Generations of Sportsmen by Robin Gorman Newman

What a nice long Thanksgiving weekend we had.  It passed way too quickly.  But, then I guess the good times so often do.

My senior dad stayed with us for five nights since his live-in aide went home to be with her family.  We kept him mighty busy, in between his regular afternoon naps and various ball games on television.  My dad has always been big on sports, whether watching or playing.  He was a baseball player himself in his prime.  He loves, in fact, to share the story of how he grew up with the famed Phil Rizzuto...he knew him "when.."  And, how he used to take my sister and I to baseball games at now historic Shea Stadium in NY, and he raised us to play tennis and attended the US Open many many times.  My mom was never particularly sporty, though she would take my sister and I ice skating.  I never liked it.  It was cold and wet, and I had a recurring fear of falling on the ice and having my hand run over with a blade (which thankfully never happened....but clearly I was out of my comfort zone in the rink.)  I never took lessons.  Just winged it.  Maybe that was part of the challenge.  A natural I was not.

My dad loves to reminisce, and it's sweet....and I imagine somewhat bittersweet for him.

G-d bless him at 92...many his age don't get around much....and if they do, they are using a cane, walker, etc.  My dad, walks on his own, though his aged body is a constant source of frustration for him.  I saw this particularly this weekend.

We took my father with us to a New York Islanders game.  It was the first for me, and the first for Seth.  We had fabulous seats, and the Islanders broke their losing streak and won the game.  It was pretty exciting to see them win our first time out. And, I liked the energy of the fans and Islander Girls who entertained during game breaks, whether scraping the ice or shooting tshirts out blasters to hungry fans.   My son was totally into it.  He's now proudly proclaiming that the Islanders are his favorite team, and I'd have to say, mine as well.

My dad was at first reluctant to go.  He tends to say "no" to many things these days, presuming he won't feel up to it.  But, my thought is that if he pushes himself, he will likely be fine.  And, he was in this case.  In fact, the seats were quite comfortable....better than I had expected.  So, no complaints about that.

However, when he had to go to the bathroom, he struggled to walk up the stairs at the stadium....since we were seated fairly low down.   He's not used to that kind of effort (I've told him on more than one occasion that he would benefit from more exercise).  Seth said he needed to go too, so he rushed to be by grandpa's side and firmly held his hand, as the two of them walked side by side up the stairs.  It was so heartwarming, I almost cried.  I whipped out my camera to try to get a photo.  For the moment, I thought about who was leading who.  My dad needed assistance walking.  And, my son needed assistance finding the bathroom, navigating through the crowd, and then returning to our seats.  They made a very able duo.

Before my eyes was my beloved father...the aged sportsman.  And, my 7 year old....a little sportsman in the making, growing up quickly.  Two different generations with the same ardent love.  A passion for all things sports.

It made me think back to my childhood and how my dad might have been if he'd had a son.  Not that he doesn't love my sister and I, but I'm not one for watching sports on television.  And, my dad didn't have the opportunity to teach me or anyone to play baseball.  He did teach me to ride a bike, but that's not the same.

Was it frustrating for him?  As parents, we love our children regardless of gender.  And, it's interesting for me to have a son.  I was always the girly girl growing up.  Surrounded by Barbie dolls and play makeup, my Kiddles, costume jewelry, pot holders, etc. were never far behind.  Now, when my son works hard to engage me in play with him, whether we're being spys, firemen, building with legos, acting like military, etc., it's a whole different type of play.  It's not something I'm familiar with, so I endeavor to put on my Rescue Hero hat and rise to the occasion.

But, now that we've shared the experience of attending an Islander game, I look forward to more, and I'm grateful that we have the memories of this first hockey occasion for our family.

PS -- The New York Islanders offer a lot for families.  Check out the following:

Click on this link Islanders Kids Day  -- for info. about special activities on Dec. 5.

Islanders Toy Drive – Before the Dec. 18 game versus the Phoenix Coyotes, donate three unopened gifts and receive a ticket voucher for the Jan. 11 game against the Vancouver Canucks. All toys go to the Wantagh-based John Theissen Children’s Foundation.

Join the Islanders Kids Club! Children under 14 can join this special group to receive exclusive benefits from the Isles! - http://islanders.nhl.com/club/page.htm?id=43391

Visit http://www.islandersatschool.com/ to get help on school work from your favorite Islanders. You can join the Blades for Grades program here, too, where students are rewarded for good grades with Islanders tickets!

Also, check out their splash page at http://www.newyorkislanders.com/ to see the deal on holiday packs – Get 2 tickets to 3 different premier games, $40 in food vouchers, a $40 Butera’s Gift Card, 20% merchandise discount and an autographed puck with special display case.

Gratitude and Reclaiming Family - By Cara Potapshyn Meyers

For those of you who read my blog last week, you may recall how disappointed I was going to a restaurant for the first time ever for Thanksgiving. I mentioned that I was invited by cousins to go for dinner at an upscale restaurant. My son was also invited, but I didn’t think that he could sit for such a prolonged period of time with only adults. I made the decision to have my son go with my husband to his mother’s for Thanksgiving, where there would be other children for my son to play with, rather than be the only child, at a table, in a stuffy restaurant. It was the perfect decision!

From what I was told, my son had a splendid time with the two other boys at my in-law’s! He had such a good time that one family was sleeping over, so my son wanted to sleep over too! My husband came back to our house, collected items for my son’s overnight bag, and my husband and son stayed over my in-law’s Thanksgiving night!

