Wanted: A friend

Wanted: A good friend who lives nearby (i.e. preferably here in KC). This friend should be funny, intellectual (but not too intellectual), loyal, trustworthy, and patient. This friend should be honest with me, but at the same time know when a teensy white lie is appropriate. Said friend should also want to hang out on a semi-regular basis, whether it means with our kids in tow or at a sushi joint with sake and obnoxious snorting going on. Sure, email, Twitter, and text messages/phone calls are great, but I want to be friends with someone who actually enjoys spending face time with me. I want to be able to confide in you on several levels: the mundane, the serious, the hysterical, the goofy. I want to be able to say to you things like: "My children are driving me batty. Is it 5:00 yet?" or "Do you want to take the kids to the park and catch up on some good gossip?" or "I just ate too much Mexican food and chocolate chip cookies and now I'm having explosive diarrhea." This friend should not cringe to watch me consume copious quantities of cookies, cupcakes, or brownies. Said friend should helpfully dive into the snacks with me and we can then go work out together the next day to burn it off.

If you are considering applying for this position, you might want to know a little bit about who you'll be working for.

Me: I'm a little needy in that I tend to look to others for validation. But I don't like to come across as needy, though. I will often retreat into myself and get pretty absorbed in the daily grind of kids, working out, cooking dinner, running to the grocery store, and doing a trillion loads of laundry. I'm a tad OCD. I over analyze everything. I'm chronically on time or early. I'm not very patient. I really just want someone to hang out with more often, to be my very dear friend. I have several good & old friends, but they don't live nearby. I do have friends here in KC, but I want to be someone's close friend---I want to be someone you confide in, call when you need a shoulder to cry on, a favor, etc. I want you to trust me with your secrets while I trust you with mine. I think it's hard for women to maintain friendships when young kids are in the picture; the dads play golf together every weekend or bond at football games or go out drinking on weekend nights. I don't do any of this. I'm the one who's mostly at home or coming home early to relieve the sitter while Hubby goes out on the town.

I am not good at reaching out a lot. I'm afraid of rejection. I don't put myself out there enough.

Will you be my friend? My biggest fault is that I will probably love you too much.

More memories

I remember when the ice cream man would venture into our neighborhood while I was growing up, my mom never let us buy anything from him. She always said, "You never know how long that stuff's been sitting in the back of that nasty old truck!"

I remember all the friends I had growing up on Toby Lane in Metairie, LA. If I knocked on one door and no one was home, I just went on to the next door. I remember Jennifer, Jill, Kacie, Cherie, Michelle, Brennan, and Anne.

I remember Jennifer's mom kept a stash of Blow Pops. My mom never let us have candy (except on Halloween). So I'd just go over to Jennifer's house.

I remember Brennan was a cheerleader at our school and she taught me all of her routines so I could try out when I was in 5th grade. I had to try out first (we drew numbers out of a hat). I was so nervous. I didn't make the cut. Not entirely surprising. But it's the first time I can really remember wanting to belong to something---but being on the outside of it. Not worthy. Not good enough. The cheerleaders were the popular girls.

I remember making green slime with Jill (a la Nickelodeon's "You Can't Do That on Television"). We used oatmeal and green food coloring and made a mess. Jill's mom was less than thrilled. Jill is brilliant and now retired with a hedge fund. I don't even really know what a hedge fund is.

I remember we went to the pet store one day and came home with a Yorkie and two parakeets. My younger brother Kevin was allowed to name the birds (I'm not sure why). He named them "Jack" and "Jack." My parents named the dog Darby. I remember her running around in huge circles in the backyard. We called her "the black blur" because all you'd see was this blur of her fur as she whizzed by.

I remember Darby once got a hold of a pack of gum. I don't have to tell you the rest. It wasn't pretty.

I had a fear of dogs when I was little. Our next door neighbors in Houma had an English Mastiff. His name was Chaos. 'Nuff said. One day Chaos chased me (I didn't understand that dogs chase you when you run) and it was so incredibly scary. He never hurt or bit me, but he was soooo big, and I was soooo little. That sealed the deal. Until we got Darby, I steered clear of dogs. If I was going to a friend's house and she had a dog, I had to ask her to put the dog in another room. Now I can't imagine being afraid of the most lovable creatures on earth!

