Mo's First Swim Lesson

It was on Sunday. He did great! So did his daddy!

Conflicted

I've been feeling very conflicting lately about my blog. I fear that by writing about our experience and our profound sense of loss and horror, that I've somehow cheapened the experience or commoditized Maxie's brief life. I worry that I somehow threw Maxie's death into a bucket with all of the other disappointing and upsetting things that happen in life, where I meant to set it apart. What I've meant to say is that Maxie's life was more precious to me than even my own and that any thing that could ever happen to ME would pale in comparison to what happened to HIM.

My life's disappointments before and since losing Maxie don't add up to even a small pile compared to the mountain that is his loss of life. They are the things that happen to us all because sadly, life is messy. What happened to our lives the day that Maxie stopped breathing goes so far beyond "messy".  But, words are inadequate.  Woefully inadequate.

Because there is no explaining & there is no imagining, there is no way to verbally elevate the loss of our son to the degree at which it stands - "outshining" all of the awful and horrific happenings I could have ever imagined happening to me, anyone I love, or to the little boy - the person - who meant more to us than anyone ever had before.  I feel almost embarrassed that I've even tried to explain it and I am not really sure what to do moving forward.

At Once

There is a theme of questioning that keeps coming back, which almost sounds like an accusation, even though I don't think it is meant to be.  It's "Have you allowed yourself to really love and attach to Mo?"  It seems like a crazy question to me but I get asked this all of the time - almost always by people who've never really seen me with Mo.   I guess when people hear me crying and feeling so helpless and destroyed by Maxie's death, they assume that means I must not have enough love leftover for Mo.  I'm pretty sure that if Max were alive, nobody would ask me that question. 

I know plenty of people with more than one child, and somehow, they manage to love them all.  They can actually go through periods of being a little more worried about one child, or attending to the health of another - but nobody ever bothers to wonder whether they have enough space for all of the children.  There is no question because we know that it is biological and completely normal for a parent to love each of their children with equal passion and enthusiasm.  There is no question because we can see them loving their children equally.  If you saw me with Mo, I don't think there would be a question.  I love him completely - with my entire soul - with every cell in my body.  He acts like a child who is given boatloads of love too.  I never worry that he doesn't feel our love.

What is funny is when I really button up, when I focus all of my attention on Mo and put thoughts of Max out of my mind, I get, "Have you allowed yourself to grieve?".  As if I am somehow emotionless because I am not crying right then.  It's actually a somewhat hilarious conundrum.  If I am not sharing and crying all of the time - I am cold.....if I am sharing and crying - I am stuck. 

I know, better than most, how possible it is to be fully sad and disappointed by life and at the very same time - in the exact same moment, in fact - feel completely filled with joy.  It is hard to imagine.  I know.  I hope you never ever feel it.  But, when I cry about Max...  When I talk about how much I miss him...  When I sob over my broken heart and his beautiful life that ended much too quickly - it doesn't mean that I've forgotten the perfect, hilarious, smart, interested, lovely little boy that is his little brother.  He is the light of my life - the one I am able to give my whole heart to - the most special person in my world. 

Don't worry - Mo is loved.  Completely and thoroughly. As is Maxie.  Forever and ongoing.  To the Moon and back....and back...and back. 

Escape

I wish there was someplace I could go to escape - from people, from life, from all of the noise.  I would take Mo and Ted and leave everyone else behind.  I think about it all of the time. All of the time.

But there is nowhere to go because most of the noise is in my head and the place I envision isn't even on earth. I sometimes think I can get there through meditation, but being alone with myself usually makes the thoughts louder. Then I think what I really need is distraction, but there is no distraction and inevitably I come back to myself.

I'm tired- and I'm ready for something mind blowingly GOOD! Good like Max! Good like Mo. I am tired of feeling sorry for myself.  Tired of all of this noise.

Flight Time

While I am looking forward to my trip to Israel in a couple of weeks, the stuff that I am most excited about isn't necessarily what you might think it is.  It isn't being in the holy city of Jerusalem, or spending a beautiful Shabbat day in the coastal resort town of Eilat.  It isn't even enjoying my FAVORITE breakfast of all time - Israeli cottage cheese and a big salad.  Almost everything I am most looking forward to will actually happen on the plane on the way there.  I kind of can't believe that I'm even saying (or thinking this).

I think that the flight is around 14 hours direct.  That means 14 hours of "me" time (plus extra time in the airport before my flight).  I will be able to watch movies, listen to music, sleep and read whatever I want.  (And, yes, I will be sitting in coach).  Flying lately means having a baby on my lap, who is bored and fussing when I am lucky; crying and screaming when I am not.  There is no reading (HA) or listening to music (the headphones would be pulled out of my ears in two seconds) or watching tv/movies (same).  Since it is an international flight - I might even have a couple of drinks - and I don't even necessarily mean alcoholic ones - I just mean drinks that won't get spilled in my lap.

The truth is that I am not even complaining about flying with a baby.  I am so lucky to have Mo.  He can scream and cry and flail all over the place.  I'll still cover his cheeks in kisses and throw dirty looks at anyone who complains about him.  I am not excited AT ALL about being away from Mosie for a whole week.  The thought is actually totally anxiety provoking - but I plan to enjoy the pants off those first 14 + hours.

Mo's first pony ride

After brunch on Saturday, we took Mosie to the pony rides.  This is something that I have been look forward to doing with my children since Maxie was born.  Doing stuff like this with Mo lifts my heart out of the darkness.  He is so special.

More than enough

After I did a bunch of crying yesterday morning - I decided I needed to get out of the house, so we went to brunch.  Have you been to Messhall in Los Feliz? BEST concept for a restaurant ever (but I REALLY love camp!)

Anyway, I realized something once I got outside.  If we never had another kid, that would be ok.  We've had the most wonderful two children that anyone could ever ask for.  My heart has been filled to the brim with love and adoration.  It's fine.  It honestly is.  Would I like another?  Yes.  For sure.  But, I could cuddle with Mo and give him and Max all of my attention for the rest of my life - and that would be enough.  It would be.

There is a cruel joke that nature plays on women who are trying to conceive by making them the most hormonal that they are all month on the same exact day that they are anticipating something that they've likely been hoping for for most of their life.

The love I have for Ted, Max, and Mo is more than enough.  I know I am lucky to have had Maxie....so lucky.  I am blessed to have Ted and Mo.  

Trying

After Mo was conceived, my family liked to say that Ted & I only had to look at each other to get pregnant.  Mo was my third pregnancy that happened on the first try.  Nevermind that my eldest child had died and my second pregnancy miscarried at eight weeks....at least we all knew I could get pregnant .

