embrace the crazy fan girl

As part of my quest for more balance and presence, I am coming out of a closet. My name is Nina and I'm a crazy fan girl disguised as a suburban mom attending parent teacher conferences, cross country meets and little league baseball games.

A sometimes CFG and myself at the Journey concert.

My addiction began like many of the millions of fan girls peeking out behind their venti lattes and premium denim. I was nine when I sang my heart out to 'Hey Deenie," a la Sean Cassidy. I wrote him a letter professing my unwavering love and devotion. At 12, I ripped out my first of many pages from  TigerBeat magazine. A picture of Steve Perry, front man of Journey sporting long hair and his large nose captivated me like no other and he gazed at me from the walls of my tiny bedroom singing to me about open arms...

It continued on and on with Michael Jackson, Prince,  Jordan Catalano (fictional but not to me,) Eddie Vedder and Justin Timberlake. Young girls are fickle, you know. Somewhere along the line, as age crept in and I traded "wisdom for lines around my eyes," I had to snuff out my open musings of the object(s) of my affection.  It didn't suit my blossoming professional image, not to mention my many (ha!) suitors, to drool over images of Eddie Vedder's long hair, flannel shirts and stage thrashing. This was before the days of smart phones and internet - everything was in print and I ran the risk of being discovered at Walgreens buying the latest issue of Rolling Stone, People or Us Weekly for fear of looking like the crazy star struck girl that I was (am.)

and.....she's off!

babygirl age four

I am the mother of a high school student. I am the mother of a high school student. I am the mother of a high school student?  Are you kidding me with this? In my mind, I AM the high school student. How is it possible this day has come? Better question: How is it possible I've accepted all the signs? Let's start with my wrinkles (you know I LOVE to speak of my wrinkles!), the fact that I finally started to color my hair and the best post 40 wake up call: it takes so long to lose weight and even longer to take it off and it takes Herculean discipline to stay fit - but one Oreo? ONE EFFIN Oreo? Right to my thighs. May as well rub those little cookies all over my backside because that's exactly where they land.

All the signs are present as I (kind of) gracefully pass through time, laughing at said signs and living the days go by. But the tangibility of my first born entering High School is sobering. Exciting. Terrifying. I feel like this is the start of something big, massive and lightning quick. Like a canon is ready to be shot and in four short years, my babygirl will be ready to leave me. She will leave me. She will leave me.

As a rational gal, I know I am raising her to do just that. To leave me and successfully live on her own. Making her own mistakes, her own successes independent of her Mama (sorry, I'm watching a lot of Friday Night Lights and I'm stuck with some Texan twang.)  I know this, I pray for it and somedays I long for the solitude of an empty nest. 

It's the beginnings and the endings that throw me. The ending of a life, the beginning of a career, the ending of a friendship. It seems like the doing, the living, with all it's ups and downs and laughs and grumbles goes on moment for moment. These transitions though always give me pause to reflect. 

365...Part II

365 days. All I can think about is my father's death. He died just more than a year ago. And what a year it has been. I'm not missing him any more than I normally do nor I am I feeling overly sentimental. But something has been quite wrong. I've felt tightly wound, desperately running away from an overall feeling of....'yuck.' A feeling so odd, so foreign and disturbing I type and delete the words I long to use to describe it. All I can say is yuck. Discomfort. Death is yucky. It's final. It's disturbing. My father appeared uncomfortable during his last days. His body labored. It was horrible to witness. That's where my mind keeps leading me...

A year ago, after my Dad passed away, I was able to grieve and miss him and smile for him and cry for him. I wrote a eulogy that poured from my heart to the paper. I shared my love, my funny and my memories of my father with the wonderful, generous and loving friends and family that came to his funeral. I was in a spiritual place that kept me calm, grateful and present. This allowed me a quiet, cleansing, authentic grieving period. I felt the loss deeply, it sluiced through me and I felt closer to my dad during those first months after his death than I had previously during  his illness when he was alive.  I felt as if I could feel him with me, see him clearly smiling and laughing and driving me crazy with his obnoxious antics. I breathed him in.

365 days later. I have grown distant from authenticity, from presence, from calm. I lost my balance. My life rolled out of control collecting stress after stress. My husband's business had set backs, which caused our family some setbacks. My mother moved in with us and not long after her move in, she was diagnosed with lung cancer. My zen like spirituality wasn't strong enough to hold up to the new shit storm brewing around me. As I wrote this post, a few edits from publishing it, I stumbled upon this quote:

365

365 days ago, my dear father passed away. I am posting the eulogy I wrote and read to share a little bit of my dad with you all. He was my biggest fan. I know this would make him smile. He loved being the center of attention after all.  Thanks for reading. It's a long read, so get comfy, and thanks as always, for reading...

