Hollywood and Vine

It all started on the ferris wheel at Elitch Gardens in Denver, Colorado. My first mistake was going to the amusement park without David, oh fearless one who will ride whatever ride child wants to go on. My second mistake was merely hoping that Ellie, otherwise known as "legs", would be too short to ride most of the roller coasters without actually checking to see whether or not this was true.

As we are going up in the ferris wheel (over 100 feet tall), I am smiling for my son who has declared himself "afraid of heights". Same son, oldest son, has not - until recently - enjoyed the thrill of the roller coaster and this has led me to the promise that I will go on all rides that he chooses not to go on and that thrill-seeker son wants to go on.

Note that daughter would happily go on any of the whirling, twirling, dropping roller coasters with thrill-seeking brother. However, same brother chooses not to engage in a relationship with said sister. So, it's on me.

We go up; the panic settles in. I have visions of my the large, metal cage plummeting to the ground. I do not let go of the bars, inappropriately feeling safer if I have something to hold on to. 

It can happen, I think. Everything eventually crumbles. Nothing lasts forever. Bridges collapse. Foundations crack. The things we once thought were unimaginable have seeped into reality. It can happen, and I can be the one. I know this because I have seen the impossible turn possible and if it can happen to "them", it can happen to me.

Too many friends whose children are battling or have battled cancer. Too many young parents who die before they see their children into adulthood or even to preschool graduation. Too many times, the impossible becomes reality when "that can never happen to me" taps you on the back when you least expect it and the horror left for TV shows or movies enters our lives.

So, I imagine what I will do when the slowly and slightly rocking cage comes loose and my children and I tumble toward the Earth. I  finish the story with a miraculous survival and the world settling into "all is good" again. 

When the man opens the cage to let us out, I let him know that I am too old to ride the ferris wheel and that I'm in big trouble since this is the first ride of the day. 

I spent the rest of the day twirling and whirling and spinning upside down. Ellie was able to go on most of the rides, and Ilan braved the coasters with newfound enthusiasm. When neither of them could or would ride on the ride, I put on my grin and got in line with Aaron.

We shook, we spun, we hung upside down. I was dizzy, nauseated, and kept thinking "This is the last ride I can go on. I can't possibly do one more." I lured them away from spinning rides with the temptation of a slushy, and my day was over.

I survived the Hollywood and Vine, a ride that spins faster and faster like no other octopus ride I had been on before. I want the t-shirt!

I don't push delete

I knew it was coming. I was watching for it for days. Anticipated what it would feel like this year. Pushed it out of my mind until the day actually arrived.

And the day came - and almost passed. Until a phone call reminded me that it was May 28th. I'm surprised I didn't already know, that I wasn't on top of it. After all, the day is shared with my niece's birthday. We called her that morning to wish her a happy birthday.

It was a busy day - one of those days where it is one thing to the next - and there isn't time to breathe. But that's no excuse. I'm not sure it's a good thing I didn't think and dwell all day or if I'm more sorry that I didn't have a carved out piece of time to sit and think and dwell.  I need some of that.

But children were tugging on my last bits of patience and, suddenly, it was late afternoon.

I was excited to see a voice mail message from a friend. I listened and my heart fell. That was the day.  The day that Cindy left us.

This is how it happened four years ago. The same friend finally reached me late in the afternoon.  I remember screaming - crying - needing to get through the phone and be with people who knew what a loss to the world this was.

And people feel like that every day. Afterwards, they walk down the street shocked that people are just going about their day as though the world was the same as it always was. It's not. And it never will be.

I called Peter (Cindy's husband), and I see your cell phone number above his.  I used to call your number accidentally when I was calling Peter after you died.  And he'd say in his thick Slovakian accent, "Lisa, do you know this is Cindy's phone?"  This time, I called Peter's phone, and your voice is still on his message.  It's still bubbly and happy and full of life.  It still rings with the pure joy that you were. 

It makes me happy for about a millisecond.
And then I think of your beautiful daughters, your husband, your family and your friends.
How lucky we were to know even if it was such a short time.
Truly blessed to know you and to call you mom, wife, daughter, sister, friend....

