In the midst of all the turmoil around recent events such as we're having surgery, we're not having surgery, we're fine, we're not fine, there's a decision to make, no let's wait for the doctor... it's occurred to me that it's hard to be sad for a woman who is dying at the age of 96.

At 96 there is no more "what might have been". She has seen and done almost everything significant in life there is to do. She has

Been a child, teenager and adult.
Married and then been widowed for 30 years.
Been a mother, grandmother and great-grandmother.
Seen her grandchildren get married and have children of their own.
Gone to camp as a child and at the age of 80.
Written letters to the White House AND gotten a response.
Traveled by plane, train and bus. But never driven a car.
Outlived all her family and friends.
Actually found a grandchild who could be taught to knit.
Been alive for more presidents than I can count on two hands.
Worked and retired.
Volunteered and given of her time and talents.
Kept the business of printing $2 bills alive.
Loved us all. Those she came by naturally, and those we brought into the family. She loved us all the same.

It is sad that Leah and Benjamin won't know her as well as the grandkids do, but when the time comes to finally say goodbye to Grandma, it will only be through a few tears - mostly because she'll get to see her beloved husband again after all these years. And she's needed more there than here now.

Don't worry, Grandma. We'll be fine. You did a great job.

And we'll take it from here.

Update: My grandmother died tonight surrounded by those she loved and who loved her. Think she read that last part? And tomorrow night we will toast with a pina colada (her favorite drink) and a shot of Hennessey (his favorite) to a love rejoined. I can only imagine the smile on their faces...

But then we rallied and were out the door!

She's like an old pro now. Yeah, yeah, backpack. Yeah, yeah, lunchkit. No you don't walk me in. Whatev, Mom - I'm a second grader now.

Yeah? Well you're still a goofball.

Tell me: What song MUST be on it?

No! Wait! Here are some categories to consider:

Driving song - hit the open road music
Feeling reflective song - coupled with others it may make you cry
Shake What Yo Momma Gave Ya - just makes ya want to shake your hips
Open Category - name your own tune

Leave 'em in the comments!

How has (more than) 30 days flown by? Wait, let me retract that statement because now that I think about it, this has been a rich 30 days.

This month you went on your first road trip all the way to Austin, TX - where we would hang out for a few days before dropping off Leah at her camp. You got to play with some very fun cousins, go on your first speedboat ride, decide swimming in the lake was not your cup of tea and make it more than perfectly clear that road trips are INDEED not your thing. I wish you'd figure out how to get over that last part - Texas has some pretty cool places to head to - but not with a screamy, whiny two year old.

You missed Leah very much. Oh, my G-d did you miss her. For days on end all we heard was, "Sissy? Sissy? SSSSIIIISSSSSYYYYYY????!!!!!" Since she has come home your life is yet again complete and the running, jumping and silly word contests have picked up right where the two of you left off.

On top of all of this your language is really beginning to just explode. Every day is a new word - or better yet - a clearer word and your speech teacher(s) could not be more excited for you. You still have some very cute mispronunciations - the most notable this month are "See-you" (store) and "Sussy" (Sunni, the dog). You LOVE going to speech class. Daddy didn't quite understand why, so I took the video camera along one day to show him the carnival that masquerades as learning.

Untitled from Pammer on Vimeo.

You remain unbelievably active - and I have the grey hair to prove it - but you are remarkably easy when it comes to things that are usually not so easy. Namely bath time and bed time. You basically love both. Which? Is kinda unheard of. And? I totally dig. Even our newest little teenager girl babysitter told me, "OMG I will totally babysit for you WHENEVER! He is so EASY! He just, like, DOES THINGS!"

Uh, yeah. What she said.

In another week you will start your regular "pre-pre-pre school" program by going to class for three half-days a week. This will not be a big deal for you because you already know the school and teacher from a short camp session you did early this summer. And, really? You need it. Camp Mommy is wearing thin on both of us and it's time for some new faces and new activities. It's hard to compete with speech class, man. Just, please, don't beat the shit out of the other kids, okay?

Every night before dinner we say the hamotzi (thanks for the food and such). Usually we just say it and move on, but one night after Leah came home from camp, we sang it like they do at summer camp - and, as it turns out, at your little school/camp. Your little face LIT UP when you recognized the tune. It was almost like you were trying to say, "YEAH! That? Right there?! I KNOW THAT!" You clapped your hands and smiled and cheered at the end and even ended the show with an "Ameeen!" (Pronounced just like that, by the way.) You are starting to follow along with our good night prayers adding your own "special blessings" section that almost always includes Leah and Thomas the Train. And that? Kinda melts my heart.

