My Cousin, My Friend, My Soulmate

Sometimes I think the zodiac is a completely made up hoax, with no evidence that it is even remotely true.

And then I remember that my cousin Karen and I were born on the same day, six years apart, and I am reminded that in fact, the zodiac is real. Because despite being born in different times and different places, being raised by very different people, and having very different life experiences, Karen and I are literally the exact same soul in two different bodies.

Post Two of Fifty: Who are you closest to in your family?

I went back and forth with this one for quite some time, because I am very close to most of my Stacey family. I would say Stacey is my best friend, and that Blake is my number one kid. I do believe my nephew Archer is my spirit animal, and I have a close relationship with all 13 of my cousins. My cousin's son Grant is my mini-me, I believe my cousin DeLaina will be the one we all grow old with because she's the caretaker, and my aunt Michelle is the one I like to text with when I'm curled up at the beach house.

That said, the question isn't who is my favorite, or who do I like best, nor is it who I spend the most quality time with. The question is, who am I closest to.

And I have to answer that one undoubtedly, my cousin Karen. Because Karen is my soulmate.

Karen and I are exactly the same.

The Leo woman in each of us is strong.
We handle love, heartache, disappointment, pride, and hurt the same.
We care passionately about the same things, and we're sensitive about the same things.
We are both unabashedly snarky and sarcastic, and neither of us is ever prepared for that to get us into trouble (even though it always does).
We have the same drive and determination, and the same self doubts and frustrations.
We both feel at home at the beach more than anywhere else, and we each keep a care bear with us to keep us happy all the time.

We also have the same toothy grin and the same Whitmore dark circles under our eyes.
We have the same narrow upper lip when we smile, and the same forehead and nose.
We have the same wild and unruly curly hair.
We make the same cheese face in every selfie.
We both have a favorite nephew who we love fiercely, more than anything.
We both love hard, we both hurt hard, and we both feel every emotion very loudly.

We're the same.
She is me, six years in the future.
I am her, six years later.

I was born on Karen's 6th birthday, in August of 1983. Whenever it's our birthday, she tells me that 34 years ago, she knew I was hers. "I felt like you were mine." She says it every year. And every year it makes my heart happy.

Karen is always the person I go to first, whether it be to laugh, cry, gush over a new boy, talk shit about other people, gossip, brag, or seek comfort. Whether she was living in Portland like me, freezing her face off living too far away in Minnesota, or now living in my paradise, Bend, she is - and always has been - a phone call away.

In fact, we call each other from the grocery store all the time, because that's the only time she can escape her children yelling for her attention just because she is on the phone, or her youngest chasing her through the kitchen with the "fuck it" button (which, while her husband finds appalling, she and I think is hilarious - yet another thing we have in common). She goes to Fred Meyer and wanders aimlessly up and down the aisles while we catch up, and then a week later I keep her on the phone in the parking lot at the gym while I wander around Target gushing to her about a boy.

Karen is always the first to tell me she's proud of me or happy for me, just like she's always the first one to empathize when I'm hurting. She's my soulmate, she feels my feelings with me. I always cry when she cries, and I get mad on her behalf - especially when I don't think she is mad enough. She always pushes and encourages me, gives me advice, and then doesn't judge me when I turn around and do the opposite.

I tell her she's too old when she wants to go to bed at 10:00 after we watch a scary movie, and she tells me I'm too young when I want to spend $30 on a mimosa breakfast we have to wait in line for while standing outside in the snow. But we both wholeheartedly agree on smoothies for breakfast sitting on the roof, and a weed-induced nap on the porch in a sunbeam. We also both agree with the scary movies and mimosa breakfasts, despite the lines and early bedtimes.

Because we're the same.

In the past couple years, there has definitely been a shift in Karen seeing me as her baby cousin, and I now get the street cred for being an adult she can discuss all adult topics with. My favorite is when she calls and vents about something for an hour and then as we're hanging up says, "oh and how are you?? Your life matters too!"

