Mommy, You're Hurting My Ears

It's day 3 and as I sit here I'm distracted by the yelling of my 20 month old who has decided that he no longer likes to sleep. It was exactly a year ago that he, at 9-10 months old, decided he would begin sleeping more than two hours at any given time. I hope we aren't looking at year long cycles...

As a mother, at least for me, it's often difficult to find perspective. Being so completely immersed in the daily functions of life - so much of which does not directly relate to me or my own needs - when I sit down to write I often have nothing to say. My brain is on autopilot. Inspiration outside of my children (who are monumentally inspiring) is sometimes hard to come by.

Becoming a mommy was really my primary goal in life. Having a family was extremely important to me. Old fashioned, maybe, but still the truth. When I made the decision to give up being a singer and actor it was for many reasons but in the end I always said that I would sing to my children and that would fulfill me. That is true and it does.

However, as is the case with plans when we attempt to make them, sometimes when I sing to my kids they say "Stop singing Mommy. You're hurting my ears." The first time my daughter said this to me I laughed because it was funny but it also got me thinking about my mother and grandmother. They made motherhood the primary function and defining factors of their lives and personalities. A fact that was born out of equal parts love and devotion mixed with fear and comfort.

Additionally, we felt the pressure of that commitment. My grandmother loved that I could sing - so much so that she forced me to do so at every holiday, party, and gathering - whether others wanted me to or not. Rarely did she ask me to sing when she and I were alone. It's interesting to think that my talent was somehow a validation of her to others. I'm honored that she thought so highly of me but it was a little much sometimes.  

By no means is this a poor me scenario. I love my mother and adored my grandmother when she was alive, but in navigating this maze I have always struggled to find the balance between self and motherhood. When I was singing to my kids was it for them or me and when the answer is "both" where should the balance lie? So many questions.

I guess in the end there is comfort in the fact that they all request that I sing to them before they go to bed every night. They love to listen to my recordings but they still are not concerned in the least by asking me to be quiet when they've had enough and I don't get offended. Maybe there isn't such a thing as balance and I shouldn't be so analytical - but this seems close enough to me.

Besides, one day they'll be in therapy for something for which I will receive the blame. If it's that I sang too much, well things could be worse...

Good night. Until tomorrow.

Holding It All Together With Duct Tape

Here I am on day 2 and it's 10 pm - barely made it. I've meant to get this done all day but things never seem to stop moving long enough for me to think. I made it and that's all that counts...

I have a whole host of anecdotes from my life that will undoubtedly make me sound like a lunatic - so why not blog them for the whole world to read? Right?!?

About three years ago when I was working for a wonderful organization doing great work with fantastic people I was busy trying to prove myself and create a foothold. I always said yes to new projects, stayed late, tried to have new and innovative ideas, and I never knew if any of it was working. Everyone was very experienced, intelligent, and just generally intimidating. Even though it doesn't sound like it, I really loved it there and wanted to prove my worth as we so often do in a new environment.

Just as we were entering into the big advocacy season right before the General Assembly was to convene I was coordinating meetings and trying to get people involved in the process of self-advocacy. This was very important to everyone in the department and for everyone we served. And I was the new kid.

Well the morning of this particularly big meeting I felt it was important for me to look very professional. Most of the time we were a pretty casual office - although not without some real fashionistas for sure - but on that day I dressed-up. I had recently bought some new clothes that I was very excited about as is generally the case with new clothes (you hope). So I decided on a particularly fabulous pair of black slacks that made my legs look super long and my butt look small(er). I paired with it a blouse that had a really cool fleur de lis type print. The choice was made and this was what I was wearing. The only problem was (men hold your ears) my bra choices for this particular shirt were limited because they were all lace which created lines on the shirt. Not good.

The only bra I had that didn't do this was one that was a few years old and from before I was a mother of two (at the time) who breastfed and had some understandable weight fluctuations. The mothers know what I'm talking about and everyone else can guess. So in a fit of desperation I put the thing on, went down to the tool box, pulled out the duct tape, and taped those suckers up. Yes, I did it and you would have too. All day long the girls stood at attention. I felt like a million bucks with my new clothes, my important meeting that evening, and my very perky boobs.

The day wore on and it came time to set up for the "event". So I pulled out all the supplies, handouts, refreshments, and loaded them onto a cart. But first there was a stack of stuff that I had to carry upstairs to the room we were to use for the night. I got onto the elevator carrying all my stuff in front of me and met up with two of the women in my department. They rode up with me and we were talking about the day when all of a sudden one of them got a strange look on her face and said in a voice that I felt was extremely loud - "Do you have duct tape on your boobs?!?"

I look down to see that my shirt had come undone from the pile that I was carrying and there they were for all to see. I only vaguely recollect what happened next as it is shrouded in a veil of humiliation. I blushed vigorously, explained that I obviously needed to go bra shopping, all while frantically buttoning my shirt and carrying a 6" stack of papers.

My co-worker, whom I have since become very good friends with stated "Now that brings new meaning to holding it all together with duct tape" 

I was the butt of many a joke and snicker that night from those two women with whom I had shared the elevator. But the meeting went very well. I proved my worth and my vulnerability all at once.

The next day a select few dropped by my office to share a light jab that in the end made me feel more like a part of the team. A few weeks later, on my 30th birthday, I arrived to find my entire office covered in duct tape. I laughed all day.

I find that so much of my life has been spent trying to look like I've got it all together and often I do appear that way - but whether literally or figuratively - so often I really am just holding it all together with duct tape. But I haven't done that again and I did pay Victoria's Secret a visit very soon after this incident. Just in case you were wondering.

Good night friends. Until tomorrow.

Musings from a Latke and Tofurkey Induced Haze

Wow! I've have seriously neglected this blog since the beginning of the school year. Amazing that the first semester of the school year is nearly over and I don't think we've come up for air.  With the kids schedules, my singing and acting schedules, and my husband's odd work hours I guess we've taken quite some time to transition from Summer.

I'm committed to writing everyday for the month of December, please help me maintain this pledge by reading, commenting, and passing on this blog. It is after all part of a larger project of stories about my life, motherhood, and the relentless pursuit of sanity.

I wanted to write a Thanksgiving post last week following my first large scale Thanksgiving with many, many guests including two from California and my newest beautiful baby niece and my nephew (he is a dog but a very welcome addition to the family). Yet with Hannukah occurring so early this year its seems that we moved right from Turkey to Latkes - hence the title of the post if you hadn't picked up on that one...

The last yearish has been interesting, exciting, and at times a terrifying. We met some great trials, along with so many Americans, due to the economic downturn, downsizing, and the birth of our magnificent third child. Life is filled with choices and we have been faced with some doozies. While our financial future is not as secure as it once was, with the examination of our priorities and an eye on the long term we are pulling ourselves up by the proverbial boot straps by leveraging every ability to make money and create the flexibility required to be the kind of parents we want to be - phew! Boy have we needed, and received, the help of our family and friends over the course of this year - and they delivered in spades. There are no greater gifts than those of hope and gratitude and I am reminded, even on the worst days, just how hopeful I am for the future and how grateful I am for all that I have and all those people in our lives who believe enough in us to lend their support - emotional and otherwise.

As many of my friends know, last year without planning to I resumed singing and acting after an eight year hiatus - that I never intended to end. The universe intervened and showed me that I needed to be doing this and gave me all of the tools, resources, and work to make it a reality. I have embarked on a re-re-invention of myself in this new/old role. It's different now, more business, less emotion - as is the case in so much of my life. These days failure is not an option because so many people are counting on me. So even if my voice cracks - which happened, I forget the timing and come in all wrong - that also happens, forget lines, or we lose a job due to poor business, or any other disappointments that might come along I have to continue beating the streets. Some months are better than others, but for the most part it has been consistent and I am not embarrassed to say - surprising. I'm always surprised by my own success. What does that say about me?

We have also made a huge change in the children's lives - per their request - by returning to my Jewish roots and joining a synagogue. It has been very interesting to begin this journey and see my children learning things that I vaguely remember from childhood (and a lot more), to see them thriving and excited to be a part of this community. They are saving money for the Tzedakeh box, donating food weekly, meeting friends, and being welcomed into a family oriented  community. My daughter has become more compassionate and committed to giving back which I'm sure has to do with the fact that she is getting older but it's nice to see regardless. This process has awakened in me a strong desire to connect with my Jewish identity - which I've realized is so much a part of who I am on a cellular level. I haven't abandoned my Unitarian Universalist community just broadened my spiritual understanding and listened to my children when they asked to be better educated on their own heritage. As with most things, it's a delicate balance and we're making the choices that work for us.

Thanksgiving this year was momentous for me because it was the first time that I have hosted both Keith's and my family together. We usually have his people but mine are generally at my Aunt's house, requiring that we travel or split up the day. Thanksgiving for me growing-up was always a big family event with preparation beginning earlier in the week at my Bubbe's house - where the young people inevitably got what one of my aunts refers to as the "sh#*" jobs of cleaning, broiling and tearing bread for stuffing, and peeling potatoes. Bubbe did all the "cooking". In the years following her death in 2003 that job went to her eldest daughter; but she was better about letting us all pitch in.

This year with Keith's brother and his family living in Japan and my aunt, uncle, and cousins from Atlanta not coming home -Thanksgiving was threatening to be small; and that was not acceptable to me. My local Aunt graciously allowed me to take over the hosting duties this year when I asked her. What a change when she came over to my house the day before to clean, peel potatoes, broil and tear bread for stuffing - I'm afraid I wasn't as generous with the good jobs as she has been. Talk about coming full circle. Everyone contributed a dish or two and in the end we had a traditional and a vegan Thanksgiving feast - I will be posting the vegan recipes in an additional post. What a day. That's all I have to say. It was beautiful, calm, delicious, and fun. I wasn't stressed.

Something has happened over the course of the last several months - I'm mellowing - not always but a lot more and if you know me that's huge. I can't determine if it's age or the insanity of life over the last yearish but I'm enjoying life more - real life, the mundane stuff that always used to feel more like work than it should. Maybe I'm just finding my stride or maybe I've emerged from the sleep deprivation caused by my third baby - finally a year after he started sleeping through the night. The point is, life is fun, funny, and I'm so excited to begin everyday.

Last night, 6 days after Thanksgiving we celebrated the first night of Hannukah with yet another event of grandparents, aunt and uncle. And again, the cooking, cleaning, decoration making, and general craziness of preparing for a kidcentric holiday event went off without a hitch. We ate, drank, played, opened presents lit candles, and enjoyed each other's company. Then my 4 year old woke up puking in the middle of the night. It's never dull and I'm never surprised by life.

Oh well, I've taken enough of your time and my life is calling but I look forward to sharing stories of the past and present, and of my life, motherhood, and the relentless pursuit of sanity with you over the next 30 days and beyond. Happy Hannukah, Merry Christmas, Happy Festivus, etc. Talk to you tomorrow.

On My Last Leg - Part Deux

“Just because you're miserable doesn't mean you can't enjoy your life.” ~Annette Goodheart



It was my father-in-law's wish to be cremated and his ashes spread over the Chesapeake Bay. His wife decided on a compromise – after all in marriage that is required. Half of him was kept for the Bay and the other half was entombed in a cemetery so that there would be a place to visit, and for her to go upon her death.



Nearly a week following his death, after the memorial service and prior to the Irish Wake at their home in Virginia Beach, Keith and I went to the funeral home to acquire the ashes. We pulled up, still in a haze, and went inside. Keith met the receptionist with a smile and stated "Hi my name is Keith Mahone and I'm here to pick up my father." The woman appeared a little puzzled and looked around to see if there was indeed some waiting to be picked up. She didn't say anything and then Keith, understanding the misunderstanding, spoke up stating "He's been cremated" the response to which was a lot of uncomfortable bowing and apologizing and then they returned with a small cardboard box and a red velvet bag with a gold drawstring - which Keith has always affectionately referred to as the Crown Royal bag - all the drinkers will get that. All in all a fairly strange interaction that was nothing less than hilarious to discuss the entire drive from Richmond to the beach – and of course to recount to any and all who would listen.



That weekend we paid our final respects in the way that you do following the passing of a close loved one. We have continued to pay respect to his memory everyday since then by talking about him, remembering him to our children, and honoring the legacy that he left behind. But on that weekend it was a raw party of emotions. There really wasn't much crying though. It was as if his sons and his wife were beyond crying. So we walked on the beach, told stories, drank his best wine, and may, or may not, have placed his ashes in the bay (I plead the 5th).



When the party at the beach was done we made our way up I64 to Richmond and the cemetery. It was meant only for the immediate family. So Keith and I, his brother and sister-in-law, step-mother, and Keith's aunt made our way to the place where the rest of the ashes would be laid to rest. The ashes were placed in a lovely marble box which Keith and his brother lovingly compared to a car battery as it matched one in size and weight. No one knew what to do that day. They placed the box on a bench and put the bag of ashes inside. We all stood there looking at it for a moment. As much as everyone tried to be somber and as much as we were all filled with the finality of the events taking place - the boys couldn't stop cracking wise. They decided that they should carry the tiny box together the three and a half feet from the bench to the space where it would be sealed - as if they were pallbearers.



We could not control our giggles at the ridiculousness of this sight. Two 6' tall grown men in their 30's dressed the part in their dark suits and ties, sweating in the Indian summer of mid-September delicately carrying their father's marble box of ashes to its final resting place in a wall. The boys' aunt was clearly annoyed at our complete disregard for the seriousness of the occasion. She simply didn't understand and we could never have explained. We clearly were bucking all of her traditional funeral expectations, a point that was clearly illustrated when she very sincerely asked “Where is Lanny?” to which we replied “He’s in the box.” She huffed a few more times but voiced no more complaints. But really how surprised could she be when less than a week prior - the fiancé of the dearly departed’s younger son had presided over the memorial service because she used to be an actress. It was at that moment she should have realized all bets were off.



When “it” was done and there were no more plans to be made, no more “on the 11th day of September in the year 2002 our father and husband was carried away on a golden chariot into the heavens to meet his…”, no more wine or parties to dull the quiet left in his wake we all went out for ice cream. I’m pretty sure he would have approved.



I realize that everyone has their own way of mourning, approaching anguish, and honoring their moments of despair. My grandparent’s battle with ill health and my father-in-law’s passing – in addition to so many other points in my life and my life with my husband – were, I feel, opportunities to make something good out of the senseless and confusing lot sometimes doled out by the universe.



Some may feel that this approach is disrespectful and in some cases they may be right but in these cases everyone was laughing together - we weren’t poking fun at any person or circumstance that they wouldn’t have made light of themselves.



My father-in-law’s passing was as tragic and unexpected as nearly anything that has occurred in our lives. We would gladly hand over all the world’s riches to have him here. Yet, the experience of his death brought everyone closer because of their willingness to cry, and yes laugh together; to share in the real emotions of things that make us know we are alive. I thank my grandparents for instilling in me the gift of humor and my father-in-law for doing the same – whether he meant to or not – for his son. And I thank the universe for making sure that we found each other.



"If you don't like something change it; if you can't change it, change the way you think about it." ~Mary Engelbreit

On My Last Leg - Part 1

Funny is one of my jobs these days and so I am spending a lot more time than I ever have really thinking about humor. What does it mean to have a sense of humor and when is it appropriate, or more importantly, when is it inappropriate to use humor as a tool, coping mechanism, or diversionary tactic? Or is it ever? The world is a complicated place filled with lots of reasons to worry, feel sad, or get angry - so why not just laugh instead.

When we first started dating my now husband and I spent a lot of time laughing and picking on eachother. He didn't always know where the line was and had made a reputation for himself as the guy who could say anything and everyone would love him for it. That's a skill - not getting punched in the face. Sometimes he would cross over into inappropriate territory...sometimes...try most of the time.

One day we got a call stating that my grandmother, who had lost her leg to diabetes, was in the hospital, again. So we went over to visit. Now Keith hadn't spent a lot of time in hospitals in his life - for me St. Mary's hospital in Richmond was kind of like a second home - so my wisecracking man went from being irreverent to respectful and even demure in a split second upon entering the hospital. I guess that was the line.

Never knowing what to expect we walked into her room quietly and found Bubbe in her bed napping with the T.V. on. I walked to her bedside and put my hand on her arm. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at us. I kissed her wonderfully soft cheek and said "Hi, Bubbs" as I usually did. She said "Hi darling," Keith piped in with a quiet "How 'ya doin'?" to which she replied "Well, the doctor says I'm on my last leg,"

Badump bump ching.

She made these jokes all the time. Were they to mask the pain? Probably, no one wants to lose their leg at 66 years old. No one wants to suffer with ill health. But what she did was put everyone at ease with humor - including herself. There is often nothing we can do about where we are - the time for preventative action has passed, so to accept our station we find the funny.

In my family, we pay hommage to the dearly departed, or to the impossible situations in life, with jokes. Some people find this inappropriate or disrespectful. I respectfully disagree. In life we are charged with making our closest confidants people with whom we share fundamental similarities. In other words surround yourself with people that get you, and inspire the greatness you possess and forget about the rest. (I will now step down off of my soapbox)

When my husband's father died suddenly on the evening of September 11, 2002 while jogging in the park with his wife - we were all left unsure of how to make sense of it. Even now as I write this nearly 8 years later - it's difficult to find the words to describe the shock of that phone call informing my husband that his father was gone. It was seven months before our wedding. It's unfathomable to me that he's missed all of these amazing milestones, weddings, home purchases, businesses, the birth of 5 grandchildren, and so very much more.

Yet, when I think back to the time immediately following his passing there is a warmth that I cannot explain. It is when we are faced with such unbelievable and unfortunate circumstances that we find out what our relationships are really made of and what the people we love are really made of. My husband is my hero.

They honored his memory with parties - and not just one. There was one in Richmond and one in Virginia Beach. There was a memorial and an "Irish Wake". There was drinking, and laughing, and telling stories. Everyone remembered this remarkable man, flaws and all, with joy, love, and lots of good wine. Just the way he would have wanted it! And those were just the big parties - not including the times that we, the family, just sat around laughing, drinking, and telling stories about ice cream and hammers and the time that the children nearly fell off a mountain so that he could take the perfect picture of them climbing it. These stories remain at the cruxt of the man's legacy - they are told and retold with surprise and awe that some stories never grow tiresome.

My father-in-law was not a religious man so it was a quandry just how the memorial service would be done. Who would preside and what would they say? Somewhere in the whirlwind of planning, consoling, contacting, writing obituaries, and making burial arrangements - with several days of sleep deprivation - it was suggested that I lead the memorial service because I "used to be an actor" - which made perfect sense to everyone. Ok....

So with great trepidation I took on the task of leading the memorial service for this man whose funeral was standing room only. He was truly loved. I blubbered my way through and introduced person after person who felt compelled to speak in honor of his memory. It was a magnificent experience although not the way I thought - seven months before my wedding - that I would have been meeting my husband's extended family and his parents' friends. A old Yiddish proverb, or Woody Allen, once said "we plan, and God laughs" that is so very true.


“We are all faced with a series of great opportunities brilliantly disguised as impossible situations.” Charles Swindoll.

And I hate wind...

So recently my darling and eccentric middle child, Liam awoke in the middle of the night. He came to our door and told me that he was afraid of the shadows in his room and that he wanted to sleep with us. Well at four years old he is getting too big to sleep with us - especially since he sleeps sideways in the bed.

"Buddy we need to go get back in your bed now."

"NO," he cries "I want to sleep in your bed."

I lead him wimpering back into his room - which is completely breaking my heart. He gets into bed and starts to cry louder than before. I gently stroked his hair and told him that he was a big boy now since he'd turned four.

"I don't want to be four. I want to stay three. I don't want to be big. I'm never eating again so I will stay small." All the while he's doing that yelling kind of crying with no tears and his eyes are closed because he's barely awake.

"Oh," I respond.

"I hate this," He bellows eyes still closed.

"I'm sorry you're unhappy," I say.

"I hate my bed," he continues "I hate my friends. I hate school." It's summer and he's not even in school. "and I hate wind and I hate the snow. I never want to play in the snow ever again!"

"I thought you liked the snow"

"No I hate it and I want to stay inside with Mommy."

"But I like playing in the snow," I tell him.

"YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME INSIDE BY MYSELF," he cries having now woken his brother and sister. They are not happy and the house is all atwitter at 1 am. FUN!

I'm never certain how these conversations go off the rails in such a monumental way but nonetheless here it is. In less than 90 seconds we went from him not wanting to sleep in his bed because he was afraid of shadows to me abandoning him in the house to play in some future snow storm. Well eventually the other two were settled down and I thought little Liam was asleep too but three hours later I awoke to find him in my bed anyway.

All for naught you say? Hardly. I got a story out of it...

Look Mommy...

I have realized since becoming a parent that household items, food, cleaning products, body care, etc. are in fact meant for many more exciting purposes than I could have ever imagined - at least to three year old little boys.

Every Liam event (yes they are events) begins the same way - with the cliche of the mother (me) realizing that the house is far too quiet. Followed by a search throughout calling "Liam! Where are you?" To no avail because little boys have selective hearing - especially when they're hiding from you doing something they know you're not going to like. Virtually every time - when I finally locate him - he greets me with the proudest smile, as if to say "Look Mommy what a wonderful and creative boy I am." I respond with the requisite "How could you have possibly done all this in so little time?!?!" Time to clean up the mess...

The three year old year was one I would never want to trade and yet I am hoping - now that he's recently turned 4 - that the fascination with such experimentation will take a more scaled down approach.

It all started when one day I found him in the closet standing inside my husband's empty laundry basket doing a little dance.

"What are you doing in there buddy?" I innocently asked.

"I'm skating," he smiled "With lotion," he stated deviously.

He had squirted an entire bottle of lotion into the bottom of the basket which created a virtual skating rink for Liam to slip and slide in to his heart's content. That was the beginning but it took a few more times for me to finally catch on.

It is important to note that just prior to Liam turning three his baby brother was born. The baby never, and I mean NEVER slept making mommy a little nutty and a lot fruity. Therefore, my peripheral vision and hearing were impacted to some degree leaving open a large window for Liam to experiment a bit more freely than he might have otherwise. Ok, explanation complete.

The next was the time I found him behind the curtains in my bedroom with a paint brush and a tube of the baby's vaseline. "Look Mommy I'm painting your wall!" Awesome...

There was a lull in said behavior as I began to catch on and confiscated nearly everything in the house. For awhile there was nothing that he could get into. Until one night, Laney (the oldest) had a cold and she asked for some Vicks Vapo Rub. I obliged and while I religiously remember to put such things back up on the highest shelf that night I did not. I left it in Laney's room on her dresser after Liam had gone to bed.

The next morning I walked out of my bedroom to be met by a naked Liam covered from hair to toes in...wait for it...Vicks Vapo Rub. He smiled proudly up at me stating "Look Mommy, I'm all shiny!"

After toweling and bathing and toweling again he still had a film and repeated over and over again "I'm cold Mommy," to which I replied "I'm sure you are buddy. You'll just have to wait for it to wear off."

Around Halloween things took a more dramatic turn. One day I was in the family room with

Liam and the baby sitting on the floor - Laney was in school (note that if Laney were ever around during any of these escapades they surely would not have happened. We don't call her The Enforcer for nothing). Liam announces that he needs to go upstairs to get something and he will be right back. Well after a very short amount of time I call to him - I'm catching on at this point and I wasn't allowing him to wander far for long. I called again and he answers from the kitchen "I'm in the kitchen just cleaning up a little mess."

I remained seated and for a split second thinking to myself "Isn't that nice," lack of sleep was really getting to me by then. I quickly snapped out of it, got up, and went into the kitchen. It took me a second to realize what I stepped in but when it dawned on me that I was standing in a pile of flour as deep as my foot I was shocked. I looked up to find flour - an entire brand new bag of flour - creating a three foot trail from the pantry, where it had previously lived, to the foot of the staircase. At the bottom of the staircase was Liam standing in the giant pile of flour that he had dumped out when he'd reached his destination. I suppose I should have been thankful that he didn't try to take it upstairs. The most shocking thing is that I had been sitting less than 10 feet away and I never heard a thing. The kid is stealthy!

He stood in the pile of flour that covered his feet like they were buried in sand at the beach. In his hand he had his little toy broom and he was determined to sweep up all the flour with this tiny little thing. Next to him was the head of Dora the Explorer, the empty bag of flour, an ice cream scoop, and one yellow rubber kitchen glove. It looked like the scene of a very strange crime. He looked at my astonished, speechless face and smiled nonchalantly, as if this were something he did all the time - then he went back to sweeping.

I'm always fairly certain during a Liam event that he knows what he's doing is not a good choice and yet the pride with which he attacks these undertakings tells me otherwise. Further, he is always just as happy as can be to clean-up after them. I take that back, he will clean up until he's done cleaning whether the work is done or not.

I honestly don't remember what happened next except that I took pictures.

Within the same month, Liam was having a particularly good day as he had recently tackled potty training. He was very proud of this new found freedom. On this day, I had picked him up from school and brought him home for lunch. I made lunch while he played. He announced that he was going to the bathroom and could I please turn on the light. As a parent those are the moments that make the chaos worthwhile. It was a lovely peaceful afternoon and all was right with the world.

Famous last words...

As I finished preparing lunch for him and the baby I revelled in the sound of Liam washing his hands, singing, and playing in the sink - which I saw no problem with since I had always let his sister do it. A couple of minutes passed and I went to get him to come have lunch. I walked into the bathroom to find him playing sweetly. The sink was filled with bubbles and he had toys on the counter. I pulled out the stopper and put my hands into the bubbles to get the toys out. Since there were bubbles I couldn't see THE ENTIRE ROLL OF TOILET PAPER he had shredded into the sink full of soap and water.

I pulled out a handful and looked at him. Again, he had the proudest smile on his face "Look Mommy I made goop!!" And once again, before I did anything I took pictures.

Then he helped me pull the crud out of the drain and deposit all of it in the trash. I explained that it was not ok to use the toilet paper to make 'goop'. He didn't understand how anything that great could be bad. But he never did it again so I assume I got through...

Liam continues to astonish us everyday with his wit, curiosity, and spirit. If I don't end up in a mental hospital there will always be an abundance of stories to fill our days. It's never boring that's for sure.

Until next time...

Every Toilet Seat in America

I've been thinking about this hilarious story for a very long time and I've never written it down. It illustrates the point that we can find humor in virtually any situation if we just allow it to be so. My friend told me this story years ago about a member of her family.

This friend's grandmother, we'll call her Bea, had been a cleaning lady for many years in large office buildings and hotels. Bea had worked hard to support her family and prepare for the future. She had never complained nor had she ever missed a day of work. Bea was a strong and committed southern lady who did what needed to be done and that was that!

After all those years of working hard Bea had reached retirement age. Her family members had a party for her and she sat around her children and grandchildren for whom she had worked so hard all those years. They smiled and laughed enjoying the party. At some point one of her children asked Bea what she wanted to do with her retirement and she said "I want to pee on every toilet seat in America!"

"I'm sorry I don't think I heard you right Mother. It sounded like you said you want to pee on every toilet seat in America but that can't be right."

"Why the hell not!" Bea exclaimed "I've been wipin' up other people's piss for 40 years - it's my turn now!"

Father's Day Belated

Well it's obviously been a little busy around here lately because it's two weeks past Father's Day and I'm just getting around to this. It might only be a week come to think of it but I honestly no longer have a good sense of time or space I just take things day to day. However, I did want to talk a little about Dads if I could.

On Father's Day before the big bash at 3pm I played my monthly gig at a local restaurant with my guitarist, Bob. Shortly after I arrived, a large family came to celebrate the day together. They sat, all 12 of them, next to us in very close proximity. I was, as I always am, very conscious in this environment of remaining background music as much as possible so as not to disturb their meal. Yet, the more I sang the more they engaged. This was lovely and welcome as it is often difficult to play in a restaurant when people are not there to see you and they would rather talk than listen. When I returned from the only short break of the day Bob stated that the 80 year old patriarch of the family had come up to give compliments and make a request that we play "Misty." We happily obliged and he smiled warmly. As the time progressed, we saw families come and go but they stayed for the duration eating, smiling, listening, talking. At one point the patriarch walked to the end of the long table and picked-up his infant great granddaughter out of the high chair where she'd been smiling and charming the room. She raised her arms to be held and he bounced her slowly around the table and walked around the restaurant.



At that moment I thought of my own father and the similar joy that he derives from seeing my children smile, play, and meet new milestones. I saw my husband toiling over how to create the perfect Christmas or taking pictures of every moment so as not to forget a thing. I thought how similar we all are as people and families. Our backgrounds may be different but in that moment watching that 80 year old African American gentleman walk his baby great granddaughter around he was my father and grandfather. I knew him and he knew me even if we never spoke to eachother. There is a knowing in that kind of love that binds us all to one another.



I left the gig feeling fulfilled and went on to the Father's Day festivities to celebrate my amazing husband and dad. Upon arriving at my father and step-mother's house my kids were happy and playing in their second home. Dad was carrying the baby much as that gentleman had been at the restaurant. The baby hugs him and reaches for his Zayde as my father is really the baby's favorite person. Everytime the baby does this my dad says "Do you see this? Why does he love me so much?" He's amazed and so appreciative. He deserves the love.



My husband arrived shortly after me and stayed the majority of the day outside with the two older kids in the sweltering heat playing and keeping watch. Coming in only to find food and make sure I didn't need him. Even on Father's Day he is a partner - stronger and more patient than me - the definition of better half he teaches me the meaning of peace, calm, and the value of maintaining a sense of humor (a lesson I am frequently in need of learning).

The world is fractured in many ways with so many advancements creating a cultural lag that has most of us confused and often overwhelmed. We have so many more options than once upon a time when things were simple. Yet on Father's Day and frequently in my life, if I choose to pay attention there are those moments when life is simple when family is all that matters and we feel only love.

I told my Dad that he was too normal to be a funny blog post but I didn't want the Special Occasion to pass without the acknowlegement that - flaws and all - I have always known I was loved and that gift is worth all the money in the world. Thanks Dad, Keith, and all the Dads who show up and do the work even if they don't always get the big piece of chicken - or tofu.

A Mother's Love - The Produce Story

A mother's love is a strange and wonderous thing. It is something one can never fully understand until they become a mom themselves. In the name of love and concern for their children's wellbeing parents lose all sense of what is sane and reasonable...if they're good parents of course.

In the year 2000 after years of talking about it I decided to move to New York City. But in my super flakey fashion I just packed a bag, some shoes, my make-up, and a papazan chair cushion and left. I serendipitously secured a job and I was on my way. A friend offered up her floor until I could get settled and that's how it all started. Practically overnight, I had a whole new life.

After almost a month on the floor I found an apartment with some friends. I called my parents excited to share the news and they were immediately making plans to get my stuff out of the house and up to me. Early one Sunday morning my family packed up a Uhaul and drove my stuff to my new apartment. They dropped it all off, ate some pizza, turned around and drove right back to Virginia.

I spent the day and night unpacking. The next morning I went to work as usual. When I came home one of my roommates said that my mother had called and she sounded extremly upset and that I should call her immediately. Now this was not surprising to me because you see my mother always sounded upset when she was on the phone. She would answer it as if she was on fire "HELLO!" to which the person on the other end would say "Are you ok?" and she would respond "Yes, why?" confused by the nature of the question.

So I didn't rush to call her back because I'd been there before. I did eventually call her that night and I was surprised to find that she really was upset. In a hysterical, frantic, and very high pitched voice she said "Erin, I realized when I got home last night that I left behind this entire cooler filled with produce that I bought you before we left." I waited a beat making sure I'd heard correctly.

slowly, and a little confused I replied "It's ok mom, they have produce here"

"But I bought all this for you! Your stepfather has a client going back to Italy tomorrow. She will fly from Richmond and layover at La Guardia. She has agreed to bring the produce with her all you have to do is meet her at the airport to pick it up! Can you do that?"

again, confused "Drive over an hour to the airport to pick up produce when there's a Whole Foods a few blocks away?"

"Uh-huh"

"No"

"Oh..."

"REALLY!!!" I thought to myself. "This sounds reasonable to you?" Also to myself.

"No Mom. I think it'll be ok. Really. We have perfectly good supermarkets up here. Don't worry."

She started to cry. "Blbblblblbl"

"I love you too. I have to go now."

"Bblblblbl."

I hung up. At equal levels I was confused, hysterical laughing, and irritated. I wasn't a mom yet and clearly didn't understand. In my mind, she was just simply insane; now let's not downplay the crazy - for it is one of her most charming qualities - but now as a mom of three myself with my own brand of crazy, I totally get it.

Life is messy and motherhood follows that model. We aren't perfect - no matter how hard we try to be. We often make mountains out of molehills like obsessing over produce when really we're just trying to say "I want to make sure you have everything you need." My mom reached the point where she couldn't do that anymore. I had grown up and she was trying to figure out what that meant for us - together, and as individuals. What do you do when there's nothing you can do? Cry over produce, of course.

Happy Mother's Day to everyone who's ever cried and smiled over produce, first words, recitals, lost teeth, first days of school, and baseball games, and to all those who will.

"Suddenly he knew what was so special about mothers. She looked at him smiling, and said, "I'll love you to the ends of the universe."
~Berkley Breathed - Mars Needs Moms

For All Eternity

At 65 years old my grandmother lost her leg. After years of poor health, morbid obesity, diabetes, quadruple bipass surgery, high blood pressure, and heart disease a tiny cut to a toe resulted in the loss of an entire leg. She spent what felt like an eternity on death's door, weeks in the hospital. She developed bed sores that were indescribable, floated in and out of consciousness, struggled, fought, and ultimately recovered miraculously.

According to Jewish law when a person undergoes amputation the severed appendage must be buried. So the arrangements were made and her leg was laid to rest in the plot that had been purchased for she and my grandfather years before.

The following year, on the day of my grandfather's (Zayde) funeral he was placed above the buried leg. He had suffered a whirlwind battle with cancer, decades of emphazema, multiple heart attacks, and a lifetime battle with schizophrenia. On that day, after the services at the funeral home and the cemetary I sat in the car with my grandmother - Bubbe - his wife of 47 years. We rode in silence for awhile maybe reflecting on the events of the day, the last few months, maybe contemplating the life to come - a life without him. When all of a sudden she piped up saying "You know it gives me great pleasure to know that for all eternity my foot is gonna be up his ass." What does it say about our family that this was not in the least bit surprising to hear come from my grandmother's mouth?

I need to clarify though - this statement was made in jest...sort of. We are a people who address most situations with humor. Mourning the passing of both of my grandparents are some of the fondest memories I have. Not because I was happy that they were gone - quite to the contrary -it was devastating but we spent the week following their deaths celebrating their lives. We ate, sang, laughed, some argued a little, but overall we enjoyed each other. Their four children and 14 grandchildren - the family that they created - as well as cousins, siblings, friends, and community members. We were a family that triumphed through great trials and complexity.

My Bubbe married my Zayde when she was 19 years old. He was 26, a handsome, kind faced, World War II veteran. They met in his cab in Philly and he asked her out on the spot. She told him she was 23. He proposed on their first date and a week later they met at the courthouse to get the marriage certificate. When they were filling it out and they got to the place where she had to put her birthdate she had to come clean first saying she was only 21 and then finally telling the truth - she was merely 19 years old. He recoiled stating that he was too old and he couldn't go through with it. But, as was her way, she convinced him to follow through. It wasn't hard though, he completely adored her.

Shortly after they married he began acting strangely and was eventually diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. He struggled for decades in and out of hospitals, from doctor to doctor hoping to find the right medication. His family and Bubbe's suggested that she institutionalize him and move on. But - whatever her reasons - she didn't. They raised their children and made things work the best they knew how. She provided child care in the home and he worked for her family's business never earning enough money or respect. Their home was modest but meticulous - always. She worked hard and was proud of the life they'd made in the face of all they had to shoulder.

When I think of my childhood and all the time I spent with them and of all the stories I hear about my dad's upbringing they never talked about the troubles or the pain. For obvious reasons I'd imagine - but they could have. No, what we heard from our grandparents and our parents was about all the fun they used to have. They were always laughing and doing crazy things like rearranging the bedrooms in their tiny house in the middle of the night so everyone got a new room. Their kids' friends were always welcome and fed no matter how much they ate. She made everyone feel like a part of the family.

My brother, I, and later our much younger sister, would spend weekends at their house with our cousins. We would eat chocolate ice cream with crushed pretzels (a delicacy that everyone should try), we'd play rummy tile or trivial pursuit - which is hilarious with a bunch of children, and have fashion shows, or put on musical reviews for which our grandparents would provide a most appreciative audience. On New Year's Eve, after watching the ball drop we'd run outside in our pajamas to bang pots and pans together on the front lawn welcoming the new year. She made everything special.

They drove eachother crazy, my grandparents. Fighting and bickering frequently. But they managed to stay married for 47 years through poor health, mental instability on both their parts, child bearing and rearing, money troubles, and whatever else life served up. Their irritation and resentment toward one another was equivalent to the joy, love, and generosity that they showed eachother and each of us. I can understand - being married now to the love of my life - how she might have gotten great pleasure knowing that she could put her foot in his ass... without causing any real anguish.

So as we drove away that fateful day and said our goodbyes looking toward the future, us without our beloved Zayde and father; her without this man who for better and worse she'd shared most of the last 50 years with - we knew that he was laughing at what she'd said and smiling down on us all.