In the past year, I've probably taken 20-30 prematurely hopeful pregnancy tests. I've carefully monitored all of my cycles. I've spent hours lying on an acupuncture table with needles all over my body. I'm started to feel pretty hopeless.  Maybe Mo doesn't need a little brother or sister and perhaps it wouldn't hurt so bad if he didn't already have a big brother that he will never meet.  When Max was alive, I honestly felt fine with the idea that he could be our only.  I know I wanted 2-3 kids but wasn't going to fight Mother Nature if that's not what I was given.  I felt lucky to have had the one.  Now, I have some strange notion that I can keep moving forward and planning for the life I originally wanted but no matter how hard I try, I keep getting knocked down. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something (maybe? I can't even believe that a smidgen of me is still holding out hope).  I just really thought this was the month (as I do every month) and next month, I'll be in Israel while I'm ovulating, so there goes another month.  I'm about ready to throw in the towel.  It's just not happening. And I'm so tired of being sad about it.

Imagining

I'm still thinking about this.  I have a hard time with the phrase, "I can't even imagine" or "I won't even pretend to understand what you are going through".  Let me rephrase - I don't always have a hard time with it.  But, I don't like when that sentiment is followed with prescriptive advice or a brushing away of what I am going through.  Like a "I won't pretend to know what you are going through but one thing I've learned in this life is to keep putting one foot in front of the other."  If they haven't lost a child, they really have no idea what they are talking about.  I guess it would make me madder if they said, "I know exactly what you mean.....my (you name it: pet, grandpa, friend, ??? - but not a child) died too". (Another "can't win situation" brought to you by Abby Leviss and grievers across the world). 

I think what people mean is (because I've said it and this is what I mean):
I can't even imagine anything more horrible than what you are going through.  Or, perhaps - what you are going through is too painful to imagine.

Because, here is the thing - you CAN imagine.  When people tell me that they can't imagine - it effectively shuts them off from trying to imagine what I feel like.  What I'd really like to say sometimes is "Sure you can.  Imagine your three children.  Now imagine one of them dead.  Imagine watching them die in the hospital in front of your face.  Imagine planning their funeral.  Imagine throwing dirt on their coffin.  Then imagine visiting them at the cemetery and spending the rest of your life talking to the sky or the ground when you want to feel close to them.  And, if you can't pick a child to imagine dead, I'll pick one for you - because that is how random it is anyway."  

I don't think that would go over very well.  Can you imagine the uncomfortable situation I would be putting that person in for a whole 30 seconds?  They'd have to imagine their child dead!  How horrific!  Of course, I live with that horror and in that uncomfortable place all day long every day.  So, is it really so horrible for me to ask you to imagine?

Basically, the only way to truly have empathy for another person's situation is to try and imagine it.  There are no short cuts - it's the only way.  The beauty is - you don't actually have to live it.  You are just imagining it.

If we could imagine what it was like to live in rural Africa and have no access to water - If we could imagine what it was like to live a life addicted to drugs - If we could imagine what it was like to be our own "enemies" - If we could imagine being homeless or widowed or orphaned - If we could imagine what it was like to lose our child - We'd be living in a completely different world.  A world with far less judgments, with far more appreciation, with far greater empathy.

No - you will NEVER understand what I am going through and I can appreciate when you acknowledge that .  But maybe you can follow the statement by saying something like, "but I want to understand and so I am listening".  I know you will never understand and for that, I am glad.  Nobody should ever have to lose a child.  I wish I was the one imagining and not the one living it.  But I guess I am just saying that you CAN imagine it.  You CAN. You just choose not to and I can't say I blame you much - who would want to?

Facebook Movie

You know those cute little Facebook movies that were rolled out on Tuesday.  The ones that review your life and all of it's precious moments? 

Ugh

I was feeling ONCE AGAIN like a martian from another planet knowing that something that brings happiness and smiles to other people (or tears of joy) would most likely throw me into a tailspin of grief and have me crying and out of commission for the rest of the day.

But then, my mom called early yesterday morning and said, "I have a question. How come when I click on Erik Feig's movie on Facebook, I see a movie of me?"   Bless her heart.  Hee Hee Hee.  I love you mom!  (Oh mom - please forgive me for throwing you under the bus this time but your question brought such a big smile to my face.)  I explained that clicking on the link would indeed bring her to her own Facebook movie and that if she wanted to watch Erik's, she needed to click the image that looked like a photo collage with an arrow in the middle.  We laughed and laughed.

I also liked what my dad's wife's son's new wife had to say (did you follow that?  My step-sister in law) - "Ok, people, let's be real. The only person that's gonna watch your Facebook movie is YOU (and possibly your grandma)"  HA HA! So true.  For the rest of the morning, every time that I saw someone had posted about their Facebook movie, I suppressed a little giggle.

Finally I succumbed to the pressure (the completely imagined & in my head pressure)  and made my Facebook movie.  That random/not so random collage of photos of the last 6 years of my life (obviously excluding the two years right after losing Maxie) was pretty accurate I have to say.  And, I actually liked watching it all unroll in a beautiful and quick like montage.  

It didn't ruin my day.  It didn't actually do anything to my day at all.  It was just nice to see us looking like a normal family for less than a minute.

Post by Abby Leviss.

On My Terms

You are wondering why I choose not to share Max with people anymore.  And, I don't want to be repetitive because I've explained it before.  It isn't that I am trying to protect anyone.  Or, I should say - I am not trying to protect anyone other than me.  It hurts me to say that my son died out loud.  It literally HURTS.  And, it's easy for you to say "screw them if they can't handle it!".  The truth is that it isn't easy to be the owner of the dark cloud life story.  I want to be liked just like you do.  I want to have easy social encounters and pieces of my life that aren't drenched in pain.  I want to run to the market without having to disclose my most personal information to the random checker making small talk with me (who doesn't really care how many kids I have anyway).  I want to take Mo to Mommy and Me without having to deal with the anxiety of other people.  And not only do I want those things - I deserve those things.  If you know me, you know I am approachable.  It has been really hard making the transition from being a person that people enjoy hanging out with to a person that people avoid.  And, quite honestly, I don't want to share Max because he and I both deserve more.

I share him here....because here I control the conversation (except for when strange bereaved parent-haters "stop by" to pick fights with me).  I get to share with you when I am in the mood to share and I get to keep it light when I choose to keep it light.  When you come here, you know you are going to read the thoughts of a mother who lost her beautiful child (which is probably why not many people come here anymore).  When you meet for the first time at a business meeting or party and ask me how many kids I have - you are expecting a straight forward answer; not the one I give.

Does this make more sense?  I already live day in and day out with the constant noise in my head saying "Did this really happen?  Did my delicious and wonderful baby boy really die?"  I don't like saying it out loud.  There are times when I feel I have to but I don't like it.  And when I feel like saying it - I do.  There ARE times when I feel the need to knock the inappropriate smile right off the face of someone in my life chooses to pretend he never existed.  There are times when I want to shake people who should have been affected by his death and scream in their face, "He was here and you said you loved him!  So why the hell won't you talk about him?"  But, for the most part, I am not looking for that kind of interaction.

