KIA

21 years ago, I had the child that made all things possible- no I know I had Gambit already. . .let me explain-
You, my KIA, invented the child centered way of raising a child. You demanded equal say and you said from the get go HEY. . .I WANT IN ON THIS. . .and I gave it to you.
You ate real food before you had a tooth in your head. You believed every single thought you had was REAL. . .and we both laugh when we think of me, 4 months pregnant with your brother, dragging you off that roof because you had tied a pillowcase to your back and were sure you could FLY. . .OMG KIA wow here we are. . .
21 and ready to take on theoworld, so independent, so strong and so YOU. . .and I could not be prouder of the man you are now. . .
Happy birthday KIA I love you:)

And the closing of the year. . .

What a wonderful chill holiday it has been so far under the umbrella- with Satan well distracted by his psychotic chew toys. . .i.e. willing and submissive types plural, the kids and I have been in Heaven. . .he has been so far gone and I could not be happier. . .I could feel better, but I am happy, and that is so cool.

I had the health issue crop up again, and while it was thought I would be ok until January, I ended up having to get treatment before that date- I am happy to report that I feel ok- well, it is not unlike the first trimester of pregnancy if you were unlucky enough to have morning sickness. I had all day sickness with all of mine, and it lasted well into the 2nd trimester. My babies are helping me with this part because a lot of what helped with them helps now:)

I was scared, for sure, when the bloodwork went ill, it was such a shock because I had been doing so well, and dammit I refuse to give in now, even thought I will tell you that I was sorely tempted to just say the to hell with it. . .and throw up my hands. . .ex was being a jerk (why the hell can he always tell when I am at my worst and THEN he messes with me, his latest? He wants to quit his job and travel the world. . .go ahead. . .oh wait you have the insurance for the kids you asshole!) OMG I have to say, for all the harshing I did on Martha, I have to say, the food was so cool- I could not afford a lot of gifts, especially after Hanukhah, but it was the food that did it, homemade fudge, pumpkin bread, cut out cookies, Russian tea cakes, peanut clusters, peanut butter blossom cookies, chocolate pie, cranberry bread, homemade spaghetti and meatballs(tofurkey shhhhhh) and in the stockings, warm mittens and socks, jammies and robes and warm clothes that the kids were so glad to get. . .it was a great holiday and we had a wonderful time under the umbrella.

KIA is 21 on Friday- I will report as I can:)

Happy Christmas Martha:)

We had a magical holiday under the umbrella. . .for all the right reasons!

In case it is my last snow storm. . .

My beautiful daughter

Snow angel

I face planted in a snow bank, was telling her I still had snow in my EAR:)

Hanukkah Memories

Such faces:)

How Martha Stewart almost killed my family

Ok- not really but she would have been complicit. . .

Ok, those of you who know me in real life know that I have to do the ACTUAL Christmas this year. . .not like the poser Christmas I wrote about here, but the actual this is the only one you are getting so let’s make it amazing Jew Mom event. Ok- so in order to get a handle on this event, I have been asking some of you about your traditions and your likes and what IS the one thing you ACTUALLY have to have or always wished you had to make a “real” Christmas. (Ok, my Sociologists- yes I know in the purest sense I could accept the fact that it is again a social construct and that even lighting the Menorah could be acceptable, but in the spirit of the season, I decided to suspend my sociological assumptions and went totally native) The consensus was that many either had a real tree in their traditions or wanted one or said pine was the smell of the season. . .I could add a few other smells to this idea of smelling like Christmas, but again in the SPIRIT of the season. . .I decided to venture forth and CUT DOWN MY OWN TREE. . .oh yes, I said it I went there. . .me, who gets paper cuts that could cause me to bleed out, yes I was going to grab a saw and have at it. . .found the tree farm a mere 15 miles down the road. . .oh happy day. . .oh that road is an INTERSTATE but hey a road is a road, right? Of course right. . .

So away we went, with my trust pack of bungee cords, since my initial attempt to get a real tree ended abruptly when I was told that real trees do not fold nicely to fit in your Elantra. For whatever reason, I never thought about the LOGISTICS of getting the tree home. . .thought the hard part was finding the PERFECT TREE. . .I was wrong.

It had snowed a bit, and it was just pretty enough to look a lot like Christmas. . .oh and it was cold. Children who had run to the car to get to the tree farm had experienced an intense 180 degree shift/turn. . .it happened when we got out of the car in the middle of a field and the wind made its presence known. . .my hardy junior lumberjack and jill were not interested in getting into the wagon to ride to the place where we would cut the tree down. . .the smell of hot apple cider made them gravitate toward the heated barn, and so came the first issue of the day, to chop, or not to chop? Truth be told, I was not looking forward to handling a saw. . .dead serious about the paper cut bleed out thing. . .so when I saw a stack of pre cut trees waiting to be examined, the issue seemed deliciously solved. Got the Juniors set, while Precious and I went to look at the trees. . .and well, it was pretty easy, we found one right away, and while I had actually measured the room in which I was setting up the tree, I had left the numbers at home and decided to eyeball it. . .and well, did I mention that I am short, so everything looks tall to me, and it tends to lead to several disasters? I didn’t? Well, here is one on the way.

The kids are sipping the their cider, while I purchase said tree and with some help from the Happy Tree Boy, I get it attached to my car roof and then, go get the kids. On the way out of the barn, Cocoa gets her fingers slammed in the door, and well, this was the best part of the trip home- because once they see the tree attached to the car, neither one of them want to get in it. Both Butter and Cocoa will only get in the car if I tell them in my best I’m-your-mom-and-I-will-get-you-home voice to get in and we will have an adventure. . .or a disaster or both.

I am 2 seconds away from the tree farm when Butter wails from the back that the tree is moving. . .in a tone of voice that implies he feels the tree, like a Zombie, in on its way in to eat his brain. Sitting in the front seat next to me, my usually sunshiny except when her fingers are squished daughter is looking up at the tree which extends a few fee in front of us and adds her cries of alarm, convinced the tree will strike quickly and without mercy, drawn by the scent of her bloody fingers. In an alarming turn of events I am now the Optimistic one in the car. . .Gottenyu!

I am 5 seconds away from the tree farm when I pull over to check the tree. It is fine. I drive a few more feet and the wailing begins again. . .Butter is near tears and BEGGS me to check. . .which I do. 15 miles from home might turn into a 7 hour dive home, I could have carried it home faster. Of course, this is on a nice country road, tractors are lapping us as I make my way to the interstate. . .and all HELL breaks loose in my car.

Jack and Jill, the cider buzz now gone, are about to pass out as the car reaches a whopping 37 MPH. . .with about 40 more miles to increase (yes I speed) but in deference to their panic stricken faces, I resolve to keep it under 70MPH. . .yes you are welcome, children, Happy Christmas (they say that in Great Britain)

Butter is hyperventilating in the back as he begs me to check the tree. Having done so many times, I agree, and pull to the side. This time, I notice the tree HAS shifted, and I take off my gloves and adjust it. Here is where Martha is liable, in looking at her advice, she said the needles should be strong and not break off easily. . .unless they are embedded in your flesh. In other words, you have a great choice if the needles on your tree draw blood, I was successful.

Here is the OTHER thing Martha forgot to tell me. . .SAP is sticky, and when you get it on your hands you should probably not try to drive a stick shift car after putting your hand in a big puddle of it. Yes, driving down I43, with my shifting hand STUCK TO THE STEERING WHEEL BY SAP AND MY FINGERS STUCK TOGETHER. . .BLOODY HELL. . .and there is my daughter in the front seat, watching me try to do just that and asking helpfully if I should try to use my other hand to shift. . .ummmm hey is that a deer over there?

We finally get it home, yes, and I finally rip my hand off the wheel, and feel a sense of excitement. I got a tree, no need to cut anything and while the drive home was messed up- we could now enjoy the bounty of the hunt. . .all 14 feet of it in my 9 foot dining room.

What fresh hell is this? I spoke too soon- I now have to cut the tree trunk. . .and I have only a hatchet, no saw. As I stand on my front porch chopping and swearing I notice that the school across the street is having their Christmas craft show, and that spilling across my front lawn and sidewalk, I am giving small children profanity lessons their parents are actually taking notes, I apparently made up a few, supercalifagilisticfuckingchristmastree is mine forever. I mute my potty mouth and continue to chop- when Muffin finds a saw and I finish the job, eager to get this set up aaaaaaaand. . .still. . .too. . .tall. . .

DAMMIT. . .but wait, ok- the top of the tree looks “crooked” and needs “trimming” done and done. . .ta DA it fits!

And that is how Martha Stewart almost killed my family.

Chag Samach!

More to come on this very unique and off kilter holiday season under the umbrella:)

Flowers born in Change

Beloved Cocoa,

On this birthday, a big girl who's 9, I have decided to tell you a little secret about that thing you and I share, both being born in November, today, I will explain to you the strength behind being a November woman.

It takes a strong flower to be born in the gap between seasons, especially the gap between fall and winter. The days offer a number of options, rain, snow, cold maybe warmth, a flower born in this month, the month of November, is a strong plant indeed. The mum is our flower, and you will not find a stronger flower for the month of change that this. A variety of colors means November women can choose among the options, for the hue that suits them. You and I both favor the strong red color of our plant.

