Some say Thank you faster than others....

Many of us, dare I say all of us, take our parents for granted. Once we have our own children we start to see how hard it might have been for our parents and that maybe, just maybe, we owe them 100 million thank you's. Better late than never.

Some of us feel this even before we have our own children. Personally, I was somewhere in between, my kids are as well. Unfortunately I didn't hear the parenting advice to stay silent until after my kids were grown. I wish I had heard this over and over again while they were still little so that by the time why were in middle school I was prepared not to speak when they finally started to talk.

Regardless, I am not sure I would have heard this piece of advice. I am a living breathing connect the dots. As soon as someone mentions they are looking for a job I am ticking through an old timey rolodex in my brain. Who did I talk to that said....I just saw an email that said.....where was I the other day when.....

And it doesn't stop at a job, or a place to live, or a babysitter. It goes for every subject. "How was school? What are you learning in physics class?" "Like you would understand Mom!" insert hysterical laughter here "So teach me?" I genuinely want to know, I am curious. I like to learn new things to add to the rolodex. All of the information becomes a dot at some point. Maybe it's number 5 maybe it's number 2,379.

This habit of curiosity and connect the dots has to be annoying as hell for my boys. When all you want to do is be heard and your mom is asking you 150 questions and telling you about someone she knew in college once, a podcast she heard, and a book she read 10 years ago but can't quite remember exactly. Annoying!

I do my best these days to be silent. Just listen. Hear them. And they do their best to say, Thanks Mom. I slip up from time to time and go all "I was just listening to a podcast about this...." and they go all "Mom I am not a child! I got this!" Overall there are more Thanks mom, for everything. I'll take it.

Hi, my name is Trisha. I'm in AA.

It is time I own up and start apologizing - I am a lifelong A-hole. I am finally admitting it in public so that I can sincerely apologize and let others hold me accountable to my A-holeness. No more excuses. I'm officially in AA - A-holes Anonomous.

Anxiety makes me an A-hole, so does: stress, hunger, thirst, frustration, tiredness, heat, traffic, long ques, whining children, soccer tournaments, swimsuit shopping, servers who address me as "we", anything to do with insurance, taxes, hospitals, people who don't use turn signals.....you get the idea.

In other words I have spent my life being an A-hole and decided I hate it. For years I didn't know I was being an A-hole, those years being 0-12. It wasn't called A-hole at 12 but other things like annoying, hellacious, difficult, high maintenance, demanding, terrible, exhausting, problem child. I felt the consequences to that deep in my soul and because of it I became an even bigger A-hole.

I am truly sorry. First and foremost to my parents, siblings and family who have had to suffer the longest. To all the friends who endured as long as possible before giving up and walking away. I hold no ill will or disrespect, each of you taught me something valuable. To my husband of 30 years, you give as good as you get but I am still sorry for my part in our Lucy and Ricky lifestyle.

I am most sorry to the 2 most amazing people on this planet - my sons. Knowing how much my A-holeness has hurt them let alone affected them breaks my heart into a million pieces. I can wish all day that I had known, or learned, or started sooner however it does no good. As a wiseass once said - You can wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which one fills up first.

The first thing I learned in AA is grace. Before I could stop being an A-hole to everyone else, I had to stop being an A-hole to myself. That was the hardest thing I have ever done. It's not easy changing the raging voice in my head. But it no longer serves me. I am not a terrible sleepless baby anymore, I am no longer a hellacious child dancing in front of the TV for attention, I am not a tattletale, troublemaker, or tantrum thrower. (OK well still maybe a tantrum thrower...)

What I am is human. What I am is normal. What I am is: strong and sensitive, confused and compassionate, troubled and trying, overwhelmed and awed, grateful and gracious. What I am is trying my best everyday to be a little better than I was yesterday - to myself and the ones I love.

*DISCLAIMER

I in no way want to diminish or disrespect the original AA. It is not only a lifesaver but a lifeline for millions of people whom I admire for their strength and courage in the face of a devastating disease.

**ADDENDUM

I heard someone much smarter and more eloquent summed me up in a nutshell. I thought I would add it. ShoutOut to Max Trombly for posting on social media.

A defensive person is a liability..

You hurt my feelings when..."Well I can't help what you feel" "I'm sorry you feel that way" "Get a thicker skin". I don't like it when you talk to me that way..."Oh what like you? You started it? You do it to me all the time!". Can we talk? "Oh, here we go again" "What did I do now?" or insert Eye Roll. I just want to be heard..."I heard you! you said it like 1,000 times". When you say..."I didn't say that."

The reason a perpetually defensive person is a liability is because when in conflict they are not participating in the communication being asked of them. Defensiveness is an amour that hides the real issue and makes it about ME ME ME ME. It is the same with shame and these go hand in hand.

