There was something...

that I really wanted to blog about. Yesterday. And, of course, there wasn't time, so I thought for sure that I would have no problem remembering whatever it was. Yeah. Right. So, instead I give you this:
contemplation.

In case you don't know us IRL you may not realize or know that Squiggly gets into everything. I don't think I have really blogged about this too much, but here is what I can tell you. I have the latest in designer kitchens... holding my two ovens shut I have a ratchet strap. On my dishwashers I have clip locks that go onto my countertop. On many of our light switches we have lovely red covers that lock with the light in either the on or off position, whichever you choose. And, not to be left out, I have an industrial looking locked box around our thermostat. You know, the kind that they put in office buildings so that random people can't change the programmed settings of the building. Yeah. One of those. It matches my living room decor perfectly. I'd post pictures of all these baby proofing things, but it might make me cry.

On another note altogether....I will be trying out something new... Photo Phridays... so... check back tomorrow!

Better Living Through Pharmaceudicals...

so... it's been awhile again... actually this time it's not really been my fault. well, of course it's been my fault, but not really my fault. See... after Smush was born I had some issues with my thyroid and ended up being hypothyroid, which basically means that my body wasn't making enough thyroid hormone and the result is a totally non-functioning, sluggish, unable to concentrate person. Luckily I have an AWESOME endocrinologist who not only got me back on my feet, but also managed my thyroid throughout my pregnancy with Squiggly which is quite important. Now that Squiggly is 2, well, actually since we weren't getting pregnant right away we (my Dr. and I) decided to try to wean me off of the synthroid to see if we could "jump-start" my body into manufacturing enough to enable me to go off the medication.

We started by slowly cutting my dosage until I was on the lowest that she would initially prescribe an individual who presented w/ my symptoms and bloodwork at her office. Because I am not pregnant I don't need constant monitoring so we have been seeing each other every 6 months and having bloodwork drawn every 3 months. After the last blood draw (between visits) we decided to try dropping the synthroid altogether. If I had been a bit smarter I might have actually had intermediate bloodwork drawn as the effects of dropping off the meds can be felt/seen more quickly than the rebound of good health going back on them... About 8 weeks after I stopped taking my synthroid I knew I was feeling tired, was having trouble concentrating and thought that I wasn't in such a good place. But, I figured, oh, I have an appointment in 4 weeks. I can manage. Well, I should have thought that through a little better and realized that not only would I feel worse in 4 more weeks, but that it would take that much longer for the drug to work when/if I went back on. I waited, though, because, well, I had the appointment. She is a busy Dr. I felt I could manage.

Of course, hindsight is 20/20. When I arrived for my appointment I was a little nervous, after all I didn't have my blood test results. There was no concrete way for me to know that my weight gain, sluggishness, exhaustion, etc. was truly being caused by a lack of thyroid hormone... but such a sense of relief when the Dr. walked in and said, basically, well, that was a failed experiment. Not that I relish being on a drug that I will most likely be on for the rest of my life, but knowing that all these symptoms weren't going to be permanent was such a relief. Sadly it has taken probably 4 weeks now to feel close to normal, but, here I am, and I will not sit idly by waiting for my appointment ever again.

Keep your eyes posted for more posts. Now that I can stay up after the kids are in bed, well, you never know what you might find here!

And now the arrangments...

two updates from my last post.. one is that my friend, Aimee and her husband and two children left Tokyo and will be in the states for at least 2 weeks, enabling all of their friends and family here to breath a deep sigh of relief. While I am certain it is very difficult to leave one's adopted homeland and home and the uncertainty of when they will be able to safely return is tremendous, I am glad they are currently on US soil.

On a sadder note, today, Thursday, Taanis Esther my 102 and a half year old grandfather, Joseph Minsky has peacefully passed away. Baruch Dayan Emet. Sadness for sure, but also a sense of relief that he is suffering no more.

So many emotions...

Wow. This has been a weekend of just one thing after another. First off, I should say, thank G-d, we are all fine in our little world, but the bigger world is a mess. Here we are in the actual month of Adar II when we celebrate Purim and are supposed to be happy, it's Adar! This past week has shown mass destruction, horrific terrorism, and the news that my 102 year old grandfather is dying.

Personal investment in three major events is a lot for anyone and I am just your average mom trying to hold it together some days. One of my girlfriends from high school is living in Tokyo with her family and they are living through some difficult times in their adopted nation. Thankfully they have been able to keep us all updated on their situation via Facebook, but that doesn't make it any more daunting for them to go on daily. While I am not intimately involved with the family killed in Itamar, I am an Orthodox Jew. How could I not be enraged/terrified/saddened deeply/shaken by the horrific murder of 5 civilians in their sleep, killed only because they are Jewish. What did a 3 month old baby do, even if the politics of her parents are one way or another?

