siblings, schmiblings

Everyone seems to feel sorry for me because I am an only child, but as I observe brothers and sisters and their complex-usually-caustic relationships, I can only say, "WTF?" My mother hasn't talked to her sister for nearly two years, and this is the calmist period that relationship has ever seen. My father thinks very little of his brother for various reasons, the most likely being they are separated by 14 years and never had much common ground. Also, his parents have always given more (of everything) to his brother, but more on that later. My best friend has a rocky relationship with her sister, and a steady, solid one with her brother. I don't think for a minute she and I have a better relationship than she and her sister; I've observed too many siblings to believe that just because I generally treat her with more love and respect than her sister does that it translates into her liking me better. And, my husband's siblings? Well, lets just say that clusterf/// is the impetus for today's post.
Mr. R is the oldest of three, and if I may generalize about birth order, the older kid mostly gets screwed. Because they are first, the parents are the strictist with the rules which gradually loosen because it's all a parent can do to dress and feed 3 little psychos without having to spend every other minute of every day enforcing rules. The older kid also gets the most household responsibilities. We only think we've moved far away from the days when kids were put directly to work on the family farm, and if parents miss the opportunity to put the oldest on the chore-train, that's their loss. They are expected to grow up a bit faster ("that's not for big kids," "you need to share that toy because you know better," "act your age"). From a kid's perspective, the inequities start as soon as the second kid is born. As they grow up, sure, they can rationalize through it, but it doesn't change the fact that the one who had everything now has to share with a creature who is needier simply by being younger. The only way for the eldest to survive, emotionally, is to grow more independent, and by growing more independent, they cut themselves off from future "fair" treatment with respect to the sibs. Mr. R is much cooler about this than I am, probably because he's had his lifetime to figure out how to cope with it. In fact, his parents actually use his independence as a way to justify their unfairness. They think because Mr. R doesn't "need" anything that it makes it okay to give more (lots, lots more) to the two who are very willing to state their neediness to good ole mom and dad.
But, sometimes he exposes that old wound to me (unfortunately, it just makes me resent his family even more.) Honestly, Mr. R is a go-along, get-along guy, but when he orders the toppings on his pizza, he is absolutely inflexible. Why? Because growing up, he never got to pick the topping for the family's pizzas. Worse, he was allowed to state what he wanted (I mean, they're fair parents, right?), he just never "won" the topping vote because his brother was a whiny little bitch and either wouldn't eat a pizza not of his choice or simply threw his ass until giving him his options was the easiest way to shut him up. Mr. R. didn't try to compete in the bitch fit arena; he simply learned to eat the pizzas his brother chose. And, for his willingness to compromise, he has been rewarded with a lifetime of inequity.
I'm not going to delineate those inequities here. Suffice to say I don't believe I am doing my child a disservice by bringing him or her up as an only child. Mr. R, with siblings, and I, without, both try to honor our friendships (the enduring ones) as we would a sibling relationship. Better, actually.

speaking from experience

If I read every book ever written on pregnancy and parenting, it wouldn't come close to providing the education I received spending time with two friends - new parents of twins - who know what the hell they are talking about. To this point, my thinking on the whole birthing thing was that when the pain started or the due date arrived, I would promptly go to the hospital and cajole my way into a C-section or an epidural. I have no desire to experience childbirth; in fact, the whole thought to me is gruesome, painful, brutish, and frankly embarassing. Laying on my back, spread eagle and grunting, is not something I relish. But, I have started reading every book ever written on parenting, and even before last night, I was beginning to suspect my thinking was flawed. My friend's delivery was evil, no other way to say it. She went in and was induced, "to speed things along." Sounds like a great idea, except that it speeded nothing along! She labored, unproductively, for 24 hours. She couldn't drink or eat, she couldn't sleep, and her husband was in the same boat. Finally, her caregivers offered her the C-sec, which of course she took, given the circumstances. The procedure was probably typical, but she lost way too much blood, and her cervix wouldn't contract because of the 24-hours of Pitocin coursing through her tiny body.
So. There's one story. I talked with two other friends last week, and their stories were also illuminating. One actually knew her labor was starting, but rather than go into the hospital, she went to work, said she needed something to distract her mind from the discomfort. She worked all day, went in, and delivered a healthy baby without much drama. The second chose home birth for two of her three, saying the first delivery (a C-section) was so bad she didn't want to chance repeating the ordeal. she also said sleep deprivation was worse than labor. She also said that while labor is bad, it is not more than one can handle.
Given all this, I'm thinking it is time to change my game plan. As always, my first reactions are informed by fear. On second blush, I'm pretty tough, and I'm still in great shape (this, assuming I don't completely pork out/veg out during the next six months), and I should be able to get myself through the initial throws of labor at home. It's going to take a fair amount of training on my part - mentally and physically. I need to look at new excercises, possibly yoga, and I need to get Mr. R on board with the plan because it would be immensely easier on him if I just let the hospital deal with my labor. And, I'm not even trying it without him (hell, the man runs marathons; he should be able to talk me through the bad spots, share some coping techniques). I think I need to be more "natural" about this. Just getting and being pregnant are things the doctors told me I couldn't do without medical intervention, so why not prove them wrong again? I'm so fortunate to have great friends, smart friends, trustworthy friends who do not have agendas, they just have experiences to share, and I'm (thankfully) smart enough to listen, even when I am hearing what I don't want ot hear. Lets hope they keep talking.

