Transitions and a Poem for Mother's Day

Tomorrow is Mother's Day. This Mother's Day, I'm in the midst of a huge life transition, much of which has to do with being a mother, and for the first time in my life, I'm actually enjoying this transition. This has not always been the case - I've always struggled with them, thinking I had to speed up in order to get to the next place, only to discover that this just caused way too much anxiety for me and anyone unfortunate enough to be along for the ride.

But a change is happening - yes, THAT change with all that goes with it. And THAT change is finally teaching me to just give in to the larger powers that be and when I feel a transition happening, to just let it happen.

I don't want to reveal too much about the transition because I like the suspense, but as of June 1st, Mamazblogging will morph into a new world. For the past four or five years, I've been writing on this blog mostly about being a mother. Specifically, about being an older mother.  It's been a great journey, but my world has expanded back out again and I'm wanting to not only write about motherhood from my quirky point of view, but also about the other things that get me out of bed and also keep me up at night.

As I enter into Mother's Day, a day usually fraught with guilt, tepid brunch food served by grumpy waiters (I can say this because I was one of those grumpy waiters in my youth) and another pair of pajamas. It's also a day to bask in the glory of this path and responsibility and blessing.

Call your mother, your stepmother, your grandmother, your best friend's mother. Call your sister, your sister-in-law, your aunt, your godmother, your stepmother. Call your adoptive mom, call your mentor mom. Call your neighbor. Call a new mother. Call a mother whose child is a soldier. Wish them a Happy Mother's Day and ask them to tell you what it is like to be a mother.

I will wake up in the morning and be showered by my beloved children's tender gifts and cards. But before I do, I wanted to try to get into words who and what I am as a mother. It's for my kids, my friends, my husband, my family. It's for me. It's sort of my farewell to Mamazblogging and a hello to the next stage in my life.

I Am A Mother: Motherhood Squared

I am a mother. I am a mother who has three daughters. I am a mother of twins. I am a married mother. I am a white mother. I am a Jewish mother. I am a mother who is straight. I am a mother with GLBT friends. I am a mother who is 52 year old.  I am a mother who has young children. I am a mother who works. I am a mother who plants sunflowers. I am a mother with crabgrass and dandelions. I am a mother who yells too much. I am a mother who cries easily. I am a mother who misses her father. I am a mother whose father lived to three days short of 98 years old. I am a mother who loves her mother. I am a mother whose mother is almost 80 years old. I am a mother who father escaped the Nazis. I am a mother whose father’s mother and youngest brother were killed by the Nazis. I am mother whose mother’s mother fled the Pogroms. I am a mother who touches. I am a mother with three cats, one dog, a tortoise and a dozen fish. I am a mother who loves to cook. I am a mother who hates to cook. I am a mother who hates to clean the house. I am a mother who does the laundry. I am a mother who takes her children into her bed. I am a mother who writes. I am a mother who sings. I am a mother who dances. I am a mother who loves baseball. I am a mother who volunteers. I am a mother who loves kissing her husband. I am a mother who loves making love. I am a mother who does Yoga. I am a mother who owns her own business. I am a mother who is an aunt to eleven nieces and nephews. I am a mother who loves the ocean. I am a mother who loves the mountains. I am a mother who drinks coffee in the morning while the rest of the house is asleep. I am a mother who drinks tea in the evening when the children are in bed. I am a mother who is hopeful. I am a mother who fights for her kids. I am a mother who loves her children’s friends. I am a mother who has a soft belly. I am a mother with curly auburn hair covering my gray. I am a mother who wears red glasses. I am a mother who has hot flashes. I am a mother who has night sweats. I am a mother who desires kindness. I am a mother who does not believe in not believing. I am a mother who reads the newspaper. I am a mother who reads books. I am a mother who reads to her children. I am a mother who loves the smell of a used bookstore. I am a mother who wears her father’s watch. I am a mother with a too short temper. I am a mother who is impatient. I am a mother who does crossword puzzles. I am a mother who loves to walk. I am mother who hates to fly. I am a mother who makes bread. I am a mother who does not know how to knit. I am a mother whose house is too small. I am a mother who lived in New York City. I am a mother who was born in California. I am a mother whose parents were immigrants. I am a mother whose windows need to be cleaned. I am a mother with bright green curtains. I am a mother who is married to a kind poet.  I am a mother who breastfed three children. I am a mother who has blue eyes, like both my parents. I am a mother who lives in Colorado. I am a mother who lights Shabbat candles. I am a mother with arthritis in her toe. I am a mother who loves dark chocolate. I am a mother who wants to be a grandmother. I am a mother.

An Apple Peel for Passover

In less than an hour, Passover will begin in our part of the world. The kids have changed their clothing at least three times, I'm still in my clothes from the day and we need to leave for our service and seder in less than 30 minutes. But before I do, I have two things to share, two gifts that just landed in my lap and which will define how I enter into this particular Passover.

The first is a stunning piece of writing by Rabbi Heather Altman, author of a gem entitled "The Yoga of Passover," published in LA Yoga Magazine. In it she writes of how every Seder is like stepping onto the mat in a yoga class:

"Sitting down for the annual Passover seder is like stepping back on the mat for yoga practice; cumulative experiences of familiarity, probing and deepening take each diner to a unique place. Attention on breath teaches us that our inhalation relates to intentional intake. The ritualistic actions of the seder unite intention and practice the moment we place a taste on our lips."

I began today, the work week, and the entry into Passover, in this way - on the mat. As I worked my way through the postures, the concept of transition and the "narrow" places that represents the Exodus came into my breath. What narrow places have I traveled through this year? What narrow places am I in right now? The beauty of yoga is that it teaches us to create breath and space around our narrow places, from tight hamstrings to shallow breathing, and that it is possible, no matter what position, place or circumstance we find ourselves in, to find an oasis of relaxation.

The second gift came in the shape of a long red apple peel. I love making Charoset and of course, eating it. I love how the smell of apples, cinnamon, honey and red wine all come together in a familiar way that always wakes up my senses. After I washed the apples, I got out the peeler and remembered how much my girls love snacking on the peels. I also remembered how my father used to be able to peel an apple in one long, unbroken peel. I used to watch in wonder as the peel got longer and longer, wanting to grab at it, but knowing that would spoil the magic of it all. He used a small paring knife and methodically would turn the apple into the edge of the knife until a perfect spiral of skin and white apple meat sat coiled on the plate. He'd nod his head and I'd take it and raise it high in the air, lowering it into my mouth one spiral at a time.

One of my daughters sat at the table doing her homework while I peeled the apple. I placed a perfectly coiled, unbroken peel by her hand. She looked up and smiled. "Just like Grandpa Leonard used to do, right, Mama?" Right, honey.

To keep the unbroken breath, the unbroken traditions, to sit through the long seder with the same mindset as I have on the yoga mat. To embrace the narrow so that we can open to the expansion that is waiting. With all the patience of an apple peel.

Chag Sameach.