I appreciate your acknowledging.  It means a lot when you tell me that you've spent time thinking about us.  I am humbled when you tell me that you still read my blog.  But, we don't really need to get into it if it isn't organic.  I am not usually one to force Max into the conversation anymore.  And I don't like feeling like I am expected to cry with everyone who brings it up to me.  I cry enough.  You can get emotional - and I appreciate that - but I am not cold just because I don't break down with you.  I've worked long and hard to build this wall.  Please respect that.

I cry when I want to cry.  I share when and with those I choose to share with.  The best thing you can do for someone in grief is to let them know you haven't forgotten.  If they want to talk, they will.  If they don't, they will appreciate what you've said (honestly appreciate) and they will leave it there.  We don't always want to talk - we just want to know that we could if we wanted to.

Bottled up

Most of the time, I don't argue about it anymore.  I don't take the time to try and convince.  I just let them think what they want:  That I should be over it, that time will make it go away, that it's ok because I had another baby, that it doesn't really matter because Max was only nine months.  Somehow, they can understand the great joy of having a baby - but they can't understand the great grief of losing one.

As time has worn on, I find that I have shut off more and more.  I don't care what anyone thinks about me anymore and I try not to share my story as much as I would like.  I don't want anyone to fix me.  I don't want anyone to point out the bright side.  I just don't even want to talk about it most of the time.  It's all mine.  This love, this grief, this strange life - belongs to me.

I am sitting here and I can't stop crying because it's all bottled up inside me and I have nowhere but here (this blog) to let it out.  I am expected to keep it to myself - so I mostly do.  Wouldn't it be nice if we someday lived in a world where grievers could come out of the closet?  Where their experience was as legitimate as the experiences of happy people?   I've met a LOT of people in pain over these two and half years and I believe that we deserve a voice.  I hope that I see a day when we have one that can be heard by "regular folk".

In the meantime, I've learned my lesson the hard way.  I shut up and smile, crack occasional jokes, tell stories about pleasant stuff.  I'm hardening to the outside world.  I'm not letting them in.  I am not sure that they deserve to be in here anyway. 

Freezing Time

"They grow up too fast!"

"I wish they would stay this age forever!"

"Babyhood is gone in an instant!"

As one whose baby never made it past nine and a half months, please believe me when I tell you - you don't want the clock to stop right now while they are this perfect age (whatever age that might be).  It is SUCH a blessing that your child continues to grow up at this unbelievable rate! 

The last year and a half of Mo's life has been a blur.  He HAS grown up so fast.  He is so much more of a toddler than a little boy.  And, if there is any part of me that "misses" his being a baby, I've suppressed it.  I am overjoyed that he wakes up every morning looking a little more mature.  I am overjoyed that he wakes up every morning. Period.

I have another baby who will remain nine months forever and it kills me every second of every single day.  I will never know what Max would be like at Mo's age.  I will never send him off the preschool or kindergarten.  He will never graduate grade school, or high school or college.  These are things that you "know" but that I feel deep inside my bones.  These are the things that dwell in the all of the empty spots of my brain and my heart that tell me that each moment of my child's life needs to be appreciated for what it exactly is.  Each period of each of my children's lives has been perfect.

Today Mo is one day older and Max is not.  Today Mo is older than his big brother.  Can someone please explain to me where the justice in that is?

He's growing up so fast and I couldn't be happier about it

See Saw

I can hardly believe what a big boy he is!!!!

The Camel is Back

It's inexplicable.  The onset is both sudden and dramatic.  My palms start sweating and then tingling.  I was suddenly so hot that even blasting the air conditioning directly in my face from all angles could not cool me down.  I felt both dizzy and so nauseous that I worried I might vomit right there.  The worst part is that I was driving North on the 405.  The saving grace was that my friend/colleague, Carly, was in the passenger seat.  I needed to pull off the freeway immediately but the next exit was closed, due to construction.  Then, when we finally got off, there was no side of the road - no place to turn into.  Carly offered to take over but I didn't see how I would even be able to get out of my seat, walk around the car and get into hers.  Eventually, I did get out of the car and Carly drove us home.  Thank god it was her in the car with me.  I haven't had a panic attack like this in over two years - and while this one was nowhere near as bad as the last one - it was still scary.

And, what is so weird, is that there was seemingly no reason for it at all.  Yes, I have been feeling really low these last few days.  And, yes, I had two cups of coffee at our breakfast meeting even though I gave up caffeine (for the most part) a few months ago.  But, there was nothing so dramatic that would have set this off.  We had a really exciting meeting in the morning with a donor of hers.  I was feeling both incredibly jazzed about it and also a little overwhelmed as I have not had a super productive and inspired meeting in like this in a long time and to really make our plan happen will take a lot of work and convincing. But, frankly, I don't think the panic had anything to do with the meeting (more likely the coffee).  I am just trying to piece it all together.

I finally calmed down by breathing very slow and deep.  The relief doesn't come as immediately as I am hoping it will in the moment and it sort of creates more panic because you worry that the breathing won't work and maybe you will be stuck like this for a while.  Then, even after you sort of pull it all back together, the physical trauma of the whole thing lasts for the rest of the day.  It feels like being REALLY hungover or what I imagine it would feel like after getting knocked out.  It's awful.

You try to figure out what went wrong so that you can make sure it doesn't happen again but the truth is that it is likely something so small that you will never be able to pin point it.  It is the straw that breaks the camels back.  It is what comes from carrying around a nightmare in your heart and head all day every day and trying to exist as normally as possible in a completely foreign and frightening world.  It can be nothing more than your body's way of saying - "Enough already!  You need to start breathing deeply and then spend the rest of the day on the couch or you will be punished!"  Panic attacks are completely new to me since losing Max.  I never knew or understood what people were talking about when they said they'd had them.  I wish I still didn't know.

My mother and I in Cairo in 1994

Embarrassing

I've noticed that when I post anything about Max or grief on my Facebook page, it basically goes ignored (except for by a few obligatory likes or maybe a comment from another bereaved parent).  If I post something about Mo or our house in Costa Rica or anything else, I get lots of likes and comments.

I've asked other bereaved parents if they've had the same experience and what they think about it.  They tell me that it is because my feelings embarrass "regular" folk.  And, so I guess that means I am expected to post only about light and fluffy stuff.  I find it kind of irritating.  You might feel embarrassed about my talking about my son but I do not feel embarrassed about him.  I feel a LOT of emotions about Max and losing Max - pride, love, missing, longing, adoration - embarrassment is not one of them. 

A colleague told me that Facebook is a place to post the kind of stuff you would talk about at a cocktail party.  Keep it light.........Maybe this explains why I avoid cocktail parties.

