Maybe it is my imagination or my paranoid self, but for the last few weeks, I have seen a hearse every moring as I drive my car. It is never in the same place, or same time or even same road, but I can count on sometime during my morning drive and errand running, I will see that hearse.
There is no funeral home directly near my house and we are not near any facility that I imagine would need daily service. So why is this hearse stalking me??
Ok, the usual thoughts such as aging and death come to mind. Or the fact that I haven't been as good with diet and exercise as I am supposed to or that I did forget to immediately clean the counter after breaking eggs, but thats more about salmonella than death.
Maybe its not about physical death. Maybe there is emotional, spiritual or intellectual death occuring.
I know change is occuring. A valued neighbor is moving, my spiritual advisor is leaving to explore new journeys. While I wish him well, it is a big change to lose all he has been to and for me and Sunday mornings will not be the same.
and lets not even get into Oprah and her last season!!
Being at home, I have significantly less adult contact than I did when I was working and sometimes I long for the easy, casual way that colleagues talk to each other. I miss the academic challenge that I used to get from designing courses and workshops and I miss going to trainings.
There are times I think I am psychic. I remember the last times I spent with people, sometimes knowing it was the last time. I even took a picture of my cousin and uncle one time, while saying in my head " this is the last time they will be together like this." Sure enough, 6 months later, my uncle was gone.Granted, this is not a gift I have cultivated or necessarily care to have, but when that pokey feeling comes, I try to be open and aware.
So, what is the significance of the hearse? I have yet to figure it out. I do smile and wave at the driver now. It has become part of my daily landscape much like the joggers and dog walkers. I am open and paying attention , without being too paranoid. All things usually reveal themselves and I have to wait for that unveiling, maybe it will come as just a little prick.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Modern Family
Oh I love Cam on the ABC show Modern Family. He is so loveable, real and ...motherly. And saying that would piss him off. If you saw the mothers day episode, you experienced Cam's upset over his relegation to the role of " Wife" because he is the parent who stays home with the baby. He gets more aggitated when it moves from wife to woman and he is upset to be honored on mothers day as a mother. ( ok, I dvr a lot of tv...it helps when I am up for 2:00 feedings)
I had such empathy for Cam. While he enjoyed his part in the daily pattern and function of his family life, the titles didn't always do justice him. I understand that strange struggle to find nomenclature that fits function, not necessarily form.
In our house, i am " Da" or "daddy'. It just worked out that way as we couldn't find a name that fit me ( mommy, mama, the rest of the girl names just didn't work..besides the wife is clearly " mommy"...make no substitutes) I do have more of a patriarchal role and in our home many of the duties and chores I perform are more traditionally male oriented.
It has been a real challenge being a house butch while taking care of the daughter. I am not an earth mother, Bree, Martha, Erma, or Sally Homemaker. I am challenged in managing time to do laundry, get groceries, plan ,meals, cook meals, clean meals, play with babies, clean babies, entetain babies,clean house.......I would rather be on a ladder with a hammer pounding something or grasping a screw driver while figuring out how something works or can be fixed. I use duct tape as a mandatory fix it tool. I like to move furniture, paint stuff and organize my life.
I am not by nature a mama.
But this role reversal of sorts has been a real trip and has brought many issues and lessons to light. I love the nuturing, cradling, soft, lovey times I get with my daughter. I cherish every story, song and whispered secret my son shares with me. I like being more aware of what food I am eating and appreciative of what it takes to make good choices happen. I get called Mom a lot by others when out with my kids and I just smile.
It is interesting when I pick up my son from school. His friends all know me and when I arrive, they all yell his name and say " Your Da is here"
One day, a new friend was very excited to see me and yelled to my son " Your mom is here" My son rumpled up his nose and gave the friend a nasty look. " Thats not my Mom, thats my Daddy" he replied somewhat defensively. The friend was shocked, " No its not, its your mom" the friend shot back. " No , its my Da, he is a girl." Out of the mouths of babes.
We have talked with our kids about all the different families that exist and that some have girls who are daddies, men who are mommies, and that eeryone has different names for the people who love them; ema, tia, papa, poppo,grada, babba, ....it all adds up to love.
So, this upcoming Fathers Day,a little boy will make a card for his girl Dad and he will be so happy to celebrate his family and we will wish happiness for all families, modern, traditional, unorthodox, alien, whatever...just don't tell a kid that the person he or she loves is not the name they call them....that hurts more than just a little prick.
I had such empathy for Cam. While he enjoyed his part in the daily pattern and function of his family life, the titles didn't always do justice him. I understand that strange struggle to find nomenclature that fits function, not necessarily form.
In our house, i am " Da" or "daddy'. It just worked out that way as we couldn't find a name that fit me ( mommy, mama, the rest of the girl names just didn't work..besides the wife is clearly " mommy"...make no substitutes) I do have more of a patriarchal role and in our home many of the duties and chores I perform are more traditionally male oriented.
It has been a real challenge being a house butch while taking care of the daughter. I am not an earth mother, Bree, Martha, Erma, or Sally Homemaker. I am challenged in managing time to do laundry, get groceries, plan ,meals, cook meals, clean meals, play with babies, clean babies, entetain babies,clean house.......I would rather be on a ladder with a hammer pounding something or grasping a screw driver while figuring out how something works or can be fixed. I use duct tape as a mandatory fix it tool. I like to move furniture, paint stuff and organize my life.
I am not by nature a mama.
But this role reversal of sorts has been a real trip and has brought many issues and lessons to light. I love the nuturing, cradling, soft, lovey times I get with my daughter. I cherish every story, song and whispered secret my son shares with me. I like being more aware of what food I am eating and appreciative of what it takes to make good choices happen. I get called Mom a lot by others when out with my kids and I just smile.
It is interesting when I pick up my son from school. His friends all know me and when I arrive, they all yell his name and say " Your Da is here"
One day, a new friend was very excited to see me and yelled to my son " Your mom is here" My son rumpled up his nose and gave the friend a nasty look. " Thats not my Mom, thats my Daddy" he replied somewhat defensively. The friend was shocked, " No its not, its your mom" the friend shot back. " No , its my Da, he is a girl." Out of the mouths of babes.
We have talked with our kids about all the different families that exist and that some have girls who are daddies, men who are mommies, and that eeryone has different names for the people who love them; ema, tia, papa, poppo,grada, babba, ....it all adds up to love.
So, this upcoming Fathers Day,a little boy will make a card for his girl Dad and he will be so happy to celebrate his family and we will wish happiness for all families, modern, traditional, unorthodox, alien, whatever...just don't tell a kid that the person he or she loves is not the name they call them....that hurts more than just a little prick.
To Sir; with love.
Lulu sang her heart out in praise of teacher Mark Thackery whom she respectfully called " Sir". Yes, it was a movie, but it reflected a time when teachers were honored, even revered. Though I missed the exact date, Teacher Appreciation Day should have no expiration date and as such I wish to pay tribute to the teachers who shaped my life.
I wish I could say that elementary teachers stand out for me. Sadly I have nothing but negative memories and that said, I will not dwell here. I will say that I am so glad my son has had nothing but wonderful Early Childhood experiences and so have we as parents. I will just say Bravo to the Cantilacian Center.
The first teacher who always stands out for me from high school is my Home Ec. Teacher Cynthia Fredricks. She had a way of embracing ( literally anf figuratively) her students. She loved them all and taught life lessons along with life skills. She was the embodimemt of everything I have come to believe a teacher should be and I have tried to pay tribute and honor to her all my professional life.