When they do that they are not We, we are not in resolution, we are not in I hear you or I want to understand you. Defensiveness, shame are a liability because when a person is in relationship with someone who is constantly defensive it is not a relationship. At some point the other person is not willing to sit around and tolerate the defensiveness, the shame spirals, the lack of remorse, or insincere apologies. It's exhausting, disappointing, and hurtful.

And more important - it's not even REAL! All of the drama that comes from the persons defensiveness and shame is just the internal stories from their childhood playing over and over again in their head. It is not real and it is not based in reality. It's based on their "felt" experience and until they can separate themselves from the wound/incident and see reality is different and they are different and they can create powerfully for themselves something different....

If you were a plant, what would you be?

Growing up I was sent to Catholic school. Not the uniform kind. Not the nuns in habits kind. It was just like a regular school only we had one day of mass every week, religion classes, and our nuns wore regular clothes.

One nun in particular Sister Caroline even played the guitar and sang each week at mass. She had a song in heavy rotation I remember fondly..."Friends are like flowers, beautiful flowers, Friends are like flowers in the garden of love. Are you a daisy are you a rose, are you a dandelion. You can be what you are I'll be what I am, and we can be friends in the garden of love."

Like a parable, the idea was to be a rose! Never a dandelion because they are weeds. 

Fast forward to this morning.

My husband and I are sitting on the front porch watching the sunrise and I am looking at the clover popping up through the 3 inches of mulch I put down. So, I asked my husband, "If you could be a plant what would you be?" He looked at me like I had three heads and then said, "A planned?" 

Not that he didn't hear me, it is just his accent. Which always makes me smile because it does make us sound a lot like Lucy and Ricky Ricardo. "Yes", I said, "a plant". 

"Well, I don't want to be grass because everyone will be spraying me with chemicals!"

"I think" I said, "I would like to be a dandelion or clover". 

"Then everyone will always be trying to kill you!?" He thought I had lost my mind.

And had I said this to Sister Caroline or Sister Victorien they would have said the something similar because they used the "weed" to demonstrate what is bad, annoying, or wrong behavior. But as I looked down at those weeds growing up through the mulch, I saw perseverance, strength, gumption, fortitude, and tenacity. I saw a living creature with an unstoppable drive to live, grow, and thrive no matter what the conditions.

That is why this morning I decided if I were a plant, I would want to be a dandelion. They have been around for thousands of years and across all continents. Ancient Greek cookbooks have recipes for dandelion tea. My grandmother talked about eating dandelion salad growing up. Dandelions are not a pest but a source of life, health, and sustenance. They can and WILL grow anywhere with any amount of soil, water, and light. They bloom a beautiful yellow puff ball flower that when at its end will keep giving by sending all of itself into the wind to spread its seeds.

Yes, I want to be a dandelion. I want to be able to thrive under the harshest formidable conditions and still bloom. In my last hours I want to spread the seeds of myself out into the world through my children, grandchildren, former students, friends, family, people I came in contact with. 

Happy Easter -Spring - Everything

It is Greek Easter, and Spring, and we are all home together for the first time in a long time.  I have chicken and pork marinating for tonight as well as all of my thoughts.

I woke up before the boys and wrote for an hour and started an art project. My oldest and his girlfriend rose first making breakfast and chatting about their plans for the day. I went upstairs and woke my youngest who was out until 3 a.m. but promised me he would not sleep ALL day. We talked about his evening and quickly veered off course into all the worlds problems that need solved.

My husband was already out mountain biking, the kids went in different directions, and I took off for a walk combined with an errand. It is such a beautiful day! The temperature is just perfect, the grass is vibrant, all the spring flowers are in full bloom, and my heart is full.

Our neighborhood is now full of children and as I left I saw three young boys playing football together. It was the cutest thing because they were all in a pile when I walked up. Then they helped each other unpile, shared the ball, and guided each other through the play to the touchdown all celebrating together.

My boys are no longer young but I still love hanging out with them more than anything else in the world. Starting my day chatting with my son and his girlfriend as they make breakfast, sitting on my other son's bed hearing all about the college bar scene makes me happy.

Growing up catholic Easter was a time to think about starting over, or rebirth. As I was walking and looking at all of the new life around me: green grass, tulips, dandelions, henbit, magnolias, red buds and my boys. Their new life, this new chapter. I can't wait for it! 

Boys to men.....

 It's Christmas break and both boys are home. It's hard not to think back to the days when we filled the time with playdates, baking, watching Christmas specials, sledding if there was any snow, and hot cocoa.

I sit alone in a full house now. No one coming out of their room unless they need food, laundry, or money. It's lonely. Aren't they lonely? I love spending time with my kids they are the coolest human beings on earth! (most of the time) What do grown son's do with mom??