I remember the awful red plaid skirts we had to wear to school. They were supposed to be knee length, but a lot of the girls wore theirs shorter. I remember getting hand-me-down skirts from some of our babysitters who also lived down the block. They were not the kind of girls who wore short skirts, either.

I remember our favorite babysitters on the block were Natalie and Cathy (sisters). Natalie was older and a Star Trek and Doctor Who fan. I didn't love that about her. But she was fun and actually interacted with us and taught us how to play Sardines (glorified Hide & Seek, you hide with the person when you find him/her...until one person is left looking for everyone else who is hiding together).

I remember my parents traveled to Europe when I was in 6th grade or so and Natalie and Cathy stayed with us. We got to eat Popeye's fried chicken, Domino's pizza, and sloppy joes all week. We rented "Jumpin' Jack Flash" from Blockbuster which was a BIG deal because it was rated R and had curse words in it.

I remember one day when I was 13, I was outside talking to some kids I babysat for when I felt something weird. I went inside to use the bathroom. I'd gotten my first period. I knew what I thought it was, but I wasn't exactly sure, so I called for my mom. Then we had to go to Walgreens with toilet paper stuffed in my underwear. I was so excited to buy my first pack of Always for teens. They came in individual little purple wrappers. Nevermind that I was about the last girl in my class to get it. I was self conscious but very relieved.

I remember my first training bra. My friend Cherie teasing me. She'd snap it in the back and sing, "Erin's got the cotton!" I turned purple with embarrassment. Probably because I didn't really need a training bra. Training for what, anyway? Why can't they just call it a bra?

I remember with my period came an onslaught of other issues. Acne, obsession with my weight/how I looked, terrible self-consciousness, anxiety, and bouts of self-deprecation. Even a little self-mutilation. Does every young girl go through this? Fortunately my mom took me to the dermatologist and Retin-A resolved the acne. But the rest? We found a good therapist who worked predominantly with teenage girls.

I remember seeing my therapist off and on starting at age 13. When things got really rough I went twice a week. After my dad came out of the closet, Robin (my therapist) suggested to me that I had sensed things were not right with my parents. That I was coping with all that stuff. Who really knows?

I remember Robin's office was very cool. Neat artwork. Lots of books on shelves. Quiet. She was always drinking coffee. Nonstop. I wonder how that woman ever slept. She was chronically late, too. Even if I was late, she was later. I remember her taking notes on yellow legal pads. I always wondered what she wrote about me. It would be interesting to see now. But I don't know that I'd really want to. I cringe at the thought.

I remember there were railroad tracks right by her office. When trains passed by, it got so loud and you could feel the vibrations and a slight shudder/shift in the building. Sometimes I wanted to get on that train and let it take me far away to another place.

I remember Robin always perched her two perfect feet on a little stool in front of her swivel chair. Probably something for posture, or to help her deal with sitting all day. She always wore the coolest shoes. I focused on them when I was afraid to speak or wasn't sure where to begin.

I remember seeing other patients in the waiting room, seeing the other therapists walking around in between appointments. Wondering what went on in other offices there. Seeing other people come out with kleenex and runny noses, red faces. Wanting to go up and hug them and tell them they were not alone.

I remember feeling guilty that my parents had to pay for my therapy. I remember the insurance running out and then they had to pay out of pocket. And still I went. It may have saved me.

I remember

Until Bird by Bird arrives, I'm using a Leslea Newman book on writing to get me started. One of her first suggestions is to start with the phrase, "I remember." Just write out whatever comes to mind, and start over with "I remember" again after the first memory floats away. So I thought I might share some of that here.

I remember sitting in the Millsaps computer lab in 1994 being very confused about how to send an email to someone NOT on campus. Several failed attempts later, I finally got it. My how times have changed!

I remember eating lots of cold cereal and turkey sandwiches during my college years. The food in the caf was less than appetizing. Of course there was also the occasional late night Domino's Pizza...

I remember eating fried pickles at the Cherokee Inn with my sorority sisters. It was like a rite of passage. Fried pickles and beer. Oh, and MAPS Fest at the Reservoir: Men Are Pond Scum.

I remember being very upset on Bid Day morning when I woke up a Phi Mu. I was so sure I was destined to be a KD. But things have a way of working out for the best. I wouldn't have it any other way.