I don't delete you - 
not from my cell phone,
not from my memory

life with children is a pinball machine

What would the life of a mom look like with self-regulating children? Not the self-direction that involves helping oneself to a handful of pretzels five minutes after you've announced that dinner will be served in fifteen minutes.

The autonomy I am talking about involves hanging up wet towels after a shower or
understanding that "ten more minutes" means ten more minutes and then the computers are turned off.

I'm talking about children who grasp the morning routine some time before their 18th birthday or
who understand that taking a shower involves soap and who do not get upset when they have to shower again after "forgetting" to use soap. 

The independence that I pine for involves a child who knows how to use the napkins in his lunchbox (can anyone else's children use the same - paper - napkin for the entire school year?) or
who doesn't tell me that the show is almost over when it's 6:35 and, clearly, the show has only been on for five minutes.


Is it my memory or the fact that I have four children that inhibits my ability to keep order in my house?  Usually, when people say "I don't know how you do it - I can hardly manage with two, or one", my reaction is - we all have the same struggles. We're all busy moms.  I just have more pinballs in my pinball machine.  

Lately, I am beginning to question that theory.  Can I really fall back on: "Yeah. I have four and my life is harder."?  Is that why I cannot get my children to make sure their wet towels are off the carpet, the toilets are flushed, all cabinets are closed, and all drawers pushed shut?

Is the fact that I have four children the reason why I cannot ensure that all my children have brushed their teeth or had breakfast before we leave the house in the morning?

Is this why I need to rely on charts and checking off completed items and an award system?  And is the fact that those charts never work for very long a sign of my impending failure to establish order.... again?

Does anyone else "forget" what their children are "supposed to do" before they leave the house or go to sleep at night and, therefore, think they are on schedule until the children are gone or asleep and   all of the things that didn't get done are realized?  The little things that drive you batty are the things that don't get done - like picking up your pair of socks from the family room floor, putting your homework in your backpack instead of leaving it on the table.  The things that reflect the values you are trying to instill in your children - responsibility, contribution, a clean house!  The things that they could easily do and yet they don't... and life would be SO much easier and smoother if they did.... right?

Did I forget to pick up my second grader at his classroom because I have four children?  Does the doctor's office think I'm nuts because I always hesitate before announcing the year of my child's birth - or do they understand that this is typical behavior of a mom with four children? (Is that why they always then ask me if I am the mom?)  

By the way, did I mention that my son just made me dinner so I could write this down?

In An Instant

I thought my life was going to change. I had the slightest glimmer of what it was going to look like, and I was prepared for it.  I remember – and I have been witness to – what it was like for my brother, my SIL, and my nephew – even my niece. That glimpse penetrated deeper as I thought my reality was going to be similar.

I understood on a level I have not understood before and, yet – more than ever – I know that I am not able to comprehend.  We all know – or at least we all say – that you cannot understand the life of another without first standing in their shoes.  Even the most empathetic of us cannot possibly know what another’s experience is.

I have always known this – that even when my heart burns with pain and anguish upon hearing the struggles of others – that I haven’t the slightest idea of what it feels like.  Though I am burdened by depression when I hear sirens because all I can think about is that someone’s life has just changed – though my heart weighs heavy – I know that, really, I’m only at the edge.

Today, I am enlightened to how eagerly I should be counting my blessings, how joyously I should sing and how loudly I should express my gratitude.

This morning, I woke up thinking “We couldn’t possibly both be diagnosed with diabetes today.  That just can’t happen, can it?  Well, of course it can.  We could be the ones that this happens to.”

I was waiting for my yearly A1C blood test results. Since the birth of Ellie, when I had gestational diabetes, I have had my blood sugars tested.  A few years ago, I crossed over the line that separates “normal” from pre-diabetic.  Last year, my sugars had reached a level where – if I increased by the same amount this year – I would be defined as diabetic.

I took the test on Friday.  My results were to be delivered on Monday.