If it were up to me, we would still do all the things - and MORE. Go out to eat, cook, go see a band, museum, art exhibit, show, go on a road trip, shopping trip, European trip, try glass blowing, axe throwing, ziplining, go hiking, canoeing, sledding, birdwatching.... you get the picture.

But my boys are not in that phase, yet they are still a chrysalis.  Wrapped up, hibernating, morphing, figuring out how to grow their wings let alone use them. I know I need to let them be, but I miss them, all of them.

The little boys that wanted to play a game every day when it was time for me to start cooking dinner. Or who could have played in the sand for 3 more hours with the diggers. The boys who looked forward to reading books together so much they would beg "one more, please, just one more". The teenagers I demanded eat dinner at the table all together and even though they fought me we were all still at the table 2 hours later talking, laughing, listening to stories, and hearing all about their lives. It was just easier to make time or maybe it was making rules when they were under my roof. Now they are guests in their old home.

It will always fill my heart when I get a call and hear, "Hey Mom". Whether they are texting, can you talk? Do you have a minute? or What's up? My whole body reacts. I know I immediately smile, my heart beats faster, I feel lighter and the answer is always YES!

Modern psychology says I too am in a chrysalis stage. This is my time to morph myself, find my bliss, my tribe, try new things, find my new self. I've been looking for myself for 53 years if I haven't found her now - forget it!

I hope my boys will always know how much they lift my soul, light my heart, and make my days better. And whenever they call, whatever they need, it is always- YES! ....and let's get ice cream

What was my mom like as a 4 year-old?

 As my mom lay in the hospital again, the Alzheimer's ravishing the last of her brain I sat staring at the monitors listening to beeps and wondering - What was my mom like as a toddler? As hard as she fought this disease, as stubborn as she was, and the sarcasm! What in the world was she like as a child?!

I lay my head back against the chair and closed my eyes picturing a toddler with the wit and wisdom of an old woman giving everyone the What For as I drifted off to sleep.

I was aware of being in a house but could not for the life of me figure out what house I was in.  It looked like it had not been updated in 80 years. There was knotty pine paneling on the walls, a large stone fireplace with a huge mantel, and a picture of a pastural scene. The couch was a low sleek design covered in black and white fabric with what looked like the Chevrolet symbol. Identical chairs flanked the couch and a long low coffee table sat in front of all of it.

As I scanned the room again looking for a real clue to where I was I heard the clicking of high heels. I noticed the floors here were tile butting against wood floors in the next room. Maybe seeing someone would give me an idea of where I was.

Then my grandmother appeared. Seeming to be in her 30's she was dressed impeccably not a hair out of place with an apron wrapped around her waist. I was in awe, in love, and heartsick. Seeing her again was amazing but knowing I couldn't hug her to sit down and tell her all that  was in my heart was hard.

Just then another woman walked into the room silently. Her shoes, it seemed, were made of much sturdier stuff. She was very plainly dressed in a shapeless gray dress, her hair pulled tightly back in a bun at the base of her neck and not a lick of make-up on.

"Mrs. Kerns, I believe that Barbie is up from her nap if she ever had one. I can hear her talking a mile a minute. Should I fetch her before I get the laundry?"

"No that's alright I will go look in on her and the baby."

Who called my mom Barbie? Grandma left the room and returned with a 4 year old Barbe on her hip. It was incredible to see this child, while I knew it was my mom, she didn't yet have the features that I have memorized as my mother.

"Barbara Cheryl if you don't take a nap you won't grow big and strong" my grandmother chastised as she put her on the rug with a small toy baby doll.

"I big and strong enough" my mom retorted and I had to laugh. This is exactly how I imagined my mother would be as a toddler. Sassy. Feisty. Full of it, whatever "it" is. Mom toddled right past the doll and straight toward the fireplace. She almost had the fire poker in her hand when my grandmother proclaimed "Barbara Cheryl you will be the death of me!"

With a look I haven't seen in many years but know very well my mother turned and glared her mother. Then she pulled the fire poker out anyway and used it to push some logs off the hearth onto the floor. Just then the large nondescript woman in gray came back in and saw the results and said calmly "Well Barbie I see you would like to help me build a fire?"

My mother looked at this woman with so much love and affection in that moment, she dropped the fire poker and quickly toddled over to her enthusiastically.

"Me do! Me Do!"

"Ok Barbie you can do it right after we take care of this laundry, come help me in the kitchen an maybe I can find you a snack."

"SNACK!" my mother squealed as she ran to the woman and clung to her legs.

"Oh, Mary Agnus if you keep feeding her between meals she is going to be as big as a house."

"I have some nice apples from the tree outside my back door. You know what they say, an apple a day." My grandmother heaved a heavy sigh and checked her watch. Then she quickly tore off the apron around her waist.

"I'm going to be late for Bridge at Gert's house. You have the telephone number if you need anything. I will pick the girls up from school since I will be in town. Do you need anything from the store?"

