RSS

Category Archives: Slice of Life

Why Third Time is the Charm

NaNoWriMo Winn

I’ve tried it twice, and they say third times the charm, so maybe this year is my year. I’m going to do it. I’ve signed up for NaNoWriMo. I confirmed my account. I am going to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. People have done. I can do it too. At least I thought I could, hence the third try.

The first time I tried I prepared a bit. I had heard about it, just as it completed the year before, so I had a whole year to consider work of literary genius I’d produce the coming November. As it turned out, not much. I got 2302 words in. My first sentence wasn’t that bad either:

“According to the law of averages Shoshana should have been married with 3.5 kids, living in Lakewood, her husband starting to burn out in Yeshiva and considering work – or chinuch, which isn’t as dirty a word as work. “

But then unlike the character I was working on one of my 3.5 kids, number 2 actually, and the unique fatigue that cannot be fought of the first trimester won. And there went my masterpiece.

Does a second attempt count if I just thought about it? Colicky babies won that round. And this year…what will stop me this year? I’m sure it’ll be valid, super important, and meaningful, but stopping me nonetheless.

There are always things stopping me from achieving. Valid, super important, and meaningful, check, check, and check, husband, kids, home, family, they come before a lot of things. As they should, and I love them, and chose them. But I do want to learn to play guitar, and I took out 3 books from the library. I watched endless tutorial on YouTube, and went to specialty store to learn to make Jewelry, but little fingers with big mouths stopped me from pursuing either.

And then came Coursera, the free online college course site. I signed up for a class on Modern Poetry last year. I barely made though the first poem, “The Poison Tree” by William Blake, when my sister got engaged, and what with the l’chaim and vort, I missed the first assignment deadline, and didn’t bother signing in again. A year later they sent me a website that said basically, “Hey, you didn’t complete the course last year, do you want to try again?” I wasn’t sure if I wanted to, the course syllabus has seemed a bit dull last year, but in the e-mail were links to recommended courses, Intro to Songwriting, and Intro to Social Psychology. Both of them were 6 weeks long, one started beginning August, the other 3 weeks later. I signed up for both.

Second time around bore no fruit. I did one week’s coursework and then came bein hazmanim and vacation, and kids and husband around all day. No time, and no work done. I was disappointed, again, but my excuses were so valid, family comes first, right? And I was able to enjoy my road trip to Florida and make endless barbeques without worrying about deadlines.

Two weeks later another e-mail arrived in my inbox, reminding me of the upcoming social psychology course. I always loved psychology, was fascinated by it. I really really really wanted to complete this course, not just for the star on my chart that I completed something, but I wanted the knowledge.

Third times the charm worked, well, like a charm this time. The course was intriguing, stimulating, enthralling, and I didn’t miss a minute. I completed all the assignments, participated on the discussion boards, and bored everyone with everything I learned. And it was then that I discovered that I had plenty of time to pursue my interest, and my family and responsibilities were not in my way of me fulfilling my potential – I was. I wasn’t so busy and burdened with life, I was just straight up lazy.

My kids are in bed by 7, husband home by 7:30, supper cleaned up, by 8:30. Ok, there are some papers to mark, some prepping to be done, some laundry to fold, quality time to be spent, but really, I averaged going to sleep around 12 o’clock, what was I doing in that time? Playing a lot of Candy Crush, that’s what.  And flipping through Drudge Report, with news that has me wondering how this world still stands, I breathe. That’s what I always called it, breathing.

“I need time to breathe.” I always say. Time to do nothing, unwind, chill, if you will. I never really breathed; it would just put me to sleep. Write something! I’d yell at myself sometimes. Wash and set your shaitel, the voice would yell other times! Call someone! Stop being so antisocial, is another cry. And I’d always counter with my need to breathe, my need to do nothing. Everyone needs downtime I’d tell it patiently.

But then there are those times that I listened to that big voice in my head, where I exert the effort. And it’s always exhilarating. I feel so great, and accomplished, and happy. Come the next night though and I’m back to Candy Crush. After completing my social psychology course, I know now that it’s not my need of air that keeps me from doing, rather my lazy tendencies and rationalization.

