After spending a really quite enjoyable weekend at our relatives in the Lower East Side, my sister in law mentioned the famous annual Saks Fifth Avenue sale of December 26, where everything from the season's sale is an additional 50% off from 8am until 12pm and then 40% after that until closing.
Desiring some gorgeous designer shoes, hopeful that they would be somewhat affordable I agreed to go with her. We rushed to get out of the house arriving at Saks at 9:30 am. Late.
As I walked in I heard a mother tell her daughter, "there is nothing left to buy" i looked around, to me it seemed that there was plenty, plenty to buy. Crowds pooled around the elevators, some of the more serious shoppers had furrowed brows, deep in thought as if they had a running list in their heads of how to tackle the 10 floor madness and kept reviewing it so that they wouldn't dare forget.
Others had more relaxed faces as they chatted with their shopping buddies, talking about what they already purchased on floor one, the cosmetics, perfume, and small luxury item floor and what they hoped to get on the next floor.
As we got off the elevator on floor 8, the shoe floor, we were ushered into a roped line. A roped line! Every few minutes the bouncer allowed a few more women to enter the shoe section. I was flabbergasted, blown away, I was actually really embarrassed to even be part of it. The bouncer finally allowed us on to the floor, we found the section with our sized shoes. Most of the shoes were on the floor being shoved onto hopeful feet. Others were tossed carelessly in a growing pile. Shoe sales persons were actually on all fours on the floor trying to salvage the commodities from being trampled.
I approached an interesting looking shoe and touched it, "excuse me!!!!!" I jumped aside as if struck by an electrical current, I did not realize but I had encroached upon a sacred pile of shoes set aside by a somewhat unattractive 25 year old young lady. "I was merely looking," I murmured, as she glared at me accusingly. I basically lost interest in the shoe section after that.
After sometime on the various floors I ran into a girl who confessed to me in a very frantic and worried voice that she could not understand why she had not found anything to buy. A year or two prior to this she would have found a minimum of six pairs of shoes to buy and at least ten other items. She continued to tell me that since she's had a child she finds herself spending more carefully. I listened to her, and tried to congratulate her on surpassing the stage in her life of thoughtless and mindless shopping and being more cautious with her money. After bidding her farewell, I spotted her making her rounds again, just a few more times, still looking anxious, hoping she did not make the awful mistake of NOT buying anything and making sure she did not miss the items that may call out to her.
The demographic in the NYC Saks was mostly Jewish people, lots of them religious. Many of them ultra-Orthodox. I wondered if they saved all their money to come to this annual sale and buy whatever they fancied or if they just demanded of their husbands a huge wad of cash as they fled their homes in search of the perfect silk designer scarf to add to their already huge scarf collection, making it the only colorful item in their mostly black wardrobes.
There were also a few teenagers, obviously religious, dressed in black head to toe; black blazers, black skirts, thick black tights and designer flats. Each held a bag of purchases I am almost positive they did not need nor could afford, yet the thrill of telling their friends they made it to the sale and got this and that designer item so that they can stand out from their peers was too enticing. All I could think of, was how bad I felt for their parents and how their ridiculous purchases would really not make them any happier or unique.
At last the most interesting of shoppers were the tourists, mostly orientals toting huge stacks of dollars literally sweeping their arms across the shelves of designer handbags piling them up and buying them all. Any item in the store which carried a designers logo or emblem they had to have. After all, the point of having designer items is that everyone can tell that they are designer.
After about two and half hours we left. I did not buy a thing. I am neither pleased nor displeased that I did not find anything to buy. Rather, I am intrigued by what I learned about the human race and wonder how many of the shoppers today are tossing and turning tonight wondering if they should have gotten their Jimmy Choo sandals in both the sand and the dust color.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Gym Lady
I've been going to the gym for years now. About a year ago I noticed a woman in incredible shape. Mid height, small build, great figure, fabulous muscle definition. She always had her thick red hair in a high ponytail and wore nice, but not ostentatious gym clothing. She takes the 9:30am classes on most days. She walks confidently and I admire her level of fitness and commitment to working out.
About a block from my house there is a road that I frequent, on it there are many big beautiful homes. There is one in particular with a white picket fence that I always say is my "dream home." Big, three car garage, beautiful siding and garden. I drive by slowly so that I can glimpse to see if the inside would suit my lifestyle of huge Shabbat dinners and constant entertaining.
This past Friday, while rushing to the gas station on the way to the highway to pick the kids up from school, I noticed red-haired gym lady standing in the driveway of her gorgeous house, my "dream house." Even though I was rushing, running late, I still slowed at the house as a matter of habit. I could not believe my eyes when I saw that gorgeous gym lady was standing in my dream houses driveway.
I guess you cannot have it all. Who knows what this woman's life is like. Or what the inside of her house looks like. I am not envious of her as to be envious of what she seemingly has is shallow, and I don't want to be shallow. But appearance-wise, wowee, gym lady has got it made!
About a block from my house there is a road that I frequent, on it there are many big beautiful homes. There is one in particular with a white picket fence that I always say is my "dream home." Big, three car garage, beautiful siding and garden. I drive by slowly so that I can glimpse to see if the inside would suit my lifestyle of huge Shabbat dinners and constant entertaining.
This past Friday, while rushing to the gas station on the way to the highway to pick the kids up from school, I noticed red-haired gym lady standing in the driveway of her gorgeous house, my "dream house." Even though I was rushing, running late, I still slowed at the house as a matter of habit. I could not believe my eyes when I saw that gorgeous gym lady was standing in my dream houses driveway.
I guess you cannot have it all. Who knows what this woman's life is like. Or what the inside of her house looks like. I am not envious of her as to be envious of what she seemingly has is shallow, and I don't want to be shallow. But appearance-wise, wowee, gym lady has got it made!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Have You Ever Heard of John Larson?
