Things I am Loving Lately

Life has been hectic. Between my internship ending, getting more freelance work, looking for a full-time position while juggling part-time jobs/projects….never enough time in the day. But I do have a few things I am loving right now, which help me relax and give me some much needed enjoyment.

1. The Rockabye Baby CD series. Lisa Roth, David Lee Roth's sister, created this group of CDs, a lullaby version of rock songs. I am listening to the Rolling Stones one as I write this, and am loving it. Other great ones are Michael Jackson, Eminem, and the White Stripes. I am jonesing for the Madonna one, Bob Marley, Nirvana, Journey, and of course, Van Halen (hey, they have Jamie's Cryin'!). Check out their website, and if you head on over to New York Family Magazine's website, I interviewed Lisa, who was fabulous and so great to chat with.

2. Virginia Woolf's "A Writer's Diary." Finally getting to this. I love reading that she also had doubts about her writing, and enjoying the glimpse I am getting into her life.

3. My Intuitive Doula training. It's going slow, but I am loving the reading and the Facebook student group page - great comments and discussions, and it's really making me happy. I'm glad I went with a distance option because I can do it on my own time, around my writing projects, while still getting support when needed.

4. My niece and nephew, of course.

5. CocoProtein coconut water with added protein. The vanilla and chocolate ones are fabulous, and for vegetarians, they have protein and vitamins.

I'm so glad the weather is turning cooler. Fall is my favorite season. Bring on the hot apple cider!

book review: The Mary Smokes Boys

So. It's been quite a while. I've been busy writing, fighting off colds and the general malaise that comes with turning the clocks back, etc. I've been reading a lot, too - my goal is to break 400 books by the end of the year, and I have a little more than 100 books to go.....

One of my favorite publishers is Hawthorne Books. Their books are a distinct rectangular shape, with heavy, thick, beautifully done covers with inside flaps, and they always smell good. Oh, come on - if you're a booknerd you KNOW you smell new books. But more than that, I can honestly say I have yet to read a Hawthorne book I don't like. The thoughtfulness with which they are chosen is clear. The writing is intelligent and fierce, the characters are vibrant, the memoirs are heartbreakingly beautiful. Really looking forward to allll the books coming out, especially "I loved you more" and Ariel Gore's memoir. I want to read ALL THE BOOKS.

I was lucky enough to get an advance copy of the book The Mary Smokes Boys, by Patrick Holland, which comes out early next year. The first thing I noticed about the writing is how lyric, how poetic it is. The prose dances on the page: "...He watched wet oats and feathertop glinting in the broken light..." This is a story about a brother and sister, Grey North and Irene North. Their mother died in childbirth and their father comes and goes and is a drunk. Mary Smokes is a small town, with many people working with horses. The book unfolds over years, following both Grey and Irene as they navigate growing up, and watching Grey protect his sister because there is no one else to do so. Each character in the book is so richly drawn that the layers of stories never feel confusing or like too much; rather, they pull the reader in and demand you become part of them. Without giving anything away, I can say that I was devastated at the end of the book. I did not see that plot twist coming, and had to put down the book for a minute because it was so unnerving. I wanted to stay with the Norths forever.

second semester art school rambling

I am listening to a Spotify mix called "sunshine", which includes "Walking on Sunshine," "Brown Eyed Girl," "Bette Davis Eyes," "Heaven is a Place on Earth," "I Can See Clearly Now," and "Build Me Up Buttercup." I need this today. It's just been a shitty, shitty week. Second year is kicking everyone's ass, and yesterday one of my guy friends who's really funny - after our reading at an art gallery last semester we wound up at a pizza place at like one in the morning - he was like, "You look really, really tired today. Like especially. I'm worried." And I started crying (damn Topamax, plus the neurologist's appt), and he was like, "Want some candy?" And that solved it.

