The Crossing of Marriage and Life

Before you get married everyone tells you marriage is a growing experience.

You grow as a person and a couple. You learn to put up and shut up about some things. You learn how to control your temper, understand or at least appreciate other perspectives.  You learn think twice before you speak and how to phrase your words. You learn to respect privacy, boundaries, and opinions You learn to pick your battles, and discern what’s important in the long run, and what can fall to the way side.

This is good growth, and healthy marriage practices.

My only question is, this whole growing process, is it to be shared and spread onto other aspects of your life, working relationships, family relationships, children?

I’m assuming not, because if it were so I must come to the conclusion that most people are miserable in their marriages….

Defining the Moments

People say there are defining moments in life. Moments that lay it out; the path of your life, for better or worse. I always wondered what would be. Would I miss it?

But now I don’t think there are defining moments, maybe in retrospect there are, but in the moment, these moments don’t exist, because you always think there’ll be a next time to make up for what you’re doing now, or screw up whatever courage you have now.

Yehuda told me he tried marijuana, and that Ma and Ta know about it. I was ironing a shirt for him when he told me. I burned a corner, I don’t think he’ll notice.

“Wanna try?” he offered. I darted a glance at him and gave a quick “No.”, even though it was total yes. Yes, out of curiosity and experience, not the rebellion, but no, because no one else would see it that way.

No one sees anything my way. No one gets why I ask questions that they can’t answer, no one gets why I care in the first place. They say I’m challenging, I think I’m just a kid. Yehuda says it’s all crap. The whole things a farce, and that I know it too, I just don’t have the courage to admit it.

I don’t know what I think, but looking back, saying no then, was a defining moment for me.

I wrote this a really long time ago as a start of a supposed book that never came in being (like most brilliant ideas). Not sure what I’m going to do with it, but I kinda like what I wrote about defining moments. Whaddya think?

Substitute Imagination

On Wednesday I subbed. This was on real short notice (I got the call a little after 1, the period started 1:40). The principal told me to teach whatever I wanted, and I did.

I did an old standby lesson, the lesson I actually used as a model lesson to procure my previous job. And I’ve taught this lesson elsewhere. It’s a fun lesson about word choice, focusing on verbs, and not relying on adjectives to make your sentence good.

I start off with a simple sentence like,

The girl walked into the room.

Starting with the verb, we change the words to more accurate words to reflect what we want to convey. Did she saunter, sashay, creep, whirled, storm, glide into the room? And move on from there to who is this girl, and what room she is entering.

Of course there are always kids with little imagination, and all they can think of is ran into the room, and the like. And of course the room is a classroom, but usually the girls can break out and come up with something original in one of the areas. And there are always the really creative minds that shoot out great words and ideas on cue.

The thing is, the majority of the girls in this class were the first sort, little or no imagination. I’m not used to that. The most unique word was saunter, stomped comes next.

I’m trying to decide if it’s a reflection of the school? The society?

They have no imagination because they’re so restricted or they have an imagination (meaning there’s hope) but they’re just too scared to speak up in fear of saying the wrong thing. (Bear in mind the principal was observing this lesson)

To Be Someone

Last week I was laid off by my morning office job. I don’t feel so bad. I’d been complaining to my husband the past few weeks how bored and unstimulated I was. (When my husband had told his Rabbi that I was working in an office part-time, he expressed his concern. “She needs to be stimulated, she’s smart.” I was flattered, but still took the job.)

Regardless, I need a new morning job. I’m still looking for an office job because frankly, I don’t want to prep or mark more than I have to. I’m still in shana rishona after all, even if my husband does go to night seder. In any case, my efforts so far have been fruitless. I updated my resume, made myself sound very skilled and professional, proudly touting my ability to file alphabetically (don’t laugh, I’ve caught many a abc mistake on my co-workers part), put on my most professional voice, and said all the right things, but I haven’t even been able to score an interview (well, the part-time sector is running low these days, and there isn’t much in the offering, but still).

It’s so comforting knowing I can sleep in, but what with my afternoon teaching job engaging in midterms, I’m home. All day. Wrapped in my grey fleece robe. Such positive and productive feelings to go to sleep in the same thing you woke up.

I also need money, considering that my annual income has just been slashed in half. So I started cold-calling schools and offering to put myself on their subbing list. They requested that I send them resume, and they’ll get back to me if anything. That was yesterday.

As of today, I’ve subbed in one school, have another subbing gig lined up and got offered subbing jobs in two others. I also went on an interview for a potent teaching position next year.

