The Baby of the Family

/ Lisa / 6 Comments

Five siblings; four of them girls. Don’t have sympathy for that lone boy. He did just fine harassing his sisters. For example, hiding under our beds at night to grab our ankles.

I thought I’d interview the youngest sister. The baby of the family. You know, the one who got away with everything. Probably because she was so dang cute.

Did you really, from your perspective, get away with everything? Remember now, I had to wait until high school to wear nylons and you didn’t, so be honest.

Did I get away with everything? Absolutely not. The only boy of the family did. He could skip school. Smoke. Drink. Drive earlier. I think the parents were more strict with me after things he did. But I did get to do things sooner than you did. Like wear nylons or pants or makeup.

(An aside: I believe she wore pants even sooner than she had permission to, by smuggling jeans to school.)

Who was the most perfect sibling? Remember now, I’d get up in the middle of the night to take care spiders for you.

Most perfect? You. Duh. Never got in trouble. Never disobeyed or swore or talked back. Was the perfect child. Read all the time. Didn’t stay out late. Didn’t cause any drama or anger for parents. Lived at home the longest. Definitely the favorite child.

(An aside: geez, I was boring.)

Can you overcome childhood trauma to tell us of your experiences with liver and onions?

I think this is what started my food OCD. I was forced to eat liver and onions. Literally. I hated it. Would take me hours to be able to eat it. Gagging. Our sister Beth would sit with me giving suggestions on how to get it down. I couldn’t leave the table until I was finished and mom discovered early on that the dog was the recipient so that option didn’t last. Hiding it in a napkin was also discovered. To this day the smell makes me sick and brings back traumatic memories.

(An aside: it really was that bad. It would be time for bed and she’d still be in tears, gagging and barfing at the table.)

Have you ever forced your favorite sister into a life of crime? Remember now, you made me stop the car so you could uproot a political sign. Might be time to confess.

Did not force my sister into a life of crime. Ever. She was goody two shoes and never did anything wrong. Yes, other than stealing the political sign that I hung in my room that made me feel like I was married to Woody. And, it was her idea!

(An aside again: This was the era of the Bay City Rollers and her favorite was Woody. The political sign was a local politician running for re-election with the last name of Woody. We took the sign and the post and everything. But she never did marry Woody. His loss.)

Can you respond to allegations that you were actually the one who wet the bed and let your favorite sister take the blame for years?

I plead the 5th.

Get your brother in trouble all over again by telling us about the time you were sitting on the hood of his car, or about the rope swing.

Too much to list. But the highlight was when he thought he was being funny and going to scare me. So I am sitting on the hood of his car. After all, why not? All of a sudden he steps on the gas and I flew off. Sprained my wrist which was very painful but not as painful as telling mom. Than the rope swing. In all honesty not his fault but his idea. Swinging out over a slope on a rope tied to tree branch. When it was my turn the rope breaks. Landed on the tree trunk and pulled ligaments in my ankle. We got in a lot of trouble over that one. Was on crutches for a long time. Dad made me a shoe for that foot because mine wouldn’t fit. Cut toes off one of his shoes. I was so embarrassed wearing it. But I got super good using crutches and could even run. When I didn’t need them anymore Dad literally had to teach me to walk again. I’m still not coordinated.

Did you, or did you not, live with a tumbleweed?

Ah, the tumbleweed. I was fascinated by them. They would blow in the wind like a ball. I finally got my very own on a trip and displayed it proudly in my room. Ironically ended up living where they were in abundance and I could watch them out my windows.

Please take a moment to double check the accuracy of your answer to the second question. (Unless of course, you answered it correctly.)

Can’t remember what that question was.

What do you wish I’d asked you?

How it was all those years sharing a bedroom and how it felt growing up the youngest and always having a houseful of people, to being one of the last to leave the herd.

(A final aside: how it was sharing a room? She had to tape a line on the floor that all my junk couldn’t cross.)

Hypnopompic Hallucinations

/ Lisa / Leave a comment

I dreamt that my son, who just turned 28, was still a toddler. It was a simple dream – he had climbed up in my lap and fallen asleep with his head on my shoulder. For those of you with kids, do you remember how the little one fit you so well? How they just molded and melted into you? That hot little body sleeping so heavily against you? It was a sweet dream.

But then I clearly heard him, in his adult voice, say loudly and firmly, ‘mom!’ and it woke me up.

This happens often to me, either in the middle of the night or right before waking. I’ll hear my husband clearly say my name. Or sometimes it’s one of my sisters, including the one sister who has passed away.