Another bereaved mother suggests that I offer a week's stay at our house in Costa Rica to the Facebook "friend" that shows me the most Facebook compassion over the month of February.  I thought that was pretty funny - cynical - but funny.  I feel like I might get a few more "likes" if I made that offer.

I guess when I post about grief on Facebook, I am not really looking for anyone to respond necessarily.  But, just because they don't respond, doesn't mean I am going to stop posting about grief.  You can ignore the things that make you uncomfortable all you want - but that doesn't mean that they are going anywhere. 

Homeland

I have been working in Jewish communal non-profits for many years now.  I like to say that I chose this field because I wanted to get sent to Israel for work every year and have all of the Jewish holidays off.  I like to say it because it is true.  Plus, I actually do feel passionately about the work that I do.  For the last seven years, I have been working for the Jewish National Fund in varying capacities.  I started as a Senior Campaign Executive, became a Regional Director and then just before Maxie was conceived, I was promoted to Zone Director.  It was an exciting time in my life - I got engaged, married, promoted twice, pregnant, and became a mom all in just over a years time. 

And then Maxie died.  And, I couldn't face the people I worked with.  And, I didn't have the capacity in my heart or my head to care about anything in the world around me.  I didn't know how I would take my next breath.  I figured that I would just get fired.  I was basically just waiting for the call.

And then, I told you what happened next.  The CEO of my organization met with me and told me to take my time.  "I want to walk beside you", he said.  I will never forget how it felt to have that weight lifted from my shoulders.  I will be forever grateful.  A few months later, he worked with me to reinvent my position with JNF - one where I could work from home and where I didn't have to interact too much with others.  My new position has been an absolute blessing, as has he.

In just a few weeks, I will be boarding a plane to Israel and will be traveling around the country with a group of my colleagues for a week. I honestly didn't think they'd ever send me again....and I was fine with that.  I mean, it made me a little sad, but I was mostly just grateful to have a job still.  Also, I had been sent in the past to oversee trips of donors and I am not working with donors anymore. I had pretty much kissed that part of my life goodbye - a very very very small sacrifice when compared with losing my child (everything is). When I got the email invitation to participate, I was completely surprised.  I thought it was a mistake in fact and wrote back, "Is this for me?".... but I knew right away that it was something that I wanted to do.....even though it makes me more than a little nervous.

Most obviously, I am nervous because I will be away from Mo for a whole week.  I know he will be fine - Ted's mom (Gigi) is coming to town for the week, my mom will be around, Mo's nanny will be here and of course, Ted will be here too.  Mo will be in good hands.  But, I will miss him....desperately.  It scares me how much I know I will miss him.

Less obviously, I am nervous about spending a week with new people.  There has been a lot of turnover in the two and a half years and I don't really know a lot of the new staff people.  They don't know who I am.  They don't know about Max.  I am nervous about sitting on the bus next to a new person and having them ask me how many children I have.  I am nervous about being in Maxie's Forest- a place that I'm sure will bring up so much emotion for me and not having anyone around me to lean on, who understands what it means for me to be there (although actually, My boss will be there - and he does understand).  It will be weird to visit without Ted and Mo.  I am nervous that I won't make friends or find a comfortable niche (something I never used to worry about).  I am thinking that the best way to approach it is to just look for the experience to move me on the inside and try to ignore whatever is happening on the outside until or unless I become more comfortable.

I am thrilled about going back, so honored that I was asked and feeling very grateful that they are going to organize a small dedication ceremony for me in Maxie's Forest.  I know that I will be missing Ted and Mo like crazy on that day and that my heart will be breaking (as it is every day) for my Max.  I look forward to putting a prayer for Maxie and Mo and our family in the Western Wall while I'm in Jerusalem.  I am really looking forward to seeing Israeli friends who I haven't seen in way too long.  Israel has always held a very special place in my heart.  It is a place where I feel closer to G-d, closer to my roots, closer to my own self.  It is a place that I am in love with and inspired by.  It is the place where I met Ted for the first time, where we got engaged, and where a beautiful forest has been planted in memory of my baby boy.  I know it will be meaningful - but I am feeling pretty nervous.

 Me, planting a tree in Israel on my last visit to Israel in 2010.

Chaos

I love when Mo gets to be a part of crazy chaotic play.  He totally gets swept away in the craziness!

Okay

This morning I ran to the grocery store to get milk and eggs.  I was feeling pretty BLAH.  When the checkout clerk asked how I was doing, I said "I'm okay".  It's what I always say.  Some people always say "good".  I always say "okay".  Since Max died, I am just okay - I feel completely inauthentic saying "good".  Anyway, this morning after I said, "okay", the more than 80ish year old man in line behind me replied, "You look like you are doing a helluva lot better than just ok" and then he winked at me.  Flirtatiously.  It made me smile.  I'm not even sure if he had teeth.  But, his funny flirt made me feel better than okay for a few minutes.  I even got in my car and laughed.

Clarification on the B o M

Ok.  As I said, I enjoyed the Book of Mormon but it made me strangely uncomfortable.  It wasn't actually the poking fun at Mormons that made me uncomfortable (and I will explain that in a minute - because I had to think about it) but it was the stuff about Africa.  If you haven't seen Book of Mormon and are worried I might spoil it for you, skip this post.  If you have seen it, you know what I mean.  It was supposed to make you uncomfortable.  It's an upbeat humorous musical set in a village that is rampant with AIDS and terrorized by a raping and pillaging warlord.  When I worked at the Shoah Foundation, we called it gallows humor. It is when you find something to laugh about in the most horrific of situations.  I actually like gallows humor (with limits), which is why I enjoyed the show, but it is meant to make you feel uncomfortable.  Plus, in this case, it's how the show makes it's point - which I am not even quite sure I've figured out yet.

As to why I didn't mind them poking fun at Mormons.  I did at first.  I was thinking, "This is a whole show about making fun of a group of people"...so I wasn't sure if I was comfortable with that.  Usually when I am trying to decide if I am comfortable with something, I put myself in that position.  Needless to say, there has been endless entertainment and similar satire written and performed at the expense of Jews since the beginning of time  - some produced by Jews and some by non-Jews.  Most of the time, I hardly think about it.  With that in mind, I don't think that Book of Mormon really crossed a terrible line but that is why I wanted to hear what Mormons would say about it.  It obviously exaggerated a lot of stereo typical Mormon traits like - being super upbeat/glass half full, being all-American goodie two shoes-y, and being super white.  But, I really have no idea what kind of sense of humor Mormons have about themselves.  Is Book of Mormon to Mormons like the Passion of the Christ is to Jews (not that any of us have seen it but we hate it)?  Or is there a more "Woody Allen" vibe?  I have no idea. 

