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Saturday, April 26, 2008

Flight

I leave for Israel tomorrow morning.  I made the reservations for Eliza and myself so long ago, it's hard for me to believe the time to travel is actually here.  The flight from JFK to Tel Aviv is 12 hours and 40 minutes.  That's 12 hours and 40 minutes alone with my energetic, feisty, tempestuous daughter.  I know I won't be "alone," rather I'll be crammed on top of several hundred strangers, all of us desperate for quiet.  I expect Eliza will finally pass out from sheer exhaustion about two hours before we arrive in Tel Aviv.  That'll make for a fun first day.

I have to keep reminding myself of the end result, Meredith and David waiting on the other side of customs with open arms.  It's been nearly a year since I've seen them.  I wonder; have they changed?  Will I seem different?  Will Meredith still feel like the other half of my apple?  Will the kids show any excitement upon seeing me?

I'm afraid too because it's Israel, a place I was never excited about visiting.  Tonight I had to assure Christophe's son that it's safe where my friends live, that Eliza and I will be okay.  But of course, I'm nervous.  And yet, still excited to see my great friends in another place, another time.  Their oldest son is celebrating his Bar Mitzvah.  This is an event we've all anticipated since he was born in 1995.  

I also may be taking a flight of a different sort when we return in Mid-May.  I can't reveal too much but let's say I looked at apartments a few days ago and found something I really, really liked!

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Little Prankster

My daughter really enjoys a good joke.  When other people respond to her jokes, she's ecstatic. At the tender age of 2 1/2, my daughter is already channeling her inner Tina Fey.

It started with a random subway ad.  The ad presents a photo of two Hispanic men kissing that's  adorned by a caption that reads something like "Protect Yourself From HIV."  I think this is a local New York City ad placed by an agency that distributes free condoms.  

Eliza pointed to the ad/poster behind my head and said "Grandma Debby."  Grandma Debby is my father's wife of 18 years who I can assure you looks nothing like the two men in this ad.  I can only conclude that Eliza thought of her grandmother because one of the men has a beard like my father.  Perhaps seeing an ad featuring a bearded man reminded her of my father and therefore her Grandma Debby?  

Anyway, due to the content of the ad, I found her insistence that it somehow portrayed her Grandma Debby hilarious.  Other people on the subway car found her funny as well and soon Eliza was grinning and hamming it up for her new found audience.  She giggled and flirted, then pointed to a little old lady reading the newspaper and said "Grandma Debby?"  I laughed and said, "No, that's not Grandma Debby."  Eliza laughed as well, her eyes shining with the joy of a Vaudevillian performer.  

Now, everyone on the subway appears to be some one else, at least in my daughter's eyes.  Two men and a women seated together are suddenly her father and her siblings.  Never mind that they're considerably older, taller and darker than her father and siblings.  The less they look like who she says they are, the funnier.  The more they wave and shake their heads saying "I'm not Poppy," the louder Eliza laughs.  

With the warm weather that has finally made heavy jackets and boots obsolete and a tough job behind me, I'm having a great time with my girl.  On Sunday, we leave for Israel to visit my best friend and her family.  I'm dreading the 12+ hour flight with Eliza, but I'm really looking forward to the break.  Obviously, Israel isn't a place I'm relaxed about visiting so I hope we'll be okay there.  My friends have been there since last July so I tell myself, all will be well.  I live right down the street from the former World Trade Center.  I walk past that big pit on a regular basis and see proof that nowhere is safe.  

I have to think if there is a higher power, he/she will protect Eliza and myself as we make this long voyage for love.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Apologies

Today was my first day back into full-time Momdom.  Eliza and I had a busy day yesterday, with her brother's baseball game and then the afternoon in Central Park, I made no plans for today.  I don't even feel guilty that Eliza and I spent a good deal of the day watching television.  "Finding Nemo" was on and she seemed to really enjoy watching it with Mama.  

Unfortunately, all this television may have stimulated her right out of her nap.  Eliza often goes without a nap these days and although she seems fine, I can expect some kind of meltdown in the evening.  It might be a three-minute screamfest or ten minutes of piteous crying but I know it's coming.  Sometime before dinner, I can expect my daughter and perhaps myself to end up in tears.

