Eighteen

You with some of the band you assembled to record "Fervor"

Today, Max Benjamin, you are turning eighteen. 

The end of childhood for my youngest child.

As with your sister, this will be the last birthday letter for you that I'll be publishing on the blog. It's basically the only thing I've published here for the last few years anyway, but you often encourage me to keep writing. You've become quite a writer yourself these days, of music and of essays, short stories and songs.

I've been incredibly fortunate to have an often (literal) front row seat to all that you do. This year has been filled with music, including your outstanding soloist award at the Mingus competition and performance at Joe's Pub, being a "Teen Leader Teen Leader" with HaZamir and sharing fuzzballs, joining Beantown Swing and performing all over Boston, composing "Fervor" and recording it for the Ellington competition, self-directing the Triplet Feel trio with Nikhil and Bennett into Mingus for this coming year, and "fucking smashing" your audition to the Berklee College of Music during 5-week this summer. My favorite text of the year had to be "Low key tho, Berklee is starting to feel like home" - good thing you get to spend the next four years there!

You drive yourself everywhere (thank you for that) and always make time to watch Saturday Night Live with me (it gets better, but iguanas!). You're very conscious of your phone use, which I do admire, even if it means fewer reels get shared. You and Hannah are tremendously supportive of each other, and I know that's going to continue on. And while Shira is disappointed in your choice not to attend Couch University, she's happy to know that you are always an advocate for couching. 

The name of my group chat with you and Hannah is "The Kids," but I feel like I need a new word to describe this next part of our lives. While I feel very fortunate that I can continue to guide and support you as a parent, I feel like we are genuinely friends as well, and you are my favorite people to be with. Writing all of these letters, I've tried to capture, for a moment, the essence of who you are. But then I found this quote from Charles Mingus himself, "I'm trying to play the truth of what I am. The reason it's difficult is because I'm changing all the time." How lucky that we continue to change, all of us.

I couldn't be any prouder. Happy birthday, buddy. I love you so much.

(You can also see letters for ages three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen and seventeen.)

Seventeen

Today, Max Benjamin, you are turning seventeen. 

I always read last year’s letter before I start writing the current version to see what has changed, and I have to admit, it’s not a lot. But we talk about this often - there are many parts of you that have always just been there, fully formed. My old boss used to compliment people by saying they were fully formed, so you should see it that way too. You are a fascinating combination of motivation and ease, the latter of which I could use more of myself. 

Your life is almost all about music now. It’s unusual for you not to have a guitar in your hands, unless it’s because you’re playing the bass, drums, piano, or saxophone. You got in to the Jazz combo and big band at South, plus became a Teen Leader and are in Chamber Choir for HaZamir, and got accepted to Senior Districts for the Massachusetts Music Educators Association (and all of these things were what you were thankful for on Thanksgiving). You’re writing and arranging music too, plus playing in public with the trio all over Newton, and working with the music program at our religious school and playing with the teen band, and helping out at the Highlands Conservatory (you’ve also learned that earning money is fun!). You figured out that Canada isn’t for you at a Jazz camp there. And most importantly, you had your long-anticipated Kerem summer at camp, where you all won Zimriyah for the third consecutive time. These short long lives. 

You’ve become a vegetarian, been at it for almost a year now, and I’m eating less meat too since you tend to eat my leftovers. You become a leader in all that you do, not by force but by building consensus and genuinely caring about the people around you. You just got to spend some solo time in NYC with Hannah, who is still your best friend and favorite person to talk with. And Shira is still the greatest thing to ever happen to us, even if she resents us for making her dance to the opening credits of “Loot.”

This next year is a big one. You’ll get your driver’s license, spend the summer at Berklee, and by this time next year, maybe know where you’ll be for the next four. Hopefully it’s not too far away, so I can keep taking pictures of you and your guitar. I’m proud of you always - thank you for letting me be your mom. Happy birthday, buddy. I love you.

(You can also see letters for ages three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen.)

Sixteen

Today, Max Benjamin, you are turning sixteen.

And I have to admit, I'm a little ashamed that I went a solid year without posting anything else on my blog since your last birthday letter. Especially because it's you who tells me to write again more than anyone else. You see everything in life through a story-telling lens, and it makes you an empathetic teacher. But anyway, here we are (and yes, I know how much you disliked that show).

