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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On Alternative Medicine

Modern Medicine?

I take my medical care very seriously-perhaps too seriously, some might say-and often show up to my doctor appointments with a detailed list of questions, half of which I already know the answer to.  So when I find a medical practitioner who is willing to draw me a diagram of, say, any internal organ that I've convinced myself is ridden with blood clots and cancer (simultaneously), I've found a friend for life.  The ones who don't smirk, who calmly confirm that, in fact, that nagging sensation in my upper arm which falls within the first digit and a half (out of ten) on the pain scale isn't life-threatening or anything to be particularly concerned about, are the ones who give me hope that our bodies are strong and reliable organisms which, for the better part of life, we can count on.  Enjoy!

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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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