We are like those flowers, Cocoa. You and I, were born in a month that is about change, about loss, and also about promise. We have Thanksgiving in our month, where we are so lucky to have a day to remember what is truly right with our world. We have Veteran's Day, with more remembering for the sacrifice for us from those who gave so much so we could have what we do in our lives. Your grandpas all served, and served proudly.

Cocoa, because of your strength, and because of your status as a November woman, you will weather any and all changes that come your way. You will be so strong, you will have so much to choose from and you will not fear change, because change is at the very center of your life. Our birth month is change, life is change, and as long as you can see that strength of the November birthday that you share with me, you will always be linked to me, in a way that is different than other moms and daughters who do not have the luck of having their birthdays a week apart.

I am a part of your month, I carried you to this month to have you at this time, in this month, to be a fellow November woman. I give you my strength, and the ability to embrace change. I love you and happy 9th birthday.

Love Mom

Weeks. . .

The Eve of Darkness

I will have a birthday tomorrow- 11-22, and for others this is a day of what? Dinners out maybe a gift or something else, but under the umbrella, it is of course, not that simple.
It is here, on the Eve of my birthday that the seeds of who I am today were sown, when I was 6, to be exact. It is events of my life that rule the day that is my birthday- and I have spent my life since that day, trying to make a life for myself beyond the events of that day. . .and beyond.
When you think of your birthday, imagine it as you do- a day to remark and to evaluate the path you are on and the directions you have taken or discarded- my life has made this day one of assessment- harsh, demanding and totally NOT the candle on the cupcake kind of time. . .the pain of this day cannot be underestimated, it was on this day that the seeds of my destruction were sown, and denied. My entire life has been spent trying to undo what this day has done to me- and I find myself at a place that makes my future so tenuous, and my resolve so weak.
I make the birthdays of my children so much a part of their lives- that they own their day the most amazing of social constructs- the day they began!
I do not have that for myself- I have been slotted to spend this day, 11-22, wondering if what I have made happen is enough to purge the past. . .this year. . . no
Lost my teaching job for a noble reason, but gone none the less. . .and a life in shambles- with remission no longer an accomplishment to cling to- I am lost and ready to implode.
So- in this regard my birthday, here under the umbrella will be a bit forced- the wonderful little humans will delight in their gifts of love and cards of caring- as I struggle with the legacy of what this day means to me as a human- not mom but as a separate entity. . .Darkness rules this day in my heart. . .but in the social construct of motherhood. . .all is well. . .

a most curious paradox

Witch Trials. . .

Living the life of a terminal heretic. . .checking things off my bucket list as I go. . .I don't know maybe alarmist, maybe realist. . .but whatever it is. . .DAMN THE TORPEDOES! Game on!

If Mama PhD had asked

It happened again- with the same results. For all of the education and all of the time spent trying to learn, the most basic of details can and does reveal all-



"I don't know how to pronounce that"



Yes, that's right, I have advanced degrees, and guess what- I have never HEARD that word spoken before!

Can I define it- yes! I can tell you EXACTLY what that word means. . .but I can't tell you what it sounds like! Can I use it properly in a sentence-yep, but I can't say it. . .



I am a product of my low class, no nonsense working class family, and they never EVER said that word!
Growing up in a home where women were destined to be mothers, advanced education was not part of the equation. . .I am a product of that place, of that time, and it seems that just when I think that I can be one of them. . .the educated. . .I look like SOUND like a complete idiot!
I am a teen mom grown up- heard the all the predictions- I would never be much, be on welfare (as we knew it) and would have a passel of kids. . .curlers if my hair was not so out of control curly. . .you get the point. . .yes that's right a TEEN mom. . .16 to be exact.
My path to being a doctoral student, now dissertator, has been most uncommon, and to try to pretend that I am one of you all is futile, and thanks to Star Trek, I can actually pronounce THAT word. . .among others. . . but does it matter?
I hope to get my degree, to be the end all be all of academic excellence, and to establish my place, but if I can't pronounce the words of my cohort, will I be one of you?
Sigh, I feel real, I feel like I belong, I have done all that I can to establish myself as someone who can and does understand the ACT words of my field- agency, and interaction, the inner workings of the Elizabethan Poor Laws that provide the foundation for the struggles of people like me into the 21rst century. . .but do I belong? I hope so, I guess it remains to be seen. . .and I hope that with more interaction and more time, I can rattle off the words that plague my very life, those words of the privileged homes, of the kind that children, sons and daughters, are privy to from birth. . .I hope. . .
If I do not make it, there is hope, my 8 year old daughter told me today, "Mom I mean that literally, not just figuratively. . .it is real."
Yes, Cocoa, it is real, it is real to YOU and I am proud of you, you will be ready and you WILL belong in that world, even if I do not. . . .

600- the one that belongs to Lennox

On the day you would have been born I remembered you