Gary Vaynerchuk, Expectations, and the Year of Chavi

I have about a million topics I'd love to write about, and, at some point, I will. It probably won't be any time soon because I'm essentially taking the next month off for family, travel, and more family. But after that? I'm hoping to have a completely clear picture of what I want.

Basically, here's what's happening:

• I'm pulling both kids out of daycare for the rest of the summer. They're home with me until August 21st full time. (I'm nuts!)
• When the kids go back to school, they're only in Monday, Wednesday, Friday, so they'll be home with me on Tuesday/Thursday, and I'm officially going to be a SAHM.
• I'm refocusing my professional world on writing, so I'll be submitting pitches, articles, and hoping to revitalize this blog to the glory it once was ... except it'll probably be a lot of "Holy Crap What Have I Done?" posts. 
• I'm giving up 90 percent of my social media jobs in order to focus on all the above items. Also? I'm pretty much over social media for business. It's a moving target with zero satisfaction 99 percent of the time. 
• I'm shutting my LuLaRoe business down in early August (unless some magical epiphany changes my mind). I've been doing it for a year now, and it hasn't made any money and I've fallen out of love with the business model and the hustle. I love a good hustle, but not this one, because it feels like I'm drowning most of the time. When I'm 100 percent in the thick of it, I am happy, but I can't be 100 percent in 100 percent of the time, and that's what the job requires.  So join the Facebook group and stay tuned for the GOOB sale. 
• We're going to turn the LuLaShed into a She Shed/Guest House, so come visit!

Whew. 

The small jobs I'm holding onto on a consistent basis are going to be a test on my nerves, but I'm holding onto them for good reason. Financially, we still need me to have a consistent monthly income of some variety, because even PT daycare is crazy, unbelievably, unnecessarily expensive. And I'm trying to really focus on the following to get through it all (and yes, I made this graphic):

You see, my problem, even as a contractor, is that I'm constantly disappointed in everyone around me. I have major expectations for everyone, except probably my kids. Oddly enough, my children are the two people in my life who I sort of look at and say, "Nah, they're good." Mr. T was trying to teach Asher how to catch a ball and he wasn't grasping it and I was like, "Whatever. He wants to just play and be goofy, let him." I don't expect Asher to be anything. I know he'll be something, and whatever that is will be awesome because he's such a uniquely unique kid. 

But my husband? I have a million expectations of him. I expect him to clean the dishes in the sink when they pile up because, come on, common sense, right? I expect him to throw laundry in when it's overflowing. I expect him to not leave clothes laying around on the floor. I expect him to put down his phone when the kids are whining and need attention. I expect a lot from him, and I'm always disappointed. This means tension and a lot of unhappy grumpy moments. 

My clients, too. I'm always disappointed in my clients. I have crazy and often ridiculous expectations of everyone. It's not because I'm a snob or holier-than-thou, it's because I believe in a hardcore work ethic and quality. I believe so hard in the hustle and producing amazing, quality work that is practically perfect. That's just how I'm wired. But because of this, I'm disappointed by everyone all the time, and it's probably why some people think I'm a jerk or a snob. Honestly, it's me, not you. 

I usually don't verbalize my disappointment because I know that other human beings are not like Chaviva the human being, so I truck along and often do more work or faster work or internalize all the anger/frustration/disappointment until I melt from the inside out. I take on all the things in order to do them right and in the best way possible, because I get to a point where I think, "No one can do this the way I know it should be done so that the world can accept, love, internalize, and be changed by it." 

Over the past several years, I've gotten better, slowly, but surely, at letting things go. At holding the "Not my circus, not my monkeys" philosophy. I've gotten better about stepping back from things and letting other people man the ticket booth and clean up the messes. It's hard, but I do it. I swallow my thoughts and disappointment and frustration and let it happen. It's hard. It's really, really hard for me. It's why I often work for free or for less than I should, because I know I can do it right, and I can do it quickly. 

But it's also resulted in people undervaluing my work, or not wanting to work with me at all. 

So I read this article by Gary Vaynerchuk, who I consider G-d's gift to people like me. He's at a point in his career where he can say quite literally anything with as many expletives as humanly possible and it's a punch to the gut and people love it. They want more of it. I see a lot of myself in him, but I'm a million years away from Gary Vee is, so I just borrow and internalize his wisdom. Relevant now:

It’s not about being disappointed that people can’t deliver. It’s not a cynical and negative point of view. I actually think it’s a very optimistic point of view. It speaks to my internal confidence and internal gratitude and empathy. Having zero expectations is a cognitive trait that has lead me to become more independent. I don’t need anything from anyone else. I’m not expecting anything. It’s just the way it’s always been. As I get into my early forties I can clearly see it’s been one of the reasons that I’ve been successful in life, let alone business. When you have zero expectations, everything else is just a pleasant surprise.

