Adventures in Mama-Land

  How are you doing for poems lately? Craving a really good one?     I first came across this poem in Garrison Keillor's anthology Good Poems for Hard Times , which we've been choosing poems out of to read randomly at family dinnertimes since corona hit -- for no reason whatsoever. And as a sometime

It's been five years since we gave up the family car. Sometimes I don't think about that huge change, because it came at a time of so many other huge changes in our lives.  But I realized today it was worth stopping for a moment and reflect back on what that's meant and how we are with it. For about 15 years, I was a Mom on Wheels.  I had the big family car and drove it almost everywhere.  And it was a huge part of my identity even if I didn't like to admit it. I didn't start out that way... although to be honest, who does? And incongruously enough, I always thought of myself as more of a public transportation person.  I guess that's cognitive dissonance for you.  I took public transportation everywhere -- except when I drove the car, which much of the time was ALWAYS. And the shameful truth is, I quickly came to love being behind the wheel.  How could you not?  You're in charge.  You set the schedule -- although traffic sometimes has something to say a

Know what this crazy world needs?  A better way to look dorky on airplanes. Okay, actually, not planes, but buses.  I travel by bus more often than I like to admit, and it's tough getting comfy on those long hauls.  I've tried bunching up a sweater against the window, I've tried a standard-issue "travel" neck pillow (on planes, not buses), I've tried just grinning and bearing it. And let's face it, sleeping while you're travelling is terrible.  And it is also one of the biggest missed opportunities I can think of.  Two hours with nobody needing me for anything?  No chance to do work, except for the occasional text or email?  (When I go by train, I usually use the whole time to get work done, but bus = sleepytime, as far as I’m concerned… sleepytime WASTED because I’m so uncomfortable!) With so much serious stuff going on in the world, I felt that what was needed was a hard-hitting investigation into ten of the newest and most amazing ways I can mak

Dear Tablet Magazine, I read an article on your site today.  It’s not a common thing, I don’t stop by every day, but as with so much of the great content on your site, I liked the article.  Indeed, I agreed with it, and felt that I – as a Jewish writer of Jewish children’s books - had something to add to the dialogue. That’s why I scrolled down to comment… only to find THIS: And THIS: Commenting Charges!  But I don’t need to tell YOU that, of course.  It was YOUR c̶a̶s̶h̶ ̶c̶o̶w̶  idea. $2 per day.  Ouch. And then I saw THIS – your largely nonsense-based explanation of how there’s so much spam out there that you want to charge me $180 a year for the privilege of adding my text to your site (usually, people pay ME for my content – that’s what being a writer is all about). (Oops – sorry, it’s not a FEE, it’s a commitment to “the cause of great conversation,” as if your site is surely the only place I will be conversing over the next 365 days.) You’re also quick to assure me

Before, I begin, I want to say that there are few people who adore Lego as much as I do.  OK, if you're one of those fans who can tell the difference between a BURP a LUMP and a POOP [ glossary here ], then good for you.  You win. But short of that, well, I adore Lego. REAL Lego. For years, in Toronto, I made a habit of picking up used Lego for the kids at Value Village.  Painstakingly, I'd pick through the sets chucking out any FAKE Lego - all the Megabloks and other imposters, weeding them out like toxins. But here in Israel, Lego is expensive.  Ridiculously expensive.  Like over 100nis for a tiny set that would cost under $10 in the States, and maybe $12-15 in Canada. So, I admit - painfully, reluctantly - I've started buying the fake stuff. It started last summer when I happened to show Gavriel Zev some of the super hero menschies (I know, they're called minifigures – I call them minifigs for short) that were available on AliExpress for 99 cents instead of t

Twice in the last few weeks, people have done that thing to me.  Maybe this has happened to you?  They tell me something absolutely astonishing, so I’m like, "Really?"  Then they laugh, because I’ve fallen for it. And I cringe, because I've forgotten again. I've forgotten the tendency of reliable, fairly nice people to turn around and lie. Why do I always forget? Probably because the idea is so foreign and, hey, I'll say it, kind of repulsive. To me, it says more negative things about the person who's doing it, the suckee, than about you, the sucker.  As repulsive as a fart in polite company, this person has breached every conversational and societal norm for the sake of a not-very-good joke. A relative once brought his young kids to our seder and told them the spicy red horseradish on the table was strawberry jam.  I'm sure they never took jam from him again in their lives.  But is that really the point?  What's the message?  "Be careful ab