I was lucky to go to a HS that had a great English dept and because I loved reading so much, it made it easy to enjoy these teachers skills. John Scott, Kathryn Chesley and Bernadette Lewis. Oh Miss Lewis. She started every class with an S.A.T. word and I still remember the first word she taught us, gauche.
I also had an amazing math teacher, Paul Schweigerling. He taught a class in applied mathmatics that also taught daily life skills. It was an elective for non regents students, but he challenged us, loved us, taught us to play paperwad volleyball using statistics and prodded us to be our best self.
I also had a Social studies teacher who let me explore social issues outside the boundaries of suburbia. Thank you Linda Willard!
College brought some awesome teachers, Joeclyn Hughes, Sr.Alberta, Dr. Stein, but the greatest of all was Sr. Adrian. She was a devout Polish nun from Pennsylania dutch country, with an accent to boot. She would admonish us to stand " side by each children , side by each" on the field trips she would arrange for us. She was a fascinating teacher who was equally fascinated by the sociology of the world. And she loved us. She really did. We were her children. Until the day she died, if you asked her about any sociolgy class she had taught, she could rattle off the year, semester and alphabetical listing of her class. And she kept track of us too.
Grad school had a few standouts. H. ( we never knew what the " H" stood for..we thought Hell On Wheels) Jayne Vogan, Dr. Stevic and probably the most thought shaping, challenger to my way of looking at the world, words, law and the human condition Dr. Wade Newhouse, professor emeritus at UB Law. He pushed me like no other teacher had or could and I am a better person today for all he taught me.
There are also teachers who show up in other forms; colleagues, friends, advisors and advisaries. I am constantly amazed at the gift of learning that comes from these sources and people such as Margaret, Mary Jo, Bridgette, Beth, Ann, Joel, Jan, Josephine, Jim, Rick, Maureen, and ...well this tribute would never end if I listed everyone I have eer known, so we will just end with a sigh, a smile and...just a little prick
I wish I could say that elementary teachers stand out for me. Sadly I have nothing but negative memories and that said, I will not dwell here. I will say that I am so glad my son has had nothing but wonderful Early Childhood experiences and so have we as parents. I will just say Bravo to the Cantilacian Center.
The first teacher who always stands out for me from high school is my Home Ec. Teacher Cynthia Fredricks. She had a way of embracing ( literally anf figuratively) her students. She loved them all and taught life lessons along with life skills. She was the embodimemt of everything I have come to believe a teacher should be and I have tried to pay tribute and honor to her all my professional life.
I was lucky to go to a HS that had a great English dept and because I loved reading so much, it made it easy to enjoy these teachers skills. John Scott, Kathryn Chesley and Bernadette Lewis. Oh Miss Lewis. She started every class with an S.A.T. word and I still remember the first word she taught us, gauche.
I also had an amazing math teacher, Paul Schweigerling. He taught a class in applied mathmatics that also taught daily life skills. It was an elective for non regents students, but he challenged us, loved us, taught us to play paperwad volleyball using statistics and prodded us to be our best self.
I also had a Social studies teacher who let me explore social issues outside the boundaries of suburbia. Thank you Linda Willard!
College brought some awesome teachers, Joeclyn Hughes, Sr.Alberta, Dr. Stein, but the greatest of all was Sr. Adrian. She was a devout Polish nun from Pennsylania dutch country, with an accent to boot. She would admonish us to stand " side by each children , side by each" on the field trips she would arrange for us. She was a fascinating teacher who was equally fascinated by the sociology of the world. And she loved us. She really did. We were her children. Until the day she died, if you asked her about any sociolgy class she had taught, she could rattle off the year, semester and alphabetical listing of her class. And she kept track of us too.
Grad school had a few standouts. H. ( we never knew what the " H" stood for..we thought Hell On Wheels) Jayne Vogan, Dr. Stevic and probably the most thought shaping, challenger to my way of looking at the world, words, law and the human condition Dr. Wade Newhouse, professor emeritus at UB Law. He pushed me like no other teacher had or could and I am a better person today for all he taught me.
There are also teachers who show up in other forms; colleagues, friends, advisors and advisaries. I am constantly amazed at the gift of learning that comes from these sources and people such as Margaret, Mary Jo, Bridgette, Beth, Ann, Joel, Jan, Josephine, Jim, Rick, Maureen, and ...well this tribute would never end if I listed everyone I have eer known, so we will just end with a sigh, a smile and...just a little prick
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
honor your truth
Such an Oprah statement, in fact thats where it came from. I was watching the Chaz Bono interiew and that was the closing sentiment that summed up the discussion and Chaz's journey in transitioning to a man.
I watched this show with the morbid curiosity that one usually associates with a car accident. Maybe because thats kinda how I felt about the hype for it on the commercials. But I also had another, less kind reason for watching.
I wanted to make sure I didn't look like him.
A few years ago when Chaz had first told the world that he was transitioning, there was a picture published in the paper that someone said to me " Hey, you look like her". I got upset because being a strongly identified butch lesbian, it always makes me cringe when someone assumes that one must be transgendered if one is more masculine.
Now, I don't need a lecture on the clinical definition of transgender, but I do think the days of the gallant swashbuckling, strong, swaggering butch are in peril when the world does not see that you can just be a gay woman with a strong male sense who is at heart a woman.
Ok, perhaps that was a bit strongly opinionated. But I do feel that there is too much conjecture on what someone is or should be.
That said, I absolutely believe that one should honor their truth. And I am glad I watched, because I learned it is very hard for many to know what their truth is, much less live it.
Finding passion, finding soul, finding happiness, finding truth is a long and often unrealized ambition for many.
So, how does my Oprah watching have anything to do with blogging?
Because I have always wanted to be a writer.
I have and am many things, but when I wrote that first blog after a long time of only writing in my mind or in notebooks, I felt alive. My mind was on power juice and I had thoughts and dialogues unlike any I had ever had before.
It has been a pleasure and a burden to write out everything in my mind. The burden being finding time around diapers, groceries, cleaning, laundry, cooking, soothing, playing, reading, and maybe a little sleeping.
When I missed a few days of writing and posting, I felt miserable. I kept trying to get to the computer, to draft what I could, but it just didn't feel right. I often write in my head and when I sit down to the conputer I just pour out what in my brain and edit for grammar. I know thats a gift and I am grateful. It is also amazingly painful to carry several days of writing material around in my craw and not release it to print.
So, I make a promise to myself that as I endeavor to be more concientous with testing and meal planning to address sugar intake, I will plan a time to write so that very important part of my truth is not repressed.
So, thank you Chaz Bono. Even though I don't think I look like you, I feel like you...in needing to honor the best truth inside of us, be it gender or creativity. It took your brave story to motivate me and ....just a little prick
I watched this show with the morbid curiosity that one usually associates with a car accident. Maybe because thats kinda how I felt about the hype for it on the commercials. But I also had another, less kind reason for watching.
I wanted to make sure I didn't look like him.
A few years ago when Chaz had first told the world that he was transitioning, there was a picture published in the paper that someone said to me " Hey, you look like her". I got upset because being a strongly identified butch lesbian, it always makes me cringe when someone assumes that one must be transgendered if one is more masculine.
Now, I don't need a lecture on the clinical definition of transgender, but I do think the days of the gallant swashbuckling, strong, swaggering butch are in peril when the world does not see that you can just be a gay woman with a strong male sense who is at heart a woman.
