If Everyone Was Blind

Lately I can't help but wonder what our world would have been like if we were all born blind. When I first started my masters program in counseling, one of the concepts we learned about that resonated with me was how damaging labeling can be. Saying, she's "depressed" or "anorexic" can lead to the person suffering from such conditions to feel defined as such. And only as such. Once a person is defined as one thing or another it's much more difficult to reframe that thought and become who you truly are. Believe me, I know.

Like most things I learned about human behavior, counseling and sociological "stuff" during my years of undergrad and graduate studies, I was able to take this idea and view it in the grand scheme of life, not just counseling. It's part of why I loved being in school. Concepts like this helped me to make sense of the world around me a little bit more. While I was always cautious of placing labels on others anyway, and I remain aware of such things, this isn't an idea I've deeply contemplated in some time.

The other day I was standing in the shower attempting to let the warmth of the water falling on my shoulders wash my worries and stress away when I found myself doing what I usually end up doing with my sole 15 minutes of solitude... contemplating humanity and what the heck is wrong with the world! I came to realize that so many of our problems come from judgments of each other. Labels. I also thought how most of those labels come from our very first impression of another and that first impression is mostly dictated by simply looking at the person. What I ended up thinking was... I wonder what the world would be like if we were all born blind.

If we couldn't see the color of someone's skin... if we couldn't see the cross hanging around their neck... if we couldn't see the hijab or kippah covering their head, the tattoos down their arms... If we couldn't see the kind of car they drive or the size of their house or the clothes they wore... if we couldn't see how short or tall they were, fat or thin, or the size of a woman's breasts...

What if the only first impression we had could be based on how kindly a person greeted us, or unkindly? What if we only had the ability to "judge" another based on their words and actions alone? I wonder what would the world look like then. Would we be more willing to give those who give off a poor first impression a second chance? Would we find ourselves shying away from the man walking down the street who wears his pants a bit "too low" and whose skin is a bit "too dark"? Or would we simply sense a human being walking towards us and politely smile and warmly say "hello"? Would we start whispering about a man boarding the plane with payot (sidecurls worn by various groups of Orthodox Jews) and think that's weird so we shouldn't not talk to him? Would we point and gawk at the family going down the road in a horse and buggy in the 21st century?

People who are different than us tend to make us uneasy. We judge and we question them; maybe even questioning their sanity or our safety being around them. We back away rather than offer a warm handshake. Or at least a smile or nod of the head acknowledging the other person's existence. I mean, the least we can do is acknowledge a person's existence, right?! Yet we don't. Far too many of us simply don't. Instead, we form a judgment or place a label on the person. And many of those judgments lead to dislike and worse yet, hate. Hate for no real reason other than the fact the person is different than us.

As a Jew I've been more keenly aware of these judgments over the past years as anti-Semitism has been rapidly growing again. Not only in Europe where it's reached frightening levels, but in the US and around the world as well. A Rabbi walking to Temple was just shot and killed yesterday in Miami. And people question if this was a hate crime? Ignorance is bliss when it's not your people being targeted for extinction. I hear so many in disbelief over the atrocities going on in Iraq with the ISIS brutally killing women, children and men, burying them alive in mass graves, raping and selling women into slavery and forcing conversion or guaranteeing death.

While I've always had a difficult time wrapping my head around my own people's history of these same type of crimes against humanity, I've always been achingly aware that such hate does in fact exist. I'm not shocked by such stories. I've heard about them from my own people's history and am well aware that such heinous acts are committed far more often than I would like to think about.  Mind-numbing, earth-shattering, truly unthinkable acts of violence are committed against other human beings all in the name of hate. Hate bred by judgments, by labels, by being blinded by ignorance and generations of untruths told about groups of people who are different from you and from me.

I remember learning my Jewish history and reading about being expelled from nearly every country we've ever lived, including our homeland of Israel thousands of years ago... a couple times. We were forced to convert or die, experimented on, humiliated in ways that brings tears to my eyes to even try to imagine. Collectively as a people who have been questioned on why we never fought back (which isn't true, we did) we have said, ENOUGH! And yet every time we fight to defend our right to survive we are ostracized and condemned by the world and viewed as the type of evil those who try to exterminate us have taught their children we are. We are viewed as such evil not only by those who hate us, but by those who can see and even accept our differences, yet remain blind to the reality of what hate really is. Thus, blinded from the truth and understanding of the bigger picture and what's at stake.

Sometimes I wish I was one of those people. The kind who still believe that we can all get along and that will be enough. I wish I could believe it was possible to simply lay down our weapons and join hands and sing kumbaya with all those who hate us. As a Jew, I realize we won't survive if we are as naïve as we've been throughout history. We won't survive if we do not take these threats very seriously. Some may think we are over-reacting. That I'm over-reacting. I say, would you risk your life and that of your children by under-reacting? We are a people who desire peace and want nothing more than for all living things to love one another. Our scripture and covenant with God demands that we work to achieve just that. We forgive and we love. That's what being a Jew is. We fight the battles that make our hearts weep for the innocent lives lost because we know that our love of life and desire to survive will ultimately be the light that shines brighter than all the darkness of hate. It has to be or nothing will be left to fight for.

Those who label, who judge, who hate... they have somehow lost their ability to love. Or at least to love more than they hate. Without the ability to love, you lose your humanity. Without love in your heart you are capable of the unspeakable. Without love, you feel no remorse because your hate tells you what you are doing is right. Some may call that the devil at work. I'm not sure what it is, but it isn't God's hand at work, I know that much.

So I ask myself... would any of this be the way of the world if we were all born blind? In a way we are I guess. We're born innocent. We don't really notice the color of another's skin and we pay no mind to those who dress different, wear their hair different... until around the age of 3. Or until someone older points it out to us. Perhaps I should be wondering if we all lost our sight around the age of 5 or 6, would so many of us still be full of hate? I honestly don't believe we would. If all the books that preach to hate another group of people because they are different were burned and all the histories were taught as they actually occurred and we all lost our ability to judge by first sight once we were cognizant enough to realize that not everyone is the same, I think we would find ourselves in a very different world. A loving and accepting world perhaps.

Since I know none of that is possible, I truly have no answers for these questions that plague my heart. I've never been good at coming to a solid solution to the woes of the world and how to wipe out the sins of hate, jealousy and greed. My thoughts swim with the why's of it all and the how's of teaching my kids to hold on to their love and innocence. To be accepting of all people, even if they don't accept us. I know I can't protect them from all the hate that exists out there. It scares me beyond words knowing that so much of that hate is directed towards their sweet and pure little hearts by millions of people who have never even met them, yet hate them and would be happy to see my babies die simply because they were born different than most. This is reality. And it's not one I wish on any mother.

My heart aches for all those in Iraq and Syria and around the world facing this reality right now as they stare down the barrel of a gun or watch the axe fall on their own children's heads. I have no words. My heart just weeps. My wishing for the world to go blind so we can cease from judging and hating one another is just a silly notion of a scared mother praying such hate never gets it's hands on my own children. And praying that it releases it's grasp on all those it's already found. I wish I had the answer. All I can do is keep loving and not allow my heart to hate those who hate me.

Highstakes Blackjack

In ten days we go for our first follow up since starting our daughter on growth hormones. As some of you may know, I fought like crazy to avoid injecting what I viewed as a man made foreign substance into my daughter's body every day for what could be as long as a decade. In many ways, I still view her injections as such that it makes my heart flutter and body cringe with the thoughts of what's exactly being injected into her.

As with anything in the world of parenthood, I heard the varying opinions of everyone. Do it, give her a chance! Are you sure she needs it? Don't do it, don't put that stuff in her body! The last one screaming the loudest from my own thoughts as I, perhaps a little obsessively, thought of all the ways I have tried to keep her body as clean as possible from chemicals and the plethora of other contaminates we have littered our air, water, land with. All I could think was, what was the point if I was destined to inject her with at least some of that nastiness, every, single. day. I've found a bit of acceptance by understanding this is a hormone, like insulin for diabetics, and it's replacing what she's lacking, not adding something

I knew parenting would be hard. I didn't quite comprehend just how excruciatingly difficult some decisions would be, especially when everyone has a strong opinion and research always seems to contradict itself with each new study. While breast feeding may be a hot topic in the parenting world, for some bizarre reason I can't quite fathom, and the battling opinions over immunizations practically cause people to resort to all out brawls, my most challenging decision to date is without a doubt whether to go forward with giving my daughter growth hormones derived in some lab. Before all the opinions and judgments reign down... two years of testing indicated that her body wasn't producing enough of this essential hormone on it's own. Could I have more tests done? Sure. Could I repeat the growth hormone stimulation test using different medicines to test the levels again? Sure. But at some point, as a mother, I needed to make a decision and I felt that two years of every doctor telling us the same thing was enough for my little girl to endure.