So it’s NaNoWriMo again. And I want to do it. Just it being the third time isn’t going to make it happen this time. But my self-awareness which comes from trying three times.

 

(I wrote this post November 3rd, not sure why I didn’t post it then, maybe I was too nervous if I didn’t complete it, how mortified as well as disappointed I’d be. Anyway, I finished it. All 50, 000 words. No excuses, even if my grandfather passed away in November and there was the levaya and shiva and the emotional drain which would have been a very acceptable excuse. I just proved it to myself even more, the only thing in the way of my achieving is myself.)

 

 
7 Comments

Posted by on December 28, 2013 in Slice of Life, Writing

 

Tags: , , , ,

The Neurotic Individual

“I don’t know where he gets it from,” She said half laughing. “It’s not me, and it’s definitely not my husband.” We were talking in the teacher’s room about our children, and where they pick up their fashion sense. “My son shakes in front of the mirror watching the creases in his pants and how they sway. If they move too much, get thee to the cleaners!”

We laughed, and laughed again when the next teacher told of her 18-month-old, with no hair to speak of gazing adoringly in the mirror smoothing out her “tresses” with a brush. But the swaying pants, it struck me, and reminded me of someone else – my little brother in law.

At 19, he’s super put together, and polished. I always wondered what it was that made his lines so crisp; it couldn’t just be his Brooks Brother’s collar-stays, because my husband has those too. Then one Shabbos meal, while waiting for my husband to finish washing and return to the table, I observed my brother in law, in those few idle moments, what did he do (I’m a people  watcher, sorry).His shirt cuffs were preoccupying him. He tugged at them a little, one edge of the cuff, was a millimeter off, not completely aligned with the opposite side. He adjusted it, then readjusted his cufflinks, which had moved a “ma – she –hu” in the tweaking. It took seconds, but I knew in that moment that I would never be it. I would never be super polished, and sophisticated, with my sheitel perfectly coiffed.

And then there’s my sister-in-law, who of course I love dearly, that really solidified my despair of ever being the enviable “How does she do it” Superwoman. A little before her wedding, she gave me a tour of her soon to be inhabited apartment. It was brand new, and really pretty, even without her little touches. I really liked her kitchen; there was a lot counter space, and two sinks, none of which my own apartment possesses. I absentmindedly reached to turn the water on.

“Don’t” she said quickly.

“What? Why?” I asked, “Worried about waterbills already?” She laughed,

“No, it’s just that I dried the sink before you came and I don’t want to do it again.”

My eyes squinted.

“Dried the sink?” I wasn’t familiar with the concept, wiping yes, drying, no. And I’d been running my own kitchen for a very long time by then: six months.

“Ye, I don’t like water droplet in the sink, so I dry it.”

And I knew then that my kitchen could never look like hers.

Yes, I can dry my sinks too with an extra strength Bounty paper towel if I choose to (and I do on occasion, it makes such a difference, it’s crazy). And if I were a man, I can sway in front of the mirror, and realign my cufflinks. But it’s all expo facto. I saw them do it, saw the results, and I’m just imitating. I’d have never thought of it on my own. And the thing is—they  didn’t think of it either; it came naturally. These small idiosyncrasies, they weren’t planned, developed and executed. They evolved out of the person’s need: a need for presentation, for cleanliness, for structure and symmetry. There’s a kind of neuroticism they possess for the areas they excel in, an attention to detail that the average person would never even think to address.

And I’m not that. Or maybe I am I realized after I received quite a few phone calls that sounded like this:

“Esther, I’m looking to buy a buy a double stroller; I know you just bought one, tell me all the makes, models, reviews, features and which one I should buy.:

or

“Esther, I’m looking to buy a drill.”

“Drill? I’m not Bob the Builder, I don’t know Adam about drills.”

“Ye, but hypothetically, it you were buying a drill, which one would you buy.”

“Hmmmm…Challenge accepted. Call me tomorrow.”

People call me up to help them research products and decide which one to purchase. I’m not trying hard when I read all reviews, comparisons, the maintenance, the warranties, understand the components, the everything. I just do it. I enjoy it. I don’t know any other way. Nor do I particularly want to.

