On July 31st, 2014

"The Due Date Phenomenon."

I try and keep my blog posts about impending parenthood to a minimum for fear of boring my seven or so non-parental readers (appr 50%) and also out of courtesy for the semblance of privacy that my own family would like to maintain in the "face" of facebook exposition (pun intended!).  But today merits a different approach out of a pure fascination and distraction with what I've personally coined as "The Due Date Phenomenon," when gmail calendar reminders notify you and your partner that, in fact, today should be the day that your life will irrevocably change forever (and, also, don't forget to put out the recycling).  And, in fact, we welcomed this email reminder, not just to recall (in case we forgot) that our first child-whose facial features we constantly attempt to imagine and sense of humor we can't wait to challenge-would join our world sometime between an hour and two weeks from now, but of the journey we've embarked on starting from that moment-nine months ago-when we (or, rather, I) scoured the internet for multiple sources of "due date calculators" that continuously revealed today's date, July 31st, 2014.  At the time, it seemed so far off in a distance that it might have been someone else's story, and (like most eager, scared and confused couples) we quickly rushed to the pantry to determine just how large a lentil actually is since, really, who knows what that even looks like.  So now we wait, welcoming advice from seasoned friends (Cook frozen meals! Watch The Wire! Relax! Sleep while you still can!) and occasional check-ins by folks who relate as little as we did before these weeks arrived in our own personal lives-both excited and fearful for what's to come, knowing nothing and everything simultaneously about the fact that today's date will never be forgotten. Enjoy!

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On Our Commitment to the Bachelor(ette)

Unashamed to Watch.

Each week, the same 8 to 10 of us gather around the television to tune into the latest romantic drama MCed by Chris Harrison, a tradition that dates back to our memorable "Bachelor Nights" in Brooklyn (-the original crew never to be forgotten!).  We commit for nearly two months straight (if you don't include back-to-back seasons of The Bachelor, The Bachelor-ette, and Whatever Summer Series Takes the Trash to a Whole New Level, at which point we've invested the better part of 8 months), partly out of a shared mutual interest in watching train wrecks crash on national television and, even more so, for the company, conversation, and cooking.  And during commercial breaks, restroom runs and red wine refills, we gossip about this red rose and that, adamantly divided on which sleazier option Andi Dorfman should have chosen (-I'm a personal die hard Nick Viall fan from the very beginning) while simultaneously perusing past-contestant twitter feeds to find out the most up-to-date gossip.  And with less than one week to go until Bachelor in Paradise, you can bet we're planning the seasonal menu, proud and eager to take down the usual cast of shameless participants. Enjoy!

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On (My) Joy of Cooking

Limited Time.

With a kiddo on the way, we've been told that-upon her arrival-even the most mundane tasks like brushing our teeth, taking a shower, and making a sandwich will become the most challenging of accomplishments.  And, so, I wonder, where does my joy for cooking fit in? According to our fellow parental peer group, it doesn't.  Yet, over the past few years, with a decent sized kitchen in a quiet, suburban-like neighborhood and grad school behind me (aka more time on my hands), cooking has become my livelihood.  In a word, I love to select, cook, and eat delicious meals on a daily basis, peruse acquaintances' Instagram feeds and attempt to mimic their creations in the privacy of my Sunday morning breakfast routine.  Feeling nostalgic for the hearty turkey burgers and quinoa patties that I'll inevitably be forced to take temporary leave from for, say, a year or so (tell me it ain't so!), I imagine that the day will come when I get to impart my own passion and Joy of Cooking to my daughter, whether that's six month from now (solid foods, anyone?) or sixteen years.  Either way, I am hopeful we will meet again. Enjoy!

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On the Long Haul

Sticking it Out.

This past weekend, my roommate and I watched the new HBO documentary entitled, "112 Weddings," which is basically marriage porn for anyone who hopes and/or plans to stick around for the long haul.  Anecdote after anecdote-some more traumatic than others, and almost all filled with a combination of tears and regret-fantasies of life's realities came crashing down on a once-idyllic perception of matrimonial commitment.  Yet most of the interviewees survived as husband and wife, and if asked to do it all over again with the same person, they didn't hesitate to say yes.  Plus, no one ever said this ride would be easy, and without those initial rose-colored intentions, how else would we find our soulmate-lover-partnerincrime/trauma/andawholelotmore? Enjoy (and watch the film)!      

