Dear Dad

Stanley Lee Lubell 1939-1992

I had another baby boy. His name is Idan and he's almost seven weeks old. He looks like me! Well, me and mom. That's what everyone says anyway. Sometimes I pull out the pictures I have of you as a little boy and I'm astounded by how much Shalev looks like you. It's your face on my son! We're trying to convince him to take ukulele lessons in the fall with your old ukulele. If there's You Tube where you are, you most certainly will not want to miss out on that.

But more about Idan. He is your typical infant. His intestines are bunched up too tight or something so he's crampy and grumpy for many of his waking hours. Which are few, thank god. He's starting to flirt with the idea of smiling but so far he mostly just stares at the world in complete panic. You can hardly blame him. The world is kind of a scary place, and scarier since you left. He does have the softest angora hair on his head though, so I've decided to keep him. Because he's soft. He's my new wubby. wink wink.

The other big news is that we're moving to Israel. I wonder if you'd be supportive if you were still alive. The truth is it's probably a moot point since my life would have likely taken an entirely different trajectory if you hadn't died. I hate to say this, but I'm probably better for it.  More resilient. More pragmatic. More resourceful. Which is not to say that a day doesn't goes by - really, not a single friggin day - that I don't wish you could know your grand kids (you have five now, not sure if you're keeping tabs) and your son-in-law and me for that matter and that we could all know you.  I'm sure you'd be nuts for these kids. Especially Aviv. She is a pisser. Hard headed. Spunky. Charming. Sweet. Kind. Generous. Devilish. With a head of thick, dark brown curls. She's phenomenal. And she could probably use some extra attention now that we have the baby. She's kind of a pain in the ass lately. Poor girl. Last year when we were in New York visiting your family, she started calling Uncle Peter Grandpa. It was sweet. But made me sad.

Yes, Israel. Packing it up and moving there in the winter. Who knows for how long but we're trying it out. Your mom is a little worried about it but she's not as dramatic as she used to be. She is ninety after all. And mom seems to be okay about it too, although I know she'd rather we stayed put. She lives for these kids as you can imagine.

What else...I had a career switch and I've been selling my artwork the last two years while I wing it as a reluctant stay at home mom. That's also not easy and sometimes I wish I'd become a doctor like you. Because at the end of the day it's pretty high paying shift work for a mom. But I lacked guidance in my twenties and sort of flitted about. Good years, to be sure. But somewhat aimless. Anyway, the art and the business surrounding the art keeps my mind from atrophying too much and allows me to run around dropping off and picking up my kids from a million different places. My big dream these days is to write a book - a collection of essays about navigating mid-life with spirit, creativity and a sense of humor. And a GPS.

That's about it Dad. Nineteen years goes by pretty fast, huh. You can rest knowing your baby girl is doing fine. The kids and I talk about you a lot and what it means to die and how everyone dies and how we miss people. All healthy discussions, thanks to you. Give my love to Pop too.

I love you.
Susie

One more coat Aba

Thirteen years ago I was doing an assignment for Fodor's in Sharm El Sheik Egypt and Mr. Rosen came along as my heavy. Well he came along to stay in fancy hotels for free and generally hang out at the beach while I wrote about accommodation and dining in the Sinai. In this post I mentioned a big fight we had had over the color of my toes. I had just returned from the United States with bubble gum pink toenails and he was appalled. They did look appalling, but in a fun, summery way.

Take note of above picture. This is what having a daughter does to men I think. Makes them all squishy and devoted. Mr. Rosen only has one daughter and by the looks of it, that's all he's going to get. Which is fine because frankly I don't think he could love another little girl any more than he does this one.

Aquaman

So finally tonight my son looked me right in the eye and with great pride spewed out the five sleep tricks and the three additions because the squirrel gave him back the key and now those things are all locked in his head. He went to sleep without a peep. The other one, unfortunately, received the baton. And for the next hour she went back and forth between sobbing for Mommy and sobbing for Aba. She doesn't play favorites. Around the third round of this I was with her in their room singing her a song when she starts calling for Aba again.

Me: Should I get Aba?
Her: I get Aba.

OK then. Meanwhile Aba is in the back room trying to prepare for a crack of dawn triathlon tomorrow. I follow her a few paces behind so that I too can pass the baton and out walks Aquaman in the tightest wetsuit I have ever seen on anyone who doesn't actually live in water. And he's holding her and she's looking at him, like WTF. Naturally, several minutes later, she re-emerges asking for me because Aquaman's been called off to rescue a polar bear stranded on an ice-chunk in the Arctic Circle. I move her to my bed. Five minutes later she starts calling for Aba again. Aquaman returns to rescue this lovely thirty-five year old mother of two from her over-tired toddler. He falls in love with her despite the bags under her eyes and they live a long and happy life together. The end.

Daddy's girl

Fiorella is on vacation this week so instead of scrambling to find a fill-in for my daughter for the three days I work, my husband decided to take time off to spend with her at home. So for the last three days I've come home from work and he's had her strapped to him in some capacity while he's making dinner and our son is "helping". It's so great to see him so in love. When our daughter was born and up until basically a few weeks ago (she's nearly seven months old) she wouldn't stand to be held by anyone but me. She shreiked everytime my husband picked her up. I can only imagine that was frustrating for him though he never mentioned it, only that he wished he could help me more by holding her. Alas, baby girl wanted to be as close as possible to the milk source.

But to see her with him these last few days and to here the stories of blissful, shriek-free days together, it's as though the last six months never transpired. Baby and aba are in love. She still whimpers for me when I come in the room and reaches for me when I'm close enough, but when it's just the two of them, each is what the other needs and nothing more. What a gift.