Mentally Ill? Not to Big Gen.

It's bedtime. Bedtime here means fleece nightgowns and blueberry hair and angelic children warm under covers. Haahahahahahahahahaha. What I meant to say was, those $25.00 nightgowns? Barely covering my SEVEN year old who is sprawled on the floor kicking her legs in a less than adorable fashion. She could use a good dose of pride right about now. I'd give her some, but my back is to her because I'm trying to pretend that none of this is happening. I won't even say what the other kids are doing. To sum it up, they are being loud. Driving me to mental illness.

Speaking of mental illness, I had an old friend over today. He was diagnosed schizophrenic a while ago, but I knew him before all this, and personally never saw that part of him. I still don't. I think he's cool as hell.  Anyway, my sister had stopped by. My sister...for all it's worth, here goes: She has been described, quite accurately, as "the one you never forget, who always forgets you." She wears sunglasses at the Thanksgiving dinner table.  They implemented the "3 feet of personal space" at one of her rehabilitation centers. Because of her. She eats with her hands, yet addresses the fact that she eats with her hands. So it's fine. (?) She is determined to make you feel loved as hell and special as hell and beautiful as hell.  And  strong  as hell.(Her compliments tend to lose their oomph when you hear her saying it to the person next to you.) If you are with her for more than 20 minutes, she will make a trip to the store. And come back with a suspiciously clear Gatorade. Coping mechanism, my arse. This chick just likes to party. ( I think. Although she has been known to curl up in a fetal position in her closet for three days. As I write this, I am growing concerned.)

I'm pretty sure this is what Big Gen
thinks is going on when she
gives hugs. Everone's in their own
damn battle.

Anyway, my friend had disappeared for a while today. I walked on the porch and saw my sister leaned into him, talking in her famously soothing voice, bottle of Gatorade at her feet. Needless to say I turned silently around and went inside. I returned when I heard her dramatic weeping getting louder. "You're too f-ing precious for all this, sweetie!.... I have been to so many doctors, all they want is us sedated.... I can see in your eyes that you're not schizophrenic..." and so on. Quite awkward for me to walk into. Do I leave? Do I join the conversation? He turned around, saw me, and laughed a shaky laugh, to which my sister pulled him into a warm embrace.

I walked my friend home a while later. They had exchanged numbers. Everyone loves my sister. Seriously. She's not scared to touch a nerve with you. And she's there for the fall if the nerve's too much. (Sometimes she insists there's a nerve there even when there's not, but- small potatoes.) He laughingly described her as "a bit overflattering". How very astute. But she means it. To her, you really do have the "strength of a woman and the soul of a child". Even if everyone does, you do too. Isn't that what counts?