Archive for the ‘The Family’ Category

I’ve written about my dad before and the tumultuous relationship we had, but my father has truly become one of my greatest cheerleaders. No one is more quick to tell me how proud they are of me. No one is more accepting of my life decisions. And no one is more willing to do anything I ask of them. If I asked my dad to jump he’d say “absolutely. And I’m so proud of you for delegating.” Because that’s how my dad is. He doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t complain. He just does.

When I’m feeling frustrated by a parental or family response about something important, he’s my go to.

Because when my sister was having a fit about me marrying a Jew (and a fit is probably the nicest way I could possibly put that), he told me he thought it was great and that our children would be so enlightened about different religions.

When my mom was having a fit about our wedding not being in good ole Bakersfield, my dad asked me all about the place we had chosen and ooed and ahhed about it. He reminded me of how much nicer the weather would be there and reaffirmed that as long as I was happy with my choice, it didn’t matter what anyone else said.

When Slappy’s family criticized our housing choice (because it has pools and barbecues and according to them, we really don’t need that, and nevermind that it’s just a perk and really we loved the complex…), my dad went online and looked at the site. He told us how amazing it looked and encouraged us to move where we would be happy.

I could literally go on and on about all the ways he has stepped up in my adulthood and how he has become this incredibly important figure in my life, but there simply aren’t words to describe how much I love my father and how blessed I am to have him. His health has declined some this year and his frailty reminded me of how precious our relationship is and how much it means to me.

We had years of clashing where our relationship was ugly, but perhaps those years of trials and tribulations are what brought us to where we are today. More than ever, I can’t wait to give him the grandchildren he so dearly wants and watch him give my children the love and support he has given me.

Happy Father’s Day.

So, still no internet. It’s killing me a little inside. Really. I NEED YOU.

Yesterday Slappy’s family came over and his mother and sister helped us pick out a couch. From the moment I sat on the one we bought, I was sold. It was everything anyone could ever want in a couch. It was soft (like sitting in a giant teddy bear), it had a chaise area where one can sleep and it still affords us room. It doesn’t have a pull out bed like we’d planned, but frankly, sitting on the pull out area is not comfortable and there’s lots of sleep space on the couch and in the rest of the room. And dude, the teddy bear thing.

Slappy’s mother was on especially good and helpful behavior and suggested that the couch was too tall, which, I was confused by, but went with. We went and looked and others and eventually came back to the teddy bear couch. The only flaw of the couch is that because we’re having it custom ordered (picked a different color, a burgundy red), we won’t get it for TWO WEEKS. So, until then, we have our folding chairs in the living room, looking super classy and not at all white trashy.

We also finally found some dressers that fit perfectly for what we need and we’ll be picking those up today. They’re the right size and they have some storage, though no dresser in the world will hold all my clothes. After shopping we had an “Us and Them” party, which, if you say it fast enough sounds an awful lot like S and M, which is just not at all the same thing. Basically we opened 15 boxes Slappy’s mom had and the 3 siblings took what they wanted and bartered for what everyone wanted. It, was lovely, was much less painful than it could’ve been.

Dinner, however, was EXACTLY as painful as it could’ve been, perhaps even more so. Astoundingly, my MIL only played a small part in that and it was my brother in law that made me want to gauge my eyes out with my fork. At least 3 times.

Today we have get to go back to Bed, Bath and Beyond to return 2 things we bought and don’t need and pick up 30 billion more. And then we’re having lunch with Slappy’s brother (yes, the one from dinner last night, I’m keeping an open mind about today. No really. I am.), then we’re driving up to see my family until tomorrow night.

And then, on Monday? We get internet. Oh, and we’ll celebrate our one year wedding anniversary. But dude. The internet. (I’m kidding, you know that, right?). And maybe by then I’ll have something more interesting to say. Chances aren’t great for that, but go ahead and come back then anyways.

So, recently the out-laws moved Slappy’s grandmother (who has severe Alzheimers) from her home in Florida to a facility (a very nice one) in Southern California near their home. In doing so, they had to sell her house and pack everything in it.

Now, a logical approach to this would involve a moving van or even a moving company. But, let’s remember who we’re talking about.

The out-laws decided to rent an SUV (note here also that Slappy’s new car is his grandmother’s, which also had to be picked up in Florida, so the car rental? mind boggling) and drive the stuff, not to California, but to our house.

So that we can move it.

At no cost to them.

And it wasn’t like just a few boxes. It was like 1/3 of our spacious dining room filled with CRAP. Things that Slappy’s mother called and asked us if we wanted, and even after we said no, somehow they ended up in our dining room anyways. Because no only means no when she says it.