Benjamin, this month you have done some extraordinary things. But each day with you is downright extraordinary. Thank you for all the hugs and kisses, outstretched arms and nosey-nosey games. Thank you for the morning snuggles and afternoon dancing and for helping put the produce in the bags at the grocery store. You do all of this with a great big bright smile and make these multiplying grey hairs tolerable.

I love you,
Mommy

For several months I had been dreading this birthday - and I'm not totally sure why. For awhile it felt like the beginning of a downward slide, which is mostly ridiculous, but I think really it's because it became a real sign-post for the beginning of the end of my 30s.

Again, ridiculous.

If you were to look at my resume, you would notice a very prevalent theme of "re-invention". I believe I can count 4 or 5 distinct "careers" on that piece of paper. (Take that, Madonna.) As this birthday began to rear its head, I began to think about how I am reinventing myself this time. Beyond being a "stay at home mom", and this attempt at getting paid to write, I am, without a doubt, trying to do something that would, without question, fall in the category of "starting from scratch". And I haven't done that in quite some time. Not only that, but I am stepping WAY out of the box.

On Monday I start a drawing class as part of a jewelry design curriculum at the museum.

I think I'll just let that sit there for a minute. Huh. Yep. I am. Dude.

I believe this "end of my thirties" thing is starting to equal "try something totally different and let's see where it goes." And I have no idea. I may suck. I hope I don't, but I might. And that's kind of okay. At 38 I've gathered enough grace to realize I can admit that I might suck and move on.

If you ask me what I'm good at, I can give you a litany of things. Really. Just ask Husband. He's very clear on them. I can also tell you what I'm not good at. (He is also very clear on those as well.) I think that is a critical skill to being successful in life. You're not good at something? No problem. Find someone who is. And get out of their way.

But this thing I'm about to go do? No idea what list it's on. You might find my line in Neiman Marcus one day - or on QVC. Or you may find it at a garage sale. Who knows? I could not be more unprepared for the feedback I'm going to receive from my professor.

But I can't wait to find out.

I'd like for you to meet Leah. And her freckles. She is The 2nd Grader Formerly Known As The Swimmy.

She was named after our paternal grandfathers, Lou and Louis (no I'm not kidding), and while her name in no way rhymes with Benjamin, she is Benjamin's most favorite person in the world.

She's definitely one of mine as well.

Altogether now...Hi, Leah!

1. It's biblically-based.
2. The first letter is for both our paternal grandfathers.
3. It doesn't rhyme with Benjamin.

Leave your guesses in the comments!

Yes. She had an amazing time.

Yes. I am way late with this story.

In the middle of the hoopla of trying to pick her up, "hurricane" Edouard showed up. And, yes, hurricane should be lower case and in quotation marks because that was one weak ass storm by Houston standards. (Not that I'm totally complaining - I'll take that over "Shit my furniture is floating down the street" any day. And twice on Sundays.)

So, needless to say, our logistical plans changed a bit and Husband decided to go up to Waco the night before so he could be the first one at the gates when they opened and could grab her and get back home.

He was number two and slightly disappointed. I was totally sad not to be there to see her running across the camp to say hi and sweep her up in my arms with a hug that would probably later cause me to be on painkillers for a back injury. Either way it worked out fine.

As I had guessed she came running and stopped only 2 steps in front of Husband to begin to cry that she had lost her favorite blue headband.

A normal trip back from Waco takes roughly 2 ½ hours. Husband decided to play it safe and drive towards Austin then down to Houston which means that the 2 ½ hour trip actually ended up taking close to six hours - but she was a real trooper about it.

Here's Benjamin seeing her for the first time in 10 days. It is something I will remember forever.

Ben Sees Sissy Aug 2008 from Pammer on Vimeo.

The next hour was spent unloading luggage and sorting laundry and wondering if there was any grass left at camp because based on what was on the floor of our utility room she brought every blade home with her. She showed off her arts and crafts projects, talked about all the fun adventures she had, who her new friends were, how silly her cousins are and said she missed pizza the most and wanted it for dinner.

She has this thing for mail now. She loved writing it and really loved getting it and is now terribly disappointed when there is none for her each day.

