Being Jewish with Israeli parents of Polish decent, I grew up with a lot of guilt in my life. It was my parents go-to mantra for discipline. I grew up feeling guilty if I got 98% on a test and not 100%. Guilty for getting my car towed the first time I drove it downtown (for parking on the wrong side of the road between a certain time) after my parents made such a big deal about “downtown driving”. Even though I paid for the towing charges and the ticket and was punished for months afterward. Guilty for not spending more time with my grandmother before she passed away and not remembering details about her Holocaust stories. Guilty for not becoming a Doctor or Lawyer. Guilty for marrying a non-Jew and for wanting a Jewish wedding ceremony. And most recently, guilty for not appreciating my parents more when I was younger.
I’m going to let you in on a little secret. It’s something that you’ve probably heard about but never knew anyone who experienced it. It’s a dirty little secret that no one talks about, but it happened to me. It’s called the baby blues, and yes, I had them!
When I was about 4 months pregnant, my husband and I thought it would be a great idea to renovate our house. Sorry, did I say renovate? I meant tear-down our house. Gut it all out and leave nothing but the outside walls. I bring this up because doing this made me happy. During the 6 month process, which ended the day we brought our son Kyle home from the hospital, I was maybe upset for a total of 2 days. I was never really stressed or overwhelmed, even though we had to change contractors half way through and almost nothing went according to plan. I was just excited to have the house of my dreams and nothing, not even crazy pregnancy hormones, could get in the way of that excitement. Which totally ill-prepared me for what was about to come next. Continue reading “Ladies, can you keep a secret?”→
It’s December, and that means that the holidays are upon us. I’m Jewish and I married a non-Jew. My husband, John, describes himself as half-Jewish and half-Oshawa, the city he grew up in. This also happens to be partially the rational behind our son Kyle’s middle name – Joshua or Jew-Oshawa. Amazing – I know! As my husband doesn’t really have a religion, before we married we agreed to raise our kids Jewish with a little bit of Oshawa (those of you picturing a mullet flowing out the back of a Yamaka – you’ve missed the mark, those of you picturing a fair, blond-haired jew who might be half decent at sports – you’re likely closer, those of you wondering if Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez will stay together and whether they should have an indoor or outdoor wedding – ummmmm please return to my blog*). However, the biggest contention we had was with regards to the Christmas tree. He wanted one, I didn’t. It’s not that I’m against the tree or Christmas; in fact, I really like Christmas with all of the beautiful lights, big turkey dinner and the gifts (I LOVE buying gifts). Actually, it’s because of this reason that I didn’t want a tree in our home. I was worried that our kids would love Christmas more than Chanukkah. Also, my husband is lazy, so we would never put up a tree unless I did it. So the argument was settled and we were able to get married with all issues regarding religion settled (ya right!). Continue reading “T’is the season of Chrismukkah”→
As I was driving to dinner with the “girls” from my mom’s group, it hit me. I want to start a blog. Now, I’m not the type to freely weely go around and give advice, so the thought of writing a blog never seemed appealing. I also never really thought I would have anything interesting to write about…( Great, I just lost half my readers). I’m just your average Joe but without the English skills and wittiness that make blogs exciting to read. I also tend to write like I talk which according to my high-school English teachers does not make for good writing. (Just lost the other half – come back! I take it all back, I’m an amazing writer and studies show your life will improve if you read my blog!*) I also had to double check with the girls at dinner that it is in fact called a “blog” – which turns out actually stands for “Web Log” – who knew? Needless to say, up until 24 hours ago, I never picked up blogging. Continue reading “Blog = Web Log?”→