So yeah, I saw the movement disorder doctor yesterday. It was a weird visit. I went with the intention of going off all medication. The other day I was talking about it with my therapist, and I showed her my hands, and she was honest, and said she didn't see a difference. I'm glad she was honest, I don't want to be lied to. I thought there was, but that's probably just hopeful thinking. My legs shake terribly though, now, I've noticed. In the bookstore today, they were horrible. I felt like everyone could see them. Nothing helps those tremors. Anyway, she did the standard exam, she wants me to see a GI dr since I seem to have a problem with B12, so she wants to rule out celiac (although I was tested a few years ago) or Crohns. Then - THEN - she turns and looks at me and says, you know, nitrous oxide can cause low B12. I'm like, okay....She says, "Nitrous oxide is like the stuff the dentist gives you, it's in aerosol cans, stuff like that." And it slowly hit me that she was ASKING ME IF I WAS HUFFING. I was stunned. Because the Topamax makes me cry at anything, I started tearing up and said, "Are you asking me if I huff? I don't even know HOW that works. I'm 32. I'm in grad school. I don't use drugs. If I huffed I wouldn't be here trying to stop this." She said she had to ask, and on some level, I know, but still. Jesus. Fucking huffing. Seriously, I don't even know how that works. Then she says, "You might want to see a psychiatrist," because I was still crying. I looked at her, and said, "I see a therapist, but I think my reactions are normal for a 32 year old who's been diagnosed with a progressive neurological disorder. I don't think they're pathological or problematic."
She referred to the tremor as benign essential tremor and I actually interrupted her (I was in no mood yesterday) and said it's not benign for the person who has it, not at all. It was a really odd visit. I think they don't know what to do with me. I asked about deep brain stimulation (DBS), and she laughed. She gave me the name of the NYU surgeons, but I want to check out Hopkins, who like, pioneered it. It has an 80-90% success rate. They put electrodes into your brain and a pacemaker-like thing near your collarbone that sends messages to the electrodes that help stop the tremors.

You KNOW that when someone is practically begging for brain surgery, they're hanging on by only a few threads.

Right now, those threads are my family, especially my wondrous nephew and my niece who will join us in July. Those threads are friends who text me at just the right times. Those threads are books. Those threads are songs like those on the playlist "sunshine."

Nine years ago, a former therapist/now a mentor was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was devastated and felt incredibly helpless. But I didn't get that feeling from her. She said something to me that I repeated to myself during her treatment (and she is now in remission, thank G-d). She said, "I can't control what happens to me. But I can control how I react to it." Amen.

So. This situation sucks. I've cried almost every day about it. I'm frustrated over simple things and feel like a freak sometimes if I'm handing money over to a clerk and it's shaking like I have Parkinson's. But I had bracelets made. I'm selling them. I'm raising money for research. I'm taking control of my own treatment plan. But it's hard, I'm not going to lie. It's frustrating. Dr.Jimmie Holland, a psycho-onocologist from Sloan-Kettering (and my idol) talked about the "tyranny of positive thinking," - that if you had any negative thoughts, you were a "bad" patient. I think it's all part of the process. Like the cycle Kubler-Ross developed. Because a part of you, a part of your life has died. So I am controlling how I react to the things in my life.

Anyway, it's the final stretch and I can't believe it's over. I did it. Well, not yet. Thesis looms, and I have 3 years to do it. I hope i get the teaching fellowship. Then I can get my MFA - Mother Fucking Artist. No, it's really Master of Fine Arts. But I like mine better. I never thought I would call myself an artist. Or see myself as an artist.

And you know what? For all the debt I have - and it's six figures worth of debt, just like everyone else in my cohort - I don't regret it. I got to talk to Mary Karr last night. I talked with Oliver Sacks. Margo Jefferson was my workshop instructor. I went to a lecture by Zadie Smith. Deborah Eisenberg and Richard Ford are common sightings in the office. And they're friendly, normal people.
On my deathbed, I won't regret a thing. So for the anonymous person who writes mean-spirited comments which is why I had to moderate them, I am living my life to the fullest. Trying not to have regrets. Checking off my bucket list. All the things I've tried and failed and loved and hated have brought me to where I am now and made me who I am. And I'm happy with that. Can you say the same?

last first day.

Today was my last first day of school as a student. *I think I can hear my family cheering from here.* It's a nice feeling. Scary, but nice. I love how I've managed to combine my medical interests and background with something I've always done and loved, writing. I love the leap of faith I took. It causes me stress and is hard, but I think it will be worth it.

My nephew's first day of kindergarten is Thursday. I am scared and happy for him. I totally understand why parents cry the first day of school - I feel like crying. I know if I were there I'd totally cry. I can't believe he is old enough to finally go to school. Where did the time go? I'm scared because I know how mean kids can be, and Trey doesn't have a mean bone in his body. I hope no one picks on him or is mean to him. He can be really shy around lots of people, which I understand - but I hope it doesn't make him too upset. I hope he doesn't get too overwhelmed with the work, and hope he does well. He gets frustrated easily, but he is so smart. I worry about his heart. I don't want it to break any more than it already has.

And don't even get me started on thinking about kidnappers/safety. I think when I have a child I will be a wreck until they are older.

