Do Nothing For Perfect Children

Calling someone lazy today is akin telling them that they’re worthless, useless, parasitic and would possibly be more productive serving as fertilizer compost (dead). In the days of rising unemployment, laziness, is the worst possible trait a person could possess. It’s screams SELFISH and IRRESPONSIBLE. Unfortunately, I’ve been bestowed this title a few times in my short years (I like a good book over a clean room, are you seriously going to fault me for that?!). Yet, every trait has its balance I reassure myself, it’s measurement – or  middah so to speak. So what good can possibly come from my do-nothing-frog tendencies?

My child’s development for one. I firmly believe that the reason my child is so amiable and advanced is because he has a lazy tuchas for a mother.

Here’s just a brief glimpse at what laziness can accomplish.

1. He sleeps though the night, mostly. And if he wakes up, I ignore him. At first it was because I was too lazy (and tired) and hoped he would just fall back asleep. Now, I know he will, and my doctor told me, the less intervention on my part with sleep, the better. Score one for me. Most first time moms would be running into their child’s room at the first peep to coddle them – not me.

1. My sister in law told me that with her first child she would rock him to sleep in her arms. And if she saw he was falling asleep without her, she would dive in for the rescue, scoop him up, and made sure he fell asleep in her reassuring arms. I felt like an inadequate unloving mother when she relayed this to me, comparative of course with what I did. When my kid was happy, I put him down, if he was sleepy, I put him down, it he was calm, I put him down. But look now, my child is independent; hers is clingy.

1. Chairs, steps, couches, people, you name it, my kid has scaled it. Height doesn’t matter (not his [which is short] nor the object in question) he can and will climb it. When my child tries to do something physically, and I’m sitting, lying, or otherwise occupied, I will not help him. He can whine, fall, and try again, all I’ll do is say encouraging things (“C’mon E, you can do it put a little power to it!”), maybe give suggestions (“Just turn your ankle, it’s stuck, no turn it, don’t grab at it, what’s that gonna help?!”). He usually succeeds, because I’m too lazy to do it for him.

1. Small tasks, like putting something in the garbage, finding shoes, getting diapers, giving something to my husband, are all made easier with my little errand boy. And he’s been at it for months, when Baby Center tells me this should have been a recent development. I’m just too lazy to go and do it myself; it’s hard to find itty-bitty baby-shoes hidden between Mega Bloks and Matchbox!

1. My kids been writing/scribbling for as long as I can remember. I know I shouldn’t give him a pen, but it’s not worth the energy of me prying it from him when he finds one, or dealing with his whining when he wants one – so I just give him blank paper and let him have a go at it. Same goes for drinking from a cup. (Yes, there were a few big spills in the beginning, but they were easier to clean, than me insisting on a sippy cup)

These skills started with me being lazy and then realizing later, “Oh, wow, I did something right.” Cool, no?

For someone who many people doubted possessed any maternal instinct, I make up for it, with my natural laziness.

Letters to Noone

I find myself composing a lot of letters in my head these days. The general theme is “You’re an inconsiderate idiot, here’s why”. Mostly they are formulated while I drive, addressed to passing motorists. On particularly neurotic days, (or bigger idiots), I’ll even look for their license plate number, as if I’ll remember it, and look them up somehow.

But it’s not only for moronic drivers (the stupid ones are women, the idiotic ones, men), but for sales people (rude), mothers in the park (negligent), some of my students (lazy), and well, family too (intrusive) .

The thing is I think people by nature are prone to acts of idiocy and stupidity. Not that it’s a definition, but something everyone falls victim to once in a while. So why are the odds of “once in a while” seeming to always fall out in my presence? And then, if I acknowledge this fundamental premise of humanity, why am I getting so frustrated about it – there’s nothing to be done.

I’m even aware of the fact that I am most probably someone else’s idiot.

But I’m still composing letters that start,

Dear Tuchasface,

Venting makes me feel better.

Points of View

I was faced with a very difficult decision the other day. Do I go with what I know, or do I venture out of my comfort zone, take a chance, possibly come up short – but I may be very happy with the results.

I almost went with the former. But with a little prodding by my better half, I went with the latter. I don’t know the results yet, but I’m feeling good about it.

Check it out.

My Old Glasses (That I loved, and was sorely tempted to re-order)

My New Glasses

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good thing it was just glasses; I hate making these decisions.

I made a similar one last summer, and am only discovering now, that:

1) I made the right descion

2) Gambles pay off

3) Results can take a while – and are worth the wait

Here’s to good foresight, and happy hindsight.

On Giving Up

I am a pessimist. And somehow I think G-d only runs my world, and everyone else’s just runs course with nature.

There are people, who I am very ashamed to admit, I have given up on. Given up on them getting married, having children and those other big milestones in life that some people have a hard time reaching (growing up, is another).

