Me--the Good, the Bad & the Ugly

I wrote this for myself-I wasn't sure if I wanted to share it, as it is very real and very raw.  It's also going to make you think I need A) Therapy  B) medication C) sympathy D) your recommendations on how to improve my mental health E) really nice compliments F) your future avoidance, because you think I am nuts.  

I don't want any of these things.  I am constantly working on improving myself and I really think the tools are within me.  I also think most of you can compile a list of you own realizations that would make me want to offer up any of the above mentioned "fixers"to you.   I read this to Chris though, and I cried.  I really, really hate crying.  He said I should share it.  I know I might regret it.  Here it is though, this is me.  

Recently somebody very close to me told me that it's easier for people to like me online because they don't know the real me.  Harsh I know.  And yes, it hurt me to the core and it made me very angry.  Sometimes though, the people who love you most choose brutal honesty to provoke a sense of self searching, and to help you be better.  So, I have to believe that this person loves me and only wants me to be my best me.  Right?

I had to consider if this was really true.  Do I show the real me?  Am I honest?  After a lot of soul searching, the only answer I have to these questions is Yes.  Yes, I do share the real me.  Maybe just not ALL of me.  Definitely not all of me.  

The ALL includes the bad stuff, and honestly, I don't shield you from the bad stuff in an attempt to make myself look better.  The best part of me is the part that wants everyone to be kind to each other, respect each other, laugh, and share joys...it's better and it's a lot bigger than the bad stuff and it wins out on social media.

Before I share the negatives, I want to share some positives.  We live in a time where we choose not to be kind to ourselves, or to share our positive attributes because we have learned that it's boastful and arrogant to do so.   Instead we (I) self deprecate in an attempt to be honest and modest.  Here are some positive things about me without any disclaimers (which is about to kill me by the way).

I am funny, I am kind, I am smart, I am friendly and my insides are pretty.  

My 13 year old is respectful, kind, empathetic, brave, well-mannered, and positive natured--and I have had a hand in that.  

My 8 year old is witty, spirited, charismatic, strong and clever-and I have had a hand in that.

I always seek out the person in the room who looks uncomfortable or out of place and I do my very best to engage them and make them feel welcome and noticed.

I make eye contact with everyone and I smile A LOT.  

I enjoy making friends

I don't believe in social hierarchy,  I will choose to be around you based on who you are and how you make me feel, not on how much you have or how sparkly you live.  

I almost always let someone ahead of me in the grocery line, even if I am running late myself.

I am generous, I would rather treat than be treated, and give than receive.

I do those "pay it forward" things.

I thank people for things that most people don't require thanks for and I say I am sorry, even if it was you that bumped me.

If I need help with something, I will ask 20 questions first to make sure that the person I am about to ask for help from isn't  tired, overwhelmed or more needy of help than I am.  99% of the time, I will never ask for the help.

15 years of marriage is a huge accomplishment and I am almost there!

You can tease me & razz me, I can laugh-and mean it.

I am good natured and good humored.

...and then there is the life defining, character molding stuff--some you've heard, some you haven't. Most of these things I hardly think about anymore, or I don't think about at all, unless I am forced to, but every bit of it defines me...

Since I can use disclaimers now, I want to say that I know that my hardships aren't any harder than any of yours. Some of you have endured struggles or suffered losses far worse than I can even venture to imagine.  I don't want sympathy, I simply want understanding...and the opportunity to help you see the real me.  

I had to choose the day my mom died, nobody should have to do that.  Her death date I know better than my own birthday because I had to choose it.  It's a kind thing to do,  and the right thing to do, but MAN does it suck.  I am fearful of death, I am fearful of illness, and I am fearful of loss.  These things make you feel like you have no control and if you slip, you can lose the ground under your feet. Now I want to always be in complete control.  I used to drink alcohol socially and fairly often but  now because I don't like the feeling of not being in control, I rarely drink very much (meaning high quantities, don't get me wrong, I still drink).  The quickest way to alienate me is to try to pressure me or control me or the environment around me.  I will avoid you and those closest to you and I will do it in the name of self preservation AND I will feel justified.  