Anyway, among the “gifts” she’s giving us, is an antique planter. She prefaced our first viewing of the planter with a warning that it’s kind of “different” but with a plant in it, it looked quite nice.

Um. No.

This “planter” is easily 2.5 feet tall. Seriously. It’s huge.

And a little inappropriate. Like, this lady, totally groping the other one.

Or this naked kid eating grapes.

I so want to have that in my house to explain the nakedness to my kids. “Oh, don’t worry honey, it’s antique, that makes it totally okay. And totally not the world’s LARGEST eye sore.”

But even better, it also breaks into two parts. I believe that one is an obvious choice for a port-o-let, and the other, a chess pawn. Whatcha think?

But wait, there’s more.

Before the stuff was packed, Slappy’s mom called and asked if we had a mop (we do). She said that she was going to send us the “stick” anyway, because it is the greatest cleaning tool ever. We inquired and she explained that you just wrap a towel around the stick and clean the floors. You know, like a, oh, what’s the word? Right, a MOP.

Behold, the stick of glory.

We spent a good 20 minutes coming up with alternative uses of the stick. So far we’ve got hockey stick, hammer, mallet, door knocker, and many many others. After all the suggestions, a miffed mother-in-law said, “you should really keep it. You can’t just get another one of those.”

No, probably not. But give me ten minutes in a forest with a hammer, and I’m certain I could make one.

Nevertheless, we have to bring the hideous planter and magical stick of wonder back to California. I’m just worried that the planter might fall out of the moving van somewhere in Texas.

Moving is crazy, you never know what kind of crap might spontaneously combust…

Alright, I’m finally ready to share. I needed the week to not think at all about Lucifer, her husband and her other son, Satan, and their adventure in my life. My blood pressure is rising just thinking about it. But here we go anyway.

So the out-laws (Slappy’s mother and father only) arrived in town on Thursday night. We met them for a nice dinner at Bayona, though it took us at least 10 minutes to park and absolutely no one was pleased with where we were, except me, because dude, I can only take so much advice before I aim my car for the closest landing space and run for my life. Dinner was blissfully uneventful and since I had work the next day, I had no parent duty until Friday night where we had a nice, and totally tolerable, dinner at Commander’s Palace.

Saturday morning, we awoke at the ass crack of dawn for Tulane’s graduation. The out-laws tried to convince me to drive Slappy to the Superdome early, then wait a while and pick them up, so that they wouldn’t have to get up as early. Um, no. I picked them up around 8:15 and we parked and headed into the dome.

When in, I called Slappy who told me he would be sitting on the LEFT side of the stage when facing it. So I found some seats near the left side. Slappy’s mother then found some she liked better. Because, of course mine were NOT GOOD ENOUGH. Anyways, ironically, Slappy was sitting on the right side of the stage, and I had to spend most of the hour and a half there hearing about how worthless it was since we weren’t even near him and how much she wished she was sitting over there (guess what? You have legs, go for a walk. You won’t be missed.)

After the graduation, we found Slappy and immediately headed to, and I quote, her “favorite place in New Orleans”…the Windsor Court hotel. Seriously. Of all the amazing restaurants in the city, THAT is where she wanted to eat. So that’s where we went. While there, Slappy’s wildly inconsiderate older brother showed up. He had been sick and wasn’t eating much, but he did try to procure some alcohol anyways, because the only thing he does better than be wildly insulting is drugs and alcohol. Well, and complain. And be right all the time. He just got offered the job of a lifetime, like, the thing he’s been working towards forever, and he isn’t happy. But he isn’t happy because he won’t be near his girlfriend. The girlfriend he conveniently forgot while he was hardcore hitting on another girl who he met in the French Quarter and later had breakfast and dinner/drinks with. Nice, right?

Anyways, I left lunch early because I could. not. stand. another. minute. with his family and Slappy had to get there early. I offered to save us all seats (5 at this point) so they could come a little later. A little later was 4 minutes before the procession, nice, right? Slappy’s brother slept through the entire graduation and then when it was over, hugged Slappy and went home. Slappy’s parents hung out for a while and then went and changed clothes for another super nice dinner.

On Sunday we went out to lunch with Slappy’s brother and then made plans for dinner with the out-laws. Slappy and I took the car to pick up his parents and his brother was to take the other car and meet us there, leaving a few minutes after us. After sitting at the restaurant for 15 minutes waiting, we called Slappy’s brother who informed us that they decided to take the Streetcar instead, despite it being WAY slower and them having left not 5 minutes after us, but 15. And he thew in a nice condescending, “I hope you don’t all starve to death” when we complained at his choice. Nice, right?

