“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.  

Another Mother’s Day, Another Milestone

It is the day before Mother’s Day, 2014, as I write this, the evening of an unseasonably warm Saturday in May that ended with several afternoon downpours.  As I sit in my office, I still hear the rhythm of the spring rain outside my window.  

I have not written an entry to my blog in over a month.  The last time I did I was a week away from attending my 40^th High School Reunion.  That was five weeks ago– a distant, heartwarming memory of being with old friends whom I haven’t seen in decades.  It was an event I was hesitant to attend, but afterward, I was happy that I did.  That blog was titled, So, Where Does the Time Go?  I still don’t have the answer to that, except maybe that it just goes. 

I remember the night of the reunion as I entered the restaurant to over 100 people in their late 50s; those were the people of my youth, when I was just me.  I had a hard time recognizing many of them and then when I found my own nametag, I realized I also had a hard time recognizing that girl in the picture, as well.  She had my name, but not really.  Her name was Jean Berman-Feldman.  I haven’t gone by the name “Jean” since I graduated college.  And “Berman” was even more unfamiliar to my current identity.  Jean Berman had long dark hair and a young face- she felt like more of a stranger to me than most of the people in that room.   Several times, when people who didn’t recognize me asked who I was, I had to think what my name was.  As we caught up on our lives, I found myself talking more about my children and grandchild than anything else and mostly everyone did the same thing.  Of course, due to social media, many people knew about my present life and vice versa. 

That dark-haired, young girl named “Jean” on my nametag is not me anymore.  She is certainly a part of me, though, like a square on a patchwork quilt, joined with all the other patches that make up Jeannie, past and present- singer, actress, teacher, educational specialist, wife, writer– a potpourri of all the stages of my life, more than half of it, being a mother.  Those are the most treasured patches on my quilt.  And this year, another precious patch has been added-- being a grandmother.

Lexi is 11 months old now and has started to walk- early- unlike her mother and aunt.  Her personality is emerging- she is full of warmth and love.  When I sit on the floor with her while she is playing, she stops several times during her busy activities to put her head on my chest to show me affection; then she mischievously takes my glasses off and screams with delight.  She waves “bye-bye”, naturally with her hand facing her most of the time. And just this week Nanny, her great-grandmother, taught her how to clap hands. 

This past year, which has zoomed by, I have been blessed to not only witness my granddaughter develop from an infant into a precocious, chubby baby, but also to see my daughter evolve into an amazing mother.  And Lexi is just as attached to her as her mother was to me and apparently as I was to my mother (as my mother has told me).  She becomes hysterical when Lindsay just leaves the room.  There is a bond between a mother and child that is like the thread that holds a patchwork quilt together. 

My 31st Mother's Day-- and coincidently, my 31st entry for this blog; perhaps it was meant for me to wait this long to write.  This Mother's Day marks another milestone in my life- my first as a grandmother.  Another square has been added to the patchwork quilt that represents my life.  This patch is ocean blue, like Lexi’s eyes; the threads that bond it to the other patches are golden like her hair.  And in the center is her name, Lexi Grace, enclosed in a heart-shape.

Happy Mother’s Day  

 

So, Where Does the Time Go?

time- noun. the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present and future regarded as a whole.

This Friday, our granddaughter, Lexi Grace, turned 10 months old.  The traditional monthly picture was posted on Facebook by her daddy, Scott.  The same props as month 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9 surrounded Lexi– her crib, a picture frame declaring the milestone month and her first Teddy Bear– a giant sized fluffy pink Gund given to her by Great Aunt Maryanne who said it was what her late Great Uncle Scott would have picked out.  The only difference in this photo is that the number of the month in the picture frame and Lexi are bigger.  Each month reveals her growing older and brighter, with more hair and naturally, better posture.  The Teddy Bear used to seem massive; now it’s getting smaller, like the lovely, distant memory of the day of her birth.  There is also one other thing that doesn’t seem to change– the color of Lexi’s eyes, still so mesmerizingly blue, as constant as the sky and the essence of time.

