I’ve been receiving a lot of worried messages from friends all over the world asking me how me and my family are doing. You know- since I’m living in a war torn country.
The truth is, it’s horrible.
Everything about it is horrible.
I happen to live in a section of israel not too far away from Gaza.
I don’t want to get into the politics of the situation, because I am living it every day.
All I know is that Israel finally said “enough” to the daily rocket fire from Hamas and went in. And that’s that.
But what that means is death, destruction,and innocent lives lost.
You can’t negotiate with terrorists. Terrorists that do not believe in a Jewish state and want to kill all the Jews.
How can you live in peace?
And my heart aches for all the children. They didn’t ask to be involved. It’s just not right.
Over 40 terror tunnels were found dug from Gaza into Israeli settlements, some found right under preschools.
And Israel is being painted in the media as the villains? How do you go about taking out a terrorist group that hides behind innocents? You try to warn the civilians to leave- via phone calls, leaflets from the sky- whatever way you can.. because you are human.
The main destruction is happening on the Gaza side because they don’t have bomb shelters.I Israel has invested so much money- whether their own or foreign aid- to protect their lives. This is either via the iron dome or bomb shelters for it’s people. Hamas takes money that should be building schools, hospitals, etc and uses it to fund terror tunnels. Rockets.
I seem to be getting into”altercations” online with people who only know how to place blame and call Israel “state approved terrorists”
I’ve never been a big political person.. but this really bothers me. Because antisemitism is at it’s peek in the word right now.
This war is taking a toll on me.
I am walking around with a knot in my stomach all the time.
Every time a siren goes off, I worry where my kids are.
The other day as I was driving home from work, a siren went off and I literally saw the missile of the iron dome shoot right in front of me.I will never forget that image.
I just want this to be over.
I hate that my daughters are used to this and that it’s their norm.
My husband who is Israeli is used to it and tells me not to stress too much. How can I not? This is not normal.
One morning when a siren went off and I was asleep, I woke up to grab my girls- only to see the older girls huddled in the corner holding the baby.
My heart broke.
So for all those wondering how we are doing.. we’re fine. We’re scared and stressed- and we hurt for the innocent lives lost in Gaza. Israel does not pass out candies on the street when civilians die (like they did in Gaza on September 11th and int he London bombing incidents). We hurt.
My heart is heavy.
So I haven’t blogged in 2 years.
It was a combination of many reasons.
I felt like it became a job. I stopped enjoying it.
I started blogging 7 years ago because I felt like it was a release- and then it didn’t.
But it’s been two years, and I missed it.
I probably have NO READERS left, and that’s ok too.
So what’s happened in the past two years…
For those who don’t follow me on instagram, or know me personally… we welcomed another daughter in April of 2013.
Her name is Eden and she is our little miracle.
My dad arrived in Israel on Friday afternoon and my husband went to pick him up from the airport. I hadn’t seen my father in a year and a half. Time passes by so quickly it’s ridiculous. It doesn’t feel like I havent seen him in that long. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel particularly close to my parents. Then again, I only truly miss my husband and daughters when I am away from them…
I like having guests over because it forces my ass to get up and clean. I am usually so overwhelmed and tired when Friday rolls around to do any housework (besides for cooking- because that’s the only day that I do)- In Israel the weekend begins on Friday.
So we cleaned the house- my girls are always so adamant about helping us. I never say no, because I once read somewhere that if you turn down help from your kids when they are young, don’t expect them to want to help you when they get older. Hmm.. truth.
So this was them:
How cute? Neve saw that her Dad took off his shirt while cleaning so she decided to do the same. I overheard their conversation from the kitchen, “I’m taking my shirt off because you took your shirt off”- part of me expected him to say “No, Daddy can take his shirt off because he is a boy” but he didn’t… and I loved him at that moment for that… he’s never one to define gender roles…
On Saturday, we went to visit my grandfather. There is roughly an 8 year age difference between my maternal grandfather and my father. It’s strange. My parents have a 12 year age difference which is crazy to me.
Neve agreed to be a ham and sit for a picture for me:
I mean, how beautiful is it to have a photo with your grandfather and great-grandfather? I knew my maternal great-grandfather. He used to wear a knit cap and would put candy in it to pass around to the kids. He had kind eyes.
It’s great seeing my girls interact with my dad- even if it’s only for a few weeks.
When I was 25, I walked in to a fertility clinic and was told that I had a 10% chance of conceiving naturally. My heart broke.
By the grace of G-D I became pregnant with my girls on my first IVF attempt.
Yes, I had some complications, early labor, hospital bed rest, the girls were born 10 weeks premature but we made it home.
I had two more unsuccessful rounds of IVF. Well, one took and I did become pregnant but I miscarried early, so I’m not sure if that’s considered successful.