This is beautiful, because it's better. It's the best. When you have expectations, people will always disappoint you. When you have no expectations, you'll always be surprised, and being surprised is a positive, fun thing. Who doesn't love coming home to a clean house or a giant cake with sprinkles and balloons and all the good and happy things? Nobody, that's who.

So life is changing for me right now. I'm going to write my heart out, I'm going to stop expecting things from people, and I'm going to love my life and stop drowning in stress, disappointment, and anxiety.

It's the year of Chaviva.

A Life in Pieces: Am I a Mommy Blogger?

My greatest fear in life is becoming irrelevant. The answer from my Facebook friends, as suspected, was that I'll always be relevant ... to my kids.

When I tell people that I never wanted to be a parent, that's the absolute truth. I was terrified of the parenting mistakes I would make, a product of my environment and all. I was afraid that my anxiety and bouts with depression would be terrible for a child. I was worried that my professional pursuits would always make a child play second-fiddle, resulting in them growing up and hating me. I suppose they're all natural fears or anxieties about having kids, but after my first marriage ended rather depressingly, I realized I probably wasn't going to get married again, and I probably wasn't going to ever have kids, and I was truly okay with that.

But then, of course, the narrative knows that I met Mr. T, got pregnant right away, and now I have two kids (after swearing the moment Asher was born that I'd never have more because of how traumatic it was). And then, after Little T, and juggling two, I once again vowed to never, ever, ever, ever have kids ever again. And I'm okay with that.

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When I started this blog in April 2006, an amazing eleven years ago, I was almost at my Reform conversion, graduating college, and heading off for my prestigious Dow Jones News Fund internship at The Washington Post. I spent a year in Washington, D.C., alone, miserable, and depressed. I walked away from that internship-turned-full-time job without reservation. People told me I was crazy, that people would kill for that job. And now, looking back at that decision to leave, and seeing colleagues still there during all the Trump drama, I have to wonder if I missed out. I loved writing headlines, I loved finessing the copy of amazing reporters who were terrible writers. I was good at what I did.

I left DC for Chicago, for a boy, and ended up spending a little over a year working at the University of Chicago as the "everything girl" for Nobel-prize-winning economist James Heckman. That 24/7 job is what forced me into attempting Shabbat observance, to deciding to pursue an Orthodox conversion, and to applying and entering graduate school for a master's in Judaic studies from 2008-2010 in Storrs, Connecticut.

During my time there, I met my first husband, got to catalog and inventory hundreds of donated books, including an impressive collection of haggadot, and to fully immerse myself in Judaism and Judaic literature that I so miss. Those were years where the only work I did was schoolwork, because my hours spent cataloging weren't really work, there were a joy. I taught freshman, I graded papers. It was a dream. It gave me a glimpse of a future I thought I could have in academics, as an educator, a researcher, a dreamer.

Then I got married in May 2010, we moved to New Jersey, and I started up at NYU, pursuing my second and third master's degrees in Judaic studies and Jewish education. A year later, my marriage was over, and the academic program was a repeat of what I got in Storrs, so I quit and skipped town for Colorado.

After a year in Colorado working for the Colorado Agency for Jewish Education, paying off all my debt, and finding myself after going off the derech and back on, I made aliyah in October 2012. While in Israel, I found work as a content writer, social media manager, and wife. But the paid work was inconsistent and unpredictable, my father was sick, and we ended up back in the States in April 2014.

My work in the U.S. was inconsistent until April 2015 when I got a job at a Silicon Valley startup, and I worked there for two years, while taking side projects and freelance one-off gigs to supplement my income. I left that job in February and have been floating since then, dreaming.

Dreaming of being a full-time writer.

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The thing about Mommy Bloggers, is that they're usually Stay-at-Home Moms who have the fodder of finger painting and playdates to inform their posts. Many turn their blogs into money-making enterprises with product reviews and sponsorships. For some Mommy Bloggers, writing is a full-time job, and every moment of life is a potential post waiting to happen.

I took the plunge and the kids will be home with me for two full weeks in August when we return from the UK and, starting August 21st, they'll be home with me every Tuesday and Thursday. My calendar is already full of events through the end of the year: Free days at the museums, library reading time, etc.

The question, I guess, is whether I'll get lost in moments with my children or turn my pen toward being a Mommy Blogger. The angle?

