Author: Tova

Two months ago we packed ourselves up and moved across the country on a whim. We’d come up with the idea in March, sold our house in April, found a rental in May and hopped a plane in June. 

As we drove through the quiet highways at dusk, the morning of our flight, I snapped a picture of the NY skyline and recorded my feelings in a FB post.   

 It’s now been just over two months. 

We’ve settled into our new home, though I’m still unpacking boxes of craft supplies. 

The girls have started school, started making new friends and we’re getting into the rhythm of our new home town. 

And it’s been good. 

So very good. 

And as I sink into this new life and absorb the world around me, I’ve started to hear the universe whispering to me. I know that sounds hoaky but it’s true. And it sounds a lot like “start doing that Muchness thing again Tova. It’s time.” 

The truth is, the whole time I wasn’t blogging or engaged in growing The Muchness as a movement, I’ve still very much been living by its principles— basically, do the stuff that makes you feel your most muchiest. And despite life’s ups and downs, when I take the long view, time and again, it’s worked. 

I’m not really sure where to start. Like an old friend you haven’t seen in forever, that first reunion can feel awkward and make you insecure— what do they expect from me? 

I’m gonna start, I think, just sharing many of the #muchnessmakeover crafts I’ve been doing. San Diego brings out the artist in me. For that I’m happy. 

We’ll see where it leads….

Last night was the last time sleeping in our home. I dreamed that the house we moved to in San Diego wasn’t the house we saw online (irl we rented from a cl post, having only seen a video courtesy of the listing agent) -in my dream we showed up to find ourselves in a dorm for families- each room occupied by 3-4 people crammed into each space. Doors were glass and there were nasty dudes in their underwear watching tv and drinking beer and unwashed kids everywhere. Everyone shared a communal bathroom except the lucky few who had a naked toilet in their room, generally right next to the sofa that they squeezed in against a wall, surrounded by mattresses. 

It looked a heck of a lot like this:   

In one section of the “community” were college students and they were cool but really bitter and anxious to get out of there. 

It was a strange dream– probably it’s my subconscious backlash against expansion and abundance in my life. 

Screw that. Funny how our minds try to trick us into smallness and fear- right? 

No matter what smallness your mind is trying to trick you into I want you to repeat after me: “screw that.” 

Boom 

This is where I’m headed:   

Nothing small or lacking about that! 

In high school I found a vintage glass candy jar at a thrift shop and I started collecting my spare change in it. That jar (and the vintage disco ball I found at the same shop) traveled with me when I moved out on my own to go to college in Manhattan. It sat on a shelf surrounded by my collection of candy toys and my little terra fighter fish, Fonzi.

After graduation, it came with me to queens where it sat on my bedroom dresser. For a while its contents became the only money I had – I’d fish out $3.25 every morning and walk around the corner to a neighborhood bagel shop. I’d buy a coffee and bagel with a scrambled egg which lasted me all day until I had a pot of spaghetti with ketchup for dinner. I’d eat right from the pot. One less thing to wash.

The jar followed me back to my moms house when I closed my handbag company and could no longer afford my rent. It was one of just a handful of physical possessions I took.

It followed me (still with the disco ball) to the apartment in New Jersey I moved into with Elie after we’d been dating just four months. As we settled in I discovered he too had a pretty significant spare change collection. His was in a gray lock box type thing— not nearly as groovy as my vintage candy jar.

The day we sat and poured his change into my jar was pretty significant. There was no going back. No separating his years of spare change from my own.

That was when I knew.

We continued to drop our spare change in that jar, pulling out quarters for the building’s laundry machines and parking meters.

We got married, got pregnant, bought a house. I had the disco ball professionally installed in the family room with two spotlights on either side, it’s motor and the lights all controlled by a single wall switch- a dream fulfilled- and we continued to drop our change in the candy jar.

While on maternity leave with my oldest daughter Molly, I dug through that jar, removing the pennies, which I used to tile the entire floor of the powder room attached to the family room.

Eventually, the jar filled up completely.

Sitting under Elie’s desk in our home office, too heavy to move, the kids would sit at his feet and pull out handfuls of change to play with and count. We used the coins to teach Molly math. We started filling other jars. Pretzel jugs that sat in the kitchen, piggy banks that rested on the kids dressers, mugs that found their home near the shoe rack in my closet or above the washing machine.

Now, we’re heading into the next chapter of our lives- we’re moving across the country… Simply because we want to. It became very clear that unlike all the moves I’ve made until now, the change jar could not follow me as it had for the last 25 (25!!!!) years.

This weekend, we went through the house, collected all our spare change collections, and drove to the local TD Bank with a penny arcade.

And we nearly broke the damn machine.

Bucket after bucket, handful after handful we put into the automatic counter. They had to replace the collection bags four times. The guy online behind us with a plastic Big Gulp cup half filled with change couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The ongoing clink and clatter was so loud the people in the bank had to yell to hear themselves speak.

