On The Edge

“And God said come to the edge." "I can't. I’m afraid." "Come to the edge." "I can't. I’ll fall" "Come to the edge." I went to the edge and God pushed me…….and I flew.”

― Guillaume Apollinaire

Life can change. Tomorrow. A day filled with instants. And, in one of those instants, life can change.

I'm going to the edge tomorrow and I know I may be a different person by the end of the day then I am now. I've been to the edge before. Had my toes on the line. But I've never gone over. Always been afforded the blessing of turning around. Of thanking G-d that my world would remain the same as it had been.

I'm pretty sure thats how it will be tomorrow - because that's how it always is - but that's what everyone thinks - before they go over.  I sure don't feel any wings sprouting.  And, even if I remain on my side of the edge, I think of all those who are being pushed over.  The world changes every day and most of us don't know it. Most of us never have to spread our wings. Most of us don't have to soar after being pushed down.

Fear taunts us and plays with us and wastes our time. I can sit and dwell or I can go eat cookies.... with my Grommet cookie spoon.

I need one of these.

Lazy Mama

Even in a mother's laziness, there is no rest.  As the holiday of Sukkot fast approaches, I find myself contemplating my most favorite theme of this harvest holiday.  Going back to basics. Sukkot, to me, is almost an extension of Shabbat - Shabbat one step deeper.  Not only do we turn off all that keeps us attached to the physical world (our cell phones, computers, ovens, cars, etc.) - but we leave our homes and enter the simplicity of living in a booth. It doesn't matter how extravagant our decorations nor how sparkly our lights, we all sit in the sukkah with three walls and a ceiling of skach that allows us to view the stars when we look up.

Sukkot beckons us to focus on the things in life that hold the utmost importance. It is our faith and our tradition that propel us to shake the lulav and the etrog - an action that holds no meaning whatsoever outside of this holiday. We spend time with friends and family, sharing meals and engaged in discussions about the gifts our ancestors left us with and how we can continue to make the world a better place for those who will come after us.

We return to basics. We overflow with gratitude for the roof over our heads, for the food we have to eat, for the family and community that surround us.  We don't have to spend our days running errands, cleaning up after children (ok - maybe we do ), making phone calls, arranging for house repairs....

We slow down. We pay attention. We realize how many extras we have.

I feel like I have been in a sukkah for the past month (though I've been without the mosquitos that seem to be inhabiting our sukkah this year). I have been inside - my house and my mind - and I have not ventured out too often. I have done only what I have had to do and have avoided being in my car, having long conversations, standing for too long, sitting much at all, and all the little extras that typically inhabit a mom's life.

I have "chosen" to be a lazy mom for the past month. And, still, I find that my days are jam packed. The hours still disappear before I am ready for them to go. I don't know how I do it - when I'm doing it all.

I am looking forward to shutting down the email and ignoring the Facebook because - you see - in my 'laziness', I have acquired a habit of looking and checking every time I am icing my leg and my back. It's better than a dose of motrin and helps to take my mind off the pain that has consumed me. And, perhaps, what keeps me so busy in my laziness.

The world continues to spin.
The years repeat themselves.
The holidays always bring something new to our attention.
When we live with open eyes, we see the cycles, the paradoxes, the constant movement.
When we sit still, it all becomes present before us.


And, now, I must go guide my children as they hang the last of the sukkah decorations.

An Accounting of My Life

It's that time of year. But, for me, it's that time of life. Time to take an accounting, time to look inside. Time to release. Time to move forward. Time to recreate and redefine. Time to reclaim my Self.

I have a lot going on. My 'a lot going on is not more or less than your a lot going on' (that's the nature of life today) but my lot has accumulated and knocked me down.

Back pain. Sciatic nerve pain. Immobilizing and demoralizing pain. For many days, in the past four weeks, I have done absolutely nothing. Other days, I have done only what I absolutely had to do.

Pain is a roadblock to life, and my admiration for friends living with chronic pain is more immense than ever before. Most of the time, I can think of little else than the pain coursing through my leg and back. I stopped seeking relief because there is none. Pain impacts my ability to fulfill my responsibilities, my desire for conversation, and my hope.

There is just no space for those things right now.

My body yells for me to pay attention to life, and - in the distance - I hear the sound of the shofar calling. It is that time of year again.

Time to look at yourself fully and deeply, to look at those things we - consciously or subconsciously - tucked away. Fears that haunt us. Anger that lingers. Stress that simmers.

This is a stressful world and, more than ever, we need to be mindful about managing stress. We have had some difficult years. Things that rip you open, make you vulnerable and raw, and make you rethink things.

The question "Who am I?" is stressful when you've been a stay at home mom for twelve years. Even when your passion has been helping mothers recreate and redefine themselves throughout motherhood. Even when you've been so on top of it yourself. You realize, you've forgotten to pay attention to some of the pieces.

"Who can I be?"is a looming question with endless possibilities but no answer.

"I'm not good enough." screams loudly when you are trapped on your back. Your children get to watch a bit more TV; they eat cereal for dinner; you're not really sure what they are working on in school. You forget to put the tooth fairy money under the pillow for four days.

Self-doubt motivates us to propel forward. Negative self-talk can be converted to positive change.

Back Pain, I know you are here to protect me from having to move forward in life. You are the roadblock to fear because I can't think of anything else when you are here.

I am going to get up now ... and walk across the room without pain, without cinching.... I am going to resume living.

My Husband, My Hero

(long - but that's life)

My children are great! When mom's down for the count, they step up to the plate... and over to the computer. And they can take care of themselves all day.... while playing with their friends on Minecraft. 

In between building structures and warring against bad guys, they tell me "Mom, you better go to the doctor.", "Mom, are you ok?", "Do you need anything?"  I really am proud. I see self-sufficiency, compassion, and even that question moms love to hear:  "what can I do for you, mom?"

They've not seen mom in so much pain, there are tears in her eyes. (None of them were at any of my childbirths, and Aaron - the only one who came into the world drug free - doesn't remember a thing). 

We moms jest that when we fall sick or wake up with a bad back, it is our body's way of telling us to slow down - that we need a rest. 

Why would this rest need to take place the day before school starts? I had the whole summer to rest, and my body decides that Meet Your Teacher is the perfect day to stop working.

And, when I say stop working, I really mean stop working. Sciatic pain that feels like a metal bear trap - you know the ones with all those sharp teeth? - is clenching my leg. And, unlike other bouts of sciatica, there is no release from the trap. There is no position that brings relief from the pain. It won't stop.

I told David it is worse than when I gave birth to Aaron. He says there is a magic potion given to mothers after childbirth so that they do not remember how painful it was. I tell him I remember, and this is worse. Aaron's birth lasted six minutes from the time we arrived on the labor and delivery floor in the hospital. Sciatica is lasting much longer, making it unbearable. 

And, there's no take home prize.

In the mist of pain, I took Ilan to middle school orientation where we hopped from class to class, mimicking the rhythm of his schedule. I can't believe the passion and creativity and dedication to students that these teachers have. The highlights? The Civil War re-enactment. The 12-foot catapult that shoots pumpkins into the air. And the pre-engineering class where they are told to let the girls enter the classroom first and select a seat on the couches first.

The next day, we go to visit our teachers at our beloved Sandpiper Elementary. I am amazed but not shocked that the new teachers fit in perfectly to the specially unique distinction that our Sandpiper teachers have. It's as though they've always been here.

I'm one of the PTO representatives, and we are there early to welcome our new kindergarten students - several of whom were at my house the week prior for a kindergarten playdate. We also stay late to welcome the new families who have older children, and I don't know how I made it. But, I did. Because it's Sandpiper.

And, then David arrived home - late Wednesday night - so he could see his children off on their first day of school.

We managed day one together. He went off to middle school with Ilan and then came back to help the rest get off to school. He loaded my car with the Boo Hoo Breakfast goodies (that I picked up from Einstein's at 5:30am) and helped me set up.

Thankfully (?), even Ellie shooed us away from waiting with her  until the bell rang. Independent. (Embarrassed already?) Whatever - I'm going to celebrate it.

It allowed me to go to the Boo Hoo Breakfast and get ready for our new and kindergarten parents to join us. What a great event (!) for new families!  By the end, I was done and gratefully accepted help to put everything away.  That was it for me - the rest of the day I was in bed.

Second day of school - I woke early to get ready before I had to wake my children. I walked to the shower and crumbled in pain. In walks my hero who put me back in bed and took over for the morning - filling lunch boxes, serving breakfast, dealing with clothing crises, and prodding children into the shower.

Ilan leaves for the bus, and I get up to check things out. There sits the bagel David made for Ilan's lunch. David is now on a work phone call for the next hour, so I grab Isaac and head to middle school (my apologies to Ilan who never saw me, but his friends did - and I was not the picture of motherhood you want your middle school friends to see).  Isaac kept asking me why I was squeezing his hand so hard.

Lunch delivered, home we went.  David delivered the other children to school and then took me to "get fixed".  I spent the rest of the day in bed, sleeping for most of it.  Thank you, my hero.  I could not have made it through this day without you.... What's that I smell?  Oh, yeah.  He's also making Shabbat dinner and the cholent for tomorrow.

Lemonade Jello & Club Penguin

Thoughts of my grandma's lemonade jello just began simmering on my tongue.  My love affair with her lemonade jello began long  before I knew what was in jello and before I started keeping kosher.  This was not your ordinary lemonade jello.  It was creamy and lemony, of course.  The consistency was not anything like jello and you could slurp it into your mouth as though you were drinking a thick milkshake from a straw and let it melt, spreading itself across your entire tongue, sinking into each and every taste bud.

When my grandmother passed away, I wanted her dining room table.  Did I need it? No. Did I have room for it?  No.  But, I wanted it. Because the memories - no matter how distant and undetailed they are in my mind - are of sentimental, happy, family moments.  And, I don't want to let that go or fade away.

Sometimes, it hits me from out of the blue.  My grandmother is no longer with us.  I reach for the phone or look in the mailbox when a holiday or birthday is drawing near.  And there is just emptiness. 

With my grandfather "getting old" now (he is 99, after all), I think of all the conversations I would like to have with my grandmother - of blessed memory -  (paternal side) and my grandfather (maternal side), the last relatives I have from that generation. I want to speak with their 60-year old selves, their 40-year old selves, and their young selves - to hear about life, what was important to them, and what kept them going.

My grandfather's age gnaws at me in the sense that I only get quick doses of him - on the phone or even in person. Up 'til now, in person meant a quick trip to his apartment... Quick because he is a pack rat and there is not much space to sit... or stand, for that matter... He keeps it hot despite the fact the he wears sweaters and scarfs all year round.... He has stacks and stacks of papers all over the place because he is a busy man with a lot to do and a book to write... because his life should be recorded.

Or a meal at a restaurant... which is not really a quick trip because he takes soooo long to eat - longer than my third born son who is also a slow eater and carefully puts his food into his mouth and takes 45 minutes to eat a bagel (David timed him).  His teeth frequently fall out when dining out (according to the rest of my family) and being the I-can't-watch-other-people-brush-their-teeth kind of phobic, it makes for a meal filled with anxiety and anticipation.  I apologize if I choose the seat farthest away from you, Pops. And, if you are offended, I could not help Grandma Fritzi with her dentures during the last days that I saw her either.

As I came to record these words that were fluttering in my mind, the littles (Isaac and Ellie) were both playing on Club Penguin.  They play on my mom's account (yes, BunnyP), and they were so proud of the igloo they had just redecorated.

I can relate, I thought. As soon as I came home from living in a one-bedroom (ok - two, if you count the office where all four of our children sleep when we are there... and yes, it is a more than adequate space!), I started clearing out all the stuff from our house.  For several reasons:  first and probably foremost, I'm trying to make more space for Ilan and Aaron who recently started sharing a room and who haven't yet been able to put all their stuff into their room. So, I'm trying to clear some additional closets for them.  Second and most importantly (that is better than foremost), I realized I do not need all this stuff we have in the house.  I do not want any clutter, and I am doing away with it.  Little by little.

Just like my mom. Who is clearing out the 'stuff' from her house because she doesn't want her children to have to deal with it when "she is gone". So - we're all doing a lot of clearing and cleaning and cleansing.

But, I have these things - these things I inherited from my grandmother.  And, they take up space.  Space I am dedicated to giving to them.  Like the mezuzot on my doorposts, each time I see my grandmother's things - I am reminded of her and what she means to me.  I have some things that my grandfather brought back to her from his business trips throughout the years.  I have her dish that she served me cottage pancakes on when I was young and when I was old.  I have her serving pieces that I paid little attention to as I grew up in front of her but that mean so much to me now.

As we adorn our igloos and our (AZ) homes, I think it is important to keep those things that bring back the flavor of lemonade jello.... even though they take up space.

An Ode to Pops

My grandfather turned 99 on July 1st of this year. He moved from "98 is great" to "99 is mighty fine".  His mother - Nanny Kate - was in my life through a good part of my teens.  She was 96 - for several years.  His father - Poppy Ira - was also in my life and around long enough that I have memories to hold on to.  That is the maternal side of the family.

My dad's mom, my Grandma Fritzi (obm), passed away on December 16th, 2012. She was 98 ("98 is great. 98 takes you to Heaven's gate).  She was alive until the day she died (if you know what I mean).  Her motto was "the older I get, the better I was", but we all knew that wasn't true. She passed away before she got "too old".  That's how she wanted it.

It's in my blood - these long years of life.  While everyone else is going through their mid-life crisis, I am still only one-third of the way done with mine.  ;)

My grandfather went to the ER earlier this week. He told the doctors he was a retired Supreme Court Judge.  He was a judge (and he was appointed to the Cook County Circuit Court in 1983) ; he was a naval officer who served in World War II; and he was a member of the (Illinois) State Legislature.  He has good stories.  

My grandmother reached toward death with her mental capacities intact. My grandfather, however, is losing it. The last time we visited on the phone, my grandfather told me he had been a doctor in the Navy - simply because they did not have one handy and he had to step in for the job.  He explained how he read a text book in order to perform surgery on another officer.  And he did it perfectly.  And they all thought he was fabulous.

He told me he was shot while on the ship and was awarded a purple heart ribbon.  I think he was awarded a purple heart ribbon for his service (at the age of 97 and probably because he asked for it), but I was told he was struck by a hose on the ship and that is why he had to leave the service.  He told my mom he had a knee replacement, and he was so convincing - she began to believe him - doubting her own ability to remember.  This was two days ago.

My grandfather is "physically strong", whatever that means at 98. But, his mind is fading.  His mother had a faded mind too, but it was so worn away that she didn't remember anything - so it was easy.  My grandfather is struggling between knowing and confusion - and it makes him grumpy, difficult, and unhappy.

No one wants a loved one to be in that space.  No one wants to watch their parent have to take care of their own parent through that space.  And no one - well, some people, don't enjoy being apart from their family when their family needs them.

If You Were Wondering

Recently, there have been a lot of articles written on the topic of summer camp. Many of them stress the benefits of camp - the independence, the great adventures and experiences, and the community that a child who attends camp becomes a part of.  

There are just as many articles being released about the negative aspects of summer camp. Look at all that family time that disappears when children are gone for 8-weeks of the summer. The fully packed days at overnight camp are quite reminiscent of the over scheduled lives we create for our children during the school year. Camp is not for everyone...

How do you know if overnight camp is not for you (or yours)?

I can't really answer that (well, I can - but that's much more than I want to write right now). And, truthfully, mom's intuition - as always - will provide your best answer. Other than that, there really is no absolute way to determine whether or not your child will have a successful experience at camp.   

If I had any doubts about whether Aaron belonged at camp or not - I guess my answer came today.  Since we are in Boulder for the summer, I am trying to take advantage of it.  We head out for a hike every morning, exploring various Boulder and nearby Boulder trails.

Since Aaron has returned from camp, he has been under the weather with a terrible cough and has stayed home.  This morning, I had him come along.  I had chosen a simple hike, along a creek, with no climbing.

It was a lovely trail - a big buggy (why did I leave the bug spray on the counter?) and many, long patches of unshaded area (Boulder is reaching the 90's and the sun is quite strong, even for those of us used to the desert heat) - but the sounds of the rushing creek kept us company and the trail wound through beautiful forest with the snow covered mountains in the distance.  There were some good pictures along this trail!

I was walking ahead at one point, and - suddenly - the blood piercing scream that only Aaron can deliver came through the trees. He came around the corner, screaming and waving his arms. It looked like he was swimming frantically away from a group of sharks (and, perhaps, in his mind - he was).

Aaron found the perfect walking stick - until he picked it up and discovered it was home to hundreds of beetle-like bugs. That's why he was screaming. That's why he dropped his pack in the middle of the trail.  And, that is why he continued to whimper for several minutes after I told him "It's over. You are ok."

So, maybe camp focused on outdoor adventures is not really his kind of thing.  In the meantime, we'll keep hiking and camping and molding so that it becomes his thing.