I didn't know what to expect when she came home. Would she be sassier? Would she want to do EVERYTHING herself? Would she be clingy? The truth is she came home the same hilarious kid that left 10 days before. She was tanner, a little bit taller and, yes, a little bit more capable, but all in all she came back happy. And that's all I asked for.

When I asked her if she wanted to go back she answered, "YES! But not tomorrow. Next summer will be fine."

Not a problem, honey. Next year will be just fine.

The next morning she slept until 9:15.

Dear Ben,

Love,
Sissy

Yes, Swimmy, he is. A LOT.

But the next letter was the kicker.

Dear MOM,

MOM?! MOM?! Four days ago I was Mommy. Now I'm Mom. If she comes home saying, "Whatever, Mommy is so last week," I'm pretty sure I'm gonna pass out. Or knock her out. Whatever comes first.

Gotta go now. The mail's here.

Here's one for those that like to dine out.

Restaurant.com

I could be the only person in America who hadn't heard about this cool thing, but I thought I'd share anyhoo.

You can buy gift certificates to restaurants for UNDER the stated price. There are a few restrictions here and there (that vary by restaurant), but nothing outrageous. AAANNNNDDDD.. they are having a 70% sale on THOSE prices.

So. You could get a $10 gift certificate to a restaurant for $3 less 70%. OR $1.80.

I think you enter the code CRAVE when you check out -- let me know if that works for you. But even if this extra sale price doesn't, the original savings is worth it all by itself, yes?

Happy eating, folks.

Number of miles driven: roughly 320
Number of diaper changes along the way: 4
Number of glasses of wine consumed: 4. No, 5. Maybe 7.
Number of boat rides: 2
Number of hours spent in the water: Not nearly enough.
Number of mystery bruises sustained: 3
Number of blues bands heard: 1
Number of times I tried to justify moving to Austin in my head: 50 gafrillion
Number of tears cried upon dropping Swimmy off at camp: 2
Number of times we laughed with cousins: I can't count that high.

This was a great trip. Truly. For being a two-year-old with a raging head cold who hates being in the car for any length of time, Benjamin did great. We had a minor issue on the way home when the portable DVD player ran out of battery charge (because I forgot to recharge it before coming home - see number of glasses of wine above --) but a quick stop to Wal-mart in a small Texas town fixed that right up.

Swimmy and Benjamin got to spend time with some adorable cousins (who are so adorable I fear for the female population when they get older as they will be powerless against their gorgeousness. Seriously. These boys are gonna get a whole lotta, uh, action when they're older.) But for all the fun the kids had while we killed some days before driving down to camp, Husband and I had the most fun hanging out with some favorite cousins who have just returned to Austin from a year in San Miguel de Allendre.
There were some funny times, we played a little euchre and learned a new card game, Mao, the hard way - or? The way it is supposed to be taught. I still have no idea how to play the desperado, but I can sparkle my fours thankyouverymuch.

The highlight was finding out Swimmy not only went out on the boat, but jumped in the lake. This may not seem like much, but for a girl that thinks and re-thinks the type of jello she may choose at lunch, this was a Big Deal. She loved the boat and the lake. LOVED. We couldn't get her on skis, a tube or a waverunner, but there's always next time. And I know this will be a trip she'll remember for years to come.

But here are a few pictures of her considering the waverunner.

Yeah, not happening. But here she is on the boat.

We took her to camp Sunday and while we were a little rushed to get her organized before lunch, she settled in nicely. She knew another little girl from her JCC day camp group this summer and that was a big "WHEW". Finding out she was assigned to a top bunk didn't sit well, but another little girl offered to switch with her and everything was great from there on in.

I teared up twice while dropping her off. Once was when I walked into the chadar (cafeteria) to grab her at the end of lunch and they were singing the blessing after the meal (a right of passage otherwise known as the Birkat Hamazon - it is long and fun.) It instantly brought back my own camp days - some of the greatest memories I have. The other time was actually turning the corner and seeing her cabin. A cabin I had once stayed in - as a camper and as staff.

Before I left I put a little note under her pillow telling her I loved her and saying the blessings we say each night before we go to sleep so that she will have them to say as well. She was nervous but okay when I hugged her goodbye in the middle of the noise and the chadar and as I walked out I sung along with the birkat - smiling all the way.
Driving out of those familiar gates I sent a little prayer up to G-d that wished for her a wonderful 10 days and the first brick in a long path of camp memories. I pray that the experiences she has at camp in years to come are as powerful as they are joyful and that a special part of being jewish settles into her heart forever.

