(Not) Alone: The Story Slam

I am proud of the growth I experienced while working on this Story Slam with ELI Talks. It is gratifying to feel I have a greater understanding of my own story. 

People tell me that the hardest part of hearing my story of loss is when they hear that I was alone.

But I'm NOT alone. Just ask the people who've offered me lasagna. 😉

Riverdale Y ELI Talk Story Slam: (Not) Alone

ELI Talks Presents: Ann Lapin and WANTED

September 15 at the Riverdale Y
Wandering Jews: Sharing Your Journey

The Riverdale YM-YWHA, through the support of the Riverdale Jewish Community Partnership (RJCP), is partnering with ELI Talks for an evening of storytelling.

Seven of the most thought provoking, heartwarming, tragic and bold journeys will inspire our evening of community. ONE OF THEM: MINE!

Cocktail hour 6:30
Story Slam 7:15
Reception immediately following the Story Slam

Buy your tickets NOW!

Happy Mother's Day! Are we there yet?

I'd never even heard a podcast before Donna and Adinah asked me to be on theirs. And I don't always love the sound of my own voice. (A cute boy in college called me "Minnie" for a reason...) But I was flattered to have been asked, not to mention intrigued...you see where this is going. Take a listen and let me know what you think!

Wake Training

I do not want my babies to sleep through the night.  I have always been afraid of sleeping babies. I feel a sense of relief when my babies awaken.  That’s part of why I breastfed my own children (Breastfed babies are sometimes more wakeful when close to their moms.) and sleep near all my babies at night.  

I also try not to expect more of my children than I expect of myself.  I don’t always sleep through the night. I sometimes awaken thirsty or uncomfortable. Then I walk with my two feet to get a drink, or massage my calf because it has a cramp…but my baby can’t do that.  I would imagine the dark can be scary when you’re the only one awake. I know I’m afraid of the dark. I think I am less likely to be able to “sleep train” a baby than to “wake train” him. I can’t teach him how to sleep; I can teach him how to be awake. As in, “your pacifier is here, put it in your mouth.” “Your sippy cup is here, take a drink.” “Your blanket is here, cover yourself up.” DH and I don’t expect our children to sleep through the night, alone, until they know what to do with themselves when they are awake. DD1 hated the crib. Our solution was having her sleep on the floor in her room so she could walk into ours and lay down next to our bed.  (We had a rule about not waking us.) When DD2 started climbing out of her crib, we embraced it. Rather than lowering the crib, we lowered the side so she could get out…and onto the floor in our room easily. DS only started taking a pacifier at 5 months, so we had to wait until he got used to it and figured out how to find it and put it in his mouth at night. (Multiple pacifiers do help.)

This all boils down to: I sleep close to my baby so it is easy for me to hear his cues, so hopefully it does not escalate to crying and so I do not have to frantically run to him.  (Our oldest and youngest actually did not cry when they needed to nurse at night.) If a baby is not cueing to eat, I make sure his pacifier is in his mouth and try to get a sense of if he might be too cold. We also introduced DS to a blankey so he might be less reliant (physically) on a human to sleep.

At six months, I also felt that although they might have started solid food, they were not getting enough of it to sustain them through the night.  I actually thought DD2 was afraid she was being weaned when we started solids, so nursed more. The same child also did not take a pacifier or suck her thumb. That was no one’s fault but she still needed comfort, so I chose to nurse her when she needed help.  (I often differentiate between breastfeeding for nourishment and nursing for comfort.)

All that said, I found with each child that at a certain time, I get tired.  With our own children, my husband then took over. With our girls, he slept in their room with them; with our son, I left.  It gave me a sense of if they really needed to breastfeed at night, or if they just needed help going back to sleep. My husband called me if he was unable to help them.  When DS turned one year old, I nursed him before I went to sleep (when he’d been asleep for a couple of hours, already), then left the room. He would sometimes wake to have his pacifier put in his mouth, ask for some water, or just needed his back patted or to be snuggled with. He was a light sleeper and/so if someone slept close by, they could help him in the middle of the night without much waking on ANYBODY’S part.

x

You don't need an invitation (Times of Israel)

...Come home.