So, where does the time go?  Everyone asks, rhetorically.  I used to think, when I was a child and teenager, that time moved slowly, at a snail’s pace.  Ten months felt like an eternity.  Once I had my children, though, the snail became like butterflies, ephemeral and swift, barely present long enough to enjoy its beauty before it fluttered away.  Now, that I’m a grandmother, it feels as though time is the bird that sits outside my window on my Japanese maple tree at the dawn of spring daring me to take notice of his presence before he flies abruptly away.  I’m always a little disappointed that his appearance was so brief, and then I forget and go on with my day. 

At this point in time I am 57, 11 months and 7 days old.  I have stubborn lines around my eyes and the corners of my mouth that no miracle cream can erase and believe me I have tried them all.  I now smile as much as possible to make my frown lines disappear; although, it seems to be producing more lines, only higher.  I am beginning to see droopy jowls under my jaw and deeper creases at the base of my neck.  Therefore, scarves are an essential part of my wardrobe and I do believe that a middle-aged woman probably devised the growing fashion trend of scarf wearing, bless her heart.  Some signs of aging I can camouflage or cover up, not so the skin on my hands, which is translucent and thin and dotted with stubborn brown age spots.  Still, some people are surprised when I reveal my age; I self-deprecatingly tell them they need their eyes checked.   

My Grandma Fanny used to say that it doesn’t matter how old you are or what you look like on the outside, on the inside you still feel like that 18-year old girl you once were.  I know just what she means now.  That 18-year old girl (me) will be attending (reluctantly) her 40^th high school reunion next week.  That same 18-year old girl drove all the way to her 25^th high school reunion 15 years ago, into the parking lot and out of the parking lot without going in.  Believe me, that 18-year old 42-year-old girl looked a lot better.  Fifteen years of time, as quickly as it goes, leaves a lasting impression on your face and body.  The one benefit to this reunion is that I will be in a room full of people my own age; the only thing separating us will be 40 years of time and how we filled it, although I suspect some people might have filled it with Botox or Restylane, among other things. 

How did I fill 40 years of time?  I filled it with many things I never considered when I was that 18-year old high school graduate, black long hair parted down the middle, looking out of naïve brown eyes, freckled smooth complexion, standing wobbly on trendy 5 inch wedged sandals in 1973.  I know I had dreams of being a famous actress, or singer, or novelist or artist.  I know the four years of college ahead seemed like it would take forever to finish.  I can't even recall those four years now, or how they prepared me for life.  One of the alumni asked for a short bio from us, with a deadline of yesterday to turn it in.  I never even attempted to write one; ironically even though I love to write, bios of myself are the most challenging narratives to capture. 

Honestly, I wouldn’t know what to put in a bio about me that would encapsulate who I am and what I’ve done in the time between high school and now.  I measure my life by the state and accomplishments of my children, mostly.  They are the center of my world, even though at times they frustrate me beyond measure.  Now, being a grandmother, the most important thing about the time I have is spending it with Lexi.  Just a simple day watching her play with her toys, crawling on the floor with her cute little waddling tush, exploring and discovering the space she’s in while she's squealing sounds in her own language is my favorite way of filling time.  That is how I spent my day yesterday– babysitting for my granddaughter, enjoying every second of it, even when she was hysterical from being overtired and teething. 

At 10 months old, Lexi is pulling herself up on everything and letting go for longer amounts of time, just about to walk or run.  Part of me wants her to take those first few steps and the other part wants to hold her back.  The latter part just wants more of those moments that you wish you could put in a bottle so you could open it up anytime to feel your granddaughter sleeping (finally) upon your chest breathing in and out.  Those are the moments where I just want time to stand still. 