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On Mental Breakthroughs

Productive Analysis.

Spending one-on-one time with a therapist-awkwardly sitting on opposite sides of a small living room-like space as you analyze their decorative decisions and uncomfortable stares-can make minutes feel like hours.  Questions are asked, silences are broken, and occasional seemingly un-profound details surface during casual small-talk to signify that, yes, in fact this relationship needs to continue for an indeterminate amount of time.  Before you know it, on a random evening over boiling pasta and homemade tomato sauce, the epiphany finally arrives, and waves of clarity wipe clean the months or years of doubt over whether the thirty dollar copay would have been better spent on Chinese food.  Enjoy!

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On A "Trial" Separation

Other Options.

Packing a suitcase for a night or weekend can feel like a lifetime from a live-in roommate, with mixed feelings for rare but welcomed alone-time combined with the emptiness of a quiet apartment, where reruns of The Wire and Mad Men simply aren't the same flying solo.  A few hours in, however, former nocturnal habits-better suited for one than two-resurface effortlessly like, say, ordering in Chinese food three days in a row, and old habits need not die so hard.  Until the companion returns-to open arms, a newly fluffed up couch, and HBO on pause for the perfect moment to press "play" again.  Enjoy!

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On Being in Pain

Navigating this Fear.

Everyone fears something different, from nausea (in my case) to needles (in lots of other people's), with a range of explanations that both justify and confuse the source and solution.  For me, emetphobia has been at the forefront of everything I do and, as such, I've mastered avoiding it at all costs including (but not limited to) passionately ignoring any other physical ailment that might come by way.  And throw a wounded, bleeding skull in my direction, or a hyperventilating stranger, or a dog/spider/mosquito bite (-the scary kind that, say, probably spreads malaria), and I'll be the first respondent on the scene.  But one sign of stomach flu-be it a cough in the wrong direction or a pale, sweaty face-and I'm out like a flash.  Enjoy!

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On A Tree Grow(ing) In Brooklyn

An Unfair Comparison.

If you've ever lived in a place other than your hometown, you know that when asked the usual question-do you miss it?-the answer is an easy hell yeah.  It doesn't help the case when that hometown is numero uno on the hottest places to live for anyone under 30-years-old or with a serious addiction to HBO's Girls.  But the reality that is often disregarded is that there are lots of places to live in this world that measure up in different ways.  A (rare but) native Brooklynite would be crazy not to miss the (unaffordable) brownstone houses, (easy) access to top notch cuisine, and (in my case) a host of immediate relatives (which now includes a nephew and new niece with eyes the size of the Prospect Park Carousel, relatively speaking).  But I simultaneously welcome the quiet of Colorado, too-as do my east coast visitors!-coupled with the kindness of (nearly every) stranger, the relatively cheap and unhindered entry into local pools on 90+ degree days, the constant quiet of local, tree-lined neighborhoods, the lack of humidity 24/7, and an embrace and appreciation for a very decent work-life balance.  In the end, you really cannot compare the two...or three...or five hundred...because there are pros and cons to everyplace and everything in it.  So when asked if I miss it-be it now, last year, or fifty years from now-whether from the comforts of my town house in the west or Park Slope, Brooklyn, my answer will always be the same, alongside my appreciation for New York and beyond.  Enjoy!    

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On Choosing a Name

An Unexpected Power.

Thanks to my parents, my own names have been quite good to me-first, middle, and last-which is why, when I got married last August, it wasn't such an obvious decision to give up on "Einstein." A built in icebreaker and science-related conversation starter (-a subject I can moderately hold my own in), my middle name has also been known to redirect uncomfortable exchanges back to everyone's favorite 80s rom com (hint: Ferris Bueller's girlfriend's name) and an occasional subsequent dissection of best and worst quotes in competing Molly Ringwald, Patrick Swayze, and Emilio Estevez films.  So choosing a name for another impending human being is no lighthearted task, as decades of teasing and inappropriate jabs to come combined with frenemies from grade schools past eliminate even the modest of possibilities while memorable one-liners encourage unexpected potential.  Enjoy!

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On (My) Terrible Memory

No Idea(s).