Because she's snarky.
Because we're the same.

I am close to all of my Stacey family. Karen is just about the only Whitmore I have (also, that's because we're the same...I'm pretty much the only Whitmore she has too). But she's the only one I need. She understands my feelings about our family better than anyone; she knows how much I love my grandma, and how long it took me to accept things as they are. She lets me vent, listens to me get mad and sad and raging mad and devastated - and then she tells me it'll be okay. Not because she doesn't want to listen, but because shes been there and because she knows me best. And she's always right - it always is okay. Because just like her grandma and grandpa loved her no matter what, my grandma loves me no matter what.

Because in spite of (and often because of) our sarcasm, our boldness, our chaos, our energy that other people don't understand, Karen and I are still incredibly lovable people. Just ask my mom; she loves us both.

When asked who in my family I am closest to, not much thought was required. I have a huge family, full of fun, loud, crazy, opinionated people who I love dearly. Full of cousins I call my best friends. Full of aunts who take care of me and uncle who pick on me. Full of toddlers I love to spoil rotten and laugh with. My family is amazing. And in the midst of all the amazing, I am lucky enough to have a twin, in all senses of the word.

She's my cousin.
My friend.
My confidant.
My soulmate.

And I bet you all a thousand dollars she started crying in paragraph two of this post. #twinning

#500wordsaday: Maybe Next Time I'll Wear a Dress

1) A time you lied
2) A time you were hurt
3) The last time you were happy for a week straight
4) Family
5) How you wish you started your day (and then why you aren’t doing that already)
6) Your most authentic moment
7) When you really loved yourself
8) When you were scared
9) Why you long for love
10) Something about you that you’re hoping people don’t notice   / Something about you that you’re hoping people do notice

500 Words a Day: Family.

Oh boy.

It has taken me a long time to learn the lesson that genetics, does not mean family - that just because someone is related to you, does not make them family. And even more, that that's okay. I have only recently been able to accept that not everyone in my genetic family will always love or protect me, and that not everyone who loves and protects me, will be genetically related to me. 

And that's fine. 

I thought for a long time about how to approach this prompt - do I talk about who my family is, where we came from, what we've been through over the past 10 years? Do I vent about my frustrations or feelings of abandonment, or perhaps talk about who has become my family in the absence of my 'real' family? 

But, to what recourse? At what point does being upset by these things become useless. It won't change. My fate is sealed. I'm different; I stand up and speak out, and because of this, I "can't let things go." So why continue the uphill battle?

No. Instead I focus on what's great about my family; I focus on the moments that fill me with joy to be a Whitmore. I focus on the parts of me that are wholeheartedly Whitmore - the stubbornness, the passion, the dramatic emotion (both good and bad ), the deep-seeded feelings, and the ability to express them passionately. These are things that I possess, just like my grandma, just like my aunts and uncles, just like my cousins; these are things that we all possess that make us who we are, and that's fine. It's fine that we scream at the TV because our team is losing. It's fine that we laugh loudly and that we gesture expressively while telling a story.

It's all just fine (mostly). 

So instead of groaning at the family prompt, I am choosing to focus on a positive family moment. While they may not be as common as the negative ones anymore, they do still come around, and I do still have them. And I think they are often overshadowed by all of the negative. 

Last month, I took my grandma to mass at her church. 

I should preface this with, I hate going to church. I am not a Catholic, nor do I believe in most of what the Catholic church preaches. Going to mass makes me incredibly uncomfortable, and in my jeans and tee shirt I certainly stuck out like an awkward non-believing sore thumb in the middle of the building. For 2 hours I was fidgety in my seat, unsure of when to stand or sit or kneel or do cartwheels (those Catholics, man, they really keep up the cardio during all those prayers). 

Anyway, I wanted to spend some more quality time with my grandma, so I called her and told her I was coming to get her for mass. She was surprised, but pleasantly. I have made a commitment to spending more time with her, and I don't always want to just chill down in her apartment to do so - taking her to mass was a nice way to get her out of the house.