And I hope she remembers always to say, "Please HAND me the salad" and not "Please PASS me the salad," 'cause that last one will get it tossed at you.

While I was thrilled to see she had returned to writing, it was interesting to think about what she was/is going through...a break-up.

I haven't had one of those in 18 years. I don't even remember what one feels like at close range. And on the other end of that spectrum, I haven't had a crush in 15 years either. (But just for the record? Married beats Crush any day of the week.)

I can remember my last "real" break-up. Oddly, it wasn't the last guy - or even 2nd to last guy - I dated. Those guys were just tools.

It was in college. He was a few years older - not really graduating on time because he had to put himself through school. A nice guy from a small town in Missouri. I'm sure we had "a song" but for the life of me I can't remember what it was. He was kind, funny, handsome, blonde and not Jewish. I knew that last thing would be a problem long-term but it was much more fun to be in a relationship than try to end it so we lived in denial for many, many months. He even said he'd convert - and I even considered letting him do it. I eventually graduated and moved home. He stayed in Missouri to finish school. We talked for hours on the phone (email wasn't really around back then - certainly not any chatting apps). But the discussions became more and more heartbreaking as reality set in.

I considered his offer to convert. I had to. Breaking up was hard. It's not like he was a terrible person - he was a great guy. Hell, he was willing to walk away from his FAITH for me. But that weighed so heavy on my heart. In considering it, I began to realize the reality of that for him. In a moment of true maturity (the first I can remember in college), I thought about how he would feel at Christmastime when there was no tree in the house. Or lights outside. Or any little Santa figurines. How our children wouldn't be dressed in plaid for a holiday picture..and I knew how empty that would feel for him.

And I knew I couldn't compromise on "blending" traditions. Even though my sense of faith was less developed in college, I knew trying to justify blending things wasn't the right thing to do. Husband has a saying that "character is the ability to make the right decision when no one is looking." I'm fairly certain it was this decision that taught that to me - even if I had never heard the statement before.

A few months later I went back to Missouri to visit and attend a sorority function as an alumni. (Yes, I realize how douche-y that is thankyouverymuch) It was originally intended to keep the relationship going, but it ended up being the end. There was no way to hide it any longer. My head had gone down the rational path and it was dragging my heart along with it. It was a terrible weekend and I couldn't wait to leave.

In a strange sense I mourned the ending of the relationship before I got up there. Every argument between my head and heart ended in tears, but less and less as the weeks went on until finally there was nothing left to argue about. It just was. Period.

Of course, at the age of 22 you try to be friends, which is the most ridiculous thing ever. You only do that once before you realize how ridiculous it is and then you learn to never do that again. But, on the other side of ridiculous, we ended it not because one of us did something awful like have an affair, but because it wasn't going to be a full and healthy future. So what is left is a nice respect and reverence for the time we spent together.

Years later Husband and I were returning from our honeymoon. We were in the middle of unpacking 37 suitcases when the phone rang. The voice was familiar, but just out of reach in my memory. Guess who was screwing around on the (then more robust) Internet and found me?

Yep.

While I always appreciated the effort, I wished it hadn't happened. I liked the way we had left things all those years ago - and this uncomfortable moment (having to tell him I just returned from my honeymoon!) cut the ribbon on the story whose bow was already tied. Hearts were battered enough years ago - and now it felt like a lingering bruise was aggravated again by me. But, in any case, THAT moment can now be called The End.

I'm glad I have this story. I'm glad that my last true "break up" was done the right way and for the right reasons. I'm glad he's married now and presumably happy.
But more than that I'm proud of who I became because of this. And I'm pretty sure the lovely blogger I mentioned earlier will have that on the other side of her as well.

Today you are two years old. That's the most unimpressive sentence every written here because you have been acting like a two-year old for well over a month now. Daddy and I are really not looking forward to the next several months if that is going to continue.
This month you went to your first summer camp at the local synagogue. You were the youngest in your class (by a year and sometimes by two) and I was a little concerned that might cause some problems - especially since you are still working on your language - but, man, was I ever wrong. After a week of fretting about it I emailed your teacher who assured me you were, indeed, holding your own. If the big boys were running in a circle yelling some silly word, you were right there with them.

Oh, good.

Your language is really starting to take hold and I can see where you are catching up quickly now. Some sounds still elude you here and there - and some clarity - but you are now easily using two word phrases and beginning to repeat three word phrases as well. Some favorites have been "big bubble" (pronounced beeg buh-bowl) and "Benjamin" (pronounced Dude-a-min). Your sister still gets a kick out of listening to you try to say things and currently her favorite is "sheep" (pronounced pees, which, incidentally, is also how you say "please").