While my gut still holds on to the feeling I should not do this, my heart tells me it's ultimately the best decision I could make with the hand I was dealt. Sometimes that's what parenting feels like, actually. Like you're playing multiple games of blackjack with every penny to your name on the table and you need to decide whether to hit or stay with each hand and then wait to see what the dealer turns. While the idea of such high stakes gambling gives me anxiety just thinking about it, making such a decision that impacts the life of the only thing you deem precious beyond, well, life itself, is quite frankly beyond any level of anxiety I've ever battled. In the end, I guess that's what most parenting decisions are though. Even the seemingly small ones can have a profound impact on our little ones lives.

In some ways, I've come to terms with my decision. I repeatedly tell myself it was the best option I had with the cards I was dealt, keeping with my blackjack analogy. I try to accept the choices I make each day and pray that something greater than myself has a plan. And that I'm making the right choices that are in line with that plan and they will lead us all down the path of health, peace and happiness. Perhaps my faith is wavering because I've always struggled with fully accepting my decisions. I often second guess and then return to third and fourth guess and so on. I wish I could just let go and let it be. To have faith. To accept.

Perhaps it's simply in my Jewish nature to constantly question and maybe I have more faith than I think. Questioning what is and constantly reevaluating for the best possible outcome for all is basically how the book was written for us Jews. Despite this, that doesn't give me the peace I seek. The peace that I'm helping my daughter and not hurting her. The peace that this was in fact the right decision and will benefit her in the long run. That these injections will benefit her health and not cause potential issues down the road. That they will make her chances for reaching puberty, and thus the ability to have her own children to fret over, a more guaranteed outcome.

Most people think I decided to give her the shots because she's so tiny. And most don't understand the need because I'm tiny. Everyone on both sides of our family are small so it wouldn't be a big deal if she was too. Even with the injections she will still be small. Her genetic potential is 5'1" and giving her growth hormone only gives her the possibility to reach her genetic potential. Regardless, it wasn't about her gaining height but ensuring she had enough of this necessary hormone for the rest of her body to develop appropriately that convinced me to agree to the treatments.

I found a support group online but most of the people there are predominately focused on the height. I can understand that when your son has the potential to reach 6' and is negative on the charts. A good number of the people in the group have fought for a long time for their child to receive growth hormone therapy while I was battling against it for nearly two years. Basically, this leaves me feeling like the odd mom out and alone with all these mixed feelings. Everyone in the support group who understands this plight can't understand why I wouldn't want my child to receive the treatment and everyone whose child grows normally simply doesn't understand. Though all of my friend's compassion and support goes a long way.

In the end, support group or not, I'm on my own with these feelings and questioning my decision no matter what. My husband wanted it from the start but agreed to do whatever I thought was best. Or at least allowed me to be as comfortable as I could be with it all before starting treatment. We're starting our third month of treatment and as I said, we go for a follow up in just over a week. While I'm anxious to know if she's grown, as that's really the only perimeter to gauge if it's working, I'm still left with the constant feeling of uncertainty. Uncertain if this is the right course of action. Uncertain if I should do more. Get more tests, more opinions. Something! Considering she's five, I have a long wait until there's any type of certainty that this was the right decision. That it helped.

So, each day I turn back to the hand I was dealt and I look at my cards. I go through all the possibilities and hold my breath as I hope and pray that taking the hit was the right move to make. Too bad the stakes aren't simply every penny to my name. They are so much higher. I think back to celebrating my 23 birthday in Vegas and almost laugh because never could I have dreamed then that being a parent would be like this.

As nerve-wracking as it is to wait nearly a decade to see if this was the right path to take for my daughter, I can't help but to also be thankful that this is the hardest decision I've had to make to date. She's healthy and we are blessed for that; compared to so many other parents that suffer the unimaginable. Her adventure seeking personality may not be thrilled that she's still too small for all the big rollercoasters she's determined to ride, but she's a happy little girl. Ultimately, that's what is important. I just need to remind myself that we live in the now and what will be will be.

Who said acceptance and living in the present was easy? Oh right, the same person who said being a parent is a cake walk. At the moment I guess I need to settle for a draw and wait for the next hand to be dealt. And keep marking that growth chart.

My 5 and 3&1/2 year old.
We are asked daily if they are twins.

Mirror Image

I've found people have been irritating me more than usual lately. Or I should say, I'm allowing myself to be bothered by others words and actions. I'm choosing to get frustrated, angry, annoyed...

This isn't exactly a new occurrence. I've always had this love/hate relationship with the human race. Ironic since my career choice was therapy. Though I've changed gears a bit in how I help others find mental clarity, health and wellness through the beauty of yoga, I still chose to work with people. I still desire to see each person I know reach their full potential, to find fulfillment, happiness, and whatever it is their life was destined for. I still feel a part of my destiny is to be a resource for those who wish to use me as one in seeking their path of light and love.

All this makes me analyze my feelings all the more when I find myself so bothered by people and wish everyone could just be a bit more like my dogs, minus the barking at anything that moves and trying to eat strangers part. So basically these past couple weeks I've been stuck in my head psychologizing myself like a good former therapist would do when faced with such a dilemma.

My conclusion came to me the other day and solidified while watching Dexter the other night. No, I'm not a sociopath with an inherent need to kill bad people, sorry, poor foreshadowing on my part. Actually, it's so simple that the fact I still have over 30k in student loans staring me in the face every month makes me a bit nauseated. So, what's the deal? What did I realize? Wait for it....
Sorry, I couldn't resist that one.

Anyway, it turns out that my love/hate relationship with the human race is a mirror image of my love/hate relationship with myself.

Bam! There it is. Profound, I know.

Seriously though, because this is a serious matter. Every time I find myself feeling less than pleased with my fellow (wo)man I can find everything that upsets me about them within myself. A lot of it is from days long ago when, at times, I behaved very differently than I do now. As such, when I realize a person lies, no matter how small, I get very irritated. Angry. Depending on the lie, it can lead me to feel loathing and see red, as some say. Perhaps even feel a bit Dexter-esque! Mostly though, it's little lies from people I may not even be all that close to that have been annoying me. Maybe it's all the lies I hear from living with an alcoholic that combine to make a "little" lie that really doesn't matter weigh on me. Mostly though, I think that it's the fact that I used to lie in such ways.

Example... one time a friend and I didn't feel like studying for an exam so we spent our time concocting this elaborate story about getting a flat tire and being stuck in Pittsburgh and not being able to make it back to school until the next day. Then we were able to take the exam in an office which enabled us to "share" our knowledge. A flat tire? Seriously?! How did a professor believe that ridiculousness? In the grand scheme of life, it's not such a big deal, not like the lies I endure almost daily. Regardless, I don't like that I used to be that person. I don't like when others remind me of that person.

I find myself getting really upset when people talk about others. Known as Lashon Hara in Judaism. I used to be that person too. "hey, check out that shirt she's wearing." "Did you hear what so and so did last night?" "Can you believe... blah, blah..." Gossip is as bad as slander which is as nasty as any evil thing a person can do to another. Not only does it send out unnecessary negative energy that we then have to work extra hard to counter with some positive vibes for the universe, it's simply mean. You can say, stick and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me, in your best na-na-na-na-boo-boo voice but it's simply not true. Words are our most powerful weapons against each other because we all have access to them. They CAN hurt beyond repair. Even if the person you're talking about never knows you spoke them, you know. They are in your heart; your mind. They may even be true. Gossip often is true. But that doesn't make it right.

I can't honestly say I never engage in lashon hara anymore, but I sure do my best to not only watch my words but also my thoughts. Just because I don't comment on how ridiculous someone looks aloud these days, doesn't mean I don't think it sometimes. Along with many other thoughts and sometimes spoken comments that could have been left unsaid. Hey, I'm human! And I shop at WalMart once in awhile. Enough said.

