Lady of the house

I never aspired to be a wife. Certainly I wasn't one of those girls who had vivid dreams of a fancy wedding. I never contemplated a cathedral veil or a 12 piece orchestra. (Years later I'd be obsessed with these things)

 Never did I imagine a house with a white picket fence. Or any fence.  I wanted to live in an apartment in Nyc forever. 

 Kids weren't really on my radar. Sure, i found them cute. From afar. And babysitting certainly wasn't my bag. Hated it actually. Save for the homemade chocolate chip cookies the lady of the house made for me, I dreaded the job. I used to pray the kid would sleep. I died whenever I had to change a diaper. 

To avoid becoming a stay at home mom, I dated often. No way I was going to become a lame statistic. Friends were getting engaged and I dreaded each invite that arrived. A ruined Labor Day weekend. Another wedding over Fourth of July.  It was awful and I wasn't having any part of it. 

I lived and loved abroad.  A lot. I worked. I volunteered. And eventually I went back to school for my masters. I figured that when I did eventually have kids, at least if have a good degree. Perhaps that would make me more marketable post mat leave?

I worked my butt off all through mba and began to dream of my immenent six figure income. My mind was filled with holidays i would take.  Turkey, Morocco, India. Life would be glamourous.  Life would be grand. 

And then my boyfriend proposed. With an ice skating rink of a ring. I was shocked. I hardly knew what to say, so I went with "yes". And then for two years I questioned my decision. Who wanted to get married anyway. 

I graduated from school at the end of May and started my dream job right away.  A June 21 wedding followed.  

As I walked down that aisle in my cathedral length veil, I saw my dreams fade away.  And that 12 piece orchestra played on...

I felt the depression start to sink in and the ink hadn't yet dried

Now it's not that i didn't want to marry my husband. I just didn't want to marry him right then.   A few more years single would have worked for me. 

And as I predicted, my dreams started to evaporate.  Everyone around me was falling pregnant.  Talk of breast feeding, spoon feeding and diapers filled the air. With a bit of peer pressure and my quickly increasing age,  i decided a baby would be a welcome addition to my life as well. (I was 30)

Within 38 weeks I went from being "wife" to "mommy".  I was 31.  Gone was the girl who travelled everywhere. Gone was she who took courses whenever she could. Gone was the chick who ran to 6am hot yoga. Every. Single.  Day

And while I loved my daughter more than words could ever explain, I felt like I was losing me. I knew I was.  Gym classes. Swim classes. Music lessons. All for her. And she was 6 months old.  I shopped nonstop. For boots and skirts and dresses.  Again, only for her. 

As she grew more gorgeous i still looked pregnant. Or worse. 

My husband had began to workout feverishly.  He was addicted. To the gym. Certainly not to me. Or to what I'd become. Who had I become? More importantly, where did I go?

And his life carried on. All I carried was my baby and the groceries.  Every day. Every damn day. 

Actually his life did more than carry on. He flourished.  Each year or two he'd start a new job. Each job was better than the next.  He was climbing up the corporate ladder and I was ready to climb out the window.

From business meetings to work drinks and dinner, he was enjoying the good life. And I was living the housewife life...  Who would have thunk it?? 

 While I was and am so proud of his accomplishments it still saddens me not to have "work dinners" or drinks with friends from work. 

But today  my daughter is nearly ten. We've added an awesome animated boy to the mix.  He's loud and smart and handsome as hell.  These two kids rock my world. They also rule my world. And my days. And usually my nights too...

The youngest is 5 and I've yet to lose the baby weight. I cringe when someone asks if  I'm pregnant. 

 And we've recently moved countries and my husband started his biggest job yet. He's in charge of 400 people. 400 family's lives. Their well-being is in his hands. And he loves it. 

And me? I'm still left carrying groceries and often a kid. A very big kid. 

But I'm also buying  rain boots and sports bras.  Leggings and ice skates. Bike helmets and rollerblades. Uggs and umbrellas. 

Last week i was asked to buy deodorant.  And I cried.  But i digress. 

I've trolled the malls for back to school clothes. And backpacks.  And lunch bags.  That perfect first day outfit?!

