Deep Thoughts* and Burning Questions

*I'm no Jack Handy, but I hope this will at least make you chuckle, giggle, snort or smile.

I like to think I am at least somewhat witty. I've filled this blog with medical based posts, unsolicited advice and opinions, tributes, etc. Most of my posts are laced with at least some snark/humor/failed attempts at wit. So, please consider this post an attempt at all out humor and wit.

If you heckle me, I'll go Louis on you okay?

Actors
How do actors get paid? No, really? This is something I think about probably more than one person should spend time thinking about. Does Tom Cruise get a giant multi-million dollar check at the wrap of a film? "To the bank, Jeeves!" and then a deposit? Or better yet, do they have direct deposit? I'm sure there's royalties on stuff; RDJ probably makes BANK on sales of Iron Man action figures. Does a $.03 deposit get made to his bank account every time someone buys one? I'm sure this all depends on what level of celebrity you are. My friend Louis up there probably gets handed some cash at the end of a set. The likes of Pitt, Clooney, Hanks, Jolie, Aniston et. al likely don't get cash in hand...right? They likely have a money manager/accountant. Do they get an allowance? "Mr. Damon, here is your daily $3000 allotment. Don't spend it all in one place like last time. No one needs that many NERF guns."

Colors
More specifically, color namers. Somewhere out there, at paint companies, fabric/furniture companies, clothing companies, people are PAID to come up with the names of colors. Gone are the days of ROYGBIV and primary colors. We painted our bathroom "Down Feathers" and "Peach Smoothie." Ethan brought home his color swatch kits from the firm. We were looking for a nice green. I suddenly became overwhelmed with the 25 shades of green, ranging from "Quiet Meadow" to "Mint Julep" to "Dark Forest." How does one get the job of being the "decider" of color names? Art students? Starving artists? Wordsmiths? I am certain that people receive a PAYCHECK to decide what to call a shade of light red. I don't think anyone would want me to name colors. A strip of reds would probably say:

Dark Red
Red
Light Red
Still Red
Less Red
Are you blind these are all the same Red.
And why aren't some just realistic? "This looks great on the swatch but will turn out to be the shade of baby diarrhea
when it dries Yellow."

***

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend." NO. The enemy of my enemy is person #2 who hates my enemy. I therefore want nothing to do with either of them. 

"I'll tell you when you're older." I heard this as a kid, I am sure we all did. But you might as well tell them now. What they dream up in their head is probably worse than the information they want to know.

"Don't judge a book by its cover." As related to looking at humans, sure. Absolutely. But actual books? If the cover art blows, the title is purposefully/ironically misspelled (Kid's Korner Krafts), the author is someone I hate, or any combination of the three, you bet your spectacles I am judging it by its cover. 

Okay, I read these, but you see my point

Hipsters

I'm still trying to understand hipsters. Naturally, I started here. Correct me if I am wrong, but when I was younger, all the stuff that makes one a "hipster" these days is what used to be made fun of endlessly. I've had glasses, enjoyed books, wore band t-shirts (okay, it was Hanson. Shoot me) when I was in middle/high school. I lived an "alternative lifestyle." The 'alternative' to rich/athletic/popular is poor/uncoordinated/nerdy. I had 'hipster glasses' before they were known as such. Are hipsters cool? Not cool? Prefer to be unclassified? Enlighten me. Do hipster teenagers get made fun of in school? Are they the top of the food chain now? 

What if the cultural norm for urination/defecation were going outside, like animals? Would it seem gross if we had never known otherwise? Who decided we needed a special room & porcelain receptacle? 

I have two webbed toes on each foot. Dave Letterman has two webbed fingers on one hand. Long lost relatives?

"The early bird gets the worm." Only if there's enough worms. And it's not winter. And a fisherman didn't get there first.

It is now acceptable to be a "cat lady." True story. A bunch of my Twitter followers are cat ladies. Or maybe it's just acceptable to us, but since we ban together, we know no different. 

Rainy Snowy days and Mondays always get me down.

Grammar Hound

Disclaimer: This post in no way is meant to condemn, offend, or personally attack anyone. It is about the big picture message and is simply my opinion. If it comes off as snobby, then it may well be. I have a B.A. in English and I take language very seriously.

