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Gratitude

26 Nov

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Possibly one of my top ten favorite words and something I try to keep in mind when confronted with things I’d prefer not to think about because things could always be worse:

G R A T I T U D E

Perspective is so important and today, like every day, I am so grateful for

  1. My children
  2. My husband
  3. My parents
  4. My brother
  5. My extended family
  6. My friends
  7. Good health
  8. James Taylor
  9. Licorice
  10. Music
  11. Warm chocolate chip cookies
  12. When Harry Met Sally
  13. Medicine and science
  14. Taxi
  15. The NYT crossword puzzle
  16. Laughter
  17. Words
  18. Not turkey — I could skip that
  19. Meatballs
  20. My pizza oven
  21. My grandparents. They were the best.
  22. A well told story
  23. Games of all kinds
  24. Good coffee
  25. The University of Michigan
  26. Shehecheyanu
  27. The gym (not while I’m there, only when I’m leaving)
  28. Frizz Ease
  29. Blow outs
  30. Public School
  31. Kindness
  32. Sunshine
  33. Pickles
  34. Bloody Marys
  35. The ocean
  36. My Kindle
  37. WordPress
  38. My GPS even though she sometimes sucks
  39. The freedoms granted to me in the Bill of Rights
  40. Love

Thank you so very much for reading and for your encouragement. I am grateful for you all.

Shehecheyanu.

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Deductions

17 Apr

My brother and I took my mom out for lunch for her birthday. Somewhere between blowing out the candle and asking for the check, my brother excused himself to use the bathroom.  My mom whirled around, seizing the opportunity made available by his convenient need to empty his bladder:

“Lisa, we have to find him a wife. He’s getting KILLED on taxes. No dependents.”

I can’t tell you why he’s still single. He is downright adorable. He’s sweet, kind, charming. He’s hilarious too. We laugh at all the same things (some of which are terrible, leading to uncomfortable public situations). We still have that connection we did as children: we will zero in on the same thing and laugh uncontrollably — typically the kind that produces no sound but does cause endless tears, heaving shoulders, and sore abs. For a period of time after that, we can no longer look at each other without breaking into hysterics. Often this can last anywhere from 1 week to 3 decades.  We are ageless.

More important, I have finally forgiven him for not being a girl. I desperately wanted a sister. He seems to bear no scars for all the times I dressed him in a raincoat, put his hair in pigtails, and called him “Joan.”

“You’re threatening his masculinity!” My mother would shout. That didn’t stop me. If he wanted to play with me and my friends, he was going to be the little sister. Or the dog. That worked too.

He also doesn’t seem to hold against me the countless times I told him things tasted like watermelon because I knew he would eat them.

“Here! Try this chicken gizzard. It tastes just like watermelon! It’s delicious.” And then I would hold my breath and wait. He did not disappoint, reaction-wise, although the chicken gizzard was the last time he took that bait.

He was a great brother, still is. I don’t know many who could have survived having me for a sister. We hail from a colorful family of strong personalities and thankfully, he is one of them. If he was just some dopey wallflower, for instance, he never would have let my mom and me create the now defunct “pleasemarrymyson.com” in 2010. Although he was definitely mortified.

Perhaps he’s single because I was just too much to handle. Or perhaps he’s single because he’s looking for someone like his sister to laugh with until tears roll down his cheeks and his stomach aches. Who isn’t?

Regardless, my mom has entrusted me with this mission.

“So, Mom, you’re saying you want him to get married just so he can give less money to the government?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

And then we laughed. ‘Til we cried. Because she’s pretty funny too.

**If you don’t hear from me within a week, call the cops because my brother killed me for publishing this post.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

11 Apr

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Happy birthday to the woman whose laughter sends me.

Happy birthday to the woman who leaves me voicemails telling me she loves me; voicemails I save so I can hear her voice whenever I want.

Happy birthday to the woman who brought her ukelele to the hospital when I broke my femur at 5 years old, and who played “Puff the Magic Dragon” for the entire children’s floor. And happy birthday to the woman that slept beside me the whole time I was there.

Happy birthday to the woman who made me believe in myself.

Happy birthday to the woman bold enough to sit in the passenger seat when I learned to drive. And happy birthday to the woman bold enough to sit in the passenger seat decades later, knowing how I drive.