Bottom line though, thoughts are a powerful energy. They can hurt.... and they can heal. These days I try to focus on the healing energy, because God knows, we all need to heal in some way or another. 

I get irritated when people can't see the error of their ways. When they can't admit they were wrong. Now this one is probably my most challenging work in progress. However, like I tell my husband, I tend to stick with things I know. Which means, I often am right! I don't talk just to talk. Unless I've been drinking, which is rare these days. If I discuss something, it's usually because I am at least fairly well informed on the subject. If it turns out I'm not, I can admit that. But... when it's a topic I know I'm well informed on and I'm sure I'm right, I get very frustrated when others can't see it my way. You know, the right way!

This frustration is predominately with my husband and most often surrounding parenting. Now, I'm no expert on parenting, that's for damn sure. But, I am well educated regarding human behavior and human development and when it comes to my kids, no one knows them better. I am with them 24/7/365, so when I talk to him about the importance of consistency, among other fundamental concepts that pertain to raising them, and he continues to do what I feel is sabotaging everything I work on with them each day during his hour of fun time each night, I get VERY irritated.

A lot of this boils down to not feeling like he's an equal partner in the parenting process due to his drinking. This often goes back to my nasty thoughts which puts negative energy out in our grand universe and I don't like this about myself. I don't like it about others either. Thus, people have been irritating me more lately! All the negative energy spewing out into our world. It's sad really.

What I've found is that each time someone reminds me of something I loathe about myself, my disdain for the human race begins to seep back in again. It breaks through that barrier of love I work on each day and slowly builds back up with each reminder. I start to only see the reminders; all the parts of me I can't stand. And as a result, I can't stand anyone. Even every little thing my kids do drives me crazy. Which in turn makes me a craptastic mommy during those times, which simply builds on that self hate and loathing of all people who remind me I'm being a craptastic mommy! 

Whew. That's some viscous cycle, I know! Really, I know. 

Now, have no fear. I also have the solution. Mainly because I've had to break free from this many times. The only way out is love. It's that simple. And that hard. That's sort of the epitome of the whole love/hate relationship after all. 

The difference this time is that now I know why I find myself so darn pissed at others and why my faith in humanity wax and wanes so often. I have placed yet another valuable piece to the jigsaw puzzle known as my life. It's not that I can't stand people, it's simply that I can't stand myself, or parts of who I used to be anyway. I can't control other people and what they do. But, I can control myself and how I act; who I am. I learned that long ago and made some changes. Changes I'm happy with. Which means there is always hope for humanity. There's always hope for me. And as long as I dig deep, there's always love.

The most important love is for oneself. If you don't love yourself, you can't love others. Next would be for others, family, friends... But love for those you don't feel deserve it, enemies if you will. Now that's the epitome of love. If I'm not for myself, who will be for me? If I'm not for others, what am I? And if not now, when? Yes, it all goes back to the beginning. The words that changed me.

Ultimately, it's really the guilt from my past that I hate, not me. But guilt is a whole other nasty pile of dog doo doo for another post, another time. You love those cliff hangers, huh?!

In the meantime... this song is one of my top 5 favorite of all time and it tends to remind me of this whole love solution thing. So... enjoy, and may you all find and hold on to your love.

 

Life In A Photo

I recently received an email from shutterfly for 101 free prints. I get these fairly often and it's usually the only time I order prints. Well, then and when I cash in my Pampers reward points for shutterfly print packages and books. I checked the current photo box to see where I left off and realized it had been awhile. Like, nearly 6 months awhile! Yikes. This meant I had to pick and choose a bit more than usual. I still ended up ordering 145 pictures. Not bad considering there was probably near 1000.

My little orange envelope, or more of a large one,  arrived a short time after and I sat and went through the pictures over lunch one day. Each one I flipped though brought a bigger smile to my face and I even laughed aloud a handful of times at the memory of how silly my kids are. I tend to forget those moments when the majority of time they are wild little monsters with a mission to turn my hair grey much too young. For some reason, reliving these joyful, silly and fun memories reminded me of a part of a sermon my last Rabbi gave two or three years ago.

It clearly was one that resonated with me since I'm not sure I can recall any other sermon I've ever heard. In short, he talked about how he was always videoing his kids when they were younger because he didn't want to miss anything. At some point he realized that he was missing everything because he was behind the camera rather than fully in the moment, taking part of the memory being made. Clearly the point was to live in the present, to fully soak in the memories and the time you have with your family because kids grow up much too quickly and in the blink of an eye, they are adults themselves. He encouraged us to come out from behind the camera and join in the memory.

This idea was very difficult for me to accept. I live by my camera. I have for a very long time. I was editor and chief of my senior yearbook and took many of the photos myself. I even spent countless hours in the darkroom developing them the old school way. Yes, I was truly developing film in the darkroom. Not that I can remember how to do that now! I was devastated when I lost my camera at a fraternity party one night in college that held a couple nights full of memories which I certainly can't recall now. While negatives are obsolete, I keep all the ones I have in my fire proof box. I have photo boxes full of memories, albums from my childhood, and with modern technology as it is, my iPhone is always full.

Despite uploading the pictures from my phone to shutterfly, my computer and then saving to an external hard drive, I still get anxiety about deleting them. It's as if hitting delete will somehow erase them forever. I realize this is silly. The thing is, I've been a bit obsessed with having as many memories as possible in print since I did a research paper on Alzheimer's in high school and learned it has a hereditary component. My grandma was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's in her mid-forties. Yes, her FORTIES. She was one of the youngest ever to be diagnosed with this disease, at least then she was. She passed in her fifties when I was 12 years old.

I have memories of my mom taking care of her as she wondered at night. My Pap worked nights and took care of her all day. Since my mom and I lived with them at that time, she cared for her at night. I remember her in the nursing home... a blank slate. It was like there was no life in her eyes. She had lost everything, all her memories. While I know that once the disease progresses to that point pictures won't mean a thing, I can't help but hope if I ever met such a tragic fate that my pictures would keep that light of life in me. Even if just enough to make it easier on my family to bear.

Alzheimer's is truly horrific. To me, it's almost as if your life was pointless in a way. If you can't remember your life in the end, then what do you have? Perhaps the soul departs long before the end so your energy is out there somewhere and it's okay. It's not really possible to know. But it's one of my greatest fears. That I'll forget it all. That I won't remember the birth of my kids, their snuggles as I put them to bed, their giggles.

So, yes, I still live behind my camera. My fear of forgetting keeps me there. I try to soak in the times when I don't have my camera as much as possible. I try to breathe them in and let them fill every part of me so no matter what the future brings, I won't forget them. I often find I have no memories of many things. Most of college is gone. Much of my childhood consists of sporadic moments, often the more tragic and traumatic parts I recall and the rest are a few second clips here and there. Even now, I try to think back to important moments from the recent past and I feel too much is missing. I worry I killed too many brain cells in my college years or that my head is simply predisposed to forgetting. Either way, it scares the hell out of me.

My only solution is to snap away. So that's what I do. It may annoy some that my phone is always in front of my face or that I post new photos to Facebook regularly. Heck, my two and three year old even tell me enough is enough sometimes, or I get that fake, come on Mom, smile. But when those prints come in, I remember. And I smile. Maybe it's selfish of me. But I need those moments. I need those smiles.

It breaks my heart that my grandma met such a fate. It makes me cringe at what that nasty disease does to a person's mind. It's devastating how it impacts every person who knows and loves someone with Alzheimer's. The impact lingers for generations.

I pray I never need my pictures to fill me with life someday but rather be able to fondly reminisce over them throughout the years. And of course embarrass my kids with their bath and potty pictures or some other ridiculous thing they did that their future spouse will tease them about until they are old an grey. That's what parents are for, right?!

To me, that's the beauty of photographs. And videos. As long as they exist, so does the memory. It's concrete, you can see it. That sense of sight enables you to feel it and live it again. So my life is a photo. A whole heck of a lot of them in fact! But it's also right here and right now. I simply ensure memories last a lifetime, and then some. And I'm okay with that.

I sure don't remember this.
But this memory of 4 generations together always brings a smile to my face!

