Seeking Wisdom in Uncertain Times

I haven’t written here for about four weeks ago (right after my cousin passed away). From there, I watched the campus protests in disbelief, scarcely recognizing the universities I attended in the 90s and 00s. Then came hosting both Passover Seders, which this year included prayers to bring the 130+ hostages who remain in Gaza home. Then, my parenting duties increased because my husband needed to care for a sick family member. Today is Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, which is when we honor the 6,000,000 who were systematically murdered during the Holocaust.

I have never been the kind of person to make excuses for not writing. However, for the second time in seven months, it has been hard to put my words out in a semi-public space. Rather than write through this tonight, I am sharing some of what I’ve been reading and listening to with you. It’ll give you a good sense of where my head has been during the past four weeks.

📘Presently, I am reading Uncomfortable Conversations with a Jew by Emmanuel Acho and Noa Tishby last week. I highly recommend it to Jews and non-Jews alike. For Jews, it fills in the gaps we may have from our Hebrew school years and provides a greater understanding of the epigenetic trauma we carry. For non-Jews, it provides a frank discussion about Jewishness and antisemitism in America today.
🎙️The Interview is a new podcast. The first episode, featuring Yair Lapid, was interesting since Lapid’s perspective isn’t one many of us in the States hear.
🕍The moment we’re living through needs Rabbi Sharon Brous’ voice, which is wise, clear-headed, and exceptionally thoughtful. Begin at 14:00 if you want the ‘highlight’ of her sermon.
👓”Get Out” by Liel Leibovitz was a provocative read I’m still turning over in my head.
🎧Since I always have an audiobook and an ebook, I’ve been listening to The Husbands by Holly Gramazio. (This book has been the comic relief I’ve needed amidst all the serious things I’ve been interacting with.)

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My Elbow’s Story

My left elbow started hurting out of the blue in early September 2017. I couldn’t figure out the reason. I didn’t bump, bang, or slam it against something. It just hurt. Eventually, the pain disappeared.

Yesterday afternoon, as we drove home from Philadelphia, the elbow pain returned with a vengeance. Again, it came out of nowhere. There were no falls, bumps, etc. It doesn’t hurt just sitting here and typing this — unless I rub the area right above the elbow. OH MY GOODNESS. The pain is bug-your-eyes-out with intensity. If I lean up against something or bend it strangely, the pain roars back. 

It occurred to me, after randomly leaning on my left elbow and seeing stars this morning, that the last time I felt this kind of pain was when my uncle passed away in 2017. His death hit me hard for several reasons. He died at 74 years old, which was way too young. Also, he was the first person in my parents’ generation level to pass away. My parents and their siblings were getting older. Even though I still pictured them with their natural hair colors in their early 40s, the reality was that all of them were in their 70s back in 2017. My uncle’s passing squeezed my heart, which must’ve come out in some form of elbow pain. 

Yesterday morning, I was putting on makeup in our hotel room in Philly, where we spent the weekend with our kids. My husband’s phone began to ring. Ari grabbed it from the night table, declared it was my dad, and brought it to me. I picked up and asked, “What’s wrong?” since he knew we were away with the kids.

“Everything is fine with me and mom. But,” he paused, “Adam died last night. He had a heart attack.” (Adam was my first cousin, the youngest of the grandkids. He died at 38.)

I gleaned whatever information I could from my dad, who called Marc when I didn’t pick up my phone and hung up. I told Marc. Inevitably, the kids overheard since we were in a hotel room together. Of course, they had questions. 

They had questions ALL. DAY. LONG.

There were phone calls back and forth with my parents. There were calls to two of my other first cousins. There was a call to my uncle and aunt, who were shocked and bereft. 

Created with Waterlogue.

As I unpacked from our trip last night, I felt pangs of pain in my left elbow. WHAT THE HECK?!!!?

