For the love of music.

This morning, one of my cherished new friends sent this video to me, to help chase some of my sick babies blues away.

She didn’t know that The Beach Boys concert with my family was my favorite concert ever. EVER.

She didn’t know that “God only knows what I’d be without you.” is the phrase that I use to describe how I feel about my husband.

She just knew that it was beautiful and that it featured a feather prominently.

And this brings me to tears; the friendship, the music, all of it.

I hope you enjoy.

The time out chair.

This week started out a little rough.

I was out of sorts, you could say. Perhaps it’s the time of year, or something chemical, but I have found my anxiety to be at an unusually high level.

For instance, on Monday, my husband left his phone in the car when he went up to his office. I texted him to say hi. No answer. Then I sent a “hey, you there?” type of message. No reply. And in the 30 minutes that followed, I played out every bad scenario possible in my head as to why he wasn’t answering my texts or surreptitious call made during the baby’s nap time.

I would say that I overreacted.

I can’t help it. I truly can not help it. That is the hard part.

But today was better. Today the weather was beautiful.

The baby and I had some time to kill before picking up my daughter from school and we were already out so I decided to pull over and grab an outdoor seat at a quaint cafe. I took my little beau on a date.

We sat together, in the sunshine, and I sang “If you’re happy and you know it” softly and he danced along to me and we both smiled so that we were beaming. Like the sun.

And I felt happy.

And then I saw a man at a table 20 feet away point to my son, as he said to his wife, “Look! That baby has glasses!”,

prompting her to turn around and stare at us.

The old me would not have had this.

I still consider this post about my daughter one of the most important pieces I have written.

And the thing is, my son gets pointed out wherever he goes. Up until today, we had been missing his glasses since 1pm last Thursday. (By the way, if you happen to find them, I am giving you a 10,000 cookie reward.) We were able to get new lenses put into my daughter’s old frames (they may or may not be slightly pink) and my heart sang as I saw him looking around at the world, laughing at the leaves blowing. He could see again.

But yesterday, when my son wasn’t wearing his glasses and we were eating lunch outside, we were stopped literally five times by people who were commenting on how cute he is, and, mostly, his red hair.  We have canned responses when people ask where it comes from. Just like I did when people asked me how I knew my daughter needed glasses four years ago.

So now I have the perspective that people can point out my children in a kind way that is generous of spirit.

However,

However,

This man literally pointed and stared and exclaimed.

And I thought of getting up and going over to him. I thought of telling him things that I am not proud of having thought.

But I sat there, in my time out chair, keeping calm, and continuing to enjoy my son’s toothy little smile.

When the couple got up to leave they came over to us.

“He’s so cute,” the man said.

“Thank you.” I smiled with my mouth closed.

“I have a ten month old grandson who also likes to pull of glasses,” he continued.

“He doesn’t have glasses, but he likes to pull off mine.”

Thanks for that tidbit, sir.

But they went on to compliment my child’s looks and behavior. And sadly, I think that if my son had my brown hair and was not bespectacled that interaction never would have happened. They wouldn’t have stopped to notice his incredible crystal blue eyes, or the prominent cleft chin or his enormous (ly adorable) size. And just like I felt with my daughter, I don’t want my son to be singled out because of a physical attribute, or because he has eyes that require a high prescription lens.

But what today taught me is that I have grown.

I didn’t get fired up.

I did not get hurt.

What I did do was take a moment, a detour out of my day, to stop at a cafe and sit outside with my son for 10 minutes,

something that I would have never been able to do at this time last year.

And that is progress.

And for that, I think my time in the time out chair is up.

A new year and maybe, just maybe, a new me.

***

I am moved by fancies that are curled around these images and cling to the notion of some infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing.

T.S. Eliot, Preludes

***

Today is the second day of October. It has been exactly one month since my last post,

a long time for me (and for us).

It’s not that I have been lazy

nor forgetful;

it is that I have not had the words.

As I sit here and type this now, I am scared. When I started blogging four and a half years ago my promise was to write with brutal honesty, in a way in which others were not comfortable speaking.

And so, I have to break my silence. And I have to break it now.

It seems almost fitting now that I think about it,

that my life would go through an epic transformation

as the hardest year in my existence was coming to a close

as the and just as a new year was to begin;

Not only was the Jewish New Year upon us,

but this month my son will turn one year old.

And it was at the end of this past year,

this year of so many changes, and just so much,

that I was hospitalized for the physical effects of my postpartum depression.

There. I said it.

I spent the last half of September, not dancing, but healing. In a hospital bed, in a hospital gown, in a hospital bracelet,

healing.

***

As far as my hospitalization goes, I don’t know if I have yet found the words to describe all that happened. I certainly can provide a few bullet points.

My postpartum depression from last November lead to my diagnosis of clinical malnourishment; this was twofold: the depression suppressed my appetite, as did the medications that I needed to take in order to stabilize my mood.

I lost a lot of weight. I was only 80% of what my body weight should be for my height.

My vitals were unstable, my blood had deficiencies and I was suffering from severe dehydration.

I was admitted to the hospital kicking and screaming. Not literally, but I was crying and bargaining.

I attended seminars on getting healthy.

I had a meal plan to follow and had to finish every drop that was on my plate.

I made friends with fellow inpatients ranging in age from 11 years old to 58.

I would bring up a topic in group therapy sessions, feeling alone and on my own island, and when the psychiatrist would poll the room, every single other person raised his or her hand in agreement.

I was not alone.

I did things by myself for the first time.

I could not go to the bathroom without supervision.

One weekend I borrowed a blowdryer from a 12 year old and Keratin spray from a 48 year old and we ran up and down the hospital halls as if they were dorm rooms and we were getting ready for a night out,

as opposed to a community meeting and a 9pm Chipwich.

I had to leave my family–my chlidren–for weeks.

My friends, who are my family, stepped it up like nothing I’ve ever seen. They watched my babies for me. They sent me photos of my son sleeping on their chests. They told me they loved me every single day.

And my husband…he became my hero.

So that is just a little bit of where I’ve been, both literally and figuratively.

***

I kept my hospitalization quiet for obvious reasons, but today I felt the need to share, and it came from an unexpected place;

I DVR’d The Perks of Being a Wallflower so that I could watch it at 7 minute increments during bottle feeds. I had seen it before, but at a different time in my life. And this movie is astoundingly magnificent. It is about feeling like an other. It is about mental illness. It is about love.

And I related to the characters in the movie, these others so profoundly, because in the past year I had to abandoned the girl I once was in order to find the woman whom I want to be.

I want to be strong. I want to have self control. I want to be grateful. I want to be happy.

And I am getting there.

In Perks, the fantastically alternative high schoolers take part in the live action portion of Rocky Horror Picture Show screenings, mouthing the words from Tim Curry and Susan Sarandon and dancing to “The Time Warp” and “Touch-a-touch-a-touch Me”.

And this got me thinking. It got me thinking about where I was in high school, and how I’ve grown and changed,

and wouldn’t you know it, but the way things work out sometimes is funny,

because my Senior Year Yearbook quote

to be saved for all posterity

is from none other than Rocky Horror:

“Don’t Dream it. Be it.”

And that is what I want to do. I want to be it. This year–this new year–I want to be it.

***

One day while I was at the hospital on an outpatient pass, midway through my stay, I had to stop at a gas station to fill up.

When I pulled up to the Full Service line, a man greeted me with a warm smile. I had had a bad day. It was one of those kicking and screaming type days. I just wanted to go home, yet I was the only one pulling on that end of the rope; everyone in my life–my family, my doctors there and at home, my husband, my friends–were all pulling on the other end, because they all wanted me to get healthy. My oldest, dearest friend texted me to say “I need you to be alive.”

And so I had swollen, red eyes, but was greeted by a smile from this stranger, and even though he did not end up filling up my tank with gas, he filled my heart that day. And I rolled down my window and gave him a tip and thanked him for the wide, beaming grin.

“It has been a bad day,” I told him.

He had a thick accent, as he was from Guatemala I later found out.

He apologized to me for my sadness, but then smiled again, warming me once more, and said,

“You just have to have faith. It will all work out. You just have to keep faith.”

***

There are good people in this world. I have been lucky enough to have been touched by many of them in my life,

but most especially, and most profoundly in this past year.

People have woven in and out of these past twelve months,

from friends sending photos

to parents sending love

to doctors with orders

and patients in hospital gowns

and my husband and kids with love…

and a gas station attendant with a smile.

So in his honor, I will embark upon this new year with something that I haven’t had in quite some time:

Faith.

Some days are easier than others, but feel that I have been roused from the sleep of the devastating postpartum and am able to feel incredibly grateful for my blessings. For my heartbeats, both literal and poetic.

Happy New Year.

May it be so.

My Love.

Long ago, we wrote love notes. We wrote each other poems, left little hearts around, exchanged cards and poems.

Now, our love is much deeper.

We have been through the worst together, and I don’t say it enough.

I am so lucky to have a husband who brings home “just because” flowers to me.

That is nice. But that’s not really why I’m lucky.

I’m lucky because I get texts like this:

When skies are gray, both literally and proverbially.

I am lucky that we can go away together for a few short days, and ride our bikes into town for homemade ice cream, and oysters, and cocktails (not in that order) and ride home, chilled, and share a glowing fire and a bubbling jacuzzi, all while singing “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” at the top of our lungs.

I’m lucky that I go to bed each night knowing that the person next to me has my back. That every time I look over at him I feel like I must have done something right in this world.

That the man whom I met when I was twenty loves me more now than he did then, even though he loved me instantly.

He is the best person I know. So good. So true. So honorable and kind and brave.

He is right; he is my rock. And I am so lucky.

I am writing this with tears streaming down my face.

I married the kindest, most loving soul.

How did I ever get so lucky?

I will never know.

But I will enjoy every second of it

for as long as we both shall live.

#six

For some time now, K and I have been leaving notes for each other in the same word document on the computer every night for each of us to wake up or come home to or find. It is romantic, it is tender, it is intimate and it is organic. We are finding ourselves again, and, just as importantly, finding each other.
It started out as nothing; I was going to bed earlier than he, and he was downstairs having a guy’s night. Instead of sending him a text, I decided to leave a word document open on the computer with a quick note. And has turned into something more. And then, he wrote back.

B-
I love you so much,
You are my constant sunray,
This is a haiku…☺

As I’ve said, for the past six years, Kenny has been my husband; for the past six months, he has been my hero. He has held me up, he has championed for me, for our family. He has loved me through times that were gruesome and horrifying. He has loved me when I have told him not to.
Kenny and I met so young; we grew up together. And in the past six months, we have grown closer than we could have imagined. When I think back to being kids, tracing love letters in the sand at the Jersey shore, I could not have imagined the team that we would create; how we can read each others’ mind with just a glance; how we, so often, buy each other the very same greeting card; how he knows that I prefer a bag of scones or a large soft pretzel over flowers, as a gesture of romance; how he has seen my darkest underbelly and loves me not just in spite of it, but because of it.
So many years ago we agreed to a baby’s name, and to a family, and to a life. Six years ago, we agreed, with marriage vows, to stay together through the highs and lows. But now, every single day, with every morning that we wake up next to each other, we agree to continue fighting, for ourselves, for our family and for each other.
Recently, we downsized from a King to a Queen sized bed. We wanted to show our emotional closeness in a physical way. And now, I feel so lucky that I can role over to my left each morning and see the boy I have a crush on, as he snores softly in slumber, and know that he is forever mine.

My dear K-I love that you
Sometimes do
An improper Haiku.
So you know
This was not suppo’
Sed to be a haiku
But I love you,
Through and through.

It’s pretty sweet.

Now that we have downsized from a King bed to a Queen, my husband and I are so much closer. Literally and also in spirit.

And this morning, I woke up early, looked over, and thought,

“I get to sleep cuddled up next to the boy I have a crush on.”

And it brought me back to the very first time I knew that I loved him.

And now I think about how we have grown,

what we have grown;

a family,

a team,

and I am overwhelmed.

I get to sleep next to the boy I have a crush on.

It’s pretty sweet.

Aprils.

It seems that time is going by at warp speed. My baby had his half birthday. Things are flying.

And so I decided to take a look back.

On this date in April 2010 I had just become a mother six days prior. It was my third day home from the hospital. I was learning to nurse in the side lying position. My daughter was sleeping in her carseat, buckled up and with straps tightened, next to us in our bedroom (we had no idea what we were doing). I still looked pregnant, I was not yet adjusted to the change and yet I had found tremendous love in that little pink thing they called my daughter.

This is April 2011

This is April 2012

April 2013 was a rough time for me. I was suffering from debilitating morning sickness. I was on prescription medicine so that I would only get sick 10 times a day. I announced my pregnancy, as I was already showing. I swear, I started to show from the moment that the stick turned pink. Everyone told me I was having a boy. Every. Single. Person. Ever. Perhaps it was because I looked like, as someone said, a bowling ball with sticks coming out.

I was starting to deal with some anxiety and depression, but was very focused on teaching my class and loving on my daughter.

I remember a few specific things about April 2013. I remember having coconut cake for dessert  on my birthday (we invited our next door neighbors in to join us, who, at the time, were new friends, and have since become dear, close friends). I remember that my husband had the County declare the day in my name as a tribute. I remember sitting outside on the picnic benches with my class, eating mini cupcakes. I remember that one kid stole 3 of them. I remember that we had a small mosaics party for my daughter. I remember seeing Pippin on Broadway and finding it to be life changing. I also found myself completely out of control of my emotions during the opening song, “Magic to Do” and was laugh-crying as the actors on stage engaged me. It was out of body.

April 2014 has been a ride. My first baby turned four. And she has become such a person. My babysitter just texted me with all of the funny and irreverent things that my daughter said today while I was out. Among them was that she told her brother he as being boring like an old grandpa.

April has tightened my circle. It has given me special times with my dearest friends. Home cooked Shabbat dinners, crazy photobooth pictures, pitchers of sangria and dance parties.

April has brought great emotional changes. It has brought my husband and I closer. Closer than ever.

April has given me some insight, some perspective and some maturity.

April has given me some healing.

I look forward to what the next month brings (I bought a white dress to wear on our May anniversary),

but for now, I’m enjoying this month,

my favorite month,

and I am now realizing how far I’ve come;

not just from April 2010, but from the past few months. As I said, it’s still hard. But April has been brighter.

Thank you, April. Thank you with all of my heart.

Some women get flowers,

but this evening,

after a particularly long day,

I found this on my pillow:

Yes, friends. That would be a giant, all knot soft pretzel, with which I shall break Passover.

Now that’s love.

“And I got scones…”

So, today happens to be my day of birth.

And it’s three o’clock in the morning.

Why am I up? Why am I writing?

Because my husband is really cute.

I got up to use the bathroom and when I got back into bed, he said “Happy Birthday. Can I give you your presents?”

I asked him if this was a euphemism.

“I’m just so excited to give them to you,” he continued.

I told him okay.

He was precise in his delivery, telling me which card to open first, where to look, etc.

The cards were beautiful. In one, he wrote of a metaphor, binding us together.

And then he gave me two supa fancy bars of dark chocolate. I was already satisfied. If that had been my only gift, I would have been thrilled.

Then, he pulled out a big box.

“I stepped out of my comfort zone a bit for this,” he warned.

Inside were a pair of  these.

And what was even better about the fabulous pair of shoes in front of me, was my husband’s smile; he was so excited to give me something so nice that he knew I would love. He was beaming. I was beaming. So much so that I had to take out the computer and write about it at 3 in the morning on what is now technically my birthday.

Over the past year my husband has been my rock; he has been absolutely incredible. He has sacrificed for me, soothed me, stood by me and I now love him so much more than I ever thought possible.

And the funniest part of the story was that yesterday, my husband, mom and I were taking the kids on a walk and she asked if there was anything I wanted from the farmer’s market. I asked for my favorite thing, a scone from the Ultimate Bake Shop. So she dropped one off.

Apparently, my husband had already had this idea. He had gone to the farmer’s market earlier that day and gotten me an assortment of scones. He loves me so much, he wanted me to have all of my favorite things on my birthday.

So now I have a lot of scones to eat. And beautiful cards. And truffled dark chocolate.

And fancy shoes, that he picked out all by himself.

I don’t know what this year will bring, but I know that I am so fortunate to have him.

And really, really nice shoes.

Love (notes) and marriage.

This evening, as my husband was putting the baby to bed, I went down to the basement to go through our belongings.

I am cleaning things out because (gasp!) we are planning to move. But that’s another story for another day.

So in an effort to purge all things (I) deemed unnecessary, I took a few moments to gather my thoughts. And my belongings.

And in looking for junk to dump, I struck gold.

I came across a photo album, each flimsy plastic slot filled with a neatly folded love note.

A note from my guy,

to his girl. To the me I used to be.

***

Here’s the thing. Partnership is an amazing thing; a gift, a joy, a treasure. It feels good to have someone’s back, and to feel your own weight supported by another. Marriage is beautiful. But, like any other great thing (an exciting job, a child, a new home) it comes with it’s challenges.

Being the parents of a toddler is it’s own unique flavor of hard. It’s hard to talk over a temper tantrum. It’s hard to juggle the demands of the day. It’s hard to make time.

***

Lately, I have found myself getting sentimental about my relationship. Starting many sentences with “remember when”s and reminiscing about our days of old. Because truly, we’ve grown up together. Not just in the literal sense (as neighbors all our lives) but because we met as young people, and have faced some unimaginably hard things together. We’ve lost opportunities, lost jobs, lost loved ones. He cheered for me when I graduated from college. I’ve held him as he’s cried.

That’s what happens when you have history with someone. For someone.

And maybe it’s because we’re making a big life change,

or because our little girl is growing before our eyes, or because we are about to travel back to our special place,

or simply because quality time for us right now often consists of 15 minutes alone together at the end of the day,

with me pointing out a couch I like on Houzz

and with him giving me a kiss goodnight as I doze off during Homeland;

it’s easy to sleep next to the same person

year after year

but it’s hard to always remember how you’ve gotten there.

***

Tonight, as I cleaned out my basement, I unearthed my memories. I read note after note, lingering over each word. Words of love, of hope, words of a future still unknown. Declarations. Promises.

And in reading, it did not feel as though I was seeing these words for the first time, but it felt as though I was understanding their sentiments in an entirely new way.

I picked up a note from this date six years ago. In it he drew a cartoon, and wrote “…You are the greatest caretaker and friend anyone could ever ask for! You are always there for me to help me when I am sick, to make me smile when I am sad, and to do something silly for a laugh. It is just one of the many reasons that I love you so very much…”

My husband tells me he loves me every day. In the morning. From work. On his way home. Before bed. I am no stranger to those words. But these notes told me why.

Because, when it comes down to it, when he gets home from work and I’m in my velour sweatpants, hair up in a ponytail, stirring a pot of soup as I chase after our daughter and dog,

it’s hard for me to always believe that he loves that me. That me that I now see.

Even though he tells me. And shows me. And looks me in the eyes and promises me how lucky he feels that I’m his.

Reading these notes helped me. They reminded me. They did exactly what he promised to do, as he scrawled in permanent marker on the inside jacket to the photo album. He wrote, “The pages of this book hold letters that are the hard copy proof of my love for you. They will always be here for you as a reminder, or when you just need a smile. I am yours, now and forever. I love you.”

***

Marriage is hard. Being a parent is hard. Moving is really freakin’ hard.

And sometimes, you need years and years of memories to envelop you, to make you feel safe, and to make you feel loved.

And sometimes, you just need a little album.

To you…

This weekend, we had the distinct honor

and unbelievable pleasure

of watching our two best friends

as they became man and wife.

And I can’t even write about it now without crying.

So, for now, I will just say,

here’s to you, babes.

To you,

to life,

to crazy love

and to your many

to-morrows

together.

We could not love you more.