Swag

I'm not talking the swanky gift bags celebs get at events. I'd be happy with one of those. I'm talking that waddle, that flap, that droop of extra flesh that appears under your chin as you get older.

My greatest fear.

Ok, not really my greatest fear. That would be either cancer or mental illness. Or something tragic happening to one of my kids. Or another violent attack on NYC. Or divorce. I could go on and on here. But of cosmetic changes that come with aging, chin swag is at the top of my list.

My grandmother had a swag that was so pronounced it was literally another feature on her face. It moved independently, flapping back and forth when she talked oroved her head. I'd gently stroke the top of my neck to make sure I wasn't developing one.

(pausing to check right now)

I'm still clear. I've got wrinkles in my elbows, grey eyebrow hair, I'm breaking out, have slight sprouting on my toe knuckles - all pusical manifestations of aging I was in the dark about. But, for now, I'm swag free.

grappling with the unexpected

I was expecting today to be unsettled. First day of school for two kids in two different schools. Two different neighborhoods. Two different start times. First time to pull it all together with a puppy. My parents arriving. Big family new year's dinner here tomorrow.

I was expecting unexpected craziness. The missing bracelet. The forgotten sunglasses. The yoyo sticker gone missing. The last minute teacher switch many were made aware of—I wasn't one of them. I'm sure there will be endless crumbs in the pull out couch I haven't dealt with yet. First day fallout.

I can handle all that. With a clenched jaw and slightly racing heart, I'm usually ok.

But today I got thrown a curveball that smacked me so hard I haven't regained my balance. Suffice it to say, someone I love is suffering, badly, and I can't help. I wish I could. I want to. But I can't.

And then, to top it all off, I got my period. A week early. Totally unexpectedly. Hard and angry. Full force from the get go. It explains why I was craving chocolate last night and why I've been bloated for no apparent reason. It was apparent to my body.

Sigh.

Ugh.

I went to yoga and my shoulder still hurts.

I have cramps that aren't mind-numbing but are uncomfortable enough to make me queasy.

In 20 minutes I'll have to slap a smile on my face and chit chat away with people I haven't seen all summer while dealing with a child who I'm sure had a miserable day. And then relatives will be here. Lots of cleaning. Organizing. More chatting and entertaining.

Another sigh.

I just want crawl in a hole and hide.

But instead, here I go.

my day so far

It's 2:30 and I feel like this day so far has been a week.

I was in a yoga class at 7:30 this morning.

Stopped off at home and rode my bike up to Iz's school—my first day as PTA president—to drop off some fliers. It was the first time I rode my bike through monster traffic, purely as a means of transportation.

I gave an impromptu speech to the entire teaching staff and afterwards, caught up with the principal and many others.

Then it was time to find out Jack's teacher assignment. To field phone calls and messages from various people I know who are going through hard times at the moment.

There's cleaning my entire apartment so when my parents get here tomorrow it's not a train wreck.

Loads of laundry to do.

Nervous children to reassure about the coming year.

And the dog just pooped on my bed.

Excedrin—where the fuck are you?!

It's all in where you sit

My apartment is a relatively spacious 2-bedroom in NYC. For example: at the moment we have 3 bikes in the apartment which feels annoying and a bit cluttered but they don't make functioning impossible. I can host 17 people for a sit down dinner but that involves moving lots of furniture and borrowing folding tables and chairs.

My entirely not private lair is the corner of my living room where my computer resides. This is where I work, write, design, escape. It's the first place I go when I wake up in the morning, the last place I sit before I go to bed. In the middle of the usual chaos of my day I disappear there, smack in the middle of everything. My 27 inch iMac is my portal to anywhere but current reality. A laptop works too. Anything with a screen I can dive into.

But, while we were away, I didn't open my laptop once. That's unheard of for me. I found I didn't miss it. I have my phone and can be connected all the time, just in a smaller way.

I decided, when I got home, not to get sucked into corner as much. Even if I'm connected to the outside world, I'm sitting on my couch (like now), a puppy on my lap, far more in the middle of things than usual.

So far I've knit a bunch of the scarf I was supposed to be living in this summer. I watched Planet of the Apes (hated it), was far more involved with everyone than I used to be.

I'm sticking with this. My small screen and my couch. And when people complain I'm always typing away I'll remind them that I'm here, not way over there.

