birds of a feather

When it came time to write my mom's grave marker 2 years ago, I really struggled. I guess I should have expected that. My relationship with my mother was always a struggle.

Ask anyone... my mother was a great friend, aunt, coworker, volunteer, caretaker. She took care of my father, Dan and Joe Sklar until they took their last breaths.

And my mother was an awesome grandmother. She loved my boys unconditionally, from the second they entered our lives. She proudly sat behind us when we finalized the adoption paperwork a year later, a formality in her mind -- they were already hers and always would be. She gave them their Jewish names that day - just as Eric's parents gave them their last name. Her gift to them was a lineage that dates back 5771 years.

Growing up, she wasn't always the mother I needed or wanted. In fact, she wasn't always a mother at all. I left at 15 in search of what that word meant (a search that continues today). We butted heads... a lot! She wanted to do everything for me. I was an independent soul. She was emotionally excessive. I am aloof. She always needed people around her, complimenting her. For me, validation comes from within.

It has taken me until now (at 41) to even start to understand. She taught me a lot. Some through example and some through not repeating others' mistakes. She taught me to have compassion, to try to see the world through someone else's eyes. She taught me that no matter how little you have, there is always someone out there that has less. She taught me what "til death do us part" means. But she also showed me how important it is to just "be there", to not run away, to trust myself, to not act helpless and take advantage of people, to love myself unconditionally. Unfortunately, those lessons were learned by watching her fail. These days, I wear her wedding rings to remind me of all I learned from her - for good and for bad.

When I think of my mother these days, I think of a bird. Not a solitary songbird alone in a nest but the ones that congregate on the phone lines. Flying here and there but always with company. Pausing to watch the bustle below. Then flying on.

I've let the bad history (and there was a lot of it) be carried away by one of those birds. I choose to remember her like she was in this picture. Just enjoying time with the boys. Giving them all the love she wanted to give me but I wasn't ready or willing to accept.

Each Rosh Hashana I tell her I love her for who she was. I forgive her for not being what I needed when I needed it. And then, I open my heart and accept her blessings for the same.

L'Shana Tova Mom - you are inscribed in the Book of Life forever - your memory lives on in all the people you touched

peanut, peanut butter and jelly

OK who am I kidding? The only reason for the existence of the apple or the banana or the wheat bread, for that matter, is to get the delicious peanut buttery goodness into my tummy. Peanut butter is by far one of my favorite foods. It satisfies my need for something sweet, salty, crunchy, fatty and rich all in one bite. Face it, it's one of the most perfect foods there is.

I can remember, as a kid, watching my dad devour half a loaf of white bread slathered in peanut butter. And, it wasn't uncommon to see him dive into a jar with a spoon (much to my mother's horror) -- no bread needed. So why, do I feel compelled to sully the perfection of peanut butter with all these extras? Why indeed.

My dad and I were a lot like PB & J. We could get along pretty well in small quantities but we did better apart. He's come to mind a lot lately... peanut butter, food trucks, Saturday morning cartoons, reruns, crossword puzzles. All things that make ME smile that I "inherited" a love of, from him. Last night, I dropped my notions of propriety and dove in, spoon first. As I sat on the couch decadently enjoying my treat, I couldn't help but think... THIS would make my dad smile.

lost and found

The leaves let go, the seeds let go, and I must let go sometimes, too. Robert Fulghum

I've lost a lot of things in my life. I've buried both of my parents. I've cried over lost babies and dreams. I have a sibling that I choose not to have a relationship with and one that chose for me. My wallet. My keys. At times I may have even lost my mind. But right now I feel like I've lost a piece of myself.

I don't trust easily. I am a pessimist to the core. I jump to the dark place. I know these things about myself and wonder in awe how it is that I have been blessed with friends that know all of this and love me anyway. Love me in spite of my flaws. Perhaps, even because of them.

Last week, I lost a close friend - a member of my inner circle. Not through death but through stupidity and immaturity. It is still a month until Yom Kippur but like all good Jews I was taught to ask for forgiveness every day. Forgiveness from those that I have wronged. Forgiveness from G-d. And, forgiveness from myself. I have done all these things but some things can be repaired and some things can not. They say time is the greatest healer... we shall see.

When something is lost, often in searching for it we find other things of equal or even greater value. Right now, I am reminded of the love of those that have stood by me through the years and provided me strength. Those that have laughed with me. Cried with me. Traveled the path with me -- providing a compass when I most needed direction. Those that love me in spite of myself. Despite the barriers I erect. I have let them in and they have chosen to stay. For good. For bad. For everything.