Me at 18

The Princess Phenomenon

Back in January, on a cold and grey Sunday morning, Lindsay invited us all to a Princess Breakfast at the skating rink she works at part time.  Kimberly and I attended, along with Lexi’s other grandparents, her other aunt and her two girl cousins.  We each paid the $10 admission for a breakfast of tasteless powdered dry scrambled eggs, greasy bacon and rubbery pancakes- certainly not fit for any princess.  Little girls ranging in age from 6 months to 7 came dressed in a variety of princess attire- either in their favorite Disney princess costume or with a t-shirt with the word “Princess” in sparkly letters printed across their chest. 

After we ate the pitiful food that was served, the lights went out and the music came on to make way for the parade of princesses, escorted by their princes- from Cinderella, to Belle, to Arielle to Snow White, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  The little girls greeted these so-called princesses, posed for photos with them, danced alongside them and their princes with their mommies or daddies or aunts or grandmas or grandpas.  I just stood there shaking my head and silently protested this fantasy I felt we force upon our daughters and granddaughters.  “Why should they look up to or aspire to be a princess?”  I told myself, “Why not a strong, independent woman like Hillary Clinton, Golda Meir, Eleanor Roosevelt or even Judge Judy.  Of course all of these women are not known for their beauty or raiment, rather for their brains and their ability to selflessly take care of everyone else.  Those are the women I wanted my granddaughter to admire and revere.

I left the princess breakfast feeling disenchanted, to say the least, and even ranted my cynicism to Kimberly in the car ride to Lindsay and Scott’s house.  Certainly I did not relate to being a princess and was intent on influencing my views on my very precious granddaughter, as well, even though her reaction to the whole thing was sheer bewilderment.  After all, my belief about princesses is that they are weak and helpless and need to be rescued. In my fantasy world my granddaughter could win the Nobel Peace Prize, find the cure for cancer or even be the first Jewish female president- a far cry from expecting a prince to save her and eventually determine her future.

Fast forward almost two months later to last week on a cold and grey Saturday morning, when three generations- my mom, Kimberly and I went to Parsippany, New Jersey to the Sheraton Hotel, coincidentally, its architectural structure resembling a castle.  We were attending an event led my friend, a life coach and best-selling author, Lisa Lieberman-Wang.  The headline to her invitation said, Women come to the castle where every princess belongs. 

At first when I saw this, my deeply rooted skepticism about the princess phenomenon kicked in.  “Here we go again,” I said to myself.  On top of that, she posted a description along with her flyer about the event as follows:

WOMEN.... do you remember the fairy tales we were told as a little girl. Disney Princesses said we are all princesses but most of us only wish it to be true now.

But who said it had to be a fairy tale?  What if it could be true that you are a PRINCESS? - one that is loved, admired, cared for and knowing.  How would life be different for you?

If you are not living in your truth and would like to know how to turn it all around., you want to be where all princess belong... the CASTLE. That's right.  We need to go to the castle to get our powers back to rule the kingdoms we were meant to serve.

The irony to this is in the short time I know Lisa, she seemed to fit under the other category of women, those whom I admire- powerful, independent and confident. She is also beautiful, well dressed and refers to her husband, Yardley, as “Handsome”.  Is it possible to be both a princess and like the women I respected?  Now I was bewildered. 

So here I was, with my deep-rooted sardonic beliefs, along with my doubting daughter and insecure mother in a room full of 100 women including my friend Jodi, whose father ironically always made her feel like a princess.  We started by dancing; as a matter of fact, we danced all throughout the day, in between exercises to uncover and release our negative patterns of behavior.  It was exhilarating and cathartic.  But most importantly, I learned more about myself in that day than I ever learned from months of therapy and self-help books.

The first thing I learned was that the beliefs we live with throughout our lives may be untrue.  Lisa wrote the word “BELIEF” on a chart and pointed out the word “LIE” within it.  “Is it possible the beliefs you’ve lived with could be lies you’ve told yourself?” she asked rhetorically.  At the beginning she had us draw a tree and write on the trunk a ‘story’ you have always told yourself- something you believed was true.  The branches were the actions you did based on what was in the trunk of your tree.  What Lisa wanted to show us was that what was in the trunk of our tree was a metaphor of how we live our life.  If we want to change, we need to cut down that tree (not so easy to do) and plant another one with a better belief of who you want to be and how you want to live your life. 