I had my own fabulous time! I love getting together with my cousins because we always end up talking nonstop! And talk we did! We ended up taking most of our meals to go because we just couldn’t stop yakking! The bites of food I did try, were certainly delectable! I was shocked that this restaurant was able to produce a Thanksgiving dinner even better than I have ever had at home! It was beyond delicious! In any event, I digress.

I brought with me downloaded photos of family on my father’s side, from Michigan, who “found” me on Facebook. Last summer, the wife of my second cousin sent me a message asking if I was the daughter of Michael Potapshyn (just how many “Potapshyns” are there, really?). I responded that I was. Ever since, I have been corresponding with his wife (Maggie), her three daughters, and another second cousin who lives in California! As my cousins and I perused through the pictures, we unanimously decided that our other female cousin, who lives in Florida, looks exactly like Maggie’s middle daughter! And furthermore, my cousins then looked at Maggie’s first-born daughter and declared that I look very much like her! When I sent a message to Maggie later that evening, relating this observation, she said that she looked closely at some photos of me and of her eldest daughter, and that she agreed that there was a strong resemblance!

As our 5-course meal was concluding, and take-home bags were piling up, we decided to forgo dessert in the restaurant, as one of my cousins had an entire buffet of desserts waiting for us at her home. Still chatting away, we made our way back to her house. Once inside, as my cousins were setting up the “buffet,” I walked around the living room admiring my cousin’s taste in decoration. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two photos on an end table that I had seen before, but not at my cousin’s house. When my father lived by himself, he had two ancient photos on his desk. Both photos were of his family circa 1920. In one of the photos, my father was a toddler, holding onto his father’s knee. My father at that age looked like the spitting image of my son when my son was a toddler! When my father became too elderly to manage living alone, we moved him closer to us. And in packing his belongings, I have a feeling he threw out those two photos.

I looked in every box, every drawer, every cabinet, and every closet, in search of those photos! I asked my father, whose memory was not very good at the time, if he knew what happened to those two photos. He couldn’t recall. Once my father passed away, I gave his home a complete and thorough going through, but to my utter disappointment, never found those photos. I was devastated.

Now, here were those same two photos, sitting on my cousin’s table! I became so excited, I squealed! My cousin thought something was wrong, but in my excitement, I joyously exclaimed, “You have them!! You have the pictures my father also had but I thought he threw them away!!” She joined in with my excitement and said, “Let’s scan them into the computer right now and e-mail them to you, so that you have copies of them!” There was excitement abound as we were scanning! We saw a very close resemblance of our paternal Grandfather to one of my cousins! We all knew that the oldest child died in childhood of an illness, but all of us were given conflicting stories. We were like kids again, sharing excitement over something that meshed us together! It was a fantastic, memorable moment!

Next my cousin went through a drawer and found photos of our parents with their family when our parents were probably in their 20s! My cousin had 4 of that particular photo, so she gave one to me, which I plan to scan into my computer for safekeeping!

I think the most important reason why I was so overjoyed by the discovery of these photos was really for my son. My father passed away when my son was 3 1/2. However my son still remembers my father vividly. I want to show my son the photo of his “Poppy” when Poppy was a toddler. And then put a photo of my son as a toddler next to it to show my son how similar they both looked at that same age! I also want my son to know that he has family other than my in-laws. I am an “only child” and my parents are both deceased. But we still have family of mine that lives close by as well as newfound family that lives in Michigan! And I would like to take my son to visit the “Michigan side of the family” at some point in time!

So, all told, I had an unexpectantly marvelous Thanksgiving, on so many levels! Sharing newfound relatives, spending quality time with existing ones, finding old photos of family that is now deceased and obtaining copies of these photos as keepsakes to share with my son! How more grateful could one possibly get?!

Well, there is one more thing I was grateful for. Delicious leftovers from our incredible meal the next day!!

Through the Generations - by Cara

My son has been learning about the value of coins in school. To help him with his homework, I took out a basket of coins we use to throw our spare change into, and started laying the coins out to show a visual description to assist with one of the homework problems.

All of a sudden, my son noticed something interesting. He found a Wheat back penny among this basket of coins! For those of you who are unfamiliar with Wheat back pennies, instead of a picture of the Lincoln Memorial on the back, the words, “One Cent,” are inscribed.

I found this remarkable for several reasons. First being that Wheat back pennies are so rare (they were minted only for 50 years, between 1909 - 1959), secondly because I started my own collection of Wheat back pennies when I was around my son’s age (I must have close to 50 of them by now). Thirdly, because now my son wants to start his own Wheat back collection.

The fourth interesting reason is that my son spotted a bag of pre-started coin rolls and wanted to use them to roll the coins. When my father was still alive, I would give him our basket of loose change and the paper coin rolls, and he would spend enormous amounts of time putting the change into the respective rolls. He would then take the rolls to the bank and cash them in for me. He always took such pride in what he did and felt a sense of accomplishment in rolling those coins for me!

Now that my father is gone, I find it fascinating that my son wants to assume that same exact activity. As tedious as it is, both my father and son get a sense of accomplishment from rolling coins. We told our son that if he lays out the correct number of coins to fill a roll, correctly identifies the value of the coin roll, and then fills it, my husband would take him to the bank to “earn” his keep. It is a motivating learning experience.

