Be Vain. And Other Good Advice.

That time I showed up and we were dressed the same. Yes, we were

A couple of weeks ago I was back in London and dropped round for a cup of tea and a chat with my grandmother. My 98 year-old grandmother. These visits are a regular thing whenever I’m on town – but what amazes me is that even though months will pass between our meetings, I barely see her change.

This time the visit started something like this:

Me: “Hi grandma you’ve had your hair done! It looks great”

Grandma: “Really? I tried a new color, do you like it?”

I am not sure what’s more surprising for a women barely shy of a 100 – that she has her hair done every week or that she is trying out new colors. We talk about what’s new in my life, what she’s been up to, my work, the kids … she’s full of life and keenly interested, and apart from speaking a little slower, and me speaking a little louder, our conversations are as animated as ever.

And during that short meeting she enthuses about her secret to living a long full life. I always tell her what an inspiration she is to all of us and she tells me: “Darling, be vain. Love yourself. Always get your hair and nails done.” As she shows me her gorgeously manicured pearly nails I ask “Every week?” and she says “No, don’t be silly! You can get your nails done every other week. It’s fine.”

And a couple of other bits of advice we could all benefit from:  Take care of what you eat. She reminds me how she gave up almost all sugar years ago (I remember when – it was way before the trend, to her it just made good sense) and she claims she feels great and this is key to her longevity. And finally, she tells me: “Sweetheart, no regrets. Never look back. Keep on looking forward, the past is past.” From the woman who has outlived two husbands. So it’s time for me to leave and I remind her that in the summer I’ll be here with all the family and she’s thrilled, just around the time of her birthday. We’ll celebrate, she says, do a party of something. And I know, of course, that we will.

No Perfection at 18

The day of my gorgeous nephew’s 18th birthday last week was a reminder that our own 18th wedding anniversary was just around the corner. Back then my husband’s sister could not be at our wedding (in London) as she was giving birth to her first child (in Los Angeles) and ever since, his birthdays have served as milestones for our ever-increasing growing years of marriage.

I’m not a big fan of milestones. Like forced celebration at New Year’s Eve, we feel obligated to look at our progress and mentally check off our goal plans. So birthdays and anniversaries are a bit stressful for me like that. And especially this morning. For some reason I woke up with what felt like the feeling of a minor panic attack. My chest felt tight, my breathing was short. I was overcome with emotion. 18 years is a huge amount of time. Where are we on the goal plan?? What goal plan?! I vaguely remember back then when I was young and naïve (24 years old) having some kind of romantic notions of what our life would look like after 18 years of marriage. And the truth is, it’s got little connection with what our life looks like today.

The truth is there is no long term goal plan. There aren’t even really any dreams. That all got thrown out the window on the day when we learned that our daughter Ella was disabled when she was one year old. That taught me to just. stop. making. plans. Don’t fill your life with empty dreams, don’t be on a race to do more, do better, but rather (try to) sit back and soak up what you do have, not measuring your success on any kind of imaginary scale.

So I have spent the day thinking about what we do have, and it’s plenty. And it’s full of the sort of things that I never ever thought of in my 20s.

We have our health. Really good health. We are fit and active and take care of our bodies. I don’t think that when I got married I envisaged our 18th wedding anniversary beginning with a 10km run at 6am in the park together – but that is exactly how we started our day.

We have a home. A home full of love and good times. It’s not the multiple-story townhouse I may have dreamed up back then, and the paint is peeling in the damp corner in the kitchen and there are always piles of random papers to file and odd jobs that should get done but it’s got the hugest most comfortable sofa in the middle of the living room, a view of the sea (it’s a long way off but you can see it), a crazy dog that wants nothing more than cuddles and its chaotic and noisy but mostly full of happiness.

