A Mother's Wish

"You never stop worrying about your children," she always told me. She was not kidding. Most of what my mom told me about being a parent is true. I know it seems cliche for a mother to write to her kids about all she wishes for them, and to offer her sage advice when she reflects on what she did and did not do, and the choices she made in her life. But when you get to be a certain age, it just happens. Right now my concern for my son and his future consumes a vast majority of my thoughts. At any given moment, my mind is flooded with questions: Will he learn the proper study habits? Will he score ok on the SATs? Will he get into college? Will he get into the college he wants to attend? Will he be happy there?

Then there is all the non-school related stuff. Will he meet the right girl? Will he pick the right girl? Will he/they make good decisions about their relationship, their futures? Everyone (except for parents of boys) says it is easier to raise boys, at least you do not have to worry about them getting pregnant, right? Wrong. What about the worry that he will knock some girl up? It takes two, the last time I checked. In the loving, respectful, and responsible family in which I grew up, the values are such that both the kids' lives would be affected by an unplanned baby. Both their futures would be altered, affected forever. I only hope these same values will help prevent an unplanned pregancy. But let's face it. Good people make bad decisions sometimes and mistakes happen. I worry about all of this. Don't all parents?

But I also worry about his life in general. I worry about his happiness as a person. Will he be happy in life? WIll he find work that he loves? Will he feel successful and accomplished at whatever he chooses to do? Will he realize that there is more to life than work and career, and live his life as such? Will he continue to be kind and generous? Will others love him for the person we know him to be? As a teenager my son has such a lust for life, he has since he was a tot. He loves adventure and inquiry, technology and interpersonal relationships. He has a kind heart, a witty sense of humor, and an enormous sense of wonder about the world. 

So you may wonder why I worry so much. Maybe it is because he is my only child and thus the focus of all my energy, attention, and concern. Maybe it is because that is just what moms do. So as we begin his 16th year, and look forward to driving, working, dating (oh boy), and college, here are my wishes for my only child, my heart, my son Jacob:

I wish for you the courage to always follow your dreams, no matter how crazy others may think you are. But still, chase them with a sense of care and appreciation for those who help you along the way.

I wish for you a world that embraces you for the unique individual you are, and whose inhabitants never coerce you into conformity. But still, accept others without need to coerce them.

I wish for you the patience to make good, informed decisions, and the forgiveness of yourself and others when those decisions do not work out so well. But still, provide the same forgiveness for others who make mistakes, because even the ones you love will.

I wish for you the ability and the intuition to see through people who will claim to be genuine and selfless, when they may be just the opposite. But still, be as honest and genuine toward others as you want others to be to you.

I wish for you the understanding that hard work is more important than intelligence or talent, for without the first the others go to waste. But still, do not sacrafice your talents or intelligence to make others feel better.

I wish for you a life with minimal pain and suffering, and the grace to come through whatever comes your way. But still, remember to standby others who are suffering and in need.

I wish for you a partner in life who is as good to you as your father is to me. But still, show you have learned from his example by being the same to her. 

Most of all, I wish for you what all parents wish for their children. I wish for you to always be healthy and happy.

A Shot in the Arm and a Boost to the Ego: Spending the Day with Mom

You should send some of these in somewhere, she responded when I shared some of my blog with my mom for the first time yesterday. I had not realized my mom was unaware I have been blogging. For some reason she and I mutually agreed quite some time ago not to friend each other on Facebook, something about giving each other privacy. Not important here, but due to the fact my blogs mostly get circulation via Facebook, that meant she had never seen any of them. It is actually strange, because I tell and talk to my mom about pretty much everything. This was just an oversight...

Yesterday morning I filled up the gas tank and drove to the other coast, about a two hour drive, to spend the day with my mom. We try to do this every time I have a school break, and it is extra special when my 15-year-old son, who is the light of his Grammy's life by the way, is otherwise engaged so mom and I get all of each other's attention. Such was the case yesterday, as the golden child is away at Boy Scout winter camp this week. Mom basically gives me the choice to do whatever I want, listens to me rant about all the important and unimportant things in my life, and on my brain. She looks into my face with joy and wonder, and love. It is a real shot in the arm. No pretenses, no phoniness, just me and quite possibly the person in the world who is more happy to see me than anyone else I know (Dad, my husband, and my sister might argue- they all come pretty close. But if you are a mom, you know).