I was standing alone in the playground during recess when I spotted my grandfather all the way across at the other entrance to the park. “Zaidy!” I screamed, and started running to meet him, arms out wide though he was not the hugging type. What was he doing here? Maybe he was coming to take me out of school? Maybe he’d pop me in his car and he’d drive, jerky like usual, the way my brother thought was hilarious. He’d pretend he had a donkey in the trunk, and take me somewhere special, just the two of us. “Zaidy, hi, Zaidy,” I called, waving my arms frantically. “It’s me, it’s Jennifer!” He did not turn. He could not see me. My zeidy was a quiet man who didn’t talk much. “Ess gezinteheit,” he’d say when we sat down to eat. My father said it meant, “Eat in good health.” He was the only person I knew who said that. He drank coffee every Saturday morning out of a huge glass mug with PAT on the side, which was not his name. He’d stir it, stir it, ever so carefully, before silently takin

Once upon a time, there were two brothers. Except they weren't really brothers, were they? No, they were half brothers. And one hated Judaism. Yes, he did.  So much.  So, so much. Well, okay, don't get me wrong.  He was proud to be a Jew. But he hated... Judaism. Kind of, yeah. And the other brother? Half-brother. Yes, him. He came to Israel.  He lived it.  It's a simple story, really. Is it? Yes.  He came to Israel after the war, he had three children here, they had children, and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, without end.  Ayn sof. And the other brother? Half. Yup.  Where did he go? Canada. Did he have children? Oh, yes.  Actually, he also had three. Did they have children? Yes, seven of them.  He had seven grandchildren.  Five great-grandchildren. Are they Jewish?

One of the great things about the Modern Era is that you can work as a writer in English from anywhere in the world.  The downside is working for a range of clients, all over the world, some of whom – you’d swear – are the laziest human beings that could exist on the planet. If Hashem made them any lazier, they’d simply stop breathing.  Don’t believe me?  Don’t worry; I came prepared with examples. In case you haven’t made its acquaintance yet, Fiverr is a site that connects freelancers and clients around the world.  The premise is simple:  what would you do for five bucks?  In my case, I’ll write 300 words for 5 bucks . Heck, I can write 300 words before I actually start to think about what I’m going to say.  I’ve written 300 words already in this blog post – and I’m just getting started.  (Okay, that’s only 156, but hey, I’m halfway there already.) But on Fiverr, that $5 is just the BOTTOM LINE.  From there, you can charge extra for research, longer pieces, rush orders, those k

NOTE: One year after my brother Eli's death in 2014, I published a book about the intertwining of our lives and his struggle with schizophrenia. This post and many other writings are included, in slightly different form, in that book. Please wait until the ride has come to a full and complete stop is now available in print and Kindle editions. Through laughter and tears, I invite you to come share my final journey with my brother. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In light of the school shooting on Friday in Connecticut, a mother named Liza Long has released a heartfelt article saying, “I am sharing this story because I am Adam Lanza's [Friday’s shooter’s] mother. I am Dylan Klebold's and Eric Harris's mother. I am Jason Holmes's mother. I am Jared Loughner's mother. I am Seung-Hui Cho's mother. And these boys—and their mothers—need help. In the wake of another horrific national tragedy, it's easy to ta

  My mother has a joke.  Maybe you’ve heard it before? So a guy goes to the doctor.  Says, “Doctor, it hurts when I go like this.” And the doctor says, “So don’t go like that.” This was almost literally my conversation today, with my second orthopedist this month, about the unbearable pain in my right foot. My problem is that it only hurts when I’m barefoot.  Put on a pair of shoes and I’m Wonder Woman.  I leave everybody in my dust.  Take them off… and I’m Little Red Riding Hood’s grandma, barely able to get out of bed. This pain has a name:  PTTI.  That’s its name in Hebrew, too.  Posterior Tibial Tendon Insufficiency.  Don’t Google it; the pictures are horrific and mine really isn’t that bad (see below).  Basically, it means that the flat feet I’ve had my whole life have bottomed out completely.  So today I met with Ortho #2, Specialist Foot Ortho Guy.  Ortho #1 was a regular ortho, non-specialist.  Both very nice and personable despite the long lines outside their doors. 

It is almost unbelievable how inured we have become to the “Like” buttons that follow us everywhere these days, begging for our all-important feedback on everything from a drive-thru meal eaten in passing (Like!) to a budget motel (1 star!) to a city (Budapest, 5 stars!) or even a hike (Grand Canyon, 2 stars!). But the weather??? Weather.com apparently now lets me vote on the weather.  I didn’t actually click “Love,” by the way.  I was just hovering when I took this screenshot.  I do wonder, though… if enough people click “Ugh!,” what exactly will happen?  Something like this, maybe: But really, I don’t think we should mess with the universe quite to that extent…