Dear Friends, each of you make me a better person, whether you know it or not. I am honored to have you in my life. I am overjoyed to have found you and to be able to call you "friend". I hope I never do anything stupid along the way to hurt you. But when I do, I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me for being who I am... flawed.

ch-ch-changes

I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence and
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're going through

Change can be good. Change can be scary. Change can be exciting. Change is necessary.

Justin has Asperger's, that's a given in our life. Like most Aspies, change is difficult for him, and therefore for us as well. We never know how he'll react. Some changes we assume to be mild can set him off and others he ignores and adapts to silently. Change for us is... unpredictable.

Justin is a great kid. Ask anyone. He's bright and loving and incredibly book smart. But, he struggles in social situations and he overwhelms easily. Those traits are hard to deal with. Especially when you are a 12 year old boy in middle school. Justin is our impetus for change.

We encourage Justin to adapt to the world around him. Don't stand so close to strangers. Don't constantly hug and pet us. Lower your voice. Stop making noises. Don't act weird. But the years of forcing Justin to adapt to a school environment that is not conducive to HIS learning style is over. We have spent eight years being beaten down by a school system that does not understand his challenges. Change is here.

Today Justin starts a new chapter in his education. Gone (we hope) is the name calling and the bullying. Gone are the large classes and loud bells and passing periods. Gone is the stress of being like the other kids - a feat he will never achieve. Today is the first day of success and we are excited... and (I will admit) a little scared... But we all know change is necessary for Justin to thrive. Change is good.

too much of a good thing

Mae West was famous for saying "Too much of a good thing is wonderful." So why do I get sad every time I walk into a bookstore or library? Depositories of many good things.

Ever since I was a kid, I've always looked forward to trips to the bookstore and I still love to browse the thousands of options available. Bestselling Fiction. Classics. Nonfiction. Biographies. Parenting. Self Help. Religion. It really doesn't matter, I'll read anything.

If there are books to browse I am there. Flea markets, Goodwill, used bookstores, attics, friend's bookshelves. I love books. I love the feel of the paper and how the letters magically come together to form ideas. I love being transported away into someone's imagination.

But lately, I find that as I am browsing I am hit with a deep sadness. A knot in my stomach for all the books I WON'T read in my lifetime. For all the authors that slaved away and put up with intense criticism only to be forgotten on a dusty shelf. Never read. Never appreciated. Never recommended.

I'm one of the most voracious readers I know. I can devour 5-7 books a month and it's not uncommon for me to have 2 or 3 books going at one time. But even at that pace, I will never read them all. Not even if they were all condensed and edited. Not even if they were all read to me while I was sleeping. So many books, so little time.

I've rarely left a bookstore empty handed. There is always at least one new book that cries out to come home with me. Added to the stack of "must read next" or loaned out even before I have a chance to consume it. So many choices, where to begin? It leaves me feeling sad and lost... sometimes too much of a good thing is just too much for me.

hold on

You have always been an independent person. You've never needed much help or needed me to hold your hand or comfort you in new situations. You just jump in with both feet.

First day of kindergarten you waved at me and told us you had it "under control". You were four.

This morning was no different. Dropping you off at the high school for the first day of Cross Country practice. So why am I shocked? Why am I left with that melancholy feeling? The same knot in my stomach I got 9 years ago?

I think it's because it is becoming clear to me that my time with you is dwindling. Already you have your friends and your phone and you spend most of your time behind your closed door. I'm trying to hold onto these last few years.

You already talk of cars and college and careers to pursue. And girls. I tell you all the time to "slow down". Don't be in such a rush to grow up. Take your time and hold on. Saturday you'll be 14 and pretty soon you'll be gone.

So, as proud of your independent spirit as I am it still makes me sad. Every time you walk away into a new experience without me I am reminded of how fleeting my time with you is. So Anthony, bear with me... I'm just trying to hold on.

fear

I don't have a lot of fears. Well, not rational ones at least. I'm afraid of clowns and mimes but seriously, who isn't. But today, I'm afraid. Afraid of the unknown.

Over the past 24 years, Eric has stood by me through 7 surgeries, a miscarriage, infertility treatments and a breast cancer scare. He's always been the strong one. Today it's my turn to sit in the waiting room making witty comments. Trying to be the strong one. Fearful of the unknown behind the door.

Keratoconus is a degenerative disorder of the eye in which the structural changes within the cornea cause it to thin and change to a more conical shape than it's normal gradual curve.

