Six Years of #Hashtaggery

She's no longer my baby but she'll always be my #hashtag! Happy 6th Birthday to the girl who turned my world upside down and then started to spin it in circles, just for fun.

Here's our annual interview - pretty much the only thing I blog about these days ;)

What is the meaning of life? I don't know...mmm...I'm having a doctor. *Giggle* That's what I thought up for the answer. 

What do you want to be when you grow up? A mommy.

What makes you happy? When I give mommy a kiss. And it also makes you happy, right? (Ah, the good ol suck up)

What would you buy if you had a lot of money? A coloring set like Chaya has. Two of them.

What are you afraid of? Hashem. Should I tell you why? Because you're supposed to be like so scared. That's what my morah told me. (Yeah. Right. You know what she told you for real? To sit at circle time.)

What's a funny/silly word? Shookie!

What's the best thing in the world? Imma. Right? (Earned points are earned points.)

What's the worst thing in the world? My Yetzer Harah. Actually, Haman. No! Our Yetzer Harah and Haman. They come from Amalek. *Singing* ach tzadikim yodu lishmecha...
 
What makes you angry? I don't know.

What makes you sad? Crying.

What's your favorite toy? Shmushy. Are we done yet?

Who do you love? Imma. No, Hashem. That's who you're really supposed to love. Right? (Um.)

What is the hardest thing to do? To work hard. Right, Imma? And the real thing you should love is Hashem.

What's the easiest thing to do? Chap-chap-chap food. Right? (Right.)

What is the meaning of love? Meaning of love? To love my mother. (Of course. Now what do you want?)

Happy Birthday, beautiful! You are very, very loved. Right? Right! 

Never Too Late to Celebrate Eight!

It hasn't been a full month since she turned eight ka"h, so I'm not going on to that list of Those Mothers....right? RIGHT??

To be fair this interview was completed the night of her birthday - thankfully it's been an absolute whirlwind since then and I am only now finding the time to share it. Forgive me <3

Birthday interviews are one of my favorite things - I love to see how my kids mature from year to year. Here goes 8 years!! 


What is the meaning of life? What does meaning mean? Like, what's the truth? I don't know what meaning means! Like, what does it mean to be living? That I get to do mitzvos (good deeds).....I don't really get this question but oo-ookay. 

What do you want to be when you grow up? A doctor. (This is a recurring theme so I think we are going to start saving up now.)

What makes you happy? To bring Moshiach. (But, of course :))

What would you buy if you had a lot of money? A Rebbe picture. (It's starting to get suspicious.)

What are you afraid of? Wild animals.

What's a funny/silly word? Toooookie!

What's the best thing in the world? Hashem.

What's the worst thing in the world? When I don't get what I want. (I may have been given hints about her feelings on this before...)
 
What makes you angry? When I don't always get what I want.

What makes you sad? When my Mommy or my Tatty go away. (I recognize that this makes us sound like we have busy and exciting lives that often take us out of town but alas, she means when we happen to leave the house for an hour in the evening.....for something exotic, like grocery shopping.)

What's your favorite toy? Remote control cars. (Of which she owns exactly none so I'll take that as a big, fat hint.) 

Who do you love? A few different people. Mommy, Tatty, Morah, the Rebbeim and Hashem. (Her sister was right there which is probably why she couldn't admit her love for her but we know it's there. For real. For sure. It is!)

What is the hardest thing to do? Something that I don't want to do or that I am not expecting to do.

What's the easiest thing to do? Run off and play!

What is the meaning of love? To actually like love them, not to just say it. (**wipes proud Mommy tears**)

Happy birthday to our beautiful, talented, generous and loving eight-year-old. So many wonderful things are in store for you this year and we can't wait to see how much fun you have!

Fake It till you Bake It

Everyone has their talents.

And everyone has their non-talents.

And not everyone knows what their non-talents are.

Like that friend who can't sing but is always singing the loudest, right? Or the one who isn't great with colors but dives headfirst into all the new fashion...trends.

I am not her (she?). I am the one who is 100% painfully aware of my lack of baking skills. I cook. I clean. I can even sing while I cook and I clean. But I do not bake.

I try, sometimes. I think I'm just not so great at following directions. Like when the recipe calls for flour I just use whatever flour I have in the house (er, usually just whole wheat or whole spelt). Apparently this is not a good thing. Or let's say the recipe calls for amounts of 1 tsp and under. I'm confident I can just "eyeball" it and do just fine. We call that misplaced confidence (and when the kids aren't around, stupidity).

What's enthralling to me is that I have an amazing sister who, among many other talents, bakes. PROFESSIONALLY. Shameless plug for her Facebook page right here y'all: The Dessert Shoppe.

And said sister came to me for the Jewish holiday of Sukkos. And said sister is allergic to chocolate (yes, it pains me to write that). So there went all my easy-peasy-pretend-I-baked desserts like chocolate peanut butter cups and chocolate ice cream that I melt into a pie. And anything with chocolate chips which can help create a taste where there is none.

On went my big girl pants and armed with a fabulous recipe from a friend, I bravely set out to purchase the needed ingredients. Including a bag of white flour, an anomaly in this house (Leslie, my dear health coach, if you're on here you may not want to continue reading. Because I'm pretty sure the white flour was one of the better ingredients). My daughters watched me toss my attempted chocolate cupcakes from the week before into the garbage and we made grand plans about baking together and presenting Yehudis with the most delicious cake she had ever tasted!

