State of the Union

WordPress sent me my end of year and I’m not posting it. I’m embarrassed of my stats, not that I blame them really. I don’t post often enough, and I totally ignore the first room of cultivating readers – responding to their comments – I’m just not good at it, I feel like I have nothing smart to say. And then I don’t market my blog by commenting on other blogs – same comment on comments – I don’t have anything intelligent to add.

I also feel like the Jewish Blogosphere has changed so much since I started blogging, or maybe it’s the same and I changed. In any case, it used to be this really cozy place where everyone commented on everyone’s posts, exchanged meme’s, linked to each other, had conversations that started in the comments and sometimes went off to e-mails. I feel like I knew those bloggers. But they’re all gone. I can’t remember the last time my Google Reader bolded their title alerting me to a new post.

Child Ish
Frum Punk
Jacob da Jew
Mike in Midwood
The Babysitter
Bas Melech
NMF #7

Material Maidel

The Frum Skeptic

Moshe

and a bunch of others…

 

The only one’s still around are BadforShidduchim, and Princess Lea who went from the best commenter ever to the best blogger ever. (Had to give that shout out, she really is awesome, no?)

So my stats dwindled as did my posts, energy, and commitment.

My life changed, and I haven’t yet figured out how to write about some things without trespassing on other people’s privacy (namely my family). That severely limits my material.

And I’m busier, and a blog while fun, and a wonderful outlet for expression, is not a priority.

So many times I’ve wanted to just close it down – while I still have some grace and dignity, and readers. But I like my blog, and it’s just as much for me as it is for you. So I think it’ll stick around another year, as I hope will you.
Here’s to a new year (well, not really new, just Gregorian new) and more sporadic intelligence – if there ever was any.

 

To Dr. Doomstein, 20 Years Later, You Still Lose

I have a bunch of earwigs driving me loo loo. They’re all from the same source, and suppose I should be thankful that at least I know most of the lyrics. Not like when you get an earwig, and you only know one word in the chorus and you mumbo jumbo the rest until that spot and you mentally belt out that “Help… mumblemumble…Help” (Beatles ‘Help’ anyone? Actually I know all the lyrics to that one, so never mind, but you get my drift) It goes on in a loop, all day and if you’re lucky you can infect someone else, just by humming a bar or two; make them just as miserable as you.

I have the Marvelous Middos Machine on repeat – in my home, and still in my head once my kid is sleeping and I can turn it off. Seder V’nikyon, Kaas, Guy’va, Tzar Bar L’chaim. C’mon you can all sing along with me,

“You gotta be neat, you gotta be clean, let Mommy take a break from the washing machine”

“…Like a big volcano that’s gonna blow its stack. Just stay calm and cool”

“Hey there Mr. Guy’va you think you’re really great…”

And the classic

“I’m a hippopotamus, from my top to my bottomus…”

They don’t make ‘em like they used to. I grew up on these tapes (now mp3 files on my ipod), and my kids are going to too (along with Shmuel Kunda’s “The Last Pesach”, “Talking Coins” and “Magic Yalmulke” to name a few). 20 years, and they haven’t made a better product, today’s kids are singing the same songs we did. Pretty dumbfounding, no?

With recording equipment, sound effects, computers, and people with the technical know-how in greater excess and accessibility, they haven’t been able to produce anything on the creative caliber as the original “Jewish Children’s Tapes”.

Of course a few of the oldies have regretfully disappeared – I’d love to get my hands on “The Amazing Torah Bike” “Bike, bike, Torah Rider, put us in your bubbleizer –anyone?” and “Torah Island”.

What do you think, are the originals way better, or am I being overly nostalgic?

No Butts About It – I’m Talented

I Think They’re Laughing at Me

A while back I revealed my most creative and inventive side when I wrote about my ability to make up new, phonologically basedlyrics to songs.

The post was in reference to 8th Day’s Yalili. I’ve yet to resolve that lyrical conundrum, I still hear them singing “bet your bottom” with no “Im Yertziah Hashem” in sight. Regardless, I have a new one, once again courtesy of 8th day.

When I first heard the song “By My Side”, I couldn’t understand why they would want to lose their mainstream audience with the lyrics they had chosen. No self-respecting Bais Yaakov girl would sing such a song, Yeshiva bochur,yes, girl, no.

To my ear, the song went,

Rivers have come to surround me // To cool me and bring me down // Rivers have come to surround me // to turn my butt around.

Why would they use a word like butt? Yes, it fit, but really, is that one word worth a reputation?

I mentioned this to my sister, who looked at me incredulously, and of course burst out laughing.

“The word is BOAT, you tuchas!!”

Ooh BOAT!

The ONLY Exception to the Rule

It is the human lot to exaggerate. We always wait for forever, repeat things a million times, and we’d never ever do [that]. It’s ok really, all this pseudo –lying; we all do it, and we all don’t believe each other for a second. We take whatever the other person said and scale it down appropriately. Forever becomes 5-10 minutes, a repetition of a million is also probably in the number 5 range. And the thing we’d NEVER do, well, sometimes that is a never, but most people have a price or warranting circumstance that can change that never to “….well, maybe, sorta…once..twice..”

There is one circumstance life where people are not exaggerating, no matter how far-fetched, improbable, and seemingly impossible their claim may be, and that is in regard to parenting, particularly a newborn.

Yes, I held my baby the entire day.

No, he did not stop crying, not for a moment.

Yes, I changed his diaper 20 times today.

And yes, I was up the entire night with him.

And no, this was not a one-time phenomenon; this is standard operation.

I’m not exaggerating.

