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!

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.

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."

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.

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.

Funny Girl

Eliza likes to do as much as she can on her own these days and tonight she decided she wanted to brush her teeth unassisted from start to finish.   She turned the water on, correctly identifying the hot and the cold spickets.  She wet the toothbrush down, she twisted the cap off her toothpaste.  When it came time to squeeze the toothpaste onto the toothbrush, she couldn't quite get the past to come out so she plopped the tube into her mouth.  I laughed and Eliza grinned up her at me with her sparkling, movie-star smile.  

"I funny Mama!" she laughed, enjoying her ability to entertain me.  I looked at my little clown, so proud of herself and felt that love like an arrow surge through me.

It's moments like these that make up for the bad moments, the moments I have everyday when I'm desperate to get shoes on her thrashing feet on or tune out her screaming as I force her into the stroller or endure her pitiful cries for "Mama" after I've tucked her into bed at night.   In the middle of these bad moments, I often think I can't do this, I can't be a parent anymore.  I just want to go to the movies or go to dinner with friends, I'm tired of feeling like my life is over.

Then I have a good moment and I realize, this is my life now, the good and the bad moments.  This adorable little person with bad hair (I'm sorry, she has my hair!) and the enchanting smile who loves to play the entertainer will be off enjoying her own life before I'm ready.

Maybe then, I'll get a bit of my old life back but this is also one of the realities of parenthood.  A new life is placed in your arms and just like that, her life becomes mine.

Clever girl, even when she's bad

I'm back in the world of the full-time Mom.  Work went okay and it felt good to be around adults and eat food that was prepared for me.  I managed to make it home before she went to bed every night but one.  Although it felt good to be out and making money, around 6pm I felt like I hit the wall.  I suddenly missed my daughter so much.  I know this is part of the reason I've stayed with C as long as I have--to play the part of a full-time Mom.  As long as she's really little, it's so hard for me to be away from her for 12-14 hour stretches.

Eliza did okay with the babysitter and C, although on the second morning, she cried for me and refused to get out of the crib for a while.  On the third day, C got home before and a happy, giggling Eliza was visibly deflated when she found C coming through the door and not me.  I assured him that Eliza knows when he leaves he'll come back.  She's not used to it with me.  

A fourth workday was added and in those four days Eliza managed to get new paints (paints I had stashed in our utility closet that I didn't plan to give her until the paints she currently uses are empty), find her Easter presents (stashed in a closet that I'd successfully managed to keep her out of for two weeks) and learn how to play C and I against each other.

What do I mean?  Let me tell you about last night.

While I cooked dinner, Eliza demanded raisins.  I told her after dinner and continued to cook.  She screamed, she writhed on the floor, she tried to open the refrigerator herself.  I remained unmoved and continued to roll my homemade chicken nuggets in flour and corn flakes (yeah, they're delicious).  Realizing her anguished cries were only causing me to work faster, Eliza rushed towards me and started beating my leg.  Repeatedly she slapped my leg saying "I hit Mama."

Tired of feeling equal to the chicken breasts I beaten into tender submission, I washed my hands, scooped up my George Foreman daughter, and whisked her to the crib for time out.  As I lowered her into her lattice white cell, I noticed her two dolls and felt a surge of genius.  Taking the dolls out of the crib (I just want to add that one of the dolls was her Easter present), I told her she'd lost the privilege of playing with them for the night.  

When I returned two minutes later, Eliza immediately asked for the dolls.  I explained to her that she wouldn't be getting them tonight and prepared myself for more body slams and toddler howls.  Much to my surprise, Eliza seemed okay with my answer and the rest of the evening went smoothly.  Little did I know, my clever little girl had already crafted her plan.

Fast forward to 7:30 this morning.  I heard Eliza chatting in her crib and stepped into her room.  "Poppy," she said, shaking her head when she saw me.  "I want Poppy."

I'll admit to feeling a little slighted.  I know its selfish and stupid of me but I couldn't help it.  I'd only been at work for four days.  The changing of the guard I know will come had arrived.  I smiled at her, mildly pleased by the fact that she can ask for what she wants and called C in.  

C swooped in, wearing nothing but his bath towel, eager to play the hero.

"Hello, my angel, can you give Poppy a hug?"

Eliza pointed to the closet I'd put the dolls in and said, "I want my Elizabeth and her friend."

C looked angrily towards me.  I'd become the evil gatekeeper who kept his angel from her precious booty.  "Where's her Elizabeth and Felicity dolls?"

"She was bad so I took them away.  I'll return them to her."  Then I started to laugh.  How smart she is! 

"You have to give them to her now,"he said.  "It's the next day, you can't carry over stuff from the night before, she doesn't understand."

I'm not sure I agree with him on this one, at least the part about her not understanding.  Why else would she ask him and not me?  

"She's playing us against each other," I laughed as I returned the dolls.  "Already."

"She just knows I like to play with the dolls with her," he said.  "That's why she wanted me to get them, so we can play."

"Okay," I said, laughing.  The male ego in all its glory here.