I remember wearing my Gap overalls a lot in college. I LOVED them. I thought they were so cute. Obviously that's no longer the case, but I was addicted back then. I also remember loving my Doc Martens. My friend, Emily, showed me how to rip my jeans at the bottom to look cool.

I remember becoming news co-editor of the campus newspaper and being so excited. That excitement waned as the semester wore on and I was writing most of the articles myself plus juggling classes, sorority, and other extra-curricular activities.

I remember working in the Millsaps Writing Center in the John Stone House. It was such a neat old place. Kind of creaky, quiet, and drafty. I took a Women's Studies class that was held upstairs there, and we all sat around on the floor on old pillows talking about Mary Wollstonecraft.

I remember going to synagogue with all of my favorite professors in Jackson. We barely had a minyan half the time. It was always lovely and I even got to carry the Torah scrolls a few times.

I remember meeting Dan while I was in graduate school and thinking early on that he was the man I'd marry. On our first date in October of 1999, we dined at Vincent's in NOLA and I didn't really eat. I was too nervous. I left my leftovers in his car by accident when he dropped me off. When he drove away, I left him a message on his answering machine at home telling him I enjoyed our date and thanking him for dinner. When he got home and heard the message he called his mom and played it for her. He thought it was cute.

I remember wanting to be a mom even when I was very young. I always knew it was something I wanted to do. I never dreamed it would be so difficult. People should realize that conceiving a child is akin to all the planets aligning; it's that complicated. Some people are just lucky, I guess. I wasn't one of them.

I remember lugging around my dog-eared copy of "Taking Charge of Your Fertility," along with charts of my cycles. I remember the doctor saying, "Honey, you're not having cycles. Honey, you're not even ovulating." I remember filling my Clomid prescription and starting it several months before we moved to KC. I remember getting my hopes up. I remember deluding myself and imagining what it would be like to get a positive pregnancy test.

I remember all the tests. I remember crying. I remember the phone call from the nurse that fall afternoon. She said, "The IUI failed. We need to move on to in vitro (IVF)." I remember being so caught off guard I couldn't really speak. I never thought I'd need IVF.

I remember filling about 12 prescriptions at the pharmacy. My new red sharps box. Needles--both large ones and small ones. A bottle of progesterone in oil. Pills, pills, and more pills. A schedule written out. I remember driving back and forth to that office every other day for months. Ultrasounds. Blood work. Procedures.

I remember the first mock embryo transfer, which was like practice for the IVF. My cervix wasn't cooperating and the doctor couldn't pass the catheter through, so she had to use a tenaculum to clamp it. I screamed and cried. And she yelled at me, "Get a hold of yourself! You're a grown woman!" That cut me to the core. If I hadn't wanted a baby so badly, I might have left right then and there.

I remember the first IVF failing. I was broken. But I wanted to get right back on the horse and do it again. I was determined.

I remember starting all over again. Not long after the shots began, I told Dan, "I can't go through this again. If this one fails, I want to talk about adoption." He nodded silently.

I remember on the day of the embryo transfer the doctor said both looked so good she was concerned we'd end up with twins. I cried tears of joy.

I remember 7 days later, I started bleeding. I called Dan at work to tell him. He could hardly speak. I remember I called the nurse and started crying so hard on the phone. She told me to come in the next morning for my blood test, even though it was still too early. I begged her because I needed to know it was over. I needed to have closure and begin to move on.

I remember it was an eternity until I went for that blood test. I remember waiting by the phone. I remember getting the call an hour after I got home. I remember Brandi saying, "Erin, you're pregnant!"

I remember extra shots of progesterone to stop the bleeding. I remember being scared it wouldn't stick.

I remember morning sickness setting in. My fear began to wane.

I remember going in for my 6-week ultrasound. I remember as soon as something was on the screen the nurse grinned from ear to ear and held up two fingers. "It's twins!" she yelled.

I remember Friday, December 9, 2005 like it was yesterday. The best day of my life. The day my daughters were born.

Around the house on a lovely Wednesday morning...

It's a lovely morning here. I was in the kitchen scrambling some eggs with the windows and screen doors to the porch open. Cool fall breezes are wafting in and I can hear the scrunchy sound of the first fall leaves as they come together in haphazard piles on the sidewalk. This morning is a tease---it will warm up later, but with temperatures in the 50s at breakfast, it's just enough of an excuse for me to put on my new purple sweater from Ann Taylor Loft and get all cozy.

Toast is in the oven, the cinnamon sugar melting slowly into the butter. Cold milk in the girls' plastic cups with blue and green monsters all over them. I've sliced some perfect red strawberries and can't stop shoveling their sweetness into my mouth as I go. I'm in a fantastic mood because I adore fall. It's my favorite season (well, except for having to clean up said leaves---you will be seeing more posts about this soon enough). I love turtlenecks and sweaters and corduroy pants, boots and scarves and hats, and bundling up under lots of woolly layers. I do miss Miss New Orleans, but one of my issues with her is that she really only has one season---hot. I always had a hard time getting into the holiday spirit when we lived there. Here, not so!

The Halloween countdown continues--I put up my little skeleton guy the other day, and perhaps later this afternoon the cobwebs might come out. Fall, I love you!

Jealousy

Okay, gird your loins because I have a feeling this post might come off as a little strange to some of you....

We took the girls out to dinner Friday evening with some friends of ours. They have a daughter who is Abby & Izzy's age and a baby boy who is about 3 months old. Such a sweet couple and their kids are just darling. That little boy makes my ovaries ache, and I could almost swear he might be messing with Dan's mind just a tad, too---see, Dan says he doesn't want any more kids-- he says, "We're done." But I kinda feel like he could change his mind eventually.

At any rate, the baby got fussy and needed to eat. Mom donned her nursing/chest-concealing/blanket/wrap/sling thing and tossed baby up under there, all the while talking, laughing and nibbling on crab rangoon. She made it seem so natural & effortless. He hung out there for about ten minutes or so and when my girls asked what the baby was doing, I told them he was taking a nap (did not want to get into that discussion while we're at a restaurant!). I didn't mean to stare, but I was fascinated, as I am each time I witness a woman comfortably nursing her baby.

Nursing did not go well for me. I had two preemies who fell asleep at the wheel, so to speak, and unless I nursed them simultaneously I found that all I did was nurse someone all day long, basically. We have two incredible photos (one of which I debated posting here, but was too shy and not entirely sure it's appropriate even though you can't really see anything) of one of the few times I was able to get them both to latch at the same time for a feeding. It was amazing. Mind you I had 24-hour access to lactation consultants since the girls were in the NICU for three weeks. Preemies are a PAIN when it comes to breastfeeding (both literally and figuratively). With the incessant nursing and constantly having to get one and then the other latched, re-latched, and latched again, I developed severe lesions and breastfeeding became very painful and stressful for me. In the end, I gave up and resorted to pumping and doing bottle feeds.

I felt like a failure. I don't think I would have exclusively breastfed, but it sure would have been nice to have the ability and the option. But by the time the girls were discharged from the NICU and we brought them home, I was so overwhelmed with two little babies who would scream from hunger and get so frustrated with me...pumping and giving them bottles was so much easier. Some people say it's the easy way out. Needless to say the lactation consultants weren't thrilled with me when I told them I wanted to make the switch to bottles. But we did, and 48 hours later the girls were allowed to come home.

Every time I see a mom nursing I just want to cry and go up to her and ask her how she does it and how amazing it is, and does she take it for granted....because it would have been so cool to bond with my babies that way. I often wish for a third child, a singleton, so that I could try again. I'd like to think I could do it if I just had one baby to deal with.

But I'll probably never know.

Just call me....Amazon Woman.

Hubby gets on my case when I refer to myself as "Amazon Woman," but I can't help it. I look at pictures of myself and I look so large. I can't stand it. I don't know that losing any weight would necessarily make me feel any smaller. These are some photos from the wedding we went to last weekend---and exactly the kind of photos I'm talking about. And please note that my stockings were actually a nude color, but they were sort of effervescent or something, so they look kinda bad paired with my black dress and red shoes. Incidentally, I normally would have worn black pumps; but a few of my friends who consider me quite the conservative suggested red would be really fun. Since I've never before bought or owned red shoes, I decided to go out on a limb; I happened to find a reasonably priced pair at Filene's Basement near our hotel in DC. Not sure if I'll ever wear them again, but....anyway, without further adieu.... AMAZON WOMAN with Mindy & Christine! (and as if any clarification was needed, I'm the one on the right)

thinking a lot

I've been thinking a lot lately about writing a book, something I've always wanted to do, but have never really tried to do. Something I don't begin to know how to do. I know it won't be easy, and I also know there's a lot of crap out there---I want this to be good. Really, really good. Anyone can write a book. But it takes a special person to write a kick-ass book. Right?