Happy birthday to the woman who has made every holiday special every year of my life, and who continues to do the same for my sons.

Happy birthday to the woman who, after major surgery, discharged herself from the hospital early so she could see me off to the prom.

Happy birthday to the woman whose glass is always half full, no matter how many circumstances may have threatened to empty it.

Happy birthday to the woman who never told me that my grandma was dying because she knew it would crush me, but instead took me to Florida once a month to visit her.

Happy birthday to the woman that puts up with me.

Happy birthday to the woman who raced behind me as I drove my son to the emergency room on a horrible day in January. And happy birthday to the woman who sat and held my hand as I wept.

Happy birthday to the woman who only wants the people she loves to be happy.

Happy birthday to the woman who recorded a video of my grandma begging Oprah Winfrey to set me up with a Jewish doctor. And happy birthday to the woman that sent it in and told all her friends when it aired.

Happy birthday to the woman that’s been diagnosed with so many things so many times it is impossible to keep track. And happy birthday to the woman who smiled up at me from every hospital bed she’s ever been in, only wanting to make sure that I was ok.

Happy birthday to the woman who found me a kitten when I was lonely, and who snuck it into my NYC apartment with a bed, kitty litter, and food, while I was at work.

Happy birthday to the woman that has always been kind to everyone.

Happy birthday to the woman who was there to witness my first love and happy birthday to the woman who was there to nurse my first broken heart.

Happy birthday to the woman who rescued my 3 year old son after he intentionally locked the babysitter in the basement, and then fled the house.

Happy birthday to the woman who cut my hair off when I was 5 because she heard it would grow back thick. And happy birthday to the woman who let me wear a hooded raincoat in the sunshine because that haircut was the worst.

Happy birthday to my first friend, my best friend, my most incredible friend.

Happy birthday to my role model, my good luck charm, my superhero.

Happy birthday to the most beautiful woman I have ever seen or known.

Thank you for all this and more. Thank you for every day you are around the corner and in my heart. Thank you.

Happy birthday, Mom!

I love you.

Separation Anxiety

6 Apr

I hate the thought of my parents getting older. I am very fortunate for the Everybody Loves Raymond situation we have. They are around the corner. My brother is also not far away. My kids are the greatest beneficiaries, having an extended family in their backyard, which is a gift I didn’t grow up with.

Both sets of grandparents moved to Florida when I was young enough to not remember them living anywhere but Florida. My mother’s parents at one time had an apartment in my hometown but I don’t recall anything about it except for the moment they packed it up. I was 8 years old and doing an excellent job of crying myself to sleep. My mother must have heard me because she opened the door, turned on the light, and said “get out of bed. Let’s go see your grandparents.”

This was a big deal. It was after my bedtime. Nothing ever happened after my bedtime. She took me in my nightgown to their apartment which was filled with boxes containing their life. I sat in a chair, weeping, inconsolable. My grandma, in an effort to stop the tears, handed me a royal blue glass soap dish. I can’t imagine an 8 year old appreciating a soap dish, or maybe even soap, but to me, it was beautiful. And for some reason, it meant everything.

The other day, my mom casually dropped a bomb on me. She mentioned tax implications. She mentioned inheritance money. She mentioned financial loss. She mentioned that she would be MOVING TO FLORIDA. This was in between where would we eat dinner that night and something similarly insignificant.

I probably stopped the car. I probably would have liked to have told her to get out of it too. Instead, I used my words:

“What?! What do you mean you’re moving to Florida? What are you talking about?”

“There’s money you and your brother would have to pay in taxes if we don’t.”

I don’t know how much money that amounts to. I don’t care either. There is no price you can put on having the best people in the world–the people that gave you life, loved you, raised you, held your hand, laughed with you, cried with you, kissed your tears away, told you you were right, told you you were wrong, listened — truly listened, and then cycle back and do it all over again for your children–just a short bike ride away. No price.

“Mom, I would pay all that money just to have you near me. Just to have you and Dad in my life. Just to have you here with me.”

“Ok, it’s settled. I’m not moving to Florida. Where are we going for dinner?”

Anywhere you want mom, as long as it’s with you.