A Symbol’s Deeper Meaning

We are on a road trip and we have stopped at a gas station to fill up the car, use the restrooms and get some drinks.

Harry handles the gas and refreshments. Emma and I go into the soiled restroom that is better than nothing at all. It reeks of urine and the floor is sticky. Every time we take a step, the floor holds onto the soles of our shoes for just a second too long.

After covering the seat with layers of tissue paper, I hold Emma above the toilet seat hoping she won’t splash herself or me. That’s when she says it.

“What’s that?”

I don’t want to turn to look at what she sees until she is finished.
“Just a sec, Em. When you’re all finished I’ll have a look.”

The task is completed but her question remains.

“What’s that Mama?” she asks again.
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Stalking The Future!

It was our first Valentine’s Day. Harry and I had known each other for less than a year. We were young, poor and madly in love. Those were the days when fun was free and easy. Without any little mouths to feed, tuitions or mortgages to pay, the fact that we were broke never cramped our style. Our car was an old Volvo without a properly working clutch. (I know, what was I thinking getting into that vehicle?)

Sometimes when we stopped, we had to get out and push it to get into gear again. It seems unbelievable now, that when we would do this, we would be laughing the entire time. The power of our new young love was as strong and mighty as any superhero! Continue… »

No One’s Day In Court

We stood in line under large umbrellas for twenty minutes while the rain did not let up. Finally at the door, we take off our coats and display our belongings. Bags are checked, shoes off, jewelry placed in a small plastic bowl. We are not flying anywhere, we are about to enter the federal building where family court is held.

My friend has been divorced for more than a year but she and her ex-husband continue to argue concerning visitation of their young son. There are not serious differences, but the sort of disagreements that any couple might have about how to raise children. All the feelings of hurt and loss get mixed up and placed on the innocent child, who often bears the brunt of their estranged parents’ woes and in family court this is only too clear. Continue… »

An Unexpected Twist on Parenting

You know the scene in the movie when the Mom goes into the kid’s room to give a last good night kiss, and instead they find a faux human made of pillows, and the kid has run off somewhere?

When our daughter was missing from her bed, I did not react as calmly as Donna Reed might have in Father Knows Best. I don’t know who would have known best in the situation I found myself in, but it sure wasn’t me in that moment of discovery.

“OH MY GAWD!!!!” I screamed out for my husband. “HENRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

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Like Mother, Like Daughter

“We’re putting on a play and I’m a tree!”

My mother sounded like a child in her first school play. Her friends and family had been pushing her to go to the Thursday afternoon Yiddish theatre tryouts for a year. This week, she finally went and to her delight, she was given a part in the performance they were planning; a Yiddish translation of Goldilocks. My high school English teacher, who was once a basketball player, is donning a blonde wig and playing Goldie. Some of her friends are in the group and it was the sort of thing she liked to do. Mom is not a card player or a shopper, but more of a literary, lecture going, book-reading type.

My father died last year.

We had the unveiling a few weeks ago and I keep wondering if this is why my mother finally let herself go to the Yiddish club. The rules of mourning in Judaism have time restrictions for the survivors. One week of shiva, sitting at home, one month of limited social activity and one year before dating or starting anything new. It’s been a year and maybe that’s why she feels she can be part of this now.

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Anniversary Mama Blog

My husband and I are celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary today and I find it hard to believe. It has not been a walk in the park and it has also been worth trudging through many storms.

This month is also the anniversary of my father’s death. My parents had a sixty-year marriage that was based on an argumentative communication style. One year ago, my father died and my mother can’t get used to not having anyone to fight with.

Mom jokes that they had their first argument the day they met at a gathering of mutual friends. Wistfully she often murmurs that they never stopped fighting after that.

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