So is that what other people experience when we gaze at them in astonishment and thinly veiled green eyes, just the wonder of them being themselves?

 

 
11 Comments

Posted by on June 13, 2013 in Slice of Life

 

Tags: , , ,

I Am Who I Am Today Because…

I generally ignore WordPress’s daily prompts, except today. It wasn’t an exceptionally brilliant or intriguing prompt, but my mind responded to it, not on a logical level, but a very emotional one, and I feel compelled to write about her.

My 12th grade Navi teacher changed my life. Well, not she herself, I did that, but she was a very large catalyst. I can’t say she was brilliant educator; I slept through most of her classes. She was though an exceptional teacher.

After yet another period resulting in drool pools on my desk and line patterns on my forehead, she called me over.

I stood there hand on hip waiting for her chastisement.

“The Navi speaks to me, TYTT,” she said. “It doesn’t do it for you. And that’s ok. Everyone has different things that pull and inspire them. I can’t have you sleeping through my class though.”

She had started off well, that spoke to me, but not sleeping through her class, wasn’t really an option, my eyes would just glaze over, I couldn’t fight the boredom.

“I’m giving you this sefer,” and she handed me a non-descript book, with a picture of stone staircase on the jacket cover. “I want you to read it, and take notes on it. Summarize it, jot down your own opinions, if you agree, disagree, any questions you have. This will be your curriculum. And your notes, your test. Ok?”

I looked at her questioningly, this seemed too easy, just read a book and take some notes, but I accepted the book, and the task.

The book was R’ Akiva Tatz’s “Living Inspired”.

And that book answered all the questions I never knew I had. And I felt secure in knowledge and not just faith. Things, religion, mostly, made more sense to me.

Thought is one thing, action another though.

I still slept through all my other classes, Historia, Chumash, Beer Tefillah, Hashkafah, Parsha… none of them got through to me, not like that book did.

But I graduated High School realized quite suddenly that no one was telling me what to do. No one was telling me what was right and wrong appropriate or not. I’d have to live my own life, make decisions and choices on how to lead it. And the thoughts finally translated to action.

I chose to be a teacher, and I chose to marry a man like my husband, and chose to live the lifestyle I now lead. And a whole lot of other smaller (and medium sized) choices too. My life wasn’t happening, I was making conscious decisions to make it so, spurred on by the contents of that book. I was living inspired.

I had clarity on the cycles of life, on daas torah, on the conflict between hishtadlus and bitachon and other big ticket questions.

I read his other books, listened to his shiurim and I my life changed, for the ever better.

I owe my wonderful life to my 12th grade Navi teacher. When I invited her to my wedding, I slipped in a little note,

Dear Rebitzen ——-,

I don’t think I’ve ever fully expressed, and explained how much I appreciate what you did for me in 12th grade. I know, it seems simple enough, a good idea that panned out: Give a disinterested student an interesting book, have her be involved in something Jewish during your class instead of her drooling on the desk in slumber.

But had you not done what you did, I would not be who I am today. And I would not be marrying the person I am; I have you to thank for that.

By just being the shaliach, introducing me to the works of R’ Akiva Tatz, and from him, R’ Dessler, I am forever indebted to you. Those books changed my perspective on everything, it explained so much, and my life, outlook and actions reflect that.

I hope to share in many more Simchas with you. And anything good, anything of merit, anything I or my husband, or children, or generations to come accomplish, is all because of you.

Thank you,

-TooYoungToTeach

I would have never came across R’ Tatz and his work if not for her. And even if I would have, I don’t think I would have had the patience to fully concentrate on what he was trying to convey. Twice a week, I had 45 minutes of intense depth and inspiration that I got to comment and question. And today whenever I need a little pick me up, when life starts feeling monotonous, I go back to the book – she let me keep it.

I’m a 12th grade teacher now, and on the short Shabbosim, with the long Friday nights, I have my students over for a little oneg. Together we learn Living Inspired, and I love seeing the light behind their eyes, when it clicks for them, the way it did for me back then.

 
1 Comment

Posted by on January 8, 2013 in Slice of Life, Teaching

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Depressing Discoveries: The Sequel

The phone rings; it’s my mother.

