Talia Essman - Celebrating Life's {small} Moments

Sweetheart Ball.

Last weekend it was the Father/Daughter Sock Hop.

This weekend, the Father/Daughter Sweetheart Ball.

Hey … where's the Mother/Daughter dance off?

Anyhoo … how beautiful are these girls?!? Love them all.

Eight Years Gone.

I drove to the coast tonight. Parked my car and rolled down the windows. Took in a few deep breaths, trying to relax my mind. I had come for some solace , thinking that the smell of the ocean would bring on happy thoughts.

It's too bad you can't bottle that smell, my Grams would always say. There's nothing like the smell of the ocean and the sound of the waves.

When I drove to the coast tonight and rolled down my windows, I was hopeful that taking in that smell she loved so much would bring on happy thoughts.

But it didn't.

Every year, I think, it should get easier. You always hear that ... that time makes it better.

But really, it doesn't. In a lot of ways it kind of makes it worse.

She's been gone eight years now. The longer she's gone the more I start to forget certain things about her. And when I do start to remember all those beautiful moments my grandma and I shared, it makes me sad. So instead of enjoying the memories, I just shut down and tune it out.

Compartmentalize. Think of something else.

Because as much as I wish the years made it easier, in many ways it just makes it harder.

She has missed so much and the more years that pass, the more moments she has missed.

The memories don't make me happy, they make me mad. Mad she isn't here for what has now been eight years. Eight years of seeing my kids grow up and being a part of our lives.

Instead, I came home and lit my yarhzeit candle. Said Kaddish for her and hoped that tomorrow the smell of the ocean would bring me happy thoughts instead.

You Know Vacation is Over When ...

We have had two blissful weeks of lounging and eating and lounging and eating some more. Possibly one of the best winter breaks ever (which included one day of never getting out of our jammies!)

But after a steady diet of overindulgence and lethargy, comes a hangover of tight jeans, a home in a state of chronic chaos and a to-do list that had become so long that even I could no longer ignore it.

So by the time the clock chimed Monday morning, January 5, I was (in many ways) looking forward to getting back to some semblance of a routine. But there is nothing like jumping into an 18-hour day to remind you why overindulgence and lethargy is so enticing - but always comes back to bite you (in bit-wider) butt.

So, just for kicks, a little snapshot of a day in my life after two weeks of ignoring life:

6 a.m. - Wake, shower, make up.

6:30 a.m. - Wake (none-too-happy) children. Funny, singing "good morning to you, good morning to you" didn't seem to cushion the harsh-reality blow either. Go figure.

7:10 a.m. - Make breakfast, pack up lunches (thank goodness we had all pre-packed the night before), grab dry cleaning, feed dog, hustle kids into car, head out.

7:23 a.m. Depart.

7:37 a.m. Drop off at middle school.

7:45 a.m. Arrive at Kelly (work for me, school for Adelaide)

2:30 p.m. Finish work, admittedly fueled by two cups of coffee and a mid-day coke.

2:35 p.m. Pick up carpool at middle school, drop kids at home to start their homework.

2:45 p.m. Quick run to Trader Joe's to grab turkey meat I forgot for the pasta fagioli soup already cooking in slow cooker. Grab 18 other items I suddenly can't live without.

3:05 p.m. Stop at dry cleaners

3:17 p.m. Arrive home in time to cook up meat, chop some onions and throw it all into crock pot. Gently prod (ok, yell, who are we kidding?!?) at kids to stop fighting and get their homework done.

4:00 p.m. Pickup soccer carpool, drop Eliana off a few minutes early for her orthodontist appointment and then head 10 minutes across town to drop Adelaide off at soccer practice.

4:50 p.m. Travel back ten minutes across town, pick up Eliana from ortho, run her 3 minutes down the road to water polo, then travel 10 minutes back again to catch the last half hour of Addie's soccer practice.

6:10 p.m. Arrive home to overcooked pasta fagioli soup (note to self: 9 hours in the crock pot is just too long for any food not to come out mushy melded into one texture and color), feed children, gently prod them to finish their homework and hit the shower so that I can finally sit down and get to work.

8:07 p.m. Plop myself down to complete edits on a photoshoot that should have been done more two weeks ago. But hey, whose counting? Oh yeah, the client!

12:06 a.m. Finish edits, burn DVD for client, climb in to bed. Dreaming of my morning cup of coffee.

 

My Little Sweetness.

This is my angel, muffin, pumpkin pie.

I love this kid beyond measure.

