MVI_5760, originally uploaded by gemini-girl.
Her Name was Fortune
I had never heard of that name before as she introduced herself to me on the lunch room line. She was in the 7th grade, I in the 8th. She was a new student, and was very friendly.
Over that year, I got to know Fortune pretty well. A group of us would always sit around the lunch room table and talk about celebrities. She knew just as much as I did (which was impressive). She would even tell us about her family dinners, which sometimes included Lacey Chabert of ‘Party of Five’ Fame. She was a distant relative. Lacey was cool back in the day.
My high school was relatively small. OK, tiny. It had 75 girls in the entire school. Roughly 20 girls for each grade. We were all like one big happy family. Fortune was a year behind me.
When I graduated high school, we lost touch. We reconnected on Facebook about a year ago.
I heard that she married the love of her life about 4 years ago. She was secretly in love with him for years, before they started dating. Everyone was ecstatic.
Then 3 years ago she gave birth to a beautiful son.
Last year, she found out she was pregnant with twin boys.
When she was 6 months pregnant, Fortune was diagnosed with Melanoma. Since she was pregnant, invasive treatment was not an option. I know she did have some sort of treatment done, since during her pregnancy she was forced to wear a scarf around her head. Her hair was falling out. She didn’t tell many people.
Three months ago, I scrolled through her pictures on facebook and saw that she had just given birth to twin boys. Fortune looked radiant and so beautiful in the pictures! I remember wondering to myself how she could be so skinny after giving birth to twins.I sent her a message to tell her (from one mother of twins to another) that it would get easier.
But it wouldnt.
Fortune passed away on Saturday.
Those who weren’t immediately close to her were not aware of the battle she was in.
She was fighting for her life.
She was 27.
When word started making the rounds on Facebook, my mouth dropped and I started shaking.
How could someone so young, so beautiful- a mother of three young boys… just go?
HOW?
You try to rack your brain to come up with some sort of explanation to make sense of it all.
There is no sense.
I know that there is a bigger picture in life, and only G-D knows why, but I want to know: Why G-D?
Why take away a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister?
And my heart aches.
It aches for her husband who now walks his life alone.
It aches for her sons.
The sons that will never have known their mother.
The mother who loved them.
The mother who gave up her life to carry her twins to full term without harming them.
There is a special place in heaven for someone like that.
Her name was Fortune, and she was my friend.
Dear Judgmental Reader,
To the person who chose to come to my PERSONAL blog and leave a judgmental comment yesterday-
This blog is my personal diary.
I can say what I want, and vent AS MUCH as I want.
This blog will never ever be a sugar-coated, happy funland filled with pictures of my kids and rainbows.
You got the wrong blog sister.
If you don’t like it, click the X on the top right hand of your screen.
Oh…
Don’t you dare quote the bible to me. I attended a private, RELIGIOUS school all of my life and could pretty much have a bible quote smack down with you.
I will leave you with this quote from your “New” testament (which I know as well apparently):
Matthew 7:1-3
“Don’t judge unless ye be judged”
“For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged,
and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you”
“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye
and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?
Oh-
Don’t you ever, ever call me “HONEY” again.
XOXO,
GG
Addictions & Red Velvet Ice Cream Cake
OK, so it’s happening again.
Sigh.
Shopping.
Out of control shopping.
The shopping that you have to hide from your spouse lest you want a big blow -out fight.
I used to think that it was me appreciating the good things in life, while my husband only throwing out underwear when it has virtually disintegrated into nothing more than a man thong.
That’s only partially the case.
I have a problem.
I sense the urge and I cannot control it.
I usually feel this way when there is a deep sadness weighing on me. Depression, if you may.
I feel better emotionally than I did a few weeks ago, when it was at it’s highest. It stopped for a week or two, only to be brought back full force with the discovery of an unused credit card with a high limit.
Stores beckon me with a promises of sales, with the promise of happiness.
The things that I buy make me feel happy.
The things that I buy make up for me always having to rely on my parents for things as a child. My father hardly ever gave me a dime, while my mother did at times- but it was ALWAYS with conditions. Always with her bringing it up later.
When I became an adult, I said “Fuck it- now I dont have to rely on anyone but myself. If I want something, I will go and get it”….if it only had ended there.
I have put us in a good amount of debt from my purchases. Whether it be for the home, for vacations, for myself, for the girls….
It’s like I am trying to prove something.