In the trunk of my tree was “I have to take care of everyone.”  Lisa asked for volunteers to come up on stage and I reluctantly raised my hand.  She was trained by Tony Robbins, someone I have followed and admire, so I trusted her implicitly.  In what felt like hours, in front of everyone else, she questioned and probed why I feel the way I do.  At one point she drew a dollar sign and a heart with an equal sign between them. I realized that this signified that I believed that money meant love and that affected the way I felt I needed to take care of everyone.  Lisa’s probing made me recognize that my father never made me feel like a princess because he never ever told me that he loved me.  The way he showed his love was to help me financially, always protect me and do as much as he could for me even when I was an adult.  I was adopting my father’s patterns of behavior on my own family and children, even my friends and colleagues.  The problem with this is that I am angry and resentful about it and becoming a martyr.  It suddenly registered that instead of being a princess with a kingdom, I became a victim with a ‘martyrdom’.

Lisa showed me that I have to let go of my anger because it is not serving me.  I need to change the trunk of my tree to a belief that will produce branches of actions to represent a more positive life.  At the end, she had me do a dance to celebrate the beginning of my positive journey. 

At the opening Lisa had told a story about her Grandma Susan (which happens to be Kimberly’s middle name).  Lisa’s epiphany came from what her Grandma Susan told her when she was at the lowest part of her life.  They were just six simple, yet profound words—“Take care of your mother’s daughter.”   This is what caused Lisa to make a change in her life and led her to help other women.  

I am no longer jaded by the princess phenomenon.  I am discovering that it’s okay to be a princess because it’s not about being rescued by a prince or being weak, it’s about feeling special and being treated that way.  So now, Lexi, I will never tell you that you should not want to be a princess or that being one will diminish the strength and power of your femininity- those were the lies in my beliefs.  Rather, I will model the words of wisdom that another grandma gave years ago….Take care of your mother’s daughter. 

And you will always be a princess just like your mom and your mom’s mom and your mom’s mom’s mom.  And your Aunt Kimberly, too.  Luckily, your daddy calls you 'princess' already.  

If you would like to read Lisa Lieberman-Wang’s book, you can find it on Amazon.  It is called Fine to Fab.   

You can also find out more about Lisa on her website: http://lisaliebermanwang.com/

Cold Winter, Warm Heart

As I sit at my kitchen island writing this today, I can feel the sun warming my shoulder.  It’s a cruel illusion, though, because when I turn around to look out the window, I see masses of white snow on my shrubbery, lining the streets and piled up in high mounds on the sidewalks outside.  This winter is in competition with the worst winter of 1996 and I think it’s winning. 

So even though Valentine’s Day falls right in the middle of my least favorite season, with its ubiquitous red and pink genial hearts and my sweet smelling deep crimson roses on the center of the table, it’s little consolation for the endless snowfall and bitter cold. 

The only comfort I do have during this time of year are the things that warm my heart, such as buying the first Valentine’s Day card for my granddaughter, Lexi, and her first balloon in the shape of a heart.  I loved her reaction to it– not a smile or a delicious, joyous giggle, like the one she had the other day while she watched the dogs play, rather a thoughtful, intellectual puzzlement to something new.  Of course a wide-eyed grin did emerge when she managed to figure out that if she pulled the string, the balloon came down.  She is crawling now, her little tush covered with hearts, speeding across the hardwood floor, only stopping to pull herself up and try to stand on her own.  Just being with her right before going out to Valentine’s dinner with grandpa was all I needed at the end of a cold winter day.