"No ma'am. I will get dinner in the oven right directly."

"Thank you Mary Agnus, your a Dear."

I listened to the clacking of my grandmothers heels knowing those would become a distant memory for her in the next 20 years as arthritis destroyed every joint in her body, but the perfect hair and every present Sally Hanson pink lipstick and nails would stay until the day she died. MaryEllen Kerns was the epitome of a Lady and my favorite person on earth.

The older woman bent wearily, scooped up my mom and began to bounce her.

"Trot trot to Boston. Trot trot to Linn. Look out Barbie you might fall  INNNN!" and she plopped her on top of the laundry basket.

"Would you like a ride Barbie?" she asked with mischief in her eyes and my mother squealed again with glee.

Off they went into the kitchen. This was once again a room right out of Better Homes and Gardens 1948 complete with an apple pie cooling in the window sill.

"Snack?!" my mother bellowed from her perch in the laundry basket.

"Now, you must'n tell anyone else", the woman whispered bending close to mom who leaned in and listened intently, "but there is always a little bit of pie crust left over and I can't waste it, that would be a sin. So I made you a bitty hand pie all your own. There is apples in it so I didn't fib."

"Me pie! Me pie!" mom sang as she waved her hands in the air.

Mary Agnus lifted her out of the laundry basket and placed her in a high chair. She put the little apple turnover in front of her and mom ate greedily.

"There is nothing wrong with eating Barbie you remember that and some of the best people I know are big as a house." I don't think my mom heard a word over the chewing as she devoured the secret snack. Knowing that my mother would live the next 70 years of her life battling an eating disorder, her weight, and her self-image I wish she could have truly heard this.

The woman knew her way around this kitchen pulling out an ironing board and iron while also getting a large cut of meat out of the refrigerator. When the iron was hot the woman proceeded to iron every single thing in that laundry basket including the underwear. I had only heard about this type of thing in my life time. 

"Will you help me with these chores Barbie?"

"Chores!" my mom squealed as if she was chosen for to win a prize.

The woman wiped down a very sticky Barbie and handing her a spray bottle moved the high chair closer to her ironing board. She would point and mom would spray water on the clothing she was ironing. Mom chattered away the entire time. Talking about baby and sissies which took me a minute and then I realized her older sisters would have been at school right now and Uncle Chris would have been a baby. In between talking she would start a random nursery rhyme or song and the woman keep up with all of it while pointing and ironing.

after they finished she deposited all the laundry back into the basket and turned to the large cut of meat on the counter.

"Me help to!" my mother squawked and the woman took her out of the high chair and set her on the counter. She trimmed some fat and then placed the meat in a large roasting pan that looked oddly familiar but far to clean to be the same one my mother used all my life. Then she took out some carrots and potatoes and gave my mom a dish rag. What is she going to do I thought?

"Barbie you have to clean those vegetables real good before we eat them. Make um' shine."

The she proceeded to peel some carrots, potatoes, and onion and put them all in the roaster with salt and pepper. All the while asking Barbie questions.

"What sound does that there Moo Cow make?"

"Mmmoooooooo!" my mom would recite.

"What sound does that there kitty cat make?"

"Meooooooowwwww."

After they finished in the kitchen, they made their way to the other side of the house where she put some of the clothes away and then held her finger to her mouth.

"Be very quiet Barbie we need to look in on the baby." My mother mimicked the gesture and loudly said, "Shhhhhhhhh." The woman smiled and patted her head.

They went into a small room with just a crib and a rocker. The minute they stepped inside my mom said in a stage whisper "Is Cwrisafer sleeping?" The woman nodded her head shhing Barbie once again. They walked out and she said still whispering "when the baby is sleeping we have to be real quiet."

"I quiet!" Barbie huffed with a glare and hands on her hips.

"Let's go out side and clean some string beans for dinner." The chatter never ceased all the way.

"What this? Why you do that? I do- I do. Me play outside. Let's go. Where is doggie? Doggie! Doggie! Where is Connie and Jackie? Why they no here? I wanna play outside." The woman was unphased an answered every third or fourth question and always referring to my mom as Barbie.

She took my mother outside and deposited her on the ground. For a moment I was startled and then I realized this was possibly a sand box. It was not big and there were no toys in it but my mother immediately started to push and pull at the dirt making noises, talking, calling out to the woman from time to time. She sat on an old wooden chair snipping the ends off of a large pot of green beans smiling and humming.

Then I heard a beeping sound so out of place and I looked all over trying to find it....Trisha? Trisha?

I blinked open my eyes realizing I was still at the hospital next to my mother's bedside. The nurse was asking if she could get me anything.

All I could do was shake my head and smile politely because I still felt a million miles away. I had wondered what my mom was like when she was 4 years old and I had been disappointed.