Family - KINETIC MOTIONS

August 15, 2025August 15, 2025

He’s Growing Up. Part Two.

I remember the day I first dropped him off at daycare. It was a cold day, in February 2008. He was 11 months old, and he couldn’t even walk yet. He could say a few words and was in the early days of eating solid food. I handed over my baby to Liza, who ran a wonderful program out of her home, and I walked away.

Then I cried. What was I thinking? How could I let someone else spend these precious moments with my child? He was so young, and so vulnerable. He needed me for everything, and he was already on his own.

And yet, he thrived. Baby Matthew, aged 11 months, made his first friends, learned to eat all kinds of solid food and share his toys. He moved on to preschool, then elementary school, middle school and high school. Everywhere he went, Matthew was successful.

My little boy who loved Dora the Explorer, Thomas the Tank Engine and Lego, grew into a sports fan as a child and an accomplished student, with an ambition to succeed one day in the baseball business.

In part one, we were in Miami, Florida, as we traveled to yet another location to visit universities. In 2024, Matthew checked out a number of schools, all with programs that offered a major in Sports Administration, and he kept an open mind as to what would be the best fit for him.

On a very cold day in early 2025, he was accepted into the place that became his first choice: University of Miami, in sunny Florida. UM, as I’ve learned to call it, wasn’t even on Matthew’s radar a year ago. But it offered him the double major program he desired, a beautiful campus, a welcoming community and even a small scholarship!

If a career in baseball operations is what Matthew desires, then a university in south Florida, with a top-25 ranked NCAA team and a great sports administration program was the right choice. By early Spring, Matthew accepted the offer from the University of Miami.

Fast forward to this week. Time flew by too fast, as Matthew completed his final exams, graduated high school as an Ontario Scholar, and went to overnight camp as a counselor. On Friday, Aug. 9 he came home, and in less than 24 hours, we unpacked and washed (eew, everything from camp must be washed!) his clothes then repacked them.

By Saturday evening we were on a plane, headed south to Miami to move Matthew into school. Where did the time go? Didn’t I just drop off my little blond-haired toddler at daycare? Every first day he experienced raced across my mind as we sat on the plane

I remember how he proudly wore his little Thomas the Tank Engine backpack when he started preschool at age 2 ½. He waved good bye to me as he walked into his classroom on his first day of kindergarten. He didn’t want to show his nervousness as he went to the subway in grade 9, at the start of high school. He grew more independent every day, but I knew he still needed me. He lived with me and was part of our household.

Sept. 2009, on his first day of preschool

We landed in Miami Saturday night and walked out of the airport terminal to a wall of heat (although Toronto may have been hotter). By the time we left the airport, the skies had opened up, and we drove to our hotel in what seemed like a monsoon. Destination: Coral Gables.

College Dorm Prep

Not only is Matthew my oldest child, which makes me clueless about how to move a teenage boy into college, but we are Canadian, which made all of us even more clueless about what it’s like to move in to a US college dorm.

Matthew traveled with two huge duffle bags of clothes and basic supplies, including one set of Twin XL sheets (look it up, interesting size) that I had bought on Amazon. I had built a basic list of must-haves before the Monday move-in day, so off to Target we went.

It’s not that we don’t have big-box in Canada or that Canadian kids don’t go off to university, but I quickly saw how mega-sized the United States is. We wove our way through a multi-storey above-ground parking garage then walked into a Target that was so big you couldn’t see from one end to the other. The big signs for what to buy for a college dorm were everywhere. I was quickly overwhelmed.

People were running everywhere, filling up their carts with everything from towels and sheets to mini fridges and shelving units. Does Matthew want a grey quilt or blue? One or two pillows? Do we get him beach towels now or later? Should his laundry hamper be on wheels? Oh gosh, we need to buy him laundry detergent. Don’t forget to get a mini fridge! It was mayhem.

By the time we limped back to our hotel room on Sunday evening, after a day of shopping and great pizza in downtown Coral Gables, I was delirious. We all fell into bed quickly, exhausted and anxious for the coming day.

Off to campus we go

Car loaded with duffles, dozens of bags from Target and the mini-fridge, we made our way to the University of Miami campus. I will give them credit: Freshmen welcome, move-in and orientation is a well-oiled machine.

After we parked our car and made our way to the check-in area, I thought about the different words one can use to describe “hot.” Are there special words in South Florida, like sweltering, searing, roasting, blistering or boiling? They’re all accurate.

With his Cane Card in hand, we spent much of the day getting to know the campus better, dropping off forms, eating lunch at the Kosher deli (not really deli as we know it, but it was really good), and surviving the extraordinary heat. Everywhere I turned I saw 18-year-old kids with their parents, all looking a bit confused and overwhelmed. You could see that mix of excitement and joy but also anxiety and trepidation. We felt at home.

College dorm move in

They called it “Cruise Ship Move-In.” We were instructed to get in our car, drive up and get in line at Matthew’s residence. We pulled up front, when it was our turn, and a group of strong and energetic people, all dressed in fluorescent yellow t-shirts surrounded us. They removed everything in the car that wasn’t nailed down, put the stuff in giant rolling bins and whisked them off to Matthew’s room. We drove on and parked our car again. It was astounding.

When we arrived in Matthew’s dorm a little while later, everything had been delivered. Chatting with his roommate’s family, we all got to work putting the boys’ room together. I quickly realized I had to make new lists and that Matthew was clearly lacking in the comfort supplies necessary! I peeked into other rooms and giggled about how much stuff these teenage kids (or was it their parents?) were loading into these modest 13 x 13 foot rooms.

Should I be thankful I have a son who is semi-clueless about décor and would be happy sleeping on a semi-lumpy bed surrounded by blank walls? But I’m his mother. I can’t allow that! After his basic set-up was complete, we said good bye just for the night, and my husband and I returned to the stores to load up on more stuff.