I learned a lot of things too late about my parents, I wish I could tell them how much I appreciate them. My dad was blind and could barely walk and my mom was always so busy taking care of everybody but herself, but they were always there for EVERYTHING, no excuses, no obstacles, they were always there.  Their presence is missed, I hope they know that.   I didn't appreciate them enough-maybe at all, but because of them I hold everyone now to a higher standard and I get hurt easily when I feel like other people aren't choosing to treasure what my parents can no longer be here for.   

Pregnancy was one (two) of the hardest things I have ever done.  I miscarried with Tate, I know this doesn't make sense yet, but bare with me here.  I slipped into a deep sadness and I stopped eating & sleeping,  and then I found out that it was more likely that I had miscarried a twin...because I was still pregnant.  I developed HELLP syndrome later in my pregnancy and almost died.  Taylor was nearly full term and was still only 3 pounds.  I am so thankful she's turned into this strong, healthy, beautiful teen or else I know I would blame myself for that brief period in my pregnancy where I didn't take care of her.

My household growing up wasn't very peaceful, who am I kidding?  It wasn't peaceful at all.  That's part of who I am.  Not a part I like.  I yell.  It's not like it was growing up, but it's too much.  We carry the good and the bad into adulthood and then we have to find new tools that we didn't start with to correct the bad.  I think I have the tools now.

When my parents passed, my past dissolved and kind of disappeared.  I felt so alone and I grasped desperately to hold on.  I am not in any way discounting the people who were/are here for me, but sometimes even when you are in a room full of people, it's possible to feel even more alone than when you are really truly alone.  Sometimes the holidays make me feel that way.   The blessings around me are bountiful, I have a warm place to be, I am surrounded by love and happiness...but sometimes I simply feel like an intruder.  Someone on the outside looking in.  I don't really know where that comes from?  Loss?  Bitterness?  I'm not sure, but it can be sad.  I know why holidays can consume people with darkness...what if you don't have that warm place full of people who love you?  

I like to be liked.  I don't like to make people uncomfortable.  I want to show the world the happy, smiley, fun, enthusiastic me.  When I leave the house and venture into the world I WILL put on my best face, but if I can't,  you probably won't see me.  This makes me noncommittal.    Chris plans things and sometimes I try to get out of them.  I don't make my own social plans all that often, and sometimes I will cancel. Not because of you, but because I don't want to expose you to the part of me that I don't want exposed.

I can be really selfish.  I need time to myself.  I can't always be on the go.  I will nurture my own needs and mental health sometimes at your expense.  If I'm not giving you enough attention, it's not you.  It's me ;) 

I can be bad at nurturing my friendships, and if you lose my trust it's hard to get back.  I don't do discomfort well and I don't handle conflict well, I am way better at avoidance.

I've done things in the past that I am ashamed of.  I know I should say that I wouldn't change anything, that it's all made me who I am today...and part of that is true, but also I have a lot of growing yet to do, and altering some past choices might have expedited that process.  I'm extremely shameful for some of the things I have done to hurt others and myself and you better believe that if able to do it over differently, I would. 

It makes me uncomfortable when people tell me that I am a good daughter, and that my parents loved me and would be proud.  I did a lot to make them not proud and it's a compliment that I have a hard time accepting.  I think in the end I was a good daughter.  They left me on good terms.  The truth is though, I made life difficult for them, I hurt them and I didn't have a perfect or even kind of perfect relationship with either of them.  I built a friendship with my mom, a sincere, real, beautiful friendship, but I waited until the end.  I made mistakes and my parents made mistakes along the way...and when I see myself making the same mistakes with my kids, I get overwhelmed with fear that it will also take them a long time to build a friendship with me.   

I have always prided myself on being non-judgmental.  It's not 100% true though.  I will judge you if I think you are selfish (I judge myself for selfish choices too), I will judge you for taking advantage of people, I will judge you for hurting people who's lives and loves you might not understand, I will judge you if you put material things above your relationships...and the #1 thing I will judge you for is if you don't respect the people I love most.  I will judge you and I will judge you harshly.   I would like to get to a point where I don't judge you, but I am not there yet.   That's just honest.  

