Some of it’s wonderful, like the evolving routine I have established with “E”, my nearly 3 month old baby boy. And some of it’s bad. My 93 year old grandma passed away suddenly on December 5th. Due to her worsening eyesight over the years, we had a monthly routine where I would help her with errands, pay her bills, and read letters out loud from her many friends and family. For nearly 4 years, I looked forward to those visits where it was just the two of us and the Monkey, who would run around her house and inspect relics such her 8-track tape player and bubble-gum pink rotary phone. My grandma and I would chat about her childhood growing up on a farm, the 5th of 13 children. She would talk about how, after she trained to become a nurse, she left her homestead in North Dakota and took a train to California for work. She joined the military to nurse injured soldiers back to health during World War II and became a 2nd Lieutenant. She worked until she was 70 years old, all the while supporting her three kids after my grandfather had a stroke. Her story was fascinating to me and she was a huge influence and inspiration for my own path in life.  Despite her old age, her death was a shock. Only 2 weeks earlier I was with her in her small yellow kitchen as she helped my Aunt and Mom prepare vegetable soup and cornbread.

I started 2011 without my paternal grandparents since both of them died in 2010.  And now I start this year without any of my grandparents.  I know I’m very lucky to have had such positive and incredible grandparents in my life for 34-35 years. My new reality begins without them, but they will always be seared in my heart and remain in my wistful memories.

Noah

We had a few dogs growing up but they weren’t really mine. They belonged to my mom. One dog died when I was very little and two others came into our lives when I was a teenager and rarely home long enough to spend much time with them. I have no memory of cleaning up after them, feeding them, or taking them to the vet. That was all on my mom. While I was away at college, my mom had to give up her dog because she was moving. Although I felt sad for her, it didn’t really faze me at all.

When I met the Dude, he often talked about his family dogs. He treated all of his dogs like they were his siblings and, whenever a dog passed away, it was devastating for the entire family. I was moved by their dog stories, but I didn’t really get it. However,  the Dude and his family loved their dogs and I knew that to be married into this family meant having a dog of our own one day.  It took me a while to get used to that idea.

I really did like dogs, but I didn’t necessarily like the idea of one living with me. They shed, they bark, they drool, they chew and, in general, they’re a big responsibility. Plus, we were living in a San Francisco apartment and I didn’t want a dog living in such a cramped space without a backyard. Then we had our Monkey and there was no way I was going to take on a new dog with an infant in the apartment.

By the time the Monkey turned 2 and we had already moved into a house, I finally came around to the idea that a dog would be a good idea. I had no doubt that a dog to grow up with would be an incredible experience for our kid. But when a few rescue agencies did their home inspection and informed us that it would take a long time to place a dog with us because of our toddler, I began to lose interest again. Yet, over the course of the next year, it became more and more evident that the Monkey loved dogs. He was fascinated by them. I could no longer refuse my kid the opportunity to grow up with his own dog.

A few months after the Monkey turned 3, and after much research, we found our ideal dog. The Portuguese Water Dog. Yes, just like that adorable dog in the White House. The PWD doesn’t shed, loves water (obviously), is great with kids, is incredibly smart and trainable, and doesn’t get that big – 50 to 60 pounds max. Sure, we were told that the puppy stage lasts a bit longer than other breeds, that they are very “mouthy”, and also jabber-jaw to communicate, but I felt those were all things I could deal with…kinda.

We brought Noah home in March when he was about 8 weeks old and 8 pounds. He was very much a puppy. He pooped and peed everywhere, chewed on everything, and would steal the Monkey’s toys. The Monkey was not amused. In fact, he really didn’t enjoy him very much for the first few months and would shy away from him. It was strange to see my son, who loved to chase 80 pound Labradors around, be a little nervous about a small furry creature under 10 pounds. It was like there was a Gremlin living in our house. And one who wasn’t even house-trained, to boot.