“TYTT, don’t beat yourself up. You’re very busy, and stressed, so what if you didn’t write and made a cookbook for your sister instead.”

I breathed deeply, I love supportive mothers.

“You didn’t read the last paragraph did you, what I did was just a manifestation of an underlying trait which indicated a lack of passion in an area I thought it existed.

“Ye ye,” She brushed me off, “The cookbook was a one time thing, writing is not, apples and oranges.”

I smiled, maybe supportive mothers have a point.

“But there are always one-time things that get in the way.” I said tugging at the loose thread of her theory.

“Fine, don’t write, be a defeatist. What nareshkeit are you so busy with anyway?”

Well, if she put it that way…This is what I’m so busy with, or was so busy with – one of those pressing one-time things that spring me into action…

Driving home from the co-op one day my cochlea’s were stimulated. I was listening to Radio Kol BeRama – The Jewish Music radio station in Lakewood, when a song that I actually liked came on. The station plays way to much gravelly Carlbach for my taste, but I had no patience plugging in my ipod, and even less patience for song selection (I’m so freakin’ lazy, I know!) This song though was different. It had a sax, and no trumpet, a rarity in Jewish pop. The lyrics were a mix of a posuk and English words (buncha singers have been doing that lately, notably Avraham Fried and Benny Friedman). The vocals (a duet) were trained and smooth – another Jewish rarity.  And I enjoyed. I even still remember where I was while listening to it – County line and Madison, waiting for the light to change, with Crystal Lake realty to my right, and Exxon on my left – it’s a long light; I didn’t mind.

I thought I recognized Ari Goldwag’s voice; actually, I was pretty sure it was him; his voice is pretty distinct; somehow he makes a bubble stuck in your throat sound good. Figuring a quick Google search would garner me the song, I got right to it – a good song it worth any time in the world, everyone knows that. But I didn’t find it.

I searched by the lyrics I remembered. Nothing. I combed MostlyMusic’s website for the song title (which I totally made up, but just assumed based on the song content). I went through Ari Goldwag’s discography, his website, nothing. I searched the lyrics again. Nada. And I gave up. For the time being, that is.

A few days later, I was bored, and writing takes too much thinking, so I took another stab at it. Nothing.  Searched YouTube, all English Collections: fruitless.

A Motziah Shabbos later, I somehow ended up on Radio Kol Berama’s website. Once there, I figured might as well take another stab. I submitted a song request just a description of the song, and assumed artist. Of course I was in Brooklyn at the time, so I couldn’t tune in, and of course I was called away from the computer, so I couldn’t even stick around for a possible streaming. Strike three. Or so I thought.

I was frustrated, and disappointed. Seriously, how elusive can a Jewish song be?! It’s such a small world.

Fast forward a few weeks and a random perusal of my Facebook news feed, a friend posted an audio clip, with this message:

Eilecha

I have this one recording of this song, does anyone know who sings it and what album its from?
thanks

IT WAS MY SONG!!! And someone else was looking for it too! Misery loves company. Now that it wasn’t just me, I was spurned on to resume my search (I’m so altruistic, no?). I qualified for Albert Einstein’s definition of insanity. I went through the same motions as before, no change in results , none.

This time though, I ended up at the Jewish Music Review blog. In a moment of inspiration, I e-mailed them, maybe they would know. On this blog, there was an article about Yitzy Spinner’s new website. Could Yitzy Spinner be the second half of the duet? Ari Goldwag and he were in Miami Boy’s Choir together, did they keep up?  I re-searched MostlyMusic  this time under Yitzy Spinner’s work, again, nothing. I went back to Jewish Music Review, and clicked the link to Yitzy Spinner’s website, maybe it would provide me with more insight. It didn’t.

In the corner of the website was a “Contact Yitzy” link. Intended for potential gigs, I made other use of it.

Hi, I heard a song, Eilecha (I made up that title). A mix of Hebrew and English lyrics. I recognized Ari Goldwag’s and I think your voice singing it. For the life of me, I can’t find a record of the song anywhere. I loved it, and am desperate for a copy of it. Do you know what I’m talking about? Can you steer me in the right direction? Thank you.

Impressively, he responded within the hour,

Nothing that I can think of. Did you try going through Ari’s music?

