HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Happy New Year!
Click Here for a brief wrap-up of 2010 in pictures!

Not Really a Vacation...

This week was supposed to be awesome. Friends of ours were going out of town and needed someone to dog sit in their fabulous apartment on the Upper West Side in New York City. We jumped at the chance to go back to our old 'hood, see friends and show Nora the city. It didn't quite work out that way.

The trip started out great: We had an easy drive and settled in quickly to the apartment. Big Ups to Sam who lugged everything we would need to transform a hip one bedroom into a child-friendly mess up three flights of stairs and Big Props to me for finding a GREAT parking space. That afternoon I high-tailed it to Brooklyn for a haircut, a quick visit with friends and a great dinner of take-out thai with some other friends. My travels took me all over Cobble Hill and Carroll Gardens. Though I could have spent several more days just wandering those streets and visiting friends, those few hours were an amazing gift. Meanwhile, Sam and Nora explored the Upper West Side, daddy/daughter/ergo style.

Friday started off well. We had bagels at Tal Bagels on the way to the Children's Museum of Manhattan where we played with our friends and their son. Nora had a pretty loud meltdown at the bagel store but we figured she was just tired as it was around the time she would normally take a nap. That afternoon Nora had some lunch and went to sleep. A few hours later she woke up with a fever and it all started to unravel, though not without some shining moments of hilarity.

We canceled plans with a friend for Saturday morning and hoped that a day in the apartment would heal things. Unfortunately, Nora and the dog weren't getting along so it meant treating the 1-bedroom apartment (large by NYC standards, but small compared to our townhouse) like a studio, with the humans all in one room and the very sweet dog in the other. Saturday night Sam and I had tickets to see "Next To Normal" on Broadway and after much hemming and hawing, including canceling a big family dinner of Vietnamese food (on Xmas day, on the Upper West Side, insert your own cliche here), we decided to go to the show. Big Props to cousin Marla for insisting on babysitting a sick kid! The show was amazing, though not the best show to see when you have a sick kid at home. Equally enjoyable was being out as a couple, even if it was just to push through amateur tourists in Times Square.

Nora was up hanging out with Marla when we got home and didn't go back to sleep until 3am. It was like she thought it was the middle of the day and everyone should want to play! In a small apartment, we didn't have much choice but to play with her. She really was funny, even though Sam and I couldn't see straight! At one point she insisted on barking ("woof!") every time we hugged her. Laugh riot.

Given that Nora couldn't sleep in the apartment and a blizzard was on the way, we made some changes, canceled a bunch of plans and Nora and I returned to Lancaster, leaving Sam to dog sit and enjoy a snow-filled NYC.

I have been frustrated, dismayed and (mostly) humbled by this experience.

I realize now that geography doesn't necessarily return you to your prior grandeur - though walking on Smith Street and Court Street in Brooklyn do have a surprisingly restorative impact on me.

I realize that trying to pack too much in is a recipe for disaster. I don't know why I bother planning anything with Nora! During her four month sleep regression a friend who is a sleep consultant listened to me describe Nora's day and said something to the effect of "She just doesn't seem to be a rhythmic kid. You may find this stays with her." Man, was that prophetic. No two days are the same. One Nap? Maybe. Two Naps? Maybe. In the afternoon? Maybe. Plans are just silly!

I realize that you cannot stop your child from teething just because you've planned a trip. This is the second trip since September that has been completely derailed by teething. Lack of sleep used to be the sign of a good night! Over Labor Day on a trip with college friends it actually felt completely normal to be sleep deprived and generally stoopid with these people - the old cause of missed sleep was more fun (but less meaningful!) than the new one, but the feeling was exactly the same.

Mostly, I realize that Sam and I are no longer free radicals. Where we go, Nora goes, and some places aren't meant for 18-month olds so we may need to rethink future trips. We are very lucky to have a child who is a champion sleeper in her own crib, but apparently her own crib is a key component to that great sleep.

Being bummed out, apartment bound and sleep deprived in New York City took quite a toll on me. It's almost worse to have a bad day in a favorite place than in your normal surroundings. It's like I knew the city and all my friends and places I wanted to eat were out there, but I couldn't reach them.