Before I went to sleep, I searched my mind for special moments with Adam. I remembered get-togethers in our homes, visiting our great-uncle at his house by a lake for a day every summer, and holiday gatherings. I remember him sporting a red tie and sneakers at my Bat Mitzvah, where he had a great time with some of my little second cousins who were also present. When I looked for photos, I saw an adorable one of him with me and his half-brother on Adam’s fourth birthday. We were 12 and 15, smiling with an adorable four-year-old. 

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Despite not being close to Adam as an adult (because we live on two different ends of the country), I still envision him as a sweet little boy. How could my cousin, someone of my generation, be gone? 

That elbow pain that I’m having? I’m convinced it’s connected to grief. 

That’s it—this is my slice for the week. I don’t have any witty stories about my kids to share—just a story about inexplicable elbow pain and death. 

The Breakfast Conundrum: Oatmeal or No Oatmeal?

On weekday mornings, I eat breakfast with Ari. I always ask, “Do you want oatmeal for breakfast?” since that’s what I eat most mornings. He often says yes since he knows he doesn’t have to make breakfast. (Typically, he’ll pop an English muffin in the toaster oven and coat it with cream cheese.) He’ll pour his own chocolate milk and will often stir the oatmeal. However, he’s not the one making it.

Both of my kids were downstairs before me this morning. Neither one had eaten breakfast. I asked, “Do you want oatmeal for breakfast?” I had one yes (Isabelle) and one no (Ari).

“You’ll have to make your own breakfast,” I told Ari.

“I’m not hungry,” he replied.

C’mon. This kid is always hungry!

“Well, at a bare minimum, you’ll need to drink some chocolate milk to take your allergy medicine.”

“Fine!” he said.

“You should reconsider breakfast. Are you sure you don’t want oatmeal?”

After a beat, he replied, “I’m sure.”

So, I got to work! Here’s a peek at this morning’s not-so-complicated breakfast for two. (Well, two and a half if you count Ari’s chocolate milk I poured.)

My oatmeal bowl is on the left, while Isabelle’s is on the right. We purchased these, plus two more, when we were in the Armenian Quarter of the Old City this past summer.

Peanut butter for me. (That’s the natural peanut butter I made last week.) Raisins for Isabelle.

Ari convinced me to start using quick oats, instead of old-fashioned. Intitially, I disliked them. However, I am happy to make breakfast in half of the time.

Two chocolate milks for the kids. One iced coffee for me.

I have a Splenda addiction.

Time to serve it up & add some maple syrup.

Breakfast is ready!

Believe it or not, Ari never ate breakfast. I was shocked because we met up with his friend at the park this morning. They played baseball and touch football for over an hour, and he never complained about hunger. Shocking!

Head over to Two Writing Teachers today, and on Tuesdays year-round, to read more slice-of-life stories.

The Pantyhose Predicament

I contend that pantyhose are the most torturous item of women’s clothing. They are restrictive. They pinch. They tear easily. Good ones cost a fortune… and even they are uncomfortable! I’d rather spend money on a high-quality pair of leggings rather than a fine pair of hose.

There’s only been one time in my life that I’ve enjoyed not minded wearing pantyhose. Believe it or not, I didn’t think they were so bad when I was pregnant with my daughter. I traveled until I was 34 weeks into my pregnancy. Spanx Mama Shaping Mid-Thigh Sheers cradled my burgeoning belly. They were the only nylons I ever wore that I didn’t want to throw into a bonfire.

This morning, I donned a mid-calf dress to the synagogue. The weather was supposed to get up to 59 degrees, so I decided to wear sandals. However, I remembered the dressy sandals I had for over a decade disintegrated at a wedding over Labor Day Weekend. I’d have to wear pantyhose.

I grabbed my pocketed hosiery storage hanger and discovered I was out of nude pantyhose. The choices were ivory (which would have looked ridiculous with my black dress and shoes) and black. There was no choice. 

With slightly less than 15 minutes before roll-time, I grabbed a pair of hose and pulled them over my toes. They had a massive run over the toe. I contemplated clear nail polish but opted for the circular filing bin. 