Everyday when I leave my house, especially on the brisk windy days of fall, I see a man from down the street taking his daily walk. He is dressed in a beige leather bomber, jeans, sneakers, big glasses and a bright red hat, most probably knitted by his 90 year old neighbor who gave it to him for a holiday gift, pulled down around his ears and forehead. He wears a serious face yet not one that has much concentration. It more seems like he forgot how to smile, or no longer knows how to show emotion on his face.
He walks with a limp, his right leg slower than his left. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets. He walks up and down the main streets and side streets. Many times he wonders onto our street, making his rounds around the adjoining cul de sacs.
Occasionally he will start up a conversation with you. The first thing he asks you is if you've ever heard of John Larson. No, you have already asked us, is the usual reply. He says he doesn't remember because he has no short-term memory.
Give him another second and he will go on to tell you that he was once a normal young adult. He was at a party and got into the car with his friend to go home. They were both drunk. They crashed, his friend died, he survived. DON'T EVER DRINK AND DRIVE he says slowly and forcefully, in his eerie monotone. John Larson is dead and me, he continues, I am not the same person I once was, nor will I ever be.
What's amazing to me is that this was a man who once had his whole life ahead of him, and all opportunity and potential ripped away from him on one fateful night. For the rest of his life he is a walking, talking reminder of this. Remarkably, his house is directly across the street from the local high school, a place where the message is most pertinent.
Who knows what his life would have turned out to be had he not been in that accident, however now he relays this message from person to person, sometimes repeatedly. With his compromised understanding of social boundaries he literally shares this with everyone he meets and perpetuates the memory and message of John Larson.
He walks with a limp, his right leg slower than his left. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets. He walks up and down the main streets and side streets. Many times he wonders onto our street, making his rounds around the adjoining cul de sacs.
Occasionally he will start up a conversation with you. The first thing he asks you is if you've ever heard of John Larson. No, you have already asked us, is the usual reply. He says he doesn't remember because he has no short-term memory.
Give him another second and he will go on to tell you that he was once a normal young adult. He was at a party and got into the car with his friend to go home. They were both drunk. They crashed, his friend died, he survived. DON'T EVER DRINK AND DRIVE he says slowly and forcefully, in his eerie monotone. John Larson is dead and me, he continues, I am not the same person I once was, nor will I ever be.
What's amazing to me is that this was a man who once had his whole life ahead of him, and all opportunity and potential ripped away from him on one fateful night. For the rest of his life he is a walking, talking reminder of this. Remarkably, his house is directly across the street from the local high school, a place where the message is most pertinent.
Who knows what his life would have turned out to be had he not been in that accident, however now he relays this message from person to person, sometimes repeatedly. With his compromised understanding of social boundaries he literally shares this with everyone he meets and perpetuates the memory and message of John Larson.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
The Orphan Club
On Sunday, my husband's friend passed away leaving his four children in the Orphan Club. The Orphan Club is every parent's worst fear and every child's worst nightmare.
Parent's never want to leave their children alone. They want to be there when their children are happy, sad, excited and angry. They want to hug, ponder, adore, get frustrated, have pride in, and love their children UNCONDITIONALLY. Nothing makes a parent happier. Children obviously need this. This is the way the world was created. A parent's unconditional love helps them grow from childhood into adulthood with the confidence that at least two people love them no matter what. This then is perpetuated to their children and so on.
That is one of the many reasons why I cannot understand how G-d could take a parent from his children. He created an unshakable bond of reliance and love yet at any moment he can take it away. I get that G-d wants to awaken in us empathy, compassion, he wants to challenge us to grow and to become better people. He wants us to realize not to take anything for granted. However, I cannot understand how it has to come at the expense of innocent, adorable children.
These children and many others, unfortunately, have recently joined the Orphan Club. A club no one wants to be part of, but because of G-d's reasoning that is above and beyond my limited understanding they are now part of.
Please G-d if you feel the need to shake us to our very core and wake us out of our selfish worlds, please spare the children. You who created them to rely on their parents as they do, save them from the Orphan Club where membership should be closed.
Parent's never want to leave their children alone. They want to be there when their children are happy, sad, excited and angry. They want to hug, ponder, adore, get frustrated, have pride in, and love their children UNCONDITIONALLY. Nothing makes a parent happier. Children obviously need this. This is the way the world was created. A parent's unconditional love helps them grow from childhood into adulthood with the confidence that at least two people love them no matter what. This then is perpetuated to their children and so on.
That is one of the many reasons why I cannot understand how G-d could take a parent from his children. He created an unshakable bond of reliance and love yet at any moment he can take it away. I get that G-d wants to awaken in us empathy, compassion, he wants to challenge us to grow and to become better people. He wants us to realize not to take anything for granted. However, I cannot understand how it has to come at the expense of innocent, adorable children.
These children and many others, unfortunately, have recently joined the Orphan Club. A club no one wants to be part of, but because of G-d's reasoning that is above and beyond my limited understanding they are now part of.
Please G-d if you feel the need to shake us to our very core and wake us out of our selfish worlds, please spare the children. You who created them to rely on their parents as they do, save them from the Orphan Club where membership should be closed.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Laundry Last
I think that laundry capabilities skipped two generations in my family.
My grandmother and great-grandmother could fold laundry perfectly. No matter what shape or size the item was it was folded neatly. When you took it out, it looked as though it came out of its original packaging. If you open their linen closets, the sheets and towels are folded perfectly. What a shame that this talent did not pass on to me, nor did it pass on to my mother.
Growing up mom sorted the laundry into piles. Come get your pile she would yell and everyone would come get their pile and shove it into their drawer or onto their shelves. There were at least 11 piles, so I can understand her not wanting to fold each sock, however I also wonder if its because she didn't get that laundry gene.
Tonight when I was folding a dreaded load of laundry I got down on myself. I fail! I cannot fold neatly at all. When I fold a simple flat sheet the corners don't match up. I can't even fold a towel right without to fold and refold three times before I am happy with it. Forget t-shirts, socks, underwear are pretty bad too. The worst are button downs or zip up sweaters. Those, you have to first button or zip and then align all the sides perfectly. I would never be able to get a job at the Gap or Urban Outfitters as my folding skills are sorely lacking.