Momentary Mama - Event - Hebrew Institute of Riverdale - The Bayit

Momentary Mama - Event - Hebrew Institute of Riverdale - The Bayit

The Song of Hannah

My parents named me “Hannah” without considering, perhaps, the ramifications:

That I might one day see myself in the biblical narrative

And cry as I chant the story of my namesake.

Again. Even as I remember the year my son impossibly ran into the sanctuary the moment I reached the verse, "For this child I prayed."

But, when Sarit was called to the Torah yesterday and gave the gabbait her name I was virtually slapped across the face. "...bat Velvel Yaakov v'Hannah Ephrat" she whispered.

Not to make a point but simply because that's her name.

The same child who stood in our Orthodox shul as the first woman to blow shofar in its sanctuary, her sister the first to celebrate becoming bat mitzvah on Simhat Torah.

My parents named me "Hannah" considering, perhaps, the ramifications:

That I might one day raise daughters who would emulate my biblical namesake

And feel empowered as they connect to God.

So I will chant those ancient words.

Again.

And maybe this year I will focus on counting my blessings.

And maybe this year I will succeed in fighting back tears.

(Among) The Best Bat Mitzvah Speeches EVER

Sarit's

Good morning,

    In this week’s פרשה there is a phrase 

“ארץ | זבת | חלב | ודבש”

“a land | flowing | with milk | and honey”|

What does that mean? I think that the milk symbolizes the resources we give the land that makes our plants grow into food that we can eat. And the honey is because the land is sweet.

But why milk and honey? Why not water and sugar? After all, we do give the Earth water to drink, and sugar is sweet. Maybe G-d wants to tell us that the land is still a baby and we give babies milk not water - I should know.

Maybe “a land flowing with milk and honey” is also meant to imply that Israel is filled with goodness and sweetness. But I know that is not always true.   

This past February my mom and I went to Israel, the land of milk and honey. As part of the trip we visited Roots. Roots, "Shorashim" in Hebrew, and in Arabic, "Judur" ("I don't know if I said that correctly...") is a movement founded by Palestinian and Israeli activists striving for mutual “understanding, nonviolence, and transformation among Israelis and Palestinians.”

Although Roots is an organization that joins Jews and Palestinians together, it often meets very close to where a man I appreciated, lost his life as a victim of terror. His name was Ezra Schwartz.

Ezra was one of the counselors in my eydah at camp. Even though he was the boys’ counselor, he was very kind and patient with me. My third summer at Camp Yavneh, I arrived by bus as I always had. I waited for my bunk counselor to arrive but no one came. I got nervous. Ezra had come to pick up his campers from the bus and stayed there with us for 5-10 minutes until he finally suggested that he take us to the girls area. Ezra was an awesome person and we could go to him for any kind of trouble we had whether it was boy trouble or girl trouble. He taught our whole camp the song, “Hashem melech.” It was in his honor that we sang it, today.

G-d wants us to make Israel perfect and sweet like milk and honey. G-d didn’t give us an already perfect land. G-d did give us a land flowing with milk and honey but also a land filled with giants as it said a couple weeks ago in פרשת שלך-לך. G-d made us work hard then to conquer the land and make it perfect. And G-d wants us to continue working so that we can prove that we know how to be kind to one another and make friends with people who are not like us. I hope the organization “Roots” will succeed in helping Israelis and Palestinians to work together towards peace.

Rafi Kesselman was an amazing counselor of mine from just this past summer. Rafi left camp early to enter the Israeli army. When we say the prayer for צהל, I think about him and hope that he is okay. Rafi entering the army shows me that he cares about his family and his country because he had the choice to join the army or to let his brothers and sisters do all the work. This all just goes to show that if you love something, go for it. If you want a sweet and good land, fill it with milk and honey. Not everything will be done for you.

