OUT WITH THE OLD; IN WITH THE NEW

I’ve missed you! It’s been so very long since I’ve written….anything. It isn’t that I haven’t had anything to say. In fact, it was more because I had too much to say.


2011 was a very difficult year for me. I was actually ecstatic to tell it to kiss my ass and not to let the door hit it on the way out.

With only one week of the New Year behind me, I can already feel the upward trend beginning – it’s been a hell of a week…in a fantastic way. But before I can look forward, I feel the need to look back and reflect a bit first, if for no other reason than to explain myself and my prolonged absence.

Last year my husband and I came to a dead standstill (or was it a stand-off?) in our relationship. After 19 years of being together, 15 of them married, there was just not enough left. Not enough love, not enough respect, not enough happiness…not enough me. Although I know it was the right decision, there was just too much anger, resentment and bitterness for me to feel comfortable putting it out here for all to read. And honestly, it’s just NOT that kind of blog. So, my gift to you was my silence – you don’t come here to listen to me bitch and moan. Or do you? If you do, get over yourself, it ain’t happenin’ here.

Anyway, I was certain that after the split I would move forward quickly toward a new happy life. Damn the Commonwealth of Virginia for putting a one-year hold on divorces…what do they know anyway? Well, as it turns out, perhaps they know a thing or, too. While I happily take two steps forward, I also find myself taking the occasional one step back, which really freaks me out. When you are so happy to move forward you don’t anticipating being suddenly sad or angry for no apparent reason. But it happens and it truly knocks you on your ass (yes, the same one I demanded 2011 kiss). Like when you go to a chiropractic appointment and the doctor says he can tell you’re all stressed out and not relaxing (even when you tell him you just spent two days at an inn having spa treatments and getting pampered) and you burst into tears, sobbing with guilt and shame. Where the hell did that come from? Yes, I truly am gifted. I may be the only person on the planet who feels guilty and stressed out over the fact that I need to relax.

Apparently you can massage me, bathe me in minerals, steam me, wrap me, give me a comfortable bed all to myself, feed me fancy meals, give me complete control over the remote….and nothing. Not one ounce of relaxation to be found.

Of course it didn’t help that I had just come off of a five week period where I worked long, hard hours seven days a week putting together and helping to run a huge holiday event. Apparently winding down from that is a two week process (involving much of the aforementioned bitching and moaning, along with a healthy dose of meditation and napping as well as napping and meditation).

As I did eventually start to calm myself down, the realization that a brand new year was on the horizon really started to excite me. A clean slate, a chance to set the pace and tone for the coming year. I have heard of many superstitions that have you doing things on New Year’s Day that you want to be constants in your year-to-come. Things like having someone give you a dollar, representing wealth in the coming year.

I don’t really believe in superstitions, but I do believe in God and the Universe and signs, so instead of trying to make things happen on New Year’s Day, I just watched very carefully to what the day had to offer.

January 1 was an amazing day for me. I started off by waking up in the home of my dear friend, TKB, in Charlottesville. She is one of my oldest and dearest friends and I was lucky enough to be able to start my year with her, her family and my children. Knowing that old friends will be a good part of my 2012 is lovely. The rest of the day was filled with good food and newer (and local) friends. To ALL of you: you are dear to me and I treasure the fact that you will be a large part of my bright new year, too!

The next day, the boys and I trotted off to the local animal shelter and adopted a dog. He is large, beautiful, sweet and already extremely loyal. I can’t imagine not having him in my home…although I CAN imagine a day where I don’t find something torn to bits that I can’t quite figure out what it used to be or whether I will miss it or not. I’m guessing God sent me Ace to help me clean up the excess and clutter in my life.

The rest of the week pretty much consisted of getting everyone back into the regular routine: school, work, tae kwon do, Jazzercise and kids shifting back and forth from one parent to the other.

Oh, and one other awesome thing happened. I got my writer’s hat back! Don’t know where it’s been hiding all this time, but I just realized how much I’ve missed it, how wonderfully well it still fits me (unlike everything ELSE in my closet) and how much I will appreciate having it with me in 2012. Lookout world; I feel another book coming…and I might even blog a little more often, too!