The drive home with Nora was a breeze. Solo parenting is something else...

Nora says the darndest things!

When I started this blog in 2009 and I thought of it as a way to keep the family "back east" in the loop on all of Nora's comings and goings and growings! I quickly found that I enjoyed processing new parenthood through this medium and the blog. And now that we're "back east" I keep writing because I like it. I also see it as a document for Nora - something she will hopefully look back on and enjoy - an on-line, multi-media babybook of sorts, as I have not yet made a "brick and mortar" version for her!

Some things I record here are big and exciting while others are mundane. I hope she enjoys looking back on them all. Here are some funny things she said and did last week that I don't want to forget.

"Hat. Lucas."
Nora's grandparents stopped by for lunch last week on their way home to New York from a wedding in DC. As I was straightening up for their arrival, I was looking for a place to put our Steelers baseball cap which is signed by none other than Nora's namesake, Rashard Mendenhall. (Thanks to Matt Cohen and Andy Sine.)

Nora looked at the hat and said, "Hat. Lucas." Yup, she took one look at a Steelers hat and connected it to her friend across the street, Lucas.


"Bubby short."
We had a very nice lunch that day with Bubby and Poppa and then Nora took a short nap. At dinner that night I was talking to her about her day and I asked her if she had fun at lunch with Bubby and Poppa and she said, "Bubby, Poppa. Bubby short." It was a priceless moment and when I shared it with Sam's parents, they laughed, too.


"Nnnnnnnnnnnn."
This is something Nora says pretty frequently, but I don't get to see it or hear it all that often. Nora has a favorite teacher at skewl who also babysits her here sometimes. Apparently, if another child at skewl sits on Christina's/Tina's lap Nora will stand next to them "growling" until she gets to sit down. I've only heard it a couple times, but I have to say, for "growling" it's pretty darn cute!

Dinner

First Friday!

First Fridays are big around here. All of downtown celebrates. Sam's school has a dress-down day. And although last Friday was not a First Friday on the calendar, it was full of first for us.

Nora got her first present from Santa! (It was the book "My First Menorah" and it was actually from Savta, but Santa called her name and handed it to me, because she was too scared, or Jewish, it's unclear.)



That's us in the corner, listening to "Twas the Night Before Christmas."

Nora saw snow for the first time!


I braided challah (with sprinkles!) for the first time !


And we all went to Shabbat Dinner at my new job for the first time.
(Photo not available.... it was Shabbat, people!)

December 9, 2010

These are the ways in which I honored my father today:

• I visited the spot where we spread his ashes.

(c)Matt Cohen Photo

• I "kidnapped" my daughter.

• I drove an inordinate amount of time to eat lunch.

• I got lost on the back roads of Bucks County. I inherited my excellent sense of direction (and my parking karma) from my father. The only place he ever got lost was Bucks County. I learned today just how hard it is to find one's way around there.
  

• I drove on River Road -- there were icicles on the boulders that were jutting out.

• I drove past the Apple-Jack, The Golden Pheasant and New-Life Island.

• I dove past the pump -- cause of The Dump The Pump campaign.

• We at lunch at the Black Bass Hotel.

• We had dessert at The Lumberville Store.

• I struck up a conversation with some strangers.

• But maybe most importantly, I watched as the light at 4pm in December illuminated the trees on Bull's Island. There is nothing in the world that compares with this light. It is not rosy in any way and it is bright without being blinding because it is reflecting off the trees. I have no idea what kind of trees they are, because I know nothing about trees, but for someone reason it seems to me that they look like they should be called birch.

It was wonderful to be able to share this day and this light with Nora, even though she was a handful.

At the park where we scattered my dad's ashes we stopped to listen to two branches rub up against each other. It was a sound I had not heard in a long time.

I showed her the spot were Sam and I got married.

And in the parking lot at The Black Bass Hotel (near the pet cemetery) when we were trying to get out some energy before lunch she inexplicably said "ghost," made her "scared" nosie and then ran over to me and grabbed my leg.