They’re dying to have me. They oohed and aaahed over my resume, engaged me in a discussion on education and the Jewish Community, education philosophy and approaches and offered me job on the spot. They gave me all sorts of reasoning and calculations as to why teaching in their school is incomparably, and infinitesimally better than the one I’m currently in. Also, if I need to fill up my schedule, they’ll call up other local high schools and get me positions, just so I could teach in their school.

Do you know how good it feels to be wanted, needed, sought after? To be valued, an asset, a prize to be gotten? To be skilled, professional, and productive?

It feels freakin’ amazing.

And I still need a steady morning job.

….Then My Life Would Be Complete

I’m on a quest to find the perfect white shirt.

All you girls know exactly what I’m talking about.

This white shirt has a good collar, not too small that you look like a dweeb with a pocket protector ,or big, like Henry VII ruff.

This white shirt should have nice cuffs to stick out a bit from sweater sleeves, maybe French ones, or at least double buttons.

This white shirt should fit properly, has a little lycra to give you shape, but not too much to make you slutty.  

This white shirt is crisp and pure and makes you chic and not frummy.

But most of all, this white shirt doesn’t tell everyone that I applied the Tweety tattoo I got in the 25 cents machine: not see through. I don’t want to have to put a full blown Linda Leal underneath, because that is just extra layers to make me look fat.

If you find one let me know.

(I have a budget though, should I forget about it [the budget, not shirt]?)

The Futility of Secrets

There are Lamed Vav tzadikim nistarim; what happened to the women?

 This question was typical of the many very deep and philosophical conversations I have with my husband over dinner.

 We though quietly for moment and then decided we couldn’t speak for previous generations, but in today’s day it’s impossible to be a tzadekes nisteres (If that’s the right word for it)

 This is for the few simple reasons; let me edify you.

 With today’s shidduch crisis, if you’re a girl, and you have a good quality, you better broadcast in on Primetime TV (primetime? TV? What’s that?), not even to get an edge over other girls, but to be in contention at all. So even if you pride yourself on your clandestine charity work, I don’t suggest that you do so in this critical stage in life.

 Then if by rare chance, you made it though shidduchim without revealing your tzadekes status, getting your child into school will.

 You thought shidduchim competition was bad? Forget about it. Take any pride you may have had, get down on your hands and knees, beg, and grovel for your child to be accepted to your third choice school.

 If you don’t let them know what a beautiful, amazing, phenomenal person you and your husband are, how solid your yiddishkeit is, how Torah is the cornerstone of home, and that your chinuch is exactly on par with whatever the schools ideology is, short of performing miracles (on second though, performing miracles is not a bad idea) dream on about your child’s formal Jewish education.

 If on even the slim to nil chance you still did not have to reveal your lofty status….your children are back in shidduchim and you’re on display again…azoy geit dus.

 I’m sure there are some of you out there who may be insisting that you were able to maintain your covert charity. All I say to you is, You’re a Narcissistic Benefactor, a contradiction in terms, if there ever was one.

Marital Fued (food)

I love pizza, yogurt, tacos, coffee, onions, hot pepper, cumin and tomatoes. My husband likes pizza and can tolerate yogurt (in theory) everything else on the aforementioned list is nuclear waste to him: dangerous and garbage.

It’s really normal for people to have different palates and preferences when comes to taste (and smell, we all know the chazal), and I’m not complaining about that…what I am complaining about, well not complaining, but raising a point. Why do I, and most women cook for their husbands taste and not their own?

Yes, of course we want to please out husbands and make them happy. Keep them contented and full, but seriously, I can’t remember the last supper I made with me as top priority. I’d like kid myself that I am just that giving of a wife, but honestly I’m not.

Maybe, I suppose it’s easier to make sacrifices on your own part then expect someone else to do it for you. (Yes, food is a big sacrifice)

I mentioned this to my husband, he heard my point and encouraged me to make supper for myself, this very night.

“Tacos?” I suggested brightly.

“Whatever you want,” he chided.

I perked up, wow, this was beautiful martial giving at work, I knew I married a great guy! “I’m not gonna be home for supper tonight, R’s sheva brachos, remember.” He finished.

Maybe it’s really just that the old adage is right, “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” and deep down we instinctively know it’s true, and follow through accordingly.

Whatever the psychology is, I’m having cereal and milk for supper tonight.

TimeZones and Marriage

It’s weird. I got married 5 months ago. My friend’s sister got married 11 months ago, and now my friend (whose sister I just mentioned) is getting married in 2 months.

In 20 years, 10 years, 5 years, possibly less, we’ll look at each other, tell our kids, and spouses and selves, that we all got married in the same year, what a short time, what a shared experience.

