ARE the kids all right?

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Over the weekend, I finished reading The Kids Are All Right by Diana and Liz Welch, with Amanda and Dan Welch. The memoir, in which the four Welch siblings take turns writing chapters, tells the poignant, often heartbreaking story of their once-normal childhood turned upside down by the deaths of their beloved parents: first their father in a car accident, then their mother of cancer.

Many of the chapters scrunched up my heart and made me wonder, as The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls did, how children come through such things and grow into seemingly whole, functional, successful adults.

One chapter in particular gave me pause, stopped my heart, brought tears to my eyes. Not wholly out of sympathy for the Welch kids, though, but because it rang eerily similar to an incident from my childhood.

Soon after the death of their father, the Welch children's mother encouraged a relationship between Amanda, the eldest daughter, and a young man named Duncan. Mom hoped a masculine presence would be good for her son, Dan, so she was pleased with the progression of the budding romance between Amanda and Duncan as it led to Duncan's regular visits to their home.

One night while Amanda, Duncan and Liz, the second oldest sibling, shopped for groceries, Duncan shockingly professed to Liz his love for her while Amanda was in another aisle. Once home with the groceries, he continued elaborating on the inappropriate confession to Liz, cornering the young girl in the pantry and asking her to make it "their secret." Instead, the scared Liz told Mom. Mom immediately banished Duncan from the family, leaving Liz to worry that Amanda would blame her, hate her.

When Amanda learned of Duncan's come-on to her sister, though, all she said was, "What a jerk." No anger, no disappointment ... at least not toward Liz. She renounced Duncan. She stood by her sister.

When I was 13 years old, my parents were divorced and I occasionally stayed with my dad. My younger siblings did the same; my older sister much more sporadically.

Once when I spent the weekend at Dad's, my older sister and her even older boyfriend returned from a night of partying and climbed the stairs to where our bedrooms and a bathroom were. My sister headed into the bathroom; her boyfriend headed into my bed. He aggressively snuggled up to me, trying to climb on top of me.

As I woke from my deep sleep and grasped what was going on and the danger I was in, I pushed and kicked at the boyfriend, trying to get him away from me and out of my bed. My sister emerged from the bathroom, heard the rustling and came into my dark room. She turned on the light, saw her creepy boyfriend in my bed and started screaming and screaming -- at me. In her drunkenness and insecurity, my older sister thought I had somehow lured her boyfriend into the compromising position, was somehow trying to steal him away from her. The vitriol spewed from her drunken mouth ... and continued for weeks.

My sister was mad at me -- stayed mad at me -- instead of being mad at the jerk she'd unknowingly stopped just short of molesting her little sister.

I often wonder how different things might have been if my sister hadn't come into the room just in the nick of time.

And I often wonder how different things might have been -- for both of us -- if my sister had done like Amanda in The Kids Are All Right, if she had renounced the inappropriate lout and stood by her scared little sister.

Disclosure: I received a FREE copy of The Kids Are All Right from the publisher for participation in the From Left To Write book club.

Today's question:

How would you describe your relationship with your siblings?

9 books I own - but won't read

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I may have mentioned a time or two that I have an addiction ... to books. I buy them, collect them, ask for them as gifts, eagerly request them for reviewing.

Unfortunately I don't read them ... at least not at a rate equal to the rate at which they fill up my shelves.

I do plan to read them eventually. At least most of them.

Here, though, are nine books I own that I've not read. Nine books I likely never will read. Nine books I can't get rid of ... simply because they're old and I like the way they look on my shelf ... even unread.

(Call me shallow, if you wish; you're probably right.)

1. The Complete Plays and Poems of William Shakespeare edited by William Allan Neilson and Charles Jarvis Hill (1942)

2. A Treasury of American Folklore edited by B.A. Botkin with a foreward by Carl Sandburg (1951)

3. The Philosophy of Man by Henri Renard, S.J. (1948)

4. Home Geography by C.C. Long (1894)

5. Guilderoy by Ouida (1903)

6. Phonology and Orthoepy by Albert Salisbury (1907)

7. The Lost Prince by Frances Hodgson Burnett (1915)

8. Lorna Doone by R.D. Blackmore (1906)

9. Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell (1964)

Those aren't the only unread oldies on my shelf; there are plenty more (e.g. Character Reading for Fun and Popularity). But because I like to make list posts that contain 9 things, those are all I'm sharing this time around.