Ok, perhaps that was a bit strongly opinionated. But I do feel that there is too much conjecture on what someone is or should be.
That said, I absolutely believe that one should honor their truth. And I am glad I watched, because I learned it is very hard for many to know what their truth is, much less live it.
Finding passion, finding soul, finding happiness, finding truth is a long and often unrealized ambition for many.
So, how does my Oprah watching have anything to do with blogging?
Because I have always wanted to be a writer.
I have and am many things, but when I wrote that first blog after a long time of only writing in my mind or in notebooks, I felt alive. My mind was on power juice and I had thoughts and dialogues unlike any I had ever had before.
It has been a pleasure and a burden to write out everything in my mind. The burden being finding time around diapers, groceries, cleaning, laundry, cooking, soothing, playing, reading, and maybe a little sleeping.
When I missed a few days of writing and posting, I felt miserable. I kept trying to get to the computer, to draft what I could, but it just didn't feel right. I often write in my head and when I sit down to the conputer I just pour out what in my brain and edit for grammar. I know thats a gift and I am grateful. It is also amazingly painful to carry several days of writing material around in my craw and not release it to print.
So, I make a promise to myself that as I endeavor to be more concientous with testing and meal planning to address sugar intake, I will plan a time to write so that very important part of my truth is not repressed.
So, thank you Chaz Bono. Even though I don't think I look like you, I feel like you...in needing to honor the best truth inside of us, be it gender or creativity. It took your brave story to motivate me and ....just a little prick
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Gleeful Youth
Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday!!! In my house it means GLEE is on! I am a little late to join the party of fans, but I must admit, I love GLEE! So much so, my wedding anniversary gift is going to be the dvd's of season 1 and 2 , maybe a bonus of the greatest songs.
I love the music, the dancing, Coach Sue, the slushies, Will's butt chin, Holly Holiday (" stripper or drag queen?" what a great line) but what I love most is the human stories.
Its the background character plots that made me cry when Kurt sang " I want to hold your hand' or when Santana and Brittany sang " Landslide". I cheered when they sang " Loser like me' or who will ever forget Blaine and the Warblers singing " Somewhere only we know"
I suppose I have now lost any reader who doesn't follow Glee. But if you have stuck around, you don't need to watch Glee to see the beauty of youth expressing themselves.
Its there everyday if we just slow down a little to see it.
Last Sunday I had a great experience watching the youth group at the UU present their service.
I will admit I have avoided Youth Group services in the past. The few I did attend were too in your face, too loud, too irreverant and too abrassive. So I have no idea why I went to this one, but I am so glad I did.
These kids presented their most soulful, sincere selves. It was obvious they had taken a lot of time to craft a presentation that included readings and songs along with their own sermons that reflected their faith, their beliefs and their concerns. It was the most honest prayer time I have had the honor to experience from layette ministers. It was real because the youth boldly told their truth, their human stories.
At first I started comparing my favorite Glee characters to the personalities of the youth presenters. " Oh , that one is just like Rachel Barry and that one reminds me of Puck and he reminds me of Finn" After a few moments of this, I realized that comparisond were absolutely inaccurate and demeaning. Glee is characters; entertaining characters portrayed by professional actors. These were children, children of my faith community, children who will be the community....no wait, thats not right either, ....children who are the community, and who were letting the community know who they are and what they believe. Real children who really made an impact on those who heard them speak and sing.
The most touching part was a young woman who sang " Imagine" . She started out hesitant and slow and as she sang , all of the youth group gathered around her and sang as one, still in support of the lead singer. It was the most beautiful thing and it made everyone in the church imagine; imagine those children leading us, healing us, touching us with their bold, raw, true expressions of faith.
I still can't wait to see Glee on Tuesday. It entertains me. But I will hold the feeling of pride, hope, love and community that those UU youth gave me and the congregation. It feeds me. And it was in no way...just a little prick.
I love the music, the dancing, Coach Sue, the slushies, Will's butt chin, Holly Holiday (" stripper or drag queen?" what a great line) but what I love most is the human stories.
Its the background character plots that made me cry when Kurt sang " I want to hold your hand' or when Santana and Brittany sang " Landslide". I cheered when they sang " Loser like me' or who will ever forget Blaine and the Warblers singing " Somewhere only we know"
I suppose I have now lost any reader who doesn't follow Glee. But if you have stuck around, you don't need to watch Glee to see the beauty of youth expressing themselves.
Its there everyday if we just slow down a little to see it.
Last Sunday I had a great experience watching the youth group at the UU present their service.
I will admit I have avoided Youth Group services in the past. The few I did attend were too in your face, too loud, too irreverant and too abrassive. So I have no idea why I went to this one, but I am so glad I did.
These kids presented their most soulful, sincere selves. It was obvious they had taken a lot of time to craft a presentation that included readings and songs along with their own sermons that reflected their faith, their beliefs and their concerns. It was the most honest prayer time I have had the honor to experience from layette ministers. It was real because the youth boldly told their truth, their human stories.
At first I started comparing my favorite Glee characters to the personalities of the youth presenters. " Oh , that one is just like Rachel Barry and that one reminds me of Puck and he reminds me of Finn" After a few moments of this, I realized that comparisond were absolutely inaccurate and demeaning. Glee is characters; entertaining characters portrayed by professional actors. These were children, children of my faith community, children who will be the community....no wait, thats not right either, ....children who are the community, and who were letting the community know who they are and what they believe. Real children who really made an impact on those who heard them speak and sing.
The most touching part was a young woman who sang " Imagine" . She started out hesitant and slow and as she sang , all of the youth group gathered around her and sang as one, still in support of the lead singer. It was the most beautiful thing and it made everyone in the church imagine; imagine those children leading us, healing us, touching us with their bold, raw, true expressions of faith.
I still can't wait to see Glee on Tuesday. It entertains me. But I will hold the feeling of pride, hope, love and community that those UU youth gave me and the congregation. It feeds me. And it was in no way...just a little prick.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Yom HaShoah
I did not want to go to Temple on Friday night. I was tired, the daughter was irritated from her 6 month shots, the son was not acting right; in other words, a recipe for disaster! The wife was insistent that we go and that is what happened. Sometimes in the face of impending doom, a miracle occurs.
Grouchy, visably moody and slightly gassy from not eating a proper meal, I settled into my seat and prayed for a quick service. The daughter was already crying and the son was getting tired and anti social. Great!
The Rabbi approached me and asked if I would do one of the evenings readings. Glancing at the snipet and seeing the name of a politican I abhor, I politely declined. "Oh No"said the Rabbi " You are not reading his words, this was his part at the ceremony today, he has nothing to do with what you will read" " Ok" I said.
Putting the paper with the words down on a nearby seat, I did a half glance to see what it was about. The words talked of freedom and liberation and thanking of soldiers for humanness. I am not very familar with Yom HaShoah. I have a short cut version for most Jewish holidays and festivals " Some one did us wrong, we killed them, then we ate." But this not a holiday or a festival. It is a remembrance, a sad but important rememberance of enslavement, inhumaity, evil and the eventual victory of the human spirit for good.
The piece I was to read was touching in the way it recognized the soldiers for their job of liberation. I could almost see the joy on the face of the writer in welcoming the troops who brought freedom. And as soon as I did that, I saw my Uncle Billy.
