The strange things in life, such as, not talking to Jews during lunch break, voting for Ann Coulter and more...

• Calling a business associate in Texas and getting a response through a secretary, "I don't talk to Jews during lunch break. Call back later." The humorless secretary was mortified. Poor thing.
• Wondering if these people are for real. No, not Ann Coulter, but those who find it necessary to actually say she's crazy instead of assuming, the way I do, that everyone already knows.
• Having a toddler at home who loves to scream "Oh my gosh" before the most random statements. Only for the last week of this lovely month of June it's been, "Oh my gosh, it's raining." Every morning.
• Driving alone with the windows down and listening to the radio on full volume. Pure summer fun, until you discover that one of the last decent music stations has been pulled off the air for lewdity and everyone else is playing Paris Hilton's muzak. The irony.
• Reading about the unidentifiable junk people get for their wedding gifts on Slate and laughing uncontrollably, because not only did I get a gerunkensplunk, but it was broken. The perplexed groom and I ended up settling on two possible choice, either a water filter (this was in the pre-copipod age) or a miniature Tower of Piza model that doubles as a hat stand with wires to charge a cell phone.
• Attending a wedding so boring that the only thing more exciting than the fact that they had an open bar was that noone else was using it.
  
• Reading about Jameel's midnight adventure at the grave of Yehoshua ben Nun and remembering my midnight adventure sneaking into Beit Lechem at the start of the intifada. Back then I was more thrown off by the christmas decorations everywhere than the fact that if my car had been stopped by PA police, I would have been out of Israeli jurisdiction and at their mercy. Stupid American!
• Having a late Saturday night visitor (after a long and busy shabbos) look around my apartment and say, "I'm so glad to see you're not a neat freak." Sure thing, sherlock.
  
• Telling my grandfather about all my "accomplishments" in school and at work, but only seeing his eyes light up when I tell him that I painted the walls of my corridor and kitchen by myself. The things a girl can do to make her old man proud.
  
• Justifying not talking about yesterday's attack in Israel by saying I'm not a news source for anyone. But neither is he, nor he, nor she, and yet they have the guts to put their thoughts into words. Well, my gut is too wrenched to speak, so I'll let the other do it for me.
• Finishing a great novel and thinking, "I should write a book", because what could be better than really moving people. But then, what in the world would I write about?
• Discovering that the second most powerful 2 words, "I'm sorry," can fend off the most powerful 2 words, "You're fired".

With that I end this Monday morning edition of "The strange things in life". Please feel free to add your own take on this phenomenon, because let's face it, it's only getting stranger.

My computer and me: a psychoanalysis of a deeply wired relationship

Consider this: At work my desk has two computers, a PC and a Sun, between which I shuffle all day and where I do all my work. At home I've got a desk top and a laptop where I do most of my play, email, surfing, blogging etc. I don't own a TV or DVD player- the occasional movie we download and watch on our widescreen laptop monitor. I don't own a photo album- all my pictures for the last 5 years have been saved on my harddrive (backed up on CD, don't worry) so they're only visible on the computer. I own a pretty impressive amplifier and multi-disc changer, but haven't touched it since I got an iPod because it's so much easier to just plug it into iTunes and play on these measly speakers. I don't get any newspaper or news magazines mailed to my house because I see no point in paying for hard copy subscriptions when everything is available online. Even the phone in my house gets little attention because so many people have skype. In short, I am chained to technology, completely dependent on the computer in almost all aspects of my life. This isn't some science fiction nightmare where machines take over humanity and enslave their users; this is the everyday life of an average American. As much as I believe that technology enhances life in immeasurable ways, it's also beginning to get to me. Like any addiction, you want it, you need, but you hate it for not letting you live without it. I'm at the point where I want to rip out the guts of my CPU and turn it into a handsome rectangular flower pot, maybe plant a Chinese tree in it. Then I want to use my laptop as a trivet for my crockpot, because lord knows I make a good chulent and what would suit it better than a thousand dollar trivet to place it on. I don't care what becomes of my computers, I just can't bear the thought of likely spending the rest of my life in front of these blasted machines. Maybe going camping for a few days in a no wi-fi zone would cure me. Oh, and of course, the mandatory vacation... Shabbos. TGIF!