I am trying to prove something to the world.
Trying to prove that I am “worthy” in some way.
The thing is, I know that I am worthy.
But maybe I dont really.
I know that it’s not the things that make me happy- that’s only temporary. With an addiction, once is never enough… not if you are addicted to drugs, food, exercise, shopping, alcohol- anything. You always say to yourself “just one more time and I wont do it tomorrow”- but you are only lying to yourself.
Yesterday, after making another purchase I took the card and cut it in half. It’s kind of like what I do when there is an amazing slice of cake sitting in front of me (like Stone Cold’s Red velvet ice cream cake- OMG). I need to throw it out, or spill something on it in order to control myself.
If you eat one cake in your life- make it this one.
When it comes to food, I know damn good and well how to control myself. I know the consequences of my actions. My addiction in a former life (when I was a child/teen) used to be food. G-D I used to eat so much. SO FUCKING much. I am surprised that I wasn’t heavier than I was with the amount of food that I ate every day.
Food was my comfort.
Of course, when I was one of the heaviest girls in my class… that saddened me. I hated it. I hated the lack of attention I received from boys because of my weight.
But when my health was at risk, I took a good look at myself and stopped eating to the point of no return.
When I was pregnant, I ALLOWED myself to eat what I wanted, when I wanted. After all, I was eating for 3.
But I ate too much.
When you have an addiction to something, and someone gives you the green light to go for it, who are you to say no? In my case, my OB told me that I was expected to gain at least 45 lbs during my pregnancy. I accepted that as a challenge. Game on.
Because my addiction had shifted from shopping (since I hated clothes shopping during my pg) to food again, it was easy to get caught up.
I gained about 60 lbs during my pregnancy.
That would have been a good amount if it werent for the fact that my girls WERE PREEMIES.
I wish I could just find the off button in my brain that fuels my addictions. I wish it were just that simple.
I may have failed yesterday, but today is a new day.
Wordless Wednesday (ok, not so wordless)
October 2005:
I took this picture of my husband’s paternal grandmother. She was sitting and making a straw bowl her porch. She was very creative and always loved to sew dolls and do anything to keep her hands busy. She loved sitting on her porch.
I never really had a relationship with her because I didnt understand her hebrew through her heavy Yemenite accent. Sometimes she would ask me questions and I wouldnt answer because I didnt even know she was speaking to me.
This was a woman who became a widow at the age of 40, and was left to raise 7 children by herself.
She was often sought after by men because of her beatuy- she had big blue eyes (something VERY uncommon in the people of Yemen). She turned down every advance.
When my husband’s mother was killed in a car accident when she was 35 (leaving behind a 12, 10, and 2 year old), she was the one to care for them and hold them. She lived downstairs, so she was never far.
She passed away in February of 2008.
I am glad she was alive to know that she had twin great-granddaughters, even if only through pictures.
I know my husband’s heart aches every time there is darkness in the porch downstairs.
Husband’s Grammy making a bowl, originally uploaded by gemini-girl.
New Friends, Old Friends & I will Never take a double stroller to Penn Station Again
I wish someone would force me into a spa for a week. Just a full week of relaxation.
Relaxation to the point of boredom.
On Wednesday night, I went to visit my Aiming Low ladies in NYC.
It is so awesome that I get to actually see them on my turf! Of course, instead of arriving at 7pm, I got there at 9pm. I met a friend for drinks which turned into an “ex-friend” showing up. Needless to say, it didn’t go as well as I had planned. It was tear- filled, and upseting and that’s not what I wanted for that night!
Moving on!
Now, as we all know, Heather could not attend the party because she is with child and her doctor had told her that she didn’t think it would be a good idea. I was bummed out because, well – I promised her that I would cook her a Shabbat Dinner (fyi Anissa had never heard of Shabbat so Ms. Ali Martell had to school her).
Of course, I still planned on loving on Heather:
Me, Metalia & Ali - AWESOME Ladies
Izzymom
Anissa <3
Now, I may or MAY NOT have already been drunk by the time I got to the party.
Me & VDOG - yes, she is LICKING Heather
The following night on Thursday, I had a work event- but was SO HUNG OVER from the night prior (yes, I get drunk off of 2 glasses of wine- what’s it to you?) that I decided to nix it and go to alumni night for my sorority. I guess I mistook “Alumni night” for a nice dinner with old friends. It turns out that it was a pledging event where we got to scare the crap out of little 18 year old girls. It was actually really sad- yet fun. I remember being a pledge. So freaked out that they would drop me.
