It's been cloudy, damp, and rainy for almost 2 weeks. Finally Friday afternoon, the sun came out. And with it, the lawn mowers and every form of lawn maintenance equipment you can possibly think of. This year, allergies have been the worst I can recall and that's saying something. Usually, I just get a cough and a bit of post nasal drip (which is what causes the cough). I finally had to break down and take my contact lenses out because nothing would relieve my itchy eyes, leaving me blind as a bat most of this weekend. (I can read a book without my glasses and depending on the website I'm looking at, I don't need them, but I have a nasty habit of putting my glasses down and forgetting where I put them--like now).
I finished up the Girl With the Dragon Tattoo Trilogy (excellent!) and read Jenny Lawson's Let's Pretend This Didn't Happen (A Mostly True Memoir) just for a quick, mindless read. It was far from mindless, but it didn't require much thinking either. It was, however probably one of the most painful books I've ever read. Not painful in the way that it totally sucked, but painful in the way it was so hysterical, I laughed through 3/4 of the book that my ribs, sides, and back actually ached by the time I finished it. I've giggled or laughed at a few books in the past, but I've NEVER actually had to put a book down to get myself under control from laughing so hard or because I found myself either unable to breathe from laughing, or had tears streaming down my face from laughing. It was THAT good. And totally worth the price (A little over $20 in hardcover). I'll review it more fully in a later blog, but I couldn't resist. But seriously, buy. this. book. NOW. :)
But today is Mother's day, so I'm going to put off everything else to the side to get to the real point of this blog. Many people are blessed to be raised by one mother (or grandmother, aunt, or a female in their life when something happens to their mother for any number of reasons), but I realized today that I was quadruply blessed in growing up. I had my mother, her best friend (with whom I've always called my aunt considering they're as close as sisters), my grandmother, and my great-grandmother (Babci, as we all called her. I know it's not spelled right, but that's how she always spelled it for me).
No matter what I did, all four of these amazing women stood behind me and each in their own ways. My mother's support was/is unwavering (as everyone mentioned here is), but she never thought twice to put me back in place the second I stepped out of line. (Which growing up, was pretty often. Being the world's worst liar didn't help me any, either. She hardly ever had to ask, she just knew.) And there will never be a way to properly thank or repay her for that. It's one of many reasons why I'm still living in the basement, why I try not to get pissed and argue with her (emphasis on try, but we're too similar in too many ways, and I'm too similar to my father as well, so sometimes it's just unavoidable, especially when we've been in pain for days, hardly anything is getting done around here, and that whole bitchy side effect of pain medication, so yeah, it can get more than a bit ugly... even the dog runs for cover) Except lately, we seem to do things based on who feels better during the day around here. It's kind of like flipping a coin--or comparing who feels what and how bad to divide and conquer what needs to be done immediately versus what can be put off for a bit. Things like the the toilet, the sink, kitchen counters, dishes... those don't wait. As long as the sanitary basics are covered, we'll do small bits and pieces while we're up moving around (like picking something up off a table and putting it away where it belongs, throwing useless crap away, etc. until one of us is up for a slightly bigger project.) Sadly, it's usually her until I find a diagnosis and a treatment that works. But we're always there for each other, regardless of what's going on.
My aunt was (and still is, even with several hundred miles between us) much the same way. Except she never had a problem calling me out when I was being a dumbass or an asshole (or insert any name here depending on the situation). Not to mention a good old fashioned ass kicking when it was needed (no, she wasn't physically abusive... she just cut straight through the crap and told things as they were, when they were, and gave me a chance to explain what I did wrong, where I went wrong, why, what I learned from it, and what I would/could do, should I be stupid enough to find myself in that situation again). She's also become a very treasured confidante as I've grown older and I find myself in a situation I'm not entirely sure how to handle. She doesn't judge, but rather she listens as an unbiased (mostly) observer who knows me as well as I know myself and helps me either work through things on my own or comes up with several solutions to help me. And gives me advice for future (or present, especially when I'm being an over emotional, panic stricken mess) reference. I pretty much grew up fearing 3 things: God, and it was a tie for 2nd--my mom and my aunt. It was hard to say who could kick my arse faster, or who would find out what dumbass stunt I'd pulled first. She was also by biggest role model growing up. Her career (management/upper management) and lifestyle choice (living by herself and on her own terms instead of settling for a man and settling down for one that seemed "okay" because of the status quo) and her willingness to work as hard as she needed to in such a male dominated field with a very palpable glass ceiling I found (and still do) to be the most awesome thing a woman could do. I still do. You don't just walk into these huge corporations and find jobs that high up without proving yourself as a woman, even if you work 2-3 times harder than your male colleagues, knowing you make less money for more work unless you can prove you have what it takes (or dress like you should be working on a street corner, which was not her style--she'd rather prove herself and wipe the floor with you. It's far more gratifying crushing your ego.) It also solidified my resolve to become a mechanic. (Keep in mind, we're talking the 1980s/early 1990s here and while I run the risk of paraphrasing or plagiarizing here, but if you were born after 1987 or so, you most likely have NO clue wtf I'm talking about, so just skip down to the next paragraph).
My Babci had a very strong influence on my life. It wasn't until years after she passed away from one of the most horrific forms of cancer that I began to realize just how much of an influence she was. She was a very stubborn Polish woman with unwavering convictions and opinions that could not be changed no matter what facts were presented in front of her. I grew up hearing her advice, which was almost endless. She never had much to say about the way that I dressed (I was perfectly content with jeans, a t-shirt, a flannel shirt, sneakers, a hockey or football jersey, or anything that was comfortable to play around in--well, I shouldn't say she never did... I'm sure she did, she just didn't say it to my face. Or if she did, she didn't say it in English). When I was old enough to wear makeup, it had been mentioned on several occasions that "ladies should always look presentable when they leave the house, but too much makeup made them look like (I don't remember the word, but it was in Polish and I'm sure it wasn't a very nice word). The same rule (minus the Polish word) applied to my hair. My hair has always been a constant battle since I HAD hair. It's thick, it's curly, and no matter what I do, it does whatever it feels like unless I feel like spending a fortune on hair products and stylists. So 99% of the time, it's pulled back in an elastic. (At some point in her life, she went to the beauty parlour every week to get her hair done, but it was always cut short and styled, BUT, she had a closet full of the same identical wigs she wore everywhere. Even had one on every door knob when she moved into her apartment in the event of company, so she always looked presentable regardless of what she was wearing. I've honestly considered doing the same quite a few times myself. She definitely had something in that idea) I should also take a few extra minutes to make myself look better because if I look better, I'll start to feel better--even on a bad day. I should pray every day and be a "good girl (Catholic)." And Vaseline is to her what Windex is to that family in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." It can fix, clean, help, and cure just about everything! (And she's not too far off the mark with that one, actually). There are a few things that you need to know about this amazing and influential woman. She became a widow before I was born, but never even looked at another man, nor did she care to. My great grandfather was the only one for her. Period. She was VERY old school. From keeping the house clean to going to the butcher every day to make sure her husband and the family had a hot meal and fresh meat every night for dinner. She was also the perfect hostess to countless political dinners at their house. She knew her place, what she was supposed to do and did it. But when my great grandfather passed away, she became one of the strongest, most self-sufficient women I knew. And you never dared to contradict her. She lived her life on her terms, and no one elses. Even right up until the end. Yes, she conceded on a few things, but it was because she knew there wasn't another option. Also, as I mentioned, she was very old-school. You didn't need a huge house, fancy cars, or the latest of whatever was "in" at the time to prove you had money. Having extra pounds and weight meant health and wealth. It meant that you could afford to feed your family--and feed your family good food--and a LOT of it. And you couldn't say no when she "asked" you to take another helping. Ever. And real ladies don't curse or swear. At least in English. Using another language (in her case, Polish), was acceptable since we were in America. And do whatever you could to avoid playing cards with her--she cheats. Not in a card counting or card marking way. She'd "forget" the rules, or make up rules as she went along. And my personal favourite? She shot straight from the hip. She said what was on her mind, because, quite frankly, who's going to beat up an old lady? My mother and I aren't much better... but who's going to beat up a tiny whisp of a woman, or be stupid enough to start a fight with me? Not that I've considered it, but I know we definitely got THAT genetic trait from her. It wasn't until the past few years that her absence has felt like a giant void and I've found myself realizing just how valuable all of her advice was and have slowly begun to follow it. Especially the promise she made me make her on her death bed. I had a tattoo made on my wrist as a constant reminder of that singular moment.
Then there's my maternal grandmother. Another tiny slip of a woman, except she's not 100% Polish. She's a 100% Irish Catholic, so you can imagine THAT clash when she was introduced to my Babci. But at least she was Catholic, so it wasn't ALL bad then. I plan on going down there with my mom this week because it's been just too long since I've been to the house, but I admit I'm terrified about what I'm going to see since she's been sick lately. She's stubborn (Yes, I know... I'm screwed. 3 out of 4 grandparents and 1 parent stubborn as a mule and I already know once I dig my heels into something, short of tying me to the back of a Mack Truck, I'm not budging [and still maybe not even then]) She worked for years to help make ends meet raising my mother and her siblings, plus kept a spotless house, plus always made sure dinner was served hot and on the table by the time my grandfather was home from work. She was the one who had a problem with my tomboy choices. Girls should wear skirts, dresses, nice shoes, act like little ladies, wear pink, and stay clean. Everything I wasn't. But neither was my mom. You could dress me up like a doll all you wanted, but give me 2-3 minutes and I'd be in the dirt, the mud, be up in a tree, or found climbing on something--pretty much everything opposite of what she vainly tried to get me to be. But she loved me (and still does) anyway. I am who I am and she respects me even more for not changing that (even though pink, purses, shoes, and a few girlie outfits have slowly started to grow on me over the years and I know she's VERY happy about that).
I was raised by four very strong, independent, beautiful women. With all of their differences, they are also very similar. None of them have ever shied away when the tough times hit, but rather their strengths showed through. I can honestly say that I wouldn't be half the woman I am today without even one of them in my life (even if I was too stubborn, young, and stupid enough to think I knew it all as they tried to give me very helpful advice then), and for that, there are no words to describe the love and respect I not only feel for them (and the loss of one), but the loss of words I have as to how grateful I am to have had them in my life--nagging, unsolicited advice, arse kicking, and all.
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