Talia Essman - Celebrating Life's {small} Moments

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.