A Story to Tell

This isn't my story to tell, but it's one I feel should be shared. Since I'm the one who writes and has a blog, then I will must be the one to write it. I'll get the necessary permissions to make it public, even though with a simple google search you can read archived news articles, if you know what to look for.

This story is my husband's story. It is his brother's story. It's his whole family's story, thus I guess it technically does make it mine now too. I didn't live the tragedy but I live the aftermath of it every day. My kids are directly impacted everyday because of one moment in time before they were ever even dreamed of. There are some events that occur that change a person's course in life. Once changed it has a ripple effect that spreads to every person they meet. This story is one of those events that stopped time for a split instant and set each of us on a new path. I was meant to meet Craig. And marry him. And bear his children. I've always known this. Thus, this event ultimately changed my course, without me even knowing it.

This story is one of tragedy, a story of dreams shattered, a story of too many lives irrevocably altered in an instant. It's a story you read about and your heart aches for that family. It's a story you pray to God never comes to haunt your life. It's a story you warn your kids about when they start driving. It's a story that keeps parents up at night until they hear that car pull safely into the driveway after prom, a night out with friends, or a party after winning a big wrestling match.

My husband's car carrying him and his best friend, his brother Mike, never pulled in after that party.

Instead, his parents got the worst wake up call a parent could get, as they thought their boys were sleeping over where the party was. My husband had been drinking and did go to sleep but when he woke up a little before 2am he got his brother to go home. His brother offered to drive but he only had his junior license so Craig said no. Though his BAC wasn't excessively high, it was over the legal limit of that time. Granted, any amount in an 18 year old is illegal. After spending all week making weight and wrestling earlier that evening his body was physically exhausted, as any wrestler can attest to. The drinking certainly didn't help. My husband dozed off about a mile from home on a long winding road with a speed limit I feel is still too high for such a road. In that instant his eyes closed he swerved off the road and hit a tree. And then some more trees. Neither he nor his brother were wearing their seat belts.

When Craig came to he saw his brother. He thought he was dead. He wasn't. But he suffered permanent brain damage which has left him confined to a wheelchair since that fateful February day 16 years ago. Mike was in a coma for some time and then underwent treatment and extensive rehab to relearn everything. he needed to retrain his brain to talk, eat, drink, move his body and walk again. Though his brain still doesn't tell him to walk or use his left hand he can take some steps with support and he's come a long way over the years. When I met him a few years after the accident he still had to get fluids through a tube because his brain didn't tell him he needed to drink and he still didn't say all that much.

Now, he does volunteer work at Good Sheppard, where he spent a great deal of time rehabbing, he has worked at a local gym and remains the funny, good natured guy that everyone in their small town knows and has always loved. I can see a part of who he was in the man he's become, despite needing almost constant care, provided by his mother. While he remembers everything up until the accident, his short term memory remains remarkably impacted from his injury. Along with a number of other body movements and functioning.

Why do I feel this story needs told? Because I believe everything happens for a reason, even the tragedies of our lives. I've written this time and time again if you're a regular here. I tell my husband this because he can not see how anything good possibly came from "killing his brother". Which is what he told me he did when I met him 3 years after the accident. Imagine my surprise when I went home with him for the first time and met Mike! To my husband though, his best friend died in that accident. To my husband, he took his brothers future, his hopes and dreams, any chance at the kind of life everyone envisions having. Marriage, kids, maybe a state wrestling title, as his brother was quite talented. He can't get past what could have been and focus on what is and all that Mike has accomplished. He graduated high school. He's a volunteer. He works. He even has a prestigious award named after him at his high school!

He doesn't have the life everyone dreamed of during his first 15 years of his life, but he is alive. He blesses everyone he knows with that each and every day. That blessing also rips my husbands heart out each time we visit.

I can't say how I would live with such guilt. All I know is there must be a reason. And there must be good to come of this. Craig was sentenced to tell his story to local schools rather than being sentenced to prison. While I think this was more beneficial to his family, than to deal with one son in a coma, one in prison and a younger one essentially left to grow up much too quickly, these talks started too soon after the accident. Their only impact for my husband was to repeatedly retraumatize an already distraught 18 year old whose life just changed forever.

But... if even one kid in one of those rooms stopped before getting behind the wheel because they remembered his story.... Maybe that saved one kid and that kid's parent's the pain and heartache Craig's family has had to endure. Maybe OUR kids will think of their uncle mike and remember to put their seat belt on every. single. time. they get in the car. And God willing, maybe they will NEVER take a sip of alcohol and get behind the wheel, or get in the car with someone who is under the influence.

If my husband's daily, lifelong guilt and pain can save our children from the same fate, that has to mean something, right? Maybe me meeting Craig and having this blog, giving me the opportunity to share this story can prevent you or your child from the same fate. But still, I feel there must be more than that. Granted, saving one life would be enough, I don't think my husband is capable of seeing it that way. Even with all his responsibilities as a father and husband, I have no doubt he would trade his life without a second thought if it meant giving his brother back the life he feels he took.

So what's more? What else good can there be? I've said it before but I truly don't think our children would exist had this accident not changed my husband's course. Yes, he was accepted to Penn State at the time of the accident but he still had an Ivy League option to consider and some scholarships as possibilities at smaller schools. He ultimately chose Penn State for the cost and to remain close(ish) to home during his brother's recovery. Had he not made that decision, it's doubtful we would have met, but hey, anything's possible I guess. And while I imagine I would have children, they wouldn't be these children had we not met. To me, THAT makes a world of difference. That's the good in all this for me. Our kids bring joy to my mother in law, whose life was altered just as dramatically as my husband's after that day. She deserves the joy my two monsters being her. That's the good.

Who's to say Craig wouldn't be even worse off with his drinking if he hadn't met me and become a father? One day we will be responsible for taking care of his brother and if his alcoholism got completely out of control, as in he couldn't hold a job, pay bills or otherwise function other than to drink, he would not be able to take on that responsibility. While that is a moot point had the accident never happened, it doesn't mean he wouldn't have become an alcoholic anyway and potentially destroyed his own future in some way.

Everything, absolutely everything happens for a reason. I read about parents starting these remarkable foundations to honor their children who were taken too early. Whether by illness, accident or crazy people shooting up a school. People everyday deal with tragedy. To me, it's not about getting through it and surviving, it's how you choose to live despite it. To me, focusing on whatever good can come from the most horrific thing life hands you is the only way to honor those we love and this one life we've been given.

Now, I certainly can't stop a drunk driver from crashing into my own car.  Many things in life, such as that, are simply out of our control.

I also can't make my husband see things the way I do and to find the good and focus on it. I can't make you wear your seat belt. I can't make everyone I meet talk to their kids about not drinking and driving. I can't make anyone not get in a car with someone under the influence. But those things ARE in our control. Each and every one of us can make these choices. Like me choosing to share this story with all of you. With the hope that you remember it someday when it matters most.

This isn't some mock crash you watch before prom in your high school parking lot.
This isn't a story you read about a stranger far away and think, oh how sad, then just forget and go out drinking that weekend without a designated driver or a plan for how to safely get home. If you read this blog then in some ways, you know me. You have read how this one decision to drive home after a night out drinking can change absolutely. everything. Any one decision can alter not only your course in life but the lives of people you've never even met yet. A snap decision to drive after drinking, or get in the car with someone who has been drinking, or doing drugs, can in essence change the entire world with it's ripple effects. And THAT, we all have the ability to control.

I pray that this reality never becomes a story that any of you need to tell.

Leaving our annual Phillies game to celebrate Mike's birthday.

The Addiction Detour

For some time now I've been a bit dismayed at the lack of understanding a substantial number of people have regarding alcoholism. Or addictions in general. There's a wealth of information out there and more research than anyone could ever sort through so it's frustrating to hear the common stereotypes and judgements day after day.

Addicts can't just stop. It's not a matter of lack of strength or will. Though often it is a lack of understanding of what's going on inside themselves and how to work through it. It may be a lack of resources. And often fear plays a powerful role. Fear and love are our two most influential emotions as humans. Alcoholics don't love being an addict. Heck, they typically don't have much love for themselves at all. They simply don't know any other way to be. Or they have forgotten that there is another way.