“Nobody can be uncheered with a balloon.” 
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

What other things warm my heart?  Naturally, going out to dinner with Grandpa Mark was a nice reprieve to the arctic weather we’ve been contending with, along with a surprise visit from my younger daughter, Kim, home for the weekend.  My brief escape to 80-degree Miami last week and a chance to hug my best friend.  And not only buying a Valentine card for my granddaughter and my husband, but also one for my 90 year-old Mom.  And let’s not forget- when the old boiler isn’t enough, my dog, Sonny, cuddles up to me all night and takes the chill right out of my bones. 

So even though I’m counting down the days of winter, the blessings that make my life special- my littlest Valentine– Lexi, my family, good friends and a furry dog to slobber my face with warm sloppy kisses counts so much more.  It even makes the cold of a very rough winter easier to bear. 

  

What warms your heart?

Seven

In scripture, seven symbolizes completeness or perfection. 

Last Friday, Lindsay, my mom and I, while out doing last minute Christmas shopping, stopped by Once Upon a Child, a store that buys and sells gently used baby paraphernalia.  I used to frequent this franchise, in Staten Island, when my kids were young- not to buy stuff, but to sell whatever either Lindsay or Kim had outgrown.  This particular store is in Massapequa, about 15 minutes away from me.  Lindsay wanted to stop off to see if they had a high chair or portable baby seat that I could use in my house for Lexi; she also wanted some fleece pajamas. 

Once Upon a Child is one of those “hit or miss” places because you never know if you will find what you are looking for or if you will find something that you might be looking for eventually.  But that day was our lucky day because we found a perfect portable high chair with a tray that even had toys that attach for the bargain price of $18.00 and two pair of fleece pajamas, as well.    

Soon after our lucky purchase, we had Lindsay, Scott and Lexi over for dinner and we got a chance to use the new (well, really used) portable high chair.  We strapped it onto one of my six dining room chairs.  And because Kim was in from Brooklyn, we needed to get out one of our extra folding chairs.  This never happened before; we were always six at my dining room table with my mom.  I realized at that moment- we are now seven.  Lexi made us seven.  And it finally dawned on me that my family is growing, as I looked over at our newest member who was sitting directly across from me, alternately playing with the toys on her high chair and eating her Mum Mum cookie. 

Lexi Grace turned seven months old this past Saturday.  She is sitting up now mostly by herself and slides on her stomach, although she only goes backwards.  She easily rolls from her belly to her back and then grabs her toes and giggles.  Just recently, while doing tummy time, instead of just sliding, she began to arch her back almost rocking on her knees.  Any day she will be crawling.  Then the fun begins.  Lexi will begin to initiate her freedom and that is both delightful and terrifying at the same time.  Baby proofing will become my life’s obsession.

Baby proofing is when you look at everything in your house and imagine its potential danger to an inquisitive teeny tiny human being.  Of course, when I'm with Lexi and she is on the floor exploring, I’m right next to her all the time.  But then I think of the first time when Lindsay accidently slipped while pulling herself up on her own book case, banging her forehead, which immediately grew a huge blue egg shape lump right in the middle.  I had been sitting right next to her.  As I recall, I don’t remember who was screaming louder at the time- Lindsay or I.  

This is the stage when my little granddaughter will start to detach a little bit more each day from protective arms and explore the world with more than just those dazzling blue eyes of hers.  Her little fingers are grabbing for things, constantly now; just the other day she pulled my glasses right off my face and I can no longer wear my large hoop earrings without her easily taking those out of my pierced ears in a split second.  She is enjoying all her Hanukkah toys, which pretty much take up most of the house.  Very often, you hear the cacophony of all the different sounds coming from those toys as she discovers all their shapes, colors and textures.  

I know Scott is the more willing to let Lexi leap into this next stage; he has been encouraging her to stand on her two little feet for a while now and she has excellent balance already.  Lindsay, like most mothers, would probably prefer her to be attached and dependent as long as possible.  Lexi has not even slept in her crib yet during the night- she is still in a corner of her parent’s bedroom in her pack’n’play. 