This weekend, in my just-opened-my-eyes-but-still-in-bed stupor, I posted a mini-rant about those Facebook memes floating around that say things like “Name a city in Pennsylvania that doesn’t have the letter ‘e’ in it.” I’ve seen these for movie titles, states, songs, animals, etc.  A lot of times, they look like the one below:

Django Unchained, The Change Up (c'mon, make it a challenge)

I saw one yesterday that had a little anecdote added: “this ones really tricky guys ;)” {sic}. I think it was name a fish without the letter ‘a’ in it (flounder, monkfish). What are these little memes trying to prove? The one above lacks proper capitalization and punctuation. The grammar is often incorrect. Usually, they have THOUSANDS of comments in response. Maybe it speaks to the limited vocabulary of some?  It makes me wonder about the person(s) who created these. Do they really think they’ve created a stumper? For them, maybe something like this is hard. Does reading a thousand answers and “this isn’t that hard dummy” (an actual comment on one post) gnaw at their self-esteem? I think some may just be trying to get a response, to garner X number of shares/comments/likes. But if you’re going to post something about words, at least spell everything correctly and use proper grammar.

Side note, I often see comments on these along the lines of “some ppl on here can’t use grammer,” {sic} and a little piece of me dies inside. I saw one of these that said "name words that use all the vowels" and waaay too many comments were "what are vowels?" I wept. 

THIS. Thanks Mark.

The larger point I am getting to is about the breakdown in language and lack of vocabulary that I am witnessing on a daily basis. Even with the sometimes annoying and always hilarious invention of auto-correct, I see posts, statuses, texts and even professional e-mails at work that are misspelled, under punctuated and filled with “lols” and short-hand. I gave up auto-correct as a means to a) see if I could get away from the crutch and b) remind myself of the value of typing/texting etc. without spelling assistance. It was hard for approximately one day. I won’t lie- that assuming the word you want thing is pretty handy for typing speedily. It was also hilarious when auto-correct robot got it wrong. But I no longer need it.  It is a great necessary tool for many and yet, I see so many mistakes and so much short hand that sometimes posts are not even readable.

Funny! damnyouautocorrect.com

My teacher friends can speak to this; I don’t think educators have stopped teaching proper spelling, grammar and punctuation. Nor have they stopped teaching essential vocabulary words.There are a wealth of amazing teachers out there (Emily, I STILL think about the skunk and the pumpkin when I am trying to remember prepositions) who teach the basics and teach well. So what’s happening? Has the internet ruined it all? For as long as I can remember, even all the way back to AOL Instant Messenger (throwback!) I have always typed/written with proper capitalization, punctuation and spelling (or always tried to and naturally got better at it with age and education). I rarely use short hand. People argue speed, but it actually takes me longer to do all the short hand stuff. I am wired to do it correctly. Many of my friends are the same. I have FB friends (who shall remain anonymous) who post statuses that are so short handed, so misspelled and under-punctuated that I cannot even understand what they are saying. I have to read it 3 or 4 times to get the gist. And then, people comment/react (much in the same shorthand manner) like they totally get it. So what’s different? Who or what is to blame?

It's not right to write before you're sure your writing is right.

Before you say “oh it’s just FB or chat or texting etc.” let me tell you something. I work with graduate students, most of whom are adults 30+ years old. I think my oldest student is 65-6. I get e-mails daily that are hard to read due to misspelling and poor grammar. From GRADUATE students. They are professional students, writing to academic and administrative professionals. Why is this okay? There have been times I have wanted to write back to them “I cannot answer this message until you use proper spelling and grammar, and then I’d be happy to help you,” but alas, that would not go over well. I’ve seen letters of appeal that I want to attack with my red pen. When working in the writing center when I was attending college, I would see papers, academic papers, with “r” in place of are and lol, and mix-ups of there, their, and they’re and you’re and your etc.  

What I am talking about here isn’t the occasional typo or spelling error or lack of grammar (we’re all guilty from time to time). I’m talking about the chronic communication problem. Granted, in many cases I only see what someone posts on FB- maybe they are better, more serious writers off the social media landscape. But what if they aren’t? And don’t you want to represent yourself in the best possible light? As mentioned before, I see this issue in e-mails and papers and all manners of communication I encounter. And I think it’s getting worse.