I can't fake emotion.  So, if I've ever smiled with you, celebrated with you,  laughed with you or cried with you, it's real.  I promise.   That's 100% the real me.  The bad stuff is also 100% the real me.  If you feel like you are overexposed to the bad, I'm sorry...and it's not fair.   Keep loving the good and working with me on the bad...and know that if you see it, it's because I trust you with it.  I trust you to love me, the good the bad and the ugly.  

Karmichael the Elf

"They" say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. A few years ago, our hell came in the form of one magical little elf.   Before we really knew what the Elf on the Shelf was, we enthusiastically invited one into our home.  It sounded like a good idea at first.  A fun way to build up Christmas, keep our kids in check and add more whimsy to our holiday season.   The older child was fascinated, the little one was terrified.  A spying, tattle tell elf with a creepy, set expression randomly showing up wherever it wanted was far from welcome in her world.   Each night we would have to reassure Caimbry that the elf had strict instructions from Santa that it could NOT show up in her room, some mornings we would have to check her room for her before she could even open her eyes, just to make sure her elf hadn't disobeyed Santa.   She's not a rule follower, so why would her elf be?   Christmas morning brought treasures, smiles, giggles AND finally relief,  the elf went back to his own home and Caimbry could relax, sleep through the night and not fear morning.

The following year the elf was nowhere to be found (it sounds convenient, but we REALLY couldn't find it), Caimbry didn't mention it and we all pretended like that one horrifying December had never happened.  However, the next year, elves had moved into households everywhere....creative, friendly, mischievous elves cleverly bringing joy to children throughout the Walla Walla valley.  Where was Caimbry's elf?  Why didn't Caimbry's elf show up LAST year?  Caimbry wanted her elf.  Oh crap.  Where WAS Caimbry's elf?  It wasn't until we were digging deep in the back of the liquor cabinet for some rum to add to my hot buttered cup of goodness that we realized our one traumatic December hadn't only traumatized us but it had also driven our elf to seek solace in the cabinet containing the booze, probably the only clever idea our elf has ever had!  We immediately forced him back on the wagon and made him get to work bringing our children joy.  Almost every night he would fly back to the North Pole, tell Santa that C was naughty (9 times out of 10), and reappear in a new spot.  Easy enough.  Times have changed though, little did we know that our elf was completely dull and dysfunctional.  It just sat there.  Some nights it didn't even waste the trip back to the NP and would still be in the same spot the very next day.  Our elf was broken.  Other elves turned milk green, hung from rafters, defaced photographs, had tea parties with stuffed animals and made unwelcome advances towards Barbies everywhere.  Caimbry would come home from school with fantastical stories about all of the amazing, silly things her friends elves were doing.  It was time for her elf to step it up or fall off the wagon for good.  

It's been a few years now since our elf was given a name,  a few years and plenty of time to forget it.   We're forgetters.  This year, Caimbry decided to name her elf again.  She also tried changing his gender but we told her that should be his idea and we shouldn't confuse him.  His name is Karmichael, Karma would have been his girl name.  It fits.  I mean, its kind of his job to bring Karma-good or bad.  This year Caimbry told him that he could report to Santa that she was going to allow him to show up in her room, that she wasn't scared anymore.  She also tries giving him suggestions of cool things he can do since he "tends to need a little help".   He's trying this year,  he made himself a banana hammock (tee hee) to sleep in the other night and then last night he got into my ribbons and made himself a swing to hang from my house plant.  He's not very naughty...I think he senses I have my hands full with Caimbry and doesn't want me to have to clean up after any of his misadventures.  

There are questions this year though.  Gotta love the questions.  I've had the same ones though.  Why, if the elf comes from the NP, why do they sell them on the shelves at B&N?  (I also have a beef with all of the bins everywhere, even the grocery store, labeled "stocking stuffers"--my kids read and it's not like Santa buys stocking stuffers at Safeway, but I digress).   Luckily, I can just tell Caimbry that I don't remember the first day our elf appeared, that just like her, I blocked it out.  Elves are people, and you shouldn't really buy them, I do my fair share of trying to screw my kids up,  but a black market for elves just seems wrong.   "Silly Caimbry, you can't BUY elves"  seems to do for now...

This elf business is hard work, you walk a thin line between making memories and emotional scarring.  We've managed to do both in just a short time.  I guess it's all part of parenting.  Screw our kids up and then do our very best to fix them.   Caimbry might get a prepaid therapy voucher in her stocking...I just hope Karmichael sticks around to have a drink with me.  

Edited to add---
Shortly after our first seemingly successful season with Karmichael, Caimbry was "organizing" and found not one but two hidden elves.  Our memory is fuzzy and we aren't exactly sure how and when the second elf came to be.  I'm sure somewhere in that couple year bender that Karmichael spent in the liquor cabinet, we must have replaced him with a new, more reliable elf.  It wasn't a good day for Caimbry, it's already kind of creepy having one around at Christmas, it's really very creepy when they stick around and multiply.  She questioned us and we told her not to feed it after midnight or get it wet, what else can you say??  This year she really, really wants to believe...she tells me that dad is the creepy elf and the inept tooth "ferry" with terrible spelling, but she is afraid if she admits it out loud that the magic will end.  I've told her that the magic lasts as long as she entertains it (which, secretly I hope is always, even if it keeps her from dating, ESPECIALLY if it keeps her from dating).  It's bittersweet to admit, this could very well be our last magical year with Karmichael.   I guess it's time to step it up and make it good!   

Don Ho -- The (in?)famous U-Haul

edited to add--
I just added the details that I thought would be damaging to my reputation.  Please don't judge me too harshly.

(This story has been told, retold, and overtold.  Chris and a few of my friends told me it needed to be in my blog.  They think it's a story worthy of documentation, I guess.  Some of my favorite details were left out in an attempt to spare my image, but then again...you've probably already heard them)

Some people are planners, list making, schedule following planners.  I've never been very good at that.  I can't say I am the most spontaneous person, but I am far from organized and lists are easy to misplace.  So, when I set my mind to something,  I just kind of take a leap of faith and hope it works out.  It helps that I am married to a farmer, you can't really plan things when you don't have a steady schedule.  It helps that he is married to me, because I can't really plan things out anyway.  
This is how we ended up in a U-Haul in Kauai.  Chris & I were loosely "planning" a trip to NYC, a long weekend away for our anniversary and then some stuff happened...unplanned icky medical stuff that really put a damper on things, so we put our trip on hold.  The day before our botched trip was originally supposed to take place,  I got good news and all of the sudden our long anniversary weekend didn't look so doomed, so we planned a trip.  I didn't much want to go to NYC anymore, I needed my babies and we all needed to finally RELAX.  So, 7PM Friday night, we booked a one-way flight for 4.  By 11AM Saturday morning (yup, about 16 hours later) we were on the beautiful Island of Kauai.  Packing was pretty easy,  it was winter and the kids had outgrown most of their summer clothes.  The rest, we didn't have time to stress about, so we just kind of threw some stuff in & bought new swim suits and flip flops there (that's all you really need right?).  Flight booked.  Hotel booked.  Bags packed (kind of).  Psyches fresh & ready.  Car rented....nope, that part wasn't coming together but we would figure it out there.  Maybe...
No available cars in Kauai.  One of those things that a list making, schedule following planner would have worked out prior to jumping on a plane....but not us :)  Heck, we didn't even have a return flight home.  It was the taxi driver who planted the U-Haul seed.  She might have been joking, and Chris was quick to dismiss the possibility, but I am an admirer of creativity and I really wanted some freedom to explore the island.  The next morning after exploring as far as our legs and our kiddos tiny feet would take us, Chris jumped in a cab and was delivered to the U-Haul lot to pick out our rental.   It might have been too much to wish for a pick up truck or a small utility van, but we held out hope.  Chris called me to tell me he was in the rental and was headed back.  He said he was going to park on the main road, a mile walk from our hotel, our only choice of Valet parking had him intimidated.  You probably already know I am lazy and I had a toe injury from a hasty airport pedicure, so I headed down to talk to the Valet guys.  I have a way of talking like I am joking I guess, because I am not sure they took me seriously.  You can drive the entire island without having to stop for lodging, nobody moving from one residence to another usually stops at a nice resort for a rest along the way.   It turns out they hadn't ever parked a U-Haul.  They said they could park a pick up, they weren't sure if a moving truck (a full sized moving truck-did I tell you that part?) would fit in the small parking garage...but they were up for the challenge.   Chris was a little embarrassed, it happens, it's not often but it does.  The irony in this is that being married to him has toughened me, embarrassing me is way harder.  If I can walk out of a restaurant with a grown man wearing boxers, socks and sandals, with wetted pants tucked under his arm (another blog perhaps?) than I can stand proudly watching my husband pull up in our oversized rental car, later to be named Don Ho, while my new valet friends discover that I indeed wasn't joking.  For the next few days we were minor celebs.  "Aloha Kontos family, let me get you your U-Haul",  "Welcome back, we trust you enjoyed your outing today"...I don't want to brag, but we were kind of cool ;)  
Beyond the resort, we were islanders, everywhere you go in a U-Haul, people think you are locals.  I mean, if you don't live there, you probably don't need a U-Haul.  Don Ho's cab had 2 bucket seats, one that fit Chris and one that fit both our kiddos and then there was a big hard open space in between.  It wasn't too uncomfortable when Chris didn't need me on my knees (gutters people!  Heads out!)  to help him navigate.   Eventually (Ok, really quickly) I discovered that my old knees weren't what they used to be and justified our next decision with 2 facts, 1) the maximum speed limit was 45 and 2) We were by far the LARGEST rig on the roads by a landslide.  I'm not sure what the statute of limitations on bad parenting is, and I'm reluctant to share this next part as it goes against every moral fiber of my being, but we put our kids on the floor of the Uhaul (yes, I'm ashamed) and Chris drove very, very carefully while we both played a fun game of whack a mole with our curious children every time a cop car passed us by.  When we stopped somewhere we would all just roll right on out.  And then leaving was never without ceremony as the back up alarm loudly alerted everyone around us (and in nearby communities) our departure was imminent.  At one point, we pulled up to a ranch for a horseback tour and for a long time we were unable to locate the guides, they saw us pull in, assumed we were moving in next door and didn't come out of hiding to greet us.  Tourists don't drive U-Hauls.  I'm not really sure if I should be proud that my kids are also past the point of embarrassment or if I should worry that circumstance has rendered them too resilient to shame and they won't ever develop social boundaries, however, I'm choosing to be proud.  They embraced our adventure with minimal eye rolls and "seriously!"'s.  
After a few days, a rental car became available...we had a choice to make.   We still didn't have a return flight booked and our hotel reservations had an expiration date.  We could pretend we didn't have responsibilities back at home, keep Don-Ho in the event that our hotel evicts us for the next scheduled guests and we NEED to move into his spacious posterior,  or we could book a flight, say goodbye to our celeb status and rent a car for the last couple of days.  I was content, I was loving the life of an Islander (with room service, housekeeping and valet parking as an added bonus), Chris even said we could stay and sell surfboards or Taco's out of the back of Don Ho.  The kids were ready for a comfier ride though, and it kind of made sense at the time to get a car that fit on ALL of the roads.  A little bit of magic left us that day.  We were just tourists to the next shift of valet parkers, tourists with no name and no U-Haul.  It was time to book our flights.   
Sometimes I get discouraged with myself, I want to be organized, create and follow lists and spare overwhelming myself.  Sometimes though by having a plan, you miss out on some of the very best things that probably would have never made it on to your list or itinerary.  Planning might get us what we think we want, but sometimes the things we need, the things that inspire us, lift us, bond us and create the best memories are the things we can't possibly plan.   

Caimbry posing with Don Ho

Sightseeing from Don Ho

Chris holding me up by the britches so I could "safely" navigate

"Pasty feet in Paradise with big blue bandaid"
(because tan, perfectly pedicured feet in paradise has been so overdone)