Ho ho ho!

I had a funny holiday flashback today, so I thought I’d share.

My father converted to Judaism right after he met my mom.  He grew up in a Irish Catholic home.  That being said, they weren’t really observant, save for Christmas.

Growing up, my mom’s mom (who I blog about a lot) got us for all of the “good” holidays.  We were with her for all of the Jewish holidays, and Thanksgiving.  So we usually visited my other Grandma the week before Christmas.  (Because Christmas was for Chinese food and movies, and no one could take that away. )

One year, we were visiting and my grandma took 4 or so cousins and my little sister to the mall.  My mom pulled my grandma aside and asked that no matter what, my grandma not take my sister to see Santa.  Being 3, my sister was too young to really understand, not to mention the fact that my mom was petrified of us sitting on strange men’s laps if she wasn’t there to supervise.  (Seriously.  Wonder where I get my anxieties?)

So the mall went okay.  Or so we thought.  Later that night, we were all watching tv when the news panned to a shot of my sister, screaming bloody murder from Santa’s lap.  You could hear her screaming, “I don’t know you! I’m Jewish!” on the top of her lungs, and the reporters were trying not to break up into hysterics.

And that, my friends, was the last time my grandma was allowed to take us to the mall around the holidays.  Come to think of it, I doubt she would of wanted to after the fight my sister put up!!

Rhymes with Look Schmields

Sorry I have been MIA.  I may or may not have gotten laid off (I did) and I was finishing up a paralegal course…yay for yet another job!  (Someday…gotta get the certificate first!)

Yesterday, however, I read something that inspired me to post again.  (Insert edenriley.blogspot.com here…if I knew how).

I used to live in Los Angeles.  I lived in Brentwood, the fancy part of town, where people pretend that they care about the earth and can walk everywhere, because all of the ridiculously expensive boutiques are all close to each other…but in real life they drive big SUVs.  Anyways, I frequented a bagel shop that also had a lot of stars there.  It was little and unassuming, and it wasn’t a big deal.  It wasn’t like I talked to anyone, but occasionally you would start to become familiar faces to them, and they would smile at you everytime they saw you.

Anyway, a few years ago, right after that whole crazy Tom Cr.uise and Matt La.uer interview happened, I remember thinking, “I wish that I could call Look Schields (name different to protect the famous) and thank her for speaking out”.  She basically stood up and said that being depressed and being on medicine isn’t a big deal, and that Tom had no business in attaching an even bigger stigma to it.

A few weeks later, I walked into the busy  bagel shop, and the cutest little girl said, “You can sit with us!” I smiled and said, “No, I’ll just wait for someone else to get up”. She persisted and her mother said, “You better sit, she is pretty insistant!”  It was then that I realized, um, I was talking to Look Schmield’s little girl.

I sat down, and complemented the little girl on her tutu (which, apparently, she refused to leave the house without.  ”When I was your age, I wanted a dog so badly that I would eat only underneath the table and crawled on all fours for three months straight,” I told her.  Look smiled and said, “Sometimes I want to eat underneath the table, too.”

Encourage by her comment, I felt like I could say what I wanted.  Very carefully, I thanked her for speaking out.  I told her that when Tom made those statements, the first thing that came to my mind was, “Let him come to my house for a week, I’ll go off of my meds.  Let him look anyone in the eyes and say that depression is easily curable by diet and Xenu and whatever else he preaches…”  She was so sweet and flattered.  I was so careful not to overstep any boundries, but it was so important to me to make sure she knew that it MEANT SOMETHING.  Her using her voice, when so many use it to speak on something that they don’t understand, to say, “Hey.  Depression is real, and it hurts…and it takes courage to get help, and to fight.”

Living in LA I had a lot of bizarre, wonderful things happen.  It is where I met D.  And it’s also where I got to say thank you to someone who helped to free me, even just a bit, from the ties that bound me to feeling like I was weak.  Because I am not.