My uncle was a soldier during that time and one of his duties was the liberation of the camps. As a child, I was never told of his role and as an adult, it was simply "something he doesn't like to talk about". I wish now he had, because I feel such kinship to the Jewish faith by my marriage and children . My mother would only say that he saw great horrors and it is best not to ask or talk about it. Thats the stoic Irish way of dealing with bad things. But for all he saw, my uncle was the most compassionate, faithful and honest man I knew. He was a bit of an icon to all the kids because of his public service as a police officer and the way he dealt with everyone in a dignified, humble manner.
He also showed that he could see the big picture in life. Just before his death, a few years ago, he lay on his death bed going over the status of all the kids, wanting to be assured that all were well. When he got to me, my aunt and cousins stumbled a little because they did not want to talk about the strife that being gay and married to a Jew had caused. He didn't want to hear of it. He instructed them to make sure I knew that he gave me his blessing and that he wished he had met my son.He also wanted anyone who wanted to make trouble to know that as far as he was concerned, love was all that mattered and if I had created a family with love at its root, thats all he ever wanted for me. Gay or not, Jew or not. Quite a death bed blessing from an consersvative Catholic. The cousins and my aunt could not wait to be the first to tell me of this conversation and this is the first time I have spoken of that publicly.
So it was with gripping emotion that I embraced this short but powerful quip that I felt in some way was also a fitting respect for my uncle. But my emotional uneasiness was about to get a greater test.
As I finished reading the piece, I noticed who the author was. My eyes brimmed with tears, my throat waffled with emotional swallowing. The author was Gerda Weissman Klein. My personal hero.
Oh my god, there was no way I was going tp be able to read this piece.
Mrs. Klein is a Holocaust Survivor. But to me and millions of readers, she is the author of many books. The one that touched my life and directed me into a life of Special Education service is " The Blue Rose", the first picture book for children on the subject of develpomental disabilities. From that book I read all her others. The most note worthy " All but my life" the chronical of her life in and out of Nazi labor camps.
One of my most cherished possesions is my first edition copy of " The Blue Rose" that my Aunt Mary gave to me and which Mrs. Klein signed for me 20 years after I recieved it. I used to bring that book with me to her lectures and after one at U.B., some years ago, I reminded her of how much the book had meant to me, how my Aunt had given it to me and had given me other books of Mrs. Klein and that she, Gerda, was my hero.She stopped me mid sentence and said " Your Aunt is a hero for giving you books to read and encouraging the reading of a child"
So here I was with this big emotional basket of memories, meanings and lets not forget, I really didn't want to go to Temple this night.
But I summoned all I could to do proper justice to Mrs. Kleins words, my uncles memory and to all who fight for the liberation of the oppressed. I got through it, a little teary and wavering as I said her name as the author. But my pain was nothing in comparison to all those who did and do struggle for freedom. May we all know peace, justice, safety and resolvement and may it never hurt more than....just a little prick.
Grouchy, visably moody and slightly gassy from not eating a proper meal, I settled into my seat and prayed for a quick service. The daughter was already crying and the son was getting tired and anti social. Great!
The Rabbi approached me and asked if I would do one of the evenings readings. Glancing at the snipet and seeing the name of a politican I abhor, I politely declined. "Oh No"said the Rabbi " You are not reading his words, this was his part at the ceremony today, he has nothing to do with what you will read" " Ok" I said.
Putting the paper with the words down on a nearby seat, I did a half glance to see what it was about. The words talked of freedom and liberation and thanking of soldiers for humanness. I am not very familar with Yom HaShoah. I have a short cut version for most Jewish holidays and festivals " Some one did us wrong, we killed them, then we ate." But this not a holiday or a festival. It is a remembrance, a sad but important rememberance of enslavement, inhumaity, evil and the eventual victory of the human spirit for good.
The piece I was to read was touching in the way it recognized the soldiers for their job of liberation. I could almost see the joy on the face of the writer in welcoming the troops who brought freedom. And as soon as I did that, I saw my Uncle Billy.
My uncle was a soldier during that time and one of his duties was the liberation of the camps. As a child, I was never told of his role and as an adult, it was simply "something he doesn't like to talk about". I wish now he had, because I feel such kinship to the Jewish faith by my marriage and children . My mother would only say that he saw great horrors and it is best not to ask or talk about it. Thats the stoic Irish way of dealing with bad things. But for all he saw, my uncle was the most compassionate, faithful and honest man I knew. He was a bit of an icon to all the kids because of his public service as a police officer and the way he dealt with everyone in a dignified, humble manner.
He also showed that he could see the big picture in life. Just before his death, a few years ago, he lay on his death bed going over the status of all the kids, wanting to be assured that all were well. When he got to me, my aunt and cousins stumbled a little because they did not want to talk about the strife that being gay and married to a Jew had caused. He didn't want to hear of it. He instructed them to make sure I knew that he gave me his blessing and that he wished he had met my son.He also wanted anyone who wanted to make trouble to know that as far as he was concerned, love was all that mattered and if I had created a family with love at its root, thats all he ever wanted for me. Gay or not, Jew or not. Quite a death bed blessing from an consersvative Catholic. The cousins and my aunt could not wait to be the first to tell me of this conversation and this is the first time I have spoken of that publicly.
So it was with gripping emotion that I embraced this short but powerful quip that I felt in some way was also a fitting respect for my uncle. But my emotional uneasiness was about to get a greater test.
As I finished reading the piece, I noticed who the author was. My eyes brimmed with tears, my throat waffled with emotional swallowing. The author was Gerda Weissman Klein. My personal hero.
Oh my god, there was no way I was going tp be able to read this piece.
Mrs. Klein is a Holocaust Survivor. But to me and millions of readers, she is the author of many books. The one that touched my life and directed me into a life of Special Education service is " The Blue Rose", the first picture book for children on the subject of develpomental disabilities. From that book I read all her others. The most note worthy " All but my life" the chronical of her life in and out of Nazi labor camps.
One of my most cherished possesions is my first edition copy of " The Blue Rose" that my Aunt Mary gave to me and which Mrs. Klein signed for me 20 years after I recieved it. I used to bring that book with me to her lectures and after one at U.B., some years ago, I reminded her of how much the book had meant to me, how my Aunt had given it to me and had given me other books of Mrs. Klein and that she, Gerda, was my hero.She stopped me mid sentence and said " Your Aunt is a hero for giving you books to read and encouraging the reading of a child"
So here I was with this big emotional basket of memories, meanings and lets not forget, I really didn't want to go to Temple this night.
But I summoned all I could to do proper justice to Mrs. Kleins words, my uncles memory and to all who fight for the liberation of the oppressed. I got through it, a little teary and wavering as I said her name as the author. But my pain was nothing in comparison to all those who did and do struggle for freedom. May we all know peace, justice, safety and resolvement and may it never hurt more than....just a little prick.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Exploding Bananas
Angry Birds has nothing on getting a binky into a crying babys mouth. Or for that matter, feeding food to a finicky eater. The daughter is now to be consuming solid foods. At least thats what the Pediatrician says. Tell the daughter. She rolls the food around on her tongue like a somalier and spits it out if it doesn't pass her test.
I do not like doing the feedings and have passed it off so many times that the wife is threatening to put a sign on her that says " Feed this baby"
I don't like the smell of mushy bananas.
I especially hate cleaning the remains of poorly timed ones who did not survive the micro wave.
But I will admit to something elses. I hate planning meals for others.
One of the hardest things about diabetes is trying to format and regulate an eating plan that works for me.
