Curious George: The Documentary!

Curious George turns 75 years old this year, and filmmaker Ema Ryan Yamazaki has created the first-ever mixed-media documentary about Curious George: Monkey Business. 

The question is: Are you aware of the epic background of the creators of Curious George? Let's just say it involves a narrow escape from the Nazis and the Shoah (Holocaust) on makeshift bicycles across Europe with the yet-to-be-published Curious George manuscript in tow! 

If I've piqued your interest, make sure you donate a few dollars to the Kickstarter in support of the documentary: http://bit.ly/curiousgeorgedoc. Ema Ryan Yamazaki tells the story of Hans and Margret Rey in this exciting look at one of Asher's favorite characters. 

Not only are you supporting the telling of a vital part of history and the background of one of the world's most beloved monkeys and his creators, you'll also get some exclusive Curious George swag in the process. 

Support Monkey Business: http://bit.ly/curiousgeorgedoc

Babywearing: The Boba 4G Carrier Review

Babywearing at the Farmers Market (can you find Asher?)

If you've dreamed of the Swiss Army Knife of baby carriers, I present to you the Boba 4G Carrier: the Original Soft-Structured Infant Carrier (in Tweet, because, well, I'm a social creature).

With Asher, who is now 2.5 years old and who I stopped baby wearing at about a year because mama's back hurt, I started out with a sling and then moved on to a structured carrier that I tried desperately to love but simply couldn't fall head over heels for. Mr. T carried Asher in the beginning in a makeshift moby wrap, but that was never my jam.

In anticipation of the arrival of Little T, I assessed my carrier collection:

• A homemade "moby" wrap
• A Catbird Baby structured carrier
• A MayaWrap sling
• (We'd had an Ergo carrier, as well, but neither of us cared for it and we donated it to a local baby wearing group so it could get some love.)

After taking a gander at what we had, I realized I needed something more. I needed something that both did more and was super comfortable, and this is where the Boba came in. 

I did a lot of searching on the web, and when I came across this carrier I was breathless. Although, yes, I received this carrier for free for review, it puts the other carriers I've reviewed and purchased to complete and utter shame -- in the best way possible. Why? The features make it the ultimate carrier from birth through the moment this little munchkin decides to run free. 

• Integrated infant insert to support the littlest little ones
• The perfect fit for both front and back carry
• Removable foot straps and sleeping hood customize the ride
• Purse strap holders
• Pockets in all the right places
• Adjustable straps that help you find the right snugness
• Ergonomic support that never quits

The most attractive features to me were the infant support, because Little T is pretty little still, pockets pockets and more pockets, and adjustable straps that won't make this curvy mama feel like a sausage while she carries (one of the reasons I hate most wraps and carriers). The best pocket is along the base strap, and it's perfectly sized for my iPhone, which means it's always there. The pocket where the sleeping hood lives is another gem, because the hood snaps out, so if you want to use the pocket for something else it's totally yours to play with.

I'm also super jazzed about the foot straps because they keep your growing child from having their legs uncomfortable dangling at your side, and the purse strap holders because, come on, bags slipping down your shoulders isn't fun for anyone. 

Here's some details about all the features that make this fit for just about everybody that needs to wear a baby:

It took a bit of tugging and adjusting the strap that runs along the upper back, but once I got it pulled just right it has made carrying Little T a dream. The other bonus? She falls asleep about two seconds after I put her into the carrier, and I can't seem to figure out what kind of magic this is, but I'm happy it exists because it lets me do something that every mother of two struggles with: give attention to my oldest, super adorable toddler while also holding and caring for my baby. 

Epic. Babywearing. Win! Honestly, this carrier lets me be a better mom, and that is absolutely priceless. 

Have you tried the Boba in any form? Do you have a favorite baby carrier, and, if so, which one and why? 

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My Fat Dad: Book and Nosh Review + Giveaway

[Giveaway at the end of the post!]

I grew up in a house where the Diabetic Diet reigned supreme. I remember measuring cups of green beans hitting the plate off and on my entire childhood, peppered with frequent visits to Red Lobster (mom's favorite for holidays and birthdays), Benitos (a Mexican restaurant) for piled-high plates of beans and cheese, and McDonalds and Sonic for burgers, fries, and drinks with my father's beloved crushed ice. Everyone in my immediate family has battled with weight and diet pretty much our entire lives, and (except for me who has been privileged to always be on the more voluptuous side) has swung between thinness in their younger days to larger waistbands in their 20s and beyond.

My mom and dad never went to the dieting extremes that Dawn Lerman's father did in My Fat Dad: A Memoir of Food, Love, and Family, with Recipes, but I can relate to growing up in an environment where food obsession was manifest in countless ways — both constructive and destructive.

When I was contacted about reviewing My Fat Dad, I jumped at the chance because from a quick look it seemed like something that would really resonate. Although it became clear that Lerman and I didn't grow up with the same relationship with food, I have to say it was a really fascinating and entertaining read. For the first few chapters I was confused, as Lerman focused largely on her tenuous and tentative relationship with her mom, but as the book went on I understood why she wrote the book the way she did.

Both of her parents are Jewish, and both grew up in a post-Holocaust world with parents uniquely obsessed with classic Jewish food. However, whereas her actress mom grew up with an "eat to live" mindset, her advertising guru of a father grew up with a "live to eat" mindset. The author, Lerman, subsequently found herself obsessed with food — cooking it, baking it, understanding how it fits into specific diets, how it could save her dad, how it could comfort her sister, and more.

Unlike me, however, Lerman managed to end up with a pretty healthy relationship with food, thanks to her grandmother "Beauty," who taught her how to make just about anything and everything. Lerman ended up seeing the world through food. I didn't learn how to make anything growing up, so my relationship with food has always been tense, with binges (and starvation periods when I was a teen) and purges of the things that I love. It wasn't until I was in my mid-20s that I started to really explore and understand food in the way that Lerman did her whole life. I learned that steak didn't have to be overcooked, vegetables didn't always come out of a can, and the microwave wasn't necessarily my best friend. (Honestly, I think becoming kosher saved me and my health, because fast food was my BFF most of my life.)