Miss Yerushalayim - what a babe

Miss Yerushalayim

That's actually my sister, who I dressed for Purim and photoshopped onto Jerusalem stone. I wrapped her in the flag of Yerushalayim and painted her (now blurry) face blue and white. The poor girl got into trouble at her school chagiga for dressing up in a questionably Zionist costume, but nothing compares to how much trouble I almost got into for getting the flag in the first place.

I spent a year in an Israeli seminary. Needless to say my ultra-orthodox school did not celebrate or partake in any Zionist events. We even had a written policy that forbade students from attending rallies, demonstrations or the like. The girls who listened to these rules went through the year as though they were in a sunnier Brooklyn; but I wanted an authentic Israeli experience, so I took my chances.

Yom Yerushalayim eve, a friend and I slipped out of the dorm and headed to central Yerushalayim. We marched all night with this very flag on my shoulders, stopping often to sing and dance (Ezzie has more on the march) . The achdus, the feeling of togetherness and peace and faith in being a people, was palpable. Finally reaching the Kotel at dawn was such a climax, such a height of inspiration, that it's difficult to express in words. My friend and I had to steal back to the school dorm before anyone noticed that we had been gone all night.

Back at school I couldn't tell anyone where I'd been, but I secretly reveled in the knowledge that the Jewish people are as strong as ever, as inspired as ever and still connected in a real way to Hashem who performs great miracles for us. That flag of Yerushalayim lay secretly tucked away with my luggage for the rest of the year. When I got home I wanted to fly it from my rooftop for the world to see just how good I felt about being a Jew. That wasn't practical, so instead I waited until Purim and wrapped my unknowing little sister in it. Ironically, this Yom Yerushalayim she is the one in Israel attending Seminary. I hope to speak to her tomorrow and hear that she too stole away to be part of the greater Jewish experience.

See also: Tsanchanim Bakotel.

"Lo I'm Haaretz Chassid" Part II

A comment on my last post:

I realize this post came out terribly unclear! I meant to write about how women can be very uninvolved in Torah but at the same time spiritually dedicated, and nothing more is asked from them. I know I'm not making this situation up--it's everywhere. Think about the fact that there is no s'char limud Torah for women. It's encouraged only for commandments that apply. In other words, "lo am haaretz chassid", a man who is an ignoramus cannot be a chassid (righteous)--there is no way he can fulfill his purpose as a good Jew without learning and knowing. A woman, on the other hand, can be the exemplary Rebbetzin with only second hand knowledge from men on only applicable issues, i.e. kashrus, taharas hamishpacha, tznius, etc.

That's the issue I wanted to bring up and discuss, using myself and my husband only as an example. Instead I got so carried away expounding on my husband's virtues that I left the main point for the last paragraph! I guess that makes me a good wife, but a terrible writer! :) In any event, I hope this comment clears things up and you don't view the post a biographical piece with a little philosophy at the end. View it as social commentary with a little biographical information thrown in to serve as example.

Waiting to hear from you...

Comment here.

"Lo I'm Haaretz Chassid"

I'd like to introduce my dear husband, Talmid Chacham GED. As you may have surmised from his pseudonym, he is my perfect compliment. Between my am haratzus, his scholarship in Torah, his detachment from the shtusim of the world and my extpertise therewith, we make a very well rounded and happy couple, b"H.

I met my dear husband (DH) shortly after my 20th birthday and agreed to marry him within a week and a half of our first date. This surprised me as much as anyone else, especially since I'd never considered myself the marrying-young type. I had only recently gotten back from seminary, had just begun college, and was full of many grand plans which included marriage, but only as a by the way. (Side point: many frum girls would rather not get married as young as they do, but do so only because they're afraid they'll miss the boat if they wait.) This changed as soon as I met DH and suddenly my close to half a year engagement seemed like an eternity.

My friends, who were all single, treated me as the go-to-girl for dating and marriage advice, as I seemed to have gone through the process so effortlessly. The thing that amazed them the most was that I had no qualms about marrying a guy who was so much more religious than me. Indeed, I married DH knowing full well that he is light years ahead of me in both observance and Torah knowledge. I didn't know much, but I knew that these were things to value and respect (and I also hoped to pick something up by osmosis).

The truth is that on a superficial level, we're both fully observant chabadniks who went through yeshiva and live the same lifestyle, etc... But in fact, it's quite possible to be very different while sharing the same labels. I went through high school going to movies, listening to Pearl Jam, reading Cosmo and just generally goofing off. Seminary was my first exposure to learning chassidus, where I did get involved, but since I felt it was an externally induced situation, it didn't turn my life around . Don't get me wrong, I was a thoughtful, well behaved teen; but looking back I realize that I did not internalize Judaism beyond the mandatory good behavior.

My husband, on the other hand, spent his days learning Torah. This would be a good time to explain the GED addendum to DH's name. Unlike my PhD, which is just a gimmick, DH's GED is real. Although he attended an excellent yeshiva high school that offered both Jewish and secular studies, my DH considered it bittul Torah to attend any afternoon classes, so he sat them out in the bies medrash and learned. Surprisingly his rebbi's did not discourage it, so it was only in his 20's when it was time to think about earning a livelihood that DH got a diploma equivalence. Till this day, though he works full time, DH spends every free minute with a sefer (or chazarra mp3). [correction: I'm afraid this was unclear-- DH got a GED, semicha and then went on to finish grad school, so he's a professional, not a kollel guy.]

When I was still a newlywed, my father told me something that made me bitter at the time but was otherwise good advice. He said, if you want to have something to talk about with your husband besides what's for dinner and the weather, you'd better start learning. I think he meant it both as a compliment to DH for being so engrossed in Torah and point out that I should take a more active role in being Jewish. Don't worry, it's been years and though I'm still an am haaretz, DH and I still have plenty to talk about. But my father had a point and I'm not proud of the fact. I actually intend to change it now that I finally graduated from college and have some more time and mental space open to learn Torah. The amazing thing is that I never really thought it was a problem.

I often wonder how it is that women have completely different obligations, not only in action but in attitude, towards Judaism. Besides for the time-sensitive commandments from which we're exempt, there is an unwritten rule that says that as long as a woman does nothing prohibited, she is considered an observant Jew, whereas a man must actually do positive in order to be considered religious. Of course women have plenty of mitzvahs, but practically speaking a frum woman who does not daven, learn, or engage in Torah in any way is not rare. (Things that must be done in order to avoid a prohibition can't be neglected though.) A guy would never get away with it; he simply would not be considered frum!

I'm sure some men resent that women get away so easy with religious obligation, but at the same time many women resent that they are not invited into the boy's club of everyday Torah, despite their willingness to participate. This inconsistency plays itself out regularly in my domestic life. My husband is a holy Jew who spends his days doing mitzvahs and learning Torah, while I spend my days doing my own thing, plus some mitzvahs and a little Torah. To an outsider, we're both frum, but that's not the whole truth. He's the frum one and I'm mostly riding on his merits.

[ DH is no less fun or cool or open-minded or attractive because of his religiosity, so don't even go there!]

London (Broil) Baby

I used to think that posting a recipe was tantamount to committing blogger suicide—at least for someone trying to be taken even remotely seriously. Not that I am, but in case I was, I don’t care to burn my bridges just for a good steak. Somehow though, Treppenwitz was able to post not only a recipe of chopped liver, but pictures of him preparing it, and people still respected him in the morning. I wonder if the gun had anything to do with that.

In any event, I'll bite the bullet (yowzers) this once and share this awesomely simple and delicious recipe with y'all. If you're wondering why I suddenly feel the need to share--well, that's because you're not one of the three people who asked me for this recipe tonight. At three separate times. If indeed this fame is well deserved, the why not spread the good cheer? So on to the good stuff...

Top 5 reasons to make this steak:

1. It’s inexpensive (for meat),
2. it’s finger-lickin` good,
3. prep time is less than 5 minutes,
   
4. can pass for gourmet cooking,
5. get your vegetarian friends jealous.
   

Top 5, err... only 5 Ingredients:

1. 1 slab london broil (most butchers package them ~ 2 lbs, ~ $15)
2. Soy Sauce
3. Mustard
4. Honey
5. Toasted Sesame Oil
   

Instructions in 5 easy steps:

1. Remove meat from package and wash.
2. Combine remaining ingredients (in equal amounts) and coarse black pepper to taste, and mix. (If your soy sauce is low sodium, add salt.)
3. Pour sauce over the meat in a pan large enough to fit the meat end to end without folding. (Marinating for a few hours is a tasty option, but the key word is optional because it’s also great when made right away.)
4. Put pan under broiler (my oven goes to 500) and broil. To get it perfectly medium rare, allow one side to get brown on the edges (about 10 minutes for a standard slab), turn over and broil for another 5 minutes, just until the surface pink turns brown.
5. Remove from sauce and cool slightly before slicing. Slice diagonally against the grain, about ¼ of an inch thick. Serve with marinade poured on top.
   

Serves 4 adults for main course.

5 variations on the theme:

1. Substitute turkey breast for meat and add orange juice to the marinade.
2. Substitute maple syrup for honey for a more interesting sweetness.
3. In a pinch, forget the marinade and just rub the London broil with black pepper, fresh garlic and a squirt of soy sauce--tastes great too.
4. Use this marinade with added lapsong souchong tea and ketchup for turkey, chicken, cornish hens or capon. The tea gives the poultry a smoky flavor and the ketchup a beautiful glaze.
5. Slice super thin with an electric knife and treat like healthy cold cuts.
   

This isn’t the most original recipe, but it's fool proof, affordable, and always a hit. Because london broil is a thin flat cut, it’ll defrost quickly for last minute dinners. Even the guys can make this one. Strong mustard and red wine will only make things better.

un-Happy Mother's Day

In honor of this year's Mother's Day, I cried for two hour straight. I know that Mother's Day is supposed to be a celebration of motherhood and a day of appreciation for the sacrifice and dedication that goes into motherhood, bla bla bla... but instead of focusing on the positive, I spent the day rehashing all those fleeting year-long thoughts I have about motherhood, which include a lot of guilt, frustration, and fear of failing my family. I'm not talking about the day to day pressures of being a parent, such as discipline, accidents, or lack of sleep. I'm talking about the greater responsibility involved in being handed a life, a soul, a complete human being. When I think about the status of my motherhood, so to speak, I can't help but cry. Let me try to explain:

I spent the last several years in a demanding and highly competitive college. I have a part-time job that I do from home, which keeps me busy in addition to homework. I am also doing a year long internship, because my field requires experience, not just a degree. More importantly, I have a great marriage, a beautiful child, and many blessings in my life (baruch Hashem). You must be asking yourself why on earth I would have anything to complain about. The truth is I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but feel completely overwhelmed and saddened by it.

It would seem that my schedule and lifestyle would better suite a type-A workaholic who preferably has help. I, on the other hand, am disorganized and easily harried, I don’t have any help with housework or nanny-ing, I need too much to sleep to function normally, and I have a problem with procrastinating… In short, I am completely overwhelmed. I find myself always exhausted--too tired to keep in touch with friends, too tired to go out with my husband, too tired to fulfill any household duties beyond what absolutely cannot be overlooked. (So while I’ll make a healthy dinner every night, I might not wash the dishes until two days later. I sometimes don’t even notice how much needs to be done, until there isn’t a clean pair of socks to be found or the like.)

The worst is that since I’m out of the house for so many hours, I send my daughter to a full day day-care. I carefully chose an excellent program where I thought I could leave my daughter for many hours worry free, but I was wrong. Despite how warm and loving the teachers are, and even though my daughter is extremely happy (she asks to go to school on weekends) I still feel horrible that she is not with me for most of her waking hours during her young and most impressionable years. There’s no way to get around not spending enough time with your kids; quality time does not substitute for quantity of time together. My daughter certainly doesn’t act neglected--her behavior and development are wonderful--but I still know that what I’m doing is wrong. For those few afternoon hours that we do have together, I shut off the phone and do nothing responsible so I can focus on my daughter; but that does not make my friends and other family happy when they're trying to get in touch with me, nor does it make me happy when I'm supposed to be doing something important.

So what are my options? I can't be a stay at home mom because that would also be utterly irresponsible. I have one child who's old enough for a full day at school-- clearly not what's considered enough of a 'burden' to warrant not working. Also, staying home would just give me more time to remember that I only have one child, even though I so badly want more; so it's good that I stay very busy. I also couldn't possibly waste my expensive education by not using it--my parents would be devastated (and rightfully so) after having paid so much in tuition.

The other option is that I get my act together and make it work. There are women who have no problem working full time and raising several children, all while maintaining their sanity, so why can't I? I'm no basket-case and I've been functioning fine until now, so with enough work it should all start to fall into place. In fact, I should be proud of my achievements; my daughter is an adorable, well taken care of kid, I am graduating with a totally decent GPA, and I got a job offer in a prestigious institution. All in all, things have gone really well for me (bli ayin hora). But come Mother's Day and I'm still really sad, because what I want to be most, a full time mother up to her neck in kinderlach, I'm not. Instead I'm drowning in deadlines, papers, and projects that all pull me further away from home.

They say it’s human nature to want the very thing you don't have, but I'm ashamed to feel this way. It's a crime that I would even complain at all, considering the real problems other people have G-d forbid (i.e. no children at all, not being able to find a job, poor health, etc). To be clear, 364 days a year I feel busy but blessed, and mostly very happy. On Mother's Day though, I feel totally inadequate, and the fact that my problems aren't problems at all, but rather self-imposed stressors, doesn't make it better. I'm just glad that around here people don't actively celebrate Mother's Day, using the lame excuse that "every day is mother's day" even though I don't think I could handle having to evaluate and judge myself as a mother more than once a year.

So now you know why I waited a full day before posting my thoughts on Mother's Day. It wouldn't be right to everyone out there who deserves a happy and festive Mother's Day--especially my own mother who gave up a potentially fabulous career after having several children one after another. She did what she thought was right for her family and never looked back. I should learn from her example and be more open to whatever comes my way. I truly believe that Hashem only gives us what we could handle. Apparently my combination of work and kids is what's suited for me best--who am I to question or complain? In the end, I'm just happy Mother's Day is over so I can go back to being a busy and happy working mom who hasn't a free moment to self-obsess. Now it's time to carry on, so I wish everyone a lot of strength to do whatever it is that they have to do in this world and a lot of wisdom to be able to find joy and satisfaction in it.

I totally caved... shame on me!

You asked for it, so here goes...

Accent: Snobby. Ok not really, but I'm on the quiet side so people sometimes think I'm aloof, and I'm also a stickler for grammar. Terrible combination!

Booze: Red Bull--although my regulars will know I'm trying to wean myself off soft drinks, so replacement suggestions are welcome.

Chore I Hate: Laundry! The ultimate burden, the feminine curse--having to wash and fold clothing. ARRRGGGHHHH!!!! Here's a theory: I think people are mistaken when interpreting the eitz hadaas story in Bireishis. A basic timeline says Chava ate the forbidden fruit, shared with her husband, they suddenly felt naked and G-d made them clothes. Because of this sin, women bear the curse of childbirth pains and more until Moshiach, but I don't see the connection. My interpretation makes so much more sense: after the sin, G-d created the need to wear, and subsequently wash and fold, clothing. When they were banished from gan eden, Adam probably said "I'll pack, you wash the fig leaves," and women have been stuck doing laundry ever since. I couldn't think of a worse punishment.

Dogs/Cats: Do kids count?

Essential Electronics: Puma sneakers--well, they're really high tech and I can't live without them.

Favorite Perfume/Cologne: Aveeno baby wash--on a baby obviously.

Gold/Silver: I prefer straight up green, if you know what I mean.

Hometown: Sure, sure... like I'd fall for that.

Insomnia: I wish... can I train myself to sleep less?

Job Title: Busy.

Kids: Pure joy.

Living Arrangements: Bed, fridge, computer... check.

Most Admired Trait: Who's asking?

Number of people I will tag with this meme: 0

Overnight Hospital Stays: Being born and giving birth.

Phobia: Dental work- think Marathon Man level phobia.

Quote: "I never knew you could be funny." That's what my family told me after they found and read my blog. Lovely, aint it?

Religion: Lubavitch... oops, I meant Jewish. He he, I'm gonna hang for this one.

Siblings: aka last minute babysitters :)

Time I Usually Wake Up: How about a few times a night accompanies by the classic words, "I need to M.A.K.E.".

Unusual Talent: Being able to imagine myself with an unusual talent... in other words, none.

Vegetable I Refuse To Eat: Cooked fruit--the sight of mushy fruit makes my skin crawl. I'd eat brussel sprouts and okra over apple sauce any day.

Worst Habit: Blogging.

X-Rays: see phobia above.

Yummy Foods I Make: Lots.

Zodiac Sign: Lucky... I hope.

PTSD as I know it

It's time for the post-pesach exodus, back to the real world. I'm still straddling the hecticity of a two week yom tov and the normal life that should follow. There are many reasons why I'm still traumatized from this year's holiday, but here are just a few that will take a lot more than a good night's sleep to get over:

• First a confession: I ate Quinoa this pesach and let me tell you, it was good. Why all the guilt you ask? Pesach on my side of town is an all out neurosis-fest, with everyone outdoing the other on what they won't eat or do. Unpeeled foods are out of the question, so that excludes everything that is not peel-able, or just about everything besides for firm, preferably large vegetables. You think tomatoes are a job to peel... try black pepper. Uh huh, I didn't think so… Most people here also don't use any processed or prepared foods except wine, matza and pure olive oil. I take that back, many people actually don't use oil, only schmaltz (melted chicken fat), and some even press their own wine. Until I make Pesach in my own home, I'm at the mercy of my host's chumras. So when I was served a steaming dish of quinoa with sautéed vegetables that included taboo varieties like celery (gasp) and leek (double gasp), believe me I wasn't complaining. I'm just waiting for the rabbanim to unanimously outlaw quinoa before next year's pesach. It'll be chashash kitniyos I bet... anything so long as nice law abiding yiddelach have even less edible options on pesach.

• Since my heresy is in the open, I may as well continue. This pesach I finally uncovered the mystery of the fish bumper stickers that I've begun noticing on so many cars. Most have either a cross for an eye or some Christian name for god inscribed inside the body space, but I've come across a few that said gefilteh, so go figure. Anyway, I was reading the da Vinci Code (standard fare for pesach reading, lol) and though the literary quality is really poor, it's full of fascinating information on the history and legend of Christianity--things that I'd probably never otherwise encounter. Of practical importance was the explanation that the two millennia A.D. are the age of Pisces who's sign is a fish, which explains the fishy Christian car accessories that adorn my neighborhood parking lots. Apparently somebody thinks it's hilarious to parody that with gefilteh... whatever, but this brings me to the next point:

• Going to shul and hanging out with the young'uns this pesach, I've discovered that the new choice cuss among hip young frummies is Geezus. Yes, as in Jesus. Believe me, I'm no prude, and I don't carry a list of words that I can't say, such as yena machla or yushki, but I consider this pretty darn scandalous. Invoking any name in times of distress is no less than the informal equivilant of prayer, be it crying mommy or Hashem yisborach or, lehavdil, Jesus. Who are you kidding? You may as well say three hail Mary’s and then insert complaint/request. A close second, in terms of phrases I've heard that should not be repeated, would be 'holy mother of G-d'. Enough said.

• Speaking of strange use of names over Pesach, scientologist Tom Cruise and macrobiyogalogist Gwenyth Paltrow named their newborn daughters straight out of a Sholom Aliechem novel (although different translations). If baby Moses and baby Suri can be gentiles then maybe I'm wrong and Jesus can be heimish. Considering his history, it isn't far fetched at all, but I'll leave that for the next overrated Dan Brown novel. In the same vein, I'd like to publicly thank Brooke Shields for naming her baby the very neutral Grier (oy, nebach).

• Another eye opening experience I had this chol hamoed was watching the very effective propaganda film, Supersize Me. You all know the premise--a guy eats three meals at McDonalds for a month and documents how his liver starts to fail, his heart becomes weak and blood pressure soars, his mood goes nuts, he becomes addicted, overweight and generally McIll. If he had tried the same experiment in Kosher Delight, he would probably have gotten the same results in a week. The eye opener was this: soft drinks are the greatest evil of all when it comes to eating healthy. It reminded me of a really old post over at Aidel Maidel's where she said she never gave her kids apple juice because all the sugar made them nuts. Kiddie crack, she called it; what a perfect description. Second confession of the night, Coke is this mommy's crack (to think how much damage has already been done), but since watching Supersize Me I vow, beli neder, to give up all soda completely. Who would guess that I'd be such a great candidate for mind control? I'm totally convinced! This movie was on cable and I stumbled on it accidentally. Just imagine what would have happened if they'd been showing something by Michael Moore instead? I shudder to think.

• Speaking of addiction, when pesach was over I had a the hugest craving not for chametz but for french fries! What is wrong with me?!?

• And finally, the great disillusionment that has been tormenting me in the last few weeks and has only been exacerbated by the travel and lack of routine that comes with yom tov: (In small font for non-parents) Diaper training does not in any way signal parental freedom. I honestly thought that training my daughter to use the toilet young would free me from the tiresome and smelly diaper changing routine that I'd been enduring and transfer that responsibility to the culprit—my daughter. What was I thinking? It turns out that keeping a kid in diapers is far easier to manage, considering that the caretaker can choose when to change the dirty diaper and if it's possible to wait a short while for a more convenient moment to arise. With toilet use comes the inevitable moment of truth, "mommy, I need to make," which translates as drop everything and run for the nearest toilet or deal with a much nastier mess than any diaper could present. The complicating factor is that kids have a hard time pacing their bodily functions so they need to go very often!!! The fact that they "need to make" at the most inoppertune times, i.e. while driving down a highway or during birchat cohanim, really doesn't inhibit them at all. And unlike the diaper wearing child, you can't postpone the changing for even a minute... or else. Ironically, diaper training has been harder on me than on my toddler; I'm ready to stick her back in diapers in a second.

And now y'all know why I’ve been so reluctant to resurface—I still have a bit of recuperating to do. While I work out my issues, feel free to share your pesach traumas. Misery loves company, you know ;)

Erev shabbos rant- dedicated to the weak stomached

Could I call myself a female Jewish blogger if I didn't let off a good rant every once in a while? So here I go:

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First let's deal with why I'm blogging at 5 a.m.! Actually, I'll answer that later... a little suspense thrown in :)

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Next up: I saw this comment on Musing's discussion about the yeshiva tuition crisis:

"I know people who aren't established in their professions or are still in school taking their chasunah money and going to Israel spending at least $1,500 in the process. In my opinion that is fiscally irresponsible."

Sure, I agree, it's fiscally irresponsible. Wait, who am I kidding?--it's the best thing a young couple could do! I haven't been to Israel since before I got married. It's been too long and I MUST go back... but now there are a million other considerations, i.e. kids, work, etc... All I could think of is, "I should have been irresponsible and done it while my time and money were still my own!" Now, at 5 a.m. I notice the Israeli bloggers are up and doing their thing and I can only think, *sigh* I wish I were there! Ahh, if only moshiach would come and take us all back. The other option is I could renew my vows and use that gift money to run off on a fiscally irresponsible trip to Israel.

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Another (rather unrelated) epiphany I had this very early Friday morning is an exception to the rule of emotional contagiousness through written language that I went on and on about earlier this week. Whether or not you've read the other post, you'll agree that writing carries a lot of hidden meaning that isn't written out point blank in letters. Emotion especially gets communicated through subtext (or tone) rather than words. Well, I've discovered the tricky exception: sarcasm. When someone reads a statement without seeing (or hearing) the writer or experiencing the emotional context where it was written, it can be very difficult to decipher whether the words were intended as satire or as humor, in light mockery or bitter irony... these subtle distinctions often require more cues. A good writer will choose their words to precisely reflect the message; for the rest of us there are emoticons or repeated LOL's.

You must be wondering, why in heaven's name am I having such esoteric internal dialogue at dawn? Well, there's an answer coming. This week BloginDm- a great j-music expertise blog, in the minute chance you haven't seen it-posted a question from a reader, RL. This guy asked, in too many words, if the in-house expert could name the Carlebach tune that goes, 'na na na na na uh uh na na...' I thought it was hilarious because if you wrote out any Carlebach it would actually look like that, and also because I'm corny sometimes. So I sent Blogindm this email (he doesn't take comments...) with a link to a cool 'query by humming' website called Musipedia that can name any tune. Sof sof, he thought it was funny and posted my email, but in retrospect I'm afraid it looks like I was giving a serious response to what was obviously meant as a joke. In short, I look like a moron. Yay. That's what I get for claiming that language can delivery the most nuanced emotion.

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And finally, as promised, we return to the segment called: "why mommies never get a good night's sleep." This edition involves a surprise wake-up at 4:30 a.m. by a toddler screaming "I fwoo up, I fwoo up" as though it were the most exciting thing to hurl three meals (plus snacks) all over the room. So the saga begins. I had to bathe my daughter, change her linens, wash the mattress, air out the room, get her to drink so she doesn't dehydrate, wait till she uses the potty again, calm her down to get her sleepy, and finally after she fell asleep, I started doing the laundry because you can't throw vomit soiled things into the hamper for later! Even my husband got a special treat--he dressed her while I cleaned her room, and she goes and vomits some more on him. Fun for the whole family! (Should I add a smiley face to denote sarcasm?)

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This concludes my first official rant. And now to start my day (and my third load of laundry)...

Shabbus Shuloym!

It's true, I'm a STUDENT (unrelated to Gil)

Just recently I had to register for graduation from college. (Yay!) Unlike the typical female graduate in my class, I am

1. ultra-orthodox,
2. married with child,
3. non-feminist, and
4. sober.

This presents quite a few struggles. The most recent issue that I had to tackle was which last name do I put on my diploma? I got married after enrolling in college, so my academic nom-de-use has always been my maiden name. My professors know me as Ms. three-syllabic- eastern-european- crack-your-teeth- trying-to-pronounce-correctly. Anything I'd done academically went under that name, and when I eventually run for president I want my professors to be able to say, “I remember her, she was my student.” Add that to the fact that my parents paid for my ridiculously high private university tuition, and I ask myself, how can I not give my 'single' persona any acknowledgment? The problem is that, in reality, that person doesn’t exist any more outside school walls; I am now known to everyone as Mrs. three-syllabic- western-european- eat-a-knish-while-talking. I can't overlook my married name (for obvious reasons) so what's a girl to do?

If I take the feminist route and hyphenate, the resulting name will be illegal in many states (or at best, heavily taxed) and I'll never get a decent job or have any of my work published, because there won’t be enough room on a business card or book cover. Besides, what will my daughters do one day when they marry the next generation of heimishe-oh-too-long-to-bear Jewish name bearers? They'll be extradited to Thailand and forced to settle in Theppitak- karoon- boonyanan... (+ another 163 letters)! If I were a guy, everything would be so much simpler.

So, as a favor to humanity and a gesture to all my loved ones, I settled on keeping both names, but with no hyphen, so that my maiden name can be referred to with an innocuous middle initial. And that is how I averted a major family crisis.