my brother, the husband

there was a moment at my brother's wedding when i almost messed up.


i was the first bridesmaid down the aisle, and i almost left early, dragging a groomsman with me. i felt my face go red, and i stopped and breathed and waited. the music changed, i counted to four, and off we went to witness my little brother get married.

little is a wrong word to describe him. i don't think he's been little to me for 12 years. i went from wanting the house to myself to wanting to be cool in his eyes. i was never the cool older sister. i was the band geek, the girl who shopped too much, the second mother he didn't need. i tried to stop caring. i ached for phone calls. i relished visits in college from him - then was disappointed the lame house party with the pony keg wasn't the sorority event he thought he was getting. but as we've gotten older, i've realized how alike we are.

we're both sensitive - very sensitive. we both have an affinity for strange family heirlooms. we're both gross. we both cuss a lot. we understand the value of hard work. we're very loyal.

i've gotten the question that every single sibling whose younger brother/sister gets married first gets: "are you upset your younger brother is gettting married first?" because apparently there's a rule against that. and it's also their business.

no, i'm not upset because - and i'm not just saying this - i love my sister. i can't even call her my sister-in-law. that sounds forced. or like some bad rom-com. she is perfect for my brother. she's also my polar opposite, which i also love about her. i love my brother, but i always wanted a sister i could shop with or talk clothes or just be girly around. jack's not the only one whose dreams are coming true. she's the happy ending. and i'm so, so happy she's part of my family.

death, but also life

i've been asked to write my grandfather's obituary.

he's not dead, but he's 87, and not in the best health. and it's not something any of us want to do under pressure or grief. "it's not morbid," my mom told me, practically begging, on our way to a bridal shower over the weekend. my brother marries in six weeks. life goes on.

i don't like getting all preachy, mostly because it doesn't seem like me. i feel like i'm talking about things i don't yet understand, like a kid who pretends to know things, even though i do know things. i've been through this before.

a brother of a friend recently died. he was too young - 29. his obituary was beautifully written, and all i can think about is his mother, typing her oldest child's life story out - a story that has ended.

it's not morbid, obituary writing. it starts with death, but there's also life - family, friends, work, hobbies. memories. lots of laughter. the endless games of spoon. summers spent in the pool. root beer by the gallon. life.

"do any human beings ever realize life while they live it - every, every minute?" -emily webb, our town

i think we do, if only in death.

elder

it's a bitch getting old.

you'd think people could at least keep their dignities. after all their work and struggles, you'd think karma would return the favor.

but then your body betrays you time and time again and you're rendered to a person so dimly recognizable, your children and grandchildren are left with only memories of who you used to be.

it's so unfair. it's so fucking unfair that after everything, old age robs us first of our appearance, then of our health - and then it has to take the mind, too. it's truly bullshit seeing my grandparents suffer. they all put themselves through college. they all suffered through a depression and a world war. they worked hard, giving their children a better life. they are good, decent, loving people. and now in their last years, they suffer.

and now my last memories of them will be of that suffering - of this shell of a person who is not the grandfather i once knew with the sense of humor and pride. it's not him. but he's the only grandfather i have.

bullshit. utter confounding indignant injustice.

the big d

it was a quiet summer - only one wedding, compared to last year's four (three of which i was in). next summer is already scheduled to be busier - my brother is getting married in may. we've never really talked about his future marriage and what it means for him when our parents are married. but apparently the chances of his marriage failing are 50% higher because he comes from a divorced home, according to this story on cnn today.

it gets worse for me and t. since we're both from divorced families, our chances of failing in marriage are 200% ahead of everyone else. what the fuck? i feel doomed. 200% is kind of off-the-charts bad, like slim to none but without the slim.

200 fucking percent?

i know i'm taking a stat from one study, but it makes some sense to me. divorce, to put it mildly, fucks one up. not just the persons getting divorced, but the friends, the parent's parents and especially the kids. not to wave my own self-pity flag or anything; that's the truth. marriage is serious. at least i come out of surviving my parents' divorce realizing that. i'm waiting until the time is right, and i'm trying not to let my emotions get ahead of me.

divorce - like overalls and jeggings - just isn't an option for me.

photo via isleptinyourheart

тетя

я дбадцать четыри. я не девочка. я женщина!!!

my cousin frankie

my cousin frankie, who i consider my best friend – she will be my matron of honor some day – is getting married this weekend. i never had a sister, unlike frankie, and I always considered her my sister. we lived an hour apart, but we were together a ton during my childhood. I spent a few days of spring break every year at her house. our slumber parties usually consisted of four of us snuggled in a bed together, me putting everyone to sleep with a made-up story.

once when we were watching oprah, she had several doctors that specialized in sex education on her show. one was the author of "what your mother never told you about sex." frankie and i immediately went out and bought it at borders, giggling the whole time, especially when the check-out guy said, "yeah, we usually sell a lot of these when oprah has the author on her show." we proceeded to read the book to each other poolside, with a magazine hiding the cover. for a few years we passed the book back and forth, until aunt cathy - frankie's mom - found it, we think, and threw it away.

