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! 🙂

OCD OMG

Well, this is it.  Friday was my last day of work, and we have spent the last few days packing for the next three weeks.  We are going to the wedding location tonight, to help get ready.  The wedding isn’t until Sunday, and then on Tuesday we go on our honeymoon for a week and a half.  We then fly back to my mom’s for Rosh HaShanah, and then back home.  So three weeks!

D. has a teensy tiny little OCD issue.  If by teensy tiny you mean he has already packed four suitcases.  But if this (along with his mom) is our biggest challenge in our marriage, I will be okay.  (Not really, his mom is LOONEY).  But you know what I mean, trying to be positive and all.  Because yesterday, when he started to pull out sweaters for a destination wedding where the temperature is 110 during the day and 100 at night?  I left the house and went to the spa for 4 hours.  Seriously.  And now we are off to Target to buy new suitcases, because the bride has to be able to bring some clothes.  And the groom has packed all of their suitcases.

Breathing.  In.  Out.

I hope everyone is doing well and I will “talk” to you in 3 weeks!!!

A Handbook For My Future Mother-in-Law

Because I grew up with a dad who had NO boundaries, I have a really bad habit.

I set boundaries and enforce random rules left and right.

For instance, the first job I ever had was at a big Jewish non-profit.  I was 22.  I became good friends with a guy who rented space  in the office, who was about 10 years my senior. He happened to be best friends with my boss, and because of that, they would include me on their lunches.  Sometimes, their lunches would run over an hour.  I would sit anxiously, looking at my watch, hinting that it was time to return.  My boss finally had to tell me, “I’m the boss.  If you are late, I will let me know”.  Even so, I felt like I should be back in the office.  Why?  Because it was a rule.

My mother-in-law to be is a really nice person.  However, like all of us, she is flawed.  Her flaw?  She is the most passive aggressive person that I have EVER met.  And those people?  Don’t get boundaries.

I get it.  She is the child of 2 Holocaust survivors.  Before the war, they both had other spouses and children, all of whom perished in the camps.  They found each other, fell in love, and moved out of Germany (obviously, after the war.  They didn’t just leave Auschwitz hand in hand).  Miraculously, MIL’s mother got pregnant after surviving 11 camps.  Seriously, a miracle.  And she was pregnant with twins.

At childbirth, one baby died.  The survivor?  My MIL.  So she was immediately the miracle child, and her only goal in life is to be needed and loved.  She was the only one who spoke English when her family left for America, and she would have to translate for her folks.  She was so needed, and I’m sure that that became a habit.  She needs to be needed.

I wish I could say the following to her:

I can’t handle it.  I am the opposite of what you want in a daughter in law.  Because of my mom’s depression and lupus, I learned to do a lot of things for myself.  And I built a LOT of walls, to protect me from the idea that my mom might die and I would be stuck with a father who only saw me as a dollar sign.  I am not saying my way is the right way, but it is who I am.  Sorry.  I actually like being able to make my own plane reservations, doctor appointments, and car maintenance appointments.   It is nice of you to offer, but I am almost 30 and live in a different state.  So I can do these things for myself.  And, for D.

I might ask for your help with something, like how to make a brisket, but that doesn’t mean that I need you to send me 3 different Jewish cookbooks as a result. (True story).  I might compliment your purse, but it doesn’t mean I want you to give it to me.  You can call me and tell me (out of the blue) 15 stories about your other son’s wedding and put together a list of 400 things to remember that won’t effect my life in the smallest, but I am not going to institute your policies.

I already love you.  You gave birth to and raised the man of my dreams.  But at some point, I am going to need you to back off.  Please do not cry everytime I state my opinion because it doesn’t make me feel bad.  It annoys me.  For instance, when you cried because I am not having the parents stand underneath the chuppah, I told you it was because I didn’t want my father to stand there, but I also didn’t think it was appropriate to hurt his feelings.  You then said, “I hope something happens to your dad so he doesn’t come to the wedding and I can stand underneath the chuppah”.  When I confronted you on this hateful comment, you cried again and said I misunderstood the comment.  I don’t think so.  I think, actually, that you misunderstood the concept.  I have a life, and now your son is going to be my husband.  We are going to live our lives, and raise children (Gd willing) and make mistakes and laugh and cry and learn.  You can’t change our path because you want things to be different, or to go your way.  Life isn’t like that. You can’t protect us from everything.  But you can love us.