As for me, I quickly came to the conclusion that bringing a puppy home was nearly as challenging as a newborn baby. We would have to wake up a few times during the night to take him outside and also deal with multiple daily accidents. We couldn’t leave Noah alone for very long for several months. He would jump up on the table and steal food. He chewed a few rugs, table legs, two electronics cords, a duvet cover, and countless toys. Now at 7 months old, he still jumps too much and occasionally chews the wrong things, but we’ve recently hired a trainer to help us with those issues. I also had to get used to the fact that I will never be able to keep my dark hardwood floors as clean as before. I’m still getting used to that.

It was quite an adjustment to have a dog in the family, but it’s safe to say that we are now a dog-family. The Monkey went from running away from the tiny fur-ball to pouncing on the now 40 pound dog as if he was Hulk Hogan. The dog will sometimes run away from the kid these days, but it’s pretty obvious that they adore one another. I often find them snuggling on the couch together and Noah tends to end up on the Monkey’s bed during the night. It’s a beautiful thing. As for me, I can’t imagine living without Noah. As a stay-at-home mom, Noah is mostly my responsibility. I feed him, clean up after him, walk him, and take him to the vet. In turn, he follows me everywhere and gives me, as well as the Dude and the Monkey, unconditional love.

I recently told the Dude that Noah is just another reason why we could never divorce  – because I am unwilling to ever give him up. It really hit me in that moment that I have officially become a dog person. It was about time.

As I wrote in a post back in June, we’ve been wanting a dog for a long time but needed to find the right breed for our family. We found him.

Our new dog is named Noah and the Dude and I fell in love with him right away. He is cute, cuddly, sweet, intelligent, and has a great temperament. He also doesn’t shed, which is a huge bonus. However, as fun and playful and sweet Noah is, it’s been a big adjustment for all of us.  Noah is every inch a puppy – he likes to chew, jump up on people, isn’t totally housebroken, wakes up in the middle of the night, and doesn’t understand commands. We’re watching a lot of the “Dog Whisperer” these days.

Bringing a puppy home is challenging. People told me that it would be difficult but, just like parenthood, you don’t fully understand the demands until you actually live it. Like parenthood, puppyhood has tested me in every way. But what I’ve quickly learned is that, just like parenthood, it’s an awesome way to live and worth every challenge.

OK, let’s be honest. It doesn’t actually get *wintry* in my area of SoCal. Sure, many leaves have fallen and some trees will soon be bare. But the palm trees will still sway in all their glory, although they may be lit up with holiday lights. The days will be a lot cooler but the sun will mostly be shining. Some people will even hit the beach on Christmas Day and frozen yogurt shops will still be bustling through the next few months. A winter wonderland, it is not.

I sometimes wish for snow this time of year, although I’m sure people in the Midwest and East Coast are telling me to watch what I wish for right about now. We have to travel to find snow, which is the plan this winter for the Monkey’s first ski trip. The Monkey has only seen snow once, if you count a winter trip to Yosemite at 4 months old. I’m counting down the days until he will play in the snow for the first time, an experience I’m sure he will enjoy. And after a few days of building snowpeople in the brisk cold, trying to ski (that would be me), and numbing of our fingers, noses, and toes, we’ll return to the sunny SoCal *winter* where people put on a coat and scarf when it reaches 60 degrees.

So, goodbye Fall (whatever that means here in SoCal). Here’s one last leaf to remember you by.

These days, I only celebrate Hanukkah but there will always be a soft spot in my heart for Christmas. I love the lights, the scent of fresh pine, and the music. The Charlie Brown/Vince Gauraldi Christmas album does it for me every time. I decorate our home with blue, white, and silver but I like to throw a dash of Christmas in there to honor my Christmas past. We don’t get a tree, but I love having a fresh pine garland nestled on the mantle under the menorah. And of, course, we have to have our Hanukkah stockings hanging above the fireplace.  On Christmas Day, I fill them with little presents. Santa might not come to our house, but Hanukkah Harry pays a visit!