NOTE: One year after my brother Eli's death in 2014, I published a book about the intertwining of our lives and his struggle with schizophrenia. This post and many other writings are included, in slightly different form, in that book. Please wait until the ride has come to a full and complete stop is now available in print and Kindle editions. Through laughter and tears, I invite you to come share my final journey with my brother. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You think you know crazy?  Maybe, maybe not.  My family’s idea of crazy is a little different from most, although I’ve discovered that once I admit this, the stories sometimes start coming out of the woodwork.  We’re not alone, but our family craziness is still, I think, a little nuttier than most. Our stories include dashing from a festive Pesach meal to bolt the door against my brother.  Visiting him while he’s tied in restraints to a bed… or in a special visiting roo

no shoes no rude noises do as your told only bring a pillow to prevent lice no food on my bed avoid putting fingers & hands in mouth no more blankets not alot of dolls (get lost) consider a doll like mine BIG have fun, Naomi ♥ Love, The dictator of the upper bunk. (For some reason, she enjoys writing script even more now that she’s here.  I think because it sets her apart from the other kids in her class, who are only learning how to print.  Sadly, she has not finished learning the capital letters, so she just sort of guesses.) Good Shabbos!!!

Something about this just tickled me… maybe it’s late and I’m tired. This is also sort of a test post.  Haven’t been over here much lately because we’ve been BUSY with the project of a lifetime.  Come visit me sometime over at my for-now Israeli home… Adventures in Aliyahland ! (I do anticipate keeping this blog and posting to it once our life becomes less about aliyah and more about, well, day-to-day life.  We’ll see.)

(she’s 8 now, but I found this in an older notebook…) One day I became really tired and lazy.  “Please tell me why!” I yelled but I already knew, I was expecting a baby! Nine months past [she means “nine months passed”], I stayed home from class.  The day had come at last! I took a year of [off] from work, to hang out with my little baby girl, Veonica!  I named her Veronica Elizabeth.   The story actually goes on and the main character becomes a grandmother, and then a great-grandmother.  And nobody in the family wears more than a bikini, because – of course – they’re all mermaids.  There are no males in the story.  Yet I find it oddly (very oddly) touching. Going through a ton of paperwork because the journey is well and truly underway now.  In twelve days, we will be en route to our new home in the Holy Land!!!  Please follow our adventures over here at my aliyah blog if I’m not around here at this blog much…

… ‘til 16 years from now what really ought to be mailed today.  Isn’t that how the quote goes? Whoopsie. Seated on the floor Tisha b’Av morning, sifting through 30 years worth of papers (highly recommended for the occasion as both a saddening and deadening kind of occupation), I came across a small stack of thank-you cards from YM’s upsherin… ie, the upsherin we held when he turned three. Yes, the same YM who is turning 19 in a month and a half. I still really like the “logo” I designed for his upsherin – a blue scissors, open, with “YM” from top to bottom one way and the Hebrew letters yud and mem the other way.  I mock-airbrushed it with my set of “Blo-Pens” – a truly kitschy-but-cool craft supply if ever there was one.  I used cutting-edge scanning & colour-copying technology to apply the logo to everything from the invitations (in fridge magnet form!) to the program (yes, there was a program) to, well, the thank-you cards I don’t think anybody ever got. To be very fair, b

Two words that make me bananas – and not in a good way.  I’m including these both here to save time, and because these are similarly misused words – due to their inadvertently doubled vowels – that both keep popping up everywhere I turn. So!  Snuggly vs Snugly.  Anyone??? This nut is something that fits “snugly”: This teddy bear, on the other hand, is kind of “snuggly”: Well, okay, it isn’t really very snuggly.  But it’s “Dydee Bear!” the official diaper-service mascot bear that my sister had as a baby. This “data center knowledge” article is another example.  Aww… it’s snuggly! As for the other. Shinny vs Shiny.  Really, unacceptable. These are shins: To be fair, these, too, are shins: And this is shinny: An informal game of hockey, often played in the streets. This ring is nice and shiny: This is nice and shinny:   <- So, clearly, this hair product does not make “hair look so nice and shinny,” as one reviewer mentioned. Neither does this one.  ->  

Because I don’t have enough to do… I’m selling poems on fiverr!  Click here to see my gigs.  You’ve read ‘em here for years… you’ve bought ‘em on Amazon.com … and now you can OWN one of these fabulous masterpieces! For $5, you can buy a short (4-6 stanza) poem for anyone, on any topic.  (If you’ve never used fiverr before, it’s tons of fun to explore anyway). Because we’re moving in just a few weeks, this is just a “trial balloon.”  If it works out, obviously I’ll start it up again once we’re within wifi distance of a computer with a keyboard. Just figured this is something I’m good at that’s easy and fun to do.  Some people knit or sew masterpieces and sell them on etsy… but I don’t.  So if you’ve got a birthday or special occasion coming up, consider giving the Gift of Heartfelt Poetry… :-)