The Void

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Recently I read an essay by Toni Hammer about the void that happens when you’re done having children. About halfway through the piece, I could feel a knot in my throat, tears rising behind my eyes. Why? Because I’ve been living in this void, unwilling, possibly unable, to admit it. Reading Ms. Hammer’s words brought me to my knees in recognition.

I grew up an only child until age 12, when my sister was born. The sizable gap between us ensured that we both experienced life more or less as only children with the undivided attention and devotion of our parents. I thought that was fine and that if I ever had a child, I only wanted one. Read more

Don’t Look Back (July U.B.C. Day 3)

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Learning recently that a settlement had been reached between the Central Park 5 and the city of New York, I was transported back in time to my senior year of high school and the fights I had with my mother over where I would attend college. Read more

On Being Alone With My Husband (U.B.C. – Day 13)

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Last night Ernie Hemingway and I had a free night. A night without children. The Boy was with my parents for a sleepover, and the youngest daughter was off visiting a friend in Boston and doing whatever it is young twenty-somethings do these days. The antics of my youth seem tame in comparison to some of the stuff I hear about now, but I digress.

We had the annual fund raiser at The Boy’s school last night, a fun evening for which the parents get all gussied up and go drink wine and beer and bid what we hope are absurdly large amounts of money for items drummed up for donation by the two awesomely amazing women who co-chair the event.

It was a fun night, and we got to schmooze with a lot of people we wouldn’t otherwise have a chance to meet, as our kids are not in the same grade. It was nice for the parents who are not doing drop-off and pick-up on a daily basis to have the opportunity to meet and talk with other parents. It was lovely to see everyone dressed up in their finery instead of in jeans, yoga pants or sweatpants, with hair and makeup done, their faces bright and expectant instead of tired and wanting just a few more minutes before the alarm goes off.

The best part of the night, however, was the hours after the auction. Ernie Hemingway and I got to be just “us” for a few hours, no place we needed to be, nobody we needed to pick up, nobody waiting at home for us. We got to sleep by ourselves for a full night instead of experiencing the normal routine of The Boy coming in to snuggle at 5:00 am each morning. We got to wake up by ourselves and talk about things we wanted instead of having to leap out of bed to make somebody else breakfast, get somebody else dressed or bring somebody else to school.

Last night reminded me of the myriad reasons I love my husband, reasons that often get obscured as we rush through the daily grind of life, barely seeing one another some days except for a few minutes at night when we fall, exhausted, into bed. My husband and I got to spend twenty-four hours together being one another’s best friend and confidante, instead of only being one another’s partner in family management.

It was heavenly.

Monday Morning Eternal (U.B.C. – Day 7)

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No matter where I am in my life, Monday mornings bring much baggage. When I was in high school, Monday mornings were difficult because I had to go back to rising early and schlepping off to school. I actually did walk about a mile each way to school, so in the cold of New England winters, it was a brutal walk. Of course, I didn’t help matters by wearing my little white Keds and flats with bare feet as I slogged through the slush and ice, but I can be forgiven for that; I was a teenager. Read more

Holder of My Heart (U.B.C. Day 3)

Today has been one of those days.  I knew from early on that I would be busy, but I nonetheless hoped I would be able to find time to write a post.  Alas, it never happened.  Knowing that, I decided to experiment with photography and post a photo I took today of the little man who holds my heart (as opposed to the big man who holds my heart).

 

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Love Letter to Ernie Hemingway

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My husband, the man whom I call Ernie Hemingway on this blog, is the love of my life, my rock and my soft landing. So on this Valentine’s Day, I wanted to write him a love letter. Read more

Yelling Not Allowed

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One of the last times I yelled at my son was Sunday, November 10, 2013. That was the day I decided I never wanted to do it again because I never again wanted to see hurt and confusion, even fear, in his eyes when he looked at me. Although I am certain I will yell again at some point, I nevertheless keep the date posted on my refrigerator. Even when I have slipped, I see that date written on my refrigerator white board and catch myself faster. I take a breath, and then I stop. Read more

Another Chance

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Here it is another January 1, another new year on the calendar, another chance. Each January 1, we all make resolutions regarding our behavior. It’s almost instinctual; even if we swear we’re not going to get caught up in the hype, it seems that we all stand up a little straighter, square our shoulders and try something new … for at least a few days. Read more

December: Boot Camp Perfect

Well, we’ve finally reached the beginning of the end.  The end of my year of new resolutions, that is.  According the my roadmap for this past year, December is the time to engage in “Boot Camp Perfect.”  By that, apparently Ms. Rubin means that I should follow all my resolutions and determinations all the time. Read more