This dinner was the one that just about made my head explode. First, Slappy’s mother decreed that the whole world should be on the same time zone. But not in any logical fashion. She believed that the United States should stay on the schedule of being awake during the light hours and asleep during the dark hours, and everyone else could just adjust to sleeping when it was light out. This was followed shortly by the inevitable discussion that everyone should just learn English because Americans are God’s gift to the universe. My head explodes at the egocentrism displayed by this woman. Truly.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to childbirth where, she decided to entertain us with the story of Slappy’s brother’s birth, which happened at home. The apex of the conversation occurred when she described her mother-in-law’s reaction to walking in on my mother-in-law, on all fours, with Slappy’s brother’s head out. Go ahead, try to delete that mental image. Now try to do it while EATING.

And then the conversation shifted yet again. This time, Slappy’s mother decided to mention that she didn’t think I would ever give birth. She went so far as to say that I would hand a knife to someone to have the baby cut out before I’d undergo the pain of childbirth.

What.
The.
Hell.

Dude. I had brain surgery with less than 24 hours of narcotics. I had boob surgery with NO narcotics. I had my tonsils taken out, at age 20, with no narcotics. I don’t doubt that childbirth is wildly painful, but I’m pretty sure I’d survive. Unfortunately, I probably can’t ever do it, because sneezing makes the back of my head nearly explode, I can’t imagine that trying to squeeze a bowling ball out of my cooter will feel better. But that’s SO not the point. I could do it. I could if I needed to. And I will if I can. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

When Monday rolled around, I woke up feeling refreshed. Slappy’s brother and parents were scheduled to leave (the former in the car, the latter by plane) and soon we’d have our house back. I probably failed to mention that Slappy’s brother stayed in our house. With a friend. Without asking. For several nights. Nice, right?

When I came home from work, we got ready to go out to lunch, as we had planned at dinner the night before. Of course, Slappy’s brother denied being invited to said lunch, and had made plans with the girl he’d picked up in the French Quarter. So we went with just his parents. After lunch we came home, and I got ready to go to my school’s graduation, only to hear Slappy’s brother mention, that, oh yea, they’re going to stay another night. Of course, the next day was my birthday and all I really wanted was my house and sanity back. But no.

And not only that, but they wanted to have alligator for dinner, so they asked if we would mind going to Jacques-Imo’s Monday night, even though Slappy and I were going there for my birthday then next day.

Yes. Yes we would mother freaking mind.

Eventually, I fell into a deep, dark funk, we went to dinner somewhere else with Slappy’s brother, went to a casino (where Slappy won $350, the bastard, and I won -$40) and I came home and crashed hard and early while Slappy stayed out with his brother (who stopped on the way home at the girl’s house to get pot. Classy!).

The next day, I had work, Slappy somehow convinced his brother to leave (and defended me at a breakfast where his brother was trying to tell Slappy that I needed to change my perspective on science, because, you know, proteins and carbohydrates are totally perspective important issues…ugh) and by the time I got home from work, he was gone.

And all was right with the world again.

As the move gets closer and closer, I get more and more excited, but also more and more aware that, instead of 5 hours by plane, we’re now 45 minutes by car. We’re…gulp…in-law ambushable.

Hold me.

-My face. MY FACE. Dude the tingling. It’s so bad. It’s so effing obnoxious. My neurologist appointment is for 12:15 tomorrow, though the receptionist called to confirm and tried to tell me it was at 2:15, so then she looked it up and said, “12:15, just like I told you.” Riiiiiight.

-My head. Holy hell.

-We got the cat a collar because with the move coming up we wanted to make sure that if she got out again, she had a collar with our phone number on it. Well, she’s not really so much a fan. Actually, it’s not the feeling of it around her neck that seems to bother her, it’s the fact that it jingles a little bit. When she first heard this noise, she kept trying to back away in hopes of leaving the jingle behind, but really all she did was back up all the way around a room, which was hilarious. And then she would only take really teeny tiny steps because that wouldn’t elicit the jingle, but as soon as she took one too big and it jingled, she’d move that paw back a step, like, you know, maybe it’s that floorboard making the noise. And now she just keeps trying to lick it off, which is a pretty good strategy. The last time we put a collar on her was Christmas morning and within 10 minutes she’d licked it into her mouth and was running around wildly with her collar stuck (not breaking away as it was supposed to) in her mouth. We haven’t tried since then, but so far, so freaking funny.

-7 more days of students. 10 more days of work. HALLELUJAH.