His going to kindergarten reminds me of the back-to-school shopping lists we used to get - pencil cases, glue sticks, scissors, calculator.....I remember going and picking out my Lisa Frank folders, my Trapper Keepers - had to get just the right one - the right pens, and of course, picking out THE LUNCH BOX. Back in the day, they were plastic and had a matching thermos inside. Do they even have them anymore? It was such a big decision, which lunch box design to choose. I remember one of mine, a pale pink one with a girl picking flowers on it. I don't remember the rest. (Because, naturally, you got a new one every year). To this day, the fall always makes me want to go to Staples or OfficeMax and get school stuff. That, and go to BedBathandBeyond. Such a rite of passage, all those years, getting ready for the year ahead. Parents selecting things for their kid's apartment or dorm, coordinating colors for things, etc. I love this time of year.

dating: another word for hell.

Ah, yes. Online dating. Never fails to take my faith in humanity down a notch or two. Today I got a message from a guy that said, "Nice body, babe." Disgusted, I looked at his profile, and on it, he said that "we all know women are shallow and superficial" and they only care about looks, so why bother pretending? (Oh, and apparently, he's got the looks). This is who is attracted to me. I sent him a concise email explaining that mature women with more than a brain cell or two generally appreciate a different kind of initial email. And then I blocked him. sigh. I am thinking I should just put this on any future dating profile:

“Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.”

(taken from http://themonicabird.com/post/3273155431/date-a-girl-who-reads-date-a-girl-who-spends-her)

five years is a lifetime.

Trey is 5!

First time holding him.

So, today was Trey's fifth birthday. So much has happened in the last five years, it's crazy to think about it. I remember that day as if it were yesterday. I'd spent the whole previous night in the hospital waiting room, going for coffee and Red Bull runs with my brother. I went home around 8am to catch some sleep, and about an hour or two later, my brother called and told me to come back to the hospital. And eventually, from the waiting room, I saw my brother walking down the hallway with a doctor, who was pushing a little plastic incubator/isolette thing. We all crowded around it and I remember looking at this tiny baby with squinty eyes. Newborns kind of all look alike...I feel like it takes a day or two for their features to settle in or something. But regardless, I fell in love hard-core. Instinctively, I felt this need to protect. Protect this little being I had known for less than five minutes. I've always felt maternal toward kids, but this feeling was different. This was almost animalistic instinct. And just like that, I was an aunt. I was an aunt. It was so odd to think about, me being an aunt at 26. Now, five years later, it's odd to think I am the only aunt in the family now.

The next day, at work, I got a phone call from UNC, telling me I was off the wait list and did I want to come there, and of course I said yes. After work I went next door to the hospital and held my nephew for the first time, telling him I would make him a little Tar Heel. Holding him was....a turning point for me. I know it sounds cheesy and trite, but it's true. I know babies can't see/focus at first, but believe me when I tell you this little kid actually looked like he was observing us all and taking us in. He was so small - 6lb, 11oz and 20.5 inches long - and he fit into the crook of my arm perfectly.

As the months went by, before I left for North Carolina, I actually got to take care of my nephew a lot. My brother and his girlfriend still went out with their friends a lot and I'd have my nephew several times a week, sometimes overnight on the weekends. He slept in his bassinet basket on the floor next to my bed, and I'd wake up at night just to watch him sleep, or to rest my hand on his chest to make sure he was still breathing. I'd wake up and feed him when he cried. He would laugh out loud in his sleep, I swear to G-d. I learned what songs soothed him and the perfect angle at which to feed him, to minimize the spit up that would happen. To this day, he still falls asleep when I play "Baby Mine" on my iPod, and still loves Sheryl Crow's version of "Sweet Child O'Mine." When he was a baby and I'd be driving in my Jeep, if he would fuss, I'd put that song on and sing along, and he'd quiet down. It was the funniest thing.

But I never could have imagined the extent to which he'd change our lives. Do we ever, with children?

And now, five years later, I'm out of North Carolina, back in New York, at Columbia, and Trey is getting ready to start kindergarten in the fall. He named me Aunt JJ (he couldn't say "Jaime", so he said "JJ"), he has a way with animals, and he can be wise beyond his years sometimes. When my brother told the family he and his girlfriend were expecting, my family was upset, to be honest. But sometimes things have a way of working out for the best. This certainly did, and I wouldn't change a thing.

In other news, in two weeks, my classes will be over. And my first year will be done. I remember when I got in, my friend Natalie (also an MFAer, in fiction) joked that MFA stands for More F*cking Around. Yeah, well, this year was no joke. And this semester in particular. Definitely not a slacker time. So I like to think of MFA as something else: MotherF*cking Awesome. As in, that's what I'll be when I snag my book deal.

Trey's 5th Birthday Letter.

Five years ago today was the Virginia Tech massacre. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I was working at the doctor's office, waiting to hear about admission to UNC, and it was snowing, oddly enough. My brother's girlfriend was starting to have contractions, and I got my tax refund that day. Funny, the things we remember. Five years ago today was the last day of my life without my sweet nephew. Once he was born, I became Aunt JJ. It's like I was programmed to protect him. I wonder if that's what it's like when you become a parent, that immediate, inborn instinct to care for and protect.