I know he's scared, too. Over the last 10 years it's gotten worse. He avoids driving at night. He steps cautiously on stairs, holding onto handrails. The kids and I warn him of curbs and other dangers he may not notice. He's adapted to this world with grace.

He's not ready for a white cane, yet. But the time has come to explore our options. He didn't pass the DMV eye exam. Glasses and contacts make little difference.

On the other side of the door, may lie the answer. The other side of the door may lie hope. The waiting room holds all my fears of the future. We're ready. Together we will get through this. Supporting each other. There for each other... despite our own personal fears.

sometimes

Sometimes I just don't want to be the big girl with the big girl job. Sometimes I want to be carefree and silly. Sometimes I just want to run through the sprinklers.

It's 107° degrees today in Rancho. The hottest day we've had so far in an uncharacteristically cool Southern California summer. Although my office is so cold I often have to wear a sweatshirt, outside it is sweltering. Dangerous heat index. Minimize outdoor exposure. No strenuous activity. But outside is where the fun is. Outside is where I want to be. At least for the moment.

Today, this is where and who I am. Flip flops, jeans, tank top, sunglasses. Casual. Silly, laughing, having fun. Enjoying the life I am making for us, taking time out to appreciate the moments and realizing that it's OK to be silly... sometimes.

objects in the mirror

Eighty thousand, six hundred two.

That's how many miles are on my van. Enough to drive across the United States almost 30 times. An average of 44 miles per day for 5 years. 4,000 tanks of gas. Countless memories of a life spent raising my kids on 4 wheels.

When I was a stay-at-home mom, I was never "at home". We were always on the go. Theme parks, museums, libraries, zoos. If there was somewhere to go, we were there. I'd load up the boys and snacks and videos and we'd be off. Once the kids started school, the time in the van changed (as did the van) but some things haven't. The wheels on the van keep turning.

My van is always a mess. A collection of life debris. Mine. The boys. Work. Scouts. Papers collected commingled with trash, fast food containers, videos, schoolwork, stuff. It drives Eric (and everyone else who has to ride in it) nuts, but for me it's comfortable. It's a reminder of where I've been. Where I stopped along the road. Receipts of my life (figuratively and literally). Last week I took the van to the carwash and although the outside is clean, the inside is still filled with all those little reminders. The scraps of paper, the recycling, Aaron's shoes, the cup of pens and pencils. I'm OK with it, it's who I am as a mom - the keeper. Ask me where something is and chances are the answer will be "in the van".

So where have we been in 80,000+ miles? We've made countless trips to Rancho Cucamonga and Upland. I've taken the kids (by myself) on vacations. We've traveled as a family. It's our "family" car. Our together vehicle. We've lived and the stuff in the van can attest to that.

So as I make the final payment on the POS van (that I hated from day 1), I'm looking back at where it has taken me and where I'm going. Like many things in my life, it's not hip and trendy, it doesn't have all the features I want, it's stained and battered, it's "lived in". But it's also safe and dependable. We all fit. We all have our places and like my scrapbooks and this blog it tells a story. Our story. Where the van will take us next, I'm not quite sure. I guess you'll have to come along on the journey to find out.

promises

Today is July 13th. It's not the beginning of the year... or my birthday... or an anniversary. It's just a Tuesday morning. An ordinary day. But today I was reminded that sometimes you have to make promises to yourself not just to others. I need to learn to depend on myself as much as other people depend on me. So, today, I promise to:

1. Find joy in the little things.
2. Smile more.
3. Be too blessed to be stressed – not the other way around.
4. Talk to G-d, my mom and myself more.
5. Be kinder to the ones that matter most. Patience, encouragement, empathy and respect. I need to model these things in order to teach them.
6. Be happy with who I am. My kids and my husband think I’m beautiful and that is all that should matter.
7. Hold hands with my kids whenever they want to. Some day, soon, they won’t want to anymore.
8. Don’t waste time on other people’s drama. Don’t waste time on people and things I can not change. Don’t waste time doing anything not worth doing. Laugh at the stupidity of it and move on.
9. Remember.
10. Be inspired. Find the artist inside that has not painted or drawn or written in years. She is in there, somewhere. If I can inspire someone else in the process, that's even better.
11. Forgive.
12. Do not lose track of the people in my life. Connect. Reconnect.
13. Walk. Because I can.
14. It’s OK to give in (sometimes) but do not give up, ever.
15. Be thankful. Don’t be upset that the job gets in the way of my life. Be happy that the job allows me to provide security for my family. The job is just that, it is not my life.