I know what to eat, I know when to eat it. The trouble is I cook, shop, and everything else for 3 other people. And sometimes, the Universe laughs the more I try to stick to plans. There are nights that there are 4 seatings for meals; daughters,mine, son and wifes. We really do try to eat as a family every night, but there are times the 3 yr old doesn't want to eat, the 6 month old just wants to be held, the Da is hungry and must eat on time and the wife is exhausted and needs a break. It happens to every family and it is not a big deal.
But it is annoying and disruptive for someone who is supposed to follow a prescript of meals, tests and meds.
And so I have been off and I feel it and it leachs into everything else, including my lack of enthusiasm for baby food.
But I know I have to be on my game, for her and for the son. I have let lazy, sweet habits take over many of his choices. As he has many markers for possibilty of diabetes in his life, I really should set a good example for choices. Many of his choices are somewhat set ( for a 3yr old..this week he likes dinasaur chicken nuggets, weeks ago, he liked bologna stars)
So we try. I take him shopping and give him the job of picking a fruit and vegetable. He likes learning about the different choices and though he doesn't always try what he picks, he still is experiencing a wider pool of food choice.
It isn't easy juggling the food needs of a family, but it can be done. I guess. I am still learning and still reeling from the highs and lows, ups and downs and smartness of.....just a little prick.
I do not like doing the feedings and have passed it off so many times that the wife is threatening to put a sign on her that says " Feed this baby"
I don't like the smell of mushy bananas.
I especially hate cleaning the remains of poorly timed ones who did not survive the micro wave.
But I will admit to something elses. I hate planning meals for others.
One of the hardest things about diabetes is trying to format and regulate an eating plan that works for me.
I know what to eat, I know when to eat it. The trouble is I cook, shop, and everything else for 3 other people. And sometimes, the Universe laughs the more I try to stick to plans. There are nights that there are 4 seatings for meals; daughters,mine, son and wifes. We really do try to eat as a family every night, but there are times the 3 yr old doesn't want to eat, the 6 month old just wants to be held, the Da is hungry and must eat on time and the wife is exhausted and needs a break. It happens to every family and it is not a big deal.
But it is annoying and disruptive for someone who is supposed to follow a prescript of meals, tests and meds.
And so I have been off and I feel it and it leachs into everything else, including my lack of enthusiasm for baby food.
But I know I have to be on my game, for her and for the son. I have let lazy, sweet habits take over many of his choices. As he has many markers for possibilty of diabetes in his life, I really should set a good example for choices. Many of his choices are somewhat set ( for a 3yr old..this week he likes dinasaur chicken nuggets, weeks ago, he liked bologna stars)
So we try. I take him shopping and give him the job of picking a fruit and vegetable. He likes learning about the different choices and though he doesn't always try what he picks, he still is experiencing a wider pool of food choice.
It isn't easy juggling the food needs of a family, but it can be done. I guess. I am still learning and still reeling from the highs and lows, ups and downs and smartness of.....just a little prick.
Betty Music
Learned a lesson from the daughter the other day; don't sing her to sleep. She enjoys being rocked and even hummed to or schushed, but add words and she wakes up, sings along or protests.
I learned this lesson in a funny way. I was rocking her after a feeding and before a nap and I thought, I never sing to her in the rocking chair. ( of course, she usually conks out after a feeding so she is an easy put down for sleep). I thought, what should I sing? I immediately went to the classics, in our house " Betty Music". Betty Music is music learned from Music together taught by the fabualous Miss Betty. All our Cd players have " Miss Betty Music" on them. The son learned his first words, melodies, rythms and songs from his music classes. He also fell in love with Miss Betty and her red guitar.
So I started with " Great big stars" a favorite in our house. The daugther looked at me me sweetly and I thought, great; she will off to sleep in a few seconds. No such luck. The more I sang, the more she perked up and soon she was cooing along. Oh no. I sang more and so did she. Only when I became quiet and breathed softly over her head did she fall to sleep.
How different she is from her brother who must have 2 lullabyes before he can go to sleep.
But she does share his love of music, just as long as it is not at bed time.
I love watching her jump up and down and smile and purse her lips to make noise to go along with the music. She lights up when her brother pulls out his guitar to play for her and she also enjoys tapping on the tamborine.
I have watched music give my son a medium and a voice and a joy the purest as I have ever seen. He has been picked up out of audiences by conductors who appreciated his heart for music . Indeed there is something special there and it is his mother and my responsability to nuture and feed it.
So too the sister. What will she love , what will show her heart?
Wherever she goes and becomes, I know that the roots of music education are fundamental to her development. I always appreciated Arts education, but as a parent I see just how it shapes children and to regard it as an " extra" is just unfair. For my son, it is the very breathe of life. I must make sure that it is always there for him and all children.
And it does cost; money, time, commitment, support...but hey, in the grand scheme of making fine adults out of youth..its ...just a little prick.
I learned this lesson in a funny way. I was rocking her after a feeding and before a nap and I thought, I never sing to her in the rocking chair. ( of course, she usually conks out after a feeding so she is an easy put down for sleep). I thought, what should I sing? I immediately went to the classics, in our house " Betty Music". Betty Music is music learned from Music together taught by the fabualous Miss Betty. All our Cd players have " Miss Betty Music" on them. The son learned his first words, melodies, rythms and songs from his music classes. He also fell in love with Miss Betty and her red guitar.
So I started with " Great big stars" a favorite in our house. The daugther looked at me me sweetly and I thought, great; she will off to sleep in a few seconds. No such luck. The more I sang, the more she perked up and soon she was cooing along. Oh no. I sang more and so did she. Only when I became quiet and breathed softly over her head did she fall to sleep.
How different she is from her brother who must have 2 lullabyes before he can go to sleep.
But she does share his love of music, just as long as it is not at bed time.
I love watching her jump up and down and smile and purse her lips to make noise to go along with the music. She lights up when her brother pulls out his guitar to play for her and she also enjoys tapping on the tamborine.
I have watched music give my son a medium and a voice and a joy the purest as I have ever seen. He has been picked up out of audiences by conductors who appreciated his heart for music . Indeed there is something special there and it is his mother and my responsability to nuture and feed it.
So too the sister. What will she love , what will show her heart?
Wherever she goes and becomes, I know that the roots of music education are fundamental to her development. I always appreciated Arts education, but as a parent I see just how it shapes children and to regard it as an " extra" is just unfair. For my son, it is the very breathe of life. I must make sure that it is always there for him and all children.
And it does cost; money, time, commitment, support...but hey, in the grand scheme of making fine adults out of youth..its ...just a little prick.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Its raining,it's....
Weather arguements with the wife are my least favorite. To be clear, I am a weather freak. I love watching radar, tracking storms, calculating storm predicability. I also love watching weather. I love all things weather related. I even took a course from the National Weather Service to be a severe weather spotter.
So when the wife asks" What's the weather gonna be like today?" and I tell her, the last thing I want to hear back is "oh, we'll see" . I mean, its a science, not sorcery. If radar is tracking a 10 mile spand of storm clouds coming across the region, chances are it will rain.So a wise person heeds that warning, they do not walk the baby to the park saying " its so sunny now, it probably won't rain"
I love living in a region that you can experience all 4 seasons ( and sometimes more) in a single day at certain times of the year. And because of that unpredictability, it does require some vigilance to the forcasts. The son and I tangled last night because he wanted to play right at the moment that the evening news weather report was going to be shown. It is true Murphys Law...children will lay dormant and quiet, seemingly self involved until the phone rings or the weather comes on t.v..The more important the call or need to know the elements outside, the more urgent the childs need to have your immediate attention.