Every year since he turned one, I have been writing him letters on his birthday. One day, when he is old enough, I hope to bind them and give them to him in a book. Here is this year's.

Dear Trey,

It is so hard to believe that you are already five years old. You have brought a lifetime of joy, love, smiles and laughter to so many in the past five years -- it is hard to remember life without you.

Five years ago, you showed me what love can do. You expanded my heart and reminded me what pure joy felt like. And you continue to do so more and more every day.

You are an observant, sensitive, smart little boy, and sometimes I want to scoop you up and keep you in a bubble to protect you from pain and hurt. That's not possible, so I love and protect you as best I can, along with everyone else who adores you - and there are plenty of us. I watch you write your name or trace numbers, and you are so focused on doing well that it makes me so proud of you. I am always proud of you, and always will be - your tenacity is striking, even at such a young age. I will always be proud of the person you are, with your kind heart and caring soul.

When you tell me, "JJ, I love Barnes and Nobles, do YOU love Barnes and Nobles?", it makes me laugh, because I am so happy to share my love of books and games with you. I love our times there together and I look forward to many, many more years of going there with you.

I am not your mother, but right now, you are the closest thing I have to a child of my own, and being your aunt is a role I am honored to fill. I ache when you are upset or when you cry, and I would lay down my life in a second to save yours, without question. You have shown me the kind of person I am and the kind of mother I will be, and that means everything to me.

You see magic in the most mundane things, and your simple happiness at climbing trees or chasing butterflies makes my heart light. As you grow up, I find myself wanting time to slow down or even stop, so I can spend as much time as possible with you. I am so happy I was able to be there for your birthday this year, and to see your first t-ball game. I know you are shy sometimes, and are easily overwhelmed. It's okay, that's how I was too - even now, I can be really shy. Don't let anyone make you feel bad about that. You take your time getting to know people, and you stay true to yourself and your interests. Keep trying new things, and if one thing doesn't work out, there's lots of other things to try. Your nurturing personality and love for animals is touching, and I wonder if you will become a veterinarian. You will be able to do anything you put your mind to, of this I am certain. Never doubt yourself or the support and love you have from others, and know that we are always here for you.

Every year, I am grateful that I became your aunt. We are lucky to have you.

Love you, boo.

Aunt JJ

reasoning with faith.

The last post was depressing, I know. Things happen every day that remind me of how wonderful life is and that I have faith for a reason. I am so lucky to have so many wonderful people in my life, as friends, family, chosen family, acquired family....it is the people in life that make life worth living.

I am a big proponent in believing that things happen for a reason. We may not always know the reason immediately - or even, really, ever -- but I can't help but think there's a reason behind the chaos. Where the reason comes from, I'm not entirely sure. But I think it's there.

Online Dating Tales, part 2.

Ah yes. What has come to be a rite of passage for my generation: the lovely world of online dating. Or searching for dates. After a conversation with my friend Alex tonight, I decided to hop online to the site I'm on and peruse some options. All week long there's been this deafening clanging in the apartment, and I finally realized that it was just my biological clock. So. I put in some advanced search criteria: male, Jewish, ages 27-37, doesn't smoke/drugs, rarely drinks and has at least gone to graduate school. There were a few really good ones that I emailed one from Tel Aviv who seemed smart and funny, and another who got his PhD at MIT and listed books I liked and was pretty funny in his responses. But then....then, there were those special ones.

Like the one wearing a hat with deer antlers, made out of aluminum foil. Or the one wearing a clown hat and nose. Or the shirtless one wearing a tie, whose screen name was "iwantsexmeow." Or the lawyer whose profile picture was a picture of him, arguing in court. (douchebag much?). Then there was one who admitted he used to be a sex addict. Another one spelled "licorice" as "liquorish," and one who listed Lolita as his fave book - guys, even if it IS your fave book, DON'T list it. Then...this one takes the cake. For the part that says "I spend a lot of time thinking about", he wrote, "What do boogers smell like? I mean, they're in your nose all the time, but why can't we smell them?" YEAH. And these were some of the results I got with the *advanced* search.

Is it so much to ask for an educated, intelligent, somewhat mature, nonsmoker guy who is well read and has good playlists on his iPod? Is it so much to ask for a guy who wants kids sooner rather than later, who hates crowded bars and likes wasting hours in bookstores? Or a guy who will bring me flowers for no good reason? (Although my dad may have spoiled me in that respect - my future guy has a lot to live up to!). Where is the guy who wants to move back to Chapel Hill with me, the guy who likes his independence and knows I need mine, too? The one who likes watching college basketball, who can shit-talk with me about teams?