HELP FOR THE HOOKED

This is more of a cry for help than a blog post. I implore you to read my quandry and offer any advice you may have - this is a serious and desparate attempt for answers.

Some background information:
     I have always been "crafty", sly - yes, but I'm talking about my inclination toward the Martha Stewart-esque way of life. In fact, I've been compared to the guru of do-it-yourself (minus the criminal record, of course). It started at an early age. I can remember tying embroidery floss into friendship bracelets with my cousins, making ribbon barrets with my mother, learning to cross stitch, weaving pot holders on my little loom and rug hooking small projects that were turned into cute little throw pillows.

It's this last one that's gotten to me of late. I still have ALL of these little pillows. They were cute as throw pillows and back support in the kids rooms when they were wee. All those countless hours of rocking babies - those little hooked pillows really came in handy. As the kids grew, the pillows became just room decoration.

At present, though, they're just taking up space and being abused. I'm surprised they haven't been downgraded to airsoft target practice, but that's probably only because you can't find them easily since they've made their way to the bottom of the ammo boxes, stuffed under beds and bookshelves, etc.

So....why can't I get rid of them? They're nostalgic, to be sure, but they're not that cute, they certainly don't go with the decor of any of our bedrooms and definitely not of living room quality, yet I cannot bring myself to dispose of these little nuggets of my childhood craftiness.

I beg of you - channel your inner child, your secret Martha-ness and tell me - what clever "ah-ha" thing can I do with these rug hooked throw pillows? (And if you say airsoft target practice, you're banned from this blog!)

THE REAL STORY BEHIND MATZOH

I think we've all been taught the biblical story of Exodus. The common theory is that after being enslaved by the Egyptian Pharoah for a billion years the Jews were finally freed. They were so overjoyed (and a bit skeptical) at the Pharoah's change of heart (again) that they fled the country in such a hurry that they didn't give their homemade bread time to leaven (rise), they just packed it up like all the rest of their goods and hoofed it into the desert.

I beg to differ.

Many, many years ago (wayyy back when) I was told the secret of the bread machine. "All you do is toss a bunch of ingredients in, hit 'start' and it makes the bread for you."

Being a good Jew (in this respect, at least) I was sensibly skeptical. It can't be that easy - it just can't. Bread is hard and take a looooong time.

Alas I came to find that I was wrong (this would be the first of many of these instances) - it really was that easy. I was making bread left and right. And then IT happened - what always inevitably happens. I made so much bread that I considered myself an expert, became complacent and started screwing it all up.

I cannot even begin to tell you how many "bricks" I've made. I've measured wrong, started putting in ingredients for a 1-pound loaf and halfway through started measuring for a 2-pound loaf, forgotten to put the little metal paddle that mixes the dough into the bottom of the pot, and most commonly forgotten to add the yeast (always the last ingredient to be added to the pot). This is the most heinous of errors.

Bread machines can be very forgiving, but never ever when you forget the yeast. You would think that after 18 million loaves of bread, 6 million without yeast, that I would remember that last little ingredient.

Nope, not so much.

I thought it was just me. But alas my unleavened bread/Jewish thing is apparently genetic.

My younger son decided to make pizza dough the other night before I got home from work so that I could walk in and make pizza for dinner. He's such a dear. He had the machine going when I got home - I was so proud.

He pulled out the cornstarch from the cupboard and asked, "Mom, is this yeast?"

Oh uh.

"No, baby," I said, "That's cornstarch."

"Oh, whew," he replied, "that's good, because I almost used it, but THEN I decided to use THIS instead."

He proudly held up the corn meal.

All I could do was laugh. THIS is why the Jews wandered into the desert with unleavened bread - they weren't in any freakin' hurry - that was just their cover story. The real reason is because for some odd reason, Jews just can't seem to remember (or identify) the yeast!

BIG PLANS

I have to admit, I'm a bit of a snoop.

I love listening in to my sons chatting amongst themselves. Not the oh-too-often barbs and teen/pre-teen angst that gets the better of the pair while having to share parents, a home, a bus ride to and from school, tae kwon do class and worst of all - a room.

Sure, there's plenty of "Shut up"s, "You idiot!"s, "Get away from me"s and the like. But every so often (typically when they're supposed to be sleeping or working on chores) they break out into some good old fashioned male bonding. It's splendid. These are the times when I think perhaps my parenting skills have NOT gone askew.