I understand how Lindsay feels.  I know that feeling.  I have that same exact feeling every day of my life since 1982.  Once you become a mother, you have this natural instinct to protect your child every second of their lives. That never leaves us.  ‘Baby proofing’ never really ends; we are almost always considering conceivable threats to the most precious things we have on this earth.  Besides for that, every stage of a baby’s development is also about every stage of the parents' development.  The baby just does what comes naturally.  But the parents research, inquire, get advice and google everything about what that child is doing and how best to respond to it.  

I was talking to a close friend, a fellow grandmother, recently, about all the things Lexi is doing now and some of the challenges Lindsay and Scott face, just like every other parent.  She said the smartest thing I ever heard about parenting.  It’s something I knew inherently, but never verbalized. 

“The role of a parent is to give your child the tools to become independent.”

So true, but yet again that very thought delights me and terrifies me at the same time.  However, giving our children the tools to be able to do the most basic things to survive on their own is really our job.  Animals know this instinctively. They can let go.  Mothers let go, sort of, but hold on at the same time, sometimes metaphorically, other times, literally. 

Seven months ago, all we did was hold this amazing little baby girl in our arms.  As each month passes we let go a little bit more while we behold how she is growing into her own little person, resembling neither of her parents exactly, just a perfect mixture of both of them.  When you are a parent, you are so busy living it every day, you don't notice the changes as much.  As a grandparent, it is so much more vivid.  

We are nearing the end of 2013, a year that brought us completeness and perfection– Lexi Grace.  And as we begin the year of 2014, I look forward to this wonderful little being, who makes my heart swell with love, becoming more of who she is meant to be. 

Happy New Year.

Thanksgiving 2013: Feeling Full

It is the first day of December, the beginning of the last month of the year of 2013– a year full of joy for me.  Right now after a very busy Thanksgiving weekend, I sit in my kitchen reminiscing, my head full of memories of the last several days of a double holiday.  Yes, double holiday, because this year Hanukkah and Thanksgiving occurred at the same time, therefore, we actually had ‘Thanksgivakkuh”. Consequently my full belly not only contains the remnants of the traditional turkey, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie but also potato latkes, applesauce and donuts.   And this year, in addition to my houseful of traditional harvest decorations of cornucopia filled with gourds, surrounded by scarecrows and synthetic foliage, I also have my menorah, dreidels and Hanukkah gifts.  I’m so relieved this won’t occur for another 70,000 years. 

It is so quiet now that I can hear the sound of my refrigerator humming, almost whispering quietly, “I’m still stuffed.”  This is a sharp contrast to less than 24 hours ago where you could hear a house full of people talking, laughing, still eating and of course the joyful squealing of our Lexi Grace, who turned six months old this Thanksgiving day. 

Last year Thanksgiving was at Lindsay and Scott’s house.  It was the melancholy year of 2012, full of disappointment and sadness, except for the surprise they had in store for us, when they initiated a new “tradition” of everyone writing down, anonymously, what they were thankful for.  We put everyone’s entries in a cup and passed it around the table, picking one out and then guessing who wrote it.  My mother got the mysterious entry that said, ‘I am thankful for expanding our house by two feet.’  

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At that time last year, Lexi was with us, a mere promise of what truly to be thankful for.  She was living inside of her mother then, attached within.  The main difference is this year she is outside of her mother, while still very much attached to her and even more the center of her parent’s lives.  As we all know, once you become a parent- life, as you know it becomes completely different.  That phrase resonated in my head just two days before Thanksgiving, when we went to the mall on a wet and rainy Tuesday, with just 40 minutes to go to one clothing store that had everything on sale for 50% off.  We had luckily found a perfect parking spot maybe 30 feet away from the entrance to the mall, which was another 200 feet away from the store we were going to.  However when Lindsay went to retrieve the stroller from the car, she came back, shouting, “Sh----t!  Scott left the stroller in his car!” 

“Well, I’ll be happy to hold her,” I reassured. 

“I’ll just ‘wear her’,” Lindsay replied. 