Food, for Lerman, was a source of nurturing and healing when it came to her relationship with her parents and sister and grandparents, and that's something I so admire. I honestly think that the more a child grows up understanding and experimenting with food, the more healthy their overall relationship with food and the more there is a balance between "live to eat" and "eat to live," and I think Lerman's a really powerful example of that reality.

My Fat Dad really takes you on a food journey, both her obese father's journey and battle with food in the fast-paced world of advertising and her own journey to understand and explore all of the food options the world has to offer.

The most unique thing about this book is that each chapter ends with a few recipes based on conversations and events in the chapter. Lerman has created a cookbook based on stories, which is, let's be honest, what healthy relationship with food looks like (if years of watching countless hours of the Food Network has taught me anything). She has recipes for everyone, from a classic borscht to a No Bake Pecan Pie and Healing Mushroom Miso Soup.

I chose to focus on Peanut Butter Love—the Best Flourless Blondie recipe from a chapter where Lerman talks about her relationship with her sister and how she used to bring or send treats to her sister, who was traveling and acting in "Annie" (because their mom wasn't focused on food/treats). Lerman made blondies and other sweet treats for her sister, and that was one of the ways that the two of them were able to bond across the miles between them. Here's the recipe (and they really are to die for):

Ingredients

• 16 ounces natural, no sugar added peanut butter
• ½ cup pure maple syrup
• ½ cup original soy milk or nondairy milk of choice ( I use ones that have about 7 grams of sugar per serving)
• 1 ripe banana, mushed
• 2 eggs, beaten
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• ½ teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• ¾ cup dark, semisweet chocolate chips
• Butter or oil for greasing the pan

Directions
Preheat oven to 325 degrees. In a bowl, mix the peanut butter, maple syrup, milk, and mushed banana. Mush it all up and combine well. Then mix in the beaten eggs, vanilla, salt, and baking soda. Mix together until well blended and smooth. Stir in half the chocolate chips. Pour the batter into a well-greased 8-inch-square Pyrex dish. Scatter the remaining chips on top.

Bake for 55 minutes, checking after 15 minutes to make sure the edges do not get too brown. If the top looks very brown, cover with foil and bake for the remaining 40 minutes. Cool and serve.

Note: Mine got a little too brown because I got distracted with the baby ... I recommend cooking for 15 minutes and covering with foil for blondies that aren't so brown. 

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GIVEAWAY! Comment on this post and let me know what your relationship with food was like growing up. I'll pick one winner at random on July 19, 2016, to receive a copy of this book. 

Rules: Open to U.S. residents only. Must comment to be entered. 

Night and Day: Giving Birth in Israel vs. the USA

With my newest little one approaching her four-week birthday and my five-week maternity leave about to end, I suppose it's time to sit down and put fingers to keys to share what the labor and birthing process was like with Little T. So here goes!

You can read the first and second part series of what it was like giving birth to Asher in Israel at Hadassah Ein Kerem here on the blog for some perspective, as well. Also, here's a look at the place where I gave birth.

I was really nervous about what labor and delivery were going to look like with Little T. After the nightmare horror show I experienced with Asher in Israel, I reiterated a million times to Mr. T what I was and was not willing to deal with. I had limits, and I was setting those limits with the nurses and doctors. I wasn't going to pursue 45 hours of labor only to have a painful c-section again. It wasn't going to happen. I was down for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarian), and I was committed to it because I didn't want to deal with the recovery of a c-section again, even knowing that the months-long recovery I had with Asher was a fluke caused by an infection that wouldn't heal.

Starting on Monday, June 6, I got concerned that I was leaking amniotic fluid, so the nurse sent me to the hospital. After a checkup and Asher being super concerned with mommy in the hospital bed, we were sent on our way with everything looking fine. On Tuesday, with my inlaws on their way into the country, I started having mild contractions. They were steady, but mild, so I didn't think I was heading into active labor. I was waiting for the magical moment my water would break like it did with Asher, which is what sent me into active labor. So I pushed through the contractions and life went on.

Then, on Wednesday, the contractions got more severe and closer together while Mr. T and I were out to lunch with my inlaws. After lunch, we made the executive decision to head to the hospital, because it felt like this was the real deal. We got there and after a few hours of tests, they decided to admit me around 6 p.m. I got a very large labor and delivery room complete with a super-amazing jacuzzi tub and actual chairs and a fold-out bed so Mr. T could stick around (in Israel, husbands aren't allowed to stay over at the hospital), and we settled in for the night. I was on constant monitoring, but unlike my experience in Israel, the two devices attached to my mid-section (one for the baby's heart rate and one for contractions) stayed in place magically instead of slipping and falling all over the place every time I moved. I couldn't handle laying down in the bed, so I was up on my feet the whole of the laboring process.

Nurses came in and out, constantly assessing how I was feeling and how the baby was feeling. They asked me at every step of the process what I wanted to do, and when Mr. T and I needed to discuss, they left us to it. The giant privacy curtain at the door gave us a sense of, well, privacy, and we felt in control of the entire process every step of the way. I made it clear that I wasn't going to go through two days of labor, and we created a plan.

Late in the evening, when it came time to choose "yes" or "no" to the epidural, I opted to give the jacuzzi tub a try to see if it would calm the painful contractions. Although it was an awesome tub, it didn't ease anything. I did, however, think it was amazing that the monitors they had attached to me allowed me to move freely wherever I wanted to go -- including into the tub.

After the tub failure, we went for the epidural around 12:30 a.m. The woman who did the epidural was ... I can't even describe her ... amazing. She was quick, it was about 2 minutes of pain, and then I was at ease. I slept for a few hours and they gave me petocin, so I slept a few more hours. In order to not bother me throughout those few hours, they put a cuff on my arm to monitor my blood pressure every 15 minutes, which I thought was pretty thoughtful. Yes, it was annoying to have something inflating and deflating on my arm, but less annoying than a nurse coming in to constantly wake me up and take my blood pressure.

