Today my daughter came into my room to read a book while I was blogging. After about twenty five minutes of silence she pipes up and asks me, "in America are you allowed to own a gun?"
Lovely, how do I answer? I thought about it for a minute and then tried explaining to her that America is so great, you can have SO much freedom, you can even own a gun. "But guns kill people, why would someone want one?"
It was hopeless to try to explain it. I told her, I really wasn't sure why someone would want to own a gun, but if they do own one they are supposed to keep it locked away. She then told me how she visited an antique dealers office with her father one day, "the day of the Newtown thing," and they saw Abe Lincolns desk, his chair, and then on his chair there was a gun. She continued on to tell me that it didn't have bullets and asked if it didn't have bullets can it hurt someone.
I then asked her what she knew about Newtown. She knew A LOT. Way more than I had mentioned to her (being that she is 9 years old) on that fateful day so that in case it came up, she would have a general idea of the story.
She tried to hide her tears as she asked me if we knew anyone that was shot. Were there any Jews? Wasn't there a person named Posner? How old were the people? I struggled to explain...
She then spiraled into telling me that when she heard about Newtown she got chills. She realized that her school was not safe. Too many doors left open, too many windows. If only they could have swipe cards for each family to enter the building. Her next suggestion was that they build a HUGE gate around the whole school. She asked what type of security would be set in place to guarantee that anyone who does not belong entering the school is kept out. She also wanted to know where the nearest police, fire, and doctor offices were. And told me she never ever wanted to be home alone, even when she is married with kids.
At long last I tried to impress that these things are not normal. They don't happen everyday, and that the killer was CRAZY. The damage is done however, her innocence taken, because she knows that this happened.
We try to shelter and protect our children, we hold them delicately like raw eggs in the palms of our hands. A lot good it does, they still have to face real life sometime.
As we ended the conversation and she finally got into bed, I heard her say the bedtime prayer Shema, loud, with emotion, each word pronounced. This made me smile, her deep faith in G-d. Yet it made me shutter as I realized my palms were not the cushion they once were.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Bubby Leiba
Tonight marks the sixth anniversary of my Bubby Leiba's passing. As she is father's mother, and we are one of a zillion grandchildren on that side, and my father being third to youngest in a family of nine, we did not spend tons of time with her. The fact that we lived over an hour and half a way in Connecticut didn't help much either. However, my dad, with his enormous respect for his parents made sure we visited often enough.
My sister Sara and I would go to Bubby Hecht’s sometimes. We once went for Shabbat and Bubby was serving carp fish. We loved white fish with bones but she wouldn’t let us eat it. “You’ll choke on the bones,” she told us in her Hungarian accent. Upon begging for grape juice to drink, “you’ll get drunk if you have too much.” Me and Sara were devastated, plus, we knew you couldn’t get drunk from grape juice and we would try our best not to choke on the fish bones either.
When we were all little, we would go to Bubby’s and she would give us back packs filled to the HILT with candy. She got these backpacks from the Synagogue where our grandfather was a Rabbi, they gave them out on Simchat Torah, she would make sure to get a lot of them for her many many grandchildren. They always had fruit rolls ups, rock candy, laffy taffys galore. We would beg my mother to let us eat the candy and treats until food coloring was dribbling down our chins and were about to collapse in a sugar coma.
Bubby always had candy dishes filled with, what my mom called, "stale candy." To us it was heaven. Honey candies, sesame candy and those chocolate lentils that were pastel colored and minty. Not exactly the kind we would choose, but candy is candy and we would sneak them and eat them.
When we would visit, Bubby would send us to the back room to sit on the floor or the pull out bed there to watch videos or tv. I remember watching Casper the Friendly Ghost on more than one occasion as well as the Brady Bunch.
Bubby and Zaidy’s bathroom upstairs was all marble and shiny. Whenever I would use it I felt like I was visiting a palace. It was a bit scary getting up the high flight of stairs, but I loved going up to see what was new or interesting there. I also remember going down to the basement. It was creepy and unfinished, but that was where the laundry room was as well as one of the guest rooms.