Over the weekend, I was called to pick up Aaron from a friend’s house.  His throat was hurting and I was told he had guzzled a lot of water since he had been there.  Those words vibrated in my heart.  I had been paying attention to Aaron’s water intake over the past few days.  He was drinking water NON-STOP.

I knew this to be one of the signs of diabetes and could pinpoint several other known symptoms.  Was it coincidental or was something going on?

This morning (Monday), I filled his 24-oz water bottle four times before we even arrived at the doctor at 9:00am.  That does not count the two times I filled it during the night.

Yesterday (Sunday), we visited urgent care to get Aaron’s throat checked out. I asked them to check his blood sugars, and we discovered that they were elevated.  After a urine test showed sugar in his urine, we left the urgent care with orders for an A1C blood test.  He did not have strep.

I was prepared for my life to change - anticipating what might unfold in the coming weeks.

Aaron is fine.  He does not have diabetes.  My A1C came back lower than it was last year. 

My heart remains heavy.  I know Melissa (and Matthew and Billy) would have stepped in and given me all the answers, support, and advice that I needed.  I know how grateful I am to have been knowledgeable about what Aaron’s symptoms could mean and to pay attention to early signs.  I know how darn lucky I am that his symptoms were, in actuality, coincidental symptoms.

I have not stepped into her shoes (Melissa’s feet are much smaller than mine) and – thankfully – I’ll remain naïve about living a diabetic life or helping a diabetic child to live his.

But I’m also moved – and not simply because it’s my brother, not because it’s my sister in law, not because it’s my nephew  (and, believe me – those are powerful reasons!!) – because I know a little bit more…. just a little bit.

This year, JDRF has a special fundraiser to honor the mothers who care for children with type 1diabetes.  100% of the funds collected will go directly to research.  My brother and my nephew wrote letters honoring my SIL, Melissa.  

https://jdrf-illinois.ejoinme.org/?tabid=454303&joinme=25381

When my nephew became Bar Mitzvah, I talked with him about the gift I wanted to give him.  I wanted to donate to JDRF in his honor, but I also wanted to give him some of the money for his bank account.  I solicited his input on how to distribute the money.  Matthew told me to give it to JDRF – that they needed it more than he did.  Then he said, “No, actually, I need JDRF to have it.”

Someday, we will have a cure for diabetes.  I want to be a part of that.

In moments of my greatest strength, I am able to see my most lamentable weaknesses.

When those things you despise most about yourself stare you in the eye, the best you can do is embrace them - wrap your arms around them.  Take them in tenderly with hope for learning, growth, and - perhaps - change.

A contradictory proposition to - both - treat tenderly and want to be rid of a part of yourSelf.  

They must often change, who would be constant in happiness or wisdom.  ~Confucius

Change does not occur in an instant.  Unless you've won the lottery.  Or been diagnosed with diabetes.  Or lost your job.  

Most of those changes - the instantaneous ones - are not the ones we'd welcome to our lives.


"They always say time changes things but you actually have to change them yourself." 

-Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol

Change doesn't occur in a vacuum.  You can "do it" by yourself, but you still have to consider those around you and you still have to participate in life.

Sharing it
and
saying it
are half the battle

The load becomes lighter when you share it with others - even if it's only with words.

Habits are time consuming.  Time consuming to change.  But possible.  Very possible.

It is our free will that allows us to choose to be something different than we are.  We have the freedom to recreate and redefine ourselves. 


The birds are molting.  If only man could molt also - his mind once a year its errors, his heart once a year its useless passions. 

- James Allen

A,B,C's

Ilan becomes Bar Mitzvah at the end of March, 2014. We recently read the Torah portion he will be reading. It's called Tazria (not a double portion next year due to the leap year), and it is a difficult parsha - both in leining (reading) and in the complexity of its content.

Many commentaries focus on Lashon Hora - or evil speech - rather than the spiritual impurity that sends an individual apart from his or her community. A spiritual impurity that was often - and incorrectly - referred to as leprosy. Tzaraat, as this infliction is known, is a physical ill-showing due to the sin of speech.

Whatever my son chooses to speak about one year from now, I have decided that we will spend a good deal of time within the next year reading commentaries on this parsha and learning about speech and communication.