Early in the morning, the doctors and nurses starting coming in more regularly to check and see how far I was dilated. We were all amazed at the process because by the morning I was at 9 cm, which is a measurement I never even got to with Asher. As the shifts changed, doctors came and introduced themselves and nurses did the same. Everyone was incredibly pleasant, coming in and doing what they needed and leaving promptly to give us space and privacy. There was no screaming, no arguing, no miscommunications, no confusion.

Around 8 a.m., I was at 9.5 cm and the epidural had all but ceased working. I felt like I was being launched to the ceiling every time I had a contraction, and I couldn't speak or move afterward. I kind of felt like I was dying, and I was screaming pretty loudly, so they called to have the epidural topped off. After that, the nurses and doctor on call and I decided it was time to start pushing.

Now, with the epidural topped off, I was on cloud 9. I couldn't feel a darn thing, so I asked the nurse about how long pushing normally takes, since this whole vaginal birth thing was novel to me. She said it can take one to two hours, to which I replied "how about 15 minutes?" and she laughed. Challenge accepted!

At 8:48 a.m., I began pushing. The doctors and nurses were shocked at how quickly it was going. Now, because I couldn't feel anything, I had no clue how hard I was pushing, so I just went for it. After a mere 14 minutes, there she was.

They held her up for me, and my response was shock. "It's a baby! A little baby!"

They all laughed, saying "What did you expect?"

The cord was cut and she was placed on my chest, the perfect little blob that had caused me so much grief for so many months. After a few hours of bonding and measurements with an amazing nurse who crafted Little T a hat with a bow, we were off to our recovery room. A bit smaller than the labor and delivery room, the recovery room was quiet, private, and had a huge bathroom that made moving around nice and easy. We could see the mountains from our window, and there was another pull-out bed for Tuvia to sleep in. The fridge down the hall was stocked with milk, juice, soda, and pudding (all kosher), and every room and hallway had a Keurig coffee machine for making tea and coffee. We ordered some kosher food from the deli through the hospital (they have a deal with the kosher deli) and spent the next 24 hours bonding, recovering, and trying to get some rest.

The next day, we were back at home, I was on my feet, and all of my expectations for labor and birth had been turned on their heads.

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Now, I'm sure that language had something to do with the terrible experience I had giving birth in Israel, but considering I had a Hebrew-speaking doula and a husband whose Hebrew is pretty fluent, I can't attribute much of the terrifying ordeal in Israel to language. I just think that it's a country that misunderstands its people and the needs of its patients. Having Mr. T there with me throughout the whole process was unbelievably vital. Although we were only in the hospital one night after the baby's birth, having him there in the middle of the night so he could hold the baby so I could move around or go to the bathroom was life-changing. In Israel, he had to leave every night and go sleep wherever he could find space. I think in Israel the assumption is that people have so many kids that dads just don't need to be there because they're taking care of the kids, or maybe even that they don't want to be there. Also the cooperation of the doctors and nurses with what I wanted was clutch. I felt understood, respected, and like the focus of the experience. In Israel, I felt like I was a body on a bed that wasn't allowed to have opinions. The midwives and doctors fought and argued for what the correct plan of action was; I was merely a passive attendee at the birth of Asher. When it came to recovery, in the U.S. it was all about bonding and making sure that baby and I were comfortable, and most importantly, together immediately -- even with a c-section. Although there is a nursery at the hospital, they put the baby with the mother and practically insist on that bonding time. You can ask for the nursery if you want, but it's small and you won't find many babies in there. In Israel, they insisted on the baby being in the nursery. Even when we moved to the baby hotel, they just assumed we'd want to ditch our baby and go take a nap. What's up with that?

I could go on and on and on, but the experiences were night and day. They really couldn't have been more different. Will I have more children? Who knows. Will I have more children in Israel? Definitely not. I couldn't fathom or stomach going through what I went through with Asher ever again.

Say Hello to the Baby

I present to you ... Tirzah Shaindel! She was born on 06/09/16 at 9:02 am.

More forthcoming.

Shavuot Recipes: Gluten-free Macaroni and Cheese

I'll tell you this right now: There is absolutely zero that is healthy about this recipe. Although I measured a few things, I'm very much in a "play it by feel" kind of recipe experience.

Ingredients
1 package cooked Tinkiyada gluten-free elbow noodles
2 cups milk separated into 1.5 and .5 cups
4 Tbls tapioca starch
1 tsp mustard powder
salt and pepper
plenty of shredded cheese (I used cheddar and mozzarella)

Directions

1. Cook the Tinkiyada noodles according to package instructions. 
2. When the noodles are about 5 minutes from being done, start on the sauce. 
3. In a bowl, whisk together the .5 cups milk with the tapioca starch until combined and not lumpy. 
4. Heat 1.5 cups milk over a medium heat until it starts to steam slightly. 
5. Mix the starch/milk mixture into the milk on the stovetop and add in the mustard powder, salt, and pepper. 
6. Throw in as much cheese as you want and continue to stir as the cheese melts. 
7. Go crazy with the cheese, and just watch as the sauce thickens. If it gets too thick, add more milk. 
8. Mix with the noodles, and enjoy!

You can also throw in peas, tuna, salmon, and any other interesting add-ins you'd like. This freezes really well, which is what I've done for Shavuot. 

Baking with Asher!

This kid will probably end up on some junior baking competition or something. Masterchef Junior? Chopped: Junior? Who knows.

He's still got a few years to go because he hasn't grasped the concept that knives are sharp yet, but he's got the right amount of creativity and commitment to what he's made ... even when it's a mixture of honey, cinnamon, and vanilla.



Note: I was making Blueberry Almond Muffins, and he decided to take it upon himself to make mommy apple juice.

Spinning Babies and Visiting the Mikvah for an Easy Birth

I don't know if anyone out there on the interwebs has been waiting to hear what happened, but it went something like this:

I posted about the baby being breech and us finding some upside down books and properly flipping them on a Monday. On that Tuesday, I started having unbelievable pain. I couldn't sleep on either side, let alone my back. I had to sleep sitting up. The pain late Tuesday night was so excruciating that we called the nurse's line and they scheduled me in for a morning appointment.