-17 days until we move out of this damned house and into our brand spanking new apartment.

-Speaking of brand new apartment, I don’t think I’ve told you about it. It’s actually not even finished being built yet, but it is supposed to be finished this weekend. We’ll be the first people to ever live in it, and it’s GORGEOUS. And a little expensive, but you know, most good things in life are.

-Between now and Monday we’ll be eating at Bayona, Commander’s Palace, Gautreau’s, and Dante’s Kitchen. It it wasn’t for Satan the company involved, it would be really really lovely.

-I really like Dutch mints. They are like mint m&ms, but are available ALL YEAR. You hear that m&ms? ALL YEAR.

-I really do not like strawberry peanut butter m&ms. It does not taste like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, it tastes like ass. Or something like that.

-I have a hole in my shirt. And it’s only the second time I’ve worn it.

-I’m out of random things to share with you. And the Wicked Witch of the West is officially in the city.

I’ve lived away from “home” now for about 8 years. For the first five, I was a short car ride from my family, and I never missed a holiday. For the past three, I’ve been a long plane ride from them, and it has been difficult because on days like today, Mother’s Day, I can’t be there to celebrate with my family. To celebrate my mother as she should be.

I don’t think it’s an overstatement at all to say that I am the person I am, because of the woman who raised me.

I lived alone with my mom for 3 years after my dad left her, and she became something more than just a mom to me. She was my best friend, my confidant, and my inspiration.

My mom gave up her house for my sister to go to college. This meant moving back in with her parents to save up money, a move that was humbling and difficult, to say the very least.

She gave up a serious relationship to spend more time with me.

She took time off work each week to eat dinner and watch Friends with me, even though it meant staying up later that night to get everything done.

She devoted her life to us and has been there everytime we’ve stumbled, and every time we’ve called.

Growing up, I never had a curfew and I was never grounded, but it wasn’t because my mom was too soft or because I was perfect (okay, so I was sort of perfect). But rather because my mother instilled in me values that guided my way.

I struggled through my freshman year of college, but I went back for another 3 years, including a semester studying abroad, because my mother taught me to never, ever, give up.

I found a boy I wanted to spend my life with and I followed him 2000 miles across the country. Because I loved him. And my mother believed and taught me that love was one of life’s greatest gifts.

I had brain and boob surgery, because I needed to. And I rebounded and moved on with my life (even if with a little lot of whining), even with the constant string of complications. Because my mother taught me to have faith in God’s plan for me.

I am now gearing up to start my first year in graduate school because my mother told me that I could be anything in the world I wanted to be, regardless of the cost or challenge. And though now she keeps reminding me that I should probably decide, for good, what it is I want to do so I can be fully educated and give her some grandchildren, she has supported my every step in the application process.

My mother isn’t perfect, and neither am I. But I hope that someday I can give my children the gifts she has given me. The gifts of strength, of courage of conviction, of passion and of love. I hope that someday, I will be half the amazing role model, friend and mother that she was for me.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom. I love you.

Slappy’s family is having a bad really day.

I’m not at liberty to go into details on any of it, but there are several things that they’re dealing with right now and it’s all very distressing. It seems like each generation of Slappy’s family is hit by something new and none of it seems under control or even things that can easily be brought there.

I know this is short and dull, but if you’re so inclined, they could use good thoughts and prayers about today. Especially thoughts/prayers for strength and wisdom to survive these challenges and hopefully move past them.

Until last weekend, I had never met Slappy’s grandmother. I have heard numerous stories, both good and bad, but had never seen a picture nor met her in person. Part of this is because she’s lived in Florida the entire time I’ve known Slappy and part of it is because she has rather advanced Alzheimer’s Disease.

Earlier this year, Slappy’s parents moved her to California to a facility that could provide her better care and the transition has been rough. So when Slappy’s mother suggested that we go visit her this past weekend, I was nervous. I didn’t know what to expect, both of her in general (um, have you met her daughter? Right, you haven’t, but you’ve read about her…) and of her state of mental clarity.

Even with these worries, Slappy and I embarked on the 2 mile journey before leaving town on Monday. We found the facility, signed in and rode the elevator up the 3 flights of stairs to the Alzheimer’s floor and then found someone who worked there, because we didn’t know where she’d be.

Slappy’s grandma was asleep on the couch so Slappy woke her up and she was pretty startled. She immediately asked Slappy if she was dead, and when he told her she wasn’t, she looked at him and said, “No, I really think I’m dead.” And no, technically the words weren’t funny, but the way she said it was a little humorous.

