching at the back of my brain in a post script...

"PS-How did you fine me?"

Here is where the world becomes a grain of sand. Steve did not know my parent's last name. In a conversation with his mother before she passed away he mentioned that fact and his mother pipes up that she knows it. I am thinking, "Are you kidding me?????" This is never a conversation they had together? Good Lord. The important fact is that she did know it, she told it to him and his search began. On the internet. There he found my parents. Looking at the relatives, a Melinda Gray (ME!) came up. From there all it took was a white listings search, he found my information with Mike's and there ya be. Apparently, when you know a name, finding someone can be easier than you think. Almost 40 years not knowing a name. Get the name, get that world wide web and get hooked up.

"He'll Come Find You One Day"

Those were the words my grandmother said to me many, many years ago while discussing my biological father. "He loved you and he will come find you." I wasn't sure, it had been so many years and I just thought that would never happen. The story I had in my head was that he chose to give up parental rights so Craig could adopt me. That was so long ago and now I have heard some differing information. I really am not ready to find out the real story, but I will...eventually.

For now, I want to share the last week and a half of my life with you. On Oct 27th my former husband, Mike, brought me a letter. When I first looked at it, I was sure it was my handwriting I was looking at and I was sure it was probably from a doctor's office or something. Then I skimmed up to the return address. Wilder-in Kansas. I had to sit down. Immediately all the emotions from 38 years came crashing in my ears. The room actually did spin a little bit-I only ever thought that happened in movies...

I tore open the letter and it was from a man whose name is Steven Wilder. He said he knew me when I was little and that he wasn't even sure I would know who he was. Well, boy diddy, I totally knew who he was. He was my biological father. The one I had always wondered about...Did he really love me as Grandma and my uncles had said? Would he pursue me one day? That would be yes, he did. And I was knocked off my rocker.

Over the years I had been curious about this Steven Wilder who was my bio dad. But I knew nothing except my mom met him in Nebraska, she got pregnant, they married and lived in Denver. They split and Mom and I moved back to Hastings. Mom and I moved to Spokane, she met Craig, they got married and Craig adopted me. End of story. My mother was not so big on talking about Steve-which I get; a relationship that did not end well and produced a baby-I perhaps wouldn't want to talk about that pain either. Finally, I just gave up talking to Mom about it and so every so often I would as Grandma questions. She was always open and honest. I am grateful to her for that.

As time went on the internet came into play and every so often I would look him up. I didn't know anything but his name, so maybe I found him or maybe not over the years. I guess it doesn't really matter now. I didn't try and contact any of those men because I didn't want to hurt my Dad and I knew my mother would be mortified. In the last couple of years; however, Dad said that if I wanted to find him I could. So I've mulled it around, did a little investigating, but it never went anywhere until now.

The first thing I did, was call my sister. That is what I always do with big news. I think she was in just as much shock as I. "What are you going to do?" she wanted to know. I told her I was going to email him back the next day. He must be going crazy wanting to know if I got this letter. Good, Bad or other, the man needed to know he found the right daughter.

So I did. And so started a week of email conversations I will write about next...Life changes in one breath-I now have had the experience for myself and I know it is true.

Working Relationships...