And when it was done the machine breathed a sigh of relief and spit out a puney little piece of paper. We brought the paper to the teller and he handed us nearly $1,300 in cash.

The Bucket Of Change -appropriately named by default- that has followed me since high school, fed me, clothed me, taught me and was the catalyst for my “oh-he’s the one” moment, is now going to fly us to our new home in San Diego.

We’re gonna take the now empty vintage candy jar of course. When we get to San Diego I imagine we’ll start filling it again- with spare change and new memories.

Not sure what to make of this or where to share so I’m choosing here.
After I lost the twins, my boss – whom I was pretty close with- was pretty harsh. I’ve blogged about it a bit before but basically, 10 weeks after they died he pulled me aside and told me I was angry and had to get over it. He said my loss was gods retribution for some bad thing Id done and now we were “even” and I could move on. I basically cursed him to hell in my mind but kept my mouth shut and went about my business.
As The Muchness grew it (admittedly) distracted me from my work, and he grew hostile. In retrospect I can see his frustration with me- I was totally checked out at work, but I kept telling him what I needed to make me useful and functional again (to go back to the creative part of my job and hire me an assistant to do the shit I could no longer do. My brain chemistry literally changed. To do the work he had me doing I needed to care about technical details that I just didn’t care about anymore) and though he promised he would, he ultimately refused to provide it.
Anyway, about 2.5 years after my loss I was sitting in a meeting with my two bosses when this one left the room to take a call. He came back 5 minutes later and said his 5 month pregnant wife was at the ob and the baby had no heartbeat. I burst into tears.
Over the next few years we didn’t talk about it much and thankfully she went on to have another healthy baby.
Despite his own family’s experience with loss, when I ultimately left my job he said some nasty things to me. He told me this Muchness thing was bullshit and that I was taking advantage of vulnerable people with my products. He told me that I am not qualified to offer support or insight to others because I’m a product designer, not a therapist. He told me that I’d grown soft, lost my edge and was not the special girl he’d hired- he’d pursued me for a year before I agreed to work for him. He told me I’d fail on my own and be back in six months asking for my job back. (To be honest- I almost did… But I made it through that rough patch- amazing how we let other people’s words and opinions saturate our brains… It’s almost as easy (maybe easier) to let someone else’s version of your future manifest into your reality.)
But here I am, nearly three years later with a successful business I started with my husband and while Muchness has sorta takes a back seat these last few months, it’s still so much a part of me and of the women that it’s impacted— and will continue to be- even though I’m “just” a product designer.
Last week, for the first time in three years, I spoke to my old boss on the phone. I was in California on a business trip for earseeds. I got to tell him about the business, our successes, and our upcoming move to San Diego- I told him, laughing- “you told me I was soft so I decided to move where the soft people are and live in paradise and actually enjoy my life.”
He replied “I didn’t think you heard me.”
“I heard every word.” I replied.

So, this weekend I got in the mail a brochure from this jewish baby loss and infertility org. I NEVER open their stuff- I’m on their mailing list but the first care package I got from them just didn’t resonate with me and my personal belief system so I just set it aside.
But this envelope I opened for whatever reason and it was for a fundraiser Chinese auction. Companies donate prizes and then people buy tickets. The prizes are $$$ expensive. I flipped through the pages curious what was on the auction block- from fully furnished rooms, kitchen renovations, outfitting your home with solar panels, round trip tickets + accommodations to switzerland, all the way to a toys r us shopping spree, American girl dolls, or summer camp for a kid.
Most of the prizes either mention no sponsor or are sponsored by the business that provides the service/product.
A few are sponsored by the “this” family or “that” person. And two of the prizes, which value probably near 10k combined, are generously sponsored by my former employer.
I didn’t know what to make of it when I first saw it. I was kind of stunned. But then I decided to choose my perspective. And it’s this:
I didn’t think he heard me. But maybe somewhere inside he heard every word.

Last week I went to an event hosted by a friend called “Women and Wisdom”. The empowerment evening was really just a celebration of amazing women of the past and present, with a bit of a nod to the future.
To that end, a couple of slides into the nights presentation a picture of my daughters popped on the screen. My friend, Elizabeth, asked me to stand up and take “ownership” of the two little girls. I couldn’t have been prouder.
Now, Elizabeth had mentioned something about me speaking at this event but honestly, I wasn’t totally sure what that would entail, or even if I understood her correctly.
I prepared nothing.
I probably should’ve done a better job reading my emails because it was all explained in there…. But I didn’t.
Towards the end of the presentation she asked a bunch of us to come to the front. A slide popped up with pictures of a bunch of us from the audience. I was on it.
“Oh,” I thought, “I guess this must be it.” Eeeek.
Everyone came up with a piece of paper with a word written on it. I was empty handed. (Dammit tova!! Read your emails!!!)
Elizabeth was explaining that we’d each picked one word to describe what we believe in when it comes to women changing the world.
I grabbed a pen and paper and wrote out MUCHNESS and before I had time to think, I found myself in front of the mic.
Now, before a couple of years ago, I’d never spoken in public in my life. I’d have passed out from fear. Now I’ve got a little experience under my belt and what I’ve learned is that the most important thing is to speak from the heart. When I do, the fear melts away.
And the words I heard myself say that day, I wasn’t sure where they came from, but I wanted to share them with you.
First, I started with a joke.
“I chose the word Muchness, in part, because I’ve trademarked it.”
This was an entrepreneurial crowd.
They laughed.
Then I explained what it means… “I used to be much muchier, but then I lost my Muchness.
When I lost my twins, it broke me. Broke me in a way I never knew you could break. I felt like a million little pieces just shattered all across the floor.
We all have things in life that break us. All of us, at some point, are broken pieces shattered on the floor.
But the beautiful thing about being broken is that ultimately, those pieces are going to start forming back together… And you get the CHOICE to decide how that is going to look.”
As your pieces start glueing themselves back together, how are your pieces going to look?
Because they can be rebuilt stronger than the original.
And you can use glitter glue.

I’ve been meaning to write. But it’s weird. Perhaps I’ve mentioned, I don’t really know who I’m writing for when I write here anymore. I started writing for women who were trapped in darkness and needed light. Sharing mine felt like a way to reflect mine, and that felt awesome. Then, over the years, when I’ve had none, I’ve stopped writing for lengths of time because I just couldn’t spare any. My most recent stretch of silence has been the opposite- so much growth and good stuff happening- so much Muchness that writing about it just felt very self-indulgent. But ya know- so does this explanation, which I somehow feel I’ve written before. So I’ll end it now and move right along.

Anyway- WARNING
When you start following the pull of your muchness there is no guarantee where it will take you.
Mine is taking me to San Diego. Yahoo!!
Three months ago, in the midst of a gray nj winter, the constant iPhone weather app updates of what was happening in the sunshine state just got too annoying. I turned to my hubs- who is as obsessed with that weather app as I am with glitter and said- ok, so let’s move. Within weeks we were on a plane to check it out and within days of returning we announced our plan to move across the country.
So here we are. Within a week of quietly sharing our decision on facebook we’ve found a buyer for our house and today we accepted an offer.
As I lie in this bed (a lovely 4-poster that the buyers negotiated into the buying price) it dawned on me that this is the home where our children were born. And we will be leaving it.
I remember my first night in this home. With a construction mess still downstairs Elie and I lay in the dark admiring how big OUR bedroom felt in OUR house. It was so excited- a time in our lives just pregnant with possibility. And Molly. That little bean had blossomed inside me and was scheduled to make her debut in 3.5 weeks.
I hadn’t been sleeping well for a while so it didn’t surprise me that I kept tossing and turning as Elie slept soundly next to me.
I kept dozing and then waking to roll over from the discomfort.
I probably should’ve read a pregnancy book at that point (I hadn’t) or just used my brain, but my intuition muscles were about as sore as my back and as underused as the dusty treadmill we’d hauled into our new family room a few days prior.
I got up to pee and saw blood and flipped the hell out.
I’d been to the ob earlier that day (I’d already been having contractions, but didn’t realize they’d feel like the baby was just shoving her tush into my lungs) and she told me I might have a bit of spotting from her exam and not to worry if I did.
But, ya know, I worried. I woke Elie and called the dr who told me to relax but if I was really nervous I could go to the hospital.
Like a clichèd scene from a rom-com we drove to the hospital- me begging him to go through the red lights and him the befuddled husband about to shit a brick.
We got there and they asked me, crying and unable to walk from the pain, if I was having contractions. “No” I said. “Just cramps.”
The nurses then pulled out a big stamp with the word IDIOT in giant red letters and stamped the top of my intake forms.
10 hours later molly was born- small but fierce and beautifully healthy.
17 months later my twins were born. Still.
In this same bed I drowned in my tears for months and months.
And 13 months after that, Liat arrived-
Big and healthy with the most joyful and light-filled energy. “A little dose of Sunshine” -so many said about her- strangers and those who knew her better.
That nickname found her and follows her. Sunshine. The name of her sister, whose energy I believe she carries inside her.
Our family is complete.
The two children we always wanted, plus two more that no one sees but us. Two daughters who have changed our lives in amazing ways. Two daughters who made us the parents of twins. Two daughters who we are so lucky to have had the heartbreak of knowing.
What a gift they’ve given us.

Now, as I lay in this bed, where I nursed both my living daughters and my broken heart, I look forward to the next stage of my life. A new beginning. A new perspective. A new state. A new zip code.
But not a new area code. No one will ever convince me to trade in my 646 NYC cell phone number.