What I cannot get past however, is that I have been folding laundry for over TEN years and still, it looks as though a ten year old folded everything. From time to time, and actually as I write this, I mean very seldom, does my husband help me fold. He folds beautifully. Everything lines up and the piles stack nicely, its as if the clothing love him and will stand at attention for him. Me, they fight me, they don't like me, we just don't click, I didn't get the laundry gene.
Laundry is last, laundry is last for me, laundry clean or dirty, although I much prefer clean, we just were not meant to be.
P.S. My linen closet is a wonderful, fresh smelling place where my towels and sheets are lined up almost perfectly.
My grandmother and great-grandmother could fold laundry perfectly. No matter what shape or size the item was it was folded neatly. When you took it out, it looked as though it came out of its original packaging. If you open their linen closets, the sheets and towels are folded perfectly. What a shame that this talent did not pass on to me, nor did it pass on to my mother.
Growing up mom sorted the laundry into piles. Come get your pile she would yell and everyone would come get their pile and shove it into their drawer or onto their shelves. There were at least 11 piles, so I can understand her not wanting to fold each sock, however I also wonder if its because she didn't get that laundry gene.
Tonight when I was folding a dreaded load of laundry I got down on myself. I fail! I cannot fold neatly at all. When I fold a simple flat sheet the corners don't match up. I can't even fold a towel right without to fold and refold three times before I am happy with it. Forget t-shirts, socks, underwear are pretty bad too. The worst are button downs or zip up sweaters. Those, you have to first button or zip and then align all the sides perfectly. I would never be able to get a job at the Gap or Urban Outfitters as my folding skills are sorely lacking.
What I cannot get past however, is that I have been folding laundry for over TEN years and still, it looks as though a ten year old folded everything. From time to time, and actually as I write this, I mean very seldom, does my husband help me fold. He folds beautifully. Everything lines up and the piles stack nicely, its as if the clothing love him and will stand at attention for him. Me, they fight me, they don't like me, we just don't click, I didn't get the laundry gene.
Laundry is last, laundry is last for me, laundry clean or dirty, although I much prefer clean, we just were not meant to be.
P.S. My linen closet is a wonderful, fresh smelling place where my towels and sheets are lined up almost perfectly.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Burnt to a Crisp
Customarily, after a wedding, there are 6 days of celebration that ensue, which include a festive dinner for those 6 days following the Jewish wedding. Typically, family and friends of the bride and groom host the dinner parties.
Our family is hosting the one on Thursday evening. The aunts worked out a menu and jobs were given out, mine, EGGPLANT ROLLITINI. A delicious dish of a ricotta cheese, basil, garlic and mozzarella cheese mixture rolled into thinly sliced eggplant, topped with a savory marinara sauce. It is not the easiest thing to make, however the taste is otherworldly.
Upon mentioning to my mother that this is the job I ended up with, however I do not have all the diary ingredients, my aunt will probably send them over, and that it was not the easiest dish to make, she went on to pressure me as to why I was making such a complicated dish. Couldn't someone else make that she asked? Can't you just make a rice or something simple? Why are you making such a time consuming thing? She then told me she mentioned to another aunt of mine that it was just TOO MUCH for me to be making eggplant rollitini and I should just make something simpl.e
While two out of the three trays of the eggplant were cooking, the organizing aunt calls me frantic. "DID YOU CALL YOUR OTHER AUNT TO CALL ME TO TELL ME THAT IT'S JUST TOO MUCH FOR YOU TO MAKE THIS EGGPLANT?" I calmly explained that I have no idea what she is talking about as I haven't even spoken to that aunt since the wedding.
As we continued talking, it all made sense. Mom shared her thoughts about the eggplant with her sister, who happened to be speaking to the organizing aunt who mentioned to her, that perhaps I should make an easier, less time consuming dish.
WOWEEEE, the only one missing in this equation was my grandmother, usually she is involved in these stupidities, but thankfully this time she was not mixed in! I have no idea how that was avoided.
I told the organizing aunt that the trays were in the oven and the conversation was over.
Back to the eggplant. Two out of the three trays were cooling on the counter. I was downstairs on my computer when I began to fall asleep! I ran upstairs, brushed my teeth and collapsed into bed. At 4AM the baby woke up. Something smelled. I ran to the kitchen. Tray #3 of the eggplant rollitini is burnt to a crisp.
Thankfully, it didn't get to the point of setting off the smoke alarms, or breaking my oven (which is only supposed to cook 3 hours at a time). But now, we are down to two trays of eggplant for 50 people instead of three.
Well, all those that thought I should not be making such a complicated dish should not have any, that way there will be enough for those that appreciate my time and effort in preparing it and cheered me on instead of whining about it.
Weigh in, do you think that since so many people got involved in my eggplant, it just had to burn? Or is just the irony of the whole story?
Our family is hosting the one on Thursday evening. The aunts worked out a menu and jobs were given out, mine, EGGPLANT ROLLITINI. A delicious dish of a ricotta cheese, basil, garlic and mozzarella cheese mixture rolled into thinly sliced eggplant, topped with a savory marinara sauce. It is not the easiest thing to make, however the taste is otherworldly.
Upon mentioning to my mother that this is the job I ended up with, however I do not have all the diary ingredients, my aunt will probably send them over, and that it was not the easiest dish to make, she went on to pressure me as to why I was making such a complicated dish. Couldn't someone else make that she asked? Can't you just make a rice or something simple? Why are you making such a time consuming thing? She then told me she mentioned to another aunt of mine that it was just TOO MUCH for me to be making eggplant rollitini and I should just make something simpl.e
While two out of the three trays of the eggplant were cooking, the organizing aunt calls me frantic. "DID YOU CALL YOUR OTHER AUNT TO CALL ME TO TELL ME THAT IT'S JUST TOO MUCH FOR YOU TO MAKE THIS EGGPLANT?" I calmly explained that I have no idea what she is talking about as I haven't even spoken to that aunt since the wedding.