I love her smile. I love her giggles. I love her toes. I love her hugs. I love her little knees. 

I pretty much love every little thing about this kid. And I have, from the second she was born.

I would do anything for her.

She is pure joy.

And I love her to pieces. My little angel, muffin, pumpkin pie.

Bloody Mary Bonanza.

I've always wanted to host a party with a Bloody Mary bar.

New Year's Eve morning ... a perfect time for my Bloody Mary bar.

I don't even really like Bloody Marys. But I like all the accoutrements that you can include in a bloody mar. Olives. Crisp celery. Pickles. Skip the drink and go right for the mini-salad that comes along with a fancy bloody mary.

Plus, it makes for a cute photo. And really that, along with a nice, fresh salad, is a little slice of heaven.

Thought for 2015

Ok, here we are. New Year's Eve 2014 ... counting down the hours until 2015.

So it brings me back  to my annual - minus last year - tradition of creating a word of the year. 

This tradition started for me in 2008. I got the idea from a blogger who got the idea from another blogger who got the idea from another blogger. And I liked it. So I adopted it, and made it my own.

In 2008, I chose the word Simplify.

The word for 2009 was Gratitude.

For some reason, 2010 got by me. No idea why.

In 2011 I was feeling kind of feisty, so I broke my word-of-the-year philosophy and pumped it up to two words: Bring. It.

In 2012, the word was obvious: Faith.

Again I broke my one-word mantra and went all grammatically incorrect with "be. Introspective." 

Last year, I was just tired. Tired of blogging, tired of being creative, tired of journaling. So I logged out of my blog for nearly 12 months. More on that in the first official blog post of 2015. Back to my introspective thought process.

I was trying to come up with a singular word for 2015. One word, back to my blogging roots. Back to the tradition I began in 2008. And once again I was finding myself stuck on more than a word, more of a phrase, and so I have decided that word of the year (from here on forward) will officially be "thought of the year." That way I don't have to pigeonhole myself. I am only limited only by my lack of word ingenuity.

So are you ready, cuz here goes ...

The thought of the year (not quite as pithy sounding as word of the year, but moving on) is ... "return on investment."

How much will I invest in 2015 on taking control of my health? What will the return be? How much will I invest in my marriage and the important relationships in my life? What will the return be? How much will I invest in understanding and controlling my finances and what will the return be? How much will I invest in changing what isn't working? What will the return be?

Return on investment.

It's empowering. It's positive. It's proactive.

It's just right for 2015.

So ... what's your "thought" of the year???

 

Happy New Year's Eve! Welcome 2015.

 Just a few short hours and we will say goodbye to 2014 and hello to 2015.

It's been a good year, a decent year. But we are ready for what is to come in the next 365 days, 52 weeks, 12 months.

 

Hanging On To Summer With Both Hands.

Do You Hear the Manly Growl?

I admit it. I like a bonfire as much as the next girl.

I like the smell of burning wood infused with the sounds of the ocean.

And let's be honest, there's no such thing as a bad s'more cooked over a bonfire.

But my husband, he really, really likes a bonfire. Specifically, he likes fire. A manly fire.

So for my cousin's post-wedding, celebratory bonfire no ordinary bonfire would do. We had to step it up a notch.

Thanks to Craigslist and a local man who has found a goldmine in converting old, washing machine drums to firepits ... tonight's bonfire was the mac daddy of bonfires.

Cue husband's grunts and chest pounding.

 

Skate Away.

Ice skating at the Hotel Del Coronado.

Christmas present from the Davises. One of the "best gifts EVER" said Eliana.

Love these kiddos.

Christmas, 2013

 

Christmas Eve, 2013.

The traditional Essman Family Christmas Eve celebration begins.

All the Essman grandkids together plus our two-honary Essman-by-association Davis grandkids.

The best part of the next 36 hours - seeing all of the kiddos together.

Me, my sister-in-law and my sister wife.

A forced bro-mance photo.

And the always- and forever-besties.
And after that, I put my camera down and didn't pick it up again all night.

Could have had something to do with the three glasses of wine I had!

Thank You Pinterest.

 

Without you ... where would I get all my good holiday gift ideas?

Hanukkah.

Looking Good Foxy Roxie!

How Many Photographers Does it Take?

I wanted a group shot.

Including the photographer.

It took us about 18 tries, but we finally got it.

In the end, the shots leading up to "the shot" was even better than the final one.

Worth all the laughs.

All that to get this ...

That's My Family!

The Wink.

Adelaide has this thing she does to me lately.