But I have noticed this about my son; he has my father’s quality of enjoying working on tedious projects. I used to give my father all sorts of projects I just found too tedious to take on, and he would gladly do them all! The one I miss the most is ironing! My father used to iron our clothes because between a toddler and 2 rambunctious dogs, I didn’t want to risk having the iron accidentally pulled off the ironing board and scorching someone. So I would happily give all of my ironing to my father to do! I’ve become so spoiled, that now it’s become, “dry clean only,” in this house. And I rarely buy 100% cotton!

But back to my son and his new obsession. I find it fascinating that my son has not only taken an interest in something that I also have an interest in. I find it equally amazing that he has also embraced the “joy” of rolling coins, just as my father had. I continually find it amazing how you see not only yourself in your child, but can also see close relatives, with all of their “quirks,” in your child. How remarkable. And what a gift. And now my son has 2 Wheat back pennies to start his own collection! Such an unexpected treat!

Beating My Parents -- by Laura

My mother hates my father. She has hated him for years. Like so many women of her generation, she got married thinking it was the cure for her loneliness and unhappiness. She thought my father would fix her, that he would be her therapist, that he would be her best friend, and, of course, that he would be her knight in shining armor. And like many women her age, she is resentful that he could do or be any of those things.

But unlike many women of her generation, my mother elected to stew in her anger rather than get counseling. Instead, she used me as her therapist. Throughout my childhood my mother gradually poisoned me against her husband. From age 12 to about age 20, I thought my father was a cold, neglectful, indifferent man. I refused to listen to him, I deliberately disobeyed him, and I was mean, mean, mean to him at every opportunity.

When I was 23, I moved to a part of the city that was only a few blocks from my father’s office, and on the nights I was not waiting tables, he would call and ask if he could stop by. He’d bring a six-pack of Coors beer, and we would sit on my patio even on the coldest of days, drink a brew, and play fetch with the dogs. My dad loved dogs. And he especially loved Labrador retrievers, and I had rescued two of them from the pound where he sometimes volunteered. They were the magnets that helped draw my father and I back together, and in my heart I have built a glorious memorial for those dogs.

On those evenings I got to know my father really well. And what I found was a man who was very much like me. He loved books, the outdoors, gardens, hiking, dogs, beer, and he especially loved his children and his life with them. He even loved the woman who had berated him all of his life, alienated him from his brothers and sisters, and tried to turn his own children against him. “She can’t help it,” he told me once. “She didn’t grow up with anyone loving her.”

To say I dislike my mother is an understatement. But over the past 20 years, I have tried to remember his words: That no one loved her, and that’s why she is the way she is.

I struggle with her more now that I am a parent myself. I look at her behaviors toward her family, and something deep in me bubbles up into my throat. My mother drove a wedge between my father and his twin brother. If a woman ever did that to my twins, I don’t know what I would do, but my wrath would be severe. My mother also liked to be divisive with her own children because she learned that if we were angry with one another, we would go to her to talk about the sibling we were disgusted with at that time. It was her way of guaranteeing attention. And saddest to me is that I bought into her lies and lost precious years with my father and siblings. It’s something I have not forgiven myself for.

Last week my mother found a letter I had written my father more than 10 years ago, and she sent me a venomous email in response. In the letter I discussed my mother’s accusations of his affair, and I suggested to my father that if the accusations were not true that my mother could be experiencing delusional episodes due to her own childhood. I also suggested that after 40 years of emotional abuse it might be time to leave my mother. I recommended he divorce her and go live with his twin brother. It was the right advice to give.

I was particularly worried about my father because he had just been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, and I knew as the disease worsened my mother would not take care of him. I knew she would let him deteriorate, she would not help him with his medications, she would not want to take him to the doctor, and when she did she would not participate. She would only hinder. She was angry with him and felt he had done this to her on purpose.

My mother is furious with me for writing that letter. She should be. But I am not sorry I wrote it. I am, however, finding myself angry with my father for sticking with her. If he had left, he’d be getting better care right now. If he had left, maybe he could have reconnected with his twin brother. If he had left, maybe he would not be declining so quickly. Sometimes I blame his disease on her entirely. Living with her constant criticism, her accusations, and her lies has to take its toll. I know it did with me.

It’s a fight, really, not to be a bad parent when you are raised by someone like my mother. Every day it’s a fight, so to ensure I battle in a good way, I am committed to picking up the phone and scheduling an appointment with a counselor. It’s good to have someone walk me through it so I can understand my mother and her hatred. I am not going to repeat this with my sons and my husband. I want them to love me as I love them. But sometimes I hear myself saying the things to my husband that my mother said to my father, and it knocks the wind out of me. And that’s when I pick up the phone and call.

Abandonment -- by Cara

This is the second part of a two part series for this blog.

Abandonment...

A feeling
A feeling of isolation within a relationship
An intense feeling of devastation when a relationship ends
An aloneness not by choice
A woman left by her husband of twenty years
A girl grieving over the death of her mother

Abandonment is all of this and more. It’s wound is at the heart of human experience.
(Excerpted from the book,” The Journey from Abandonment to Healing,” by Susan Anderson, C.S.W.)

The most important purpose for this blog concerns my son. For my husband and I to live under the same roof as “housemates” (AND my husband works from home!), moreover, for it not to be affecting our son in any noticeable way, is downright amazing. And I give my husband and I credit to limiting our disagreements for when our son is not at home. But more importantly, I saw last week how completely vital both my husband and I are to my son at this point in his life.

