Devarim

El Al nightmare

2010-12-31T04:50:00.001-05:00

Dear El Al,

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Shanna Giora-Gorfajn, and I, along with my three-year old twins, my husband, and my mother- and father-in-law, arrived in Israel this week on the El Al Flight 002 scheduled to depart on Dec. 26 from JFK. As you are probably aware, it didn't: instead, we spent 30 hours at the airport, ten of which were on a plane sitting out on the tarmac in a blizzard. We thought it was a little unlikely that the flight would actually take off, given the forecast, and had called El Al several times that day to reconfirm. Each time we were told that yes, the flight was scheduled; yes, we should come to the airport. Had we chosen to stay home, we would have forfeited our tickets. There was no option for exercising our own judgment that leaving for the airport in a blizzard was insanity.

So we went, narrowly avoiding an accident on the way in near-whiteout conditions, but arriving in plenty of time to check in and board--as it turned out, with about 30 hours to spare. I don't need to describe the misery for you--you know, as does everyone who saw it on CNN and Israeli news channels. And of course I recognize that the weather is not El Al's fault. The plane's inability to take off was not El Al's fault. Although the was nowhere to sleep and limited access to kosher food, the staff did what they could, under very trying circumstances, to make things more comfortable. But there wasn't much that anyone could do to make that situation anything but a nightmare.

It would be nice, though, if you could do what you can after the fact to be sure that we don't lose part of our trip as a result. We were glad to hear that El Al was waiving the rebooking fee to extend our trip, so that we would still be able to see all the family and friends we had come to Israel to see. I was delighted when my travel agent told me that there were four adjacent seats available on Flight 001 on Jan 9, two days later than our original return flight. Except that I later discovered, after my travel agent spoke to several El Al representatives, that we can't--because El Al will not permit me to rebook my tickets, except in the exact same ticket class for the exact same price. So no, we cannot fly back to JFK on Saturday night. If I want four seats for myself, my husband, and my children, I can only fly back to Newark, several days later, missing another week of work--and without our car and the children's car seats, which are currently at JFK. No, thank you. Really? Only in the exact same ticket class? Even though there are seats available on the exact flight we need? Even though we spent over 40 hours getting from New York to Tel Aviv? Even though, once El Al made the decision not to cancel the flight, we had no option but to go to the airport and hope for the best, or lose thousands of dollars that we had paid for tickets?

My father-in-law and my children had never been to Israel before, and I hoped this trip, although short, would be an delightful first experience for them, with many future trips to follow. My in-laws have already decided to leave as planned, and I am certain their travel nightmare has overshadowed any enjoyable experiences here. It is not too late for me to give my children a good first taste of the land.

You don't have control over the weather. You do have control over how you treat your customers. You can, and should, treat us better than this.

Sincerely,
Shanna Giora-Gorfajn
052-339-8196 (in Israel, return flight booked for El Al flight #1 on Jan 7)
617-xxx-xxxx (in the US thereafter)

cc: [travel agent-redacted]

Please Deliver Between 2035 and 2040

2010-03-03T16:42:00.004-05:00

Dear Children,

I want to tell you about something I used to do when you were three years old. At the end of naptime, I would turn on the hallway light, leave the door to your room open, and sit on one of your stools at the foot of your beds. I would gaze adoringly into your sweet sleeping faces. I would kiss you gently on your smooth, delicious foreheads.

I would then tickle your noses and bellies to wake you up. I don't think you liked that part very much.

Love,
Mommy

Don't Tell Nawlins

2009-11-30T14:21:00.002-05:00

I am frantically trying to find something for the kids to eat for lunch. Pasta is out as there is a potential dinner playdate today and it will be the safest bet for that. No fish sticks in the freezer, no polenta in the fridge, no couscous in the cupboard.

"Hey..." I venture. "Do you guys want some...uh...fake sausage? With...tomato sauce? And, um...some rice?"

Wrinkled noses, a mini-chorus of "No!"

Thirty seconds later...

"Hey, do you guys want some gumbo?"

"Yeah! Gumbo!"

Onions, carrots, sausage, frozen spinach, tomato sauce, a little spicy veggie broth. Saute first three, add everything else, simmer, serve over rice. They gobbled it up. It's amazing what's in a name.

Independent Entities

2009-11-15T19:46:00.003-05:00

Somewhere along the line, I picked up a tip for convincing a willful preschooler to be a little more cooperative. If it involves a body part in any way shape or form, you give that body part its own identity, needs, and wants, and ask the child to help it out. Don't want to use the potty? That's okay, but your tushie wants to get rid of some poop, so can you just sit on the potty for a few minutes so your tushie can push the poop out?

We tried this tonight at dinner, when both Rafi and Rita decided they were done after only a few bites of lasagna. Magically, their tummies developed minds of their own (voiced by Mommy), and both tummies insisted they were soooooo hungry. "Feed me!" Rita's tummy pleaded. "I want more lasagna!"

A little smile took over Rita's face. "Okay. I'll feed my tummy!" Giggling, Rita stabbed a piece of lasagna with her fork, lifted it...and aimed for her belly button.

First Day of Preschool

2009-09-13T22:04:00.002-04:00

I barely slept Wednesday night. After finally setting aside clothes for the first day, I got it into my head to fold (most of) the mountain of laundry we generated after returning from our week in NY. I'm not quite sure what I did with the rest of the night, but it was 5 AM before I knew it, and I barely managed an hour of sleep before Rita came into our room.

Miraculously, her early wake-up for the day didn't impact her enjoyment of school at all. She and Rafi were (mostly) cooperative in getting dressed, eagerly put on their backpacks to head downstairs, tolerated several rounds of posed First Day pictures, and bounded down the street with fewer than half a dozen pauses to examine cracks in the sidewalk and idling trucks in the road.

Once at school, they found their cubbies, helped me put away their spare clothes, settled their backpacks inside, and dashed off into the classroom before I could even turn around. I really think that if the school didn't require that parents stay through the entire (hour-long) first session, I could have left them right then and there. Instead, I had the privilege of watching them explore a sand table, a deluxe kitchen and dining area, and more new-to-them toys than I could count. Clean up, circle time, and - just like that - the first day of school was done.

I can't wait for them to go back on Tuesday.

Two Little Fish

2009-09-10T03:31:00.008-04:00

In about seven hours, Rafi and Rita and I will head out the door and down the street for their first day of preschool. A typical mother would have their First Day Of School outfits laid out (probably new clothes), bags of spare clothes packed, camera waiting, and home at least somewhat tidy so as to streamline the process of getting out the door in the morning.

Me? I did manage to find a dress and leggings for Rita that match each other and do not have any visible stains. And I set aside a polo for Rafi, but I have no clue which of his pants will match it, be suitable for the weather (mid-teens/low-60s, depending on your preferred system), and go with sneakers (they do have new sneakers). Their sandals would match better for both outfits, but they are definitely showing wear. Besides, the other parents will think I'm a loon for putting myself in sandals in mid-September - better they don't think I'm abusive for doing the same to my children.

I have a spare outfit set aside for him, but I can't find the cubby-box-clothes I had in mind for her (you know...the ones that still fit, but are stained and a little shlumpy so you won't miss them at home). Extra socks - check. Spare diapers stuffed and set aside; the school is planning to use disposable wipes and zipper-locking plastic bags as needed. Of course nothing is labeled, since I only got around to ordering clothing labels about 90 minutes ago.

The living room and kitchen are in shambles, with most of our summer clothes recently laundered and tossed on every available surface, waiting to be folded and put away. This should add to the excitement of looking for Rita's spare clothes or even finding a clean shirt for myself in the morning. I still need to memorize the door code to get us into the building. I'll have to remember to ask Julian where the camera is before he leaves for work. And I should probably make sure I actually have my wallet with me when I walk out the door in the morning.

We're not terrible parents, though. Just before bathtime, we presented the children with their first backpacks, with their initials embroidered on the flaps. Tucked into each bag was the welcome note from their teachers. They unzipped and rezipped the bags, and had us read them their notes over and over, pointing out each teacher's face several times. I shortened the shoulder straps as much as possible, and they danced around their room with bags on their backs, their faces filled with pride and delight.

They could go to school in tattered t-shirts and ragged shorts, but if they put on those smiles every time they put on their backpacks, they'll be the best-dressed kids in the world.

Mother May I?

2009-08-13T10:30:00.002-04:00

Before it ends completely, I have to document Rafi's "permission phase." Starting about three weeks ago, he started asking "Can I...?" questions: "Mommy, can I have some more cheese please?" "Can I put my shoes on?" "Can I play with the Legos?"

This progressed to asking for obvious things, half joking: "Can I have my dinner?" "Can I go to the grocery store with you?" "Can I get into my stroller?" He would giggle hysterically with some of these questions.

It's only a matter of time, Julian said, before he asks a question where he knows the answer will be "no." And soon thereafter, that day arrived.

"Mommy, can I put this potty on my head?" No, Rafi.

[pause]

"On Rita's head?"

Digestion According to Rafi

2009-07-31T09:46:00.001-04:00

"I eat my bagel all up, and put it all into my tummy, and then it goes into the potty, and that's what happens to bagels!"

Another year, another thing...

2009-07-24T10:59:00.003-04:00

It's that week of the year again. Time to start summing it all up, and next week we start the elevation toward Judgment and yadda yadda. (Eloquent, no?)

I've been quiet on the blog now for a while. You could say I've had to restrict things, restrict my words. For a while, I couldn't talk politics, because of my job. Then I couldn't talk about some major personal turmoil, in order to protect the privacy of family members. Then I elected not to talk about my pregnancy, and it took six months before I felt comfortable talking about my kids here at all. Just as I was getting ready to shift gears, I received a few comments that were...less than appreciative of my path toward Mommy Blogging. I have to say I agree to some degree; I'm not looking to be a Mommy Blogger. But at the same time, I regret terribly that I have almost no record of my children's first two and a half years, all because I didn't want to be pigeonholed.

So here it is, people: this is my place. I'm going to stop caring what people do or don't want to read, what they think I am or am not capable of. I have two beautiful children. They are among the most important things in my life. If every word I write from this day forward is about them, I will not have wasted a single letter.

Not-Quite-Yogurt Sauce

2009-06-22T14:41:00.004-04:00

This past Shabbat we had a bunch of friends over for dinner, including a couple of vegetarians. Although I am usually delighted to make a vegetarian meal, given the size and makeup of the crowd I opted for a chicken main course. Every other dish (including a Moroccan-style chickpea stew served over couscous, as an alternate protein) was vegetarian friendly, but one of the vegetarian guests offered to whip up a batch of zucchini fritters in my kitchen as well. "I usually serve this with a dill-yogurt sauce," he said. Alas - no yogurt with chicken.

So we improvised a lovely pareve (and vegan!) substitute for his yogurt sauce. Not only did it go nicely with the zucchini fritters, but it was wonderful drizzled over the chickpeas as well. I look forward to making a variation (without the dill or garlic) as a base for a pareve raita some time in the future.

"Yogurt" Sauce with Dill and Garlic

about 3/4 lb silken tofu (do not use soft or firm)

1/3 to 2/3 cup unsweetened rice milk

juice of 1 lemon, more to taste

a generous pinch or two of salt

1 small clove garlic, crushed (frozen is fine, but do not use powder)

1 tsp finely chopped dill

Combine tofu and 1/3 cup rice milk in food processor or blender and process until smooth. Add more rice milk, a little at a time, until sauce is just a bit thicker than desired.

Add lemon juice and salt and process until completely blended. Taste - it should taste more or less like yogurt that has been thinned with a little water. Add more salt or lemon juice if needed.