Alcoholics are all different. They come from different cultures, different religions, different upbringings, have different problems and live a variety of lifestyles. It's sort of like how cancer is different for everyone. There's countless forms of cancer that present in various ways for all different types of people. There are ways of treating each kind for each person. Sure, there are the basic, tried and true protocols but that doesn't mean that will be the best course for everyone. Everyone wants to know if my husband is in AA or doing this or trying that. He's tried a variety of things. In my opinion, he's never tried anything long enough to give it a fair chance. But it's not my recovery so I really can't say. I don't know what treatment will work for him but the judgements for not doing it one way or another do not help him find his way.

The symptoms of alcoholism look different for each person too. Yes, many symptoms are the same which is why AlAnon groups can be so helpful for those of us who love an addict. The manipulation, the lying, the Jekyll and Hyde personality... that is pretty universal for any addict, that I know of, whatever their addiction may be. Some alcoholics drink every single day. Some hold good jobs and others are in and out of work because they drink on the job or can't wake up for work from drinking at night. Some are stumbling and slurring and clearly drunk. There are others you may not be able to tell unless you are very close to them and see that person daily because the differences can be so subtle. Some have many legal issues, some a few, some have been lucky. Some go on all day binges for a few days or a week. Maybe longer. Some are able to refrain from drinking for a few days or a week. Or longer. Though, saying someone isn't an addict because they are able to refrain from drinking for a short time is like saying someone isn't diabetic because their sugars have tested normal for a week straight! And it really isn't supportive of the family who lives with a loved ones addiction struggle to minimize it.

The use of alcohol is a symptom, not the problem. Which is why alcoholism is a disease. Yes, it's a disease of choice in a way because you have to choose to take that first drink, but most people in this world have had at least one drink before. And I'd venture a guess that most of them had a drink to "relax" or to help take the edge off of a crappy day at some point or another. What if you have a whole month of crappy days and found that drink really helped? Maybe you'd think, why not have one the next day, and the next, and then it's two drinks, and so on and so on. If there are other things going on in that person's life and they don't have another outlet or are not very in touch with themselves or their emotional needs, well, that disease can grab hold like a parasite seeking it's next host. Then, it's no longer a choice. And most don't realize when it wraps its claws around them until its too late.

Everyone wants someone or something to blame when things aren't as they "should" be. It's human nature to need a reason. So it's easy for people to think it must be the alcoholics fault. They can choose to take a run to work out their issues, journal what's driving them to drink or just care more about those begging them to stop. If only it was that simple. Just like you can't wish the tumor away or for your pancreas to work the way it's designed, you can't just stop being an addict. Cancer needs treatment to kill it and your pancreas needs medicine to regulate your blood sugar. Addicts can't be saved by your love, but they need it all the same.

Don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean the person who loves them has to stick around and watch their demise. Or possibly worse, go down in flames with them. And I've never been shy about admitting it's hard as hell to hold on to the love for that person you can't see anymore because they've  been swallowed up by their disease. All I know is that person is still in there somewhere.

I think the most challenging part for people to understand about addictions is that they just are what they are. My husband might be having a great day, a perfect day in the eyes of some. And out of nowhere the next thing you know he starts to change. Eventually I notice that he's getting more drunk each minute. If people are around they will ask, what happened? Did I do something wrong? Why did he drink? I thought we had a nice day... They need a reason. They need something or someone to blame. The truth is, there's nothing, no reason. It's simply the way the disease works.

As I sit here and explain all of this and fully understand it myself, there are many times when I am that person... the one questioning, baffled by his "choice" to drink for seemingly "no reason", blaming something I must have said or did that set him off. I think... if I just loved him more, was more understanding, more patient... It's probably why I get so frustrated with everyone who doesn't get it. It's that same part of me I'm frustrated with. It's my frustration for not fully accepting that this is how the disease works. It's so hypocritical of me in many ways. I mean, I had an addiction! I know this is how it works. I know no one made me restrict my food or purge it, and I know at a certain point it was no longer a choice of mine but it was this nasty disease that took over who I was.

Alcoholism... addiction... it changes a person. It becomes that person when they are in its clutches. The real person is still in there though. There are breakthrough times where you can see that person they truly are, times when their addiction takes a break from preoccupying their every thought of how to get it, where to hide it, when to drink it, how to not get caught.... Addiction is a full time job and it can drive you insane. There's so many lies to keep up with, people to manipulate to maintain your secret and new ways of perfecting your ability to hold on to your self destructive safety net of coping and survival. It's exhausting. I mean truly. exhausting.

I was lucky to only be sucked in by my eating disorder for a year. But I lost a year of my life to this way of thinking. The manipulation was endless. How to hide how little I ate and if I couldn't do that then how to hide that I was purging that food. It's quite difficult when you live with your parents in a small house. I also had a lot of after school activities so I'd have to find a secluded bathroom at school where I could lock the main door or make up lies about when I ate and on and on. Every addict masters the same tricks of secrecy for their chosen addiction. The alcoholic puts the alcohol in a different bottle, the bulimic uses running water to hide the sound of vomiting... addicts that are able to hide their addiction are really quite clever individuals.

I don't have the answer. I wish I did. Some people are able to just stop. It's rare, but it happens. Some people struggle their whole lives, breaking free for a time and being swallowed up by this disease over and over again. Some people find other behaviors that aren't self destructive to replace the ones that are killing them. Some get to the real problem and work through that and their symptoms of drinking, manipulation, lying, hiding... are able to melt away and they find their true selves. I was lucky to be so self reflective at a young age. Though my quest to being my true self continues, as you all can attest to. There's no one right path to being disease free. I wish there was. And just as much, I wish others would understand this. I wish the stereotypes would cease to exist surrounding addictions and mental health issues in general.

In the end, we are all just human. We all have a purpose. We all need to figure out our purpose and our path to fulfillment, to happiness. Some take detours. No one likes detours. Alcoholics don't like the path they are on. It's simply ignorance to assume that. People who are depressed don't like being depressed. There may be something holding them in those places, something that's comforting in a way, but no one enjoys being unhappy. Trust me. Being on a detour to your true path and your true self doesn't make you weak or uncaring. It doesn't make the person selfish or ungrateful for the blessings in their lives. It's just where they are right now.

I pray that each person stuck on a detour can find their way in this lifetime. One thing I do know is that no day is the same. We have an opportunity to change direction each morning we wake up because quite simply, that's another day we are alive! The only other thing I know is that each and every one of us deserves to be on that path of contentment. Judging where anyone is on that journey only detours our own happiness.

Namaste.

Accepting "Coincidence"

I started a different post the other day. It was one I've been thinking of writing for some time and after my second weekend of studying yoga sutras and meditation something made me think, now's the time. Then, it just wasn't flowing. And I was tired. And I promised a new post. And I really do need to write.

So, here I am. Still tired. Still no post. And my head still full....needing to write...unsure what I have to say. Sometimes those go with it ones turn into the best things a person writes though so here I am.... going with it.

The yoga sutras are intense. Meditation is still challenging. Yoga is so. very. much. more than I ever dreamed of. All in all, I don't think I was fully prepared for what was in store for me when I embarked on this yoga teacher training journey 4 & 1/2 months ago. And all in all, I've learned and grown more from these past months than I have in a very long time. Possibly ever.

I've always been an introspective person. Even at a fairly young age, I knew myself pretty well. I could analyze why I thought things or acted certain ways and usually had pretty clear answers. That doesn't mean I acted on the things I understood about myself, or changed my behaviors. In fact, I went through quite a few years of unhealthy living and plain old stupidity. The typical adolescent/young adult thinking that, oh, that stuff only happens to other people, I can do it and nothing bad will happen to me. I was lucky. Nothing truly awful ever did happen. Though at some point, thankfully, something clicked and I stated living the way I think. Some might say I started to give a shit about myself. I started to respect this life I was given.

I don't always make the best decisions for myself. I question many decisions I do make. I continue to have a tendency to dwell on the past, past "mistakes", as well as worry incessantly about the future, especially the well being of my children. I have fought most of my life to remember to live int he present. To accept what is for simply being what it is. To have faith that each path I take is the path I am supposed to be on because that's what was meant to be.