My husband travels frequently...usually twice a month, for about 3 days per trip. Last week my husband was gone from very early Wednesday morning (my son had just woken up...and he’s an early bird!) to very late on Sunday (almost when my son fell asleep). I could tell by Friday, my son was getting depressed and missing his father. To make matters worse, it had been raining, and predicted to rain the entire weekend. I get severe, chronic pain if we are going to get very bad weather. I was in so much pain, I wanted to gnaw on wood. I had to take my medication with codeine, which meant I wouldn’t be able to drive. I could barely remain awake. My son kept asking when Daddy would be home. I told him 2 more days. My “husband” and I set up Skype on both of our computers so that my son could see and speak to his father while my husband was away. We used Skype both Wednesday and Thursday with my son. My son was elated with this piece of technology! I was elated for my son. But on Friday, my husband was out to dinner with clients and couldn’t get to his hotel to Skype with my son. My son was terribly disappointed. I was too. And in atrocious pain. I slept with my little boy that night.

Knowing I was in so much pain, my Father-in-Law (bless his heart), called early Saturday and offered to take my son to his Karate class and then out to lunch and back to my In-laws house for part of the day. My son couldn’t stay cooped up in the house (especially an ADD child!) with a mother who could barely make meals. So I thanked my Father-in-Law profusely! My son didn’t want to go to Karate. He wanted to go on Skype to see Daddy. My husband was in Texas, and with the time zone change, I knew he wouldn’t appreciate me calling early, but I do what is in the best interest of my son now. I called my husband. I got voicemail and left a message. I texted my husband. No response. My husband used to leave me his flight and hotel itinerary whenever he went away. Forget that. He could be on the moon for all I knew. So I had to tell my son that Daddy was sleeping late and that we would try to “Skype” him later. My son reluctantly went out with my Father-in-Law.

I fell asleep from all of the codeine in my system but woke from a call from my Mother-in-Law, saying that my son was “irritable” and “whiny” and wanted to go home badly to “see” Daddy. I knew he wanted to try to “Skype” with my husband. So while my Father-in-Law was driving my son back home, I called my husband. He couldn’t Skype because he was on his way out to a conference. He couldn’t get calls during the conference, which would last at least 2 hours. My heart sunk for my little boy. I pleaded with my husband to try to at least find a few minutes to call and speak with my son because my son needed to hear his father’s voice. My husband said that he would “try” later.

My son came home and asked to “see” Daddy. I tried to explain that Daddy said he would call later. He wanted to know when Daddy would be coming home. I told him tomorrow. The two of us were a pair of zombies in front of the television. Me in terrible physical pain, my son in terrible emotional pain.

Later that night, after a full day of not hearing from my husband, and before he brushed his teeth, my son asked, “Mommy? Is Daddy dead?” My heart skipped a beat, but I calmly said, no, Daddy was just very busy on his trip. My son doesn’t really understand the concept of death. My father used to live with us before he died. Once my father DID die, we explained that Grandpa would always be with us in our hearts and our memories, but would not physically be coming back home. Five minutes after my son fell asleep, my husband texted me to see if he could speak to our son. I told him no. Our son had just fallen asleep. I slept with my son that night as well. I held his little hand in mine.

Finally it was Sunday. My husband called early because he had to catch an early flight back and he could tell through my numerous attempts, that my son wanted to speak with him. My son was so happy and excited! He wanted to Skype with his father, but my husband was already in a taxi on his way to the airport, so he couldn’t Skype. My husband promised that he would call my son before his plane took off.

When my son got off the phone, he eagerly wanted to know EXACTLY on the clock when Daddy would be home. He told us his plane was to arrive at approximately 3:00 pm. My son planted himself down and would not budge from the house. I was still having residual pain, so I couldn’t take my son anywhere. My Father-in-Law called. He wanted to spend some time with my son. My son adamantly declined; he was waiting for his Daddy to come home. He refused to leave the house.

The rain was pouring outside; thunder was heard periodically. We received a call from my husband…due to the thunderstorms in New York, his flight would be delayed for at least a few hours. My heart sunk for my son. I had to gather up the courage to tell him that Daddy would be delayed by a few hours. My son insisted on wanting to now EXACTLY when Daddy would arrive home. I said I wasn’t sure. But I reassured my son that Daddy WAS coming home.

My son was depressed the rest of the day. He did not want to do anything. He didn’t want to play a game, play some cards, put Legos together…all things that I honestly was in too much pain to want to do, but if it lifted my son’s spirits, I’d grit my teeth and act as happy as possible for the sake of my son.

Then I had an idea. We hadn’t heard from my husband in quite awhile so I said to my son, “If we call Daddy and get his voicemail immediately, that means that Daddy is on the plane, on his way home, because he has to shut off his cell phone while he is flying on the plane.” I dialed the number to my husband’s cell phone and placed it next to my son’s ear. The call went straight to voicemail. “Daddy is coming! Daddy is coming!” My son’s spirits lifted tremendously.

Once my husband’s plane landed, he called to let us know, and again, my son wanted to know EXACTLY when Daddy would be coming home. I assured him it would be very soon. It was close to my son’s bedtime, but I knew he would not fall asleep until Daddy was safe at home. In fact, my son called my husband three times while my husband was in the taxi on his way home to assure himself that Daddy would be home soon.

My husband finally arrived home. With a stuffed animal gift for my son. My son was so relieved; he hugged and kissed his father, gathered the new stuffed animal in his arms, and fell fast asleep, tightly hugging his new toy.

It was through this five-day ordeal that I realized two important things. First, pain or no pain…medical crises or not…I will ALWAYS find a way to care of and be there for my son. I was a single Mom for those few days. With pain so excruciating, I could hardly think straight. But when it came to my son, I met every one of his needs at home. I will always be able to take care of my son, medical conditions or not.