This time we went to Walmart, and I went in armed with the knowledge of what Matthew really needed. I grabbed a soft rug, a nice big cushion for his bed, cleaning supplies for the bathroom (will those ever be used?), a mattress topper (I can’t let him sleep on that lumpy mattress), storage boxes, and more. I had arrived at Target a novice, but I left Walmart an expert!

Saying good bye

After a visit to yet another Target in the morning to get a few final items, we returned to the University of Miami campus on Tuesday to complete the dorm set up. The dorm isn’t fancy, and the building is showing its age. Pink tiles on the walls of the bathroom aren’t exactly what the guys in Matthew’s suite love, but it’s home this year. It’s comfortable, very convenient and I could see that Matthew is happy.

It’s University of Miami’s 100th anniversary.

After Matthew “treated us” to lunch (we used his meal plan that of course we had paid for) in the residence dining hall (fresh fruit and veggies, choices galore like pizza from a wood-burning oven, grill and pasta and oh my gosh unlimited soft-serve ice cream), we took another walk around campus.

I have never seen this kind of sign at a university campus in Canada.

Across the campus we were greeted with smiles and friendly faces. It was such a warm environment (and I don’t just mean the 34 degree heat). During the move-in process we didn’t even touch on the academic side of the school – it was all about the dorm, food, living expenses and student life.

The four-year university process ahead for Matthew is all encompassing, from academics and career planning to finding a comfortable and safe place to live and making life-long friends. It’s a lot, and it really hit me as I started to say good bye to Matthew.

His dorm was set up, tuition was paid, classes chosen and he’d already made a pile of new friends. He was going to be okay. But was I? The tears welled up as I gave him the last hug good bye. He was ready for me to leave. Matthew was ready for the next phase of life. Unlike the little baby who crawled across the floor at daycare, 18-year-old Matthew doesn’t just walk and talk, he’s a mature, smart, kind incredible young adult who is going places in life.

growing up — Set up is almost complete in the dorm.

And of course I miss him. Of course I can’t stop thinking of that day when I dropped him off at daycare. He thrived there, just like he will thrive in university. He’s growing up.

***

Below is the essay Matthew wrote for his US College applications. I admit I’m a bit biased, but it’s such an excellent piece of writing that I feel it deserves to be read by more people than his mother and the admissions teams of different universities:

I walked into Wrigley Field in awe of everything. The patterned grass, brick walls smothered with ivy, rust colored staircases that looked like they could collapse at any moment, all felt dream-like to me. But the smell stood out the most — the century-old atmosphere where thousands of games were played, with a fresh one starting. I’d followed my home team Blue Jays since 2015, but now in Chicago in 2017, I was breathing baseball history, a moment I’ll never forget.

The game was a back and forth, high scoring showdown. The Cubs came out on top, adding another loss in a miserable season for the Jays. Despite that, I remember the warm atmosphere I felt from Cubs fans. Their conversations, expressions, and kindness were a surprise, showing the communal nature of baseball. I’d seen a typical game but discovered a passion to carry through my life.

Since then, my desire to learn and engulf myself in baseball skyrocketed. I talked about it all the time, spent hours watching TV and even unsuccessfully tried out for a house-league team. But no regrets, as I always felt I connected best with baseball’s observational aspects, eventually leading to my next revelation.

In 2020, I spent a lot of time on a screen. It’s when I discovered baseball’s analytical side. With my knack for numbers, I understood the depth of baseball statistics but never took the time to explore them. Everything I thought I understood was the tip of the iceberg of the world I was about to delve into. I started with Youtube, watching countless videos with insights into players, teams, and stories that highlight hidden values. I learned the meaning behind the advanced numbers that power the engine behind player evaluations. I fell in love with all of it.

Baseball has a unique characteristic that separates it from other sports: it has the power of isolation. Every single pitch is a separate entity from the previous. On that pitch, so much can be calculated: spin rate, velocity, movement, shape, release point, and more, happening over 200 times a game. That ball then meets a bat where the exit velocity, launch angle, bat speed, barrel rate, all serve a purpose. Compare this to basketball, where alternatively, there are many variables within every play. Does a player score because of a good pass, was it bad defence, or maybe it was a great move? Maybe it was everything, but that’s the problem. Finding metrics to evaluate 10 players simultaneously moving at high speeds is difficult, an issue baseball simply just doesn’t have. It’s this perspective that has driven my mission to go as far as I can into baseball knowledge, where numbers and real life collide like no other sport.

With my appreciation of the sports world exponentially growing, I then discovered something else engaging: fantasy. It started with football, a sport that was relatively new to me. Building a team of real-life players, competing with others for precious points, and ultimately trying to win a championship, is something that fascinated me. I was soon watching 10 different games on Sundays, cheering on my players. I became quite good, upping the buy-ins for each league, and taking home my fair share of the profit. My favorite part is the managing aspect of it, when to buy low, sell high, find value where others don’t. This sparked something in me I hadn’t considered before: what if I could bring these skills together as the foundation of my career?

With my love of baseball – the sport, analytics and fantasy, I want to work in the real industry. There is endless opportunity in a game that is rapidly evolving and progressing, with new insights and methodologies appearing every year. I am aware of how little I truly know, and I strive to continue to learn, to eventually make my dream come true.

May 26, 2025May 26, 2025

Do you believe in miracles? I do, every day, especially today

The moment she was born, I cried. Okay, l cried when all three of my children were born. But when Nessa was born, the tears were different. For me, I witnessed a miracle the day she came into this world. It’s the reason we named her Nessa, which means “miracle” in Hebrew. Every day she reminds me that she was worth fighting for. She is my story about perseverance, positivity, and that great gifts are worth waiting for.

My children are all equally special to me. Each of them has their unique personality traits (the good, the bad and yes sometimes, the ugly), and they are the centre of my life. No matter where I am with my career or personal aspirations, my kids are what matter most.