Add garlic and dill and process until fully combined.

Cover and refrigerate for at least half an hour to let flavors mingle. May be stored in the refrigerator for a few days; if it starts to curdle a bit, just mix well until smooth.

Also posted to KosherBlog.

Toilet Training FAIL

2009-06-08T15:56:00.002-04:00

ME: Rita, you made a poopy! There's a poop in your diaper!

RITA: [with pride] I made it all by myself!

ME: Yes! And now we can go clean the poop off your tushie and give you a new diaper. Next time, can you tell me before you make a poopy so you can make it in the potty?

RITA: No.

ME: Why not?

RITA: Because I want to make it in the diaper.

(I mean, really, how are you going to argue with that?)

Watch Your Language

2009-05-18T17:47:00.002-04:00

RITA: Dammit!

RAFI: Rita no say dammit! Only Mommy!

Best Telemarketer Conversation Ever

2009-04-03T17:41:00.002-04:00

ME: Hello?

HIM: Hi, I'm John Doe with the XYZ Foundation. How are you doing today, Mrs. Gore...faj...in?

ME: I'm sorry, I should tell you upfront that we don't make any financial commitments over the phone.

HIM: Well, that's not exactly what we do here. [pause] Okay, I guess it is. Have a great day. Bye.

My Little Feminist

2009-03-26T00:09:00.002-04:00

Background: Rafi was born with a full head of hair, and has had four or five full-on haircuts (not cutesy-baby-bang-trims) in his short life. Rita was born virtually bald, and only just now have we started to actually worry whether her hair is getting in her eyes.

We were engaged in the usual bedtime proceedings. Rafi had just finished nursing and scrambled off my lap, and Rita climbed up for her turn. For some reason I can't place, Julian's kipa had fallen off of his head. Rafi spotted it, picked it up, offered it back to Daddy. Julian in turn offered it back to Rafi.

Thirty seconds later, my little boy was running around delightedly, kipa (and clips!) centered on top of his head. "Do you like the kipa?" I asked him. "Soon you will wear one every day."

Rita took a quick break from nursing. "Rita wear it kipa too?"

"No, sweetie. You don't have to wear a kipa."

Rita burst into tears. I tried to console her: "You can wear one, if you want to, I guess. But you don't need to wear a kipa. Just Daddy and Rafi. Mommy doesn't wear one, see?"

She wasn't having it, and the sobbing continued...until I saw a little lightbulb go off over her head. "Rafi wear it kipa? Rafi get a haircut, wear it kipa." [pause] "Rita get a haircut, wear kipa also."

Don't look now, but she's planning her own upsherin.

Skill Retention

2009-03-11T15:21:00.003-04:00

Apparently this was a very, very long winter - long enough to forget certain vital life skills.

This morning (barely), after a decent rain, I decided to toss the kids' rainboots into the stroller for a possible stop at the park. By the time we'd finished at Trader Joe's (where Rafi dozed off, which may explain why he spent the first half-hour of a much-delayed naptime today giggling and talking to himself), it was drizzling again. But, really, just a drizzle, so I figured - why not? Puddle-splashing was a much-loved activity last fall, and they needed to burn off some energy.

Off came the sneakers, on went the boots, up went the hoods, and I pulled the kids out of the stroller and set them on the ground. "Go on! We have some time to play. Go splash!"

Rafi looked up at me mournfully, shook his head, and whimpered: "I don't know how to splash."

Holiday Food Mash-Up

2009-03-08T22:30:00.003-04:00

This weekend, with some assistance from Rafi and Rita, I made five dozen hamentaschen - half of them apricot, half chocolate. On spying the chocolate filling, Julian told me that yesterday, in shul, a friend of ours bit into a chocolate hamentasch and wondered aloud whether it was carob. "Nobody would make carob hamentaschen!" I replied, just as he was getting to that same punchline. "It's Purim - not Tu B'Shevat!"

It got me thinking, though - how many holiday food traditions could one cram into a single, edible (and preferably palatable) item? Carob hamentasch = Tu B'Shevat + Purim. Fry it, and you cover Chanukah. Fried carob hamentasch with a honey-based dough = Chanukah + Tu B'Shevat + Purim + Rosh Hashana. Maybe you can even argue Sukkot, because hamentaschen are stuffed, in a manner of speaking.

Can you come up with a more inclusive delicacy?

Do you even need me here?

2009-03-04T17:56:00.003-05:00

Scene: Rafi and Rita have recently woken from their nap. Rita is playing on the floor; Rafi is still abed (by choice). Rafi drops his blankie.

ME: Rita, could you please up Rafi's blankie for him please?

RITA: Inna bed? [picks up blankie] Here, Rafi! Blankie inna bed!

RAFI: [giggles, drops the blankie again] Rita pickup blankie?

RITA, good sport that she is, does so.

RAFI: [giggles, drops the blankie again] Rita pickup blankie?

RITA, good sport that she is, does so.

RAFI: [giggles, drops the blankie again] Rita pickup blankie?

RITA, good sport that she is, does so.

RAFI: Rita pickup blankie?

RITA: [hands him blankie] Not pick it up again, Rafi!

RAFI considers this, and tosses the blankie over again.

RITA: [sighs, hands him blankie] Not pick it up again, Rafi!

Shabbat Menus

2008-12-12T02:14:00.004-05:00

For lack of anything better to write about tonight, but in keeping with my custom of blogging when I have other writing to do, I will give my Shabbat guests (and the rest of you) a sneak peak at the food. Assuming I make it all in time.

Dinner

roasted lemon-herb chickens (with celery, onions, carrots, and parsnips)

roasted mixed potatoes and sweet potatoes

green beans with herbs and tomatoes

cranberry sauce

perhaps a kugel contribution from a guest

apple-cranberry crisp

vanilla soy ice cream (bought)

Lunch

persimmon and avocado salad

dafina (this is an experiment for me)

a mustard-less, vaguely Moroccan take on this chicken (in case one experiment goes bad, rely on another)

something vaguely Moroccan again, involving green beans, because I bought a lot of them when the menu was fuzzy

a kugel from the freezer, or else Thai-style quinoa - whichever I think will clash less

chocolate cake

strawberry sorbet (making this myself was a waste of time, I think) (and also possibly not the best option when the high will be several degrees below freezing

Ah, and rimonlimonana to drink, though unfortunately not with fresh mint.

It's possible that I should be either cooking or sleeping now. Or writing something other than a pointless blog post.

Ten Years

2008-11-20T14:24:00.002-05:00

Ten years ago last night, I was frantically trying to wrap up a final project for my 200-level modern poetry class. The assignment (I believe we had a choice among several) was to select ten poems we'd analyzed that semester, choose a musical artist/band to perform the poem as if it were lyrics to one of their songs, and (of course) explain our choices. Ever the clever one - or perhaps just still stuck in high school cre8tiv mode - I asked a tech-savvy friend to burn a CD with a representative song from each musician/band, and I made up liner notes (with the "lyrics") and cover art for the jewel case. At least I had the good sense to submit the thinking portion of the assignment in standard 8.5 x 11 format.

Ten years ago today, somewhere around 2 AM, I swung by the Young Israel House at Cornell to pick up my mix CD. There was a quiet buzz about some recent alumnus coming to visit for Shabbat; I filed it away in the back of my brain. I had much left to do for my (clever!) project, and probably other work to do besides, and only about eight hours in which to do it all. I snagged my CD and hightailed it back to my sorority house.

Ten years ago this morning, wired from a night without sleep, I proudly presented my final project. Some weeks later, I was amused to receive the graded materials back from the TA with a note that it was a "real treat" to hear Rabbi Carlebach sing A. R. Ammons's "Small Song" in translation. Shlomo Carlebach had been dead for four years, and even while he was alive I doubt he would have indulged such a request. Ammons was still alive then. I may or may not have napped that afternoon. Probably not.

Ten years ago, about an hour later than I am writing this, I finished stuffing pajamas and a couple changes of clothes into my overnight bag. I hopped into my car and admired the sunset (sunset!) as I drove past Carl Sagan's house (okay, also dead) residence and over the Stewart Avenue bridge. I made it to the House just before Shabbat, and probably left my car in the driveway. I can't remember exactly why I didn't go into the small shul in the back of the Kosher Dining Hall - maybe I was helping with something for dinner? - but I do remember chatting with Alisha during that time. Oh, there's some alum in town? Oh, really, I think I've seen him on the composites. Yeah, I'd like to meet him, talk about how the House used to be.

I think it was Alisha who pointed Julian out to me ten years ago this afternoon. It was definitely Josh who was chatting with him in that area where the shul and the dining room and the kitchen all spill out by the sinks. Yep, Josh is the guy who failed to introduce me to my future husband, when I stepped up all polite and smiling. Josh just kept on talking, and eventually I broke in with, "Hi! You must be Julian. I'm Shanna." Stuck out my hand, pulled it back. He could be shomer negia. I probably looked rather more right-wing myself, in a full, tiered, ankle-length skirt (size 6, it was my mom's) and a black turtleneck sweater. Simple pearl earrings and a single strand of them around my neck - I wore the latter on our wedding day.

Ten years ago I sat with about fifteen people at a dinner table big enough for eight or ten, because that table had the "good" wine (Baron Herzog White Zinfandel) and an interesting guy named Julian. After dinner, a couple dozen people moved upstairs for a tisch. Not that any conclusion should be drawn about underage drinking, but it's possible that Julian offered me a beer. Perhaps more than one. Hard as it may be to believe, I turned them all down, on account of extreme sleepiness. I also credit the extreme sleepiness with causing me to turn down a lunch invitation from Julian's weekend hosts. Silly me thought he'd be eating the in dining hall, and insisted I had to be there (though of course I didn't tell her why).

Ten years ago tonight, even though I'd already been awake for close to thirty-six hours, I stayed up late playing durak and talking about Billy Joel (I had changed into a concert T-shirt). I proclaimed my criteria for a future husband (easy to pronounce last name, waits no more than three hours between meat and dairy). Julian brought me over to one of the composites hanging in the living room and challenged me to pronounce "Gorfajn." (I got it wrong.) At about four o'clock in the morning, the five of us (including Matt) wrapped it up for the night. I slipped into a bathroom to change into pajamas, and by the time I'd gotten out Julian had left. Somewhat dejected, I confessed my new crush to Beth, my roommate-for-the-night, who prompted called me an idiot for turning down the lunch invite.

To make a long story short (too late!): I crashed lunch, we fell in love, we got married. Ten years and two wonderful children later, I couldn't be happier.

Tired?

2008-11-16T05:11:00.001-05:00

You know you're up too late when you realize that if you hit the delay cycle button on your dishwasher, the dishes will not be clean in time for breakfast.

What, Me? Cryptic?

2008-11-14T01:39:00.002-05:00

It's all about intellectual stimulation, really. My brain was starting to atrophy. Rita and Rafi are wonderful and delightful and brilliant, but at the end of the day they are still a couple of toddlers. Their greatest accomplishments include eating soup without spilling, correctly identifying all the animals in "Polar Bear, Polar Bear," and making it to breakfast without three rounds of "Rafi pushed-you me! Time-out." (Usually said by Rita when she did the pushing. Though, to be fair, she will sometimes put herself into time out: walk into bedroom, close door, wait thirty seconds, then start screaming.)

So I'm kinda-sorta working now. Maybe. It's freelance, it's not in the legal field, and it's a task with which I don't have much direct experience. It involves words, though. I can do words. They're what you get when you put all those pretty letters together in little groups with spaces in between. The real question is whether I can pick the right words, in the right order, and make something good come of it.