But living in it now, it’s not at all like that. It seems like forever. That her sister was married and settled so long ago, that I got engaged so much after that (even if it was just two and half months) that I had a long tortuous 4 month engagement, and while I was already engaged my friend dated about 6 guys, sagas included, before she got engaged 2 months ago.

There was so much life lived during that time, so much differences, so much anxiety, happiness, waiting, hoping, wondering, aspirations, ifs…on all our parts, that were unique to ourselves.

…and I’m not sure when it becomes all relative, but there’s a big difference between someone married 1 week, 1 month, 2 months, 6 months, a year…   and between the 3 of us, were living in different time-zones.

So in years from now, when we’ll say “Ye, we all got married then, all around the same time, same experience” I think we’re cutting our lives short.

Or maybe that perspective years later, will give me perspective on the one I have now.

Blogger Meets World

I just read BOSD and BadFor’s post on CornerPoints wedding. I wasn’t invited. Don’t worry, I’m not insulted, and I wasn’t expecting an invitation.( btw, CornerPoint, I know who you are, and you’ve definitely heard of me, we even met at a mutual friend’s wedding, and will probably meet again at another mutual friend’s wedding who’s vort was a night before your wedding). What this really brought up for me was where does blogging and real world meet?

Blogging is great for anonymity. A blogger gets to say what they want completely uncensored because they are hiding behind an ambiguous username. People know I have a blog, if you read my blog, and do some research you can figure out who I am, so I don’t have anonymity. I censor myself tremendously when I write,  so what do I get out of having a blog?

Well for me, it’s more of a writing experiment, seeing if I can take some of the million and half random thoughts floating around my head at any given moment and making something from (barely) nothing. I also love the comments, how people respond to my writing, and perspective.

It’s also an outlet, of something do when I’m bored. It’s just a little more productive than watching YouTube clips of babies giggling.

But back to the comments…I like them, a lot. And I am insatiably curious about the people behind them…most of them have their own blogs, which are usually either random rambling, or rapid rhetoric. They have their own thoughts, ideas, perspectives. And truth be told, any ultra-orthodox person who has a blog is not the norm. They have broken the mold, and are covertly flaunting their independence. They too hide behind perky posts, and unusual usernames (I don’t know what’s up with the alliteration here, but it’s staying).

I’m curious about meeting them, and talking to them. At the same time, I’m kinda private and shy around new people, so I dont know if I’d have much to offer them in return.

I’ve had a long e-mail correspondence with Princess Lea. She almost came to my wedding, but had a previous engagement. (Princess, I know I didn’t respond, I read your e-mail during sheva brachos and said “ha, of course I’ll reply before September”…but life happens…and I still plan on responding)

I almost met Moshe at a mutual acquaintance’s wedding (well, really close friend for me, and someone who davens in his shul for him), but his wife gave birth a few days earlier and he had more pressing responsibilities.

I lamented over the lost opportunities.

I have great close friends, and I recently acquired a best one, my husband. I’m not lacking in relationships that I so desperately need to know the bloggers…but there’s something just intriguing about them (you)…does anyone share perspective, or are all the other bloggers content with conversing in the comments?

Husband Hashpa’ah #2

It’s terrible, since I’ve written the last post, I’ve allowed myself to speak a much more yeshivishe sprach than before. It’s like now that I’ve let the world know that I’m making fun of it, I can say whatever I want.

In any case, here’s Part 2

Part 3 after Yomtov!

Feste – She was wearing Feste shoes, Christian Louboutin, cost an arm and a leg

Yur n’Tzerik – Yur n’Tzerik I’d call her, now I’ll just text her mazal tov.

Musig – The play was so boring, and clichéd, you have no musig of the pathos evoked.

Shtulz – Uch, their so shtulzy, with their kids in Lily matching underwear, I’m not even trying.

Not chal – Don’t show till after ten. It’s not chal until Mrs. K, opens up her mouth.

Matziv – It’s so not a matziv, for G-d’s sake it’s a funeral

Mistama – Mistama she’s not gonna wanna come, do I still have to invite her

Chevtza – She’s a chevtza. Of what? Of garbage.

Spitz – It’s shpitz her to say that and not even realize what she said

Kav – It’s not your kav, I don’t think you should buy it.

Zach – He has this zach about sports, don’t even go there.

Not shayach – You havta read it, it’s not shayach!

Mehalech- she wanted to leave after the chuppa; I told her it wasn’t a mehalech

Sharf – And then she called her stupid, ooh it was “sharf”

Masbir – What I don’t get it, you sign up, you get the discount and then you cancel? And they don’t chap? You have to be masbir to me

Nogea – I get paid on the books, make to much money; WIC is not nogea

How many did you know on this list?!