tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79449472095292184782024-03-16T07:29:47.304-04:00Busy Since BirthHaving it all, at the exact same time.Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.comBlogger654125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-52356188693149531402024-01-01T00:00:00.035-05:002024-01-01T00:00:00.141-05:00Sixteen<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5M9MLcvV7cFUQLh5WWTQo9aUuLlELVM7T1EgYeUSNQK0HFX6GsWCKCdAyy0h6O3BvkXhSsqAwgd-0lKfWNvVsCAnghwJO8NynV5nclNQ_oY0vLbQU9iehu2Y6zC9Rgu1jOodp703IfR3deGH0lTr-eaYvKY53OgMD0qKJ9fswxeydoU_wEMcwqlnS/s4032/IMG_7249.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5M9MLcvV7cFUQLh5WWTQo9aUuLlELVM7T1EgYeUSNQK0HFX6GsWCKCdAyy0h6O3BvkXhSsqAwgd-0lKfWNvVsCAnghwJO8NynV5nclNQ_oY0vLbQU9iehu2Y6zC9Rgu1jOodp703IfR3deGH0lTr-eaYvKY53OgMD0qKJ9fswxeydoU_wEMcwqlnS/s320/IMG_7249.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Today, Max Benjamin, you are turning sixteen.</p><p>And I have to admit, I'm a little ashamed that I went a solid year without posting anything else on my blog since your last birthday letter. Especially because it's you who tells me to write again more than anyone else. You see everything in life through a story-telling lens, and it makes you an empathetic teacher. But anyway, here we are (and yes, I know how much you disliked that show).</p><p>Your busy-ness clearly rivals your sister's, with the last months requiring an almost daily activity to be driven to: guitar lessons, Teen Beit Midrash, mock trial, extra jazz classes, Tizmoret, Kol Keff, HaZamir, Student Senate, the environmental club, and the latest edition, The Evergreen Trio. You played in the pit for "9 to 5," helped lead Maalot to win Zimriyah, and had your throne challenged in "Pippin." You sat through driver's ed and can't wait to get your license. You regularly play piano and drums in addition to the constant guitar. You've become the best songwriter in the family (apologies to my Dad, but it's true). </p><p>Thursdays are for burritos but you also cooked a vegan Shabbat dinner for your friends, and your consumption of Vitaminwater Zero XXX has outpaced soy milk. Your hair is the shortest it's been in a very long time, but it's amazing how great you look with it at any length. You think a lot about the future, probably more than most people your age, but it's because you can't wait for it to arrive. And you know Hannah will be right by your side for it, and Shira will think you just live in your room (so confuzzelating). </p><p>I am endlessly proud of you. Thank you for always wanting to talk more, for watching Saturday Night Live, and for occasionally still holding my hand. Happy birthday, bud. I love you.</p><p><i style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;">(You can also see letters for ages <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2011/01/three.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">three</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2012/01/four.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">four</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2013/01/five.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">five</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2014/01/six.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">six</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2015/01/seven.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">seven</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2016/01/eight.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">eight</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2017/01/nine.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;">nine</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2018/01/ten.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ten</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2019/01/eleven.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">eleven</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2020/01/twelve.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">twelve</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2021/01/thirteen.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;">thirteen</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2022/01/fourteen.html" target="_blank">fourteen</a> and <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2023/01/fifteen.html" target="_blank">fifteen</a>.)</i></p><p></p>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-36724854868172392442023-01-01T00:00:00.001-05:002023-01-01T00:00:00.193-05:00Fifteen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1b2dUDFmLd81DT4KQ9p1rLpziTPOYS9ceVWJBOSxRe0I1TeeVyj3ZPUuQdSy5KfrV2NhDw3oWDqozEAkqKpKZmUicvSZd8WlHC0gVGBZz9MeQuI0psLaLYpCobgMH7gzjC3kNudkuv8OOcZvXjgv_X735fTtSflqwaXeUnAH-TJ2IKdsJccFqwQ/s697/D654E937-078A-474B-AA97-412AC278F00C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="697" data-original-width="697" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1b2dUDFmLd81DT4KQ9p1rLpziTPOYS9ceVWJBOSxRe0I1TeeVyj3ZPUuQdSy5KfrV2NhDw3oWDqozEAkqKpKZmUicvSZd8WlHC0gVGBZz9MeQuI0psLaLYpCobgMH7gzjC3kNudkuv8OOcZvXjgv_X735fTtSflqwaXeUnAH-TJ2IKdsJccFqwQ/s320/D654E937-078A-474B-AA97-412AC278F00C.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today, Max Benjamin, you are turning fifteen. </span></span></p><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s the second birthday post in a row (third overall) where you’re pictured with a guitar in your hands, but frankly, it’s when you’re the happiest and most yourself. But getting to see you share yourself musically over the last year has been a real highlight for me too. You and I, we’re a little band of two around the house now. I’m glad you’ll still go to shows and movies with me. And thank goodness we still have Shira to anthropomorphize together. </span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You’ve read Torah a lot, continued as a madrich and at Teen Beit Midrash, and added HaZamir. You were “just a Bill,” a role that only you could have played so well, and then you were elected to the South Student Senate. You found a new community at South Stage and new strong friendships and deepened old ones in jazz band. And somehow, you got super into the World Cup, and let me enjoy watching every moment of the (very long, suspenseful) final match with you. Camp is still your happy place, but the comfort you have in who you are really allows you to be happy, wherever you are. You never seem to doubt yourself, which is something I really admire. </span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You’ve added tomatoes to your favorite turkey sandwiches this year, and taught yourself how to make fresh pasta. You hate reminders to brush your hair and do your homework (I’m going to remind you anyway). You’re balancing your time between all of the things you want to do, including having a social life, with your need for downtime. You’re learning to live without Hannah right at your side, though she’s thankfully only a FaceTime away. And Shira is still the most bestest princess, the president, founder and only student at Couch University, and never enough. </span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Just keep going. You are one of the most interesting people I know, never without something to say or share. I am so lucky to be on this journey with you, and to learn as much from you as you do from me. Happy birthday, buddy. I love you so much. </span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-8167781519041724894" itemprop="description articleBody" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 520px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">(You can also see letters for ages <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2011/01/three.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">three</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2012/01/four.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">four</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2013/01/five.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">five</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2014/01/six.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">six</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2015/01/seven.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">seven</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2016/01/eight.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">eight</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2017/01/nine.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;">nine</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2018/01/ten.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ten</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2019/01/eleven.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">eleven</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2020/01/twelve.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">twelve</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2021/01/thirteen.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;">thirteen</a> and <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2022/01/fourteen.html" target="_blank">fourteen</a>.)</span></i></div></div></div><p><br /></p>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-86644939122248341342022-12-27T16:26:00.000-05:002022-12-27T16:26:53.929-05:00Reminders for 2023So Julie, who made her first appearance on this blog back in 2007 after delivering an egg (<a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2007/03/egg-story.html" target="_blank">just go read it!</a>), gifted me with a page-a-day badass calendar for my birthday last year, wanting to present me with an actual physical gift that year. And I tore off those pages with relish for about five days in a row. It's not that I didn't want to be a badass, but that I was storing it far away from my recycling bin, and I felt bad about all those little pieces of paper. I ended up reading them in chunks, probably about once a month, and just completed the last of it heading into the end of 2022. I thought I'd share some of them with you.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizToMSQAWknqSE7t-TSh5I-xFsxMjl5y9dIqidpZ7CfEuKMtj_5jo32asIFb5YeHz1n9dtHtY4unfVTB7xFgICFS20SNbrqXSWWY3F34oICGB3lMHh7yjPI6FWRKg52wnO_Tt2QBf5eZxun5QoD8jTnnQdwNOCkF_XaHTNtB-wRQikEo70Pc_jA/s4032/IMG_4433.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizToMSQAWknqSE7t-TSh5I-xFsxMjl5y9dIqidpZ7CfEuKMtj_5jo32asIFb5YeHz1n9dtHtY4unfVTB7xFgICFS20SNbrqXSWWY3F34oICGB3lMHh7yjPI6FWRKg52wnO_Tt2QBf5eZxun5QoD8jTnnQdwNOCkF_XaHTNtB-wRQikEo70Pc_jA/s320/IMG_4433.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>"A setback creates opportunity for a comeback."</b> While my social media profiles make my life look like a highlight reel, this year has had its complications. I particularly wanted 2022 to be a stellar year at work, and while I'm proud of how I've handled myself, I can't make things happen that aren't going to happen. I've spent a lot of this year stressed about things I cannot control, and while that's a trait I'm unlikely to change, perhaps there will be more wins in the years to come, and the seeds have been planted now. Maybe it's the same for you, too.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh67LYq3RiC44pYNJpJsyypXC2BweR0XjdU0Hm_N3dGaciYLW2SuQaNH5SJ_7fFn7LGFOGAiN2WDjhq5fkde5rDzXA8FtUqOpXFqi6Fx8jOrHKMl6RRdnJ1BAiWIQowkT7WVh9lArbnTdmMoB6kjlgsoBXqwQw0PyFR_qy2niBzkuaRUVQaclPYiw/s4032/IMG_4434.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh67LYq3RiC44pYNJpJsyypXC2BweR0XjdU0Hm_N3dGaciYLW2SuQaNH5SJ_7fFn7LGFOGAiN2WDjhq5fkde5rDzXA8FtUqOpXFqi6Fx8jOrHKMl6RRdnJ1BAiWIQowkT7WVh9lArbnTdmMoB6kjlgsoBXqwQw0PyFR_qy2niBzkuaRUVQaclPYiw/s320/IMG_4434.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><b><br /></b></div><div><b style="font-weight: bold;">"I deserve time to rest."</b>As many a meme states around this time of year, I am spending time becoming one with my couch. I normally keep pretty busy (ahem, still living up to the name of this blog), and I love the time I get to spend with friends or even going out alone. But I'm also just really, really tired. And there is a lot of good TV out there. Resting is still doing something productive and I need to remember and be okay with that.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8en7j493xFX4iI5RrVmy3ASY-uMplpTsxTIAWlpHGP7ZWQ59ajpd4Lm-klRF5GoCzuBbilKP-IQW6PcZg1FkFj_Diujp-AsJyA9pLoUyiw6jJc29_SMeO-j3ohOqXgVZW5Tc0O8jPshltl-_bKqwoO836gfmHZJUqAjHvq_1_TCIeC5D8VNlAtA/s4032/IMG_4435.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8en7j493xFX4iI5RrVmy3ASY-uMplpTsxTIAWlpHGP7ZWQ59ajpd4Lm-klRF5GoCzuBbilKP-IQW6PcZg1FkFj_Diujp-AsJyA9pLoUyiw6jJc29_SMeO-j3ohOqXgVZW5Tc0O8jPshltl-_bKqwoO836gfmHZJUqAjHvq_1_TCIeC5D8VNlAtA/s320/IMG_4435.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>"I am deserving of love and attention." </b>Oh how I struggle with this one. I generically know this to be true, but I'm not sure I believe it's meant for me. Which I also know is ridiculous. So, something I should work on.