I met up with some of my sorority BFF’s, some who I haven’t seen in years. It was wonderful to catch up and we promised one another that we would never wait that long again…
2000
2001
2009
Sorority Sister breast-fed her little munchkin. Needless to say the young sisters were a bit freaked out.
On Friday, my mom took Soleil to sleep by her house. It was strange only having Neve at home. You feel guilty for giving up your child, and when my mom called us on the phone all I heard was Soleil screaming “Mommmmmmy – it broke my heart. Sometimes though, its nice to have only one of them.
I thought it would be an easy night, you know- with only one baby – but Neve kept waking up. It’s as if she SENSED her twin wasn’t there. It was very strange!
Neve enjoying her donut hole- ALL ALONE
On Saturday, Halloween – I decided to dress the girls up and take them to The Museum of Natural History in Manhattan. I didn’t want to spend the day indoors- so off we went with my mother.
Of course, this was a BADDDDDDDDD IDEA. I had no one to blame but myself.
No one.
We took the subway, but had to transfer to another train- which happened to be about a 15 minute walk uphill underground, with NO Elevators. Only steps. My mother and I had to drag the girls in their double stroller up and down the stairs.
It was BAD.
When we go to the Museum, the place was JAM PACKED.
The girls were overwhelmed, and a little bit freaked out when they saw monsters walking by them….
Grandma comforting Soleil
I was surprised to see a whole wall dedicated to the people of Yemen. The girls are way too young to have a history lesson on their roots, but you better believe that they will one day.
- A little history lesson for you all
END OF MY ROPE.
On Sunday, we were invited to a First Birthday Party. Of course, we love taking the girls to parties because they truly enjoy themselves.
One of my BFF's Franny, Baby Eli and Neve
N & S enjoying the spread and the balloon animals
Neve eyeing the cupcakes
After the party, we had to do a little grocery shopping. I love going grocery shopping. Of course, it’s always more fun with my little helpers..
By the end of the week, we were all so pooped. After the girls were showered and fed l caught them sitting on their little cars watching sesame street..
Mind the mess
What a way to end the week….
Green Sweat Pants
Yesterday was a FULL day for me.
Besides a huge meeting at work that I needed to coordinate, I had the Aiming Low HP party that night (a post on that to come). Since I had two hours to kill prior to the party, I called a friend up who I never get to see anymore to have dinner.
The thing is, every time I see this friend, or any of my friends- it’s always with other people around. I can’t ever be open and honest about what’s really going on in my life. I just cant be that exposed when my husband is sitting across the table.
It was nice to catch up with this friend. He is one of the dearest people in my life.
When I was 16 years old, my parents decided to move my family to Israel. We dreamt that we would all be happy, and that would be the solution to everything (sounds familiar).
But alas, that wasn’t the case.
Although I was originally on board with moving there, I quickly learnt that it was a BAD idea.
I moved to an affluent city, and was thrown into the 10th grade. I was not affluent, and nor did my Jew-Fro, brace -face win over many friends.
I was in the same school as my SUPER DUPER popular cousin, so I thought that would somehow make a difference, since we were two peas in a pod.
Nope.
People just did not dig me.
I was just.. so different from them.
I failed all my classes (even having it out with the english teacher because I would often correct her in front of the class)
I had two major crushes on boys who didn’t know I was alive.
I didn’t blame them.
I hated myself for agreeing to move.
I wanted to go back home to America.
I wanted to have friends again.
During this very difficult time in my life, I had a weekly appointment with my schools guidance counselor.
I don’t remember much about her, except she reminded me of the teacher from Teen Wolf 2. You know, the one that at the end turned out to be a wolf as well? (tried to google a picture of her, SO hard to find)
On one of these appointments, she mentioned that there was another young boy who had moved from America in my school. She suggested I meet him and maybe we could be friends.
I liked that idea.
I was so alone.
I remember often roaming the halls and wondering who the American boy was.
The guidance counselor never set up a time for us to meet.
One day, when I walked into her office to get a permission slip signed, I saw a young man in her office. She was on the phone, and at that moment- pointed me in that boys direction- whispering that he was the American.
I went up to him, and introduced myself.
Turns out, he was not only American- he was from my city.
To top it all off, we even had friends in common!!
What a small world!