Thankfully my maternal grandfather, while sad, is not the same kind of sadness for me. He has lived 102 years, a rich full life, but the last couple of years have not been kind. In his 90s he was widowed and actually attempted to live on his own before it was decided for his own safety (he burned a few too many things in the kitchen and set off his apartment's fire alarm a few too many times) that he should live in assisted living. He was a man of few words (possibly b/c his wife spoke often loudly first) but he had two daughters, one of whom I proudly call Mom. He had five grandchildren, two of whom I call brother and eight great-grandchildren, two of whom I proudly call Smush and Squiggly.

He gave advice (marry someone Jewish was the most important in his words to me,) he grew tomatoes for as long as he and my grandmother lived in their house in Lynbrook, NY. He knew about the sports records for all my alma maters and even the institutions I taught at. When others were wondering where Robert Morris University was, he proudly told me that they had been to the NIT. He read the papers and knew what was going on in the world, and I wasn't allowed to bring up Social Security with him after awhile because while I would never say he shouldn't continue to receive his check, I was never able to convey that financially he had already received way more than he ever put into the system and that he, and others like him, were the reason I didn't think it would exist by the time I retired.

The last few years have not been kind. For awhile he remembered my name and even Smush's, but by the time Squiggly was born, even my name escaped him. My mom's name also locked in that space taken over by old age. The last few years, though, have afforded us the opportunity to hear more of the stories of his youth and that he lived as a widowed, senior citizen about two blocks from where he grew up and attended elementary school is amazing to me. His time in the war, as a bachelor, courting my grandmother. Stories that never were told as a child to me, but shared later have a way of rounding out the person that I call Granddaddy. I haven't been to visit him in awhile. More than a year. Some may say that is sad as he lived so close by, but to be quite honest, it hasn't been my grandfather sitting in that recliner for some time. You can call me a bad granddaughter if you must, but in my own way I have been protecting my memories.

I remember seeing my paternal grandmother one last time in the hospital dying when I was 12 and it was not how I would ever want to remember her. Luckily I have been able to re-order those memories and I know that is not what I think of when she first comes to mind. My paternal grandfather died suddenly and so I didn't see him in the hospital in that way, in a way I was spared that image as I was flying home for my winter break, planning on seeing him in the hospital, but I didn't make it in time. My maternal grandmother had been functionally ill for sometime so while it was not a surprise to hear of her passing, there was no hospital stay to visit through. One of our last visits with her I recall her being so kind to my new husband in a way that she typically hadn't been to me. It made me smile and certainly helps me remember her more fondly. These images are what I am left with and I prefer the kinder, gentler images to remember.

I don't know if it's because my career has been based in images, the persistence of vision a staple of my adult life, or if it's just the way I am wired. Images can stick with me for a long time and shape how I feel or think. I am troubled for long times by the violent images I am exposed to by the media and I worry that my children shouldn't be exposed to too much either, for fear it will affect them long term. As it is, Smush remembers everything she is told and even stories she has heard just once become repeated if they strike her fancy. She has such a recall that we have to be quite careful what we say around her and she is only three and a half. (She still tells me that I should put Squiggly back in my stomach even though he is already 20months and she was only 2 when he was born - everyone told us that she would never remember life before him... I am doubting that!)

So, this week, this weekend have been a roller coaster for certain. Right now I am just holding it all together and hugging Smush and Squiggly a little tighter, a little longer, a little more often. Life continues, it is still Adar, we should still be happy. It's just a little harder to find the things to be happy about. For me, they are all upstairs in their beds, and that's where I am headed, too.

15 years ago...

****I apologize in advance if I have forgotten to translate anything into English that is important - either leave me a comment or remember that Google can be your friend.****
My childhood friend, Matt, and his girlfriend/fiancee, Sara, were students in Jerusalem off to do some sightseeing. They boarded the Number 18 bus traveling down the Jaffa Road and before they arrived at the Jerusalem Central Bus Station a suicide bomber blew up the bus and killed them. A total of 26 people were killed and 48 were injured. I remember where I was when I found out, I still remember the daze I was in. That daze lasted several days, probably until and including the time it took for me to fly from Chicago to NY, take a bus to West Hartford for the funeral, head to the cemetery, I think stay the night, then head back again to Chicago. I know I took an exam in one of my classes - the Prof offered to give me a re-test later in the month, but I figured I knew the material cold and putting the exam off wasn't going to change the result that one of the brightest stars I knew was extinguished.