I know it must be hard that your son is grown-up and now turns to someone else to make decisions with.  But your neediness is really making it hard for me.  I have tried to involve you more in things that I can’t even fathom your need to be a part of, but your constant push for more and more access to the privacy in my life and in me and D’s relationship is making it hard for me to even hear your voice.  I want to have a good relationship with you, please just let me!

A Letter to Myself: Aged 20

I am turning 30 in 222 days.  

If I look back at my 20s, I can say a lot of things.  I was brave, spontaneous, naive, emotional…not necessarily bad qualities.  The combination wasn’t always healthy.  But I would never change my past.

However, I wish I could write myself a letter and just say a few things from where I am now.  I probably wouldn’t of listened, because I knew EVERYTHING, but at least I would of tried.

Dear Rachel,

Don’t ever forget the person that you truly want to be.  The times that you get into trouble are the times that you forget what is important to you at the core.  Don’t ever think that the solution that you are looking for is in the bottom of a bottle, the lips of a man, or the swipe of a credit card.  If you are in need, you can always call your mom.  She might make you crazy, but ultimately she is on your side.

Anything you do to lose weight right now besides exercise and healthy eating will come back to haunt you.  If you don’t know a guy’s last name, it probably isn’t a good idea to go back to his place.  When someone tells you something is a secret, it is a secret.  If you want something to stay a secret, don’t tell anyone.  If something is bothering you, talk to the person directly.  The game of telephone is unhealthy to friendships that you value.  The love you are looking for might not be in the package you were picturing, so don’t judge ahead of time.  

Spend as much time with your grandma as you want, she is worth it.  Same goes for anyone you love.

There will be days that you aren’t happy.  That is called life.  There will be days that you are happy.  That is called life.  You don’t get to pick the days, but you get to pick your attitude.  That being said, you don’t have to be the bubbly sidekick all of the time.  A mental health day never hurt anyone.

Take care of your skin, or you will be really mad at yourself come 30.

Love, Rachel

It seems so simple now.  I hope that the next 30 years has me putting some of my knowledge to use.

Nine Years

Nine years ago today, I had a breakdown.

I was dating a non-Jew who I was very much in love with.  He was my first love, my first everything.  I was 20.

We had been together off and on for 2 years.  It was really intense.  Partially, because I was 20.  But more because I had never felt anything like I did. It was the kind of love that rules you, your mind, everything.  I didn’t know who I was without him in my life, but moreover I didn’t care anymore.  But I knew one thing: he wouldn’t convert. And even though that was so far in the future, I couldn’t figure out how I was to break up with him before it became an issue.

Breaking up with him was an issue.

So, one night, I got drunk by myself.  I withdrew from all of my classes, and booked a flight (one way) to Israel.  I didn’t really know anyone there, but it was my “homeland”.  I had been there before, and was learning Hebrew at college.  So why not?

The next day, I went to lunch with him and let him know, that I was leaving (um, 2 days later) for a new country and I had no plans.  By that point, our relationship was so tumultuous that he didn’t really care.  We have spoken since, so I know what he was really feeling, but Gd men are so good at hiding their thoughts.

A few days later, I boarded a plane.  I had no real plans, except to get the hell away.  I knew that our relationship had been over for awhile, and I needed to leave it behind.  I just couldn’t picture doing so while in the same place as him.

I cried.  A lot.  But it turned out to be the best thing I did for myself.

I was talking to my best friend today, and I told her it was 9 years.  I also told her that at one point, I didn’t know if I would make it through the hell I was putting myself through.

9 years later, I look at that girl, fragile and lonely.  I look at her from a place of peace, of love, and of freedom.  And I am grateful that she gave me that chance to rebuild.