I didn't use words enough, though, in the past twenty-one months. Twenty-one months - almost twenty-two by now. My children are almost two years old, and written records of their infancy and early toddlerhood are spotty at best. We have pictures galore, but it's not the same. Sure, there are scattered emails and the like, highlighting this or that adorable event. I can probably pull something comprehensive together if I really try. But it's just not the same. Rafi, Rita: I'm sorry. You have no baby book detailing your first words and first steps. But perhaps I can sum it all up with this: you are lovely and loved, and ever will be.

Right - maybe instead I should just blog the cute things as they happen?

Isn't It Ironic?

2008-11-10T15:12:00.002-05:00

I may start blogging again. And wouldn't you know it - it's not because of politics (yay Obama!) or recent legal developments (boo Prop 8) or my children's neverending adorableness (of course). Nope, it's only because I have other stuff I'm supposed to be writing. Of course.

Let's see where this goes.

Chag Atzmaut Sameach!

2008-05-08T11:09:00.004-04:00

(Happy Independence Day!)

My friend Aliza wrote a particularly good bit about Israel in honor of the day. I can't say I agree with her 100%, but I also doubt I'll put up anything nearly as worthwhile to read, so you should go read her stuff instead.

Vote Tomorrow

2008-05-05T11:36:00.003-04:00

There is a town election in Brookline tomorrow. On the ballot is a two-part override question regarding an increase in real estate and personal property taxes. The increase will go toward additional funding for police and fire departments, the public library, schools (including a longer school day), and maintenance of parks, streets, sidewalks, and town buildings. Part 1B of the question involves a slightly higher tax increase, which will also fund the World Language Program for grades K-6.

I know that by voting for higher taxes, I am totally losing whatever libertarian credibility I may ever have had. I still, in theory, would prefer low taxes for bare necessities and pay-per-service assessments for most other things. On the other hand, I really like my local library and plan to take advantage of the children's programs offered there for many years to come. I also appreciate this opportunity to participate in local politics, to be part of the process of deciding whether to raise taxes and where to spend the money. Tomorrow I plan to take advantage of this opportunity by voting YES to both parts of the override question.

The neverending Democratic primary season is slowly making me disenchanted with the political process - not that I was a huge fan to begin with. But politics, and government, don't exist only on the national level. Local elections bring about local results. There are real effects in our schools, our crime rates, our safety, and the beauty of our environment. If we don't participate, we lose credibility when we complain. Learn about and take part in your local government, and vote in every election for which you are eligible to do so. And if you live in Brookline, go out and vote tomorrow.

My 60-day Challenge

2008-05-05T09:14:00.003-04:00

I've signed myself up for Round Two of Moxie's 60-Day Take Yourself Seriously Challenge. One of the challenges I've given myself is to post here at least three times per week, at least one of which must be substantial (defined as 100+ words). Because I'm a wuss, I'm counting this post as one of my three.

Costuming

2008-03-21T09:00:00.003-04:00

We put lots of thought into our Purim outfitting this year, and have come up with some wonderfully subtle costumes.

I am dressed as an exhausted mother of twins. This costume is similar to that of an unemployed lawyer, but varies from the latter in that I am not carrying around a dog-eared law review and casually hidden stack of business cards with my contact information on one side and a miniature resume crammed onto the back.

My husband will be going as a working-from-home engineer. This costume is distinguished from that of a working-at-work engineer by the absence of an employee identification badge; all other aspects of dress and personal grooming remain the same.

My daughter is dressed as a boy, because when she woke up this morning, the cutest clothes remaining in the dresser were all in shades of blue. Never mind that we dress her like this on a regular basis.

My son is an abstract representation of a backyard organic vegetable patch, in that he is wearing a brown shirt with a carrot on it, captioned: "Home Grown." The effect is somewhat diminished by the presence of ice blue pants, but in order to enhance his costume we plan to allow all dirt that accumulates on his face and hands to remain there for the duration of the day.

Chag Purim sameach!

My Ki-gdom for a...

2008-03-20T17:28:00.000-04:00

I have just discovered how difficult it is to live without the key to the left of M/to the right of B. Stupid opposite-of-old laptop.

A Special Kind of Dumb

2008-03-06T18:13:00.003-05:00

Scene: Trader Joe's, me with the kids in their stroller.

Random woman walks up to me and says, "So I recently read that mothers of twins really get tired of people stopping them to comment on how adorable their children are." Pause. "Your children are adorable."

Oh, and then she kept talking...

Everything Old is New Again

2007-11-02T00:19:00.000-04:00

As I'm sure many of you know, cloth diapering is gaining popularity among several segments of the population. There are the thrifty types who calculate how many thousands of dollars they will save over using disposables (especially for more than one child). There are the environmentally-conscious folk who want to keep disposables (and human waste! poop goes in the potty!) out of landfills - a worthwhile goal for most of us, though questionable for those who live in regions with lots of land and not so much water. There are the parents of babies with sensitive skin who want to keep perfumes, bleach, and various other artificial stuff away from their bums. And then there are those of us who just think that today's cloth diapers look cute.

Okay, fine, I'm a crunchy environmentalist, too.

The financial aspect doesn't hurt, either.

I'm also not a fan of perfumes and bleach, but we've been using Seventh Generation diapers and wipes since the kids were a couple of weeks old, so that was really a non-issue. We're not going all-natural here, either; for the kids' comfort (and our own sanity) we are opting to use a "pocket diaper" system, wherein a polyester fleece or suedecloth layer is closest to the skin, wicking away moisture to be absorbed by whatever sort of insert we stuff the diaper with.

Right. Maybe more details on the thought process later. This post is just to say that we have our six trial-run diapers (two each of three different brands), a few hemp inserts to play around with in addition to the freebie microterry ones that came with the diapers...and we are washed, locked, and loaded, ready to give thiings a whirl tomorrow.

Erm...today. It's pretty late, isn't it?

Lesson Learned

2007-10-27T23:21:00.000-04:00

Generally speaking, it's okay to give your nine-month-old babies the food you are eating.

Generally speaking, it's okay to chop up a bunch of chili peppers and add some greater-than-called-for quantity to the mushroom curry you are making (for the first time).

However (generally speaking), it is not such a brilliant idea to combine those two practices.

Poor kiddies. After some tears (and nursing) they ended up having just beer bread and baked apples for dinner last night. Not that I think they minded much in the end...but it's a shame, since Rita at least seemed to be digging the saag aloo before she got a mouthful of the hot curry.

Rumble In the Darkness

2007-10-10T21:37:00.000-04:00

Nope, not a really big substantive post here (yet). If I don't get this up now, I never will. With thanks to One Tired Ema for the tip, I direct you to The Great Virtual Breast Fest. I have no pictures of my own to contribute (and, even if I did, I'm not sure I'd put pictures of my children online without password protection), but I hope that by putting up a link I can do my own little part to desexualize and normalize attitudes toward breastfeeding in our culture.

Vayikra 23:42

2007-09-29T21:45:00.000-04:00

Julian was kind enough to point out to me tonight that I've been slacking off on the blogging again. He is most certainly right, and I shall try to remedy that. Tomorrow. Tonight I am just sitting in our sukkah (our first!), enjoying my leftover desserts and a relaxing foot-soak, and using our spiffy wireless access for mindless, aimless web-surfing.

Right. Substance to follow.

What I Learned On My Summer Vacation

2007-09-04T20:22:00.000-04:00

Once you have packed the necessary baby items into your (rather roomy) car, you're lucky if you have enough space to squeeze in a couple of changes of clothes for yourselves. Note that "necessary baby items" does not include Pack-N-Plays, as these were provided for us at our destination (Grandma and Grandpa's house).

The drive to New York takes at least twice as long with two babies in the car. (Thus our first demonstration of the difference between "textbook learning" and "experiential learning.")

If you have your babies in the car for ten minutes during their usual "wakeful" period mid-morning and are heading home for a nap so you can get some things done, they will fall asleep in the car and cry inconsolably if you take them upstairs. If you have your babies in the car for a long drive and it is the beginning of their usual naptime and you desperately want them to sleep so you can get some real driving done - ha.

Someone will decide that it's time to nurse or have a new diaper precisely one-eighth of a mile after the rest stop.

No toy on the floor is nearly as attractive to a little girl who knows how to crawl as the black plastic sheeting underneath the high chairs.

The black plastic sheeting underneath the high chairs is completely useless if your kid has a good pitching arm.

Baby-led weaning is a wonderful way to impress the grandparents...
...if your kids actually bother to eat.

Sometimes praying for good weather really does work, even in the face of a thunderstorm forecast.

When putting sunblock on a seven-month-old, there is no need to worry about applying it at least fifteen minutes prior to sun exposure. You will certainly encounter some issue preventing you from going outside before this time has elapsed.

In order to respect the laws of tzniut while swimming, I had to bend the rules of beged ish.

Splashing in the bath = fun.
Splashing in the pool = somewhat less fun.
Splashing in the ocean = get me the hell out of here.

Seagulls like poopy diapers.

Whoever invented a hand-held showerhead that can be propped about 30 inches above the floor - perfect baby-showering height - should be awarded a gold star.

Sunhats are for sissies. Mommy and Daddy will make you wear them anyway.

If you're dumb enough to stay at the beach house until almost five o'clock before driving over an hour to Brooklyn and you think your kids will stay awake so that you can put them to bed on time when you get there, then you'll totally get what you deserve.

The quality of takeout sushi is inversely proportional to the quality of the chopsticks provided.

Just because your son has peed once since you took off his diaper (and you caught it before he got his shirt) doesn't mean he won't do it again. (Note: this is a review lesson from last semester.)

When attending "an affair" with your children, be sure that all the spare outfits you've stashed in your various diaper bags and changing kits are of an appropriately dressy standard.

My children can sleep through anything (but only if they want to).

Bar mitzvah party games have gotten awfully complicated. I( don't recall scavenger hunts including a hundred-dollar bill, an American Express card, and a diamond engagement ring (may be retrieved with finger still attached)?

I still know how to dance Yoya.

I would say that I've discovered I'm too old for Yoya, except the bar mitzvah boy's mother was totally kicking it and I'm pretty sure she has a couple of years on me.

Teething pain waits for no man.

It's not the constantly changing locations that throws off the babies' sleep patterns - it's the amount of time it takes to effect each move.

Do not offer your babies blueberries first at breakfast if you want them to eat anything else.

Don't think you've escaped the annoying-music phenomenon just because you've gotten your children used to listening to stuff you like rather than kids' music. You can grow violently ill listening to even your favorite song for the thirty-seventh time in a row.

The tethers that go from the back of the convertible carseat to the anchor behind the rear headrest make excellent handholds for a baby who has just learned to stand. (Car not in motion, of course.)

Said baby who has just learned to stand will generally be unwilling to stop standing so you can buckle him in and get back on the road.

Eventually, said baby's sister will decide that she wants to stand, too.

With the proper breathing techniques, you can drive for a shockingly long period of time with a screaming wanting-to-stand baby (or two) in the car.

A parking lot outside a sewage treatment plant is not really the optimal place to try to lull your daughter to sleep.

It is possible for an exhausted mommy to squeeze into the backseat between two rear-facing Britax Roundabouts and read book after book while managing pacifier replacement to the left and head-stroking to the right - but it's not easy.

There's no place like home.

God in the Classroom? Never!

2007-08-24T08:51:00.000-04:00

From today's New York Times:

About 400 students started classes at Ben Gamla [a new K-8 charter public school in Hollywood, Florida] this week amid caustic debate over whether a public school can teach Hebrew without touching Judaism and the unconstitutional side of the church-state divide. The conflict intensified Wednesday, when the Broward County School Board ordered Ben Gamla to suspend Hebrew lessons because its curriculum — the third proposed by the school — referred to a Web site that mentioned religion.

