Monthly Archives: December 2012

I was dreading putting away the laundry. Ari, Samara and I were downstairs at my parent’s place. My mom turned to me in the middle of my laundry existential crisis and said “I have this bunch of socks that I can’t find any matches for. Can you see if any oft socks are in your laundry?” With that she handed me a group of colorful socks. Some had stripes, others were sparkly. Without thinking, I said to Ari:
“Come on Ari, let’s go upstairs and take a nap, and when you wake up, we’ll play
a matching game with socks!” His face lit up. He was excited now.

My mom and dad howled with laughter.

Ari took a nap immediately upon entering our apartment. When he woke up he’d forgotten all about the sock matching game that I’d planned.

“I want to watch something!” He whined.
“No! It’s time to play the matching game with socks! Can you find any of grandma’s socks in here?”
I started pulling out things that weren’t socks; towels, his pants, sweatshirts.
“Are these socks?”
“No!” He said laughing.
“Go put these away and when you come back there will be some socks to match.”
I gave Ari some of his pants to put in his
drawer. When he returned I’d pulled out a bunch of socks for him to match.
“Okay! Is there a match here?”
“Yes!” He said triumphantly pulling out two purple and blue striped socks.
We took turns finding matches. And in between, I sent him to put away his other clothes. It was a fun game for me too. And it made laundry feel less boring.

Needless to say, we didn’t find any of grandma’s sparkly socks. But we did have a lot of fun!

I’m digging in the dirt, trying to find it.
I’m covered in mud. It rained. I’m saturated.
I can find it.
If I look hard enough.
I’m going to keep digging. It’s there.
My fingers are raw from digging, I can feel the dirt seep into my pores.
The hole is getting bigger.
A hand touches my shoulder, I can feel the warmth, the energy from that hand, that touch. It’s going to be okay.
It dark.
It’s cold.
But that hand assures me that I’m going to find what I need to find.
The hole is bigger.
There’s something there.
I know it.
I see a spark.
It’s glistening…
Underneath the dirt, it’s there.
Tears form in my eyes. I’m not sad.
I’m elated.
I found it.
It was there all along. Bright white, sparkling in the ground. I brush the dirt away. It’s been there all along.
I finally found it.
I reach down and grab it. It’s white sparkling, and it’s mine.
It was missing for all these years, and here it is.
I’m complete.
I’m whole.
I’m out of the ground and on the earth.

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always felt the same way about the holidays commencing after Thanksgiving and terminating December 31: overwhelmed.

I can recall feeling the panic rising in me,  thinking about gift giving, social events, having to attend various family functions and pretend to be excited when all I wanted to do was hide under my bed.

The holidays are a lot of hype for me.

I get anxious.

I start feeling like if things don’t go a “certain way” then something is wrong.

It’s hard for me to enjoy them.

I kind of wish that it was just another day.

The thing is, even if you don’t celebrate Christmas (and my family is Jewish so we didn’t have that tradition growing up) you’re surrounded by Christmas mania. You walk into Duane Reade and there’s copious amounts of Santa Claus paraphernalia staring you in the face.

After November 26, you cannot escape the societal circus that is Christmas.

Wil and I are an interfaith couple. He was raised Catholic, and I was raised Jewish. Therefore our kids receive presents for both Chanukah and Christmas.

Ari is old enough to understand that this time of the year is associated with receiving presents. I want him to appreciate what he has and (most importantly) I would like him to be grateful.

I also want to introduce the notion of charity. I want Ari to understand that not all children are receiving presents at this time of year. Not all children in the world are fortunate enough that their parents can afford to buy them toys at all.

I had this idea.
I wanted him to be able to volunteer at a place where he could see what it’s like to not have, like a soup kitchen.

I know he’s still little (he’s just four and a half) but still, I think he’s cognizant enough to be able to grasp the concept that there are people who don’t have things that we have.

The thing that really frustrates me about the holiday season is the pressure associated with them.

I do want my kids to enjoy the holidays, but I have to be honest, they make me feel out of control.

How do you feel about the holiday season?

I was walking to Samara’s music class today.
I was late.
I was nervous.
I live in Park Slope.
That means that there are many blocks that go uphill.
Every time I’d start to walk uphill, my mind would go in the same direction:
I can’t do this.
It’s too far.
I’m so late.
I should just go home. 

It wouldn’t stop.
My mind wouldn’t stop.
But I forced myself to continue on.
It’s not about the destination. It’s about the journey.
It doesn’t matter how late I am.
I will get there.
I can conquer this hill.
I can conquer this uphill battle.

Lately, things have been challenging for me.
Hard.
Life has thrown me a punch or too.

I feel like I’m wading through mud.
But when I turn to face that hill, I’m going to keep walking.
I’m going to keep on climbing that slope.
I will get there.
I can do this.

Think about your own life.
If you’re late to class…
Go!
Even if you only make it to the last 10 minutes.
It’s better than missing it entirely.
If you’re late to meet a friend, and you feel like giving up and going home, go! Meet your friend.

When in doubt, don’t bail out.

It’s easy to go home.
It’s easy to travel on a steady street that has no incline.

Take the road less traveled.
Conquer that hill!

I did today, and I am grateful for it.

I arrived at Samara’s music class at 10:34. The class ends at 10:45.
I enjoyed all 11 minutes of that class.
I am grateful for the hills that brought me there.

I designed my robot.
He’s great, and does exactly what I him to do, only he doesn’t.
I made him do the dishes, and clean the living room, and most importantly, he cleans the bathroom.
He doesn’t listen to me at all.
He was supposed to listen.
I designed him to rub my back and cuddle with me when I’m sad.
He doesn’t do that either.
Maybe something is broken.
I’m going to unscrew his inner parts and adjust them.
My robot was supposed to do all these things.
He promised to do them.
He promised….to…do…them…
Only he’s not a robot at all.
He’s a person.
I didn’t design him.
He has thoughts and feelings.
He can disagree with me.
And that’s hard.
It’s hard for me.
I can’t change him.
He is another person separate from me.
We are sometimes one.
We are sometimes two…
Two…
Two people.
We are not robots.
We are humans.
We are so different.
We also understand each other.
Only sometimes we don’t.
And that’s hard…
Challenging?
Nope, hard.
I am honest.
I am scared.
He is honest.
He is not scared.
Sometimes, I’m honest and I’m not afraid.
No one is a robot.
I designed wrong.
I can only be who I am.
He can only be who he is.
I’ve been doing it all wrong.
Back to the drawing board.
Maybe if I accept that he is a human, and I am a human we can be humans together.
I’ll try that.
Next…
Time.