Fast forward to Yehudis's arrival and discovery of my plans. With a big smile and a generous heart she instructed me to take a nap while she would bake with the kids (have I mentioned just how awesome she is??) Before my nap I helped her find the ingredients and tools that she would need.

Yehudis: Do you have a sifter?
Me: A who, now?
Yehudis: A sifter, for the flour.
Me: Like the thing with small holes?
Yehudis: Yep.
Me: For real? You really sift the flour?
Yehudis: Ye-e-e-e-s.
Me: Hmmmm, how about that. So a sifter. Let me think what I might have.
Me: *thinking*
Me: *thinking:
Me: *pretending to be thinking*
Me: I can take out a screen from one of the windows?
Yehudis: How about that nap now.

I didn't have a sifter. Or a normal bundt pan. But somehow my house was soon filled with the delicious aroma of cake and despite it's funny shape (I am so going to buy a bundt pan soon) it tasted like slices of non-chocolate heaven.

I likely consumed half the cake on my own but with stealth, so maybe that causes less calories. More importantly though I got some inspiration. I'm not opening a bake shop (yeah, yeah I can hear your sigh of relief from here) but I am going to try my hand at baking today. I am all pep-talked and ready to go: read the ingredients, use the actual ingredients listed, measure exactly and follow the rules. I can do this! Chocolate Cupcakes 2.0, bring it on!

How absolutely lucky for my sister-in-law who will be eating over tomorrow.

Tradition is Tradition

I may not have blogged in close to forever but tradition is tradition. Today my baby, (one of) the light of my life, the cause of at least half my heart palpitations and (one of) the reason  I get up every morning and at least once in middle of the night for blanket adjustment, turns 5. A whole, entire handful of mischievous five!

Our Birthday Interviews are serious business. Here's how this year's went down:

1. What is the meaning of life? To be happy.

2. What do you want to be when you grow up? A Mommy.

3. What makes you happy? To have shaloch manos on Purim. (If you're following, food makes her happy and life is about being happy and thus the meaning of life is food. Ah, the good life.)

4. What would you buy if you had a lot of money? Toys. Toys for my baby if I would have a baby. (Unsaid: and considering you do have kids, you should be buying toys, Imma.)

5. What are you afraid of? Lions.

6. What's a funny/silly word? Chunky. (Relax, she has no idea what that means and if she did she'd be referring to thick heels not anyone's weight. <3)

7. What is the best thing in the world? Hashem,

8. What is the worst thing in the world? My yetzer harah.

9. What makes you angry? Get back to this part because I don't have any ideas. (*Uh huh*)

10. What makes you sad? When Mommy and Tatty use a rough voice then I cry,

11. What is your favorite toy? PLAYMOBIL!

12. Who do you love? I don't have any ideas again. Ummm....yeah, get back to that part. (?!?!?!)

13. What is the hardest thing to do? Listen to Mommy and Tatty.

14. What's the easiest thing to do? Push my stroller everywhere or drive a car. (I think she means when we cart her around but I'm not 100% sure and since her sister has already requested driving lessons, I'm not asking any more questions.)

15. What is the meaning of love? I don't know.

..........Okay, are you ready to get back to those questions from before that you had no ideas about?

What makes you angry? Um. My yezter harah! My yetzer harah gets me SOOO angry!
Who do you love? *cheeky grin, fake pause* Imma, Abba, Chaya and myself!!


Happy Birthday to our beautiful Hashtag. We love you a whole lot and we don't even need to contemplate to know for sure!

I Got Nothing Done

When Jet Blue started cancelling flights and NYC Public Schools announced their closing, I knew today would be a snow day. And I was pumped! Right toward the end of an incredibly busy week a snow day would be a gift of a day where I could get things done.

And because I'm my mother's daughter, I wrote a list. A nice, long list of all the things I would accomplish in my pajama-clad, makeup-free, wonder of a day.

I am pleased to report that it is now 2:30pm and I have not crossed a single item off my list. Not the cooking, not the cleaning, not the laundry, not the song I was supposed to edit, not the envelopes I was going to address, and not the Shabbos I was going to plan.

If you're waiting for me to write that I spent all the time engaged with my daughters and creating new memories just know that I am so tempted to lie and say that's all I did today. But it's not. Sure, I helped them bundle into their snow gear and I watched them played outside. And I made hot chocolate for them when I came in. And I rearranged the play room which inadvertently caused them to remember long forgotten toys and launch into a grade game of magnet dolls.

But mostly I just let myself be. I got distracted by random ideas (such as rearranging the playroom for the umpteenth time) and I followed through. Well, at least halway (my husband may not be so thrilled about my half started projects around the house but I am going to finish this blog post by making something inspiring out of it and then pretending that was my idea the entire time.)

I guess for most people ignoring the to-do list and "wasting" a day off of work wouldn't be something to celebrate. But for me, someone who has struggled with anxiety, it's actually a pretty big deal. It means I was able to let go of my vision for the day and my expectations for myself.

So raise those hot chocolate mugs with me and relax if you haven't made today productive: it was all part of the plan. And we are all exactly where we should be.



(Except for the dirty clothes; those should definitely be in the wash right now and all the inspiration in the world isn't gonna get me out of that one!)

The Birthday Interview /Chaya/ Installment: 7

(Zalman S., thanks for reminding me about my blog.)