Opponents say that it is impossible to teach Hebrew — and aspects of Jewish culture — outside a religious context, and that Ben Gamla, billed as the nation’s first Hebrew-English charter school, violates one of its paramount legal and political boundaries.

Of those of you who went to public school, how many of you learned anything about Christianity? Maybe the Crusades, or the Protestant Reformation? How many of you sang a Christmas carol (or five) in the winter pageant, or learned to play "church music" (including just about anything by Bach) if you were in the school orchestra? Was there a Halloween parade? In your Spanish or French or Italian class, did you learn to say "Feliz Navidad" or "Joyeux Noel" or "Buon Natale?" In your world history course, did you learn about such "exotic" philosophies as Buddhism and Baha'ai? And, of course, were you asked to start each day with the God-inclusive Pledge of Allegiance?

Eleanor Sobel, a school board member who is among Ben Gamla’s most vocal critics, said making sure the school did not stray from constitutional rules would take a near-impossible level of supervision.

Okay, Ms. Sobel. I hope you're exerting just as much effort to take Christianity out of the rest of the public schools in your district. Don't forget to reschedule the "Winter Break" so it doesn't deliberately overlap with Christmas every year. We wouldn't want anyone thinking that our public schools endorse any given religion, and, besides, the semester ends in late January, which is a much more logical time for a school vacation.

Culture and religion and history and language are interwoven. We do our children a great disservice when we try to pretend otherwise. We don't need less exposure to religion in our public schools - we need broader exposure. Children should know that we commonly note numbers in "Arabic numerals" and that we have Muslim scholars to thank for much of our science and math. They should know about the pagan origins of Halloween/Samhain (bonus points if you distinguish among the various religions that are currently lumped under the pagan umbrella), and the Catholic "All Souls Day" spin-off. They should know that being "zen" doesn't jsut mean chilling out, and that "yoga" is more than an exercise class. A survey of world religions should not be limited to a couple of days of "...and this is what they do in other countries in December."

So, yeah, teach Israeli folk dancing to those public school kids, including the 17% whose parents' primary language is Spanish and the "handful" of black students, some of whom are bussed over to the school by their Baptist church.

You know what really gets me, though? This bit (if it's true):

Mr. Deutsch and Rabbi Siegel, a former Jewish day school director, said their critics were mostly defenders of Jewish day schools that stand to lose students and tuition money.

About 80% of the students at Ben Gamla are transfers from other public schools, not from Jewish day schools. Of the students who did transfer out of the day schools, I would not be surprised to discover that a significant portion of them were there not for the religious education, but only for the Hebrew language exposure, or perhaps a little bit of cultural support. Some secular Israelis who have moved to the U.S. choose to send their children to Jewish day schools for the sole purpose of having somewhat familiar surroundings for their children, who may not speak English very well at first, or who may not feel comfortable being inundated with Christmas! come December.

While I certainly understand the day schools' interest in retaining students, I find it morally repugnant that their leaders would seek to undermine an effort to bring exposure to Hebrew language and Jewish culture to a greater number of students - including non-Jewish students.

Allan Tuffs, the rabbi at Temple Beth El in Hollywood, said he, too, was worried about the school and what it could lead to. “Jews have thrived in America as in no other nation,” Rabbi Tuffs said, “in large measure due to this concept of separation of church and state.”

He added, “Once a Jewish school like Ben Gamla is established, you know that fundamentalist Christian groups throughout America will be lining up to replicate this model according to their religious tradition.”

Not so fast, my friend. They'll have to create their own language first.

What's the matter, Colonel Sanders? CHICKEN?

2007-08-23T22:19:00.000-04:00

My children are no longer vegetarians. Rafi, at least, seems to be very happy about it.

(Off the grill, of course!)

Exploitation-Neutral

2007-08-22T20:06:00.000-04:00

Tonight Julian and I were discussing Moxie's post on consumer consciousness in purchasing children's toys. I suggested striving to avoid the Made-in-China-type stuff, not only for our kids' safety, but also to do our part to minimize worker exploitation and bad manufacturing practices. Not missing a beat, Julian asked if there are companies that would follow the carbon-neutral model by becoming "exploitation-neutral" - "We'll keep on exploiting our own workers, but we'll pay for those people over there to have a better life."

Seriously, I want to do some kind of assessment of our global exploitation "footprint" and see what we can do to minimize it. I have no real chance of ever meeting my ideal - the cheap, cute clothes at Old Navy are just too tempting to pass up. And just two days ago I bought a couple of rubber duckies (from Target no less) that were made in China...and I didn't even bother to look at the packaging before tossing them into the stroller basket. Hell, we have half of the Tiny Love catalog sitting in our living room, thanks to their "buy one, get one free" program for parents of multiples. We certainly have our share of plastic toys, though we are trying to minimize the number of items that sing, vibrate, whistle, beep, flash, or otherwise contribute to auditory and visual pollution of the home. (I should note that we bought high chairs with big plastic toy attachments that flash and play music. Sue me, but sometimes the kids need to be in their high chairs without food, and I'm weak.)

Will have to chew this over. In the meantime, I am happy to note that DreamHost, which my husband went with to host online stuff for our synagogue, is both employee-owned and carbon-neutral/green. w00t!

(No, being carbon-neutral's not perfect, not when you accomplish it by paying for "carbon credits," but it's a step in the right direction, and DreamHost also goes to some length to reduce their negative environmental impact to begin with.)

food update

2007-08-21T14:02:00.000-04:00

This won't be a very good baby-led weaning blog if I don't actually write about the foods my kids are trying. As of this week, we have broken the "one new food every two or three days" rule, though we still are not offering complex mixed foods. The list of offered foods thusfar (I think in order):

sweet potato (boiled; steamed)

avocado

carrot (steamed)

zucchini (steamed; grilled)

banana

peas (boiled, in mesh feeder)

broccoli (steamed)

green grapes (in mesh feeder)

brown rice pasta

blueberries (in mesh feeder)

red bell pepper (raw, for gnawing)

eggplant (grilled)

watermelon

oatmeal (cut oats, not whole)

I feel like I must have left something out, but I can't think of anything just now. The grilled veggies are made with a bit of olive oil, and this past Sunday also had some black pepper sprinkled on before grilling. Grilled zucchini so far seems to be a favorite, either fresh off the grill (cooled slightly) or cold the next day. Watermelon is a hit with Rafi, not so much with Rita.

Pasta (offered four times) was met with almost no interest whatsoever, and I can't tell whether that's because the shape (rotini) was too small to pick up (didn't seem so) or because (as Julian theorizes) it's just too bland. Tomato sauce is out because we haven't yet offered tomatoes, which are somewhat allergenic, and sauteed veggies in oil seems like it would be too slippery...but I'm wondering whether a nut-free pesto would be a good pasta sauce. Maybe with some avocado for creaminess? They haven't had basil either, but this would be a good introduction.

General dexterity is improving - Rafi is quite adept at getting the right part of the mesh feeder into his mouth when he wants to, and both kids can usually manage to pick up spear-shaped foods and place them into their mouths (though they sometimes need us to hold up the slippery foods so they can grab them).

The oatmeal was a new food this morning, and I helped a bit by putting some onto spoons for each of them (from piles in sections of their trays) and letting them attack the spoons as they saw fit. Both aimed for the oatmeal directly with their hands as well, and Rita had a ball squishing it through her fingers. I must admit I tried the squishing thing as I was rinsing off the trays, and it's rather fun.

slow-slow

2007-08-14T20:04:00.000-04:00

English was not my father's first language. It was his fourth, in fact, after Farsi, Hebrew, and Arabic. Because of this, he had more than his share of linguistic quirks. I never really noticed them as a child, the way you don't really take note of your parents' accent or weird driving habits or total lack of fashion sense until you hit middle school or whatever and someone else points it out to you....at which point it starts to stick out like a sore thumb and becomes a never-ending source of embarrassment.

Two particular quirks hold fast in my memory. One was his use of the word "cautious." He must have learned "cautious" before "careful," because he almost never used the latter. "Be cautious!" he would say as I hopped onto a swing, dove into a pool, or went off to just about anywhere. It would burst out of his mouth even as a split-second warning, like when I was riding my bike or learning to drive. It just sounded odd, as these things go, far too formal a declaration when a simple "Careful!" or "Watch out!" would do.

The other one that sticks out for me is the way he communicated the concept of acting slowly. In Hebrew, one would say "le'at le'at," which translates literally as "slow slow." Different languages, different grammatical structure; it makes sense in Hebrew. But not in English. I'm not sure he even knew the word "slowly." Driving too fast? "Go slow-slow." Wolfing down dinner? "Come on. Eat slow-slow." And so on.

You may have noticed a few new lines in the Archives drop-down menu. Or, if you are subscribed to the Devarim feed, you probably have a bunch of new posts in your reader. I am importing posts from the original Devarim, working in little spurts. Slow-slow, it will all get done.

New level of sleep deprivation

2007-08-12T21:21:00.000-04:00

Julian and I just had an extended debate about whether or not I'd already taken the shower I intended to take before bed. I couldn't remember, and neither could he. In the end we had to go check to see whether the shower stall was wet.

It was.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think it's time to sleep.

So True

2007-08-12T18:55:00.000-04:00

Tell me this hasn't happened to you.

Grilling Success Story!

2007-08-05T15:59:00.000-04:00

Today we had some chicken cutlets, onions, and zucchini off of the grill (a charcoal kettle deal that debuted on Mother's Day). I left the salt and pepper off of the pieces of one of the smaller zucchini, and we offered wedges of that to the kids. Oh my, was that a hit. Rita only had about one and a half pieces, but that's a significant amount for her. Rafi must have gone through about half of a zucchini's worth of wedges - most of the skin and some bits of flesh were left me behind, but the greater part of everything we handed him made it into his mouth and down the hatch. There were flecks of grilled-blackened veggie all over his cheeks and nose, too. I guess we now know who really picked out that Mother's Day gift!

Oh yes - Rita is back on food now. On Friday I spoke to her pediatrician, who thinks the rash is just a superficial skin irritation caused by the food. After observing her eat a few times this weekend, Julian and I think it's actually caused by her polyester bibs, which she would rub against her cheeks and mouth. So at the grill-fest today we put her in a long-sleeved bib with a fleece front, thereby preventing the bib-rubbing. After a few days of that, we'll see how it affects things.

In other news, we also discovered today that Rafi can reach the spinning animals on the very top of the toy tree that came with his high chair. Two days ago they were out of reach, and now he can make them whirl like nobody's business. Awesome!

Sing it!

2007-08-05T14:41:00.000-04:00

I was going to write a post like this in honor of World Breastfeeding Week, but since One Tired Ema wrote it already, and probably better than I would have, go read hers.

A Blaringly Good Time Was Had By All

2007-08-03T05:32:00.000-04:00

So, the sheva brachot went off without a hitch. It had been nearly a year and a half since we last hosted a gathering even approaching this size (just under thirty people, though our parties used to have closer to fifty), and I was worried we'd forgotten how to keep things going. There was much frantic last-minute cleaning, but we get our best cleaning done just before guests arrive. As do Gnomiand Mabfan, apparently. (They co-hosted with us and so spent the couple of hours before the event also frantically straightening up and arranging serving platters and checking things off lists.) We progressed from snacks to food to dessert at a decent rate, and after most of the guests left around 9:45 a few friends stuck around (along with the bride and groom of course) while we leisurely packed up the leftovers. Approximately half of every dish Gnomi or I made was left over, meaning we made just the right amount. The kids (pleasantly) surprised us by sleeping through the whole thing, from the first loud arrivals to the constant chatter to the joyful singing all the way to the drawn-out goodbyes. The only sticky part of the evening occurred when Julian noticed that one of the building's first-floor smoke detectors outside our door was making a funny beeping noise. "Just as long as it doesn't go off during the sheva brachot," I said.