Matt wasn't just another guy. He was going somewhere. He was one of those people who was going to be someone someday. Well, he did, in a way, but not the way I expected. Not the way anyone expected.

The Jewish holiday of Purim is sometimes around now, being that the Hebrew date of the yartzeit (anniversary) is 5th of Adar I. This year is a leap year in the Jewish calendar and Purim is celebrated in the leap month of Adar II instead of the single Adar. (stick with me - even though this seems confusing.) There is a specific commandment to be happy in Adar: MiShenichnas Adar Marbim BeSimcha!! (translates to: When Adar Comes, Joy Is Increased!!) which is described more completely in the link above.

Now, how, might I ask you, is it possible to increase one's joy when a scholar is taken from this world in such a violent and un-natural manner? How is one supposed to be happy when a friend is lost? To this day I have great personal difficulty surrounding the commandment of being joyful. I go about my business, I take care of my halachic (Judaic legal) obligations, but even in a leap year where the anniversary of Matt and Sara's death is observed in Adar I and Purim itself is celebrated in Adar II, I still have great difficulty.

In 1996 all I could think was that the holiday of Purim should be cancelled as no one should be joyful in this time. (Purim is held on 14th of Adar, so 10 days after the yartzeit.) And I did all I could at that time to blot out any joy I could possibly consider having, however, I did have an obligation to hear the Megillah being read and so I found myself at the Chabad House in Evanston, IL that evening. I found myself staying for the social scene afterward hoping to somehow drown my pain and sorrow. I found myself talking to a guy who was wearing a Cornell University sweatshirt (I did my undergraduate work at Ithaca College and at Northwestern - where I was doing my graduate work - this was unusual.) While Larry couldn't take away the pain he was able to offer up a better way of living to honor Matt.

I think I had always known I would become more religiously observant as I grew up. In 7th grade a group of us began attending shacharit (morning) services everyday at our synagogue. Matt, Scott and possibly others I don't remember, along with myself would head to shul, pray and then get a ride to school. We had to stop at the end of 8th grade because the high school started too early for us to get there on time, but a seed had been planted. Our group went through high school together arguing philosophy and religion. I, at that time, thought for sure I would head to rabbinical school after college, and yet, instead it was Matt who headed there. We still debated religion through college when we were home on breaks. We would walk home from services on Friday evening and continue the discussion until he headed up his street and I headed up mine.

When I got my first apartment post college I started to keep a more strict kosher kitchen than I had previously. When I had moved to Chicago for graduate school I had become completely shomeret shabbat (literally guarding the sabbath.) Matt also continued on his journey and while I studied film and video production as a graduate student, he headed to the Jewish Theological Seminary (JTS) to become a Conservative Rabbi.

I don't remember the date of the last time I saw Matt, but I do remember our discussion. It was nothing light or frivolous and the conversation never really ended, instead it was paused because we had already been standing too long while our families waited for us at home to begin our respective Friday night dinners. We talked about how we make kiddush (bless the wine) in the synagogue as part of the Friday evening service, but we don't eat our meal there and Matt was concerned that too much time was elapsing before he got home to actually begin his meal and so he had brought with him a challah roll in order to wash and make the appropriate blessing and munch the roll while walking home, where he would then eat his meal. I don't recall my argument at the time but have subsequently learned that the kiddush made in the synagogue is really intended to serve as the kiddush for those who may not have the fortune of having a meal and kiddush of their own in their home. For those of us who were fortunate enough to have wine or grape juice to begin our meal at home, we didn't need to rely on having heard the kiddush in synagogue.

So, here I was, already shomer kashrut, already shomer shabbat, and feeling lost in the loss of my friend. Up until that point I had been following the guidelines of the Conservative Movement. It was what I had grown up with, I had been to their summer camp, I had grown up in their youth group. I knew I was unusual to a certain extent being as religiously observant as I was. Larry was offering something more, but within a halachic framework I was already familiar with. Moreover, it wasn't really Larry offering it, only introducing it. Because of the set up at Northwestern University I was already davening (praying) with the Orthodox minyan (prayer group) every other week as the Conservative minyan only met every other week and since I was shomer shabbat every week I needed a place to pray. I already knew "those people," they were my friends. What did I have to lose.