We could blame technology, which I think plays a huge role. Our faces are more or less always stuck in front of a screen. We use the internet for fun, for work, for learning. Sure, maybe it’s easy to get ‘lazy’ and shorten everything on FB. But don’t you want it to be the best representation of yourself? Employers look at this stuff, guys. And maybe to some, language and communication are not as valuable; why take the time to learn spelling and grammar and punctuation when auto-correct does it for us? What would happen if technology broke down, a la ABC’s Revolution, etc. and we needed to communicate? In the event of a technology ‘blackout’ or zombie apocalypse, I know I want to be able to leave clear messages to fellow survivors. You know what they say about Uncle Jack, horses, and punctuation.

But maybe something else is to blame. Maybe we just need to make a little more time for each other (sans screens) and a little more time for putting our best selves forward, whether that means dressing to impress, writing correctly, or smiling at strangers. Either way, you’ll feel and look a lot more hip.

On Love

"Let's meet in a respectable dive  / on a somewhat safe street..." -Rufus Wainwright

This is a musical post, guys! Listen while you read!

I am quite sure Rufus wrote this song about when I met my husband Ethan. 3 years ago February 15th I met Ethan at a respectable dive and my life has never been the same. I was at Portland's famed Great Lost Bear enjoying some beers with my friend. It was a 'last hurrah' of sorts; I was preparing to give up alcohol for Lent (GASP!) that year and wanted a few last tasty beers. My husband tells the story that he was checking out my friend first because he couldn't see me at the other end of the bar. I tease him about it; I playfully pout that he was into her first, but he always makes me feel better by saying he was totally wowed when I came into view. I had originally been sitting next to these three d-bags who just came from work and had grimy fingernails and grimy clothes and grimy attitudes. At least they were good for a chuckle. Linds went out to have a smoke with a girl from Ethan's end of the bar. In an attempt to escape the d-bags I made my way to the other side of the bar to wait for my friend. I sat down next to Ethan. Prepare for a cliche: the rest is history. 

Pretty much from that night on we saw each other every day. I knew that night that I was more than smitten. I was never a believer in love at first sight but I'll tell you what, I am now. We talked for hours that night at the bar and after. Yes, I did give him a ride home that night. No, we didn't "do anything." He did however ask permission to kiss me (adorable, right?) and I said yes and we kissed on the street corner like something out of a winter-set romcom. Two weeks later, I moved into his bachelor pad. Crazy, right? Most people thought so. But I was alone, my lease was up in Kennebunk, he lived closer to work and we were pretty much in love. If it didn't work, I was no worse off than I had been post-divorce. All I owned was clothing, books and a car. People said we were crazy. We knew better.

So here we are, 3 years later, married (our first wedding anniversary is coming in April) and amazingly happy. There's more to our story, like telling my dad I met an older man and he actually using the phrase "sugar daddy," me reassuring him that 10 years older didn't count as a sugar daddy, Ethan and I going on weekends away and meeting each others' friends and family, etc. But what I really want to talk about is love. I'd been in love before this. Hell, I'd been married before meeting Ethan. The kind of love and marriage I am experiencing now is nothing like what I had before, and in the best ways. My previous relationship, marriage and divorce taught me a lot about myself and what I need from a relationship. It wasn't all bad, but it was a young, carefree kind of love when it started. And we matured while the love didn't. So suffice it to say that I've never known love like I have with Ethan. I think every kind of love is different, every person we love, we love differently. But this is the kind of fills you up from head to toes, butterflies in the tummy (yup, even 3 years later) hard work/great reward kind of love. 

From our post wedding shoot. Courtesy Erin Kroll Photo

One of the best parts of our love story is that Ethan and I weren't looking for each other. We found each other.  I had been "single and loving it" (wootwoot) and had 'sworn off men for a while.' I had planned to move away and attend grad school to[insert 'find myself' cliches here]. And then BAM. Like a ton of bricks. When I stopped looking for great love, I found it. In an older, amazing, smart, sexy, charming man, in a respectable dive, on a somewhat safe street. Our marriage isn't always sunshine and rainbows. We have our disagreements (mostly political) and our struggles, but we rarely fight. I still get giddy when I see him, and I'd rather lay around our house in my jammies with him than do almost anything else. I went to FL for a week for work. It was the longest we'd been apart since the day we met (no joke). Thank God for FaceTime. People say this is the 'newlywed phase.' That someday the fire will fade a bit. I know what that feels like, it happened the first time I was married. Almost like a switch turning off. That hasn't happened for Ethan and I. I'm quite certain it never will.