I was taken aback at how much my MIL looks like her mother. Slappy looks like like his father, so I knew those genetics were strong, but after seeing Slappy’s grandma, I’m pretty sure my children stand no chance of looking a thing like me.

After we convinced her that she was alive, we suggested that we move out of the (really loud) tv room into her room to chat. We got to the hallway and she didn’t know where her room was. She decided she was pretty sure it was down the right hallway and after looking we found her room and entered.

Aside from not knowing where her room was, she seemed really lucid to me. She did say that she thought she was dead several times, but, you know, that’s not even on the scale of the strangest things to come out of a grandparent’s mouth.

We had a short conversation where Slappy reminded her of who he was and introduced me. We talked about why we were in Los Angeles and that Slappy and I would be living there soon. She was polite, attentive and really just lovely. She said I was a pretty girl and she complimented my name.

And then there was a small pause, she blinked her eyes briefly and then she asked us where we were staying. A conversation we had just finished. Slappy very patiently repeated where we were staying, what we were doing, etc. She seemed completely okay with who he was, but my presence was confusing and she asked us if we were married or not.

And then she paused, blinked and asked us where we were staying again. And then if we were married.

Pause, blink, repeat.

And on about the 4th or 5th pass at the questions, when we told her we were married, she said, “if you’re married, why didn’t I go to your wedding?”

And in that moment, my heart shattered into a million pieces. Because, you know what? She should’ve been there. She’s his grandmother, and it’s profoundly tragic that she isn’t capable of attending things like her grandson’s wedding.

And then 2 minutes later, she asked us again. And honestly, it didn’t feel any better the second time. And while she most certainly won’t remember that we visited or that we got married, I will always remember that moment and the way it felt to explain to her that she couldn’t go.

After several more cycles we told her we had to leave and she thanked us so graciously for coming to visit her. She said she was so glad to see us, gave us a hug, paused for a second, and then asked if we were leaving. We told her goodbye again, hugged and left before she’d have a chance to get confused and start over again.

The experience was heart wrenching, truly, yet I’m glad I went. I’m glad I got to meet his grandmother, even if without her short term memory. I’m glad I got to hear her spout off Yiddish in her New York accent and see her warm smile when she thanked us for coming.

Someday when I’m old and my grandchildren are grown, I hope they’ll come visit me, even if I think I’m dead and even if they’re scared of what they’ll find. Because beneath the disease and beneath the haze, there was a really genuine woman in there and I’m so very glad I got to meet her.

I went to visit my new baby cousin last night, who by the way is just the sweetest, squishiest little boy ever. He dropped down to 9lb 1oz with a nasty case of jaundice, so he isn’t quite as big as I expected. In fact, he’s just freaking perfect (okay, maybe a little yellow, but I like yellow) and I’m trying hard to not steal him. Or eat him. Because seriously with the freaking perfect chubby cheeks baby.

While I was there I got the privilege of putting his older two siblings to bed as well. This is a rarity, usually they only want their parents to do this, so I jumped at the opportunity.

I had to practically wrangle the 5 year old into bed, and then I tucked her in with all 1200 of her dolls. And then she looked up at me with this sweet little quizzical look.

Her: Katie, I went to your wedding, right?

Me: Yes, you did.

Her: So you’re married to Slappy, right?

Me: Right.

Her: And you’ve been married to him for a while, right?

Me: Right.

Her: So why don’t you have a baby in your tummy?

Me: Um, Because I’m not ready for a baby.

Her: Oh. Well, maybe tomorrow.

I’m not really proud of this, but I just, literally 5 minutes ago finished telling my dad about the surgery. Yes, the internet knew before he did. Yes, I probably should’ve called him a week and a half ago, er, two weeks ago, but I’m sorry, it’s my dad and my boob and those two things just do not go together.

I explained to him what they were doing and the following conversation occurred:

Me: so yea, um, it’s going to be on Tuesday.

Dad: Okay. How much are they going to be taking out?

Me: 1/4th of it (meaning 1/4th of my total breast tissue on that side).

Dad: Wow. Why only a 1/4th? Why not just take it all?

Me: ….what?…because, I mean, why would they take it all?

Dad: Well, if they know it’s bad, why not just take it all out?

Me: Dad, it’s my boob! They can’t take it all out.

Dad: WHAT? I just meant the lump, take all of the lump out.

And that, among a host of other reasons, is why you just don’t have boob conversations with your dad.

In other news, I just killed two cockroaches and burned the shit out of my finger. Oh Wednesdays…

(editor’s note: Make that 4 cockroaches and counting. Please, someone shoot me.)