Career-Focused anti-Mommy turned SAHM Mommy Blogger

Yes, the kids are still in daycare three days a week, but my professional pursuits are sort of in limbo right now. I'm over social media and digital marketing. I'm not interested in that grind anymore professionally. I'm still all over it for my personal "brand," but professionally, I don't find great joy in hustling for others.

So my days alone will be writing, writing, and more writing. Cooking. Reflecting. Hopefully just enjoying what I have, where I'm going, who I am.

Or, maybe, figuring out who I am at all and whether being relevant really matters.

The One-Third Life Crisis: Full-Time Hustle to SAHM?

I kind of feel like I've been in a one-third life crisis for awhile now.

Professionally, I've been working in social media since the dark ages. Since leaving The Washington Post 10 years ago, my professional self has existed in the realm of social media, digital marketing, and content, in that order. I spent years hitting lists of influential Twitterers and bloggers, and I turned my personal success in the social sphere into a career.

At first, it was Jewish nonprofits, and then it became for-profits, and then it was more Jewish nonprofits, and, eventually, I ended up working for a well-funded hardware startup in Silicon Valley. It was my dream turned reality, and I was happy. I had autonomy, I was bought into the brand 100 percent, I believed in the vision and the dream. I loved my job. I really, really loved my job.

That job ended in February for reasons that I cannot and will not get into here, and since then, I float through my days with giant question marks above my head. I know that I no longer love social media. It's a 24/7 slog of work that just goes and goes and you never really hit your target. There's always something else, something bigger, something new you have to do to stay relevant.

When my most recent full-time job of two years ended, I realized what I really wanted to do was write. Writing has always been my #1 passion. I've got journals going back to first grade. I used to do slam poetry. My blog used to be an every-day pursuit, sometimes with a multi-day posting schedule. I had so much to say, so much to share with the world.

Now I'm slogging at a few part-time social media gigs, and I'm basically working to pay for childcare. It feels like I've got the boulder on my shoulders and I take one step and fall down under the crushing weight of the rock.

I spent a full-time week doing part-time work, and I fill those hours with my clients because -- even though it's part-time work -- what else am I going to do? I apply for jobs, I pursue and bid on content gigs, and I'm not getting anywhere. My happiest, best day recently was when I wrote a blog post for MazelTogether, and it went up into the world.

The reason I love content is because you research it, you write it, you edit it, you post it, and it's out in the world. Your job is done. What happens after that is up to SEO and SEM masters. Your words fly, they ripple, they're out there. You don't have to constantly hit the copy over the head for months on end trying to make something happen.

So I'm at this weird juncture in my life crisis. We can't afford to continue with daycare at this rate, and I can't continue doing work that isn't satisfying and is only paying the daycare bill. Mr. T is working a more lucrative job now as an electrician (his life's work, it's what he loves B"H), which gives us a bit of leeway, but not much. But every penny I make goes back into daycare, which just doesn't make sense anymore. Especially if I'm not happy, right?

Thus, I'm toying with bringing the kids home part time. Or maybe even full time. I'm not sure yet. Maybe I'll get a nanny (they're cheaper than daycare), or maybe I'll keep them in daycare part time so they can continue being the amazing, social creatures that they are. I'm not cut from the FT SAHM cloth, I know this. But something's got to give.

And, as Mr. T keeps telling me ... I need to reset.

I've been going and going and going and going since, well, since I was 13 (nearly 14) years old and got my first job. Whether in school or working or both, I've been hustling for 20 years. And I'm not happy with it anymore.

I know having my kids home will allow me to focus 100% on them because job responsibilities won't bog me down. I'll be more active and hopefully lose some weight and get healthy. I'll be a present mom and get to enjoy all that my littles have to offer.

At the same time, I worry about losing relevance. I worry about falling even further out of touch with the digital world that nurtured me all these years, that gave me a platform and space to be Chaviva. I worry about not being in the hustle. I'm a working girl, I'm a Lady Boss. I work hard, even when I don't have to or shouldn't. It's just who I am.

Or, maybe, it'll just give me room to grow as a writer. Maybe all that time with my kids will make great fodder.

I need to reset. I need to stop planning everything out. Man plans, G-d laughs, right?

I Fell Into a Black Hole, And?

Sweet holy Moses where have I been? It's like I'm stuck in a wormhole ... make that a workhole! Yes, the past month has had me travel to California twice (once for a week, boy oh boy did I miss my boys), leading up to the hugely awesome launch of the world's first intelligent tea infusion machine: Teforia!

Now? Well, now I'm just riding the wave and trying not to have my head explode in the process. I've neglected the blog hardcore, which has me feeling both guilty and upset. There's a lot going on that is worthy of talking about, but unfortunately I don't have the koach (strength, energy) for that at the moment.

