Seder Snowstorm

If you listen carefully this morning, you can hear a collective sigh of women throughout the midwest and east coast pondering pounds of brisket and gallons of chicken soup, wondering who will make it to their seder tables tonight. To think that our past worries were whether there would be an egg shortage due to the Passover/Easter proximity.

Here we were – certainly those of us who work full time – thinking how brilliant it was that the first seder fell on a Monday. We partook in leisurely shopping over the weekend instead of the midnight run to the all night grocers. We cooked in our pajamas and workout clothes and our phones were spared the gooey matzoh ball mixture of conference calls past. We set tables with extra care and woke this morning able to still put in a fairly decent day’s work before the reheating begins.

We plan and G-d laughs. A pending spring snowstorm that doesn’t even have the decency to show up early enough for any of our guests to be able to make a show/no-show judgement call before early afternoon is sort of the big Mother Nature FU.

My phone started buzzing with texts last night: “Weather update?”, “Any cancellations?”, “You changing yours to Tuesday?”

Holiday misery loves company.

Tonight, instead of the Four Questions there will be only one… will anyone be sitting at our seder tables?

In case not, anyone interested in a boatload of Jew food?

 

 

Time to Cry Tuesday – Family

Are they, now?

Would you define a 15 day black out, allergic reaction to antibiotic, a BP fiasco with a trip to the ER, a couple of sinus infections, the loss of a dear friend, a hip replacement, shoulder surgery and a sprained ankle all in the course of 3 months… ‘well’?

How could this not make me laugh out loud in the middle of all these calamities? And of course the english as second language fortune is always a source of entertainment.

But you know, the fortune is not really wrong. With all the tough times we have had over the past few months, there has been so much to remind us that our family, in fact, ‘are’ incredibly well.

After a particularly stressful few weeks our doorbell rang with a delivery of chocolate strawberries from… our kids! With a note telling us that we have always been there for them and they hope that they had been there for us when things got rough. And they certainly had been. In a big way.

Yeh, our family are well.

With two trips to Florida to help my parents through their rough times, I spent more time with my brother than I have in years. And even in the most stressful of times, through all the tough decisions and insane logistics, we kept our humor and enjoyed each other’s company. And I think it is safe to say that even though the circumstances sucked, neither one of us can deny how special it was to have that time together.

Yeh, our family are well.

With all their troubles, and they have had many over the last 10 years, my parents have both come through their latest surgeries with the kind of courage and fortitude that leaves me in awe of how tough they really are. They don’t complain, they work hard to get to where they need to be, and they never stop letting us know how loved and appreciated we are. It is truly an honor to be their daughter, and to be able to help them in their time of need.

Yeh, our family are well indeed.

The Famous Graduation Post 1 – This is Not a Dress Rehearal

I have decided to make this an annual post at graduation time of year. I wrote this before I was a blogger. It was an email I sent to those who had been parenting with me since preschool. It was written on the morning of my daughter’s HS graduation. It still makes me cry. Funny how she is now a COLLEGE grad, one year out and has been living home, soon to move on to her own apartment. THAT will be some post… the final launch.

This is not a dress rehearsal…

or watch the temp when you decide to iron the graduation gown.

6AM on the day that my first child graduates high school.

how can this be, she was just a curly-headed little whirling dervish whose door i had to hold shut as she was throwing her ever famous brand of temper tantrums. that same door with the loose latch from all the times she slammed it for effect when she stormed into her room in her tweens. you know the one, who at five years old marched into nuerosurgery to ‘get her neck fixed’ and never once asked ‘why me?’.

who was that radiant young woman that walked out of the house wednesday morning with her car packed and her keys in hand saying, “don’t worry mom, i have the garmin GPS, i don’t need a map!”