I think, like many (but not all) women, I took it for granted that not only could I have children, but I could have as many, or as few as I wanted. In my late twenties, I didn’t think about all that nature has in store for women, all the steps that must happen, for a healthy baby to be born. Maybe I was blind, or maybe I chose to shield my eyes. My first two children came relatively easily, and by my mid-thirties, my husband and I had two healthy, active, wonderful children.

As I wrote right here, at Kinetic Motions,, everything changed when we decided to have a third child. I wrote in depth, on May 26^th, 2017, about our struggles, not just with infertility, but the emotional toll it took on me. I felt ashamed that I longed for a third child when I knew so many women could never even have one child. But I was blessed with a miracle.

I published that article on the day that Nessa turned one. I took a photo of her, wearing her one-year-old crown and one-year-old t-shirt, as she stared at me with her dark brown eyes and wispy blond hair. 365 days after she was born, I was still in awe of this special gift that had brought so much joy to everyone she touched.

Fast forward eight years. Today Nessa turns nine. That’s 3,287 days. Every morning when she wakes up, or when I pick her up at school, or kiss her good night, not a day goes by that I don’t think about the special gift of this miracle.

Nessa brings light to everything she touches (I know, I’m biased, I’m her mother, but anyone who knows her will probably agree!). She is excited about everything, she beams with confidence and has an inner strength well beyond her nine years. Her teachers describe her as kind, as a peace maker, and bright and bubbly. Nessa’s cousins put her somewhere between their favourite toy and the family pet (a dog, of course). Her older brother and sister adore her and love to smother her with hugs (or shoo her away too when she’s annoying!).

For me, Nessa is an inspiration. I think all three of my kids have inspired me in different ways. But today is Nessa’s birthday, so I will focus on her. I want to go back where I started: she has inspired me to persevere, to be positive, and that our greatest gifts are worth waiting for.

Perseverance

I learned this from Nessa well before she was born. I remember when I met with my doctor in the summer of 2015 and he looked at me kindly, to tell me there was nothing more he could do. With no concrete explanation, he felt that a third child for me and my husband was not in our future. I had to decide, do I choose to persevere? Was there any hope? Clearly something inside me said yes, and a short time later I sat in front of that same doctor, as we celebrated hearing Nessa’s early heartbeat, as an eight-week-old fetus.

It was at that moment when Nessa first inspired me to take on anything, no matter how hard. The first time I saw her, months later, she reminded me again. For every small and big milestone she reaches, she shows me what perseverance means. Nessa sings beautifully and proudly in her children’s chorus, she flies down the mountain on her snowboard, she wins the election for class rep. If Nessa wants something, she goes out and gets it. I want to be like Nessa.

Positivity

On first glance, I’m a typical extravert. But in reality, I’m a quiet home body. I sometimes hesitate before I act, which makes me tend towards a negative outlook. But not Nessa. She exudes positivity, and she brings me up if I’m feeling down.

We all need that person in our lives. For some, they find this person early in life, for others, it may take longer. It can be a best friend or colleague or a mentor at work. We need that person who is a positive force, who not only is an optimist, but they bring out the best version of us. For me, that’s Nessa. My youngest child is the most positive person I know, and it rubs off on me every day.

Whether she knows it or not, she pushes me to succeed in so many ways. Over the last nine years, with Nessa in my life, I’ve been open to new opportunities in my career, I tried a new sport (my own special version of snowboarding!) and learned to take the time to appreciate my family more. That’s a positive force.

Greatest gifts are worth waiting for

Not every gift is something tangible, something physical that you can hold in your hand. Some of the gifts we receive in life are not so concrete, and you don’t realize how great they are until you have them. There is some impatience associated with them, like you are so close but can’t get quite what you want.

And then you receive the gift and you appreciate it so much more because you had to wait to get it. The gift is so great that it was worth the wait. For me, that’s Nessa. She is the gift that has shown me that it may take longer than I think, or that I hope, to get what I want, but there is a great gift in the end. This particular reflection is important as it has helped guide me on what I want to achieve in my life. I need to be patient, but the reward will come.

So, do I believe in miracles? You bet I do. My miracle is still small in stature and young in years, but she is big in heart and strength. Happy birthday, Nessa!

December 9, 2024

Musings on a Dark, Damp and Dreary December Day

It’s a dark, damp, dreary December Monday in Toronto, and it would be so easy for me to write about how hard life is, not just at the start of a Canadian winter, but in general in the challenging world we live in. I have a “blog notes” folder in my phone where I jot ideas down all the time (sometimes in the middle of the night!). When an idea comes to me, I don’t want to forget! As I read some of my recent notes this morning, I knew I had to write, but none of the topics, most full of deep thoughts, inspired me. I’ve been writing about some heavier topics lately, and I realized I really need to lighten up a bit!

My thoughts keep going back to the slightly absurd conversation I had with my 8-year-old daughter last night. I’ve written about Nessa before. She is a ray of sunshine – full of energy and ideas, kind, generous and always amusing.

As I did with my older two children, I have been reading the Harry Potter books with Nessa every night at bedtime. And when I say reading, yes, I am the parent who really gets into it, with voices and accents and sound effects. We are only in the middle book 2, and I think Nessa enjoys this nightly activity.

But, she is only eight, and at times she gets distracted, or confused, or just plain silly. Just as I was reading about the first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, with none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, Nessa asked me a question:

“Mommy, if I had a play date with my friend – if my friend came over at 11:00 am and left at 4:00 pm, how long would my play date be?”

Before I could even respond, she continued, “No, don’t tell me. Hang on. Oh, five hours!”

Okay, I said, and as I was about to continue to read, she then said, “What do you think Professor Lockhart looks like? I have an idea in my head.”

This is Nessa. Full of ideas. And random thoughts. And questions. The words and phrases and questions that come out of her head are so amusing that a few members of my family created a texting chat group we call “We Love Nessa.” There is so much content that I could probably have quite the busy feed on X/Twitter!

Last week: “I wish dogs could live a long time (as she hugged our dog). Like us. To 100. I know of a person who lived to 205.” I asked her who, and she responded, “Abraham’s father (as in the Jewish patriarch, who she must have learned about in school). How did he do that?”

And here’s one that makes me both smile and yet also question how smart my child is…. I reminded her a couple months ago that she was going home with her friend that day because there was a half day of school. I said, “Nessa, school ends at noon tomorrow,” and she then responded with, “But they told us school ends at lunch.” And when, I asked her, when is lunch? Her response – 12:00. “Yes, noon,” I said.

Her question: “What’s that?”

In our digital age, it’s almost too easy to jot down a conversation and share it, or to snap a photo of a moment in time, that you can save in your phone. Or sometimes, your child says or does something that you don’t want to savour, and yet, you don’t need to write it down to remember.

Take my 14-year-old, for example, who no longer feels the need to keep a routine bedtime. It was 12:08 AM. Yes, the time is seared into my brain. Unlike much of my family, I like to go to bed early. So at 12:08 AM, I’m typically asleep.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy,” Julia yelled into my dark bedroom.

Of course I popped up, thinking something was wrong. Her voice sounded concerned, or at least it did to me, in my semi-comatose state.

“I can’t find a towel. Where can I get a towel?”

I will not quote exactly how I responded or where I told her she could find a towel. I understand that being a parent is a 24-hour job. From the moment they are born, no matter how deep a sleep you are in, there is a small piece of you that is always awake and ready to help your child. But not with a towel at 12:08 AM. Or to listen to Taylor Swift’s final concert at almost 1:00 AM.

Or, in the case of my 17-year-old son, to hear a play-by-play, at 1:30 AM, of some amazing overtime goal or a really bad trade during baseball’s off season.

Here’s a few more “We Love Nessa” moments that I hope will make you smile:

On a plane this year, overnight flight, across the Atlantic Ocean, “Are we in space now?”

Following a cereal party in French class at school (no idea what they did), and she wanted me to guess her favourite cereal. “It starts with the letter S, and the first word is ‘Cinanum.’” (Think on that one for a while, and no, the answer is not synonym.)

She tasted a (beef) Corn Dog recently. She ate it, thought about it and said, “I don’t think I liked it. It tasted almost vegetarian.”

Sometimes we just need to smile. Re-reading the texts I shared about Nessa definitely puts a grin on my face. I hope reading this makes you smile too. Especially on a dark, damp and dreary December day.

November 15, 2024November 16, 2024

He’s Growing Up. Part One.

June 19^th, 2006. This is a date that I will never forget. Two significant things happened on this date, over 18 years ago. First, that was the date that my beloved Carolina Hurricanes beat the Edmonton Oilers, in 7 games, to win the Stanley Cup. Second, it was the day I learned I was pregnant with my first child, Matthew.

I’m not going to write paragraph after paragraph here about my love affair with the Hurricanes. I did that when I first launched this blog in 2017. You are most welcome to re-read that post. Today I want to journey back to that moment when I first learned about Matthew.

Back in June of 2006 he wasn’t yet Matthew. We didn’t even know that he was a “he.” What we had was “Obie” – short for our baby. I was superstitious and was only focused on doing everything I could to give birth to a healthy child. Months later, Matthew was born. And he was perfect.

So, why am I writing about my son’s birth today, in the middle of November? It’s not his birthday and today he didn’t achieve any specific milestone. But, today was a special day, for Matthew, and for me.

I’m writing from Miami, Florida. Matthew and I flew here on Thursday evening, so that we could spend a few days here to visit potential universities. For me, it’s been a very emotional day, and memories of learning I was pregnant, and his birth, came whooshing back.

He’s growing up. No, he’s not grown up yet, and I don’t know when I will be ready to say that he is a grown-up. I have raised an intelligent, mature and responsible person. He makes good choices, he’s focused on doing well in school and is ambitious. But the little boy, who insisted on his “tzetzi” (pacifier) to be plugged into his mouth at night, or the child who said “merote” instead of “remote” until he was eight, is still there.

On this short trip, it’s just the two of us. We are visiting two schools in the Miami area, both of which offer programs within the discipline he wants to pursue – sports management, analytics and administration. He knows what he wants to do, and he’s known that since he was 10 years old.

It was seven years ago that Matthew and I went on our last mom and son trip together, to Chicago. I took him on a special visit there, to see the Toronto Blue Jays play the Chicago Cubs, and as a bonus, Toronto FC was also in town to play the Chicago Fire (soccer). We got tickets to both. It was a wonderful few days. Little did I know that his visit to Wrigley Field, with its history, rickety seats and funky smells, would be where his love of baseball and career aspirations really took shape.

Over the past seven years, Matthew’s love of baseball grew, as did his love of so many other sports (I won’t whine here about his strict adherence to watching 3 NFL games at once on Sundays!). He dove into the data, the rules, the history and unique aspects of baseball. As he watched games on TV, he considered players’ body angles, running agility and pitch speed. His analytical mind went to places I didn’t know were possible with sports.

He wasn’t just a little boy anymore, who played T-ball or threw the baseball around with his grandmother. Matthew didn’t just watch games on TV or enjoy a Blue Jays game at the ballpark. He was building his future.

As we walked around the university campus today, Matthew looked like he belonged there. Okay, so the palm trees were nice, and the green lawns, warm breeze and blue skies were great. But when we met with an associate dean at the school, that’s when he lit up. He explained how advanced mathematics, along with data analytics, can play a role in baseball. I sat there, in awe, as he told an experienced university academic how math formulas can be solved, not just to throw numbers on a page, but as a path to solve problems.

They engaged in a conversation about the power of data, and how it can help inform decisions but can also be dangerous if not handled responsibly.