You've heard the sage advice, I sure, to be careful what you wish for - because you just might get it. The alarm did not, in fact, go off during the sheva brachot,

It went off at just after four o'clock in the morning.

Now, if we hadn't had a solid week of near-daily false alarms last month,, this probably would have freaked me out far more than it did. Instead, my first thought upon waking was, Didn't they fix this stupid thing already? But, of course, you take these things seriously, so Julian and I grabbed the kids and headed outside, where we spent a pleasant fifteen or twenty minutes with our neighbors. Our overnight guests (the groom's parents) commented that we certainly know how to provide entertainment for company. A fire engine eventually showed up. The alarm, of course, was nothing, and we all shuffled back inside.

I did my best to get the kids back to bed by repeating the latter portions of their bedtime routine. Rafi fell back asleep by about 4:45, and I think we can expect him to stay that way until at least 7:00. Rita, on the other hand, is still awake. After repeated attempts to resettle her, we eventually decided to pull her into our room so that she wouldn't wake Rafi with her shrieking. She's tired, poor girl, but she has never been one to fall back asleep - even now when she wakes to nurse in the middle of the night.

The most frustrating part of it all is that we were on track for a good night's sleep for both kids. Rafi's only wake-up was at about 2:30 AM, and he went right back to sleep after nursing and having his diaper changed. With that kind of timing, we were probably going to avoid the two-wakeups pattern (once before 11 PM, one after 4 AM) he'd fallen into over the past week or so. Rita had not yet woken at all since bedtime, and for her that probably meant she was headed for a solid ten- or eleven-hour night. Not that I want my children to be up half the night, but it if we'd been having a night from hell anyway it would have been much easier to take this disruption in stride.

And I suppose now is as good a time as any to introduce Rita to early-morning blogging.

food log: bananas

2007-08-02T13:14:00.001-04:00

I gave Rafi very ripe banana this morning - sliced in half crosswise, peeled down one side of bottom half. He promptly stuck it in his mouth, sucked off a bit, and then squirted the rest of the banana out of its peel. After watching his fruitless (punny, huh?) attempts at getting the squishy stuff into his mouth, I started holding up chunks within lunging range and letting him bite or suck off bits. Then we repeated the process with the second half. All told I'd guess he actually consumed maybe 1/6 or 1/;8 of the banana...not bad!

go figure

2007-08-01T12:35:00.000-04:00

Five repetitions of "Al Kol Ele" - tired Rita is still lifting up her head and giggling at me.

One time through of "We're Not Gonna Nap Now" (with apologies to Twisted Sister) - Rita is halfway asleep.

I Dream of Rafi With the Toothless Grin...

2007-07-31T13:58:00.001-04:00

...because that Rafi is disappearing before my very eyes! His two lower front teeth are on the attack! The left one has already cut through his gum and is ever so slowly working its way out; the one on the right hasn't cut yet, but is causing the little guy plenty of pain. On Sunday we tried an ice cube in the mesh feeder, thinking the cold would help, but he wasn't interested. So far he's needed two doses of Tylenol (one Sunday afternoon, one a few hours ago) and a little extra cuddling and nursing, but otherwise he seems to be taking it in stride.

And while ice in the mesh feeder may not have been his thing, peas definitely are! Today I boiled (eight minutes) some frozen organic peas, let them cool a bit, stuffed a bunch into the mesh feeder, and handed Rafi his new "toy." It took him a few minutes worth of random bites all over the thing, but eventually he figured out that yummy stuff would ooze out of one side if he chewed on it. By the time he was done (i.e., asking for a nap), there was neon green pea juice all over his mouth and neck and the collar of his shirt (it snuck in behind the bib), and most of the peas inside the feeder had been demolished with only skins left behind.

gold star

2007-07-30T22:48:00.000-04:00

Hey, statia - have a star:

nutty

2007-07-30T22:25:00.000-04:00

I am making baklava tonight, in preparation for a sheva brachot we are co-hosting later this week. I have not made baklava in a long time, possibly not since we moved into this apartment two years ago. (That can't be right. I must have made it since then. but definitely not in the past year.) This is not the time to tweak with my recipe (a variation on this one involving only pistachios and lots more cardamom), but as I was assembling it tonight I thought of a few changes I would like to make in the future. (Basically, I'm thinking of doing a pistachio-almond mix for the filling - and making more of it; using more phyllo dough and thereby making more total layers; and streamlining my syrup, which is now packed with cinnamon, cardamom, orange zest, cloves, and rose water.) Now to figure out when I'll have another opportunity to make it. In some ways, life was easier before we had kids; back then we'd host large dinners or lunches at least twice a month and have a Really Big Party at least three times a year. Alas.

Well...we are hosting another sheva brachot about two weeks later. I'm sure those friends don't mind being experimented on at all...

...or Pizza will send out for YOU

2007-07-30T19:32:00.000-04:00

Gold star to the first commenter to place that quote.

Anyway, obviously this will have no bearing on our pizza order for tonight, but I'm curious: what topping(s) would you put on your ideal pizza? What topping(s) make you run screaming? (Kashrut aside.)

Also: to fold or not to fold?

food update

2007-07-30T13:26:00.001-04:00

Yes, I know, enough with the babies and food posts. This blog is also where I keep records of what foods we've introduced, though, so you'll just have to live with it and pretend to be interested.

Introduced zucchini (cut into "french fry" strips with peel on and steamed until soft, about seven minutes) on Sunday. Both kids seemed to have a better time holding onto these pieces and biting off small chunks (usually spit out afterwards). Rafi definitely sucked significant bits of the flesh off of the skin and wanted more than one piece at both Sunday sit-downs. We paired it with more steamed carrot strips (first introduced Friday) at the second meal on Sunday; they seem to like that as well.

Rita has developed some sort of rash on either side of her mouth which may or may not be food-related...or just a heat rash that coincidentally started right after we introduced solids. Our pediatrician isn't in today, but the senior doctor in the practice returned my call, heard my description, and recommended taking her off of solids completely for a few days to see if that clears up the rash. Oh well - at least I've found a silver lining to the kids' naps not overlapping, as I can now offer Rafi solids while Rita is asleep and therefore unlikely to complain about what she's missing.

mazal tov

2007-07-29T16:04:00.000-04:00

Happy wedding day to Josh and Alexis!

About the Weather

2007-07-28T21:43:00.000-04:00

We had a spectacular thunderstorm this afternoon, the kind that comes in surges with occasional snippets of sunlight or quiet (but oddly enough, not both at once). One clap of thunder was so loud (and so close) that it startled Rita's eyes wide open and she almost - almost - started to cry. And at one point a little later, I could actually see another wall of rain moving in toward us, just by the dumb luck of happening to look out the window at that moment. The only thing missing was the sight of actual lightning...I didn't see a single bolt through any windows, and caught only one reflected flash when my back was turned.

I hope this storm means the weather for the next few days will be more pleasant than it has been this past week. Don't ruin it by pointing me to the forecast; I think I want to be surprised.

Solid foods introduction update: offered steamed (until quite soft) sliced carrot yesterday, and both avocado and steamed carrot today. So far the sweet potato wedges seem to have been the most manageable, though Rafi is certainly adept at mushing the avocado into his eyebrows.

Avocado

2007-07-25T07:33:00.000-04:00

Yes, I know, I said I would try to blog about something other than my kids. Sorry. Just want to log that this morning at breakfast we offered Rafi and Rita each a wedge of avocado (1/8 of the fruit, sliced lengthwise). Rafi made an attempt at getting it toward his mouth, smushed a little on his face, and then decided he'd rather nap instead. Rita employed the same technique she's been using for sweet potato: squish trough fingers and lick or suck off what sticks. She seemed to really like the avocado bits she managed to eat (and even sucked a few tiny bits off of my fingers - bad BLW mommy I am). She had her first gagging incident, got through it just fine, and resumed the squish-and-suck process almost immediately. After a few more minutes, though, she started fussing and whining. I'm not sure whether she was annoyed by the bib, frustrated that she couldn't get more avocado into her mouth, or just bored with the whole thing.

Sweet Potato Poo

2007-07-23T12:56:00.000-04:00

The sweet potato experiment was a success, if you define "success" as "a mess was made and some small portion of sweet potato made its way into each child's mouth." Which is, of course, how I define "success."

I peeled one large-ish, organically farmed, garnet yam and cut it into wedges that were about an inch at their widest, a quarter-inch to a half-inch thick, and four to six inches long. Said wedges were boiled in plain water for about seven and a half minutes (until soft) and then removed with a slotted spoon and placed on a plate to cool to room temperature. A little while later, Julian and his parents and I sat down to our bagels and cream cheese (and stuff, always stuff), and Rafi and Rita joined us at the table in their high chairs, with a couple of sweet potato wedges on each tray. There was a bit of assistance involved to get the sweet potato into their hands (the trays are a wee bit high for my short children to reach up and over them), but we didn't place any into their mouths. (At least...I didn't. Julian may have snuck something in.)

Rafi's method: Hold wedge gently at one end. Bring hand near mouth. If opposite end of wedge does not flop over and fall into lap, place it into mouth and bite off a chuck with gums. Mush it just the barest amount, and attempt to swallow. Gag, cough, scare Grandma, and spit out chunk. Repeat until this whole high chair thing gets boring, and then insist on being transfered to Mommy's lap, where one may rub the sweet potato chunks into a placemat.

Rita's method: Grab wedge, mush through fingers. Suck thumb. Discover that thumb tastes interesting. Suck other fingers. Discover that they also taste interesting. Mush more sweet potato through fingers and suck thumb again. Alternately, grab wedge with two hands, bring wedge to mouth, and lick it. Experiment once with biting off a good-sized chunk. Puree said chunk with gums and spit it out slowly, but not quite slowly enough for Mommy to get a good picture.

And did they swallow anything? The proof is in the poo, and the answer is yes! A mere six hours after our adventure, I found some bright orange bits of undigested sweet potato in Rafi's dirty diaper. I excitedly called Julian over to investigate, and he acted appropriately pleased. Rita did not grace us with a dirty diaper at all Sunday afternoon, but this morning there was some sweet potato in her diaper as well. They swallowed! They swallowed!

This morning, after their first nap, the experiment was repeated, but with only one wedge of sweet potato each. Nothing was dropped onto the floor (maybe they just haven't figured out that game yet), and while I doubt much was actually eaten, they seemed to have figured out that they should at least be attempting that. Nifty.

Next on the list is parsnip, I think, mainly because I have some in my fridge.

Oh dear, I just wrote an entire post about boiled potatoes and poo. I promise, I'll get back to political rants one day.

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

2007-07-22T08:02:00.001-04:00

The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends that infants be breastfed exclusively for the first six months of life, and that they continue to receive breastmilk through the end of the first year and thereafter "as long as mutually desired by mother and child." The World Health Organization encourages breastfeeding to continue (in conjunction with complementary foods after six months) until the child is two years old.

Rafi and Rita* are six months old today.