Maddie’s Day

I never met Maddie.  I have never met Mike, or Heather, or even Rigby.

But I know their story.  And my heart hurts.

Heather and Mike have done something with their grief that just AMAZES me.  They have taken it upon themselves to not only make sure that their daughter is remembered, but to make sure that other parents don’t have to go through the hell that they have endured.

Have you ever had one of those dreams where you wake up, in sleep paralysis?  Where you are stuck, not moving?  And watching something miserable unfold in front of you?  I liken that feeling to grief.  You can wake up everyday, and be rendered useless by the pain in your heart.

The Spohrs shock me with their ability, everyday, to wake up, shake off that paralysis, and live.  Live a life, filled with love and memories, so that Maddie is still here.  And it is changing people by the dozens.  (Don’t believe me?  Click on just of almost any Mommy Blogs).  UNBELIEVEABLE!

Happy birthday, Miss Maddie.  You are so loved.

The One Where I Realize That My Mom is Wrong, It IS All Her Fault

I always wanted to be a trophy wife.

I don’t mean trophy as in the 3rd or 4th, 30 years younger, hydrogen peroxide blonde. (Not that there is anything wrong with any of those things.) I mean trophy as in stay at home, keep a perfect house, keep a perfect body, always have the energy for fabulous sex, and an incredible entertainer as well.

You know, kind of a J-Lo/Martha Stewart mix.

Oh, and I would be the most supportive, interesting wife who would know exactly how to listen to his day, what to do in a pinch, and when to give advice.

I have NO idea where I came up with this image. Donna Reed? Maybe not, they didn’t even sleep in the same bed, so no fabulous sex there…

Anyway, here is my issue. I realized recently that I didn’t grow up in an environment that fostered anything of this sort. Not that I needed my mom to be J-Lo/Martha Stewart.

But lately, when I have been talking to my mom about big life decisions, she has said things such as, “Why must you talk to D about it? Do you really need his permission?” Um, to get pregnant? Probably. To staff a youth trip to Israel for a month? Would be beneficial to our relationship.

It is like she thinks I should live a totally separate life from my husband.

I have started to remember, in bits and pieces, my parents relationship. (Post-traumatic stress syndrome and tons of anti-depressants have helped to block it out). They didn’t think that communicating was important, and so that put the three kids in the middle a lot. I REFUSE to have that kind of relationship.

Sure, right now, D is still a product of a family that does TOO much together. I haven’t adjusted to the fact that he thinks we should grocery shop together, because I can get in and out of Safe way in 20 minutes, while he is still researching the different melting points of baker’s chocolate.

But I am willing to negotiate. Because I am going to make this work. Even if my parents couldn’t. Even if the statistics that I read all of the time tell me that we don’t stand more than a 1 in 3 chance.

What They Never Tell You

They never tell you…that sometimes you are going to feel empty, even if on the surface your life looks full.

They never tell you…that depending on someone for your happiness is not worth it.

They never tell you…that going from happiness to sadness to happiness all in one day is not called depression, it’s called LIFE.  So don’t feel isolated.

They never tell you…is that you can get whatever you want, but the key is wanting what you get.

For the first 20 years of my life, I lived in constant fear that I would die alone.  You know, as a hoarder with 900 cats, one-legged dogs and a spider collection.  I would take to the moldy food in my fridge and lose all of my teeth, and keep the wedding cake from my lost love in the family room a la Miss Havisham but not as interesting…just pathetic.

Then I found love.  I got married.  And I am happy.  But I realize that even with D. in my life, I still have to have a life.  And that is where my confusion lies.  I have lived in this city for over a year, and literally know 4 people.  Most of my friends are spread around the country.  D and I have little to no money of our own…and I feel isolated.  I don’t like to talk about the fear of never having being able to make enough money to survive comfortably with my friends, because I don’t want my friends to think that D. is not pulling his weight.  I have no idea why, but I don’t want my friends to judge our relationship just yet.  I don’t lie, but I don’t go into the detail that I used to.  Maybe, I guess, because I know he is a permanent fixture and our life is our life.