I can laugh at a lot of Jewish stereotypes - like the Jewish mother stereotypes, and the Jewish American Princess stereotypes, and all of the Jewish neurosis.  But I get offended when people make jokes about Jews being super cheap....or using "Jew" as a verb or adjective meaning cheap.  I have met my fair share of cheap Jews - and my fair share of cheap every other kind of person also.  I also find that most people who make the Jew=cheap joke to me are people who I consider to be kind of cheap, so I am not sure about how that one came to be.  But, generally speaking, I find "my people" to be generous and philanthropic...but of course, that isn't always the case.  I am sorry about the others (though I don't think of them as my responsibility).  And, there are other stereotypes of Jews that I find offensive and disgusting... but whatever, I don't need to list them.  You know what they are (and if you don't, even better).  I don't mind provocative, and there is a fine line, but I draw at racism. Anyway, I'm not sure which stereotypes push a Mormon's buttons.  I've never really discussed it with a Mormon.  

Regardless, I liked the music, the sets were awesome, everyone in the show was amazing.  So, I enjoyed it.  It's also possible that I've over-analyzed a little too much - like:
Was the point of the show that Mormonism is a made up  religion?
Or, were they saying that who cares if Mormonism is made up if it brings happiness and hope to a village.
Or, maybe they were saying that when religious people go on these kinds of missions that they are getting in way over their heads.
Or, maybe they were saying that we need to be paying more attention to Africa.
Or, maybe they were saying that Mormons are not in touch with their emotions. (All of the Mormons I know are pretty in touch with their emotions but maybe this is a stereotype of Mormons?)
Or, maybe that Mormons are unusually upbeat, even when the world is crumbling around them? (That would be the opposite stereotype than the Jewish one of complaining even when things are perfectly fine).

I'm going to leave it there but would love to hear what you think.  I know I have some Mormon readers so I'd be interested to hear that perspective.  For me, getting Ted to a musical is what it was really all about.  He got us tickets for my birthday.  He came up with the idea all on his own.  Such an awesome gift.  The last musical production we saw together was Wicked (also for a birthday several years back - also at the uncomfortable Pantages theater).   Let's just say that Ted is not a fan of musicals.  Perhaps he'd be more interested if someone could produce a musical about the zombie apocalypse.  He did, however, watch "Rock of Ages" with me last weekend, and I'm pretty sure he enjoyed it, since he joined me in singing most of the music out loud in our living room.  (Rent "Rock of Ages", especially if you were a teenager in the 80s.  I promise you: every song is a hit).  I love musicals.  I often wish life were a musical - the last few years would be filled with sad Les Miserables type songs.  I'm hoping the future features a few more upbeat numbers as well.

And by the way, look what I just found:
http://www.vice.com/en_uk/read/i-asked-some-mormons-what-they-thought-about-the-book-of-mormon
&
http://articles.latimes.com/2012/sep/07/entertainment/la-et-cm-mormon-mormons-20120907

Recap of a fun night

I have not fully processed The Book of Mormon yet. I know I enjoyed it and yet, it made me strangely uncomfortable. I guess that is what I expected, considering that it was written by the creators of South Park. What I really want to know is what Mormons think of it.

Mostly, I enjoyed being out on the town with my man last night. We had one of the top five meals of our relationship. Plus, we loved the name of the restaurant:

SADIE!!!

Not only did the show make me strangely uncomfortable, but the seats at the Pantages Theater are CRAZY uncomfortable!  I think I am going to have to bring my own seat cushion next time we see a show there.  Here is a super dorky selfie that we retook 10 times.  Ted still doesn't approve of any of the shots but this one's going up anyway:

(PS - that woman directly behind us talked through the entire show!  ENTIRE SHOW!)

We had big plans to go out for a drink after the show but about a block from the theater we decided going home would be so much more fun.  Who have we become?  Old.  We've become old.  

Mo is at an age where I feel a thousand times more comfortable leaving him with my mom or his nanny, which still means that I am probably a thousand times more uncomfortable than most parents probably are leaving their kids with a complete stranger.  I hope that makes sense without sounding like I am cutting on my mom or Mo's nanny.  I am grateful that there are people I trust to leave Mo with.  Most importantly, Mo enjoys his sleepovers:

No emotional sharing in this one. Just a recap of a fun night out (entirely planned by my better half!)

All Shared Out

There is SO much I could write about today because my brain is a mish mash of crazy makingness.  But, honestly, I just don't have the energy to share.  I am all shared-out.  The truth is that I get tired of sharing.  I like to share here and occasionally with people who are close to me or when things are especially difficult, but day in and day out, I am just over it.  It makes me tired.

I was IM'ing with a girlfriend yesterday and explaining to her how I basically just act normal all of the time and it's just that - acting.  On the inside, there is no normalness - not even my "new normal" because I am only on my way to finding what that is.  I haven't arrived at "new normal" yet...even though people have been talking to me about it since Max died.  She said it bothers her that I "act" - she thinks I should just be upfront.  Who cares what people think?  Well, I don't care what people think at all, but I do care about how people interact with me because I have to interact back with them.  I can't just run around screaming and crying about Max - that would wear me out entirely.  I don't like to just tell every Tom, Dick and Harry about Maxie either - because Maxie is special and sacred to me and he isn't just conversation with randoms in the supermarket.  I won't allow him to be.  And, you know what else?  It hurts my heart when I talk about Max and I get a cold and unfeeling response.  If he was alive and I was bragging about him, the person I was bragging to would smile and act interested, even if they weren't.

Listen, I am just all shared out.  Period.  I'd rather tell you how much I am enjoying pole dancing, Zumba and my new favorite class: Body Pump!  I'd rather tell you my thoughts about this season's bachelor (Juan day soon I will...).  I'd rather tell you how excited I am to be going out to a fancy pants dinner and then seeing "The Book of Mormon" in Hollywood tonight with my husband.  I'd rather tell you how just in the last week, I've noticed that Mo is much more of a toddler than a baby these days.

What can I say?  I'm all shared out!

My Hero

This boy saves my life every day!

Big kids are mean

Big kids can be mean! We play at a few playgrounds and indoor play spaces and Mo is always drawn to the big kids.  It's no surprise to me that he especially favors the kids that are the same age Max would be.  It also makes my heart sink a little.  He always toddles over to them with a big smile on his face.  Once in a while, they are welcoming, think he's cute, and let him play.  Most of the time though, they give him a dirty look, and push him away.  What's up with that?  I guess I would understand better if I had a three and a half year old myself.  I would know that they aren't always that nice. They are just learning to share and play well with others. Luckily Mo doesn't mind. He can't understand what they are saying anyway and he is used to getting pushed out of the way by our dogs - he just pushes right back.  But I feel bad.  Whenever I see him run up to a little three year old kid, I can't help but think, "You should have a playmate this age at home all of the time little buddy."  Naturally, I want to see what that would be like.  Plus, we mostly go play outside of our home so that Mo can have the opportunity to play with other kids.  But, most of the time what I see is that big kids can be mean and that Mo ends up entertaining himself.  I guess Mo will probably be like that too one day (hopefully, a quick lived phase)!