Tonight's meltdown was caused by my decision to change an absolute soaked diaper than probably hadn't been changed for more than four hours.  She refused to come to me, preferring to play in her kitchen.  Often if I give her a few more minutes to play, she's amenable to the diaper change.  

I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you, faithful reader, that this wasn't the case tonight.  My decision to sweep Eliza away from her happy kitchen elicited deep, belly-baring sobs that echoed through the apartment.  She writhed, squirmed and cried with great athleticism as I managed to wriggle the petal of diaper away from her slick butt.  I tried to hold her, sing to her, rock her but I seemed to be an utter failure as a source of comfort.  Eventually, her languid sobs diminished into regular crying, then gulping gasps until finally she collapsed on the floor in a flurry of sniffles.  

Cried out, she let me slide on a new diaper and replace her soiled pants.  She wiped the back of her hand under her nose and across her eyes, then looked at me.

In her tiny, adorable, sweet little girl voice, she said very matter-of-factly, "I'm sorry about that."

Friday, April 18, 2008

Mid-month update

For those who read regularly and voiced their concerns for my mother, I thank you and appreciate your thoughtful words.  My mother is home and doing okay.  The released her from the hospital on Monday, April 7th because there wasn't much they could do for her.  Her cardiologist thinks that she will live the rest of her life in Afib.  She will continue with medication and regular visits to the doctor.

I've begged her to seek out another doctor's opinion but she doesn't want to.  She claims there's few cardiologists in her network and with her finances as shaky as they are, I do understand.  I wish I had the wealth to help her.  Unfortunately, when you've suffered health problems for as long as my mother has, it's almost impossible in this country to stay financially sound.  No matter how good your insurance might be, after a while the premiums and copays get higher.  Even wealthy people suffer financial hits if they endure long-term health complications.  

I think she's not interested in seeking a second opinion because she's sick of doctors.  I don't blame her for this one either.  She spends too much time in waiting rooms and at pharmacies, often without the answers she needs.  

I love my mother and hate seeing her like this but given the choice of her the way she is now and no mother at all and I'll still take my Mom.  I only hope that I can offer her more help in the future. 

One of my friends who lost her mother in a car crash several years ago once said "mothers are precious."  I agree.

Saturday, April 5, 2008

Kickass Eggplant Parm

My mom's in the hospital.  She's had a recurring heart problem over the years that's pretty serious.  Yesterday they did an outpatient procedure they hoped would stabilize the situation and get her home.  I spoke to her shortly after the procedure and she said she felt great, better than she had for a long time.  If all continued to go well, they'd release her today.  

Last night I called her so she could tell me how to make her famous (within my family anyway) eggplant parmigiana.  She walked me through it and said she still felt great and couldn't wait to get home where she'd have the ability to sleep without a random orderly at her bedside to wrangle her blood pressure at 3am.

While I enjoyed a day at Central Park with Eliza, my mother called to tell me her heart was back on the fritz and that she didn't want to talk to anyone.  I didn't hear the phone ring so I heard these words over my voicemail.  I called her a few times tonight at the hospital but was met by a busy signal.  Perhaps she has taken the phone off the hook.

I'm stuck here in New York because I've accepted a job on a pilot for the next two weeks and I was tied up with meetings and prep for that.  I've wondered since she was admitted on Tuesday if I should go home but my mother encouraged me to stay where I was.

I made my mother's eggplant tonight in between attempts to call her room.  I've cooked a fair amount of food over the past two nights for Eliza and family to enjoy while I'm at work next week.  Next Thursday, while I work a probable 16 hour day, C and the kids will indulge in my kickass eggplant parm.  I'd say it exceeds my expectations but I knew it would be good because the master shared her technique.  It's so good, I doubt there will be any leftover for me.

One of my specialty dishes is various kinds of risotto.  I've made it for two boyfriends, C's kids, two cocktail parties, one dinner party and Christmas Even dinner last year.  The night I made apple risotto for Eliza and myself, my mother was admitted to the hospital.   My mom called from the hospital parking lot as I sat down to dinner with my daughter.

I realized I've never made my risotto for my mother.  Risotto is such a great dish to make for people you love because you have to stand over it, tend to it, love it.  

I really hope I get to make risotto for my mom.