So today, amongst all the over things I am grateful for, I am grateful that I had a little break down.  Because the new me, built from the broken pieces of that Rachel, is so much better for it.

The Evil Tongue

In Hebrew, gossip is called “lashon hara“…basically, the evil tongue.  When my mom would overhear me and my friends gossiping, she would admonish us, “Lo lashon hara!” (Don’t gossip) to which we would always yell back, “EMET!” (Truth).   To our young minds, gossip wasn’t gossip if it was true.

Fast forward a few years.  Rumors about who likes who has elevated to who is cheating on their spouse.  Stories whispered about who got their period (GASP!) have matured to stories about who is pregnant, who is not, and who can’t become a mommy.  Complaining about our unfair allowances is now equated to fears of credit card debt, lay-offs, and unemployment.  In high school, gossip could seemingly ruin your life.  But now, repeated mentioning about marital problems, financial woes and infertility really can RUIN YOUR LIFE.

It used to be that I LOVED when I would get a phone call that started, “You will never believe…”  I would settle down into my bed or chair, excited and full of hope for a fun anecdote.  Sad, but it is true.  I don’t know if I realized what it meant to hear about other people’s sorrows, secrets and sadnesses.  That repeating these stories, true or not, was contributing to a reality that someone wasn’t hoping to share with all of the junior class.

Recently, a friend of mine went through a very real tragedy.  It was all over the news, because the other person involved is considered to be “famous”.  (I put that in quotes because I think fame is subjective.  I would write more here about why this person shouldn’t be famous, and Gd do I want to, but that would be GOSSIPING. I am still learning.)

Anyway, she received 300 calls in one day.  From “friends” worrying about her well-being, I’m sure.  Word spread like wild-fire, and the versions of the event that came back to me were so convuluded that I was scared for her future.  Mostly because the stories all consisted of lead-ins of things like, “My friend XXXX is really good friends with YYYY, and she knows that this is the story.”  Trust me, I am YYYY’s very best friend.  She is not good friend’s with XXXX, nor has she discussed the event.  But if XXXX is spreading anything, that is just not okay.

I can’t change the XXXX’s in the world, but I can change me.  I no longer want to be in the XXXX position, you know?  (Perhaps X wasn’t the best letter to use here, I can only imagine the people looking for XXX-rated things and ending up on a post about lashon hara!)  On the surface, it might be nice to be on the up and up about stories, but if that is why people are talking to me, then I am not worth anything.  Seriously.

There is very little difference between repeating lashon hara or emet. I’ve come to realize, either way, that is not worth it to venture my credibility, or someone else’s peace of mind, to make for a good phone call.  Even if the “evil” is really, really good.

The One Where I (Might) Offend 2 of My 3 Readers

Please realize that the following is just me being really annoyed at really annoying people, and is not to offend the parents of young children AT ALL.

I am getting married in 25 days.  I am pretty much the last of all of my friends and family to get married, thus I am not afforded the luxuries that the others had.  For instance, innocent mistakes that let other people have tons of fun (charge by the drink throughout the night!  That’s a great idea, our friends won’t drink that much!) have made way for much tighter rules (open bar.  2 and a half hours. The end.) and such.  Additionally, other family members got to say “NO CHILDREN” which was fine.  Because there were none.

I tried to say that.  Maybe my English was off that day, however, because I was met with a silence equal to “Let’s have the groomsmen where Hitler mustaches”.  SILENCE.  And then YELLING.

“Jacob CAN’T be left with a sitter.  He has attachment syndrome.”  “Elizabeth can only handle 15 minutes away from her mother at a time, they won’t come if they can’t bring her”.  And on and on. And on.

Here is the thing.  I love kids.  I want a million.  But I don’t love kids at big events.  Why?  Because in my family, people think that it is permission to let them run around.  It is really embarrasing and uncomfortable.  The kids are wild and unbehaved and rude.  I hate it.  And Gd forbid you say something like, “Aytan, if you break that, you will be in trouble”, because then Chaya, his mother, will lay into you for parenting her child, who is “sensitive and just being artistic”.  It doesn’t matter if he is being artistic with your things.  It is all about her new age parenting.

