Happy 3rd Birthday Mush: A look back

The crib has been converted to a toddler bed.  The stroller rarely sees its way out of the trunk anymore, and with every box of diapers I purchase, I wonder if it will be the last.

I think back to that hectic morning at 32 weeks and it still seems like a crazy blur.  Rushed into an emergency c-section, the words “VBAC” were replaced with “prepping the O.R.” and “have to get this baby out.”   There’s no talk of contractions.  Instead there’s “platelets dropping,” “liver failing,” “have to knock you out” and “won’t be awake…”

I remember being too drugged to hold him, too tired to open my eyes and look into his.  It wasn’t until the next day that I got to snuggle this fragile, teeny 4 pound 1 ounce nugget, holding him awkwardly so as not to pull out his feeding tube or disrupt the wires that were keeping him monitored.  He was the tiniest baby I ever held, the same size as the baby doll I picked out to give to Goofball when he became a big brother, which was still sitting in my closet waiting to be wrapped.  My eyes were still blurry, not from any drugs but from my body shutting down.

Five days later they send me home and now I am expected to be a mom to two, driving well before I was supposed to or ready to, back and forth to the NICU, preschool, preschool, NICU.  Pumping in between.  CPAP, incubator, bilirubin, jaundice, IV, feeding tube, cc’s, car seat test.

Seventeen long days later we are together.  They told me he is too weak to latch, so my life revolves around lactation consultants, pumping, latching, supplementing with formula, weight checks, weak suck, pumping, not gaining, supplementing with pumped milk, pumping, cleaning pump parts, failure to thrive, pumping, support groups, little tubes taped to my breasts, more lactation consultants, more pumping, reflux, gastroenterologist visits, medications…. Was I even there to watch my preschooler grow?

At 6 months old, he looks like a newborn.  At 9 months old he’s barely rolling over, and at 12 months old he’s hardly sitting up.  And then there’s evaluations, physical therapists, low tone, psychologists, core strengthening, early intervention, special ed teachers, IFSP meetings, coordinators, occupational therapists….

First year of life and we have a random seizure, freak high fevers, infectious disease consults, neurologist visit and an EEG.

This sweet little face certainly makes me work for my Mommy money, and on top of that he never sleeps (at least at night.)

Yet amongst the chaos of that first year, we had first giggles, sucking thumbs, stroller walks, spitting up all over when trying to play “Superbaby,” sticking his tounge out at big brother, baby sign language classes, stinky baby feet, happy squeals, babywearing, infant massage, singing “You are my sunshine” over and over and over, silly photo shoots, clapping hands, Mommy and Me, cake smash, slamming feet on the floor, wondering if his eyes will stay blue, sleeping in the baby swing, kisses, kisses and more kisses.

I just hung up a Happy Birthday banner for my little baby, although he doesn’t resemble much of a baby anymore. 

And instead of celebrating milestones such as finally making his way onto the growth chart, we’re putting on backpacks and heading off to preschool.

And instead of worrying that he’ll never walk, I worry that he’ll run into traffic.

It’s all changing, but it’s all good.  

Happy 3^rd birthday, little Mush.  You were worth every gray hair and I love you more than you will ever know.

A Letter to Goofball's Kindergarten Teacher

 

   I think it's very important for people to make it known when they appreciate and adore someone.  Being a teacher myself, I don't think people say it enough.  So far we have been blessed with awesome people in Goofball's life.  This is a letter that I wrote for his kindergarten teacher at the end of the school year.

 

Dear Mrs. S,

               I sent my baby off to you in September - my baby who is imaginative, compassionate, funny, creative, charming and silly. I realize that he is also whiny, highly emotional and stubborn, but you embraced him, all of him, as that is your job.

               I thought that having taught kindergarten myself, I would have been hard to win over, but you made it easy for my son to fall in love with you, and even easier for me to.  You kept the lines of communication way open, answering calls the same day, and responding to notes that didn't even necessitate a response.  You set the bar high, and now all of his future teachers will be compared to you.

               When my son was having a hard time keeping his emotions in check, you didn't dismiss him as being difficult.  Rather, you set him up to succeed, setting up a program for him, pulling in additional resources and encouraging him along the way.