As I nursed each of them earlier this morning, I noted with bittersweet amazement that our period of exclusive breastfeeding is ending. We've long made it past the initial hurdles, and now we've reached that first golden goal: half a year of successful nursing with no supplemental nutrition. Aside from a three doses (each) of oral rotavirus vaccine, a few weeks of messy (and probably unnecessary) vitamin supplementation, some (probably necessary) gripe water for Rita, one (very necessary) helping of prune juice for Rafi, and a few experimental sips of plain water over the past week, these kids have had nothing but The Best Stuff On Earth. By the end of the day, we will have to amend that to "nothing but The Best Stuff On Earth and some boiled sweet potato."

(Let me just state, for the record, that infants can and do thrive on formula. I'm not knocking parents who choose to give their babies formula, exclusively or as a complement to breastmilk. I'm certainly not knocking women who want to nurse their babies and, for one reason or another, cannot. Exclusive breastfeeding for six months, followed - we hope - by extended nursing and child-directed weaning, is the path that we have chosen for our family, because it is right for us. End disclaimer.)

We are planning to start down the path of baby-led weaning, skipping purees and "baby foods" altogether and starting directly with simple table foods. Spoons are out; bibs are in. I'd love to elaborate on this, and I will in the future I'm sure. But right now the children are up from their first nap...Julian is changing and dressing them, there are boiled wedges of sweet potato waiting on the table alongside the grown-ups' bagels and cream cheese, and I'm off to nurse my children for one last time before they find something else they can swallow.

* Names changed to protect the young from Google Monsters.

Eleh haDevarim...

2007-07-20T13:01:00.000-04:00

I was born in New York.

I ate, slept, pooped, moved from New Jersey to Michigan, and toilet trained somewhere along the way. We were the only Jews in our town. I was checked for horns. I taught people about Chanukah. I grew up some. We got a dog.

We moved to Long Island. My sister was born. My mother got cancer. My paternal grandfather died. My mother died. I flew to Israel for the funeral, even though my father told me not to. We sat shiva at my maternal grandparents' home. I finished high school and went to the prom without a date (but did not lack for dance partners).

I went to college. I joined a sorority and started dating this very nice guy in early February, but I had already committed to being some other guy's date for a fraternity dance on Valentine's Day. I dumped the very nice guy on our one-month anniversary. He ended up marrying my roommate from the sorority. I was a bridesmaid in their wedding. In the meantime, I met another very nice guy. I married that one. My maternal grandmother got cancer, and no family from Israel came to the wedding. Before that, though, the dog ran away and I started law school.

I covered my hair when we got married, but only sometimes. The (second) very nice guy and I lived in different states for a while after we were married. Then we decided that this was very silly, and I moved. My maternal grandparents died within four months of each other. I tried to fly to Israel to see my grandmother before she died; instead I was there for the funeral. I didn't fly to Israel for my grandfather's funeral; instead I finished writing a final exam. I attended another law school, started a blog, took the Massachusetts bar exam, and got a job. I started covering my hair all the time - almost.

We bought a new, bigger, apartment. My paternal grandmother died the next day. Fresh out of grandparents, I took a day off work to sleep in the middle of my new living room floor and field international phone calls. My sister got another dog. My father got cancer.

I bought some fake hair to cover my real hair, but never really wore it (except for that wedding where I was a bridesmaid). My father got a little better, then he got a lot sicker. I got a new car. I got pregnant. With twins. I stopped looking for a new job. My father died. I didn't fly to Israel for the funeral. I sat shiva in four places, including an airport.

I grew a little older and a lot wiser in areas where I would have preferred to stay young and naive. I had carrot cake on my twenty-seventh birthday, blew out candles lit in binary, watched an aging Dick Clark fumble his way through midnight, and said goodbye to my last year of non-motherhood. I pushed out a couple of kids.

We made a brit milah and a zeved habat on the same day. We named our daughter for my mother and my mother's mother. We named our son for my grandfathers. We made a pidyon haben about three weeks later. I've made gallons of milk. They've made plenty of dirty diapers.

The (second) very nice guy's paternal grandmother died. He went to New York for the funeral. The (second) very nice guy and I, for the first time, hosted Pesach seders in our own home. Our daughter, not wanting to sleep, joined us for the second seder. Our son slept through both. From this we learn that it was because of the righteous women that Israel was brought out of Egypt.

I wandered in the wilderness, reading blogs and wikis and message boards in the early morning hours, a child draped over my shoulder or held to my breast. Our children grew, a little. Nearly half a year passed in the space of about five minutes, which may explain how the world was (or was not) created in six days. I found my way, lost it, found another. There is no certain way, just faith. I lost my faith, found it, lost it, looked again. It's out there somewhere, or in here somewhere.

Let's go looking together.

one nation, indivisible

2004-06-15T08:21:00.000-04:00

For those who haven't been reading the news, Supreme Court decided yesterday that Newdon did not have standing in his Pledge of Allegiance case, thereby neatly skirting the constitutional issue that held my interest (and the interest of many others, I would assume) for at least the past several months. I can't be the only one who noticed the irony of them deciding this case on Flag Day. Anyway, only three Justices, Rehnquist, O'Connor, and Thomas, wrote opinions--under different analyses--on the merits, all stating that the "under God" addition 50 years ago was constitutional. For those of you who need me to back up a step further: some guy in California brought a case claiming the Pledge of Allegiance was unconstitutional (under the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment) with the inclusion of the phrase "under God." He brought the case on behalf of his school-aged daughter, but there was some question of standing because he and the mother are divorced, and the mother is the custodial parent.

Well, at least we've cleared up a tiny little area of family law. Apparently, noncustodial parents can't bitch to the judicial system about their children being made to say the Pledge in school.

But let's set aside for a moment the Supreme Court's actual decision (or lack thereof) on the Pledge of Allegiance case yesterday. I don't see why I can't have my own little argument right here. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only (monotheistic) religious person who is actually offended by the inclusion of "under God," rather than just understanding of why some other people might be. I never gave much thought to it in school when I was growing up--and that is the problem. Invocation of a deity--whether you believe in that particular deity or not--is disrespectful when said without reverence or even mere consideration of your words.

Of course I am also deeply troubled by the devisiveness of requiring schoolchildren to say the Pledge with an "opt-out." I remember one girl in my class in elementary school who sat out the Pledge every day; even after someone explaiined to me that it was because of her religion (Jehovah's Witness), I thought it was W-E-I-R-D...because that's how may kids think. (Of course, she also didn't bring in cupcakes on her birthday, which I thought was M-E-A-N. On the other hand, I'm sure people thought many odd things about me for never eating hot dogs and hamburgers in the cafetaria or on school trips.)

And beyond the JW, who sit out the Pledge because they find it to be an inappropriate form of prayer (giving allegiance to the nation), there's also the many atheists in this country who do not believe in God. Oh, and also those funny people who belong to those odd little polytheistic, pagan, or animistic religions that have only been around on this planet for about twice as long as Christianity. But they, of course, are insignificant. (Need I actually invoke the sarcasm tag?)

Someone else pointed out, even if you are a monotheist who's cool with the God thing, the arrogance of thinking that God particularly favors our country. Heh.

Finally, the "historical" argument frustrates me because the original Pledge did not have "under God" in it. (It was added during the Communists-Are-Evil era as a way of scaring off those atheist pinko bastards.) Yes, a generation and a half (or so) of us grew up saying the Pledge this way, and it would sound funny to our ears if we relearned it. So what? A while ago, when this case was argued before the Court, William Safire wrote a NYTimes column complaining about the very same thing--in the other direction. Having learned the original Pledge growing up, he thought the phrase "under God" disrupted the flow of the thing.

What will I do when I have children of my own? Well, first of all, let's keep in mind that I only get about 50% of the decision-making power when it comes to raising the kids. If it were up to me, I'd like to tell them to recite the Pledge along with their classmates, omitting the phrase "under God." I would teach them that this was the original form of the Pledge, and explain the many reasons why the addition of that phrase was troublesome to many people and rather unnecessary althogether. Of course, I'll be doing this while sending them to a religious school (or after? Do they even say the Pledge at Orthodox day schools, or do they go straight froom Shacharit to Social Studies?), so that will look pleasantly hypocritical. Oh well. So I'm a hypocrite. I can live with that.

the numbers game

2004-06-14T16:42:00.000-04:00

Tangental to another conversation, my friend N asserted that while a candidate could win the presidency with less than 50% of the popular vote, s/he would still need "close to half" in order to get the requisite 270 electoral votes. I set out to prove her wrong. For those of you who are not familiar with my country's electoral system (and since most of my readers are U.S. citizens, I hope that's not too many of you), here's the quick explanation: Each of the fifty states are assigned a number of electoral votes equal to the number of the state's U.S. Senators (always two per state) plus the number of the state's U.S. Representatives (apportioned by population, minimum one per state, total 435). The District of Columbia, which has no representation in Congress (a rant for another day) receives 3 electoral votes as well, bringing the total number of votes in the Electoral College to 538. A candidate needs 270 electoral votes in order to win the presidential election. Each state's electoral votes are granted as a block to the winner of that state's popular vote.

That doesn't sound too bad, until you consider that electoral votes in some states (generally speaking, the least populous) are worth more than those in others.

How so? Well, for starters, two of the electoral votes in each state are granted regardless of that state's population, meaning that in Vermont (1 Representative) these votes triple the state's electoral voting power, whereas in California (53 representatives) they add less than 4% more voting power to the state. Furthermore, since every state must have at least one U.S. Representative, and of course no state can send half a Representative to Washington (pity, that), in some states (such as Rhode Island) there are a mere half-million people for each Representative, whereas in other states (like Delaware or Montana) there are closer to 800,000 or more. It all boils down to an electoral vote in Wyoming weighing more than four times as much (in terms of population behind the vote) as one in California.

Don't believe me? I did the math and it's all in this nifty little spreadsheet.

"Ah, but wait--" you say, "you used total population! Obviously not all these people are registered to vote!" OK, then. You give me the number of registered voters in each state, and I'll use those. In the meantime, I'll settle for assuming that the proportional amount of registered voters to total population in each state is roughly the same.

Anyway, the second sheet of that Excel file is set up so you can play some electoral math games. It is currently sorted so the states with the highest weight electoral votes (fewest voters behind each vote) are at the top, and the lowest-weight states are at the bottom. In the scenario I have set up in the saved file, Party A has garnered 271 electoral votes (more than the required 270) with less than 22% of the popular vote! Of course, I finagled this by having Party A win by one or two votes in the 39 most heavily-weighed states, and having Party B sweep the other 12. I agree that this scenario is highly unlikely (given the nature of elections in general and the groupings of states' politcal leanings in particular), but it does show just how misrepresentative our electoral system really is. I suspect (though I haven't played this out yet) that in an election with three candidates, with states that give their electoral votes to the candidate who garners a plurality of votes in that state (rather than a majority), the popular vote percentage necessary to win would be close to 15%.

Feel free to play with that set-up and come up with more realistic projections that still have one party winning with far less than 50% of the popular vote. You should enter only the votes for Party A (column E); everything else will calculate itself out.

vino revisited

2004-06-13T17:07:00.000-04:00

In the past two weeks we have purchased ten bottles of Chateau de Paraza on sale at The Butcherie. I figure that if we ever get sick of drinking it, I can use the rest of our stock for cooking only.

Also, we (OK, Julian) fixed the oven. Turns out it was just some broken wire, not the entire bottom heating element. One trip to Home Depot and a few minutes of fiddling later, and the oven was back in working order....just in time for us to go away for next Shabbat (and with a fridge full of leftovers, too).

Just thought you'd like to know.

confronting reality

2004-06-13T17:00:00.000-04:00

I came across this article last night in Haaretz about an Israeli rape crisis hotline and its response to the ongoing (but largely silent) problem of sexual assaults on boys and young men in the Orthodox world. It's worth a read, if you have the time. To the victims, counselors, and other activists I grant a hearty yasher koach--don't let anyone stop you from bringing this issue to the forefront of our minds. The Orthodox Jewish world is far from perfect and its high time we stop fooling ourselves.