I didn't have the space that I normally allow myself on this day, but maybe we've started some new traditions. I hope so.

Five Years

My father died on December 9, 2005. It is almost unfathomable to me that it has been that long. Sam and I have been married six years and it seems like forever. My dad has been gone five, and it seems like yesterday.

Tuesday night when we were going to bed Sam heard me sigh. He asked what was going on. I told him I was worried about getting through the next few days. I don't cry about it as much as I used, but his absence still hurts. (I was about to write that I don't cry about it at all anymore, but just two weeks ago I burst into tears, several times, while watching Eddie and The Cruisers, so yea, I still cry about it.) Sam asked me if it was easier or harder now that we have Nora. I answered this way:

"It's easier to look towards the future and not be so bogged down in the past, but it is unbelievably sad that they won't know each other."

That was the quick answer, the first few things that came to mind, but the truth of course is more complicated.

On the one hand, there are parts of my father's personality that I'm glad I won't have to explain to Nora. On the other hand, she will probably see glimpses of those things in me - and maybe she would understand me better if she knew him.

On the one hand, I'm looking forward to taking Nora to visit the site where my brother and I spread my dad's ashes. On the other hand, 18-month-olds don't have a great track record in respecting the solemnity of dates or places.



The last time I visited the site I took my i-Pod and wandered off on my own to listen to Rosanne Cash's Black Cadillac. It was quiet and peaceful, and not necessarily sad. Today will not look like that. The best I am hoping for is that Nora will enjoy the hike, even if the weather is less than ideal. To be honest, I'm just hoping it doesn't turn into a disaster.

Each year I try to mark my father's yahrzeit in some way. Sometimes it is eating a meal he would have liked. Sometimes it's retreating to the spa for a massage. Whatever it is, I try to take myself out my routine and spend some time reflecting on his life and its impact on mine. (I actually feel like there are times I'm doing that on a daily basis, but on December 9, I try to be more conscious of it.) Today won't be like that.

For one thing, there is no routine anymore. For another, there is no stepping outside of the present anymore. I realized first thing this morning when I stepped out of the shower and Nora was already awake, that what I said to Sam Tuesday night wasn't exactly right. It's not that Nora helps me focus on the FUTURE rather than dwelling in the past, it's that she demands I focus on the PRESENT.

So today I'll go for a hike where I spread my father's ashes, but I'll also change diapers and decipher newly learned language and wipe a runny nose. Today I will make both a "beagle" and a "waff-ful" for breakfast, but while I do, there will be a yahrzeit candle burning.

Easier or harder with a Bear? I'm not sure.
Better? Yes.

My Dad, 1943-2005

Five years ago today, I got the call. The doctors were unable to bring my father out of the medicinal coma they had put him in a week earlier. It was time to come home. If you play the "video" below you will hear me re-tell the story of my journey from New York to Pittsburgh. You will also get to see pictures from my father's life. It's about ten minutes long.



Thanks to Sam for "producing" this. Thanks to you for listening.

Chanuka 2010

Warning: My singing voice is terrible.

On Loss

People say moves are traumatic. Although we were very excited for our move east, it was not without moments of drama. Most of the drama has now subsided but what lingers is the loss. We have lost a number of things in between California and Lancaster -- some have magically reappeared. Others have not.

I do not lose things frequently. The other day Sam was looking for something in the refrigerator that he swore had vanished. From the other room I called out its exact location in the fridge -- I can do that with pretty much every piece of jewelry I own and most other things, too. It is probably because I don't frequently lose things that when I do, it tends to stands out. (NOTE: After losing too many sunglasses to count, I learned to do without. I also try to avoid using umbrellas for the same reason.) (ALSO NOTE: Asking where I left my phone and/or glasses ten times a day is not the same as losing them. Take that, SMS!)

Several years ago, I went through a phase in which there were a few noteworthy losses (and remarkable reappearances). During that time, Sam and I starting joking that I had the ability to make things disappear -- to send them to an alternate universe, so to speak -- and then reappear by the sheer force of will. This may be why losing things is so traumatic for me, I think I really believe that if I think about the object hard enough, I can make it reappear.