Happy three years, my darling husband. Happy early first wedding anniversary. I look forward to so many more firsts with you; houses and children and puppies. You have changed my life. I am lucky to have you. I love you completely and passionately.

From our honeymoon at Ocean Park Beach. This sums up our life accurately

Sandy Hook

Yesterday morning, after watching the news,  I sat down and wrote a post. This is not that post. Yesterday's post was for me. It was angry, its focus was on guns. I needed to get my swirling thoughts down. I re-read it today and decided that it isn't something I want or need to publish. Instead, you get this. If you're looking for my thoughts on gun control, or mental illness, stop reading. If you want details of the crime, want to hear the name of the young man responsible, or want a critique of the media, quit now. This will be a tribute. A commentary on life, love, loss and what we can learn from it. If you're interested, keep reading.

Whenever I think about what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary, I am brought to tears. All those innocent children, the heroes who sacrificed their lives for their students, the families who are sure to have a difficult Christmas. There are not words. Each shooting we hear about seems more awful than the last and to me, their frequency is increasing. Too much focus on all of that, plus the media, our justice and healthcare systems, and whom those children were and could have been, make my head spin and the tears flow. I've been trying to deconstruct the bigger picture. I'm trying to think about the way I live my life. I think about all the people I've loved (many of them children), the lives I've touched (and haven't yet) and the future. This, at least, seems easier.

Today I was at a holiday party; my BFF's extended family accepted me as 'one of the cousins' so many years ago. It's an annual tradition. My favorite part about it is the kids. Today, it was even more important. I stood back a moment and watched them. I watched them dance and laugh and interact with each other and with adults. I felt lucky even to know them. I feel grateful that despite the fact that I see many of them only once a year, they feel like family. I realize today that this connection, this once a year family day is something I took for granted.  It reminds me that I am incredibly fortunate.

*****

Over the last 10+ years, I have had the pleasure of babysitting some really amazing children. I was also a camp counselor for about 6 years. There are some children I had in my group at camp over the years that I'll never forget. I am still telling stories about some of them. There was G, who was 10 years old and had parents going through a bitter divorce. He was a mean kid, and one day after he was nasty to a little girl I took him aside and talked to him. He broke down in tears, telling me about his parents. They were fighting over him and his little brother, trying to one-up each other with presents and vacations. He was living with his grandma because it was too dangerous to be home. He was scared and sad. No one had talked to him. I told him when he had hard days, to tell me and he could have a "cool down" activity. That if he was feeling scared, he just had to tell me and I would listen. He did not act up the rest of the summer. * There was A, the little blondie who whas just barely 4 and was my favorite. We bonded instantly. People always said "he could be yours!" H, with ADHD.  Kids I think about often, wondering where they are, what happened to them, what are they like now? The past few years I've been babysitting and met amazing families. Kids like R, who made me laugh out loud all the time, G&T who felt more like a niece and nephew. A new brother/sister duo A&S who are smart and fun. I don't have my own children yet, but I have the great pleasure of knowing some really great ones. I had an impact on their lives, and they, more profoundly I think, impacted mine. It reminds me that I am incredibly fortunate.

*****

My last post On Friendship was aptly timed. It was a reflection on a kind of unconditional, long-lasting  friendship. I've had life-long friends, nights of binge eating and gut-busting laughter, adventures  and experiences. I have even been lucky enough to inherit some friends from Ethan, many of whom have quickly become very near and dear. Even at work, I have made friends that have lasted through job changes and made office life easier. Last year I had a New Year's resolution to hand-write and send one letter a month to a friend. I think I stopped around April. My plan is to do it again this year, and make it through December. Sometimes I have found myself in a situation where I feel like a friendship is one sided. It made me mad sometimes, to think that I was giving 100% and yet I still felt like the back-burner friend. As I get older, I realize that it doesn't matter so much. It's always better to give than receive. I don't allow myself to be taken advantage of, but I focus more on being there and less on what I'm getting (or not). I've weeded out most of the toxic people in my life and have a network that is positive and loving and supportive. Ethan and I had dinner with some of them last night. It reminds me that I am incredibly fortunate.