I work with wonderful people. No, really I do. For the most part, always have. Sometimes people say that and don’t mean it, but for me, I am reminded of it again and again. Take tonight for example. I played bunko, a game I haven’t played I don’t think since my daughter was in my tummy, with a bunch of awesome gals from the elementary I work at. They are loving and kind and fun. They are my now coworkers. I appreciate them and show gratitude for their role in my life which is now. Everywhere I have been I have coworkers who have made a difference. Tonight, as I write, my last coworkers, really businesswomen who I cherish, miss and love are on my mind.
At one point of my life, I was a direct sales gal. I LOVED my job! It gave me the kudos I needed, the confidence I did not have and the bravery to step out of my box. In some ways, it really did make me the person I am today. At the time, I was not a hobbyist. I was in full boar. I wanted and did earn the vacations. I wanted to be in the top 10 and was. I wanted to get all the free gifts and product I could. I did. I was somehow proving my worth to myself and those around me. I don’t know if everybody in my life “got” that, but as I look back, I certainly get it and I guess that is all that really counts. But, here is the part that as I look back matters the very most out of everything…the people I met along the way.
Last weekend was the Convention of the company I was with. I didn’t go because of money and time and the fact that while that position I held gave me self worth, I have grown to find other things that provide self worth to me. Two of my closer friends in life did go. We always meet and greet our friend from Indiana and have dinner and she stays with us before Convention…then we all used to go together. Not this year. They went without me. As we ate sushi (delicious I may add) the night before, I was kinda sad. Not because I felt like I needed to be there, but because I miss rooming with those girls. I miss messing with their make-up and them with mine. I miss picking out jewelry and oogling over their cool dresses. I miss standing on stage with them knowing that the accomplishments we had were together. I wasn’t there when N won the highest award our company gave. Will I always regret that?
It wasn’t about lotion or skin care or scrubs, it was about relationships. Building relationships with women I Value. And Love. And Respect. Who would give you the coat off their back should you need it. Building relationships while we talked about bum spa classes, or when our kids excelled, or didn’t. Or when we had babies or husband issues or just bad cramps. Those were the best times. Those were the times I remember. When J would push me to be the woman I almost was and then became. When D & D loved me just because. When S was pregnant and had her precious baby. When K and J and N just supported me and told me it would all be okay. I believed those women and they were right.
They are still right today. I may not work with them every day now or even talk to them but every once in a while, but many times their voices still ring in my head. I miss them although I mostly feel like an outsider now.
I have new woman that will push me and prod me in a million different and new ways. And I will love and appreciate them. I will continue to grow. They will leave imprints upon my heart and so the cycle goes.
Thank you to those who have mentored me and shown me my value and taught me that I am the one who makes me become who I am…I do love and cherish you and always will.

Ok-my last post and this one are items I have written before, but I wanted to "publish" them...that is why they are my first entries....

My daughter’s baba blanky disintegrated this week. I don’t mean got lost or went away to blanky heaven or any of the other excuses we use to describe when our children’s items need to go. I mean it disintegrated. This is something I have been waiting for, watching and monitoring you might say for about the last year and a half.

My daughter’s baba blanky actually started as a blanket that was made for my son by my grandmother. It was powder blue on one side and had little teddy bears on the other on a white back ground. Each bear had a little saying underneath it. I am sitting here racking my brain as to what they were and even though I have read them about a hundred times to my daughter, I can’t remember them to save my life. Isn’t that just the way it goes? The inside of the blanky had a once thick piece of batting, but by the time this story is over let’s just say it got thin. Really thin. Like transparent thin.

The blanket came into my daughter’s life when it once began as a thick and very soft blanket that I would wrap around her in her baby carrier. It was the perfect size. It didn’t fall over the edges and drag and yet it wouldn’t let her tiny feet peek out the end either. It really was wonderful. As time went on, my daughter just claimed it as her own. My son didn’t care, he was never attached to blankets and I don’t think he really even noticed. So, the blanket became her property. That’s when the name Baba came into being. Blanket wasn’t quite in her vocabulary and so Baba it became. As her verbal skills enhanced, so the full name, Baba Blankey was given. She would carry it around the house, lay with it on the couch and eventually wrapped it around her pillow to lay her head on at night.