Like a handful of you, I have a terrible memory.  While occasionally alarmed when, say, I can't remember the details of the movie I literally just watched or the color of the dress I wore yesterday, my fears are not strong enough to merit brain exercises off the internet or a visit to the local neurologist.  In fact, choosing to set aside my usual hypochondriac assumptions, I typically choose the road less taken-to indulge in a personal fascination of this frequent lapse rather than freak out because I forgot what I said ten minutes ago. And at the risk of sounding melodramatic, living in my own personal Groundhog's Day ain't so bad, where I'm the star and each lost moment is an experience regained-be it seconds, days or years later-with equal joy, surprise and fascination...for the most part.  Enjoy!

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On Being a "Writer"

Many Talents.

Many of us have 'em, those not so secret hobbies-from writing to painting-where we strive on a weekly basis to become better than we actually are.  And when friends and family laud our initiative, tacitly admiring the commitment they've spent years berating themselves for lacking, we accept the compliment while downplaying the extent to which we're actually worthy of public praise.  But we love what we do and stick diligently to our craft, even if our parental figures are the only ones who post comments on our blogs or hang our mediocre artwork in their kitchens, believing that talent comes in different shapes and sizes, and the worst critics are ourselves.  (Also, Mom, please don't stop commenting!)  Enjoy.

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On Becoming Family

 How Things Evolve.

When you meet someone for the first time, best feet are put forward.  The getting-to-know-you ritual (romantic or otherwise) becomes a dance between strangers where cues are observed and acted upon based on varying comfort levels, and intimate characteristics revealed at a pace unique to the given situation.  And, over time, a special bond develops where sentences might be finished, actions anticipated, and a deeper understanding eventually leads to a transformation from friendship to family.  Enjoy!

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On First Heartbreak

Tears & Devastation.

It doesn't get worse than that very first one-the heartbreak that got away-when the world feels like it's collapsing around you and there is no room to catch your breath.  Friends and family assure you that this too shall pass but, in the thick of, the end is beyond visibility and, in fact, they don't realize that this will last forever. After all, (s)he was the knees bees, beyond perfection, and in spite of the thousand and one ways this was never going to work out, it actually should have.  Until you wake up one morning with the sun shining through the blinds in a way that went unnoticeable for months and all of a sudden you realize you've forgotten the color of their favorite [insert (flower/record album/iphone cover] and the future seems ever-so-slightly less bleak than it did the day before because it actually is and, just maybe, there is hope for the possibility that this was meant to be.  Enjoy!

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On One Year at a Time

(On Mawwage.)

With almost a year under my own belt (11 months and 2 weeks, to be exact), I stand by my partner's initial proclamation-within our first week of tying the knot-that "marriage is (in fact) a breeze."  Yet countless couples, from friends who are three years in to parents who are thirty, rumor still has it that a lifelong commitment is more work than initially imagined.  And so we coast, work hard, persevere when the going gets tough, and find ourselves decades later enjoying the fruits of our labor and an easy morning coffee with the one person we can't live without.  Enjoy!

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On Our Strange (& Embarrassing) Concerns

Windshield Wiper Paranoia.

I know we all have them-these silly, unjustifiable concerns for the most nonsensical habits and possessions-yet I still get paranoid when a rainy day shows up.  And if you promise not to make fun, I'll tell you what happens.  You see, driving in my vehicle (or yours if I'm back on the east coast, or-more likely-your parents'), I become unnecessarily self-conscious about the speed in which I set my windshield wipers which, if I'm being honest, is pretty fast.  Every time time I scan my peer group through the anonymity of tinted windows and cozy raindrop ridden doors, where so clearly not a single person is paying attention to the quickness of my rubber gliders, I am equally embarrassed by the unreasonableness of my paranoia.  But we all have these, right?, and since I'm telling you mine, you really should feel obliged to tell me yours.  And I guarantee I won't judge if you promise-the next time we pass in a storm - to pretend not to notice how fast I feel the urgency to keep the rain away.  Enjoy!

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On Sibling Admiration

Dr. Einstein, fo' Realz.