I never thought that yoga, this physical practice consisting of some cool postures that sometimes seemed physically impossible, yet I was naturally good at them... go figure... would be this vessel that would teach me how to be me. How to truly be me. Yoga was something that gave me an opportunity to get out of the insanity of my head for an hour each week. I felt good after a practice. I felt at peace on my mat. Yoga was something I recommended to everyone because it just seemed like if everyone did yoga, the world would be a bit happier, better, the way it should be. I never dreamed that yoga would teach me the path to accepting. Simply accepting. All that is, all that isn't, all that will be. I never considered that yoga really is the path to repairing the world, an integral part of my Jewish faith.

So, my head is left spinning. Spinning through all these thoughts and beliefs, self reflections and spiritual growth. I've been considering a yoga teacher training program since 2007. I looked into the online ones for simplicity sake and decided if I couldn't do it "for real", meaning go to India and train with a "true" yogi then it just wasn't enough for me. I put it off and reconsidered a couple more times when I was in Lancaster but two babies in three years and a 7 month training program sort of put a wrench in that idea.

So, is it a coincidence that there is only one certified teacher training program in the entire state we now live in... and when I finally sought out a yoga studio to get back into practice that's the only studio I could find near me, despite knowing of a handful of others now... and that she was offering a training program a few months after returning to my mat... and that class almost didn't happen for lack of participants and at the last minute two more yogi's decided to take this journey? All that, when I was desperately missing my spiritual presence due to the lack of a young Jewish community here. I was sinking under the anger of my husband's alcoholism, searching for answers and unsure of where I even wanted my future to go. I thought I was going to learn how to become a yoga teacher which would simply help me stay sane, give me a break from the stay at home mommy gig that some days drives me over the edge, and provide me with a source of income, maybe even a sustainable career should the day ever come when I needed to financially support myself and the kids. That's what I thought I was getting anyway. Turns out, I discovered the path to bliss. Should I fully accept the answers I discover along the way of course... and just let go. So, is all of this merely a coincidence?

Rule #39: There is no such thing as coincidence.

Oh that Jethro Gibbs... he must be a Yogi!

Each choice we make really is meant to be. It may not always lead to happiness. Though, happiness is all relative anyway. What makes one person happy may not be the same for another person, but contentment is within everyone of us. If we search, if we want it, if we accept it once we discover it, it's there waiting for us. My hang up always comes in the acceptance part of things. In making peace with what is. Hey, no one is perfect! I certainly am not. But I won't give up the good fight.

So in a few weeks I'll be a certified yoga instructor. I may not be using my degrees that I spent many years and a ridiculous amount of money on, but I'm still without a doubt on the path I was destined for. I'll be able to help others find their peace, and sanity, through the practice of yoga... an age old solution to the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind. And I get to do all this by simply doing something I love. Now that is a beautiful thing to embrace.

Namaste

Maybe the Grinch is Jewish

So, a lot of my blogger friends are writing about Christmas or the holiday season. I've actually had this one in my head for a good week and need to get some stuff out of my head so I hope you'll bare with me as I'm not trying to jump on the bandwagon but more just can't find the time to sit down and write these days.

I've also debated writing this because it can be a sensitive topic for some and I've found that many simply don't get it. Many think it's no big deal and I should lighten up or just go with it but I truly dislike this time of year.  I mean, I really, really dislike this time of year. It's like a month of extra anxiety and annoyance and awkwardness that I would do anything to do without. Unfortunately, I can't afford to travel to Israel for a whole month, or nowadays, it's verging on closer to a two month extravaganza.

Let me preface my Grinch-like mindset with some positives. The sights, sounds and smells of this season are without a doubt warm and inviting. Well, minus the incessant Christmas music being played in every shopping mall and the annoying Salvation army bell ringing outside every store that drives me nutty. I grew up celebrating a secular Christmas with a tree, stockings, Santa... the whole nine yards. Sometimes I went to church with my dad or step dad's family. I even would partake in the traditional Christmas ham dinner! Before I stopped eating pork of course. I loved the lights and feel of Christmas and was the typical kid who would leave cookies out for Santa and try to listen for the patter of Rudolf's hooves on the roof Christmas Eve night.

We didn't start lighting the candles on the menorah until I was about 15 or 16 and really pushed the issue. The Chanukah prayer was the only prayer I knew until my later 20's actually, when I pursued learning about my heritage and more actively practicing my religious traditions on my own. It wasn't until then that I really got an uneasy feeling about this time of the year. It was then that I realized why I grew up celebrating Christmas... it was simply easier to be like everyone else than to be different or look different. Christmas is EVERYWHERE. You can't hide from it and you certainly can't shelter your non Christian child from it. Since my dad and step dad were both raised Catholic and no one practiced Judaism in my family after my grandma got sick, it was simply easier for my mom to "go with it". But now it feels disingenuous. It's not my holiday. I feel it's almost insensitive of me to celebrate it towards those who celebrate for it's religious significance.

Despite what my husband thinks during Jewish holidays, I'm far from a "perfect" Jew, whatever that might mean. I married a non Jew though he agreed to raise our kids Jewish. I rarely get to Temple anymore, I rarely light the Shabbat candles, I forget many of the prayers I learned and I sure can't read them in Hebrew as I've forgotten many of the letters. I do my best to teach my kids at home. We say the Shema every night, have been reading a story from my daughter's Children's Torah most nights since October, I make things like chicken schnitzel and latkes at Chanukah, we have have a Passover Seder and I fast for Yom Kippur, I don't eat leavened bread during Passover, etc. But super strict, not so much. Not as much as I would like to be anyway.

So, many probably look at my interfaith family and lack of a strict Jewish home and simply don't get why I refuse to put up a tree, hang pretty lights or teach my kids that Santa will climb down our chimney and bring them toys if they are a good girl and boy. Many don't get why it irks me beyond words can describe when people give me Christmas presents, especially wrapped in Chanukah paper. I mean, give me a freaking Chanukah gift or a Christmas gift, don't combine the two that have absolutely not a damn thing to do with each other! Now, if Chanukah falls during Christmas, that's different. No matter what I appreciate the thought, but in general, Christmakkah is idiotic. I despise the idea. For one, Chanukah isn't even a religious holiday. It's not considered an "important" holiday in fact, because it's not in the Torah. American Jews made it more "important" so our kids wouldn't feel so left out at Christmas leading them to resent being Jewish thus potentially making them more inclined not to practice and/or convert when they got older.

Two, they don't always occur simultaneously, like this year. I could go on, but the bottom line, the two holidays are seperate and should remain that way. Just my take. I don't judge those interfaith families that do it this way. Putting Chanukah ornaments on a Christmas tree just is not for me . Who knows, maybe the kids will beg me to do it one day and that will be my compromise. It'll probably still bother me but I'll do it and smile and take pictures just like I do every Christmas, because I love them.

I hate what Christmas has become. I feel bad for religious Christians that such a special holiday has turned into a circus. I can't just get on board because the smell of sugar cookies are so inviting and warm cinnamon and apples, whether from a candle to give you a cozy feeling, or actual cider make me smile and feel good inside. Of course I love the idea of the "season of giving". I'm a giver! I simply don't feel a season is necessary or even something that will ultimately better mankind. The season of giving needs to be year round, not because a religious holiday turned into a consumer wasteland of greed and wanting more and more. I mean, people freaking DIE being trampled for the hottest gift of the season! That's absurd! Outrageous and infuriating actually. I'm not Christian but I'm pretty sure Jesus wouldn't want that all in the name of celebrating him.

I'm sorry but I simply can't just get over that my kid will learn about the religious aspects of this holiday because people turned it into a secular holiday. No, I don't like when government buildings put up trees. I don't like it when they put up menorahs either, mainly because it feels fake. But also because there are so many religions that it's not possible to recognize each of them in such a way, but that's not the point. Lights on street lamps are pretty and making the cold, dark winter months light up and bring some warmth and joy is a wonderful thing. We all need to beat those winter blues! Santa's and reindeer on the lamp posts, that my tax dollars pay to put up I might add... yeah, that makes my blood pressure go up.