well i think, perhaps, i need a map today. someone tell me how to navigate this road. we surely have had enough practice. we graduate them ad nauseum – from the 4′s, kindergarten, 5th grade, 8th grade – the most graduated generation of all times. you would think we would get used to it. but this year’s cap does not have flourescent orange and green finger paint decorating it. this kid has actually grown up! how dare she. does she not know that my bravado this year has all been an act. of course i could not be ready for her to be the competant, independent, grab-the-world-by-the-balls person i worked so hard to raise. does she not know i was only kidding!! wisconsin?!! that is halfway across the country!

i digress – back to the gown and the iron. being a working mom i always look for ways to overcompensate and make sure that i am doing the mom thing as well as the work thing. so, of course, they both are never really quite up to the standard i expect. somewhere in the 4-page green directions for graduation (you know the one, where the assistant principal gives them a 10 bullet list for how to enjoy graduation and prom, 9 of which stress not drinking or doing drugs) there was mention of taking the gown out of the bag and ironing it. at midnight i was the mom who would just hang it up. at 6AM i decided no daughter of mine will graduate with a wrinkled gown!

so why is it, exactly, that they make these things out of the same material as basketball shimmer shorts?!

no, you will not be able to notice my daughter by the big brown iron mark on the back of her white gown. but if you look close, you may notice that on the front left shoulder the fabric is, how should i put it, a tad ‘melted’.

as jana would say, ‘it’s FINE’. as my parents would say, i did it ‘the Amy way’.

a huge thank you to the jana who has become one of my favorite people on earth to spend time with. surely the one that knows me the best, and loves me anyway. sometimes it seems that she is raising me. i think her humor and radiant smile will get me through this one. levity has always been her strong point.

love and congrats to all of you who have been in the parenting trenches with me the past 18 years. for some of you it is your first, others, your last. it is never easy to watch them go. but then again, we could all use a rest. and as my mommy mentors tell me, they come home, stay out all night, sleep late and bring lots of laundry.

let the games begin!

Time to Cry Tuesday – Z Goes Home

Way back when, Gary started to call me Z. I am not sure how it started, but it was in college and it just sort of stuck. The only people who call me that besides him are my college friends and Mo and Jo. In fact, when certain people call me Amy it sounds weird.

Z. That is just me.

I don’t remember when I found the book in the picture in this post, but I had to own it. Doing some Spring cleaning it popped up again. I just love the illustration. It made me think not of this house I was cleaning, but of what home means. What the essence of Z coming home means to me.

It was so timely to find this book this weekend. Danny came home for Spring Break on Thursday night. As luck would have it (for us, not them I suppose) both of my kids decided to stay home on Saturday night. I cooked dinner and we just hung out as a family. And Sunday was a lazy family day with brunch at the diner and all 4 of us under the same roof. All this was topped off by Chinese food and some favorite TV shows.

Z Comes Home.

To me, home is being with the family we built. Not doing anything monumental, just being us. Back in the day of diapers and teething, then carpools and sports, who would have ever thought that the idea of all 4 of us together would be so rare? Or that the idea of a diner brunch and chinese food on Sunday night would feel so special.

Z Comes Home.

When Z came home she learned to savor every moment; especially the small ones.

Time to Cry Tuesday – Be Here Now

I might have written about this before, but you can never hear it too much. This time of year it is especially hard to stay in the moment. We are rushing from celebration to celebration, work is piling up, everyone is trying to pass things off to the next desk (tag you’re it) and we become generally hassled trying to ‘enjoy the season’.

Ridiculous.

In my real life I wear many hats. (actually, I rarely wear hats, I have a freakishly small head) One of my jobs is blog editor for a brand blog. It is one of the projects I am most proud of. I have 5 fabulous women writing for us each week on varied topics. Yesterday’s blog was written by Kim Ross, who also blogs at A Little Bit of the This and That. Kim is an amazing mom who has been able to strike a balance in her life and I feel honored to work with her. Today she wrote this post about enjoying the holidays. Go ahead and read it, I will wait.

