Tag Archives: growing up

A great miracle happened t(here).

17 Dec

There is this thing that happens as you grow up;

your family traditions stop being the rituals you have customarily shared with your parents and elders, but they start to evolve, slowly, into things that are perhaps unique and new.

Last night was the first night of Hanukkah.

Instead of celebrating with parents or family members or friends, as we typically would, it was just the four of us. My little family.

And really, that is how I remember celebrating Hanukkah with my family of four as a chlid. Sure, I remember the big family gatherings, but my most vivid and evocative memories are of chanting the blessings with my parents, wearing matching flannel nightgowns with my little sister, (always with ruffles at the seams) and instead of singing “Az ‘egmor beshir mizmor, Khanukat hamizbeakh.” I thought that it was actually “Azegmore, and hear me snore.”

So last night, after dinner, my daughter got dressed in a flannel nightgown, with ruffles at the seams, and I held my son as I chanted the blessings (since I am really the only one in my house now who knows them all). And it was different, but it was lovely. We have a mountain of presents for my daughter, from grandparents, great-grandparents and friends, but last night we gave her our “big gift”: a blanket that has a hood that looks like a cat and glows in the dark. She saw a commercial for it on the television and had been asking for it for weeks, and so when she pulled this 19 dollar gift out of the Hanukkah bag she squealed with delight. And I could tell that she really appreciated her gift. It didn’t get lost in a sea of excitement and wrapping paper. She wore it and folded it and watched it light up. And every time I checked on her last night, she was in a different position in bed, cuddling her new blanket in some way.

It was a strange feeling, to be the grown up in all of this; the one to light the candles and say the blessings and give the gifts. And it stuck with me throughout the night. As I was tidying up the kitchen before bed, a penny fell from the sky. Now, I don’t know that it actually fell from the sky, but it fell from somewhere above and knocked me in the head before landing, face up, on the ground beside me.

A penny from heaven. A 2014 penny, at that, which seemed particularly apt in the light of yesterday’s words about this past year.

We are growing up around here. And that’s ok.

Happy Hanukkah to those who celebrate,

and to anyone and everyone else, I wish you a year of light, love,

and maybe even a miracle or two.


Everybody’s on the food chain, funny, but from day to day we get from bottom to top. And if you get lost, just start over again…

12 Jul

Music is such a big part of my being.

Last night, my new band had it’s first big gig. Two guitarists, a bassist, a drummer, and a microphone for me to sing into. It was exhilarating.

I got to dance in wedge heels and belt out tunes from John Pryne and Led Zeppelin and Sublime and be awed, as I always am, by my band mates.

I like them, too. I like them a lot.

So this morning, my husband let me go back to bed, and I woke up and decided it was high time for a dance party with my kids.

I put on a song for my daughter that I found buried in the depths of my iphone, “Food Chain” by Eric Hutchinson. Such a random song, right?

But this song has it’s own story in my soundtrack;

I was 22, and it was the spring before my wedding.

I was in graduate school, which meant I had a ton of free time on my hands.

I remember having this old ipod and sitting on the back patio of my parents’ house,

with a big bowl of grapes

(and, let’s be real, sometimes a glass of Sauv Blanc)

listening to this song.

It was a momentous time in my life; I was about to take le big plunge,

and despite the fact that it was a time when I was about to mark a huge milestone

it was also a time when I felt so young. And free.

So this morning, much older, with things like kids and a house and (and a rock band)

I put this song on and danced around my sunroom and remembered the past and felt grateful for the present.

My dear friend keeps reminding me to do this, and it is a wonderful, wonderful reminder.

Must go–

I have some Jackson Five to dance the heck out of with a certain four year old. Present. It’s a gift.

This thing that happens.

16 Apr

There’s this thing that happens with your dear mommy friends.

You have babies and you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, so you lean on each other.

You make calls like “Do you think it’s OK to feed the baby a stage 3 food a week early?”

or “Is it OK for the baby to sleep in the carseat all night?”

You are in the trenches together. You celebrate and mark your baby’s milestones and each others’. You sit on the floor. You are covered in spit up and you don’t always have clean hair. You put out fancy snacks in nice bowls for playdates.

You are consumed by your children.

And then something happens. Time goes on. You learn to adjust, to roll with the punches, to not freak out over ever boo-boo or later-than-others-milestone-meeting. You start to breathe a little bit.

And then this thing happens. You get together and you go out at night. You get dressed up. You drink. You stop talking about your children. You talk about your marriages. You talk about jobs. You talk about home decorating.

You start a home decorating blog. Instead of sending texts about your baby rolling over, you send photos of your new wallpaper. You walk into a house and say, “Where did you get that fixture?” You hang out during a playdate, without having brought a thing. You ask if it’s OK to run outside to spray paint a basket really quickly (this really happened). You fold laundry together. You look at paint swatches and rug samples.

There’s this thing that happens. You trust your kids. You trust yourself.

And you care a disproportionate amount about light fixtures.

I guess this thing is growing up.

Spring Break.

14 Apr

Please hear me as I say, loud and clear,

I love my children.

I live for them. I miss them when they are not with me. When I dine at a restaurant without them, I feel like something is missing.

When I pick up my daughter from school each day, I exhale, feeling peace that we are reunited. I even hold her hand at the red lights.

I am obsessed with the cute things they do and say.


I have to admit something:

The whole Spring Break thing is now officially a lot less awesome than it used to be.