As we continued talking, it all made sense. Mom shared her thoughts about the eggplant with her sister, who happened to be speaking to the organizing aunt who mentioned to her, that perhaps I should make an easier, less time consuming dish.
WOWEEEE, the only one missing in this equation was my grandmother, usually she is involved in these stupidities, but thankfully this time she was not mixed in! I have no idea how that was avoided.
I told the organizing aunt that the trays were in the oven and the conversation was over.
Back to the eggplant. Two out of the three trays were cooling on the counter. I was downstairs on my computer when I began to fall asleep! I ran upstairs, brushed my teeth and collapsed into bed. At 4AM the baby woke up. Something smelled. I ran to the kitchen. Tray #3 of the eggplant rollitini is burnt to a crisp.
Thankfully, it didn't get to the point of setting off the smoke alarms, or breaking my oven (which is only supposed to cook 3 hours at a time). But now, we are down to two trays of eggplant for 50 people instead of three.
Well, all those that thought I should not be making such a complicated dish should not have any, that way there will be enough for those that appreciate my time and effort in preparing it and cheered me on instead of whining about it.
Weigh in, do you think that since so many people got involved in my eggplant, it just had to burn? Or is just the irony of the whole story?
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Separation Anxiety
This past Saturday night, actually Sunday morning at 4am, I packed my three children into my car and headed to Pittsburgh, PA. In my opinion, the pitts of America.
My parents were going to the same wedding, therefore we decided we would drive together, caravan style. We mapped out the route via our GPS's and even printed out Google Map directions, to be sure that we were all going in the same direction, the same way.
It seemed to me as I was driving that dawn would never arrive. It was so dark at 4am, who would have thought it would be so dark. I hate driving in the dark, especially when I am so tired and cold all I want to do is get into bed.
About an hour into our trip, after going over the George Washington Bridge, making sure of course to follow the directions exactly, going over the upper level etc. and making excellent timing all the while, my mother calls to check in.
Hi, did you get off on the I-80. The I-80 I ask, where would that have been? Right after the George Washington Bridge, there was a sign, well i told her that is not where my GPS routed me. It was on the paper she says. The paper, I am freak'n driving myself with three kids in pitch blackness, I was not reading a paper when I have a perfectly amazing GPS. After a few more minutes discussing the directions we realized that for the remainder of my trip I would be all alone, traveling on empty highways, with three children in veritable darkness.
My mother assured me that we would meet up at some point, I agreed, we would meet again...it Pittsburgh. As we hung up the phone and I realized my predicament I began to panic. Panicking is not usually my style as I usually just step up to the plate and take it like a "woman" however, I was concerned and I was nervous and I felt alone. A terrible sinking feeling.
My husband was on a flight back from Israel, he would be meeting me in Pittsburgh, my parents, meeting me in Pittsburgh, the rest of my family, the same. Aha, so I was not so alone as I would be meeting up with everyone at my destination, only my journey would be lonesome. Ok, not so bad. But really, I had five hours left, so actually, yes, it was so bad.
In the end I realize that some people have lonesome Journeys, sometimes people have lonesome lives, but thank G-d all I had here was a bout of separation anxiety for my very, thankfully, un-lonesome life.
My parents were going to the same wedding, therefore we decided we would drive together, caravan style. We mapped out the route via our GPS's and even printed out Google Map directions, to be sure that we were all going in the same direction, the same way.
It seemed to me as I was driving that dawn would never arrive. It was so dark at 4am, who would have thought it would be so dark. I hate driving in the dark, especially when I am so tired and cold all I want to do is get into bed.
About an hour into our trip, after going over the George Washington Bridge, making sure of course to follow the directions exactly, going over the upper level etc. and making excellent timing all the while, my mother calls to check in.
Hi, did you get off on the I-80. The I-80 I ask, where would that have been? Right after the George Washington Bridge, there was a sign, well i told her that is not where my GPS routed me. It was on the paper she says. The paper, I am freak'n driving myself with three kids in pitch blackness, I was not reading a paper when I have a perfectly amazing GPS. After a few more minutes discussing the directions we realized that for the remainder of my trip I would be all alone, traveling on empty highways, with three children in veritable darkness.
My mother assured me that we would meet up at some point, I agreed, we would meet again...it Pittsburgh. As we hung up the phone and I realized my predicament I began to panic. Panicking is not usually my style as I usually just step up to the plate and take it like a "woman" however, I was concerned and I was nervous and I felt alone. A terrible sinking feeling.
My husband was on a flight back from Israel, he would be meeting me in Pittsburgh, my parents, meeting me in Pittsburgh, the rest of my family, the same. Aha, so I was not so alone as I would be meeting up with everyone at my destination, only my journey would be lonesome. Ok, not so bad. But really, I had five hours left, so actually, yes, it was so bad.
In the end I realize that some people have lonesome Journeys, sometimes people have lonesome lives, but thank G-d all I had here was a bout of separation anxiety for my very, thankfully, un-lonesome life.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
I Don't Wanna...
We are leaving for Pittsburgh soon, for a cousin's wedding. I am excited to get out of town as I could really use a change of scenery. The drive however, is 8 hours, and I DON'T WANNA! I don't wanna drive, I don't wanna have to drink caffeinated beverages get the shakes and jitters and feel as I am flying. I don't wanna have to hear my kids whine "are we there yet," I don't wanna have to feel bad because my 15 month old son is stuck in his car seat instead of running around outside in the fresh fall air, I don't wanna have to wonder if the kids are fed, need the bathroom, if the gas tank is low and most importantly IF I WILL STAY AWAKE THE WHOLE TIME.
Truth be told, I am excited to just be at the wedding already. My husband, who has been out of town in Israel for ten days will be joining me in Pittsburgh, we are all looking forward to seeing him. We also know the wedding will be fun, the hotel luxurious, and its great to get to be with family for something so happy. I will keep my eye on the prize as I am really feeling like I DON'T WANNA.