The Monkey will know Christmas since half of my family celebrates the holiday.  He will go to his grandma’s house on the 25th and open presents and sing carols. We will drive around to see the holiday lights and make a gingerbread house and Christmas cookies. Maybe we’ll even leave a few out for Harry. It’s the little things that I loved as a child during Christmas that I plan to incorporate into our own holiday traditions. Hanukkah, sprinkled with a touch of Christmas, will be something that I hope he looks forward to every December. Just like I do.

How do you celebrate the holidays? What type of traditions do you plan to pass on to your kids? Would love to hear from you.

My wedding day, shortly after my grandparents celebrated their 64th wedding anniversary

“I’m glad you’re here, Aimee. It’s almost time. I hear Grandma calling for me.”

It was August 11th, the day after my Grandfather would have celebrated his 69th wedding anniversary with my Grandma. They never got the chance. She passed away on New Year’s Day.

I left my Grandfather’s home in tears, trying to come to grips that the end was near. I called my Dad and e-mailed my brother and sister in Afghanistan. The next week was a flurry of activity.  I canceled my trip to San Francisco for a blogging conference. My father arrived from the East Coast and my sister flew in from Afghanistan for a few days so she could say goodbye. My brother, sadly, was unable to get emergency leave from the Army – something we are all still upset about. However, he wrote our Grandpa a beautiful and touching letter which we read to him. My uncle, cousins and other family members also stopped by to be with Grandpa during his final days. He was surrounded by love and the comfort of family. To die any other way is tragic, I thought to myself. This is the way it’s supposed to be. My Grandpa knew we were all there for him. He could hear our words and feel our soft touches and gentle kisses. He managed to give his great-grandson one last high-five and give him a kiss. My father caressed his forehead to soothe him, just like my grandfather did to help calm all of us when we were children. He told us he was a little scared, but ready to go. He had been preparing himself since Grandma died. She was waiting for him.

On their wedding day, 1941.

My Grandpa died on Monday, August 23rd. He was almost 91 years old.

This isn’t supposed to be a sad story and it certainly isn’t tragic. My grandparents had a good long life together and a great love story. Although I feel sad and miss them terribly, I celebrate my grandparents. They were very much a part of my upbringing and helped shape me into the person I am today. My grandparents helped instill core values into all of their grandchildren and taught us that being a good person is the most important thing in life – be loyal and loving to your spouse and family, work hard, use your potential, give back to others, and never lie, cheat, or steal to get ahead. And, perhaps most importantly, fill your home with love and laughter.

I had heard about couples in very long relationships where one would pass away shortly after the other, but I never imagined that it would happen to my grandparents. Perhaps it’s because I never imagined my life without them. But, now, here I am. Living without them. If only I could hear my Grandma laugh one more time or listen to my Grandpa talk about his beloved Dodgers (the man was a human encyclopedia of all things baseball). If only we could talk one more time about how to make the perfect Challah french toast or Matzoh Ball Soup (still working on that one). I’m glad that in the last year, I started to talk more with them about our family history and record some of our conversations on video and audio. I heard stories that I had never heard before and I feel grateful that they shared so much with me. I live with no regrets, except that I didn’t go to just one more baseball game with my Grandpa.

Life goes on and mine will, too. But I’ll miss them everyday that I keep living it.

I was 20 years old and away at college when my brother was born. I was in graduate school when my sister was born. Since we’re decades of age apart, didn’t grow up together, and live across the country from each other, I obviously don’t have a normal sisterly relationship with them. I love them as I do the sister and brother I grew up with, but it’s a very different relationship.  Over time, I have developed a dynamic with them that seems half-mother/half-sister. When you’re old enough to be the mother of your siblings (and often get mistaken for the mom…ugh), it’s easy to find yourself playing the mom role just as easily as it is to be the sister.