When my sister announced her career change to become a doctor, it didn't seem real.  Sure, she'd volunteered at the local hospital during high school weekends (over one and a half decades earlier) but that was the norm when trying to get into a competitive college or kill time on a Sunday afternoon in Brooklyn.  Plus, she usually spent her free time doing creative-type things like making home videos and reading Stephen King novels.  Now, in her mid-to-late thirties, she saves lives in a real life emergency room, giving multiple seasons of ER and Grey's Anatomy a whole new meaning. And while her imagination still seeps through on her rare but valued downtime somewhere between her day job and parenthood, her uncanny ability to entertain and create is simply with a greater purpose-for herself and the people around her.  Enjoy!  

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On the Ideal Summer

Upstate, New York.

Having spent the majority of my childhood summers in upstate New York shuttling between summer camp and a small cabin "in the middle of nowhere," I never developed the travel bug that many of my peers, who willingly hop flights to Asia and South America, have. While I've certainly enjoyed my few trips to Europe, Costa Rica, and Mexico over the last decade, I'd take a summer (or winter) evening around a (camp) fire with smores and good conversation in a heartbeat. Not that trips to the local farmer's market and cones at the nearby rundown ice cream shop can compensate for Peruvian treks to unimaginable altitudes and accompanying views but the homebody in me seeks comfort in the smaller, less extravagant pleasures in life.  Anyone else? (Enjoy!) 

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On Home Improvements

In One Ear...

There are few topics that shut me down like home improvements, as in I literally tune out and hear nothing though often through the guise of interested gestures like overly-aggressive nods and squint-y facial expressions.  Which is a real shame since my dad is an architect and contractor by trade, my "roommate" can build bikes from scratch, and eventually it's an inevitable fact that I'll be home alone with a real disaster on my hands that only my wallet can solve.  And yet in spite of this knowledge, I'll take the mundane tasks any day - grocery shopping, vacuuming, laundry - because, for whatever reason quite unknown to me (and them), throw a screw or a nail in it and I drift to another much more predicable planet.  Enjoy!

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On Pressing "Record"

Can't Help M'self.

Gone are the days when over-sized video camcorders were whipped out at family birthday parties and VHS tapes labeled with illegible hand-written crawl denoting the topic, date, and month.  They collected dust, were rarely watched, and, now, are no longer compatible with modern day technology (aka Netflix Instant Play).  And so we grasp the smaller, less extravagant moments in one to three minute blocks of iphone video footage, frequently recalling with great pride and nostalgia what we ate for breakfast last weekend, the hilarious imitation over too many glasses of wine, and how loudly we may (or may not) have snored all night.  Enjoy!

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On a Happy 4th

...to all, and a good holiday weekend.  This blog will resume on Monday, July 7
th.

On You and Me

Learning From Each Other.

On the initiative he took to help the woman cross the street;  

On the patience she maintained in the presence of screaming constituents;

On the generosity he invested in the thoughtful birthday gifts; 

On the composure she held in the face of great uncertainty.  

We don't always know when it's happening but the lessons we learn from family, friends, colleagues, and strangers emerge when we least expect, shaping who we hope to become in our own magical ways.  Enjoy!

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On All the Single Ladies

Awkward Traditions.

As with most group activities, as a once-single wedding attendee, I much preferred to watch from the sidelines--the rush of overly-excited single women extending outreached hands as if their fate literally depended on whether they caught the bride's bouquet or not.  Half curious about whether my own participation might seal my own destiny, I easily refrained, wedding after wedding, for fear that my nonathletic, shy self would disappoint the hopeful, future wife in me, and I'd inevitably spend the rest of the evening, month and year wondering if I'd screwed myself by not throwing an elbow or two amidst the drunken chaos.  And so with a half glass of red wine and mild anticipation, I would often be found tacitly applauding the next potential bride-to-be, unrealistically optimistic-along with the rest of the hopeful onlookers-that she might actually be the next.  Enjoy!

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On Making Plans

Type A-ers.

Us Type A folks don't do well without a plan, or even a plan for a plan, in which we dissect and examine every possible outcome between here and eternity.  Which is why when life gives us lemons, we want a recipe-and its backup-for lemonade...with and without options for sugar, alcohol and mint, please. And even if it turns out sour or totally inedible, we can assure you that we have three to five remedies waiting to rescue. So thank goodness for us that this ride call life is as predictable and (un)messy as a bowl of summer food and all its glorious, multi-colored utensils.  Enjoy!

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