Yes, I know you are conditioned to minimize anything anyone says by 20, but you should probably inflate mine; I think I may be downplaying it to come across as a semi functioning person.
So you can continue to doubt and reduce the implications of what anyone, or I say regarding anything (“I love that song, I could listen to it all day…I hate her and will never forgive her…They’re bajillionaires…”) Remember there is one topic that is irreproachable, and don’t ask me to repeat myself, I barely have energy to eke out this kvetch once.

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!”

Of Apples and Oranges

Her tongue darted around the crevices of her mouth trying to dislodge the almonds that got wedged between gaped teeth. A finger finished off the last remnants; she looked at the morsel, and popped it back into her mouth. I thought she was totally gross for doing that, but then I caught myself doing the same thing last night – just with potato chips.

Please tell me potato chips are worthier for such treatment than almonds. Because I can’t be like her, can’t have the same mannerisms and rationale. It’s a good thing it wasn’t apples either of us were eating, because then even I’d feel the irony of “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”.

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.

Rosh Hashana Ambiguity Revisited

It’s Rosh Hashana – again.

Didn’t I just go through this last year?

It’s difficult adjusting to Yomim Noraim as a mother. Usually Rosh Hashana creeps up on me, and I turn around and am like “Holy heck, I gotta shape up!” and then I go to shul, and besides for a botched shmone esrei or two, and counting down an awful lot of pages (although honestly the last two years, davening seemed to fly, [am I growing up?]), I’d usually come away feeling something. That I opened up, bared it all, asked honestly, and modestly. That this year will be a good year, and things will happen and go right, and I’ll get that job, that raise, that recognition. That I’ll be happy, secure, and satisfied. That I’ve been given focus, drive and perspective. I won’t regret this year.

I don’t have that anymore.

My lot right now, is to stay at home with my child, and daven in my living room, while my son pulling at my skirt, and whining for me to read “Oh the Thinks You Can Think” to him. While my husband is pleading for his life, for our happiness, contentment, shaIom, our future, I’m sweeping up Multi-Grain Cheerios, and wiping up mushed bananas my son enthusiastically ground into the kitchen tiles. I shouldn’t complain, I’m not complaining, I just stating the difference, and how it affects me.

I don’t come away with a good feeling, I don’t feel like I succeeded, like I did it right. And this year will be.

Also, as I get older, every year, I realize and appreciate so much more, that Hashem is in my life, directing it, guiding me, and I need him. I look around and see things that happened, things that are happening, and things that will happen, and it all went down this day, last year. And this year, on this day, I’m putting borekas on the blech to warm up, and setting the table with linen napkins, waiting for my husband to come home, and tell me how our life is going to be.

I know, I know, I really know, that this is what I’m supposed to be doing now, that this is where I’m supposed to be, and I can achieve, just where I am, in my place as a Yiddishe Mama,

But

But

But

I feel like I’m missing my chance at life.

Blasphemous Brilliance

I always wanted to meet someone brilliant. I want to talk to them, hear them, see what it means to be brilliant and not just average, or above average, or bright, or smart, or even very smart. I want to meet brilliant, genius. I think it would be fascinating, insightful, entertaining.

All my friends seem to know brilliant people. They’ll mention a friend’s, co-worker’s, associate’s name and add on, “Oh, s/he is brilliant, you have to hear him/her talk; you should meet him/her 2yng2tch.”

I wondered why I was surrounded by mediocrity. I mean I know a lot of smart people, a lot of very smart people, but no one brilliant. Maybe I was hanging out in the wrong library.

Then one day I discovered people are liars, well, not liars, but they exaggerate an awful lot. You see, I found out that I am one of those brilliant friends, co-workers, cousins, teachers – whatever relationship someone might have to me. (long story how I found out) People call me brilliant, and I’m not.

Really not, not humbly not.

People think I’m smart because I use big words and know the most useless things about everything. I also stress my T’s which gives me an accent and makes me sound smart (almost like the English accent means instant sophistication)

It’s such a disappointment.

If you think you’re brilliant, or know someone who’s really brilliant, contact me so I can cross something off my life-goals to-do list.

The Psyche of Gifts

I was trying to explain to my husband the difficulty in buying men presents. Besides for the obvious lack of gift items, and options in the gifts themselves, there is a much deeper psychological reason.

Rabbi Akiva Tatz in one of his speeches on marriage makes a point that is backed up by a lot of mystical resources. Skipping the resources and going to the practical, he basically says women think about their husbands all the time, and their love and relationship is constantly on the surface of their mind. Men, while they love their wives very much, do not think about them on a constant basis….and therein lies the issue.

People often say about gifts, “It’s the thought that counts”, which as I will explain, only applies to gifts bought by the husband. You see, because men don’t often dwell on thoughts of love and devotion for their wives, any gift, from the trivial to the absurd indicates to a woman that “Wow, my husband actually thought about me today!” And a woman will get a warm and fuzzy feeling over her husband’s attentiveness, that he was able to go beyond his natural tendency and focus on her more than, well, expected.

On the converse, because women are constantly thinking about their spouses, a lousy gift, is just that a lousy gift, the thought doesn’t count because the wife would have been thinking of her husband even if there was no occasion, or no gift was purchased, so a gift is nothing more than it is.

In “Men are From Mars, Women are from Venus” John Grey explains the “point scoring system” in relationships. Simply, for men, the bigger the item, the more points a woman will earn. For women, everything is worth one point, no matter how small (bar of chocolate) or how big (a car). This fits right in to what I was saying before…women just want the thought behind the gift, and men just want the gift.

So what it comes down to, is that besides there being few gift options for men, whatever you get has to be really good, or you might as well not get it. With that, my first anniversary is next week – HELP!