Dead end. Again. But a stroke of genius prodded me, or maybe it was stupidity, because why didn’t I think of it before – E-mail Ari Goldwag. Easily, I found his e-mail address on his website. And he too responded quickly.

My heart quickened, and a smile burst forth when I read his succinct response,

it’s from Sheves Achim 2. I sang it with the Bell brothers.

http://www.mostlymusic.com/sheves-achim-volume-2.html

or if you want just that track, you can get it on itunes

https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/sheves-achim-2/id451590693

kol tuv,
Ari Goldwag

I found it!!! I spread the joy to my Facebook friend, who of course realized that she had the cd uploaded on her computer all along.

The resolution to this quest of course completed my life goals, and I lived happily ever after. Not really, but at least I got a song that I really love to listen to.

My friend’s thought I was insane for going as far as to e-mail the (assumed) artist to find a song that I heard once and enjoyed. I think it’s just indicative of my nature, and writing problem. Do I want in bad enough – it would seem not – again.

Sorry, supportive Ma, it’s not a defeatist writing, but a realist.

(I tried posting the song, but wordpress is not so generous with embedding mp3′s, so those of you who are friends with me on FB, can check it out, I posted it, or try the links above)

 

 
2 Comments

Posted by on December 25, 2012 in Humor, Jewish, Music, Slice of Life, Writing

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Depressing Discoveries

I’ll write when I have time, is what I and every aspiring, but lazy writer says. I have ideas, I wrote 5 books – in my head, but pen to paper, never happens.

I’m different, I said. I REALLY don’t have time. No excuses. There is no time. Teaching, prepping, marking papers, cooking, cleaning, diaper changing and plain old mommying (just as I sat down to write this my son came with a Dr. Suess book “Mommy, read a ducky feet!”), make up my entire day, there is no time for jotting down a few epiphanies.

Then my sister got engaged, and is now married (Mazal Tov RL!!!) and I wanted to give her a special gift. Nothing you can buy in the store (Can’t afford that anyway), but something from the heart, practical, and hand- made for her – a cookbook, with a monthly menu, and tips for the kitchen (When you have no time – use the stovetop. No patience – the oven).

I remembered when I first got married how overwhelming the whole kitchen experience was. Forget about the actual cooking, where I had zero to little experience, what I found most frustrating and anxiety provoking was deciding what to make in the first place. Once I knew what I was making, everything was much easier and focused. My sister has about the same cooking experience as me, and I figured she’d probably fall prey to the same mental torture as me, hence the menu.

Of course, since I have no time, this cookbook seemed to be more like a pipedream than an actuality. But I really wanted to do it, just like I really want to write. The wedding got closer and closer, and one morning I woke up and the Shabbos Kallah was a less than week away. And it was the end of the term, insane marking, essays, quizzes, rubrics, averages – big pain, little time.

I really wanted to do it though, so I did. I just did. I sat down, and did it. I even went to Amazing Savings to buy a nice loose-leaf (awesome store!), and then the Dollar Tree for sheet protectors (AS didn’t have). It was done in a night and day. That was it. Probably took about 6 hours total. I don’t know where I found the time. Everything I usually do in that time was accomplished too.

It’s motivating to realize that if I want to do something, it will get done. Very depressing though to realize I maybe don’t want to write as much I think I do.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on December 23, 2012 in Food, Musings, Slice of Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Being RASHional

My eye became sore about a week ago. It got progressively worse, for a few days, until I could see some inflammation. It peaked two days later and the pain started to cede. The swelling through did not. It concentrated itself, and I have a red pointy bulge on my eyelid. I’m hiding behind glasses so people can still look me in the face (not eye, but really, it’s not that ugly).

The time I noticed it had transformed into a beautiful bump, coincided with the development of a lump in my throat. I went to sleep that night (last night) thinking I was dying. And of course in the process of dying they would have to remove part of my eyelid, and I’d be even freakier looking and that I should take professional pictures before the amputation so my children will know me a nice looking person, not an almost one-eyed mutant.

I assumed the worse; I always do.