Now as this post is being written I have a psychology paper due on how hearing effects development, you can bet your bottom dollar I DO NOT want to be doing that either. In a future post I will relate to you how this trip went as well as an I DON'T wanna mini-series. In the meantime, wish me luck and GODSPEED on this journey to another state.
Truth be told, I am excited to just be at the wedding already. My husband, who has been out of town in Israel for ten days will be joining me in Pittsburgh, we are all looking forward to seeing him. We also know the wedding will be fun, the hotel luxurious, and its great to get to be with family for something so happy. I will keep my eye on the prize as I am really feeling like I DON'T WANNA.
Now as this post is being written I have a psychology paper due on how hearing effects development, you can bet your bottom dollar I DO NOT want to be doing that either. In a future post I will relate to you how this trip went as well as an I DON'T wanna mini-series. In the meantime, wish me luck and GODSPEED on this journey to another state.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
15 minutes
This morning my family arose at 6:45 rather than the usual 7:02. What a difference 15 minutes makes. It was my daughter Mushka who suggested this. She had some homework that we didn't get a chance to finish last night so she suggested an earlier wake-up time. Everyone was dressed by 6:55! We finished homework and breakfast by 7:09. I think this is record timing!! The best is what comes next.
Having finished breakfast we just hung out and chilled and chatted on the couch about whatever came to their minds. Mushka wanted to know if we were going to Israel. Leiba asked me to test her on some hebrew letters. My son, he was walking around with the vacuum cleaner stick wreaking havoc on my wood floors.
After this we headed downstairs to wait for their ride to school where we had a few minutes to be outside in the humid, damp, foggy and warm morning before their 7:40 pickup.
It really amazes me how those 15 minutes made all the difference from a hectic morning to a nice peaceful one that left us all time to talk. Maybe we will will start this for the rest of the year.
Truth be told as I write this I am passing out in my bed as I am exhausted being robbed of my last 15 sleep minutes.
Having finished breakfast we just hung out and chilled and chatted on the couch about whatever came to their minds. Mushka wanted to know if we were going to Israel. Leiba asked me to test her on some hebrew letters. My son, he was walking around with the vacuum cleaner stick wreaking havoc on my wood floors.
After this we headed downstairs to wait for their ride to school where we had a few minutes to be outside in the humid, damp, foggy and warm morning before their 7:40 pickup.
It really amazes me how those 15 minutes made all the difference from a hectic morning to a nice peaceful one that left us all time to talk. Maybe we will will start this for the rest of the year.
Truth be told as I write this I am passing out in my bed as I am exhausted being robbed of my last 15 sleep minutes.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Today I realized I have become just like a friend of mine that I used to look down upon. I was just being judgmental self when I would see her and her four kids living in literal filth. I could not understand how when I would visit her around dinner time, the breakfast dishes and food, were on the floor. The baby's highchair had various meals hardening on its tray. Cups and juice boxes would litter the floor and some kids were still wearing their PJs, faces smeared with dessert from one of the previous meals. What really got me, is that she had a full time houskeeper with her the WHOLE time.
I one time watched it unfold. The housekeeper came in the morning. She then began washing the clothing, the laundry room was piled high with garbage bags of clothing that needed to be washed. She then would help prepare the various meals of the day and attempt to go from bedroom to bedroom picking up dirty diapers, cups, food trays and making the beds. By the time she would get back to the kitchen to clean there would be at least another five hours of work.
Now you are probably wondering if this is what I mean when I said that I have become like this friend. Well, my house does not THANKFULLY look anything like this woman's house, however my kitchen does.
Today, while I was kneading 15lbs of challah dough I looked around my kitchen and that is when it hit me. There was my son, still in his PJs climbing onto his sister's chair reaching for her omelet. Then knocking her Corelle plate onto the floor and exclaiming "ohhh" as it clattered to the floor. A minute later he moved onto the next chair and started banging a fork onto the glass that was filled with chocolate milk.
Then my daughters came in. They, thankfully dressed themselves today in 86 degree weather in turtle necks and boots that we had bought last season. To make matters more interesting there are currently three full, bursting bags of garbage on the kitchen floor, dishes piled high on either counter, the table is full of trays of food and no end in sight to the cooking.
But maybe a miracle will happen. The house keeper is supposed to come soon and because I always make sure to keep the bedrooms as neat as possible, perhaps my kitchen and my kids will look somewhat decent by the time we are all going to bed.
I one time watched it unfold. The housekeeper came in the morning. She then began washing the clothing, the laundry room was piled high with garbage bags of clothing that needed to be washed. She then would help prepare the various meals of the day and attempt to go from bedroom to bedroom picking up dirty diapers, cups, food trays and making the beds. By the time she would get back to the kitchen to clean there would be at least another five hours of work.
Now you are probably wondering if this is what I mean when I said that I have become like this friend. Well, my house does not THANKFULLY look anything like this woman's house, however my kitchen does.
Today, while I was kneading 15lbs of challah dough I looked around my kitchen and that is when it hit me. There was my son, still in his PJs climbing onto his sister's chair reaching for her omelet. Then knocking her Corelle plate onto the floor and exclaiming "ohhh" as it clattered to the floor. A minute later he moved onto the next chair and started banging a fork onto the glass that was filled with chocolate milk.
Then my daughters came in. They, thankfully dressed themselves today in 86 degree weather in turtle necks and boots that we had bought last season. To make matters more interesting there are currently three full, bursting bags of garbage on the kitchen floor, dishes piled high on either counter, the table is full of trays of food and no end in sight to the cooking.
But maybe a miracle will happen. The house keeper is supposed to come soon and because I always make sure to keep the bedrooms as neat as possible, perhaps my kitchen and my kids will look somewhat decent by the time we are all going to bed.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Background Noise
Did you ever try to read or write something while someone else is listening/watching some really bad UTUBE videos?