*****

I have my dad close by. My brother is well cared for. I have an amazing husband who has shown me a love like I've never known. His family is big and warm and welcoming. There are many adorable children. In the next few years, (despite my worry about bringing a child into a world that seems so toxic sometimes) we'll finally gift our parents with grandchildren, and carry on the legacy of big, loud Thanksgivings, a Santa-only Christmas tree, and spangled eggs (yes, spangled. Only my husband will get that one). I have a roof over my head, a warm place to sleep, an amazing career and food on the table. On any given night, watching the news always reminds me that I am incredibly fortunate. 

******

My tribute to Sandy Hook is this: to live life to its fullest. To tell my husband I love him every day, more than once. To write letters to my friends, send birthday cards even if I don't get any in return, and start volunteering (I'm joining the Boys and Girls Club Alumni Association) to keep impacting the lives of children. I'm going to work hard at my job and excel at it. I will wake up in the morning and count my blessings. I will hug a teacher. I'm not going to talk about guns, or mention the names of this shooter and the countless others. I will remember the names Dawn, and Victoria and Charlotte and Daniel. I will show them that this world can be good. This is how I will honor them. I am incredibly fortunate. 

On Friendship

Recently, I was on a trip for work. I learned a bunch about financial aid, a little bit about Florida and a whole lot about...friendship. A work function seems like an unlikely inspiration for a post about friendship but that's how it happened. Only in my world, right?

During my trip to the conference, I had the pleasure of reconnecting with an old friend. Kat and I were more or less inseparable and part of a close bunch in Girl Scouts (I know) in elementary school but she moved to Florida in 6th grade. Naturally, with that much distance, it was hard to keep in touch, and so we fell off. Despite that, I always look back fondly at those years. Thanks to Facebook, we were able to reconnect and when I found out I'd be in Orlando for the conference, we made a plan to meet up for dinner. I'm not afraid to admit I was nervous; it had been over a decade since we spoke in person and she's a whole lot more hip than I am (cool purple hair, lots of tattoos, works at a hair salon). I feared she might find me 'square' (how square of me to think people use the term 'square' as a descriptor anymore). How do you converse as adults when the last time you spoke, you were kids freaking out over Hanson and Surge soda? What I learned was that I had no reason to be afraid. There was no awkwardness; the ease with which we conversed made it seemed like no time had passed. Kat told me she had been a bit nervous too; our lives had taken us in such different directions. We played catch-up over a delicious meal at a place with a really hip vibe and amazing sangria. It was something she said to me that has stuck, and has served as the inspiration for this post: she missed me. She said despite the length of time and distance between us, her most genuine memories included me, and her time in Maine. I know what she means. There's an authenticity in childhood friendships that is often very difficult to find in adult relationships. We parted ways after dinner and vowed to stay in touch. Despite our geographical distance, I'm certain we will.

The same thing happened with me and Amanda when she moved back earlier this year. We've very quickly rekindled our bond and have an ever growing list of things to do together as adults. She said some very moving things to me about me and our mothers and our parallel lives. She reminded me of the impact we can all have on each other as kids.

It's the authenticity that makes these friendships last, I think. There are no pretenses; as children in friendships we say exactly what we mean and how we feel. We fight, but then we make up. I can vividly remember arguing with a friend in 5th or 6th grade, vowing never to speak again and then 1 or 2 days later getting lost in a giggle and forgetting the whole thing. The friends that mean the most are the ones you sat next to while their parents fought in the next room; you didn't say anything but you stood firm and quiet in support of her. They are the ones you bring over to hang out despite the fact that you're embarrassed by your dad's messy house and you don't have a mother and you run to the store with food stamps. The friends you could see all day at school and then run home and call on the phone and talk for 3 hours (oh how tying up the land-line drove our parents crazy!); the friend who showed you how to wear make-up and stuff your bra and make you feel pretty. The ones that mean the most are the ones you share genuine, heartfelt, spontaneous moments with. When you hold a friend's newborn baby brother for the first time; when you console a friend in the bathroom because she just had a traumatic experience. Drinking Surge and staying up for 24 full hours, just to see if you could (we did). You've seen the good, the bad, and the ugly about each other (and your families) and it doesn't matter.