Many women my age are finding it hard to meet a good guy. And until you've been here, you have no idea how slim the pickings are. You'd be shocked as to how many smoke pot still, or drink frequently (too frequently for my tastes). It's rough out there.

independence day.

Sometimes we forget how lucky we are. We forget that not everyone has the luxury to go to the food store whenever they need something. We forget that many people are very close to losing their homes. We forget to be thankful for our families, or our educations, or our friends. When we have had things for so long, that are so ingrained in our daily living and our world, it can be very easy to forget, or choose to forget, that not everyone is so lucky.

Yesterday at the bookstore, a couple came in with a child of a different race than them, so I assume (maybe wrongly) that he was adopted, and I think the child had cerebral palsy. His arms and legs, so thin it was painful to look at them, were twisted in a spastic manner, his knees bent inward and his gait halting yet bouncing at the same time. His mother held him by the hand, gently pulling him along, and he was working hard to keep up with her pace. The degrees to which his legs were twisted seems almost impossible and inhuman, and yet he found a way to walk. He greeted everyone with a garbled "Hi, how are you doing today?", and I could hear him laughing with his parents in the children's room.

And yet. And yet....I could not help but think to myself as he walked by me, there but for the grace of G-d go I. We forget that not everyone can do something as simple as walk "normally." It is easy to forget, even for a graduate of a maternal-child health MPH program, that not every pregnancy is healthy, that even when all the tests show normal results, something could still be awry. I hesitate to use the word "wrong", because I think if it were my child, I would never call anything "wrong" about him or her. But it is so easy not to think about things like this. We take for granted having a healthy child. When my nephew was born, I was so grateful that he was healthy, and I am forever thankful. And yesterday, after seeing this child, I could not help but thank G-d for my nephew's health.

We forget how miraculous, how wondrous, a healthy pregnancy and child are. We forget to be thankful for the littlest things.

There but for the grace of G-d go I.

work of the heart.

When you ask my nephew to spell his name, he bursts out exuberantly with T! R! E! Y!, each letter with its own exclamation point. His smile, full of trust and childish belief, has tattooed itself on my heart, and I am a better person for it. When we cross the street, his small hand curls inside mine, our palms touching, my grasp tight, to keep him from falling behind or running away into the unknown or a space of danger.

Sometimes it feels dangerous to love him. Dangerous because the terror of losing him, G-d forbid, or of something bad happening, inhabits the flip side of a love that great. He has carved out a space in all our lives that can only be filled by his laugh and his excited speech. Children bring out the best in ourselves, they help us remember who we once were and maybe who we wanted to be. They bring us back to a pure space inside, and crowd out any cynicism and sadness.

I approach this from the point of view of an aunt. I do not pretend to know what it is like to be a mother. But I do know this: I would die for that boy. I would do anything in my power to make his life a little easier, to ease his way through this difficult world. And so would almost everyone in his life. He is helpless to take care of himself; he depends completely on others. The choice to have a child is a choice to give yourself over to this person for the rest of your life, to some extent. Your life will never be the same, and it is said that the decision to have a child is the decision to have your heart walk outside your body for the rest of your life, which is a pretty apt description.

I realize not everyone feels this way about parenting, and I will never understand that. It is not your right to be a parent; it is a privilege. And those who don't realize what a gift it is.....well, I feel sorry for you.

take these broken wings and learn to fly.

I just heard the song "Blackbird" by the Beatles for the first time today, and it sent a shiver down my spine. It is such a simple, beautiful song.

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night,

Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise...."

How many of us patch up our wings and fly to our next destination? Some people never mend their wings and get stuck, and miss out on life. Others force their wings to heal too fast and end up reinjured and hurt. And yet others go slowly and let themselves be helped and cared for, and eventually fly off on the rest of their journey.

I like to think that I am one of those who flies on with my journey.

Trey's 4th Birthday Letter.

Dear Trey,

4 years ago I was introduced to a new kind of love. The kind of love you did not even know existed, that is so strong you can actually feel your chest expanding because your heart is swelling so much. The kind of all-consuming, bone-crushing, unexpected love you did not even know was possible for you to feel, let alone for someone you didn’t even know yet. I held you when you were a day old, and though I knew it was impossible, I could have sworn you looked right at me, taking in your surroundings. Right then and there, I knew that life would never be the same. I became an aunt, my most valued role yet.