The second, and more important realization is that at this point in my son’s life, he needs BOTH of his parents. And he preferably needs them in the same home. We recently went to a parent/teacher/principal meeting and were told that my son is doing SO much better in school than from earlier in the year. If I were to have my husband removed from our home, the person I would be hurting the most would be my son. I couldn’t bear to do that to him. I am the one abandoned. My son does not need to be abandoned too. But this is not the first time for me. And through therapy, I can eventually put the pieces of my life and my heart back together. One tiny piece at a time.

Missing Men -- by Jamie

When I first considered becoming a single mother by choice, all the books and materials I read warned me about the importance of surrounding my future child with positive male role models. I figured that wouldn’t be such a difficult task, as I knew my generous, loving father would be greatly involved in the upbringing of my child, and I also had a handful of other terrific males in my life whom I could count on. For instance, I’d been assured that my sister's husband would be a strong presence in my child’s life, as he was a bit wary about my decision to raise a child without a father figure, and told my sister that he’d make sure my daughter always had him to lean on. I also had several good male friends whom I knew I could always rely upon, and assumed they would continue to be involved in my life after my baby was born.

When Jayda arrived, my father stepped in, as I'd predicted, and became a doting grandfather and the perfect male role model any mother could want for her child. And it wasn’t as if I could ignore the idea of having men in my child’s life even if I wanted to; from the start, my daughter appeared to adore men wherever we went. As a baby, she'd coo at the busboys when we went to the diner, and bat her eyelashes at our pediatrician during her check ups. When she started her gymnastics class at 18 months, she almost immediately threw herself into the lap of our attractive male instructor. And because of that early love affair, I made a great effort to keep Jayda involved in the gymnastics program, semester after semester after semester—partly because it was a great class, but more importantly because I wanted Jayda to have a weekly connection with a charismatic male teacher who aimed to improve her confidence. But when I mentioned this to one of my married friends—who had lost her own father at a young age—she laughed at me, and told me to relax and not try so hard. She said her own mother had made absolutely no effort to surround her with any positive male role models after her father had passed away, and she'd turned out fine...and you know what? She's right. She’s a strong, successful, well-adjusted woman—and a great mom, herself.

As it turns out, Jayda's uncle, who'd pledged his early devotion to her...well, he's never around. Yes, he does love Jayda in his own way, but physically, he’s more devoted to his job and his friends and his own life, and barely manages to see Jayda more than five times a year. And my once-cherished male friends? I barely speak to them anymore, myself—let alone rely on them for teaching Jayda about what good men should say or do to a woman.

I've always prided myself on having male friends. Just friends. True...maybe sometimes there was a flirty dynamic between me and a few of those guys, but in the grand scheme of things, we really were JUST friends. However, lately, I've felt let down by just about all of them. And it's not that I expected them to all be there for Jayda (though, that would have been nice)...I just expected them to always be there for me. Because while it's nice for a woman to have her girl friends—and good gal pals are certainly irreplaceable—male friends have their significance, too. Especially for strong, independent women—who, let’s face it, are the type of women who generally become SMCs. Because while I often acted a little tough around my guy friends, I was also able to let my guard down and be a little girlie-girl when necessary. And best of all, my guy friends were great about helping me with things. Fixing stuff for me. Giving me advice about things a woman like me knows nothing about: Car engines, mutual funds, hard drives, and a zillion other random-but-important issues and objects. And they did so in ways that are different than when a girl friend helps me out. I’m not saying I’m good at playing the part of a damsel in distress (far from it!), but sometimes a woman needs to have a guy take care of her…even if it’s just a guy friend. And I miss that. But most of all, I simply miss my guy friends.

But I guess not every man wants to hang out with a single mom. And, of course, it’s true, many of my former male friends and I don’t have all that much in common any more. Some of them used to love swapping dating stories with me—and since I’m not the serial dater I used to be, my stories aren’t as plentiful or exciting as they once were. Another former male friend used to drag me to see bands with him every week; I rarely have the time (or the babysitter) to do that, these days. But I wouldn’t mind seeing a show every now and then…if he’d actually ever invite me now! But what disappoints me more than missing the guys, themselves, is that these guys are missing out on the best thing that’s ever happened to me—Jayda. Oddly enough, instead of me needing these men as “good male role models” for my daughter—who I believe is thriving and doing just fine without them, thank you very much!—I feel like they’re the ones missing out on something. They’re missing out on the warm, witty, amazing daughter I’ve been blessed with…and the remarkable mother I’ve blossomed into because of her. And that’s a shame.

As Jayda’s mother, I can see a lot of myself in my daughter. And, similarly, we both like men a lot: We often turn our heads to take a second look at them, find many of them attractive and charming, and we certainly like to flirt with them. We know there are some good ones out there, and, unfortunately, some not-so-good ones. And all I can do is continue to encourage Jayda to become a strong, confident, intelligent woman—and hope she’ll make the right choices in the men she befriends. But as for “surrounding her with positive male role models,” I’m not going to force the issue. Jayda has plenty of people around her who love her—and it doesn’t matter whether they’re women or men—as long as she can count on them. And she can always count on me. That’s enough.

Generations -- by Robin

This past weekend, my 91 year old dad came to stay with us, as he does often when his live-in aide goes home some weekends. He sleeps on a cot in Seth's room, and I've always felt that it was a nice bonding experience for the two of them.