The second pair I grabbed were a pair of high-waisted Spanx. Nope, not today.

I grabbed another pair of black stockings from the pouch. They were probably from my late 20s since they were a size A. Shoot-shoot-shoot-shoot.

Ready to go in my black hose with the rejected pairs.

I grabbed a fourth pair. Another pair of high-waisted Spanx! 

I took a deep breath. I had to roll in ten minutes to get to services a few minutes before the service started. Rather than trying for a fifth pair, I grabbed one of the high-waisted ones off my closet floor and wrestled my body into them. (NOTE TO SELF: Buy new dress sandals.)

I left the three pairs of rejected stockings on my closet floor, threw on some makeup, and headed downstairs to load the kids in the car. I couldn’t help but reflect on the battle I had just endured with those dreaded pantyhose. Each failed attempt only reaffirmed my belief that they are indeed the most torturous item of women’s clothing.

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Juggling Kids, Needles, and Screens

My dermatologist, Dr. M., scheduled me for an appointment to remove the sebaceous hyperplasia on my temples. I brought the kids to today’s appointment since they were off school. 

My dermatologist, a gem of a human, enthusiastically greeted both kids since I have yet to bring them to recent appointments. Isabelle was more into a conversation than Ari, who played MLB Derby or Madden 24 on his iPad. (My kids know they’re not allowed to use iPads when a provider is in their exam room. I need to extend that rule to the first few minutes of my appointments.) 

Engrossed in a Game

Dr. M. invited the kids to watch the procedure. Isabelle watched as he injected numbing medication into my skin. Ari remained on the iPad. I’m unsure how he removed the oil, but whatever happened next took a few more minutes. Halfway through, Ari approached me, asking for more time on YouTube. (He has a minute per weekday since I don’t want him on YouTube.)

“Ari, you see what Dr. M. is doing, right?”

“Yeah, but can I have more time on YouTube?”

“Do you see my eyes are closed? That’s because there’s some kind of needle near my face. I cannot help you with your iPad now.”

“But I want more YouTube time,” he said.

“You don’t need YouTube time,” I said through gritted teeth and closed eyes.

“All set!” Dr. M. said.

“Can I have more YouTube time now?”

“Ari, no,” I replied firmly.

“I can show you how to get more YouTube time, Ari,” Isabelle offered.

“Please don’t, Iz.”

Three of the five spots that got injected. I should be as good as new tomorrow.

As the doctor patted my temples with gauze and reminded me, “I have five kids. 

I thought, it’s true what they say. When you’re a mom, you never really get a moment to yourself, not even when you have a needle in your face!

As I gathered my things and prepared to leave, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for Dr. M.’s skillful hands and for understanding the chaos of being a parent. As I walked out of the office, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought that someday, when Ari has kids of his own, he’ll finally understand what it’s like to have someone constantly vying for his attention.

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Meet Tilly.

Act I

Tilly enjoyed the moon roof.

Event: Fire and Ice Festival

Date: President’s Day 2024

Location: Heavenly Scents & Soaps

Situation: I walked into this store to purchase items to put in a care package for a colleague about to have surgery. Ari and Isabelle walked around the store. Ari noticed the Jellycat stuffies. He told me he had to buy a golden retriever stuffie he had seen. I said no. (Because he has more than enough stuffies!) Begging ensued. When that didn’t work, he became grumpy. I took down the name of the animal, Tilly, and told him he could return with his money to purchase it in a few weeks if he was still interested.

Act II

Event: Day off from School

Date: Early March

Location: Heavenly Scents & Soaps

Situation: Time passed, and Ari returned to Heavenly Scents & Soaps with his wallet and the intention to purchase Tilly. Tilly was nowhere to be found. When I asked the shopkeeper about Tilly’s whereabouts, they said, “We sold out of most of our stuffed animals during Fire and Ice. We should be getting a delivery soon.” I left my name, number, and request.