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWbI1WNEWNMdASK3dMrjXmrpUaEuVg4QSHNtem0WLVupw1pll2dFT2--Kc7mfU0BJaI2s8Fd63JobO0A012TAjDyS1Uo5dhLn1_s47iyj4lgOem1DMNvQaTF1R4W35FedbChDmPNZWesp3B7TT77gtdL9DEWMAGR2ka8Q9YOsLeQL56z7j6_ZFhA/s4032/IMG_4436.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWbI1WNEWNMdASK3dMrjXmrpUaEuVg4QSHNtem0WLVupw1pll2dFT2--Kc7mfU0BJaI2s8Fd63JobO0A012TAjDyS1Uo5dhLn1_s47iyj4lgOem1DMNvQaTF1R4W35FedbChDmPNZWesp3B7TT77gtdL9DEWMAGR2ka8Q9YOsLeQL56z7j6_ZFhA/s320/IMG_4436.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><div><b>"Ask someone else: What was the best thing that happened to you this year?" </b>I've already shared a lot of my highlights in <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2022/10/45.html" target="_blank">my birthday post</a>. So this is me asking you. What's the best of 2022? And what are you hoping for in 2023?</div><div><br /></div><div>Whatever it is, I'm wishing you all the best things. Happy 2023!</div><div><br /></div></div>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-46475170905380981592022-10-20T22:00:00.001-04:002022-10-20T22:00:52.280-04:0045<p style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQMr0Zd-hW-nMNDA0tjSOL5gQpLL_0kWTPQ68P9IxMQ59Dy8GnpprxmjdfhqIvddNqxNk1Xo-pbZza1NO8N9szxdswyljEukGh7jJVHHkhIVP4gQxAYuRGE-YAyJ8an82kSA4rryV-0VnBiZaj96Mj3PDhcNHRoct3s2dJIQnu4cAiYuSoLwFFZg/s3024/IMG_3902.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQMr0Zd-hW-nMNDA0tjSOL5gQpLL_0kWTPQ68P9IxMQ59Dy8GnpprxmjdfhqIvddNqxNk1Xo-pbZza1NO8N9szxdswyljEukGh7jJVHHkhIVP4gQxAYuRGE-YAyJ8an82kSA4rryV-0VnBiZaj96Mj3PDhcNHRoct3s2dJIQnu4cAiYuSoLwFFZg/s320/IMG_3902.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A birthday present to myself</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I've just realized after way too long that I may have been copying Adele with my birthday blog post titles. Oh well.<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Another year has come and gone and I'm back here at the blog to reflect a bit. I've really come to appreciate having these posts to look back on, because who can remember <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2009/10/its-my-birthday.html">what 32 was like</a> exactly? And Max was excited about cake? That's totally not who he is 13 years later.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some highlights from the last year:</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);">- I attended over 30 live shows and concerts, plus all of my kids' concerts and events <br /></span></span><span style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);">- I survived 7 weeks of trial empty-nesting, with trips to NYC and to see my family in Ohio, and with separate sessions of my best friend from high school and my Dad visiting me here in Boston<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">- I drove 600 miles all by myself<br /></span>- I got Hannah through her senior year, the college process, and successfully launched without breaking my heart in the process<br />- I got Max off to a really amazing start of high school and saw his photo in the Museum of Fine Arts<br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">- I attended weekly sessions with my personal trainer for a solid year and have gotten regular massages<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">- Nothing new, but I've worked really hard, put myself out there, handled a lot and got amazing feedback on my presentation skills<br /></span>- And recently, I threw a party, just because I could</div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I feel like I generally said yes this year - and sometimes that yes was to a much needed nap - and said no when that was the right answer for me too. I guess I'm starting to feel less like the youngest person in the room, especially when I was telling the youngin's at work a story and realized it was 15 years old. I still think too much about my hair, even if I don't bother to blow it out that often anymore. I've got great friends and I still feel pretty lucky every day. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;">Here's to the second half of my forties. I can't wait.</p>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-58928064678899697512022-08-24T14:50:00.000-04:002022-08-24T14:50:34.532-04:00The Story Changes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiBoj4LrPmvKHS-JeZqhIOji_LvERTvOd1bFlDMpU7aL6y0fziFGWPrd1aiTmDwhsP2MOWTECe_K-a0ubcKXkIR4kaiKl2QsXgO3nwzK35cwXkgoGiaxb2XTalqpGuKKYjTs8RLpYfxFbMUttOoHz12YQ7T9LCkKrxX4o6nW03dezazM2gV6esIA/s4032/IMG_2430.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiBoj4LrPmvKHS-JeZqhIOji_LvERTvOd1bFlDMpU7aL6y0fziFGWPrd1aiTmDwhsP2MOWTECe_K-a0ubcKXkIR4kaiKl2QsXgO3nwzK35cwXkgoGiaxb2XTalqpGuKKYjTs8RLpYfxFbMUttOoHz12YQ7T9LCkKrxX4o6nW03dezazM2gV6esIA/s320/IMG_2430.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;">Over the past 12 months with Hannah, her senior year and last one as a child living at home, I’ve had plenty of opportunities for crying. There were so many “lasts,” particularly from March through June, and many nerve-wracking, stressful, crazy joyous moments. Hannah wears her heart on her sleeve, and seeing her cry always makes me cry (I think that phenomenon goes both ways). For example, we cried both before and after she got accepted to NYU, her dream school. But most of my tears have been fairly well-contained, at home, in private. </span><br style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;">I didn’t cry at graduation. I didn’t cry at prom, even when the sight of all of her closest friends in their finery literally took my breath away. I didn’t cry at her final South Stage performance or Senior Showcase (maybe because I immediately had to launch a letter-writing campaign to save a teacher’s job, but anyway). </span><br style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;">I could have cried the other day, in the Target parking lot, as it hit me that this last shopping outing to buy dorm supplies was at the same store as her very first shopping outing, or outing really anywhere beyond her pediatrician’s office. At two weeks old, on a Saturday night in January, her dad and I took her to Target for the first time. We needed more diapers, of course, but I remember feeling desperate to go *anywhere* at all. It was cold, she was tiny, I didn’t really drive then, and being at home alone with a newborn was so hard for me. Hannah was a good baby, but I was missing the rest of the world, and so excited to roam those aisles. I could have cried today for that me in 2004, for how much I’ve changed since then, as much as I could have cried for the tiny infant somehow buying very different items today. </span><br style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;">I’ve said it a million times already, and I’ll say it a million times more: I am so incredibly proud of her. She has worked so hard, been a good person and a great friend, and she deserves every bit of happiness (and some struggles to be sure) as she enters this next part of life. But I’m also so incredibly proud of myself. Eighteen years of making so many decisions on her behalf. I won’t claim to have done everything perfectly, or that there aren’t other paths that could have been taken, but I am really satisfied with the one that led us here. </span><br style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;">I recently spoke with several old blogging friends, most of whom don’t write anymore, citing “the kids got older” as the excuse. It’s really hard to know where the boundaries are in writing, and we all didn’t want to get it wrong. It’s why I’ve written less too. But so much of her story is my story too. And my story is changing too. </span><br style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;">So I’ll definitely feel the lump form in my throat when we drop her off in her dorm later this week. And I might actually cry a bit. I’ll rely on Max to get me through it, though I’m sure he’ll just ask how I’m going to manage when it’s his turn in four years. </span><br style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;">I wonder who I’ll be by then.</span></span></p>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-72523003670995554142022-03-16T08:23:00.000-04:002022-03-16T08:23:45.049-04:00Grief in the Form of a Coat<span id="docs-internal-guid-8ca1f383-7fff-558d-6201-bd357f983540"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today marks 15 years of writing here. It doesn't seem possible, and yet the adult-sized Max, who I wasn't even pregnant with then, exists fully today and is going to high school in the fall. I don't write as much as I used to, but I still often think about life as I would write it. A lot has changed for that 29yo me, but the 44yo me still feels like I have a lot more to go. Here's a piece on grief and a coat. My mom passed away two years ago next week. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">---</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As the parent of a theater kid, it’s not unusual for them to go rifling through your closet, looking for potential costume ideas. For my daughter Hannah, I think that’s been happening since she was in the sixth grade, and needed to dress as a somewhat “professional looking” character for her role in a production called “A Play Without Words.” For her latest role she was to play an everyday teenager, but for some reason her everyday puffer jacket wasn’t appropriate, according to the costume department at her high school. So she went to my closet and found a blazer that she liked, and then I suggested she look through the coat closet, because who knew what might be lurking in there.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The following morning I came downstairs around 6:45, before my son was due to leave for school, and saw her findings hanging on the back of a chair at the dining room table. There was the blazer that I had already seen, and then another coat that looks, well, a lot like the coat I wear every day: black and white checkered. Knowing that it might be the last time I saw the coat for a while, I walked over to get my gloves out of the pockets because I didn’t want to be without them for the next couple of weeks. Reaching in the pockets to retrieve the woolen gloves I expected to find, I found a wadded up ball of tissues instead. I didn’t remember having left any tissues in there - usually I’m throwing out used masks these days - but there were tissues. I reached for the other pocket only to find more tissues. That wasn’t right at all. But it wasn’t until I turned the coat around and saw the black mourner’s ribbon still attached to the front lapel that I knew I was looking at my, well, not everyday jacket.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Apparently I hadn’t worn my heavy black and white checkered, fancier jacket since my mother’s funeral in March of 2020. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s been so long now that I didn’t remember I even had that jacket anymore. I’d completely forgotten about it because I hadn’t had an excuse to wear a nice jacket like that in the past two years, other than the funeral. I’ve barely left the house over these last couple of years, much less needed a nice dress jacket. Who was I going to impress, the people I was going to see driving around the carpool lane as I picked up the kids from school, or maybe going to the gym? No, I hadn’t needed that jacket.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So being confronted with it just moments into the start of a regular day? It wrecked me. I wasn’t expecting a reminder of my mother’s passing. Those days after the funeral are a blur in my mind. We rushed to Ohio for the funeral and returned late at night a few days later. I probably came home and shoved that coat into the closet and never thought about it again. Never thought about needing to remove the mourner’s ribbon because I didn’t remember getting a ribbon. I don’t remember much about standing beside my mother’s grave, because it was freezing, and there were so few of us there in those early, terrifying days of Covid. We huddled under a tent, just a handful of us, my brother’s family over FaceTime from San Francisco. And that was it. Because it was less than two weeks into the lockdown and my mother passed away so unexpectedly, nothing happened in a traditional way. No shiva, no people back to the house, no deli trays. Not even a Zoom memorial; I thought surely we’d get to something when this all ended in a month or two. But it didn’t. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So now, two years later, why would I have had this ribbon still attached to my coat? Almost nothing about that time even seems real to me, and yet here it was, a very stark reminder that it did indeed happen. That my mother is still gone, and that it still hurts.