These are the things that make it possible to always pick up where you left off, despite weeks, months or years.  The foundational memories are like indelible ink; I swear I can remember what pajamas I was wearing at the "stay up for 24 hours" (non)sleep-over; Aimee, was it your mom that got mad at us for staying up, or mine? I remember Kat's little sister singing a song about putting on her yellow socks. Noodle tag. Nachos & Fabio. Making human pyramids at recess at Sherwood Heights. Backstreet Boys, NSYNC and Hanson worship. "You broke my sippy straw!" (Jenny, I can never watch that scene in Starship Troopers without hearing you say that in my head). White eyeliner (omg, Amanda, do you remember!?), Bonney Park, Total Request Live. Renee, I still laugh when I tell the story of your mom walking into the glass doors..twice, on your sunporch (sorry Diane!). Great Falls school (do people remember the 5th grade sleepover?).  I could go on forever...

As an adult, I've made some great new friends. There is a trust and comfort and love with them too, but they never resemble your first friends. That's not to say that friends you make as an adult are less important or less loved. It's just not the same as the raw, no holds barred, don't even have to try, no information is too much information, totally-ridiculous-most-of-the-time friendships you had as a child. And what's so great about those is that they last. Social media helps keep us talking (in some cases every day at work; thanks G-Chat); our memories keep us connected. Even years can go by between visits or calls and you can fall back into easy conversation and giggle fits. Sure, the subject matter changes (from boy bands and make-up and crushes, to spouses and work and in-laws and bills) but the foundation never changes. What connects you never changes. You might have to work at it a bit more, when grown-up life gets in the way and/or physical distance splits you apart, but first friends are forever.  This one's for you, ladies.

Thank you for being a friend / traveled down the road and back again / your heart is true / you're a pal and a confidant

For Esther

When you're a child, you perceive time differently. As a kid, I could only have imagined anything beyond the age of 11. Imagining life as an adult was difficult and 15 years was an unfathomable amount of time. It sort of still is. Yesterday marked the 15th anniversary of my mother's death. There are times it feels like yesterday, and other times were it feels like it's been longer. I like to use her birthday (3.31) and the anniversary as a time of reflection. This year has been making me think about mothers.

Mom was diagnosed with cancer (Hodgkin's Disease) when I was 6 years old. My situation as a child was already unique because my parents were significantly older than my friends' parents. Mom had me when she was 42. That meant there were limitations, a generational gap larger than most and somewhat old-fashioned child-rearing. People often mistook my parents for my grandparents. We also didn't have money. I didn't really take notice as a young child, because I always had clothes and food and a place to sleep but my parents had no savings and we didn't have the latest and greatest. When mom got sick, I believe she knew she had to cram a lifetime of lessons into a few short years, just in case. She was a stay at home mom, which is so reflective of that old-fashioned way of life. Dad had to work, and my special needs brother could not always lend a hand in the way that was needed. While mom was still feeling well[enough] I learned all the essentials: cooking, cleaning, ironing. I could press my dad's shirts  at 8 years old. I would prepare full dinners for my family when mom was too tired and sick from chemo and dad was working. I'd get home from school do my homework, and then my home-work. I learned to respect my parents, how to handle my brother when he had one of his meltdowns and could run to the corner store at age 8 or 9 and grab milk, bread and whatever we needed with that little book of paper food stamps.  She helped with homework when she could; she was a former teacher, so I already had a strong foundation. I never went to preschool- she taught me to read at home so by kindergarten I was well ahead of my peers. These lessons were so valuable, but there are others she taught me and that I have learned since that have shaped me and stuck with me.

An early baking lesson. My apron is adorable.