I remember; Bubby never let Zaidy eat a thing unhealthy, but she always took two portions of whatever because she had diabetes and could “give herself an extra insulin shot” and get away with eating the junk. She always asked why we didn’t bring some eggplant parmesan or pizza when we came to visit. Many times, my dad would drive to Kings Hwy to pick up a pie or two to bring. It was always a special treat.
My grandmother was very generous. On Chanukah after Zaidy would give out his pre-written checks, Bubby would call us over with a huge smile on her face and give us some extra cash on top of it. She would watch our faces as the extra $20 put us over the edge.
My favorite thing about Bubby Hecht was that although she kvetched, she had a zest for life. She traveled, she read juicy books, she had her friends, her TV and her foods that she loved. And even in her last days that I spent with her, she always wanted to look nice if someone was visiting and took real joy in seeing my baby daughter, her great grand-daughter play on the floor next to her.
My sister Sara and I would go to Bubby Hecht’s sometimes. We once went for Shabbat and Bubby was serving carp fish. We loved white fish with bones but she wouldn’t let us eat it. “You’ll choke on the bones,” she told us in her Hungarian accent. Upon begging for grape juice to drink, “you’ll get drunk if you have too much.” Me and Sara were devastated, plus, we knew you couldn’t get drunk from grape juice and we would try our best not to choke on the fish bones either.
When we were all little, we would go to Bubby’s and she would give us back packs filled to the HILT with candy. She got these backpacks from the Synagogue where our grandfather was a Rabbi, they gave them out on Simchat Torah, she would make sure to get a lot of them for her many many grandchildren. They always had fruit rolls ups, rock candy, laffy taffys galore. We would beg my mother to let us eat the candy and treats until food coloring was dribbling down our chins and were about to collapse in a sugar coma.
Bubby always had candy dishes filled with, what my mom called, "stale candy." To us it was heaven. Honey candies, sesame candy and those chocolate lentils that were pastel colored and minty. Not exactly the kind we would choose, but candy is candy and we would sneak them and eat them.
When we would visit, Bubby would send us to the back room to sit on the floor or the pull out bed there to watch videos or tv. I remember watching Casper the Friendly Ghost on more than one occasion as well as the Brady Bunch.
Bubby and Zaidy’s bathroom upstairs was all marble and shiny. Whenever I would use it I felt like I was visiting a palace. It was a bit scary getting up the high flight of stairs, but I loved going up to see what was new or interesting there. I also remember going down to the basement. It was creepy and unfinished, but that was where the laundry room was as well as one of the guest rooms.
I remember; Bubby never let Zaidy eat a thing unhealthy, but she always took two portions of whatever because she had diabetes and could “give herself an extra insulin shot” and get away with eating the junk. She always asked why we didn’t bring some eggplant parmesan or pizza when we came to visit. Many times, my dad would drive to Kings Hwy to pick up a pie or two to bring. It was always a special treat.
My grandmother was very generous. On Chanukah after Zaidy would give out his pre-written checks, Bubby would call us over with a huge smile on her face and give us some extra cash on top of it. She would watch our faces as the extra $20 put us over the edge.
My favorite thing about Bubby Hecht was that although she kvetched, she had a zest for life. She traveled, she read juicy books, she had her friends, her TV and her foods that she loved. And even in her last days that I spent with her, she always wanted to look nice if someone was visiting and took real joy in seeing my baby daughter, her great grand-daughter play on the floor next to her.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Exhaustion
How do you know you are truely wiped out?
You eat stand at the counter eating peanut chews straight from the bag, until you look down and see fifty empty wrappers- anything to keep your eyes open.
You sit down to help your daughter with homework, you close your eyes for a second while she finds the right page, then you hear her yelling at you to wake up.
You chat with your sister on the phone, when suddenly you hear a busy signal, realizing you fell asleep talking to her.
You sit down at the dinner table and when someone passes you the food platter, you drop it.
You try to have an early "canoodle" with your husband and midway, you fall asleep.
You are on the couch reading your child a book, you fall asleep for two hours in a sitting position.