But get this. Together with my girl, I've created a dinner menu for the month. We perused the food network and found tons of interesting meals she agreed to eat. I made a fabulous spread sheet. And to think I was kind of excited to use excel again?!  And a little shocked I still knew how. 

It's not all doom and gloom.  My biggest achievement lately is that my kids love to eat. Thai food, Indian, Mexican, sushi. They have wonderful palates and even better manners.  They make me proud at least 13 times a day. 

But I'd be lying if i said this is what I always wanted. My dream come true. A suburban housewife with hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of education in my pocket.  And no full time job in sight. No tailored suits and designer heels.  No nanny to watch the kids and clean up their mess. 

No. It's not what I wanted at all. Never. Ever. Not on any planet. But it's the life I've chosen. My path for now.  And truthfully I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.  

Breathe and drink water. Namaste

what it feels like to die

Not to be morose, but this week I'm learning what it feels like to die.  What's it's going to be like when I'm no longer here. No longer around. 

I'm not actually sick.  As a matter of fact, I'm feeling quite well. 

I haven't been given a terminal diagnosis or even a bad blood report.  Truthfully I've been eating nicely and working out a lot. 

But this week, I'm packing up my home of more than ten years and preparing for a move out of this country.  Leaving where I've lived for 14 years. 

It's a lot of work and I'm quite exhausted both mentally and physically.  There's a ton to do. Cancel NY times subscription.  Re-route our mail. Cancel gym memberships. Notify the doctors and the schools and the camps that we are moving this weekend.  Drivers license reports. Medical exams. Donation bins. Lots of stuff people need to accomplish before they move or die. 

But the worst part is the stuff I have to sort, and I have so much stuff.  Stuff I haven't touched in 10 years. From books to knitting needles, I'm packing up boxes with things I don't need.  Things I'll never need. Items I didn't require in the first place...

I did finally manage to finally donate all the clothes that currently don't fit me.  That would include my size 6 citizen jeans and all of my Theory suits.  Talk about depressing.  Like cleaning out the closet of a dead (and skinny) aunt. Awful. 

Most recently I've been disposing of things I don't want the movers to see.  Or touch.   Ever. 

I've been wrapping up things that are precious to me. The memories. The moments. My life. 

And then there was last night. A last minute impromptu "drink the house". A small gathering of close friends to come and drink our liquor and eat our pantry's remains.

Dare I say it felt like a shiva?

For my non Jewish friends, a family sits shiva after someone dies. It's a time to come together. To mourn. To celebrate. To eat yummy food. People cover the mirrors and sit on boxes. No one is comfortable as they discuss the departed.  Everyone reminisces. 

Last night at my home, we did just that. Old friends told stories. They ate tasty foods. We remembered what life was like when we moved here. There wasn't much music playing. Some were more upset than others. There were some tears. When everyone went home, I was left crying.

People joked that we should have told the new owners our friends came with the house. Our friends loved to party with us and we were alway keen to host.

But soon I'd be gone. No longer a fixture on my warm street. No longer the mom at the playground taking home gobs of kids. I wouldn't be a part of the book club I created. Someone else has taken over my business.  My favorite coffee shop will still be busy without my iced coffee orders daily.

I imagine people will miss me. They alway miss the departed. Friends will talk kindly about me. Hopefully. Just this morning i received a text saying that i'm a magical magnate with a unique ability to bring people together and get stuff for free... People keep telling me that TO will miss me.  

The memories will live on for a time, but people will move on. It's what people do. New friends will be made.  New furniture will fill my bedrooms and my living room.  Someone else's clothes will hang in my closet.

          New laughter will enter my home. And it won't be mine

I also noted what a big effort people made to say their goodbyes. Babysitters were hired. Food was brought over. One family bought us a complete and exquisite middle eastern Dinner. One friend made chicken wings. They were a hit. Someone wrote me a poem that I'll frame right away. Nearly everyone close to me managed to show up even briefly to say farewell.

But in life, it's hard not remember those who didn't come through. Those who opted to dine with other friends instead of hanging with us. It's okay. After all, we initially cancelled the evening and then rescheduled. But still i'll love them for always, as they've been here for me many times before.