My brother-in-law has the golden child (sorry, but it is true) and is furious that we had the GALL to have our reception had 7, at Golden Child’s bedtime.  He is furious.  His solution?  Is to have me HIRE A BABYSITTER TO BE ON CALL.  Should they need a babysitter, they will have one. ON CALL.  Did I mention I am getting married on LABOR DAY?

I actually went out of my way to make things easy for people, and contacted every parent with the option of a babysitter to be at the hotel (where we are having the wedding and the guests are staying).  The babysitters are all employed at the Synagogue where my mom is the President.  Most responses were, “No thanks, the kids would hate to miss the celebration!”  Which is fine, I understand.  I loved dancing at weddings when I was little.  I also, though, can imagine that when I am a parent, I would LOVE the option to go to a wedding with a free, pre-screened babysitter watching my kids.  On-site.  But that is neither here nor there.

The item that really inspired this post is a cousin of mine.  She is my age, and has a 2 year old and a 4 year old.  She didn’t have the common courtesy to even RSVP.  But today, I got a SCREAMING phone call from her.  The type where you don’t get a “Hello”.  Her issue?  She heard that the child’s menu was chicken fingers.  Didn’t I know that her kids are gluten-free?  Actually, no.  See, you didn’t RSVP, I pointed out.  (She, by the way, was one of the lucky child-free weddings).  She actually hung up on me.  If I hadn’t had the experience of the other crazies throughout the past 11 months, it would of affected me.  But this time, her BS rolled off of my back.

This wedding is going to be 225 people.  Of that, 37 people are going to be 10 and under.  I am just praying to Gd that our band doesn’t take any Miley Cyrus or Jonas Brothers requests.  🙂

I Am Currently Not Networking Or Being Social

Facebook, Twitter.  MySpace.  LinkedIn. Texting.  BB Messenger.

OMG.

I can’t handle it anymore.  Never have I been so grateful that I did not access to these things when I was in high school than right now.

While most of my friends work full-time, we all have too much time on our hands.  How do I know?  Because 10 times a day, I get a call.  (Or, to be honest, I make a call as well…I can’t lie and say that I am not involved!)

“Did you see?  Stacy and Mike broke up!”

“How is she taking it?”

“I don’t know.  I just saw her relationship status changed.”

“Wow.  That’s serious.”

You see, in order for someone to REALLY be broken up, they have to make the decision to change their relationship status on FB.  That is the ultimate “GO!” signal when a relationship is official, and it signifies the unfortunate demise.

All day long, if you really wanted, you could stay tuned in to the latest and greatest in ANYONE’S life.  And I am not guilt-free.  Granted, my updates are usually sarcastic or obnoxious life observations.  But I do stay in touch with many people via their status updates.  It is easy, stress-free, and cost-effective.

However, recently, I have noticed that certain people in my life are using their many networking tools as a way to be dramatic.  I have seen entire fights (real ones) be acted out via Twitter, for tons of people to read.  Or even worse, I have witnessed passive-aggressive status updates cause emotional rifts between people.  Yes.  Grown-ups.

Recently, I had a good friend of mine change my FB password so that I can’t access it while I am planning the wedding and trying to cram in work before I take off the month of September.

I have no idea how many beers Sean drank this weekend, or if Sadie went to the movies, or what Benjamin thought of the Nick Teen Awards.

But I have an extra five hours a day of productivity.  And the people who do matter?  Are still there.  Take that, technology!

All the Beautiful People

I was born hating how I looked.  I don’t know why.  Maybe it was because it was the 80’s, and everyone was crazy anyways. I had freckles, and was chubby, and when I was 4 I cut my head open so I had a scar right on the back of my head so my hair kind of puffed up over it…oh, how I hated that cowlick!  I would spend HOURS with gel trying to get it to stay down.  My dad weighed at least 300 pounds from the time I was born, (he is now in the 600s) and his family had a cute way of saying to me “Don’t let people call you fat.  You are pleasantly plump, just like your dad”.  Who in the HELL would say that to a kid?  I mean, seriously?  My mom, on the other hand, was on every single diet you could think of.  She brought her own salad dressing with her everywhere, and if you look at the span of family pictures, it is hard to pick her out because she never looks the same…thin, not-thin, brunette, blonde, just trying to find the right look to make her feel “pretty”.

