Dear Moon

Okay guys.

Apparently I have very little to say today, because I just wrote and (thankfully) erased, an entire blog that was a letter to the moon. Yeah. I know, you don't have to say it. 

So instead I'll just give you this:

Sometimes I am sure, so very sure, that in the end, everything will be ok.

And sometimes... Sometimes I wonder if I'm naive, or just fooling myself. And it's not going to be ok unless I make some significant changes, kick my ass into gear, and make it ok.

That's very empowering and VERY scary. 

I don't want to take the easy way out and say they're both true. Maybe they are. Maybe not. But I worry. I worry that I am living my life, walking through brush and sweating my ass off while I use a machete to clear the way. Meanwhile, if I would look ten feet to my left, someone already cleared and paved a path that goes to the same place. 

But does the beaten path take you to the same place? And if it does, when you get there, have you just wasted so much time and burnt yourself out? Or are you stronger and more experienced?  

These are my thoughts for tonight. Good night.

1. My kids had a GREAT day with my in-laws

2. I had a day without my kids

3. Spending special time with a dear and beloved friend

4. Not losing my temper when my daughter got out of bed for the umpteenth time

5. The Tchaikovsky for kids CD that kept my kids quiet for almost the whole ride down

6. Almost bedtime 

My Husband's English Accent

It's been a hard week for me. I keep getting angry at the kids. I keep holding resentments against my husband. I keep getting distracted and then aggravated that I can't get anything done. 

But today was Shabbos. After keeping Shabbos for a decade I can honestly say that I do it by rote. I don't think much about the deep meanings in the prayers. I don't think about the specialness. I tell my kids about it. I say, "How can you fight today? Today's a day of peace!" But they are just words. 

On top of that is the guilt. Sometimes I can't resist doing something I KNOW is forbidden. I pop zits. I floss even though my gums bleed sometimes. I pull out the yucky lettuce leaves from my salad without always pulling out some good ones too. Sometimes I even purposely get water on the bugs in the bathroom sink so they'll drown.  And more.

To someone non-observant this may sound so silly. Such a nothing to get upset about!  I'm not hurting anyone. It's not even like I ran over a cat in the road. (Sympathy to my neighbors who recently lost a cat. IT WASN'T ME, I SWEAR!)

But to a Baal Teshuva, these can seem like the deadliest of sins. And hating myself for knowingly and compulsively doing them, has only pulled me away from truly experiencing oneg Shabbos, the true JOY of Shabbos.

So today I'm sitting around with my seven year old. And he asks, all philosophically, as is his way, if I ever wonder if this is all a dream. "Like all of this. Well not all of it. But, like, maybe I'm in my old bed, in our old house in Pittsburgh, and I'm dreaming about this whole farm thing. You know? Do you think it could be, Mom?"

Sigh. Wishful thinking I guess. 

So I started telling him about how, although I do not believe that any part of this life is an actual dream, I do believe that reality is much different than how we experience it. Kind of like being on a REALLY long car ride. I said, "You know how you and your sister start out ok. But by the end of the driveway you're like, 'how much longer? I'm hungry? I'm bored. What's to eat? Can I listen to my music?' Blah blah blah. And I tell you guys that's it's ok to be bored, and it may take a little while, and you may even get hungry, but that's ok, because we're not driving just to drive, we're going somewhere and you'll have all those things when we get there.

"So, I think our lives are kind of like that. We think we need super yummy food, and big, fun houses, and lots of toys. But this is just the drive. When Mashiach comes, and we live in Olam HaBa (translation: when the Messiah comes and we live in the World to Come) we'll be there, and we'll have what we were really yearning for this whole time."

Yeah, a bit lofty, but seven year olds can be pretty lofty people. 

That all got me thinking about how Shabbos is supposed to be a taste of Olam HaBa, and by keeping the laws of Shabbos, we're getting a glimpse into that wondrous future. 

So, what I have to look forward to is uncontrollable urges to pop zits, and self hate when I give in?! No thanks. Stop the car. I'd rather get out right here, than get to THAT destination. 