What I will say is that I'm knee deep in reading The Secret of Chabad by David Eliezrie, and I'm absolutely loving it. It's got some fascinating tidbits about Chabad that I hadn't learned about in the other books I've written, with a really intense look at the Russian efforts of the movement.

I attempted to crochet a cozy for my mason jar tea infuser, and I failed, so I bought one on Etsy instead. I just wasn't cut out for this kind of stuff. I clearly missed the gene, because my mother is an amazing crocheter of all things.

I've got some goodies from Pereg Gourmet to giveaway. It's going to be a Chanukah giveaway, of course, because who wouldn't want some free food for the next Jewish holiday in the lineup, right? The best part, it's all gluten free, too!

What else what else? Asher is becoming quite the little man, Mr. T is finding his place as a Mr. Do It All here in Denver, and ... yeah, that's that.

What's new with you?

Mr. T's Return: The Co-Parenting Adjustment

Father and son checking out the furniture at the DAT Academy Yard Sale.

Life is funny. Everything is funny. Joyous funny and "did that just really happen?" funny and "I can't believe this is happening" funny.

This morning, while on the way to drop Asher off to school, he managed to puke everything he had for breakfast up, while sitting casually in his carseat watching Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood in the car.   He was completely unfazed, I was in all-out panic mode (this being the fourth time he's done this in the past nine months), and Mr. T, well, he was cool, calm, and collected.

We drove back to the apartment and he took Asher, carseat and all, and strolled him up to the apartment, got him cleaned up, bathed, changed, and hydrated.

It's about 3.5 hours later and I'm still anxious. Every time Asher puked everywhere while Mr. T was gone, I had an absolute breakdown. Not only because I simply cannot handle puke (I can count the amount of times I've regurgitated in the past 20 years on one hand), but because when it was just me and the kid I felt helpless and alone. I immediately fell back into that feeling of anxiety, helplessness, and desperation that I felt all those other times he did the same while Mr. T was gone.

Tatty and Asher teamwork with the yard sale kitchen.

Despite Mr. T's reassurances that it really was okay, the two minute ride back home I was just frazzled. And, well, I still feel frazzled.

At the same time, I think back to lost work days and anxiety attacks when Mr. T wasn't around. Today, on the other hand, I was able to run to the kelim mikvah (I picked up stuff from three other peoples' homes and took a bunch of Pyrex I got on the cheap from Wal-Mart to be toveled), get the car cleaned, and now I'm sitting, working.

I even FaceTimed with Mr. T and Ash, it being the first time I've ever video chatted with my son, which was a super weird, but fun experience.

I'm trying to laugh about this morning. My body still feeling like static is running through it. The panic, the anxiety, the "what do I do now?" all the while having a partner and co-parent there ready to man the puke and do a massive, sickening load of laundry.

It's going to be okay. I just have to convince myself that I can and should accept the help. That I'm no longer single parenting a precocious toddler who has the most adorable temper tantrums you've ever seen.

Because I'm not alone anymore. My husband, the father of my beautiful boy, is home. And all of the adjustment and growing together pains are worth it. I'll get there. I promise. It's just going to take some time.

A Chaviva Infographic, Because Blogging is Hard

I'm so busy these days with the new job that I can't seem to find the time to sit down and plant my thoughts in any one place. I keep telling myself I'm going to make a video blog or I'm going to start blogging over on Medium.com, but it never happens.

The moment I pick Ash up from daycare at 4 p.m. every day my mind and body basically hit hyperdrive to make dinner and keep him entertained and happy and do household chores until he's in bed around 7/7:30 at which point one of two things happens: I ramp up, put my head down, and get back to work until about 11 p.m. or I completely crash and end up mindlessly watching bad TV until 9:30 and then go to bed.

You can see the dilemma here. I never get to the "me" part of the day where I unwind and unfurl on the blog. I miss that feeling of having a me space. But maybe it'll change once Mr. T is back. Maybe.

Anyway, here's an infographic of what's on my mind/how I'm feeling these days. The only thing that didn't make the infographic is that my father is having a new host of medical problems. Being alone with a 17 month old has made traveling to Nebraska difficult, if not impossible, but I have to head back within the next few weeks for my own sanity. Stay tuned.

The Sky is Falling, or Why Does it All Hurt So Bad?

"The sky is falling, the sky is falling," said Chaviva. Move over Chicken Little, this mama is struggling.