When I was six, I was eating a bag of doritos when my grandma (who I loved so much, and just didn’t have tact) said, “Don’t eat those, do you want to be fat like your dad?”  That was enough for me.  I made a connection: no Doritos, no fat.  So, did that mean no food, no fat?  That is when the weird cycle of binging, purging, and starving started for me.  By the time I was 10, I was 120 pounds.  It was horrific.  I remember walking in a restaurant and seeing a really fat, ugly chick.  She was hiding behind her hair and Sally Jesse Raphael glasses.  I thought to myself, at least I am prettier than her.  I realized it was a mirror.  It was a terrible moment in my life.  Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Atkins…I did okay, but when the weight would start to come off, insecurity would set in.  In college, I finally hit my goal weight, but had a realization one day when my leader said “Now that you are at your goal weight, maintenaince is going to be a life-long struggle”.  I was shocked.  Who was I if I wasn’t a life-long Weight Watcher?  I then made a conscious decison to become anorexic.  This might sound stupid, but that is exactly what it was.  Basically, if I wasn’t the girl who was too fat, I was going to be the girl who was too skinny.  That way, I still didn’t have other things to worry about.

My life is much different now.  I did the whole eating disorder clinic thing, and my body rebelled.  I am now at my highest weight ever, and when I walk down that aisle in a few weeks, I won’t be a size 4.  But recently, I have realized something that is making a difference in how I am thinking.  All of my friends talk the same “fat talk”.  But yet, they are all gorgeous.  Seriously.  Some are bigger than others, but that doesn’t make them any less stunning.  The same measuring stick that I hate for measuring me all of my life is the same one that I need to break over my knee and throw away.  When D. sees me for the first time in the dress, I know he will think I look good because I will be smiling with a face full of love (and, lets face it, tears) and most likely, thighs full of french bread.   But that isn’t going to stop him from loving me.  So I want and I need to relax a little, because the constant need to stare at my old size 4 jeans in the closet is getting a little weird.  The excercise I get from running up the stairs to confirm that they still don’t fit, however, is probably still okay.

My Love Don’t Cost a Thing

image via http://ccinteriors.blogspot.com/

Yesterday, a blogger who I look up to a lot posted something about her father to which I could relate deeply.  I am not ready to write something that profound yet, but a lot of issues relating to my dad have come up lately that I can’t ignore.   My relationship with my father was always intertwined with his sense of entitlement and his use of money as love.  It has left me catering to him in an unhealthy way my entire life, and has also put my financial stability on the line because I equated loving people with giving them things.  I had to grow up too fast, and I have always resented him for that, but as my life is moving onto the next phase, I am going to be grateful to him for showing me what is really important in life.  (Thanks GG, btw, for your help in somewhat clarifying these emotions, even if you didn’t know you were helping!)

As I have hinted, my childhood had no stability.  Neither did the finances in my home.  My first word was “Tar-get”.  People usually laugh, saying, “Oh, what a little shopper you were!”  The truth was, we didn’t have enough money to run the air conditioning during the day, so my mom would take me to the mall when my dad was at work, and push me up and down the mall corridors, pointing out the names of the store.  (Not to give away where I grew up, but another hint about me: the biggest stores were Target and JC Penny.  Big towns? Not so much).  One day, I beat her to the punch and said the name before she could.

I think that kids learn more about your relationship with money from your actions rather than what you teach them with your words.  For instance, when I was five or so, we lived in a tiny tiny two bedroom house with me and my 2 siblings sharing a room.    However, my dad “found” the money to go to fat camp.  Yes, fat camp.  But as kids, we didn’t realize that that was strange.  Fat camp was a necessity.  Even if it meant that things like jump-starting our ancient car every morning had to become part of the routine.