I can clearly remember mom and dad telling Steve and I that she had cancer. It was a word that as children that young, we could not really comprehend. From what I remember, my parents did a great job explaining what was happening inside mom's body, what we might expect, and what it could mean. That early on, we never talked about it being a death sentence. I struggle to recall any mention of death until closer to the end, when she started getting worse. One of the lessons my mother taught me was about compassion. In kindergarten (back then we only went for half a day) and half-day Wednesdays in 1st and second grade and other times when I wasn't in school, mom would take me to appointments with her. Sometimes it was check-ups, but most often I'd accompany her to chemo sessions. I sometimes wonder if people thought she was crazy; that it was too much for a child so young. Today, I am grateful. She told me that the people in the room had cancer like her, though maybe a different type. She told me some might be bald because of the medicine or look really sick. She prepared me to deal with illness in a powerful way. I became a gopher of sorts; bringing Saltines and water and ice chips to the patients in the leather recliners. One time I covered a woman with an afghan because she was sleeping. Another woman asked me to change the channel on the TV to "All My Children." Thus, my introduction to soap operas at age 7. I can remember the smiles, both on mom's face and the other patients. I must have known other kids didn't do stuff like this, but maybe I didn't care. It was normal to me. Many years after mom died, when I was nearing the end of high school, I went back to the oncology ward to visit. Her doctor was still there, and some of the nurses. Dr. Erickson embraced me. We talked about mom and and her time there. She told me that I had made a huge difference in the life of those patients. When I couldn't be there, some of her patients would ask where I was, when "Esther and her little girl" would  next be in. She said I had delivered hope, a positive light in the midst of such sadness. I knew then what my mom had been teaching me was compassion for others.

Eleven is a tricky age. Old enough to know what's going on, but also so young. I was in 6th grade. That's the age where I started thinking boys were cute and where I had gathered so many of my best girlfriends. When she was in the hospital in those final weeks, I utilized all she had taught me. We had so much help from our church, but I found myself stepping into the "woman of the house" role. I was grateful for what she had taught me. What I would really miss later are the things she didn't get to teach me. We never went bra shopping, I never asked her about boys. She didn't get to tell me about sex (school and friends and my dad [bless his heart] did that) or about her first loves before my dad or about her childhood. I don't know anything about her political stances or whether her difficulty getting/stay pregnant after my brother was due to her age, or some sort of reproductive issue. Dad did his best to relay stories my mother had told him as a way to teach me about her and keep her spirit alive. But eleven years old was too young to ask about somethings, and so it never occurred to me, nor did it to her. I realize now that I did learn from her even after she was gone. I learned how to ask others. I also learned how to teach myself; to be independent and strong.

I had help filling in some of those gaps. Over the years I have had so many great female adult role models; friends' mothers who stepped to the plate to be there for me. This is how I learned about menstruation, got my first training bra and heard about boys. If not for my friends and their parents, I'm not sure where my life would have gone. My best friend Aimee and her mother Susan (my favorite FARM) were pivotal for me in those early years have remained so to this day. They are no longer friends, but family. It's what happens after 16 years of friendship and support. And now I am lucky enough to have my mother in law Martha, who is one of the best moms I know and whom I love very much. I am certain she and my mother would have been friends. But I miss my own mother; and I always wonder how she would have taught me about these things. It makes me think about what it means to be a mother. Surely, in the short time she had, she taught me all she could; all she thought was appropriate. She instilled in me the ability to discover other lessons on my own, knowing she wouldn't  be there forever. I know I have missed so many pivotal mother/daughter moments, but isn't a mother's job to teach, and protect and love? I have no doubt she did all of these things. My dad did the best he could alone, and my mother gave me a strong enough foundation to pull us all up from the darkness. So yes, I've been without my mother longer than I have been with her, but she did her job, and her love and her lessons will be with me my whole life. They will shape the kind of mother I will be. Even if I am not sick (I pray to God my children won't go through what I have) I will teach my children valuable life lessons. I will expect my family to share an evening meal together every day. I will teach them compassion; maybe I will have them volunteer at a hospital, reading to sick children. Being a mother is the most amazing and difficult job in the world. I was lucky to have one for 11 years, and lucky still to have inherited Susan and  CeCe and Claire and Martha.  There are days I worry that I won't be a good mom; that the fact that I didn't have my own mom for so long will mean I over or under compensate and my children will be unhappy. People who know me well assure me this will not be the case. I hope they are right.

That poor kitty. I think his name was Tiger. 

My mother was an amazing woman. As the years go by, I see that more and more. I also am forgetting a bit; I cannot recall what her voice sounds like. People with children tell me that when I am scolding or praising my own children, I'll hear my mother's voice then. I hope that's true. But what I will always remember is that she loved me enough to teach me what was necessary, that she was strong and brave in her battle with cancer, and that with her age came wisdom. I think I love her now more than I did then, and since she is not here for me to share it, I have to show her by living my life to make her proud. Being a mother is a gift, one I cannot wait to receive. To all the moms I know out there; THANK YOU for doing the world's best and toughest job. To any parent, or anyone that acts as a parent, thank you too. I was a motherless daughter for much of my life, but only physically. I know she was with me. And so, in Esther's honor, hug your children, brothers or sisters, nieces or nephews a little tighter this week. Being a mother and a caregiver and a teacher was her life, and the best way I can honor her is to share the love.