Ann's

(After Rav Avi's charge to "keep singing) "So...let's sing...V’hareinu hashem elokeinu…"(p. 67)

Sarit, with those words, we carried you into this sanctuary for your simhat bat when you were 2 and a half weeks old. It was the beginning of the period of time during the summer that we mourn the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. So, with the lofty goal that you would somehow contribute to the rebuilding of Jerusalem, we brought you into this Bayit and into this community more than 12 years ago.

We did not know then exactly who Sarit would become.

We have always known that Sarit is strong. Sarit’s physical strength is great. Her voice can be loud, her fashion sense is incredible, her attitude is...substantial. Sarit feels very deeply yet doesn’t always dwell. For example when Sarit was younger, and a baby whom we had been taking care of was ready to leave and go to his forever home, it wouldn’t be unusual for Sarit to exclaim, “Oh, NO. But I love him. I want him to stay with us forever. Can I have pasta for lunch?”

Sarit can be more helpful than you could really EVER imagine. Two or three years ago we were taking care of a baby who would sleep OK at night, but would be kind of restless in the early morning hours. One Shabbat morning, I finally gave up trying to get him back to sleep on my own. I took him to the living room, put him in the baby swing, and ended up falling asleep. I woke to an annoying rustling at the end of the couch. Now, I should back up and share that the rule in our home is that when the kids wake up Shabbos morning, they have to get dressed first before doing anything else. So, there I was, half asleep, VERY annoyed, and I realize the “rustling” was Sarit who was MAYBE 10 years old struggling to get dressed with one hand...with the baby in her other hand. OK, how many of you can hold a 3-week-old in one hand while getting dressed?! I said, “What are you doing?!” She said, “Well, I had to get dressed. But the baby woke up. And you were asleep!”

I have many favorite “Sariti stories.” But I’m the only thing standing between you and lunch. So, like I did with Gavri, Sarit, I’d like to learn with you a little bit.

(call Sarit)

(p. 561) Amar Rabbi Elazar, amar rabbi haninah: talmidei chachamim marbim shalom baolam, she’neamar “v’khol banayich limudei hashem, v’rav sh’lom banayikh. Al tikreh banaich, elah bonaikh”

The line, “read not ‘banayikh,’ ‘your children,’ but ‘bonayikh,’ ‘your builders.’” was the theme for this summer at camp. Our rabbis have long understood that in order to achieve peace, we must not merely study it...hope for it...but to work for it. To actively build it.

Sarit, you are hopeful.  To stand feet from where someone you adored lost his life and then to stand HERE and proclaim hope for peace is perhaps not surprising, given your age. But to actually achieve it, will take a lot of work. Sarit, I wanted Ezra’s parents to know that their son had made a difference to you and that we were thinking of him, today. So I sent his mom your speech. And last night, she sent me a message. (It's OK to cry. . . ) She wanted you to know how much she appreciated your words and how meaningful they were to her...and that their family will keep them to read together at their Shabbat table.  Sarit, I bless you that your personality, your attitude, and, God help us, even your voice, remain strong as you continue to hope for and work towards building peace.

Bat Mitzvah Tkhina

Compassionate, merciful God, we thank You for the joy You have given us this day. May our daughter live a long and healthy life with peace and blessing. May she be guided in the proper paths ordained in your Torah to study, fulfill commandments, and perform good deeds. God in heaven, we pray that You help our child to be good, that she find favor in Your eyes as well as in the eyes of all people. Just as you have dealt kindly with us and helped us raise our daughter until this day please continue Your kindnesses and allow us to raise her and her siblings to Torah and awe of heaven in honor and dignity. Dear God, may our happiness never be marred and may we be able to lead her to the wedding canopy. 

When "Uncomfortable" Become "Unsafe"

Grateful to NYMetroParents for not only publishing this piece on child safety but for the respectful and compassionate way they edit my work. 