Buddy, every time I see you I am amazed at the little boy you have become and are constantly becoming. Looking at you, I see your daddy, my brother; the similarities are that striking. Your laughter is infectious and you are able to find joy in the most mundane of situations. Watching you interact with people, you are like a giant heart with legs - your love spills over through every pore of your body, with every smile and hug and high five you give. Your brain is always working, and you question everything. Please don't ever lose that. You are sensitive, sometimes highly so, and I think this is a strength of yours. It will make you a wonderful man in the future. To hear you recite the words to the entirety of "The Polar Express" makes me smile; to wake up to your smile an inch from my face and hear you whisper, "Is it morningtime, JJ?" is the best alarm clock imaginable. I look at you and I wonder how we got so lucky to have such a wonderful little person in our lives. I know that everyone who meets you will be the lucky ones, that everyone whose life you touch is that much richer for it.

Though it has only been 4 short years, it is hard to remember my life without you. When I try to picture it, your absence is glaringly apparent. You have filled up my life and the lives of our relatives with such love, generosity and laughter, that without it, we would surely be the ones lacking. I cannot be there for your birthday this year, which breaks my heart, but know that I love you very much and wish I could be there. You are the best nephew I could ever imagine, and I am proud to be your aunt.

Love you boo,

Aunt JJ

a missing gene.

"I'm missing the bride gene. I should be put in a test tube and studied." Carrie Bradshaw from "Sex and the City" said that, and lately, honestly, I've been feeling the same. One of my roommates got engaged, and I am so happy for her - she's a lot like me, she's not super girly about it and she didn't cry when she got engaged. However, my roomates do love all the wedding shows - "Four Weddings", "Say yes to the dress", "Bridezillas", and the WORST, "Bridalplasty". I'm sorry, but personally, I do not think my wedding day will be the most important day of my life -- in fact, I hope it's NOT the most important day. If I ever get my doctorate, that will be an important day, and when I have a child, that will be the most important day. Not my wedding, which is a big show for other people, mostly. I can't get excited about trying on dresses and veils and all that crap. I like my independence, and I want to want my husband more than I need him, if that makes sense. It may have sounded better in my head.

dirty thirty.

In three days I will turn 30, and you know, I'm not upset about it. After all, as someone said to me yesterday, what's the alternative? No, but in all seriousness, at the beginning of 2010, I was dreading turning 30 - my own "thrisis", if you will (the new buzzword for the crisis over turning 30) - but now, I welcome it. I think...no, I know, that this decade will be a really good one. In many ways, it feels like my life is only just beginning; that child-like sense of possibility has been renewed and I am excited for what lies ahead.

The past ten years have brought a lot to my life. A college degree, two graduate degrees, a wonderful and sweet little nephew, moving to the South (and liking it, no less), and a new baby cousin. Over the past decade, I have lived in PA, FL, NY and NC. I have seen numerous people - too many people - in my life face cancer, and was reunited with my childhood goal of working in oncology. I have had three foot surgeries on my left foot and learned the lessons of patience and tenacity. I got to work at my dream job for one summer, meeting world-famous cancer researchers whom I had only previously read about. I played college rugby and found triathlon, a sport that has given me back my health and my sense of self as an athlete. The past ten years have been hard and full of struggle and disappointments, but also full of human kindness, relationships, and the work of perseverance. When I first moved to New York in 2003, someone sent me an email with this quote by Freud - "One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful." While I appreciated the quote even back then, it is only now that I fully appreciate its truth.

I have been thinking a lot about what I want to bring with me into my thirties and what I want to leave behind. I hope my thirties are about living life with no regrets, being in the moment and pursuing my heart. Hopefully I will meet my future husband and start a family of my own. And in my heart, I know that no matter what, in the next ten years, I will become a mother, whether it be with biological children or through adoption. My thirties will be about abundance, not restriction. I want to make choices based on love and hope, rather than fear or anxiety. And maybe this all seems naive and foolish, but maybe it's good to set the bar high. I look back at who and where I was at the age of 20, and really like the person I have become since then.

In Judaism, there is a blessing called the Shehechiyanu. It is typically recited on the first day of a holiday or when doing something new. This blessing thanks G-d for keeping us alive and bringing us to this moment. You can bet that on Saturday, my 30th birthday, I will be reciting the Shehechiyanu with my heart wide open.

my lovely nephew, as always.

I love this picture. It was taken August 2007, right before I moved to Chapel Hill for graduate school. Trey was about 4 months old, and my heart was breaking at the prospect of leaving him. My heart still breaks every time I leave him. It may seem odd to people, how much I love him. I'm not a parent, just an aunt. But I spent so much time babysitting him after he was born, when he was a newborn and infant, that I feel a bond with him. I'm sure part of it is my biological clock in overdrive, because I love kids and want a few of my own, but right now, I am overjoyed to be an aunt.