For some reason, we never really clicked at that point in time. I imagined becoming BFF’s and just spending all day together. He was a year younger than me, but that wouldnt matter!
My dreams were short-lived.
We never hung out, never went to grab a slice of pizza (from his dad’s pizzeria)- he didn’t turn out to be the friend that I dreamed of…
Then one day, towards the end of the school year, I saw him in the halls. He told me his family was moving back to America.
I was so upset and jealous.
I wanted to move back home as well!!!
I knew my parents were talking about going back, but it was still very much up in the air.
And just as quickly as we moved to Israel, we moved back to America. My dad first, then me, then my brother and finally my mother.
A few months after my arrival back home, I received a phone call.
“Umm.. I’m not sure if you remember me.. I was the umm..the boy in Israel that was in your school. I saw our mutual friend and asked for your number, I hope that’s ok”
I was so OK with it.
We had stayed on the phone for what I remember was 4 hours. My cordless phone was dead, so I spent the entire conversation on the kitchen floor.
Turned out he DIDN’T have any friends in Israel, he felt like an outcast… which would explain his choice of green sweatpants (which he wore every other day).
It was like he was the only one who knew what I had gone through. The only one who truly understood- and that means so much when you are a teenager.
After we hung up, I had wondered to myself WHY we hadn’t been friends the entire time?
We just clicked.
And today, after all these years…I am so proud to call him one of my BEST friends.
He’s someone I would give a kidney to (and I do not part with my organs very easily).
He has taught me how to laugh at myself. I was always one to get offended so quickly… but he taught me that when you laugh at yourself, no one else has the power to hurt you.
We have had some rocky patches in our relationship, of course. The worst one being when he was 18 and came out to me. I didn’t know how to react to that piece of information. I had never been around homosexuality before, and it was all so new and scary for me. I didn’t want him to have a tough life because of it. But instead of me being a good friend, a friend he needed at that time… I wasn’t.
And we stopped talking for 2 years.
And I hated myself for being such a fool.
Such a fool to have let go of one of my best friends.
We eventually made up, and I will always regret what I had put him through. I was 18….a baby- I made mistakes.
Today, I raise my fag hag flag high and am proud to have this amazingly special person in my life.
When I started dating my husband, he was uncomfortable with the idea that my best friend was a man. Although I constantly told him that he was gay and that nothing had ever happened between us- he just couldn’t accept it (bec this friend had been with women before he came out). At one point my husband even said “It’s me or him”. I looked him dead in the eyes and told him that if he made me choose, I would not choose him.
We would often fight about the relationship I had with this friend. I never understood what made him so insecure. I guess he just didn’t understand how I could share all these feelings that I had with another man besides him. Often, I would have to call my friend when my husband wasn’t around. This was very painful for me, and hurt my best friend immensely.
Yet I knew it would blow over.. I knew that my husband would realize what a jerk he was being and get over himself.
Today, my husband LOVES my best friend. He always says how stupid he was for feeling so insecure. He too had never been around anyone who was gay and just didn’t get that a man and a woman can have a platonic relationship.
My friend has been my rock so many times. He has always been consistent (which I don’t find very common in friends these days).
He reads my blog sometimes (I just found this out last night), as he is the ONLY friend IRL that knows about it. And I am ok with that, because he is someone who I would tell my deepest darkest secrets to.
With him there is no mask.
No facade.
Sure, he might schlep me to a YSL sample sale, or ask me when my last lip waxing was, or make fun of my shoes… but he will always, ALWAYS be my little green sweatpants wearing friend.
B’s 30th Birthday, originally uploaded by gemini-girl.
Wordless Wednesday
October 2009
It is SO hard to get a nice picture of them. SO HARD. I adore this picture.
My girls.
*FYI the food on Soleil’s face was a cookie. I had TO BRIBE them for this picture- I’m a good mom!*
Off to the Farm We Go
Yesterday was a BEAUTIFUL Fall day in New York. Since we had yet to take the girls to a Pumpkin Patch, we decided that it was the right kind of day to do so.
My mother wanted to join us (and nobody was killed- hurrah!), so off we went to a Farm an hour away.
As a child, my parents never took us apple picking, or to pick out a pumpkin in a pumpkin patch. They were Israeli immigrants and didnt really partake in the Fall festivities that is so Americana.
I remember always feeling left out, so to speak, because of our lack of involvement. I wanted to carve a pumpkin, I wanted to go trick or treating!
