Thankful…

It is 6:53 on this Sunday morning of Thanksgiving weekend 2015.  I am awake since 4:51am… thanks to my bladder, a 21-pound dog that somehow manages to take up a king size bed, and my incessant thoughts.  The whirring noise of the dishwasher is a constant reminder that I forgot to put the dishes up last night as I sit in my kitchen between the break of dawn and sunrise.  I drink my green tea in a Norwegian Cruise Line thermal cup because all the mugs are in the dishwasher. 

I’m not the only one who’s been up this early; I know that my cousin Andrea in Connecticut is awake too because she “liked” something I posted on Facebook less than an hour ago.  It’s funny how the world has gotten so small because of technology.  We can think the same things and respond to one another without uttering a sound, just with the touch of a 6-inch screen. 

My mother comes into the kitchen.  My alone time is ended. I will be interrupted countless times as she starts her day.  She asks if I’m angry with her.  She always asks that when I’m preoccupied.  I don’t answer.  She comes over to show me her hands- how much softer they are, because I massaged Aquaphor into them last night before she went to bed.  Then she says, “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”  There is such sadness in her voice and her expression when she says it; it brings tears to my eyes. 

Thankful…that has been the theme for the last several days, interspersed with black Friday, day after black Friday, midnight madness and cyber Monday sales. We pause, between shopping, cooking, overeating, taking down old holiday decorations, putting up new holiday decorations, and appreciate the things in our lives that make us human.  In between feeling and acting as if we need more and more, we realize the abundance we already have…or do we really?

The day is brightening now; the dog comes to greet me with his stump of a tale wagging and his earnest eyes.  Now he’s curled up on the window seat, comfy and content, even though he’s sitting on cushions and pillows that desperately need to be replaced.  It doesn’t faze him in the least because his tummy is full and he has his people around whom he loves and love him back.  He knows the true meaning of thankfulness.  

It has been an eventful year with much to be thankful for.  I have been feeling guilty because I never formally wrote a blog entry to welcome the birth of my grandson, Ryder Dylan.  He arrived on March 21^st a day after spring and a spring snowfall.  Ryder is eight months old now, crawling and pulling himself up and trying to take his first steps.  He is the epitome of how time flies, no zooms, by.  But more than that, he has brought so much joy into our lives…his smile can brighten a room, reminding me of my brother-in-law, Scott, who is gone almost 4 years now. 

This past year my life has been spent juggling my time between taking care of my mom; working full time and helping my daughter take care of my two grandchildren, when I can. In between I fell halfway down a flight of steps onto my head (the day before Ryder was born), found out I had pancreatitis instead of a concussion and then had gall bladder surgery at the beginning of the summer.  Consequently there has been little time to write blog entries.  I have come to abhor the term, “sandwich generation” because it diminishes my situation by comparing it to a lunch meal.   

Everybody is awake now.  My older daughter called me at 8am and my younger daughter (who is normally asleep at this time) is puttering around the kitchen. And this just confirms the challenge I have in writing a blog entry, because even though I can block out the sounds of the microwave, the opening and closing of the refrigerator, the ruffling of cereal boxes and clinging of utensils to dishes, I have to respond to the complaints of the day or several questions. 

However, I shall not complain.  (That is what I wrote on my kitchen chalkboard a few days ago…Thou shall not complain.)  Instead I will pause and consider my abundance:

My husband who makes the bed (except not today), does the dishes and the laundry along with fixing almost everything that breaks,

My two daughters who make me proud-

One who has proven to be an excellent pre-school teacher as well as fabulous mother, and

One who has completed her first NYC marathon this year, besides for having a terrific career.

My son-in-law who is a fabulous father and who works so hard for my daughter and grandchildren

My two grandchildren whom I can never get enough of, especially when I tell my granddaughter I love her and she answers, “I love you more.”

My dog (How could you not be thankful for your dog?)

The rest of my family

My friends

My home (even though it is falling apart and depleting my bank account)

My sweet 92-year old mother…who is thankful for me

And, even though sometimes I do feel like the luncheon meat squeezed into the proverbial generation of sandwiches, those two pieces of bread- are what holds me together more than squeezing me in.... and they're what I’m most thankful for. 

And So We Wait...

Five more days until Spring arrives after a long, brutal and too-snowy winter.  I look out my kitchen window past Sonny, who sits guarding the house, propped comfortably on a pillow of the window seat.  Finally, I can see the grass on my front lawn thanks to the rain all day Saturday.  There’s only a few vestiges of the latest snowfall peaking out below the bushes.  In a couple of days it will be St. Patrick’s Day.  Corned beef and cabbage will be on special at the local food stores.  Green will be ubiquitous.  The trees will begin blooming, tulips and daffodils will start sprouting and the birds will be singing announcing the vernal equinox.  All this I can be sure of; the only thing I can’t be sure of is the day of my grandson’s birth, which can be anytime between now and early April.  And so we wait. 

Two things I will always remember awaiting the birth of my grandson is the long hard winter that preceded his birth, along with the long, hard pregnancy his mother had to endure.  Lindsay, not even 5 feet tall and maybe 96 pounds soaking wet when she’s not pregnant has a basketball shape protruding out of her slight frame.  Inside is a cute little mystery man.  His three-dimensional sonogram pictures look different from his older sister.  This is a very different pregnancy and a very difficult one for my daughter. 

Lindsay had three stomach surgeries before she was 30 years old.  One was at 19, when they removed her appendix, another was at 28 when they had to remove her bile duct, gall bladder and “re-design” her intestines.  Soon after that she had to have a surgical hernia repaired; therefore, she has a piece of mesh holding everything in.  This is tender territory when you are gestating another human being.  Her ob/gyn explained that she doesn’t have the muscles like other women because of her scar tissue and surgical hernia and that is what is causing her this pain.  She told me that even the water from the shower hurts her as it beats on her belly;  yesterday she described the pain as knives in her stomach. 

I can’t even say to her, “I know what you’re going through,” because other than sciatica, I had relatively easy pregnancies.  (Although, easy would not be the word I would want to use when recalling the nine months of producing another human being.)  The sleepless nights I could relate to, the hemorrhoids, the lack of bladder control- which unfortunately remains- all these things I could say, “I know.”  Except the pain.  It causes me to feel helpless and guilty all at once- which makes me realize, I really did become my mother.  Then I think, well isn’t this our job as mothers?- to take the pain away- to “fix” our children in any circumstance.  I remember once when my niece, Julianna, was little, she had hurt her finger.  My sister, Claire, whipped out the bandaids and Neosporin from her pocketbook in a split second.  I questioned her rhetorically, “You just carry that around with you?”  “Of course I do. I’m the mother of a small child,” she responded.  I thought to myself I must have missed that in the manual they never give you to read.  My own kids always used to tell me that I’m not a real mother just because I never have tissues on hand.  I surprise them sometimes by trying to remember to buy the small packages of Kleenex, and then struggle to retrieve them in the abyss of whatever size purse I am carrying. 

The only thing I can do is help out with Lexi, so now we have had two sleepovers, which my friends were shocked waited this long to occur.  I love the sleepovers- giving my granddaughter a bath and wrapping her in the towel well enough to take away her shivers and goose bumps, reading her her favorite book five to seven times then putting her in the pack and play as she holds about a dozen stuffed animals all at once.  I even love picking up and putting away her blocks after she dumped them on the rug the fourth time, cleaning the food that she doesn’t want and throws on the floor or trying to figure out how to fix the TV from whatever she touched on the remote.  I love how she loves my mother and calls out “Nanny” to make sure she’s paying attention to her, then runs over to hug her legs.  I love it all– 
Her passion for life, 
Her giggles, 
Her temper tantrums, 
Her boundless energy, 
Her twirling around until she gets dizzy on purpose, 
Her torturing my dog as she screams Dayeee for Sonny, 
The way she says “hot” when the microwave beeps, 
The way she sings the last word of every verse of a song, 
How she calls me Mimi over and over again, 
How she calls Mark Papa and just “Mi” for Aunt Kimmy, 
The mischievous glint in her eyes when she goes to touch something she knows she shouldn’t, 
How she opens the drawer in the kitchen where she knows I keep the cookies, 
The way she says “cheers” and clicks her cup or food to yours 
And especially the way she picks up her mommy’s shirt, kisses her belly and says “uh-ber”.  
I love it all because there is nothing in the world more amazing than being a grandparent, forget the seven wonders, this tops it all. 

So, that’s why, after a very long week of traveling, by train, car, plane, taking 10 o’clock evening flights to Syracuse and getting up at 5 the next morning, being pushed and shoved on a subway, sitting through traffic, sitting through meetings, running through and to school buildings to do presentations, I still make time to be a grandma.  And that’s why when I come home on a Friday and all I think I want to do is sit on my couch and stare into space, if my very pregnant daughter calls and says, Can you please watch Lexi for a little so I can get a foot massage?, without hesitation, I say, “Of course, honey.”  Because even though I am more exhausted than I ever thought I could possibly feel, my granddaughter somehow gives me the strength to move and move quite fast for an almost-59 year-old lady.  Forget energy drinks or caffeine, we should just bottle up the energy of a toddler to revive you.  And we should call it “Pure Joy”.  This is the secret to being a grandparent that everyone says- Wait, you’ll see, it’s just the best thing ever!

And so we wait.  Lindsay is 37 weeks pregnant now.  On her last visit to the doctor, this past Monday, she was almost 2 centimeters and 70–80% effaced- familiar vocabulary for mothers and grandmothers.  The doctor told her that if she makes this much progress this coming Monday (tomorrow), he might just bring her in and induce her because of her pain.  And even though she wants to be done with the pain, her first priority is that her son will be good and ready to be born.  That’s a good way to describe what a mother does, to be willing to suffer for the sake of her child.  And being a mother is what my daughter is best at.  There is no questioning that fact.  The only question that remains is when will Lexi's "uh-ber" be good and ready to be born?  And so we wait.  

“A Peckel of Tsores and A Peckel of Brochehs” Saying Farewell to 2014 as we enter 2015…

It has been several months since I have put my thoughts into words- to be exact- seven long months of avoiding the blank page.  As I begin to write this, it is a cold winter morning although a brilliant sparkling sun illuminates the pale blue sky this first day of 2015. It is so bright and persistent; I didn’t even have to turn on the kitchen lights this morning.  It was my alarm clock at the break of dawn; even though I tried to go back to sleep, I just couldn’t.   

Lately, every year, every month, every day seems to speed by since I became a grandmother.  Often, I feel compelled to just grab time and slow it down, but it has its own agenda and its own pace just like our sweet and equally energetic Lexi Grace.   She was an early walker at 10 months old and now at 19 months, she has one speed- unstoppable.  Sometimes her feet barely touch the ground as she flits from one place to another.   

Lexi calls me “Mimi” now (a derivative of “Grandma” in French) and every time she does, which is mostly over and over again, my cup runneth over.  She also calls Mark “Papa” –the closest she could get to “Grandpa” and my mom “Nanny”.  She knows where I keep the cookies in my kitchen drawer and opens it to ask for them when she’s here.  She caught on faster to using my iPhone and iPad than I did- scrolling through it with her thumb like a pro, until she can't give in to her desire to hurl it across the room.  Her favorite things are Elmo and Minnie and she also loves to sing and dance.  She is my “peckel of brochehs”.  Lord knows this past year I’ve had my share of a “peckels of tsores”. 

Peckel of Tsores

Flashback to the summer of 2014- actually the very first day of summer.  I had a unique day planned for my mom and me.  I had met this very interesting lady, who happened to be at my high school reunion, though I didn’t meet her at the reunion.  I met her somewhere else.  She was a healer and she invited me to a special Summer Solstice Crystal Celebration in Brooklyn.  I wanted to do something interesting with my mom and we hadn’t seen my cousin, Jane, who lives in Brooklyn, for a while.  So we planned a visit, first at my cousin Jane’s apartment, to have lunch and afterwards, we’d either go to the Crystal Celebration, or maybe not. 

It was a beautiful day- warm, sunny- a perfect beginning for summer.  We arrived at my cousin’s house early in the afternoon.  I remember her being really nervous about my mom falling on her buckling wooden floor, which was damaged in a recent water leak from the apartment above.  We decided to sit on the terrace because the day was so nice.  We were there maybe a half hour.  Then, we went inside leaving my mom outside while Jane began to make lunch.  I recall her preparing a salad and slicing avocados.  Mom was less than 2 feet away from us.  Jane became concerned that the sun was beating on mom’s head and she wanted her to come in.  I told mom to wait until I helped her down from the doorway leading from the terrace into the apartment.  She did not hear me, of course, because she has about 80% hearing loss and decided to come in by herself.  My back was to her for about a second as I saw the look of horror on Jane’s face and then everything went into slow motion.  That’s the way I remember it to this day as if time did slow down- the times that you wish you could stop or alter in some way…my cousin’s eyes and mouth wide open, my head turning and my mom toppling in a dragged out sequence of events to that final inevitable moment of the floor and her frail body colliding.   She could not get up and naturally, being my mom- was extremely apologetic.  What a way to end a perfectly planned day. 

My mom ended up in the emergency room, in Brooklyn, of course.  She had broken her hip and needed surgery.  She went through it like a trooper.  Every nurse, every doctor, every aide loved her.  She got a lot of attention.  The day she was discharged, the Rabbi from the hospital came to visit her and they talked.  That’s where I got the words in my title.  When my mom asked why did this have to happen to me now, he replied, God gives us a peckel of tsores and a peckel of brochehs.  He then translated a peckel of tsores= a package of troubles and a peckel of brochehs= a package of blessings.

Well the peckel of tsores kept growing.   Mom went into a rehab facility.  In the middle of July Mark had the long-needed surgery for his shoulder that had dislocated nine times since 2012, including the day Lindsay went into labor with Lexi.  Mom returned home a little after Mark’s surgery, so I had two patients to look after.   And then one morning when I went to walk Sonny (my dog), I found that he could not move because he was paralyzed in his hind legs.  We found out that he had vertebrae disk disease and needed emergency surgery, which cost us $6000- not the best time for that because Mark was on disability and not due to return to work until after the summer. 

So Sonny became my third patient.  He had to be isolated in a pen in the middle of my living room and every time he had to be walked, it was with a sling to hold up his hind legs.  This was an added task, amidst driving Mark back and forth to the doctor or therapy and managing the caregivers coming in and out to take care of my mom.  Of course, both my sisters and brother came to pitch in and help, along with Lindsay and Kim.  But still, I could not enjoy the summer at all because I was so busy taking care of my three patients.  At one point during the summer, I mistook a pulled muscle in my chest (from lifting Sonny in and out of the pen) for a heart attack and went by ambulance to the hospital myself.  My heart was fine.  The doctors asked me if I was feeling a little stressed.  I wanted to throw something at them. 

I was looking forward to the fall, thinking the change of season would change our luck.  Finally it came and shortly after that, out of the blue, Mark, who had returned to work started to have terrible stomach cramps, which he initially thought was a 24-hour bug.  I was away on a business trip.  When I returned, he said he still wasn’t feeling well and showed me where the pain was- on the lower right side of his stomach.  I had a sinking feeling I knew what it was.  We went straight to the emergency room and a few hours later, my sinking feeling was confirmed– Mark needed an emergency appendectomy.  I wanted to have a conversation with God at that point- and ask him if he could find someone else to pick on, that surely we had reached our quota for tsores for this year. 

Peckel of Broches-

It’s all in the way you look at things.  As hard as the summer was, everyone made a recovery.  My mom is walking again, with a walker; she can dress herself and she even dances just as well as before.  Mark’s shoulder is getting stronger and Sonny is walking and running again- a little lopsided, but he doesn’t seem to mind.  Actually, Mark’s shoulders are a bit lopsided, as well.  We were lucky that they caught his appendix before it burst and he recovered within a week.  So even when you get a package of troubles, blessings can be inside as well. 

Our Lexi is getting bigger, smarter and prettier every day- with her remarkable blue eyes and a head full of blonde curls.  She's still a little pipsqueak- all 20 pounds of her- and a tenacious bundle of exuberance.  Sometimes, she seems like she's in training to be a trapeze artist.  She continues to fill our hearts with joy and our days with laughter, even with her occasional temper tantrums, for which she earned my nicknames for her- “Sarah Heartburn or Miss Melodramatic”.  She adores her parents and reminds me of how clingy Lindsay used to be with me when she was her age.  She is as loving as she is loveable.

At the end of the long and memorable summer, when we were celebrating Lindsay and Scott's fourth wedding anniversary just at he start of September, we were equally thrilled and surprised from the best news we got in 2014 when Lindsay and Scott announced that Lexi is going to be a big sister.  A few weeks later, when we did the “reveal”, with balloons this time, we were ecstatic to find out that it is a BOY! 

Lexi’s baby brother is due in April (or maybe late March) of 2015. There will be challenges- two children under two in a very small house that is stretching to its limits with piles of Lexi’s things all over as it is.  But every child brings its own blessings along with it.  And we are eagerly awaiting this package in the spring. 

My grandma journey continues.  I had a long New Year’s Day lounging in my pajamas all day with mom, Kim and Mark.  I spent over an hour talking to one of my oldest and dearest friends, Michele.  Later on, Lindsay, her belly full with my grandson, and Lexi came over.  Scott joined us all for dinner.  It seemed as if time did slow down just for today, at least. 

So, 2014, I bid you a fond farewell- and thanks for the packages- good or bad- I handled them all.  As Charles Swindoll says, I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it.  

As I finish this piece, the one I have avoided writing for so long, it is almost midnight – the sky is dark and the air outside is cold.  Nevertheless my heart is warm and full and looking forward to all my “peckels” in 2015. 

Happy New Year.