Anxiety Rising

That could actually be a good name for a book. Or a neurotic thriller. Meanwhile, it's the story of my day and I hate it. HATE it.

I'd tried to forget this jaw clenching feeling, being on edge, feeling like I'm watching myself and waiting for me to fall apart or at least fray at the edges.

Now that I know what it's like to not be this way I don't want to go back.

But, here I am.

Could be the transition from 2 lazy weeks at the beach filled with space and quiet, empty stretches of no people, no obligations, no expectations to the insanity of the west village overwhelmed with throngs of visitors making sidewalks impassable was too extreme.

Could be that back to school rush. Two kids in two different schools plus my first year as PTA president. I don't know what I'm doing. We're starting from scratch. Turns out I'm the speaker for what we want to do and I don't want to screw up.

Could be that my parents are coming this week and sleeping on my couch because we're hosting the holidays. I have to cook for everyone, do monstrous cleaning, all during the first week of school.

Could be medical stuff people I know are struggling with. Life stuff I know people are struggling with. Apartment stuff. Job stuff. Relationship stuff. And while I desperately wish I could help, I can't.

Sigh.

I'm petrified I'm going to fall over the edge again. I'm terrified the meds aren't working anymore. I'm afraid I'll plunge back into that lost place where I was afraid to move to feel to think.

I hate this part of me. I don't care if it's where creativity or drive comes from. Nothing's worth feeling this way.

The Way to End a Summer

For the past 10 years we've been spending a week in Ocean City, down on the Jersey shore. It's a slice of retro - Hoy's 5&10 across the street, Dot's Pastry with monkey bread and cheese pie and pretzel donuts a block in the other direction, family owned stores
and restaurants, after dinner ice cream walks.

Every summer is different. As the kids get older interests change but the staples never do: beach and boardwalk. This was the summer of boogie boarding, of waiting for that perfect wave, of riding from far out until sand and shells scratched my belly as I steered through observers more towards shore. Of the joy in watching as Iz or Jack hit that right moment and sped across the ocean. Of spending hours in the morning or waiting for later in the day. And the luxury of walking in the sand with the rising sum reflected on the water or a glowing sunset turning the sky vibrant shades of purple and orange behind the illuminated ferris wheel.

This was the summer of go karts. Of Iz's face gleeful as she careened around curves. Of yoyos, which Jack discovered at Air Circus that led to hours and days of practicing, with countless bandaids applied. Of Mack & Manco's pizza, Jilly's french fries, cotton candy, fudge and salt water taffy and a Kohr's Brothers custard cone here and there - I suspended my sugar free status twice for a chocolate peanut twist dipped in more chocolate. This summer was mini golf and motocross at the arcade, skee ball and guitar hero. One carousel turn and a go at bumper cars was it for rides.

This was also the summer of biking. I rode almost every day, the air cool with a crisp edge, other days so humid I was dripping with sweat before I got to the end of the block, still others so windy my legs burned trying to get home. I rode along ocean front houses gleaming white in the sun, glimpses of sand and dunes as I passed every corner. Or I rode along the boardwalk, wheels clicking against the wooden slats, the ocean steps away. I rode over bridges and causeways, over endless marshes glistening in the sun. I rode before an impending hurricane, the sky dull and dark grey, scattered raindrops falling most of the trip.

It was the summer of perfect corn, of tomatoes so juicy they must have just been picked, of delicious salads. Of Uncle Bill's Pancake House and Randazzo's and more pizza than one would think possible.

This was the first summer we spent 2 weeks here. Every year, as we left, we'd wish we had more time.

This year we had time.

It was the summer of beading and knitting. Reading. Napping. Wandering around town. Not minding rainy days because we knew we didn't have to rush home soon. Of playing with the puppy, who love love loved digging in the sand. Of all of us lounging on my bed, scratching Gracie's belly in lovefest moments.

It was the summer of sitting.

Of quietly reveling in being with my family.

It was the summer of comfort. Of gratitude.

Of being.

Sent from my iPhone

www.elissastein.com

The end of mellow

It's amazing how the impending end of a vacation looms over the final days. Last trip to town. Last boardwalk. Last boogie board ride. And all the things somehow we didn't get to in spite of being away for an extra week.

Endings are hard.

It's hard to let go.

Hard not to miss, not to have regrets, not to wish things ha been different, better, easier. No matter how wonderful something's been, as it ends, it's hard not to wonder what if.

What if.

I'm trying not to go there this time.