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of course, I let Hannah take the coat to school. I removed the ribbon, threw out the tissues, and let her take it to be judged by the costume department. They agreed, and the coat was in the show. Hannah was great, and the coat was barely on stage for a moment. Nobody would’ve known that the last time someone wore that coat, it had been worn at a funeral. But I knew.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After the production run, Hannah brought the coat home and I hung it back up in the closet. I’m due to go back to work in person soon, and it will likely still be cold enough that it might make sense to wear that coat again. But I’m not sure that I can anymore. I’m not sure that after two years, and this vast experience that I have had to navigate without my mother, I can go back and put that coat on ever again. It’s still a nice coat, and I’m going to pass it on to somebody else who could use it well, without my memories attached to it. Maybe they can make better memories when they wear it. </span></p></span><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdbJ-iuNq2GsQhZygDTXRiiL4ImKzhfuVNQaF4EvM1TB4h87zOgGPMtGJrQkZKwyqeRD8SnDU4P-psHwKSvXyloiBEqedRkV1Gg8xlQsEOKL7I1vlPXTOs0Lh6dwoxP5YH8GVrcc2FTUCZmKL-ZjnrsfXvoy__Ey9ipmodkmtLC2TLFsZJC2wZ5Q=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdbJ-iuNq2GsQhZygDTXRiiL4ImKzhfuVNQaF4EvM1TB4h87zOgGPMtGJrQkZKwyqeRD8SnDU4P-psHwKSvXyloiBEqedRkV1Gg8xlQsEOKL7I1vlPXTOs0Lh6dwoxP5YH8GVrcc2FTUCZmKL-ZjnrsfXvoy__Ey9ipmodkmtLC2TLFsZJC2wZ5Q=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hannah wearing the coat</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-79155902586627641952022-01-05T00:00:00.069-05:002022-01-05T00:00:00.168-05:00Eighteen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhiCPTIElMCtcRM7BdYrxoUZsDTUwcCJXPwm09qyIfouChdlSep1H1ZDpqcDzg7uhwIaJUxuGUYkDauKp5NuPoAs_BSUyzSbShNBhVGGqNGLQt1YZN8OZ25D04ei_GSnlD28YSqhAkPtpdzMCo24JumjkpiNz01HclE6t9vR3b4yrd6NNv3T7KcSA=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhiCPTIElMCtcRM7BdYrxoUZsDTUwcCJXPwm09qyIfouChdlSep1H1ZDpqcDzg7uhwIaJUxuGUYkDauKp5NuPoAs_BSUyzSbShNBhVGGqNGLQt1YZN8OZ25D04ei_GSnlD28YSqhAkPtpdzMCo24JumjkpiNz01HclE6t9vR3b4yrd6NNv3T7KcSA=s320" width="240" /></a></div><p>Today, Hannah Ruth, you are turning eighteen. </p><p>Wow. Just taking a moment to let that sink in.</p><p>I think this will be the last letter to you that I share here on the blog. I'll still write them if you like, but it's not going to be the same. Because if all goes according to plan, in a few short months you'll be off to NYU, and maybe I won't know all about the little accomplishments of your life anymore. I'm not ready for that letting go yet, but I'm trying to get there.</p><p>I've been incredibly lucky to have a daughter who shares as much of her life with me as you do. I like to think that I'm helpful in whatever I bring back to you in this journey, but I also know you could do it all on your own. You are an incessantly responsible, thoughtful and empathetic young woman. You even out-busy me, and that's how it should be at this point in both of our lives. You got your license and drive yourself everywhere now. You were a merry murderess and a swashbuckling Musketeer. You had your first internship and learned all about managing corporate email and slide decks. You had a HaZamir solo and floated on stage during a choir concert upon receiving your first college acceptance.</p><p>You are TikTok musicals and sticker-covered water bottles. You are USY events and feminism and singing alone in an empty house. You're a good friend to many, and you take that role very seriously. You love love and you cry easily (never stop). You look after Max because you just can't help yourself, because you love him so much. And yes, I accept that you might miss Shira more than you miss me next year.</p><p>These next few months are going to go so fast and have so many major moments: HaZa festival, your last South musical, prom, graduation. I know you're ready for the rollercoaster of emotions ahead. And New York City better spend some time getting ready for you. Proud isn't a big enough word. Happy birthday, my BusyBee, my Hanniebelle, my Han. I love you so very much.</p><p><i style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif;">(You can also see letters for ages <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2011/01/seven.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">seven</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2012/01/eight.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">eight</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2013/01/nine.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">nine</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2014/01/ten.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ten</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2015/01/eleven.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">eleven</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2016/01/twelve.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">twelve</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2017/01/thirteen.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;">thirteen</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2018/01/fourteen.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">fourteen</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2019/01/fifteen.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">fifteen</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2020/01/sixteen.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">sixteen</a> and <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2021/01/seventeen.html" target="_blank">seventeen</a>.)</i></p><p><br /></p>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-81677815190417248942022-01-01T00:00:00.005-05:002022-01-01T00:00:00.178-05:00Fourteen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVJoQ16SyWBayLe7RQAU3DWcgwdUbZyfVp8FzGSOyO0b3X3aqcaLVoebSEZM6J_HGG6Z5k2XigfuWWA6Hs0vz7CfIng__XlTn6iEbX8dCKLYkcSKTli1oxdxS556MAPV7MW3In_XXM6wGvIw9teT90xa98t0lQDObIINDHq509lkwiPYdiacyqbw=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVJoQ16SyWBayLe7RQAU3DWcgwdUbZyfVp8FzGSOyO0b3X3aqcaLVoebSEZM6J_HGG6Z5k2XigfuWWA6Hs0vz7CfIng__XlTn6iEbX8dCKLYkcSKTli1oxdxS556MAPV7MW3In_XXM6wGvIw9teT90xa98t0lQDObIINDHq509lkwiPYdiacyqbw=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Today, Max Benjamin, you are turning fourteen.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A second teenage pandemic birthday. You started asking me months ago about what we could do for your birthday, almost like the countdowns you used to enjoy when you were younger. I definitely offered up taking a few friends out to dinner as an option. It's so disheartening that it's not one anymore. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">That hasn't stopped you from making the best you could out of this year. You shined on your bar mitzvah day and raised over $2000 for <a href="https://www.charitywater.org">charity: water</a>. You play guitar almost constantly and you've started writing your own musical arrangements to Jewish prayers, and complete songs as well - I found myself humming along to the one about elliptical orbits while washing dishes the other day. You explored some of your analytical tendencies in a Speech club last year. You had a fabulous summer at camp on your own, and one perfect day with me and Hannah in NYC.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">You prefer savory to sweet, wolfing down spicy tuna rolls and whatever my leftovers are. You are part of the library task force and the GSA, and love being a Madrich (teacher's aide) in the first grade at religious school and with the children's choir. You're now the tallest person in the family, which means you want your arms to go on top when you give me one of your famous hugs, and I'm trying to get used to that. You were a great support to Hannah during the crazy college process and I think you've grown even closer over the past year. You give me regular "pupdates" on Shira, who you still can't get enough of.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As you've gotten older, these annual letters can't actually contain all of the things that you are, and that you are to me. I love you because you're my son, but I also love you because of who you are as a person. You give me something to be proud of every day, and I'm very lucky to be your mom. Happy birthday, buddy. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif;">(You can also see letters for ages <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2011/01/three.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">three</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2012/01/four.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">four</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2013/01/five.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">five</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2014/01/six.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">six</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2015/01/seven.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">seven</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2016/01/eight.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">eight</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2017/01/nine.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;">nine</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2018/01/ten.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ten</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2019/01/eleven.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">eleven</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2020/01/twelve.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">twelve</a> and <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2021/01/thirteen.html">thirteen</a>.)</i></div>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-5364228775281373332021-12-21T12:46:00.002-05:002021-12-21T12:46:52.352-05:002021: My Year in Review<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2IVk8AQ6gb18IicDzTPxNPTcAyI_8XJyVc9ons2SQzxhv_NeUvB_WjNwvludaghhFVqqXJS4dI6_UEckSW9mM2t7Pb4v6SyA8FxAAFeLLSmjk6axjUR2Fsbwpyv2sS4GMYs4Vo0fXdqzqzY8BX9OaBzf9PZTmvkMNz96x8UJHlsmMet-T2UIr0A=s3088" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2IVk8AQ6gb18IicDzTPxNPTcAyI_8XJyVc9ons2SQzxhv_NeUvB_WjNwvludaghhFVqqXJS4dI6_UEckSW9mM2t7Pb4v6SyA8FxAAFeLLSmjk6axjUR2Fsbwpyv2sS4GMYs4Vo0fXdqzqzY8BX9OaBzf9PZTmvkMNz96x8UJHlsmMet-T2UIr0A=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still terrible at selfies, but this one is sparkly.</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With the kids' birthday letters in early January, I usually spend time around now looking over the last 12 months on my calendar. I’ve never been more shocked about how little I remembered than about this year. I’ve been saying for months that it didn’t make sense that Max’s early January bar mitzvah was the same calendar year as this one, but I also seem to have completely forgotten that he participated in Speech (virtually) last school year, and I spent several Sundays judging tournaments, fully absorbed in how to rank groups of 5-7 middle schoolers who all clearly wanted to do well. Of course I now see that yes, that happened this year too, but the way so much blends together now is scary. </span></span></p><p></p><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I think a lot of that blend is because I’m not only home so much, but also at my desk at home so much. I like my workspace a lot…but using my laptop at home used to feel like a treat. Finding time to write on an evening or weekend felt like a break from the kids or errands and was something I really enjoyed. Now, I’m at my laptop almost every single day, for hours and hours on end. The kids leave and I’m there. They come back and I’m there. So finding the mental space to write when the physical space is always the same seems to be a challenge for me. Right now, I’m writing this from my couch in the Notes app instead, with Shira at my feet. My constant shadow. </span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, more to come on Hannah and Max when I write their letters soon, but I thought you might like to catch up on, well, me! Going through the college process with Hannah took up a significant portion of my year. We spent three full days in April doing 12 virtual tours and information sessions, trying to come up with a list of where she would apply. Another few vacation days were spent in August touring a few schools in New York and New Orleans. This fall has meant cramming in essay brainstorming and editing around school and all of her activities, and it all culminated in a huge but unexpected “Yes!” from NYU just this past week. I’m so relieved that she's happy, and yet, it’s all the more real that she’ll be leaving so soon. I feel lucky to have had the time to invest alongside her, and that she let me in as much as she did. And I'm also very grateful to the friends going through this with their own kids that I could also lean on!