Sweet right?

I had just finished reading her post when I came upstairs and found Jana with Iko on her lap. She said, “don’t you wish she could stay this little longer?” As she said that I could not help but remember feeling the same way about her when she was a baby. Seems like yesterday and 100 years ago at the same time.

I told her this,”Remember this feeling. Look at that puppy and never forget this moment of savoring her puppyhood. Look back on what this feels like with the puppy when you have a baby. Don’t rush its life away longing for all the things you can’t wait for it to do; smile, sit up, hold its bottle, crawl, walk. It all happens so fast and then all of the sudden you have a toddler and your baby is gone.”

The whole idea is to enjoy it all.

From my house to all of yours, I wish you a very happy holiday and the ability to sit back and savor the moments. Every one of them.

 

Time to Cry Tuesday – Ants, Leaks and Static on the Phones

It would seem that I have been having a smackdown with my house of late. And I am losing horribly.

For the past few weeks, along with the help of my exterminator, I have been battling a never-ending war with ants. They are determined to taunt me. Everywhere. In the bottom of the (ancient) dishwasher. In the corners of the bathroom. All over the buffet area in the dining room (thankfully after I served brunch). The last one was of horror movie proportions.

Sunday morning I, like many of my fellow Northeasterners, awoke to a deluge that could not under any circumstances end well. There was the usual water in the sump pump – almost overflowing before we were able to drain it out. Then the requisite spots in the basement that no french drain could hold. But the living room couch?! As my daughter said, “This is a two story house, how could the ceiling on the first floor be leaking?” (some weird gutter physics I do not care to go into).

And then there were the phones. Yes folks, my two lines are crossing and the static is unbearable. The online check from Verizon told me it is not on their lines (yeh, right) and lucky me… they are on strike! They would be happy to schedule me for service…

on September 16th!

But none of this really matters all that much. For Sunday morning, as I jumped between killing ants and chasing leaks, I was preparing to have my whole family at my table for brunch. Brother, sister-in-law, nephews, (and a girlfriend), cousin dog, husband, daughter, son, mother and father.

Honestly, who really cares about a house that taunts you when you can have a day like that?

A friend read me a line from a book the other day and told me she was sure I could have written it. I loved it so much I started to read the book. (Three Stages of Amazement, by Carol Edgarian – if you are interested) This was the line, “It was life, this crazy life, and if you didn’t laugh it broke you. It broke you anyway, but it was better if you laughed. 

Sort of sounds like the original premise of this blog, doesn’t it?

BTW, if you need to reach, me try my cell. And if you are wondering what to buy me for my birthday, a nice big can of Raid and a wetvac would be lovely.

 

 

Happy Birthday to the World’s Best Mom

No, not me! I would never be that self-serving. I am talking about MY mom.

This weekend we celebrated a very special birthday with my mother. Through some miracle and lots of corralling of 3 generations of cats, we were able to get the entire family together. Even Danny made it – fresh off the camp bus.

A huge thank you and hugs forever to the Chef love of my life, Don, for making this meal over the top amazing. Big plug for Valentino’s on the Green (might I highly recommend EVERYTHING on the menu)

As my mom put it so eloquently in her little speech after dins, having everyone all together in one place made turning this rather strange number worth it.

Here’s to my mom, the bravest woman I know. Wishing you the best birthday ever. May you always feel the love that surrounded you tonight, and know that we are all blessed to have you in our lives.

Now, if all you readers would be so kind as to come out of the woodwork, please wish mom a happy birthday.

Mommy might not cook, but maybe she’s the Smart One

At a recent trip to Target we stood behind a family who seems to have found the solution to cooking family meals… don’t!

This mom and grandma, with toddler in tow, had stocked up on what looked like a months worth of Smart Ones meals. What you see on the bottom of that cart only represents half of what she was buying.