I get annoyed when people ask me if my kids are all ready for Christmas or ask them what Santa is bringing them this year. They just assume we celebrate and it's very awkward for everyone when I say we are Jewish or we don't celebrate Christmas. Yes, I must specify that we don't celebrate becuase just saying we are Jewish isn't always enough, people still will assume we celebrate Christmas at home or comment how a Jewish friend of theirs would put up a tree. I don't care what they did, we don't! It sucks trying to explain why my daughter is terrified of a big blow up Santa at gymnastics because she has no idea who the big fat man in a red suit is! The kids get Christmas stamps and stickers freely put on them as a reward or have to endure Christmas music if I am forced to take them with me to almost any store.

My heart beats more rapidly when someone says Merry Christmas to me. Yes, I admit it. It bothers me. It's like wishing me a happy birthday in June. My birthday is in November. It is a meaningless wish and only serves the person saying it and last I checked when you wish something good for someone the well wishes are meant for THAT person, not yourself. I have no problem wishing my Christian friends and family a Merry Christmas. I want them all to enjoy their holiday and be blessed with wonderful memories. Oh, and for the record, wishing me a Happy Chanukah at Christmas when Chanukah is over is ridiculous... and annoying. This year Chanukah will be over two weeks before Christmas so it will be even more annoying! Just saying.

These things may seem minor to someone who celebrates Christmas or even non Christians who have the "go with it" mentality but it's very difficult to unteach these lasting impressions from my little sponges. Heck, I can still belt out all the Christmas jingles if I had to. They can be fun to sing too. I'm not denying that. But again, it's not the point. Rylie told me the other day something about Jesus being born. I've been preparing myself because I know they are doing a Christmas service at school and the songs they are singing are religious, not Jingle Bells. She goes to a Presbyterian preschool because other than an all day, 5 day per week Montessori program it is the only preschool around that doesn't teach religion as part of their day to day. Tis the plight of the Jew in an area with few Jews. I had to choose to pull her out of school for the month or "go with it". I hate it, yes, I used the word hate. I hate it. It makes me want to cry. Homeschooling is not for me. I'd go crazy, really and truly crazy. So, it is what it is.

For me, it's a matter of how to make her be less resentful of being Jewish during this toy driven, Santa obsession, exciting time of year. I mean, lets face it, lighting a menorah and spinning a dreidel just doesn't compare to the flair of an Americanized Christmas with all the lights, tinsel and trimmings. Not for a kid anyway. Yes, they get "Christmas" at Grammy and Grandpop's and at my Dad's. Though, this just makes it more stressful for me. More explaining. Explaining the same thing to the adults every. single. year. More explaing to the kids as they get older and understand more. More freaking toys to step on in the middle of the night, to clean up, for them to fight over, that I need to buy batteries for or give away because I can't find a damn off button. It's insanity. It's overwhelming. It's annoying!

So yes, I will openly admit, I'm the freaking Jewish Grinch and I can't wait for December 26th to arrive.

Update: This is not directed at any one person. It's simply me venting my frustrations of the "holiday season". These are things that have happened many times over the past 8+ years by many people known and unknown as well as complaints I've heard from others. It's as simple as that.

Three Random Things

So, there have been three things about my son over the past month that keep popping up in my head. They are totally random other than the part that they all relate to my son. They are also seemingly not a big deal but rather a prime example of how I can over-think  over-analyze and otherwise keep my chatter going at 300 mph just for the sake of staying insane. Oh, and for the sake of always trying to find meaning even in the tiniest of things. So, I thought I would share, because what else am I to do with it all but dump it out for you to read!?

1. I recently accepted that my "perfect" little baby has officially entered his terrible toddler years. I say "years" because I learned the hard with with my daughter that the terrible two's are not just a year long insanity trip but the start of my journey to the insane asylum.

My always smiling, sweet boy has discovered the word "NO" and likes to use it a lot. He also has discovered that dramatically throwing himself on the ground, screaming and kicking, when he doesn't get his way is part of the master plan to drive mommy bat shit crazy before she reaches 40. Thankfully I started scheduling appointments around preschool time so big sis was at school during his most ridiculous fit yet.

He thought he was getting a treat after his well check because he has just been there with dad the weekend before for blood work and daddy treated them to Starbucks cake pops after getting their arms jabbed with needles. He climbed into the highchair as I waited for my coffee and sat so nicely. Unfortunately it was the morning so there were no cake pops yet and nothing that would really work as a treat on the fly. I offered lots of other cool things like watching Barney in the car, his music shaker and going or a walk. I said "NO" and shook his head to all of the above. So, I wrestled him out of the highchair and started my trek to the car with my hot coffee in one hand and my purse, little lunch bag for milk and him on the other arm kicking, throwing himself back and screaming no, no, no.

All I could do was laugh as everyone who walked by gave that, oh you poor thing look of better you than me. We stopped four times so I wouldn't drop him on his head. Who am I kidding, I just didn't want to spill my precious coffee! He'd lay on the ground kicking while I readjusted all my crap and off we'd go again. It sounds awful but it really was pretty comical. Now, if it was my daughter acting like that I would have lost my mind and been all pissed off the rest of the day. That's that favorite child thing I guess. Or maybe this yoga stuff is working. Either way, we survived the boys most hellacious tantrum in public to date. Yay me. And once again I have confirmed my perfect baby boy is growing up and my dream of him skipping this oh so fun stage has 110% been squashed.

End of a tantrum. Can you see his black eye?
See #2 about that!

2. The boy has had many nicknames since his birth. My husband has this thing for making up crazy names or words. Some have included C-love and C-money. Bubs, Lubs (as in a combo of Bub and Caleb) were common too and one I hated from Grandpop was KK. But it seems one has finally stuck. Lumpers. Sometimes it's "Lumpy" but yes, I said Lumpers. As in lump. As in, this kid knocks his head off something daily and always has some sort of lump on his big ol' noggin. Aside from his already lumpy noggin which is how a derivative of this nickname originated when he was an infant.

He often has some assistance from his sister in obtaining his daily lumps. Most recently, he ended up with a lump on the head, and a black eye to go with it, in the 5 minutes it took me to get dressed. I still have no idea what happened. Five days later at his well check discussed above, his doctor checked around his eye bones, presumably for a skull fracture! Good grief. I worry every week that his preschool teachers are going to think we abuse this poor kid! Ironically, it's Rylie, who "lumps him up" as Daddy calls it, is the reason this nickname has now stuck. His sister calls him lumpers all day long. I say "Good morning, Caleb". She says, "Morning Lumpers!" When she plays with him I hear her say, "Here you go, Lumpers". "Want to play with my, Lumpers", etc.  She informed her teacher yesterday, "That's Lumpers!" She asks me if Lumpers is up from nap yet. So on and so on.

It's funny because when deciding on our kids names we considered if their their initials would spell/represent anything funky, like HGH for example, which is one reason we didn't go with Grace for Rylie's middle name. We considered possible nicknames family, teachers and friends could come up with that might make one might say, why on earth would you name your kid that, do you hate them?! What does my Caleb become? Freakin' Lumpers. It sounds like a boxers nick name. Or what you might call a street kid who uses his fists to solve problems instead of his words! Meanwhile, it's his sister who knocks the crap out of him each day. Oy!

So, I of course over-think it and wonder if it could lead to bad this down the line. Especially since his daddy used to have no qualms about using his fists back in the day. Will people think the wrong thing about this sweet little boy and will that transform him into not being so sweet? I mean seriously, what sort of sweet kid has the nickname LUMPERS growing up?! Ok, enough of my overthinking mommy freak out over something as silly as a nickname. You get it, right?

We still have no idea how he got this one!

"best" lump yet.
Compliments of big sister

3. Moving on. This one is the least significant of them all yet has the most meaning to me. The boy is without a doubt left handed. While I know it's not really solidified until about 5 years he has been predominately left handed his he started using his hands with purpose. I would set the fork down in front of him to test it and even put it towards his right hand, which he would simply switch after the first bite or so. I've watched him climb stairs, which is supposed to be more of an indication at this age than his hands and more often than not he goes left foot first.

I personally think it cool. While it's not exactly unique, it does make him a bit different than the average Joe and I like different. It's also not very surprising. Everyone in Craig's immediate family is left handed, or was before someone forced them to switch as a kid. But the part that makes me love this about him is that my Pap was left handed. If you have Yahrzeit (click to read) then you know why this means so much to me.