I then have a hard time getting back to sleep because my imagination kicks in. Was my son just in an accident and called out to me? I have to turn the volume up on my phone just in case. Is my husband having a medical emergency? I hate it when I hear his voice and he’s not in the bed next to me. I have to go look for him. Is something wrong with a sister? One sister stays up late most nights so I can text her and make sure she’s okay. That one, in particular, makes me nervous when I hear her because she and I have shared dreams in the past.

This time I decided to go to the internet.

Hypnopompic hallucinations happen as a person is waking up, between the stages of sleep and fully awake. It happens in about 12% of people.

Hypnagogic hallucinations happen as a person is falling asleep, and happen in about 37% of people.

In both things, people will hear, see, or feel things that are not actually there. It can happen alone, or with sleep paralysis. It differs from mental illnesses because the person is aware that it isn’t real. It differs from nightmares which occur during REM sleep because it’s typically vivid, short, and straightforward, and has no storyline. Of course, if this happens along with other symptoms, such as when fully awake, or with narcolepsy, then obviously you should see a doctor.

While it’s not uncommon, has a medical name, and is straightforward, still, no one knows exactly what causes it.

The name doesn’t make it any less unsettling though, when you hear your son call you in the middle of the night, clearly and vividly, and as if he’s standing right next to you.

One time I even heard our old dog Arwen, singing her happy song that she reserved for when her favorite people came to visit. I reached out for her as I woke, fully expecting her to be next to me on the bed.

Caught in the act – stealing and eating radishes

Will having a scientific name for this along with a description make a difference the next time it happens? Definitely not. I’m still going to text my sister. I’m still going to get up to see where my husband is. Because after all, they still don’t know what causes it.

Why take the chance?

How Old Are You?

/ Lisa / 3 Comments

We have new neighbors with young children. Their son asked me the other day how old I was. His parents, mortified, tried unsuccessfully to interrupt him. When I told him, he said ‘Wow! That’s really old!’. His parents were even more mortified. I thought it was funny.

Recently, my great-nephew was asked if he knew who his oldest relative was, and he said me. When asked how old he thought I was, he said 100. I thought it was funny.

That little cutie with the red shirt. Right there. Thinks I’m 100.

Then I started thinking about age. I’ve mentioned this before, but I remember when I was about nine, the teacher telling us we would be twenty-one when Haley’s comet flew by. I still remember thinking I’d never be that old. One of my sisters just reminded me of the Beatle’s song ‘will you still need me, will you still feed me when I’m sixty-four’. I’d never be that old. Except, as of yesterday, that’s exactly how old I am. I still think that’s funny.

The sister who reminded me of the Beatle’s. On a hike that is still one of my best memories.

Do you remember the stages of aging?

There was the milestone of becoming double digits. Of turning sweet sixteen. Old enough to drive. Graduating from high school. Turning twenty-one (and Haley’s comet flying by). It seems like after twenty-one, the milestones changed and possibly became less important. Then it was turning thirty. Then forty. And, my god, turning FIFTY!

I wonder when a specific age changed from something that seemed like a huge milestone, a step to adulthood, a major shift in life, to something less important. I’m also trying to remember those early, big milestones.

First campout with his environmental science class.

Sixteen was embarrassing. Everyone asking if I’d never been kissed or never been missed. How are you supposed to answer that? Did you really want to admit to either? Were you supposed to be proud or ashamed?

Twenty-one has good memories. The Scottish dance group I was involved with held a party and gave me a giant cardboard key. It was a tradition that a young woman received the key to the house at that age. My parents took me to an expensive restaurant which was a very rare event in our household. I remember feeling like a threshold had been crossed into adulthood. My brother was more thrilled because I was legal age to buy beer. Somewhere along that path I realized adulthood was still on the horizon.

The big threshold of turning ten days old.

Thirty was a huge milestone. Actually, to be more accurate, twenty-eight. That’s when I moved to the mountains and realized I’d always been meant to live in the woods. The thirties was when I found where I was meant to be, met the man who would marry me, had a child, came out of the closet about writing.

Always my hero.

Thinking about this though, makes me wonder when we lose that sense of excitement. That next goal, next horizon to look forward to, next marker in the stage of life to reach for. What age were you when birthdays changed from milestones that marked looking forward to milestones that marked looking backward?

I’m still looking forward. I laugh when people hear how old I am and tell me I don’t look that old. I laugh when little kids stare at me in awe because their great aunt is ancient. Do I have an age to look forward to now? I wouldn’t say I’m looking forward to a specific age because I don’t really pay attention normally to dates.

But hey! Senior discounts!