Money was a currency that was used to show love and.  One of my strongest memories of my childhood is that of me discovering the Cabbage Patch Doll that I wanted SO BADLY in the attic.  My birthday was about 2 weeks away.  I squealed with delight, but my mother looked heartbroken.  “You daddy worked so hard to buy that, it was almost $25.  Can you forget that you saw it, so that when he sees you open it, he can be excited too?”  Even at 5 years minus 2 weeks, I knew that $25 was a TON of money.  So everyday, I climbed up the stairs and played with the box.  And when a business trip meant that he was gone for my birthday and I had to wait 11 days (yes, I still remember this…it was a CABBAGE PATCH DOLL), I waited.  My daddy spent $25 on ME!  Funny thing is, I don’t remember his reaction of watching me.  But I do remember how special I felt, waiting so that I could be so excited, so that he knew I was impressed, that he would spend money like that on his beloved daughter.

Fast forward a few years, and we inherited a LOT of money.  We moved to the big city, bought a huge house, and all that changed was that dad no longer had to show restraint in anything he did.  He had money, which he thought translated into the power to spend, lie, cheat and steal. My folks  got a divorce.  Because the money came from her side of the family, he asked for money in exchange for custody.  (I am not kidding).  He wanted, however, sole medical custody.  That way, he could control what shrinks we went to when we were devastated over the loss of our father.  You see, we were Jewish.  And, where we were living, although he left town, he was afraid that word would get out that he was a schmuck.  So if he could just make sure we went to anonymous, non-Jewish doctors, no one would hear about it.  He didn’t really see us that often, but would send us random, extravagant presents that had nothing to do with our lives.  For instance, he once had an Amish family create an entire wardrobe for each one of us.  I can’t imagine how much that cost, when you consider a quilt is $2000.  But since he hadn’t seen us in about a year, he had no idea how big we were. But in a twisted way, it was a sign he was still thinking about us.

His money has run out, and he hasn’t worked in years.   He paid nothing for our cars, our bar/bat mitzvahs, our educations…I know that money doesn’t equal love, but since he wasn’t around to see us grow up, and he didn’t even help us get to where we are going, I am having a hard time seeing how that is love.   He never tried to make ammends verbally, but when he calls, he does have a way of pretending that everything is normal and we are besties.

Recently I had a big decision to make.  Who is going to walk me down the aisle?  If it were to be my dad, it would be me, catering to his needs.  His need to play “everything is okay.”  But I can’t do that.  I called him, and let him know that D and I would like for him to give a speech.  He answered, “Of course, but I will walk you down the aisle, too”.  “We would like you to speak,” I said, trying to employ what I learned about being a “yes” counselor at camp.  “Sure, but I am going to walk you down the aisle.  I have been to tons of weddings, the dad always walks the bride down the aisle”. I bit my tongue, and held back the comment that was DYING to come out.  “I have been to TONS of weddings too, Dad…and never has the father gotten to walk down the aisle with the daughter that he abandoned in order to get a fortune of money that wasn’t his to begin with”.

30 years of abandonment and just plain SH*T boiled up inside of me.  “Look, Abba.  You can 1) give a speech.  2) Not give a speeech.  But at no time are you walking me down the aisle.  GET IT?”  He was really quiet.  “What if I walked you down with your mother?”

At almost any other time in my life, I would of said yes.  But if love were currency, he has never given me a dime.  And my mom has made me richer than Bill Gates, Oprah, and that Trump guy.  I just couldn’t let him.  My mom, after everything, was the one who parented me.  She was there when everyone else walked out.  She knows my friend’s names, every single job I’ve ever had (that is a lot), my celebrity crushes, what foods I hate, what medicines I am allergic too…everything.  My mom has been a part of everything I do.  Even when I didn’t want her there, she pushed her way in.  Because she loved me.

The richest I have ever felt was later than night, when I asked her what song she wanted to dance to for the first “Mother/Daughter” dance at my wedding.