As always, we went out for a lovely lunch. She took me downtown to a Vietnamese restaurant where I had a delightfully healthy dish I had never had before. I do not remember what it was called, but it had fresh shredded lettuce, julienned cucumbers and daikon radishes, combined with rice noodles and a sliced up eggroll that was only delicately wrapped, not oily and deep fried tasting. It was served with a very light, slightly sweet and spicy sauce. After lunch, we went down to the chocolatier/bakery and shared the most decadent heart-shaped chocolate truffly cake thingy. We ate it in the car, giggling the whole time about how yummy it was, and stopped at Target for some belated Christmas gifts for my nephews. We walked most of the store, collecting items along the way that mostly never made it to check out, but rather were left behind like breadcrumbs tracing my mom's steps (sorry for outting you mom!). We both picked up some comfy pajamas that were on the 40% off rack, only to find at the register that they were mismarked. Neither one of us wanted to pay the original price, nor were we willing to wait around to insist the manager honor the signs. So we paid for the toys and left.

After considering a movie, but finding nothing with a convenient time, we decided to go back to her place and just hang out until I had to head back home. It was fun. We talked about everything and nothing, and then uneventfully in conversation, I mentioned my blog. I didn't know you have a blog, she said to me. I told her I have two. She seemed delightfully surprised, as did I. It was not something I kept from her intentionally, but as I said we are not Facebook friends and that is how I post. So how could she know I have been writing. The corners of her mouth lifted, giving her the tickled look anyone who knows her would recognize. Then she looked at me and said, I was wondering what was coming next. You have been out of school for a few months, and you are always doing something. I laughed because what might seem like a jab at what my mom calls my nuginess [pronounced noo (as in book)- jee- ness] was really her affectionate way of telling me she knew that finishing my doctorate did not mean I was done. 

Limited to my iphone because G-d Bless her, she did not know the password for me to access her wifi on my ipad, I read her a few of my posts. I started with the one about Christmas, showed her the poem I wrote in my post, Early; and then I read her my post, Up In Smoke because one of my friends from my writing group told me it was some of my best writing. That is when she said it. In true every-good-mom-thinks-her-kid-is-brilliant form, you should send these in somewhere. I had to laugh, and then I asked her where. I only wondered where my mom meant for me to send them. She had no idea where she wanted me to send them, but she said it was really good. There was the ego boost. We talked about my writing and she told me my face is really animated and lights up when I talk about writing. Does anyone ever know you better than your mom?

A Different Kind of Christmas

I am a Jew. My husband a gentile, a term I only use because he does not self-identify as anything other than a believer in G-d. There has been much controversy over the past several years around the Christmas season, concerns I never really heard years prior.  According to some, there is a "war on Christmas," there is discontent over the phrases "Happy Holidays" and "Seasons Greetings," because they leave out the word Christmas. Last year and this year, the most popular slogan on bumper stickers, car magnets, internet e-cards and memes seems to be, "Put the Christ back in Christmas."

Before I continue, please understand I mean no offense. But having been born and raised during my early childhood in New York, and later on living in the Ft. Lauderdale-Miami area, I never gave too much thought to Christmas, other than the commericalism it brings this time of year. Some people celebrated Christmas, others did not. I guess in New York it seems less noticable when you are different. I never celebrated Christmas, nor missed it. I never had to. I am Jewish, we do not celebrate Christmas, we do not have lights or trees, and despite common misconception Chanukah is not the Jewish Christmas. In the United States, we have simply succumbed to the commercial pressures of the retail market this time of year, just like those who celebrate Christmas. Chanukah is a fun celebration filled with delicious food and cultural games, songs, and traditions, but it is not really a gift-giving holiday. One present for each of the eight nights, gift exchanges, these are American traditions adopted by Jewish people in America. In Israel for example, there is no gift exchange. Anyway, the biggest Christmas-time tradition for my family was simply a convenience of the season. Before my parents split, when winter break came and Christmas hit 5th Avenue and the rest of Manhattan, we would get dressed up in our finest and go to a Broadway show. Then we would go out to eat in Chinatown and walk the beautiful city of New York, which never looks more exquisite than it does dusted with a light snow and decorated for Christmas.

But in December of 1989, Christmas changed for me. A few months earlier, I met the boy I would one day realize was my soulmate. He was raised in a Christian/Catholic home and of course they celebrated Christmas. I was 16, and at this point in my life I had never been to a church (other than the old converted one that served as the gymnastics gym I practiced in as a kid), and I never participated in a Chirstmas or Easter celebration. I was actually a little intimidated by Christmas. I was a teenager, young and insecure. I was not sure what it meant to my sense of "Jewishness" to participate in a celebration of Christmas, the birth of Christ. I joined my husband's family that year for Christmas Eve and every year after for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, or both. As I matured, I realized that sharing a cultural observance or celebration with someone else has no bearing on your own beliefs. It is simply sharing, learning, and embracing the differences that make our union special.