Say not in grief 'he is no more', but live in thankfulness that he was.

~  Hebrew proverb

It doesn’t matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was. 

I remember my father, Leo Kushner, as a story teller. His story began on July 13th, 1927 in Buenos Aires, Argentina. He loved living in Argentina, he loved saying “Argentina,” often talking of the busy city and the quiet countryside where he lived with my grandparents and my uncle. He loved to talk in detail about the colors of tucan birds and butterflies, while drifting into stories about his mother smacking him with a broom when got out of line. Which was often. 

My dad could tell a story like no one else. Whether he narrated in a loud booming voice or his quiet whisper, his hand gestures, animated facial expressions and uniquely hilarious observations made every story compelling. Sometimes he would break into song mid-story, just to make sure you were listening. I wish I could do it now, but he always told me I couldn’t carry a tune and would say, ‘Nina, a singer, you’ll never be.” He was right.

At 14, He moved with his family to Chicago. Can you imagine not only moving at 14, leaving your friends, your family, your cousins, your school, but moving to another country where you didn’t know the language, the customs, the dress? While my father understood some yiddish, he did not speak it, as in Argentina, his family spoke Spanish. So even though they moved to a Jewish neighborhood on the West side of Chicago, my father was quite nervous at first. He told me during the first week he was here, his mother sent him to store. He was so nervous he might get lost on the way home, like the mover and shaker he was, he decided to memorize the street lights since he couldn’t read the English street signs. So he saw yellow light, green light, yellow light, red, and on and on. Simple, right? They didn’t have street lights in Argentina, so he assumed they would stay the same. He goes to the store, gets what his mother told him, and he sets out for home thinking yellow, green, yellow red.... To his horror, on the way back, what he’d memorized was ALL wrong, and he wandered for hours trying to find his way home. When he finally and God only knows how he made it back home, his mother smacked him with a broom. Now  I didn’t do that story half the justice it should have gotten, because when he told it, he filled it with fake tears, and a frightened face and a terrified grimace when talking about his angry mom.

Grateful for the Passing of Time

It's been a busy, crazy, intense, sad and joyous 5 months since I last posted here. As a 'blogger,' one isn't supposed to draw reference to the fact that she hasn't posted in a while, but it's part of a  larger theme, so roll with me.

On June 28th, my life was so different, yet still so much the same. My Dad was alive and I was beginning a new adventure in my life. I'm still enjoying my new adventure, I am nearing my 40somethingth birthday, preparing to register my daughter for high school, and my dear Dad passed away. Time keeps moving on. Some days she flies on by, and others she drags her pokey self through each and every hour.

There is such beauty in the passage of time, such grace, so much awe. We know life can change in an instant. We are aware of the intensity of that possibility - but what about the awareness of life changing moment by moment, breath by breath, day by day and so on? For years I've allowed myself the gift of enjoying the present moment and taking time for stillness. It's an ongoing process, as there are days when I'm so unenlightened and ready for the day to be over, I head up to bed as soon as the last dish from dinner is dried. For the most part though, I have a deep respect for the here and now.

The feeling of Now really seeped in to my consciousness right after my Dad died and the month that followed. While it was a time of deep sadness, it was also a time of reflection, wonder and dare I say joy. Joy because of the wonder that is life and death. Joy that I know my Dad is at rest, or in a better place or on a new journey, or whatever it may be called - I know, so deeply, that he is with me. Whenever I want him, he's here. And in that glorious month, I wanted him daily. I woke with him, saw him on and off throughout the day, and said goodnight before I settled in to watch The Daily Show.  I think the reason I felt so close to him during that time is because I was allowed to be still - to shut off from the rest of the world to take care of only what really mattered at the moment: grieving, my husband, my kids, my mom, my brothers, getting dinner on the table and maybe doing some laundry. Society allows us this time to be flakey, not return phone calls, miss meetings and be still, if we choose.

I am so fortunate to have friends, family and a community that embraced me and allowed my stillness. I want it back. I want you all to have it too! And, no, I don't want you to have it at the expense of a loss or some other tragedy. I want the quiet and peace that comes with some sort of self imposed shut down of what really matters. I think there is a way to get this back, even though we have to load the dishwasher and go to work and go to parent/teacher conferences and deal with the crazy road rage guy in the Honda. It will take effort to find the peace and dwell in it - but I do know it's possible. It all comes down to balance, and I lack that most days...