Today my oldest turns seven and thus it is time for our annual birthday interview! You can tell this angel is a dedicated student who holds on to everything her teachers say and commits herself seriously to what she believes in.

You can also tell, obviously, that she must get that serious, committed nature from me =D

---

1. What is the meaning of life? I don't know. What does meaning mean? What does life mean? Hmmm....baruch Hashem I have hands. Like that? 

What do you want to be when you grow up? I want to be a Mommy, a teacher, and a doctor. (Upon further discussion, yes, she thinks it would be a good idea for me to become a doctor now.)

What makes you happy? Connecting to the Rebbe and having hiskashrus *giggle*. Yeah? Could I do that?

What would you buy if you had a lot of money? I would not buy anything. I would use my money for Tzedaka...............also, I would buy a beautiful house. 

What are you afraid of? I don't want to say because it will give me bad dreams if I remind myself. Okay I'll just say it: Dr. Doomshtein (Maybe she wants to grow up to be a doctor so she can balance this out.)

What's a funny/silly word? I don't know. A silly word? Just start talking about clownies and you'll end up saying silly words. 

What's the best thing in the world? The best thing in the world is Moshiach.

What's the worst thing in the world? The worst thing in the world is the Yetzer Harah.

What makes you angry? When I don't get something right away that I want. 

What makes you sad? *Sigh* I told you this last year. It's when my sister starts up with me. *Sigh*

What's your favorite toy? Hmmm....you could write my American Girl doll (Our Generation brand, best $16.99 I ever spent) or all my dolls....or just write both. 

Who do you love? Moshiach and the Yetzer Tov *giggle*. Did you want me to say you? (Uh, yeah.)

What is the hardest thing to do? To not listen to my Yeter Harah, and to respect my sister.

What's the easiest thing to do? That's a good question....listen to Mommy? No way, don't write that, that's not easy. Ummmm....paint! Painting is very easy.

What is the meaning of love? Meaning again? Okay, the meaning of love is....loving somebody. Why are you asking me this?

 ----

Happy 7th birthday to our beautiful, sincere, bright and curious Chaya! We love you!!


ps. I do these interviews every year. It's so much fun to see how my girls have grown in their responses. Here is Chaya's from last year: http://motherlylies.blogspot.com/2015_11_01_archive.html

If You Give a Mom a Blog

If you give a mom a blog she'll think, "Hey, why not write a book?"

And then she'll start writing her book.

And while she's writing her book she'll take a trip down memory lane.

And while she's taking a trip down memory lane she'll think, "Ooooh, let me look through the baby albums."

And while she's looking through the baby albums she'll remember that she hasn't printed any albums since 2014. She'll rush back to the computer to start catching up on albums.

And while she's making albums she'll remember that she needs to mail out pictures to her parents and in-laws.

And while she's preparing to mail out pictures to her parents and in-laws, she'll notice that she has pictures that still need to be hung in her own house.

And while she's hanging pictures in her house she'll see some walls that need cleaning.

And while she's cleaning the walls she'll see the floor that needs cleaning.

And while she's cleaning the floors she'll think, "I'm gonna be cooking up a storm today, why bother cleaning?" And then she'll remember that she really needs to get on that storm cooking.

And while she's cooking she'll think, "I could really use a break."

And while she's taking a break she'll take out her phone. And notice that it has no case. And remember that she was supposed to order one. Cuz otherwise the phone will crack. And then she'll need a whole second mortgage to replace it. So she'll get back to the computer to order a case.

And while she's ordering the case she'll remember that she was in middle of making an album. To go with the memories. That she was putting into her book. Because she has a blog.

And then the kids will start screaming from somewhere in the house. That they need her right now.

And she'll go right now.

Because she's a mom.

#truestory

Favorite Time of Year: Interviewing

It's Rivka's 4th birthday and that means it's time for us to sit down and talk about all the important things in life. I interview my kids each year on their birthday just to make sure they're getting smarter and not the opposite (gasp!)

Here are Rivka's fantabulous thoughts on life:

What is the meaning of life? Mmmmm....painting. (My art professor just cried tears of joy.)

What do you want to be when you grow up? A Mommy.

What makes you happy? A baby. (She has my future children planned out. It's very organized.)

What would you buy if you had a lot of money? Food. (Yes. YES. I'm doing something right.)

What are you afraid of? Lions. (This was her sister's fear in her 6-year old interview.)

What is a funny/silly word? Blahblahblahblah.

What is the best thing in the world? Hashem. <3

What is the worst thing in the world? Hashem. (Chaya: Rivka! Worst means a very very bad thing! What's the worst thing in the world? Rivka: I don't know. I just don't know.)

What makes you angry? Patching, maybe? Yeah, patching! (Don't look at me people. I'm not the one hitting her. She has a sister, remember?)

What makes you sad? Crying.

What's your favorite toy? A toy phone. (Close call. I thought it was going to be my real phone.)

Who do you love? MOMMY! I love YOU! (Her sister said: just mommy??) Mommy! And Chaya! And Tatty! And my morah!

What is the hardest thing to do? Um...um...um...fighting! (Gee, she makes it LOOK so easy.)

What is the easiest thing to do? Ride a scooter.

What is the meaning of love? Mommy. Mommy. I love you. (**heart melts** **give her all my money**)

---

Happy 4th Birthday to our sweetest Hashtag!! We love you so much and we are geared up and ready for what this next year will bring! No pressure, but less highlighter coloring on the stairs would be real magical for us.

