I just realized.

I am going to admit something difficult. Today has been a hard day.

My daughter finally got to go back to school, which is wonderful.

This is finally happening, which is also wonderful…

except that it means that they are currently jack-hammering the perimeter of an 1100 square foot basement. It’s a little loud.

So my son’s 2 hour morning nap was cut to 15 minutes.

I don’t like to bother my family and friends with my problems; I know that may seem surprising, as I am constantly talking about my incredible support system, but I desperately do not want to be self-involved or insensitive of their time or to worry them. I keep a lot in. But today, I felt like I could admit it. I spoke with my dear friend of over 13 years this morning about the crippling anxiety I was feeling. She guided me through some techniques to assuage the feelings.

And I told my mom, which is something that I have rarely done as of late. And she said that what I am feeling–this heaviness–is all because of what is coming up on Thursday. Thursday is Thanksgiving, for which I am more thankful than ever, but it is also the anniversary of a very troubled time in my life.

And then my mommom called to invite us to the mall and I wasn’t able to go because of the whole baby no-nap situation and she knew I was anxious and she said, “I am always just a phone call away. Although my fax machine broke this morning and I am so frustrated, I don’t know what to do.”

I assured her that I wouldn’t be faxing her with an SOS, so that she could take that off of her list of worries.

And then I texted with a special friend, a friend who gets me, because she sat on the floor with me all last winter, even through my darkest of times, as our babies rolled around and drooled on each other. And I told her that I felt as though I was unraveling. And she made it better.

And all of those things that I just wrote about are concrete examples of the incredible tribe that I have surrounding me.

But then I did the most important thing of all;

I picked up my son and looked into his eyes. I kissed his face and nuzzled him into my cheek and inhaled him so deeply.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

I asked him if he wanted a baba. “Baba!” he said.

My son, who is now learning to talk, and learning to walk, and dances when he hears music and squeals with glee over Lola and knows to pet her ever so gently and who understands everything we say; As I looked at him, I felt more love for him than I have ever felt for him before.

And then it hit me;

My daughter is, and has always been, so obviously my dream come true. She is named the name we chose 3 months into dating and that I chose when I was 10 years old. She is exactly like me in looks and personality. We are so bonded. She is my heart and soul.

But my son, my dear son

just may be the very best thing that has ever happened to me.

I looked over to the framed painting I made for him that hangs in the corner of his nursery.

Take me where the music’s playing

Get me on the dance floor, hold me a little closer.

And I swayed with my son, my lips to his cheek, and the deluge of memories of the past year poured over me.

He has taught me that I could overcome things that I never imagined I would be strong enough to endure.

He may drive me crazy with his “lively antics”, but oh my goodness, my son is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

He redefined me.

He has given me purpose.

He opened up parts of me that I didn’t know existed.

His first year was not filled with the magic and enchantment like it was with his sister.

He didn’t come out looking like me or acting in a way that I understood inherently.

But I now rock him to bed every night, and I look down at his sleeping face and I marvel at how he looks exactly the same as he did when they would place him next to me to nurse in the hospital bed.

This little ball of energy and activity and constant movement and craziness has saved me.

Remind me to thank him for it.

Go Fish.

I have been writing on this site for almost four and a half years now,

chronicling my life,

current events,

trends,

ups and downs,

as a way to both keep a diary for myself,

and, more recently, to help others.

I write about a lot of things on here. I write the things that some people are scared to say. I write about what hurts.

I write so many words…

But there are some things that are too big for words.

This weekend my Grandparents, Mommom and Poppop, came to visit my kids. Here how it went:

I spoke to Mommom at 10am

“I am just going to put the baby down for a nap in a half an hour. I will call you as soon as he wakes up and you can come over.”

“Okay, great. We are dying to see the kiddies.”

An hour later…

Call from Mommom.

A half an hour after that…

Call from Mommom.

Finally, when the baby woke, I called her back.

“I told you I would call you as soon as he woke up! I would never forget to call you back!”

“I know, but I was just so excited to see them I couldn’t wait.”

And that’s how it goes. Mommom lives by her own rules, but she also sets the bar so high that it is almost hard to describe.

When my Grandparents arrived not 10 minutes later they came with a bag. Inside the bag was the following:

Green Italian Leaf cookies for me.

Alphabet noodles for the kids.

Homemade soup.

Pill bottles filled with beans that had been glued shut for my danger loving son. (Along with remotes, iPhones, knives and toilets, the baby also loves pill bottles. Not any surprise.)

A packet of cards for “Go Fish”.

It was a care package at it’s finest, because it really did show care. Because she listens when I’m on the phone with her and I shout to my son “No no no! Put down mommy’s medicine bottle!” (Just for the record, all of my medicines are kept in a box with a secure clip and closed with child safety lids. He’s just a crafty little devil.)

And do you remember that day last week when my daughter fell ill? Mommom remembered when I said I liked those green leaf cookies from the local deli when she ran in for Matzoh Ball Soup.

And she’s excited that my daughter is beginning to read, hence the letters noodles.

And she is teaching her how to play a favorite card game, just like she taught me when I was her age.

I remember so vividly being on the front porch at our beach house. We would sit, the cool ocean breeze filling our noses with salt air, and drink Lipton instant iced tea and play “Go Fish” and “War” over and over and over again. Then, she would make me a turkey and cheese sandwich on a kaiser roll and we would switch to the back deck and play some more.

Watching my daughter and my grandmother playing this game together today rendered me speechless.

My children are so fortunate to have great-grandparents, who are not just great-grandparents by name, but they are also great.

So Mommom, since I know you read this, even though you don’t have any clue what a blog is:

You may annoy me by telling me what to do,

or call incessantly, even when I tell you that I will call you,

but you also love us with every ounce of your being, and for that I am so grateful.

You are the one to drop groceries at our front door “just because”; you are the one who I can call 24 hours a day if I need you;

And you are the one who every single person whom you meet declares to be “just fabulous”, as you are chic as can be, and are on a first name basis with the people at Saks, Neimans and Mr. Louboutin (A friend texted me from the department store to say that she was serendipitously shoe shopping with my grandmother and heard her saying, “Yeah, I like the ones with the red bottoms.”)

So if life were a simple card game, and I needed a card for the most loving grandmother, then I have fished my wish.

I love you.

Instamazing.

There is a little secret that I have never told you before. I loathe grocery shopping. I avoid it at all costs, in fact. I would rather eat a PB&J or Cheetos for dinner than have to run out to the store. It is just not my thing. So, it has become one of my husband’s tasks. He likes grocery shopping.

However, there is a little problem. He works full time. Which means that if I need anything from the grocery store during the weekday, like milk or diapers for the baby or dark chocolate with truffles in it for me, I am forced to go out. And do you know what I loathe more than grocery shopping?

Grocery shopping with my kids. I love my kids. I just don’t like the whole shopping cart, lugging bags, stuffing kids and peaches into that front section with the foot holes…

So, usually I either make due without whatever item I need or I wait until either my husband comes home, my mom offers to pick something up for me or my Mommom shows up on my doorstep with a delivery.

So, you can imagine my initial (hesitant) excitement when I started to see the buzz about Instacart filling my newsfeed.

As it states on their website,

“Instacart is a grocery delivery service that delivers in as little as an hour! We connect you with Personal Shoppers in your area who pick up and deliver your groceries from your favorite local stores.”

In my area this means that I can get fast and efficient delivery from stores including Acme, Super Fresh, BJ’s Wholesale, READING TERMINAL MARKET (Famous 4th Street Cookies, HI!!!!!) and, wait for it, Fine Wine & Good Spirits.

As much as the shopping-hater in me wanted to believe in this mystical app, I was realistic. How could something as fantastic as this really exist? So I placed my first order, a small list of essentials from Whole Foods, with some hesitancy.

20 minutes later I got a call on my cell from a number from California.

It was my Instacart personal shopper. She told me that they were out of organic strawberries at our Whole Foods, and asked if I would like her to buy the regular strawberries. Yes. This happened. For the most low key, normal person, this made me feel fancy, like I had a butler! I’m so fancy now.

Another 20 minutes later and the lovely woman was at my door, with the groceries perfectly packaged.

So yes. This Unicorn of an App does exist. I have used it twice now, because yesterday I was home with the baby and out of his whole milk and OJ and ketchup and it is just so easy. Once again, I got a call (there was no steam in the bag cauliflower at Acme) and had a sweet woman at my door within 30 minutes of that phonecall.

So, readers. I have a little treat for you.

For your first order on Instacart, you get $10 off and Free Shipping (that’s a $14.00 discount!) if you use the code word

“mommy” at checkout.

So don’t say I never hook you up.

And don’t ever send me to the grocery store ever again.

Snapshot of a Day

Tuesday, November 4th.

It is Election Day.

It is my Poppy Don’s 86th birthday.

It is the date when my son was supposed to have his bris, had he not come 4 days before his scheduled C-Section.

But this Tuesday is also an anniversary, and not a good one.
A year ago on the Tuesday of this week I received that first, fateful text from my husband that read, “Are you OK? I am getting a little worried about you. I see the light starting to go out in your eyes.”

And that was the beginning of the worst year of my life; It has been worse than all of my other years combined. And so I was dreading this week, as in some ways I am re-experiencing all of the fear and negative emotions of this day last year, like a victim of PTSD. I have nightmares. A lead weight sits in my chest.

But, it’s funny how life works.

Because it is Election Day, I had both kids home with me today, and because my daughter was a bit under the weather we had no plans. It was nice at times, and hard at others, and sometimes it got to the point where I felt like I was drowning in my anxiety. I thought back to this Tuesday last year. I can remember so many details of the things that were plaguing me then, and thinking about some of the events of that week made me feel physically ill. This is something I have never discussed on here before, but that week I was not only being hurt by the chemicals that began to swirl in scary ways in my mind, but I was being hurt by someone who I once considered a very dear friend. At the time, I did not know I was being manipulated by a master,

all I knew was that I was being made to suffer in agony at my most vulnerable of times. This person abandoned me during my lowest point last winter, despite a promise to “be there forever”, and while at the time it was a crushing blow, I now look at it as my greatest blessing. I don’t have to endure the pain of that poison anymore.

I remember it being 11 o’clock in the morning on this Tuesday of last year, and looking down at my phone and seeing that text from my husband and feeling loved, but also feeling scared, because he was right. My light was dimming. The initial high of having a new baby, a baby who was healthy and cute and who nursed well and whom I loved dearly from the start (and the high from my Dilauded Rx) was fading, as I began my slow descent into the abyss.

There are certain dates I remember about the past year that are very significant to me. I remember my son’s birth, of course, and our magical hospital stay. I remember his Bris, and how my girlfriends piled into bed with me as we ate Cronuts that my sister scored from the coveted NYC bakery. I remember Thanksgiving when I sat in the corner, alone and virtually catatonic. And I remember this week.

So, today started off hard. I confided in some of my friends as we messaged throughout the morning, and unsurprisingly I was met with great encouragement and support. But as the day went on, my daughter got sicker and sicker as she appeared to be coming down with some kind of nasty bug. Mommom came over and when I told her about the significance of today, she said, “But look. Look where you are now. You are great now.” And this is something Mommom does. She says that everything is great, whether it is or not. No matter what the ailment, she says “You’ll be fine.” It is her coping mechanism, learned at an early age, and it is something that is sometimes comforting and sometimes frustrating.

I rolled my eyes at her.

“Really?” I asked, as clearly I am still struggling a great deal. Physically I am still dealing with some major issues and emotionally, each day is a new hill to climb. But she assured me by saying, “Look what you’re doing. You want to get out there. You’re doing things with friends and making new friends and making plans. That is better.”

And I didn’t think much of it. But an hour later, my daughter got even worse. She complained that she was freezing cold, refused my offer of toys and cookies and said she just wanted to sleep (she has not taken a single nap in almost 2 years). So she climbed into my bed with me, as she curled up under the covers on my side, and my son curled up on the other, and the three of us slept. Before drifting off, I got an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. Being in my bed, snuggled up with my two babies felt like such a blessing. And even though it was under less than desirable circumstances, it felt like home.

When the kids woke up nearly two hours later they immediately reached over my lap for one another and held hands. I only had my iPhone to capture the moment, and the room was dark, so the photo is grainy, but my kids grasped each other, anchoring themselves to one another and to me and anchoring me to reality. Things did feel a bit better.

And we all trekked downstairs, and my daughter needed a blanket and orange juice and the episode of Yo Gabba Gabba about the Doctor and my son needed his afternoon bottle and my dog needed to go outside and I needed to have a snack and call the pediatrician and as I juggled these things, both figuratively and actually literally (at one point I was balancing many things in one arm, including my 26 lb son) I thought, “I am doing this. I am taking care of business. I am taking care of two children and a dog and myself and  I know what I am doing.

I’ve got this.”

And then Mommom’s words echoed in my ear.

As much as I feel like I am still in the depths of this thing, this awful thing that happened last year and swallowed me up and spit me out and left me weak and vulnerable and tired,

I am doing it. I am being a mom, and I think I am being a good one. And I realized that my grandmother was right.

So while today started off with a heaviness around it, it has lightened;

even though life circumstances actually got worse throughout the day, my perspective changed.

Like the grainy photograph of my kids holding hands, all of my tools are there,

it just isn’t always easy for me to see them clearly. But life isn’t made of moments captured in perfect lighting with a high resolution camera. It is spontaneous flashes of joy, snapped hastily, but still able to be savored despite their blurriness.

This Fall may be hard for me. It may be difficult me to get through each of the dates that remind me of my roughest times of the last year.

But as long as my kids keep holding hands,

and as long as I keep taking that in,

I think I am going to be OK.

Burst pipes, burst tears, and the craziest week ever.

There are times when I find it difficult to find the words to type.

Other times, they just come pouring out.

Like a flood.

I write this post from a chair in my parents’ living room, in my dad’s XL sweatshirt, reeling.

Tears are starting to form in my eyes.

Like a flood.

***

This week we had historic rains. When we went to bed on Wednesday night after listening to an endless stream of water batting at our house, we were relieved to check our basement to find that no water had gotten in. Our basement has been historically dry, but this was a lot of rain. We felt relieved.

On Thursday afternoon, I was motivated to sneak in a quick load of laundry before an afternoon park play-date. I opened the basement door, and like a cartoon character, I rubbed my eyes, so perplexed,

no,

astounded, by what I saw:

Water. And not just a little. A foot. A foot of water covering our entire unfinished basement. A foot of water covering our appliances, our furniture, a glider I was giving to my friend for the baby she will be having this week, and more stuff than I even know how to articulate. Art, furniture, baby things; a hot water heater, our heating system, washer/dryer. This was a flood of enormous proportions. I was speechless. I saw my old diaper bag floating across the threshold to the staircase, which was covered, on several of our stairs, by water.

To make this long, stressful story short, my husband came home, we identified the problem. A burst pipe. Our basement was completely flooded, our things were ruined and we had to begin to process of cleaning up and starting over.

Friday was spent with a restoration and remediation company. Friday was spent with people, workers, adjusters, in and out of our house. We felt displaced, but we were OK.

Saturday started off nice. Really nice. The boys slept in and my daughter and I did a small, quiet grocery shop in the early morning hours. A charming little date, and we came home with pretty, pointy, purple potted plants and big blue hydrangeas.

If you follow me over on 511, you’ll know that I’ve been mulling over a possible room swap. We, together, decided, instead, to switch out our king bed for a queen, change bedding, change the layout of our current bedroom and get a new perspective from bed. We would take the TV out of the room and make it a cozy den in which we could cuddle and connect. We were so lucky that our dear friends had a spare Queen bed to offer, and so, on Saturday, our two men rented a UHaul, drove to pick up the Queen bed, and came back to set things up. This should have taken an hour; 5 hours, great frustration, a box spring that wouldn’t fit up stairs, a mistakenly measured bed and a very, very stressed husband later and we had a full-sized mattress on the floor of our room and no hope in sight. Mommom and Poppop came to our rescue, after making one distressed call to them after another this week, and bought us a brand new queen bed to be delivered on Monday. Grandparents are the best and mine are tops.

So last night, my husband and I cuddled up on the full mattress on the floor of our bedroom. Except, I wasn’t feeling so well. I was dizzy, lightheaded, a bit disoriented and nauseated. I was supposed to go next door for a Girl’s Night In, but felt too ill. My husband brought water and a Luna Bar up to bed with me, thinking that I had just overdone it that day with the kids and all the stress. But I couldn’t shake my feeling.

I texted with two of my best girlfriends: One, whom I was supposed to watch at mile 6 of the Broad Street run today and another with whom I texted about our weekends, and often just send lovey-dovey goodnight texts of love and support. I told both of them about how I was feeling. I apologized, in advance, if I couldn’t make the race today. My friend insisted I not even try. I have the best friends.

I had a fitful sleep last night, despite enjoying sleeping so close to my husband for the first time in years. In our King, we usually don’t see each other, let alone interact, in the middle of the night; but in this full bed, I found myself soothed by his arm, heavy with slumber, slung over me through the night.

Yet my dreams were haunting; I dreamed, over and over again, about my C-Sections. I dreamed of future operations, all of which made my blood pressure drop, making me feel like I would pass out. Over and over I dreamed about being faint or fainting.

And then, at 5:30 this morning, I woke up to the sound of my daughter playing around. Typically, I stay in bed, letting her play by herself. But this morning I got up. I do not know why, but I got up. And when I got up, I heard a beeping. An alarm sounding.

I woke my husband. He went downstairs to investigate.

It was the Carbon Monoxide detector in our flooded basement.

We called 911.

Within one minute a police officer arrived. We were told to wake the baby.

Within 3 minutes the fire trucks appeared.

The fireman walked through our door, opened the door to our basement, and his alarm sounded.

“Evacuate,” he said with alarm.

Our house was filled with Carbon Monoxide, a problem created by the flood.

We had to leave, I was in pajamas and no shoes.

Thankfully, we have the nicest neighbors in the world. They brought out blankets, welcomed our children into their homes and in front of their Disney Junior on TV sets. But I still felt woozy. Lightheaded. Dizzy.

I mentioned to this to the fire team and they called the EMTs.

Upon evaluation, my blood pressure was low, and I had to be taken to the hospital in an ambulance. I was still barefoot, in a wife beater and purple flannel pants and scared.

I called my mom using the EMT’s phone and she followed us to the hospital.

I got an IV and EKG en route. My BP was low.

I got to the hospital, the same place where I’ve spent far too much of this year, and found out that I had CO in my blood. I stayed on oxygen while I waited for my family to be brought in for evaluation. My kids, brave as can be, had their blood taken and we found out that their levels were worse than mine, and needed oxygen treatment.

Had our alarm not had gone off,

had I not chosen to wake up and get out of bed at an uncharacteristic time,

we would have died from Carbon Monoxide poisoning in our sleep.

CHECK. YOUR. CARBON. MONOXIDE. DETECTORS.

Thankfully, we are safe. We have a place to stay. Someone brought shoes to the hospital for me.

I left wearing pajama pants and Chanel ballet slippers,

but I was able to walk out on my own two feet.

I am thankful for my neighbors. I am thankful for my friends. I am thankful for my family. I am thankful for the Police, the Firefighters, the EMTs. I am thankful for the doctors and nurses at the hospital.

Most of all, I am thankful for my life.

Check your carbon monoxide detectors. Hug your kids. Be nice to your neighbors.

And if you have anything precious on the floor of your basement, and plumbing that leads into your basement, move it upstairs.

Peace, love and thanks,

B

Just some things.

This past week has kept me oh-so-busy.

Like, Bizzy.

And it’s been good.

But, it has not left me with the time or energy to put my pen to paper to keyboard,

or what have you.

So, as a way to fill you in (or an attempt to make an excuse),

here are some things.

Some things I’ve done since we spoke last.

Just some things:

I’ve started to jog. And by jog, I mean I jog for a minute and then walk for ten minutes. But, I’m moving my body, so now I can officially call myself a jock. My next step will be getting a jersey with my name on it.

I’ve become a regular at our favorite lunch spot.

I’ve been singing. For other people (!).

I made these. And I ate them. All of them. Thank Gd I’m an athlete, now.

I found my poetry, again.

I crowded into a tiny dressing room with my Mom and my Mommom and my Aunt and My Sister and my Daughter, as we all helped my sister to find the perfect dress. I felt so lucky. (More on this to come…)

I watched a dear, so-in-love couple as they became husband and wife.  I toasted to their marriage. I requested this song I got DOWN.

I bowled, terribly.

I woke up one morning and danced, in sunglasses, to Queen, before brushing my teeth.

I heard a friend tell me that I didn’t seem like myself; I knew that she was right; I let her talk me through it; I felt so much love.

I had a picnic outside with my class. We dined on chocolate cake and rice cakes. We are so elegant.

I heard my daughter sing every word of “Sydney (I’ll Come Running)”.

I got a hair cut. I botched a manicure. I found my daughter in my makeup drawer, with a face-full of blush. And pride.

I explained to a group of 3-year-old boys why my daughter needs glasses.

I haven’t slept well.

I’ve seen piles of feathers.

I’ve missed you.

Somethings (and #febphotoaday/16)

16. Something New

On May 31, 2008,

as the saxophone played,

I held onto my dad’s arm

and walked, down a peony-lined runner, towards my forever.

I had something old,

a headpiece made of champagne and ivory seed pearls,

worn by my Nanny on her wedding day;

I had something borrowed,

the tiny, gold wedding band, that had been on my Mommom‘s own finger when she and my Poppop said their vows;

I had something blue,

a bracelet in honor of my Superhero;

and then I had Fancy shoes. Fancy new shoes.

And while they’ve now been worn,

and have scuffed soles

and loose threads,

and so many dance steps trailing behind them as distant memories,

they will always be my

something new.

I just want to say,

that I feel very grateful that I have a partner

who not only takes care of our family every day,

but who also takes extra special care of me when I’m sick.

A partner who

surprised me with the special Amish Egg Custard that my Nanny used to deliver to me when I was little,

and the certain type of chicken soup that my Mommom would let me have, after she’d pick me up early from school when I was sick,

and who knows that after I take a spoonful of red cough medicine,

or suck on a minty lozenge,

I will sneeze

two times.

So thank you, love

for taking care of me

in sickness

and in health

and in sneezing fits

and in everything in between.

It was bound to happen…

My poor little angel face.

She was up during the night with a fever.

Boooooooooo.

Nothing makes a mama sadder than a sick little chick.

But, I can’t say our day has been a total wash;

We got to lie on the floor together, consumed in fits of giggles;

We got to bundle up in fleece jackets and breathe in the fresh autumn air;

We got to play pretend with her giant stuffed monkey, tucking it into the crib for a nap and giving it “special kisses”;

We got to make a big ol’ pot of chicken soup together, for the very first time;

And we got to see my Mommom,

who asked if we needed anything

(I said yes, the baby could really use an apple and a banana)

and showed up at our doorstep with four overflowing grocery bags.

Oh, and did you catch that? I said it was my Mommom. My grandmother. The baby’s Great-Grandmother.

Yeah, I know.  She’s amazing.

So, as I stand here, comforting my under-the-weather baby,

I rock her on my hip as I feel her temperature with my cheek against hers,

and I sing “Mommy loves the baby, Daddy loves the baby, Everybody loves the little girl.”

(A song that my grandparents once sang to me),

and I use my two free fingers to stir the chicken soup,

and I realize

I have become a real, live Jewish Mother.

What can I say?

I’ve learned from the best.

 

A day of firsts

This week, we had a day of firsts.

I changed my very first poopy diaper in a public bathroom.

It kinda sucked.

Five minutes later,

my Mommom treated my little girl to her very first $7 dollar hotdog,

at our very favorite lunch spot.

That was kinda awesome.

And, when I asked my little girl how she liked her fah-ncy doggie, she replied by smiling,

holding up a bite

and saying, “Ziggy!”

A lovely day of firsts, indeed.

On my daughter’s Birthday,

I expected to take her to the zoo. Or to a kiddie theme park. Or to a parade, in her honor.

I expected to dress her in a tutu.

I expected to eat cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

But, my daughter’s birthday was the day of the first Passover Seder.

So, on my daughter’s birthday, we visited my parents to help them cook for 37 people,

and ended up eating Matzohball soup with my mom and dad, Mommom and Aunt,

while sitting on the floor,

atop an old blanket that was woven by my great-great-Aunt.

All 6 of us, sitting on that old blanket, laughing and loving.

I guess that says it all about the fabric of our family.

Not what I expected out of my daughter’s birthday.

Oh, but we did manage to eat cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

So, I guess it was a little of what I expected. And so much more.