Why I hate my Blog

Blogging is giving me fits - doesn't mean I am ready to quit, but I put my aversion under the microscope, and this is what I saw. I'm not too busy or too lazy, I'm just not a first-drafter. Of all the things I've written, only once did I run with a first draft. I am a fifth-sixth-seventh draft person. I love to play with words, to pour over a thesaurus to capture the nuances of language. My first drafts are full of run-on sentences and sequential flaws; half-finished ideas and lots of marginal notes.
But my blogs entries are, esentially, first drafts . . . oh, and did I mention I used to hand write my first drafts? Keyboarding them is another beast altogether, though I am improving.
The blog sacrifices eloquence for authenticity. The entries seem unpolished, but that is the point. You capture the emotion with the first pass, and, so long as the entry is legible and mostly representative of the moment's reality, you've hit the mark.
I read two blogs regularly (one is now defunct). One is brilliant, and the other is absolutely banal. Now I know what lies behind my judgement and that is the perception that one is (was) completely contrived, containing only those things one was supposed to say, or feel, or do, in public. Boring as hell.
The other was raw and powerful - not because of the style of writing as I originally thought - but because of the level of exposure of the creator. And, equally important, the timliness of the posts.
I can't go back now and tell you how much election day rocked because that's not the point of the blog. The point is today, right now. It's okay to write about memories if that is where your head is when writing, but it is totally not okay to fake it.
My best hope is that my first-draft style improves. Better still, that I will be more "present" in my days in order to see things out of the ordinary to describe here. But, no pressure. If I have a boring day, I'll share it.

For Marty

You were born in Philadelphia, PA. You graduated from high school the year my father was born, 1946, so that means you were born in 1928. I'd suspect you had lied to me about this, but I was with you for your 80th birthday this year. Your father was an executive for the railroads, I just don't remember which line, but you conducted yourself always in a way that spoke to "proper" breeding, and that was certainly no lie. You spoke fondly of taking the train the "the city," and that city was New York, where you spent a day (more than one, to be sure) shopping, and I always pictured you, a dapper young woman, departing Grand Central Station and leaving behind any clue that you were from anywhere other than there. I think you went to college, but then sometimes I don't.
You were married, once, to a man you came to hold in low esteem. You had three children with him, but rather than stay in an unsatisying, likely stifling relationship, for the sake of the children or because of the what the neighbors might think, you divorced him. And you never regretted it. Your first career was as an airline stewardess, and you certainly had the disposition for it: you were naturally inquisitive, and you made a game of drawing people out, mixing levity and sincerity to greatest effect. That is not to say you liked people equally or unconditionally, but it would have gone against your character and your rearing to be anything else. One year, you treated us on Halloween when you dressed in your old TWA uniform and even brought a picture of yourself from the day. As I expected, you were gorgeous - past and present. As a stewardess you capitalized on the opportunity to see the world: London, Paris, Rome, and so many more. On my first trip oversees, to London, you gave me a Brittish Pound from your own travels and told me to put it in purse; I might need it. On each successive trip, to each foriegn city, I found a similar gift from you in my mailbox, and those talismans shaved the edges off my travel anxiety.
You were always doing thoughtful things like that. I don't know how you remembered my departure dates, or Clara's daughter's birthday, or So-and-So's retirement, but there you were, and always with the most appropriate gift and card for the occasion. So classy. Many of these gifts were similar tokens from your own life's journey. You saved so much (and God knows how you found it), and you were generous with anyone who could appreciate your treasures.
You and I had an unexpected friendship, separated by 42 years - a lifetime. I felt grateful you did not discount me for my youth as I expect you were surprised how much I valued your experience. You were blunt (some might say rude but never me) and life-smart, and you had a mind like a sieve. I never tired of talking with you. You could talk about anything! You moved gracefully among your 80 years, as comfortable and fluent in the present as in your distant past. You were able to pick out the best in all those years, nurture it, and encorporate it into your present-day self. Never did you wax nostalgic about the good old days, nor did you accept exposed midriffs, tattoos, or consumer debt. I admired you so much, and with each symbol of friendship you showed me, I grew more confident in the woman I was, resting sure that if I was unwittingly a twit, you would have set me straight.
My world shrunk today, but I could never regret the pain in my heart for the great joy of knowing you, of being your friend. The details of your life as I have recalled them here are untrustworthy, and skeletal, and not likely the ones I will share with this little person in my belly today. Rest assured that the important details, the ones that really made you the incredible human being you were, burn bright, and they will be never be forgotten.
Godspeed, Marty