Our house has a beautiful picture window in the living room with a big cozy chair in front that lovingly is known as the " the weather chair". It is the best observation station around for all things outside. Early on , the son and I used to watch storm clouds roll in and time storms by counting thunder and lightning strikes.
Later, the son would watch birds fly right across the porch and then over the front roof, but the little guy would look for them in the house, since he thought that where they had processed to in their flight.
My greatest pride was his first Hail storm and our first call to NWS (National Weather Service ) to report it. ( Did you know hail doesn't show up on radar and needs ground confermation and that said reports are primarily used by insurance companies for damage claims??? See , learned something from a weather geek)
Now, the daughter loves looking out at squirrels and bunnies and does the same bird tracking that her brother did on the living room ceiling. She loves watching rain drops splash, hit and drizzle down the window and I love watching her try to touch them through the glass.
But more than anything, I love knowing that I can check radar, look up temps, cloud movements, systems and isobars and know with assurance whether the son needs boots or a light jacket for school.
And with that knowledge, comes the cringe when the wife says" Oh, they just make stuff up to get you to watch the news...look its sunny out" Yeah, a cringe and .....just a little prick.
So when the wife asks" What's the weather gonna be like today?" and I tell her, the last thing I want to hear back is "oh, we'll see" . I mean, its a science, not sorcery. If radar is tracking a 10 mile spand of storm clouds coming across the region, chances are it will rain.So a wise person heeds that warning, they do not walk the baby to the park saying " its so sunny now, it probably won't rain"
I love living in a region that you can experience all 4 seasons ( and sometimes more) in a single day at certain times of the year. And because of that unpredictability, it does require some vigilance to the forcasts. The son and I tangled last night because he wanted to play right at the moment that the evening news weather report was going to be shown. It is true Murphys Law...children will lay dormant and quiet, seemingly self involved until the phone rings or the weather comes on t.v..The more important the call or need to know the elements outside, the more urgent the childs need to have your immediate attention.
Our house has a beautiful picture window in the living room with a big cozy chair in front that lovingly is known as the " the weather chair". It is the best observation station around for all things outside. Early on , the son and I used to watch storm clouds roll in and time storms by counting thunder and lightning strikes.
Later, the son would watch birds fly right across the porch and then over the front roof, but the little guy would look for them in the house, since he thought that where they had processed to in their flight.
My greatest pride was his first Hail storm and our first call to NWS (National Weather Service ) to report it. ( Did you know hail doesn't show up on radar and needs ground confermation and that said reports are primarily used by insurance companies for damage claims??? See , learned something from a weather geek)
Now, the daughter loves looking out at squirrels and bunnies and does the same bird tracking that her brother did on the living room ceiling. She loves watching rain drops splash, hit and drizzle down the window and I love watching her try to touch them through the glass.
But more than anything, I love knowing that I can check radar, look up temps, cloud movements, systems and isobars and know with assurance whether the son needs boots or a light jacket for school.
And with that knowledge, comes the cringe when the wife says" Oh, they just make stuff up to get you to watch the news...look its sunny out" Yeah, a cringe and .....just a little prick.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Diaper New
I can't get this song out of ny head. You've had that experience, right? For absolutely no reason, a song plays on continual repeat in your brain. Sometimes its peppiness inspires your day. Sometimes the words just produce aching memories. And somtimes, the words just call out to be addressed.
Such is the case with Dayenu.
If you are unfamilar with this classic Passover song, you are lucky. It is the ever circular, never ending saga of thanks for one thing in case another is not available. Hence the beloved phrase ; "If only".
My son plays this song constantly. I mean CONSTANTLY on his guitar. He doesn't know all the versus, but he knows the refrain and loudly proclaims it. I love listening to him sing, play, explore music, but.....I can not hear this song anymore!!!!
I have created my own version, just to break through the tedium. It was inspired by the daughter, a creative genius in her own right, albeit pampers are her greatest force of reckoning ( or is it wrecking...)
All apologies to all Jews for my irreverance, but I bet you will be humming this tune also.
It goes ( to the beat of Dayenu);;;
" Diaper new, Diaper new, Diaper new, Diaper new...Di-A-Per, Diaper New..... if we only had the pishy and we didn't have the poopy, just the pishy not the poopy, Diaper new! ....."
You get the drift.
The son hates my take on his song, having fits if I adlib. But I am chuckling. I have no designs to re make any other classics. I'll leave the creative songing to Mama Doni....don't know who she is? Google " Mama Doni Band" You will not be disappointed. My son loves " Rasta in Pasta" and I know my Passover Karma means next year he will learn all the words to that song and be singing it along with " The song whose name must not be spoken"..Da...no ,don't say it, you will have to sing it.
Right now there is just enough time to listen to the wife complain about all the bread items she can not eat and the bemoaning of the Matza plague ( fills you up and sticks around awhile)
I think its funny that we are working on limiting wheat because of the carbs for my diet, but for these 9 days, it is excrutiatngf or her ( and fellow observers) to be without. I wonder if there will be a rush on La Nova and Bagel Jays at Sundown on Tuesday??? With some of my dietary changes, I think often that I could follow a kosher diet, I eat the same kind of food combinations. Then I think of cheeseburgers and that thought subsides. But there is something to ritualistic foods and seasonal and festive feasting and general obediance to nutritional planning that makes one more appreciative and aware of the choices, abundance and obligations that can come from religious or health mandates.
There is just one other parodyI would like to tackle. A Peewee Herman Purim Spiel. I can see it now....
The word of the day, " Haman: AHHHHH !! For the rest of the show whenever anyone says " Haman" grog real loud. There can be Miss Yvonne, oh no, Miss Esther, the prettiest woman in Sussonland. And Jambi and Chairy.....and...... Well, if I really do write this, you can see it at a future Spiel and I promise, next to continual Dayenu, it will only feel like.....just a little prick.
Such is the case with Dayenu.
If you are unfamilar with this classic Passover song, you are lucky. It is the ever circular, never ending saga of thanks for one thing in case another is not available. Hence the beloved phrase ; "If only".
My son plays this song constantly. I mean CONSTANTLY on his guitar. He doesn't know all the versus, but he knows the refrain and loudly proclaims it. I love listening to him sing, play, explore music, but.....I can not hear this song anymore!!!!
I have created my own version, just to break through the tedium. It was inspired by the daughter, a creative genius in her own right, albeit pampers are her greatest force of reckoning ( or is it wrecking...)
All apologies to all Jews for my irreverance, but I bet you will be humming this tune also.
It goes ( to the beat of Dayenu);;;
" Diaper new, Diaper new, Diaper new, Diaper new...Di-A-Per, Diaper New..... if we only had the pishy and we didn't have the poopy, just the pishy not the poopy, Diaper new! ....."
You get the drift.
The son hates my take on his song, having fits if I adlib. But I am chuckling. I have no designs to re make any other classics. I'll leave the creative songing to Mama Doni....don't know who she is? Google " Mama Doni Band" You will not be disappointed. My son loves " Rasta in Pasta" and I know my Passover Karma means next year he will learn all the words to that song and be singing it along with " The song whose name must not be spoken"..Da...no ,don't say it, you will have to sing it.