It was in that moment, at the university, when it really hit me, that he really was growing up.

Most of his university applications are complete, and in the coming months, Matthew will decide where life takes him next. I am feeling so many emotions – excited and yet scared. Happy but sad. Confident and yet nervous. For him, and for me.

I want my children to dream big, and I want to do everything I can to make their dreams come true. June 19^th, 2006 was a big day. So was November 15th,, 2024.

Watch for He’s Growing Up, Part 2, when he goes off to University.

April 25, 2024

Numbers

5:30 am. There is a hint of blue in the sky. I’m standing on the edge of a canyon, waiting for the first rays of sun to rise over the horizon. It’s hazy. The sky begins to lighten, and I wait for the red and gold streaks of light to appear before me. It gets lighter. No colours in the sand.

A new day has arrived, deep in the desert of Southern Israel. While I didn’t see the sunrise I had hoped for, I did experience the quiet serenity of early morning in the desert, in the land I have hoped to visit for months.

The Israel I arrived to this week is not the same one I last visited in the summer of 2022. In recent months I have written about, and I have shared my thoughts, about the attack on Israel on October 7^th, 2023. And since that day, over 6 months ago, instead of fearing this place, I have longed to be here.

I’m a “words” person, I often tell people. I can take random, often unconnected details, and string them together into something coherent, often beautiful. I tell stories. I even joke that data can’t tell me what I need to know. Data is just numbers. A bunch of numbers are meaningless. It’s what you do with the numbers, how you can connect them, to create your story.

Somehow, many different kinds of numbers came at me today, in the desert, and together they are forming my story.

Hundreds of Millions of Years

That’s the approximate age of the Ramon Crater, where I watched the sun rise this morning. With its unique rock formations and colourful sands, it is central to the history of this land and its geology. I looked out at this magnificent vista, which holds the stories of thousands of years of civilizations who have lived in this land. It grounded me. It calmed me. It reminded me of where I was and why I worked so hard to get here.

Three Attempts – on Four Airlines

For this one there are so many numbers that keep swirling through my head. We were booked to fly to Israel on April 13^th, on Air Canada, non-stop. Stay with me as our saga has many twists and turns….

The flight was canceled, just after we boarded. With hundreds of drones and missiles being shot at Israel by Iran that evening, all flights were grounded. The flight was rebooked to take off the next day, but of course the rebooked flight was again canceled the following morning. We were determined to still fly (to attend our niece’s wedding), so we were rebooked, on Air Canada and Austrian Air to fly through London and Vienna.

With our second trip to the airport in two days, that flight didn’t happen either. But I didn’t give up. Our tickets were refunded and we rebooked on KLM, to fly on Saturday, April 20^th, with a stop in Amsterdam. A couple of days before we were scheduled to fly…. Yep, that flight was canceled too and we were moved to Air France, to fly on Sunday, April 21^st.

The third time was a charm, on the fourth airline, and we landed in Israel, on Monday, April 22^nd.

Twenty-Six People

We landed in Israel just a few hours before the start of the holiday of Passover. After a week trying to travel here, and two long flights, during which I didn’t sleep, I was very emotional. As the pilot announced that we had entered Israeli airspace and to please fasten our seatbelts, I felt tears falling down my face. I couldn’t keep it in anymore, how I felt to finally get there.

When we got off the plane, I immediately felt that I had arrived in a different Israel. As I walked down the ramp to passport control, looking at the sign telling me, “Welcome to Israel,” to my right and left were the names and faces of the hostages. It was these people who welcomed me, who are being held captive, and that I must remember that every moment I am here.

We arrived at my mother-in-law’s house just two hours before the Seder, exhausted. There was no time to relax, as we cleaned ourselves up, and we felt the warmth and joy to participate in our family’s Seder, of 26 people.

We came here because of our love of Israel. And we came here to be with our family. I held back the tears as the Seder began, when it slowly started to sink in of where we were.

One Scorpion

It was 39 degrees today in the desert. I’m not talking 30 degrees plus humidity. I mean solid, wall of heat, with a beating sun and no shade, 39 degrees. All we could muster up was a visit to an alpaca farm and iced coffee and popsicles. But the heat disappeared in the evening, and some of us had the opportunity to go on an evening Scorpion Walk.

You are thinking, what’s that? As we drove up to the designated spot, at 8:30 pm, in total darkness, I wondered too! You see, the Negev desert is a rocky desert. Forget gentle even foot paths. It’s rugged and not for the faint of heart. The guide handed us special ultraviolet flashlights, and the group set off in all directions (on the edge of the crater!), to literally search for scorpions!

I learned more about scorpions in that one hour walk than I had known in my whole life. They capture their prey with their pincers and snap their tail over to kill with the poisoned tip. They camouflage well with the desert landscape, but shine an ultraviolet light at them and they glow in the dark, like a fluorescent yellow light! They also don’t seem to be bothered by a couple of dozen crazy people shining ultraviolet flashlights at them and snapping their picture!

I saw one, yes one, scorpion tonight. Even I admit, that was kind of cool.

80% and 70%

As the day began to cool down, a few of us took a pre-sunset hike, along the edge of the crater. The haze was back, like in the morning, so we couldn’t see the vibrant colours pop out, but still it was a sight to see. Our guides shared their vast knowledge about the desert and the beauty that lies within it. And near the end of the hike, they challenged us with some numbers.

Two numbers stuck out in my mind, and together they brought together everything that I personally have experienced in the last six plus months: 80 and 70.

80% of the Negev desert is used for either Israel Defense Forces (IDF) army bases or training facilities.

70% of the Negev desert is protected as national parks.

How is that possible? 80 plus 70 does not equal 100%. That’s because, our guide explained, that the IDF shares its training spaces with the national parks, and the IDF rotates where they train. Both are responsible for caring for the land.