</span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I spent a big chunk of my summer in Ohio with my dad before and after he had open heart surgery. Even though all went well in the end, it was an incredibly challenging time for me. I was alone in my parents’ house, taking care of their dogs, and there again for the first time since my mom unexpectedly passed away. Thank goodness Betsy was able to rescue me a few different times, and that Ryan was able to get there for when Dad was discharged. I was home in Newton for a few minutes before going back to Cleveland for my mother’s (delayed) unveiling. I think of her all the time - particularly when something juicy happens on the Real Housewives (she would have loved the return of Heather Dubrow). </span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We rejoined the JCC and I’ve been regularly seeing a personal trainer since the end of September. I’m trying to exercise at least twice a week, but I’m also acknowledging that life happens and the couch is appealing. But I’m now the owner of bright pink boxing gloves, so that feels like something. And that I’m going in a mask feels monumental too, as I definitely would have used that as an excuse to avoid it before. </span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve seen as much theater as I could. Eight shows since August, and the count would have been higher if not for Omicron (the highlight was a perfect day in NYC with the kids to see Sara Bareilles in “Waitress"). I’ve watched livestream productions and shows at 54 Below and, of course, every production at South Stage. I’m still co-chairing the South Stage Supporters Group, and still on the board of Camp Yavneh, and finished a three-year term with the Temple Emanuel Board of Directors, with two years spent on the Executive Board. I tried to leave, but I’m still pulled back in working on Yom HaShoah stuff, as well as part of the cast for TE’s production of Hello Dolly. It’s been great being back with most of my Fiddler family for that, and hopefully we’ll be able to share an outdoor, more COVID-friendly production in May. </span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And work chugs along. This year I spent time with an executive coach, and it’s been a time for a lot of reflection, and hopefully growth. I’ve become involved in our new Virtual employee resource group (ERG), and was asked to join our Women @ Work ERG for the coming year. Some of the women on that committee remembered my writing here and figured I should bring that part of myself to the office too. </span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I still think in blog posts. There’s a lot I’d like to tell you, but the bandwidth. And the policing of my own self, the guarding of my own heart, that I feel the need to do when putting myself out there now, which is probably just my own issue, but still feels like it’s there. I miss the days of the Having It All Project and the galvanizing force of Listen to Your Mother. But I feel very lucky too. There isn’t a lot of conflict in my life right now, and I think that’s what I need. It’s still really busy, but I also enjoy the silence when it's not. Over the years I’ve noticed that I long for quiet, and I think it’s been really nice to find it sometimes. </span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);">So I guess that’s my 2021. Too many meetings, not enough writing, pink boxing gloves, college essays and the </span></span><span style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);">occasional</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"> sparkly shirt. I'm still here. Onward.</span></span></span></div>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-16934149513115432752021-12-10T12:13:00.000-05:002021-12-10T12:13:09.430-05:00Max's Bar Mitzvah - Part 2<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjn3Fd3Gy2J7h5HEIXaqLXGvjJBx6jnXTuYUGcebSOyRVU-IhokJdZ5UYCFzUlvKDCJmVYmEmn5F8QJjlGPrzjf_DnO96TlKlpIs4SiUVKDA2RXEFLgvoQoc-jPALAefTLG-dorfrmvLD3l558pvnziZ2jfnOGfQAxI9TOvofkWaIiiv78HUamZHQ=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5760" data-original-width="3840" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjn3Fd3Gy2J7h5HEIXaqLXGvjJBx6jnXTuYUGcebSOyRVU-IhokJdZ5UYCFzUlvKDCJmVYmEmn5F8QJjlGPrzjf_DnO96TlKlpIs4SiUVKDA2RXEFLgvoQoc-jPALAefTLG-dorfrmvLD3l558pvnziZ2jfnOGfQAxI9TOvofkWaIiiv78HUamZHQ=s320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Max with his custom yad</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I didn't think it would be 10 months until I'd sit down and share these photos here, but I'm a very lapsed blogger these days. As with Hannah's bat mitzvah, we used the amazing <a href="https://www.theknot.com/marketplace/amy-emily-weddings-boston-ma-629450" target="_blank">Amy Emily Photography</a> to capture this day. Given all that we had to give up having such a milestone in the middle of a pandemic, the photos were really important to me, and I'm so glad we have them. Here's all about Max's bar mitzvah.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0OZDO6xyqb4-WGyhV_lSe5Z-ZyjOTPTosj9yX-S7xVffGbIoDE8Y1WWMNCXPmR5QCjuXD3JjsrrNd_BQaHUCmGMQ60Wty0eZfsARJYPC9BcYhgqoO-zHG3UBt2SwldFWFeyiX1WG_pM1u1btcvLEBl4kwtPWb8ozo-dVWT-J5FYcW3RoH6rT7kA=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="5760" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0OZDO6xyqb4-WGyhV_lSe5Z-ZyjOTPTosj9yX-S7xVffGbIoDE8Y1WWMNCXPmR5QCjuXD3JjsrrNd_BQaHUCmGMQ60Wty0eZfsARJYPC9BcYhgqoO-zHG3UBt2SwldFWFeyiX1WG_pM1u1btcvLEBl4kwtPWb8ozo-dVWT-J5FYcW3RoH6rT7kA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me holding Max's invitation</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1e2jL8-BzFUIs6zm5AIPPKP-XWBX914RFvGEzZWlyXZ7Wb-Y80leYFRE98nlBuw66XbdSjFkd9vIyl95FcrfHKqC_WjQTYRHZkw9f81EfrxBGI58UluhRBd_E1vghqR5EzyqfKbgSlWYNpbO2ojS3Es7wcnc6XCiDYQ0fPaWshD0KzHkXEJt9jQ=s4762" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4762" data-original-width="3175" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1e2jL8-BzFUIs6zm5AIPPKP-XWBX914RFvGEzZWlyXZ7Wb-Y80leYFRE98nlBuw66XbdSjFkd9vIyl95FcrfHKqC_WjQTYRHZkw9f81EfrxBGI58UluhRBd_E1vghqR5EzyqfKbgSlWYNpbO2ojS3Es7wcnc6XCiDYQ0fPaWshD0KzHkXEJt9jQ=s320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't help but think Max looks a bit Obama-ish in this one.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLHZtrrGSMfdc7QSfX73DiPwvG-W6lrGOhl7ju7fjtiB-wa_yjCLlOpUkvGhHIkrHwdpTwg7InDr3Svd8SLnllRd4cKN7n1wUUsQ84JJPe6j4_wgebhqq_AC0PQY8m6DnpCpZReqKahkAUP3YsfQ0rZDfifIAe3EencUWd92p6Wb1nMf9CjFGUBg=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="5760" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLHZtrrGSMfdc7QSfX73DiPwvG-W6lrGOhl7ju7fjtiB-wa_yjCLlOpUkvGhHIkrHwdpTwg7InDr3Svd8SLnllRd4cKN7n1wUUsQ84JJPe6j4_wgebhqq_AC0PQY8m6DnpCpZReqKahkAUP3YsfQ0rZDfifIAe3EencUWd92p6Wb1nMf9CjFGUBg=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaDQAa8o6KrLXZYhi9lL_uMfGijqpuoIQhI1TH_lo4K73FwdvAt2Zi2oHEkxsw8gY0-nQq7cJQ6YFabTn_LSNduwWGyVe0B5Nyp4-PxeNPLRMZpcps2l-PbMSloZL3OLfWZiN6scanaebKTDyDwAZ0xnoKne5tdwMOAcTrsA0RNi5mf3j96NyB2Q=s5041" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5041" data-original-width="3342" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaDQAa8o6KrLXZYhi9lL_uMfGijqpuoIQhI1TH_lo4K73FwdvAt2Zi2oHEkxsw8gY0-nQq7cJQ6YFabTn_LSNduwWGyVe0B5Nyp4-PxeNPLRMZpcps2l-PbMSloZL3OLfWZiN6scanaebKTDyDwAZ0xnoKne5tdwMOAcTrsA0RNi5mf3j96NyB2Q=s320" width="212" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGsIPjIm6wzAkjJWbPhKvV7-1LbPaXjThO9cr_vBKFUUL-UK4mA9fV1BeYl6cwxJYo9v_mTzyDC2dcsD9KV77VFzhnXV8ZkEDbiSprtVUCmFd8_eKxnE7W7MZwGxWBU4nP9isLBhNfn5UOT9N4af4UYQIMXTX8eYibgnr4EnM1Vx-9IFJ_MzOvYQ=s3889" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2593" data-original-width="3889" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGsIPjIm6wzAkjJWbPhKvV7-1LbPaXjThO9cr_vBKFUUL-UK4mA9fV1BeYl6cwxJYo9v_mTzyDC2dcsD9KV77VFzhnXV8ZkEDbiSprtVUCmFd8_eKxnE7W7MZwGxWBU4nP9isLBhNfn5UOT9N4af4UYQIMXTX8eYibgnr4EnM1Vx-9IFJ_MzOvYQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My biggest accomplishment in life? How much these two love each other.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjo8HL63nSCcspDZP8P0iSs41anhFlEDriXe3lVf83t4r-zNc1ZKpOY7T17EmWZpC9_abs_hovhRmnJF2VvVC5mYRdpmar0Z4Xyqm8Jl7MWrgRlME08uVZrmsDygpomOyWWVIULfdjjm_WRguV-4zM71eFC6jXOIMo2rezSWV2ggGs025VAsiNkBA=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="5760" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjo8HL63nSCcspDZP8P0iSs41anhFlEDriXe3lVf83t4r-zNc1ZKpOY7T17EmWZpC9_abs_hovhRmnJF2VvVC5mYRdpmar0Z4Xyqm8Jl7MWrgRlME08uVZrmsDygpomOyWWVIULfdjjm_WRguV-4zM71eFC6jXOIMo2rezSWV2ggGs025VAsiNkBA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuwed9ipFFfxztgUOegxplzceOjv2asDQOHbGJj19zuEM2OhoTVhG3OHxpyaPAEKHI0gvhJPFReg5ZqnL5b2ORHcatI-PkKwfTeIbqUz-Jf28vEsGDByLBI4I6SPHkPnchcTAK1SdG7pHIM6WDBU_BdnS_f6u53wZI_puU3suDBKogNRvKe8J1lA=s4565" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3046" data-original-width="4565" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuwed9ipFFfxztgUOegxplzceOjv2asDQOHbGJj19zuEM2OhoTVhG3OHxpyaPAEKHI0gvhJPFReg5ZqnL5b2ORHcatI-PkKwfTeIbqUz-Jf28vEsGDByLBI4I6SPHkPnchcTAK1SdG7pHIM6WDBU_BdnS_f6u53wZI_puU3suDBKogNRvKe8J1lA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvQ6vaVIlEa4AJqDBsxvIJSzhhPuJYKJqJDz3-uTZq2_t5LtuS5yfmkteGYKN0MFqoLtmFtiJbJv0npnMSiJ2-id9EQkAJW9eMT7FiLLvGonDKr7E99TniBb6nx8reLYFIdzWcEu2VAPNO6OO7KT7Tjkepc19sjUWxjRSQiU9xFPoBWNexE8yeTg=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5760" data-original-width="3840" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvQ6vaVIlEa4AJqDBsxvIJSzhhPuJYKJqJDz3-uTZq2_t5LtuS5yfmkteGYKN0MFqoLtmFtiJbJv0npnMSiJ2-id9EQkAJW9eMT7FiLLvGonDKr7E99TniBb6nx8reLYFIdzWcEu2VAPNO6OO7KT7Tjkepc19sjUWxjRSQiU9xFPoBWNexE8yeTg=s320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Posing with our masks and the monitor where we saw everyone on Zoom</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHj-8sJFZ0RMRjn9qZDeU93AXnYKTqbQaHgt5zRMGPjMnQwQ_bKKkl57DcNe1BslfQj_6Gpp4pTSW9GM5bKjy2yTpe7jGaIh4zYjNlkOWex1Ektuv_iAsW2aacRA36OEJ8SL4F1Rjue_xaRAYSdvZANCvFwWQ1oA2PCwcej15JpUepMLGJTusQww=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="5760" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHj-8sJFZ0RMRjn9qZDeU93AXnYKTqbQaHgt5zRMGPjMnQwQ_bKKkl57DcNe1BslfQj_6Gpp4pTSW9GM5bKjy2yTpe7jGaIh4zYjNlkOWex1Ektuv_iAsW2aacRA36OEJ8SL4F1Rjue_xaRAYSdvZANCvFwWQ1oA2PCwcej15JpUepMLGJTusQww=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They've moved on from dabbing to the woah!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhahV-O1oXTH5R7O0FnAFtzlDSpjhDvCfy6k_vDkGYsOPnFFxIvb10zFlbx2pbHxuJo-kzCGAOjVbRSeUD4_sI5sU4lf1bL8RxAIWbSMqHbjNYLMGOgtos9AskMLU5KHEgx8CX9PUEhJfGtMEydlrUfOhWFRO7idRb261HPU31p52LRICcnHtsTcw=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5760" data-original-width="3840" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhahV-O1oXTH5R7O0FnAFtzlDSpjhDvCfy6k_vDkGYsOPnFFxIvb10zFlbx2pbHxuJo-kzCGAOjVbRSeUD4_sI5sU4lf1bL8RxAIWbSMqHbjNYLMGOgtos9AskMLU5KHEgx8CX9PUEhJfGtMEydlrUfOhWFRO7idRb261HPU31p52LRICcnHtsTcw=s320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our pandemic party set up from behind the velvet ropes.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMWE9nCfTxeB1uoUuyrVqCa6P1-dWUix8hdqIa1fXJ6gmPhrMFJuQpfHISUgy9MphBSRVE_c71si0uHi5PSAU4lGDf12YV3xjJv4Zj4nFSsm6hzmv1-aBxYUgweRyT9rvBrA4j8oVI6NMeaPfFn0BXD1NuyUCyTr9XgufoMbK9NHtdekG3Hyc9rw=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5760" data-original-width="3840" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMWE9nCfTxeB1uoUuyrVqCa6P1-dWUix8hdqIa1fXJ6gmPhrMFJuQpfHISUgy9MphBSRVE_c71si0uHi5PSAU4lGDf12YV3xjJv4Zj4nFSsm6hzmv1-aBxYUgweRyT9rvBrA4j8oVI6NMeaPfFn0BXD1NuyUCyTr9XgufoMbK9NHtdekG3Hyc9rw=s320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shira couldn't help but pose.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGgoteOm6fiTkrx1833mveo-RlP_YAa8vksO84EfztSWqUuR4JPKE5-XLss2ZJ49mTLeeu9HaBHAT2dGsC3-zTDkKZ0QFUsRnzw239qeEksCYS7dTyu-BqlTf8gqoIozeUU50UPqQk1VVnO_yynwnxMMDTxyDzwWCsn8AsXN3jGw4QEo9tTIPMTQ=s5076" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3384" data-original-width="5076" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGgoteOm6fiTkrx1833mveo-RlP_YAa8vksO84EfztSWqUuR4JPKE5-XLss2ZJ49mTLeeu9HaBHAT2dGsC3-zTDkKZ0QFUsRnzw239qeEksCYS7dTyu-BqlTf8gqoIozeUU50UPqQk1VVnO_yynwnxMMDTxyDzwWCsn8AsXN3jGw4QEo9tTIPMTQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg55yu1TUZxQrwBY_2__oX_YywPk9iwi1mXftC5k_u4Pdax-sUiLqtBpMA6FAqtpNlRPQqunyWuCNQFexjQEGlFdZwETLqCUMjq-yinpTzqhhCQ_ITsmf6vpk5ONUF8_XKYRUmd3GRaYko9LvX2KddA_yYTtEgXnk2CECbgKV3sS84F6lk-hb2PiA=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5760" data-original-width="3840" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg55yu1TUZxQrwBY_2__oX_YywPk9iwi1mXftC5k_u4Pdax-sUiLqtBpMA6FAqtpNlRPQqunyWuCNQFexjQEGlFdZwETLqCUMjq-yinpTzqhhCQ_ITsmf6vpk5ONUF8_XKYRUmd3GRaYko9LvX2KddA_yYTtEgXnk2CECbgKV3sS84F6lk-hb2PiA=s320" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLqywPj7voBUMfuhgGTw6boLDSiYFIKtDHuGAnCfcW7OuWDDPyYYYg2-6jtw5HP9KkRvkSbfrH4VmLJ1xDEncjPRa0l3qV_9_ynNS_oJkFrsf8BOeRhECI7JQPjfNMGedXIClTJ4hzLIYMssIkeUYuGk1HnH106j3JLMF4qlRFOZ5ziEN5DXbrsQ=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="5760" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLqywPj7voBUMfuhgGTw6boLDSiYFIKtDHuGAnCfcW7OuWDDPyYYYg2-6jtw5HP9KkRvkSbfrH4VmLJ1xDEncjPRa0l3qV_9_ynNS_oJkFrsf8BOeRhECI7JQPjfNMGedXIClTJ4hzLIYMssIkeUYuGk1HnH106j3JLMF4qlRFOZ5ziEN5DXbrsQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEaIttg8TVteG-1SuiVPjlaLF75AExcUtzL3CxwB0fdxuebfRByIBU_APCCO4bnsjbwkjLZbXSIWsU__TltsZl9txXOGP9sEMQAXPtEtPln2-B5oDq8GD6wM_YwUH9HqCerOkvYr3nDJQRRKIexVs5dSvx_eZ7KOp4ovbKlTOlNtwoO0h-GkireA=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="5760" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEaIttg8TVteG-1SuiVPjlaLF75AExcUtzL3CxwB0fdxuebfRByIBU_APCCO4bnsjbwkjLZbXSIWsU__TltsZl9txXOGP9sEMQAXPtEtPln2-B5oDq8GD6wM_YwUH9HqCerOkvYr3nDJQRRKIexVs5dSvx_eZ7KOp4ovbKlTOlNtwoO0h-GkireA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Havdalah kicked off the festivities</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtXNGun9LGztQOacL5AKoQXuhbV4DJb4DBaFnPht7mKNWGHt5R-SRnxdAPysfB3lu7WaUVakD4i3mB7v7mdHddIreTpd3u0Z51CByBuI93S-MLCOnx_yWTdc7Egp7e0HFV67ImBsws6ko1PU9JYC_ptKxPXl_GWxtuSvIayLX9KZJOtALvQrfMlQ=s5622" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3748" data-original-width="5622" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtXNGun9LGztQOacL5AKoQXuhbV4DJb4DBaFnPht7mKNWGHt5R-SRnxdAPysfB3lu7WaUVakD4i3mB7v7mdHddIreTpd3u0Z51CByBuI93S-MLCOnx_yWTdc7Egp7e0HFV67ImBsws6ko1PU9JYC_ptKxPXl_GWxtuSvIayLX9KZJOtALvQrfMlQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A portion of our Zoom party attendees - we had one for family, and another for Max's friends</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEic7fKuvH-51lPREn1w7Mffy9IK4-hmFqVlXK9Fr-Abd0hf-73KyXgZ_VUSmrvqEW450GxH8cb0KhRUjU_vJRdbUTiP1Mz7K7zH88ofPimkE45D0hlcxqlE1ubDAekDgNXgBPaJ9kvuWrxvdZuLYRwy9cHfpZI_rUZewxd4CCrL7VofYZt5b-VuXA=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="5760" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEic7fKuvH-51lPREn1w7Mffy9IK4-hmFqVlXK9Fr-Abd0hf-73KyXgZ_VUSmrvqEW450GxH8cb0KhRUjU_vJRdbUTiP1Mz7K7zH88ofPimkE45D0hlcxqlE1ubDAekDgNXgBPaJ9kvuWrxvdZuLYRwy9cHfpZI_rUZewxd4CCrL7VofYZt5b-VuXA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Max giving Hannah her "Max Award"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigI-wa2zrlEYdWtcVMdFU-F98qDDEZUNUsfSnJYdfQV7B-dNs63DYxkry-yVB2foew4reW690GIwrh1kud09mrW_JqXrOZKf8B9hmdjRtXXVos5L8_WMnpBajoTTKLU6jK8rnR-3lAVn-POGWgq-s8fSkmy0s_buLTbWT6YoO7IKAXF5Mu4llN2w=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5760" data-original-width="3840" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigI-wa2zrlEYdWtcVMdFU-F98qDDEZUNUsfSnJYdfQV7B-dNs63DYxkry-yVB2foew4reW690GIwrh1kud09mrW_JqXrOZKf8B9hmdjRtXXVos5L8_WMnpBajoTTKLU6jK8rnR-3lAVn-POGWgq-s8fSkmy0s_buLTbWT6YoO7IKAXF5Mu4llN2w=s320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma Fillis and Grandpa John accepting their awards over Zoom</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPH18vNxMbpngSkUhOhupw9HD6zMvoBa1yGYGHXqmXSBTEmIH8IXMMrN_64KhubfQ_B0PyFDDxT5WOpUodKh3eH1yunFKOvYXxO3dMdf1s7u1sldF3mVdlFoGFzDGByrcLhwHuAj3LR7TZJjRTpbIz9-lTUu0rOZQb8Q79We9Ze0mq3G3xBWoT2w=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="5760" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPH18vNxMbpngSkUhOhupw9HD6zMvoBa1yGYGHXqmXSBTEmIH8IXMMrN_64KhubfQ_B0PyFDDxT5WOpUodKh3eH1yunFKOvYXxO3dMdf1s7u1sldF3mVdlFoGFzDGByrcLhwHuAj3LR7TZJjRTpbIz9-lTUu0rOZQb8Q79We9Ze0mq3G3xBWoT2w=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So much vamping.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjq3yKQrBA12aTpQOqwt5x7UrrMP-t84BDIkNYoSibXTG88UA9d257bbfIMI7da_cygEM9mXYU38hIoVZMLFD4ZhcK4Z_l657dEHC2pv80skuxctq_l5Pck53F37NszRBr0558-3veEomJ50CnGmTxDAdcxuQK3g4QnIswWGEUGRmRLIw1-vDas5A=s3515" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2343" data-original-width="3515" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjq3yKQrBA12aTpQOqwt5x7UrrMP-t84BDIkNYoSibXTG88UA9d257bbfIMI7da_cygEM9mXYU38hIoVZMLFD4ZhcK4Z_l657dEHC2pv80skuxctq_l5Pck53F37NszRBr0558-3veEomJ50CnGmTxDAdcxuQK3g4QnIswWGEUGRmRLIw1-vDas5A=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqgt8HB3axLSsCOdY-P2UfTw58TFm43skQh1sfTDPdABXOKEQV0Y3wckEqizTzCzrgLtAcNXGqX757JJHAtOm-O6hKXsNxDILEx5l-UHZk0yGM8-0U0GZD4WSpn8w9u7j28EWe8XSqkYo0LB2tKQRsWk3BgMLzOFppEH3Q-XSllDhnyg341pYcTQ=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="5760" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqgt8HB3axLSsCOdY-P2UfTw58TFm43skQh1sfTDPdABXOKEQV0Y3wckEqizTzCzrgLtAcNXGqX757JJHAtOm-O6hKXsNxDILEx5l-UHZk0yGM8-0U0GZD4WSpn8w9u7j28EWe8XSqkYo0LB2tKQRsWk3BgMLzOFppEH3Q-XSllDhnyg341pYcTQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmAt40AF60STAka8ydY9ikHg4CtGrB9SB0RmqhMRc0lIZ5Fn2i9tXu-7_8bzINftilvgAUCpkwhf4DXp9IjhPVQowWbbKdfwMWpRzf6L4srH53-0c5IcGr-IEJ2J8Hbq7ThWLlkqU5jmZzR8scd9K_7pgNGuEEvdAeGI-ek_JEA2Ntm1ycFbNuXg=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="5760" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmAt40AF60STAka8ydY9ikHg4CtGrB9SB0RmqhMRc0lIZ5Fn2i9tXu-7_8bzINftilvgAUCpkwhf4DXp9IjhPVQowWbbKdfwMWpRzf6L4srH53-0c5IcGr-IEJ2J8Hbq7ThWLlkqU5jmZzR8scd9K_7pgNGuEEvdAeGI-ek_JEA2Ntm1ycFbNuXg=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hannah had a "bat mitzvah high five" - for Max it became a "bar mitzvah elbow."</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div>And one last photo of genuine gratitude from Max. How lucky we are.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaJODTCHPM83ENv0HYRE_sVXq-fvO9puIXjudZtAwT1yrSUBI0ROsM4jxTcqvGw1g6whJUtX4EM6GmFVLkhEm05QN7oDB3gMLoK0rQxvBTowQE7Dlkkbl9yfGhMMURu0u99RLr75CDDOG9eh56ducfuSDDYkGoS99uZu0U3-FibEorU7CfmTMrXA=s5760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="5760" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaJODTCHPM83ENv0HYRE_sVXq-fvO9puIXjudZtAwT1yrSUBI0ROsM4jxTcqvGw1g6whJUtX4EM6GmFVLkhEm05QN7oDB3gMLoK0rQxvBTowQE7Dlkkbl9yfGhMMURu0u99RLr75CDDOG9eh56ducfuSDDYkGoS99uZu0U3-FibEorU7CfmTMrXA=s320" width="320" /></a></div></div>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-86938392776522014882021-02-13T10:16:00.003-05:002021-02-13T10:16:58.864-05:00Max's Bar Mitzvah - Part 1<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg46tMPw9kGuTrBT8XLeBdGh1cutw3rRd9mHH9-B4SiDpfmaRNqZUJI1TBncnlP41vVAfSGNmnnqM25IvfqRaKJENcRIb9jaA938nw7QJciPkqS3Y7b106jIfTgn1HW-sEePbliQ1YVFg/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg46tMPw9kGuTrBT8XLeBdGh1cutw3rRd9mHH9-B4SiDpfmaRNqZUJI1TBncnlP41vVAfSGNmnnqM25IvfqRaKJENcRIb9jaA938nw7QJciPkqS3Y7b106jIfTgn1HW-sEePbliQ1YVFg/w320-h240/IMG_4007.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I believe this is my SIL Allison's TV screen, watching from San Francisco</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>What a difference four years makes! When I posted about <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2017/01/hannahs-bat-mitzvah-part-1.html" target="_blank">Hannah's bat mitzvah, four years ago to the weekend</a>, it was also just after Trump's inauguration, and the women's marches, and everything felt scary, and incongruous to be celebrating. Now, in the midst of a global pandemic and after the Capitol insurrection, it's scary still, but the Biden inauguration brings hope for a return to normalcy. In the days since Max's bar mitzvah, I can at least say I feel better about things than I did after Hannah's. </p><p>And in that way, Max's bar mitzvah felt like a ray of light in an otherwise dark time. He led a lot of the service, which of course was virtual, with our family and friends watching online, the clergy in the sanctuary, and the four of us in the chapel. He chanted Torah and Haftorah perfectly, thanks to Marc's efforts in tutoring him, but also because Max brought such an unusual level of confidence to what he was doing. I've never seen a 13yo boy exude more presence on the bimah, and he commanded his performance. Max spoke about "kotzer ruach" which the Torah describes as a shortness of breath that the Hebrews experienced while in Egypt, due to their slavery. He translated it into our modern times, where COVID-19 is a shortness of breath, and so many other atrocities in 2020 took our breath away too. But Max then encouraged us to think of the times when we've had a shortness of breath from the positive things in our life, like he has had while <a href="https://www.campyavneh.org/blog/tomorrows-leaders-max-stober/" target="_blank">singing and dancing at camp</a>. He reminded us to maintain hope that even in these challenging times when it can be hard to breathe, there are still good times to be found ahead. </p><p>That's what the entire day felt like it was about for me. As the pandemic settled in during those early months, we still thought there was hope for the day we'd been expecting to have, that by January we'd be able to travel, or at least host our friends, something, anything. Having gone through Hannah's experience, I knew I had vendors in place that I liked, and I also knew I could scramble during those last six months or so and still get everything into place. I waited as long as I could, until the fact that everything would remain virtual was undeniable. And so we pivoted. We threw the best damn Zoom party we could, and we honored the people in Max's life, and we celebrated reaching this day in our family.</p><p>It does not go without saying that I missed my mom so much, and still can't believe she didn't see this day. </p><p>I will share more about what we did when I get the rest of our photos back - yes, we still took photos, which is one of the most important aspects of the whole thing for me, and I can't wait to see them. For now I'll close as I did with Hannah's post, but the pandemic-modified version. While Hannah and I had a "bat mitzvah high-five" for each task accomplished, Max and I had a "bar mitzvah elbow" instead. I told you four years changes a lot.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYXKxifpNNZv67o4DpYAqRVlm9whD5mAzjBWjGz9bZMEAMBTIBgdc2LYCb4V1tQu5iGYYu0IC6y4SjW7PXdrZkUx_ML7aQclnX7CJHsfq7dBbHSGRzCQCDJ9QY5YZiEKA5OFT3v6e-gw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYXKxifpNNZv67o4DpYAqRVlm9whD5mAzjBWjGz9bZMEAMBTIBgdc2LYCb4V1tQu5iGYYu0IC6y4SjW7PXdrZkUx_ML7aQclnX7CJHsfq7dBbHSGRzCQCDJ9QY5YZiEKA5OFT3v6e-gw/w240-h320/IMG_9610.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div></div>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-57815937839795341962021-01-05T00:00:00.072-05:002021-01-05T00:00:01.040-05:00Seventeen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibFw67l1NuSiA5cXuBMOcFoPvKZKSiM98F2EZTP587ZHuGctX4INQqPuj8Mz76XK7gx8mbJAamPhtHQYXt-2MzZvfCbIwwlxFG6l5Udz4wmiPPbUSCBAwE6M6eExFmPIZ0B1ozS4ovyQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="803" data-original-width="503" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibFw67l1NuSiA5cXuBMOcFoPvKZKSiM98F2EZTP587ZHuGctX4INQqPuj8Mz76XK7gx8mbJAamPhtHQYXt-2MzZvfCbIwwlxFG6l5Udz4wmiPPbUSCBAwE6M6eExFmPIZ0B1ozS4ovyQ/w200-h320/IMG_0144.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><p><br />Today, Hannah Ruth, you are turning seventeen.</p><p>So much of this past year wasn't what we wanted it to be, and it hurts a bit to re-read last year's letter and all the promise it held. There were many hard lessons this year, most of which I could not have anticipated. It was the year you attended four funerals that you will never forget. It was the year your shows and Kerem summer were cancelled. A year of tremendous heartbreak, and coping with the unknown. So much change and adaptation. I hope years from now, you can look back and realize just how strong and resilient you were.</p><p>Because change and adapt is what you did. You made the absolute best you could out of remote learning, staying dedicated to your classes and activities. You were the lead in <i>Sense and Sensibility </i>and worked harder than you've ever worked in a show. You led high holiday services over Zoom in a seriously impressive fashion. You took your first college course and blew me away with your architectural designs. You're driving cars, but you're also driven, taking on SATs and thinking about college and what you want from your life.</p><p>Even with nowhere really to go, you've kept your cell phone charged all year long. You make your bed every day, and keep your bullet journal and to do lists done. Thank you for being my television buddy, for finally seeing what I see in the Real Housewives, and for loving <i>Jagged Little Pill</i> as much as I do. Your friendships have continued to deepen and expand as you all faced these challenging times together, learning to give each other more grace along the way. Your brother may be taller than you now, but there's no one he leans on more than you. And I'm glad you still find Shira as endlessly entertaining as I do.</p><p>So little seems foreseeable right now. But the coming year will still bring performances, will still bring college applications, will still bring new experiences. Hopefully, it will bring a return to in-person school and singing together. No matter what, I know you will put all of your best into it. Happy birthday, my sweet Hanniebelle. I'm so proud to be your mom.