               I remember once, a few months back, I was hanging around a bounce house with all of the other birthday party parents, and another mother and I were chit-chatting about the one thing we all had in common: our child's kindergarten class.  I commented that even in a very large class, I felt like you really truly knew my child: his strengths, his weaknesses, and you knew exactly what tools he needed to be successful.  She sat across from me, nodding in agreement, commenting, "That is exactly how I feel."  I know that if I felt this way, and she felt this way, that all the other parents must be feeling the same way as well.

               I cannot thank you enough for this amazing gift you have given my son.  I sent you a baby and you gave me a confident and mature little boy.

               I am not good with good-byes, so I will just say this:  I only hope that in three years, as I am sending my little one on the bus for the first time, that when I zip up his Spiderman backpack filled with marble notebooks and glue sticks, I'll be putting on a little nametag with your name on it.

                                                      Love Always,

                                                     Heather (and family)

Goofball-isms

Happy Birthday to my Goofball Goose!  Here's some of his wittiest highlights from the past few years!

Age 2 and a half:

The morning after the first night of Chanukah, he was saying good-bye to Daddy.  He said, "Come home soon - open Chanukah presents!"

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One day I was putting papers in the shredder and he inquired about what I was doing.  I explained what  a shredder is and he giggled, saying "Paper goes poopy!"

Age 3:

"I eat vifafin!  (vitamin)  I big and strong!"

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Once he saw Mommy reach for a tissue and asked, "Mommy, do you have an achoo?"

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When leaving for the day I asked Goofball to put his toy away.  He said, "Bye toy!  I'll call you back!"

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"One day I went to the dentist.  He checked my tushie and my knee."

Age 3 and a half:

"I like orange juice.  It tastes really yellow!"

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"I don't live on a farm.  I live on Earth."

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"Robots do not have tushies."

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"When is my birthday?"  "Right after the baby comes."  "Can the baby come today?"

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We were driving home looking at the Christmas lights one day.  We passed the stationary train for the town of Brookhaven which was all lit up.  He said, "Mommy - that train celebrates Christmas!  How silly!"

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"Mommy what was your favorite part of the show?"  "I liked the dancers in their pretty costumes and tutus."  "Toot toots?  That's not a show!  That's what you make when you go poops in the potty!"

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"Mommy, is God a spaceman?"

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"Let's play airport!  I'll be the pilot.  You be the luggage!"

Age 4:

"I love you more than all the famous animals in the world!  Is that the sweetest thing you ever heard, Mommy?"

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"I want water."
"Can you use the magic word?"
"Abracadabra.  I want water."

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After clipping his nails, Goofball asked, "Do you like my hand haircut?"

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"Who was the big brother when I was a baby?"

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"Cheesecake is not a real food.  It does not exist.... unless you are a mouse."

Age 5:

"God is everywhere.  When you die, you live with God.  Dinosaurs dies.  Dinosaurs live with God.  Dinosaurs are everywhere."

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"I understand why you killed that spider.  You didn't want him to bite you and turn you into Spiderman."

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"Mommy - Baby was crying, so I sang a song to him and he stopped!"

"That was really nice of you!"

"I know.  He has a great big brother!"

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I took Goofball to the doctor and told him he'd have to pee in a cup.  He asked, "Doesn't the doctor have a toilet?"

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Goofball got a new magazine in the mail.  He hugged it and said, "I can't wait to read this in the bathroom!"

Age 6:

"I am like a Jedi - When I get angry, I go in the other room and calm down.  My baby brother is like a Sith.  He just hits Mommy when he gets mad."

"When I sing Jewish songs, I feel like I am praying to God."

Age 7:
"I hear crickets cricking.  I hear bugs singing.  At nighttime, the bugs have a music class."

Age 8:
"I put my middle finger up, and I think I cursed myself!"

"I would be really humiliated if I had to go to the bathroom on an airplane" (We were discussing our trip to the Cradle of Aviation museum - there was an airplane bathroom with a plexiglass partition to keep people out.  G thought that there was a see-through door.)

Age 9:
"Here - try this pickle."
"It's like the pickle has angel wings.... and it flies to the moon in a pickle rocket and puts a pickle flag on the moon..."

"People who eat vegetables are vegetarian.  Not me.  I'm a pizzaterian."

Age 12:
"Check out my abs.  I don't have a 6 pack, but I think I have a 1 pack!"

