Another Year Without Her

Mom and me in Paris, 1998. She was 48, I was 25.

Today is my mom's birthday. She would have turned 63. Another year gone, another birthday she never got to have.

I know. You've heard this all before. Believe me, sometimes I even bore myself. But there it is.

I'm not grieving anymore. Grief sounds raw and active. What I feel? Is just a giant, ugly, gaping hole. Yes, it's a hole I've learned to live with. But it's there. Because she's not here. Because she's missing all of this.




Mom and me in Amsterdam, 1999. This might be one of my most favorite pictures of all time. I think it looks like a movie still.

There are just an innumerable amount of should haves and could haves. And as much as I can shrug and mumble It is what it is (because, well, it is!)...well...

She should have been able to meet her grandchildren. She could have had so much fun. I miss her friendship. I miss her advice and counsel and perspective. I miss her sense of humor and her ability to provide levity to almost any situation. And selfishly? I could really use her help. I often see adult women and their children out with their moms at Target or the park or just walking down the damn street, Grandma holding the hand of a toddler, Mom balancing another child on her hip and probably a shopping bag or two...they might even be snapping at each other.

I can't even. I just can't imagine.

And I'm still really mad that she's gone, on another birthday. And I'm still really sad.

She's missing Leo's solar systems and bear hugs and Lego masterpieces.

She's missing Ellie's baking and tea parties and fairy drawings and her blooming sense of humor (that she undoubtedly inherited at least somewhat from Grandma Eleanor).

She's missing Harry's sloppy, open mouthed kisses and his unbridled love for seltzer (seriously, that guy hears me making a bottle with my Sodastream from across the house and he's by my side in seconds, with arms outstretched).

She's missing Lucy's paragraph long diatribes about how she's "NOT going night-night" and "Where is [her] princess book" and "[her] shirt! Is! Wet! Please! Take! It! Off!"

Thirteen years later and it still seems unimaginable to me that my mom could be gone.

And yet. It's just as unimaginable to me to consider her being here. To think of what it would be like for her to be in the same room with all of these people that she never got to meet.



Make no mistake. I am grateful every single day for the wonderful family I do have. For the loving, supportive partner and the four crazy, but delicious children. In quiet moments, I've been known to wonder, is this the Universe's way of making it up to me? For attempting to fill the Giant, Gaping Hole? (I know, as if the Universe has nothing better to do).

I think of her more when I need her more. For a few years, I seemed to deal with her absence more gracefully. Distracted by the overwhelming responsibility of adjusting to having two small children, I was almost perpetually distracted.


This was the face my mom used to make when she was about to explode into laughter. She was known to fall victim to a serious case of the giggles. She could be so silly sometimes and it was one of the many things I loved about her. 

But the kids are getting older and new questions are arising. Tougher questions than just How long do I wait before giving Tylenol if I've already given Advil? (Besides, we have Dr. Google for that now). And so I've been thinking about her more recently, as I seem to do when things feel particularly overwhelming. I long to pick up the phone and ask for her counsel. She was the logic to my tendency toward over-emotion. She was the "Lighten up!" to my doomsday.

In short, she was my first "Everything Is Going to Be Fine."




And who doesn't need one of those?

Since losing her, I've had to internalize that reassurance (and of course, draw on the support of Erin and friends). And most of the time, I do a pretty good job of it, I think. The older I get, the calmer I am. I have more perspective and a better ability to prioritize. What's really important? What's worth getting upset about and what's better to shrug off? Things have a way of working out, my father once wisely reminded me, when I was dealing with some crisis that I can't recall now. When I   really wished I could have picked up the phone and also talked to my mom.  It's a phrase I remind myself of often, because it's true.

Except for, you know, cancer.

***

A few days ago I was rushing to the bank before work and as I stood in line I read an email from someone very close to my mom. I had been musing about my mother's upcoming birthday and noted that she'd been on my mind more than usual lately.

Eleanor is missed more than I can really say, he wrote.  Not a day goes by that I don't think about her.

Yes. That.

