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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Eat, play, sleep, play, repeat.

Now that my son is just five months, I was thinking that he may actually get on some sort of schedule, after a week of analyzing his routines I realized he is on a schedule, just not one that I would choose.

His day is like this; eat, play, sleep, play, eat, play, sleep, play, eat, play, sleep. The eating is about ten minutes, the playing about an hour, the sleeping about a half hour to forty five minutes and then the playing another half hour.

You can only imagine how much fun this is for me, the mother. A schedule that repeats itself every two hours and twenty minutes, it is enough to drive me mad. The good thing is that it is very predictable. The bad is, well, having to change activities this often makes me feel like I am running a triathlon. Until the end of the day when I literally collapse into bed and begin the night routine.

The night routine I have yet to surmise, as when I should probably have it figured out by now, I am always sleeping when I could be observing. And with good reason. Besides having little Mendel, I have two daughters.

Although I am having tons of fun with this motherhood business, I do sincerely wish nap time would last just a bit longer.

You're so WHITE

One of the pitfalls of living where I live is the Marshall's store about a minute from my home. Whenever the mood strikes I find myself desperately needing to go there to buy whatever I've been missing that week; a retractable strainer, a throw pillow, a white t-shirt for my daughter, a pair of flats, cuff links for my husband, a tablecloth liner etc. Sometimes I just go there to browse, as sifting through the aisles, even if I don't buy anything, is very therapeutic.

Part of "getting back to myself" after giving birth to my son was making a trip to Marshall's. He was about three months old and I realized he had no pajamas. Needing some urgently I made a trip. Upon coming to the children's section I remember thinking to myself that I would for sure find something as it was the beginning of the fall season and their selection of clothing was plentiful.

After rummaging through the mounds of boy's clothing, I found nothing. How surprising. But at the last second, I grabbed a cute little knitted outfit that would be perfect for synagogue on the High Holidays.

As I wait in line, wondering if there was anything else I could have came for, I am called by the next cashier; a plump, short Indian woman with thinning chin length gray hair and large picture-frame glasses from the 80's. She glances at my baby and asks me "are you Jewish?"

Taken aback I reply, "yes, are you?" She chuckles, obviously she is not Jewish, but hey, it is a humorous thought. She then goes on to tell me that she knew I was Jewish because my baby is so WHITE. Completely astounded by that comment, wondering what she could be getting at and making me wish I had just left without a purchase, she continues her brilliant observation saying that Jews are so WHITE and remain so WHITE because they only marry each other.

My answer to her was precisely this, "mmmhmmm..."

Now that I am reviewing this conversation in my head, I just know that a great reason for Jews to marry each other, and I would share this with anyone that might consider an alternative, is so that their children will remain so WHITE.