During our visits, I find myself shifting between this mother role and the sister role. I can ask my brother and sister to help with dinner, stop running down the hardwood stairs in slippery socks, or clean up after themselves just as easily as I can find myself on the couch with them playing DJ Hero, teasing and giggling with them as if I were their age.  At the same time, I need to monitor myself like I would with any other kids around, like watch my language and avoid inappropriate topics.  And when topics come up that aren’t necessarily inappropriate, but definitely on the serious side, it can be confusing as to how to handle it. For one thing, my sister and brother aren’t even half as sheltered as I was growing up. It’s not because of how they are parented but rather it’s due to the world they and their friends live in. Their access to the world is staggering and their precociousness is reminiscent of my young adult self and certainly not my tween and teen self.

As I walked along with my 10 year old sister one day last week, we got to talking about marriage. As we passed by a gay couple on the street, our conversation led to gay relationships and marriage. When I mentioned that gay marriage is not legal here in California, she stopped walking. Looking incredulous and surprised, she looked up at me and said, “Wait, gay marriage isn’t legal here?!?” I could only respond, “No, it isn’t.” She was silent for a few minutes, which is unusual for her, and pondered that.

Perhaps it was my tone that ended the conversation. It was a tone that took me back to my own youth when I asked questions of my parents that could not easily be explained. I became a mother in that tone, even though I wanted to talk like a sister. But I couldn’t do that. How could I possibly respond to a 10 year old that lives in a State where gay marriage is legal and explain why it isn’t legal everywhere? How could I explain to her that those of us who support gay rights and equality were outvoted by those who do not. I didn’t necessarily want to have that conversation, only because it makes me angry and upset. I didn’t want to put that on my 10 year old sister when, even though she is shockingly mature and smart, she’s simply not old enough to listen to what I have to say about the subject. One day, we’ll have that conversation. But, at that moment in time, I simply changed the subject and started teasing her like any other big sister.

For my family, this meant two things.  My brother, an Army psychologist, had to leave his base in Europe and say goodbye to his pregnant wife and two year old son for the next year. It also meant that, as of the 4th of July, both my brother and sister are now living in Afghanistan.

As I spent the long holiday weekend at the beach, enjoying the company of my family and good friends, my mind was elsewhere. It was on a military plane that was flying my brother to a war zone. It was in the isolated desert compound where my sister lives and in the helicopter that transports her to various work assignments. It was with her husband, my brother-in-law, patiently waiting for his wife to return home to him. It was with my pregnant sister-in-law, living alone in Europe with her toddler, missing her husband tremendously. It was with my two year old nephew, not old enough to grasp that his daddy won’t be there every night to read him a story before going to sleep.

My brother and sister, the two people I grew up with fighting and loving along the way, do not live typical American lives. And when people you love are living an extraordinary life, it makes you appreciate your ordinary life all the more.

A few months ago, my sister called to say hello. It was 2 am her time and she had been watching her DVD’s of the TV show 30 Rock. While watching the show, she had become homesick. There is always a little ache within her – she always misses her husband and her family. But what surprised her were the little things that caused her to miss home even more, like watching a TV character drink a Starbucks coffee while casually walking down a busy city street. It was a simple reminder of her former life. She longed to do those little things that most of us take for granted, the simple things that provide normalcy. We don’t give walking down the street with a coffee in our hand a second thought. We don’t consider going to the grocery store to buy fresh food or go window shopping at the mall a big deal. Why would we? Living ordinary lives gives us the power and freedom to ignore everyday things.

When families are separated for a while, for whatever reason, it’s not just the big events that will be missed. My sister has had to miss wedding anniversaries, birthdays, and funerals. My brother will miss the birth of his second child and  his son’s third birthday. But, perhaps even more importantly, is that they will also miss the normal everyday family stuff like cooking and eating meals together, going on a walk around the neighborhood, enjoying a fun day at the park or beach, or reading a story to your child at bedtime and giving him a kiss goodnight.

I spent the 4th doing what most American families were doing, spending the day with family and friends and enjoying the fireworks. My normal and simple life will continue as usual, but a big part of my mind and heart will be in Afghanistan for a while. I will be waiting for my brother and sister. Waiting for them to return back to an ordinary life.