For me, Christmas is not about Christ. I understand why it is for people of Christian faith, and I certainly respect that this is why Christmas is. But for me it is about being welcomed into my husband's family. It is about sharing with them traditions that are important to their family culture and history, even though I do not observe them in my own home. It is about togetherness and love. I am pretty sure neither my husband, nor his family, expect that it means anything more to me than that. Much the way, I would expect nothing different from any of my friends or my husband's family coming over to my house to share in Jewish holidays or traditions. 

So I wonder. Is it ok that there is no Christ in my Christmas, or should I not have one at all? Would Christians say to me it is not my holiday? Is it unacceptable to others to share in the holiday cheer, if the holiday does not hold the same meaning for you as it does for others? I ask without snarkiness or mal intent. I am completely serious. Is it alright for someone to celebrate when they've taken Christ out of Christmas? 

Added Note: 

I posted this on the morning of Christmas Eve, failing to mention that I would be spending tonight's festivities at my friend's house. She's Catholic and all the other guests there, though not all Catholic, celebrate Christmas as part of their religious faith. I was totally welcome by not only my best friend, but all of her guests as well. It did not seem to bother any of them that our beliefs are not the same. Tomorrow, I will happily be going to Christmas dinner at my husband's sister's house.

A Writerly Year in Review

I have truly had an inspired year. I made a commitment to making writing a daily part of my life, and I have successfully done that. My life has changed as a result. Everything I experience in the world is different because I experience it through writer's eyes. I process information and thoughts differently and more completely. I look for meaning in the seemingly meaningless. I exploit the minutia of my life and extrapolate all I can from daily living, to better appreciate my life and all I have, and to develop my skill and commitment as a writer.

I started two blogs this year. This one devoted to personal writing and reflection of all types, and another one devoted to writing about education (backwithclass.blogspot.com). I read a lot about writing, and I subscribe to websites, e-zines, and Facebook pages devoted to writing. Perhaps most importantly, I joined together with four more women who are equally enthusiastic about writing, and we formed a writing circle in which we meet in person once a month, and share writing in a closed group online. It has been wonderful!

Writing has become such an integral and wondrous part of my life this year. It is a realization of who I am, what is important to me, and who I want to be. I have evolved from a teacher of writing (which I still am) into a writer. For the first time in my life, instead of calling myself a teacher or a person who loves to write, I actually refer to myself as a writer. Wherever I am, whatever I am doing, there is a piece of writing inside of me. Sometimes at night I am unable to fall asleep because I am writing in my head. Other days I wake with a piece oozing out of me. This morning while folding laundry, I was beginning to formulate this post in my head. Wearing my writer's eyes makes me happy.

Everyone has an end of year countdown; it is what people do this time of year. Though I do not often follow the masses, as I reflect on this year I feel grateful, and figured why not? Writing has been an important part of my year, so here are the top 13 pieces of inspiration I gathered online from various sources this year. Why 13? I tried a top 10 and was not able to narrow it down enough. Since it is the close of 2013, I thought 13 was appropriate. I chose online sources because quite frankly, they are fun to look at!

#13

This is how my writing circle got started. A friend and fellow member of the National Writing Project contacted me after reading several of my Facebook posts. We realized both of us were searching for something and looking to commit ourselves to make writing a priority in our lives. There are no excuses if you want to be a writer. You simply need to make time. When you see everything as an opportunity for writing, it gets easier. Whether journaling your thoughts for yourself, or putting writing out there for others, it has to become a regular part of who you are. Now.

#12

This is in the same vein as the last one. Just because you write it, does not mean someone else has to read it. Just write something, it does not matter what it is. It is like going to the gym. You will be happy you did it once you get motivated to do it.

#11

This is so true! Once you decide you are a writer, or you want to be a writer, everything changes. My mind never takes a break from being a writer. It is as though I look at the world through a different lens, and my vision changed. Just as your eyes adjust to a new pair of glasses and your vision adapts permanently, so does the writer's lens change you forever. If I am not writing, I am thinking about what my next piece is, or gathering research and information for one I have already started. Sometimes I actually have an experience in narrative form because the writerly part of my brain is already processing it and telling it through my lens. 