</p><p><i style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif;">(You can also see letters for ages <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2011/01/seven.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">seven</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2012/01/eight.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">eight</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2013/01/nine.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">nine</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2014/01/ten.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ten</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2015/01/eleven.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">eleven</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2016/01/twelve.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">twelve</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2017/01/thirteen.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;">thirteen</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2018/01/fourteen.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">fourteen</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2019/01/fifteen.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">fifteen</a> and <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2020/01/sixteen.html" target="_blank">sixteen</a>.)</i></p>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-80211734850506588202021-01-01T00:00:00.049-05:002021-01-01T00:00:02.644-05:00Thirteen<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRX7GqTFVIAkkJHQmJZXiBOiP-AXe-rmpbH4o7fdhIdPthF-UWaGjZd09cJ2EvocAdzge_sFGWGswXNgCL01I6egfx9v188BJ2IUEQWt9ALuO6_tKi1J9XE6ri5-JYShOCDi3GkIgN3Q/s2048/IMG_8853.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1639" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRX7GqTFVIAkkJHQmJZXiBOiP-AXe-rmpbH4o7fdhIdPthF-UWaGjZd09cJ2EvocAdzge_sFGWGswXNgCL01I6egfx9v188BJ2IUEQWt9ALuO6_tKi1J9XE6ri5-JYShOCDi3GkIgN3Q/s320/IMG_8853.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Today, Max Benjamin, you are turning thirteen.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While it shouldn't really surprise me, you've handled all that 2020 has thrown at you in a very Max way. You've asked lots of questions. You've felt your feelings. You've retreated and emerged. You've done what you needed to do, and often not one ounce more than that. Unless it was something you really wanted to do, and then you went all out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Like taking walks. It's not enough to just go for a walk - you needed to walk to your old elementary school, then further than that, and then back again, just because you could. Or when you wanted to make a video on something you saw in Minecraft - you knew what needed to be done, and to do it quickly, to capitalize on the moment. You don't accept things at face value. There is always some other dimension to be assessed, another way to think about every concept. You know that playing the same song on your guitar, over and over, is not really the same song. You acknowledge and embrace the differences.</div></div><p style="text-align: left;">You are flannel shirts and #cupolaoftheday, your own merch and 100+ YouTube subscribers. You are totally prepared for your bar mitzvah, and accepted what it is to be and made your desires known. You are science and politics and economics and music. You have supportive friends who you help to grow into better people, and who help you to grow too. You and Hannah challenge each other and yet are tighter than ever. Shira is your best hammock buddy.</p><p style="text-align: left;">And now I'll have two teenagers in the house. I appreciate when you let me indulge in nostalgia for our own "back thens," when I look for the platinum blonde toddler in the size 11 shoes you wear today. We may not know what this next year will throw your way, but I know I can count on you to make it through it. I love you so much, buddy. Happy birthday.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><i style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif;">(You can also see letters for ages <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2011/01/three.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">three</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2012/01/four.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">four</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2013/01/five.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">five</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2014/01/six.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">six</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2015/01/seven.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">seven</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2016/01/eight.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">eight</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2017/01/nine.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;">nine</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2018/01/ten.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ten</a>, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2019/01/eleven.html" style="color: #45818e; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">eleven</a> and <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2020/01/twelve.html" target="_blank">twelve</a>.)</i></p>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-6358749313018233222020-12-31T09:34:00.001-05:002020-12-31T09:34:30.099-05:00So long, 2020<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR_BGfcYiTPJ2mMULw7lMrlskdE4GK0Nwty43KYL6amGO0ye5o-R_1KFXGym3P01A9WMhEkqaVDc9Z7ym1NBpFNlFTuSm0gN_DbiT2SWzWjFELyx-fhwg_PecfmPSYrFrO7LR0m-1A3Q/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="759" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR_BGfcYiTPJ2mMULw7lMrlskdE4GK0Nwty43KYL6amGO0ye5o-R_1KFXGym3P01A9WMhEkqaVDc9Z7ym1NBpFNlFTuSm0gN_DbiT2SWzWjFELyx-fhwg_PecfmPSYrFrO7LR0m-1A3Q/" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>2020 didn't start off from such a bad place for me. I was managing to see about one piece of theater each month, something that had become very important to me. I was traveling a bit more for work again, and felt I had some exciting prospects there. Like all of us, I thought a few weeks at home would be nice - so many naps! But it changed quickly for me, when my mother unexpectedly passed away on March 22, and the worst economic scenario since 2008 hit on March 23, followed by a few months of struggle before my 18 year marriage dissolved over the summer. My kids faced their own adolescent challenges, missing friends and summer at camp and so many lost opportunities for independence and growth. The three organizations I work with all struggled in different ways. While I am very grateful to be able to work from home, my job felt reduced to all the least fun bits as clients retreated to safety. </p><div>I am not grateful for this year. There have been lessons learned, and I know I'm even stronger than I thought. But I won't pretend to be grateful for how I had to learn them.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am, however, very grateful for my friends. So many of you have stepped up in deep and meaningful ways (while some have noticeably retreated), and I hope you know how appreciated you are. </div><div><br /></div><div>Instead of the usual photo card, this year I went with this tiny little sprout. Attributed to Christine Caine, an Australian activist and evangelist, "Sometimes when you think you're in a dark place, you think you've been buried, but you've actually been planted." </div><div><br /></div><div>May we all grow in health, strength and happiness in the coming year. </div>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-69520539948013542012020-11-22T12:01:00.000-05:002020-11-22T12:01:29.968-05:00Framing<p> "You can't see the picture if you're inside the frame."</p><p>The above was said by a junior boy in my AP US History class, or as Hannah and her friends now call it, "A-PUSH." I'm sure Erik would be shocked that I remember it, as I'm sure he doesn't. I can't remember the context, but we had the best discussions in that class, and it could have been about anything. But that football player with the twinkling eyes said it, and I wrote it down, and remember and think of it often.</p><p>Because how often are we too close to the problem to be able to see it clearly? </p><p>I work with three different organizations outside of my full-time job and parenting responsibilities. I have high-ranking positions in each, and I'm proud of the work I do to support them. But it is volunteer work, and is often outside of what I'm professionally experienced in doing. I have to leave my comfort zones to give input and support, and the time I have is often limited, but I do the best I can. Sometimes, that doesn't live up to what others expectations may be, and that's tough to hear and accept. But sometimes, I may be too close to the issues at hand, and getting feedback from someone more on the outside can be really helpful. It's hard not to be defensive and even overprotective of the group, and to take the comments in. That balance can be a difficult one to strike, but it's worth it. </p><p>Deep breaths. Listen and absorb before responding. Dive in again. </p>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-32253478786162289382020-11-20T16:32:00.016-05:002020-11-20T16:32:00.166-05:00Adulting<p> I've been noting on Facebook lately that I've been doing so. much. adulting.</p><p>Maybe it's because life has, frankly, not been so enjoyable with this virus raging and not much to look forward to doing. It feels like life is an endless list of responsibilities and very little pay off right now. I'm not saying that to be depressing, just honest. By focusing on the things I'm getting done, especially those little things without much of a reward for having done them, seems like a way to still feel accomplished and like life is moving forward. </p><p>So this week started with paying to have two dead trees removed before they became threats, and it ended with me ordering a new lightbulb for the refrigerator. I also changed the batteries in our door lock, ordered more compost bags, and refilled the JetDry in the dishwasher. I picked up groceries for our local pantry donation, and the supplies for Max's at home science experiment next week. I registered Hannah for an online event that required an absurd amount of forms. I made incremental progress on details for Max's bar mitzvah. I held my office hours at work and checked in on my teammates. </p><p>The other day I was driving Max to Hebrew school, one of his only in-person activities, and he admitted that if I hadn't told him it was time to go, he wouldn't have had any idea he was missing it. We talked about how people can use tools to help them stay organized, or they can try to design a life where there are few time-sensitive tasks. Or maybe you rent an apartment instead of owning a house, so you don't have to coordinate tree trimming services. But no one can really get out of growing up. </p><p>And sometimes, when you're a grown up, you get to decide that you're just having candy. Because candy is good. So there are some perks. </p>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-40993975340158621362020-11-13T16:32:00.002-05:002020-11-13T16:32:01.325-05:00Okay with Okay<p>It's November, and in the past for me, that's meant "NaBloPoMo," or National Blog Post Month, where people attempted to blog every day for the month. I've done it a few times, and each time, I found it to be a fulfilling experience. I liked the challenge of making time to show up for myself each day. And it really was a challenge to figure out something worth saying EVERYDAY, or even a picture worth posting. I never continued to post daily after it ended, as the end always seemed to come through with a limp at Thanksgiving and such. I managed to do it from 2014 to 2016, and again in 2019.</p><p>This year, my <a href="https://www.melisawells.com">blogging friend Melisa</a> astutely recognized the challenge that is 2020 all on its own, without things like manufactured blogging challenges to keep us on our toes. But she offered to aggregate links and send them out to people, and so I signed up again for this exercise, and told myself that I'd aim for once a week. If I hit publish today, that will be two for two. </p><p>But dear lord I am dragging today, and showing up is hard. And The Bachelorette used the phrase "show up" so much in the last few weeks that it's basically lost all meaning for me. </p><p>I made it to another Friday. Hannah had her wisdom teeth out this week and while it wasn't fun, she's made it through the worst of it. Max is going back to some in person school on Monday and enjoyed some extra time off this week. We're all okay.</p><p>For now, that's really all I've got. A lot of telling myself that we're all okay, that I'm okay. I'm learning to be okay with okay.</p>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-15328101438680011862020-11-02T17:26:00.003-05:002020-11-02T17:26:02.995-05:00The Land of Overwhelm<p> Today is the first day in a while where I haven't felt completely overwhelmed. </p><p>I know a lot of that is self-imposed. But keeping all of the plates spinning these last few months has taken so much effort, and we all know that I'm already a so much effort kind of person. And it's funny, because it's the day before Election Day, and I can see the spinning out of so many others as their worry crescendos in a palpable way. I've had to shut out so much of that for myself, because as much as I'd like to have been right there with them, I just can't. Kids, dog, job, home, board work (times three), planning a bar mitzvah, and trying to figure out a separation and divorce. I toggle from email to video meetings to reminders to voicemails to lists and notes. I write emails to a friend that include the phrase "and and and and and" often. Basically daily. </p><p>I am okay, and I'm really not complaining. It is a lot, but I am better than I was, and I know that. I am zoning out in my favorite way, watching TV (which is a totally legit form of self care, thank you very much), and I am going to be fine. </p><p>There are going to be more days like this one ahead, when the work is manageable and the kids are quiet and the dog is napping and the house is clean and the dinner is made. It's good to know those days are still ahead, even if their frequency is limited right now. And someday, I'll probably look back on my time in the Land of Overwhelm and know that I'd give anything to be back there again. So I should probably try a little harder to be grateful for all of it right now.</p>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-32582723984954050682020-10-20T16:51:00.002-04:002020-10-20T16:51:33.114-04:0043<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdZ_DeoXBIPimDY_e_ptdZ1kE-O1wSfqETOtzBrT7aFr1q-EipGSchd7ZBBjBHU5JVScbVontRVDpMhYY6A5lNEdrcknoI2AU9YqcMHP4N8EVADGyAtHBV2ngRzYfSYDvv6t8ZRSLeOw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdZ_DeoXBIPimDY_e_ptdZ1kE-O1wSfqETOtzBrT7aFr1q-EipGSchd7ZBBjBHU5JVScbVontRVDpMhYY6A5lNEdrcknoI2AU9YqcMHP4N8EVADGyAtHBV2ngRzYfSYDvv6t8ZRSLeOw/w240-h320/IMG_8928.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p>It's my birthday, and I often feel compelled to mark it here on ye old blog. I remember <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2010/10/twitter-success-story-my-33rd-birthday.html">writing for my 33rd birthday</a> so clearly, actually sitting right where I'm sitting right now. I'm glad to know that some things don't change.</p><p>Because this year has been so, so much change. Losing my mother and ending my marriage in a six month period during a global pandemic. I mean, that has to be a sub-definition of "A LOT."</p><p>But today I feel so, so lucky. I've gotten lovely flowers and a lawn sign from my friends. Hannah draw a picture of the two of us on a happy evening, and Max gave me a lovely cookbook to probably not ever make anything from, but I'll enjoy reading it. </p><p>Forty-three (gratefully, thankfully) feels like so much time left. I've been waiting to feel the peace I've heard about from my friends, and honestly, I'm not sure I'm there yet, but I think I'm closer. I know I'm closer.</p>Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-87791304208376431622020-07-22T14:20:00.000-04:002020-07-22T14:20:28.768-04:00So I Had Surgery, AgainAbout three weeks ago, I had surgery to remove a large <a href="https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/lipoma/symptoms-causes/syc-20374470" target="_blank">lipoma</a> from the back of my neck. As I've detailed the first surgery I had, to treat <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2010/04/so-i-had-surgery.html" target="_blank">herniated disks in 2010</a>, and the second, <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2015/04/i-can-see-clear-ish-now-most-of-time.html" target="_blank">LASIK in 2015</a>, here on the blog, I thought I'd write about this experience once again.<br />
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The journey to this third surgical experience was a long one. I can't remember for certain, but I think I first noticed the lump forming in 2016, but it may have been earlier. I know that when I saw the photos from Hannah's bat mitzvah in 2017 that I felt like I was holding my head in a funny way. I'd kept bringing it up to my doctor, but she said it wasn't anything to be concerned about. In the summer of 2018, I met with a plastic surgeon about it, and he agreed, just leave it be. I asked my doctor again in 2019, and she scheduled an ultrasound that fall to get a look at it. The results were what she expected, just a blob of fat. But by then I was having more and more trouble with pain in my shoulders, arms and hands. I saw a dermatologist last December, who I hoped might be able to help me out (as I had seen many helped by Dr. Pimple Popper by then - and I won't post a link - you can Google that yourself if you'd like). But she took one look at me and quickly sent me on my way, saying I needed a plastic surgeon for sure, as the lump was now quite large. I found someone to do the surgery, who didn't second guess me one bit, saw him in February, and was scheduled for May 1.<br />
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I'd chosen the date carefully, trying to make sure the surgery and the healing process wouldn't conflict with any important work or family things that I wanted to be sure to attend, like a work trip to Minneapolis (the last trip I took) and show tickets Hannah and I had for April in NYC (which of course didn't happen). So much for planning. But one Monday in June they called and asked if I could come in that Friday. I was a bit shocked, and said no, but rescheduled for June 29.<br />
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And then the anxiety really escalated. While I wanted the surgery, and knew how happy I was with the results of my two prior surgeries, I was FREAKED OUT. Reading back on it now, the experience I had in recovery after my back surgery was really downplayed on the blog, and I was terrified to have a similar experience. Plus, now it was surgery in a pandemic. I had to get a COVID test, and I was really worried about that too. I didn't think I'd get the virus while in the hospital for such a short time, but it was an extra layer of stress. I spent a lot of time crying. I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing, because I could have just left it all alone too.<br />
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The morning of surgery was a fretful one for me. My emotions were right at the surface. When we walked into Beth Israel, I was suddenly overcome with memories of when I'd last been there, December 2007, when I was told I was miscarrying. I cried in the lobby remembering that day.<br />
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I met with the surgical team in pre-op, and I told them all of my fears regarding the procedure and recovery. They were great about talking me through everything (one anesthesiologist gave me a little too much detail, which I assured her I did NOT need to know), and they even took my iPhone with them so they could easily check my blood sugar through my continuous glucose monitor. They walked me in to the operating room, and I was given a tube to suck on to start the anesthesia, and then I woke up in recovery. Or at least, that's how I remember it.<br />
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I came to and kept tugging at my surgical mask. I couldn't understand at first what was on my face, and I wanted it off. But I quickly calmed down and realized I was alive and okay. I was scared, but not in that much pain. I had to have a surgical drain left in place to prevent excess fluid from building up, and it was gross but manageable. I didn't see anyone from my surgical team again, and Marc hadn't been permitted to stay in the building, so he was called and then picked me up at the curb. That afternoon, in my anesthesia haze, I told the kids I felt like I'd been hit by a bus and then somehow robbed a bank, and Marc was driving the getaway car. I think they liked the version of mom on heavy meds.<br />
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The rest of the week was basically lost. I was fortunate to not have to work, and we were closed on Friday for the fourth of July. The pain wasn't too bad after 48 hours or so, but it was hard to hold my head up the whole day. I was just exhausted, and I'm sure a lot of it was mental as well.<br />
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I had the drain removed at my follow up appointment a week and a half later. The doctor told me they removed almost 20 centimeters of tissue from my neck and shoulders. It was a lot.<br />
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I'm healing well and can definitely feel a difference, but it will take time for some parts of my shoulders to settle down after being pushed around for so long. It's hard for me to see it because I can't really see my own back, but Hannah says it looks a lot better. I've usually hidden it from the world by keeping my hair down in public almost all the time, but seeing as the pandemic has basically obliterated the need for blow drying, maybe now I'll feel better about putting my hair up when in the outside world. We'll see.<br />
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The one continuing downside to this is that it could happen again. If it does, hopefully now I know more and can speak to better doctors and not go through a years-long process again.<br />
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I'm glad I did it. I'm glad it's over. And I'm wondering what surgery I'll be having in five years time, assuming the pattern holds.<br />
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Oh, and wear a mask.Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-22470132681321617812020-05-14T21:01:00.000-04:002020-05-14T21:01:40.813-04:00Saturday Mornings with SusanIt began during my freshman year of college. With long distance calls still being relatively expensive during the week, and my mom being, well, who she was, my mom and I had weekly 8 am Saturday morning phone calls. The rates were cheaper, and my mom wasn't particularly busy then, but most importantly, what trouble could I possibly get in on a Friday night when I had to call her so early the next morning?<br />
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My roommate, Carol, was not a fan of these calls. I eventually purchased an extra long phone cord, and had to do these calls sitting just outside the door of our room, in the hallway, while she continued to sleep. I didn't blame her at all.<br />
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The ritual of these calls continued long past college. My mom started sleeping a bit later over time, and many Saturday mornings I would go to synagogue with my family. But the need to call my mom each weekend always hung over me. She was very particular about when she would want to talk to me: not too late, not when my Dad was available to watch TV, not when she was eating. Her timing often didn't mesh well with mine. The kids had a birthday party or a play date, or I had some errands to run, or some actual plans of my own. I'd try to call on Sunday instead, but that was clearly not what she wanted either. Sometimes, more often than I wanted, she wasn't happy when I called her. But I stuck with it all these years, and spoke to her the Saturday afternoon before she unexpectedly died the next morning.<br />
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During these last few weeks, I will admit that for many reasons it's been a relief to be free from these conversations. I'm not a great sleeper, and with nowhere to go now, I don't have the motivation to get up early, definitely not 8 am on a Saturday morning anymore. This past weekend was the Saturday before Mother's Day. Lots of kind people reached out to see how I was holding up that Sunday, but they didn't know that my mom had already made herself known the day before.<br />
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Still not wanting to get out of bed, I decided to treat myself to the Shahs of Sunset reunion episode on Bravo, but for some reason, I guess it didn't air. Most of the things I watch these days involve Hannah, so my remaining options on my DVR were limited. I put on an episode of NBC's "Indebted," a show starring Fran Drescher (of "The Nanny" fame) who moves in with her adult son and his family after going broke. It's not one of my favorites, but funny enough, a fine way to pass half an hour. I had four episodes left to watch, the first of which had aired four days after my mom died. Shortly after this episode began, while setting up the plot, Fran's character is telling her family an anecdote about someone that is tangentially related to whatever is happening. It's a familiar part of the routine of this show, and Fran often mentions some Jewish-sounding so and so. Only this time, it was my mom. Watch this (volume up, it's hard to hear).<br />
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Fran's talking all about her friend, "Susie Pollock." Now my mom was Susan, but lots of people called her Susie. She didn't like it, but they did, and now, three minutes in to my Saturday morning distraction from life, and they're talking about her on TV. Or she's talking to me. (And for the record, this daughter of Susie Pollock is not pursuing any form of procreation.)<br />
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Unlike past episodes, or at least not that I'd ever noticed before, they went on to mention the same Jewish so and so, my mother (!), three more times during that episode. I know that they'd never mentioned that character before, because surely I would have heard it, even if I wasn't paying the utmost attention as I watched. Honestly, I was a bit freaked out. The coincidence is uncanny. Her name was somewhat common, but even in the Jewish world, there are a lot of other names that could have come up before Pollock. If she had been alive to see it, I think even she would have been shocked, but now that she's not, and it was my first time watching this show since she'd died, and it was when we normally would have been talking, and, and, and...it was a lot to take in.<br />
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It was my first Mother's Day without my mom, but kind of not really.<br />
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Two days later, I watched another episode without incident. I was feeling emboldened, and I put on one more. And then right from the start, this.<br />
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Now, this time, I really couldn't believe it. I paused the show just after "Susie Pollock is ...dead" and ran into Hannah's room to get her. We then watched the rest of the scene, and were relieved to know that *this* Susie Pollock is resting comfortably in Florida.<br />
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But COME ON. I've literally never talked to anyone about this show. I know it's on a major network, but I don't know anyone else who watches it. These episodes aired weeks ago. It's a lot, right?<br />
<br />
I finished the remaining episodes without further incident. The season wrapped up neatly; I have no idea if Fran and her friends will be picked up for another season. But if they are? I'll be watching for another hello from my mom.Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-23362003998045838152020-05-03T18:07:00.002-04:002020-05-03T18:07:04.784-04:00In With the New<span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Despite the gorgeous weather this weekend, I spent many hours helping Max clean out his bedroom. It was one of those things that’s been on my mental to do list for far too long, even though it wasn’t really that long ago that we last did it. I’m pretty sure the last time was when he was away at camp, so I didn’t get rid of everything I wanted to then. But the other day he couldn’t find his phone, thinking it was among the clutter (it wasn’t), but I promised him I’d help this weekend, and so we did. </span><br />
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We went through everything on his bookcase, and took a trunk load of books to a More Than Words donation site. We cleaned off and emptied his dresser and emptied his set of plastic drawers for camp. We cleaned out a plastic bin completely, and another bin containing costume pieces and a lot of assorted trash. We pulled up the rug he’s had in that room since he was a baby. We did a lot of sweeping. I recycled three bags of loose papers, and have two big bags of clothes to donate and five bags of trash. A few treasured board books went to my bookshelves for safe keeping. </div>
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It was a big job. I went to bed sore last night, and probably will again. But it’s good to have it done, and we even found his video camera charger, which had been missing for some time. </div>
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I look back at photos of when the kids were little, and see all of the clutter and shudder. I’ve never done well with clutter. I’m not sure I could be a minimalist, but I do love getting rid of things. And yet, I’ve still got a stream of packages arriving all the time. I finally ordered a mouse for my laptop, now that I’m using it every day. I ordered a fancy towel to dry my hair, since blow drying every day isn’t worth the effort. I ordered an exercise bike I’m hoping to convince myself to use, and a hammock for the backyard, which I may have to fight off the kids for a chance to use. </div>
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All things to make this time a little easier, or a little more fun. All things that probably never would have happened otherwise. </div>
Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-87468301162466638802020-04-29T13:53:00.000-04:002020-04-29T13:53:37.503-04:00Give Us More to SeeOne of the silver linings to all of this is that the Broadway performers I've grown to love, but who I've only been able to see in person is less than a handful, have made themselves very accessible in order to raise funds for a variety of causes. This past weekend was a <a href="https://youtu.be/A92wZIvEUAw" target="_blank">tribute concert for Stephen Sondheim's 90th birthday</a>, an event that I might have known of in passing, maybe seen a couple of clips in the haze of normal life. Instead I've had time to watch it in its entirety and to revisit several portions of it in the last 48 hours.<br />
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My favorite Sondheim show is "Sunday in the Park with George," based on Seurat's <a href="https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https://collectionapi.metmuseum.org/api/collection/v1/iiif/437658/802352/main-image&imgrefurl=https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/437658&tbnid=HK5hAKsLZHyz2M&vet=1&docid=Y4R4z1b0SvEGTM&w=1200&h=816&q=george+seurat&source=sh/x/im" target="_blank">painting</a>, and his imagined legacy. Somewhere during high school, the 1984 production was shown on PBS, and I remember watching it on the little TV we had next to our kitchen table. I'd recorded it on our VCR, watching it on (low) volume setting 12, because others were around and I couldn't bother them (probably my father working at the dining room table one room away). I knew "Putting it Together" from Streisand and my mother, a song I think I sang for some audition that I probably didn't get. But the rest of the show was new to me, and I remember feeling like it was some precious gift to have all for myself. No one else I knew would have cared to watch it with me. Which was fine. I was fine treasuring it on my own.<br />
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And so I was extremely moved by Jake Gyllenhaal and Annaleigh Ashford's rendition of "Move On" during the tribute concert (around 2:03:00). As I've experienced <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2017/03/rent-20-years-later.html" target="_blank">seeing RENT some twenty-odd years later</a> too, I see it now from an adult's point of view. The character is struggling with what to say, how to stay relevant, and it's something I've struggled with in this space for a long time now, letting it lie dormant for the most part. He is urged by his partner that even though things may have already been said, they have not been said by him, and not to worry if they're new. She suggests that he move on.<br />
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"Anything you do<br />Let it come from you<br />Then it will be new<br />Give us more to see"</blockquote>
Give us more to see. It's been ringing in my ears. How lucky to have that kind of encouragement, and precise insight into what needed to be said and heard (how lucky to have the benefit of scripted words in such a moment).<br />
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Something about this moment we're in has made a crack in me, and it's made me want to write again. I could analyze the reasons why, but I think there are many. Instead, I will just try to keep moving on, and give you more to see.Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-14760585343552768262020-04-22T11:10:00.000-04:002020-04-22T11:10:24.174-04:00What We Have LostOn March 7, one of the last days before everything here in Massachusetts shut down, Hannah and I attended the funeral of a recent graduate from her high school, a part of her theater community. She didn't know him well, and I've only met the mother a handful of times, but her choir was asked to sing and we both thought it was important to be there. I was already concerned about the virus, being packed in to a small chapel in what would surely be an overwhelming crowd. But going was the absolute right thing to do. Being part of that community, showing up. That's what you do, even when it's hard.<br />
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And then my own mother died unexpectedly, on March 22. A Sunday. We'd been home a little more than a week. I'd had a board meeting that morning. The four of us rushed to Ohio for what would be an eight person graveside service. My dad didn't want to hug us when we arrived. My aunt, who I hadn't seen in 15 years, wouldn't hug us either. My brother and his family watched over FaceTime, unable to travel across the country. We were lucky; I heard a few days after our ceremony that a friend had to bring her own shovel to help bury her father-in-law (a Jewish custom). At least we could all use the same shovel. My friends and family, my community, showed up in texts and emails and phone calls and food deliveries. That's what you do, even when it's hard.<br />
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Which brings me to today. Today, Hannah and I were supposed to be seeing back-to-back Broadway shows, even sitting in front row seats that I splurged in buying for tonight. This would have been our fourth annual trip to do our favorite thing. Instead, we will be at home, and *logging on* to a memorial service for an 18 year old that our community has lost, one of Hannah's friend's brothers, a frequent sight for us at temple. Heart-breaking. We showed up to pray for him. We will show up to honor him, to support his family and friends. That's what you do.<br />
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But, damn it, this is hard. So much loss, from plans to people. Just a hard, hard season. I know that we're not alone in all of this. And that even though it is hard, we will keep showing up where we can. But I am tired. Losses accrue. I am tired.Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7944947209529218478.post-79125300543666942442020-03-17T13:08:00.002-04:002020-03-17T13:08:52.659-04:00Interesting TimesYesterday was the 13th anniversary of my first blog post, titled <a href="http://www.busysincebirth.com/2007/03/its-about-time.html" target="_blank">"It's About Time."</a> Today's post title didn't elude me at all, which they often do, but trying to keep a more positive spin, I, along with many others, are referring to these days as <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/May_you_live_in_interesting_times" target="_blank">"interesting times."</a> And yet, it's really not a positive statement at all. But here we are.<br />
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I *am* trying to remain positive. As I said on Facebook, my life is normally so super scheduled that I'm enjoying the flexibility to take naps and sleep a bit later, to not rush around as I do most evenings to this meeting or that one, to have a break from scheduling carpools. But when I think about all that we've lost and may still lose, it's heartbreaking. Of course I'd rather follow all of the protocols (and as one of the more vulnerable in the population, I really have to), but long-awaited and worked for plans just going poof like this is something no one is really accustomed to coping with. I feel traumatized by not getting to see The Lion King 10 years ago when I had trouble with my back, which is such a ridiculous statement when I type it out, but it's still how I feel. And I'm afraid I'm not very good at helping others I love through their complex feelings on all this either.<br />
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There's no easy way to end a post like this. You don't (shouldn't?) need me to tell you what to do to be decent human beings, so I won't make you read what you've already read elsewhere. Good luck, and be well.Cheryl Pollock Stoberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450367010014659852noreply@blogger.com0