By the way...things no one told me before I picked her up, that would have been nice to know: Grandma is a greeter, so she gets to mass an hour early! 

Awkward.

So here I am, in jeans and flip flops, standing next to my grandma in the front door of a church, greeting every Catholic in Milwaukie as they come through the door. It was hilarious on every level, as she introduced me to everyone as "one of my many lovely granddaughters," as I awkwardly shifted in my sandals, saying hi and being introduced to all of them. 

The best part was, she was IN. HER. ELEMENT. I have never seen my grandma so in the zone, so happy, so excited, or smiling so big. I've never felt so loved or valued by her, as I did as she proudly exclaimed to all of her church ladies that I had called to tell her I wanted to go with her to mass. It has been many years since I've seen her thriving like she was that Sunday morning. 

Side note: The old, single men at St. Johns, are all about my grandma. She's their queen, and they adore her.

I tell you what, she was called beautiful by so many old men, I about died. All of them with their hugs and cheek smooches, and then the you're just as lovely as your grandmother hand shakes. My oh my, was she the prom queen of the 10am mass or what?! Every one of them asked about her son, who was dying of cancer, every one of them asked who my mom and dad were, every one of them offered her a hug, a kiss, a prayer, a million dollars. It was amazing. 

It is really easy with family - and especially with mine - to focus on the negative, to get caught up in fights and drama, to let the bad overshadow the good. But for me, the resolve is that my grandma will know, until the day she dies, that I love her, value her, and appreciate her. I have never claimed to be the perfect grandchild, but I have made a promise to myself that no matter anything else going on, I will spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with my grandma - wherever that may be - until she's no longer with us. In my family, that may require some uncomfortable conversations and some moments at a dinner table that feel similar to sitting in a Catholic Mass, but I don't care. None of that matters as much as having a positive and memorable relationship with my grandma. And I'm prepared to make any necessary amends in order to maintain that with her. 

Family isn't always easy; in fact more often than not, it's really challenging. It's a lot of people with like personalities, trying to coexist with all of their feelings; with my family, that means a lot of highly passionate people who all believe they're right all the time. That's hard. 

But for the grin on my grandma's face when I dropped her off after church and taught her how to take a selfie, it was (and continues to be) worth every challenging speed bump along the way. 

You're Not an Option - You're My Priority

How much stuff to you have to do in a day?

In asking myself that question, I came up with the following list of things I have to do each day:
Shower
Do my hair
Brush my teeth
Do my makeup
Drink a bottle of Spark
Feed Juno her breakfast
Eat breakfast
Drive to work
Check in with maintenance
Work, work, work. WORK
Eat lunch - quickly
Drive home from work
Feed Juno her dinner
Eat dinner
Do my squats
Clean the kitchen
Make my bed
Make breakfast and lunch for tomorrow
Brush my teeth
Wash my face
Go to bed
Watch whatever is on the DVR til I fall asleep

And then of course, there are the things I have to do sometimes, not every day, like running errands and grocery shopping. The point is, everyone has a lot of stuff to do in a day; there's lots of things we have to do.

But at what point do you sacrifice what you have to do, for what you need to do?

Say what?

What I mean is, at what point do you stop and open your eyes to the people in your life who may need something from you? How often do you tell someone you care about that you don't have time for them? How often do you tell someone important that you're busy, that you have too many things you have to get done, that you can't make a moment of time for them right now?

And on the flip side, how often do you drop everything you have to get done in the day, to devote your full attention to someone you care about? How often do you reach out to someone important to you, before they ask, and offer to put aside what you have to do, in order to be with them? When you get to Sunday evening and you're thinking about the week, how many times did you make someone else your priority? How many times did you reach out and make sure that someone important to you, is well aware of how important they really are?