It's getting to the point now, though, as Seth gets older, that he's becoming less 'n less tolerant of my dad's snoring and getting up frequently to visit the bathroom. It's been waking him up, and he doesn't want him in his room anymore. So, we may move the cot into the living room. That would be a bit of a longer walk for my dad to the bathroom, but he could potentially manage.

I found myself sad during this stay. I miss what my dad was. He spends so much time complaining about how he feels, that it leaves me depressed. I want to treasure our time together...and his time with Seth....I just wish it could be a beat more upbeat....even if not perfect.

Is this what happens when someone gets old? Is it to be expected that their health becomes a primary topic of ongoing discussion? My dad says that when he goes to the senior center for lunch, everyone shares about their ailments. I guess it gives them some level of comfort to know they're not alone, but isn't it better not to dwell on it constantly?! If you do, then I would imagine it can take over your thoughts, and what kind of life is that?! Say it...get it out...and then move on.

I don't want to pass judgment. Who knows what I'll be like as a senior citizen?

I feel blessed to have my dad, but I have to be gentle with myself as well, and allow the feelings that come up for me. Even, if that means taking a break from listening to him. I just don't want to get angry, but sometime I can't help it.

My dad laughs when he talks about how many doctor appointments friends of his have...and he has his weekly share as well.

The weekend left me with tremendous guilt, which I know I don't deserve. I had the need to escape my dad at one point and took myself to the movies. Marc watched Seth, and my dad was napping. The break did me good.

A friend wrote to me that I should do something fun with my father. But, the problem is, he isn't up for much. He gets tired easily and frequents the bathroom. He does enjoy eating out, so we always at the very least do that.

When my dad returned home, I felt relief. He's in good hands with his aide, and I can speak to him on the phone as I do daily (more than once), and not feel quite as immersed in his negative talk. I'm blessed that my six year old is upbeat and makes me laugh. He is good company, and when he makes my dad laugh, and forget his age for a moment, I have visions of what my dad was like when I was young. It warms my heart because I know no one will love me like my dad, and there's alot to be said for that. And, I'm thankful that Seth knows his grandpa, snoring and all.

PS -- HAPPY, HEALTHY NEW YEAR!

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Interfaith Traditions -- by Cara

This is always an interesting time of year for our family. And a lot of work for me! See, my husband is Jewish, I am not, but we are raising our son to be Jewish. All of this is fine except for one major thing. My son is in love with everything Christmas, especially Santa Claus!

It all started when my father was still alive and my son was 2 and 3 years old. Since my father didn’t have the stamina to put up his own Christmas tree each year, as he became elderly, we would put one up in our home while he watched us decorate it. And my Mother-in-Law never wanted my father’s holiday to be forgotten, so she would cook a big Christmas dinner for all of us.

My son, even at this young age, took all of this in. Besides the fact that there are Christmas displays everywhere you look this time of year. And Christmas cartoons, movies, and songs just about everywhere. My son became completely enamored with the mystery of Christmas.

Every year, I try to instill both the religious meaning and tradition of Hanukkah in him. But it never seems to trump Santa. “Eight crazy nights!,” I exclaim! “Eight nights of gifts!” The lighting of the candles on the beautiful Menorah he made at religious school! Still, he wants to know when Santa is coming. “How many more days, Mommy?,” he’ll ask.

My father is no longer with us, but the tradition of putting up a tree and decorating it still remain. My son moved all of the items away from the fireplace so that Santa can have easy access into our home. I am wondering how many more years he will still be believing in Santa Claus? I was certain that once he started religious school, the mystery of Santa and his reindeer would be exposed. Didn’t happen. He goes to school with predominantly Jewish children and has mostly Jewish friends. But he cannot be swayed. I’ve brought him to Tot Shabbat services, Hanukkah lightings at our Temple, festivities celebrating Hanukkah! Still, he wants to hold on to the belief of Santa.

So, as we do every year, I put up the Hanukkah decorations first. Read him books about celebrating Hanukkah, make Hanukkah crafts and play “Spin the Dreidel” with him. We watch my Mother-in-Law make potato Latkes. We put on Jewish music celebrating Hanukkah. Still, it all doesn’t matter. He anxiously awaits the man in the red suit and the white beard.

I must admit, preparing for two different winter holidays is not easy. Hanukkah is a little easier, but dragging an artificial tree up from the basement, putting it together, decorating it, making cookies for Santa and wrapping presents for BOTH holidays is a chore. I’m secretly hoping that my son comes to the realization that there really isn’t a Santa Claus. My work load would certainly diminish.

But I’m not going to be the one to squelch my son’s fantasy. It will come naturally on it’s own. Then maybe we can all focus on one holiday, light candles, eat latkes, sing songs and be united in the tradition of Hanukkah. In the meantime, I really wish my son didn’t have to announce to his religion teacher what Santa would be bringing him this year!

Giving Thanks -- by Jamie

Although this blog entry won’t be posted until after Thanksgiving, I’m hoping I’ll continue to give thanks for all the wonderful things I have in my life long after the holiday has come and gone. That said, I’d like to start here.

As a single mother by choice, I put a lot of thought and effort into becoming a mother, and therefore, I feel very fortunate to be one. I’m especially grateful to Jayda’s sperm donor for helping me create her. But at times when I’m frustrated or disappointed with my daughter’s behavior, I need to remind myself to be thankful that my issues with Jayda aren’t big ones. I may stress over our reward system for potty training, what nursery school will be welcoming and challenging enough for Jayda, and how to get her to fall asleep without rubbing her back and holding her in my arms, but I am fortunate enough to have a healthy, happy, intelligent, and well-loved daughter—and in the grand scheme of things, that’s a lot to be thankful for.

In addition to being a mother, I’m thankful for having a mother—especially one who is so wise, loving, and caring, as well as a wonderful grandmother to Jayda. At a time when I’ve recently witnessed several of my friends lose their mothers, and have listened to others complain about, or battle with their moms, I know I’m very lucky to have a mother who is an amazing maternal figure—as well as my good friend.

I’m also thankful for my father, who has always supported and loved me, and has been there for me to lean on. He epitomizes the type of male role model I want Jayda to have in her life, and fortunately, he’s involved very deeply with her upbringing. He also exhibits many of the qualities I’d like to find in a mate for myself someday, and I’m thankful to him for showing me the depth of love and kindness that both Jayda and I deserve.

After recently listening to the trials of one of my teenage relatives, who laments over not having any good girlfriends, I’ve realized how thankful I should be for my girlfriends. I still socialize with several high school and college friends, as well as my best friend from elementary school. Just as importantly, in the past few years I’ve made some wonderful “mommy friends”—women with children Jayda’s age, whom I can confide in and count on just as much as my friends from my youth. I’ve never taken my friends for granted, but I suppose I may sometimes underestimate how lucky I am to have so many solid connections in my life. And though I still find it difficult to ask my friends for help when I’m in a bind, at least I know I have friends to lean on if I need them. And I’m thankful for that.

Last but not least, I’m thankful for Barney (Aaaargh…did I really just say that?!) for “babysitting” Jayda while I read my paper in the morning, for Folgers coffee for giving me the extra energy I need after Jayda’s 5 a.m. wake-ups, for Gold’s Gym for helping me release my stress (well, at least some of it!) in a positive way every morning, and for all the laughter I have in my life—be it Jayda’s raucous giggles, or my own squeals of amusement while gossiping with friends. These days, while I often find myself stressing over my finances, and my plans for the future, I’m grateful that my life, in general, is filled with happiness, and a wealth of good times. And thankfully, as a result, Jayda is a very happy person, full of lots of laughter, herself. I can only hope she’ll be that way for the rest of her long life. Amen.

Do I Want to Be a Grandmother at 50? by Cara

Every once in a while I go on to Facebook to catch up with the happenings of friends near and far. Invariably, I get one of those silly quizzes that pop up. What kind of dog are you? What does your name mean in Japanese? Just as invariably I take a quiz or two if I have the inclination and the time. I found out, incidentally, that my name in Japanese means, “Love Child.” Well, okay, whatever. At least it doesn’t mean, “Burning Sword.”

In any event, I received a quiz from a newly aquatinted friend titled,”Questions About Me.” It was a rather lengthy questionnaire, but after reading the questions and responses my friend had put down, I decided to take the time to answer the questions myself and pass the quiz back to her.

Many of the questions were rather benign, however I almost choked when I read one of the questions two-thirds into the questionnaire. “Would you like to be a grandparent at age 50?” AGE 50??!! I’m 46!! My son is 6!! That would mean that my son would have to impregnate some girl at age 10!!!! NO, I don’t want to be a grandparent at age 50!!! But this got me to thinking. When WOULD I want to be a grandparent?

If I had my son at age 40, and statistics and trends are pointing to later in life marriages and births, what age will I reasonably be a grandmother? I have every hope that my son will attend college. And I would be even more grateful should he decide to go to graduate school or go on to get a professional degree. Would he marry at 25? 30? 35?

My father was an “older” parent and had the joy of seeing my son born at age 86. He had three beautiful years watching my son through his baby and toddler years. And for some unknown reason, even though my father was severely hard of hearing, it didn’t matter one lick to my son nor to my father that they didn’t understand one another. They communicated in a higher form called love.

I think my father and my son had a bond that has continued to transcend his demise. And my son continues to reflect on him with fondness and yearnings of love. I would hope that my son might choose to have children at a slightly younger age than me. It would give me great pleasure to see my grandchildren grow for at least a decade! I could do a lot of “spoiling” in a decade!! (And, yes, I know that only food gets spoiled...but you get my drift!)

But, if my son has a child or children later in his life, as I did, perhaps I, too, could capture a bond of love that would transcend the corporeal. That would make me immensely happy too. Side by side with my grandchild, bringing me a leaf or a stone found on the ground and presented as a gift. Through love that is boundless. Sometime the innocence of the young and the old, brought together, can mean more than spending years trying to establish a relationship with a relative you have a difficult time getting along with.

Well, I have a “few” more years before I need to worry about becoming a grandparent. And incidentally, anyone who draws up a questionnaire with a question such as this, must be, oh, say, 20?

My Kid Oughta Be in Pictures -- by Jamie Levine

I think my daughter is the most beautiful girl in the world. Doesn’t every mother believe that of her child? But my adoring perception of Jayda has been validated time and time again by more objective people than myself. From her “gorgeous blue eyes” and “amazing curls” to her downright “Gerber baby” appeal, I’ve heard more compliments about my daughter than you can imagine.

Even when Jayda was just a few months old, she seemed to have a mesmerizing effect on people. Wherever we went, we were approached by strangers who were charmed by her smile, men who stopped in their tracks when Jayda batted her eyelashes at them, and, even other moms who would joke that my child “was going to be a real man-killer” when she grew up. I’ve actually had people on the street ask me if they could take Jayda’s picture, and was once stopped by a television producer who told me that Jayda would be great on camera because “she’s got the great looks…and the charm.” So, yeah, my daughter is beautiful. Really beautiful.

My father is one of my daughter’s biggest fans. When Jayda was only a few months old, he began his rantings that I “must get her into modeling.” And every compliment Jayda has received from someone in a store or a restaurant since then, has only fueled his fire. As a joke, for one of my father’s birthdays, I gave him a sweatshirt with Jayda’s picture on it and the caption: “Get this kid an agent!” He wears it constantly. But when he prods me to get head shots taken of Jayda or to find her an agent, I shrug my shoulders and suggest, “You do it. I don’t have the time – or the desire – to parade her through modeling agencies and on casting calls.” I’m also not so sure I want to place so much importance on Jayda’s appearance; my daughter is quite intelligent and funny as well, and I’d rather focus on those qualities. But my dad still dreams of seeing Jayda in a print ad. Or on TV.

This Tuesday (September 15th), I’ll be appearing on a local cable TV show called "Something to Talk About.” The segment is about SMCs (Single Mothers by Choice) and I’ll be appearing with another SMC, and speaking about our experiences. It’s a live show, with viewers calling in, and the host, who has seen pictures of Jayda, has asked me to bring her on the show with me. There’s just one problem: The segment starts filming at 8pm – which is Jayda’s bedtime. Generally, Jayda is well-behaved and charming when we’re out of the house and around other people (it’s just at home that she melts down and can turn into a real monster…lucky me!), but we’re never out of the house at 8pm. It’s made me wonder: What might Jayda be like at that hour in a studio? When she’s overtired, she’s quite manic and silly. Will she embarrass me? Make it difficult for me to focus on the topics which I’m on the show to discuss? Or, will she be my darling Jayda — and make me feel proud to have brought her on the air? I wish I knew.

My father, of course, has offered to drive me to the studio with Jayda – and to watch her while I prep for the show. My more reasonable mother has offered to give Jayda dinner and put her to bed while I drive myself to the studio and film my appearance alone. More than likely, I’ll do what’s best for my child – isn’t that what’s most important? But maybe, just maybe, I will give Jayda her 15 minutes of fame.

If you’re in the Long Island area, tune in to my appearance on “Something to Talk About” (Great Neck, NY Cable 20 & Verizon FIOS 37: Tues 8pm (live), Fri 10pm, Mon 5pm and Nassau/W. Suffolk NY Cable 20: Thurs 7:30pm). I’d love to know what you think.

POST VACATION

Wow....if I could have blogged during our vacation, it would have been such a great release, but I didn't have my compter with me.

It was great to get away, and actually had a really amazing experience. I had the opportunity to meet former President Clinton and Hillary, and to personally give President Clinton a signed copy of my book HOW TO MARRY A MENSCH(decent person). Very cool and quite surreal. It occurred to me afterwards that I should have suggested they pass it on to Chelsea, but perhaps they'll do so anyway.

Aside from this encounter, I celebrated my birthday by getting a facial and massage. As I get closer and closer to 50, it's hard to believe just how fast the years go.

And, I saw a newfound maturity of sorts in Seth this trip. He discovered the power of autonomy and exerted himself in a way I've never seen him do at home.

We vacation at Mohonk Mountain House in New Paltz every summer with family members, and have been since Seth was a baby. So, I guess, having grown up there, he has such a level of comfort and familiarity, that he feels he owns the place.

It began by him, along with my 14 year old niece, requesting a copy of our room key for himself. Of course, he kept leaving it in our room, and luckily the room number wasn't on it, in case he lost it outside the room.

Marc, my husband, went home two nights during the trip for a company workshop, and I was with Seth. One of the nights, he gave me quite a fright. He had been playing with a girl a bit older than him and didn't show up to meet me when he was supposed to. I wound up searching the resort and was on the verge of contacting security, when a friend of my sister told me she saw him. Turned out he had been playing in the girl's room, which was ok, except that he didn't tell me.

We bribed Seth to attend the morning session of camp by buying him a toy fireboat he could play with at the beach. Luckily, it worked, so Marc and I could at least get some down time or hiking time in before lunch.

Seth made friends so readily this trip, including a little girlfriend, who looked and acted like a female version of him. They were so totally cute. She doesn't live in NY, so we'll see if we see them again during a future Mohonk trip. We did take photos of them together. I'm curious to see his reaction when we get the photos developed.

As mature as he was trying to act, the five year old in him also emerged. There were a couple of minor poop accidents, losses of toys, and the most unreal pee accident. We had visited Woodstock one afternoon, and bought Seth a tye dyed rock 'n roll t-shirt.

One night he was too weary to put on his pajamas, so he decided to sleep in the shirt and short. Normally we prefer he wear PJs, but went along with it this time since it was vacation.

In the morning, we got quite a colorful surprise. Seth had been so exhausted, that he didn't go to the bathroom before he fell asleep. So, he had a pee accident during the night. When he woke up, the sheets of his bed were blue and purple, from the original white. The dye from the t-shirt had run and colored everything, including his stomach and arms. Just unreal!

We had a tye dye mess.

We threw Seth in the bathtub and scrubbed away, and quickly soaked the t-shirt and hung it in the shower stall, as it dripped further shades of blue and purple.

We were relieved, in a sense, that it happened at the hotel, since our sheets at home are patterned and we would not have been able to bleach out the colors.

So, I'd say our trip was quite eventful in more ways than one. While it's great to get away, it's good to be back home too.