The book I fantasize about writing is probably much bigger than I and too much to undertake, at least at this point in my life. The book I would actually write is likely a collection of shorter essays (not as daunting, perhaps more doable) and geared towards young adults. I would like to draw from my own experiences, predominantly my dad's coming out and the aftermath for me.

My dad came out of the closet not long after my 15th birthday. It was sudden and unexpected. Shortly thereafter he moved out and my two younger brothers and I continued to live with our mom.

Shortly after dad's revelation I went to Waldenbooks at Lakeside Mall (this was before the days of Barnes & Noble, before the Internet, etc.) and asked the saleswoman for help. I told her I needed to find books on "having a gay parent." She sort of giggled and hesitated, looking at me like I was crazy. Then she led me to the children's section in the back and handed me a copy of "Heather Has Two Mommies," by Leslea Newman. I'm not knocking Leslea Newman or anything, but that book (in case you didn't know) is geared towards 2-5 year olds and is about 30 pages long.

I need to do some research, but I'm not sure there's been a whole lot written since then for kids, and perhaps even less for tweens/teens. I also think it's completely different to be born as the child of a gay couple than it is to be born to a more (for lack of a better word) traditional couple that later disintegrates because one or both decide to come out. Does that make any sense?

How do I get started? If you were going to read a book like this, what would you be interested in hearing? Am I supposed to query publishing companies first to find out if there would be any potential interest in the project, or do I wait until I actually have something substantial before I shop around? I am utterly clueless.

I just keep thinking that surely the world needs a Judy Blume-esque book about having a parent come out of the closet (though I don't presume to equate myself with someone as amazing as Judy Blume!). In this age there are more and more topics kids need to become familiar & more comfortable with.

Random thoughts on a rainy day

Sometimes I can't help but think there's no greater indignity than standing out in the pouring rain holding an umbrella over one's doggie while he has diarrhea.

I suppose many people would just let their doggies have diarrhea in the rain and not worry about it, but I felt bad for said doggie and moreover I just paid a small fortune for him to be groomed and bathed yesterday.

And then, of course, the resulting futility when one tries to scoop up the doggie diarrhea from the yard.

Why scoop, you may ask. Well, I have little children who like to frolic in the yard. And I think if someone stepped in doggie doo (fresh or otherwise), I'd feel compelled to throw away that tainted pair of shoes. So gross.

I often wonder what Monster, our mini poodle, thinks of me as I hover over him while he poops, checking my plastic bag for holes as I pull it over my hand. Surely he must imagine himself some sort of deity as I bow down to handle his droppings.

I also often wonder what the neighbors think of me.... do they peek out of their windows while I'm traipsing about in the yard with a handful of plastic bags, muttering curse words under my breath like some crazy lady?

Poetry and my high school English teacher

Here's a poem my high school English teacher handed out to us once. I instantly fell in love with him and the poem. The funny thing is that I think he might've liked me a little bit, too, but obviously that was totally inappropriate and perhaps wishful thinking on my part. One day another girl I had previously considered my friend called me out in front of the class---told everyone I was sleeping with Mr. Brian to score A's on all my papers. Can you imagine?? ME??? Sleeping with a teacher? Anyone who knows me knows that this was utter bunk and in all actuality he was sending flowers to a girl in another class and calling her at home! He eventually got fired when the principal was alerted to the shenanigans.

Anyway, here's the poem:

"Of Fashion" by Everette Maddox
(interesting tidbit: The Everette C. Maddox Memorial Prose & Poetry Reading, held every Sunday in the courtyard at The Maple Leaf, is the longest running poetry reading in North America. The Maple Leaf is an old bar in New Orleans, my beloved hometown.)

If you don't believe life is rhythmic,
Listen late at night: all over the world
Neckties are widening and narrowing.

Lapels are widening and narrowing
Collars are buttoning up and flying loose.
Trouser cuffs are folding and unfolding.
Skirts are rising and falling,
Hair is lengthening and shortening.

Somewhere, in the lamplight
Of an apartment or hotel room we once had,
Your clothes are slipping down again,
My hands are going crazy in your hair,
Our hearts are beating against each other.

Somewhere, surf is hissing.