         And so, without much work, I now know what it will feel like when I die. I know who loves me and I know exactly   what they think of me.  I'm not going to to lie, I'm a pretty lucky girl. The love is huge and real and and I can't wAit to see them all on the other side...(of the border)))

ROOTS>

Have you ever plucked a vibrant flower from the ground because you thought you'd enjoy it better somewhere else?  Like maybe in your new glass floral Tiffany vase?  Or even just in your hipster little mason jar that you bought at Whole Foods.

  Have you ever driven by someone else's fluffy white and blue hydrangeas and thought how  you'd just like to cut a few and take them for your own?  Or their lilac bush? How pretty the delicate purple flowers would look and smell in your living room.

 Don't lie, it happens to the best of us.  Often we're drawn to those blossoms and believe they'll fare better where we place them.

Or displace them.

And tonight, I feel like those said flowers.  Perhaps not so lovely that you'd want to snip me up and put me in your kitchen, but i feel pretty damn close.  It's summer.  Tomorrow is august.  The sun has been shining like mad in Toronto.  Lots of us are complaining because we're so darn hot.  We're sweating.  Our AC is pumping and we still can't keep cool  So we complain and dream about fall.  When we can wear our boots again.  And our jeans.  When will our kids will be back in school full time.

But then the cold will come and we'll complain.  It's what we do.  And we do it well.

 But i digress.

Earlier today i was feeling like those mistreated flowers.  But suddenly i'm thinking about the potatoes my son and i picked this past week.  Or the strawberries? Or maybe it's a sugar snap pea.  It's hard to decide.  We've done a lot of picking lately.  All of it legal and never from a friends garden.

We've made great use of the produce we've pulled from the ground.  From their roots.  We've made strawberry smoothies and gazpacho soup.  Today i made a fresh tomato sauce and then i added the sugar snap peas to my green salad.  I roasted a few of our potatoes, but surely the other 24 will go bad.

Because bad is often what happens when you pull stuff from their roots.  You think you'll find a better home for it, for them.  You think the fruit/flower/vegetable will be great for your family.  Taste delicious.  Look gorgeous.

But then, all too often, you take stuff from their roots and later find the need to compost the remains.

So i'm not a flower. I"m not a fruit.  And i'd hardly classify as a potato, so why wax on?

Why the long face?

I'm not so sure why, but I'm sad today.  I'm sad, because  in less than 2 weeks i'll be pulled from my home and displaced.

Yes, i know i've been begging for this for years.  Complaining that i'd fare better in a different place.  I promised I'd thrive closer to my old roots.  But as i think about it, i'm not so sure anymore.

After all, I've now called TO home for exactly 14 years.  14 adult years.

I only ever lived with my parents for 17 years and i hardly recall the first 4 or 5.  So, theoretically, I have more memories of life in TO than I do anywhere else.   Sure, I've lived in Spain and Argentina and those were grand times.  I've lived in CT, MO, NY,  VT and even CA.  I loved all of my time in those places, but lately, TO is feeling like home.

Both my kids were born here.  I completed my master's degree here.  I got engaged here.  Married.

I've started businesses in TO.  I've made countless wonderful friends.  Friends who mean the world to me.  A few of my favourite friends I can be happy with while doing so very little.  A grocery shop, Walmart, Target, Costco.  Nothing fancy, but the time is precious.

But let's not sugar coat it.  I've been sick in TO too.  Very sick.  I've had visits to specialists and hospitals.  Heck, I nearly died here.  And that wasn't good.  No, those weren't good days at all.

But now as i prepare to uproot and reroot, i feel anxious.  I know i'm going home, but what have i become?  What will i become?

I'm grateful for my time here and i'm pretty excited for our next adventure.  I just find it hard to leave the roots i've worked so hard to grow.

But like those flowers, potatoes and even sugar snap peas before me, I know i'm strong.  I'll be great someplace new.  Hopefully i'll blossom when I finally plant myself again.

Namaste Toronto.
xo

i'll wear purple

So tonight my five year old and i went out for dinner with my husband's 2nd cousin.  She's an awesome older lady, though i'm not quite sure exactly how old she is.  I do know that she's lived in her current house for 45 years.  She has four grown sons.  Many grandkids too.  One of her grandkids is even a lawyer. Most of all, I know she's amazing.  She's fabulous, but a spring chicken she is not.

I've always been drawn to cousin Martha.  Her warm smile, her loving heart, her wonderfully positive outlook on life.  Her generosity.  Even just tonight, after supper, we went back to chat at her place.  Right away, she gave my boy a huge Lindt chocolate bar and let him fill his pockets with hershey kisses.  He was smitten from the first kiss.

At dinner, as we shared our classic Greek salad and brown bread, we laughed and laughed.  Chatting with her was like chatting to a girlfriend.  A contemporary.  We talked about Argentina, France and what's going down in Greece.  We discussed family and friendships and everything in between.

Martha lost her husband many years ago, but never did lose herself.  Just looking at her, you know that she's a woman filled with vim. Her hair is perfectly kept.  I know for a fact that she gets it done  with John each friday before meeting a girlfriend for breakfast next door.  Her shellacked  nails were the most lovely shade of purple.  Perhaps you'd call it lilac?  The nails matched her gorgeous purple patterned sweater and it was wonderful.  Who knew a paint choice could be so important?

While we dined, people passed by and warmly greeted her.  I felt like i was sitting with the queen.  She laughed and disagreed when i told her she was like royalty.  Never would she consider herself a queen.  Or even a princess.

To me she's a superwoman and i wish we could have hung out forever.  

She told me about how her husband fell ill with Parkinsons many years earlier.  The best part of his illness was the male caregiver, Alex, they hired to help out.  Alex cried like a baby when her husband passed away.  Martha says he was like a brother to them.

Twenty four years later, Alex is still part of their family.  Till this day she holds him in the highest esteem because he cared for her David so lovingly.  As a recent gift, she sent Alex and his family home to the Philipines for the month.  Plane tickets and all.  Why?  Because she said he deserved it.  I think i saw a tear in her eye...

I was sad when we had to say our goodbyes, but we were getting tired.  But I left feeling enlightened and happy.  Warm and safe.  I drove home having a better understanding of who I am and what i want to be known as in my circle.

I went into my house feeling okay about the situation i'm in.  Just fine with the big fight i'm having with a friend.  As a matter of fact, now i feel totally at peace with the fact that i'm no longer talking to this said friend.  Why?  Because i wasn't impressed by how she treated people.  My cleaning lady.  My babysitter.  My son.  And me.  Unlike cousin Martha, she's not kind to others.

Perhaps one day she and I will make up, but it will never be the same.  Aunt Martha doesn't stand on ceremony with people she loves, but she only loves those who are worthy.  Life's too short and life's too long.  No time to be with the wrong people and not enough time to be with the right ones.

I'm excited about spending more hours with cousin Martha.  I think next time i'll wear purple too.
lots of love,
xo

Hashtag what?!?

So my five year old just responded to my question by screaming, “hashtag yes mom”
Seriously, hashtag??
What could he know about what used to be a number sign.
When did he start to learn about social media.
What was my world coming to and why does he constantly want an iPad in his hand.

I wonder if he’ll never learn to read.
I wonder if he’ll need glasses sooner than later.
I wonder if he’ll ever be able to engage in social conversation.

Devices devices everywhere.
Apple owns my children’s hearts.
Perhaps a bit of mine too.

Gone are the days where kids roamed the streets until dinner time.
Gone are the days when we had to stand in the kitchen to make a call.
Or wonder who might be phoning?
Gone are the days of letter writing. (except for me and a select few who adore paper and pens)
and gone are the days where kids actually looked up. Ever.
Surely scoliosis is on the rise.
Chiropractors everywhere must be buying second and third homes.

I revel in the moments when my kids want to build crazy forts.
Even outside.
Even when they’re using my Pratesi sheets…

I love when my girl sings and plays guitar.
I love when they sing karaoke.  I love when they cook.

I beam when they rollerblade all day.
I’m the mom who lets them skate through the house.
Damn those  hardwood floors from 1929.

And i hope to keep my kids as wholesome as i can.
It won’t be easy.
The other day my 9 year old daughter said the F word.
Out loud.
She told me she was just repeating what she read.
On the wall of her school’s girl’s bathroom.
Written by a friend.  About a friend.
Bullying sucks.
And in a world full of hashtags and social media blitzes, i’m scared.
and aware.

i can’t keep my kids away of issues in this world.
They know about the escape convicts in NY.
They know about plane crashes.
They know sometimes men marry men and women marry women.
They know about the unfortunate nature of divorce.
They know about racial tension-.
My five year old prince just stated, “mom, a lot of kids with brown skin are short, right”.
Um, not actually boy.
But through truth we’ll have justice.
And with an open word, i’m hoping to create kind and loving, opinionated, yet accepting creatures.
#noonetoldmeitwouldbesohard

#popitlikeaxanax

Dear Robin,

It's been 23 hours and I can't stop thinking about you.  It doesn't help that the whole world is talking about you today.  You've blown up twitter.   And Facebook.  People are even putting your picture on instagram.  More people are chatting about Mork and Mindy than they did in the 80's.
Even the president is talking about you robin.  And he has woderful this to say.  Of course he does.

Everyone is reminiscing about you.  What a selfless man.  What a genius.  They're all replaying scenes from dead poets society.  You're dinner conversation.  I loved your work, but I refuse to talk about it.  And I'm hoping you'd understand.

You knew the world loved you.  You knew you could make people laugh and then cry.  With a single smirk, you'd have the crowd laughing again.

You're a hit today.  Now people are anxiously awaiting your yet unreleased films. But guess what?  It doesn't seem to matter anymore because today you're not here. I'm not sure exactly where you are, but I know you're not hanging out in Marin county.  I know one there is one less belt in your closet today   And I know you're no longer laughing.  

I imagine you haven't really laughed in quite awhile now.  I get, robin.   I truly get it.  I'm sure you always had to be the life of the party.  As the Motown hit goes, "people say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two.  Although I might be laughing loud and hard, deep inside I'm blue.
You must have been blue.  Or  black and blue. Broken.

I hate that I get it but I totally get it. A lot of us get it. We got it.   Good.  And it sucks.  Bad.  Really bad.

But I'm hoping last night wasn't in vain, robin.  I know even like this you'll touch the world.  You'll get people talking.  Depression, bipolar, suicide won't be so taboo. I know through you the will be light shed.  And hopefully cash spent.  We won't have an issue with too few beds in hospitals.    Mothers won't have to weep while their kids suffer. Together we will support mental health.  Or lack there of.

Who knows?  I know.  Robin, I promise I know.

Why?  Because I know that feeling of wanting off. Wanting out. Wanting to vanish or hide so far away.  I know how sometimes you can try to run from the pain but then it chases you.  And sadly, it's faster.  You may be suffocating.  The feeling is toxic.  Debilitating.  And no matter what, you can't make it go away.

Robin, I've been in that dark place.  I probably shouldnt be so presumptuous to say I get it, but I swear I do.  I was close.  Closer than I'd like to discuss.  Honest.

I was so close that I didnt care what came next.  Make it go away.  Make it go away.

So close that I didn't are who cried.  Didn't care who got Hurt. It wasn't my
Problem if you missed me.

It was early spring.  Passover for my Jewish friends following along.  My life looked perfect.  I was a tall, thin pretty girl with a newly minted MBA and a fantastically sexy new job.  I had a boyfriend who loved me and a whole bunch of others who wanted to be with me too.  Life was good.  The day was sunny but the pain was real.  The hurt was intense.  It was visceral.  And i didn’t know how to make it stop.  

I remember lying on the floor of my kitchen in cut offs and a white tank top searching with desperation through the cleaning supplies.  I thought that perhaps if i drank the dishwasher soap, I’d find a way out.  What was i thinking?!  I wasn’t.  But I  managed to swallow a few sips.  As my belly started to ache, i realized I’d land up with little more than a squeaky clean gut!

Upstairs i dragged.  Into my bathroom, complete with radiant heated marble floors and whirlpool tub, and I grabbed all of my old medicine bottles.  I wasn’t sure what i had or what would happen, but it was getting late and i was ready to say goodbye.

Within minutes, this girl swallowed bottles of old pills.  Bottles.  Irony here is that i despise medicine, hence why I had so much in my possession). Everything from paxil to prozac, lithium and lamictal.  The swallowing was hard and fast and violent and that’s all I remember, because then i passed out on my perfect bed.

My mind erased the memory of ambulances and fire trucks and police officers.  Banging on doors and yelling for me to wake up.  All that is gone too.  

Time has erased the visual of vomit and stomach pumps.  I remember next to nothing about that evening, but i do remember  my boyfriend holding me at the hospital and begging me to get up and dance.  I recall getting off that sticky hospital bed and dancing like i’ve never danced before.  With some amazing luck, the doctors took this as a sign that i was ok.  Not sure what was wrong with that doctor, but I swear i’d kiss him with gratitude if i could find him him.  With no follow up or reports written, they sent me home.  It must have been the residual effects of the medicine, because when i woke up I was happy, peaceful, and whole.

While I can’t recall the details, I do remember that was the day i got lucky Robin.  I was given a second chance.  Some days I yell at my now husband and scream at him for saving me.  I get so angry that i have to deal with the dark days in life.  

But then there are days like today Robin.  It’s sunny.  My favourite trees are in bloom Robin.  The sky is blue.  The grass is greener.  My kids are playing in the yard and having a blast Robin.  I’m hysterically crying, because i almost missed it.  Robin, I almost missed all of this.

  And lord knows that some days SUCK!  They totally bite!  But sometimes, Robin, we’re given the strength to push on.  Some days, weeks, months its not so easy.  So sorry, Robin that you had one of those bad days.  I wish i could bring you back.  I can’t and i”m sorry.  Please know that i’ll work tirelessly to make sure others are spared what we have felt.  I’ll write.  I’ll campaign.  I’ll raise money.  I’ll keep spreading your good word Robin.  Your passing will never be in vain.  Promise.

With love and respect, 

Laurin

Challah and kebobs

For lunch my Good friend and I drove 7 minutes to biyrani kebob house. It's my favorite Afganastanian restaurant in the city. Together we ate our delicious tandori wraps.  Just as the taxi drivers had promised, this was the tastiest food in town.  She and I laughed as we shared our lunch.  We giggled as we imitated different accents, hoping that no one around us could hear.  We blushed as the good looking afghanis men walked by.  She's a South African Muslim with an indian dad.  I adore her.

When lunch was over we drove to our favorite coffee shop.  Our close buddies, the owners, are a loving bunch from Jordan.  When we sit there, we feel at home.  Warm lattes, sweet almond croissants all make us happy as we enjoy together.  As a unit we let the hours tick on by.

I rush down the road to pick up my two from public school.  My son's Portuguese teacher is a doll and runs to tell me what a great day he had.  I stand with another mother friend, a lively vivacious spitfire from China originally.  Our other friend, a British dentist of Indian Muslim descent joins our chat.  Then my dearest, a gorgeous gregarious gal from Gianna jumps in mid conversation.  We laugh about the day and dread the evening routine.  Dinner, bath, books, bed.

I look around the play ground and smile. We are all so different.  Blondes, brunettes.  Asians, Europeans and every sort of background.  Together we stand. In solidarity.  Trying to slug it out. One day at a time.  One packed lunch after the other. One load of laundry and then the next.

At home, my sweet and caring babysitter is from Brazil. She adores my kids and they love her.  She shares with them wonderful dishes from her country.  Each week they beg for her tomato and onion vinegar salad. I swoon when I see them eating foods from other cultures. Sushi, indian, thai.  They're always up for a new delight. 

Our other sitter is from Eritrea.  She's a young religious Muslim girl. For months I worried about telling her we were jewish. When I did,  she embraced it.  She sked questions and was interested. Her mom cooked us an Ethiopian feast complete with goat stew and injera bread. It was amazing.  We were connected for life.  

So many of our days are enriched by the multicultural nature of our city and for that I'm grateful.  My children will never know what it's like to hate or discriminate based on race, creed or colour. They will never judge by the tone of someone's skin or the twang in their accent.  I hope they'll continue to have friends from all over the globe.  My dream is that they'll love to travel to experience the world up close.

 

I feel sorry for kids who have a different view of people.  So many people I know send their kids to religious schools and it makes me wonder. What benefit can your kids reap when everyone is the same at school?  All jewish? All catholic?  All muslim? No thanks. I just don't understand.  But then again, everyone is entitled to their opinion. 

Thankfully my husband agrees with my views wholeheartedly.  I guess in a marriage, this is a pretty important value!?  We'll continue to share Shabbat challah with our Muslim friends and we'll eat kofta and kebob with them whenever we can. Namaste. Xo