Your busy-ness clearly rivals your sister's, with the last months requiring an almost daily activity to be driven to: guitar lessons, Teen Beit Midrash, mock trial, extra jazz classes, Tizmoret, Kol Keff, HaZamir, Student Senate, the environmental club, and the latest edition, The Evergreen Trio. You played in the pit for "9 to 5," helped lead Maalot to win Zimriyah, and had your throne challenged in "Pippin." You sat through driver's ed and can't wait to get your license. You regularly play piano and drums in addition to the constant guitar. You've become the best songwriter in the family (apologies to my Dad, but it's true). 

Thursdays are for burritos but you also cooked a vegan Shabbat dinner for your friends, and your consumption of Vitaminwater Zero XXX has outpaced soy milk. Your hair is the shortest it's been in a very long time, but it's amazing how great you look with it at any length. You think a lot about the future, probably more than most people your age, but it's because you can't wait for it to arrive. And you know Hannah will be right by your side for it, and Shira will think you just live in your room (so confuzzelating). 

I am endlessly proud of you. Thank you for always wanting to talk more, for watching Saturday Night Live, and for occasionally still holding my hand. Happy birthday, bud. I love you.

(You can also see letters for ages three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen and fifteen.)

Fifteen

Today, Max Benjamin, you are turning fifteen. 

It’s the second birthday post in a row (third overall) where you’re pictured with a guitar in your hands, but frankly, it’s when you’re the happiest and most yourself. But getting to see you share yourself musically over the last year has been a real highlight for me too. You and I, we’re a little band of two around the house now. I’m glad you’ll still go to shows and movies with me. And thank goodness we still have Shira to anthropomorphize together. 

You’ve read Torah a lot, continued as a madrich and at Teen Beit Midrash, and added HaZamir. You were “just a Bill,” a role that only you could have played so well, and then you were elected to the South Student Senate. You found a new community at South Stage and new strong friendships and deepened old ones in jazz band. And somehow, you got super into the World Cup, and let me enjoy watching every moment of the (very long, suspenseful) final match with you. Camp is still your happy place, but the comfort you have in who you are really allows you to be happy, wherever you are. You never seem to doubt yourself, which is something I really admire. 

You’ve added tomatoes to your favorite turkey sandwiches this year, and taught yourself how to make fresh pasta. You hate reminders to brush your hair and do your homework (I’m going to remind you anyway). You’re balancing your time between all of the things you want to do, including having a social life, with your need for downtime. You’re learning to live without Hannah right at your side, though she’s thankfully only a FaceTime away. And Shira is still the most bestest princess, the president, founder and only student at Couch University, and never enough. 

Just keep going. You are one of the most interesting people I know, never without something to say or share. I am so lucky to be on this journey with you, and to learn as much from you as you do from me. Happy birthday, buddy. I love you so much. 

(You can also see letters for ages three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen and fourteen.)

Reminders for 2023

So Julie, who made her first appearance on this blog back in 2007 after delivering an egg (just go read it!), gifted me with a page-a-day badass calendar for my birthday last year, wanting to present me with an actual physical gift that year. And I tore off those pages with relish for about five days in a row. It's not that I didn't want to be a badass, but that I was storing it far away from my recycling bin, and I felt bad about all those little pieces of paper. I ended up reading them in chunks, probably about once a month, and just completed the last of it heading into the end of 2022. I thought I'd share some of them with you.

"A setback creates opportunity for a comeback." While my social media profiles make my life look like a highlight reel, this year has had its complications. I particularly wanted 2022 to be a stellar year at work, and while I'm proud of how I've handled myself, I can't make things happen that aren't going to happen. I've spent a lot of this year stressed about things I cannot control, and while that's a trait I'm unlikely to change, perhaps there will be more wins in the years to come, and the seeds have been planted now. Maybe it's the same for you, too.

"I deserve time to rest."As many a meme states around this time of year, I am spending time becoming one with my couch. I normally keep pretty busy (ahem, still living up to the name of this blog), and I love the time I get to spend with friends or even going out alone. But I'm also just really, really tired. And there is a lot of good TV out there. Resting is still doing something productive and I need to remember and be okay with that.