Some people find it fascinating to view all types of videos etc. etc. They click on one thing and then before you know it, it is an hour later and they are still sitting there watching a variety of stupidity. I realize that it is addicting. What happens is simple; Your friend sends you link to something that they find amusing. You click, you watch, you find it mildly amusing. Next the site you are visiting "suggests" similar things that you may find interest in and the cycle repeats.
I personally NEVER watch any of the links that people send me, fearful that I will perpetuate the aforementioned behavior. Unless someone specifically tells me why I must watch a certain piece, I just delete it.
Back to my basic point, is that this evening I was trying to blog about some of the things that occurred today, but it was IMPOSSIBLE as there was too much background noise. Not the classical music type that sometimes help stir some emotion, or gets your brain working at maximum capacity. It was the type that kept making me forget my "eloquent" lines and caused me to make numerous spelling mistakes. Once in a while I would look over to the various videos that were screwing up my concentration and could not find why someone would even CLICK.
When your background noise becomes your frontal focus, I pity you, as I am sure that all your responsibilities fade away and your brain turns to jelly.
Some people find it fascinating to view all types of videos etc. etc. They click on one thing and then before you know it, it is an hour later and they are still sitting there watching a variety of stupidity. I realize that it is addicting. What happens is simple; Your friend sends you link to something that they find amusing. You click, you watch, you find it mildly amusing. Next the site you are visiting "suggests" similar things that you may find interest in and the cycle repeats.
I personally NEVER watch any of the links that people send me, fearful that I will perpetuate the aforementioned behavior. Unless someone specifically tells me why I must watch a certain piece, I just delete it.
Back to my basic point, is that this evening I was trying to blog about some of the things that occurred today, but it was IMPOSSIBLE as there was too much background noise. Not the classical music type that sometimes help stir some emotion, or gets your brain working at maximum capacity. It was the type that kept making me forget my "eloquent" lines and caused me to make numerous spelling mistakes. Once in a while I would look over to the various videos that were screwing up my concentration and could not find why someone would even CLICK.
When your background noise becomes your frontal focus, I pity you, as I am sure that all your responsibilities fade away and your brain turns to jelly.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Making Ends Meet
"Whenever I almost make the ends meet, someone moves an end." This is a magnet that I have one my refrigerator, and it totally rings true, even though it has a very negative connotation.
Money, I really wish I had some. I can honestly say I have 98% of what I need, so its not that I need money for my needs, or even for my wants, because really all I want is to have my needs fulfilled.
However, every now and then I get a reminder that my needs are greater than what I realize. For instance, my children's school bill arrived. Along with a letter saying that $1075.00 is due immediately to secure their admission into school next year.
Great, where the heck am I supposed to come up with that. I filled out the paperwork for seventeen hours, now I just need the money. This type of thing just makes me want to have a job that I can stash some income away so that when these types of things arise, I have money for them.
I am a professional volunteer. That means my entire life is given over to volunteering. I receive compensation when someone feels ingratiated by what I have done for them and drops a donation my way based on what they deem reasonable. What a life? What was I thinking signing up for this? Can't I get a real job? I suppose I should. This volunteering stuff just "ain't" cutting it.
So next time I feel like I have the ends just about meeting, and that I have all I really need, thank G-d, I will remind myself that the school bill is still not paid and perhaps a life of committed to the "greater good" needs some re-evaluation.
Money, I really wish I had some. I can honestly say I have 98% of what I need, so its not that I need money for my needs, or even for my wants, because really all I want is to have my needs fulfilled.
However, every now and then I get a reminder that my needs are greater than what I realize. For instance, my children's school bill arrived. Along with a letter saying that $1075.00 is due immediately to secure their admission into school next year.
Great, where the heck am I supposed to come up with that. I filled out the paperwork for seventeen hours, now I just need the money. This type of thing just makes me want to have a job that I can stash some income away so that when these types of things arise, I have money for them.
I am a professional volunteer. That means my entire life is given over to volunteering. I receive compensation when someone feels ingratiated by what I have done for them and drops a donation my way based on what they deem reasonable. What a life? What was I thinking signing up for this? Can't I get a real job? I suppose I should. This volunteering stuff just "ain't" cutting it.
So next time I feel like I have the ends just about meeting, and that I have all I really need, thank G-d, I will remind myself that the school bill is still not paid and perhaps a life of committed to the "greater good" needs some re-evaluation.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Are We There Yet?
Many times I find myself asking "are we there yet?" To some it may seem like I am merely asking if we have gotten to some destination or something. However, I feel that it is my mantra, it is even my BBM status at all times. "Are we there yet," refers to any situation in my life that I feel that the outcome is just not quite clear yet and I would rather be elsewhere or be done with whatever I am presently doing.
Recently, we all went gown shopping, as one of my many sisters is getting married in about a month, "Are we there yet," was all I could think in the hours upon hours of trying on styles, shapes, colors, analyzing, pricing and comparing the many many gowns.
Often I will be at a dinner party, "are we there yet," is anyone having any fun yet? Is the time going to pass any faster? At that point some good wine or vodka is sorely needed and often provides the temporary respite, but seriously, can we just be done with this, I would much rather be checking facebook or accomplishing something purposeful.
Thursdays are my absolute WORST day of the week. It is the day that I must start preparing for shabbos. My house gets straightened and a four course dinner and lunch is prepared. All that and 15 pounds of challah dough must be kneaded, shaped, and baked. It is treacherous and I dread it almost every week. This is all while balancing the children, making sure they are fed, lunches prepared for the next day, and kitchen not TRASHED as I never know who may show up at my home. All I can think about on Thursdays is "are we there yet."
However, when I am basically all done with everything for Friday night, sometime on Friday afternoon, I never stop to relish that moment, as the next stage of dinner and what not is right upon my heels making me think, "are we there yet?"