We have good jobs. Not so unlike my 18 year old dream (I envisaged high-powered management careers), we’ve both worked hard and pursued careers in professions we enjoy. But the really great thing is we’ve learned balance and carved out our professional lives in such a way to allow time for ourselves and our family. Personally I may have made some professional sacrifices and missed out on opportunities but I wouldn’t have it any other way. And today I know that’s more important than any executive high level managerial role.

We have our kids. Three amazing, special, individual kids. They were generic labels back then (yet to exist) but today they are truly life changers. I don’t need to say too much but nothing prepared me back then for the journey that raising my children would take me on, especially the lessons they would teach me, every day. That’s something I never dreamed. That everyday being a mother would force me to look at myself, my own actions and behaviors, and make me try to be a little bit better (I did say try – we are not striving for perfection.)

And I think that that is the key word here. There is no perfection. No ultimate goal. It’s simply a journey and there is still much to be done. My final thought today is not to look ahead 18 years and wish for what we may never have. Just sit back, look around, and be very very proud. And I dedicate this post today to my husband who has endured me all these years, who has been my constant voice of reason, practical logic and sensible advice when faced with my sometimes erratic, often emotional and rarely rational behavior. He’s a rock and I thank him for being ever-constant, for the journey we’re on together, for being by my side always and for just being him.

Coming Home

Reconnecting to London the retail way

For the first time in a long time, leaving London today left me with pangs of what I can only describe as home sickness. London has not been my “home” for nearly 20 years, having set up home in Tel Aviv, married, and (almost) raised 3 very Israeli children a long way away, culturally and geographically. Visiting London has always been important and special to me, a place where I leave behind my beloved extended family and many dear and wonderful friends. But I’ve become used to the coming and going. My daughters sometimes ask me” do I miss it?” and “is it hard for me to always say goodbye?”, and I always answer them by saying it’s just something I am used to. It’s part of my life.

But this time it felt a little different.

We took this trip out of context, term time, to celebrate my oldest nephew’s Bar Mitzvah. It already had the omen of something a little bit special, the kids got to take time out of school, we came in the midst of sub zero temperatures (not so special…) as opposed to the relatively “mild” British summer when we usually visit. We kicked off with a One Direction Concert at the O2Arena for my teenage daughters (need I say more?), and I also spent one on one time with each one of my kids – a day with each one of them individually doing just what they loved to do (no siblings) which was a unique and wonderful time for me, and them. And the truly special weekend, when we had the privilege of being absorbed in my family. Celebrating and being happy. Coming together. Feeling part of my tribe.

I’m blessed with a wonderful family on my husband’s side but there are times when I wonder if my kids know enough of where I come from. Sure we spend a lot of time together, fortunate that we all visit often, but this time we took a more “in depth” journey. A road trip with my daughter to show her my 6th form college and some of my old hang outs (her request), tube travel where I described our Saturday night meeting points at the local train station, getting out old photo albums and sharing old school stories with my girlfriends who have become like adored adopted aunties to my daughters. Meeting again with cousins who we see so often on Facebook, but rarely in the flesh, laughing and sharing stories.

And then the small things I noticed this time: I love that my kids arrive at their grandparents house, kick off their shoes, flick on the TV and open the fridge, as if it’s a place they go back to every day after school, and not just on an annual visit. I love that my youngest son cuddles up on his mattress in the spare room and falls straight asleep, every night, loving his little corner in his grandparents’ house as if it’s an extension of his own room. I love that my kids have their favorite foods and places and restaurants in London. I love that they too feel connected with this city in their own individual and special ways.

And I truly love my London family. I love that we dip and dip out of each other’s lives but that when we come together it’s like we were never apart, that we may not be part of each other’s day to day lives but being in each other’s company is the most natural and comfortable feeling in the world. I feel blessed and lucky and energized. I am sad that I can’t have them all a little more often but I can’t wait to get my fix of them again, soon, on our next trip.

It’s a cliché – but a good one – that there’s nothing, absolutely NOTHING, like family. Bless you all. You even made me forget how bloody awful the weather was!