LEARNING STROKES

For those of you that have been following, you might recall that 2 summers ago, I made the worst parenting decision of my life. I signed up Jonah for a swim boot camp… A week -long intensive taught by a “I swear-by-him… he’s a miracle worker… it’s so worth the money” guy in Los Angeles. Known for his controversial, sort of,“get in the pool and swim, kid” methodology, I wasn’t 100% convinced that this was the right thing for Jonah. HOWEVER, everyone I knew flocked to him and I was guaranteed that by the end of the week, Jonah would be swimming.

And he did.

For the rest of the summer he swam. Not confidently, but enough to where I did think, (despite the fact that he cried for 1 hour straight/ 5 days in a row), that it was worth it and that least he was “water safe.”

Cut to last summer.

The very first moment that it was hot enough to swim and I so much as uttered the word “pool,” Jonah flipped out. He wanted nothing to do with water or swimming; Even though I promised him he did not need to take lessons, and I’d never force him to do something that he wasn’t comfortable or ready for (again. Gulp), Jonah cried, “Please mommy, don’t send me to (insert guy’s name that will make him need therapy)!!!”

So as you can well imagine, last summer was spent with me, P, and any/ all willing adults holding Jonah in the pool… reminding him (every 7 seconds) that we wouldn’t let him go, and that he was okay and that although he DID/DOES know how to swim, we will hold on to him as long as he needed….

Then… Welcome, Summer 2013.  At the first mention of school out, summer, and swim time, you probably can guess what he asked nervously. I assured him (again), I would never ever send him there for lessons, but that this summer, I think in some way, it would be great to try… to learn… to somehow swim… Maybe… Please?? With like, lots of new cool Lego sets and games on my iPad, and milkshakes on Thursdays, would you consider a little, kinda, sorta like a swim class at the golf club… Because, also, remember, all of your friends are swimming. Freely.

I hardly wanted to shame him…. But with the awareness that camp was starting and they would swim everyday, I felt like it was time to light a little fire again. Gently. And with a flame that won’t cause post-traumatic stress.

Guess what? I didn’t even need to get the match. (Wow, I’m cheesy). At camp, there’s a big pool and a little pool. In order to go into the big pool (with a deep end), the children must take a swim test. Though he was scared, he took the test (and proved he wasn’t ready for the big pool). Relieved, he went into the smaller pool. For two days, I think he doggy paddled and waded his way through it. BUT something else happened, the kids that COULD swim- his buddies- also opted for the pee infested, sunscreen-drenched, Pacific Ocean, dirty looking, small pool too. AND one day, (day 5, I think,) Jonah decided he could swim.

Of course, because he’s a boy (and I’m discovering certain inherent male traits really DO start young), he didn’t tell me about this victory that first week. (That first week, I really only heard about the fact that he touched a Piranha shark, NO a leopard shark! at the aquarium and that I need to stop sending cucumbers because HE. DOESN’T. LIKE. CUCUMBERS).

But I digress…

Cut to this past weekend. Swim time with the family. P and I suit up ready for the clutch/don’t worry fest. Before we could even get in the water though, Jonah was all the way in and said, “Watch what I can do.”

And he swam. ACROSS THE POOL. Head in the water. Feet kicking. SWAM.

He even threw in some arm strokes.

Our mouths dropped….

We screamed. We cheered. I even cried.

He just decided to do it, he said.

“I just… I taught myself.”

For the next two hours, I watched my fish of a boy ENJOYsomething that he hated and feared for almost half his life…. With each and every jump, kick, and plunge, I finally forgave myself for something that I thought could not be undone.

He just taught himself.

“Sweetheart,” I said, “I still have you signed up for lessons at the club. You obviously know how to swim, but I still think---“

“I know, Mommy. I’m very good OF swimming. But I need to get better with my arms. Like the, um, stokes. I mean, strokes. I’m not good OF that yet. She can just show me that.”

Yes, she can.

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY: LOVE GOES 'ROUND

MY TRIP TO THE KOREAN MIKVEH

A couple of weeks ago, I experienced a Spa Night like no other.... In need of a night of relaxation and quiet time, I decided I'd check out a popular Korean spa here in town. Many of my friends have been raaaaaaving about it forever... "You have to try the scrub! Get the scrub! You'll looooove the scrub!"

According to the menu, my "aged skin cells" would be "sloughed away using a traditional Korean technique." Considering that I'm gonna be 40... someday... (she says a la Sally Albright), I had to jump at this $25 opportunity. Let's shed some mother effin old skin, people. I'm in. AND, while we're at it, I thought, let's take it a step further and splurge on a $40 mini massage replete with an oil and honey rubdown,  a cucumber mask and milky body rinse. Done and done.

Excited for my night of bliss, I invited my boyfriend's sister KR to join.... 

With children bed and accounted for, we headed out to the other side of town... Upon entrance, I think both of us were in shock to see a spa menu entirely in Korean, but on the other side of the lobby, a full display of Bumble & Bumble products. Any place that believes in the power of DeFrizz and Brilliantine is all right with me.  I was ready to get my scrub on. 

Look, full disclosure, I knew it wasn't going to be Ojai Valley Inn & Spa, but I guess I was wasn't completely prepared for what I was about to experience....

We put our stuff into the lockers, get into our robe, we carry our towels (which, oh, were maybe a little bit bigger than a wash cloth) and head into the spa room.... And there it was....

Or shall, I say... There they were. 

Vaginas. Everywhere. Like every.where.