Two months ago I received a positive pregnancy test.
I had become pregnant naturally.
I was overjoyed.
How could it be?
Sure, the timing wasnt great, with my husband being in school- but it was a miracle.
We dont scoff at miracles in this household.
It was touch and go in the beginning because they couldn’t see a heartbeat at first, but at 6 weeks- there it was on the screen.
I cried tears of joy.
My belly protruded, I started telling those close to me.
And then yesterday.
I have felt unwell for a few days with a stomach virus.
I decided I wanted to see the OB just to make sure all was well, since 4 weeks had passed since I last had a visit.
And just like that..
And so I sit here typing, with a graveyard for a uterus.
Holding the remains of what could have been,
My miracle baby.
A miracle no longer.
I go into the hospital later.
I don’t understand this.
I don’t think I ever will.
I am heartbroken.
To just have something taken away so abruptly just isn’t fair.
My girls are reaching an age where they make me want to run away and join a cult. You know, just to get away from them (plus I believe shaving my head will only do my hair wonders).
They are 4.5 now, and the past month or so, I feel as though they are gettting more annoying by the minute. All they do is fight with one another, and bug each other, and hit each other. All I hear is “Mommy, she did X to me”. They just cannot get along. At all. And I don’t know if its because of their age, or if its because they are siblings, or even if its because they are girls and twins. All I do know is that nowhere in any of the parenting books I read was a chapter on how to be the best referee. Seems as though I have turned into one. At all times.
I thought it would end when we gave them each their own room last summer, but it didn’t. I decided to sign them up for separate preschool classes come this fall. I want them to miss one another. Plus, their preschool teacher told me that it would do wonders for them. So from 7:30AM-2:00PM during the week, they will be separated and from 2-5pm they will remain in the same after school program.
I pray this does something. I’m just so tired of yelling at them to stop bickering and fighting.
Any words of advice?
The phone rings and I wait for it to go to voicemail.
I know it’s her because no one else calls my landline.
I know she’ll try calling again in a few minutes, first my landline, then my cell phone, then my landline again, then my husband’s cell phone.
She doesn’t “get” why her only daughter doesn’t want to speak to her.
It’s been almost 2 years since I moved away from the US. 2 years since I felt free. Free of her, free of my father, free of my brother, free of my dysfuntion.
I grew up in a house of cards.
Always waiting for some shit to fall, and then being blamed for it.
For 20 something years I grew up in a house, a miserable house, a house where the only escape is medication. Xanax, Prozac…
Often times, I say to myself that I’m just being a whiny little bitch. I was never abused, always fed and sheltered, had vacations to Disney world and abroad.. Holidays were celebrated, gifts were in abundance and yet… yet I can only remember the feeling of being an outsider in my own home. Always feeling like something was wrong with me,, because I was different, because I chose to speak up- because I refused to accept the dysfunction. I was always taught that it was my fault. It can’t be that 3 people are wrong, while 1 is right.
I guess I was the dysfunctional one then.
So I kept that locked away for years.
In my psyche it went.. hidden under old books and dreams.
But then my husband joined the picture- and finally I had a witness. A witness to it all. He often stares at me in wonder and says that he doesn’t know how I came out so functional in such a household.
My therapist once told me that she felt bad for the little girl that I was.. always crying out for normalcy. Much smarter than those around her. Not knowing that it’s not her fault.
I can’t be myself with my mother. She doesn’t like the person that I am. A strong willed woman, something she is not. “I don’t like how vocal you are” she said to me this past December while visiting. But mom, this is who I am.. and if after 30 years you can’t accept who I am then it’s now your problem.
The thing is for so many years, I was taught that I shouldn’t be who I was. A girl should be more gentle, less outspoken, less opinionated. Stop acting like a man, you’ll never get married that way…
My mother used to tell me that I should act more like so and so… never just “be yourself, Maya”
My father was hardly ever around. Always working. But it wasnt about the quantity, it was about the quality.
Once I reached a certain age, it’s like he just didn’t give a shit anymore. Threw me into the ocean without a lifeboat. He did his part, I was 18. But no, no he didn’t.
We never shared anything, it was always surface. Not a hug or a kiss. Not a “I’m proud of you”
But I tell myself he just wasnt raised that way.
I was always seeking approval.
approval that I never received.
I still do- To the point where it takes me over. It envelopes me.
And when I do receive some, I don’t believe it.
Here I am, a 30 year old woman and a mother of two, and I am scared to death that my kids will hate me one day.
I look at my beautiful little family, with the most amazing father I could have chosen for my girls and I fear that they wont answer my calls because just the sound of the ringer will send them into panic attacks.
I can’t be the only one who still harbors so much hate for their childhood so many years later.
I just can’t be the only one.