Today's question:

What book(s) do you own that you've not read and possibly never will?

Never again

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I recently put a few items for sale on Craigslist, things I no longer want, need or use. Surprisingly, one of the "no longer used" items -- something I've been eager to get out of the garage -- has me waxing misty-eyed and melancholic.

Just what may that item be, you ask? Maybe a crib, signifying the end of babies in the house? A student desk, signifying no more students doing homework the last possible moment before it's due? A dinosaur of a VHS video camera signifying the end of recorded pumpkin carvings, Christmas programs and luau-themed birthday parties?

No, no, and no.

It's our cartop carrier. And selling it signifies the end of an era. The end of family vacations. The end of some of my all-time favorite moments with my tribe.

Never again will Jim and I, along with three crabby as cuss sleepy little girls, get up before the crack of dawn to hit the open road with suitcases, swim gear and more balanced above our heads.

Never again will our family of five load up sleeping bags, tents, camp stoves and a homemade camping shower then head up to the mountains for a long weekend of roasted weenies, s'mores and love-pop-can-chain moments around the fire.

Never again will Jim and I and a nervous college freshman load up new bedding, table lamps, extension cords, closet organizers, posters, first-aid kits, nightlights and family photos and drive off into the sunrise to drop off at college yet another baby girl ... who was no longer a baby.

Never again. Selling the cartop carrier punctuates that.

Never again!

The title of the Craigslist listing should have been "Memories for sale: $60." But that's not what I wrote; I figured not many clamoring for a good deal would understand.

But maybe you do.

 

Today's question:

What in your life will likely happen never again?

Intersections

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Related Posts with ThumbnailsI have a friend who recently found out she's pregnant. Pam, whom many of you may know in real life -- or from her comments and reviews here on Grandma's Briefs -- received the good news a few weeks ago.

It was surprising news for Pam as she'd pretty much settled into life with the assumption she'd never have kids. It had taken her a long time to find a partner she'd deemed worthy of parenting with her, they'd gotten pregnant, they sadly lost the baby. They were told by specialists -- in their infinite wisdom -- that they'd likely never have children.

So Pam moved on to other pursuits, including studying to become a personal trainer (and being within just the exam of certification) and preparing the home she and her significant other share for putting it on the market so they could move to a place more fitting their lifestyle.

Now their lifestyle has been thrown into surprise makeover mode.

Though it means (and meant) incredible ups, downs, heartbreak and hope for Pam and her SO, such stories are fairly common.

What isn't so common, though, and what I -- along with my friend, the mommy-to-be -- find most intriguing about her story is that, get this, Pam will become a full-fledged mother at the very same age that I became a GRANDmother!

Yes, Pam, who is only a few years younger than I, will be struggling with diapers, doctors and disparate parenting philosophies at the very same time that I'm struggling to get quality time with my Bubby and hoping for the arrival of additional grandbabies sometime soon.

I'm not sure if that says more about me, more about Pam, or more about the current generation of parents ... and grandparents ... in general.

I became a grandmother at a relatively young age, but I'm far from the record of Youngest Grandma Ever. My oldest sister was nearly five years younger when she became a grandma, and I've featured a Grilled Grandma who had her first grandbaby at an age much younger than the one at which I first claimed the crown.

Does that mean strangers might mistake me for Bubby's mother when we're out and about together? Possibly. But I sure hope not. Megan deserves all the credit -- and the craziness -- that's part and parcel of being the one whom Bubby calls Mom. I'm proud to proclaim myself Bubby's grandmother, not his mother.

And with Pam firmly in the "older" mother category -- yet decades from Oldest Ever designation -- does that mean she might be considered little Nubbin's grandmother when she and the sweet one are out and about once Nubbin arrives? Possibly, but highly unlikely. Pam is in the best shape ever (did I mention she's nearly a personal trainer?) and looks, dresses and acts far younger than most women her age -- myself indubitably included. And the youthfulness looks fabulous on her. She'll most definitely proudly proclaim her status as Nubbin's mother, not grandmother.

What I think the situation really underscores is that the women of my generation are doing things far younger than in the past (including becoming grandma) as well as far older than in the past (including becoming mama). And every once in a while there's an intersection of the two.

I'm honored to have met Pam at that intersection.

In the several years I've know Pam, we've been similar in so many ways, each with minor deviances from what we share. We like basically the same movies -- with the exception of her penchant for zombie flicks while I prefer documentaries. We read many of the same books -- with the exception of her well-read list of classics compared to my enjoyment of non-fiction fare. We've worked together, been in book clubs together, gotten drunk together, worried about health scares and aging together, written together.

Now we'll blog together. Pam recently embarked on a mommy blogging venture, calling it 40-Something First Timer. I can't think of a more worthy blogging buddy.

Nor can I think of a more worthy buddy with whom to share the 40-something parenting experience, albeit from opposite ends of the spectrum -- Pam as new mother, me as (fairly new) grandmother.

As many of my readers can attest, Pam is in for the ride of her life -- with both the blog and, more importantly, the baby. I wish her the very best of luck with the challenges of both!

Photo courtesy stock.xchng.

Today's question:

Stereotype, schmereotype! What about you goes against the stereotype of someone your age?

Searching for gold

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Here in Colorado, the aspens put on a spectacular fall display -- if you catch them at the right time.

Last weekend Jim and I guessed the timing was right to catch the yellows, golds and coveted reds in the mountains not too far from home. So we packed up Mickey, Lyla and some sandwiches and headed for the hills.

Turns out we guessed wrong -- at least in terms of the aspens at the relatively low altitude we visited (9,000 feet). We've heard the aspens in the high country have turned, but what we saw on our outing were just bits of yellow here and there, with plenty of green still taking center stage. The best colors likely will be this coming weekend.

We still had a pleasant day, though, and managed to get some good photos ... even some of Mickey climbing up into my lap, which the 60-pound pit mix never does. Seems our big, bad dog doesn't get out of the city often enough, and the gravel and brambles were too much for his sensitive tootsies.

Here are the highlights of the day:

Today's question:

Where is your favorite place to view the changing colors of fall?

My swollen heart

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Sunday afternoon as I sat out on the patio listening to the waterfall gurgle and the birds chirp and warble as they flitted from the waterfall to the birdbath to the flower-covered vines decorating our back fence, an overwhelming sense of gratitude came over me.

Out of nowhere, my heart swelled with gratitude for my crazy house and overgrown yard and that, despite a house payment that doubled when we bought this house -- and the stress accompanying it when we both lost our jobs relatively soon after -- this is the place Jim and I plan to call home for the rest of our days. I love my house. I’m so grateful for my house.

Yes, it’s a material thing. But this material thing makes me happy and content … and grateful.

After a week of thinking about, writing about, cussing about all the things I think suck in my life, all the things I worry endlessly about, it was nice to suddenly, inexplicably realize a plethora of things for which I’m grateful. Things I’m blessed with that truly trump all the fears, doubts, worries and complaints I let get in my way each and every day.

I’m grateful my family – immediate and extended – has never suffered a true tragedy. We often succumb to fear and trembling over imagined tragedies when the reality is that we have been tragedy free and have it pretty darn good.

I’m grateful I was laid off and given the opportunity to consider and pursue a career path that matters to me.

I’m grateful for Jim, who supports that career path even though it means far less money than the one I previously fell into. I'm grateful for Jim for countless other reasons, too.

I’m grateful my girls grew into such lovely, amazing, thoughtful, intelligent, empathetic women … something I never thought would happen while in the throes of the teen years.

I’m grateful for Bubby. And that I get to see him more often than some long-distance grandparents get to see their grandchildren. And that Megan and Preston happily share him with me -- a consideration not all grandparents are afforded.

I’m grateful Megan and Preston are doing the right thing by my grandchild -- another thing not afforded all grandparents.

I’m grateful for a twisted childhood because it twisted me into an unusual shape. It may be a weird shape, but it’s different. And different is good.

I’m grateful that Jim and I continue to have the money we need. Plus some. Plus lots, considering what many others have.

I’m grateful for those who read what I write, who act like the gunk and junk that flows from my head to my fingers and onto the page and screen is worth reading.

I’m grateful for the unexpected gratitude that filled me up, made me consider what matters, what’s important and what’s worth being grateful for.

Photo credit: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What are you grateful for today?