First Day Jitters

I took the tags off the backpack and sharpened every pencil.  The new Spiderman lunch box is in the refrigerator ready to go.   The clothes are all laid out in a neat pile – beige shorts, horse shirt, Angry Birds underwear, white socks.  The folder is labeled with your name and inside is an envelope for your teacher with all sorts of papers:  medical form, bus note, dismissal card…

I have experienced the first day before and I know how exciting it is:  We call it fall but the summer sun is still shining bright.  The markers all have that sharp point, far from being dulled or dried out.  Everyone has fresh haircuts, new clothes, sneakers that have yet to be scuffed, and notebooks that have not yet been written in.

And even though I have experienced first days before, I have never experienced it quite like this.  I have seen hundreds of anxious children entering the school, but I have never put an anxious child on the bus and held back the tears.

You are so excited, and I am excited for you.

You are so proud of yourself, and I am so proud of you.

You are a little nervous, and I am nervous for you.

If you don’t know where to go, ask a grown up who works at the school.

If you have to use the bathroom, don’t wait till the last minute.

If your teacher interrupts your extremely long story, don’t give her the “super angry” face.

Remember when you were pretending to fart on your brother’s head?  Yeah…..Don’t do that at school. 

But most importantly…just be kind.

Just be kind, even when the other kids are being jerks.

Just be kind, and you will attract kind people.

If another child looks left out, just be kind and join him.

Just be kind.

Remember when we took a walk last week and you stopped to fix the neighbors garbage pails that fell down in the wind…..that’s the kind of kind.

Remember when you asked me if you could share your snack with the little girl at the park….that’s the kind of kind.

Remember when your brother was crying today, so you handed him his favorite book and kissed him on the head…..that’s the kind of kind.

I wish I could stop the clock, but as my hairs are starting to turn gray, you are off and running on to new adventures every day, so I just have to follow and hope to keep up. 

But even on days when you give me the “super angry” face, I will still have a lump in my throat at the idea of sending you off on the big yellow bus, because no matter what, Mommy loves you.

A Letter to my Son's Pre-K Teachers

Dear Teachers,

How do I possibly put into words all of what I am feeling right now?  My sweet, creative, dramatic, inquisitive little boy has reached such an important milestone, and he is there because of you.

Every morning he wakes up before the sun and excitedly asks, "What are we doing today?" Five days a week he is picking out his clothes before I have even opened my eyes.  He is brushing his teeth before I have even had my coffee.  And I know you have seen him on a dialy basis dart into your classroom while I am still working my way though the parking lot.

My son loves school...and it's because of you.

He loves to share everything he knows - with everyone - including the mailman.

He loves to light the candles, say the prayers, and observe Shabbat.  We can't start until everyone is sitting.

He loves to go to the library and research what he has learned at school. We have taken out the same insect book about eight times.

He loves to sing the songs he has learned in class.  The donut hole song cracks us up each and every time.

He loves to dress up and pretend.  One day he is an astronaut.  The next day he is a police officer.  Occasionally he is a police officer who is wearing a jet pack.

He loves to name his toys after his classmates and teachers.  He uses his action figures to act out situations.  Miss Lois is Iron Man and Miss Pam is Spiderman.

He loves to write his name and gets frustrated when it isn't perfect.  Every day at dismissal he opens his backpack to eagerly show me his latest piece of artwork.

He loves to be independant.  He can do so much more than I give him credit for, and I appreciate your gentle reminders to let him soar when I am holding him back.

Just last week at graduation, I was working very hard to hold back the tears.  Even now, as I sit here writing this, I look across the room at him.  He's sitting at the computer playing a game, giggling at something on the screen, without a care in the world, and once again I fight back the tears.

I am so proud of all that he has accomplished this year.  He's worked so hard.  He has been declassified and no longer needs services.  He has gained confidence, can control himself better and works well in a group.  He has become a compassionate big brother and a compassionate friend to others.

All of his accomplishments are because of you, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  I know that I can't keep him in a bubble, but I still dread sending him off on the big yellow bus to kindergarten. However, it's a little bit easier knowing that you have set such a strong foundation.

Everything he can do, everything he has done, and the little man that he has become...it's because of you.

Fondly,
Heather and Ethan

Marching for those who could no longer march

Eighteen years ago I took the trip of a lifetime.  I went on a program called “The March of the Living” with 40 Jewish teenagers from around the country.  After I came home, I wrote the following:

 

Lighting a Memorial Candle

Like millions of Jews, I went to Auschwitz.