Mo playing by himself at our favorite indoor playground.  He ALWAYS goes for this shopping cart!  And if you don't believe me, here he is again: 

Limited

The other night I was talking to Ted about my blog.  I was saying that the blog is many things to me, but most importantly, it is a space to remember Max. "You should write more about him then.", he said.  "What else is there to write?", I said.  "I've already shared most of my memories and the rest of them are drying up".....which is the most horrific part of it all.  There are things that I can't remember as well and I think that is just going to get worse as time moves on.  Ted isn't the first one to say this. 

I used to get emails all of the time saying, "Post more photos and stories of Max".  I'm not sure where I lost everyone.  I don't have more photos and stories.  My memories of Max are limited. I can only tell you all so many times how happy he was, how I loved carrying him around in the Baby Bjorn, how he babbled whenever he woke up in the morning or from a nap, and how he always smiled when we came into his room to get him. I also only have so many photos - nine and a half months worth. I wish I had taken more, but I didn't know he was going to stop breathing at daycare and leave our lives forever. I can't write more because there aren't more memories to write.  I can't write about who he was other than to say, he was very special and loved.  He wasn't old enough to tell me his hopes and dreams. He never told me which friends he liked best or how much he loved me. He never said one word.  You see, and I know you must know this, I don't have anymore photos or memories because I only had him for nine and a half months.

That's the point - this blog in many ways is about what we don't have, what he will never have. When I write "about Max" it is often abstract.  It to say that what I have of him now are a few memories and a huge void.  My hope is that despite that, you can understand how special he was by listening to us tell you what a gigantic hole he left in our hearts.  The point is - I don't have the luxury that most parents have to post new photos and funny stories everyday. I am just hoping that you will trust me enough to know that he was cute, and funny, and easy going, and delicious and that he was our everything. Honestly, I would love to post new stories and photos, but if I had those, it would be because I had Max and then I wouldn't even need this blog.

It's true that even to me, my blog seems pretty narcissistic.  A long list of ways that my life is hard - all connected to the loss of my child.  But, this is all I have.  This is all I can share with you.  This is what connects me to Max....and I hate it.

Sleep, Dream, Repeat

I am one of those people who always remembers their dreams.  This used to be so interesting when I was younger because every single night was like a new adventure in my head.  These days, not so much.  And, I shouldn't even complain because for a while, all I had were gut wrenching nightmares, which I rarely have anymore.  These days, I literally have the same three dreams over and over and over.  I know my brain is trying to work something out, but I have no idea what it is.  These are the basic frameworks of my three dreams:

1) I am married to someone who isn't Ted who I feel lukewarm about.  He is fine.  Nice person.  We don't have a lot of chemistry but we seem to have a nice enough family.  We like each other, even if we aren't really in love.  In the back of my mind, I have a faint memory of being married to someone else who is the yin to my yang - someone that I am ga ga about.  I wake up and see Ted sleeping next to me and breathe a sigh of relief.

2) I am in Costa Rica on vacation with friends with the intention of staying at my house.  When I get there, I realize that I never told anyone that I was coming and so my house is rented out and we end up staying down the road at some kind of a youth hostel.  The trip is fine but totally unfamiliar and strange.  We go do fun stuff but we hang out on a different beach, we go out to different places I have never been to and we don't see anyone I know.  It is fine, just not "my" Costa Rica.

3) I enter a vortex where time and space don't matter at all and the landscape is the combination of Costa Rica, my Jewish summer camp, and my kibbutz in Israel.  I am confused about who to look for first because they are all in a mish mash.  My room on the kibbutz is in the middle of the younger kids cabins at camp and all I really want to do is go swimming in the Costa Rica Ocean.  Nothing happens at all - I am just surrounded by familiar places but feel totally out of place in all of them.

What makes me crazy is that there is only ONE thing that I want to dream about - MAX - and I almost never do.  Once in a while, he is a background character.  Like, in the dream where I am married to some guy - Max is one of our children and the story of his life is definitely there.  But, I don't get to interact with him at all, other than to maybe know he is around.

After he died, I had many dreams about Max - but they were horrific.  I've written about some of them here- but not all.  Some were too awful to ever recount.

And, then - there was that one dream.  The dream that I beg to have again every night before I got to sleep. The one where he was mine again.  I could smell his sweet baby smell, I could kiss his chubby soft cheeks, I could hug him and feel him in my arms.  He was mine.  He was here.  He was alive.  And, it was SO SO real.  Instead, I am stuck with these same three other dreams night in and night out.

Sleep, Dream, Repeat. 

Milk

Ya. We aren't working on giving up the bottle. He likes it too much.

Photo courtesy of Greg "Helldog" Heller

Nothing funny

My sense of humor sometimes borders on the inappropriate. Sometimes my inappropriate jokes can crack up a whole room, other times they bomb hard and I just try to convince myself that it wasn't as bad as I think.  I think I am known for my inappropriate humor in some circles.  Many years ago, I sent an inappropriate joke to a friend by email who must have then forwarded it to others.  A day or so later, the joke got back to me from this friends mother with a very disapproving "Some people never change" that was clearly meant for her daughter (about me).  This was in the days before parents really knew how to use email and the internet.  She hadn't intended for me to see her email, and still, I was mortified. 

In the days after losing Maxie, I was out of my mind.  I cracked jokes and laughed at other people's jokes and stories to keep sane.  When I think about the fact that I found anything to laugh about - I am beyond mortified.  My son had just died.  My whole purpose in life was now gone.  I would never be the same.  As far as I could tell, nothing would really ever be funny again.  I was secretly/not so secretly wishing I were dead too. Still I felt desperate to laugh.  

I remember a friend I hadn't seen in years showed up to Maxie's shiva. I made a big deal about him being there and teased him about being too cool for school.  I think I just wanted to try and take the focus off why he was there.  The idea was making my insides turn.  

At my mom's house after Maxie's funeral, I stood in her livingroom for hours watching a slide show of Maxie's life roll by.  I couldn't tear my eyes off the screen.  I was describing all of the moments of his life to everyone who was standing nearby.  Suddenly, a photo of Max with a nylon sock over his whole head appeared on the screen.  He looked like a little bank robber.  It had been taken at the clinic where he got his helmet.  He had to wear it  so that they could scan the shape of his head, without hair getting in the way.  Taken out of context, it is a very strange photo.  In the context if his funeral, I felt shocked - and very embarrassed.

I was stunned to see it and didn't know how to describe it and instead of explaining I said, "I guess none of you are wondering anymore how I ended up with a dead baby".  When I think about saying that, I want to bury my head in the sand forever.  It was just weird.....and so was I.  Completely out of body.  In total disbelief that I was really watching photos of my child's entire life flash by while standing around at his wake.  How can anyone who was standing there ever understand - I barely do.