I lamented that this wasn’t the best way to reinforce the think-about-it-before-you-buy-it lesson I tried to instill in Ari.

Act III

Date: Last Week

Location: Our House

Situation: Ari asked if I had heard from the shopkeeper yet. I hadn’t. I called the store. The owner picked up and told me she ordered a few Tilly dogs, but they hadn’t come in yet. She promised to call me as soon as she received the Jellycat shipment.

Act IV

Date: 3/28/24 – midday

Location: Our House

Situation: The owner called. Tilly arrived at the store. “Shall I put one aside for you?” she asked. I said yes and we’d be by over the long weekend.

Act V

Date: 3/28/24 – after school

Location: Heavenly Scents & Soaps

Situation: I grabbed Ari’s wallet from his bureau and put it in the backseat so we could drive straight from Ari’s school to the store. Once we arrived in the store, Ari spotted a few Tilly pups on a shelf. However, I told him that his Tilly was already set aside. Sure enough, when I told the proprietor that we were there to pick up Tilly, she produced a beautiful shopping bag from behind the counter that contained Tilly, who turned out to be one of the softest stuffies I’d ever felt.

Ari parted with his precious $50 bill (he exchanged smaller bills he had gotten for his birthday and Chanukah for 50) to bring Tilly home. The proprietor added tissue paper and ribbon to the shopping bag before sending us on our way.

ENCORE

Date: 3/28/24 – late afternoon/early evening

Location: Our House

Ari had a rough hour while I was on an important phone call. He and Isabelle FOUGHT, but it was mostly his fault since he didn’t like that she wanted to finish her homework before the long weekend. After taking a break in his room, he calmed down by sitting beside me on the couch, petting Tilly. (Did I mention this dog is silky-soft!?!)

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Contingency Plans

Isabelle reported that her teacher was absent again today due to having a sick child at home.

“Did he email you back?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“You need to have a contingency plan,” I replied.

“What’s a contingency plan?” she asked.

While we ate dinner, I went into a LONG story about our contingency plans in case my mother-in-law’s health worsened when we were in Israel last summer. (Long story short, dear reader: I sprang into action and booked Marc a flight back to the USA within an hour of receiving a call from her doctor. Marc was able to spend two good days by his mom’s bedside before she passed away. After completing the paperwork, we were reimbursed for the expenses he incurred to fly home early and miss out on part of our trip since we took out cancel-for-any-reason trip insurance.)

Checking out Adobe Spark before heading to bed.

After that long story, Isabelle understood that she needed to email the co-teacher in the classroom to see if she could meet with him tomorrow morning to discuss the oral presentation.

Just as Isabelle fired up her school iPad’s email, she received a note from her teacher answering the email she sent him yesterday afternoon. He explained the accommodation he provided to her (i.e., creating a video presentation instead of an oral presentation), told her what she should use (i.e., Adobe Spark), and informed her he’d meet with her tomorrow morning.

WHEW!

While our dinner conversation would’ve sounded a lot different if she’d checked her email before dinner, I think it’s safe to assume that my children now fully understand what contingency plans are.

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Little kids, little problems. Big kids, big problems.

I’ve always disliked the phrase, “Little kids, little problems. Big kids, big problems,” since it seemed to minimize the problems caregivers of babies and toddlers faced. However, as I muddle through parenting kids nearly six years apart, I lived this statement today.

Check out the inky scribbles on the stars!

The little kid’s problem was that I made him complete the math calendar and color in the starts to attest that he’d read at least 25 times this month. There were protests. There was scribbling. There was frustration. The little kid’s problems fizzled when he saw me taking out my new-to-me (Thanks for the loan, Dad!) food processor to make natural peanut butter. Somewhere between removing the peanut skins for six cups worth of peanuts and watching the nuts transform into peanut butter, he became a new kid!