#10

Writing is most certainly a labor of love. I am talking about real writing, not the kind you do for a teacher or your boss, but the kind you do for yourself. For me, as a writer, it so incredibly satisfying to have an idea and for the articulation of the idea to flow out in just the right words. This is not to say the first draft is the final draft, but to be able to get the whole thing out without an interruption in my thought process makes me extraordinarily happy. Most pieces or posts that I write require me to step away and come back, sometimes because of time and sometimes because I just cannot seem to get it out. When the words flow... pure joy.

#9

As a writer I often struggle with the truth. To clarify, I do not have trouble with honesty in my writing, but I often fear my honesty will somehow get me into trouble. At one point my husband suggested I blog anonymously so as not to jeopardize my career or personal relationships with my writing. After much discussion and soul searching, I made a decision. If I am genuinely committed to becoming a writer, I have the right and the responsibility to own my words. I do not want to hide my identity or my truth. 

#8

Toni Morrison hit the nail on the head for me. Writing is thinking, feeling, processing, creating. Depending on the piece, the moment, the purpose, it can be any combination of, or all of these things.

#7

I do not remember where this gem came from, but I love it! My students would interpret this as exact measurements for paragraphs, pages, and manuscripts. I can just hear them asking, "Does a paragraph have to have exactly 50 words?" Obviously, these figures are reminders for aspiring writers that the mountain can be climbed. I am working particularly hard on number four and number six this year. I want to print this as a poster for my workspace!

#6

It is a little difficult for me to admit, but I do write for me. I write to "exorcise," to explore, to share. Though I want others to read and to enjoy my writing, I generally write to purge my thoughts and feelings, my ideas and my worries. It is extremely cathartic and therapeutic for me. See #5 as well.

#5

Allowing myself written expression keeps me from exploding. Sometimes creating a story or journaling my thoughts are the only way I can keep myself from going utterly bonkers. Have you seen my post Up in Smoke?

#4

Whether it is to reveal something personal in my writing, to try a type of writing that takes me out of my comfort zone, or to quite literally write about fear, I try to remember this. If we do not take risks we do not get the rewards, especially that of personal growth. I have drawn great strength from the members of the National Writing Project and my personal writing circle. They give me the courage to write and to share.

#3

This is so true! I try to impress this upon teachers of writing when I talk about writing. Anyone can write, with time and commitment to writing. It is the human experience and human emotions that link the writer and the reader. If you are human, if you feel, you can write. I try to remember this when I feel inadequate as a writer.

#2

Oh how I love this quote! I encountered it online sometime in the spring or early summer and it became the inspiration for my poem Word Shower (6/24/2014). I am a logophile, a word nerd, a lover of language. When I read Crane's words of being drenched and soaked in words, I can picture myself in a giant bathtub filled with words (don't judge- many of you would say this about wine or chocolate, or countless other things). I love new words, new language, and finding just the right way to say and describe what it is I want to say as a writer. This idea, that poem I wrote, were all the springboard for seriously committing to the writerly life.

#1

In the same vein as numbers 7 and 8, this is a reminder to me to stay true to myself. I never want my writing to become someone else's writing. I want to say what I need to say and let it be. Whether it gives someone an ah huh, a little chuckle, or a big realization, I cannot know when I write. True honest writing will last as long as it needs to in the hearts and minds of my readers or me.

Thank you for reading. I am more committed than ever to continuing to live a writerly life. I hope you will come back and share my posts with anyone you think may enjoy them or benefit from them. 

Happy New Year!

Peace, love, language.

Early

Soft fingery tickles 

Tender warm caresses

He gently sweeps the wispy hairs from my face

And cradles his thighs beneath my buttocks

He pulls me close and whispers

I love you

Pressing his skin to mine

I can feel his heart

He pulls his fingertips the length of my arm

Each of my tiny hairs stand on end

It is early, I insist with my eyes still closed

He pulls me in closer

A kiss behind my ear

And I feel his love

His early morning affection

My daily vitamin

My husband and I have a one-of-a-kind relationship. Together since we were 16 and 18 years old, happily I might add, we have been called unique, unusual, not the norm, an anomaly, a miracle. We know how lucky we are and talk about it regularly.

But I have always wanted to capture that early morning feeling I get waking up next to him. We both have trouble sleeping when the other is away, and those early morning minutes whether workday or weekend, between waking into consciousness and getting out of bed, are some of his most tender moments. It is as though before the weight of the world hits us, our love is pure and private and just us. It is not a particularly sexual feeling, but an emotionally secure and loving feeling. This poem is my tribute to him and that feeling.