We're all guilty of it; of letting our relationships fall by the wayside because of the daily shit we think we have to get done. But have you ever wondered what it feels like to be the person who is being told that grocery shopping is more important to you than they are? What it might feel like to have someone you really care about tell you that they're too busy to make time for you because they have to shop for work clothes or catch up on Teen Mom?

There will always be a long list of things you have to get done. No one's life is ever just all tied up in a bow, put together completely, without any obligation or requirement. That's not how the world works. There will always be a daily to do list; we'll always have today's list that turns into a longer list for tomorrow if we don't get our shit done. But more importantly, there will always be people in our lives who need us. There will always be a friend who got dumped; there will always be a buddy who needs a ride home when they're too drunk to drive. Someone will need you to care, will need you to make them a priority instead of an option. Are you the type of person who prioritizes what you have to do, or the type of person who prioritizes what you need to do?

Ask yourself what it is that you need to do.

When I asked that of myself, I had a completely different list:
Snuggle Juno in a sunbeam in the morning, and give her chin scratches
Open the blinds and feed the squirrels for Juno
Text Stace and say good morning to Blakey
Facebook my mama
Text good morning to Kattie
Send a funny e-card to Goose
Talk to - and listen to - my team at work, and figure out the best strategy to get us through the day
Listen to people who are speaking to me
Put a "thinking of you" card in the mail
Go home on time
Leave work at work (I am terrible about this one)
Give Juno more snuggles and chin scratches; feed her dinner and feed the squirrels so she can watch
Be available
Be open
Communicate
Say #iloveyou
Text goodnight before I fall asleep

It's not the same list. Not even close to the same list. Because in all actuality, the things you have to do - the projects and deadlines and errands - are really not what matters. They're things that don't need to happen right this second. They can almost always wait. But the need to be someone's priority? That's not an optional feeling. The need to feel like we're first to someone else? That isn't something that can wait. How often are you making people wait to feel cared about? Do you make your friends and family wait around until you have time to love them on your terms? Or are you practicing that selfless, honest, vulnerable love, where what they need far outweighs what else you have to do today?

The truth is, people need us to care about them. Our friends need to be a priority, not an option. Our family needs to feel included in our busy life. People don't want to feel inconvenient, irrelevant, or disposable. When people don't feel cared about, they stop caring back. And yet, when we feel important, we are far more likely to reciprocate - the people who prioritize me are certainly the ones I prioritize! So the next time you are running through the 25 things you have to get done today, and a friend calls you to please meet them for a beer, don't make an excuse. Don't say you have to go to the store or finish your laundry. Don't let them feel like you don't care. Go. Meet them. Care about them.

Love them.

And remember that truthfully, if it's important to you, you'll find a way, but if it's not, you'll find an excuse.

Don't let the people you care about the most, feel like they're optional.

#RideOrDie With FMW

11 Day Photo Blog Challenge

Day 2: A Photo of You and the Person You've Been Closest to the Longest

Yesterday, one of my friends posted on Facebook, "everyone seems to be looking for that 'ride or die' chick." Clearly he was intending his post towards the romantic relationships people are pursuing, but I found it relevant to my challenge post for today. Because while I have a lot of good friends, great friends, and several best friends, I only have one #rideordie chick, who has been by my side from the day I was born. 

I was lucky enough to have been born into a family full of loud, encouraging, supportive L-O-V-E, love. My mom is close with her siblings, and somewhat naturally I then became close with my cousins. I've written before the way I feel so deeply blessed to have these relationships with my cousins, because I know it's not a normal thing we've got going here in this family.

But no matter what we're doing, no matter when we agree or disagree, no matter how crazy life gets, my cousin Stacey has been my very best friend. We joke about the fact that we hated each other in middle school, but really, don't all middle school girls hate all other middle school girls?

