Spare Change

So once again, I am late to the party. The Fox television show House, MD has been off the air for a couple years now. And I had never seen a single episode, even after it was recommended by Diane Rehm on her NPR show. Lesson learned. Always trust a recommendation from Diane. Now that it's on Netflix, I’m hooked. And not just because of dreamy Hugh Laurie and his mad piano skills.

Like any worthwhile form of entertainment, House got me thinking. One of the good doctor’s mantras is that everyone lies. And they do. But, it was another thing he said that keeps rolling around my head.

Do people ever really change?

When I got my MS diagnosis almost a year ago, I had to quit smoking. And I did. Immediately and cold turkey. There is nothing like the threat of a chronic debilitating illness to scare you straight(-ish).

I’m stubborn. Precocious. Tenacious. I have been for my whole life, and that will never change. Quitting smoking was not me changing. It wasn’t strength or willpower. I was just stubborn enough to quit.

How is stopping a bad habit NOT a change? Because it is only a change in routine, not a change of who I am. I will backfill that hole where smoking used to be with some other habit—café mochas, as it turns out—because that need for ritual and pleasure will be there forever. I will never be able to remove that need that was once filled by smoking. Much like one of the two dozen scars in my brain, once it’s there, it is there for the remainder of my days. I can’t change it. I can only choose how I act on it.

I’m working on a project in my house. I’m moving my bedroom to the lower part of my split-level and creating a mini-man cave for the Kidlet in the soon-to-be-vacant master bedroom. I love a good project. Once I get going on one, I become very single-minded. Perhaps a bit obsessive. Maybe a touch excessive. But that has always been the way I do things. And the people who know me best know that about me.

Sister MSW helped me move an enormous and  heavy TV set from the lower level to the upper level. And this was after she had just run 10 miles. Yep, I wasn’t going to let her exhaustion stop me from enlisting her help. Enlisted may be too generous of a word. Drafted may be a better description.

When we had hauled all that weight up the stairs, she said, “You are in your manic stage of your project.”  She knew me well enough to recognize where I was in my head. Because that is how I have always been, and that will never change. I don’t mind the manic-project stage. I get shit done.

I used to think a good therapist could help me change. Help me change why I do what I do. But, the more therapy I have, the more I realize that the point of therapy is figuring out ways to cause myself less self-destruction while dealing with the parts of me that I cannot change.

Do people ever really change? Or do they just try to convince us that they have changed? Or maybe they are just trying to convince themselves.

Can people change? Probably not. Things change, people react. Reacting is not the same thing as changing.

Yeah, yeah. I know. If we can’t change, we will always be the caterpillar and never the butterfly. But I think that is a flawed, short-sighted argument. Becoming a butterfly was always what was going to happen to that caterpillar, unless he got eaten by a bird or squished by the kid that found him in the schoolyard. His caterpillar body may change, but the fact that he would eventually sprout wings never can. So, let’s all stop using the butterfly metaphor.

The science of psychology tells us this: People don’t change, they just become a more clear version of who they really are. People don’t change, only priorities do. If you think someone has changed, the truth is that you are only learning who they really were all along.

When I think about the people I know best, I can’t remember the last time one of them genuinely surprised me with something they did or something they didn’t do. I can predict their actions because people don’t change.  And that is OK too, because there is a certain feeling of security in knowing there won’t be many surprises. I've had enough surprises of late.

Nothing ever really changes.

The Bionic Bank Brood

Forgive the alliteration. I couldn’t resist.

My youngest niece turns one today. One year ago, she was spending the night in the NICU struggling for oxygen. This tiny little thing was so delicate and fragile, under the warming lights to help her raise her body temperature.

Except, she wasn’t delicate or fragile. She was a mini-gladiator, and she was having none of it. She is one of the toughest people I've met. And that makes her right at home in our family.

My family is made up of the most amazingly strong people that I know.

My dad just had double knee replacement. Not twelve hours later, he was up walking. And only a couple of days after that, he told everyone that he was going home because he was done with the hospital.

So he arranged for his physical therapy to happen at his home and left the land of the adjustable bed. My mom is now helping him out at home. Which is actually quite an accomplishment for her, considering she had just broken her shoulder and a couple ribs in a fall. They are a badass couple, those two. They are partners through and through, and have set the bar for relationships incredibly high.

Baby Awesome has a big sister, who is equally epic in her own way. This kid knows who she is and what she wants. She is the type of girl that wants a Barbie for her birthday, because she needs to practice her surgery skills. Her favorite toy from this last holiday season was a tool set from some awesome aunt. ;)

All my girls need a tool set.

She is going to be the type of girl that will never take no for an answer. To get her to do something, all you need to do is tell her she can’t. I am pretty sure she will be the first woman… whatever. This one will smash through barriers. In her fabulous cowboy boots.

The mama of these two amazing girls is Dr. Sister, who spends her day taking care of other people’s children. It really amazes me that she dared to have kids at all. I know she has seen some things that would scare me completely away from reproduction. That’s why I will always cut up grapes for her kids.

Dr. Sister has had to shoulder the role of family caretaker. She is the one who checks our ears for infection, talks to our doctors to get details we have missed, and reminds us that a humidifier is kind of a miracle worker. And all I can do for her is occasionally fix her computer. Well, and provide her girls with tools.

Then there is Sister MSW and her two little rock stars. This sister has taken up running—having never run before—and is training for a marathon. Which blows me away. She is not only owning it, but she is doing it to raise money for Leukemia Lymphoma research. And now she is a runner. Like a boss.

Her daughter is absolutely one of my favorite people on Earth. For reasons like this:

She is waiting for her brother to come out of the bathroom.