Somewhere, Dover Beach maybe,
Something fragile and afraid
Is trying to last forever.

Inspired by Reluctant Housewife, a.k.a. Melanie

So I'm truly inspired by a post Melanie (Reluctant Housewife) wrote back in April (read it here http://adventuresofthereluctanthousewife.blogspot.com/2009/04/im-that-kind-of-girl.html), and am going to be a big, fat copycat and do the same.

Here's a little bunch of random facts about me.

I was bullied a lot in school when I was younger. I specifically recall a girl (ironically named Melanie) who used to steal my lunch every day. I was in first grade and she was in second, yet she seemed sooo much bigger than me. I don't remember ever really standing up for myself. I was too scared. This same scenario played itself out again and again as I got older, but no one ever stole my lunch again.

My dad is gay and I'm a Jew. So if you're homophobic or anti-Semitic, go somewhere else.

I am not a big party girl, but I do love me a nice glass of Chardonnay or a Cape Cod with a lime.

I love to read. I love to write. I loathe when people ask me what I "do." I don't take enough pride in being a SAHM (stay-at-home-mom). It just doesn't sound very exciting, intellectual, or noteworthy. Yet there are sooooo many of us out there. And what we do is extremely important even though we don't get paid for it.

I am entirely too self-conscious for my own good. Current issues include (but are not limited to) the fact that I am hypothyroid after years of being skinny & hyperthyroid. My metabolism is getting to be more normal, which translates into I can't eat as much as I used to or as much as I want to. I love Jazzercise, but due to recent hernia surgery, I have to take a bit of time off, which is really bothering me. I am dying to get back to it because I feel like a slug. At least if I'm working out I can say that I'm working on things.

I have two younger brothers and I wish we were closer. I was a bossy bitch to them when we were growing up. And I should make a better effort now.

I am excited to be on the board of J-LEAD this year (Jewish Leadership, Education, Action & Development), a group of young Jewish adults looking to make a difference in the community. I am also having a quasi-interview this week with some people from the Alzheimer's Association (another organization near & dear to my heart) about possibly serving on their board. I'm nervous they won't want me since I'm just lowly SAHM. Such a vicious cycle, you see.

I am shy in person, I do far better with electronic communication. Writing comes much easier to me. Hence many arguments between my social butterfly husband and myself.

I like strawberries and puppies and things that are pink. I like poetry and pasta and people who are genuinely nice to me. I enjoy feel-good movies, foreign flicks, things with subtitles off the beaten path. I love reading and writing and Sylvia Plath. I like alliteration, rhyme, rhythm and the magic of words. I often relate to books better than I do to people. When I am your friend, I give myself to you completely. And if you shit on me, watch out. When I am your friend, I love you dearly and would do anything for you. I love giggling with girlfriends, date nights with my husband, taking my girls to the children's museum. I love fall and winter, Gerbera daisies, and being as GREEN as I can. I care deeply for animals, homeless people, and the Earth. I strive to be a better person every day. I love everyone else, but don't love myself enough. I am far too emotional & sensitive for my own good. I feel things very deeply, often more so than I let on. I cry when I see a stray animal (and sometimes take them home with me). I cry even more when I see a homeless person with a dog.

I wish I was creative. I wish I could draw or sing or play sports. I am klutzy and gawky and feel like Amazon woman. I know there are plenty of things I can do, but I tend to focus on the empty half of my glass sometimes.

Like Melanie, I am an anxious person. I used to take medication for this, but motherhood has mellowed me out a bit. I tend to get easily stressed. I'm a little OCD.

I also have a very good memory. And when you've stepped on my toes a few times....I don't forget. I am very honest & loyal(often to a fault), and I appreciate the same in return.

thoughts of substance

I realize this blog isn't the fabulous arena of lofty thoughts I'd like it to be. But you have to consider that I am a mother to three year-old twins. Secondly, you must realize that silence (necessary in order to arouse my writing inclinations) is a rare and surprising occurrence in our household. So when you check on my blog and frown at the boring posts, be patient with me and know that good things come to those who wait.