As I was frantically finishing up my chocolate pecan tart for ten tonight, I kept thinking "are we there yet," as the tart had many steps including a cooling point that never seemed to happen, and I just wanted to get to bed already. But then I thought to myself that we are probably NEVER there. I should just get over it and realize that probably death is the only thing that is so "there" that there is no where to go, nothing to look forward to, and nothing to do.
So even though I often find myself dreading whatever I am currently doing or anticipating and even though I probably will ALWAYS think to myself, "are we there yet," I should stop and smell the chocolate pecan tart and realize that No, I AM NOT THERE, but I better get myself over HERE.
Recently, we all went gown shopping, as one of my many sisters is getting married in about a month, "Are we there yet," was all I could think in the hours upon hours of trying on styles, shapes, colors, analyzing, pricing and comparing the many many gowns.
Often I will be at a dinner party, "are we there yet," is anyone having any fun yet? Is the time going to pass any faster? At that point some good wine or vodka is sorely needed and often provides the temporary respite, but seriously, can we just be done with this, I would much rather be checking facebook or accomplishing something purposeful.
Thursdays are my absolute WORST day of the week. It is the day that I must start preparing for shabbos. My house gets straightened and a four course dinner and lunch is prepared. All that and 15 pounds of challah dough must be kneaded, shaped, and baked. It is treacherous and I dread it almost every week. This is all while balancing the children, making sure they are fed, lunches prepared for the next day, and kitchen not TRASHED as I never know who may show up at my home. All I can think about on Thursdays is "are we there yet."
However, when I am basically all done with everything for Friday night, sometime on Friday afternoon, I never stop to relish that moment, as the next stage of dinner and what not is right upon my heels making me think, "are we there yet?"
As I was frantically finishing up my chocolate pecan tart for ten tonight, I kept thinking "are we there yet," as the tart had many steps including a cooling point that never seemed to happen, and I just wanted to get to bed already. But then I thought to myself that we are probably NEVER there. I should just get over it and realize that probably death is the only thing that is so "there" that there is no where to go, nothing to look forward to, and nothing to do.
So even though I often find myself dreading whatever I am currently doing or anticipating and even though I probably will ALWAYS think to myself, "are we there yet," I should stop and smell the chocolate pecan tart and realize that No, I AM NOT THERE, but I better get myself over HERE.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
It is customary during the "intermediary days" of Passover to take your children on special outings as a family. The husband is home from work on these days and in order to show the children that it is not just an ordinary vacation, special day trips are taken.
Today, I took my children to a mini amusement park. There were the traditional carnival games, as well, a choo choo train, a pirate ship, haunted house etc. Jews from various Hasidic, Ashkenazic and Sephardic backgrounds gathered there, in long lines around the rides. I noticed as Mothers gazed with pride at their many children all dressed in matching designer outfits, fathers ran to purchase more tickets, sisters and brothers talked excitedly about which ride to visit next. Grandpas shoving their large frames into mini teacups or flying elephant rides so that they could ride with their excited yet slightly apprehensive 5 year old granddaughters.
As I stepped into the parking lot for a minute, I noticed a most unusual site. A wheel-chair bound man who had no legs past his knees was getting out of his handicap accessible mini van to join his disabled wife who walked with crutches and their beautiful baby girl, a toddler, in her stroller pushed by an assistant.
It struck me as pretty amazing. This special family was celebrating the way every other one was despite their obvious situation.
I wondered if their baby daughter, seeming not more than a year old, could even ride any of the rides. However I'm sure their excitement of the prospect of being able to take their daughter out and experience the great joy parents have when treating their children to a special outing masked any rationale.
As I passed them, I felt blessed that I had gotten to witness this site. I felt a deep sense of appreciation for my blessings, and I felt so happy for the disabled couple that though their differences were so apparent got to celebrate just like everyone else.
Today, I took my children to a mini amusement park. There were the traditional carnival games, as well, a choo choo train, a pirate ship, haunted house etc. Jews from various Hasidic, Ashkenazic and Sephardic backgrounds gathered there, in long lines around the rides. I noticed as Mothers gazed with pride at their many children all dressed in matching designer outfits, fathers ran to purchase more tickets, sisters and brothers talked excitedly about which ride to visit next. Grandpas shoving their large frames into mini teacups or flying elephant rides so that they could ride with their excited yet slightly apprehensive 5 year old granddaughters.
As I stepped into the parking lot for a minute, I noticed a most unusual site. A wheel-chair bound man who had no legs past his knees was getting out of his handicap accessible mini van to join his disabled wife who walked with crutches and their beautiful baby girl, a toddler, in her stroller pushed by an assistant.
It struck me as pretty amazing. This special family was celebrating the way every other one was despite their obvious situation.
I wondered if their baby daughter, seeming not more than a year old, could even ride any of the rides. However I'm sure their excitement of the prospect of being able to take their daughter out and experience the great joy parents have when treating their children to a special outing masked any rationale.
As I passed them, I felt blessed that I had gotten to witness this site. I felt a deep sense of appreciation for my blessings, and I felt so happy for the disabled couple that though their differences were so apparent got to celebrate just like everyone else.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Space Invasion
I was chatting with a woman the other Friday night and she kept moving back away from me. I am not sure what her thinking was, maybe it was bad breath (either of ours), or her fear that I would reach out and grab her or something. But there we were, talking softly, as to not be overheard, and she kept moving backwards and I, kept inching forward, yet after a time or two I only inched forward a drop, not getting too close to her to as to avoid her moving back again making the cycle repeat. I suppose we could have spoken louder, and kept the distance between us greater, but like I said, it was a quiet conversation.
This incident was so strange it got me thinking about space invasion. I remember one time I went to fight a parking ticket in New York. When I finally got into the judges office, I handed her the ticket and she motioned for me to take a seat. Now the defendant seats were about 10 feet from her desk, so I sat down and began to pull the chair forward to sit across from her at her desk so that we could have a reasonable discussion. Upon seeing this she told me to keep the chairs where they were and "just sit down over-there."