When I realized I had made a parenting mistake that had compromised the safety of my child, I took to Facebook to out myself and was moved by the support I received. 

What to Do When Your Child Is In an Awkward Situation That Becomes Unsafe

is the account of what happened at an after-school function and the ensuing conversation with my husband and our circle of friends that helped us make some decisions going forward. 

Please read and please circulate, this time, because the well-being of someone you care about could be at stake.

(Photo on this page obscured to protect the identity of a child who is not mine.)

More baby action!

Please read my posts on kveller and Upworthy.

Kveller tells the emotional story of my experience with one of my baby's families. 

Upworthy gives you an idea of what I do in general with my babies.

Read and share!

I've had an exciting couple of weeks. Here's the media coverage the Spence-Chapin Adoption Agency has been getting...featuring me!

Huffington Post

Country Living

Fox

And, my favorite thus far: ABC

My children are Bat Paroah, Miriam, and Yocheved | Ann Lapin | The Blogs | The Times of Israel

My children are Bat Paroah, Miriam, and Yocheved | Ann Lapin | The Blogs | The Times of Israel



My latest blog post and my first on TOI!

Thank you. Really.

The past month was a busy one for this rock star. First, NYMetroParents published a guest piece by yours truly on interim boarding care.

When that piece went live, I was interviewed by The Jewish Link about pretty much the same thing! 

Somewhere in the middle of that, kveller published a piece I shared on taking our family to the funeral of Ezra Schwartz, z"l. 

Truth be told, in all the "chaos," I forgot I was also featured in a fun video to help bring car sharing back to New York. 

Of course, we were still living off the fumes of the bat mitzvah the previous month.

A busy, emotional, gratifying month. Thanks to all of you for your support. That's not a disingenuous "thank you." Whatever I write--or is written about me--is worthless if it goes unread. More to come, I'm sure. Are you psyched? I am. ;)

Currently available for speaking engagements, magazine signings, speaking engagements, newspaper signings, speaking engagements...I just can't...well, you know...

Whatever

Do I get attached to my babies? Whatever.

Friday’s almost here. I’m going to get dressed, look very well put together, and walk into my synagogue thinking about nothing in particular. 

It's not likely I'd wear that dress. Or that fascinator. Still...

First I’ll pass a section of younger women. They’ll smile and nod. Maybe one or two will wave. Then I’ll approach my row and the heads will start to turn. And they’ll stare. Then they’ll throw their hands up in apparent disappointment. At first I won’t understand. Then my heart will sink as I realize the last time they saw me I had a baby. And now the baby’s gone.

Baby J went home yesterday. He has a new mom, a new home, and even a new name. Everyone asks me how I give them up. “Don’t you get attached?” or "I'd just want to keep them," you've said to me. "Really?" I'd like to say. "Each one?" 

Do I get attached? I get attached to HAVING a baby, to being that mom who takes care of babies, to being seen with babies. “What? No baby?” You’ll turn your palms up to the sky as though perhaps I misplaced him and if I would just check the last place I saw him then he would turn up. But he won’t. He’s gone. His forever mama took him home and it’s not likely that we’ll see him again. My looking in the swing in the living room or in the co-sleeper in my bedroom isn’t going to turn up that absent baby, regardless of the fact that I still hear his cries. And I do. Just yesterday, I blessed this baby, said “goodbye” and “it was nice knowing you” and minutes later opened up the back seat of my car to load him into the car seat. Except there was no car seat because there was no baby. “You coulda told me there’s no baby!” I snapped tearily at the valet holding the car door open for me.

Then I went home and because the baby wasn’t in my arms, I guess I figured he was just in another room so I rushed through the door to see if he needed a bottle or if anyone had changed his diaper. Because my subconscious must not have been at his placement or something when we were snapping photos left and right so his forever mommy could show him pictures of me when he grows up because I’M NEVER GOING TO SEE HIM AGAIN. So, wake up, subconscious! There IS no baby!

