An Open Letter to Myself on the Near Eve of My 40th Birthday


Dear Self,


I cant believe you are almost 40? How did that happen??? I've heard you are referring this as  #fuck40 and that you plan on ripping 40 a new one?? Good luck with that.  I have no doubt you will be successful. I feel like your mentality isn't that of a 40 year old; you can't even discuss  "beaver trappers" with reference to early French settlers without smirking!  I know it hasn't always been easy for you.  In fact you have had to deal with some pretty serious experiences over the last (almost) 40  years; possibly more than some lucky souls have to confront in a lifetime.  The thing is, you haven't let any of this defeat you.  It's almost as if you have embraced all of the crap and just decided that you would run to it instead of away from it. If we looked back on some of the highlights (lowlights) of the days leading to the 40 year old version of you, I am certain they were preparing you for this version of yourself.

THE LOWLIGHTS

• A bad college boyfriend.  Very bad.  Like "What the fuck were you thinking?" bad!!! He is the one major regret you have but once you cut him out like a cancer you lived it up at Towson.  Which was pretty freakn great.
• The Ex Husband.  Once upon a time there was a man with a wife, a mistress and a girlfriend.  Lucky you.  In your 20s you felt pressure and a ton of insecurity; your friends had already walked down the aisle or were preparing to do so.  Some even had kids.  If you and the ex broke up, who would you hang out with? Would you have to live at home? Who would love you ??? Pretty silly now, when you look back on it.  You were so sad, barely functioning.  That divorce diet was pretty amazing though.  You thrived on alcohol, caffeine, cigarettes and French fries.  But there was no sparkle in your eye.  Back then you felt so weak, but you were unable to see how much strength it took to walk out the door.
• JAS.  He helped put you back together.  Was chill.  Accepted your weirdness and admired your motivation and organization.  He became the father of your children.  He left all of you too soon but he sends you messages often.  Didn't Emily find a penny today in the empty house you saw that you think could very well be THE house? Wasn't Zeppelin on way too frequently for a quick jaunt to your parents' house on Thanksgiving? Marriage isn't always easy but you know, regardless of how things played out, that JAS did love you the best he could. 
• Hurricane Sandy.  What a bitch!!! She ruined a ton of your shit, rendered you homeless.  But now you know that living in a flood zone is out of the question and you're better prepared to handle a natural disaster should it happen again.  Which it better not...
• Paying your dues.  While someone was taking one three credit course (Folklore) with a sorority test file at their fingertips and working a minimal amount at an internship that turned into a paid internship because the teacher couldn't live without you, you neglected to investigate exactly how to procure a teaching position in New York.  Apparently all of your Maryland creds didn't reciprocate.  So you became a mommy, I mean teacher at a day care center, I mean fancy nursery school in Tribeca.  Big shot thought she was rich raking in 27 G's.  Then someone gets a job with the NYC DOE and lands her first major teaching stint in the heart of the projects in Arvern, Queens.  It doesn't count as resigning if you don't even show up for work, but instead of trying to change the world in Queens, you became a teaching assistant in a middle school.  It was there you found your niche working with hormones that had special needs.  After three highly emotional years (frequent crying) at the home of the Ram, you can now whither away in whichever classroom they move your ass to year after year.
• Being the only Jewish girl from LI to not attend sleep away camp.  You probably would have hated it, but hey, we can only wonder...

THE HIGHLIGHTS

• Emily
• Cameron
• Family that spans the country.  Your own militia of minutemen who have your back at a moment's notice.  People who have seen you at your best and your worst but still come back for more. 
• Friends, which for you, are just an extension of your family.  They are not your blood but they might as well will be.  No one can argue your loyalty despite your lousy record of returning calls.  Your longest friendships span 36 years and your friends range in age from mid 20s to mid 50s.  That is truly something special.  Everyone should have their ride or die people.

Your family and friends hold you up and give you the strength you need to push on.  I know you cherish that.

• Going away to college.  It is so important in the quest to shape independence.  Part of your experience was being in Alpha Phi which gave you your first taste of what leadership and its responsibilities felt like.  The girls were (and remain) pretty great too.
• Your career.  Some days are stressful.  Some days work gets in the way of socializing (LOL).  But, you do help kids try to be better versions of themselves.  Your Ramily is what makes going to work feel less like a job.
• Your sense of humor.  I almost want to say it has gotten better.  Sometimes you use yourself at the expense of a joke but it helps disarm people.  If you lose that then we are all in trouble.
• Perspective.  I find it amazing that you are able to take note of the good that happens each day, even if the day wasn't so great. You were not always like this, not even a little bit.
• You still believe in love, the Carrie Bradshaw version. 
• With the exception of lowlight #1, you have viewed any mistakes or what you might have considered regrets from the past and realize they have led you to the very place you are right now.
• DWTS and the Housewives dynasty.  Kidding...

One of your friends mentioned to you the other day that she has never seen you look better, and she didn't just mean the physical aspect of you.  She senses your happiness which is a feat because no one would blame you for being down and out.  The sparkle in your eye; it's there.  I think you might believe it took a long ass time to reach this point, but I get the sense you really understand that you're ready to love yourself. 

Happy birthday to you.  Please do not allow your friends to manipulate you drinking too much at your #fuck40 party.  You know you can't just bounce back with Tylenol, fries and a Diet Coke from McDonald's like you used to.


Love,

Myself

Scars

Years ago I was walking away (I should have been running] from someone toxic. They screamed at me, “Well, you know what you are now? Damaged goods.” I have often heard these words echoing in my head and wondered if that was true. Earlier today, I was singing the lines to the song “Scars”, by Alesso. “I think scars are beautiful.” “I'll be loving these scars for life.” It never occurred to me that any damage, any scars I have acquired over the years could possibly be beautiful. And that a person who so deeply attempt to hurt my soul was actually right; I am damaged. Aren't we all? Things happen to us. Our hearts are broken. We experience huge disappointments, misfortune, failures and mistakes that turn us into damaged goods. Damage leaves scars; scars that until just hours ago i didn't realize have been transforming me into the best version of me that I have met so far. Damage and scars do not equate to being broken unless you allow them to. In 15 days I will be 40. Didn’t my childhood friends literally just threw a surprise party for me in Debbie Krouss’s basement? Just ten years ago a gentle snow starting falling in the city and I was standing on the street (probably smoking a Marlboro Light) in a tube top with jeans. No jacket. Not even a scarf. Because ten years ago I would not be caught dead appropriately layered in NYC while socializing. I feel like it was just 1997 and can't understand how i went from partying my face off to currently “training” for a night out to celebrate my initiation into the next, and from what i have heard, the best decade of life thus far. How the hell did this shit creep up on me? 40. Last week I found a quote that I posted to my Instagram page that said “What screws us up most in life is the picture in our head of how it is supposed to be.” By 40, I was supposed to have been happily married and my children would be finishing middle school or starting high school. Amongst other things, I would teaching not because I had to, but because I wanted to. That’s how it was supposed to be. Here is the reality check. I was divorced but remarried. I had been married for 8 years in April and we had a daughter and a son. After Hurricane Sandy, what was supposed to be our last rental was destroyed and we enjoyed a brief bout of homelessness (and lived with my parents for six weeks). We found a decent place we could afford to rent and swore we would save up to buy a house . Just one year. We were only living there for one year (three years later guess where I am still living…). Two and a half weeks after our 8 year anniversary, my husband passed away, and in seconds I became a widow and a single mother. My son would never know who is father was and my daughter lost her prince. 40. And yet, I have never felt better about myself or life. For years I would obsess and worry over things I could not control or had limited information about. I would brood over the damage I had endured. All of that crap is out the window now. Every choice I have made over the last 39 years has led me to this place and while it has not always been pretty, I realize there are so many wonderful facets to my life. They outweigh the damage. I try to find good in each day and not focus on what is bad. I live through humor. Sometimes my humor is at my own expense or meant to disarm a table filled with people. But humor is what get’s me through. I am diligent about maintaining my mental and physical health. I’m house hunting and excited to make the home I find a real home, not a temporary stay. I feel like I am finally coming into my own and learning who I am. But most importantly, I have a small squad of two who are the very best part of me. Damaged goods sounds terrible, no? Do you know anyone who buys only damaged fruit and dented cans at the supermarket? Doubt it because most people think they want shiny and new. But scars….Scars are the result of damage, and they're supposed to be beautiful? My scars tell a story, as do yours. And if we allow ourselves to embrace them, love them even, then they don’t have to define who we are, but who we want to be.

#Go Fly a Kite

Less than two months ago, I was supposed to wake up, drop my kids off to and day care and grade the few hundred English Language Arts exams of students whose families had not refused the test in the wake of the Opt-Out Movement. I was excited to sleep a little later since we did not have to report for duty until 8 AM and to wear sweatpants because, after all, one must create optimal levels of comfort while reading mind numbing essay. Instead, I awoke to a horrible, tragic and shocking set of circumstances. My 39 year old husband unexpectedly passed away in his sleep. 911, police, making the worst phone call to someone's parents you don't ever want to imagine consumed the beginning of what was supposed to be a normal day dressed in sweatpants. I have much to say, but I am not ready to commit to those words in print. There are so many things that swirl around my mind day in and day out. Yesterday my thoughts turned to the question of what do widows (barf, that's me) do with their rings. I am in marriage limbo; I'm not divorced, yet I am sort of separated. If I was getting divorced, the rings would have put away or sold; no second thoughts. I don't personally have a single sole to relate to that is within the 35-40 range dealing with this sort of insanity, and why should I; this doesn't happen to people like me or to people I know. But it did and there are many moments when I feel lost despite the network of support that surrounds me. Naturally, I turn to Google. So there I was yesterday, when I came across an article with various suggestions of what to do with wedding rings after a spouse dies. I have decided that I am not burning them, nor am I throwing them in the ocean. I am not "making someone's day" as suggested, by tying them to the end of kite string. WE ARE TALKING ABOUT DIAMONDS HERE. While this amused me, I held back tears and texted some of my friends who just allowed me rant and "text out" what was on my mind. While I do not feel the need to make any decisions right now, big or small, I have decided that when I am ready, my engagement ring will not be part of a message in a bottle, nor will I repurpose it into a new piece of jewelry. When our daughter meets the person of her dreams, the ring will be hers if she so desires. And yes, it is just a ring. But with that ring came promises and hopes and dreams that should be shared, not forgotten.

FOREVER...NEVER!

I already know I am going to be judged for this. And it is fine because I probably would have judged me just two days ago. I decided to venture to the mall with the kids yesterday, alone, with the intent of getting the things on my list ticked off and with little to no excitement (READ: Cam taking a massive dump). When Em woke up she said her tummy hurt but was acting fine. No cause for alarm. We arrived and got through the Disney store with no drama, just a long list of items Emily has decided she would be getting at a later date. Em got her water and Auntie Anne`s pretzel and we headed/into H&M for a quick spin where,as usual, only Emily got something. Next up was Forever 21, a place that I notoriously get nothing at and that Emily has hated since birth. I grabbed a pair of basically free, yet trendy earrings and a headband We pay. As we head to the exit Emily stops, yawns/burps, flashes a look of horror and proceeds to VOMIT ALL OVER THE FLOOR. Naturally, I cup my hand under Em`s mouth because h=why wouldn't that be your response? Em had a small bg with some hair clips that had fake hair extensions attached to them so I grabbed that but the mess was everywhere. A kind woman, the only kind person in the place, grabbed paper towels from a cashier but what was left was the tail end of the roll and did little to lean up the mess. I had some wipes but they too, were insufficient and quite honestly i was not going to clean the store ober my kid. People walked by us, staring, judging. I am not sure if their looks were filled with disgust for the vomit or for the almost 40 year old woman shopping in a store with clothes made for the body of a very thin toddler, but I really could have cared less. Em confirmed she was in fact done making her point on the floor of F21 and I looked around to see if any workers were coming over with cleaning supplies. Nope Nothing. SO now I ask you; What would you have done, if you were in my position? I have a stroller with a one year old and a four year old covered with vomit. Would you seek out cleaning supplies or grab the kids and go? I GRABBED THE KIDS AND WE WENT. I am confident that a conversation took place amongst workers and patrons questioning what kind of person would puke and run. I am also certain there is a picture of a video still of me with the kid. In it my expression screams "SHIT!!! What do I do?" This picture has been printed and is currently hanging up behind the registers. The caption under the picture would read "Have you seen this mother?" The bright side is my makeup looked great yesterday. Sooooo, the bright side is Em's "forever never " move was a one off. And I might start carrying a roll of paper towels in my diaper bag.

Food Fantasy Letdown

I have lunch envy. I literally stare at my coworker’s lunches like a dog waiting for its master to drop a scrap onto the floor. I am not proud of this, but I own it. Yesterday I had a salad with turkey and some oovo-balsamic dressing. It sucked. It sucked because my lunch mates were eating, in no particular order the following delicacies:

1. Taco chicken salad lettuce wrap, pickle, potato salad. 2. Egg white omelet with cheese, avocado, over a bed of home fries. 3. Roast beef sandwich with mayo. 4. Turkey and cheese Panini with a bag of fries, wasabi mayo dip on the side. 5. Left over Chinese food that included fried rice and some sort of amazing noodle concoction. Don’t these options make my health conscious salad sound like a bag of crap?? I sat at the table, feeling defeated, wishing I didn’t care about losing the last ten post pregnancy pounds hanging on for dear life. I sat at the table wishing that I could eat with abandon, not worrying which artery the fries’ byproducts would travel to and clog. I sat at the table wishing that if I ate any one of those items, I would not have to subsequently barf during my class because as soon as I eat anything off my beaten path, my body punishes me by making me sick. Trust me; I think the “sick” is worse when you’re upchucking into an industrial sized toilet in an unkempt work bathroom. My body is a creature of habit; it likes natural, healthy foods. Its owner THINKS it wants to shove greasy junk into it… Today I decided to enhance my salad with a buffalo chicken meatball add on. I had had one, just one, of these a few weeks before and thought it was one of the most delicious things that has ever met my lips. Picture a movie where there is a sick party going on amongst 16-18 year olds and the parents walk in the door. Needle scratches the record (clearly an 80’s movie in this “pictures it”); party over. That’s how I felt about the buffalo chicken meatball add on today. The fantasy is always better than the reality. At least with food.

365 Days

All I have running through my head right now are the lyrics to "Seasons of Love" from RENT. Except I have changed the lyrics. 365 Days and I don't know how many minutes I gave birth to a ba-aby boy He is so cute How did I live without him? How did I go through labor without any drugs? And so on.... This is what I do. I make up songs to already existing songs. I know you do it too. Today is my son's birthday. I cannot believe that yesterday he was an infant and today he is a toddler. The last year has literally flown by and I am one year closer to having to make a Bar Mitzvah. My days are filled with so few moments for me. I am knee deep in the trenches of motherhood, a full time job, while working a full time job and trying to figure out a side-gig to supplement the salary paying full time job. I relish being able to pee alone, with the door closed. I wish to make it to the gym or to just get through a 12 minute workout on YouTube with a minimum of 5 interruptions. I enjoy the car ride alone, right after I drop the kids off at daycare, where I don't have to speak or calm someone down. But I realize that if this year went by in light speed, in no time I will be alone, wondering where the hell my kids are why they won't speak to me. I will still probably enjoy peeing alone. This is a big year. I am barreling towards 40 but am still wondering how I am not 22 anymore. I am still accepting that there will not be any more children for me because we are blessed with two, wonderful and crazy kids, and why push our luck? Do I dare mention that our bank account can't be pushed either.... At this current juncture, on this current day, I am working on lyrics to my own song; my future. I worry constantly about what is and what will be, and remind myself to take deep breaths and just focus on what is here and now. At times I wish my cup was maybe 3/4 full, but have to remember that it is close enough; things will fall into place. Someone posted and I subsequently shared (hijacked) the post on Facebook entitled "20 Signs You’re Doing Better Than You Think You Are" from pulptastic.com. I read and was shocked that I am, in fact, doing amazing! This was just what I needed to get a good night sleep. Let’s be real, more like a solid three hour stretch without someone having a nightmare or needing one more hug. So I need to continue my breathing exercises and enjoy each day, or in the very least the smiles on my children's faces over the course of the next 365 days otherwise life will just pass me by. I am going to laugh at the discovery of three pricey lipsticks being totally smashed because my daughter decorated her face with makeup. I am going to laugh about my son throwing his socks across the car on the way to daycare and not worry about being judged that I am carrying him in barefoot and it is still only 40 degrees out. The clock is ticking on this next year so I might as well try to laugh it up.