When The Chip On Your Shoulder Turns Out To Be A Splinter

" There may be as many as 200 fragments of shrapnel in you, but it is as nothing compared to the bone spur of the great DiMaggio. "

Luke and I were born on the same day, four years apart. I can only imagine his disappointment when, on his 4th birthday, he not only contracted chicken pox, but a pill of a sister as well. Nonetheless, when he wasn't giving me character-building lessons and black eyes, he was really rather patient with me. To this day, I consider him one of my closest friends even when months pass between conversations. Man, the trouble we used to get into was epic. Twins separated at birth and along the space-time continuum.



Today is Luke's birthday. I'm not entirely positive of the time difference, but I believe he is currently visiting the Isle of Skye in Scotland. I wish I knew how I could reach him to wish him a Happy Birthday. 



Leading up to this day, I was in the foulest of foul moods. I found myself jealous of the life my brother leads and absolutely dreading another obligatory celebration of aging. This graduated well beyond my usual pity tea parties and had swelled into a regular ticker-tape parade of angst.



I was fussing with yet another can of Aquanet in the bathroom this morning when there was a miniature knock at the door. I opened it to find my two darling little puffy-eyed and bed-head-sporting angels. What would normally be dripping with sarcasm is completely void of it in this moment. My boys. Wearing hilarious matching PJs and both clutching their respective blue fuzzy blankies. In the distance, Papa was evidently still fast asleep so it dawned on me that it was without prompting or motive that I was wished the most innocent "Happy Birthday"'s in unison. The redhead scored extra points gushing about how I looked just as pretty now that I am 24 as I did yesterday at 23. ***This is the same kiddo who thinks I'm the coolest thing since sliced bread when dyeing my hair - after all, the blue tint of bleach is the same hue as his favorite aforementioned blankie :)*** The glacier which had formed inside broke apart. My heart melted.



I don't really believe I had some traumatically awful childhood. Rather, I sensed that my arrival as the third and final child of the litter was the beginning of the end of my parents marriage. The oldest brother (I often fantasize that every time I utter his name, a Yuppie dies) was born in New Zealand at the crest of their love. He was always intelligent, confident, mechanically-inclined and social. Practically perfect in every way. No doubt he always busted his ass, but every step of the way, he was blessed with the instant gratification of praise & reward.



Four years passed, the heavens parted and a ray of sunlight beamed Luke down upon this planet. Although I understand he was one hell of a challenge to raise and had his share of problems - to this day, he brings seemingly endless happiness to all who encounter him. Where the eldest was intelligent, Luke was downright brilliant. One of those geniuses you read about who lack social abilities as there couldn't be a less important bother. He is also highly sensitive. It was that last sentence that paved the path to come.

Every year, as the frolic-filled days of Summer were upon us, another joint birthday would be at hand. Two toe-headed little cherubs would anxiously stalk the oven where a brownie "cake" would predictably be baking prior to final touches of M&M's for flair and specific groupings of candles positioned at the opposite ends.



As we both aged, the celebrations became more grown up as well. Each year, Luke was asked what he'd like to do, my mom would take the day off work, and we'd venture out on one nature adventure or another. Looking back, I really miss & cherish those times, but I'm afraid I was a bit of a pity-soaked brat at the time. I always longed for those girly parties other girls had. I loved notions of balloons and My Little Pony cupcakes...running through sprinklers with friends and wearing cardboard tiaras before giggling through the night at trite shit while piled about on the floor in pink sleeping bags eating microwave popcorn.



It was all too convenient to imagine I was the forgotten child. My poor mom did everything she could to make the day special for both of us. As she was really rather worried about Luke's fragility and assumed I was pretty happy-go-lucky as long as I was hopped up on rootbeer, I don't think she ever realized the ugliness I kept bottled inside. By choice, my brother didn't have a lot of friends growing up and the few he let his walls down for burned him beyond belief. All efforts to shelter me from the pain he endured only fueled my desire to seek out my own misery. I probably don't want to so much as fathom the karmic hell that would have been unleashed on me if I had a daughter of my own!



After kissing my sweet l'il guys on the head this morning, I stood up and stared at my reflection in the mirror. "Grow the fuck up, you pathetic lout", she mouthed at me.

 I grinned.... I am loved.

Always have been. I was simply too goddamned selfish to realize it. I can name a minimum of 33 wonderful ways this love has been expressed towards me over the years. This has little to do with gifts and material things. It doesn't have to be quantified by the number of times different people utter those lyrics to some random trademarked song. It's not about cake or balloons... no, not even My Little Pony. Last week my boys had a "Trike-A-Thon" to benefit St. Jude's Research Hospital. Christ, I am unbelievably blessed to be simply celebrating another year. Sometimes one requires a swift kick in the ass to stop taking life for granted. In celebration of such, my next step is to design a bedazzled target and promptly fasten it to my backside.



