Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. The other day when it was 70 degrees in NYC, I just walked around Park Slope like a little zombie, with my eyes closed, weaving down 9th avenue. I felt like a tulip that had dried up and tilted over the side of a vase, and just when I thought it was all over, someone trimmed my stem and dropped a copper penny in the bottom of my vase and bam! I stood up straight again. I cannot tell you how incredible it was to feel the sunshine and warmth on my face. I cannot tell you how grateful I was to leave my chocolate-brown, floor-length sleeping-bag jacket at home and walk around in a T-shirt. The sun on my pale white arms. The sun on my veiny, baggy, eyelids. The SUN! Hello!!!
This change of seasons has given me new life, and I’m finally ready to write again. To share the last few months of my life with you. To clack away. Just like the spring flowers that are creeping up out of the soil, to begin anew. Over the last few months, we made so many changes that I couldn’t even keep track of all the changes, and only recently, I took stock of how that weight was hanging on my shoudlers. It was a lot of decision making and while I pretended like the stress didn’t get to me, looking back, how could it not have?
For starters, we moved to Park Slope, and at first, we thought it was temporary. We didn’t put much effort into decorating the apartment because well, we thought it was temporary. And I know everyone says that moving is so stressful but in my head, I was like… what’s the big deal! I was wrong people. It’s a huge deal. We were living in our apartment in this murky space of the in-between. Waiting to make our next move. Trying to get comfortable but also not hanging any pictures or curtains or building shelves. Despite my family pushing for me to stay close, I was hell bent on moving. I was 99% sure that the north was calling us. Space! Green! Quiet! Peace.
And then one fine day, we went to Riverdale. It was our fourth time up and there but the first time this winter. We saw some apartments and long-story-short, we realized that buying another apartment was probably too short-term of an investment for us, especially in this dumpster fire macro environment, and renting an apartment was…. not that different from renting in Park Slope. Except at least in Park Slope, we are close to our family and to most of our friends. We went back and forth so many times and I can probably talk with you about this for hours, but basically the claws of the city continue to hold their grip on us and we are staying put for now.
After we decided that we were staying, there was a cascading domino effect of other decisions that sort of fell into place, but that required time, energy, and research. We had to submit kidnergarten applications and register for summer camp. Don’t ask me why you have to register for camp in March but you do. The good ones are already booked! How? I don’t know. Why? I don’t know. Don’t ask me, I don’t know. Apparently this is the way it is.
We had to fill out so many oodles of paperwork, pay a slew of deposits, and just generally spend a ton of money and get a bunch of shit in order for our kids. I know, I know, it’s all good stuff, and I am sitting in a place of privilege to have these choices and these options for my children, but nonetheless, it was a lot to manage alongside my full-time startup job and the various illnesses my kids brought home in the last two months. We had covid, we had the flu, we had pink-eye, we had lice. And now, we all have the common cold. I’m not trying to make you laugh guys. It’s been a crazy winter.
I would cross something off my list and within moments, ten other things would be scribbled down. Buy Reva ballet shoes. Buy Joseph walking shoes. We need toilet paper. We need new towels. Send in the school deposit. Figure out July camp. Figure out August trip. Work. Keep kids alive. Feed them three meals a day. Feed them 900 requested snacks a day. Order more vegan bars for Joseph. Work. Make bone broth for the nasty cough. Make cupcakes that were requested by Reva for Shabbat. Buy Purim costume. Plan trip to visit my brother to be a good sister. Call my grandma. Call my friend. Check in on her baby. Make challah. Take a deep breath. Pray for the safe release of the hostages. Go for a walk. Exercise?! It just has not stopped.
In the moments of pause amidst the chaos, I have found it impossible to push myself to write or to cook or to create any sort of content. I knew that being creative would feel good after the fact, but in the moment, I just didn’t have it in me to open my laptop and use my brain again. I had given all I had to my paying job and to my husband and to my kids and to my to-do lists and my Amazon cart. There was nothing left for me or for my passion projects. At the end of a long day, all I could do was climb into my bed, read for 5 minutes, and fall asleep. Maybe I needed sleep more than I needed creativity, maybe I was burnt out, or maybe I was just plain sick of the grind and the cold weather and the slew of toddler germs and the waterfall of decisions that had to be made. I felt guilty for this, but you know what, I think that sometimes, you can feel incredibly grateful in your bones for the beautiful life that you have, but also really incredibly tired in your bones from the requirements that caring for little kids comes with. [Insert standard disclaimer about how I love my kids and I would die for them so people don’t think that I’m a horrible mom who doesn’t want to care for my kids etc etc etc]
Today is my great grandmother Riva’s yahrtzeit, and it feels serendiptious that today is the day that I found the strength to write again. I’m sure that it’s some combination of seratonin from the sun and maybe, just maybe, she’s sending a nudge my way from whatever sweet place she is in. My great grandmother was someone very special to me (we named our daughter after her) and she was someone who had endless wisdom to share over tea and cookies.
She lived in Borough Park, because when she immigrated to America in the second half of her life, she spoke Yiddish and could find work amidst the religious Jewish community as a babysitter. For most of my teenage years, I would visit her once or twice a month, driving my car to 15th avenue and 39th street, circling for parking for a good long while, and then finally climbing the stairs to her warm apartment. It was always very warm and it always smelled like Ashkenazi cooking, especially fried onions. There were always a bunch of kindelach in the hallway of her building. She made me tea right away and we would sit on her couch and talk for hours. She was someone who was extremely easy to talk to and a great listener. Sometimes she would treat me to pelmeni, or crepes with farmer cheese and cherry jam. Before I left, she would always give me $20 and tell me to treat myself to an ice cream.
Riva, like many women of her generation, did not have an easy life. Her husband died when she was in her 30s and she was left a widow to care for two children. She lived in the Soviet Union under communism and there was never really enough of anything. You’ve heard this story before so I’ll spare you the details. The abundance of America and the abundance of our lives today is certainly not something that my great grandmother got to experience. But nonetheless, she usually had a smile on her face, a listening ear, and a kind word to say about most.
Riva was so chock full of wisdom that after visiting with her, I would write down some of the things she said so that I wouldn’t forget them. Today, I decided to open the notes app to remind myself of her. One thing she taught me stood out in bold and perfectly described how I have been feeling: “Life is not easy, but that doesn’t mean it’s not good.” Such a simple statement, and wow does it click. It’s may not be easy, but it IS good, and it’s important for me (and maybe for you?) to remember that. And it’s okay to recognize that both of these things can be true at the same time. Amidst all of the chaos of the world we find ourselves in, amidst the antisemitism, amidst the war, amidst the to-do lists, amidst the unique challenges that each of us is facing, life is here and life is good and sometimes life is hard. But I am alive. I am healthy. My children are healthy. My family is healthy. The sun is coming back out and spring is on the horizon. The circle of life continues.
Thank you for the reminder, grandma. Shabbat Shalom to all. Sending the biggest hugs.
Jane
I feel every word you wrote SO deeply, Jane. The tiredness and the neverending camp sign-ups and sicknesses and shoes to buy (!!)... It honestly all sometimes feels like a blur. Thank you thank you for articulating the weird wonderful exhausting world of parenthood so well. xoxo
I have an 'LG' television set, and every time I turn it on, these words pop up on the screen: Life's Good - and I always toast the tv and say... life IS good, and thank you! So happy to have you stay in the neighborhood where I can see you now and then... Life is good!