I am not sure if this was an intimidation technique or she just didn't want any of the New York City riffraff too close to her. However, I was about 7 months pregnant, did she really think I would jump her if she declared that I pay the full ticket amount? Well, all in a days work, if I had attacked her it probably wouldn't have been the first time for the judge.
There is this one gentleman that I avoid talking to at all costs. When he is around I literally hide or busy myself as not to be suckered in. He comes right up to you and touches you when he speaks. If you dare move back he comes even closer than before. His eyes are a fake contact colored green and he opens them really wide when he tells a story as if it is the most fascinating thing that his twelve year old son sealed an envelope.
The conversations never end either. After you endure his storytelling and you think it is finally over and you breathe a sigh of relief, he comes right up behind you and taps your shoulder to tell you ONE MORE thing. When you turn around he is right there, and I mean RIGHT THERE so that you almost kiss him!
Socializing is usually fun, I always enjoy a good conversation however not when I have to analyze the other person's body language, so much that I cannot even follow the conversation because I am too busy thinking about dodging their next tap, or inching forward just the right amount, or wondering if I have something stuck between my teeth.
This incident was so strange it got me thinking about space invasion. I remember one time I went to fight a parking ticket in New York. When I finally got into the judges office, I handed her the ticket and she motioned for me to take a seat. Now the defendant seats were about 10 feet from her desk, so I sat down and began to pull the chair forward to sit across from her at her desk so that we could have a reasonable discussion. Upon seeing this she told me to keep the chairs where they were and "just sit down over-there."
I am not sure if this was an intimidation technique or she just didn't want any of the New York City riffraff too close to her. However, I was about 7 months pregnant, did she really think I would jump her if she declared that I pay the full ticket amount? Well, all in a days work, if I had attacked her it probably wouldn't have been the first time for the judge.
There is this one gentleman that I avoid talking to at all costs. When he is around I literally hide or busy myself as not to be suckered in. He comes right up to you and touches you when he speaks. If you dare move back he comes even closer than before. His eyes are a fake contact colored green and he opens them really wide when he tells a story as if it is the most fascinating thing that his twelve year old son sealed an envelope.
The conversations never end either. After you endure his storytelling and you think it is finally over and you breathe a sigh of relief, he comes right up behind you and taps your shoulder to tell you ONE MORE thing. When you turn around he is right there, and I mean RIGHT THERE so that you almost kiss him!
Socializing is usually fun, I always enjoy a good conversation however not when I have to analyze the other person's body language, so much that I cannot even follow the conversation because I am too busy thinking about dodging their next tap, or inching forward just the right amount, or wondering if I have something stuck between my teeth.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Chaya Mushka
A friend of mine's three year old child passed away. At the thirty day mark, there was a large gathering in the little girl's memory. I was not able to attend, however photos of her were posted on her facebook group. At the first glimpse of her cute little face I was burst into tears. I absolutely cannot understand how such innocence can be swept away by such a terrible disease. How and why does devastation such as this come to this world through the purity of a child?
Just writing this makes me cry. I am filled with millions of questions. First and foremost, how can G-d do this? Does he want us to wake up and appreciate what we have? So let's say I appreciate, does that say others don't appreciate. What is G-d trying to tell us? I don't get it.
The bottom line for me is that my heart is broken. It is broken for her suffering, it is broken for her parents that will NEVER recover from this. It is broken for her sibling that will grow up with a whole in her heart for her best friend was ripped away from her. It is broken for her family that had to endure suffering day in and day out. My heart is broken for all the people that have the question of WHY in their minds and cannot and will not wrap their limited understanding of the world around this.
And as my heart is broken at my thoughts of Chaya Mushka my tears cascade and fall, however I am answer-less.
Just writing this makes me cry. I am filled with millions of questions. First and foremost, how can G-d do this? Does he want us to wake up and appreciate what we have? So let's say I appreciate, does that say others don't appreciate. What is G-d trying to tell us? I don't get it.
The bottom line for me is that my heart is broken. It is broken for her suffering, it is broken for her parents that will NEVER recover from this. It is broken for her sibling that will grow up with a whole in her heart for her best friend was ripped away from her. It is broken for her family that had to endure suffering day in and day out. My heart is broken for all the people that have the question of WHY in their minds and cannot and will not wrap their limited understanding of the world around this.
And as my heart is broken at my thoughts of Chaya Mushka my tears cascade and fall, however I am answer-less.
Crawling Backwards
I was watching my son this afternoon trying to get a toy while playing on the floor. Although he tried, he moved backward instead of forward at every attempt. Not only did he move backward, he moved very very far away from the toy. Of course, it was the cutest thing ever, but as not to torture him any more, after a few moments I put him back near the toys.
In the next few weeks Mendel will be crawling forward. However, his first movements were backward in attempt at crawling. Soon he will have the capabilities and the strength to reach his goals without being propelled in the wrong direction.
As I was watching his attempts, I thought to myself that sometimes you have to move backwards in order to go forwards. Last week I was kind of feeling hopeless, and drained, to the extent of just going through the motions to go through the motions, but this week somehow I have renewed energy and hope. Perhaps last weeks feelings of down were only to help propel me to this week's up.
I say this as a woman and a mother, you can absolutely be driven into insanity by all the stresses of raising a family. However, sometimes just looking at your little baby trying to crawl forward crystallizes things for you and gives you the up that you need.
In the next few weeks Mendel will be crawling forward. However, his first movements were backward in attempt at crawling. Soon he will have the capabilities and the strength to reach his goals without being propelled in the wrong direction.
As I was watching his attempts, I thought to myself that sometimes you have to move backwards in order to go forwards. Last week I was kind of feeling hopeless, and drained, to the extent of just going through the motions to go through the motions, but this week somehow I have renewed energy and hope. Perhaps last weeks feelings of down were only to help propel me to this week's up.
I say this as a woman and a mother, you can absolutely be driven into insanity by all the stresses of raising a family. However, sometimes just looking at your little baby trying to crawl forward crystallizes things for you and gives you the up that you need.
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