The other day they were plotting out their life plans. I'm used to the two of them plotting - let's be honest here, they ARE a couple of teen/tween boys - plotting is one of those traits that just comes naturally. Typically they're plotting involves violent movie-style moves, every-day household objects that can be fashioned into clever weaponry or some sort of it-looks-like-we-did-our-chores-but-don't-look-in-the-closet type of scheme.

This was different, though. This was real honest-to-God conversation. I learned a lot. My boys, who had decided their lifelong careers around the time they were each 4 years old, have started changing - and not in the "you may start growing hair in funny places and notice your voice doing weird things" way. Although, maybe puberty has had some influence, but their plans are morphing somewhat.

My older son, who has always wanted to become a Marine Biologist due to his highly rare obsession with fish and other sea life, has decided that he still likes the idea but may be more interested in becoming an actor. To be fair, he really is a very talented thespian and will, in fact, be performing in a local theatre later this week as well as joining a very professional acting school for the third time this summer to study the craft. He's amazing to watch on the stage and he has such a great time doing it that you can't help but feel his joy when he's performing. He also mentioned that (keeping the saline water life obsession in mind) he's going to be doing this acting while residing in a very, very large private home on ocean-front property.

So, if any of you are in touch with Clint, George or Steven, please give them a head's up - my teenager will need to start acquiring some rather large filming contracts asap!

My younger son - the rock star - has decided, after nearly a decade of being absolutely certain that he will, indeed, someday be a rich and famous guitar-playing musician that he would rather be an artist and live in a small apartment in Manhattan. I'm not sure what prompted this change. He is a very talented musician, but he's also a very creative soul, which comes out in his drawing (usually not on something appropriate like, say, paper), in his story-telling, in his duct-tape creations and fashion manufacturing.

Anyhow, although his goal to have a SMALL apartment in Manhattan is fairly modest, he's still going to need quite a substantial income for an artist in order to sustain himself. So, perhaps Clint, George and Steven need great art and fashion-forward creations for their films as much as talented actors. (Seriously, if you have an IN for us, we could certainly use a leg-up here!)

It's inspiring to see my children thinking and talking about their future. I have always tried to instill in them the sense that they can do anything, be anything, try anything. It's awesome to know that they believe it - even better to listen to them dream. Who knows, they might just grow up to be the world's foremost movie star/marine biologist and rock star/artist/fashion designer.

I didn't have many career goals (that I can remember anyway) as a child. I always knew I wanted to be a mom, though, and there's no denying I made the right choice.

What about you? What did you want to be when you grew up and did you do it?

BLOGGER'S BLOCK

I want to write more blog posts. I really do. I sit here every day and think to myself, "Today I'm going to write another blog post - I AM, I REALLY, REALLY AM!" and then nothing. Not one interesting thing comes to my empty little mind.

Perhaps it's because I'm working full-time now, my brain is challenged all week long. So, when I get down to the weekend hours - my me-time, there's just no brain power left to be interesting. I wonder if this is how my family feels. Do they think to themselves, "I bet Mommy/Honey was interesting and exciting to other people all week long and then she comes home and poof  --boring, dull, greysville."

They're so sweet, though, they never tell me that I'm a situational coma. So, what's the deal, me? (I'm talking to myself here - this is not new....and don't worry, at some point I will answer myself, I mean I don't want to be dull AND rude.)

In fact it turns out I talk to myself quite often. I spent several days organizing my new office two weeks ago together with a lovely personal organizer. She pointed out that I, like her, was talking to myself and working out plans about what item was to go where. At one point I noticed that we were chatting constantly...and yet not one word was said to the other person. It seemed completely natural. Totally bizarre, but natural. She told me that she'd read that people who talk to themselves are actually more intelligent than the average person.

So, perhaps I talk to myself because there's just no one up here on my level who would truly understand me, except me. (Yeah, I'm sure that's it.)

Ok, me: the answer is, it's ok to not be able to blog for a little while. People will come back when there's something to read - it's just a little case of blogger's block and it, too will pass.

P.S. It's totally NOT the heightened intelligence thing, so get over it.