For some reason, those two simple sentences resonated (and of course, cued the waterworks). They resonated, and also, I think I was overcome because it's so rare that I come in contact with someone who knew my mom. Oh sure, she's in my heart and all of that. But in my day to day life? It's almost as if she never existed at all.

As I reached the front of the line at the bank, I looked away from the email and stuffed my phone in my purse. My eyes glassy and brimming with tears, my face hot and flushed. Of course, I had no tissues.

"Is it allergies?" the teller asked, sympathetically. Yes, I lied and so began her treatise on the best allergy medications. And at that moment, I was very grateful for allergies and little white lies.


Mom and me, sleep away camp drop-off, 1983 

Happy birthday, Mom. Wishing for an afternoon shopping with you at Nordstrom, and plenty of prosecco and chocolate raspberry cake.

Here's to you, with so much love.

Unruffled

Leo, get dressed please.

Leo, it's time to get dressed.

Leo, I made your eggs. After you're dressed you can eat breakfast.

That's my script, almost every morning. In other news, isn't that one of the most frustrating things about being a mom? The nagging. The feeling that no one is listening to you. I swear I get tired of the sound of my own voice and I get on my own nerves sometimes, so I can only imagine what my children must think of me.

Back to mornings. Fourth grade seems to be going fine for Leo, but the early morning hours of his day can be less than stellar. Leo hasn't been moving very, shall we say, efficiently lately. This has led to a lot of cajoling and repetition of the same request.

Imagine my frustration yesterday morning, when, a few minutes after my twelfth request to him to get dressed, Leo appeared in the kitchen finally out of pajamas but wearing considerably less than what is customarily expected of a nine year old boy. That's when he started trying to open the back door.

"Outside! I want to go outside!" he demanded.

That's fine, I said. But you have to get dressed first.

See what I mean? I get on my own nerves, seriously.

Leo groaned at me as he's apt to do when I irritate him to new levels, and stormed back to his room.

I drank some coffee. I wiped some crumbs off the kitchen counter. I helped Ellie find a show on television. I changed a diaper and dressed a baby or two.

That's when it occurred to me. Where was Leo? And what was he doing? And why wasn't he standing in front of me, dressed?

I went to his room, knocked on his door, and then opened it.

There was Leo. Except he wasn't exactly in his room. No, he was standing at one of the the windows of his bedroom. Outside the window. Yes, he had climbed out the window. LEO CLIMBED OUT OF THE WINDOW? Because, of course.

Well, he did say he wanted to go outside, I thought to myself. Ahem.

I have to say, I've seen a lot in my days as a mom of four, but a kid climbing out the window is [thankfully] a first for me. Keep in mind it's not quite as dramatic as it sounds. Leo's room is on the ground floor, so when he climbed out of said window, he literally just stepped onto the deck. But still. Leo climbed out of the window. The window!

The look on Leo's face when I opened that bedroom door will stick with me for a long time. It was part horror/part Oh Crap/part What the Heck Do I Do Now? He immediately started scrambling to climb back inside. That's when I turned around, walked into the living room, and said to Erin, He's all yours. I think I had more coffee. And probably changed another diaper.

Erin handled Leo with aplomb as she always does. He was immediately, unabashedly contrite, bursting into tears the second she started talking to him (a sure sign that he knew he'd screwed up royally). Leo is not a crier.

It wasn't until halfway through the day that I realized I'd forgotten to mention what happened to anyone. I didn't text my usual friends about it or tell any of my co-workers (the likes of whom I often share parenting war stories anecdotes).

That's when it dawned on me. My life has reached such a stage of (wonderful) ridiculousness lately that a kid climbing out of a window--and landing safely, thank goodness--did not even phase me or give me pause. That speaks volumes. It was just another morning. I've (almost) seen it all.

And yes, we'll be heading to Home Depot this weekend, for the "better" window locks.

In Our Own Backyard

A few weeks ago when the kids and I were home enjoying our little end of summer togetherness, we took a walk over to a new park near our house.

If you look closely, you'll see a rainbow in the fountain in this shot. That pretty much blew Leo and Ellie's minds. That was a good ten minute conversation right there.

For years, this waterfront area--which is also a reservoir--lay dormant and inaccessible (with barbed wire and angry "Keep Out" signs). I always thought it was such a wasted space and would make such a perfect walkway or park or something. Well, developers must have heard my complaining because this summer, they finally turned this little corner of New Jersey into a perfectly lovely little oasis complete with a delightful walkway/path, park and paddle boats.

It reminded me a little of some parks of my youth: Laurelhurst, the Rhododendron Gardens.


It may not shock you to learn that in spite of my spirited sense of adventure, I did not brave paddle boats with four small children by myself. Of course Ellie was quite disappointed and couldn't figure out why we couldn't take a spin (check out the sweet swan boats!).

 It was hot. Leo, in spite of the smoothie we picked up on the way to the park, was thirsty and tired. In fact, after our walk along the water, he sat down right by the boat dock for a rest. But I have to give him credit. He was a trooper. I know he tends to tire easily and he walked the whole way (round trip was over a mile I'd bet) without too much grumbling.



We didn't stay too long at the park once we'd completed the walk along the water. Lucy started to get restless. I've taken to calling her Defcon Seven (not to her face of course). Because when she needs something? She needs it RIGHT NOW! And she repeats herself. Over and over and over: MOMMY! I want out of the stroller! I want out of the stroller Mommy! Mommy I want out of the stroller! It may not shock you to learn that she's growing more and more anti-stroller by the day, but still can't be trusted near large bodies of water. But I see many more outings in the future at this glorious park, which will be even more fun when we're out of the Two Toddlers Running In Opposite Directions Stage of Life that we're currently in.

Notes on a Friday

Like me, slumped over in her chair (in spite of the fact that she's wearing stretch pants) Lucy is ready for the weekend. (I'm dying to know what Harry was saying to her here. Doesn't  it look important?) Hey Lu, how do you think the Ducks are gonna fare this weekend? Or maybe "A priest, a rabbi and a minister get into a rowboat..."


These two. They had the entire backyard to themselves and yet what did they do? Dragged these little chairs rightnexttoeachother. They had to be right on top of one another. And do you know what they're doing here? Saying "Cheers." Clinking their Popsicles. Completely on their own volition. Where did they learn it? From Leo and Ellie of course...who learned it from...what can I say, we're a celebratory family?



1/4 smiling and looking at the general vicinity of the camera. Yup, that's about right.



I know it's not even October yet, but last night I broke down and hung up the Halloween lights (not sure who voted and decided that orange and purple were the official Halloween colors but that happened). There's something so happy about colored lights and since fall officially starts this weekend and that kicks off the beginning of my favorite time of the year ever (hooray for the decorating season and the absence of hot weather!), well, I figured why not?

The kids (mostly Ellie, but the twins a little) appropriately oohed and ahhhed at the lights---I only decorated one window this year (since the other one is a bit more accessible) for fear of the Crazies twins "interfering" with the lights--that's code for Tearing Them Down Triumphantly--(they've already made their mark on the curtains that skim the side of the train table, ahem).

Ooohs and ahhhs at the end of a long week. Because isn't that really what it's all about?

That Back to School Attitude and Explaining the Unexplainable

Number charts have always been a struggle for Leo, but take a look at the first assignment Leo brought home this school year. SO proud of my boy.

It's not yet noon on the Friday (the thirteenth! eep!) of the first week of school...would it be premature to say we're off to a good start? Having started a week late due to Rosh Hashana, coupled with an extra week of togetherness, I think it's fair to see everyone was ready to get back to routine.

For example: At one point last week, after an especially hot and sticky trip to Costco with all four kids, I finally had the not-always-agreeable-Lucy strapped into her carseat. But she was still squawking and whining (Leo, especially, hates being in the car when one--or--heaven forbid--both--of the babies start crying). And so there was Leo (and Ellie) sitting in the back of the mini van, looking beleaguered and flushed and generally Over It.

Are you guys ready for a little break from the babies? I asked. Figuring they were both longing for camp, or, gasp, school? Anything that did not involve an outing in the car with a fussing, disagreeable two year old.

No. They answered, and each pointed at the other. They were ready for a break from each other.


Now that the big kids are back at school, everyone has been a bit more agreeable. Pretty much. I mean, there's only so much adorable togetherness these people can take.