For two weeks we had Mr. T's son iBoy with us in Denver. It was amazing. Although I spent the bulk of that time guilty that I wasn't actively in the office working because of all of the ups and downs of being back in the U.S., we had an amazing time traversing Colorado. I saved up all the places I wanted to take Mr. T until iBoy was here. We went to the Celestial Seasonings tea factory (alas, no babies allowed, so I got hopped up on tea in the tasting room), Garden of the Gods, to the Flatirons near Boulder, down to the REI flagship store and rented a kayak and went out on the lake in a thunderstorm ... we did tons of things to keep ourselves entertained, to show iBoy how beautiful it is here, and to make sure, above all, he felt like he was our family, that we love him, that we miss him, and that we want what is best for him in life.

It was a hard thing letting him go on Monday, but these things have to happen (legally, of course). Since then, it's been tough to get him on the phone or Skype, which has been hard on us all. Ash got used to him being around, Mr. T got used to having him around and his entire demeanor changed -- after all, wouldn't yours with both of your sons around you? And me? I got used to seeing Ash light up in a new way, to seeing Mr. T so, so happy, and to having the sound of giggling and snoring and the thump of iBoy running around the apartment and begging to go out and play soccer with his dad.

Last Shabbat we spent ages with iBoy and his dad playing soccer, until it started to rain. Ash and I sat and watched, with Ash mesmerized by this bigger version of himself kicking around a ball and falling all over the grass with his dad.

We felt like a complete unit during those two weeks. So it's a bit heartbreaking as we go back to "normal" without iBoy.

On Tuesday, after dropping iBoy in Omaha, we stopped in to check on my dad, who'd taken the week off from work. Mr. T, playing on a Jewish softball league, wanted to pick up my dad's old bag of softball bats that they had out in their storage unit. I don't think my dad had touched those bats since we left Joplin in 1996. In southern Missouri, baseball reigns supreme. T-ball, little league, adult league softball, it consumes the summertime. My dad played on and coached softball teams throughout my childhood, and he loved the sport. His bats were housed in a green, old Navy bag with his name stamped on the shoulder strap. It's not that military surplus stuff, it's the real deal.

Then, on the way out of the unit, my dad started acting weird. Buckled safely into the car, he wasn't answering questions I asked again and again, and then? Then he seized. His entire body clenched into a giant fist. Asher was in the backseat watching Baby Einstein, Mr. T was in the seat next to him, and I was in the driver's seat, my dad next to me, and I held him and panicked.

In an instant I became a child again. I don't think I've called my father "Daddy" in years. All of a sudden it's the only thing I could say, with a giant question mark at the end of every single utterance of the word. He shook, he clenched, it was like I was watching a TV show or movie. It was textbook. I'd seen it before, but never never in person. I knew they were happening, but I'd never experienced it.

I just held him. I held his head when it flung back. I grabbed the storage unit keys from his hand once his body relaxed. We raced to the hospital, not sure if it was the right one, unable to call my mom thanks to T-Mobile having zero service in Lincoln, Nebraska.

He was out of body the entire drive. For 20 minutes he was gone. His head back, my hand holding it up, it was almost like he was sleeping, snoring. I kept on. "Daddy? Daddy? Are you okay? Daddy?"

We got to the hospital and all of a sudden I was in parent mode. My dad slowly became lucid, but didn't know what happened or where we were or why we were there. He was curled into himself, not sure of himself. I coaxed him out of the car with nurses, took him inside. Gave them his information; they knew him, he'd been there before.

They went through the same motions as always. CT scans, EKGs, vitals, etc. He slowly became lucid and realized what was going on. We were all frustrated, especially after several hours when the ER doctor came in and said everything looked fine; they were sending him home. As usual.

I now understand what he is going through, first hand, after seeing it, and after seeing how the ER doesn't seem to have much to say or do about it all. They offer up the usual: three meals a day, cool and calm environment, low-stress activities, plenty of sleep, take your meds.

For months this has been going on. No one seems to really have a good idea of what's causing the seizures or why. So I found an internist who is going to take on his case. And we're going to hope, pray that something gets figured out.

On that note, maybe Mr. T and I will move to Nebraska and set up a B&B or a little shul for passersby to have a nice, quiet Shabbat. We'd be close to dad, rent would be cheaper, we'd have peace of mind.

Ah emotions. Between family and what's happening in Israel, my head is about to explode. The things of the world that do make sense people don't seem to get (you can't negotiate with terrorists) and the things that should make sense (having seizures, a child and divorced parents) just don't.

HaShem? Let us see you.

You Asked, I Answered: The New Apartment

Yes, we moved -- again -- back in September to a new apartment and finally, at last, we rented out our old place after two months of double-paying on rent. The new place accommodates at-home workspace for me and space for the new baby while also giving iBoy his own space, too. The best thing, however, is that it gives us space to have people for Shabbat and to feed them properly, too.

Check it out: