tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33838663252875834962024-03-12T17:08:42.097-07:00singlehood to motherhoodAnecdotes, information and reflections on becoming a solo mom and what motherhood means to mesinglehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-66954049638852870332019-10-16T14:33:00.003-07:002019-10-16T14:39:06.442-07:00Ten<div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;" trbidi="on">
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Ten.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It has a lot of meaning </div>
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<br /></div>
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The Ten Commandments</div>
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<br /></div>
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The Ten Plagues</div>
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<br /></div>
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Ten months to a school year.</div>
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<br /></div>
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A Decade.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Girls of mine,</div>
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<br /></div>
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You have been in my life for ten years.</div>
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I adore you from moment to moment more and more.</div>
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The babies you were and the girls that your are.</div>
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I wish you challenges because they will make you stronger</div>
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Heartbreak because it will make you wiser </div>
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Great love , wonderful friends, a career, motherhood, all</div>
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I have raised you to Judaism, Zionism, Feminism.</div>
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I hope you are independent, happy, healthy, loved.</div>
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Thank you for making me a mom. For making me grow up. For making me care about someone more than myself.</div>
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Always and forever<br />
<br /></div>
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Ima</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-27810761635244916232017-04-08T12:47:00.001-07:002017-04-08T12:47:58.898-07:00Not for the Faint of Heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www./" target="_blank">http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il</a><br />
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<br /></div>
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Two days before Leil haseder, the Passover Big Event and I
am finished for the evening. My dishes are
down from the attic, my food is purchased, and the house is cleaned. Tomorrow begins the race against time and the
nonstop cooking.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My girls watched tonight as I poured boiling water on all
surfaces, cleaned the refrigerator again, and left the fires burning on the
stove. They asked why and of course I
explained. While Rosh Hashana and Yom
Kippur are the two holidays which I most connect with my father, Passover is an
estrogen filled event. </div>
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My mother,
grandmother and savta all figure prominently.
My sister and I too have strong supporting roles. I cannot think of Pesach without the smell of
gribenes frying, my mother cooking, and my grandmother issuing orders (oops! directions)
from the table. </div>
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The Manishevitz white matzah
cartons hauled up from the basement with all the dishes and utensils; all of
which have a story; the wooden chopping bowl and chopper for the charoset,
which has been my annual contribution since I can remember, the cast iron grinder
that weighs a ton that belonged to my mother’s grandmother; the one that locked
onto the countertop and ground the chicken livers for the chopped liver, all
the crystal wine goblets which also belonged to my mother’s grandmother, and especially,
the one with etched grapes on it which was “mine” every year.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Pesach is my favorite time of year; the change of weather to
spring, the nearness of summer and vacation, the birth of new flowers, leaves,
and just the newness of it. Changing the
house over was always exciting for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Seven years ago, I decided that if I could do twins on my
own, I could take on Seder. The first
couple of years we ordered food. About four years ago, my mom and I took over the cooking. My mom and I are very different in the
kitchen: I am neat, organized and fast.
She is slow, methodical, makes an absolute mess and her food is amazing. No matter how perfect it is, she always finds
fault with it. I am a decent cook,
slightly above average even, but I don’t have the time or patience to spend the
day in the kitchen. Everything is tasty
but not like her food. Like they say on
the cooking shows you can taste her love and passion in every bite. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She isn’t here this year.
They aren’t coming. This is the
third time in my life that I am alone on Pesach. No matter how many people will be here
(twelve) no matter how much they mean to me (a lot), no matter how many sedarim
we’ve all done together (seven) they’re not my parents. While I know my girls will continue with our
traditions, it just isn’t the same without them. Hearing those stories all through my
childhood has instilled in me a sense of tradition and family and
continuity. I will do my best to share
the stories with my kids but I don’t have the treasures and the artifacts to
back them up. The chopping bowl is
probably somewhere in my mom’s basement still as might be the grinder. But it isn’t the same as taking it out and
using it. “My” wine glass broke and my
new wine glass isn’t the same. Without Bubby
and Saba it will be nice but not HOME. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This holiday, reminds me of my trek through motherhood. It is hard.
There is a lot of work and a lot of cooking, cleaning, preparing, changing,
sorting, and repeat. But that is part of
what makes it so special. That you get
to the other side. That you’ve created
something that is impossible to recreate: memories. This is what I believe is what I give my kids
in addition to love, hugs, nurturing and education. I give them a past, a context, a story and
memories for life. My childhood memories
of holidays with our family are a tremendous gift and give me strength and
hope. Our seder is very important to me
because it gives them that; something to remember for a lifetime. </div>
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I am just so sad my parents aren’t going to
be here to enjoy it with us and the girls won’t be able to share it with them
this year.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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Wishing you all a beautiful, meaningful and memory laden
seder. Chag sameach<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-27179456591784466192016-12-12T22:19:00.002-08:002016-12-12T22:19:33.951-08:00You Deserve Better<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il</a><br /><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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How many of us have said this to a heartbroken friend? How
many have heard this from our girlfriends, moms, shrinks?<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Oh honey! He’s a jerk!” you deserve better…<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have spent the better part of my adulthood saying this or
being told this. However, here I am. Still alone. By myself. And ….?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Where has it gotten me all this deserve-ment. Entitlement?
Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’ve gotten the best there is and that is all I deserve.
Or maybe what we deserve and what we get aren’t necessarily the same. Maybe “you
deserve what you have” is more the more appropriate statement. Maybe “make it
work” is a better phrase.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Maybe all those women who waited for better are still
waiting…and don’t look as good, aren’t as thin, are past child bearing … Maybe
this sounds sexist (Trump-y) but seriously…aren’t all of us over 40 women and
maybe even over 50 women thinking this? Feeling this? <br />
maybe I should have…. ??<o:p></o:p></div>
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Don’t misunderstand me: I have it all. I say this and mean
this and believe it. I believe I am blessed and that G-d takes care of me. But, I am alone. It is the one piece of the
puzzle that I haven’t been able to complete (successfully). <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have definitely grown and evolved. I have gained life
experience and wisdom. I have done the work; alone, in therapy, in my outlooks
and attitude. And yet… this part doesn’t
ever seem to change. If I am tough, if I
am go with the flow, if I’m patient, understanding, or hard assed. The person
who is before me is always the same person.
It doesn’t seem to matter if he is Israeli or American, religious or
charedi or completely non-observant, Ashkenazi or Sephardi. He is invariably the same man.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It is unclear to me how this keeps happening. Maybe it’s
just bad luck, maybe as a colleague said the other day there are simply more
women than men, maybe at this age “what’s left” is fucked up. I cannot believe that this is my fate. I believe in creating fate. I remember going to real estate seminars when
I was still in the business and speakers said things like “imagine what you
want; a boat, apartment, trip to Europe and then figure out how you can make
the money to pay for it”. This is my
philosophy. If you will it it will come.
But every time I will it either the recycled crazies come back or new
ones come to fill their place. And the drama and insanity begin again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My friends tell me I crave the drama. Maybe they’re right. I don’t think I crave drama. I am supremely happy in my drama free
existence without a man…until I can’t take the alone anymore…and then the drama
begins again. I wish I knew why. I wish
I could change it. I am not willing to accept that my life in this area is over
and that I will never have real love again…but…<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-17239824144052237542016-10-07T12:38:00.005-07:002016-10-08T09:44:47.495-07:00The Mad (Black) Hatter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "agency fb" , "sans-serif";"><b>I
realized tonite that I have a very long history with the mad black hatters.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "agency fb" , "sans-serif";"><b><br />
My first encounter was in 7<sup>th</sup> grade.
We were living in Los Angeles and I developed a huge crush on my rebbe,
the first black hatter. He wasn’t mad,
or at least (thank GD) he didn’t do anything mad. If anything he did a lot of good. He introduced me to my first friend, his
cousins, in Chicago, when my parents made the very traumatic announcement that
we were moving back there.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "agency fb" , "sans-serif";"><b>Then
there was the mad black hatter when I was in high school. I must say he is probably my first true love
and very first broken heart. He dumped
me in a “Dear John” letter. The “Dear John” letter I received while back in LA
working at a day camp with my former friends.
That same summer, or maybe the next one, I met my cousins friend: the
soon to be mad black hatter. He dumped
me after his new found rabbi told him he shouldn’t talk to me even though I was
the reason he got involved with the religious movement in the first place. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "agency fb" , "sans-serif";"><b>Then my
first boyfriend, while studying a pretty religious seminary in Jerusalem. He, the first boyfriend told me he’d never
live in the US and he would never be religious, I actually dumped him. But one
year later, while home for Rosh Hashana I got a letter…no no no, NOT a dear
John letter. No, this was a “you are the
reason my life has changed for the best” letter. My Israel living non US living
ex bf was now studying in a very happy place in the Old City. And thanks to me he found religion….and his
soon to be American born Chasidic originated wife….. Need I mention that he
lived for a spell (several years) in the US?!<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "agency fb" , "sans-serif";"><b>This mad
black hatter literally wears a black hat a black (by now white?) beard, has grandchildren,
and still some 25 years later, is in touch with me.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "agency fb" , "sans-serif";"><b>As you
see, my history with them is not made of happy endings…<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "agency fb" , "sans-serif";"><b>SO, here
it is, the eve of Yom Kippur and I am still thinking about the man I wrote
about in my last post. Yup! You guessed
it! ANOTHER mad black hatter. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoHeader">
<span style="font-family: "agency fb" , "sans-serif";"><b>Why do I
keep going back to them? Especially when, those who know me in real life know I
don’t look like them…but I do talk like them, sometimes and I definitely do
believe like them in some ways. My
friend Sarah has said over the years” You can take the girl out of the Michlala
but you can’t take the Michlala out of the girl”. That is to say, I grew up there in that place
in my “formative years”. It had a huge
impact on my life and my family’s life.
I was very happy for a very long time in that world. I never intended to leave it for good. But it is not easy dancing at two weddings at
once and I really am a better fit to the life and community I am in. But the mad black hatter world still pulls at
me.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoHeader">
<span style="font-family: "agency fb" , "sans-serif";"><b>At
synagogue on Friday nite, the rabbi spoke about Yom Kippur and the different
ways to look at repenta<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.com/" target="_blank">www.andbabymakes2.com</a>nce. He
essentially said he doesn’t look at it like that but rather, in another
interpretation as the Ultimate Day of Love: we go to the mikva, wear white,
fast, and “walk down the aisle”. These
are all symbols of a wedding, the ultimate day of love. We are trying to cleave
to our Maker and we want Him to cleave to us.
But, all you therapists out there, in order to have a healthy relationship
we need to know who we are. Only when we
know who we are can we expect to have a healthier relationship, so too, in the
rabbi’s speech with God.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoHeader">
<span style="font-family: "agency fb" , "sans-serif";"><b>So I say,
on this Eve of Yom Kippur. I need to
know who I am: I am a modern woman who lives in a very hot climate so I dress
for it. Who also only wears skirts, who doesn’t drive on Shabat or fast on 9Av.
I believe with all my being in Gd, in the Torah, in the Land of Israel and the
Jewish people. I believe that my sleeves
don’t define me but I love that my girls only wear skirts. I love that I daven in an egalitarian minyan
but have no need for it nor do I participate in it actively.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoHeader">
<span style="font-family: "agency fb" , "sans-serif";"><b>I believe
that I can fall in love with a mad black hatter even though I don’t want to
live that life…completely. I believe
that many have fallen in love with me but not enough to take a non-cookie
cutter woman as their wife.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoHeader">
<span style="font-family: "agency fb" , "sans-serif";"><b>So I
stand before God knowing who I am believing He knows who I am and that with His
help I will find the one who I know and accept and who knows and accepts me.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<b><br /></b>
<div class="MsoHeader">
<span style="font-family: "agency fb" , "sans-serif";"><b>Wishing
you all a gut gbencht yor a shana tova and a happy healthy new year.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-75334732964286227762016-07-03T04:22:00.003-07:002016-10-07T12:39:25.656-07:00The Confused (Wo)Man<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Confused (Wo)Man<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I had a very brief, I don’t know what to call it, with
someone. It was over before it
started. It is like a million other moments
I have had with other men. Except…this one is different.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something about me attracts them to me. The Confused Man. He was either born that way, became that way,
or is post trauma: dead wife or ex-wife at this stage of my life, but earlier,
it was much less defined. At twenty, and
then thirty, and then again at forty, most of the confused men who entered my
life hadn’t yet married. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a history with them.
I really thought after my last two plus year Confused Man that I had
finally rid myself…but no… apparently they find me, like birds migrating or
bees to honey. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other part of My Confused Men is that they confuse my
extra sturdy door with a revolving door.
They think that even though they’ve stomped on my heart it is perfectly
okay to come back for round two or three.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some don’t come back for more but stay in touch. My first ex-boyfriend, who became orthodox
because of me and is now chareidi, contacts me regularly. Thirty five years
later. He is a grandfather several times over.
He isn’t the only one but certainly the longest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back to the latest Confused Man: He and I didn’t understand
each other. He made assumptions about me
based on how I look, speak, and dress. I
too made those assumptions about him. It turns out we were both wrong. BUT, it only lasted a minute. He tried. I tried. I set a boundary, a hard limit, not to be
crossed. He didn’t like my terms. I
didn’t like what he was offering. I
saved myself, my self -respect and protected my heart from being broken. I also saved thousands on the shrink bill.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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The good news all the thousands I have already spent have
gone to good use. The bad news, here I
am, still alone, lonely and looking for you…Are you there?! Will we ever meet?<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-37337121710266620982016-07-03T04:22:00.001-07:002016-07-03T04:27:45.132-07:00The Confused (Wo)Man<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Confused (Wo)Man<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a very brief, I don’t know what to call it, with
someone. It was over before it
started. It is like a million other moments
I have had with other men. Except…this one is different.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something about me attracts them to me. The Confused Man. He was either born that way, became that way,
or is post trauma: dead wife or ex-wife at this stage of my life, but earlier,
it was much less defined. At twenty, and
then thirty, and then again at forty, most of the confused men who entered my
life hadn’t yet married. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a history with them.
I really thought after my last two plus year Confused Man that I had
finally rid myself…but no… apparently they find me, like birds migrating or
bees to honey. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other part of My Confused Men is that they confuse my
extra sturdy door with a revolving door.
They think that even though they’ve stomped on my heart it is perfectly
okay to come back for round two or three.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some don’t come back for more but stay in touch. My first ex-boyfriend, who became orthodox
because of me and is now chareidi, contacts me regularly. Thirty five years
later. He is a grandfather several times over.
He isn’t the only one but certainly the longest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back to the latest Confused Man: He and I didn’t understand
each other. He made assumptions about me
based on how I look, speak, and dress. I
too made those assumptions about him. It turns out we were both wrong. BUT, it only lasted a minute. He tried. I tried. I set a boundary, a hard limit, not to be
crossed. He didn’t like my terms. I
didn’t like what he was offering. I
saved myself, my self -respect and protected my heart from being broken. I also saved thousands on the shrink bill.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The good news all the thousands I have already spent have
gone to good use. The bad news, here I
am, still alone, lonely and looking for you…Are you there?! Will we ever meet?<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-15715309150078701392016-03-02T09:31:00.002-08:002016-03-02T09:31:51.356-08:00Petty Pity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a time which lasted pretty much from the time I was
about five until, well, now, where I loved to buy things. Not anything, but
fancy expensive designer things. My love
of all things fancy and expensive started under the care and tutelage of my
Gramma Jeanne and my favorite and much admired Auntie Susie. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most children, then and now, would climb on jungle gyms in
the park or slide down metal slides that would burn your tush on hot summer
days… The parks always smelled like weird metal. I hated that smell. I hated looking
up at the electric poles; I hated swinging,
sliding and climbing… <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gramma Jeanne would take me to the Saks children’s
department. It smelled nice and fancy. I
could slide winding banister or run down the wide winding staircase with
lavender carpet. I felt like That Girl or Doris Day singing Que sera sera (FUCK
I’m old!!!). It was magical and I felt
like a princess. I would run through the
racks of beautiful clothes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was older, I would go with my aunt to Neiman’s before
EVERYONE shopped there. Or to the Style Shoppe in Highland Park a kiddie
boutique… Again this is before everyone knew or could afford designer clothes.
I felt cool grownup and like a princess.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was older still, in high school, my aunt would give
me her Armani, Gucci and Sonia Rykiel hand me downs. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was older than that, and started working and then
married and living in New York, I was in the best fashion playground ever. Then I also had enough income to afford at
least some of it and usually on sale. It
made me feel good.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Petty I know. It is trivial, silly, truly unimportant and
meaningless. I remember buying my first
Cadillac and my first Prada bag as momentous occasions. Silly, I know, trivial
and possibly JAPy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned before the girls were born that I had too much…You
(Gila and Sarah G) are most likely rolling your eyes. But I liked what I had. Then I was packing to move back to Israel and
I saw how much I had and how meaningless it was and is.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fast forward March, 2016.
I haven’t bought designer anything for a long time. If anything I am throwing it out; its old, faded, frayed,
and torn. I feel like I’m throwing away
pieces of myself. I love my life, my
job, my children my friends. But
sometimes, especially lately, I am struck by the Sisyphus like existence I have;
laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning, folding packing picking up straightening
cooking, working and all over again. Constantly, every day, all day. With no
break. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was talking to a professor of mine yesterday and she made
the “kiss of death” statement. “Well I’m like a single mother, my husband is
always working.” REALLY!!!??? SERIOUSLY??!! Is he bringing a second salary? Is
he a shoulder? A comfort? A bedmate? A partner? I don’t have any of that and I
am really at my breaking point. <br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two years ago, at this time of year my dad and I had a heart
to heart. He told me that I don’t take
care of myself. I didn’t feel that
way. The shopper, manicured girl, who
prided herself on having spa-ed all over the country and in part of the world,
didn’t take care of herself? The world traveler? Season ticket holder to the
Bulls, White Sox, Kentuckey Derby? Lyric Opera? Chicago Symphony? Habima? How
could he say that? I was very happy and content. I still am but now I am ragged, exhausted and
lonely..terribly lonely. But so busy and tired.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel the same and yet terribly different.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It might be a phase.
It’s also the beginning of the end of the school year. I don’t know. I need a change.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought today how wonderful a day at Bergdorf’s could be.
Going shopping and then to the seventh floor restaurant and ordering an iceberg
salad with blue cheese dressing, an order of fries. New clothes, a
manicure/pedicure… and then I threw another load in the washing machine…<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-88536087772858739792016-01-14T20:10:00.004-08:002016-01-14T20:11:18.637-08:00The Best and The Worst<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
My daughter told me last night that I don’t smile a lot. I
was struck dumb because she is very funny and she and I laugh and giggle
together a lot. But as I reflected, I understood that we each have different
concepts of ‘a lot”. Because while we do giggle and laugh, I also direct, yell,
get annoyed, and generally rush around telling them to hurry, there’s no time
we need to go and you need to….. Whatever” it”<br />
is at the current moment. The laughter, while there, is generally
reserved for those wonderful fifteen minutes of quiet in the morning before all
the rushing and hurrying begins.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So as the mom, I need to get them moving and out the door.
Sometimes I succeed, at which point I breathe a deep sigh of relief and can go
back to being “fun and laughing mom” and other times I don’t either due to my
own exhaustion and don’t give a fuck attitude or theirs, in which case the “nasty
bitchy mom” is in full force. <br />
But why is it that these people who are the best of me often times get the
worst of me?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is rhetorical of course. I get why. But while I
understand it, I hate it. I hate that I get annoyed with them or yell at them.
I hate it equally when I have to ask seventeen thousand times the same thing
and get ignored. I fully comprehend the correlation between the two events. But
I strive to be better. I am not sure how
to do this. I apologize to them but I
feel even they know it’s empty to the extent that it will happen again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bad habits are hard to break. Bad habits are harder to break when we’re
under extreme pressure. I try. This blog
has become my confessional. I am not sure my kids will see it that way… I
certainly never saw it that way with my mom. I expected perfection. Most often
I received it. I am pretty sure my kids do not think they get perfection or
anywhere close to it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As lame as this cliché is, I think when they’re grown up and
have kids they will get it. But that’s nonsense. I want them to remember their
childhood and their mom as fun but strict a friend and a confidant but the
leader of the pack, in control and wise. I want to be someone who smiles and
laughs and can get everyone out the door on time with all their books, bags,
lunches, coats and in their seats by 8:00. I want my kids to have good
memories. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t want to just try my best I want to give my best to
the best of me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> <a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il</a></o:p></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-82384905208873611732015-09-21T10:20:00.002-07:002015-09-21T10:29:54.580-07:00The Day of Awe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">www.andbabymakes2.co.il</a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So it is here. Tomorrow. The day of days. The Big One. The
marathon of fasts. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Twenty five hours of fasting, praying, klopping, and if the
weather forecast is accurate, sweating. At least to and from shul. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yom kippur is one of my favorite days of the year. I know,
it is weird, but I love it. While I’m not a fan of the bike fest it has become,
at least here in tel aviv, I am a huge fan of the sanctity, the fasting,
praying and klopping. I also love that
even the non- fasters, prayers and kloppers, at least here, still respect and
at least to some extent appreciate the unique quality of the day. The number one pictures on facebook after yom
kippur are always of the שyalon or the Begin Highway being photographed empty. After all these years and ymei kippur in
Israel, I still tingle when I walk to shul for kol nidre and see so many people
in white, the streets empty and the stillness that ensues. Even with the bikers
there is a stillness and awesome quality to the day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I even love the pre yom kippur warm ups and drills; Those
who abstain completely from caffeine in the days leading up to the fast. Those
who partially abstain or don’t at all.
It is a true test of stamina and belief that so many of us fast. Today,
while chatting with a colleague, we were discussing the pre YK drills. How nervous the day makes us. In a split
second I realized we were looking at it from a skewed perspective. In that
split second I felt like the bride who is so wrapped up in the wedding that she
forgets to realize that she needs to be a wife. ( men too, just a figure of
speech). So many of us are so concerned with the preparation and surviving the
fast that we don’t spend enough time thinking about the DAY itself and the
MEANING.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who will live and who will die? Do many of us stop and think
about that? Do we all take it as a given that if we fast, pray and klop we’ll
make it through. Or maybe we don’t even really need to do that at all. Ive been told that I have a childish view of
Gd; Maybe I do. Maybe there is no direct correlation between action and
consequence. Maybe actions and what happens after said action have no
correlation whatsoever.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know. Personally, I believe they do but who is to
say I am right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I do know that I am thinking about the meaning of YK to me, to my family and
friends and to Klal Yisrael. I am
thinking about those that are still here and those that tragically aren’t here
this year. I am thinking about who I was
last year and if I am exactly the same or hopefully changed in some small way.
I am thinking about what I had hoped to accomplish in this last year where I
succeeded and where I failed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am thanking Hashem for my blessings. For my parents,
family and friends. For my amazing girls. For my health and theirs. For the zchut to live in Eretz Yisrael and be
part of the miracle. I am praying for the continued strength and willpower to
become a better person or at least a more patient tolerant one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So on this day before THE BIG YK 5776, while I am nervous
about fasting and the heat and being around my kids eating I am also trying to
keep the big picture in mind; the why we do it and what we hope to gain.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wishing each and every one of you a gmar chatima tova, an
easy fast, and most importantly a meaningful yom kippur.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
xo<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-73714619472619198922015-03-13T13:41:00.003-07:002015-03-13T13:42:27.511-07:00The Barrier<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">http:www.andbabymakes2.co.il</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember sitting at my grandfather’s shiva with my mom and
aunt, sometime in 1995, surrounded by friends and loved ones. Suddenly, I had a
horrible thought. It occurred to me, that the barrier had been diminished. I had never thought about it until that
moment, sitting on my parents’ living room couch, looking at my mom on her low
chair and my aunt being comforted by others that there even was a barrier. You
know what I’m talking about? That
BARRIER, the one that separates you and protects you from the END.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As kids we are
usually blessed with a thick barrier of four grandparents and two parents. As
we get older though, the barrier weakens.
Sitting on my mother’s taupe sofa that day, I suddenly realized that not
only did it exist but that in that moment of my grandfather’s passing it had
been weakened. It was a terrifying
thought.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many of you that know me know that since my kids were born
my parents come every year for around 5 months.
My friends (and my mom) have told me I don’t appreciate it enough. They
say I take it for granted. That isn’t
true. I have appreciated it and them and
the older I get the more I appreciate them and realize how blessed I have been.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mom usually comes a little before purim and is joined by
my dad a week or so before pesach. They usually stay through yom
haatzmaut. The routine, in the last five
years that has developed is that my mother tells everyone what to do and we do
it. My dad goes to the shuk daily, I go
to the supermarket and she organizes it all. That is not to say I am incapable
or unwilling to do it myself. I mean I
am a pretty independent person and manage quite well on my own, but it is nice
to have someone in charge other than me.
She makes the food, rearranges the cabinets and drawers and offers Helpful
Heloise tips. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every year my dad and I rent a car and drive to Bnei Brak
for a day of bonding in the non kitniyot grocery store. Arranging for the seder also is laden with routines; my mom polishes
the silver, I set the table and make the charoset; my pre-pesach chores since
childhood.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year my parents are not coming. I know my mom is going
to say I shouldn’t write this post because it makes her feel bad but I can’t help
it. I am devastated Mommy. I am so
afraid you will never be here again and that I will have to do it alone. At the same time, I think, having her here is
a pain in the ass. We annoy each other, get on each other’s nerves and if she
tells me one more time her “suggestion” I might scream. Yet still, I want her
here. For all the selfish reasons. I
want her here for me, and for the kids, and because even though I love my
friends and we’ve spent all these holidays together for years, it’s not quite
the same as your biological family.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been thinking lately about my aunts and uncles. The next row of the barrier. I spoke to my aunt today and while talking
about the family I just kept thinking back to all those Sunday dinners with all
of us; my family and hers, our grandparents and their siblings and I realized that, once the barrier breaks down
again, who will I share those memories with? My sister was too little too remember. My cousins might not either, they were pretty
small themselves. These memories, which
I never really think about but all of a sudden seem hugely important to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I look at myself in the mirror and lately I do NOT see a
girl, or a young woman . I see older;
much much older. I think of how young
people look at me and realize they think I’m old. I’m part of a different demographic. I keep thinking that in 25 years I will be
the same age as my mom and that my girls will only be thirty. Isn’t that too young to have such an old
mom? Then, of course, I think about the
(additional) disservice I’ve done them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t have some witty or pithy ending. I’m just really
sad. The circle of life is NOT always
pleasant or happy. I’m trying to take it
one day at a time but most days I wind up crying. For what was, for what isn’t and for what I
hope will not happen for a very long time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-3793497944785133722015-01-25T02:14:00.003-08:002015-01-25T02:25:14.385-08:00Rosa Parks or Go to the Back of the Bus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il</a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A lot of stuff happens in this little country of ours around
buses.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First they were the subject of great debate since many were “gifts”
of the German government as remuneration for the crimes and atrocities of the
Nazis.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then there was the endless social debate over the ability to
last an entire bus ride, in August, on a non –air conditioned bus amongst non- deodorized,
smoking Israelis amidst the “oh so odiferous scent “of diesel fuel. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, of course there were the horrors of the Intifada and
random buses being blown up with school children, soldiers, women and
grandparents just wanting to go about their daily life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Things had been fairly quiet surrounding our beloved public
transport system….and now, again.<br />
In all my many years in Israel, I have never
been fearful of the people in my midst.
Of course the harrowing sounds of the sirens all summer long were stress
inducing and havoc wreaking on one’s nerves. When walking down the street,
especially with my kids, I made sure to know where I could go if a siren
blasted, but I never actually feared for my life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I wasn’t in Israel during most of the Intifada, the
look that we all gave one another was of mutual fear, tension, and camaraderie.
I don’t recall looking at people suspiciously.
Maybe I was young and in that place and time I felt invincible. Maybe when
you aren’t a parent it is easier to still continue to get on the bus. Whatever the
reason, I didn’t suspect anyone who was with me of wanting to hurt me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my heyday, walking the streets of Tel Aviv, at all hours
of the night I was not ever suspicious or on alert. I have never felt at risk or insecure. <br />
Until now. Now I am. I am a public commuter. I take the bus daily,
in the mornings with my girls to gan and then to and from all the places I need
to be. I happen to love the bus. I like not having to deal with traffic,
parking, and the stress of not being on my phone. It is the only time during
the day that I can just be quiet with myself and one of the few occasions in my
life where I can depend on someone else to do the work. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since these random stabbings have begun, though, I am not
the relaxed and passive passenger. I am suspicious;
I look at the people surrounding me. I try to sit alone, or stand at a
distance. The other day, the day of the
most recent attack, not two kilometers from my house, a man got on the bus and
sat next to me. An Arab man. A working class Arab man. I got up. I moved
seats, to a row where I was alone. And I
felt guilty, bad, racist, and very un-politically correct. He turned around and looked at me, or rather,
glared at me. Then I felt guilty for
feeling guilty. I started to justify my action and to rationalize my behavior. I know my more moderate or non-Israeli friends
are probably rolling their eyes at me. “That Ellie, so right wing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe, or maybe
finally adult and responsible enough to realize that I have just this one life
and my children have just one mother. These random acts put everyone at risk
and under suspicion. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am sorry dear cousins for suspecting one of you even
though I know not all of you feel as these murderers do. I am sorry for
generalizing. I am sorry for doubting
you and your personal value systems. I
need to protect myself and my kids and my friends and family and countrymen. So
yes, I am going to get up and generalize and judge and continue to be
suspicious and racially profile, and I am going to sit at the back of the bus
if that is what it takes to feel safe…r.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-48576798357275423552014-11-29T12:59:00.002-08:002014-11-30T09:14:08.559-08:00Truths<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Truths<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a child, I, like most of you, assumed that when we grew
up we would get married, have a family and live happily ever after.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Along the way, most of us found out that Prince/Princess
Charming doesn’t exist nor does happily ever after. Most of us learned that if we can tolerate
our mates, accept their annoying habits, idiosyncrasies and still manage to
love them, laugh with them and grow old together that was good enough. That happiness ebbs and flows and mostly, we
are all trying to get through our lives surrounded by our loved ones, health,
maybe a little money, and some fun.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t think any of us, ever, thought that we’d grow up and
after having been disappointed enough times by love opt to have a child on our
own. I don’t think any of the gay men or
women who were kids in the 60’s 70’s or even possibly the 80’s imagined that
they would grow up, marry a partner of the same sex and have a woman, of third
world country origin, be a surrogate or an egg donor. I don’t think many of us who were kids then,
imagined a possibility where a male friend, often gay, could be in a
relationship of his own and yet, still be the father of our children.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fast forward 2014. Tel Aviv. Although it could be New York
or LA. I go to an orthodox
synagogue. Many of our members are
gay. Many of our gay members are
married. Many of our gay married members have children. We also have straight members, many of whom
are married and have kids. Some of the
members, like I, are single mothers. I
think I might be the only single mother of twins. Even in my shul I feel alone and lonely
though it is a very warm and welcoming place.
I joke that no matter where I go to shul there are couples everywhere
and no single straight men. It’s not a
very comforting joke…but I digress.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other day, many of us went to a simcha of a friend and a
member of our synagogue. The whiskey was
single malt, double digit years and very smooth. I had a little more than I should. Loose tongues and all. I began chatting with a man who I know casually
from synagogue. A gay married
father. Anyway, he said that had we met
some years before he would’ve liked to have had a child with me. It was meant as a compliment. It’s the first time this type of conversation
took place in my world. I responded with
a thank you but that I would not have wanted a partner unless it was a love
partner. He responded with surprise saying he had never heard a woman say that
before.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Truth. One assumes it
is universal and all-encompassing but in reality it is quite subjective. That is not to say that there aren’t
universal truths but this parenting thing has become so varied and so diverse
that pretty much anything is possible and anything goes…but not for me. I accept it and respect it in others but for
me, having a child on my own wasn’t a choice it was a must. I had no time left to wait so I did it. I have never given it a second thought…and
then last night, out of nowhere.<br />
<br />
My baby says to me” Ima why don’t I have an
abba?” and my heart breaks. When I ask
her why she wants an abba she tells me to carry her on his shoulders and I say
that I can. She points out that I can’t
do it all the way home. And I tell her that I want her to have an abba but a
really good one that theyre hard to find and I've been looking and will keep
looking.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I wonder…did I do it the wrong way? Did I do my kids a
disservice? Was I selfish?<br />
I don’t know.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-53479002853038311272014-09-11T12:10:00.002-07:002014-09-11T12:10:20.830-07:00Transitions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">My girls are finished with preschool. In less than a month they will begin
kindergarten, the beginning of their formal education. I am so taken with them; their growth, their
talents, beauty, intelligence, capabilities and individuality.<o:p></o:p></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">I keep reviewing these first five years; their formative years. Especially in light of what has gone on here this summer, when the idyllic lazy days have been filled with sirens, shelters and scary scenarios, in between bouts of swimming sunning and silliness.</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">I am filled with thoughts of all our beautiful boys whose lives were cut so short and what their mothers must have been thinking about them on the eve of their first day of kindergarten. I keep thinking about the families; what did they do or not do to raise sons with glowing attributes that we here and abroad have all read about. Good sons, polite sons, sons with values, morals, love of home and land. </a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">And I think: will I raise my girls well enough? will my values be instilled in them? will they do their homework, get good grades, be good students, kind caring considerate people? Will they have lots of friends and do well in their chosen activites, youth groups, army service and life partners?</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">Did those mothers think about these things as well?</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">I keep thinking about my own mother; the stories she used to make up for me, the way she always, til this day, makes me feel like I'm the only one in here world. I wonder what went through her mind on my first day of kindergarten.</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">If
I know my mom like I think I do, I would imagine pride, joy and happiness coupled
with the anxiety and bittersweet feeling that your child is growing up and
leaving home.</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">When I think back to that day, I'm pretty sure I can remember the pride I felt, all dressed up in a new dress and red patent leather mary janes, awaiting this exciting new transition.<br />The mom that was that little girl wishes that sense of pride, wonder, curiosity and joy to my girls.</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">I only hope that what Ive tried to do these last five years has been "good enough" and that it will work out the way we all envision it will.</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">http:www.andbabymakes2.co.il</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span class="msoIns"><ins cite="mailto:Ellie" datetime="2014-08-29T15:00"><br /></ins></span></div>
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singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-64736509901955551932014-02-05T10:57:00.001-08:002014-02-05T10:57:55.342-08:00Erin (Ellie) Brokovich<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many of you know the obstacle I faced when trying to obtain
US citizenship for my girls. At the
time, exactly four years ago, I excitedly dressed my infants, navigated the
diaper bags, stroller, car seats and paperwork, got into a cab with my mom
headed to the US embassy, and sure that an hour or so later my kids would get
what I assumed was their natural born right, dual citizenship. This was not to be that day in February 2010.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you want the story in all its humiliating detail, feel
free to google me and get the facts, the distortions, the pictures and the news
reels. Most of the time over the course of these last years I haven’t thought
about it. I have kids to raise, a job to do, a house to care for and a life to
lead. However, during this time we have travelled to the United States four
times and before each trip, when I pull out the passports and see one American
and three Israeli, the pang of pain returns.
When I try and decide which line to stand in for customs and passport
control in Chicago I think about it and when I think about telling all these
officials what I think and realize I’m travelling with foreigners I shut my
mouth. I remember that they are guests in the United States and as guests,
especially from this region; they are not so warmly welcomed. The pang of pain
returns. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been trying to figure out these last two days, since
I found out that my children will be getting their US citizenship, what about
it is so emotional for me. I don’t
consider myself to be a gung ho American. I don’t cry when I hear the national
anthem, I don’t see the fourth of July as more than a day to barbeque, hang
with friends and see fireworks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, it is part of my identity and it is very important
for me from a practical standpoint that they are citizens. The women I’ve talked to in the last four
years who are in a similar situation to mine have all told me their reasons why
it is important to them that their kids get citizenship, because to me, it is an
interesting question and I'm always curious. The answers
have been interesting, thought provoking, and valid. None of them match my reason. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is simple. Magiya
li. My very Israeli mentality that I deserve it is the very reason I want
them to be American. Yes I want them to be able to travel freely worldwide, and
have the option of going to university as residents and not foreigners, and the
ability to work without a special visa. But bottom line, what has bothered me
is that I have been singled out and discriminated against which are, at their
core, the essence of American values. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But still it doesn’t explain why I am so emotional about
it. I don’t know. I think part of it is
that although he never said it in words, my immigrant father has instilled in
me the idea that you can do, be and have anything. Isn’t that the American dream? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Years in the real estate business, attending seminars have
reinforced my drive and belief that if you wish it you can make it yours. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My childhood hero, Scarlett O’Hara standing on that hill
with her world burning down around her saying “I will never be hungry
again”…These are my core beliefs. I
already tell my girls that they can do and be anything they want. I truly believe it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was approached to go public with my story I didn’t
think about it too much. I didn’t
realize what was going to happen, that my phone would ring off the hook, that
CNN, FOX, NBC, and more would do stories on me.
When it started to take on a life of its own I stopped it. I then had a lawyer friend in NY offer to
write a letter to the ACLU. When that was declined she drafted a letter to
Hilary Clinton. I had little faith that
anything would happen imminenetly but I always believed the law would change before they
were 18 when all the advantages I mentioned above would become more relevant.
So it didn’t really matter…until we flew to America and again I had that
pang. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I found out the law
changed and I got an email from a government official saying this: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ellie,<br />
I did see that the law has changed and I thought of you immediately!! I am so
happy and I want to thank you for pushing the issue to the powers that be in
DC. I believe that if it hadn’t been for you, the law would have been
stuck behind the times for much much longer…..”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then I became emotional. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today, when the official said "Congratulations Shira and Maya
on becoming US citizens", I cried. It was very emotional. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I don’t know, maybe I’m more of a patriot than I thought.
At the end of the day the reason doesn’t matter. I am so happy and moved and
thrilled that their rights have been upheld and their freedom maintained. So Gd bless America.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-65123748366699325192014-01-16T11:34:00.001-08:002014-01-16T11:34:51.310-08:00singlehood to motherhood: The Ariks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://singlehoodtomotherhood.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-ariks.html?spref=bl">singlehood to motherhood: The Ariks</a>: Two giants of Israeli life died recently. Arik Einstein and Arik Sharon. Both of their deaths hit me hard. Arik Einstein’s death was qui...</div>singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-55004957370679792082014-01-16T11:32:00.001-08:002014-01-16T11:32:30.528-08:00The Ariks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two giants of Israeli life died recently. Arik Einstein and
Arik Sharon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Both of their deaths hit me hard. Arik Einstein’s death was
quite sudden whereas Sharon has been in a coma for the last eight years so it
was hardly unexpected. The actual loss
though, is making me very sad and teary.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An era is over.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While the miracle of the State of Israel is well known; the
almost overnight growth, wealth, international reputation in the hi -tech and
innovation markets, its personality, too, has changed. This is a fairly normal occurrence. Don’t
they say that famous people “overnight” become different? So it follows that the
personality of this tiny, unique and miraculous country has changed as
well. <br />
Not necessarily for the good, in my humble opinion, although I will not delve
into that discussion.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It isn’t lost on me that the Ariks were 75 and 85 years old
upon their demise, the same generation as my parents. Sharon was five years older than my dad. Lately, I am somewhat obsessed with my
parents’ immortality. No, it’s not a
typo. I am fully aware that my inability to acknowledge this eventuality is
problematic. Today I was with someone
who is only a few years older than I.
She mentioned that her mother died seven years ago and her dad this
year. I was amazed that she was still
coping and functioning. I think the time
has come to figure out how to separate.
These people are still my rocks and I simply cannot imagine life without
them in it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I have mentioned in previous posts, I do think that the
absence of a life partner makes the connection of parent and child seem
stronger. There is no other person to
help balance out the equation. But more than that, is my hope that my parents
will be around to enjoy my girls and that my girls will have the wonderful
magical addition of grandparents in their lives. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grandparents: Those wonderful people who spoil you and
cuddle you and sneak you treats even after your mom TELLS them not to. Grandparents: those warm cuddly older people
who take you to breakfast and let you eat the sugar from the bags and scoop
jelly out of the little container. This
is what I remember about my grandparents. No matter how much my mom and my
grandma would fight, my grandma would turn to jelly and smiley for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t my kids deserve this? Need this? Even without knowing
it, crave it? So I tell my mother in the midst of some rant about how she isn’t
feeling well ten more years. I don’t
tell it to my dad but in my heart and mind every day I pray for at least ten
more years. At least then the girls will have had their childhood with them and
will remember them. But in my heart of
hearts I know that it is completely selfish.
Maybe in ten more years I can finally accept the reality that my life
WILL go on without them no matter how difficult and sad that thought is. Shira, it’s the circle of life.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-31473458263471826032013-10-20T11:19:00.001-07:002013-10-20T11:19:16.346-07:00Reality<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I<strong> grew up to an Israeli father in the late
sixties and early seventies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although we
lived in Chicago, we came to Israel often.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My paternal grandparents and my entire father’s family still lived
here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A twenty year old Israel was very
much like a twenty year old person; rough around the edges, thinks they know
everything, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is still filling out and is
impatient to be considered an adult.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><strong>My grandparents’ home was (still is) in the
center of Tel Aviv.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since we usually
came in the summers and Tel Aviv weather at least hasn’t changed since then,
most days we went to the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
remember the walk, down Jabotinsky Street, which today is a major
thoroughfare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it was sand,
surrounded by three and four story apartment buildings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember the men selling artikim
(popsicles) and corn on the cob<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and
sabras on the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Growing up in the
States we had those little corn holders to put on the corn and butter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here it was into a paper bag with the steam
still rising and salt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><strong>The sabras were peeled and juicy and red and
smelled delicious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t look at one
now and not remember those days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
gorgeous men (at the time mostly straight) in Speedos <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>with their cigarettes<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>stuck into the back playing matkot, the women
in mini bikinis, the smell of bain de soleil oozing from their skin, the salty
air <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and the kids all running around
naked splashing in the water. It was a wonderful time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coming here was always a joy.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><strong>My father has two brothers and many
cousins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To this day I can’t keep track
of who is from which side of the family and which cousin is married to who and which
kids belong to which parents, even though many of them have over the years
become friends and in some cases, very close friends.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><strong>The one person I never was terribly fond of was
my uncle Uri, my father’s youngest brother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My uncle was in the paratroopers, at a time when Zahal was at its
pinnacle. He was the pride of the family and he represented the best of this
fledgling <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>country. Throughout my
childhood he would come to the US for business trips and always bring my male
cousins memorabilia from the army, model airplanes and…boy stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was the only girl at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t bring me anything.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><strong>When I finished high school and came to Israel,
he and I locked horns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He saw it as his
role to continue fathering in place of my dad who was 7000 miles away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I, needless to say, had other ideas in
mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought he was a pain in the
neck and rigid. He thought I was rebellious and spoiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It stayed that way until the early 2000’s
when I came to Israel in the middle of the Intifadah and volunteered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think he was blown away and finally saw
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His reality about me changed.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><strong>While he has never said anything to me
directly, it isn’t our way, having the kids on my own, was another reality
check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think he saw that I wasn’t a
spoiled fluff; the daughter of the brother who went to the “goldene medina”,
made yerida, had American children and had too much of everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think he saw my grit, my strength and my
will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think he appreciated that and me
for surviving and for doing it here because Uri is a true Zionist and loves
this country completely.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><strong>My uncle has never drank, smoked cigarettes,
done drugs or put any other bad substances in his body although he had a
penchant for wheat germ and alfalfa sprouts in the 70’s. He was running, eating
healthy and living a clean life before most people had any idea about it here
or in the US.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><strong>My uncle is dying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is shaking my reality to the core.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is shaking my entire family’s reality and
worst of all his own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has always
represented the classic Israeli soldier. Up there in the picture next to Yoni
Netanyahu at the Kotel, in my mind, is the picture of Uncle Uri, in all his
military glory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He hasn’t been in the
military in many years but it is the reality we all remember and this new
reality is unfathomable, cruel, ugly and degrading.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><strong>I only wish you comfort, ease and dignity in
the coming days.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
http://wwwandbabymakes2.co.il</strong><a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><strong>http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il</strong></a></div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-73017491466899229242013-09-14T11:57:00.004-07:002013-09-14T14:16:29.002-07:00Grow Up<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am getting close to a new decade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am at an age where I am a grown up. I should be able to
say I am responsible, solvent, and together. In many ways I am.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But like most of us, the minute the going gets tough I just
want my mommy…and daddy to hold me, tell me they love me, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and that it will be okay…crazy isn’t it? That
at my advancing age that is what comforts me, still. While I think that this is
fairly universal, I wonder if I was in a loving relationship would I feel<b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></b>differently. <b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The man I can’t seem to end things with permanently has been
back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I keep asking myself, and my
friends and family keep asking me, why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Never have I had an on again off again relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With me things are pretty black and white.
Why has everything <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>been grey?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have thought about it, off and on for a while now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finally figured it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is kind and doesn’t judge and amazingly
accepts me as I am which is not easy to do. It turns out that I am a difficult
person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am short tempered, impatient,
and moody.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am judgmental and tell it
like it is. And he still keeps coming back, which makes me wonder about his
mental stability but since this blog is all about me, well, let’s talk about
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He is even tempered, almost always cheerful, mostly
consistent and never yells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My complete
opposite. But recently I found out that he really does judge, omits the truth,
yeses people to avoid saying it like it is and is possibly hiding the fact that
his children don’t like me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In most ways we are polar opposites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has a very hands off “management style”
while I have a very hands on, almost micromanaging style.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then again, my kids are almost four and his
are approaching their 20’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What makes us good parents? Is there a formula, recipe, or
secret ingredient for confident, productive mentally healthy and stable
children? Does the dad who never yells get better results than the mom who
does? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wonder what it is that keeps drawing us back to each
other. Now that we have arrived at our fifth and final breakup ( I received email
confirmation) I think that it is my apparent craving for a complete family,
which even in 2013, at least to me, still means man, woman and children. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am so blessed to
have my girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As my cousin Sarit always
points out I got them at the 12<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I am simply a product of my generation
that is never completely satisfied with what I have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have friends with one child who are
desperately trying for a second and I got two in one shot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">However, I have never ever believed that my kids
were a husband/boyfriend replacement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The minute your kids are delivered they are already on their way out….of
your house. They are not meant to stay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A partner, on the other hand, is. If you’ve read my recent
posts, then you know my ex is a widower with three children. Teen children. I
never really spent much time thinking about them beyond being “his kids”. My
girlfriend who is the product of a “broken home” tells me I should’ve done more
to befriend them<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I reflect back I
realized that I did what I could but it was regularly stonewalled by their dad…er
..My Man. He lives in two separate worlds. It was either he and them or he and
I let myself believe, me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rarely did the
two meet. When I mentioned it he got defensive or yesed me . <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t really think through the blood vs.
water argument enough in this case.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
the last two months, when I think the ups and downs of this relationship were
made and broken I realized so many things. He is NEVER going to put me first…or
second…or even third.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Spending shabatot together, on his turf, I saw little
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly that I wasn’t much more
than air. The conversations rarely included me. His kids were polite as in
hello, please, thank you and good bye. Not much more than that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He never once saw or took my side. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I moved to his turf for the summer based on a
promise the turned into a false premise. One minute I was Carol to his Mike Brady and
the next we were Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I’m back to where I’ve been and still have trouble accepting:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you shut it down
before it starts because you’ve read the signs and you’re in your fourth decade
and have been there done that? OR do you try; give it a chance, and hope
against hope…. And then get your heart broken.. Again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For what? Believing? Believing him? Should I believe in “Love
can prevail?” even though love does NOT make a relationship work? Should I ignore
the wisdoms of life lessons? Hasn’t all that therapy paid off yet? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here I am back at ground zero.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I feel like an idiot. I don’t feel like “I took a chance and
oh well it didn’t work out”. How can I bounce back AGAIN and try? Isn’t there a
point where you just say to yourself “I’m not good at this”? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">NO.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wishing you a shana tova, with love, laughter, beauty,
health and to enjoy it with the loves in your life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">www.andbabymakes2.co.il</a></div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-87391012372824821802013-06-04T11:07:00.001-07:002013-06-04T11:07:18.680-07:00singlehood to motherhood: Let My People Go<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://singlehoodtomotherhood.blogspot.com/2013/06/let-my-people-go.html?spref=bl">singlehood to motherhood: Let My People Go</a>: Let My People Go My whole life I have lived in big cities. I’m one of those people who knows about three kinds of animals: dogs, ...</div>singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-8192861747980011742013-06-04T11:02:00.001-07:002013-06-04T11:50:57.895-07:00Let My People Go<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Let My People Go</h2>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>My whole life I have lived in big cities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m one of those people who knows about three
kinds of animals: dogs, cats and pigeons. I used to say I like to see nature while
driving by at 100 kph.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Today
I’m a little older and possibly a little slower, but I enjoy nature slightly
more and I generally do "stop and smell the flowers" mostly because
the two little people I live with want to smell, touch, look, enjoy, and ask
"ma ze?(what is this) about 500 times in a 30 second span. I appreciate
and marvel at their curiosity and therefore enjoy it more. <o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>As
you probably know by now, I live in Tel Aviv which in terms of cities is
similar to Manhattan. Until now I’ve said that Tel Aviv is Manhattan but more
Zionistic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It pains me greatly to say I
no longer believe this to be the case. <o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Tel
Aviv has always been the most modern and diverse of Israeli cities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is what makes it wonderful. However,
there are two sides to everything and in the last few months I have realized
that these things might make my continued residence here untenable. If I was
alone, some of these factors would never have even made an appearance on my
radar but I am no longer a sole operator and my kids' upbringing and education
is of utmost importance to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>How
do I want to raise my kids? What values do I want to instill in them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me, the most important thing is a Jewish
education.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For diaspora Jews who care
about these things, either a Jewish day school or an afterschool/Sunday school
program fulfills these needs. So too, Jewish summer camps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But here, in Israel, as ironic to those of
you residing outside of Herzl’s dream land, this in NOT a given. While I love
Tel Aviv for its diversity it is also what bothers me the most about it.