I wasn’t attached to HIM. I was attached to taking care of a baby. And now I’m standing in front of you, wearing dangly earrings, a necklace, and “impossibly high heels” for the first time in months and my mouth falls agape as I watch your hands leave your side and turn up in disappointment because, no. There is no baby. I know I have my own kids and of COURSE I’m happy for Baby J and his new mom. But in that moment and for those brief moments after “my” babies go home, I feel empty. Not a mom. Useless.

I miss babies. I miss HAVING a baby. In English we simply say, “I miss him.” But I don’t. Not really. I don’t miss any particular baby. In French, we say “Il me manque.” “He is missing from me.” So when I’m standing in front of you and you’re staring at my empty arms, No. I wasn’t attached. To him. I don’t miss him. 

Il me manque. He is missing from me.

Whatever.

Quit your whining. It isn't always about you.

I'm aggravated.
I'm agitated.
I'm actually losing sleep.

I saw the movie, "Selma" last night. I'd like to tell you I went with my friend, Allesha, because we decided we wanted to hang out on a Saturday night and we thought seeing any old movie on any old weekend in any old theater would be a jolly good time.

But Allesha and I decided to arrange an "field trip" with our respective faith-based communities because we live in New York. 

And she's black. And I'm white.
And when I saw a bunch of white Jews sitting in the street in a posh Upper West Side neighborhood in the beginning of December to protest moral injustices against the black community, I wrote to Allesha: I feel like our houses of worship have a relationship and where are we now?! We should be holding you in our arms and saying, "We stand WITH you just as we sat FOR you."

Our goal was fellowship. The occasion to come together, to continue the relationship that our clergy have been fostering for years, mostly through our annual Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. concert. 

We met at the theater, we ate popcorn, we went home. We didn't hold hands, we didn't sing, "Kumbaya," (And you haven't heard "Kumbaya" until you've heard the Green Pastures Baptist Church Choir sing "Kumbaya.") we didn't even debrief. Maybe next time. 

I had seen the critiques of the depiction of LBJ. It wasn't something I cared that much about. (I'm sorry if that offends you. I can only care about the things that I care about.) A struggle was portrayed. I had been told of the critique of the absence of Abraham Joshua Heschel in the movie, but as soon as the camera panned out over the first rows of marchers, I saw a white man with a large black skullcap (carrying a briefcase. Was that a thing?) in the front row and another white gentleman with a colorful skullcap a few rows behind.
There. 
Jews.
An allusion to Heschel. 
I watched the rest of the movie, acknowledging that the man whom I assumed was SUPPOSED to be Heschel didn't LOOK like Heschel but without being terribly bothered by it.

When I got home I looked up one of the most widely circulated critiques of the movie vis-à-vis Heschel's absence and found that it was written by his daughter, Susannah. Frankly, if a Hollywood movie about the Abayudaya Jews of Uganda hit the theaters and the man we were supposed to assume was my dad was depicted by, I dunno, Benjamin Pratt...(Sorry, Daddy. Bad example.) What I'm saying is: no. There was no one in the movie who LOOKED like Abraham Joshua Heschel. There was no mention of Abraham Joshua Heschel. But that should in no way undermine the message of "inclusiveness" portrayed in the movie. The movie "is not called "King"; this is Selma." Hardly anyone is drawing attention to the "misrepresentation" of the firebombed church. 

This wasn't about us, people. Not everything is.

I went to the movies last night, in the Bronx, with members of a Baptist church. Allesha and I don't fancy ourselves modern day Drs. Heschel and King. There was no Edmond Pettus bridge and we didn't "march" into the theater. We shared popcorn, we posed for pictures, then we went home. 

Our communities will join together tomorrow night to commemorate the legacy of Dr. King. I pray that this is only the beginning. That we continue to support each other as part of the extended family that we are. That we continue to appreciate the unique blessings each of us bring to our relationship as well as the powerful lessons taught by leaders such as Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. That we all recognize that sometimes it isn't just about us.

Some of us just don't have a clue.

He didn’t know.

But she did.

When my “younger man” climbed the steps to the school bus for the first time Thursday, he didn’t know he was my baby.

But the stranger watching from the street corner, she knew.

When she saw my nostrils flare and my bottom lip quiver, she knew.

She knew I prayed for God to give me a healthy child and that I cried in Thanksgiving when he was born. She knew he says, “Good morning” pleasantly every day and that he ran into my bedroom to show off his first loose tooth just yesterday.

She saw me place my big girls calmly on the bus but watched my eyes fill with tears as I said goodbye to my little boy.

I don’t know what she thought. Maybe that I was sad that my baby was growing up. Maybe that commitments prevented me from taking my children to school by myself and I was feeling guilty. Or maybe she understood my realization that he didn’t know who and what he is to me.

We don’t all know. We don’t know what we are to whom, what we mean to the people in our lives. There really is so much we leave unsaid. What would our world look like if we shared these thoughts, these impressions, these feelings with our loved ones?

The first time I saw you, I thought you were a movie star.

I still get butterflies when you lean over to kiss me.

I would be happy to spend all day doing nothing but cuddling with you on the couch.

When I’m in pain, I picture your face and a feeling of calm washes over me.

I realized my dress wasn’t fastened one day when I passed you on the street and I turned to ask you to zip me up…

So rarely do we share these pieces of information with the important people in our lives. We live life, assuming they know. But how would YOU feel if someone told you any of these things?

That your spouse finds you more attractive today than she did the day she met you.

That your girlfriend would sit on the cold floor of a dark room...as long as she was sitting there with you.

That the neighbor you’ve known for years has always considered you stunningly handsome and remarkably trustworthy.

A whole season of birthdays is about to begin. I wonder what will happen if I make the effort to share with everyone in my life exactly what they mean to me. The “secrets” I’ve been keeping for so long.

I wonder what will happen.

What will happen...when they know…?

...And your husband's a life saver.

"Your husband saved my LIFE," I heard last week. The grateful friend was holding a pile of papers James had xeroxed for him in a pinch.
"Yeah," I said. "He does that a lot."

Let's see, here...
Go-to person for last-minute errands: check.
Trusted advisor for major life decisions: check.
Counselor for the "confused" (Isn't that all of us?): check.

OK. How about...

Regular blood donor: check.
Platelets? Those, too.
KIDNEY DONOR: check.

July 25 is James Lapin's birthday. For the first time EVER, I bought him a sappy, gushy birthday card. Because when your husband is the mensch mine is, sometimes it's a challenge to be all "Birthdays are like baths!"* about it.

Join me in wishing a happy birthday to one of the finest of God's creations.

*The rejected card read something like, "Birthdays are like baths. You have to have one once a year whether you like it, or not.

Tit. For. Tat. With an addendum.

Caveat:
This is not about you.

OK. It actually may be.

As with so many things in life, we see what we want to see, even and including ourselves in someone else's writing.

If you think I am writing about you, I very well may be. I may also be referring to one of the other 2000 people in my life right now or one of the 10000 who have walked through my life before.

Either way, here it is:

Life is not tit for tat.
I thought it was.
I thought if I called you my best friend, then you called me yours and we'd wear two halves of a "BE FRI/ST ENDS" necklace and share a seat on the bus and chew ABC gum.
I THOUGHT if you invited me to your home or cooked for me when I was sick or picked my kids up at school then I HAD to do the same for you.
But I don't.
And neither do you.
As painful as it may be, we feel the way we feel...and we're free to participate in each other's lives however we see fit. Personally, I will proofread your work, host you as a last minute guest, and DEFINITELY listen to your relationship woes ad nauseam. And, of course, care for unborn babies. But I stopped doing things I don't enjoy AGES ago EVEN for my friends. And I don't feel the least bit guilty about it.
That's a lie.
But I'm working on it.

The one thing I DO have unresolved feelings about? The "best friend" thing.
If you are my absolute best friend in the whole entire world, does that mean no one else can be as close to me as you? And if I identify you as my best friend, do you have to do the same? What if there's someone else who makes your heart sing?

Well, that would suck.
But that's life.
Let's try to make the most of it.
K?

Seems to me there's more. So let's continue the conversation, shall we?
What's your job as my friend? Maybe that's your own business?
I'll be honest. I have expectations. I have great hopes and desires. But maybe that sets me up for failure.
What's MY job as YOUR friend? To give you whatever you need. If I'm up for the task, that's what I have to focus on: You. *I* don't actually exist in the equation.
Think I buy it? Think I can make it work? Let's see. I'll keep you posted. ;)

Why do you ask?

Ask the question to which you want an answer.

Say what you mean.

Not everything has to be said.

Call them New Year's Resolutions.
Call them personal philosophies.
Call them late for dinner.
Whatever you call them, these statements have been guiding my interpersonal interactions over the past few months.

Instead of, "Hey, what're you up to?" I've been trying, "I need to talk. Are you available to speak by phone?"
Instead of, "Hey, can you get off that glass coffee table?" I've been advocating, "Get down. Now."
Instead of, "The paper goes in the PAPER RECYCLING," I've actually just been sorting the recyclables by myself. 
Sometimes.

Here's where I'm still challenged, though: 
People asking ME questions.
"What's for dinner? Why do you wanna know? In case you don't like it?"
"When am I teaching next? You don't like when I teach so you won't come to class. Right?"
Seriously. Blows my mind.
What should I do?

So This is Love

I don’t think James and I were even engaged the first time his father hit me.

No, no, no, no, no, no, NO. Not like THAT. It was a swat. A slap of my knuckles, or something. I had said something snarky. (I know. You’re glad you were sitting for that one.) He swatted my hand. “Yes! I’m IN,” I thought. A few months later, my father did the same to James. It was as though he had given us his blessing.

It’s a little ridiculous, right? The things we do—the ways we show people we care?

A friend called last week. I wasn’t feeling well.

“Go to the doctor.”

“No.”

“No?! Why can’t you be NORMAL? If you’re sick, go to the doctor!”

“Well, now, THAT’S not nice,” I thought. Immediately followed by, “He LOVES me.” Naturally. Because only if he loved me would he berate me so.

My girlfriend and I say attention equals love. That may be a bit of a stretch. But attention CERTAINLY equals attention…or the implication that you somehow matter to the person with whom you’re interacting. I’ve been giving a lot of thought over the past year as to how I’m showing the people in my life that I value them. I consider how I “know” I matter.

I ran into an old friend, recently. Actually, we see each other quite frequently, but some time had passed since we were last together. “Hi! How are you? It’s good to see you.” He turned towards me. I couldn’t get over the fact that not only did he think it was good to see ME but that as he spoke, he turned to face me. Whatever he was about to do (retrieve his sons’ books or dole out snacks, perhaps) was not as important as giving his attention to me, in that moment.

I could go on but I think really my point is just to encourage you to think: how do you tell someone you care? Do you call them by their name when you speak to them, or use a diminutive reserved just for you? Do you turn off the television or ignore your cell phone? Or do you pick on them, make fun of them…hit them? OK, in retrospect, those might not be the *best* ways to show someone you care. Maybe make more of an effort going forward?

The woman who sits next to me in synagogue is wheelchair-bound. She suffered a stroke more than a year ago. Speaking is a challenge for her. Communication is not. Lost in thought (or prayer?), I was picking at my nails. My husband grabs my hand when I do that. I had a college boyfriend threaten never to speak to me again. My father once “reminded” me that our religion frowns upon self-mutilation. Mrs. B. saw me torturing the skin around my fingernails and slid her hand off of her prayer book. She covered my hand with her own and stroked it gently with her thumb.

“Now THAT’S love,” I thought.