Stacey and I were roommates in college for a year, and when we transferred from Western Oregon to Portland State the following year, we took a lot of the same schedule and several classes together; I'd like to think that the only reason either of us actually graduated, was because the other one of us bitched about homework and going to class. More important than making each other go to school though, while we were in college, I was there through her incredibly hard breakup, and she was there when my dad was sick. We got through our college years together, not just the parties and classes, but the shit life starts to throw your way when you start to grow up.

Probably the time of my life that cemented Stacey as my real #rideordie, were the years I was in just the shittiest relationship with the biggest douche bag ever. At this time in our lives, Stacey was living with her now-husband, we were planning their wedding, and I was planning all of the other parties and events that lead up to a wedding - showers, bachelorette parties, dress fittings, etc. My boyfriend at the time, couldn't stand her. And though the feeling was more than mutual on her part, she was very careful to not talk shit about him, and to listen to my sob stories every time I called or came over to sleep on her couch. She knew I was being controlled, manipulated, and mistreated, but she didn't tell me what to do or come down on me; she just always listened. Because of this, I was able to maintain open and honest communication with her over anyone else, and when the moment finally came that I had had enough from this ass hole, she was there for me with nothing but support and encouragement, never anything about how it was about time or what had I been thinking.

Our lives have continued to take us different directions - Stacey is married, owns a home with her husband, and they've started a family. I, on the other hand, am single and renting, baby-free and moving all the time. And yet, despite these differences, I am as close as ever to my best friend. We text regularly, we spend time together, and I still feel like no matter where life takes us, she will always be my closest friend.

I mean. if nothing, else, I have to be nice to her, because she knows all of my dirtiest secrets. As most #rideordie bitches do.

Aren't Vampires Suppose to Catch Fire in the Sun?

I ran into my aunts this weekend at a holiday craft bazaar.

In a normal family, that would be literally, no big deal. In a normal family, I would have walked up and said hi, made some conversation, and maybe even spent some time with them at the event.

In a normal family, I would not have to debate whether I pretend I didn't see them, or to hide, or to walk up and punch them in the face.

In a normal family, running into your aunts at a craft bazaar is in no way a blog-worthy event.

I think it has already been established that my family is not a normal one.

Yesterday, I looked up from a craft table where I was admiring some bracelets, to see my aunts walking my way, my grandma in between them. And since I saw them before they saw me, I had several choices. Since my gut reaction to seeing someone I hate (and who hates me in return) is to duck and cover, I chose to walk the other direction and pretend I had not seen them. I didn't want to see them, or talk to them. or even walk past them pretending to not even recognize them.

For the record, it has been long enough since we've spoken, that not recognizing them could be a plausible argument.

In any case, I chose to hide and pretend I hadn't seen them. But then a few minutes later, I was trapped in a hallway where I was going and they were coming, and there was only one door. Shit! I was going to have to walk past them. Eye contact might even be made! FUCK!

At this point, I had another several options: blow off my grandma and stoop to their level, walking right by as if I didn't know them, or stop and say hi, which was the right thing to do being that my grandma was there too. So, with my heart racing and no desire to do so, I walked right up to the three of them, gave my grandma a hug, and said hello - just to her. I introduced her to my friend and asked her what she was doing up here in Vancouver, and after what seemed like an eternity (time slows down when two insane bitches are staring at you awkwardly not saying hello), told her I would see her soon and walked away.

Running into my aunts was inevitable at some point. In a ten year span is it really possible to not see someone who is genetically related to you, no matter how hard you try? But it was a good reminder of the moments when taking the high road actually becomes much more gratifying than running away and stopping to someone else's level. I could have hid from them, and I certainly could have just completely ignored them. I wanted to. But I also did not want to stoop to their level when it involved my grandma (even though they've spent their share of time discussing all the ways I mistreat her); my grandma did not deserve to be ignored just because she was in shitty company.

I have spent far too many years being hurt, sad, and angry by the way this family has unraveled. Seeing them was really a very good reality check that I have no reason to be hurt, sad, or angry anymore: these two women may as well have been complete strangers. I don't know them. They don't know me. I don't know where they live or what they do in their free time or on holidays. I don't know anything about them. They don't know me. They don't know what tragedies I have faced in the past six years, or the strength I have acquired after each one. They don't know that I am successful and happy, or that I am proud of myself for living the life I do. We don't know each other. And we don't need to.

I will always approach my grandma to say hi if I see her in public, regardless of how awkward other people make it. So go ahead and read this (I know you do), print it out and read it to each other over dinner, and try to find a way of twisting it into how I'm the bad guy. The reality is, you're the bad guys. You have successfully taken my grandma, my family, my support, away from me and have made me redefine all of that. I have spent several years attempting to find connection and to heal, and have only recently been able to let go of my intense feelings of anger, hurt, and honestly, hate.

You did that to me.

It is important to live your life in the company of people who care about you; people who support you and lift you up. For me, this has meant redefining what family means, rethinking what family is, and even reevaluating who belongs to mine. And it's been an uphill battle. It's been a series of stressful family events, a string of missed holidays, and a lot of hurt feelings. Because people in my family have hurt me, I've turned around and hurt other people by not showing up to holidays or by saying hurtful things. It's been a hard cycle, but in the end, I think it was inevitable. And running into these two strangers yesterday - two strangers who are blood related to me, who used to love me, who used to support me and lift me up - was the reminder I needed that I am living my life right.

I might even show up for a holiday next year.

Money Can't Buy Time

At this time five years ago, I lost both of my grandparents, within just a couple of months of each other. It was a hard period of time for my family, and continues to be an emotional time of year for me. I miss them each individually, but I also miss the way they fit into the tight knit dynamic that is ever present in our growing family.

My mom's parents were amazing people. When we were little, they played with us, went sledding with us down their steep driveway in the snow, let us come over, fed us well, and filled our lives with memories that I still think of fondly. As we grew up and they moved to the coast, they allowed us to come visit, spend time, camp out in their yard, and bring armies of friends, boyfriends & girlfriends, and pets with us for weekends away from Portland. There was no shortage of love, quality time, or laughs in their house, and it quickly became my favorite place to spend weekends after I was able to drive and had a car of my own. 

Would you rather: Have more time, or have more money? 

At this time every year, I wish I would have had more time to spend with my grandma and grandpa; this one is simple, really - I would rather have more time. 

Where does money really get you anyway? Is it a necessary evil to survive, to pay bills, to feed & clothe yourself? Of course. But it is the root of any happiness? No, not at all. I mean, I suppose it contributes - without money, life would be pretty bleak, and I would argue that in the past year or so that I have finally had more of a disposable income and more ability to both spend and save, things are less stressful. But money certainly does not buy happiness on any level. 

I am far more concerned about the time I spend with people, than what I am spending to do so. I don't need to go out to dinner or see a concert, or to take lavish vacations in order to enjoy the company of someone in my life. I am often content to lay in silence in my boyfriend's arms after a home-cooked meal (yea, I make food sometimes now, it's a new thing). I enjoy long walks outside with my girlfriends or dinner at home with my mom & dad. There is more to life than things you have to pay for, and often times the ones you don't have to pay for end up being the best ones anyway. 

For the cost of half of a tank of gas in my '91 Toyota Tercel, I was able to spend years of weekends with my grandparents while they were here; I can't imagine not having those memories, those stories to think over when I visit the beach house now that they're gone. It didn't take a lot of money for me to have those weekends, to sit on the couch and watch TV with Grandpa, or to take a walk on the beach with Grandma. But it took time. Time I could have spent with friends or at the movies or at the mall. Time I preferred to spend with my cousins. 

Money doesn't buy anything as important as time. Sometimes that best thing you can do for yourself, is to make time for yourself, and then to make some time for someone else. Because in the end, you won't have any of the stuff you spent your money on, but you'll be able to find peace in knowing that the people in your life knew you valued your time with them.