Rant, shmant…Cell Phones. WTF? Week 11

As you see, the parents are not paying attention to the kinder (child)
As you see, the parents are not paying attention to the kinder (child)

 

Cell phone courtesy: Please turn ‘em off – therapy is in session

Answer: 60 to 125 times a day

Question: On average, how many times do we check our cell phones each day?

So, I ask you, are you average, above average? Stellar perhaps? Just how tethered are you? Can you give it up? Would you? I have to admit, mine goes everywhere with me. Apple had me at, “iHello.” And to be honest (we are in therapy after all) the phone is my least favorite feature. It’s that dreamy camera—the ability to capture my kinder (kids) in every escapade imaginable. Kodak moments? Not so much (who prints when we can swipe?). Between the Mrs. and me, we record every waking moment of our lives with Little and Big. Second children no longer have to grow up unnoticed (and needing therapy); Little is in just as many pictures as Big.

please watch this short video…my mishpocheh (family) in action. That Kenny, he’s got the making of a star! Nu? Thank you to my nephew, Max-a-lah,  for making such a video!

What on earth did we all talk about before everyone on the planet got a smart phone? I vaguely recall long, lovely, limitless, uninterrupted time to myself. I walked the dogs (furry first children) and was totally one with them in nature. I could run to the store and pick up a script without a care. I actually peed without bringing a phone in the bathroom. The Mrs. and I, we schmoozed (chatted) about everything, snuggling on the sofa watching Olivia Benson kicking some major butt!

There were no electronic farts, noises, beeps, or music telling me about a new email, a tweet, a status update, a news alert, or a lightening strike within my immediate proximity. I was not instantaneously answerable to anyone. I think I was still okay? I managed to meet with friends and family and not call if someone was 10 seconds late (of course, I’m Jewish, so I imagined them dead by the curb, or on a respirator in the hospital, but which hospital? Oy). I knew how to dress for the weather because I walked out the front door to check. I was up to date on the news and current events; I definitely held my own during many a ‘water cooler’ conversation. My landline rang and I let the answering machine get it. Yes, I was a proud screener.

I’m positive we talked more before smart phones. I used to take time out of my day to write letters and send cards to people for special occasions. Now, I can text or instant message birthday wishes, Mazel Tov’s or even my deepest sympathies. Why even say how I feel? There is an amazing array of emoticons for every expression. Feelings? Feh!

Oh Siri, how I love and hate you so… Like Google on crack, so many answers you have? This techno age is meshuggeneh (crazy). Being connected is so easy, yet I look around at restaurants, on the train, even walking, and everyone is looking at his or her phones. Talking to each other? Not so much.

Was life better before? Is life better now? I don’t know. I do know life is faster now. Yet, somehow, it’s a lot easier to feel disconnected, being so connected. It’s a shonda (a shame). WTF?

 

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Rant, Shmant, at least I can vent…Week 8 is about ME

Flip-flops!
Flip-flops!

Shhhhh. Breakthrough therapy session in progress!

 Week 8! We need some progress. Today’s rant is all about me and my shtick (routine actions). I can most certainly do a few things in my life differently to save time, effort, energy, and all around self-made tsuris (trouble) and shpilkas (inner turmoil). This can allow me to be more present: As a parent, a partner, a person on the planet. That is a pretty important goal. So what follows dear therapists, is a list of the 5 things I will try, try, try very hard to break in my, well, shtick! Please note this is by no means a manifesto…I’m a work in progress. (Note to the Mrs., Little and Big: THIS-IS-ALL-ABOUT-ME. The queen of all OCD raised me. A master, she is. And, well, some things still remain.)

  1. The dishwasher. You and I have a strange relationship. Whenever I open you up, I have a need to re-stack and alter your contents. This is not to judge you, but to be more efficient and organized. Hey Dish, it’s your life. If you want to crowd your stuff all willy-nilly, so be it. No big mitziah (deal). Whether I can fit more in and allow you to wash more proficiently will no longer matter. I am going to focus on the fact that you are not in the sink and see the mitzvah (good deed) in that.
Because life goes by so fast, it's a blur...
Because life goes by so fast, it’s a blur…
  1. The toilet paper roll. Whether you roll over top, underneath, or sit atop the holder, I will just be grateful that you are there when I need you. I’m no TP maven (expert) so any way you show up, preferably in the bathroom, will suffice. 
  1. Laundry. Oh how I hate you. You are always there, ready to be washed, fluffed, folded and put away. I will try to take some days off from your siren like calling. I will only really fold my items, the towels and perhaps some of the nicer things all my girls wear. As for drawers and their contents, I will be my own keeper. 