Does any of this sound like you? If yes, then you ARE exhausted!
You eat stand at the counter eating peanut chews straight from the bag, until you look down and see fifty empty wrappers- anything to keep your eyes open.
You sit down to help your daughter with homework, you close your eyes for a second while she finds the right page, then you hear her yelling at you to wake up.
You chat with your sister on the phone, when suddenly you hear a busy signal, realizing you fell asleep talking to her.
You sit down at the dinner table and when someone passes you the food platter, you drop it.
You try to have an early "canoodle" with your husband and midway, you fall asleep.
You are on the couch reading your child a book, you fall asleep for two hours in a sitting position.
Does any of this sound like you? If yes, then you ARE exhausted!
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Always the Hostess Never the Guest
The nicest thing happened to me today. While spending time in Upstate New York in a little bungalow, I got invited out for dinner with my kids to my sister in laws summer home a short ride away. I know its not the grandest thing to ever happen, however it is for me as I am always the hostess and never the guest.
Most weekends, I host at least ten dinner guests Friday night. Very often I have family sleep over at my home for the weekend, making it a constant slew of meals, clean ups, snacks and more straightening up. At any time people come knocking on my door and are met with a bite to eat and a friendly ear.
Today however, we were met with a delicous dinner, friends for the children, a visit to the little farm where the children played with chickens, bunnies and a friendly goat. To top it all off, my sister in law gave me a little gift. The whole evening is such an anomaly that it is causing me to write this blog.
A few weeks ago we were in South Africa where we stayed in someone's cottage for just about two weeks. The loveliest food basket was placed in our room, along with body creams, fresh fluffy towels and comfy beds. The hostess was the sweetest and most gracious woman. After week one, the oddest thing happened, she had a complete turn around and became much less inviting to say the least. I would have left had I had the choice, but my circumstances did not allow me to. I learned a lot from that stay on either end of the spectrum.
Although I do enjoy hosting, I like to experience being the guest for it provides me insight of what or what not to do when entertaining or hosting. Thank you to everyone that has ever hosted me for teaching me what to do when being the hostess. And should you ever need a place to stay or a warm meal do not hesitate to call.
Most weekends, I host at least ten dinner guests Friday night. Very often I have family sleep over at my home for the weekend, making it a constant slew of meals, clean ups, snacks and more straightening up. At any time people come knocking on my door and are met with a bite to eat and a friendly ear.
Today however, we were met with a delicous dinner, friends for the children, a visit to the little farm where the children played with chickens, bunnies and a friendly goat. To top it all off, my sister in law gave me a little gift. The whole evening is such an anomaly that it is causing me to write this blog.
A few weeks ago we were in South Africa where we stayed in someone's cottage for just about two weeks. The loveliest food basket was placed in our room, along with body creams, fresh fluffy towels and comfy beds. The hostess was the sweetest and most gracious woman. After week one, the oddest thing happened, she had a complete turn around and became much less inviting to say the least. I would have left had I had the choice, but my circumstances did not allow me to. I learned a lot from that stay on either end of the spectrum.
Although I do enjoy hosting, I like to experience being the guest for it provides me insight of what or what not to do when entertaining or hosting. Thank you to everyone that has ever hosted me for teaching me what to do when being the hostess. And should you ever need a place to stay or a warm meal do not hesitate to call.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Saying Goodbye
For the past few weeks, my daughters have been going to a local day camp. They meet the bus daily at a popular park and ride off the highway where many other day camps pick up their campers.
The most amazing thing I find is watching the various mothers put their children on the bus and say goodbye.
There is one lady who works out at the same gym as me. She is perfectly fit, in the tightest black short shorts and black tank you have ever seen. She pulls up in her shiny navy blue mini van. As soon as the bus pulls up, she hops out, shuffles her two boys out of her car and into the bus without so much as a wave goodbye and a backwards glance with a have a great day. She probably doesn't want to be late to her tennis lesson, followed by personal training.