Lately though, my pessimism, and no expectation attitude has come under fire. One friend had a baby, a neighbor is pregnant, another person I care for, married for ten years, has put on her first skirt with an expandable panel (I cried when I heard that).

And then there are the engagements, classmates, who we predicted in High School would be the last ones, well, they are the last ones, but they’re doing it all the same. People who were staff members, when I was camper in camp, popping up on OnlySimchas, my sister’s sister-in-law, 42, announcing her engagement. These things are happening, all over around me.

I feel like G-d is clobbering me on the head, saying “Believe! Not just for yourself, but for other people too”.

It’s hard though. When you give up, you lose all expectation, and you just accept. Accept the status quo, you don’t fight, you don’t try and most of all you relinquish responsibility. I didn’t daven for them, I didn’t take challah for them, or say perek shira, or shir hashirim for 40 days. It was convenient for me to think they were hopeless, because then, I wouldn’t be obligated to go that extra mile. I wouldn’t worry, or feel bad every time I saw them, because I just accepted that this is who they were.

I sound terrible, cold-hearted, and selfish, I know. But part of me is also uncomfortable with the fact that I have wahat other people want so desperately, and I don’t always appreciate it the way I should (referring to children here, not marriage, that I appreciate very consciously), and maybe I have a bit of a guilty conscience. It’s a way for me to distance myself from others, make myself less uncomfortable, by putting them in a different league.

But things keep happening, Baruch Hashem. I get so happy, excited, joyous from the news, and then elated and also baffled by being wrong.

I may soon have to acknowledge my tehilim and stop being a passive observer.

Or I may be human, and wait for “one more sign”.

Evolution (or attempts at one)

I’ve always been fascinated by the written word, and one of my life long goals is to publish a novel, but and there’s a very big but, that doesn’t mean I have an iota of talent. There are plenty of people out there who dream of becoming the next president, Oscar winner, and quarterback for the Colts, and well, to be kind—they suck. They have no skill, no talent, no finesse, nothing but a dream. Martin Luther King may disagree with me, but I think you need more than a dream to fulfill your dreams.

If you were to read the research and study people who you consider to be a success, you’ll very often find one common denominator – drive, ambition, desire, which in turn leads to effort and productivity. The dream starts the engine, the person has to drive the car from there. These successes most often had good foundations, some talent and skill which were developed further. And getting back to myself, I don’t think I’m that talented as a writer. Maybe a bit more so than the average person, but really nothing too significant. I have however always wanted to be a writer (since 5th grade at least), and I have studied writing, observed craft, and well, have written an awful lot. I was not the most talented, original or natural writer in High School, or College, I was the only one who wanted it though, and of my classmates, as far as I know, I’m the only one with a blog (going on 4 years!), and I teach writing.

So while, I haven’t achieved my goal—yet, and I don’t think I’m that good—yet , I’m definitely WAY better than I used to be. I look back at my earlier masterpieces and cringe, there’s no structure, development, character, craft, it’s wanting from everything that qualifies as “good writing”. Through a lot trial and error, practice, learning and yes, desire, I’ve improved. And while I’m not the next Austen or Woolf, I think I have a shot at entertaining you.

If you want to see the evolution yourself, it’s documented in this blog. Start from the beginning, and you’ll see the progression. Or if you have no patience, and want the work done for you, I’m willing to post old works of mine, on the condition that you promise to be nice – some are that bad. Let me know in the comments – and raise your glass to many bad (but entertaining [in a laugh at me way]) posts! Your choice.

Update: 

Ok, I’ll admit it, this post was a cop-out. I’m suffering a minor writer’s block and figured I could put of a few post of old stuff, with the disclaimer that they’re well, not so good. You don’t seem to buying it, or all that interested. Don’t blame you if you wanted to read bad writing you could just— nah, I’m not gonna go there. In any case here’s to inspiration, and time and patience to actually follow it.

My New Psychic Prowess

“Ring ring”

TYTT: Hello?

Other Person: Hi

TYTT: Hi

Other Person: Whats up?

TYTT: Nuffin much.

Other Person: Did anything today?

TYTT: Buncha stuff.

Other Person: Like?

TYTT: Laundry.

Other Person: Fun.

TYTT: Yup

Other Person: Dats it?

TYTT: No, I cleaned, E threw up in three different spots.

Other Person: Eurgh!!

TYTT: Ye, it was kinda gross, I had to get rid of all the big undigested pieces before I could tackled the juices and smell

Other Person: You’re grossing me out.

TYTT: Sorry.

Other Person: Did anything exciting today?

TYTT: Ummm…not exciting, but I did a lot.

Other Person: Like?