And yes. You can have five chocolate chips because you're turning five. You're like ten hours into your journey of turning five but you got it bright girl ;)

Pesach: My Freedom

There were a group of us sitting at the shiur when the dynamic speaker told us, “Think of the word Pesach and tell me the first word that comes to your mind.”

“Freedom!”

“Matzah!”

“Seder!”

“Family!”

I kept my mouth shut. Because the words in my head were toothbrushes, vacuum extensions, cheerios, and how-did-my-daughter-embed-pita-into-the-Playmobil-school-bus?

I couldn’t help but think, ‘What’s wrong with them?’ I mean, sure, Pesach is a wonderful time to spend with family, eating matzah at the seder and celebrating freedom, but are those really the first things that come to their mind? Apparently, yes.

And so my next thought was, ‘What’s wrong with me?’

Pesach is supposed to be about freedom. It’s supposed to be about breaking out of our personal boundaries and experiencing things that are greater than ourselves. Pesach should be about living on a higher plane, serving Hashem in ways that might not seem logical because G-dliness is beyond logic and reason.

And yet, at the same time, Pesach is about going crumb-free. It’s the crunchiest diet of all the crunchies. Gluten free, sugar free, nearly-carb free, combined with good wine and mason jars. It has Park Slope written all over it! And that’s without all the cleaning. We’ve all experienced that ethereal moment, straddling the dining room chair, trying to separate the cushions with the strength of Superman while holding the vacuum hose at just the right angle, turning the vacuum on with one foot and rocking the baby carrier with the other. If that isn’t the picture of feminine beauty and spirituality then I don’t know what is.

Well, actually, I do. Because all this time that I’ve been waiting for the freedom of Pesach to encompass me, I’ve been oblivious to the fact that the work is mine. Pesach can be all the happy words only when I make the choice to make it so.

And I am.

I commit to making Pesach freedom for ME. And that looks like freedom from anxiety, freedom from routine and freedom from the bitterness of stress. Will I clean? Yes, I’ll clean. I’ll clean with the music on so that I can sing and dance along. One Kitchen Scrub with a shot of Endorphins, coming up. Will I shop? Yes, I’ll shop. I’ll grocery shop online (the perks of Crown Heights!) or I'll shop in parts or both. There is no mitzvah to spend two hours at the grocery trying to push a cart heavier than myself. Will I cook? Yes, I’ll cook. I’ll cook like I cook every other day of the year (minus the carb-truck): inventory the food in the house and mix and match recipes for fabulous results. Okay fine, I have some great Pesach recipes to follow. The real trick is reminding myself that Pesach is just a week long and I don’t need to have food prepped and waiting in the freezer from a week before, just because that’s what works for other people.

Pesach is about being free. I am choosing to free myself of past discomforts that I have associated with Pesach and instead make this Yom Tov into a joyous one like all the others. Pesach doesn’t have to look like stress. Pesach doesn’t have to feel like a burden.

I’m burning my lists with the chometz this year and I’m starting fresh. Funny how freedom for me is really freedom from me - the old me, the one who agonized over Pesach and spent too much time thinking about all the things I wouldn't be able to do instead of all the great things that I could do. The one who worried about how much work Pesach would be instead of how much fun Pesach could be. The one who didn't associate the good things with Pesach; not because experience taught me differently, but because I had yet to fully embrace the experience itself.

This article was first published for the Beis Medrash Women's Circle Pesach Freedom Book.

The Miracle of Moving

We moved!

It's been a month in our house (house!!) and I have finally surfaced through the boxes and dust. My only coherent thought is omigod, what just happened. 

First of all, packing. In the 21st century there should be a Mary Poppins app that snaps and packs for you. Or at least some kind of device that can guard cabinets once they've been packed up. I swear each time I emptied a cabinet into a box the cabinet birthed new items to hold. They. Never. Got. Empty.

And the boxes. How much time I spent trying to figure out what should go together with what in each box.  For what? In the end, I was the one who went and opened them all just to find the darned peeler. No one else was around to be impressed with the mesmerizing way I managed to tuck the shirts into the hats to save room for the shoes tucked into the boots! Hello? That saved me an entire eighth of a box and only took two hours to arrange! Sigh. 

I really did try hard to be organized but by the time I was packing up box 6,578 I was way past detailing the inventory in each box. My labels became "House Crap #1" and "Forgot What's In Here." 

It's all just as well because even if I could remember what I had put in the box before closing it, chances are it had all new contents anyway. I got the Mary Poppins snap app unpacker in the form of one #hashtagrivka. She meticulously unpacked at least ten items from any box that I left open to add to. Quality super-nanny right there. 

One good thing about the packing?  The memories I got to sort through. School projects the kids managed to hide away, toys we've been looking for for 4 years, clothes I can't believe I ever thought were stylish and lots of things that made me laugh. Like when I found the clothes iron. LOL, I used to iron! With an ironing board! How domestic is that? Nowadays we're lucky to leave the house in all clean clothes 🙈. 

Happy one month in the new house to us! It's the first morning that I'm sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing (simultaneously praying I haven't forgotten twenty things that I'm supposed to be doing) and I'm reveling in it. The construction is over (for now), the layers of dust have been banished (for now), and we're loving it (for always)! 

To those looking forward to moving: prepare yourself for the inevitable miracle of discovering you have more than one moving-truck-worth of crap in your apartment at any given moment. Math and Science can't explain it so don't even bother trying. 

Cheers!

New Year, New Interview

My firstborn turns (6!!) today and in preparation, we have completed our annual interview. Each year I am amazed at the answers that change and intrigued by the ones that seem to stay the same (here's the one we did three years ago when she turned 3: http://motherlylies.blogspot.com/2013/07/my-third-post.html).

Happy Birthday, Chaya! We love you so so so so so so much! (Did you count the so's? I'm cool like that.)

----

What is the meaning of life? Does it mean what's about your life? About my life is that people don't say mean stuff to me and everybody loves me and plays with me, because I'm a nice girl to play with. (Self esteem? Check.)

What do you want to be when you grow up? I want to be a Mommy who has a lot of money. But I don't know how to make money. Ma, how do you make money? You stand outside with a cup of tzedaka? (Oh my gosh, I am laughing with tears now!)

What makes you happy? I have a hundred, million, thousand stuff to say! How much should I answer? I'll tell you one thing. One thing is by swings, when we go on the swings, when Morah picks me first to go, it makes me a little excited and happy. (Yes! Always have a hundred, million, thousand many happy stuff!)

What would you buy if you had a lot of money? I would buy a crib for my baby. (To clarify, she means her baby doll. I think.)

What are you afraid of? Afraid? Hmmm. I'm scared of lions roaring. (Truth.)

What's a funny/silly word? Bakadakaka. (Kay.)

What's the best thing in the world? The best thing in the world is when I go on trips with Mommy and I have vacations. (She works hard, deserves vacations.)

What's the worst thing in the world? The worst thing in the world is when my Mommy says No or Wait. (Don't I know it!)

What makes you angry? Angry? When I'm angry is when my Morah says something and my friends are all talking and I don't hear. I'm angry but I still don't show them because then that would make noise.  (#angel.)

What makes you sad? Sad? When people bite me. (Who bites her??)

What's your favorite toy? My favorite toy is mentchies with doll houses, and coloring. (I can handle that.)

Who do you love? Who do I love? Hmmmm. I love Mushka. Because she's a cutie pie. (I swear other years she said Mommy and Tatty!)

What is the hardest thing to do? The hardest thing is to listen to Mommy. (Respect.)

What's the easiest thing to do? The easiest thing is when on Sunday I have a lot of time to color. That's for sure the easiest thing. (Like I said, she works hard.)

What is the meaning of love? Oh. Love. When Mommy and Tatty take care of me and I get the same much attention as Rivka. (Oh, sweetie. Thank you for not #hashtagging for attention. Really, truly, THANK YOU.)

Happy Birthday Donna

Today I opened Facebook and received a notification that said, "Today is Donna Stiebel's birthday." Tears sprang to my eyes and I looked at the phone angrily. Didn't Facebook know that it wasn't her birthday today? Didn't Facebook know that Donna passed 5 years ago?

And then I had a moment of inspiration. Standing outside on my porch waving goodbye to my children (the requisite 5-minute wave until their bus is completely out of sight), I realized that today is Donna's birthday. For Victor, Aliza, Moshe, Micha and Shayna; today is Donna's birthday. For all of us, today is Donna's birthday. Because today is the day we celebrate all that Donna was and is in our lives. Nothing can take away the meaning of her birthday; nothing can take away the time we had together.

As I raise my young daughters I find myself thinking back to my own childhood multiple times a day. Donna was a big part of that childhood as she and her family lived next door to us and I spent many hours in her house. I didn't turn to Donna for advice the way my older sisters did, because I was only ten years old when we moved away, but I can clearly (and embarrassingly) remember standing in her kitchen and asking her a quarter-of-a-million questions while she tried to make dinner in peace. Yeah, I was that kid.

But I don't ever remember being sent away and that's what makes Donna so special. I try to emulate that with my own friends' children, to treat them like they were my nieces and to help them feel welcome in my home.

When I close my eyes and transport myself back in time, I can imagine that I am standing in the Stiebel house listening to Donna's infectious laugh. I can hear her offering to pick up groceries for my mother since she is heading to Giant Eagle anyway. I can see her doing carpool with a smile on her face, and I can visualize her calling to Aliza from the kitchen, helping her with homework. (In retrospect, I may have overstayed my welcome some days :P)

And because I'm back there in my mind, I can also see Micha doing something (everything) that warranted yet another set of stitches. Micha, I think you may have been the original #hashtag.

It's been many years since I was ten years old but the memories of my childhood are stronger than the memories of why I am standing at the open fridge at any given time. And so today, on Donna's birthday, I am sending big hugs to everyone who misses her. And also a big high-five because we are of the lucky ones who got to know her.

Thinking of all of the Phillips Avenue crew today! (Can you imagine how simple it would have been to arrange Cops & Robbers if we had a WhatsApp group back then?)

Shabbat Shalom <3 Stay safe in Israel.

Can You Keep a Secret?

I'M BACK!!

Yes, I know it's been months since I've posted. I hope you haven't forgotten about me. Back in April I was all, "Oh I am SO writing a book!" Now it's September and I *think* I got one page done. So maybe it's better that I wait until my life is a little less busy.

But after several...spectacular? weeks of Mommy Camp, I am so happy to announce that my girls started school today. BOTH OF THEM! #hashtagrivka is in school!!!! Well, she might still be on the bus on the way but my baby is starting school today!

I have gotten so many comments over the past few months wishing blessings and luck on her teachers. And I've passed them on diligently to the lovely women who will be her educators this year.

Diligently, but silently. Very, very silently.

Out loud I said things like,

"Hi Morah Nechama! This is Rivka! Have I told you about the time she washed all the dishes for me?"

"Hi Morah Sheina! This is Rivka! Boy, did we have a great time folding all the laundry last night."

"Hi Morah Devorah Leah! This is Rivka! She'll be happy to sweep the floors in here!"

"Gosh, thanks to Rivka organizing all the toys I was able to get out of the house on time today!"

"Did I mention that Rivka loves to cozy up in the rocking chair and read books most of the day?"

If they call me in shock about behaviors that seem so out of ordinary of the character that I am describing, why, I'll be shocked right along with them! It'll be our secret, aight? ;)

Truth: I am (almost) totally confident that she is going to take after her big sister and be a superstar student!

Other truth: I am very, very nice to the principals. Just in case.

The picture her teachers see. 

The #hashtag we know and love. 

Her beautiful big sister who has been a tremendous joy throughout my journey.

Hashtag Anxiety

In what is pretty much normal for this house, my girls woke up already in middle of an argument. I’m convinced that they are telepathically connected in a way that allows them to begin quarreling even while they sleep so that when they wake up they can immediately bring the fight to the next level.

Decibel level.

When they finally found an activity to enjoy together I committed to being relaxed about the activity and to stop it only at the danger of actual death [to clarify, one kid blacking out for a minute here or there is not danger of actual death.] The activity in question was the methodical destruction of every drawer filled with neatly folded clothes. Unfortunately, there were only three drawers like that in the entire house and the activity ended all too soon. That’s when #hashtagrivka spied the bag of plastic shopping bags that we keep in the hallway and figured it could do with some emptying out. Now, a bag of bags in which I carried food home? We musta had hundreds of those.

So I planted myself on the couch and watched the girls gleefully jump into piles of bags like they were at Disneyland. It took only a minute for me to realize that I was tense. And that the only thing my brain was letting me see, over and over, was an image of my kids blue in the face. My heart was pounding and I felt hot and uncomfortable.

I tried to reason with myself. I was sitting right next to them. They weren’t putting the bags on their heads. If one of them would jump headfirst into the pile my problem would be a cracked skull, not suffocation (you can see how helpful I am at helping myself. /sarc font/). The logic didn’t help.

In an instant I was up off the couch, shouting panicked warnings about asphyxiation and grabbing plastic bags in a frenzy. The girls got caught up in the cleaning activity but they were disappointed and bewildered.

Having a mother with an anxiety disorder isn’t easy.

Having anxiety and mothering a tenacious #hashtagrivka is no antidote.

I felt sorry after the episode, wishing I could go back and deal with it calmly, in a way that would actually teach them something. But I know better than to dwell. I don’t tell myself that there is always tomorrow to do better, I tell myself that there is now. Now I am going to start over. Now I am going to try to be mindful and present and not let the anxiety get the best of me.

In Sickness and Insanity

It has come to my bleary-eyed attention that I get pretty cranky when I'm tired.

And I get pretty tired when my kids are cranky.

And my kids get pretty cranky when they get sick.

If you paid any attention during algebra class you may have figured out that my kids are sick and cranky and I am right there along with them.

When my kids get sick, I take on this martyr role and generously tell G-d that I would do anything, anything, to be sick in their stead.

And then when my prayers are answered, and I get sick, I turn to Him indignantly and demand to know exactly why He allows mothers to get sick. Mothers. What purpose could there possibly be in that? Mothers should never get sick.

It seems my complaining has landed me in a heap of hot, smelly stuff. Cuz now Mommy and both of her girls are sick.

At. The. Same. Time.

(The Man of this house would probably suggest that he is too big and strong to get sick but us girls are pretty sure he's been spared only because he spends most of the day at work, far away from our germs.)

We are a sneezy, coughy, wailing mess. Tissues have piled up around the house like house plants and my counters are littered with every natural and non-natural medication that exists. I have reached out to family and friends to collect every weird superstitious magical healing spell that has every been used. I have rubbed Vicks on size 28 feet and spread chopped onions around the house like potpourri (spoiler alert: real potpourri has suddenly become desirable).  I have locked myself in the bathroom with tired, crying children, turned the shower to blistering and nearly passed out in its steam. I have tried multiple types of humidifiers, shoved vitamin-filled fruits and vegetables down unwilling, sore throats and mixed up soups with the vengeance of a mother on her very last thread of sanity.

For all my work, I was blessed with the green light from my doctor that my big girl was well enough to go to school. Coughing, I was informed, might stick around all winter. But the virus in her itty bitty body is all gone. Her lungs have become exhausted of opening on their own, what with all the coughing, but I am more than happy to visit her classroom daily to spray magical albuterol in her mouth. Anything but keeping her home any longer.

Now there is just me and the baby. The 2.5 year old toddler that I insist on calling "baby" because I think it will make her tame and docile. My dedicated regiment of herbs and meds has graciously gotten her to the point where she well enough to make trouble, but still too sick to sleep sweetly.

So raise your Tylenol glasses with me and pray for the deliverance of sanity to mothers everywhere.

Chee -- hachew!---rs.

Oh!

(Adapted from Dr. Suess' Oh The Places You'll Go!)

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You now are "postpartum"!
You’re off and away!

Your brains left your head!
You can't find your shoes.
You can no longer roll back to sleep if you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the Mommy. So there's no where to go.

You'll look up and down closets. Look'em over with care. About some you will say, "How did that get there?!"
With your head full of fog and shoes on the wrong feet, you're too tired to care if your house isn't neat.

And you may not find any time to lay down. In that case, of course, you'll want to skip town. But sorry my dear, you're needed right here.

Right here things can happen and frequently do, and mommies are needed; mommies like you.

And when things start to happen, don't worry. Be cool. Just go right a long. It's a job just for you!

And Oh! The Places You'll Kegel. 

You'll want to get thin!
You'll climb up and down flights!
And you will do kegels all day and all night. 

You won't lag behind, because you'll have the need. You'll pass the whole gang while you kegel with glee.
Wherever you kegel, you'll be best of the best. You'll even do kegels while you take a rest. 

Except when you don't.
Because, sometimes you won't.

I'm sorry to say so but sadly, it's true that spit-ups and throw-ups can happen to you.

You can get all hung up on a diaper clothesline. And your baby will poop. And you'll want to cry.

You'll look down and frown at your unpleasant bump. And chances are, then, that you'll be a grump.

And when you're a grump, you're not in for much fun. Un-grumping yourself is not easily done.

You will come to a point where you can't move in a hurry. Some days are alright. But mostly they're blurry. A time you could lose both your calm and your grin. Do you dare to go out? Do you dare to stay in? Have you kegeled enough for your clothes to fit in?

And if you go out, should you turn left or right...or climb down one more flight? Or go around back and sneak in from behind? To check on the babysitter; what might you find? Oh gosh if only you could make up your mind!

You can get so confused that you'll start to wander around at a slow-pacing speed, and grind on for days in a half-asleep state, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place. 

The Wailing Place...for people just wailing.

Wailing because the baby won't sleep, or the kegels won't keeg, or the other kids are wailing because it's their speed. Everyone is just wailing. 

NO! That's not for you!

Somehow you'll escape all the wailing and whining. You'll find a nice park, or a bed, or a spa. You'll take care of yourself because you're a great Mom. 

And all great moms know, yes they certainly do, that taking some Mom-Time is what you must do. Mom Time is important, it's proven, it's true. Mom-Time is just something that keeps all the Moms cool.

So don't feel all guilty, don't worry, don't wait. Go plan your Mom Time and make your escape. You can kegel during Mom Time, you can simply stare on. You can sleep during Mom Time or just lay on the lawn.

Except don't. Because your kids will find you there. 

Family

The other week my daughter and I went grocery shopping together. In the pasta aisle (duh) I met a cousin of mine and we chatted.

"Mommy, who was that Mommy that you were talking to?"

"That's my cousin, sweetie."

"Your cousin? How come she never comes to our house?"

"Oh," I answered, "We're not so close."

That comment was, perhaps, my greatest Motherly Lie.

This past weekend my mother's extended family gathered together for our first family reunion, commemorating sixteen years since my maternal grandmother's passing. I don't know how to describe the joy, the laughter, the love; it was family. We shared some tears, some sniffles, some deep thoughts; but mostly we celebrated.

We celebrated the legacy my grandmother left behind. We celebrated her life, her lessons, her focus. We celebrated the beauty of our too-many-too-count growing families.

I was young when my grandmother passed and I don't have many tangible memories of her. (Although, as my relatives stood up and shared their memories of her, I could have sworn they were talking about my own mother.) I didn't share my strongest memory of her because it occurred when I came marching through her house in a pre-teen (is that tweenage?) huff, slammed the bathroom door behind me so I could wail in "privacy", and promptly dislocated a tile from her bathroom ceiling. My grandmother wasn't one to promote bouts of pointless tears, especially at the cost of her ceiling. I don't remember my grandmother reprimanding, me, however; perhaps that speaks louder than anything else.

(My mother did reprimand me.)

(And I deserved it.)

This weekend I learned about simplicity, love, generosity, encouragement, belief, and happiness. I learned about struggles, triumphs, obstacles, and success. I learned about my grandmother, my mother, myself, and my family. I close my eyes now and will these moments to stay with me forever.

So, my dear daughter, I was wrong. My cousin and I; we are very close. We share an unbreakable bond that was melded years ago and will last for eternity.

Why doesn't she come over? That might have more to do with the hundreds of cousins thing. But I'm going to make a greater effort now to help you feel how close we all are.

Positive Parenting

Eight.

Eight is the amount of times that we chased our baby toddler out of her big sister's bed last night and back into her own. This occurred well after eight O'Clock in the evening. This was not fun.

Maybe it's summer fever.

I read all the books, all the magazines, all the just-be-firm-and-say-it-positively articles and I try to put them into practice. My latest adventure has been trying to word things in a positive way, as in "Rivka sleeps in Rivka's bed," with a big fake smile, rather than the negative, teeth-clenched version, which sounds like "DONOTGOINTOCHAYA'SBED!"

So I tried to concentrate on my wording the other day.

I walked into Rivka's room (on grounds of suspicious silence) and found that every single book was removed from the book shelf and several had already undergone her rehabilitation efforts. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and carefully said:

"Rivka. Books are for reading. We treat books nicely. We read books and turn pages of books and we are so gentle with books."

When I opened my eyes she was in the kitchen, self-selecting snacks from the pantry.

So I tried again at bedtime.

"Rivka. I see that you are very excited (acknowledge her feelings). Bedtime is for sleeping (state the rule). I would like to see you lay down now (state the objective). It appears that you disagree with me (state the obvious). STOP JUMPING (give up.)