My mom used to tell my brother and I how much my uncle loved being an uncle. He had no kids, either. When he died, there were gifts in his closet for Brad and I, labeled for different holidays and ages. As an aunt, I finally understand that. I understand the primal, uncontrollable love for a child. The urge to protect them no matter what, the joy of hearing them say your name over the phone, or their innocent, "I love you"s and the feel of their tiny hands around your neck in a bear hug. Trey can bring happiness even on the darkest, stormiest of days. I've said this before and it's still true, his heart is so big, I have no idea how it is able to be contained in his tiny body. He's a lover, not a fighter, and my heart threatens to shatter when I think of him ever experiencing pain or loss. If I could, I would protect him from the injuries of life, but I can't. No adult can do that for a child indefinitely, no matter how much we want to. Broken hearts and injuries are part of life, part of learning and living.

I am so excited to see my nephew in a little more than a week. I can't wait to get off the plane in Philadelphia and have he and my mom pick me up, and see the huge smile on his face because Aunt JJ is home. In that moment, I never want to leave him. To see him grow and get older has been such a treat, and I feel honored to be a part of his life. We are truly the lucky ones, and I am forever grateful that Trey is in our lives.

it's anything but a fairytale, girls.

I will be 30 in December. I am single. Normally, this does not bother me. But I do feel some pressure to find someone and "settle down" and start having kids. After all, my brother already had a kid. Although I'm not sure the family could take another child out of wedlock. I would rather be single than settle, and I would definitely rather be single than be with a bum, a loser, or someone who really doesn't love me. I am a headstrong, independent fireball who likes to challenge and be challenged, and the man I end up with will complement this. I want an intellectual equal and a homebody. I want to marry someone who is not only the love of my life, but my best friend. And I haven't found him yet. My friend Lauren found her girlfriend on a certain dating website, and I was like, hey, okay, maybe I can find a guy here. So I joined. Yes, I've met some NJB's (nice Jewish boys); in fact, one asked me out for coffee (although I'd like to email a bit more first). But I've also been met with a whole host of...umm...interesting candidates. I am telling you, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

There was the guy last week, even though my preferred age range is 27-37 (and 27 is even pushing it; ideally I'd like an older guy), this 22 year old emailed me, telling me he's "attracted to older women." I'm sorry, was that supposed to attract me? No woman likes to be told she's the "older woman", especially at the age of (almost)30. Delete. Then there was the guy who had the numbers "69" in his screen name, and his profile picture was his pale white, hairless, not-so-toned chest. I'm sorry, but first, get a tan. Second, don't put naked shots of ANYTHING on your profile picture. Lastly, if you do put naked pics up, at least have the body to back it up. And, really? Are we in high school? Drop the "69" from your screen name. NOT cute. Delete. Then, there was the Jewish guy who seemed smart and funny. His profile was him and a little kid, and I'm a sucker for boys with babies. Although I'd prefer a potential boyfriend not have any kids or ex-wives, I'm open. So I'm reading his profile - his email was nice - and it turns out that he is, in fact, in a committed relationship but they are "polyamorous" and it's an open relationship. I kid you not. First of all, this is not Utah. Second, I'm not doing the Sister Wives thing. I was like, really? REALLY??

This week alone has brought guys to remember. There was Buttfister. Yes, I swear on a stack of Bibles (preferably Old Testament) that his screen name was Buttfister. And he was straight, looking for women. He is studying pharmacy. Ah, the future of medicine and science, right there. I'm sorry, but a mature woman - or any woman, for that matter - isn't interested in a guy whose screen name was Buttfister. And yet this is who I attract, apparently. Then - ah, yes - THEN there was a guy whose email promised me a "night to remember" because of his "huge....personality", and how he promised to make me "laugh, scream, and enjoy myself". And he promised not to "ask to video cam". And he closed it by saying if, for some "unknown reason", I'm not attracted to him, to let him know. There was more, I just can't think of all of the obnoxiousness. I nicely wrote back and said that mature women usually are looking for more than a "night to remember", and I'm sure his "personality" only looked huge from his vantage point. And then I blocked him.

And I can't even tell you how many guys email with horrible spelling, incorrect grammar - not a minor mistake or two, I mean, hello, did you go to grade school types of bad grammar. Not a good sign for me if you can't spell basic words. Or how many guys send a one-line email like, hey sexy, what up? or hey cutie. First, even IN a relationship, I don't want to be called "babe", "cutie", hon, or anything like that. I just don't go for it. And if I don't even KNOW you, I kind of take offense to that. How many women really go around emailing guys with, "hey sexy" or "hey stud". Not many, I'm sure.

Where are the guys who see my book and music list and appreciate the books I read? Or the music that's on my iPod? Where are the guys who have the decency to say, hey, I think you're really pretty AND I saw you're a writer, tell me more about that? Or even just a hi, how are you?

It's really discouraging. And in the South, it's especially hard to find a Jewish guy. I'm amazed with how many agnostic and athiest guys are out there. But I'm putting myself out there, and hoping for the best.