Tonight, we read one short commentary to kick our learning off. It is a commentary that shares lessons for parents to teach their children each week, and this lesson - of course - was lashon hora. We talked about how it is easier to be mean to people in your family than it is to be mean to your neighbor. We talked about how painful and damaging words can be.  And we decided that if we started to learn and to talk about speech, that it would help us to have fewer moments of negative speech in our home.

At that point, Aaron noticed a book that I had brought in with me.  It is Martin Seligman's The Optimistic Child. Both boys became excited by this (which surprised me) and wanted to know more. I said this was a book that I thought was related to Ilan's Torah portion and to good speech because if we were optimistic people - felt good about ourselves and had good tools for dealing with conflict and other bad things - then we would also be more prone to use good speech instead of bad speech, lashon hora, or evil tongue.

So, we delved into the book and learned about the ABC's.  A is adversity, the problem that triggers a belief.  B is the belief - the self talk - that occurs due to the problem or situation. C is the consequence of those beliefs - the way you feel because of how you talk to yourself about the problem.

We went through several situations (I kept saying 'last one' and they kept saying 'nooooo. can't we do more?').  For example, when your best friend doesn't pick you first to be on his team - you always pick him to be on your team. What is it that you say to yourself when this happens?  Do you say "My friend doesn't like me anymore"?  Do you think, "I'm such a loser - even my best friend is not picking me."?  Do you say, "That's ok that he didn't pick me first. It might be fun to be on different teams for once." or "I know my best friend was talking about making the new kid feel welcome. I'm glad he remembered to pick him to be on his team." The "C" - the feelings - will be different depending on the talk you give yourself.

Situation after situation, we learned that by altering the way we speak to ourselves, we also change the way we feel. 

My boys didn't want to stop, and they are eager to do more. My hope is that by the time we get close to Ilan's bar mitzvah next year, he will have a good idea of what he wants to speak about.  My greater hope is that everyone in our family will learn to communicate more kindly, bringing us even closer and making us even stronger.... and optimistic.

Cashews and Dates

Cashews and dates, when soaked, can be transformed into tasteful and magical delicacies.

Mine provided me with a sense of purpose when I saw that I had way too many in my refrigerator drawer.  I soaked them - for almost too long - and then realized I better do something with them.

So, I looked for recipes requiring soaked cashews and I made cashew hummus and curried cashew cream cheese.  I liked the cream cheese so much that I used up the rest of my soaking cashews and made more cream cheese.

I made several of my favorite soaked date recipes - peanut butter cups, chocolate frosting (I thought my children might like but it didn't turn out to be frosting, so I froze it in balls and made cookies - vegan, gluten free and sugar free), and raw 'chocolate chip cookie dough'.

Purpose. In this case, something to take me away from the things-to-do that are bogging me down, sucking my energy, and keeping me way too busy.

I contemplate purpose frequently. I think about my life purpose, and I think even more intensely about the purpose of life.

Especially when there is pain, tragedy, and deep deep sorrow.

"Look for the helpers", Mr Roger told us.  Put more good in the world so we can wipe away the bad.  Peace not war.  Keep moving forward.  When you fall, get back up.

These are all wise and helpful sentiments. And we should. And we do. But those who are directly touched by tragedy, loss, and devastation - it's not so easy for them.  There is much to do before they can begin to put good back into the world.  Grief and healing are permanent, and the world is an eternally changed space.

Devastation and tragedy are not overcome with purpose. Tragedy thwarts purpose.  Finding comfort within purpose is inconceivable.

And, yet, we must "put one foot in front of the other" and find a way to bring good back into our lives and into the world. We must find new ways to live from a place we never thought we'd have to consider. We have to find a way to be in a world that is forever changed.

And while those of us not directly impacted by the loss, or the tragedy, or the utter devastation begin to move forward and do good and help where we can - we are not forgetting you.  We are continuing to remember you - each and every day.  And we pray for your strength and your healing as you continue to wage the battle before you.

May we all continue to take what we have - even if it's just cashews and dates - and transform it into something good.