The same bus doesn't pull away so quickly as there is another mom and her daughter saying goodbye for an eternity. This mom is thin, but not fit, her hair pulled back in a long ponytail, with a black stretchy headband pulling her bangs back. After her extended goodbye to her child, she tells the bus to wait, she forgot something. She scampers over to her car and gets the forgotten item and brings it back to the bus. Then stands there and watches the bus pull away. I am amazed at how every single day there can be a forgotten item, perhaps it is staged, I sense major separation issues in the future.
As this bus leaves another one comes, out of this one a cute teenagers hops out and directs the children onto the bus. After the children get on and the bus seems full it waits. About five minutes later a old red Pontiac four door sedan pulls up. A mom with frizzy 80 styled hair in baggy turquoise pants and mismatched shirt slowly gets out, gets her two kids from the back of her car and leisurely saunters over to the bus. All I am thinking, is that how can she be late every single day? How come she doesn't pull right up to the bus? She moves as if she doesn't have a care a in the world, she watches the bus pull away and then quickly pulls out of the lot.
I am enamored by the scene that unfolds each day. So much so that I look forward to drop off time. I can probably go on and on describing each mom down to their footwear, however our bus pulls up.
It is definitely a school bus, obviously an old, un-air-conditioned school bus, yet something is off because it is the not the traditional yellow of a bus but instead it is painted daffodil yellow, an odd bright yellow that reminds me of bananas before they are ripe. It stops, I get out, I am somewhat fit, my hair is somewhat brushed, my outfit somewhat put together. My kids wait for me at the door of the car, I give them big hugs and kisses, walk them to the bus, wait for them to get on, as they get on I wish them a great day and then make sure they have a seat. I walk back to my car and wave as the bus pulls away.
I wonder if anyone even pays attention to us. I am hoping if they do they see a loving mother, who looks somewhat put together, with her well-adjusted children, who wants to make sure her kids are okay and happy before heading off for the rest of the day.
The most amazing thing I find is watching the various mothers put their children on the bus and say goodbye.
There is one lady who works out at the same gym as me. She is perfectly fit, in the tightest black short shorts and black tank you have ever seen. She pulls up in her shiny navy blue mini van. As soon as the bus pulls up, she hops out, shuffles her two boys out of her car and into the bus without so much as a wave goodbye and a backwards glance with a have a great day. She probably doesn't want to be late to her tennis lesson, followed by personal training.
The same bus doesn't pull away so quickly as there is another mom and her daughter saying goodbye for an eternity. This mom is thin, but not fit, her hair pulled back in a long ponytail, with a black stretchy headband pulling her bangs back. After her extended goodbye to her child, she tells the bus to wait, she forgot something. She scampers over to her car and gets the forgotten item and brings it back to the bus. Then stands there and watches the bus pull away. I am amazed at how every single day there can be a forgotten item, perhaps it is staged, I sense major separation issues in the future.
As this bus leaves another one comes, out of this one a cute teenagers hops out and directs the children onto the bus. After the children get on and the bus seems full it waits. About five minutes later a old red Pontiac four door sedan pulls up. A mom with frizzy 80 styled hair in baggy turquoise pants and mismatched shirt slowly gets out, gets her two kids from the back of her car and leisurely saunters over to the bus. All I am thinking, is that how can she be late every single day? How come she doesn't pull right up to the bus? She moves as if she doesn't have a care a in the world, she watches the bus pull away and then quickly pulls out of the lot.
I am enamored by the scene that unfolds each day. So much so that I look forward to drop off time. I can probably go on and on describing each mom down to their footwear, however our bus pulls up.
It is definitely a school bus, obviously an old, un-air-conditioned school bus, yet something is off because it is the not the traditional yellow of a bus but instead it is painted daffodil yellow, an odd bright yellow that reminds me of bananas before they are ripe. It stops, I get out, I am somewhat fit, my hair is somewhat brushed, my outfit somewhat put together. My kids wait for me at the door of the car, I give them big hugs and kisses, walk them to the bus, wait for them to get on, as they get on I wish them a great day and then make sure they have a seat. I walk back to my car and wave as the bus pulls away.