I am sure there were many other things I said that were completely crazy and disconnected but I have no recollection of most of it.  I was desperate for normalcy but there was nothing normal about the situation. Nothing at all.  It all goes against the laws of nature.  I was not cut out for this life.

Sometimes I crack jokes at the inappropriate time because I am uncomfortable.  Sometimes I crack inappropriate jokes because I am trying to lighten the mood.  Sometimes I crack jokes because I actually think what I have to say is funny.  But, in those days after Maxie's death, I think I just didn't know what to say to anyone.  I was pretty sure that I had fallen into a rabbit hole and that there was no future that made sense for me ahead.  Truth is that there wasn't....for a long, long time.  There is nothing funny about any of it and if you happened to be standing next to me at my mother's house after Maxie's funeral, I hope you can now understand that I wasn't really trying to be funny. What I really wanted was to disappear with my child.....and still sometimes do.  

They say some people never change, but you have to believe me when I tell you, nothing about me will ever be the same.

Thank you

I loved all of the comments I received yesterday and I am so glad you shared with me.  It makes me feel good to know that there are people who can relate to what I am saying or who just are reading because they care.  Thank you.  What's really funny is that I tried to write back to a number of commenters and my comments didn't publish!  Oy, I guess my blog isn't as user friendly as I would like!  Every so often I get emails from friends that start with "I tried to comment on your blog and couldn't".  I am not sure why it is so difficult since I am just using the very basic and standard version of blogger.  For a while I used Disqus to moderate and facilitate comment posting, but that became difficult for some people as well.  I am working on an overhaul of my blog.  If anyone has any suggestions about a more user friendly site or a better way to manage comments, please let me know!  Anyway, more importantly, thank you for letting me know that you are reading!  It means a lot to me!

AND - it looks like I accidentally downloaded some sort of virus onto my computer yesterday that is inserting advertisements into my posts!  AHHH!  Awful!  Don't click on them!  Sorry

Maybe

Sometimes people act embarrassed to tell me that they read my blog.  I'm not sure why.  I WANT you to read my blog.  That is why I am writing it.  I often feel down about my blog because it seems like nobody is reading it.  I have very few "followers" and don't get many comments.  I compare these stats to the other blogs I read and I feel inadequate and wonder why I am still writing.  Then I look at the number of page views and the number of places around the US and the world that people are reading from and I feel a little better.

When I think out loud about trying to improve the visibility of my blog, people wonder why.  Why on earth would I want people - especially non-grievers - to read my blog.  Do I think that my life is so interesting?  Do I really want to share all of my ups and downs with everyone who might happen upon my online journal? 

The answer is more complicated than you think - and it is both yes and no.

I 100% know that my life isn't interesting.  In many ways, it is a typical life with a small child.  We are home a lot.  Sometimes we go to the park or on other outings.  Occasionally, we visit family or friends or take a vacation.  I don't blog because I think my life is so cool.  Not at all.  I continue to blog because I believe that my thoughts, my experiences, my challenges, obstacles, upsets, and triumphs are very typical of a parent in grief.

My intentions are to advocate for the bereaved, to try and bring our experiences out of the closet, to give the non-bereaved the tools to connect with us, and to connect to others in grief.  My intention is to create community.

The stigma around grief and loss is such a burden.  The burden I feel carrying around this loss, and having to be the person that nobody wants to talk to, is the second greatest burden I have ever carried in my life.  So, I think, maybe if you knew who I am and how, in many ways, I am just like you - maybe then you would treat me like a human being.  Maybe if you understood that I also have dreams, and deeply love my family, and have both sad and silly in my life, and friends who both lift me up and disappoint me, maybe then you would relate to some aspect of me.  Maybe my little blog would give you some context to the experiences of other people you know in grief.  Maybe you would know that saying Maxie's name, that sharing with me how you think about him, and by telling me that although you've not lost a child yourself, you know how much I hurt - that you are doing way more for our connection to each other than you would be by just pretending he never existed.  Maybe you can do these things for someone else you know in grief.  Maybe.

Blogging creates another kind of community as well.  I have connected with other parents who are having my experience and the friends that I have made here are people with whom I can share how I really feel - through emails, phone calls and visits.  As raw as it sometimes seems I am willing to be on my blog, I have never really written some of my darkest thoughts.  If you haven't lost a child yourself, I've probably never even really told you the depths of it all.  You don't know all about the blame, the guilt and the anger.  You know some of it - but not all of it.  I can't share that stuff with anyone except for other parents like me.  They are the only ones that I know won't judge.  My blog is my address in the grief community.  It is where you can go to find me or send me a note or become my friend.

So, yes, I DO want people to read my blog.  I want people to find my space and pay attention to what I am saying.  I don't think I speak for all bereaved parents but my intentions are to put a face on my kind.....one of many faces.  I want you to know that we are here, that we live with great pain, lots of love, broken hearts and tremendous hope.  I want you to think of us as one of you - because we once were - because we still are.  I am not trying to hide out - my intention is for you to know who I am.  Maybe then you won't be so embarrassed of me.

Explaining

Just when you think you've got a handle on something - some new situation pops up and you are thrown for a loop.  This keeps happening to me.  The question that caused me the most anxiety after losing Maxie was, "how many children do you have?".  I never know how to answer and the truth is that I know that, in most cases, the person asking doesn't even care....they are just making conversation.  I used to feel sick to my stomach in any kind of new situation because I knew that the question would come up.  It came up a lot when I was pregnant with Mo.  Strangers were always asking me - at the supermarket (when I went, which wasn't often), at the physical therapists office, while out shopping.  People truly believe that a big pregnant stomach is grounds for conversation.

After Mo was born, I figured out ways to get around the question.  When I meet people that I know I'll never ever see again (like once at park not close to home with Mo, or in the checkout line at a store at the mall, or someplace anonymous), I just say that I have two boys.  I love saying it actually.  I beam with pride saying that I have two boys.  When they ask me how old my second son is, I tell whoever it is that he is three.  I love playing make believe like this.  I feel whole for the split second that I am saying the words.  I am explaining my life as it should be.

When I am responding to people that I might see again - like at my own grocery store or on the nearby playground, etc.... I say "I only have this guy at home" and look down at Mo.  I'm not even sure what it means, but it answers their question, shuts them up, and it doesn't feel like I am lying.  It's true.  I only have Mo at home right now.  Ugh.

Mo and I just started a Mommy and Me at the local synagogue's nursery school.  The idea of the class is to prepare toddlers for preschool - so that when they get there, they are already familiar with the place, the rules, and the rituals.  It should help Mo get comfortable with the place that he will likely go off to school in a couple of years.  It happens to be where we planned on sending Maxie to preschool as well.  My friend Limor's daughter goes there and loves it so we signed up together for this Mommy and me as her younger daughter is Mo's age.