Out of the Blue

2004-06-13T16:49:00.000-04:00

If my performance on ber exam practice questions is any indication, I should expect to take this test at least four times before getting a passing score. Seriously, who comes up with this stuff?

vino

2004-06-03T17:39:00.000-04:00

The Butcherie here in Brookline is selling Chateau de Paraza Minervois, 1997, at two bottles for $10. I'm not sure why; it looks like they have an unexpected overstock. This wine isn't spectacular, but it's better than decent, and when's the last time you saw a better than decent bottle of kosher red wine for five dollars?

kol zimrah

2004-06-03T09:37:00.000-04:00

Shir-Yaakov posted a collection of recordings of (some of) the melodies used by Kol Zimrah in NYC during Kabbalat Shabbat. Beautiful stuff (in my opinion). Reminds me of my time at Brandeis Collegiate Institute. Why didn't I know about this place when I lived in New York? I've updated the links on the side so you can go to either of his music pages now.

NOTE: I am not affiliated with Kol Zimrah in any way. If you are looking for their web site, you can find it here.

klutz

2004-06-02T14:44:00.000-04:00

For those of you who don't know this already, now is the time to learn:

I am an injury magnet.

In the course of the past week, I have managed to: burn the back of my left hand with steam; slice open my left thumb on the blade of our food processor; twisted my ankle out of whack by slipping on a plastic bag (no medical attention required); cut the base of my right thumb on a chipped mug; and (you'll like this one) smashed my finger between the toilet seat and the rim of the bowl by--wait for it--sitting down while adjusting the seat positioning.

All in the past seven days, people. Over the past seven years I have punctured or lacerated each foot more than once (one injury required stitches), ripped out said stiches, scraped off at least a total of a square foot of skin (no, not all at once), practically bisected my right thumb (don't ask me why I didn't go get stitches for that one), and burned my forearms more times than I can count. I'm not even going to mention the number of times I've turned my joints in odd ways, broken off splinters under the skin, or foolishly aggravated a minor injury into an oozing, infected mess.

In unrelated news, if the kids in the elementary school behind my building don't stop screaming after each thunderclap, thereby ruining a perfectly enjoyable storm, I am going to give them some injuries to write about.

(I kid, I kid. Mostly.)

Now I'm Cookin'

2004-06-01T21:07:00.000-04:00

Could someone please explain to me why the Kosher Culinary Academy, apparently the only kosher cooking school in the world, admits only men?

Well, that's not entirely true. There is a twelve-week "short course" option for women (which they may or may not run again) that is geared toward "students who are competent in a domestic kitchen." Hmmmm....no sexism there, huh? Of course, I know plenty of 18- or 20-year-old women who are choosing their first career who are already "competent in a domestic kitchen." They will teach, among other things, "catering theory," "the rules of the commercial kitchen," and how to "prepare full course meals comprising both traditional and modern gourmet dishes, according to Jewish law." Students will also "learn about nutrition and health-conscious cooking. A professional baking and cake decorating course is offered as an optional part of the course." Not shabby, I guess. The course description claims "to equip you to work in a catering company, hotel or restaurant kitchen, with the potential to set up your own food business."

Their year-long professional course, on the other hand, seems to be far more intense and offer better preparation for a serious career chef. In addition to the cooking classes (which look far more involved than in the women's course and appear to have a greater emphasis on presentation and menu design), male students will study kashrut laws--including hilchot basar b'chalav (the laws of meat and dairy), checking ingredients, and hilchot bishul Shabbat (the laws of "cooking" on Shabbat)--"using Gemara, Shulchan Aruch and Mishnah Berura sources, b'Chavrusa and with Shiurim by competent Rabbanim." Now, I have no doubt the women will be taught to keep kosher as well, but I'm guessing the women's course will not adequately prepare its students for the many halachic problems which would arise in their own businesses. Of course, we can't let those silly women think they actually know what they're doing.

Oh, the men get to go on field trips to wineries, cheese factories, farms, produce markets, and factories. Hebrew lessons and dormitory accomodations are offered (I guess women all live with their husbands or fathers). The men can take advantage of job placement services.

Look, people, it's not like this is some generations-old yeshiva where at least the faculty can fall back on "tradition" as their basis for sex discrimination. The KCA started teaching less than six months ago. You want to argue that it's not in keeping with tzniut (the laws of modesty) to teach men and women together? Fine, I'll debate that with you. I think I may win, but that's another story. In the meantime, how about at least making the two courses on par with each other? Or are you too afraid that your wives and daughters won't be waiting at home for you with your dinner on the table after you return from a long day in the kitchen?

paper airplanes

2004-05-31T22:00:00.000-04:00

I started Bar/Bri last week, too. No offense to any lecturers, but damn is this boring! Useful, but I had enough trouble making it through 50-minute sessions of stuff like corporations and civi procedure. Now they expect me to learn whole semesters of this stuff in four-hour and seven-hour blocks? And, no, paying better attention the first time around wouldn't eliminate the need for Bar/Bri review. Trust me. On a happier note, a college friend who I lost touch with is enrolled in the same lecture schedule as I am; we bumped into each other after Friday's session and exchanged email addresses. Yay!

thank you for holding

2004-05-31T21:34:00.000-04:00

I'm terribly sorry for my extended break from blogging. Batya came to visit for Shavuot (began last Tuesday night) and stayed through yesterday afternoon; before that I was cleaning and cooking and pretending to organize stuff. Ah, who am I kidding? I'm a chronic procrastinator. I'm sure there were plenty of wasted minutes and hours since my last entry during which I could have found time to post a few sentences.

Anyway, our oven broke again. For about a year, the bottom heating element didn't work. Julian and I (ok--Julian and his father) replaced the element in December, and the oven worked just wonderfully from then until last Wednesday morning. Yup, in the middle of Shavuot. And, yup, I had planned to cook more stuff in the oven for later in the holiday and for Shabbat. Looks like my tendency to make ten times more food than necessary was not such a bad thing this time around. Of course, now I am back to stovetop-only cooking plus broiling. No more brownies, no more kugel, no more roasted chicken, no more cheesecake. Maybe it's time for a full kitchen renovation after all.

musical midrash

2004-05-20T19:34:00.000-04:00

...and while I'm linking to Jewish sites, I need to put in a plug for Shir-Yaacov's Musical Midrashim. I will be the first to say that you have to be in the right mindset to listen to these, and they're not for everyone, but I like them. Consider this my first music review.

He has a blog too, in case you're interested.

KosherBlog

2004-05-20T19:07:00.000-04:00

It seems a fellow Brookline resident is running this site. Restaurant reviews, wine discussions, travel tips, but most importantly: "exotic" product finds! The sort of foods that the non-kosher world takes for granted--good cheese, decent balsamic vinegar, stuff like that--is fairly hard for us to find, and even harder to find at a decent price. Mr. Abbett, thank you. I look forward to bumping into you in shul one day.

goin' to the chapel

2004-05-17T08:26:00.000-04:00

Congratulations to the hundreds of same-sex couples who will celebrate their marriages--full on marriages--today, this week, this year. I have never been so proud to be a Massachusetts resident; I spent the past 20 minutes reading the news and grinning like an idiot. It's almost enough to make me a Red Sox fan.

Also, Governor Romney: Shut up.

rain

2004-05-14T04:59:00.000-04:00

My grandfather's unveiling was this morning. The weather in Netanya was hot, mostly sunny, slightly breezy. Just a few degrees above what I consider comfortable, enough to leave a film of sweat on my back and make me thirsty. Not too humid, though.

We started saying Tehillim (Psalms) and about two verses into the first one, I felt a drop of water hit my shoulder. I looked around: no one was washing a nearby gravestone, no one was pouring water over her head or even drinking from a bottle. *ping* A drop hit a nearby stone. My aunt whispered to me: "What--it's raining!" And indeed it was. Even Rabbi Wolicki noticed and looked up to the sky somewhat befuddled. The rain lasted only a minute, maybe less.

I guess God was a little sad that Grandma and Grandpa had to leave us. It's hard to find good people like that to do Your work here, huh?

bzzzzzzzzzzzz

2004-05-11T20:26:00.000-04:00

I'm quite certain there were no mosquito bites anywhere on my body when I went to sleep a few hours ago. I woke up around 2 AM with some sort of buzz-detection system going on in my head. If I recall correctly, certain items in my dream needed to be "together," and when they were separated there was this droning sound. Or maybe it was the reverse. Whatever it was, it seemed perfectly logical at the time. After about ten minutes of this semi-conscious confusion, I realized the droning was--surprise, surprise--an insect of some variety. Another few minutes...hey, my arm itches! Lights on: agh! big, ugly, swollen mosquito bites.

For those of you who don't know this, I do not react well to mosquito bites. I am incredibly thankful to Ms. Mosquito for attacking my left arm way up near the elbow, and reserving the hand- and wrist-bites for my right side. Had she bitten my left hand, I'm pretty sure we'd be cutting up my wedding ring in the morning.

Anyway, I read for about half an hour, half-noticing a faint buzzing in the room but figuring maybe Ms. Mosquito would take the hint that she's not welcome and buzz off (sorry). Close book. Turn off the light. Snuggle down into pillow. Doze slightly.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Lights on. I stare alternately at the ceiling, the corner near the window, and the space between my pillow and the wall, waiting for the buzzing to come back. Ten minutes go by. Turn off the light. Snuggle. Doze.

Bzzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I think I understand water torture now. As if I weren't already sleep deprived. It's going to be a long, long day.

here

2004-05-10T14:06:00.000-04:00

In Israel. All in one piece. Admit it, you worried about me just a little.

There will be lots to post when I get back home, I'm sure, but expect the blog to be kind of quiet for the next 10 days or so.

coming and going

2004-05-09T01:20:00.000-04:00

In case you're playing along at home, my bar application is finally ready to be mailed. Unfortunately, Julian is going to have to mail it for me, because...

I'm leaving for Israel tomorrow--er, today. Train to NYC at 11 AM, flight from JFK at 11:30 PM. I'll try to update this blog when I get there (Monday afternoon Eastern Daylight Time, Monday evening local time) but no promises. Back to New York on Sunday the 16th, graduation on the 18th and 19th, then (finally) back home on the night of the 19th.

It's not as much fun as it sounds like. For starters, I'm leaving Julian in Boston. I love you and I miss you already (even though you're just in bed in the other room).

/mush

Stupid FDA

2004-05-07T12:41:00.000-04:00

We're going to ignore how much hell they put my father through at work. Today I read this. It's just such a brilliant idea to deny OTC status for Plan B. Of course making emergency contraception readily available to scared and embarrassed teenagers is just going to make them have more sex, right? We'd best pull the condoms from the shelves and make abortions even harder to get while we're at it. Gotta make sure those silly little girls mess up their lives damn good in case they're stupid enough to have sex, especially if, I don't know, they were raped or something.

(Really, if you couldn't detect the sarcasm in that last paragraph, you should probably stop reading my blog. Do I even know you?)