You love the water and swimming and think splashing is the most fun thing in the world. To help you get used to the water we've dunked you under a few times and you've been a real trooper - no crying at all. This fearless thing is great now, but I fear for what that may mean later.

You are currently obsessed with Little Einsteins and the movie Cars. You would watch them for hours if I'd let you, but recently you lost one avenue of viewing - the DVD player in my old car. When I sold that car you had to suffer through a car ride with no movie and we, in turn, had to suffer right along with you. Endlessly. You have come to learn that not all cars have DVD players in them and are getting better at amusing yourself in the backseat, but it is still a very painful experience to be in a car with you these days. Can't wait to drive to 4 hours to Austin with you in two weeks. Daddy's packed extra Xanax.

But as obsessed as you are with certain TV shows it pales in comparison to your obsession with your sister, Swimmy. Never has a boy loved his sister so much. Swimmy has accompanied you to some speech therapy sessions this summer and all your teachers comment about how much you adore her. In fact, we used her to get you to start saying two word phrases. You wanted her to climb up the slide and we wouldn't let her do it until you asked her yourself, so you plainly said, "Sissy up!" And there it was. I think she got a kick out of it as well. We're bracing for when she leaves to go to sleep away camp - how in G-d's name will you deal with her being gone for nine days? Again, we look to Daddy's Xanax.

And speaking of Daddy, let me tell you here how influential your father is in your life lest anyone wonder one moment further. Daddy and you were hanging out a few days ago after your Little Gym class and you wanted raisins for your snack. Daddy, jokingly, said to you, "Here. Don't put them in your nose." And guess what? The power of suggestion was all you needed to jam a raisin up your nose. But we didn't know it for close to 45 minutes. No one could figure out why you were so cranky and for the life of me I have no idea why Daddy thought to look in your nose, but there it was. I don't know who I was more flabbergasted with - him for thinking he could say something like that to you...or you for ACTUALLY DOING IT.

Buddy, this month was filled with frustrations and all that comes with that. I'm sure the months to follow Two are going to be no different. There were days when I thought this staying at home thing really sucked, but there were moments in each day that reminded me how lucky I am to have this opportunity to hang out with you. And as long as we have those little islands of sanity from time to time you and I will be just fine.

Let's go have a cupcake.

Love,
Mommy

My results were as follows:
Not a strong academic student. "Real" school not a good option.
Should pursue an artistic career path.

My real results several years later:
Graduated from a top Communications program.
Went on to graduate school and completed a Post-Baccalaureate and M.Ed in two years.
Interesting and varied career equaling anywhere from no money to a fuckload of it.

But "art" was nowhere in there.

I truly hated that woman who did that assessment. I thought she was ridiculous, condescending and lacked any sort of interpersonal skill. But that 'art' thing has bugged me for years.

I studied art history in college and loved it, but would never attempt any sort of painting or sculpture myself because I had too much respect for the masters to every try to do that myself. It was almost like it would be insulting them to try to do what they did. I still won't.

But I am creative. I can solve problems. Big ones. I can create a few as well. Good, messy ones. I can put the right people together. I can sell. And, in some artistic attempt, I'm a pretty good scrapbooker and occassionally I write something interesting or funny.

But I'm not a writer. I know this. There are many others around me, hell, even on that Blogroll to the left, who write rings around me. I'm way too inside my left-brain to ever truly be a good writer. And that's totally okay with me.

But I keep thinking about this unused right-brain of mine. It's kinda starting to tap my shoulder more often with words like, "Hey, remember me? I'm a lot of fun. Why don't you dust me off and take me for a spin a little more often?" And I'm kinda starting to listen to it.

I found the program I'd do here in town. It's specific to a very particular design interest I have. I could almost work it around Benjamin's school schedule, too if you can believe that luck. But guess what the first class is? Yep. Drawing Fundamentals.

Here, Pam, sit here and doodle while he entire der blaue riter spins in its collective grave. Knock your socks off, honey.

But you know what? If it were financially and logistically possible, I just might. Ain't that a kick in the pants.

1. Fever or general illness.
2. Didn't sleep well.
3. He's TWO, dumbass.
4. Rampant Obama commercials.
5. He stuck a raisin up his nose and no one noticed.

Yep. 45 minutes later. He's a genius that one.