My daughter loved this blanket. She loved it like a child loves a family pet or their first pacifier or how an adult loves their first car or the first thing they can call their own. She would hug it and sometimes even kiss it as she caressed the fabric across her cheek and whisper it sweet nothings. Her water blue eyes would sparkle when she held it or spoke of it or even sometimes just touched it. The blanket had gone through the normal stages of a young girl’s growing up. Fevers, the flu, vomit in the car, scary doctor and dentist appointments, traveling to Lake Tahoe or Florida or Alaska or Spokane just to see the grandparents. It went through a divorce and the horrors children’s emotions go though along the way in that life experience. Many a time was spent driving it back and forth if it was forgotten as the tears and lost sleep were not worth the savings of gas. It was an extension of her, or so it seemed, and its nearness was of great importance to the happiness of my girl.

About a year and a half ago she was sitting with me and I noticed the hem loosening along the edges. I asked my daughter if she would like me to mend Baba. She agreed it needed some tending to. I carefully restitched the edges and took a long look at the fabric itself. It wasn’t as thick as it used to be for sure, but it was holding up. A few months later, my daughter came to me and said Baba needed more repairs. I looked and yikes, it really needed some help. I restitched the edges and then started mending the thin areas where the blanket had split. Now, I am not the best seamstress, so I did what I could and this, for now, satisfied my daughter.

Soon stitching wouldn’t cut it. The holes were larger and you couldn’t cover all the batting inside. So we improvised and just did the best we could. Now at this point, I thought it would be in my best interest to start preparing my daughter for the demise of Baba. I said, “I notice your baba is looking pretty thin, you do know someday it will probably have to go, right?” Her eyes were so sad. She just looked like I didn’t realize that Baba was never going to go, but rather always going be there. Was I crazy? Perhaps. But better to plant the seed then have a big watermelon drop from the sky later. After time, I would wash Baba and pieces would end up in the dryer; I would quickly put them in the trash and cover them. My daughter would bring me the blanket and tell me it wasn’t time for it to go. It was still good and working. Last month I noticed there where only three or four pieces of the front of Baba left. She would find the biggest piece and make sure it was what she wrapped it around her pillow to lay her head on at night.

Finally, the Baba’s thinnest, most fragile threads unraveled. I was lying in my own bed trying to sleep and she came in. “Baba’s done mom. “ She was beside herself. Now, I should let you know for the sake of me not sounding like a hardass mom with no heart, I have been training my daughter to sleep in her own room. In her own bed. In the time since the separation of my marriage, she had gotten used to sleeping more often in my room than her own and truthfully, I think it suited us both in an emotional attachment, healthy or not. However, it was time to move on. So when she came in and told me what I really wanted to do was grab her and hold her and tell her I was sorry, then cuddle her next to me and let her cry and sleep. I couldn’t do that though. I had to grab her and hug her and hold her and tell her I was sorry, then send her back to her own room to sleep without Baba. No one really got any sleep that night. My daughter missed her comfort and I worried that she would never sleep again. In the morning, she showed me how she wrapped the last strings of material around her stuffed kitty and duck, so they could have some Baba time. My heart ached for her. I know what it is like to have an attachment to something that gives us comfort, makes us calm and content…and then it is gone. I had a garden of perennials like that and when I lost it, my heart broke. Just like my daughters.

I read this today...hadn't read it in a while...hit a chord:

It's not about you.

The purpose of your life is far greater than your own personal fulfillment, your peace of mind, or even your happiness. It's far greater than your family, your career, or even your wildest dreams and ambitions. If you want to know why you were placed on this planet, you must begin with God. You were born by his purpose and for his purpose.

~Rick Warren

Whether or not you are a fan of Pastor Rick or a fan of God, you must think that life isn't always about well...yourself. Darn. That kinda bites. It makes me think I have a greater responsibility than myself. Rats, so what does that mean for me? Does that mean I have to give up wanting to be the best mom I can be or even a great teacher for kids who need help? I don't think so. I think it means that those things ARE purposeful in my life and important and great. It also means that God gave me those talents and gifts to support His plan for my life. I admit, I rarely know what the whole plan is, and often ask why????? What is the purpose of thus and such event in my life....I guess when I do this, I need to remind myself it isn't me who is fulfilling my purpose. It is greater than me...and so not about me.