Look, I'm all in favor of "delayed" sexual activity; it's not a bad idea to wait until you're 16 or 18 before you start having sexual intercourse. I promise your penis won't rot off, or your vagina won't shrivel up and wither away to nothing. I'm also not a huge fan of abortion, but you will never catch me denying a woman her right to choose what happens to her body. This, though? Not abortion. Not even close. Halachicly speaking (that is, according to Jewish law), the product of conception is "like water" until 40 days gestation. Whether you count from fertilization or from last menstrual period, I'm pretty sure that Plan B falls squarely in the 40-day time frame. Setting aside my religious beliefs, though (becuase I'm not one to impose my beliefs on others, or to be particularly thrilled when others try to do that to me), I'd like to point out that Plan B affects ovulation and implantation. Once a zygote has implanted, it doesn't work anymore. If you have a problem with that, I hope you don't use any sort of hormonal birth control or an IUD. (Also, if you have a problem with that, email me. I honestly want to know why.) But the way in which Pan B works is why it's so damn important to make this treatment available to women who need it as quickly and conveniently as possible. The sooner you take it, the more likely it it to be effective. I promise you, with all the fun nausea and vomiting and possibly heavy bleeding that comes with Plan B, people are not going to be using this as their regular form of contraception.

OK, end rant.

bless you

2004-05-06T15:11:00.000-04:00

To the nice woman on the Green Line B this afternoon who handed me a wad of tissues on her way out to the Park Street station, sympathizing with my allergies: thank you. I needed those.

nibbles

2004-05-05T17:48:00.000-04:00

What do you know? I start sending my resume out, I get a few bites. Nothing full-time (yet). Hell, no actual offers (yet). Still, it's kind of encouraging. This doesn't mean I'm "done," though. Those of you who have been peeking at my resume: don't stop peeking. Don't stop showing it to your friends, and your friends' friends. If it's in the Boston area, and it involves the law, I'll consider it for at least a moment.

Of course, now I'm having life regret. Aside from the bit where I wish I'd gone to Drisha for a year between college and law school, and the bit where I wish I'd just gone to B.U. Law in the first place, I'm now wishing I'd taken some of these part-time, real-work type jobs while in school. Don't get me wrong, I love the warm-and-fuzzy pro bono (and quasi-pro bono) work I was doing all through school and last summer. Still, I never really found jobs where I did stuff. My research and writing skills are great, but court experience? Bleh.

Twenty-four years old, and I have "life regret." What the hell?

Don't you want me, baby?

2004-05-04T16:53:00.000-04:00

When I started at Columbia Law School, I was thoroughly impressed with their employment rates: something like 95% of students secured employment by graduation, and 99% by six months thereafter. Woo! I'll get me a job with my eyes closed, with numbers like that.

Well, yeah, that didn't work so well. For starters, the big corporate law firm life just isn't for me. Don't get me wrong; I like a six-figure salary right out of the gate as much as the next person, but the life (or lack thereof) that goes with it is not attractive to me. Not to mention that whole selling your soul bit. I couldn't even if I wanted too, since my college buddy Satan stole it sometime in the middle of my sophomore year. Oddly enough, that's about when I met Julian. Go figure.

Anyway, my dream job involves helping women in some form or another--most likely as an advocate for domestic violence victims, but I'm pretty open on that. I would also be thrilled providing legal services for underprivileged members of the Jewish community. Ah, who am I kidding? I have a soft spot for pretty much anyone with a good story. But, truthfully, I am passionate about women and Judaism, and I went to law school with the dream of fixing the agunot problem, so finding work in DV advocacy would be a great place to start.

I've done more networking in the past few months than I care to think about. I have no intention of slowing down, but I figure it can't hurt for me to show y'all my resume and see if you can toss any leads my way. [As of March 23, 2005, I have removed the link to my resume. -s] Yes, I realize my name, address, and phone number are there. You could get the same information with the URL of this site and about 30 seconds with a phone book. I'll just take the loons as they come.

meet me at the bar

2004-05-04T16:11:00.000-04:00

Here I am filling out my application for admission to the Bar of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts (also know as The Place With Too Many Damn Syllables, and soon to be the home of legal gay marriage). I'm glad I have all my old resumes knocking around on various hard drives, because damned if they don't want records of everywhere I've worked since I turned 18. That's eleven entries, in case you're playing along at home. It's too bad the resumes don't have full mailing addresses, because looking them up was harder than you'd think. I realize the safety concerns the drive many Jewish organizations to list only P.O. Boxes on their websites, but trust me when I say it doesn't make my life any easier. It was nothing a good memory and some reverse lookups on WhitePages.com couldn't fix though. I'm also sweating getting my two character references back from my recommenders in time. I'd like to file this thing before I leave for Israel this weekend, so that Julian isn't stuck putting together the last little bits and waiting at the post office on my behalf. After all this, I'm thinking the exam itself will be a piece of cake. Not carrot cake, though.

I've been told I have it easy, though. Apparently the New York application calls for a witnessed handwriting sample, a list of everywhere you have lived in the past some number of years, and three vials of blood. I'm kidding about the blood. I think.

blood for oil

2004-05-04T10:05:00.000-04:00

Rabbi Josh Cypess's treatment of the murders in Gaza last weekend is quite insightful as well. It's the May 3 entry, in case you're reading this some time in the distant future.

all good things

2004-05-02T23:12:00.000-04:00

That was fun. Then I came home and got updated on the news. Too angry to write anything on either topic right now, but for a treatment of today's Israel events, I suggest today's entry in The Land of Oz.

like a band of gypsies we roll down the highway

2004-04-30T05:44:00.000-04:00

Food made. Clothes packed. Sleep had (though of course not enough, but that was due to insomnia, not unpreparedness). I just have to put stuff in the cooler, change into something halfway-decent to wear to this brit I'm going to on my way out of town, and perhaps burn a few mp3 CDs. There's a lot of driving ahead.

much food

2004-04-29T19:21:00.000-04:00

A gallon of chili and four small lasanges now dwell in my freezer. Fourteen loaves of challah are cooling on the table, next to a sticky pan of baklava. There are two pans of cheesecake brownies and a large yerushalmi kugel in the fridge. Two quiches just came out of the oven.

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm sick of cooking.

going away

2004-04-28T09:23:00.000-04:00

This Friday I will be leaving for a weekend in the Poconos with 21 other women, many of whom I know only online. It will be only the second weekend since our wedding that Julian and I have spent apart...the first one was also a gathering of online friends, although those of you who know about that one should understand why I want to sort of block it from my mind.

Anyway, the upcoming gathering consists of people from the boards at Indiebride, which is a cringeworthy name for a web site, but not a bad place just the same. We'll be staying at several neighboring houses in the Poconos, and on the way down I'm stopping in NYC to pick up N and grab some food. (For those of you who don't know this already: the kosher restaurant options in the Boston area are pitiful.) Hopefully I'll see Adam and maybe Batya over lunch also, and of course Rivah is coming down from Boston with me. All in all, the traveling should be a blast. I'm a little more concerned about the gathering itself, as I haven't spent as much time on the IB boards recently as I used to. I'm worried that I'll get all cliquey with the ladies who've been in touch with me via email, and that no one else will know who I am.

In my excitement over this whole gathering (and really, as an excuse to cook, because that's one of my favorite things to do), I offered to make enough challah for everyone to sample, along with some desserts. That's in addition to providing real food for myself and N (who also keeps kosher) for the entire weekend. Two friends had babies in the past ten days, and I'm making meals to bring to one of them this week and probably some sweet thing to bring to the other next week. Out of the kindness of my heart, I'm going to leave some food at home for Julian as well. So, all in all, I am making: a dozen medium-sized challot; a pan of baklava; two, maybe three, pans of brownies; two quiches; a double recipe of pumpkin soup; three loaf pan sized lasanges; a huge pot of chili (to be divided and frozen); two pounds of green beans; broiled portabella mushrooms; a yerushalmi kugel; roasted potatoes with mushrooms and onions; spicy chickpeas in tomato sauce; and mustard-baked chicken. All in the next forty hours or so, plus I'd like to sleep. I'll let someone else sort out what goes where.

Don't believe a word of my complaints. I love to cook.

communism

2004-04-26T20:53:00.000-04:00

It's amazing how involved we can get in hypothetical conversations. Batya and I have been discussing our commune for years now. There are several other parties knowingly involved (who shall remain unnamed until they tell me whether they want blog aliases or not), along with a scattering of friends who we're going to pull along for the ride, even though they don't know it yet. The whole thing started with our frustration with the education system--specifically Jewish education--along with some base desire to shut out the rest of the world. It occurs to me now that the commune has no name; we'll have to work on that.

The first big issue I remember us discussing was where to set up house. I like snow, Batya likes warm weather, and one of the nameless people wants to live in the trees. Not just in a clearing in a forest, mind you. In the trees. Like the Swiss Family Robinson in the summer, I guess. After years of debate and many discarded potential locations, I think we've decided on the Galil. Nice weather most of the year, a little snow in the winter, good vineyards, and lots of trees.

Tonight's discussion with Batya oscillated between dietary issues and monetary issues. Yeah, kind of free-ranging there, huh? It seems we disagree on the proper amount of animal-source protein, specifically dead-animal-source protein, needed in our diets. I'd like the commune to raise all of the animals from which we will benefit (milk and eggs, wool, plowing--along with meat, becuase we're not vegetarians). That makes it difficult to have chicken and beef every night, and considering that a diet high in dead animals is not exactl the healthiest in the world (no matter how lean the meat is), I'm OK with that. There are plenty of other protein sources (soy, quinoa, brown rice, other beans and grains), most of which are generally more ecologically and econimically efficient. I suppose we'll have to get fish from elsewhere--farmed salmon isn't the best thing in the world, after all--but ideally fish consumption would be limited to once or twice a week. High mercury deposits and all that. I suppose if we can get a good source of low-contamination fish, we'd have it more often. The omega-3 and omega-6 fatty acids are wonderful for you, and fish protein isn't so bad either. Still, I think most of us are too enthralled with eating dead animals, and just haven't sampled a wide enough variety of vegetarian meals. (Watch this blog for a more in-depth discussion of my dietary views at a later date....this bit is getting too long.)

Anyway, Batya is worried about our children being malnourished, and she is further concerned that people who won't or can't eat dairy--like herself--will have problems as well. Looks like we'll have to bring a nutritionist on board to help me with the menu-planning (I've appointed myself in charge of the commune's pantry and kitchen). I also suggested having a few family meals each week, rather than only communal meals. That has a social benefit as well, since we all need a break from the larger group and could certainly do well to build up family intimacy. It would probably result in fewer food fights, though.

We've just started to tackle the financial stuff. To be honest, I don't have the head to get into it all here now, so it will have to wait for another posting. Still, Batya wants it known that while I will describe her as advocating modified communism, "it's not communism in a monetary sense." Gotcha.

finished

2004-04-26T12:41:00.000-04:00

Pardon me while I pass out, so that I can recover in time for the bar exam.

out with a whimper

2004-04-26T03:26:00.000-04:00

Well, that kind of sucks. My last law school outline for my last law school final exam for my last law school test...will never be finished. I could blame my study partner but, really, it's my own fault. I managed on my own for many years, and I could have just done this one alone too.

not a bad philosphy

2004-04-26T01:18:00.000-04:00

Eat when hungry. Sleep when tired. Laugh all the times in between.

I miss you, Neil.

it's time

2004-04-25T22:25:00.000-04:00

In roughly fourteen and a half hours, I will be done with law school. Assuming, of course, I get passing grades in everything. Finishing this outline couldn't hurt, especially since someone else is counting on it for tomorrow as well.

Flight

2004-04-25T22:20:00.000-04:00

Inspired by my 24-day stay at the Brandeis-Bardin Institute in the summer of 1999.

Climbing
in southern California,
with an empty water bottle,
parched, blistered, and bee-stung,
I sit above the hawks and can’t imagine
what holds them down.

procrastination

2004-04-25T20:37:00.000-04:00

Watch this space.