But as you know, I've also been in a questioning phase. A scary, lonely, doubt filled phase. And in this phase I ask myself now, Do I need to hate myself for breaking Shabbos. Can I instead pray that I feel such a strong connection to Shabbos that the very idea of breaking Shabbos is abhorrent to me? And if my prayer isn't answered right away, can I be little bit, dare I say, loving and compassionate to my flawed self? And recognize that I am a work in progress?

So all these thoughts are flying around in my head, sometimes bumping into each other. Sometimes getting a little crazy and making little offspring thoughts and they are young and wild and unafraid, and I don't even know what these belligerent youths will do next without some strong guidance. 

But the next thing you know, my husband gets up from his nap. And apparently it is time for our tea party. This is what my family did when I was in NY with my sister last Shabbos. And this week I was invited to join them.

A bottle of sparkling apple cider was poured into the tiny, ceramic teapot. Each little plate had some berries, chocolate chips, and some sprinkles left over from my two year old's birthday party.  Next some mini chocolate sundrops go into the teeny tiny sugar bowl. And finally some more apple cider goes into the little cream bowl. 

"What kind of tea are we having?" asks my husband in the worst English accent I have ever heard. 

"Orange!"

"Chocolate!"

"Moose Bumps!" (???)

These are just some of the suggested flavors. And they were all combined in different ways. 

"Some sugar?" asks my husband. And the kids gleefully add drops of these tiny, colored chocolate bits to their sparking cider. 

It was beyond disgusting. And amazing. And every two minutes I had to stop myself from intervening and saying, don't you think that's enough chocolate sprinkles? 

The kids were HAPPY. I was HAPPY. I was really HAPPY. We were all getting along. There was nothing that HAD to be done at that time, at that table, other than enjoy the bounty of sugar and laughs in front of us. 

When it was all over, the bottle of cider emptied to its last drop, the kids were ready to do something with all their newfound energy. Going outside wasn't an option as it was still storming pretty hard. So we played Guesstures. All of us. There weren't any actually rules and no one kept score. But man, was it a blast!  

For one of my clues I got the word crazy. I often feel like, in my family, that with everyone's large personalities and tempers, someone has to always remain slightly in control. And that someone has to be me.  Not to mention that the idea of being totally out of control scares the %#*& out of me. 

But when I saw that word, I smiled and let it rip. I jumped around. I made

Faces. I hooped and hollered and swung my head all around and just went nutso.

It fet SO good.

And right then I KNEW. I knew that this, that all of this, was what Shabbos was. It was tea parties with too much sugar and terrible English accents. It meant games and silliness and laughter. It meant letting go.

Next week, as I am full on in weekday mode, I know that I won't quite remember the full joy I felt today.  But that's ok. Because I'll remember that I felt joy. And I'll know that next Shabbos will mean a different kind of joy. Because next Shabbos we'll all be different. Because I can't replicate a moment. But I can let go of one, and make room for whatever is next on this long road trip called life. 

Did you see that? Did you see the metaphor come back and bring the blog full circle? That was great!

1. Moments of today

2. My husband's English accent

3. My husband trying to get the kids to box step after the tea party

4. Philosophical seven year olds. 

Pretending to be an Adult--or--At Least There's Always Ice Cream

Let me tell you about today. Today was a bad day. I know I'm supposed to be all positive and use nonjudgmental words, like 'today was a day that had potential to be better.' But let's face it. Today sucked.

It started out ok. The alarm at 7 was... Um... Let's call it unpleasant. But that's just morning for ya.  Since my kids often wake up 7:45 or 8ish, my plan was to get up, make some coffee (that miracle juice that keeps me from being a homicidal maniac), and go to my neighbors, where I will be milking one of her goats. 

So I made my coffee, got my keys, and the next thing I know, all three kids are out of their room and asking me for breakfast. Ok, not the end of the world. I make them breakfast, wake my sleeping husband to tell him I'm going now, and he says, "Going where?"

"Whaddaya mean? I told you I was going to start milking the goat tomorrow."

"No you didn't."

"Yeah, I did."

Well, we still don't know who was right.  I'm pretty sure that I remember things more accurately than hubby, but he remembers more things than I do. Quality over quantity if you ask me.