Anyone out there a big fan of Smart Ones? Do you think this is a good way to feed the fam? Or perhaps she cooks real food for them but is just trying to keep her points down and fit into that bathing suit this summer.

Damn, I hope her micro doesn’t go on the fritz!

Time to Cry Tuesday – Fig Newtons and a Cup of Tea

We called her Nana Julie but I don’t recall why; her name was Julia. My other grandmother was Nana Car… because she was the one that drove.

Obviously.

I will take no responsibility for the naming as I am sure my brother was responsible for these. He was brilliant.

This time of year I think of them both often. Perhaps because we are in the middle of the first Hannukah without kids home and the holiday seems so quiet. Or maybe it is because a blustery winter day like today reminded me of Nana Julie’s kitchen, with it’s Dentyne in the cabinet – both red and green, no one liked the green – and this cookie jar on the counter. The counter tops had this great 1950s boomerang formica and there was always a Pyrex glass coffee pot on the stove to boil water.

When she died I took very few things from her house, but this cookie jar was one of them. It was always filled with Fig Newtons, and they were ALWAYS just a little stale. It was not until I was grown that I knew that Fig Newtons were supposed to be soft. I still sort of miss the stale ones.

We kids loved that kitchen. My grandparents lived close by, and near the beach, so we spent many of our childhood weekends at their house. I cannot even imagine how many cases of Fig Newtons and Dentyne we must have polished off through the years. And now that I think of it I am not sure if she ever had any other cookies or candy in the house. I AM sure we did not care one bit.

As a young adult I was fortunate to still have the Nana’s in my life. They were close; they called each other ‘sister’. I feel so very fortunate to have had them for so long.

Nana Julie’s solution to any problem was to make a cup of tea and then sit down and talk about it.

This afternoon it was chilly, I was losing my motivation and I had this undying craving for Fig Newtons and a cup of tea. There was something so very comforting about that snack. As if she were right there in the room with me.

I suppose she was. Perhaps they both were.

Time to Cry Tuesday – If these walls could talk

Home. It’s more than just a house. Sometimes it is not even the ‘right’ house. Certainly not the dream house. But definitely home. With its drafty windows, ancient kitchen and not enough space… I still take comfort within these walls.

This is the place where the kids came home from the hospital and now come home from college. Where I walked the floors with them as teething, croupy, bronchitis babies and walked the floors again alone waiting to hear that garage door open when they started to drive.

And now this house – that has been so quiet these past months – is starting to come back alive with laundry and the smell of bacon. One kid home, first with a stomach virus and then a with her boyfriend. (21-year-olds get better quickly). And the other kid will be home before Tuesday comes to a close.

Not only have my children been gone, but their friends have been missed almost as much. I cannot wait for the door to open to those man-boys who love yodels and hug me till I almost fall over. Who initial the fruit and leave notes in the cup cakes and whose humor keeps me laughing all night long. I long for a foyer full of big sneakers and the shouting of video games in the basement. I can’t wait to have a late night kitchen full of  young women who want to bake and hear all the plans of the lives they will soon enter when they graduate. I am thrilled to line this house with air mattresses and make breakfast for the masses.

There is now life in rooms that since the summer laid silent. And if these walls could talk they would tell the tales of a family that has grown up here. The years seem to echo in these walls, and as I walk through them things catch my eye that make me smile. For instance, the photo above brings me back 20 years. That would be a drip of Baby Tylenol on the wall in my daughter’s room. We have painted it twice since then, but it would appear that Tylenol trumps Benjamin Moore and it keeps bleeding through. It is a reminder of the strong will she had as a baby that serves her so well as a young woman.

If these walls could talk they would tell you that maybe this family never got to upgrade their house, but they have certainly built themselves a warm, solid place filled with love that they can always call home.

To my beautiful kids: don’t believe what they say…. You can ALWAYS go home again.

Happy Thanksgiving all. May you and your families feel at home no matter where you may be. And may your turkey not be pink when you carve it.