When my girls were born, I made a promise to myself that I would do those things with them.
I mean, they are second generation American.
Granted, their father is Israeli- but he is way more open-minded than my parents were. Plus, he has no choice.
Anywho, off we went to the farm.
This counts as my exercise.
Discovering apples
3 Generations
Grandma showing the girls where corn comes from
My husband the farmer- love it (fyi he was born & raised on a farm)
Soleil & I pulling the wheelbarrow
Neve is not amused
First time I EVER picked corn. EVER. I am such a pro
Perfect moment- perfect shot
My little pumpkins
Dear Body
October 21st was National Love Your Body day. I decided to write a letter to my body and posted it on the Silicon Valley Mom’s Blog.
Dear Body,
You and I haven’t always had the best relationship, yes I know. It started when I was a little girl and realized that maybe I had a little bit too much body hair for a girl my age. I know my Syrian background is to blame as Syrian winters are very cold, and so my people evolved and were born covered in hair. But I was born in New York in 1981, so there was no real need to have a unibrow at 8 years old.
Then at the age of 10 (one mere month before I turned 11) you decided to bestow me with a visit from Aunt Flo. I was one of the first girls in my 5th grade class to receive this visit and let me just tell you- I was not happy about it one bit.
I didn’t care about the bleeding, the thing that got me the most was THE PAIN. Even today at the age of 28, I suffer from monthly cramps (even as I sit and type this). I am no mathematician, but that makes it about 18 years now.
Now, putting aside the fact that you have always had a way of packing on the pounds without even trying (ironically leaving me with an ass as flat as a pancake)-I would like to focus on my breasts.
Once I got my period, that was it. The breasts showed up as if overnight. And not only did I sprout them, they were pretty much a C cup in the 7th grade. Luckily for me, I was in an all-girl school, so I didn’t get any unwanted attention. Of course, even if I was in a coed school, my breasts would not have deflected from the fact that I had a unibrow and leg hair that could rival my grandfather’s.
When I was 22 years old, I found out that I had a cyst as large as a grapefruit in my uterus. Because of this, I had to have my right fallopian tube removed. This caused me great fear as I wasn’t yet married and had never had a child before. I took the growth as a sign of a lack of me being in tune with you. I decided to treat you right body, and began watching what I ate. To spoil you, I decided to sprinkle in some exercise and I even lost 30 lbs!
You looked sooo hot!
But body, you did me wrong 8 months later. I treated you so well, and yet another cyst appeared, this time taking with it my right ovary.
At that point I was pissed off at you. I was 23, and yet I only had one remaining functioning ovary and fallopian tube.. or so I thought.
When I got married at 24, we started trying for a baby right away. The doctors said that I shouldn’t worry about anything since I still had one remaining side, “All it takes is one”….so they thought..
And yet, a year later I was told that scar tissue from my past surgeries were causing infertility as it was acting as a barrier between sperm and egg.
Body, you failed me again.
After a round of IVF I became pregnant with twins. For once, you made me proud. Not only were you carrying a baby- you were carrying two babies you show off!
To top it all off, you were amazing- no morning sickness! What a body you were. I was so proud to call you mine (random chin hair and all).
That is..
That is until I was 6 months pregnant and you went into pre- term labor.
I was told I would deliver the girls at 25 weeks.
I prayed and prayed that I wouldn’t. I even bargained with G-D.
THERE WAS NO WAY YOU WERE GOING TO F*CK ME OVER THIS TIME BODY.
I mean I could forgive you for the body hair, for the menstrual cramps and for the cysts.. but in NO WAY was I going to forgive you for being the reason I would lose my girls. The ones I fought so hard for.
And you surprised me body.
You held on for an added 5 weeks when everyone doubted you. Each day you let those babies reside in your warm walls, you increased their viability.
So yes, at 30 weeks I delivered my 3.4 lb & 3.10 lb babies. But they were alive and did well. And I thanked you and loved you and was in awe of you. You didn’t listen to those damn doctors when they said you couldn’t hold out for those extra weeks.
So no, you didn’t produce enough breast milk to feed the girls (regardless of how much pumping I did)- but you still tried. And here I am 2 years later. I have twin daughters who amaze me every day. And even though I had cursed you so often for failing me body, the one time I needed you the most- you showed me what you had.
And for that I am forever grateful.
Love,
GG
P.S Do you think you could do without the random chin hair? I mean really..?