The best way to move toward this place, this peace, is to embrace Now. Each moment, every moment. When you're typing, type! When you're stirring the risotto, stir and when you're listening to your son go on and on about the Bears, listen (challenge point for me!) This is the start to finding the space to be still. I am not a guru, I am not a preacher, I am not a religious gal. All I know is what works for me. Stillness works. It's hard to get there, but when I do it works. And if it works for me, I gotta share the love.

summer obsessions 2012

I love being obsessed. Whether it be a new song, a food, a product or an activity, I love the way a new obsession takes over my whole being, starting in my head and ending with my blathering on about it to my friends, family and anyone who will listen. My soon to be 13 year old let me know quite frankly, "Mom, you are ALWAYS (eye roll) obsessed with something." Before I could even deny it, I paused and said, you know, you're right! But this isn't a bad thing. Especially this summer, when I am obsessed with many things healthy, except for a few things on the naughty side. Below is my list - I encourage you to join my obsessive nature and give me a holler so we can go on and on and on about them....


Gillian O'Malley Modal Thong Underwear for workouts. I am obsessed. These panties are thin, lightweight and inexpensive. They fit well, and you can't feel them during your most grueling workouts. They are very plain jane, so I wouldn't recommend them for a night out on the town or with your guy, but for your yoga practice or barre workout, these are go to undies.


Zico Coconut Water. DELICIOUS and delightful!!  At 60 calories for a 14 oz bottle, this yummy drink refreshes and hydrates me immediately. I love to drink water, but sometimes I need a little more, and Zico does the trick. It has 569mg of potassium, 0 fat and is gluten free. While I drink the natural, they have other flavors like chocolate (You Know Neen's daughter LOVES) and pomegranate. 


Avocados! Yes, they deserve an exclamation point. I began my avocado obsession after I completed a juice cleanse and couldn't get enough of these creamy, filling little suckers. I eat them in the morning sliced with egg whites or for lunch sliced on an open faced turkey sandwich. YUM. I've even eaten them whole, right out of the skin. Gross? Maybe. I'm obsessed.  While they are high in calories, the nutritional value is astounding. From avocado.org: Avocados provide nearly 20 essential nutrients, including fiber, potassium, Vitamin E, B-vitamins and folic acid. They also act as a "nutrient booster" by enabling the body to absorb more fat-soluble nutrients, such as alpha and beta-carotene and lutein, in foods that are eaten with the fruit. 


Chobani Yogurt At 14 grams of protein per 6 oz container - you get a LOT of bang for your buck. I literally raid the grocery store when the raspberry flavor is in stock, as it seems to be missing way to often. Perfect mid afternoon snack when I get my sweet tooth attack!


The Dailey Method  This is truly the best fitness program I've ever participated in. The 60 minute class is designed to help strengthen, tone and lengthen the entire body. The movements are controlled and focused and work each muscle group to fatigue. My favorite aspect of class is that alignment is the main focus, which allows you to really "master" the movement. Active stretching rounds out the work out and your body AND mind are in sync the entire class. I've been doing Dailey Method since January and have noticed significant results, including much better posture!


Motivational Quotes I am obsessed with any motivational quotes I can get my hands on. One or two a day can really change my mood from negative to positive, discouraged to uplifting. I find them everywhere - from books, to Pinterest to blogs. My favorite this month : "Gratitude turns what we have into enough."


Grey Goose and Soda with a Lime  Plain and simple. Delicious and effective. No headaches to speak of, and if you have a few too many and spill - NO STAIN!!!

Adam Levine Do I even need to explain why? I've loved this man since "This Love" and he's only grown more appealing as he's aged and gotten more ink. And now he golfs. I want to have him over for a beer and have him laugh at my jokes, and...Heavy sigh. Mr. You Know Neen won't appreciate this obsession...

Music Obsessions These change weekly sometimes. The following have been hanging on for at least a month or so, and they are on repeat on my iPod....There is no common thread, either. Some are angsty, one is ridiculous in its pop craziness and the others are just plane fabulous. They all own me this summer:


'New York'  Snow Patrol


'Hey Ho' The Lumineers


'Payphone' Maroon Five  (the video is pretty goofy, but I can forgive Adam anything.)


'Call Me Maybe' Carly Rae Jepsen