"I am deserving of love and attention." Oh how I struggle with this one. I generically know this to be true, but I'm not sure I believe it's meant for me. Which I also know is ridiculous. So, something I should work on.

"Ask someone else: What was the best thing that happened to you this year?" I've already shared a lot of my highlights in my birthday post. So this is me asking you. What's the best of 2022? And what are you hoping for in 2023?

Whatever it is, I'm wishing you all the best things. Happy 2023!

45

A birthday present to myself

I've just realized after way too long that I may have been copying Adele with my birthday blog post titles. Oh well.

Another year has come and gone and I'm back here at the blog to reflect a bit. I've really come to appreciate having these posts to look back on, because who can remember what 32 was like exactly? And Max was excited about cake? That's totally not who he is 13 years later.

Some highlights from the last year:

- I attended over 30 live shows and concerts, plus all of my kids' concerts and events 
- I survived 7 weeks of trial empty-nesting, with trips to NYC and to see my family in Ohio, and with separate sessions of my best friend from high school and my Dad visiting me here in Boston
- I drove 600 miles all by myself
- I got Hannah through her senior year, the college process, and successfully launched without breaking my heart in the process
- I got Max off to a really amazing start of high school and saw his photo in the Museum of Fine Arts
- I attended weekly sessions with my personal trainer for a solid year and have gotten regular massages
- Nothing new, but I've worked really hard, put myself out there, handled a lot and got amazing feedback on my presentation skills
- And recently, I threw a party, just because I could

I feel like I generally said yes this year - and sometimes that yes was to a much needed nap - and said no when that was the right answer for me too. I guess I'm starting to feel less like the youngest person in the room, especially when I was telling the youngin's at work a story and realized it was 15 years old. I still think too much about my hair, even if I don't bother to blow it out that often anymore. I've got great friends and I still feel pretty lucky every day. 

Here's to the second half of my forties. I can't wait.

The Story Changes

Over the past 12 months with Hannah, her senior year and last one as a child living at home, I’ve had plenty of opportunities for crying. There were so many “lasts,” particularly from March through June, and many nerve-wracking, stressful, crazy joyous moments. Hannah wears her heart on her sleeve, and seeing her cry always makes me cry (I think that phenomenon goes both ways). For example, we cried both before and after she got accepted to NYU, her dream school. But most of my tears have been fairly well-contained, at home, in private. 

I didn’t cry at graduation. I didn’t cry at prom, even when the sight of all of her closest friends in their finery literally took my breath away. I didn’t cry at her final South Stage performance or Senior Showcase (maybe because I immediately had to launch a letter-writing campaign to save a teacher’s job, but anyway). 

I could have cried the other day, in the Target parking lot, as it hit me that this last shopping outing to buy dorm supplies was at the same store as her very first shopping outing, or outing really anywhere beyond her pediatrician’s office. At two weeks old, on a Saturday night in January, her dad and I took her to Target for the first time. We needed more diapers, of course, but I remember feeling desperate to go *anywhere* at all. It was cold, she was tiny, I didn’t really drive then, and being at home alone with a newborn was so hard for me. Hannah was a good baby, but I was missing the rest of the world, and so excited to roam those aisles. I could have cried today for that me in 2004, for how much I’ve changed since then, as much as I could have cried for the tiny infant somehow buying very different items today. 

I’ve said it a million times already, and I’ll say it a million times more: I am so incredibly proud of her. She has worked so hard, been a good person and a great friend, and she deserves every bit of happiness (and some struggles to be sure) as she enters this next part of life. But I’m also so incredibly proud of myself. Eighteen years of making so many decisions on her behalf. I won’t claim to have done everything perfectly, or that there aren’t other paths that could have been taken, but I am really satisfied with the one that led us here. 

I recently spoke with several old blogging friends, most of whom don’t write anymore, citing “the kids got older” as the excuse. It’s really hard to know where the boundaries are in writing, and we all didn’t want to get it wrong. It’s why I’ve written less too. But so much of her story is my story too. And my story is changing too. 

So I’ll definitely feel the lump form in my throat when we drop her off in her dorm later this week. And I might actually cry a bit. I’ll rely on Max to get me through it, though I’m sure he’ll just ask how I’m going to manage when it’s his turn in four years. 

I wonder who I’ll be by then.