We will just be sitting around, doing something as mundane as eating breakfast, and without a word she will just look at me. Dead in the eyes. Not even the faintest hint of a smile.

Then she will raise both eyebrows. Twice.

And then she winks. Seriously WINKS at me. 

And without a word, she looks away and goes right back to whatever mundane thing she had been doing.

Gets me every time.

Happy Turkey Day 2013!

Meet Mrs. Strauss

She has arrived.

Yes, it's a she ... and today she made her grand appearance in my renovated, post-water damaged kitchen.

I have been lusting (yes, lusting!) after a new fridge for several years. It took a massive water leak that led to a major renovation of my pantry, storage closet and playroom (yes, said water leak managed to hopscotch from one area of my house to another that I could care less about) for my fantasy to become reality. But it's here ... and I think "it" deserves a name.

So what does one name a refrigerator? I mean, I understand that to some people this is just an appliance. A culinary necessity. But to me, it's the U.L.T.I.M.A.T.E. French doors. A working ice maker - with cubed or crushed ice option! Crisper drawers, with temperature controls. This baby deserves a name!

And so the search began.

I tossed about Hazel. I considered Big Bertha. I contemplated Sally.

I asked the deliverymen who brought my new heavenly appliance. They kind of looked at my like I was crazy, but smiled and suggested, "Mi amore!" I think they were just trying to be polite.

I really struggled with finding just the right name.

I posted my inner contemplations on Facebook and got a response from my aunt:

"Why is this even a question? The answer is obvious. Name her Ethel and she will always be filled with cole slaw, egg salad, and chopped liver (the good kind)."

Ethel was my great grandmother. And man, did she make some heavenly chopped liver!

And then my grandmother chimed in:

"Now add Greek salad, french fries, stuffed cabbage, (hard) matza balls, chopped herring (for the older generation), cheese blintzes made with cinnamon and raisins, french toast made with day-old challah, etc., etc. -- and your refrigerator will always be full, waiting for the unexpected guests."

One of my cousin's added, "French Fries!"

Another cousin agreed, "Krinkle cut, and lots of ketchup."

And yet another cousin added, "Can you keep a pushkey in the fridge? And of course Nanny would have Dr. Brown's soda for guests!"

I hadn't had this much conversation with family members in months! Ethel, it seemed, was the obvious choice!

And then I got a call; my Aunt Roz (Nanny Ethel's daughter and my grandmother's sister) was in the hospital and it was critical. She wasn't expected to make it through the night.

When I think of my Aunt Roz, I think of my Nanny Ethel. Both warm and welcoming to guests, both known for their cooking. In fact, I don't think I ever went to my Aunt Roz's house when she didn't have a spread out that included some of the best egg salad you ever tasted!

My Aunt Roz passed away a day after the refrigerator arrived.

My Aunt Roz, along with my grandmother and their baby sister, Aunt Phyllis, made up my great grandmother's three daughters. They were the Strauss sisters. And even though they all three grew up and took on their married names, they were and always will be the Strauss sisters.

And so it became clear to me. This refrigerator was even more than my Nanny Ethel. It was a little bit of her, a little bit of my Aunt Roz and a whole lot yummy food at the ready for houseful of welcomed guests.

So meet the latest addition to our household ... meet Mrs. Strauss. She may not be filled with chopped liver (the good kind), egg salad or krinkle cut friends - yet, but she is filled with lots of love, warmth and good memories.

Oh, and she is filled with the ultimate, important addition: Skinny Girl Margarita. Because who doesn't like a little cocktail with their nosh?!?

 

 

Doing My Best or Just Getting By?

"I know that you don’t believe that you’re doing your best, that you think you can do better.

But I  know you are doing better than you think."

I heard that quote yesterday and today it's repeating in my head.

Grandparents' Turn, Part 2 (The Birthday Finally Ends).

Corvette Diner here we come.

Grandparents' Turn, Part 1 (The Birthday Continues)

Apple Picking

Adelaide lives for her apples.

Seriously lives for them.

She religiously eats two a day, if not more.

She would chose an apple over ice cream or cake or pie.

We have no idea whose child she is.

So it's only fitting that on the actual day of Adelaide's birthday (in the midst of the three-day-long celebration) we took some time to go apple picking in Julian.

The Morning After.

 

I love a party that carries over in to the next day.

And considering how much Adelaide loves her cousins, it was the perfect end to her birthday party to wake up the next morning and still have them there to hang out.

Cousins and morning crepes. What more could a girl ask for?