There is only one magical word that can stop Rivka mid-action and I (try to) use it sparingly.

That word is: raw.  She has seen my dramatic, full-fledged horrified panic when she once reached out to touch raw chicken and has been cured from ever attempting to touch something labeled "raw" (salmonella, hello!).

So far the disgusting water fountain at the park, the bucket of rain water near the front lawn, and the filter on the air conditioner have all tested positively for raw.

Any chance I can make her sister's bed turn raw at 7:00pm?

#MotherlyLies

By the way, this is what reasoning looks like when your toddler spent most of the night jumping out of bed.
Not to be confused with what reasoning looks like with a toddler at any time. 

Twenty-Four

Somewhere between I Can't Believe This and Finally, my baby is turning two. Thankfully I don't feel like I've just given birth yesterday but it still seems entirely too soon for a second birthday.

Twenty four months.

It's been twenty-four months since she was born, a rainy Friday morning. Months since we brought her home only hours later that afternoon. Months since we introduced her to her older sister, who was wholly unimpressed with our decision to create this new addition. Months since postpartum depression caught me like the plague and threatened to never let go. Months since I came out of the fog, smiled with my baby's smile, laughed with her first laugh, squealed and cheered on her first crawls, and full-out jigged when she began to walk (spoiler alert: rapidly progresses from wobbly to dangerously quicker than Mommy.)

Tonight my husband and I are sitting and reminiscing about time gone by. As we talk, it becomes painfully obvious that my memory has been significantly damaged by pregnancy, childbirth, and an unnatural amount of night feedings. (Sorry but there's nothing natural about feeding another human being when I'm supposed to be sleeping.)

It's hard to think that these Mommy Brains of mine might not remember all the things I love about my little girl. So here are twenty-four of them that I never want to forget:

1. The way she climbs out of her crib in the morning and barrels straight out of her room like a cannon.
2. The way she calls me "Mama" in a baby voice, when she needs me to melt. 
3. The way she refuses to separate apples from other fruits. Mommy, I want one apple-pear.
4. The way she throws in extra consonants into long words. Mommy, I want a banalanalalana.
5. The way she eats yogurt with her hands.
6. The way she brushes her hair with the bristles facing out. 
7. The way she swallows the (fluoride-free; relax) toothpaste and then spits out saliva. 
8. The way she runs, by kicking her feet forward and bouncing on the heels of her shoes.
9. The way she smiles for a picture, by tilting her head and blinking rapidly.
10. The way she jumps off ledges without looking and then runs frightened from strangers.
11. The way she says "eweven." It comes after ten.
12. The way she beckons with her tiny little hands when she wants you to follow.
13. The way she bellows "SHHH!" when she's hiding.
14. The way she cheers for her accomplishments. Even the ones that follow my desperate cry of "No!" Like when she jumps off the back of the couch. Or swings off the table. 
15. The way she wiggles all of her fingers when she tries to hold up just two.
16. The way she holds out her hand and says, "Stop!" when you're going too fast. 
17. The way she pronounces her name as Rishka.
18. The way she sings Happy Birthday to herself nearly every morning.
19. The way she swings off the counters and climbs onto nearly any surface. 
20. The way she opens the refrigerator and helps herself to its contents. 
21. The way she puts soggy cereal back in the box when she's decided she's had enough.
22. The way she puts her face directly into mine when she wants my attention.
23. The way she watches men working out in the park and then proceeds to work out with them. 
24. And G-d knows why, but the way we found her in her crib tonight. Sleeping peacefully in her birthday suit.

The hours between 4:30 and 6:30 every night feel like an eternity each time around, but somehow it is still hard to believe that all this time has passed.

Happy Birthday Rivka! 

Here's to another year.

Full throttle. 

Living-In-Brooklyn Milestones

I Killed a Cockroach Before Breakfast and Other Living-In-Brooklyn Milestones

Table of Contempts

Chapter 1: Parking Tickets are Part of my Monthly Budget.
Chapter 2: I Refuse to Watch Ratatouille.
Chapter 3: I Don't Really Know the Difference Between the Upper and Lower Ends of Manhattan. But I Can Tell You Which Trains to Take.
Chapter 4: I Pay More for Rent Than I Do For...Anything.
Chapter 5: Cement + Swingset = Park.
Chapter 6: Pigeons are Only Afraid of People in Other Cities.
Chapter 7: Um...Sure, New Yorkers Have a Real Inclination for Ice Cream at 3:00am.
Chapter 8: Brooklyn Mice can Outsmart Mouse Traps.
Chapter 9: What Sun?
Chapter 10: I Killed a Cockroach Before Breakfast.

But I told my kids that the Raid just put him to sleep. Cockroaches don't belong in our house, I told them, so I'm putting him to sleep and putting him in the garbage. And then the garbage truck will take him to where he is supposed to live.

I didn't want to pass on my cockroach fears. So we all said hi to the dead sleeping cockroach.

And now my toddler looks for cockroaches every morning. Her face lights up as she imagines saying hello to her friend with the ugly, huge, ugly, huge, and also ugly, antennas. I tried explaining that the cockroach only came around because the kitchen floor had been partially taken out to be fixed.

She's still looking for the cockroach.

Should I be proud that I am raising open-minded children with an appreciation for nature?

Or recognize that I have created a monster.

Pass the Raid wine.