Right now there is just enough time to listen to the wife complain about all the bread items she can not eat and the bemoaning of the Matza plague ( fills you up and sticks around awhile)
I think its funny that we are working on limiting wheat because of the carbs for my diet, but for these 9 days, it is excrutiatngf or her ( and fellow observers) to be without. I wonder if there will be a rush on La Nova and Bagel Jays at Sundown on Tuesday??? With some of my dietary changes, I think often that I could follow a kosher diet, I eat the same kind of food combinations. Then I think of cheeseburgers and that thought subsides. But there is something to ritualistic foods and seasonal and festive feasting and general obediance to nutritional planning that makes one more appreciative and aware of the choices, abundance and obligations that can come from religious or health mandates.
There is just one other parodyI would like to tackle. A Peewee Herman Purim Spiel. I can see it now....
The word of the day, " Haman: AHHHHH !! For the rest of the show whenever anyone says " Haman" grog real loud. There can be Miss Yvonne, oh no, Miss Esther, the prettiest woman in Sussonland. And Jambi and Chairy.....and...... Well, if I really do write this, you can see it at a future Spiel and I promise, next to continual Dayenu, it will only feel like.....just a little prick.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Keys in Brooklyn
Night vision is not one of my strong points. I've never liked driving at night, but mostly because I get tired early. I like to sleep when the sun goes down and rise with it in the morning. So the thought of a late night excursions is not pleasant. But the prize is picking up my sweet children and wife who will have been having their own adventures due to interrupted flight plans because of keys that went to Brooklyn and didn't stay in Staten Island.
Diabetes management comes into play here too, because I usually have my big meal of the day early and try to to do my last blood test of the day @ 7:00 or 7:30. My next test will be when I wake up @ 6:20 a.m.and begin the next days meds and pricks. My son loves helping me " test ' my blood. I let him put the strip in the meter and he watches while I set up the lance, poke, drip and measure. He always grimaces when I stick my finger and I tell him it doesn't hurt ( well most of the time it doesn't hurt that much) but he gives me his sympathy anyway. He is so concerned when the blood drop comes out my finger. equally, he is amused when the the test strip sucks it it in, beeping as it does ( "just like the groceries at Wegmans" he tells me). Waiting is not long till the numbers tell just how well I am doing. " Do you have good blood today, Da?" he asks.
I have been unsure how to explain Diabetes to him in language he understands. He is a big sweets pusher and he loves to share. His feelings get really hurt if you can't accept his kindness. But he has learned that I can't eat a cookie with him and he has taken a liking to my fiber bars. I don't want him to be frightened and so far its all just matter of fact. But soon, I will teach him to Dial 911 and learn what to do if an emergency happens and how to react if Da gets sick. He likes to practice firedrills ( we will be having one soon now that the weather is good) and he feels secure knowing our family meeting place for an evacuation drill is on our neighbors front porch. So, the next step is learning how to call for help when an adult can't and learn that lesson without fear or panic.
In the mean time, he probably doesn't realize that I am quite vigilant on getting enough sleep, eating on a schedule that coincides with meds and testing and drinking lots of water and getting some exercise.
So when that schedule gets off kilter because of keys in Brooklyn, I get a little testy. I know he, and my wife and daughter have the worst part of tonights journey and I have to remember that the most important thing is that they come home safely.
To adjust, I ate a little later, tried to rest ( because no matter what time I go to sleep, I will be up at 6:20 a..m. and so will my boy) and even asked a friend to ride along for the pickup. I try to be flexible, but I am not that good at it for some things.And since I do live on a schedule, it can affect health if the time, nutrition , sleep etc. are altered.
So tonight, may the skies be friendly, the roads safe, the car warm and the children drowzy and easy to put to sleep upon return. And any discomfort from late night ventures, may it be no more than.....just a little prick.
Diabetes management comes into play here too, because I usually have my big meal of the day early and try to to do my last blood test of the day @ 7:00 or 7:30. My next test will be when I wake up @ 6:20 a.m.and begin the next days meds and pricks. My son loves helping me " test ' my blood. I let him put the strip in the meter and he watches while I set up the lance, poke, drip and measure. He always grimaces when I stick my finger and I tell him it doesn't hurt ( well most of the time it doesn't hurt that much) but he gives me his sympathy anyway. He is so concerned when the blood drop comes out my finger. equally, he is amused when the the test strip sucks it it in, beeping as it does ( "just like the groceries at Wegmans" he tells me). Waiting is not long till the numbers tell just how well I am doing. " Do you have good blood today, Da?" he asks.
I have been unsure how to explain Diabetes to him in language he understands. He is a big sweets pusher and he loves to share. His feelings get really hurt if you can't accept his kindness. But he has learned that I can't eat a cookie with him and he has taken a liking to my fiber bars. I don't want him to be frightened and so far its all just matter of fact. But soon, I will teach him to Dial 911 and learn what to do if an emergency happens and how to react if Da gets sick. He likes to practice firedrills ( we will be having one soon now that the weather is good) and he feels secure knowing our family meeting place for an evacuation drill is on our neighbors front porch. So, the next step is learning how to call for help when an adult can't and learn that lesson without fear or panic.
In the mean time, he probably doesn't realize that I am quite vigilant on getting enough sleep, eating on a schedule that coincides with meds and testing and drinking lots of water and getting some exercise.
So when that schedule gets off kilter because of keys in Brooklyn, I get a little testy. I know he, and my wife and daughter have the worst part of tonights journey and I have to remember that the most important thing is that they come home safely.
To adjust, I ate a little later, tried to rest ( because no matter what time I go to sleep, I will be up at 6:20 a..m. and so will my boy) and even asked a friend to ride along for the pickup. I try to be flexible, but I am not that good at it for some things.And since I do live on a schedule, it can affect health if the time, nutrition , sleep etc. are altered.
So tonight, may the skies be friendly, the roads safe, the car warm and the children drowzy and easy to put to sleep upon return. And any discomfort from late night ventures, may it be no more than.....just a little prick.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
"Why is this night different from all others?"
Sounds of the night have patterns and familiarity; the dishwasher hum, the bathroom faucet during teethbrushing, the lullabye clock, the stalling by the son who doesn't want to go to bed, the kisses, the songs and finally, the gentle breaths of slumbering children.
I miss those sounds when they are gone.
This is the first trip where son and daughter are gone, together with wife. I like my solitude, my ability to do chores that can only be done uninterrupted, the joy of following ones own pace through the day. But I found I missed them most at night. I had gotten used to falling asleep listening to the daughter coo and breath and following ( via our baby spy cam) my son's adventures in settling down, snoring and imitating an Octopus during his somnolent movements.
I have become expert at telling when the cry is a hunger or lost binky, the cough a dry throat or the predecessor to more sickness. Their snoozing rocks me into a safe, craddled, drowzyness that closes a busy day and sends us all to dream land.
And I miss them more this trip than any other time.
My life has become slower ( busier, but slower) as I have focused on baby needs, house needs, family needs and lastly, me needs. Forming all of those together into a collage schedule has been a real challenge. I am used to moving at a fast pace, doing 10 things at once (as every good teacher does, some do 20 at once!!), living by the clock for periods, meetings, classes, groups, lunch duty and dismissal.
I used to borrow the phrase from the t.v. show " M.A.S.H." where the surgeons described what they do as " Meat ball surgery...patch 'em, heal 'em up and get them back out there". Somedays school education felt that way. You couldn't fix all the problems that walked in the door, but you did the best you could in 6 hours.
Home is a different pace, one set often by the smallest force in the home.And one set by individual expectations. The dishes must get washed, but if I don't get to sorting out the hall closet, I am the only one chewing over it. Meal planning has been crucial to monitoring carbs and calories, but it just takes a cranky baby, long night of fussing or exhaustion to usurp a great plan.
And thats where the predicatables, the patterns, the routines help pull it all together. And when some elements of those patterns are gone....eating gets off track, exercising is a second thought and sleeping is less cozy ...because the things that matter most are missing, if only temporarily.
They will be back soon, the house will hum again ( and cry,whine,laugh, coo, giggle and sing) and this tme away will be a memory...hopefully a learning, about what matters.....the reminder pain of their absence will feel like.....just a little prick.
I miss those sounds when they are gone.
This is the first trip where son and daughter are gone, together with wife. I like my solitude, my ability to do chores that can only be done uninterrupted, the joy of following ones own pace through the day. But I found I missed them most at night. I had gotten used to falling asleep listening to the daughter coo and breath and following ( via our baby spy cam) my son's adventures in settling down, snoring and imitating an Octopus during his somnolent movements.
I have become expert at telling when the cry is a hunger or lost binky, the cough a dry throat or the predecessor to more sickness. Their snoozing rocks me into a safe, craddled, drowzyness that closes a busy day and sends us all to dream land.
And I miss them more this trip than any other time.
My life has become slower ( busier, but slower) as I have focused on baby needs, house needs, family needs and lastly, me needs. Forming all of those together into a collage schedule has been a real challenge. I am used to moving at a fast pace, doing 10 things at once (as every good teacher does, some do 20 at once!!), living by the clock for periods, meetings, classes, groups, lunch duty and dismissal.
I used to borrow the phrase from the t.v. show " M.A.S.H." where the surgeons described what they do as " Meat ball surgery...patch 'em, heal 'em up and get them back out there". Somedays school education felt that way. You couldn't fix all the problems that walked in the door, but you did the best you could in 6 hours.
Home is a different pace, one set often by the smallest force in the home.And one set by individual expectations. The dishes must get washed, but if I don't get to sorting out the hall closet, I am the only one chewing over it. Meal planning has been crucial to monitoring carbs and calories, but it just takes a cranky baby, long night of fussing or exhaustion to usurp a great plan.
And thats where the predicatables, the patterns, the routines help pull it all together. And when some elements of those patterns are gone....eating gets off track, exercising is a second thought and sleeping is less cozy ...because the things that matter most are missing, if only temporarily.
They will be back soon, the house will hum again ( and cry,whine,laugh, coo, giggle and sing) and this tme away will be a memory...hopefully a learning, about what matters.....the reminder pain of their absence will feel like.....just a little prick.
And so we begin again
There is one thing a diabetic can count on everyday....at some point, there will be a prick. For some it is more, but no matter the count, a prick will happen and the outcome of that prick will determine a wide variety of choices and actions. In contemplating writing about a house with two parents, two children, two religions...( we do have it all) I tried to think of what differentiated us. Not that being Jewish, Unitarian, Gay, parents isn't enough. But dealing with diabetes in the midst of it all was the bell ringer.
So, welcome to my blog. You will learn about my family ( 1 boy, 1 girl), my wife ( a medical professional), myself (an educator who is currently a housewife ), our cats ( 1 boy, 1 girl) and the tapestry of our lives. And you will learn how a diagnosis of diabetes has affected all of these things.
I have been wanting to write for a long time, the key word here is time. There isn't any when caring for children, a house, a family and oneself ( often the neglected item in a time management crunch). I have tried perfecting my quick blurbs on my Facebook account and enjoyed the challenge of sharing our day in 140 characters or less.
In January I recieved the new that sent my world rocking....diabetes!! Now, it should not have been a surprise, it runs in my birth family ( theres a whole blog of the future...adopted child find birth family) and my doctor had been warning me for a long time that I had " Markers" for the disease. But I thought I was immune, above the influence, impenetrable. The day my doctor said those words you could have picked my jaw off the floor.
And then, you cry.
Because Diabetes hurts. It hurts to prick your finger, it hurts to change diets, it hurts to take meds timely, it hurts to exercise more, it hurts to know that you could have done something more to put it off, it hurts to be vulnerable and it hurts.......to know that your body is not all you thought it was and that it has a weaknes that if not addresses will kill you. Pretty heady.
I cried because no woman in my maternal line has made it to age 60. Thats right. My Aunt died a wek before her 60th birthday and my birthmother died a week before hers. Both died of complications from Diabetes, asthma, alchohol, dementia, a life lived hard. I was determined to break the curse. But until that day, I didn't understand just what the curse was. Now, facing it, at my feet, i just wanted to weep and curl in a ball and hide and say " do over, do over".
My doctor is a genius and has done much work with diabetes, metabolic syndrome and heart disease. I feel safe in his hands and care. It means work, change, commitment and vigilance to live....right now to live beyond 60 ( I've got 9 years to make that goal).
But I also have two wonderful children and a wife that I'd like to be able to be there for in the future and be present for now. With that motiation , we endeavor into this journey of family, disease, growth and......a daily prick.
Thanks for reading this first entry. Stick around. Hopefully you'll enjoy these tales and your day will be a little better.because you had......just a little prick.
So, welcome to my blog. You will learn about my family ( 1 boy, 1 girl), my wife ( a medical professional), myself (an educator who is currently a housewife ), our cats ( 1 boy, 1 girl) and the tapestry of our lives. And you will learn how a diagnosis of diabetes has affected all of these things.
I have been wanting to write for a long time, the key word here is time. There isn't any when caring for children, a house, a family and oneself ( often the neglected item in a time management crunch). I have tried perfecting my quick blurbs on my Facebook account and enjoyed the challenge of sharing our day in 140 characters or less.
In January I recieved the new that sent my world rocking....diabetes!! Now, it should not have been a surprise, it runs in my birth family ( theres a whole blog of the future...adopted child find birth family) and my doctor had been warning me for a long time that I had " Markers" for the disease. But I thought I was immune, above the influence, impenetrable. The day my doctor said those words you could have picked my jaw off the floor.
And then, you cry.
Because Diabetes hurts. It hurts to prick your finger, it hurts to change diets, it hurts to take meds timely, it hurts to exercise more, it hurts to know that you could have done something more to put it off, it hurts to be vulnerable and it hurts.......to know that your body is not all you thought it was and that it has a weaknes that if not addresses will kill you. Pretty heady.
I cried because no woman in my maternal line has made it to age 60. Thats right. My Aunt died a wek before her 60th birthday and my birthmother died a week before hers. Both died of complications from Diabetes, asthma, alchohol, dementia, a life lived hard. I was determined to break the curse. But until that day, I didn't understand just what the curse was. Now, facing it, at my feet, i just wanted to weep and curl in a ball and hide and say " do over, do over".
My doctor is a genius and has done much work with diabetes, metabolic syndrome and heart disease. I feel safe in his hands and care. It means work, change, commitment and vigilance to live....right now to live beyond 60 ( I've got 9 years to make that goal).
But I also have two wonderful children and a wife that I'd like to be able to be there for in the future and be present for now. With that motiation , we endeavor into this journey of family, disease, growth and......a daily prick.
Thanks for reading this first entry. Stick around. Hopefully you'll enjoy these tales and your day will be a little better.because you had......just a little prick.
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