Larry picked me up from my apartment early on a Friday afternoon and deposited me at my host family's doorstep maybe 20 minutes before candle lighting. I rang the bell and the cutest little boy (maybe 10 years old) answered wearing a white shirt, dark pants, his tzitzit hanging out, kippah on his wet head. He and his brother were setting the table and his mother quickly came out from the kitchen to welcome me into their home for Shabbat. I knew then that I was home.

Wanting to honor Matt's memory has been life changing. Like I mentioned earlier, I think I always knew I would be more religiously observant as I got older not because I didn't like what I had grow up with, but because there was always something that drew me in to the spirituality, the holiness and the deep meaning. I had already begun the journey before Matt was taken from this world with his bashert, Sara. Of course, what I didn't know was what was to come.

In academic year 2000/01 I was living in the Boston area and the shul I called home was the Harvard Hillel. The week before Matt and Sara's yartzeit there was an announcement that the Rabbi would be giving a class in their memory. Huh? What connection could there possibly be between Matt Eisenfeld, a student at Yale and then JTS, and this Orthodox Rabbi leading services at the Harvard Hillel. Weren't Yale and Harvard rivals? The answer was yet one more example of hashgachah pratis or divine intervention. Apparently this Rabbi (whose name escapes me at the moment, sorry to say) had known Matt from Yale. Matt had begun to question some of the idiosyncrasies of the Conservative Movement and had been thinking that perhaps he belonged in a Modern Orthodox environment. These had been private conversations and I have no idea, nor does the Rabbi know, what direction Matt would have eventually taken. All I know is that I believe this was a sign that I was headed in the right direction for me and that Matt would have approved.

Living my life as a completely Torah observant Jew hasn't always been easy. There have been times when it might have been easier to walk away. But, I know in my heart I never could and I never would. Matt is never too far from my mind, in particular during life cycle events when his presence and guidance is sorely missed. In 2004 when I finally met my bashert and had my chuppah (wedding.) With the births of my two unbelievable children. But, I know that the movement that took him and Sara was trying to silence and destroy Israel and Judaism and so I am, in my own way, spitting in their faces.

Raising my children to be Torah observant Jews is more than I could have ever imagined. In many Christian faiths there is a movement to remember "What Would Jesus Do" in order to remind them in ordinary moments how to behave in a religiously dignified and appropriate manner. I am not attempting to elevate Matt to anything more than he was, a good man. A. Good. Man. who will never be forgotten by myself, and our circle of friends, and each ripple beyond. But, when it comes to a moment of internal struggle it will often come to mind, what would Matt do? And, the answer... LEARN. Go and study, the rest is commentary.

More Schooling thoughts...

We've chosen a pre-school. I should say it actually chose us. Or, really, my inability to manage life with two children has chosen a pre-school. I wrote a bit about schooling and choices previously. I have this really big issue with the fact that the schools (at least in this area) have turned Pre-School into daycare. While I do understand that I am extremely fortunate that I am able to stay home with my children, at the same time there is no reason why a four year old needs to be in school 5 days a week from 8:30am until 2pm. Smush will be in school for the rest of her life after this (unless I figure out a way to make homeschooling work for us.) It makes me want to cry. No matter how good the teacher is, no matter how much fun she'll have, no matter how much free-play they say they schedule into the day, it's still regimented school. Sigh.

As for homeschooling I really wish I could make it work, but I just don't think with Smush and Squiggly being so close in age. In addition, he is so into everything and needs to be watched pretty much the entire time he is awake. So far, this week alone I have prevented him from climbing into the 20 gallon fish tank we have in our kitchen, stopped him from climbing over the gate we have at the top of the steps to the basement, grabbed him as he worked his way out of the shopping cart seat (yes he was buckled in) and many more things like this. He is 19 months, he understands what we are telling him, but he is still into everything. EVERYTHING. As it is I know Smush gets frustrated that I can't finish books I am reading to her because I have to grab him or pull him into the den or just hold onto him, which then causes the book to get shoved to the side. When we are all playing together it's fun, but when Smush wants to do a project or read a long book, it ends up being relegated to his nap time and I don't think that's fair for her at this point. Future potential for homeschooling is still there, just not at this time.

So, this fall, Smush will join the legions of "back to schoolers" and will head there herself. The big question is why do I feel so guilty about it, and why is she so adamant that she doesn't want to go to school or to grow up? Peter Pan, where are you to answer all these questions?

Out of the Mouths...

Me: I don't want to see any more kicking.
Smush: So don't look.

Oh boy... I think we are in trouble here. Such logic. What am I to do? I try not to laugh, but seriously, sometimes I am just outwitted and all I can do it laugh. She's not even 4 yet.