Shouldn’t it be a given that living in a Jewish state, which based on the
number of non- Jewish moms in my mommy groups is no longer a given either, they
would automatically receive this? Sadly, heartbreakingly, no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While my rather militant view of
intermarriage has lessened to a certain degree, shouldn’t this still be
predominantly a Jewish state? With Jewish values?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in the university yesterday and I saw a
sign for a discussion on the place of the Rabbinate in Israel...SERIOUSLY???!!!
Where else is there a place for the rabbinate if NOT in Israel?<br />
Haven’t we fought, struggled, died for, been tortured, murdered and
discriminated against enough that at least in one place in the world throughout
there is room for us and our beliefs? <o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>So
it got me thinking. How do I want to raise my kids? In what type of environment
do I want them to live? I myself am a study in contradiction. As a single
person, I can live with my inner struggles which most of the time were cool, to
my former way of thinking, but now I see that it may not have been to my
advantage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I certainly do not dress like
an observant person and my family structure is certainly one that would, at the
very least, raise eyebrows in certain segments of the community. It is clear to
me that a part of our population would view me as not observant because of
that. But I don’t want my girls to live on the fence the way I have. I want
them to be on a team. It is something that I didn’t have and it isn’t easy to
ride the fence. I struggle and I am stuck.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>So
as much as I love the diversity, freedom and openness I dislike the lack of
Zionism and Judaism. It has become just like Manhattan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the other hand, I want to be in a
homogenous community even less, although<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if that isn’t best for my kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></strong></span></span><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>The
bottom line is it is up to me to instill the values, the beliefs and the love
of Torah, Judaism and Eretz Yisrael so I am staying here, in Tel Aviv, the White City on the Sea. I hope I am doing the right thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just another thing to worry and lose sleep
over.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="HE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">www.andbabymakes2.co.il</span></a> </o:p></span></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-72992409505745854262013-01-16T13:15:00.001-08:002013-01-16T13:15:02.219-08:00singlehood to motherhood: I Know<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://singlehoodtomotherhood.blogspot.com/2013/01/i-know.html?spref=bl">singlehood to motherhood: I Know</a>: andbabymakes2.co.il I just broke up with the man I had been seeing for the last six months. Like most of the break ups I have had, ...</div>singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-57470787315646370782013-01-16T13:12:00.001-08:002013-01-16T13:12:12.482-08:00I Know<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="text_exposed_show">
<a href="http://andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">andbabymakes2.co.il</a></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I just broke up with the man I had been seeing for the last
six months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like most of the break ups I
have had, I will tell you that I don’t know why, but of course, I have
speculated about the reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the
most part, the men are, insert your own “diagnosis” here…unavailable,
commitment- phobes, workaholics, just not that into me etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you relate?<br />
Most women I know will tell you variations on the same saga: at the beginning
they were angels, caring, loving, attentive, SO into them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At some point, most of us will say, it
changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day they were darlings and
the next they disappeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of us
will also tell you that it usually corresponded to the woman asking for,
expecting, suggesting, gently nudging or even demanding….dare I speak of it out
loud…MORE. And then he was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ABOUT???!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I finally met someone who I thought was different; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
widow, with no annoying ex -wife lurking, a single dad, committed, and
hardworking. Someone who pursued me relentlessly for three months and put up
with my kids, my schedule, and my not so pleasant late afternoon demeanor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The minute I suggested more…out the door he went without
even a goodbye. I mean REALLY? SERIOUSLY? At 50 years old?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isn’t there a statute of limitations for bad
adolescent immature behavior? Did 20 + years of marriage teach him nothing?
THIS is how he communicates? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I stay in this zone, then I can say it is good that it
ended. Who needs that? I deserve more and better. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not like I haven’t ever been in a failed
relationship before, clearly I have, and we all have. It is sad, disappointing,
self-diminishing (at least for me) and a blow to the ego. But I have never had
a relationship with children, and without a doubt it’s more complicated…..
Interrupted phone calls, babysitter snafus, unsatisfied sex due to little
people barge ins… this is all new to me. But I am basically an optimist and
shockingly for those who know me, a romantic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I do believe in fairy tales.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
had a fairy book romance with my ex-husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Obviously, we didn’t live happily ever after, but for me, that doesn’t
mean that the fairy tale was less real or special or romantic or heartfelt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This man is the first I have been completely at ease with
and entirely myself and I really believed he wasn’t one of “those”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In order to move on,
we evolved therapized women know we need to find the “good” in order to “get
closure”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This break up is new so I’m
still sorting through its demise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
here is what I do know: when a man isn’t willing to sacrifice for you and the
relationship then you shouldn’t either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If he woos you to get you he should want to woo you to keep you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he says he loves you but isn’t around
enough to show you that he does then how much does he really love you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If everything comes before you then how much
does he really want you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you ask him
what he wants after six months of being together and he says he doesn’t know
and offers no solution or compromise then he doesn’t want you enough. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then you talk to your mom and your girlfriends and maybe
even your shrink and they give you the platitudes…oh how I love the platitudes…
<br />
The timing just wasn’t right, he just isn’t capable, he is passive aggressive,
but bottom line, if a guy is into you he will likely go to the ends of the
earth, or at least the end of the block, for you. These are my core beliefs on
the subject and I am not willing to compromise for an “I don’t know”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But… I’m lonely and bored and sexually, well, ..y’know… and
I miss having a companion, friend and lover. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So here is my question, can you let go of your own “what I
know” for his “I don’t know” because you get SOME of what you want? Is that
enough? For me? For my kids? I DON’T KNOW.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So even though I have considered picking up the phone to
call, at the end of the day I’m not sure what to say. Or even if I figure it
out, how long will it last? Because very soon after the reunion, assuming there
is one, won’t the same things that bothered me before still bother me? Won’t I
still be annoyed when he tells me yet again that he can’t make it here for my
birthday, a good friend’s party, a shabat? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Doesn’t he need to know before we can proceed
to…well, anywhere?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If someone tells you I don’t know and they still don’t know
when you finally talk then what is left?<br />
So I don’t call. I write this blog, or I catch up on my latest tv show episodes
or talk on the phone. I wonder though…What are you thinking? Do you miss me?
Why haven’t you called? Are you really so scared? Or are you just not that into
me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-81958941298577369412012-12-10T11:18:00.003-08:002012-12-10T11:19:21.106-08:00Whistle while you Work<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Whistle while you Work<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Since the girls were born, I have revolved my life around
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is to say, I have essentially
worked very limitedly in order to spend most of my time with them. In short,
the freedom I have had, upon checking my bank balance, is that the time to go
back to work full time has arrived.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>I am very lucky that I have been able to do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In retrospect, this might not have been the
right move financially, but as a mother, and particularly an old(er) mother, it
was important to me to invest the time and resources in them. <o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>But now, I need to return to the full time work force. This
topic is universal. Most mothers today, single or in a relationship need to
work. Having said that, until you make the transition yourself, it is just
words, platitudes, and you really cannot empathize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When my kids say to me which babysitter is
picking us up today, I feel a piece of my heart shatter. They seem to like the
babysitters and they even told me last night that they wanted Naama (one of the
sitters) to come and bathe them and not mommy. So it is a relief that they like
the sitters. But…I wonder if all the night time “bed warming” of late has to do
with my absence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I assume that it does
but…maybe not?<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>We mothers seem to absorb the ills of the world upon our
shoulders…at least I do. Everything that happens to them is because of
something I did, or more likely didn’t do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While it makes me appear to be a caring, involved attentive mother, as
the grown daughter of a mother who still does this, I find it annoying at best
and most days completely maddening. I tell my mom regularly that the world does
not revolve around her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is ironic,
for those of you that know her, since she is a giving and caring person. But I
think when your kids are little you are the focal point of their lives and feelings
of responsibility<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>for everything that
happens to them is a hard habit to break. Their dependence on you and your
connection to their loves and losses goes down exponentially as they get older.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe this sense of guilt or responsibility
we moms carry with us, is why we children always blame our parents or more
often, our mom.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>I wonder. In a few years from now, I will stop being the
center of their universe. Will it feel better to leave them then? The truth is,
according to many of my mom friends, I go out “a lot”. I do work two evenings a
week and have since they’re small.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
the last year, I have added a play date to one of my work evenings. That is to
say, after work is over, I generally meet a friend, for an hour or so before I
go home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not feel bad or guilty
about this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need it and there are days
I even crave it. <br />
The milestones of crawling, walking, and talking are over but sometimes I still
feel that I am missing out. The other day, we were at the park. I noticed how
they now use the “big girl” swings exclusively. How they climb up the slide
with greater speed and confidence. They slide faster, swing higher and spin
seamlessly. I marvel at their new found independence and feel bittersweet
pride; thrilled for them and their growth and sadness that I wasn’t there when
they acquired these skills.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Likewise, our bedtime
routine has advanced. The songs and TV shows have evolved. However, the
feelings of joy, serenity, and tranquility aren’t. That half hour before they
go to sleep is sacred and while I now have to work several evenings a week, and
miss it, the nights that I am home have become that much more special and
important to me, and I think (hope?) for them as well.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">www.andbabymakes2.co.il</a></div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-13692037974168114482012-11-15T21:00:00.001-08:002012-11-15T21:01:38.950-08:00Who's yo Daddy?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
theme the last couple of weeks in our house has been abba (daddy).<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">While
I have prepared myself endlessly for the question "why don’t we have an
abba" or “where is our abba"? I was completely unprepared for the
statement, "My abba is…..”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
had no idea how to respond and so I did the next best thing, I completely
ignored it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day, I took out our book about the different
kinds of families and read it to them and talked with them about who is in our
family and who is in their friends' families, even though I was pretty sure
this was not what they were asking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Since a statement was made, I presumed, it was clear to my little girl
that she has one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t inquire as
to his whereabouts he or his identity. In her mind he exists. Not that I know
what that actually means. I am guessing he exists in a vague story book way,
since at gan (nursery school) and at home all the books have a mommy and a
daddy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several days later a male friend of mine was
over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She kept coming over and asking to
sit on his lap. Instead of listening to him I was watching my little girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was looking at his face and his
chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could just tell that had she
been less shy she would’ve reached out and touched him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another male friend told me that my baby
keeps asking him about his chest hairs and why he has them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When
I was a little girl, I remember sitting with my dad on Fridays in the bathroom
watching him get ready for shul (synagogue). I remember being fascinated with
watching him shave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was part of our
pre-shabat ritual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also recall
watching my grandfather shave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, when
we are in America, or when my dad is here, I invite the girls to sit with him
and watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
have recently been forced to contemplate who isn’t in our family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the last few weeks a lack of male presence
is definitely noticeable. I guess it is true, that a mother (father too?!) can
feel their children's pain or in this case non-verbalized question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has made me confront a self-declared uncle
and tell him he needs to continue his commitment to my kids, even if it is 10
minutes a month. They need it, want it, and deserve it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So maybe these men are friends and they will
never be an abba replacement but some male presence is necessary even
mandatory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not to say that
children who grow up with no males whatsoever are not emotionally stable or
successful people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I'm beginning to
see and not just philosophize how important it really is and to understand far
better the choice to not have kids if a male figure isn’t present. Or women who
choose to have a child with a gay man. I don’t regret my very conscious choice
to do it on my own. These other options weren’t suitable for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Frankly, having had a difficult relationship with my own dad as a child, </span>I never gave too much thought to the value of
the male figure, and so, absent a love partner, I
didn’t want a business partner.</span></span></div>
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<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Kids
do need a mother and a father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is
not to say they can't manage without one or the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kids are adaptable…everyone says that. But
lately, I look at other kids who are with their dads or with both parents and I
wonder if my girls are suffering and what the long term implications are for a
dad-less existence? Is it like taking the highway or surface
streets; you never know which way is faster if you can't drive them
simultaneously?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> I don't never really know
how this has impacted them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As a child, my dad was my least favorite person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a forty plus woman, he is my hero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dad, even at his worst, always took care
of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was always committed to our
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has always been there for me
although not in that “Father knows Best”, “Brady Bunch” or Dr. Huxtable
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His child rearing methods lacked
warmth and sensitivity in the best of times.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But
as a grown woman, my dad rocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has
stepped outside his comfort zone to provide support, love and assistance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has spent extended periods of time here,
in Israel, out of love for his daughter and granddaughters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
am dating a widower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He too is a dad who
rocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While some of his parenting
methods are outside my scope and do not mesh with what I “assume” I will do
when my kids are teenagers, his commitment to and love for his children is
clear. He is there for them and I guess that is all any of us can really provide.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When
I see these men in my life, I feel sad that my girls don’t have a daddy to provide them with this perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am sad that my girls won’t have a man to walk to shul with on Friday
nights, down the alley, holding pinkys like I did with my dad.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
try to be the best mom I can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no
matter how hard I try to fill that void, I know I can never fill it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot be what I am not. It will just have
to do. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p><a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">www.andbabymakes2.co.il</a></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383866325287583496.post-24864143640484653162012-09-23T02:37:00.000-07:002012-09-23T02:37:01.941-07:00Blessings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.andbabymakes2.co.il/" target="_blank">www.andbabymakes2.co.il</a>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My girls and I spent three glorious weeks in the US this summer with our
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aside from the shopping, going
to the United States is wonderful because while my parents are here for an
extended period each year, going to the States gives my girls the added
benefits of spending time with their aunts, uncles, and cousins; using their
English 24/7; visiting places that I went to as a child and of course, the
seemingly endless supply of love, hugs, treats and the presence (and presents)
from their grandparents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">While there, we spent five days at the beach with my sister and her
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Friday night, before Kiddush
(blessing of the wine), my brother in law, as is his habit, blessed his
children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never paid much attention
before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my childhood home, my
father's custom was to bless us only before Yom Kippur and while I do include
them in my blessings when I light my Shabbat candles, I don’t actually put my
hands on their heads and say a special blessing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For those of you unfamiliar with the
blessing, it basically asks Gd to make them like the four matriarchs; Sarah,
Rivka, Rachel and Leah. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you have been reading my blog
for a while, or if you actually know me, then you can attest to my
"zagginess" In other words, when everyone zigs, I zag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not in a rebellious way, but with my very own
"Ellie twist".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So while I do
think the four mothers have many traits that I would like my girls to have, I
can't help but add my own values into the mix.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today at gan (nursery school) the teacher told me that Shira, my eldest,
can take care of herself and that I did an amazing job instilling independence
and the ability to know her own mind in her (and Maya).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took the compliment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it got me thinking. I too am an eldest
child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it is part of the burden we
first born carry; survival, independence, strong wills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These, in my opinion are important
qualities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, as I get older, and look
back on my life, I'm not sure that these qualities have always served me
well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have an incredibly difficult time
showing vulnerability; how sensitive I am, how hard life can be, and how it
would be so nice to have someone to lean on, to give me a hug and show
support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not always to have others
assume that I'm fine, capable, competent, "amazing".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the last three years I have
heard my own accolades sung so many times. "Two kids on your own",
"you made a holiday meal for 12 AND you have two kids on your own",
"I barely get through the day with one and a husband and you have two kids
on your own". I do all that, yes… but I am a mom with two kids on my own.
And it is HARD and lonely and sometimes scary and overwhelming and wrought with
decisions that may or may not be the right ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While it is nice to not have to check in with
someone all the time, sometimes it would be nice to have to check in with
someone. It would be nice for my kids to have more balance in the value system
they are taught. So as we come closer to the Day of Judgement, this is the
blessing I wish you angel girls:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My dearests Shira and Maya, I wish you strength and the ability to
achieve anything and everything you want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That you have the humility, courage and modesty of our Four Mothers,
that you learn independence and survival from your mother but that you also are
able to show your sensitive sides, your vulnerabilities and yes, sometimes your
neediness. That you are competent and can take care of yourselves but sometimes
it is nice to be taken care of. Learn how to let people see that side of your
personalities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wish you both health, joy, peace of mind, and that you continue to
grow into the most beautiful, amazing, smart girls that I have been lucky
enough to have and to raise. I love you always and forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wishing you (and all of you) a gmar chatima tova.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May you be inscribed in the book of life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
singlehood to motherhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03948904816270807587noreply@blogger.com0