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Wake Me Up . . . When September Ends

Sep 032012

Recently I was complaining to Craig about my confusion as to why my family can never seem to be places we’re supposed to be or do stuff we’re supposed to do. This confusion and panic always sets in at the beginning of the school year, when the four million papers times THREE start flooding in the house via the childrens’ terrifying backpacks. I spend all day worrying that right now, at this very moment, I am missing something important. And I usually am.

As always, I have very good intentions. But we all know that the road to the principal’s office is paved with those. I place all the reminders and announcements and event flyers in nice neat piles, telling myself that after the kids go to bed I will READ them carefully and WRITE things down, but then, you know: the couch happens to me.

Anyway, in response to my “life is too hard” monologue to Craig, he took my hand and walked me into the kitchen. He stopped in front of our family calendar. He stared at it, so I did too. I asked him what the hell we were doing there.

Then with much fear and trembling, he shared his idea that if we wrote things on the calendar, we might look at the written down things, and then we might be reminded to do things. Obviously, my response was to wonder aloud if perhaps he had never been taught to write, or if maybe he was unable to locate any writing instruments himself. But I got the point.

Still, I didn’t write anything down because it’s not a good idea to admit that your husband is right STRAIGHTAWAY. Who knows what would happen? He might become drunk with power and start making MORE suggestions. So I waited two weeks. And then last night I did it. I took down my calendar and I wrote things on it. I tried to make it look more like my friends’ calendars. Here’s how it looked when I was done. I proudly showed Craig.

Here is what Craig HAD THE NERVE TO TELL ME.

“Those are good reminders, honey. That’s awesome. That’ll definitely help. But it’s September now.”

Whaaaaat? When did that happen? So much wasted work. THAT’s why calendars annoy me. Starting over every MONTH?? But I fixed it. Here’s my September calendar.

I think things should go more smoothly for us Meltons this month.

In addition to my detailed, completely organized calendar, I bought THIS yesterday. It is a sink thingee holder.

It holds my scrubber thingee, which we use to scrub both dirty dishes and the kids’ fruit, which is so gross I can’t think about it too hard. I really don’t want to talk about it, please don’t mention it. Instead- LOOK! A sink thingee holder!!! To me- this sink thingee holder says to the world- THIS WOMAN HAS SO MANY BIG THINGS HANDLED BEAUTIFULLY, THAT SHE HAS LEFTOVER TIME TO ORGANIZE HER SINK THINGEES. BRAVA, WOMAN WHO LIVES HERE, BRAVA.

Am Some Sort of Domestic Goddess.

Happy Labor Day, Lovies. Laboring is so hard.

Let us take a day OFF.

Love, G

¡Ay, Caramba!

Sep 012012

It’s way too early but I’m up because I’m so excited to write about the FACEBOOK FLUB HEARD ‘ROUND THE WORLD.

In my little heart I’ve been flirting (obsessing) with the idea of getting another dog. I feel like Theo needs a lobster of his own species. (Can you imagine how confusing that sentence is for non-Monkeees? We need a Momastery glossary! Yes! Creating that today.) Theo is part of the reason we need another dog, but here is the real reason.

Oh my God – I love having a dog. I love my dog.

I work really hard on love. I study it and dissect it and try to understand all its complexity and beauty and pain. Love, however it’s done, is serious business. It’s hard work and can be completely confounding because people are involved. And people are beautiful and mysterious and broken and unpredictable and demanding. But Theo is simple. And so loving him is simple.

I have so much love to give, but sometimes it’s hard to love my husband, because he’s a person and has needs and expectations. And often it’s hard to love on my kids because they, especially right now, are kind of rough. The girls are fighting constantly, nasty to each other, really, and Chase is starting to duck my affection. All is unfolding as it does and should, I know, but it’s sure as heck not a snuggle-fest over here these days.

But Theo. I can always love him. He is there waiting to receive my love and accept it and appreciate it. He doesn’t want anything complicated from me. I do not need to figure him out. I don’t have to be great or funny or particularly patient or even smile. Someone who loves you even if you won’t smile is a keeper. At night in bed, I curl up on my side and he makes his body into a perfect circle in the crook of my leg, right behind my knee. So there’s just this little bit of pressure on the back of my legs that is his presence. That pressure in the night and my morning coffee are two of my most sacred daily joys.

I’ve been traveling a lot to do speaking engagements (so terrifying and brutiful), and when the book comes out I’ll be traveling A LOT more. I’ll be MEETING and hugging you. I can’t stand it. Can we talk about that? How are we going to do book signings? I mean, we KNOW I can’t just sit behind a table and make small talk and sign my name and say NEXT. Should we have no table? Should we not sign and just hug and laugh and cry? I know I’m going to have something for YOU to sign because I want to hang all of your names, handwritten by you, on my wall. Gotta figure all that out.

Anyway, so far my Sister has come with me to everything. Lugging her precious cargo, Bobby. But I know that she’s not ALWAYS going to be able to come. And I want a Melton to bring with me. But none of the current Meltons, because, well, just NO. It needs to be a Melton dog. Because when I go do these nerve wracking things, no matter how hard I try not to, I’m always worried about being good enough and wondering if people like me enough. So I need the simple love of a dog to return to each evening. I think I’m going to need that grounding during the tornado I’m about to get picked up into- like Dorothy into Oz. LIKE DOROTHY!! SHE HAD TOTO!! SEEEEE!!!! I just thought of that. So it’s not ridiculous!! Anyway, the folks who live with me won’t let me take Theo, not in a million years. So I want my own little monkee. One who will travel this scary sacred upcoming road with me. One who will greet me with the same love whether I knock a speech out of the park or blow it big. If I have to go out into the big, brutiful world, I’m taking a dog.

I found the Naples Humane Society yesterday. I convinced Craig that we should just “go look.” Right. But to be fair, sometimes we do just go love on the shelter doggies without planning to bring one home. It’s one of my favorite things to do with the kids – fun for them and good for the dogs to get some loving. So we went and looked and played with several gorgeous mutts. But there was one, one lovie I kept coming back to because she was so little, and so terrified. She wasn’t barking, she was crying, whimpering, with her tail between her legs, looking up at us with huge brown eyes. Amma cried because she was crying. So I asked the kind shelter volunteers if we could play with her. We took her in a room and she didn’t play. She didn’t know how. She was terrified. She kept running to the door, trying to get away from us. But then when she’d realize there was no escape, she’d run back to me, look directly into my eyes and sit still for a moment. Just a moment. And in the height of her fear, in that moment, she’d let the kids circle around close and touch her and she didn’t snap at them. She let them touch her. I think she’s a gentle soul.

We left. Amma bawled, like she does every time we leave a shelter. Craig said absolutely not, to bringing home little monkee. The shelter folks said she’d just arrived several hours prior from Puerto Rico and they knew nothing about her. Craig thought she was too much of a wild card. I’m not so sure.

I kinda dig Puerto Rican Wild Cards.

When I got home I posted her picture on facebook with this update:

“This is the one I want. She just came from Puerto Rico TODAY. She was so scared, she was shaking. Can you imagine? I mean she doesn’t even speak ENGLISH. Poor baby. I’m working on Craig.”

And then. All hell broke loose.

Immediately, my inboxes become FLOODED. Flooded with – I started realizing with mounting horror – emails from adoptive mamas who could NOT BELIEVE I’d posted a picture of a terrified orphan girl and used such insensitive language to describe her. One email said – you talked about her like she was a dog!

And then I looked at the picture again. And I read my post again. And all of a sudden I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry because I realized they thought I was TALKING ABOUT AMMA. THEY THOUGHT AMMA WAS THE TERRIFIED NON ENGLISH SPEAKING PUERTO RICAN ORPHAN (LOOK AT HER DRESS!) AND THAT I WAS TRYING TO ADOPT HER!

They were rightfully SHOCKED, the adoption community. After all we’d been through together!!! They thought I understood how one talks about and how one DOES NOT talk about adoption!! Like the t-shirt says, irony is not just the opposite of wrinkly. For the record, I don’t think they were being overly sensitive. I am not one who is in a position to call anyone overly sensitive. Pot/kettle/black.

I think it might have been the “She doesn’t even speak English” part that threw people. It was sort of a joke about the immigrant doggy, but not totally a joke. I think it must be terrifying, to be a pup and be transported to such a different place, smelling such different smells and hearing such different languages. I mean, Theo speaks English. Whatever. You know what I mean, right?

You guys. What unfolded next on facebook was nothing short of completely hysterical. Just go read the aftermath – some of the hundreds of posts from confused/mad/peeing in their pants monkees trying to make sense of the beautiful mess I’d made. Samples:

Katherine Ray – I can’t decide if it’s funnier that you got pounded for “insensitivity” or that people think that Puerto Rican orphans get shipped to Florida for the local population to visit at will.
AND
Holly Forseth – What’s funny to me is that I’m sitting here refreshing every second just so I can follow this conversation. I just can’t quit! I have to know. Does Amma get to stay? Will the little Puerto Rican pup be living in high-condo style? Do I have to wait a whole week for the next episode?

For a couple hours last night, it was like being at a high school sleepover in our jammies with everyone laughing so hard they couldn’t speak and everybody holding hands to steady each other. It was phenomenal. And I kept thinking about how cool it is that when we let ourselves get heavy, to feel the weight of it all, God quickly follows behind us and, at least for a long glorious moment, blows the heaviness right off our backs.

This is the Day, Always

Aug 312012

Monkees, I’m okay.

I know things are a little heavy around here. I think sometimes we gotta let it get heavy before we can lighten up. We have to look things in the eye before they’ll back down. Grief and sadness are like that.

I know that there are lots of you who relate to the way I wrote yesterday, and lots who don’t. And that’s okay. I hope I don’t scare you too much when I get like that. That voice. It’s a little scary in its desperation and drama, I know. Maggie’s letter about losing her Sister, well, it did me in for a good twenty-four hours. It took me back and up and inside out and upside down and I cried hours worth of holy, cleansing, thank you-jesus tears. Release. I cried for Maggie and her big Sister Emily (Maggie has a lobster left on this side!) and for myself and for my Sister and my parents and for Katie and for me. When I hear those stories, I can’t help but feel: we lost another one of us. It takes me down. But I’m coming up for air now. I know many of you really want me to lighten up. Thanks for not saying it. Thank you for letting me be me. My whole life I’ve felt like maybe I’m just TOO MUCH. All my feeling and thoughts and sadness and ecstasy. Thank you for helping me let go of that. I can be my too much self and still be loved. Craig taught me that first, and you’ve confirmed it.

Listen. Maggie’s coming to visit me in Naples. We are going to spend two days together, sitting in beach chairs, looking at the ocean, talking about Aunt KK or not, healing together. Maggie will be my first visitor in Naples. Strange, right? Strange and so, so perfect and awesome. Maggie and I both feel like Katie MUST have a hand in this.

Yesterday while we were planning, Maggie said, “I can’t believe you’re having me visit. How do you know I’m not crazy?”

And I said, “Well for God’s sake, I hope you’re a little crazy or this visit is going to be a total BUST.”

I love Maggie already. And I’m so grateful that she still has a lobster on this side. I plan to become her crawfish.

I’m here to tell you. The Love Revolution is REAL. Life is short, as Aunt KK’s family’s learned the brutally hard way. It’s time to take some chances with each other and LOVE BIG and OPEN WIDE and expect miracles.

I invited Maggie to write about her Katie, and she did. Monkees- meet Maggie and Aunt KK.

Dear Glennon,

Hello friend. I know in your post you told me to write to you about Katie, my sister, my lobster, and you would share it with your readers. Honestly, at first I thought-no way! There is no way I could share these thoughts, these words the way that you do daily, but I have been so touched not only by your post but by all of the comments that continue to pour in from readers. I am amazed at the stories people have shared about their own struggles with addiction, or losing a loved one, or not having a lobster to lean on, and I have been uplifted by their stories. I could not let all of those words linger without a response to you. So here is our story, for only you, or for everyone- either way, I will have shared it and I can only pray that it helps you, or helps someone else. Like I have said before, I don’t open up to many, if anyone, but you have bared your soul to me and to so many, and I feel that there has to be healing in sharing my thoughts, my feelings, our story.

Over the last 3 months, for the first time, in my ENTIRE life, I have walked this earth and lived this life without my Sister, my lobster, Katie in it. As the youngest of 3 girls, I have never been without a friend in this world. But our trio is down one, and we are finding it so difficult to march on without her. She was our spirit. She was loud and funny and commanded all of the energy in the room. She taught me how to laugh and how to make other people laugh. She was, without a doubt, the funniest person I know. I can still hear her laughter now- I pray that I won’t forget that sound. She was a shining light- until she wasn’t.

You spoke of feeling things more intensely, and that is exactly it. When she loved, it was all encompassing. She loved her friends immensly, and I thought they were the absolute coolest. I was every bit the annoying little sister that followed her around and hung on every word she said. I bawled when she went away to college. When she was gone, it felt like a piece of me was gone too. But she wrote me letters and my parents took us to visit her, and I wanted to be just like her. Beautiful, funny, smart- the person that everyone wanted to be around. As a teenager, she was obsessed with U2. I remember when she found out Bono got married, she locked herself in her room for days. She was so in love with him that she put a poster of him on the ceiling above her bed so that he was the first and last thing she saw EVERY day! (puke). But it was her love and it was intense. And she loved her family. Our parents, her sisters, her brother-in laws, and my boys- her nephews. We talk about Aunt KK everyday. And my everyday prayer is that they will have some memory of her, some place in their heart that knows her spirit and how much she loved them.

My words will not do her justice, just like now they cannot. But much the way Katie loved fiercely, she hurt with an intensity that I thought I would never understand. Until now. Now I think I have an idea- isn’t that a shame? Now I get it but she is already gone. I couldn’t understand why she couldn’t get over the struggles she faced. So our parent’s got a divorce, so she lost her job, so she got a divorce- bad things happen to good people all of the time right?? But she felt it all to her deepest core, just like she loved us all in the deepest parts of her heart. She could not escape that pain. She could not get it out of her head or out of her heart. Why was that HER struggle? Why did she have to live that way? I will never be able to reconcile why she was given that lot in life and not me.

As much as she loved, she couldn’t comprehend how much she was loved and cherished by so many. And so . . . a prescription for pain medication turned into that escape she needed, and that escape turned into an addiction, and we lost her. It happened slowly and in all honesty, we had no idea how bad things had become. And then on May 6th, after struggling with an addiction to prescription pain medication, at 37 years old, my beautiful big sister Katie died from what we believe was a drug overdose. We have done unbearable things in the past few months. We picked out her burial site. We wrote her obituary. We buried her. At 37. We said good bye. And cruelly, we now have to try and move on without her.

I have no doubt in my mind that she is happy and safe and at peace in heaven. I know that I will see her beautiful smile again. I know all of this in my head, but my heart is broken. I feel broken. Selfishly I want her here with me, even though when she was here I was so frustrated with her. I am so blessed with a wonderful family. My parents, my other Lobster Emily, my amazing husband and two sweet little boys. I am so lucky to have this life but I wonder if I will be able to pull myself out of this deep sadness. I don’t even recognize myself. There is physical pain in my chest, on my heart, that I have never experienced before and wonder if it will ever go away. Was this what life felt like for her?? I cannot bear that thought. And now I miss her so much it hurts. How can I be so sad that she did not have this life I have but feel so mad that I have to keep living it, without her, and with this grief? I want to tell her how sorry I am. I want to be there for her in a way that I never was. I want to go to her house and scream and stomp my feet and lock the door and make her better. I want to talk to her just ONE more time.

Even after three months, each day Emily and I say to each other, “I can’t believe this is real, I can’t believe she is gone”. I am repeating your words in my head, Live your life. Lay hers down. Live your life. Lay hers down. MY life has always had her in it. But this is our new normal. I am so grateful for the insight you have given to me and so many. I feel like I know Katie even better now. She spoke to us through you and now I understand. So I will say to you what I wish I could say to her one more time.I am here for you. Always. And I love you so much.

Thank you, again, for listening. You have given me an opportunity to release my thoughts and my pain and I am forever grateful.

Maggie