26

People tell me that I will [soon, someday, probably when I am 30] reach an age where I do not want to acknowledge and celebrate my birthday. Well, People, I don't think you quite understand who I really am. As a self-described ferocious optimist, I see every birthday (even the up-coming, milestone ones) as another year with the potential to be awesome. Another year for me to grow and learn and love my life. It's another year I get to live my life; why not celebrate it?! Granted, I had a wee moment of panic just before June 19th that upon my 26th birthday, I would be closer to 30 than to 20, but it was fleeting. I'm mostly stunned that I'm 26; that it came so fast. I can remember being in middle school and being totally envious of hip 20-somethings and feeling like I was n e v e r going to get there. And then, BAM. 26. If there's any anxiety about "getting older" for me is that it happens at an alarming rate, and I don't want to waste any of my years.

My 25th year was pretty righteous. No quarter-life crisis for this girl. In fact, it was one of the best years of my life. I got engaged the day before my 25th birthday, and married Ethan a few months before this 26th one. My dad moved to Portland in my 25th year; Ethan and I adopted Ophelia. I went to so many weddings and on many fun adventures and reconnected with old friends and made new ones. Ethan and I started shopping for life insurance. I'm in the best shape I've ever really been in. What do I say to 26? Bring it on!

Birthday flowers from my co-worker. And a birthday tiara, of course!

At the close of year 25 and the recent start of my 26th year, I've been thinking more about lessons I've learned. Certainly, I do not have the wisdom granted to those much older than me, but during my 25 years (particularly years 20-25) I have learned so many life lessons. Inspired by a recent post from the lovely Miss Mallory, I give you:

What I Wish I Could Have Told My Younger Self

Don't try so hard to be like "them." In 10 years, you'll be on top of the world, and they'll be barely treading water. It IS cool to be SMART.  You are not an athlete; you never will be. But you can, and will, be healthy, and defy your family history. Dad is an adult. He has to learn to take care of himself. Support him, but do not sacrifice your own life for difficulties he caused for himself. Friendships will come and go. The friends you have who are like family will s t i l l be there when you're 26, even if they live in other cities/states. You will want to be a teacher, but you will realize that that is not your path. You have to be okay with it; when you're 26, you'll actually love your math-heavy financial aid job. Having a boyfriend in high school will not define you. Also, it isn't going to work out the way you want it to, but you will learn so much from it about yourself and about life; your unsuccessful marriage will help you grow and fall in love with your self. Do not drink too much. Ever. Okay, you will drink too much and you will have some hangovers where you'll wish you were dead. So, always alternate water and booze. Your liver will thank you. You're 22. Newly single. Heartbroken and lost. Enjoy being single. The man of your dreams will show up when you least expect it. He's a handsome older man, and you'll know the instant you meet him that you are meant to be. He will change your life. You will have hip surgery. All those years of PT did not really help. The painkillers will make you really ill. Be ready. rehabilitating will be hard work, but you're strong. Being a girl without a mother is hard, but listen to the adult females in your life. They will help shape the woman you  become. Dad will drive you crazy, but you're going to grow into a woman that mom will be so, so proud of. You're going to screw up; make mistakes, think that you hate yourself. Don't dwell on it; once you heal, you'll rise out of the ashes, stronger than before. Music is going to change, but also be really the same. Do not, under any circumstances listen to someone named Justin Beiber. Just don't.  Hey 6 year old Maria: you will learn to love sushi, broccoli, most other vegetables and even some kinds of beer (light ones, mostly, and only when you're 21) and you'll have an adventurous palette! There are other delicious foods besides pizza and macaroni & cheese. You're a late-bloomer; someone once told you you'd be short and flat chested forever. Just wait til your 20s. Good things really do come to those who wait. You are beautiful. When you're 26 and totally in love, someone will take pictures of you like this:

Maria and Ethan. Courtesy Erin Kroll.

Your life is going to be awesome and hip. Don't let anyone or anything get you down. Celebrate your birthdays, triumphs, every day. Learn from mistakes, heartache, people smarter than you. Enjoy whatever life throws at you.