Since school has started, Ellie has seemed a little whinier (if that's possible, ahem) than usual, but I am chalking it up to tiredness and the fact that she's made the leap from kindergarten (plenty of playtime) to Big, Bad First Grade. Also, there's been a bit more attitude coming from her than usual lately. For example, I ask her to get her clothes for the day and she responds, "I don't want to."

Come again?

I know I'm about to sound about 10,000 years old right now, but I just don't remember saying things like that to my parents when I was that age. Then again I was the perfect child, so...

In any event, a little light bulb went off in my head this morning, as Ellie exclaimed "Mommy! Today I get to choose something from the treasure box!" She went on to explain that she'd been given tickets all week from Ms. K. for good behavior and today was the day she'd finally get to cash them in.

That's exciting! I said to Ellie. But did you know that the behavior tickets extend to home? That means if there is misbehavior at home, tickets will be taken away at school? (Believe it or not this was all completely improvised--yes, yes, I know, I'm a parenting genius. It's ok, I know...)

"You mean you can CALL Ms. K?" Ellie asked.

I nodded.

A perplexed and slightly nervous look fell over Ellie's face. And with that, she disappeared upstairs to get her clothes.



Leo came home with an "All About Me" book yesterday. It was filled with his likes (pizza and the color pink) and dislikes (math and homework). There was plenty of information about his beloved family too and as you can see, his dear Ruby is still a part of it. This makes me both happy and sad at the same time. Poor Leo. It's hard enough for me to grasp the concept of death (She's here. And then, she's...not? I don't get it either buddy, believe me). I can't imagine what's going through his mind about all of it.

Leo has taken to telling complete strangers about Ruby which can be...uncomfortable. The other day at Costco a woman approached me about the twins (she wanted to tell me that she had boy/girl twins too, but hers were thirty). Leo, who was standing right next to Lucy and a pile of track suits, blurted out "Ruby died!" Needless to say, the woman nodded and quickly scurried off.

I don't want to discourage Leo from talking about Ruby, but we are working on appropriateness (sort of like, it's not ok to hug strangers). It's definitely a work in progress.

And unlike most of the other lessons, this one often leaves me teary.


Harry and Ruby, fall 2012. I didn't think I had any pictures of Ruby with either of the twins but found a few the other day. That made me happy.

How to Pack an Entire Summer Vacation Into Two Weeks

Here's hoping your summer of 2013 was filled with great memories too.

September 11

48th and 8th Avenue, 9:45 a.m., September 11, 2013, New York City.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Did you hear the cheers of parents all over the country yesterday morning? Particularly two in New Jersey?


These two were ready. First and fourth grade, respectively. And as Erin noted, the above shot is the first time these two have not bickered in two weeks.

(More on life for the last two weeks in another post).


I realize I'm biased. But this?

Stick a fork in me. I'm done. That's it. Dead of the cuteness. (Also, J.C. Penney? I think you have a modeling contender if you care to recreate the catalog from 1982).

I am so proud of my girl who knows nothing about mini skirts or short shorts. She picked this out the night before, a gift from Grandma Jerry. You guys, it has smocking. Again. I'm done. (Sidenote: It's a little on the long side and when Lucy saw it on Ellie she pronounced it "Too big.").

Leo took the bus as he always does, but I was able to bring Ellie to school and meet her teacher (Leo's teacher actually tutored him over the summer so we're old friends by now).

And how's this for small world news (as well as Damn, I'm Old): Ellie's teacher is the older sister of one of Leo's former classmates (who also happens to have Down syndrome!). I thought that was pretty cool.

Ellie was excited to see a girl from camp in her class (who happened to be new to the school). I was so impressed by how friendly Ellie was to her. She may not have realized what she was doing, but the little girl seemed cheered by Ellie's presence and interest in her.

Ellie wasn't scared or nervous in the least (at least not that I could tell) but she still wanted me to stay with her until the very last minute, before the classes went inside. 

I hope it's a very long time before I'm waved off at the curb, before school. I'm relishing these years that they are still not ashamed to be seen with me, that they, gasp, even seem to like having me around!