As I learn more about yoga and concepts like reincarnation creep in, which I read about many years back when I was really into different religions, it makes me wonder about this seemingly little thing of Caleb being left handed. This might be a bit much for you, but I like to think that when my Pap passed just a few months after Caleb was born, a part of his spirit stuck around and now shines through in my little boy. The nurses let us sneak the kids in to say goodbye to him and he kissed his great grandson and held his hand just hours before leaving this world. So maybe, just maybe.


Now, I honestly don't know if that's how reincarnation even works! Yes, of course I know hand dominance is genetic based, like most things, and that such genes are formed long before birth. And yes, yes, he easily could have gotten this left handed thing from his daddy too BUT, as I said, I like this idea. This idea that it's my Pap's presence is beautiful to me. It's like the connection I always felt to my grandma through my inability to describe why I always knew I was a Jew, in more than the ethnicity part of it. I smile as I think that something as simple as having to always consider where Caleb will sit during holiday meals will forever keep my Pap's spirit at our Thanksgiving table. It's that same feeling I get when I light the Shabbat candles and I feel the presence of my grandma lighting them with her mom as a kid and then with her kids.

Pap holding Caleb at his Bris,
about 3 & 1/2 months before
he passed.

This thought of my Pap's presence always being here brings joy and peace to my heart. It's something I can share with Caleb as he grows up, so he can know my Pap even though he's no longer here. He isn't just tied to him because we named him the Sandik at his Bris, my Pap is a part of him, always. Whether this is why he is left handed or not, like anything a person believes, it's simply a matter of believing it in your heart that makes it true or not. And this is what I choose to believe.

As I have said so many times before, I always look for meaning in even the seemingly smallest or insignificant things. I over-think and over-analyze but sometimes it helps me, like this time.



Like I said, three random things with just my son as the common denominator!!

Mind and Body, Body and Mind

Wow! It feels like ages since I sat down to write. I've needed to but I just can't seem to find the time. I actually don't really have it now but I'm choosing to write anyway, for me.... to help me focus. And for you of course, but I'm not sure if this one will resonate with you all as much as some others have. I hope you can take something from it though.

My head is spinning with thoughts and revelations, ah-ha moments and quite simply lots of information. Almost too much information. I get excited, super pumped actually, like when I would start a new class in college or grad school and my mind would take off like I siphoned red bull right to my brain. I start to get all sorts of grand ideas and run away with them in my head, the possibilities seem endless and it's like the world looks new again. Then I become overwhelmed by it all and get a bit stressed. And round and round we go!   My yoga teacher training has been quite a whirlwind.

My big ah-ha moment came in class this week when discussing how to deal with the often intense emotions that can be forced out during a yoga practice. I nearly fell out of my chair! I had never told anyone that I get an overwhelming sense to cry during my practice at times. And here were were discussing how to deal with this, and other intense emotions, when they arise in one of our classes. Not only is it common but it's expected. I'm not crazy, hallelujah!

I'll admit, I never really delved into what yoga is really all about until I started my teacher training. I did my own practice for sometime and then went to classes for many years. I often had extended hiatuses from the comforts and joy my mat brings me but I always found my way back. Sort of like my faith, it called to me, it was in me. As I said, the actual poses came very naturally to me so I was just psyched I was so good at something without really trying all that hard. Oh my, oh my, not only do the poses go so far beyond what my mind can even comprehend my body ever being able to do but the poses aren't even a fraction of what yoga is really all about! See why my head is spinning? And there's more, much more.

I'm a bit behind the others in my class on this revelation, but I'm catching up fast. Well, it's more like putting the pieces together then catching up. I've always been a believer. I believe in a holistic approach to things. Even as a therapist this was my approach. A systemic approach to healing, not piece by piece, which to me doesn't repair the bigger issues but simply puts lots of bandaids on things, leaving you vulnerable. The mind and body are infinitely intertwined in how one effects the other and this has been proven to me time and time again. Though I'm always learning just how profound this connection is.

For example, I recently came to the realization that massage therapy is actually therapy. It turns out all my pains are a result of my stress and anger and anxiety which essentially builds up all sort of "junk" in my body.  That junk started to settle in and cause pain, specifically in my shoulders and a bit in my hips at times. The "junk" has a more medical term but for the sake of blogging, I figured junk works and it's what my massage therapist likes to call it too. Anyway, limiting and reducing the pain in my body has made a remarkable impact on my mental health. Go figure. Massage and my asana yoga practice help deal with all the physical junk which in turn helps my emotional junk and the wheels on the bus go round and round.

Well, the pains came back. The chiropractor helps some but it's the massages that really do the trick. And now, my yoga training has enlightened me to the marvels of essential oils. They make so much sense in this holistic approach to life I think is important. The sense of smell is powerful. It can conjure up memories of childhood, life events, happiness, sadness and every other emotion on the spectrum. If you think about it, many people who don't put up Christmas trees still buy evergreen scented candles, people who don't bake, may use an apple spice or pumpkin scent, and so on. Scents conjure up memories which can release deep emotions and deep emotions impact  well, everything. They can make or break us. Not only that, but the things in nature these oils are extracted from are there for a reason. Everything really is here for some reason or another, whether it's a food source, to provide oxygen, to cure us, everything exists and is dependent upon one another for all of our survival.

Oils go way back. You hear about them in the Bible. Some people may start there but for those who don't, like me, the people from biblical days got the ideas for their use from somewhere. Thus, oils go way, way back. And in many ways, people from way, way back were a heck of a lot smarter than we are today. Not in every way, of course, but they definitely got the whole everything in the world is connected and here for a reason piece of things. Oils cured ailments long before modern medicine and for many they still do today. So, I am starting to add these oils to my healing and life improvement box and hopefully they can help my mental state so the "junk" doesn't keep coming back. And maybe, just maybe, I can not only be pain free but free myself from this anger I often talk about here as well.

The way I see it, I need to do something. Something more. Some might think, oils, really? Why not just leave. Well, I feel that is the absolute last resort. Maybe it'll be necessary at some point, but until that day I can't live like this. Recently, I started wondering if all the frustration and anger I feel so often over my husband's alcoholism is changing me. If it has changed me. I worry this change might be permanent. I have to do something. Mood stabilizers might work in the way their name implies, stabilize my every changing mood, but it's one of those bandaids really. If my anger is actually changing me, my brain, by body, whatever, then I need something that can bring me back to me. I need something to jolt me back in that moment when the situation makes me lose my freakin' mind. And something that can stop the subsequent spiraling of everything making me lose my mind.

Some might think this natural medicine and holistic approach is silly business. Don't get me wrong, I'm not on some la-la-lu cloud or believe that everything about westernized medicine and pharmaceuticals can be likened to some evil empire. Some of it can be though. Bottom line, this is 2012 and I am well aware of the wonderful advances of modern medicine. We as humans have done remarkable things that enable us to not only cure but we have medicines that can provide people with a quality of life that generations of past didn't even dream of. I simply don't think everything is necessary and try to me mindful of what I'm putting in my body and why. That said, I happily accepted that handful of Xanax the doctor gave me this week, but for emergency use only. While I think all those momma's who do home births or go to a birthing center and use a midwife and/or doula are inspiring women, I will always consider an epidural to be my best friend. I'm a big ol' baby when it comes to pain and see no reason to be in pain if one doesn't have to be. I won't even suffer through a headache. I have too much to do and being in pain is quite frankly no fun for anyone, especially not with two loud little ones running circles around me. But, a pill will not fix this situation for me.

A pill won't take away my anger. The way I view things can. The physical practice of yoga can. Taking care of my body can. Being mindful of how I think and what I think and just being can. Being still. Being still in my thoughts can help bring me back to me. And some therapeutic massage and oils can only help in this process. I find the combination of the ways of our ancestors with the ability God gave us as humans to evolve, and use our past to transform things to work for us today, to be a blessing. Blessings don't always just appear before us, we have to be open to them, open minded to all the world has to offer. I for one will not give up or accept things as they are. I'll search and fight and try anything that can work to help make this one life we get as fulfilling as it can possibly be. One thing I know for sure, anger does not pave the way to a fulfilling life.

So, I'll keep on my yogi path. I'll keep learning and growing. It's a path that is more immense than I ever imagined yet so simple in many ways. When you make everything more simple well, everything just becomes easier. Profound, I know.