My Jenn-eration

It is 8:49 on a Sunday morning. By all accounts I should still be in my ducky pajama pants. But I am not. I am up and showered. Already, I am so overwhelmed by the list of tasks running through my head that I am literally crying as I dry my hair. Which is completely ridiculous. Phil said he would watch the kids but instead he fell asleep in their bed and they came running into our room. In the past two hours I have already done a load of laundry, some dishes, and explained adoption (thank you Disney channel and Jessie for that important but also difficult to explain episode). All I want to do is write out my feelings but there is a Barbie, a screw driver and one Spiderman walkie talkie on top of my laptop. They are symbolic gifts from each member of my family not so subtly reminding me of who and what comes first. I know this feeling. I’ve felt it before. It comes whenever I get so overwhelmed by the tasks of my family and of life in general that I forget the loving them part. T...

I am walking Dylan to the bus stop. We are greeted with the sights and sounds of winter’s first snow. It is before we have grown jaded and bitter toward its’ punishing storms and winds and snow that turns brown and slushy and problematic. Every tree and surface is covered with a light and fluffy white powder. Not great for snowballs and snowmen. Perfect for snow angels. We are early enough in the season for it to still feel magical. Indeed this time of year almost always does feel that way for me. Everything is covered in twinkling lights and powdery-white. And people of almost any faith recall a time and plan anew for a season of hope and miracles. December has always been a most miraculous time. It marks the season in my life when I labored with both my children on the same date, in different years: December 14th. I think often of my miracles. Of the ones I am surrounded with, of the one growing inside me right now. I think about what a miracle it is that knowing how tenuous, how...

The holidays are in full swing. The Target Hanukkah clings have been mauled by tiny fingers leaving nothing but fingerprints and a set of candles that dangle in the air sans menorah. Decorations from years of preschool love and tiny turkey hands and painted menorahs adorn every knob and shelf. The menorah is splattered with waxy drippings, the floor with wrapping paper from 3 nights ago. There is Christmas music blaring in the background because I am a Jew who loves Christmas music. Don’t judge. The fridge is half full from a wonderful Thanksgiving feast that was mostly demolished by our amazing crew of family and friends who gratefully took over and pretty much prepared everything, but just cooked it within my house. Leftovers consist of things like one turkey leg, a tub of blue cheese, a half used can of pumpkin, and 8 different half used sticks of unsalted butter (for some reason we had a butter consolidation problem this year- will have to address next year). The season of grati...