The last week has been really hard on me.  My paycheck wasn’t automatically deposited because my boss didn’t have the money.  I have been having anxiety attacks about that, which is of course to be expected.  Then D. decided we needed to come to his home town to see his old back doctor for him to get a back procedure done (why now, I will never know, he has needed it for over a year).  So I have now been at his folks for two days.  So between the paycheck and the mother-in-law, and D’s new habit of speaking like Snoop D-oh-double gizzle, I need a nap.

And just FYI, if I couldn’t afford a personal assistant, I would be nice and just fire her.  Because it is even LESS considerate to have her drag her miserable ass to work everyday and then not get paid.  But that is neither here nor there.

My Kind of Romance

I spent the weekend with my little sister in SF at a wedding.  She is sweet, but a little awkward and definitely stuck in her romanticized version of the world.  It is perfect for her, though, because the man she married at age 23 is the same way.  They have been married for a year and a half and still celebrate the anniversary of their first date and things like that.  It’s dorky and sometimes annoying.  And whereas I don’t want to be anything like that, it is also kind of endearing to see how her hubby is with her.  He totally plays along with her dorki-ness.

I love D. but sometimes I wish he would be more romantic.  I married him knowing full-well that he wouldn’t change on this.  And it’s okay, because when he does do something romantic, it is even more special to me.

Lately, we have been under a teensy tiny bit of stress.  If by that you mean he is making three digits a month, and my boss just got fired so I am being forced into furlough days and combined we aren’t making our mortgage.  This is where our differences rear their ugly heads, because we handle stress SO DIFFERENTLY.  D avoids stress completely by not focusing on the problems whatsoever.  I like to make it worse by only thinking about it.  We have been fighting (obviously) because whereas I am back in school (in addition to working full-time), D is just at home.  Not worrying lest he be stressed.  So that throws me into over-time nag mode.  I can’t talk to him without saying, “Did you ______________________???” (Fill in the blank: send out resumes, speak to so and so, do the dishes, walk the dog?)  It is like a bad tic.  Yes, he needs to be looking for a job, but I should probably say hi first.

Today, he got a job and is flying to California (he just had an interview there 2 weeks ago).  It pays really well, (baruch hashem, as we say in Hebrew…Sorry, I am superstitious!)  He called me to tell me the exciting news.  And then, after a pause, he said, “And thank you for pushing me…your support is what got me to do what I need to do.  You bring out the best in me”.

That may not be flowers, or a secret handshake (a la sister and bro-in-law) or a candle-lit dinner.  But to hear that I bring out the best in him during a HUGE stressful situation?  So soon in our marriage?  That’s my kind of romance.

That Girl

We all know THAT GIRL.  You know the one.  She always looks amazing, always has enough time to take care of her hair, nails, weight, clothes…I have realized lately that I live with a constant level of resentment in my conscious of these people.  I turn 30 in a mere 190 or so days.  This has always been the “number” to me.  I had goals…I was going to be DONNA FREAKIN’ REED by 30.

Gd, however, and reality had other plans.

I have realized that it is time to make the change.  And it is not that I am going to quit my job so that I can be at the gym all day, or move into a salon.

I am going to invest in me.

Why?  Because that is what THAT GIRL does.  It is not that she is given more opportunities, or better opportunities than me.  It is just that she has shifted her priorities.  And that is something that I need to do.  For instance, I could continue to go straight home from work to hang out with D and get annoyed when he plays with his I-Touch for hours on end.  OR I could go straight to the gym, work out, and come home feeling good about myself, and still have time to watch him play with the damn I-Touch.  I can continue to wake up late, roll out of bed, and go to work looking like a homeless person, or I can take five  minutes at night to get the next day’s outfit, lunch, and morning routine all prepared.