This is what has been lost in the months since we left Los Angeles:

ITEM: Sam's set of keys to our cars
These were lost in transit. The last time I remember having them was on the plane from LA to Minneapolis or Milwaukee (wherever it was we changed planes), but I can't be sure. Sam thinks we had them in Pittsburgh. Who knows? They are, thankfully, replaceable though expensive. We've opted to put off replacing them. Instead we each have a "real" key to our own car and a "valet" key to the other person's car. It's mildly inconvenient, but manageable.
STATUS: Gone for good


ITEM: Checks
In the past six months I lost, and found, the same check twice. I lost another check just a month ago and found it weeks later. Because I was too embarrassed to admit I had lost that check in the first place, I was thrilled to have found it and promptly sent it off for deposit. It is not like me to lose things, but it is certainly not like me to checks. I was convinced Nora had done something with it. In retrospect, it was completely unfair to blame her as it had simply fallen behind a table.
STATUS: Recovered, but an unnerving trend


ITEM: Sam's favorite brown shorts
Initially we thought we had left these in Virgina. We checked in with the people who owned the house where we stayed. No shorts there.

Then we thought that maybe they had been sent from Virgina to Dana & Jen in New Hampshire. They had left all of their laundry from the weekend in the dryer at the house where we were staying. No such luck.

Just last week they turned up in the cabinet with Sam's "sleeping clothes." I claim no responsibility for this loss or recovery.
STATUS: Recovered, three months after initial loss, "mis-filed" in the wrong drawer


ITEM: Photos albums
I made little photo albums every few months of Nora's first year. I sent copies back east to the family and kept one copy of each album for us. I cannot find these albums anywhere. I don't know if I unpacked them and "put them away" somewhere here. I don't know if a whole box didn't make it to the new place, and if so, what else was in that box? I don't know if I threw them out in the bottom of a box that didn't get completely unpacked. I don't know if they are in one of the boxes that went right into storage (though I've looked through most of them to no avail). It is a mystery and it makes me sad -- I have a feeling they are gone for good. Luckily they are replaceable and all I would have to do is reprint the albums I have saved on-line, buy new mini albums and reassemble them. Still, that's a pain and expensive. Not a priority right now.
STATUS: Missing, possibly gone for good


ITEM: Sam's knit cap
We had this hat not too long ago. I think we may have left it in Pittsburgh last month, but it hasn't turned up, there or here. We've looked in the empty suitcases a few times. I bought this hat for Sam several Hanukkahs ago at the Union Square Market (or maybe the market at the Columbus Circle entrance to Central Park - I don't remember, but it was outdoors and cold). It's amazing to me that we managed to hold onto it for three years in LA, but we lose it as soon as we get back to winter. I still have hope it will turn up; it doesn't feel like it's gone for good.
STATUS: Missing, have not given up hope


ITEM: My camera
My camera went missing after an afternoon trip to Lancaster Brewing Company with Sam's cousins. I knew I took pictures there and I hadn't seen it since.
Pictures from The Brewery:



I did not love this camera, but we are in no position to be replacing non-essential electronics right now. Granted, with Nora around, whether or not a camera could be deemed essential is debatable, but I was really hoping we weren't going to have to spend $300. I called the Brewery but they said they hadn't seen it. I wondered if I had hidden it from Nora (under the couch? on top of the bookcase?) and thought about how long I should wait for it to surface before buying a replacement. I started researching a new camera.

As we were searching for Sam's hat I remembered - we had used our jogging stroller for a cold weather walk. Sam found my camera in a pocket of the stroller!
STATUS: Recovered, through sheer force of will

Pictures from the cold-weather walk:

So as we have been going through this 'lost and found' phase, this time of searching and discovery, I've been thinking about why we've been losing things in the first place.