She is a true artist. Incredibly talented and such a free spirit. And she takes no shit. She is a lot like me. We color outside the lines. We like bright clothes. We love to get messy from painting. We both wear glasses, and meat is our favorite food.

And then there is this guy. 

My Star Wars buddy. He is probably one of the most kind and compassionate people I have ever encountered. He will do most anything to prevent someone else from getting hurt. And that makes him an incredibly strong person. Not many people would take on some unhappiness in order to save someone else from feeling sad.

Everyone needs a hero. This kid is mine. Every day, Captain Kidlet just amazes me.

Sometimes, I feel like I have no more to give. Sometimes I feel defeated. But my family… They are my strength and support. I am so lucky to be a part of this group of warriors.

What’s In a Name?

Roller Derby is a high impact, full contact sport that requires an amazing level of athleticism, dedication, and training. But that doesn’t mean that Derby Girls don’t have a good time. One of the most fun parts of joining a Roller Derby team is picking out your Derby Name.

Since the Great Derby Revival, circa 2000 AD, derby names have been a part of the game. It is a rite of passage to select your name. Your Derby Name represents your alter ego, the kind of Derby Girl you want to be. It is also unique within the Roller Derby community. When you narrow down your potential names, you have to check each name against the International Rollergirls’ Master Roster. You need to verify that no one else is skating under that name (or one very close to that name). Look at the registry for yourself. It’s pretty damn cool.

http://www.twoevils.org/rollergirls/

As an aside, if you want a fascinating read, the following article discusses a paper written by law student David Fagundes. His paper explores how the social norms of the Derby self-regulate intellectual property—that is, Derby Names—without the need for trademarks, government oversight, or lawsuits.

http://freakonomics.com/2011/04/22/talk-derby-to-me-the-private-regulation-of-roller-derby-names/

Anyway, I think I have landed on a name and a number.  I have not had such a struggle since I had to name my kid 10 years ago.

Here are the thoughts swimming in my head: Am I jumping the gun? Have I earned my name? I think that I have. I think that, although I am nowhere near passing the minimum requirements I need to participate in a scrimmage, I’ve worked my ass off and greatly improved my skating. I am not nearly as good of a skater as my other Fresh Meat peers are. I am still trying to figure out the crossover.

But let me tell you what I can do. I can quickly get up from a two knee fall. I can skate in Derby stance. I can propel myself forward while keeping all 8 wheels on the track (we call those eggshells, by the way).

And I can call myself a Derby Girl. I’m Velma Rinkley, #38.

Sister MSW came up with the name. It could not be a better fit. Not only do I resemble the Scooby Doo smart chick with the glasses, freckles, and red hair, I’m always reading something and occasionally solving a mystery.

Velma Dinkley was never the girl that was worshipped by the guys. They all liked Daphne. Bullies at school used to call me Velma, as if that was the worst thing you could be. Guess what? I’d rather be the nerdy smart chick any day of the week. I’m happy to take back that name.  I know full well that, even at my current skill level, I could take down any one of those junior high assholes with one hip check.

So there you have it. My perfect Derby name. In the immortal works of Ms. Dinkley: Jinkies!

Being Coached

I never had a coach in the traditional sense of the word. I never played competitive sports. I was on the debate team, but I never got any real coaching tips from the adult advisor. I did, however, letter in debate and I’ve got the nerdy letter sweater to prove it. Yeah, I was a total geek.

Who are we kidding? I’m still a total geek.

A couple things have happened in the last couple days that made me truly appreciate having a coach.

The first thing happened this weekend. Fresh Meat Mama Biz announced to the Derby league that our Fresh Meat group has now achieved Rookie status.

I fully intend to do the Fresh Meat training again. I need to be a better skater before I can feel comfortable even calling myself a Rookie. But with the lessons taught by Biz and Fresh Meat Aunties Jane and Nina--combined with the extra practice and encouragement by the rest of the league--I am slowly improving. I know I’ve worked hard, but I couldn’t have gotten anywhere without being coached.

Here is what a nerd I am: I bought a book on how to train for Derby. I literally read up on how to do a T-stop. But reading every Googled description of the T-stop cannot give me the same amount of know-how and skill that five minutes with one of these awesome ladies can provide to me.

I needed to call on my second coach this morning. This one was my parenting coach. My precocious son called me from school complaining that he got hit in the head during PE. He said he had a headache and blurry vision. Two thoughts ran simultaneously through my mind: “Oh great, another concussion” and “He is just trying to get out of school.”

I was very frustrated as I drove him to the Instacare clinic. There was no knot on his head, no bruise, no visible sign of injury. And this kid has a history of suddenly becoming ill when school gets a little boring. He has cried wolf once or twice. But I took him to the clinic, where I paid $50 for him to get an Advil and a printout about concussions. Better safe than sorry. But there goes the money I put aside for his new karate uniform.

I texted my frustration to my Sister MSW, who is my Masters of Social Work sister and my go-to parenting coach. She reminded me that my kid was super smart. We so often think of him as so mature that we are shocked when he acts like a 9-year-old. She coached me through the conversation I need to have with him tonight.

When I think about the people that have most influenced me in my life, I come up with a list of teachers. And really, isn’t that exactly what a coach is? I think of my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Aaron, who knew I was bored with the school assignments and would slip me handouts about Algebra, the rainforest, or the periodic table. High school English teacher Mrs. Harrison was the first person to tell me that I was a good writer and encouraged me to work for the school literary magazine. My favorite college professor Fred Fogo told me to stop taking the easy assignments for the campus newspaper and challenged me to work harder.

And I think of Biz, Jane, and Nina. Their ability to push me to do better while simultaneously allowing me to go at my own pace was exactly what I need. Sister MSW reminds me that kids will be kids.

Thank you to all my coaches. Especially Biz, Jane, and Nina, who are helping making this derby dream come true.