On An Occasional Thanksgiving Blog Post

(Happy Turkey Day, Ya'll.)

While this is not quite the return of (my) blog posts just yet (as I'm still on the fence of who, what, where, when and how to resume my regular writing), I figured a momentary shout out was long overdue, and the Thanksgiving holiday as perfect an excuse as any.

So here I am; let's start with the obvious.

People ask what it's like and while my first instinct is to tell them that words simply do not exist to describe what it means to become a mother, let me meagerly (and, perhaps, dramatically) give it a good ol' try.

Yesterday, a friend from over a decade ago (and fellow parent) wrote me an email describing a sentimental yet brief moment with his (pre-adolescent) son, epitomizing the fleeting innocence of [his son's] youth and the humbleness of this profound life change, in which he (my friend) expressed a desire to stop time.  That, in my limited opinion, is parenthood.

Let me explain. Becoming a mother encompasses a series of moments-day after night after day, be it first thing in the morning or the middle of the night, bags under eyes, skin and nails unkempt-in which time has (all of a sudden and in a fairly incomprehensible way) taken on a value that can only be epitomized by a desire to capture it forever in a stillness or pause that is physically impossible.  And these moments keep coming, right when your bones are on the brink of exploding with emotion, your futile attempt to hit the theoretical pause button, once again, creeps up again..and again and again.  For these brief seconds, everything else in the world ceases to exist.

And when it passes, the rest of the (real) world returns, and on holidays devoted to acknowledging (our) gratitude, I'm both curious what my readers are thankful for while making my own mental list alongside (and in obvious addition to) parenthood.  I include but do not limit my items to:

visits from family
friends who are
falling in love
writing vows
finding jobs
making (hard) decisions
decorating (new) homes
Christmas trees
and interfaith toppers
office potlucks
home-cooked meals
red wine
thank you notes
(first) visits from Santa
firsts, in general
and the simultaneously
overwhelming and excruciating
inability to
stop time.

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On (Temporary) Parental Leave...

...from this blog!  This blog will resume as soon as life as we knew it finds its rhythm, and then some.

Keep an eye out and promise to return when I do.

On Any Three Wishes

What Would They Be?

1. To never throw up again, ever. (Obviously!)
2. Good health to everyone I love.
3. To be brave.

(And yours?)

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On Our Inecessant Itch For Summer Camp

Year After Year.

It doesn't go away, that nagging urge that creeps up year after year, when the grass smells like flag raising and the sun sets on our crisp new sunburn.  Us camp folks are easily reminded of what it once meant to crawl into bunk beds for a much-needed night's sleep amongst kindred spirits after meeting only 48 hours earlier.  We crave it now as much as we did then, wondering where the time and people went, knowing full well camp can never fully disappear. Enjoy!

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On the Afterlife

Imagine This:

Fields of grass with
clouds and balloons and
potato sack races
where everybody wins
and laughs
and rides ferris wheels
and eats cotton candy
and swims in lakes
and holds hands
and intertwines fingers
and never gets cavities
or stomach aches
or broken hearts
and music plays
exactly what you want
when you want it
and no one ever cries
tears of sadness.

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On Remembering the Cup O Noodles

"Much More Than a Soup."

For the better part of this past year, I've spent more minutes than I'm proud to admit in the soup aisle at the supermarket debating whether I can ethically purchase my latest reminiscent craving: Cup (O) Noodles.  And the truth is I probably would've taken the plunge multiple times had Nissin (its Japanese manufacturer) decided not to "super size" the only option I'm familiar with (chicken flavor, of course) to which I have a flash of Cup (O) Noodles glutton that I simply cannot contend with.  Recollecting the savory yet styrofoamy chicken bits that dissolved at the slightest absorption of only the most searing of water, that both enticed and repulsed simultaneously, I have yet to pull the trigger.  And so, like most childhood favorites-including but not limited to Kix, Pops, and King Vitamin cereals-I will let the fantasy be just that, knowing full well that the minute I make the purchase, my taste buds will inevitably disappoint.  Enjoy! 

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On Relativity

"The Haves."

Living in Denver, I'm afforded the "suburban luxury" of having a backyard, a functioning fireplace, and a front porch that, if I really wanted (which I kind of do) could fit my ideal deep-red, antiquated wooden porch swing with pastel paisley pillows.  But it's not without its drawbacks.  The quiet of the local streets is invited 99% of the time when I'm not nostalgic for the buzz of Park Slope, Brooklyn.  And the picnic blanket acreage welcomed when I'm not craving the people-watching of Prospect Park during summer concerts en route to the 7th avenue Wine Bar.  Though, the grass is always greener, as they say, and so I make sure to book regular flights back east not just to get my fill of family time but of crowded sidewalks, a walking pace made for the moderately physically-fit, and pizza pies worth every buck.  Enjoy!

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