To all of you who make my life extraordinarily special every single day of the year, I thank you, I love you, and I apologize. And I wish an enthusiastic HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my dear brother! XOXO

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Kitty

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

When The Chip On Your Shoulder Turns Out To Be A Splinter

" There may be as many as 200 fragments of shrapnel in you, but it is as nothing compared to the bone spur of the great DiMaggio. "

Luke and I were born on the same day, four years apart. I can only imagine his disappointment when, on his 4th birthday, he not only contracted chicken pox, but a pill of a sister as well. Nonetheless, when he wasn't giving me character-building lessons and black eyes, he was really rather patient with me. To this day, I consider him one of my closest friends even when months pass between conversations. Man, the trouble we used to get into was epic. Twins separated at birth and along the space-time continuum.



Today is Luke's birthday. I'm not entirely positive of the time difference, but I believe he is currently visiting the Isle of Skye in Scotland. I wish I knew how I could reach him to wish him a Happy Birthday. 



Leading up to this day, I was in the foulest of foul moods. I found myself jealous of the life my brother leads and absolutely dreading another obligatory celebration of aging. This graduated well beyond my usual pity tea parties and had swelled into a regular ticker-tape parade of angst.



I was fussing with yet another can of Aquanet in the bathroom this morning when there was a miniature knock at the door. I opened it to find my two darling little puffy-eyed and bed-head-sporting angels. What would normally be dripping with sarcasm is completely void of it in this moment. My boys. Wearing hilarious matching PJs and both clutching their respective blue fuzzy blankies. In the distance, Papa was evidently still fast asleep so it dawned on me that it was without prompting or motive that I was wished the most innocent "Happy Birthday"'s in unison. The redhead scored extra points gushing about how I looked just as pretty now that I am 24 as I did yesterday at 23. ***This is the same kiddo who thinks I'm the coolest thing since sliced bread when dyeing my hair - after all, the blue tint of bleach is the same hue as his favorite aforementioned blankie :)*** The glacier which had formed inside broke apart. My heart melted.



I don't really believe I had some traumatically awful childhood. Rather, I sensed that my arrival as the third and final child of the litter was the beginning of the end of my parents marriage. The oldest brother (I often fantasize that every time I utter his name, a Yuppie dies) was born in New Zealand at the crest of their love. He was always intelligent, confident, mechanically-inclined and social. Practically perfect in every way. No doubt he always busted his ass, but every step of the way, he was blessed with the instant gratification of praise & reward.



Four years passed, the heavens parted and a ray of sunlight beamed Luke down upon this planet. Although I understand he was one hell of a challenge to raise and had his share of problems - to this day, he brings seemingly endless happiness to all who encounter him. Where the eldest was intelligent, Luke was downright brilliant. One of those geniuses you read about who lack social abilities as there couldn't be a less important bother. He is also highly sensitive. It was that last sentence that paved the path to come.

Every year, as the frolic-filled days of Summer were upon us, another joint birthday would be at hand. Two toe-headed little cherubs would anxiously stalk the oven where a brownie "cake" would predictably be baking prior to final touches of M&M's for flair and specific groupings of candles positioned at the opposite ends.



As we both aged, the celebrations became more grown up as well. Each year, Luke was asked what he'd like to do, my mom would take the day off work, and we'd venture out on one nature adventure or another. Looking back, I really miss & cherish those times, but I'm afraid I was a bit of a pity-soaked brat at the time. I always longed for those girly parties other girls had. I loved notions of balloons and My Little Pony cupcakes...running through sprinklers with friends and wearing cardboard tiaras before giggling through the night at trite shit while piled about on the floor in pink sleeping bags eating microwave popcorn.



It was all too convenient to imagine I was the forgotten child. My poor mom did everything she could to make the day special for both of us. As she was really rather worried about Luke's fragility and assumed I was pretty happy-go-lucky as long as I was hopped up on rootbeer, I don't think she ever realized the ugliness I kept bottled inside. By choice, my brother didn't have a lot of friends growing up and the few he let his walls down for burned him beyond belief. All efforts to shelter me from the pain he endured only fueled my desire to seek out my own misery. I probably don't want to so much as fathom the karmic hell that would have been unleashed on me if I had a daughter of my own!



After kissing my sweet l'il guys on the head this morning, I stood up and stared at my reflection in the mirror. "Grow the fuck up, you pathetic lout", she mouthed at me.

 I grinned.... I am loved.

Always have been. I was simply too goddamned selfish to realize it. I can name a minimum of 33 wonderful ways this love has been expressed towards me over the years. This has little to do with gifts and material things. It doesn't have to be quantified by the number of times different people utter those lyrics to some random trademarked song. It's not about cake or balloons... no, not even My Little Pony. Last week my boys had a "Trike-A-Thon" to benefit St. Jude's Research Hospital. Christ, I am unbelievably blessed to be simply celebrating another year. Sometimes one requires a swift kick in the ass to stop taking life for granted. In celebration of such, my next step is to design a bedazzled target and promptly fasten it to my backside.



To all of you who make my life extraordinarily special every single day of the year, I thank you, I love you, and I apologize. And I wish an enthusiastic HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my dear brother! XOXO

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