With upheaval comes new patterns and new locations. Recently I got out of bed way past my bedtime because I couldn't remember where I was keeping some bonds we had been given as gifts. I knew exactly where they were in the old apartment, but I couldn't remember if I'd unpacked them and where they had landed in the new apartment. I know that until I have found a place for everything, things are bound to get misplaced, but I've also been thinking about the last time I was in a 'lost and found' phase -- it was right after my first grandparent died and things were just coming and going from the alternate universe like no one's business. I comforted myself by deciding it was my grandma who was moving things around so that I knew she was still with me.

When I look back at the list of things that have been coming and going recently, I've decided my father is at the root of this little spell. It make perfect sense:

He now has keys to our cars, pictures of Nora and a hat to keep his head warm in the PA winter. He tried out Sam's shorts, but they didn't fit. He has a history of moving money around, but in this case he thought better of it and returned the checks. And while he must miss his camera in the after-life, he realized that he would prefer to have no camera at all rather than deal with my silly point and shoot.

Happy Almost Deathversary, Dad. I still miss you, but I'd love to have my keys back. You can keep the photos of Nora -- enjoy them!

Singing out of Tune

Lo, this is for you:

A (small) portion of this was published in the Ellis Alumnae magazine sometime last year. There was a call for stories about our favorite teachers (though no word-count was given -- so sue me for going overboard!).

I have recently been inspired to re-post here. And though Nora now says "Nooooooo" when I try to sing the alphabet with her -- she prefers to sing alone -- I will always fondly remember the days when she liked how I sang "If I had a hammer."

As a lifer at Ellis there were many faculty members who touched my life deeply:

• Mrs. Halpern who pulled out my loose teeth in lower school;
• Mrs. Mauch who opened the fire escape to let us smell the cookies baking at the Nabisco plant;
• Miss George who patiently explained calculus to me when everyone else in the class already understood what was going on and who led our mini-course trip to Rochester, NY where we helped build a house for Habitat for Humanity;
• Mrs. Schwentker who was the head of the lower school when I was in lower school and the college counselor when I was in Upper School;
• and nearly every English teacher at Ellis who encouraged my love for writing;

But I think it easy to love a teacher who teaches a subject in which you excel. I think it takes a special teacher to win your affection and respect when he or she teaches a subject in which you have no hope. There are many things in my life that are hard but there is one thing at which I am horrible: I cannot carry a tune.

Miss Palermo/Mrs. Gray was one of my favorite teachers even though she made my life miserable at least twice a year: when we had to sing a solo in class. I cried each time and I hated her on those days, but every other day of the year I wanted to be her. She told great ghost stories and never seemed afraid of anything. She sang Happy Birthday and tugged on your ear. I don’t know why we loved that but we did! She had an amazing presence that commanded your attention, even when you were singing with unintentional “vibrato” because you were quivering through your tears. She was also the only teacher at Ellis to ever give me detention, but that’s another story.

Miss Palermo made me cry on many occasions, but she only cried once that I remember. When she gave her speech to us in the lunchroom just before our first performance of the 8th grade operetta she broke down. She told us that as the director she had done everything that she could do and now it was up to us. In that moment her tears inspired me to do my very best, even though my very best would be very off-key.

Once I was in the upper school I was sad not have her in class but I was thrilled that I would never be required to sing a solo ever again. I didn’t have much contact with Miss Palermo after that except to say hello in the halls but she did make me cry one more time.

On the night of graduation I was elated. Although I was sad to leave Ellis, I was ready. I was proud of what I had accomplished and though some of those around me, classmates and their families, cried, I was beaming. As we left the ceremony and headed to the parking lot I ran into Miss Palermo and burst into tears. At the time I thought the tears were merely reflexive (“Was she going to make me sing?!”) but looking back I think I realized that Miss Palermo was representative of my whole Ellis career: it wasn’t always easy; there were a lot of tears; a lot was expected of me and even when I didn’t succeed there was merit in trying.

And there’s something else I’ve learned only recently: just like Mrs. Vassar, Mrs. Kozusko and Miss Crumb emphasized the importance of life long fitness over winning a game, Miss Palermo taught me that sometimes singing in tune isn’t the point. I think of her every time I sing a song to my new daughter who (inexplicably) prefers my voice over any CD I play for her.