I woke up having not slept, in immense pain, concerned about what was going on. I went to the doctor Wednesday morning, explained what was going on, and the nurse practitioner got out the ultrasound. And then, "Well, I wasn't expecting that!"

Yes. The baby had flipped. Just. Like. That. We canceled the version appointment and as of this past Thursday, baby was still properly positioned -- head down.

Now, whether you believe in segulahs or not, you have to admit that's pretty crazy, right?

So last night, I decided to embrace another segulah. It's the tradition of some to go to the mikvah during the ninth month of pregnancy as a segulah for an easy labor and birth. Now, my experience with Asher tells me that I can use all of the help, prayers, and good luck possible.

The funny thing about going to the mikvah is that 95 percent of the time you can't and shouldn't write about it. When you're going to the mikvah, it's usually because you're coming out of being niddah, and you don't want the whole world knowing your menstrual cycle. The 5 percent of the time you can talk about mikvah is either when you're converting to Judaism or taking a dip for the purposes of changing your situation, position, or cleansing yourself to prepare for birth.

So last night, I went for a dip in the mikvah. What happens is that you go to the mikvah, take a quick shower (no intense prep), then go dip in the mikvah dunking only once. There is no special prayer to say, and you don't say the normal mikvah blessing. You can say whatever you want to HaShem, and that's what I did. I asked for an easy labor and birth, a healthy child ... and that was that.

Furthermore, there's a segulah for a woman who has had trouble conceiving to go into the mikvah after a woman like me. Unfortunately, no one went in after me. But it got me thinking: What if you show up at the mikvah for your normal visit and unknowingly go in after a woman in her ninth month? And then bam! You're pregnant! What luck, eh?

Now, we wait. This baby is meant to show up before Shavuot, and I'm praying that it's sooner rather than later.

Blob Watch 2016 begins!

Oh Come On! The Blob is Breech

Well, this has truly been a pregnancy for the books, and we're in a state of breech, still. The Blob doesn't seem to want to turn, so we've begun with the segulot. 

Segulah (also written segula; plural segulot) literally means a "remedy" or "protection" in Hebrew. The term is pronounced suh-goo-luh.

In Judaism, a segulah is viewed as an action that will lead to a change in one's luck, fortune, or destiny.

In Judaism, there is a segulah for just about everything under the sun. Having children, overcoming bad luck or illness, making more money, finding a job, picking out the right religious garments ... you get the idea. 

With a breech baby, there are a bunch of different things that you can do to hopefully turn the baby, the most common and prominent being the typical ones: check your mezuzot (the parchments placed on the doorposts of the home) to make sure they're still viable and not upside down and make sure your seforim (books) aren't upside down. 

The funny thing is, we should have checked our mezuzot before we even moved into the house, because after the balagan of buying the house and having some interesting challenges securing a mortgage, we came to find out that the mezuzah on the front door of the house (the guy who owned it was Jewish) was not only no longer usable, but it was also upside down. Yikes. 

So we checked the books, or at least, we thought we'd checked the books. And everything was upright and accounted for. Then, a Chabad friend mentioned to me that they did the same only to discover later that the slipcover on a book had been right-side up while the book was upside down, so I told Mr. T we needed to check them again. 

Lo and behold, he discovered that three of the machzorim (prayer book for special Jewish holidays) from his grandmother were upside down in a bookcase that is mostly filled with non-Jewish books. BAM! 

Will the baby magically turn now before my version procedure on Friday where we go to the hospital and a trained physician attempts to turn the baby from the outside? I sure hope so. Everything I've read and heard about the procedure has me on pins and needles, terrified at the outcomes (or non-outcomes) and excruciating pain. 

But after last time, I really, really really really don't want to have to go through another c-section and the recovery process. I just don't think that I can take it. 

In the meantime, I'm hauling tuches to get work in order so that when this baby does show up (and for some weird reason I keep getting the feeling that The Blob will be early and that this is going to also be a hard birth), that my coworkers are good to go and not left in the dark. It's a huge undertaking of writing, scheduling, curating ... and my brain is totally mush right now. 

Babies do weird things to your brain, your heart, your body. I can't get over how important the role of women, and mothers specifically, is, and how little I understood went into it before undertaking this journey first with Asher and now with The Blob. I also still can't get over how little respect and consideration is paid to mothers around the world, but specifically in the United States. 

I'm Terrified: How to Love and Parent Two Children

Although I really, truly prefer winter, for some reason there are a lot of tastes, scents, and sounds that hold a special place in my heart and send me swirling back to various points throughout my childhood and college years.

We live near a high school, where just about every day there is some kind of sporting event going on. For me, the sound of a baseball hitting a metal bat delivers me to the days when I lived on the baseball field because either my dad or older brother were playing. Starbucks trips this time of year remind me of when I was in college and worked as a New Student Enrollment leader and would get a grande iced mocha just about every morning, the whipped cream melting into the cold drink creating swirls and clouds. A trip to Home Depot had me hearing the sounds of outdoor wind chimes, reminding me of summer nights listening to the neighbor lady's chimes ringing out with a passing breeze. And, of course, freshly mowed grass -- one of my least favorite smells of all time -- is so prevalent that it reminds me of growing up in a home with a mom and a dad and two brothers, one of which mowed the lawn begrudgingly on the hottest days while I avoided the sun inside.

Back in those days, I hated being outside in the heat. These days, I cherish days where I can sit outside and work in the sun.

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Something odd happened a few nights ago when I went to bed too late and couldn't fall asleep. Tossing and turning because of the extreme discomfort of this pregnancy, it suddenly hit me: I only have about a month left where Asher is my only child. Just weeks left where he is the absolute center of my universe and the only little human that I have to share my life and my love with. The smack of reality that soon he'll be moved slightly to the side so that I can love and nurture a second child still stings. I don't know why I hadn't considered the reality before. How does a parent love two children? How does a parent find a space for two little humans in her life?

The love of my life.

To be frank I'm terrified. Asher has been all I've had and all I've known in my life. When iBoy entered my world, he was old enough that he didn't need me in the same way that a baby, toddler, child does. He didn't rely on me for everything from food to putting on shoes to kissing a boo-boo to ushering away scary bumps in the night.

Asher is my world. When Mr. T was gone for nine months, the reality hit me that I would be happy with just my little man forever and ever. If I never had another munchkin, my heart was full and I'd be fine. And, even though I've been pregnant for months, I've still been living with that reality.

I'm scared that I've given him to prominent a place in my heart and mind, that when this new little one shows up that I either won't be able to give it the love and attention it needs or that I'll be completely unable to provide that love and attention to Asher. As I said, I'm terrified.

Is it something normal a parent faces with a second child? Does it just work, like everything else in pregnancy, child bearing, and rearing? Do you just figure it out?

How do you love and parent two children?

It's Passover Again, and I've got PTSD

Oh Passover. After last year's miscarriage three days before Passover and breaking my foot walking to the first-night seder (and not realizing it was broken for the first two days, so walking around on it), I think that I've got Passover PTSD.

Yes, for the first time in my Jewish life, I'm responsible for the Passover seder. Since we're in the U.S., that's two nights of seders, folks.

Note: The seder is the festive Passover meal that begins with a lengthy retelling of the Israelite Exodus from Egypt and the miracles therein. Jews use a haggadah (a book of sorts) to retell the Passover story. There are certain foods you're required to eat during the retelling, and by the time the meal actually arrives, many people are all full up on salt water and parsley and lettuce and wine and, of course, matzah. 

Theoretically we could have gone out the first night, but the reality is that because of that extra month (yes, it's a Jewish leap year), Passover is starting crazy late now and Asher is a creature of habit that I cannot and will not mess with. So the seder starts after bedtime and the Ash man will be fast asleep for mommy's sanity. For the second night, we're having a couple over, and it's what I'm calling the "make up for the first night seder with just the two of us where I fall asleep at the table with a face full of gefilte fish" seder. Yes, the first night it's just the two of us, and my husband has a glowing spirit that is full of stories and singing and ... seder is his jam. I'll let you know how the "just the two of us" seder goes, but I have a feeling it's going to be super disappointing for him. I wish I could pull a couch up to the table.

So the PTSD. There was a giant kitchen fiasco last night that left three dishes I'd made in the "dairy" category because I used real butter, and before you say, "Wait, don't you have a vegetarian house?" the reality is that yes, we're vegetarian, so normally it's not an issue, but we have a guest coming whose custom it is to have meat on seder night, so I acquiesced and ... disaster. Now, the meat seder we're having is slim pickings on food, and that just is what it is and it will be what it will be. Add to that being super preggers and having several jobs and having terribly swollen feet and a toddler running around and a husband who works at the kosher deli (busiest time of year) and who is responsible for fixing the local eruv (thanks, fluke snowstorm last week that tore it down in 17 different places and required 6 hours of fixing today) ... and I broke down last night.

I cried. I was overwhelmed and exhausted and I lost my #@$*. I know, I know. Stress isn't good for the baby. Over exertion isn't good for the baby.

So I think I've finally come to terms with the reality that Passover is just a few hours a way, and it just is what it is. My table isn't set, and as I watch friends post pictures of their beautiful Passover tables with real dishes and real silverware and real glasses I feel kind of lame. I'm 32 years old and don't have Passover stuff. But it's my first time hosting, actually needing those things. In my last marriage and in this marriage, I've always happened to be out or away or just not at home for the seders, let alone the rest of the week.

Someday I'll be a Jewish adult woman with actual stuff for Passover. Someday ...

Anyway, as I come to terms with Passover, I'm also starting to get excited about Shavuot. It's not just because I love cheesecake, but it's because it's my favorite holiday, as it's what I call the "convert's holiday" because Jews read the Book of Ruth. Man I love Shavuot. I loved it even more when I got to stay up all night and teach. Unfortunately, The Blob is showing up on the eve of Shavuot, so who knows how it's going to go down this year. Either way, here's a good read to prep you for Shavuot.

And now? Maybe I should get the toddler-in-a-diaper next to me in the bath and set the seder table, eh? I can't wait for the gefilte fish. And I'm not even kidding.

Ask Chaviva Anything: Parenting, Jewish Books, and Jewish Conversion!

It's been a while since I got my Ask Chaviva Anything on, so it's about time. I can't seem to find an easy theme with the questions I have remaining, so we'll call this a grab bag edition. Ready? Let's do this. 

My husband and I are also thinking of having a baby number two. With the first one I stayed at home for almost three years, now we are thinking that I'd stay home for the first year and my husband for the second. You mentioned that daycare is very expensive in USA, but that you make quite good money while your husband makes less. I'm just curious, would it be possible for your hubby to stay home with the kids and you bring in the dough?

Although it's a great idea, we tried this when we first moved to the U.S. because Mr. T couldn't legally work until he received his work permit/green card. The truth is, neither Mr. T nor I are cut out to be full-time stay-at-home parents. Also, we need to be a two-income family (whether here or in Israel) to make things work, and Asher is ultimately a much happier kid the days that he's at daycare. He sleeps better, he's happier, and he's growing into an immensely empathetic and social little kid. In the end, everyone benefits in their own way from our situation. As for No. 2, we'll see how it impacts the current situation and go from there. Stay tuned!

Can you recommend a nonfiction book or two with Orthodox characters? And I miss Ask Chaviva Anything, please write soon!

Aww, thanks for the kind words! As for a book, you want nonfiction with Orthodox characters? Or fiction with Orthodox characters? I'm a bit confused. There are a ton of nonfiction books about Orthodox topics (a lot of biographies and things like Crossing the Borders of Time), but if you're looking for fiction books with Orthodox characters, anything by Tova Mirvis or Cynthia Ozick, honestly. I've been reading The Boston Girl, but the main character and her family wouldn't really qualify as Orthodox by today's standards, necessarily (some go out for lobster on Shabbat). Have you read The Nightingale? It's also a really great read, based during WWII. Also, check out this list over here that walks through fiction throughout the years. If I missed the mark on your question, just let me know! Also, take a look at the archives for "Book Review" here. 

Did you grow up religious and if not what brought you to your path?

Not only would I say I didn't grow up religious, I didn't grow up Jewish. In a nutshell: My parents raised me smartly on the Golden Rule, despite the fact that the first half of my life we were in the Bible Belt of Southern Missouri and the second half in Nebraska. All of my friends were immensely religious (in both locations), so I attended Vacation Bible School, church on occasion (especially in high school), and so on, but we were never a religious family. Easter and Christmas weren't about Jesus, they were about the common, American secular traditions. From there ... check out my posts and essays I wrote about how I got to Judaism and ended up Orthodox. 

Have a question? You, too, can Ask Chaviva Anything! Just fill out this form. 

 

Review: Sweet Note Bakery Gluten-Free Bagels

Holy (Bagel) Grail! There are a few things that I've slowly been coming to terms with never being able to get gluten free that taste good, let alone edible. The two big ones are baklava (and anything made with phyllo dough) and bagels. Most of the bagels I've had from brands like Udi's taste like eating air -- tasteless, unsubstantial, and just not worth it.

And then? Sweet Note Bakery The Greater Knead!. I'm trying to remember (with my intensely active baby brain) how I found them, and I think it might have been a Facebook ad, but I'm not entirely sure. I saw a small bakery making gluten-free bagels that happened to be kosher, and I reached out. A quick connection later and I had a box full of gluten-free bagel goodies on my doorstep. Cinnamon Raisin. Everything. Plain.

Then I ate them all over the next few weeks with the enjoyment of someone who unearths a classic family recipe a dozen years after it was lost. These bagels are divine, and unique.

They're smaller than most of the gluten-free bagels on the market, and they're more substantial in weight and flavor, too. They don't taste like a fluff of air; you actually feel like you're eating a bagel.

The trick to these bagels? You have to follow the directions -- no swaying from the path. The ladies behind Sweet Note know what they're doing, and they know that storage and reheating can be the enemy or best friend of gluten-free baked goods. I attempted to warm a bagel up on the plata on Shabbat, and it ended in disaster (I was so bummed that I wasted a bagel).

It's all about freezing the bagels. Putting them in the microwave for 60 seconds to soften them up, and then toasting them ... yes. Perfection. So good. So much flavor, so much substance, so filling.

I can't say enough about these bagels. I'm going to do everything in my power to try to get them into some local shops because, even I can admit, the price is a bit of a sticker shock when it comes to shipping (because they need to stay frozen for integrity, overnight is the only option, which is expensive).

Have you tried Sweet Note? Is there another kosher, gluten-free bagel that I should be eating that I'm missing out on? 

Mommy Shabbat: Man Plans, G-d Laughs

The past few weeks have been a bit insane, and basically until The Blob shows up, things are going to continue to be pretty insane, what with Purim tomorrow and Passover coming up next month. Then it'll be June and I'll be launched into a world of having two kids under three. Good times!

It all began a few weeks ago when I ended up staying alone over Shabbat in a hotel airport in order not to miss an 8 p.m. flight after Shabbat to Austin, TX, in order to attend SXSW Interactive. I've stayed in plenty of hotels over Shabbat, but those hotels were in ... Israel! Where everything just works. You can enter your room with a real key, there's no weird automatic lights or doors, the dining room serves food for Shabbat, there's a synagogue in the hotel, and everything is super easy. For this stay, I had to organize a food delivery from the local deli for dinner and lunch, make sure I got to the hotel well before Shabbat to figure out where the automatic things were and what lights I could leave on and off, and to make sure the staff were prepared for me. Add to this the fact that the hotel had only been open a few months and ... what a time I had.

Aside from the logistics and having to "check out" at 4 p.m. and spend the next 3 hours in the lobby waiting for Shabbat to end, there was a great sense of loneliness of Shabbat. I went into it thinking I'd have a super relaxed "Mommy vacation," a chance to kick back, sleep a bunch, and read trashy magazines and a good book over those 25 hours. But the truth was, it was a lot of empty time where I felt a bit stir crazy. Once I was in the lobby, I got to do some fun people watching, and I got halfway through a book, but eating alone in a fairly sterile hotel room wasn't fun.

Would I do it again? Probably not. Would I do it in Israel again? Yes. A million times. So easy.

So Shabbat ended around 7 p.m. and my flight was at 8 p.m. I zipped off to my gate and made it in time for the flight to Austin, where I arrived around 11 p.m. ... the night before the Daylight Savings change. Once I arrived at the group house I was staying at, I schmoozed for a bit and then crashed hardcore like a very pregnant mother would.

About as wild and crazy as I got at SXSW.
Wearing a lei at a Tiki Bar party. 

And then? SXSW Interactive. I attended in 2010, 2011, and a very memorable 2012, but hadn't been back in four years. Showing up at one of the most booze-filled, energy-draining festivals ever at nearly 7 months pregnant with a husband and toddler back at home was a pretty big culture shock. I remember SXSWi from years gone by, and I spent a lot of time waiting in lines for the big parties, drinking, and staying up all hours of the day.

This time around, I was home most nights and in bed by 9 p.m., exhausted with swollen feet, a headache, and no desire to party until the cows came home. I felt completely lame, considering my housemates were up until around 4 a.m. most nights, but hey, I'm a mom. An overworked mom. Sleep is a commodity. I was also a bit turned off by the entire thing this year because it's become incredibly and predominately corporate in the past four years, and not just tech corporate. McDonalds had a house. Why does McDonalds need a huge presence at SXSW? I don't know. They had a virtual reality Happy Meal experience for the love of Pete. I don't mind a Mashable House, but McDonald's? No thank you. The whole thing just made me feel ... dirty. SXSWi was big when I used to go, but now it's turned into some type of unstoppable corporate monster.

Overall, I totally thought that Shabbat and SXSWi were going to be a huge "vacation" for me, but they ended up being harder work than juggling work at home with a toddler. It's definitely a truth that man plans and Gd laughs. Despite it all, however, it was a ton of fun. I just probably wouldn't do it the same way again.

Start Spreading the News: We're Moving!

So we've been living in an epicly rotten apartment complex for the past year and a half, and we found out recently that our lease would not be renewed (because, well, our desire to have a dishwasher that was actually mounted and electric outlets that actually worked and fixtures that weren't falling off the walls -- all in a "newly renovated space," meant complaints, and they didn't like those complaints and having to fix the problems). We assessed our options, and the reality was that the only other apartments within the Orthodox community were too far down the road to be a part of the kehilla (community), especially with the isolation of a new baby coming for me. 

So. What to do? We turned a potentially terrible situation into something awesomely positive!

Well, Mr. T sold his flat in the UK late last year, which left us with a bit of a down payment that was originally meant as our Israel house fund. But let's just say that the amount was not even a drop in the world's largest bucket of Israeli housing costs, so we made the executive decision to pursue the purchase of a home. We technically began looking in the fall, but because of Mr. T's recent re-arrival in the U.S. and lack of work history and my own unique financial background, we were not in any position to even ask the most giving of banks for a mortgage. 

So we waited until quite literally the last possible minute, were blessed with the world's most amazing loan officer at a local bank (whose owners support Israel wholeheartedly) who crafted a completely custom mortgage for us, as well as an amazing realtor, and we closed on a home yesterday, Monday, March 7, 2016. It was ... well, a bit of a process where I felt in over my head about 99 percent of the time, but Mr. T had been through it before and our realtor was outstanding and dealt with my neurosis and countless questions and concerns. 

The house? It's a little single-family, three-bedroom home in the community with a re-finished basement and quite a few nice renovations. It has a huge back yard with a shed and it's just a few blocks from Asher's daycare and our synagogue and most of our friends. It's small, but it gets the job done, and as soon as we can figure out how to make a dining room and living room out of one small space, I'll be able to rest easy. 

So what does this mean for Israel? Well, the reality is that the Denver housing market is on the up and up constantly, which means (b'ezrat HaShem -- with the help of Gd) we'll be able to sell nicely or when we are prepared to move back to Israel we'll have a steady monthly income from renting the home out. But neither of us are up for making it back to Israel without a financially sound plan to support our growing family. 

Truth be told, I'm still in a bit of shock. We're moving on Thursday, and then I'm spending Friday through Wednesday on the road for work at SXSW Interactive in Austin, TX, leaving the boys with a house full of boxes to be emptied. Moving, after all, is one of my least favorite things in the world and gives me immense anxiety. Large volumes of things being packed and shifted just ... I don't know. It messes with my nerves. And being super preggers, no thank you. (My husband is a saint for taking on this task, seriously.)

I honestly never thought I'd be a homeowner. I grew up with parents who rented, and I've rented my entire life. In my last marriage, my ex had two properties in his name, but nothing was in my name, so I didn't know what it felt like to say "I'm a homeowner." 

Does this make me an adult? Am I grownup now? Here's to a new home for a new baby and plenty of celebrations of good, happy, positive things!

Congrats to the Necklace Winner!

First of all, sorry it took me nearly two days to draw a winner ... I've discovered a wacky issue with mobile comments on the blog, and the wacky issue is that you simply can't comment on a mobile device. I attempted to make it happen, it failed, and I'm sorry. In 2016, mobile reigns supreme, and the inability to comment on mobile really bums me out. So. Sorry!

Anyway, congratulations to Mor S. (a Denver friend and most-excellent mama) for winning the giveaway! In case you see this,  Mor, please send me an email at kvetching dot editor at gmail dot com.

In other news: I'm now Facebook "verified" as a personality. Eegads. I'm like, famous or something. Wait, no, I just went through the Facebook Mentions process of verification. But a girl can dream, right?

Shabbat Shalom y'all!

Giveaway: Personalized Silver Name Necklace!

For a long time, one of the classic bat mitzvah gifts handed out was the personalized name necklace, usually in Hebrew, and usually retrieved from the Holy Land, so elusive to American Jews. I want to say this was during the 1970s and 1980s, because by the time the 2000s rolled around and I hit Israel in 2008, the jewelry stores along Ben Yehudah Street were selling them second hand. I thought the trend had died, but the truth is with Sex and the City and the Carrie necklace being ever-so-popular for all time, personalized name necklaces are -- and will always be -- popular and beloved.

Although I don't have one myself, I do have the uniquely hand-crafted necklace that Mr. T gave me for our anniversary and a simple name necklace that I got years and years ago from Sima Gilady jewelry (that, honestly, I take off maybe two or three times a year at the most).

So I thought to myself, wouldn't it be nice to give the gift of personalized jewelry to one of my readers? Yes, yes, I thought to myself, it would be nice. Enter the folks at Name Factory, who are helping me give away a personalized silver necklace (value up to $42) just for you!

And because I know how much people love entering giveaways with ease, all you have to do is comment on this post telling me which of the necklaces on the site you'd love to call your own (or to gift to a friend, daughter, mother, your dog, you get the drift).

Ready? Set ... GO!

Note: This giveaway ends on Wednesday, February 17, 2016 at noon MDT. 

The Anniversary Gift

When I was a kid, and we went out to restaurants where they still put paper on the table and gave out crayons to the kids to entertain them, my dad used to draw the same image over and over. No matter where we went, the time of day, or the mood he was in, he always drew a tree. It was a bare-branched tree, no lush leaves, but it always managed to capture something special about my dad. As time went on, and I became a doodler, the tree became a common theme for me. It was the same: no leaves, just bare branches.

Awhile ago, Mr. T asked me to draw him a picture of the tree I always sketch. Being generally grumpy and overworked most of the time, I brushed him off and said I'd do it eventually. He started bringing a piece of paper and pen over to me and asking me to do it. He said he wanted to make a paper cut or something with it, and after several tries I acquiesced and drew him the tree.

Then, he gave me this.