Anyway, off I went.  When I got there I thought it would be an in and out sort of thing. This goat had a baby over 9 months ago and we assumed that her milk had weaned out mostly, so it would be a while before we got a full milking from her.  I'll save you from all the details, but there was a lot of kicking, spraying and scooting away. And there was a WHOLE lot of milk! The whole ordeal took much longer than I expected. So when I got home more than an hour later, I came home to a very angry and annoyed husband. Not too mention wild children and a broken library tape. 

Remember how I mentioned how much I ABHORE confrontation? So instead of just confronting my husband, telling him that I knew he didn't want to be on kid duty so he could go work, and that I should've brought them with me, but I really didn't think my actions deserved such a severe angry outburst from him as I was trying to get wholesome milk for our family, not just goofing off, getting coffee and a pedicure; instead of all that, I got resentful and hurt and angry. But it was my usual passive aggressive anger that doesn't accomplish anything other than slowly poison me from the inside.

And once I feel at odds with my husband, and therefore unsupported in my day, everything always falls apart. I wish it wasn't true. I wish I could say, 'whatever, it's not my problem if he's pissed.' But I am not there yet.  

So onward and upward with my day. I had a 10AM appointment to get my car inspected. I was pretty proud of the fact too. After all, not only do responsible adults get their cars inspected, they make appointments to do it. 

And I was so on top of things, that the day before I went to the library and got two little playaway players. These are these magical tiny screens, the size of an iPhone, that play videos. Not long ones, because that would make me an apathetic, lazy mom who lets her children zombie out. No, these play lots of short videos, like PBS's Sid the Science Kid. In total, if you play all the short videos, it's about the length if a movie. But whatever.

So we get to the garage. ON TIME. I am doing this adult thing like a master!  The really nice guy at the desk said hi to me. He said, "Hi Tovah." He knew my name because I made an appointment. I wasn't one of those irresponsible people that drive into the first garage they see on the last day of the month. 

"So I'll just need your proof of insurance and your registration and we'll be all set." Hmmm, okay. I smile like, 'Yeah, of course that's what you need, I knew that.' And I go back to the car and take out every scrap of paper from the glove compartment.  After a few minutes, he comes out and helps me rifle through everything. Like I said, really nice guy.

So we find all kinds of useless and expired things, which he suggests I throw out when I get home, and in the end come up with an up to date proof of insurance. Nailed it!

"Ok, we just need that registration form now." 

Me, slightly panicked, "Yeah, totally. My husband probably took care of it and I forgot to put it in the car.  Let me call him."

But two seconds later we realized that there was no point, as the really nice man pointed out to me that the registration sticker on my license plate expired in April. Of 2012.

Uh, right. What do I do now? 

He told me that he would normally just go ahead and do the inspection and I could deal with the registration stuff when I went home, but he just looked at my last inspection sticker and it seems that I am registered in a different county. That means he can't help me out. And did I realize that my last inspection sticker expired in March?

Okay, so what now? Go home and register online, he says. The stickers will come in a couple days and he'll take care of me then.  He said it all so apologetically. Like, "I'm really sorry, I really wish I could help. Really, if there was anything I could do." Poor guy. I felt like telling him, "It's okay, I'll be alright. I'm used to changing my sheets almost never and eating cereal for dinner. This is nothing!" But I was worried he might call social services, as by this time my kids were climbing all over his riding mower outside and screaming about how hungry they were. They can be SO dramatic!

I decided that I wasn't going to go through all the trouble of buckling my kids into their seats and packing a huge purse of entertainment and snacks for nothing! So I drove to the photo licensing center.  Because, well because my driver's license expired in May. In June, all responsible like, I went the the photo licensing center to renew. They were closed. On a Tuesday! So I used my handy iPhone to find another local place. It was the notary. I went and filled out the paperwork. When I asked if they were ready to take my picture, they told me that that's not how it works. ???

They said that I have to get my paperwork at the notary. And then on Thursday or Friday I had to go to the photo licensing center (I'm getting so tired of typing that whole title, let's call it the PLC), and finish the process there. 

I was more than a little pissed. I had actually put on MAKEUP that day for that picture! Do you know how rare that is?!  So now, a little over a month later, I was taking my kids, sans makeup, to the PLC. It was Thursday! 

I get them all out of the car, walk through heat waves wafting off the parking lot concrete, and get to the door.

Are you ready for it?