It took a moment for that to sink in. These numbers tell the story of the State of Israel, and the deep, and historical love and connection the Jewish People – the Jewish Religion – the Jewish Nation – has for this land. It must be protected and preserved. It must be defended and deeply cared for. It is a symbiotic relationship that is unique and so special.

Everywhere I turn here there are numbers, and I could write and write about how each one tells a story. I am taking in every moment of my short time here, and I’m thankful that I’m here. My children are surrounded by their cousins. My husband is surrounded by his siblings. And I am filled with joy.

May 31, 2022May 31, 2022

Cakes by Mommy

I would consider myself to be a rather creative person. I have bold ideas, and storytelling is central to who I am. I guess the best way to describe me is that I THINK creatively. I bring my out-of-the-box, put a square peg in a round hole kind of thinking to everything I do in life, from my job to raising my kids. I’m the first to admit that I can’t do it all. But what I can do, well, I have some fun.

This past weekend we celebrated my daughter’s birthday. So, let me begin here by saying that in much of my life I’m not a big planner. I do love to plan family trips, and I have a solid grocery list going each week, but when it comes to family social activities I would give myself a failing grade. However, bring on one of my children’s birthdays, and I show up!

With the global pandemic my birthday parties had to go on hiatus, much to my daughter’s disappointment. But this year, the parties were back. And the planning began. Luckily for me, my husband David seems to wake up as well when our kids’ birthdays come along. He booked the bouncy castle for our backyard and I covered the invites, food and activities. Nothing too crazy. For me, it’s all about my child and her friends. And ya, some fun for me too!

At the centre of every one of my children’s birthdays, since my son turned one years ago, is the homemade birthday cake. Or what I like to call the Cakes by Mommy. I think about what is of interest to my child at that particular moment, and then I bake and decorate a cake on the theme. Some important notes on my Cakes by Mommy:

They are 100% made from scratch in my kitchen.
I decorate them all by myself, and no, my cakes don’t look like a professional ever laid eyes on them.
Some people may wonder if the child possibly decorated the cake.
My Cakes by Mommy taste great!
My Cakes by Mommy look like they were made with love.

I’m posting photos of various cakes that I have made throughout this post. Each one is unique, and in each case I had a wonderful time baking and decorating. I will add that I also had a meltdown at some point in the process, because my buttercream icing melted or my layers fell apart or that the cake didn’t look at all like it did in my head hours before.

What I’m trying to say is that this past weekend, as I cleaned up my backyard, washed many dishes and went to bed exhausted, I realized how much I enjoyed putting together the birthday party, especially planning and making the cake. And for a moment I said to myself, did I miss an opportunity to start my own small business? Should I have changed my career years ago and opened my own business – Cakes by Mommy?

The thought quickly passed when I realized that what I love is making my OWN children’s parties and cakes, and that really, if I created a website that boasted party themes of “all you can bounce in a giant castle” or “tea party for 7-year-old girls” or “reptiles and furry things” that I would have a meltdown every week. I did have a second take on the cake idea though. Most people like to buy their child’s birthday cake. But imagine buying a cake from me and passing it off as your own? I mean really. My cakes really look homemade. You buy the $60 cake from me and tell all your family and friends that you slogged away in the kitchen all night and produced THIS. No one would ever know.

Joking aside, as I moved on from my Cakes by Mommy reverie, I started to think more deeply about the “what if.” I think we all experience it sometimes. No matter how much we like our job, or our career in general, our employer or the people we work with, everyone asks that question, should I be doing something else? Have I followed down the right career path? Is it too late to pivot now?

I think it’s healthy to think about this and explore opportunities, even if they’re crazy like hosting some stranger’s child’s birthday party as a business model. I don’t actually want to start a business doing parties or baking cakes, but I admit I sometimes ask myself if I should have ever left sports media, or is the corporate world the place for me? Is my job taking over my life, or is it, maybe, a great choice that I made and it’s what I should be doing with my life?

It’s kind of crazy that making a Barbie doll ballroom dress birthday cake made me think about the idea of Cakes by Mommy again. The idea for this business was gone as fast as it came into my head, but for sure it left a lasting impression with me. It opened my eyes to what I’m capable of. Even if I’m not the best at something, even if it’s a bit far-fetched to imagine starting my own small business, I do know I can probably do anything. No matter what I do, and what I will continue to do every day at work, is be creative.

Oh, and if anyone does want a homemade Cakes by Mommy, let me know. I promise, it will stay just between us!

July 11, 2021July 11, 2021

Three Kids. Three Provinces.

I have spent almost every moment of almost every day of the past 16 months with my husband and three kids. And our dog. The global pandemic has shown me, more than ever, the value of family. I feel fortunate that I have a great job where I am surrounded by smart, thoughtful people, and that I have close, wonderful friends who have my back, but really, the centre of my world is my family. That’s why July 2021 is so unique. For the first time in over a year, my family has spread out across Canada. I have three kids, and they are in three provinces.

My life, like that of so many people, changed on March 11^th, 2020, when the WHO declared COVID-19 a global pandemic. Within 72 hours my office closed, the children’s school made plans to switch to online learning and everything around us shut their doors, from the ski hill to the local library to small shops in our neighbourhood. We hid inside our homes, into the safety of our four walls and warm embrace of our families.

The fact that I had a comfortable home, surrounded by my husband and three kids, was not lost on me. Even a year into the pandemic, when online learning continued and there was still no end in sight to Ontario’s lockdown, my three kids kept me sane. Okay, sometimes insane too, when they refused to go to bed or clean up toys or give me just a few minutes of quiet. I got used to this new reality, of life with my family 24/7.

By the middle of May I was fortunate to receive my second dose of the COVID-19 vaccine. Case counts slowly started to drop and summer plans were on my mind. Would summer camp happen? Could we spend some time at our family country homes in Ontario and Quebec? Would the children ever leave the house again?

Our hopes were dashed when Camp Kadimah had to close for another season. But things quickly looked up when my sister and her husband invited Matthew, our eldest, to spend some of the summer with them in New Brunswick. I mean really, how could I say no when someone is offering to take my kid for weeks?

Child #1: Check. Going to New Brunswick.

Julia, my older daughter, HAD to go to camp. Any camp. She joined forces with the first friend she made at Kadimah, and we signed the girls up for overnight camp in Ontario.

Child #2: Check. Going to overnight camp in Ontario.

Overnight camps don’t take 5-year-olds, nor does my sister. And as I personally had coined the phrase when I was younger… Little persons have to be with their parents, I knew that no matter where I went, Nessa would be with me. If our offices were still closed and the summer was coming, then off to Quebec we would go, to my husband David’s ancestral country home, deep in the mountains by the lake.

Child #3: Check. Going to the country house in Quebec.

And that is how our summer story came to be: three kids. In three provinces. Matthew is living it up in New Brunswick, by the sea. He is eating new and exciting foods, he is attempting to be flexible, living with many boys, and he’s learning how to sail on the ocean. Julia is experiencing life at a different camp, closer to home, and it’s definitely an adjustment. And for our youngest, well, so far it’s the Summer of Nessa. She’s it, and she knows it. She’s lucky that she’s so cute.

We are just about one week into our full summer plans, and I feel really blessed. It all began on my birthday last week, when I woke to a mini celebration of a homemade breakfast, with cheesecake (yum!), and birthday presents. Then our road trip began, as we dropped Julia at her camp then drove east to Ottawa.

I can’t remember the last time I had stayed at a hotel. It was a bit of a surreal experience, as we walked into an eerily empty lobby and checked in. There was but one valet and one concierge on site. I could count the guests on one hand. It was so quiet that the cheesy phrase, you could hear a pin drop, was true.

We enjoyed a quiet evening and leisurely morning in Ottawa (including breakfast at a great patio, with our dog), then we were back in the car and over the border into Quebec. There is a wonderful feeling that I get as our car climbs into the mountains and we make our way to our hidden gem of a country house. It’s like our car knows all the curves in the road as we travel through the countryside. The anticipation of the arrival is as wonderful as the actual arrival. As our car turns into the driveway and we see the decades-old, kind of rickety house, and the spectacular lake in front of us, we are filled with a sense of great joy.

And so here I am, on a warm summer afternoon, sitting by the lake and thinking about how not long ago I was surrounded by my three kids, locked down in Toronto. Could I have imagined that in July they would be spread across Canada, from Ontario to Quebec to New Brunswick, each experiencing their own unique summer? I am thankful to everyone who helped me make this happen. Three kids. In three provinces. I wonder where we will be next summer.

September 20, 2020September 20, 2020

Ready for a Happy New Year

It is the start of a new year.2020 has a few months to go, but 5781 has arrived. People like to make resolutions at the start of a new year, so why not at the start of the Jewish new year? The second half of 5780 was hard, for everyone around the world, and just plain terrible for many. While I would love to wish everyone a healthy, sweet and wonderful new year, I fear this is a wish that won’t come true.

I haven’t published a post since May 2018, when my daughter Julia celebrated her 9^th birthday. I honestly don’t know why I stopped writing here. It’s something I love to do. Was I busy? Did I forget? Did I always have something else to do? Maybe. I’m not going to make excuses. I made a commitment, when I published my first post in May 2017, that this blog was important to me and that I was excited to start this new journey.

Then I got side tracked. Even during the early lockdown of this pandemic in March and April, I didn’t write. When I was lucky enough to spend much of my summer outside the city, I didn’t write. My kids went back to school, and I didn’t write. So, it’s a new year, and I’m ready to write. Here I am, I’m back.

I have so many ideas for new blog posts. Every day I come across something that makes me think, read about a piece of news that makes me want to know more or have an interesting conversation that makes me want to write, I remind myself that the Kinetic Motions blog is where I need to share my thoughts.

We are living in such a unique and challenging time in our lives. Over 30 million people have been infected and almost 1 million people have died from a dangerous virus. This virus is terrorizing us, hurting us and killing us. It has not only changed every aspect of our daily lives, but so many people have lost the ones they love.

I am not going to use this space to tell people to be smart and berate those who are ignorant or who choose to ignore the invisible enemy. We are all in this together. The world is just a small global village, and everyone, in every community, is responsible for the good and welfare of everyone else.

In the past 16 months since I published my last post, Nessa turned 3, then she turned 4; we celebrated Matthew’s Bar Mitzvah from our dining room and blasted the signal via Zoom around the world; Julia hit double digits in May; my beloved Poppy died in April, at the age of 99; oh and we got a dog…. An adorable Maltese-Bichon mix, who just turned 3. And of course so much more in between, in the midst of a global pandemic.

The world, and life, are never boring. Every day brings something new, and sometimes shocking. A shooting, hurricane, wildfires, murders of people because of their skin colour or ethnicity. I don’t want to be dulled by any of these events, but maybe, we could do with a bit of just plain boring in 5781.

So, the blog is back. Kinetic Motions is, well, back in motion. Whether you celebrate or not, I wish you a happy, healthy, sweet, and maybe a little boring, new year.

*Just a little note… the apple featured here was just picked from my backyard garden. We have a single apple tree in our backyard, that typically produces one apple each year. This year it bloomed with beautiful flowers and produced a few apples for us to enjoy. If the tree can bloom, so can we.

May 12, 2019

Mother’s Day is Julia’s Day

I became a new mother for the second time on May 12^th, 2010. It was an ordinary Wednesday, early in the morning, when Julia jumped into the world. And I mean jumped. One moment I went into labour and the next moment I had a baby girl. Whoever said labour was long and slow hadn’t met Miss Julia Maxine.

Julia was a special gift to us the day she was born but also to her first cousin, who turned five that very same day. The “May 12 Girls” as we call them are kindred spirits and share a special bond that most cousins only dream about. I remember my sister-in-law said to me, when Julia was just a few days old… “You are going to have to balance birthday fun and Mother’s Day from now on. Good Luck.”

I shrugged it off as Mother’s Day has never been a big deal to me. Even as a child I saw through this rather commercialized day. I told my mother many years ago that no one had to assign a special day for me to tell my mother I loved her or to do something nice for her. I should do that every day, and if I want to buy my mother a gift then I just buy one. I stuck to that promise throughout my childhood and when I became a mother, now to three children, I stand by that.

I am a mother, and I work hard at it. My one request to my husband and children: be nice to me every day! So it’s no big deal that Julia’s birthday falls near Mother’s Day every year, or once in while on Mother’s Day, as it does this year.

In 2019, Mother’s Day is Julia’s Day. And she has made the most of it. Maybe it’s because her brother had a sleepover birthday party when he turned 9. Or maybe it’s because she figured out her birthday would be on a Sunday in 2019. Julia knew exactly what she wanted this year: you guessed it… a sleepover party of her own.

People said to me, “But Sunday, May 12^this Mother’s Day. How can you do a sleepover party?” Ah, I answered, not only am I giving a gift of a sleepover party to Julia, I’m giving a gift to her friends’ mothers as well – I’m taking their kids! And sure enough the mothers have thanked me.

They thanked me, and they also gave me a mix of bravoand are you crazyfor hosting 10 eight and nine-year-old girls for an overnight at my house. Birthday or Mother’s Day, this is no easy task. Girls at this age are high energy, demanding and a bit anxious. But they are still kind of cute and smiley and relatively easy to please.

I haven’t slept much in the last 24 hours. I was a mix of a short-order cook, professional baker, cleaning lady, hostess extraordinaire and mother to ten. My list includes cooking and serving two meals, baking a birthday cake from scratch, making up ten beds (setting up sleeping bags across my living room floor), wiping food off every surface in my house and sweeping up anything from popcorn and cake crumbs to Dollar Store play dough and dirt.

Who said adolescent boys have a ton of energy? Spend the night with a group of 10 adolescent girls and you may think differently. They are like the Energizer Bunny. They just keep going and going. They run around the background. The girls zoom up and down the stairs. Giggling. Laughing. Shrieking. Jumping. Dancing. Do they slow down? No.

I don’t quite know how I convinced them to go bed. I’m not going to say “go to sleep” as some refused to do that. It was a late night. They were excited. It wasn’t just a sleepover party – it was the evening before Julia’s birthday. The fact that Mother’s Day was upon them seemed irrelevant to this group of young ladies.

But not to their mothers and fathers. The girls’ smiling parents heartily greeted me this morning when they arrived at our house to pick up their sweet little girls. They looked at my tired face and kindly wished me a Happy Mother’s Day. And I graciously said thank you. Today was Julia’s Day, for sure, but I am giving myself a gold star too, for Mother’s Day.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the wonderful women in the world who are the heart of the home, the family, and in my mind, the world.

January 5, 2019

Next Year in Jerusalem

On December 31^st, 1988, I celebrated my first New Year’s Eve outside of Canada. I will admit that I don’t remember my exact location, but I know it was somewhere in Israel. Maybe Jerusalem? Or Tel Aviv? Somewhere in the north? My family came to Israel to celebrate my Bat Mitzvah. It would be my first of many trips to this wonderful place.

On December 31^st, 2018, exactly 30 years later, I was here again, in Israel, celebrating with more family. During our two-week visit we are attending not just a Bat Mitzvah, but also a Bar Mitzvah and a wedding party. Israel has seen tremendous change over the past 30 years, but my joy to be here has not changed.

B’shana ha ba’a b’yerushalayim. – next year in Jerusalem – is something Jewish people say not only at the end of the Passover seder, but throughout the year. There is a deep historical and personal connection we have with this ancient city. Memories of my first visit there, back in December 1988, will stay with me forever.

As I joked on New Year’s Eve a few nights ago, as we counted down the clock to midnight, I. planned to check that off my list first thing in the new year with a visit to Jerusalem on January 1^st! Hey, we all make New Year’s resolutions, and I’m taking mine seriously. Check!

And sure enough, on January 1^st, I went to Jerusalem, to celebrate a brand new year and to also, gulp, start planning my son, Matthew’s Bar Mitzvah. My son will turn 13 in 2020. That’s next year. And he, like so many children before him, for thousands of years, will read from the Torah in this most sacred of cities.

I have had the opportunity to visit Jerusalem twice during this trip, and I have to say, I both love and hate this city. I love Jerusalem because it is steeped in history. At every turn you come across a spot that plays a significant role for one of the world’s major religions. The city sits across seven hills, and on a clear day there are breathtaking views in every direction.

Within a few hundred meters of each other you can visit Christianity’s Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Islam’s Al Aqsa Mosque and the outer walls of Judaism’s Temple Mount. I won’t get into the politics and religious differences in terms of the logistics of actually visiting all three sites, but let’s say, in theory, because of sheer proximity, one can do this.

One of my favourite bakeries in the whole world, Marzipan, sits in the centre of Jerusalem. No one can load chocolate into a small pastry like they can. And behind this bakery sits a world famous market, where you can find a mix of fresh fruit and vegetables, spices, baked goods and nick knacks, and vendors hollering at shoppers and each other!

So you ask, what’s not to love about this glorious city? A lot, I say. Try driving through Jerusalem. It’s awful. Try parking. Even worse. It’s crowded, loud and kind of dirty. No road or path goes straight and we always get lost. Construction. Masses of people always descending upon the city.

And yet, there is no other place where I would want to plan my child’s Bar Mitzvah, just like I insisted for my own 30 years ago. Jerusalem is hectic, crowded and loud. But it’s also mystical and magical. This year in Jerusalem. Check. Next year in Jerusalem – see you there in April 2020.