Our anniversary is February 20, or Erev Ta'anit Esther on the Hebrew calendar (that means, because this year is a leap year on the Jewish calendar, we celebrate the Hebrew date in March), but he wanted to give it to me early. He'd managed to hide the whole project from me (which is hard to do), and I never thought to ask him what had come of the tree.

If you can't read Hebrew, or read really, really small writing, the necklace says the following:

• 02/20/2013 חביבה טוביה (That's Chaviva and Tuvia written in Hebrew.)
• אשר יצחק 12/19/2013 (That's Asher Yitzhak written in Hebrew.)

It's my very own, super unique (just like my husband) family-based necklace charm, which I'd wanted for some time. And, there's space up another branch for The Blob (that's what we're calling the baby I'm brewing). 

I was really overwhelmed and surprised! And, of course, now I'm thinking "How am I going to match this!?" Here's to you, Mr. T. 

Happy Birthday Mr. T!

Asher was such a grumpy-looking baby
two years ago, wasn't he?

Three years ago, we'd known each other fewer than two months, were engaged, and were less than a month away from getting married. I spent Mr. T's birthday sick as a dog on his couch, with him making me chicken soup and honey-lemon-ginger drinks by the gallon. His thoughts on the experience of me being sick on his birthday, "Love is not caring about snot."

Two years ago, we celebrated twice, once at our favorite restaurant in Israel, Bodega (yes, there's now Mexican food in Israel) in Efrat, sparklers and all. Then I made his favorite soup, Salmon Chowder, and a chocolate cake for his birthday at home.

One year ago, he was a million miles away and we spent his birthday apart. I sent a card, and I think I sent a Metal Earth for him to build (he loves those things), but it was just another lonely day apart.

This year, I gave him the most hilarious of books, and he's going to spend the morning checking the eruv, the late morning and early afternoon doing some work on someone's house, and then going into the deli for the evening. It's not perfect, and we won't see much of each other, but it's better than a million miles.

Happy birthday to the kindest, most genuine, and most giving person I've ever known. Mr. T would bend over backwards to find a way to help someone -- emotionally, financially, you name it. And I'm happy to report that Asher is following 100 percent in his father's footsteps, and I couldn't be more proud.

Here's to as many more as we can manage, Mr. T.

Ask Chaviva Anything: Parenting and Jewish Divorce

Some great questions rolling in, and I'm so glad I get to answer them. Let's start with what might seem like a tough question, but one that actually has a pretty simple answer.

Hi Chaviva! My question is how would you handle a situation where Ash decides to be less religious or non-religious? I wonder because you fought so hard to become Jewish, so I can imagine that it would be a really sensitive situation for you. Would you accept him if he was not religious? Or mourn him? How would you try to bring him back to Judaism?

Once upon a time, after a very difficult marriage and divorce, I was left spinning, unsure who I was or what life was meant to look like. During that time, I made some questionable choices and ended up dating someone who was not Jewish (this was a few years after my Orthodox conversion, so I was, for all intents and purposes, a Jew). When it was revealed that I was dating a non-Jew (while still keeping kosher and Shabbat), I received hate mail, calls for my conversion to be revoked, comments on blog posts saying that I was the "worst thing to happen to Judaism," and harassment from people who had once been friends (mostly other converts, too). I was being pushed and shoved away from the Judaism that had so nurtured my soul and given me a home. I was being told I was not a Jew, I was being distanced from my family. 

But there were, during this time, a few (religious) friends who pulled me close. They sent me notes, they checked in on me, they reminded me that I had a home, that I was loved and that Judaism was not rejecting me. They gave me the nurturing and love that I needed to make the right decisions at the right time, and they allowed me to return. I really learned who my real friends and family were in Judaism, and I learned who was toxic and insincere. 

What this taught me, this entire experience that still hurts and stings to this day, is that Judaism teaches us that when someone strays or makes choices that don't necessarily jibe with Torah Judaism, we pull them close, we give them a space. If you push them away, they'll just move farther and farther away until they're lost in the crowd. The often-quoted adage is "hate the sin, not the sinner," and those who truly understand Judaism and HaShem hold tightly to that dictum. 

So, long story short ... I grew up not Jewish and found my way here. Mr. T grew up fairly Jewish, attending a Jewish day school and then a boys school and then had some wild and crazy teen years before returning in his early 20s. We've both lived our lives and experienced things that those who are FFB (frum from birth) perhaps not, and that gives us a unique perspective. Sure, I'd love for all of my kids to be as religious as us, but there's always the possibility that they'll be more or less observant than us, and I'm okay with that. Judaism is a journey, and as long as I do my job and give my kids a healthy view of Judaism and the outside world, they'll choose what is right for them and I'll respect that. I'll hold them close, give them a nurturing environment where they know that they are loved for who they are, no matter the choices they make. They will always have a home. 

Next question!

Thank you for admitting that you seeked marriage counseling! Did you and your ex-husband ever go through counseling? How was that experience different? I've been reading for years but I guess I still don't understand why you got divorced. It worked out for the best obviously but I can't help but be curious since it seems rarely discussed in the Orthodox world.

I've actually written about it before, I'm pretty sure. I was much less open during my last marriage. All of our struggles and trials were kept quiet and out of the public eye, contrary to how I live much of my life. My in-laws were shocked, absolutely no one knew it was coming because darn if we weren't good at putting up appearances. I was depressed, anxious, and embarrassed that it wasn't working, but I managed a smile when I needed to. Of the 16 months we were married, we spent a year of that in couples counseling, with me in additional counseling on the side. Despite that, it just wasn't meant to be. It took a meeting with a rabbi, who posed an ultimatum to my ex. When he responded with "I'd like to think I'd choose my marriage," I knew it was done. I had to make the decision, and I did. 

Believe it or not, divorce is actively encouraged in the Jewish community (in the Orthodox world anyway), because if things aren't working out (for any number of reasons), both individuals have the right to move on and give it another go. There are even discussions about how one merits a series of partners (read about it: A Zivug or Bashert?). 

Hope this provides some semblance of clarity!

Have a question? Just ask: http://bit.ly/AskChavivaAnything