I packed the BIG purse so I could have snacks and entertainment. My paperwork was in my LITTLE purse that I use EVERY OTHER DAY!!!

And so, that adventure was over. Lots of well intentioned, responsible thinking got me ABSOLUTELY NOWHERE!

When we get home I realize the massive mess my home has become when I read an email saying an old friend from Colorado might stop by.  I ask my kids to help me pick up. I beg them. I yell at them. I threaten them. In the end I do it alone and in the process make my kids feel that they are horrible little people, so then I actually feel like a horrible little person. So then I stop being a compassionate mother. Because when I can't feel compassion for myself, I don't have any to spare on anyone else. 

In the end, the friend couldn't make it. 

Yup. I heard you all sigh for me.  Thanks.

So after dinner we all had ice cream. Ice cream is a way of giving myself compassion AND earning instant Awesome Mama points. 

So perhaps what I lack in responsibility, I make up for with creativity and justifications. And really, creative people are WAY more fun to hang out with than those responsible types anyway! (Note the justification reference above.)

1. Kombu, kale, halibut soup for dinner

2. Mediterranean Mint ice cream for desert

3. Having food to be thankful for when nothing else comes to mind

Doesn't Everybody Pick Their noses in the Car?

A while back I was driving back to the farm after a day in Pittsburgh. It was just around sunset and I had an hour and fortyfive minute drive ahead of me.  When I left Pitt it was hot and muggy. The kind of day where you crank up the AC and some cheesy summer music. 

About an hour into the ride I felt uncomfortable and tried to make myself forget about it by singing even more off key to All Eighties Rock All Night Long. Yes I'm that girl in the car who picks her nose and sings loudly and arm dances in awkward ways. My hope is that I'll only drive by you once. That spares me the embarrassment of seeing you twice and you recognizing me as the girl who picks her nose, sings loudly and arm dances.

It took at least another 15 or 20 minutes before I realized that the reason I was uncomfortable was because it was night time, the air had cooled, and with the AC blasting, I was freezing.

At first when I realized this I called myself an idiot. Unfortunately that was my go to for so long that it has become my automatic response.  But when I let that go, I was able to really take something away from the whole, pretty inconsequential, ordeal.

Get ready for some pretty awesome metaphorical life lessons!

While I am not in control of the weather outside, I do control my AC. But if I don't stop to notice the changing weather, I don't adjust the temperature. And I get cold. 

Are you with me?

Sometimes life is a certain way, and we adjust ourselves accordingly. But do we always take note of how life has changed?  When I was a teenager I wanted to be beautiful, sexy, desirable.  For one, society told me that that's what I needed. But beyond that was a deep, primitive need to find a mate. It starts with our first periods. That biological drive.

I'm happy to say I have found one.  A mate. Let's just call him my husband. It's sounds much more romantic.  So now that I have a husband who is deeply committed to me, and we have born three insanely awesome and annoying and sweet and crazy, little offspring, the need to be sexy, beautiful, desirable, is no longer the priority. 

Now I'm not saying that from here on out I plan on letting myself go, wear sweats all day and never shower (tempting as that sounds). I hope to stay adequately fit, and shower at least once a week. And I only wear sweats in the winter, when no one is really sexy, because there's nothing sexy about being really freakin cold.  But what I am saying is that my husband has told me he finds me most attractive as I am... Unshaven, unplucked, make-up free and dressed like a farm chick.  So why do I still feel the need to 'look good' when I go out? And by look good I mean: look more like what I see on a magazine, less like what I see in the mirror. I do not need anyone else to find me desirable. I am desired. The weather has changed and it's time to adjust my inner temp.

Did you see what I did there? Did you get the metaphor? This is why I'm a writer!

So many other outside temps have changed. I no longer need to be cool. I no longer need to be validated by an alpha male. (Not that I don't love you, Dad!) I can handle so much more than I ever could before. I don't need to be anxious any time any responsibility falls on me. I have three kids. Responsibility is my middle name!  Or maybe more like an initial added to the end of my name. Or like a nickname used ironically by loved ones. Whatever, that's not the point. The point is that I don't need to be anxious. 

I know there are so many ways that I am still adjusting myself to circumstances that no longer exist. But I think that if I pay a little more attention when I find I am trying to distract myself, I will notice that I can turn down that AC, roll down the window, and arm dance like a master!

1. Watching the joy on my son's face when he plays soccer

2. That my other son pooped in his potty this morning before I even got out of bed

3. Talking to my Yopa on the phone

4. Going to milk a goat in the morning. Yay!

Do Unto Others

The Rabbi's tell us the reason the Temple was destroyed is because of baseless hatred. Not sins we were committing against G-d. It wasn't a kitchen without two sinks. It wasn't hair with two tefachs showing. It wasn't even tearing up the toilet paper on Shabbos. Nope, it was the way we were treating each other.

And yet, part of what was so confusing for me, when living in a religious community, was that the emphasis of halacha (religious law) seemed to be on how kosher our kitchens were, how tznious we dressed, how strictly we kept Shabbos. 

I am not condemning my community. I think this is found in most orthodox communities. And I'm not condemning the orthodox world, because I believe that it is a beautiful thing to hold yourself to a higher standard.

But what I don't understand is how, knowing that Hashem flooded the world because we were mean to EACH OTHER, knowing that the Temple was destroyed because we were mean to EACH OTHER, knowing that Rabbi Hillel summed up the entire Torah with 'Don't do unto others as you wouldn't have done to yourself' (meaning: don't be mean to EACH OTHER), we aren't a nation of people SOLELY devoted to being GOOD to each other. 

I have contemplated this more since moving out to the middle of nowhere. As I unravel from the pressure of being part of a community I can start to look at which areas of my devotion were like an outfit I wore to be accepted and deemed 'religious enough,' and which ones truly emanated from my desire to observe the commandments and serve G-d. 

Honestly, it's been over a year and its still so hard for me to have clarity.  For one thing, it's TERRIFYING! It feels so safe to be wrapped in a cocoon of doing what's right. When you do right, you are right. When you are right you are good. You are enough. You are worthy. Not to mention that you are, at the very least, doing better than THEM. 

Secondly, you are part of a group. And that feels SOOO good. Because you can't be wrong if you are doing what EVERYBODY else is doing. You have a Rabbi helping you make life decisions, guiding you. You have events and meals and social gatherings. In no way do I put those things down. I think we would all be so much better off if we felt part of a community. If we had guidance and connection and regular social interaction.

But the problem for me, is that I never really felt like a was a part of the community. Any community. And I can't tell you how deeply I long to feel a part of something.

For instance, since I am a Baal Teshuva (someone who is not raised in an observant household and takes on the commandments), things that are very normal for others (such as wearing skirts and covering their hair once married) felt incredibly uncomfortable and tedious for me.  You would have been hard pressed to find me in anything other than jeans, in my earlier life, and I really don't enjoy giving myself occasional headaches by always having something on my head.

When I was struggling with this and much, much more, my Rabbi of the time advised me to go ahead and put on a pair of jeans if that's what I needed to feel more comfortable and less resentment. The other commandments have less flexibility, so here was a good place for me to take some space.  Feeling relieved, I went to a friend's house wearing jeans and visited with her and some women. No one mentioned anything to me, and I figured no one really cared. I mean, why would they? I'm a sit on the ground and play in the dirt kind of girl, jeans really are the more modest of my options.

But later, as I was talking to that friend, she mentioned that as soon as I left, questions such as, 'since when does Tovah wear jeans?' arose.  

I can't say I was that surprised or dismayed. I mean, nothing bad about me was said. But our religion teaches that nothing that could possibly, in any way, be interpreted as negative, ever be said about anyone else. The law is called Loshon HaRa, and it means evil tongue. Loshon HaRa is likened to murder, as once it has been said and heard, it cannot be unsaid, unheard. And so, while I was having a slight crisis of faith, others wanted to know how long I had been dressing immodestly.  And they were breaking Halacha by asking. 

I am not condemning their actions. Why would I? I have spoken more Loshon HaRa than I would ever care to admit. But my point is, why in that instance, am I the 'less religious' one?

And this goes on and on... If I eat organic, and therefore have a greater chance of accidentally eating a bug, am I less religious for being less Kosher? Or, since caring for your body is also a commandment, am I being more religious? And my REAL question is: Do I have to define my level of observance? Do I have to be put on a scale where my leniencies and stringencies are weighed, and the outcome defines me?

What if I am ALWAYS changing, growing, questioning and moving through life? What if one year I work really hard on my davening, but not my Torah study? What if for a period I practice daily acts of kindness towards others, compassion and empathy, but I eat out vegetarian? Am I more or less religious? Do I have a place on the ladder?  

Though I have not had the courage to really challenge the way I have practiced Judaism, I wonder what will happen if I do?  Will I be rejected from the community at large? Will my inner work in finding my true connection to Torah and G-d hold any weight?

The reason I go into all this today, Tisha B'Av, the day the Temple was destroyed because of hatred between men, is because I want to practice living more compassionately. And it begins with myself. I want to forgive myself for being so challenged, and not always rising. I want to love myself as the Jew I am now, imperfect an struggling. And just as I believe that giving others the benefit of the doubt is of the highest importance, so too I would like to give myself the benefit of the doubt. 

This plays out in large and small ways. Like when I borrowed my step father-in-law's 5 speed and kept stalling. I called myself an idiot. I should be better. After all, I drove across the country in an old VW bus (another blog for another time), why can't I just get past this damn stop sign. When I returned the car, my mother-in-law told me that she too has a difficult time driving that car. It wasn't me. 

Another small example is when I tried endlessly to navigate my son's soccer team website and could not find any of the information I needed. I ended up privately emailing the coach and feeling like an incompetent idiot. At the first practice I was talking to some other mothers, and the website came up. 'So hard to navigate, I couldn't find a thing!' is what they said. 

Those are small examples. The larger ones are how badly I doubt myself at every turn. How I let other's fear call into question my parenting. How I feel inadequate every time I get anxiety over driving somewhere new, or don't sleep if I know I need to be up for something, and I tell myself that all this makes me an insufficient person.

Perhaps I could give myself the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps I could let myself be strong in some areas an hopelessly inadequate and weak in others. Because that's the way G-d made me. And He believed in me and my worth, so who am I to question it?!  In fact who am I, to let other's doubts about me, question G-d?

I'm not saying I wasn't created with room for improvement, but I certainly don't give birth to my babies and then feel disappointed when I see that they can't walk, talk or do algebra. Life is a process.  And G-d willing, I have a looooong way to go.

So I believe that if I want to be a Jew dedicated to Torah, compassion for people, starting with myself, is a beautiful place to start. And though I started this particular journey over 10 years ago, I feel this is just the beginning...

1. My brave husband who accompanies me on my journey

2. The way my children make me laugh, even when I feel like crying

3. Harvested radishes (even though I don't really like them, I am excited to harves them!)

4. Entering a time of simcha and deep reflection

5. Closing my eyes and still feeling my brand new niece rest in my arms

A Day of Mourning

It's Tisha B'Av. The day we collectively mourn the destruction of the Temple. But I don't understand collective mourning. Because telling me to sit on the floor and not eat, makes me focus on back pain and hunger, not my sadness. 

I don't feel sadness when Eicha (the book of Lamentations) is read. I don't understand the words. The melody does not reach me as other melodies do. 

I don't know how to meditate deeply on what it means to be without the Temple when I am caring for my three young children.  

I am not trying to question the Rabbi's. I am not trying to challenge the status quo. I am trying to figure out where my place is. Why am I so resentful every year when Tisha B'Av comes? 

It's not the fasting. I fast on Yom Kippur and feel no resentment.  It's not the other restrictions. It's that it feels so wrong to be instructed on how and when and what to feel.  

Today you shall be sad.

But I am sad so many days. When I feel discord and hatred between Jews, I mourn. When I see humans acting without humanity, I mourn. When I face the world I am passing along to my children, I mourn.

So how am I to make myself feel those things on one day? My feelings come organically. They are not manufactured. 

Again, I am not asking for a rewrite of Jewish law. I am saying that I don't feel in harmony with it.  

So for tonight's blog I leave you and myself in discomfort. I have no conclusions. Only the feeling of not standing on solid ground. And perhaps today, the day when the Temple crumbled, that is exactly where I need to be.

1. The gray unknown, where questions don't need answers

2. The courage to be there

3. Picking wild blueberries an mulberries with the kids

4. The sun will rise tomorrow

Wow. Just wow.

It's been an exciting, miraculous, exhausting and incredible weekend.  But before I tell you about it, I must warn you: the cord on my computer is broken and I am typing this on my husband's phone. So get ready for a shortened, messy blog.

On Thursday morning I got a call from my sister. Her back hurts and her stomach feels tight.  She thinks her labor has begun.  The arrangement is for me to hop in the car when she tells me she is in labor so I can be her doula. We live 4 1/2 hours apart.  I tell my husband.  'Make sure it's really labor.' 

In our family we tend to have looooong labors.  So I agreed. I did some gardening, fed the kids lunch, put the little one down for a nap, and went to the store with my daughter. I thought it might be nice to get a little time together before I took off for who knows how long.

As we get in the car, my daughter starts crying for me to put her music on. I don't have the CD she wants and even if I did, I am REALLY not in the mood. I actually HATE most children's music. It seems to me that it should be possible to sing about dinasours, mitzvahs, and wheels without high pitched voices and fake laughter.  Are they TRYING to be as annoying as possible?!

Anyway, she started doing her shrieky, whiny, crying thing. Which just made me mad. Here I was trying to have sweet Mama Daughter time and she was ruining it.  When I finally yelled at her, the crying stopped. Then she asked me to open her window. I drive a minivan. The middle windows do NOT open.  'So try mama.' 'It's not possible.' 'Yeah, but try.' 'No honey, it just can't happen.' 'But mama, you need to try. Press a button.' 'There is no button.' 'Find a button and try it.' 'THERE'S NO BUTTON! THE WINDOW DOESN'T OPEN!' 'But try.' Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!  On and on and on it went.

When we finally got to the store and I loaded the cart with frozen food my husband could easily make, without any  kitchen knowledge, we started the drive home. By this point she had taken her shoes off and thrown them down three different isles, grabbed at stuff and made me irritable beyond belief. Not because what she was doing was anything other than what a three year old does, but because I wasn't getting a chance to be the sweet, fun, caring mother I imagined myself to be.  Where was my sweet memories making moment? She was ruining this for me!

Fast forward and I am racing to NY to be with my sister.  An hour away I get a call that she is on her way to the hospital and I should meet her there.
No. Uh-uh. That wasn't the plan. That wasn't my plan. I was supposed to be the amazing sister doula who got her through a natural childbirth. And once she's in the hospital, I won't be able to do my thing. 

 I knew, I knew this wasn't about me. I knew that my hopes and plans had nothing to do with my sister and her birth. But it was still so hard to let go of the beautiful picture I construed in my head of us, together, rocking, moaning, pacing, birthing.  

I won't go into the specifics of the birth, because they are not mine to share.  But I can tell you that it was SO beautiful. My sister was a warrior. She was strength, determination, and raw beauty. And I was privileged and blessed to be a part of it.  I did not have the co-star role I had imagined for myself. I did not get to prove to anyone how great I was. I was simply there witnessing greatness. It was amazing and humbling.  And in the end I enjoyed the best gift of all, which was a full Shabbos in the hospital. Just me, sister and perfect little niece. I held her. I rocked her. I changed her little meconium poops. And I loved them. 

But I didn't sleep. And I didn't have adrenalin and oxytocin coursing through me. It was not my baby. It was not my birth. I am not used to being on the sideline.  I didn't realize how much I actually enjoy being in the center. It's not the prettiest realization. Just as I saw that I was an impatient, annoyed mother in the car, rather than the sweet, loving one I envisioned, so am I not the humble, support I thought I was. 

I'm not sure exactly what it all means, except that I would like to be more aware of my vision of myself and how much it actually compares to the reality of me. Not so I can judge myself and think badly of myself, but just so I can know myself a little better. And perhaps if I have a less grandiose picture of myself, I can have more compassion and acceptance of everyone else. 

I will finish this blog because it really sucks typing on the phone and I am exhausted and want to be with my husband.  But I will end it like this:

Mazel Tov Sister!!! 

1. My niece
2. My beautiful adorable incredible baby niece!!!
3. Being invited to be a part of such an amazing experience
4. MY NIECE!!!

5. My husband for being MY support and letting me be there.