Now, for my inspirational quote & post du jour:

"If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am not for others, what am I?
And if not now, when?" --Rabbi Hillel

I am constantly surprised by the number of Jews who either don't claim to be Jewish or are not at all active within their community/synagogue. When I think of the six million who perished in the Shoah (the Holocaust), I feel this aching responsibility to stand up and yell out, "I'm here! I'm a Jew!" So many Jews are marrying outside the faith (which I don't have a problem with) and this often leads to children who are not being raised as Jews...as this trend continues, the number of Jews in the world just keeps dwindling.This is not an attack on intermarriage; rather it's one explanation of why there are so few Jews. And while I am sure the opposite happens sometimes (i.e. a Jew and a Catholic marry and the Jew converts to Catholicism), I don't think Catholics are in any danger of being extinct.

I am proud of my Judaism. I love my synagogue (but we need to make an effort to go more often--it's hard with little ones). I make Shabbes every week---we light the candles, have challah & wine, say the blessings, and eat family dinner together on most Fridays. We have lots of Jewish friends. We have a mezuzah on the door. Our kids are being raised Jewish and I am so happy I married a Jewish man.

We love our temple. I know that as the girls get older we will spend more and more time there, and I am so excited about that! Rabbi Jacques Cukierkorn is truly phenomenal and has made me feel so welcome (it is sometimes hard acclimating when you weren't raised Jewish and yours truly tends to have a complex about "fitting in" or being accepted). New Reform Temple is the only place for us. It feels like a family. Check it out:
http://www.nrtkc.org/

coffee

I'm at the coffee shop. Dan has plans that do not include me tonight, and I wasn't about to suffer my children's moods on my own, so I scored a sitter and here I sit.

Suddenly I'm reminded of the summer I was oh, maybe 17? I have a flash of a specific night (much like this) when I was sitting in PJ's uptown on Carrollton (I'm not sure this particular location is still there post-Katrina, may have to investigate when I return home) with my journal (oh how times have changed, as I currently sit here with my laptop), pouring my heart out and saving my empty packet of Sweet & Low, pressing it between the pages as one would a leaf or a flower. Though I was heartbroken and feeling alone, part of me thought I was uber-cool for being at a coffehouse and journaling. I did always tend to feel set apart or somehow ahead of my time in some respects---my friends were mostly out drinking it up (not that I didn't do that on occasion) and having these wonderful, popular, fun lives...while I was sitting by myself at PJ's mourning my love life (or lack thereof), my mess of a family, and my latest failed geometry test.

Is there such a difference between 17 & 32? Yes and no. I'm still wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I still feel 17 on the inside...is that weird? Is that normal? I don't know. I am still a klutz. I still love to read and write and dream about being a famous writer someday. I know that I never will, because I will never DO it, and because I'm such a small person in such a big world and I feel like no one would care about what I'd have to say. I don't even know what all I have to say. There I go. I'm crying in the coffee shop just like I did when I was 17.

I still think too much. I still form intense attachments with people and I get sad when I feel like those people don't like me as much as I like them. I open myself up, pour my heart out, I am fiercely loyal (or so I think)...but I try not to need anyone too much. Does that make sense? I don't like to be/seem needy. But it's funny because as much as I try not to be that way, perhaps that is exactly what I am on the inside--needy--constantly looking for and yearning for acceptance and love. Wanting everyone to like me. Maybe part of that comes from those rough junior high years and Mean Girls. Or maybe that is how everyone is? Doesn't everyone want to be loved/needed/accepted?

Maybe I need to reach out more. Maybe I keep myself at a distance to protect myself. My thoughts are all over the place and this probably isn't making much sense.

This song just came on in here---from the soundtrack to that Natalie Portman movie, Garden State(one of my all-time favorites, by the way)...."Let Go" by Frou Frou is the name of the song. Reminds me of a good friend I lost a long time ago. I have a lot of associations with music. I wish I could listen to more of my own music ("Mommy Music," as my girls call it)....kind of an apropos way to conclude this post...with thoughts of a sweet friend and learning to let go, as it were.

mom

Nicole (Woman About Town) inspired me to write a little something about my mom since Mother's Day just passed...my brother, Mark, penned a wonderful poem (if he'd email it to me, I'd love to post it here) for her but sadly I haven't made any of my own attempts at creative writing in a very long time.