TYTT: I cleaned my fridge, and pantry, told you I did laundry, three loads, middle of folding the second, I tutored– two different jobs, made lunch, and suppers on the way. Oh, also, I prepped for tomorrow, marked papers, and fixed up a report.

Other Person: Wow!

TYTT: Yeah, I’m productive. Making you feel inferior?

Other Person: Well, you never asked how my day was, maybe I did more than you.

TYTT: Nah.

Other Person: You’re doubting my capabilities?

TYTT: No

Other Person: Then are you gonna ask me about my day?

TYTT: Nope

Other Person: Why not?

TYTT: I already know what you did – you drank coffee, got a new dress, are excited for your friend’s wedding,went to sheva brachos last night, made cookies, ate ice cream, coveted other peoples clothing.

Other Person: Wow, you have ESP?

TYTT: Nope, just friends with you on Facebook.

The Value of Words

My kid tries to copy words that I say.

He can’t however say a word that ends in a consonant; he drops it.

So Bad, becomes “Ba” as well as Bat, Best, and Bent.

Vowels he’s ok with, so when I realized this, I quickly tried to think of a word that ended with a vowel sound.

“E –say money.”

“munee!”

There’s something wrong with me.

Take a Deep Breath

They cut the grass today and I breathed summer.

I inhaled the hot air, the mosquitos and ices melting onto my kitchen floor.

I took in barbeques, scraped knees, and ants traipsing across my dining room.

I drew in the blue sky, the open days, and hours on a park bench watching my son.

They cut the grass today, and I can’t wait to be bored.

Made in G-d’s Image

Boldly she stood in the center of the room. Mirrors enveloped us, and neither of us could hide. I stood cowering in the corner; shoulders turned inward, my reflection only cast in small parameters of my reach. I wanted to be her, I watched as she pulled her shirt over her head efficiently, effortlessly, without thought, or consciousness.Her image refracted and bounced across the room, for all, especially me, to admire.

But then I didn’t, admire her, not, not look. Snaking down her stomach was a dark shriveled line. It was thick, thicker than a broad-tipped Sharpie. And it wasn’t a scar; it wasn’t red or raised, just raisin-esque. I wondered what condition could have possibly marred her with that ghastliness, the ugly. There were more winding around her abdomen in a haphazard pattern, and I wondered why she didn’t hide in a corner, like me. Involuntarily, I turned to face the corner, maybe hide for her. But her image was still in front of me, in the mirror, confidently, trying on a marled sweater.

No one else seemed to be watching her.

No one else seemed to notice.

Hastily, I tried on the skirt I brought into the open dressing room, careful not to expose my large thighs, and complementing backside. After a few minutes and sweaters, she went on her beautiful way.

I’ve since learned of her condition, and know that there is no suffering from it, but only love, that child can give.

I’m still suffering from mine though, not visible, not scarring, but more debilitating. And there’s no one’s love that will heal it, only my own.

Friendly Fire

We weren’t friends yet, but planned on being. It would just be convenient, our husbands were close friends, our kids, of the same age and gender, it seemed meant to be, we just had to get to know each other. One such opportunity rose by the out-of-town wedding of our husband’s close friend. Neither of us knew anyone else, so our conversing would save face for both us, and didn’t seem so contrived.

Neither of us were really comfortable dancing, we didn’t know anyone but the other, not even the bride. So we sat and watched, our babies on our laps gave us more validity to sit this one out.

I saw her eyes narrow, but not knowing her well enough, I felt it wasn’t my place to ask what was irking her, but she let me know though, taking me into her confidence,

“These girls are dancing so unrefined.” Lips pursed together, arms crossed. I hadn’t noticed, to be honest, it looked like a regular wedding to me. That didn’t seem the right thing to say, I wanted her to like me, for us to get along and understand each other, so I just sat there, and gave a slight nod – not of approval, but for her to continue.

“Girls would never dance like this in Lakewood, shrieking their heads off, waving their hands so high, and, I dunno, shaking their hips.”

Girls don’t know they have hips in Lakewood, I thought.

But now looking at the wedding from her Lakewood girl perspective, I guess she had a point. The girls were dancing very aggressively, lively, and I thought quite beautifully, the bride was happy, wasn’t that the point? But for Lakewood, yes, I suppose it was a bit unrefined. This wasn’t Lakewood though, and who said Lakewood is right in the first place.

I gave a slight nod again, and said,

“I hear.”

We moved on to more pressing topics like which socks actually stay on babies feet and are Target’s up & up diapers really that good. I thought we could still be friends; friends are entitled to their own opinion, right?
She called me up three days later. The Chosson and Kallah had eaten breakfast by me, and she was curious.

“How were they?” she asked.

“Really cute, y’know.”

There was pause on her end.

“Were they passing things?”

This was 5 exits past different opinions, and I knew then, she wouldn’t ever be more than a husband’s friend’s wife.