But unlike the millions of Jews before me, I was fortunate.

I was not packed into a sweaty, hot train leaning on others to keep from passing out.

Nor was I marching in a group like a herd of sheep with a rifle to my head.

I was on an air conditioned coach bus with 40 other Jewish teenagers from all over the United States on a two week journey to Poland and Israel to study the holocaust.

Those two weeks were the most intense and emotionally draining of my life. I spent my time exploring history, exploring my faith and exploring myself.

Poland is a dull, bleak country. The weather was cold and the skies were dark - the perfect setting for a trip back to a morbid time in history. We visited five concentration camps: Auschwitz, Birkenau, Treblinka, Plascow and Madanek.  Each was differently set up, but at one time their purposes were equal: extermination.

Auschwitz was the same as I had seen in the movies.  We were greeted by the hallmark slogan “Arbeit Mach Frei,” which means “work makes you free.”  In Auschwitz, the only thing that makes you free is death.

Auschwitz was turned into a museum attraction.  It was very disturbing to see a gift shop and hot dog stand and smiling young children who cannot even comprehend what they are seeing.

We went through the museum and saw ordinary things that I could barely describe: shoes, toothbrushes, glasses, teeth with the gold fillings removed, hair cut off from little girls’ heads still braided with a pretty bow, jewelry, suitcases, photographs of men and women reduced to skin and bones, photographs of small children with rifles to their heads, clothes for adults, clothes for children, clothes for babies.

The program that I was on was called The March of the Living.  The march is from Auschwitz to Birkenau.  It is the same 1.8 miles that prisoners marched to their deaths, because the gas chambers at Birkenau were larger and more accessible than those at Auschwitz. 

We gathered along the streets and met up with other young Jews from South America, Europe and Israel. I draped myself in an Israeli flag.  The head of the march spoke:  “We now march the same 1.8 miles that our people marched to their deaths 50 years ago.  Let the march…March!” 

The street was transformed into a silent sea of blue and white.  I looked straight ahead, marching proudly, never stepping out of line, for fifty years ago I would have been shot for doing so. 

WE were the March of the Living!

We marched for those who could no longer march.

We stayed strong.

We survived.

Am Yisrael Chai – The people of Israel live.

 

That week we also visited Plascow and Treblinka.  Plascow was completely destroyed.  It was nothing but an open field.  Standing in loneliness are two memorial statues to the prisoners who worked and the prisoners who died.

Treblinka was set up as a memorial as well.  There are 6000 stones, each representing a community or town that prisoners were taken from.  In the middle was a mass grave where hundreds of bodies were burned at a time.  We all stood around the site holding hands, singing, crying and reciting kaddish, a prayer to mourn the dead. 

Our last visit was Madanek.

Visiting Madanek was harder than visiting any other camp.  It wasn’t touched since the camp was liberated.  The buildings still stood and the structures were intact.  Madanek is of a main highway.  You could see the chimney of the crematorium for miles.  When we pulled into Madanek, we all gasped to see how obvious the camp was.

We entered a barrack where prisoners slept on wooden risers.  There were prison striped garments still there.  I could still smell the dirty, sweaty men and women who once inhabited that barrack.

In the next barrack was nothing but thousands and thousands of dirty old shoes.  (Mind you, these barracks are the size of several houses). The shoes were piled high – floor to ceiling, behind gates. 

We went into the next barrack – another million or so shoes, again, trapped behind wall to wall gates.

Finally we entered a third barrack of shoes.  This time the setup was different.  The shoes were piled on the floor with a wooden plank down the middle, resembling a boat dock overlooking a brown, dirty, never-ending sea.  These shoes could be touched.  I leaned over and picked up a shoe at random.  It was a baby shoe.  I picked up another shoe.  It was about my size.  At this point I stepped outside and greeted the air and broke down.  I sat down and cried my eyes out.  How could there possibly be so many shoes?

Finally we came upon what I thought to be the hardest thing to see – harder than the shoes, harder than the gas chambers, harder than the crematorium ovens. 

It was a dome, the size of a house, filled with human ashes. 

I cannot even describe what it was like to walk up to this monstrous urn.

I walked closer and peeked in and noticed that someone had thrown a red blooming rose on top of the pile of ashes.  A single red rose.  The rose was beautiful and perfect.  It was so perfect that it was distracting and made me feel uneasy.  How could beauty exist in such a place?  I wondered how long it was there.  Did someone throw it in today, or was it there for a while, cast under a magical spell to remain beautiful for all eternity?

 

Our time in Poland came to an end.  I was so drained both physically and emotionally, and I longed to be home.  Our next destination was Israel, and I didn’t realize until we got there, but I was at home.

The weather was bright and sunny every single day.  I was home.

I got to see my first real life palm tree.  I was home.

I tasted falafel for the first time ever.  I was home.

I swam in the dead sea and gave myself a mud bath..  I was home.

I prayed at the Western wall.  I was home.

I climbed Masada, sprained my ankle, and went to the emergency room.  I was home.

 

Visiting Poland and Israel was the most incredible, life-altering experience I have ever had.  It’s changed me.  I don’t know exactly how, but I know that I am not the same naïve kid that I was when I boarded the plane at JFK airport.  I came home with a different outlook on life, and a new responsibility.  Soon there will be no holocaust survivors living, and my generation is the last to have any contact with survivors.  I was given the responsibility to ensure that the legacy continues, and to make sure that never again will such atrocious happenings occur.

My job is to not allow ignorance to take over the truth.

The people of Israel live.

We’ve survived.

We’ve struggled.  We’ve cried.  We’ve faced death, but we’re still here.  We weren’t beat.

Never again – Am Yisrael Chai. 

We will all be K.O. (A tribute to Grandma)

Grandma Pearl was a real class act.  Everyone loved her. 

When she passed away, all of our friends came to her funeral to show their support for our family, and they all said the same thing… “I’m so sorry for your loss…”  and they would start to choke up.  And they said “I know she’s your Grandma, but I loved her too.”  You see, she was everyone’s Grandma. 

Yesterday at her funeral, my mom, brother, cousin and I all got up to speak about her, and we all touched on the same theme:  Grandma Pearl always knew what you needed.  Grandma Pearl never let you leave empty handed.  Grandma Pearl touched everyone that she met.

Grandma Pearl always had a lot to say. 

When I pushed her wheelchair down the hall of the nursing home, she would brag “These are my grandchildren.  I have fifteen great-grandchildren!”

She would say, “I need new hips” or “The lady down the hall is meshugina” and instead of “OK” she would say “KO…KO.” 

Usually she said things like “Are you sure you don’t want any chocolate?  I have plenty of candy!  Here, I have some soda for you.  You want a cookie?  You sure you don’t want a cookie?  You sure?  Okay, how about a cracker then?”

But the only reason it would appear as though she were encouraging eating disorders was because she cared…about everyone.  She loved taking care of all of us.  She was a great listener.  She always had wise words to share.  And she enjoyed going places.

Just yesterday after the funeral, we pulled up to the burial site.  I was about to get out of the car but turned back to get a tissue.  Once again, Grandma knew just what I needed…for there in the consule was the last thing she ever gave me…a small box of tissues…because when I needed one, she handed me the whole box.  I wasn’t allowed to leave empty handed. 

I’ll never forget weekends at the Pines Hotel, summers at the Bungalos, endless summer afternoons in the pool at her Staten Island House, taking us to the circus, Chanukah parties with mountains of presents, sitting around chatting over coffee, Passover seders that sat 30, family reunions, Grandparents visiting day at School, attempting to teach me to cook, attempting to teach me to crochet, attempting to teach me to play mah jong, dancing at my wedding, watching her play pat-a-cake with Goofball at his first birthday– she was there for every event, big or small.  You could always count on Grandma. 

I don’t usually remember my dreams, but when I was pregnant I had some real vivid ones.  One dream I remember took place at the Bungalos.  We were all running around having fun and Grandma was sitting at a picnic table.  She thought she was alone, but Grandpa Harry was there.  In my dream, I was the only one who saw him there.  He was sitting right next to her with his head in his hand lovingly watching her….just like he never left her.

And now they are back together. 

It will all be good now, Grandma….because you can dance with Grandpa, and neither of you will need a wheelchair.

It will all be good now, Grandma, because you could play Volleyball in heaven, and you hips won’t hurt.

It will all be good now, Grandma, because you are back together with Grandpa. 

We will miss you dearly and our hearts are broken, but we will all be OK, because we know that you are in a better place.  We will all be OK.  We will all be KO.