I wonder if anyone even pays attention to us. I am hoping if they do they see a loving mother, who looks somewhat put together, with her well-adjusted children, who wants to make sure her kids are okay and happy before heading off for the rest of the day.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Do You Have Heat?
Connecticut was experiencing single digit night time temperatures and expecting 13 degrees the next morning. As I am dosing off to sleep, my phone rings. "Do you have heeeaaaat?" my mother asks in her almost I told you so, sort of caring, but also warning voice. Of course I have heat I tell her, my mind suddenly filled with thousands of doubts. Did we pay the oil bill? When did they deliver last? Did I make sure that the thermostat was set to be extra hot in the morning? I thought they called the other day, was it because something was wrong with my account? Did I call them back? Who remembers....
I then asked her if she had heat and she assured me that she did. The following morning my five year old daughter was shivering at breakfast. Convincing myself she was just a drama queen I told her to get herself an extra sweater which she did. I then proceeded to up the heat some more to get the kitchen nice and warm for the remainder of breakfast. After a few minutes, I still felt cold so I ran to check the thermostat. 62 degrees it read. I was about to faint. I had set it to 72, why was it at 62? I shook my husband out of his deep sleep accusing him of not paying the bill when he just mumbled to me that he was cold, go away, and of course he paid the bill and he had no idea what I was talking about.
I sent the children off to school in many layers and then ran outside to check my oil tank indicator. Sure enough, it had cracked from the cold and all that remained was an orange floaty device. Great. I called my fuel company. The assured me that my tank should technically have at least a half a tank of oil, they would send someone out immediately. I reset my oil burner, but it shut right off.
The delivery man came, we had plenty of oil. The repair man showed up, the house was nice and warm. The oil burner started working again after I decided to reset it just one more time. However, we of course overdo for an oil burner cleaning and that is what caused it to shut off. This would only happen on the COLDEST day of the year so far. Otherwise what fun would it be?
My real question here is, what is with mothers? Are they supposed to make you doubt yourself and question the very basics of what we take for granted? I am sure my mom only had the best interests at heart when she called to check if I had heat. But what possessed her to think that I wouldn't have heat? Why would she call me like that and put all those doubts in my mind? I wonder if my thousands of doubts somehow called on the universe to make my oil burner turn off so that I would have this story to blog about and make my mother "right." But "mom is always right" will be in a post for another time.
I then asked her if she had heat and she assured me that she did. The following morning my five year old daughter was shivering at breakfast. Convincing myself she was just a drama queen I told her to get herself an extra sweater which she did. I then proceeded to up the heat some more to get the kitchen nice and warm for the remainder of breakfast. After a few minutes, I still felt cold so I ran to check the thermostat. 62 degrees it read. I was about to faint. I had set it to 72, why was it at 62? I shook my husband out of his deep sleep accusing him of not paying the bill when he just mumbled to me that he was cold, go away, and of course he paid the bill and he had no idea what I was talking about.
I sent the children off to school in many layers and then ran outside to check my oil tank indicator. Sure enough, it had cracked from the cold and all that remained was an orange floaty device. Great. I called my fuel company. The assured me that my tank should technically have at least a half a tank of oil, they would send someone out immediately. I reset my oil burner, but it shut right off.
The delivery man came, we had plenty of oil. The repair man showed up, the house was nice and warm. The oil burner started working again after I decided to reset it just one more time. However, we of course overdo for an oil burner cleaning and that is what caused it to shut off. This would only happen on the COLDEST day of the year so far. Otherwise what fun would it be?
My real question here is, what is with mothers? Are they supposed to make you doubt yourself and question the very basics of what we take for granted? I am sure my mom only had the best interests at heart when she called to check if I had heat. But what possessed her to think that I wouldn't have heat? Why would she call me like that and put all those doubts in my mind? I wonder if my thousands of doubts somehow called on the universe to make my oil burner turn off so that I would have this story to blog about and make my mother "right." But "mom is always right" will be in a post for another time.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Psycho Saks Sale
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.
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.
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.
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