My mom is an amazing person. A native of Wisconsin who essentially moved to the South to marry my father, a New Orleans native, and left her not-so-wonderful family behind. Despite having grown up with a somewhat abusive father and a mentally checked out mother, Mom managed to rise above all that and become an exceptional human being and mother of three children. She stayed home to raise and care for us while dad worked long hours, commuted to work, and often had to entertain clients or prepare for trials late into the evenings. She packed our lunches, drove us to and from school, and helped us with our homework. We used to get into it over math (my worst subject ever); she'd try and try to explain things to me, but I'd get frustrated and angry over my own apparent stupidity, and I'd yell and throw the pencil and take it out on her. I'd come home from school crying because kids teased and bullied me, stole my lunch, called me "Witch Nose," or "kike," or made fun of me for my laugh. Mom was always there to comfort me when I came home, humiliated, from another tragic day at school. When I fought with my best friend, suffered endlessly from unrequited love, and got my period, Mom was there.

When we were in elementary school Mom decided to go back to school herself and get the degree she'd always wanted. She went to the University of New Orleans, taking classes during the day while we were in school, and still managed to handle getting us to & from school and was home with us afterwards. She went part-time for about eight years and got her bachelor's degree in social work, followed by her master's. And in the middle of all this, Dad came out of the closet and they got divorced. How she juggled all of that I'll never know. I do know it wasn't easy, but she survived and grew stronger because of it.

My mom is one of the most selfless people I know. She consistently puts herself last and does without so she can do for her family first. She is an incredible mother and grandmother and has taught me about the kind of person I want to be. I just wish she saw herself as others see her---maybe then she would shine even more.

feeling sorry for myself

i am at home, the girls are at school, and i feel like a truck's run over me.

friday night we were unknowingly exposed to the stomach flu...(we had dinner with friends Lucy & Lola since their daddy was also out of town)
and by sunday afternoon abby started vomiting. my girls haven't yet had enough
experience puking, so they don't know to run to the toilet. fortunately my new nickname has
become, "The Vomit Catcher," or "The Vomit Anticipator." I have become quite good
at both of these jobs...but unfortunately I've also succumbed to the literal interpretation of the former nickname, as I have caught the vomit virus myself. Izzy remains healthy, and I hope she escapes it altogether, but I'm not getting my hopes up. There's something about cleaning vomit chunks out of the barrel of the washing machine that takes motherhood to a whole new level.

i am achy and cold and my stomach and head hurt. i am on the couch watching "The Truth About Cats and Dogs," one of my all-time favorite movies. i am marveling at the size of the cordless phones in this movie--it's hilarious. i love the character of Abby (played by Janeane Garofalo), whom I completely identify with...it's a classic.

time for a nap and/or a bath. i am disgusting and need to recharge.

missing Emilie

It is Christmas Day, my girls are napping, and despite having had a lovely morning with them, I continue to be consumed by thoughts of Emilie (http://lemmondrops.blogspot.com/), who passed away earlier this week after battling cancer.

I "met" Emilie via a TTC (trying to conceive) message board I was a member of several years back, and I think she may have even been on The Knot boards before that, but I can't remember for sure. At any rate, I began reading her blog at that point (long before I started my own, obviously) and although we never met, I feel like I've lost a dear friend. I always eagerly awaited her blog updates, hoping for good news. I was stunned last week to read that she was under home hospice care, and even more shocked when she passed away so quickly once that move was made.

Emilie was an incredible writer, and a mother of two darling boys, Daniel and Benjamin. She is also survived by her husband, Steve. I ache for all of them. I am sad that Christmas for them will forever be tainted by the memory of losing their mother and wife. Nonetheless, I am relieved Emilie's passing was peaceful and that she was surrounded by her family. I cannot begin to imagine what they are all going through.

My heart is breaking. I feel helpless. I live far away. I wish there was something I could do. All I know is Emilie was special to me and she will be greatly missed. I keep going to her blog out of habit, and hoping for another update from Steve. I wonder if he will continue to post, or if it will be too painful...?

Emilie, you were loved by soooo many people. You touched so many lives. You were beloved. And I love your quote. and you are right---CANCER SUCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

in tears

a beautiful woman and mother of two boys---Emilie---whose blog i regularly follow (Lemmondrops) has begun the end of her very long journey. i am speechless and sad. she has been such an inspiration and although we've never met, i feel like i know her and she constantly amazes and impresses me.

the day feels very dark. i feel very sad for her and her husband and two young boys. i pray for an easy and safe journey. and i hope she realizes how many lives she's touched.

my heart goes out to you and your family, Emilie. you are amazing. thank you for everything.