At the very least, I'm being entertained in the process.

living and love.

How cute is this??

I'm going up North in a few days and cannot wait to see my beautiful nephew! Sometimes I marvel at how we got so lucky to have him. He really is an amazing, thoughtful, loving little boy. My mom told me that when they were at Blockbuster last week, he saw the little toys they have there and threw a fit and refused to leave until they bought Aunt JJ something. I just melted when I heard that. And wouldn't you know it, he picked something Hello Kitty. I love Hello Kitty. How Trey knew that, I have no idea. I certainly have never told him. But that's him, full of surprises. I am so happy and thankful to be his Aunt JJ.

Being that I recently blogged about this, both here and on sheknows.com, I figured I'd mention that this week's New Yorker has an excellent article by Atul Gawande on end-of-life care in America. He writes about the same themes I, and other articles, have touched on - how much is enough, when do we decide to stop, medicine's reluctance to admit defeat, etc. I really think we need a whole new way of looking at illness and death and hospice and living. How that should come about, I have no idea. It's a process, I guess, and different for everyone. But I think many aspects are universal - dignity, quality of living, chances to say goodbye and say what you need to, etc.

"The idea is to write it so that people hear it and it slides through the brain and goes straight to the heart." - Maya Angelou

just call me Coach.

Girls on the Run!

Despite the fact that I am still wearing an air cast (surgeon said I should be able to run by July), I just signed up to be a volunteer coach in the fall for an organization called Girls on the Run. It was founded by a woman named Molly Barker (a UNC alum, clinical social worker, 4 time Hawaii Ironman triathlete and recovering alcoholic), and is quite possibly the neatest organization I have ever had the opportunity to work with. The program is a 12 week program for girls ages 8-12, and we will meet twice a week for an hour at a time, doing lessons on self-esteem, body image, healthy choices, and other positive, empowering themes for young girls. At each session, we do some running, and at the end of the 12 weeks, we enter a 5k (3.1 miles) race. Girls this age are on the cusp, they are looking into the "Girl Box", as Molly writes. But think back to when you were 8, 9, 10...before you were worried about not being "pretty enough", or "thin enough", or "smart enough", or "popular enough"....because you knew you WERE enough. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, many of us fall into media traps of what is deemed "acceptable" for young women today. We get trapped in the "Girl Box", with its strict rules as to what is expected and what is accepted. We learn to be seen and not heard, to speak a little softer. We learn that the media slams women who dare to be a healthy size, rather than diet themselves into nothingness. Sports can change all that. I am so excited to be a role model and help empower these girls to love themselves, and make healthy choices for themselves. Athletics has always been part of my life - gymnastics, tennis, rugby, and now triathlon - and to share that with others is a gift.

I went into psychology because of Mary Pipher's book Reviving Ophelia. Though my life has detoured into pediatric oncology, I still have a strong interest in psychology (as I should, since I have a Master's in counseling), and I think this experience will teach me a lot. I'm sure that these girls will be teaching me, as much - if not more - than I teach them. I'm reading Molly Barker's book "Girls on Track", which gives some background on her own life and the development of the program, and it's pretty amazing.

my nephew's 3rd birthday letter.

I started writing letters to my nephew when he turned one, and have done so for his birthdays ever since. Saturday is his 3rd birthday, and I've written another letter to him. I won't be able to be there for his birthday, but will be there in spirit.

Trey,
Buddy, I can't believe you are three years old. Three years ago you made my life a better one, and I know you will make the world a better place, too. Your unconditional love and spirited nature draw so many people to you, and your laugh could melt even the coldest of hearts. You've named me "Aunt JJ", and when you call me that, it sounds like the best name in the entire world. The things that come out of your mouth never cease to amaze me, and for a little guy, you're pretty observant. (And I was worried you'd never talk! Now you talk all the time!)
Watching you is watching pure joy splash across your face at the littlest things; it's watching your endless curiosity about everything and your overflowing love for everyone. You remind me what's REALLY important in life, and for that, you are my biggest teacher, always.There are so many great memories I have of this year - your love for the color pink, the look on your face when I came home for spring break, your love of Swedish Fish and Scooby Doo, falling asleep to "Baby Mine", and too many more to list.
You are a special little boy, Trey, and I want you to never forget that. So many people love you. I hope you keep your inquisitive spirit, your stubbornness and your determination, and most of all, keep your joy for life and unbridled affection for people.
I can't be there for your birthday this weekend, and it breaks my heart. I hope you understand, buddy. Gmom will give you the gifts I got you, but I want you to know that nothing will ever live up to the gifts you have given me in these 3 short years.

Love you boo.
Aunt JJ