Let me back up: I am hardly modest. I am not the girl to cover up in a dressing room when the store clerk, or anyone for that matter walks in and I'm hardly the girl at the spa to walk in to a sauna with a bathing suit on. BUT, I was not expecting 1) that the treatment tables were in the middle of the sauna room, thereby exposing body parts of the woman amidst treatment and 2) I wasn't expecting that the massage therapists, if you will, would be wearing a bra and underwear. Yes. You heard me. A bra and underwear. 

Now for those of you that might have gotten here by accident (thanks to the usage of some very graphic words), let me direct you elsewhere... because what I saw was hardly sexy or kinky. It was just different. And I knew as soon as I was directed to a table, told forcefully to lay down and then basically drenched with a bucket of water (which might I add, did feel oddly wonderful) that this wasn't going to be the "lovely" white robe, lavender smelling, quiet room waiting, spa experience that I was used to.

For the next hour, a middle aged Korean woman scrubbed the bejesus out of my skin from head to toe, and everything in between. No. For reals. I'm not gonna lie: It wasn't pleasant. It kinda hurt. After the scrub came my "mini massage." The same woman used what I think was oil and honey as the lubricant and began her work. Let's just say that with each and every movement, I was wondering what I had done to piss her off. Why is she so mad at my hair??? 

At this point, I knew I wasn't going to be getting that relaxing, doze-off, wake up drooling kind of massage, but I went with it. I couldn't remember if this was something I learned in yoga or in acting school (that NYU Tisch School of Arts clearly paid off), but with each and every shove (because that's what it felt like), I set an intention. She jabs at my neck: That's for stress. She bangs on my head (no really, she kind of punched me in the forehead): That's for worrying.  She pushed on my belly: That's for over indulging....

It became clear: I was at a Korean Mikveh. I needed to this monthly!

Essentially, with each jarring motion and touch, I released and let go of something. I was cleansing. Or at least I told myself that's what I was doing.

At the end of the assault, er massage, she slathered me with warm milk and then sent me to the showers. When I came out, I'm telling you, my skin was GLOWING. Soft and smooth would be an understatement- I was silky. I looked in the mirror expecting to be red, raised and blotchy from the scrub and the abuse that seemed to follow. But instead, I looked FRESH. I looked like how I DREAM of looking without makeup. 

Post scrub/ beat down, we spent several minutes relaxing in the heated Himalayan salt room (I think thats what it was) and then laying down on a blanket on a warmed jade floor....

Next thing I knew, it was 10pm and we were being kicked out… and I didn't want to leave. I was soooooo relaxed. 

Is this like Stockholm Syndrome???

I'm in.

THANKS, 2012.

It's going fast.... this train. But I am definitely on board. It's hard to believe that during this "don't blink for a second" year, so much has happened. Not stuff, but moments. Memories. Changes. My LIFE.

Let's see... In 2012, in no particular order...

1) I learned to surf.

2) I moved myself, my son, (and everything but the couch) in with my boyfriend to a new home. (His couch was much, much better than ours). 

3) I traveled to the most impoverished country in the Western Hemisphere and held the hands of extremely sick children. (Will be able to fully discuss this life altering adventure in a few more months).

4) I saw Bruce Springsteen in concert for the first time.

5) I heard a trauma surgeon tell me that my son's life was saved because of his car seat.

6) I paid off a lot of debt. 

7) I became fully aware and almost understanding of how all things Star Wars and Transformers will one day just shift into all things Sunday and Red Zone (See #2).

8) I volunteered in my son's Kindergarten class. Kinder.Garten.

9) I was featured on Elizabeth Street. Kinda cool. 

10) I found myself. My calling. My love. And my strength. 

It's been a good year. And I'm certain 2013 will be even better.

Happy New Year. Be safe, be happy, and be grateful. We are blessed. 

When Harry Met Jenny

At the age of 13, the year that When Harry Met Sally came out (and became my number one favorite movie) I fell in love with Harry Connick Jr.'s music. In fact, instead of a Sweet 16, I was to celebrate my birthday at the Hollywood Bowl with my BFF Lo seeing him in concert. Her dad was not only able to get us tickets, but also backstage passes. TO. MEET. HIM. As luck would have it though,

I came down with mono.

Bad mono.

(It was the summer after I went to Israel to learn about my religion, and the summer boys went to my boobs to learn about how much fun nerdy girls can be.)

But I was too sick. There was no way I could go. I couldn't even blow out a birthday candle.

Nearly 18 years to the day later.... I got to see Harry Connick Jr. in concert. Last weekend, my boyfriend J took me to the Hollywood Bowl to see HCJ.... Not only was it special to see him with J who loves his music as much as I do, but (if I may brag for a minute) we were sitting in seriously ridiculous seats.... Listening to HCJ croon and pound on the piano, you have no choice but to want to fall in love... it reminds me of my Grandparents... Hearing a standard and then starting to sing to each other... I mean, when I'm 85, will I really turn to my husband and start singing Boom Boom Pow...?

The point is, it was the best concert I have ever been to. And that doesn't include when we met...

Oh, wait. You didn't think I was just going to talk JUST about his music, did you?

SO, at some point during the show, Harry started to walk on the outer stage/wall ... directly in front of our seats. After seeing a few people stand up to shake his hands, I stood up, waved and he came over, smiled and shook my hand. My hand... in front of 15 thousand PLUS people. DIE. For the next song or two, like a school girl, I could not concentrate and was pretty sure my hand was vibrating (like I swear my tongue was the very first time I french kissed).

Though meeting HCJ backstage might have been cooler and more legit than a handshake with a random star struck fan at a concert, I'm happy that I got to do it in my adult life. Of course, I still feel compelled to ask a question, that I most certainly would have asked at the age of 16:

"Do you think he, like, remembers me???" (Don't answer that). :-)