She then proceeded to take out her Moby wrap- a contraption that looks like a very long piece of cloth that enables the mother to carry her baby, literally attaching her to her body.  Lindsay and Lexi together are about 83 inches long; it looked as if the Moby was about 283 inches long.  As a matter of fact, when she started to assemble it, I said, “I think that thing could stretch from here to Cincinnati.” 

So, while sitting in a very good parking spot, with rain falling like buckets outside, a youtube video played the directions for how to assemble the Moby wrap, while Lindsay followed.  It took five long minutes, until we were ready to  run out in between raindrops and enter the mall and then the store.  I never shopped so fast.  We both had armfuls of tops and pants.  Lindsay decided she would have to try some clothes on.  I looked at her incredulously, but before I had a chance to protest that we would never make it with the unwrapping of the Moby, trying on clothes, followed by rewrapping of the Moby, Lindsay felt something wet on Lexi’s bottom.  And here we were, in a crowded store running a big sales event in the middle of one of the largest malls in Long Island, carrying about 20 clothes between us and we realize that Lexi finally pooped after four days. 

“Where will you change her?” I asked.

“In the dressing room.”

I looked at where the dressing room was, and then I looked at the long line of people waiting outside for the dressing room.  

“I don’t think so,” I murmured quietly. 

We explained our predicament to a saleslady, who even though was very impressed with adorable Lexi, explained nicely that the only thing she could do was hold the clothes while we found a place outside the store to change a very full diaper and dirty clothes. 

It just so happened that every sitting area we could lay the baby down, was full of many people already sitting.  So, with no other option, Lindsay just popped a squat on a carpeted area nearby in as discreet a place she could find and changed Lexi as quickly as possible, diaper and clothing.  Never mind rewrapping the Moby.  I just grabbed the baby and held her while we ran back into the store to purchase the items.  Luckily, all the shoppers were still on line waiting for the dressing room and none were on line at the register.  The whole experience seems a lot less complicated when you’re not actually going through it. 

 

The days that followed were a whirlwind of events and activities.  On Wednesday, we picked up cousin Eileen and daughter, Becca, from Florida at the airport.  We met Lindsay and Lexi at Stop N Shop and then we came home to cook…too much food, way too much food.  My kitchen was full with everything that makes Thanksgiving my favorite holiday­– an overabundance of ingredients, belly laughs and fun because when you’re with my cousins Eileen and Becca, that’s pretty much what it’s all about. 

Thanksgiving was lovely, even though the table filled up my whole living room area.  There were 12 of us.  The main event though was Lexi’s first time eating solid food- sweet potatoes…with an audience. I took a six-minute video; as a matter of fact, three of us were videotaping at once, while the rest just watched Lexi eat.  Afterwards, Lindsay gave Kim and me a taste of it.  Kim said, “It’s not bad; what’s in it?”  “Sweet potatoes mashed with a little bit of breast milk,” was Lindsay’s response.  Lexi’s impression of the solid food was about equal to Kim and mine’s after Lindsay told us it contained breast milk; although, I think she was more opposed to the sweet potatoes while we were more opposed to the breast milk. 

Of course, afterwards, we lit the menorah and Lexi got her first Hannukkah gift from Gigi (my mom).  The next day, Friday, we went to my brother and sister in law, and we had more food, more potato latkes and more fun with more cousins. Then on Saturday, we had people over to finish the leftovers, which cousin Eileen made into a turkey potpie and quiches. 

It is quiet now, except for the dishwasher whirring, cleaning the last remaining dishes from the latest feast.  Even though it’s the first day of December the air is mild.  My neighbors are putting up their Christmas lights; the fire truck has come by for it’s annual Sunday After-Thanksgiving tour of throwing popcorn balls to all the children, young and old, on the block.  My belly is still full; my heart is fuller.  I think of how our Lexi Grace, six months old, full of smiles and giggles has brought so much grace into all our lives and I know this has been the most filling Thanksgiving ever.