another time we were in sanibel together and decided to put fake tattoos on our butts. frankie's was a lovely star shooting out of her crack. we took a picture to memorialize the event that i found years later, still laughing as i looked at our beautiful behinds.

we used to walk around in our bikinis to make the son of my grandmother's neighbor notice us.

i peed my pants in the movie rental store when frankie suggested a movie called "concealed weapon" for my brother - with a picture complete with a gun hidden in a woman's lacy stocking.

frankie found dozens of letters i had sent her when we were little, before even the land line phones were available to me. i usually told her stories about my snake or my school or dance lessons.

i always wanted to be frankie. i wanted to wear what she wore, do what she did. i'll never forget how happy i was that she was copying me when she decided to try flute lessons. she didn't last on the flute, but it was the fact that my heroine was emulating me that made me so happy.

we had endless shopping trips together, shared bottles of wine, made desserts out of a box that were the yummiest cakes or cookies or brownies. we spent holidays tucked into my grandparents' bed, watching parades and christmas movies that we had seen a thousand times. we laughed at the absurdity of our mothers, at ourselves when we were young, at the stupid things we had done in college. we called each other when we started working, lamenting how tired we were or how far away we lived. it figured the minute i moved to her hometown, she was 10 hours away in minneapolis, a day-long car ride, a $300 plane ticket. suddenly holidays were the highlight, if only because i got to see frankie. i always planned on naming a daughter after her, and accidentally told her that one evening after too much pinot grigio.

and now she's getting married, the first of the 12 grandkids to do so. and i love her husband-to-be. when i walked in his sparkling clean condo and had a rice krispie he made for us on the spot after frankie mentioned she was "hungry for dessert," i knew he was perfect. and, as my aunt cathy tipsily said to a party guest, they will make beautiful babies.

but first we all have to get through the wedding of the year. frankie will go on her honeymoon, and i'll go visit her in november, my married cousin, all grown up. it's how it should be.

dealing with things way beyond my maturity level

if it's meant to be, it will be.

i really, really fucking hate that god-awful cliche. mostly because it sounds like i have no control. and i have to have control. control and white wine = two of my best friends. when i don't have control, when i feel outside my comfort zone, when i start edging past the ability to schedule and label and categorize my various conflicts and problems, when i can't make a list on my pastel pink post-it note - that's when i start to spiral down into a pit of self-doubt and deprecation.

most of the reason i don't believe in fate and destiny and all that crap is it implies i have no control over the decisions that will lay out my life - that they're already decided and mapped out in some blueprint in the universe. i don't want to be some helpless person who has no control over her future, even if i am some helpless person with no control over my future. i know i can't predict or plan or even guess what happens next. but i would rather fool myself into thinking it's possible, that maybe, just maybe all my dreams and hopes will come true, and all my fears and doubts will just be dust in the wind.

my mother, myself

"all women become like their mothers. that is their tragedy."

my mother and i have always been close. i'm her only daughter, i'm her oldest child, i'm basically her clone born when she was 29 years old. i look like her and - even scarier - i act just like her. it's not that she acts a way i don't want to, it's that because we're so much alike, we end up at odds a lot more than we should. i have her temperament, her tendency to perfection, her want of control, her fears for everyone she loves, her sometimes judgmental attitude. that sounds all bad, and it's not. i inherited the good traits as well: silliness, passion for those i love, determination. and as i've gotten older, i've come to appreciate my mom and all she's done for my brother and me more and more.

but the control - the control is the worst. the judgmental looks as she wants into my apartment and sees that it's not clean. the high eyebrows when she hears my dog sleeps on my bed with me and always has. the constant telling and retelling of how to live my life.

(she does redeem herself. when she had to take care of hamlet, he slept under the covers with her. i was so shocked to hear that, i couldn't speak for a few seconds.)

it's so difficult for me to deal with the things my mom does because i crave her approval. i want her to accept and be happy for every decision and aspect of my life. and at the same time i can't stand it when she tells me what to do. i couldn't take it when i was 18 - that first summer back from school was the worst. i really can't take it now that i'm 24 and independent. and i have to move back with her in a month, and she wonders why i'm desperate to find a house?

i love my mom. i want to make that really clear. i love her, and i'm very grateful for her. it's my own daughter i'm worried about.

thanks aunt karen

my dad's family could not be more different than my mom's. my mom's is a loud, always arguing, Catholic bunch. my dad's was always much quieter - and much smaller. while at my mom's there are four aunts, four uncles and 12 grandkids, at my dad's there's only my brother, two cousins and my uncle bob and aunt karen. karen and i have always had a very special relationship, and she can tell me things i can't and don't want to hear from anyone else. i haven't seen her in a long time, and unfortunately she lives in arizona, a 3+ hour plane ride away. not bad, but nothing that means we're together as a family very often. in fact the last time we were all together was my popop's funeral. the next time we'll all be together is in june when we bury him in arlington. very sad. and also the reason why i won't move far from home.