The big kid’s problem began with a lament about an upcoming oral presentation she doesn’t feel ready for. It led to a long conversation where we both shed tears as she discussed school-related challenges. (She was teary out of frustration, and my eyes welled up with tears because I cannot make the big kid’s problem disappear by whipping out a kitchen appliance and baking something with her.) I reassured the big kid I am here to support and assist her, which caused her to feel calmer before she went to bed.

While I’ll never be the person who dismisses the difficulties of parenting with a simple phrase, I have gained a deep understanding of the intricacies and importance of both little and big kids’ problems. I understand the weight and complexity of each type of problem. Parenting has taught me that each stage comes with its own set of challenges and difficulties. While the little kid’s problem may seem trivial compared to the big kid’s problem, it doesn’t mean it’s any less significant or impactful on their world.

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Change of Plans

New Coach.
New Time.
New Backpack.
New Field.
New Spectator.

Ari and I had to find the field after we parked.

The new spectator is me, not Daddy. And he is bummed.

Marc was the assistant coach for Ari’s baseball team for the past two seasons. However, coaching little kids in coach-pitched baseball wasn’t a good choice since he’s just over six months past arm surgery. So, he didn’t volunteer to coach this season.

“Will you still come and watch me play?” (Of course.)
“Will you come to my practices?” (Unless I’m on service, I’ll be there.)

This afternoon was the first practice of the season. Daddy is on service. He told me he’d try to get home to meet Ari at practice.

We talked at noon. “It’s been busy, but it’s still possible,” Marc said.

“Let’s touch base at 3 p.m.”

3 p.m. came and went. I felt I knew the answer, but I texted anyway.

“There’s no way I can leave before 5,” he replied.

“Got it,” I said.

Next time, I think I’ll pack a mug of tea!

Once Ari returned from school (Yes, school! He was fever-free yesterday, so he returned to school tonight.), I dug my kickback rocker from the back of our garage. I loaded it into my trunk. I packed up my iPad, grabbed a hat, and poured a new glass of ice water. I was ready for my first-ever baseball practice. (Seriously! I’ve been to plenty of games but have never attended a practice.)

Here I am, listening to my audiobook, watching Ari work with new coaches and a group of kids he’s never met. I know Ari would rather have Marc out in the field pitching balls to him and his teammates, but it’s a gorgeous, crisp spring day, so I am not complaining about my present situation.

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Hey, you never know…

I’ve never been a gambler or liked being near a casino. (I went to Vegas once when I was seven and vowed never to return. I’ve kept that up for almost 40 years.) I don’t like betting and have only played the lottery once — until today.

Ari was fever-free this morning, so we ventured out of the house to the grocery store. After we finished checking out, he pointed at the lottery machine and declared, “Look, the Mega Millions is up over a billion dollars now!” (He had clocked the lottery machine at the supermarket last week and asked if we could play, which was when I explained that it wasn’t my thing.)

“That means no one won when they did the last drawing,” I replied.

“Do you want to buy one?” he asked.

“You know what? Yes! My new policy is to play the lottery when it exceeds a billion dollars.”

I don’t think Ari could care less about my new policy. He was highly interested in picking our own numbers. I realized that doesn’t increase my chances at winning, but getting numerical suggestions from him didn’t seem any more risky than playing them randomly.”

I stumbled through using the machine. Once I finished, Ari asked me if I wanted to play the Power Ball since it was up to $880 million. “Nope, I can’t. Only if it goes above a billion.”

We walked out of Wegmans, chatting about what we’d do with the money if I won. After Ari clarified that I could have most of the after-tax winnings (since it was my $2.00 that bought the ticket), he told me he’d want to buy his own baseball field and football field to play whenever he wanted.

“You know we have a small backyard, right?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“We’d have to move,” I said. “We could move locally so you could stay at your school, or we could move elsewhere…”

The two of us continued dreaming. As I listened to his plans for the future and dreamed about how comfortable retirement would be if I won, I heard the voice of an old New York Lottery slogan from my childhood echo in my head.

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