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  1. Food under Little’s Seat. Kaynahorah (warding off the evil eye) to my little tactile eater. You indulge and enjoy and really feel (and squish and mush) and ‘experience’ your food. It took me until my 40’s, when the Mrs. and I took a course on mindful dining, to be so engaged. You are awesome my shana madelah (beautiful little girl). Continue to ess a bissel (eat a little) your way. In the morning’s when I do Tai Chi, and things go crunch under foot, azoy vert dus kuchel tzekrokhen (literally, that’s the way the cookie crumbles). I will breathe and smile. 
  1. Stuff in general. Life here at the Manor is the closest this family will get to living in a ‘tiny home.’ So, when a few things are left out and about, it’s easy to get a bissel farhklempt (a little distraught). What’s to shvitz (sweat) over? No more utzing (nagging, like a pebble in your shoe) you. 

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The goal here my dear mishpocheh (family), is for me to loosen up. Not get so meshuggeneh (crazy). Make memories, be more present. After all, I’m no yeller. I’m a kveller (one who gushes with pride)!

What do you thing doc’s? How am I doing? Please let me know.

 

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Beauty and the Beast: the real deal

Beauty and the Beast
Beauty and the Beast

Growing up, my mother told us (Shvesters) we were gorgeous. It was disingenuous. Even back then, at a very young age, I knew her words were for her. She would often fish for compliments with total strangers, coyly at the grocery store baggers, at restaurants with wait staff. To her credit, she was, and still remains a very nice-looking person. She took great pains to stay attractive, now approaching eighty years of life. Motivation for her was to look good on the arm of my father. Not a whole lot more going on, unfortunately.

My sister—her beauty comes au natural and is throughout. She favors my mom and has maintained a statuesque 3+ inches over her since the early teen years. Both were, and still are, very attractive. My shvester, she is truly beautiful, inside and out.

As a kid, I looked, and still highly resemble my father, who looks like his father did. Funny, resemblance was never a thing I could see until I became a mom. Likeness via DNA is powerful. I can stand at the airport or a movie theatre, a bookstore, and spot the packs of gene-poolers as they pass by. (Let the record show, that as a mom, I can also now detect fever and/or illness with my bare hand, nose picking clear from another room, and I have become completely desensitized to vomit and other bodily secretions that spout from the kinder. Prior to the arrival of Little and Big, none of these things were possible. I thought motherhood would also empower me the knowledge of how to fold a fitted sheet, but epic momma-fail there.)

Back to the premise here: The Mrs., she is a pure beauty. She even looks good with a paper hat atop her head during holiday dinners (just ask her mom! It’s no joke–and sorry, she won’t let me post one for proof). The kinder, my shana madelahs—together, I have three stunners from their inside core to the outer shell that is our body.

Me? No eye candy here. No meeskait; no train wreck, mind you, just normal. Well, less than average height and weight; run-of-the-mill graying of hair. My face is ‘a bit too well lined with character’ for my baby boomer ‘end of an era’ birthday. And, I will not for one moment, lose sleep over any of this. Why? Because I know I am a good person with a good core. Not just the ‘six-pack’ kind.

I do not fuss with my hair or even use a comb or brush. I had a fleeting encounter with makeup in my sophomore year in college (Bernice, remember?). I saw cotton balls in my home for the first time when the Mrs. first moved (in 1998!). I still have no clue what their main purpose holds. I want to thank Nature’s Knowledge for letting me know I can add some apple cider vinegar to a cotton ball and use it as toner for my face. (I do this now!) My outfit of choice is jeans, Dansko’s and several layers of shirts, and a hoody to keep warm (Blizzard of 2016 Jonas or not). Yes, I’m happiest in a hoody and sneaks, just like big-Daddy Zuckerberg himself. I despise dressing up and find shopping to dress up even worse. I come to you purely, sans schmaltz. What you see is what you get, always. And when you know me, you can see me inside and out. That’s the emmes truth.

Little and Big
Little and Big

My kinder are the ‘girliest’ of girls. I have learned to spy, with my little eye, a dress that has good twirl (this matters)…shoes and leggings that will enhance with sparkle, dazzle and élan, and what will ultimately make my daughters smile like Cheshire Cats. The fashionista-gene has been passed, along with the wherewithal to shop. I have made the case for pink chucks to no avail. Recently, Big announced she wanted a pair of pants! To my ears, such music! Kvelling!

So, not too long ago, that nice chap with the white beard and jolly red suit, he brought us tickets to see Beauty and the Beast (Feb.)! After studying the picture Mr. Claus left with the tickets, Little said, “Ema is Beauty, and Mommy is the Beast!” Okay!

Not long after, I was told that the same kinder, spry little fox that she is, was discussing Harry Potter and said, “Mommy can be Dumbledore.”

Thankfully I have thick skin, a good sense of humor, and the joy in knowing that my kids find me worthy of a Disney extravaganza! How can that be bad? I remain unscathed and well hooded. I embrace my inner and or outer beast and welcome another delightful day in momma’s house. After all, how many kids think their momma is Broadway Bound? Out of the mouths of these babes, right? Nu? 

 

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