I realize that this is not going to be an overnight transformation.  But nothing is.  And frankly, I am a huge fan of shows like “The Biggest Loser” and “Extreme Make Over: Home Edition” where they have an unveiling.  I don’t see that in my future.  I don’t really want there to be a huge, “RACHEL! LOOK AT YOU!” moment to draw my shortcomings to people.  I’d rather this be a general transformation.

And if I happen to wake up on my 30th birthday, a bit more comfortable with myself, I won’t be too upset. 

Swine Flu: No Thank You

This was kind of funny. Except not.

Yesterday, I was at the smoothie shop getting my morning jolt of fat-burning fruit and ice blend when a lady came in, carrying a two or three year old. The little girl looked pretty restless, and the mom set her down. Since I tend to draw children to me with my charisma (not really, I have no idea but they love me), the child came running up to me to rub her snotty little nose all over my pants. I smiled and said, “Hi sweetie”. Her mother was very stressed and launched into a story about how she had been at the doctors office, blah blah. The little girl was running all over the store, touching EVERYTHING. I was kind of distracted, because it weirds me out when people let their kids run around shoeless in dirty places. But the lady got my attention when she ended her rant by saying, “I just hope it is not SWINE FLU”.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Well, they swabbed her, we should know later today.” the mom responded, picking up her infectious little girl.

I was speechless and left, forgetting my smoothie in the store. I had to go home and change, as I had snotty pants on. Thanks for your consideration, lady.

Day of Atonement

Tonight marks Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of Atonement.  I actually really like the fact that D and I got married right before the Jewish New Year (Rosh HaShana) because I am one of those “fresh start” people.  You know, diets start on Monday, financial planning starts the first of the month.  So to have my marriage start at the beginning of a fresh year?  Perfect for me.  The last 10 days in my religion have been filled with the important task of apologizing to people I have wronged, and forgiving people who have wronged me.  If I have inadvertantly hurt any of you, please take this as my sincere apology.  

And now, I am going to do something that I have never done, and probably you have never done either.  I am going to forgive MYSELF for the things that I haven’t done right in the last year.  I apologize to myself for: not losing 60 pounds, for not earning more money, for not keeping a cleaner house, and for not being more organized in general.  I know that I didn’t always try my best to be the person I want to be, and that is okay.  ALl I can ask of myself is that I do so in the future, and I trust that I will.  

That feels nice.   Let’s see if perhaps this year, I kick it into high gear!

I’m Back…

Finally!  The wedding was amazing.  D is truly so special, and the days leading up to our wedding, (despite his obscene packing) were so fun.  A bridesmaid had a genius idea, and carried with her at all times a little cooler with mini-wine coolers, so I was on a steady drink iv for three days.

Even with a huge contigient of people, I had a ton of time to spend with people between Friday night’s Shabbat dinner, Saturday’s Out-Of-Towner dinner, and the wedding itself.  Additionally, D and I skipped favors in lieu of hosting a “hosipitality suite” (deemed the “Celeb Suite”) which was fully stocked with alcohol and sweets for the whole weekend.  It was insane.  

After the wedding, we went to Maui for 9 days.  My two best guy friends gave us backstage tickets to John Legend, (one of my favoritest singers)…AMAZING!  I got pretty sunburned but it was a fabulous trip.

My mind is pretty scattered, so I am sure more will come out over the next few days.  I did grow up a little, when a day before the wedding, my dad EMAILED (from 3 miles away) to say that my stepmom wasn’t coming to the wedding or any of the other events because, (and I quote) “she doesn’t like you”.  I could care less, except that since my brother already didn’t come as his wife was 8 months pregnant (another story for another time), and I hated the fact that it looked like I was abandoned by my entire family.  But instead of crying, I said to him, “Well, if she is going to be a classless bi$ch, so am I.  She owes me $200 for all of the meals she is too rude to show up for.”  I doubt I will get a check, but at least I made my feelings known.

How is everyone?  I missed you all!