If my kid gets a rash and I’m unsure of the source, it’s sure to be the early stages of necrotizing fasciitis. My husband complains of a stomach-ache, it’s definitely Crohn’s, or Celiac’s disease. The cause can never be a carpet burn from running and sliding, or simply gorging on pizza.

I never go to the doctor though, I just wait for rigor mortis to set in (I think there might be a rational side to my brain that knows the truth but allows my Drama Queen mind do its show, though not letting it take it to the next level [it’ll always be amateur night]).

Amazingly, I awoke this morning to slightly conventional looking eyelid. Things are fading back to normal, just a passing infection, just when I thought I had discovered the meaning of life, through contemplation of imminent death.

And I’m back to being lazy, drinking coffee, complaining about the mess in the kitchen, too much laundry, looking through too many sales on Zulily, and taking myself, my husband and children for granted.

We never learn do we?

 
5 Comments

Posted by on August 7, 2012 in Humor, Slice of Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

And Many Miles to Go Before I Sleep

My mother tells me it’s time for a new blog post. She’s bored of visiting my blog, disappointed when she sees nothing new. I told her to set up a Google reader account to save her the agmas nefesh. Forget about setting it up being too difficult for her, she didn’t really understand its function when I tried explaining it. But never mind that.

I agree with my mother, it is time for a new blog post. And I have a lot to say – I’m just too busy doing nothing to say it. Nothing is relative of course. I spend most of my day tending to my adorable, but perpetually cranky baby. Or I’m in bed sleeping. Some old adages are right and smart – Sleep when the baby sleeps.
So the adage works with your first kid, but when you have a kid running around it’s not so easy to say,

“Ooh yay, the baby shtunker is finally sleeping – I’ll pop in for a nap – if that’s ok with you E – don’t break my china teacups like you almost did yesterday, k?”

Well, I suppose it’s easy to say, not to do.

So…I’m a little homebound and going out of my mind. I went to the park in my complex a few days this week. The other women looked at me in wonderment – what was I doing outside?!! And I was thinking, Oh G-d I can’t believe it took me this long to get outside. Seriously, I don’t think I was outdoors for a week after I had the baby. And besides cranky babies magically shut up outside – nature’s best.

It’s only three weeks, and it feels like months (well, when your night turn into days, and days nights and there’s a point where you can’t differentiate between the two because you’re too busy pacing your hallways, arms jiggling, trying to calm a baby, time seems to pass Reeeeeeeally slowly.) I don’t even remember what it feels like to be pregnant – yes, I did just write that. I don’t remember, there’s too much overriding it.

I taught Macbeth this year; I didn’t think I could ever relate to him, but I do now: Act II Scene II

Macbeth: Methought I heard a voice cry ‘Sleep no more!”

So bear with me, while I bear with my baby.

 
3 Comments

Posted by on July 16, 2012 in Parenting, Slice of Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Mazal Tov!

It’s a boy!

7lb, 6oz

19 inches

Born 11:52 p.m. June 24th 2012

He is perfect (takes after his Mommy)

 
6 Comments

Posted by on June 25, 2012 in Parenting, Slice of Life

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

The Dougie

I felt so powerless yesterday. And bewildered. And Unsure. With a good ole dose of horror.

My husband and I were watching our son play in our complex’s playground. He wasn’t feeling all that well, and ended up just sitting next to me, on a bench, beneath the shade.

He pointed out the tree, and the birdies, and the squirrel. He was happy, and so was I.

On the other side of the playground I could see a procession coming toward our area. There were about 12 boys ranging in age from about 4-8 and a girl, in a gorilla costume. Forget the fact that it’s Shabbos and she’s dressing up in Purim costumes, and forget that this is a lot of boys and one girl, but focus on my son. He saw the girl, or rather the gorilla and started whimpering

“Ah doogie, Ah doogie!” he pointed and started to cry. He pulled himself closer to me, and I waved my hands to the kids, indicating to stay away. They noted, smiled, and came closer.

I’ve never seen my son scared. He’s as macho as they come. Trips, falls, scrapes, he just brushes them off- literally. He brushes off the dirt, the blood the mess, and continues on. Sometimes he’ll come to me and say,

“Dooty” when his broad strokes don’t get rid of the dirt.

And now my son was cowering, crying,

“Doogie, bye bye, Doogie bye bye”

The kids came even closer.

“Please stay away.” I beseeched. “Don’t you see you’re scaring him, and making him upset. That’s not nice is it?” I reasoned. The gorilla hesitated, but the boys egged her on, and she came even closer.

My kid shrieked more and my husband growled,“Go away now! What do you think you’re doing!” The kids laughed, but dispersed.

My kid was now crying freely, clutching me for dear life, and I wiped away a tear, my own tear.

Later at home, while eating supper, my kid kept going on,

“Doogie go bye bye. Doogie go ‘way!”

And I reassured him that the doggie wasn’t coming back. A few moments respite, and he started on the “Doogie” refrain. This went on for a while.

And that wasn’t all that happened in the park yesterday. My kid was sitting a low ledge on the playground, little feet dangling slightly. A boy of about 5 approached him, stuck his face into his, and then without warning or provocation slapped my kid 5 times across the face. I jumped to my feet (as much as overdue woman can jump) and aggressively marched towards my son (about 20 feet away). The boy saw me approaching and backed off.

“We don’t hit people,” I scolded. “Especially not little kids, that didn’t do anything to you.” He just shrugged his shoulders and walked away. My kid wasn’t really crying, just whimpering a little; he was mostly bewildered.

“Da boiy… da boiy” he repeated. He couldn’t seem to make sense about what just happened to him.

“Da boiy’s” mother had been sitting on the park bench next to me, engrossed in a fascinating conversation about getting children into school. She missed everything. I didn’t fill her in. It didn’t seem worth it, but her lack of awareness seemed to explain the previous “Doogie” incident with my son.

Where are the parents watching their children? Most of them are not present physically. And if they’re there physically, that doesn’t necessarily include mentally.

And with the Gorilla incident, I really don’t get these kids. First preying on a little kid, for G-ds sake he’s not even 2 yet! And then in front of his parents? We were right there! That didn’t stop them for a moment, maybe even gave them more impetus!

And my husband and I felt so powerless. What were we supposed to do? My logical reasoning of “it’s not nice” fell on deaf ears, so did my husband’s. I wanted to do them physical harm, yell at them, but knew it wouldn’t do anything. I’d have love to have chat with their mothers, but they weren’t present, and I’m not totally sure whose children they were.

What should we have done, and how can I protect my child?

He’s such a happy kid, but I’m afraid a few more slaps and “Doogie” incidents and he may turn into them, as a form of self-protection and preservation.

What am I, his mother supposed to do?(Besides for write this post, to vent) What should I have done then?

 
4 Comments

Posted by on June 24, 2012 in Parenting, Slice of Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

PSA: Don’t Be Jealous – Be Nice

Dear Other Pregnant Woman, and anyone who has ever been pregnant,

A lot of you are jealous of me. I wore a top today that is a Gap size small, and I’m due – soon. Yes, I appreciate carrying small, but many of you fail to realize that I still experience all of the discomforts of pregnancy – and some more, because of my “neat little package”.

Did it occur to you, that because my belly isn’t protruding as much as yours, that I could possibly be in more discomfort? My baby’s an average size – 7lbs, at least that what the doctor told me on Friday. A small belly, doesn’t mean small baby, it just means less space, ergo my internal organs are getting shmooshed. I am constantly digging legs out of my ribs, losing my breath, and running to the bathroom – even if I just exited it. I lose my balance because my baby seems to enjoy plucking at my leg’s nerves like it’s jamming session, and makes them give way randomly. (This is besides for the excessive heartburn, need to wear compression stockings, and other fun pregnancy side-effects)

Also, because I don’t look like I’m due for another trimester, people don’t treat me like a heavily pregnant woman – which I am. Nobody offers me a seat, or a drink. Nobody hesitates to ask things of me that require me to get up, bend, and well, be considerably active. Nobody thinks that insomnia, cockade baby sleep patterns have hit yet, so they call early, and late, without consideration.

People – I am VERY pregnant. I am in A LOT of discomfort. Please, be nice to me, and stop saying in sweet (but very obviously envious voices)

“But you’re carrying so small!”

 
 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

 
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 237 other followers

%d bloggers like this: