Many years ago, before marriage and motherhood, I lived in an old building on 71stStreet in Manhattan.  It was a walk up.  I lived on the third floor.  My forever friend lived on the first floor, which is how I got into the building.  Our other forever friend moved in on the fourth floor.  As the building had only eight apartments, it felt a bit like a continual episode of Friends for the two years we lived together.  Having met in kindergarten, by the time we graduated from high school, we had shared many secrets, spent hours laughing and crying, had more inside jokes than I can count.  To then get a chance to live in the same building when we were single and in our early 30’s was a blessing.
 
“Peach” (fourth floor) and I moved into the building in the fall of 2003.  That December, we had a Christmas party across the three apartments.  We invited all our neighbors and our friends.  When my parents arrived, my mom gave me funny Christmas hand towels to share with Peach and “LD”.  Lois (my mom) had a great sense of humor, as you can see from the messages here.
 
This weekend, I got my act together and transitioned the house from Thanksgiving to Christmas (no judgment … I realize I am a bit behind the curve this year).  When I found the hand towels, I smiled.  So many good memories are triggered each time I look at these.  I can see my mom’s face as she handed these towels to me, her wry smile abundantly evident.  I remember Peach making her famous hotdogs in ketchup for the party, and having a full pot of the same on the stove at the end of the night.  I remember getting LD’s Christmas tree in the door shortly prior to the party, using our “tree gloves.”  I remember the snow storm that almost caused us to cancel the party.  
 
Peach moved out in 2005 after she got engaged. LD and I remained in the building for many more years, eventually moving on after we both married.  My mom died in 2008.  Peach died of breast cancer in 2018.  
 
We cannot stop time.  We cannot stop change.  What we can do is enjoy the moment, because every moment will become a memory.  Many of those moments will become memories you treasure.  This is the true gift of Christmas.  As time passes, it isn’t the physical gifts you’ll remember.  Rather, it will be the laughter you shared, the people who showed up, the way you felt that will remain with you.  
 
Merry Christmas. 

The other night, as I was sitting on my part of the couch, my husband slid in on my right, and then the kid slipped in on my left. My portion of the couch has the footstool, so these two often vie to take my spot. Because I was already there, they had to “share” with me. So much for personal space.

We sat there for a while, quietly watching Rise of the Guardians, one of those lovely family movies we missed the first time around. In it, the Guardians must conquer the Boogie Man by helping children overcome fear. Using the magic of the holidays, wonderful dreams, delightful memories and the fun of  childhood, the Guardians help restore hope in children's minds and hearts. As the snowballs fly, fear dissolves, leaving the Boogie Man weak and powerless.  

Good triumphs over evil.  Again.  Phew.

Alright. I realize nothing in life is this simple. So, why do I bring this movie up?  Because, woven into each one of these movies is a ribbon of truth. What is the ribbon here?  Mythical and magical creatures are not the only ones who can hold the role of Guardian. You can as well.  You can be the Guardian of your family, the Guardian of your relationships with friends and loved ones. You can be the Guardian of those whom you mentor, those who come behind you and need your guidance.  You have the ability to channel hope and faith, to bring and restore magic, to remind others what good things have happened, and those that are yet to come.  Positive energy sprinkled with a little bit of fun.  It can work wonders.

Truthfully, it isn’t an easy task, but it is a worthy task.

It follows that when we need a Guardian, one is there to help.  What you need the most in that moment will likely be provided.  Perhaps it is comfort and guidance. Perhaps it is a laugh-out-loud joke that leaves you out of breath and with a stomach ache.  Perhaps it is unfettered direction.  No matter what is provided, you need simply to recognize the help being offered, and to be open to the assistance.

If you feel you can, take that step and be a Guardian for others. In the same vain, you have earned the protection of Guardians.  If you need one, let that person in.  

Be a Guardian mentor. Find a Guardian mentor.  In both roles, you will grow, and you might even have a little fun.  


Do you want to build a snowman?

Before I gave birth, many people told me that my life would change the moment this kid arrived. Some said I would feel a bond like no other, that love would essentially cascade out of every pore in my body. Others told me I would be overcome with emotion, that my protective instincts would immediately kick in. None of this happened for me. After being in labor for 25 hours, having a resident tell me that the first 12 hours didn’t count (yes, I nearly killed her), having my water broken manually, being placed on Pitocin to assist with the contractions, getting an epidural that did not help ANY of my breakthrough pain, spiking a fever, and being exceptionally concerned that my son would go into distress, I was simply exhausted when he finally arrived. Apparently, so was he. That was the last night he slept all the way through until he turned 1.

He came out at 9 lbs and 8 oz. He’s remained a big kid since. From the moment he arrived, he’s eaten like a champ. I breast fed him until 6 months. At night, I was up every three hours. It was brutal. I was exhausted. Learning to be a parent, struggling to be a spouse and trying to return to work drained me daily. I couldn’t tell you how I felt about my son, or my husband, or even myself most days because my exhaustion eclipsed all sensation. I wish I could say otherwise, but some days are just blurs. I only know on what day he first turned over, and the day he began to walk because my husband videotaped both events. Good Lord.

Despite all of the things I didn’t do, all of the blurry memories, every moment of exhaustion, somewhere in those small moments, this kid and I built a bond that will never be broken. When he FINALLY began to sleep and I emerged from my stupor, I realized those instincts, those emotions blossomed while I was on autopilot. Throughout all of that, he crawled right into my heart.

Seemingly connected by invisible strings, he knows when I am balanced and when I am out of sorts. He knows when to hug me and when to give me distance. Make no mistake. He is 7, which means a great deal of the time video games, sports and superheroes are his primary conversation topics. I still don’t know the difference between a Marvel superhero and a DC superhero, which gets me in trouble routinely. With this noted, he’s completely on my frequency.

Initially, I worried when I didn’t feel as others said I should right out of the gate. As I look back, I realize I unfairly questioned myself. The bond forms when the bond forms. For some, it might be immediate. Mine took time. In the midst of exhaustion and chaos, diapers and formula, spit up and giggles, we built that bond. Here is the truth: it can’t be forced, and it is always created.

When we went for ice cream this past Sunday, he dabbed a bit above and below his lips, Turning to me with a big smile on his face, he then asked, “What do you think?”

As I laughed, and that string between us thrummed, I said in response, “Perfect, pal. Just perfect.”