Anyway, the first session was a few days ago and it was all going fine until we had to go around the circle and tell everyone a little bit about ourselves.  I just said, "I am Abby and this is Mo and we are happy to be here", or something like that.  The teacher/facilitator said, "Anything else?".  My mind went blank and I thought - no, nothing else, I can't tell these people yet.  "How many kids do you have?", she asked.  "Two", I said.  "How old is your other child?" she asked....and then came the long pause.  How weird people must think I am.  That I don't know my other child's age.  So, then I have to explain.  And, then I remember - this is my life.  I will never be the regular mom in the group.  I will always be "this" one.  And, frankly, I hate it.  I hate it so much, I could just die.  And, the truth is, everyone was nice.  A couple of people came up to me afterwards and gave me hugs.  I am sure that they can't imagine how terrible it really is - because nobody can.

I seem normal and functioning from the outside and I can't help but wonder if people who hear my story think I must just be heartless.  I lost my child but am still engaging in life.  I can't believe it myself.  What must they think?  I don't know.  The whole thing is just exhausting.  All of the time.  Just when I think I know what to say, I realize I don't.  I can hardly explain it to myself.  How can I be expected to explain it to anyone else?

Poles

I have this aversion to poles.  Yes, poles.  I used to ride the subway to work when I lived in Brooklyn and the metal pole that everyone would put their grubby hands on grossed me out beyond belief.  I had Purell at the ready so that I could totally disinfect as soon as I got off the train and I would be obsessively thinking about how soon I could Purell for the whole ride.  It's weird because I am not easily grossed out by germs.  I totally abide by the 5 second food falling on the floor rule and I will eat in restaurants with a C grade without a second thought.  Come to think of it, maybe it's not that I am just easy going about germs, it's just that I am extra unconcerned when it comes to food?  I guess I like eating....that's another post.

Despite this aversion to poles, I took my first pole dancing class on Sunday.  Yes, pole dancing.  My nanny bought me a certificate for my birthday.  It is her new obsession.  And, yes, it is funny to go pole dancing with your nanny.  It wasn't really until we started dancing on the poles that I remembered that poles totally gross me out.  Luckily there were spray bottles with alcohol and rags to wipe them down - but still, sweaty hands + metal pole = MAJOR gross out factor.

This is what I learned out about pole dancing:
- Strippers work way harder than you may even think for the money.
- The art of pole dancing is super technical and REALLY REALLY hard.  Unless you hold the pole just right, you will get stuck or fall on the floor.  I am covered in bruises.
- Pole dancing is a really hard workout - I am sore in a lot of places - mostly my abs, legs, arms and back.  So - ya.  I am sore everywhere.

I love dancing with Ted when we can because he is great at spins and dips and it is so much fun to get whipped around on the dance floor.  Pole dancing lets you do it to yourself.  I bet when you get good at it, it is really really fun.

I am not sure that it was entirely "for me" but the challenge was enough to get me back in the studio and trying again. Plus, I could probably stand to get a bit of my "sexy back".  Two pregnancies and deep grief can't be doing much for me in that department.  At the end of the class, all I could think about was getting in the bathroom so that I could wash the pole off my hands.  Being a germ-phobe is probably also not entirely sexy but whaddya gonna do?  I used to LOVE getting out of my comfort zone to try new things.  I don't really anymore.  I really love just staying in my comfort zone even though my comfort zone gets really boring.  New experiences do help to remind me that life can still be new and adventurous.  It can be.  Plus, you get to wear 6 inch stilletos - nothing boring about that.

Mo's Hat

Our friends Erika and Ian got Mo the cutest hat for his birthday in July.  Ted and I were so bummed that he would never wear it - he hates hats and always takes them immediately off his head. But then, a couple of weeks ago, he just grabbed it and put it on! We love how cute he looks in this dapper hat!

The last photo is of Mo with Harlan, Erika and Ian's baby.

By the way, Ted says Salma Hayek was never his celebrity crush. Maybe she was mine and I got confused. ;)

Fork

Mo got these awesome "construction" themed utensils from Auntie Beth and Cousin Sadie for Hanukkah.  This video is from his first day using a fork!  We were SO impressed!

He gets the speed eating from me.

Celebrity Crush

Who is your celebrity crush?  I've had a few over the years.  I don't think there is anything disloyal about celebrity crushes - that is what celebrities are there for, right?  My husband's is Salma Hayek, or it was the last time I checked.

My first celebrity crush was Ricky Schroeder.  I tore out the pictures of him from my Teen Beat magazines and taped them to my wall.  I even dressed up like him for Halloween once in grammar school - which basically meant I put my hair in a pony tail and wore an argyle sweater vest.  Somehow my parents got me to a party for some afterschool special he was in and my memory is that he "stole" my ice cream sundae.  I cannot tell you for sure if that is a true memory or a made up memory but whatever it was, it effectively ended my crush on Ricky.  I tend to think I was done with him but needed an out.

I had many celebrity crushes over the years too - most notably: Bono (or Larry Mullen Jr., depending on whether I felt like crushing on the underdog) in high school, Kurt Cobain in my college days, and Justin Timberlake in my twenties.  While I was working in San Francisco and New York to bring attention to the genocide in Darfur, my celebrity crush was John Prendergast.  Though he isn't really a "celebrity", he IS "famous" in the human rights world.  I was WAY more excited about meeting him at the Darfur rally in DC that I helped organize than I was to meet either George Clooney or Barak Obama, who were also there.  John Prendergast is dreamy - and I guess I am not the only one who thinks so - "they" say that he had a little fling with Angelina Jolie when he brought her to the Congo.  Lucky girl.

More recent crushes have been Eric Bana and Daniel Craig - not only because of their obvious appeal, but also because they have each played the part of historically based Jewish heroes.  For me, "Jewish" ups the appeal.  So does Latin.  Which brings me to me current celebrity crush:

Mando from Sesame Street.  Yes, this is the truth.  I mean, really, come on.  Mando is the very best human character on the show and so cute....and that hair!  Forget about it.  Plus, that voice!  Just have a listen: 

Ladies, am I right? Like BUTTER!

(Not sure why this video is not showing up in the mobile version of blogger- you'll just have to trust me!)

I think the celebrity crush is a pretty good indicator of the stage of life you are in.  We always described my Grandma Marilyn as super hip, in no small part because her celebrity crush was Jon Stewart (and her favorite movie was Spinal Tap - she really was the coolest).  My grandma was definitely in a more political stage of life when that crush developed.  I am clearly in a mommy stage of life, which is why my celebrity crush is a Sesame Street character.  Mando - rrrrrrrrrlllllllll! (I'm rolling my tongue to indicate his hotness).