tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16566229585669058432024-03-14T01:41:07.591-07:00The Good Listtovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-31966759161837269802014-10-14T19:06:00.001-07:002014-10-14T19:06:24.963-07:00Sukkot, Unanswered Questions, and Beer by a Wood StoveSo my friends, how are you? It's Sukkot. The time of Happiness. Rejoicing. Togetherness. Glamping. You know, glamorous camping in the sukkah. The Pagan-like, but definitely NOT pagan, activity of shaking a rain stick. It's great. It's actually my favorite holiday. For many reasons. One is that you are doing something religious just by being outside. Almost never do Jews hang out outside and call it Torah. So BAM! Hippie holiday! Next is that my profound love for arts and crafts is welcomed and appreciated. Stringing up colorful foods and gluing popsicle sticks and pine cones together is not considered childish. SHABAM! Yeah, Sukkot is definitely my favorite.<br />
<br />
This Sukkot we drove up to Albany to spend the holiday with my mom and her husband. It's a win win. She cooks and hangs out with my kids; I don't cook or hang out with my kids. See? I win and I win. Plus I happen to be one of those weirdos that actually really enjoys hanging out with my parents. <br />
<br />
For Chol HaMoed, Hubby and me decided to dump our two littlest ones with my awesome Mama, and take our oldest boy to New Hampshire to visit a high school friend and his wife who have a daughter my son's age. It's a 2 1/2 hour drive from here, and it's through Vermont. I mean, seriously, Vermont! Fall! Foliage! If driving through Vermont in the fall isn't a religious experience, well then, religion has a lot to learn. <br />
<br />
Our friends live on 25 acres of rural NH heaven with some pigs, chickens, ducks, rabbits, a couple of awesome dogs and a cat. As we relaxed by the wood stove, beer in hand, belly full of a kosher feast we took every leniency in the book to make, good friends, and happy hearts, the question, as always, came back to me: Does being an observant Jew make me a good person?<br />
<br />
When I ask this question, I am not questioning if Jews should be observant, or if the Torah is holy. I am simply asking the question, is Torah helping <i>me</i> be the <i>best</i> me I can be? I think of the expensive kosher food I feed my children, when I could feed them healthier, more environmentally friendly, locally sourced truly good for you food, that isn't kosher. And it makes me wonder: When did it become so automatic to nourish our children's souls by being kosher, while ignoring their bodies, also gifts from God. And is it ok that the joy of the chaggim has been replaced by the stress of spending money on that not so good food and sweating and swearing in the kitchen, trying to cook enough for three days? And instead of spending some quality time with my kids before the holiday, telling them why it's so great, holy and special, I am yelling at them to clean up the house, not eat any of the yontif food until way past their bedtime, and leave me alone so I can get the work done. So again I ask, is this making me a better person? Can I do this and still be the best <i>me?</i> <br />
<br />
I am not saying I want to give up my religious ways. When I shook the lulav and etrog in the sukkah, I was overcome a deep feeling of peace in my being. Feeling the connection between me and every Jew, all over the world, for thousands of years, who shook their lulavs in their sukkahs. The four species representing the different kinds of Jews and bringing them all together, as we are meant to be together. The deeply ritualistic act of shaking them in a rainstick-like prayer for rain. Because at one time we understood that rain equaled food. Nowadays rain is just something we curse at for it's inconvenience. <br />
<br />
I also don't believe Judaism is just here to make us feel good. But when it becomes all stress and self hate for all the ways I can't live up to it's standards... And I end up giving up things, like being nice to my family, to try to hold to it's standards... Well, I start questioning. I have no answers. I am just questioning. <br />
<br />
And writing about it gives me a kind of validation. Like it's not something I'm doing alone in my closet and need to be ashamed of. No. I am questioning because I believe that when I die I will stand before my Maker, and I want to be able to say, "Yes, these are the choices I made in my life." Not, "I don't know, I did it because I was supposed to." <br />
<br />
The Good List<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>My mama and her hubby being awesome with my kids and welcoming us into their home and letting us trash it while we're here</li>
<li>Hanging out with wonderful friends</li>
<li>My son having a BLAST with his <i>girlfriend </i>and therefor letting me and hubby just BE for 24 hours </li>
<li>Woodstoves, beer, and a giant mastiff snoring on the hearth</li>
<li>NEW ENGLAND IN THE FALL (Oh how I missed thee, New England, my true home!)</li>
<li>Sukkot</li>
<li>Playing in the Putney river</li>
</ol>
tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-65085728244926153372014-07-14T19:23:00.001-07:002014-07-14T19:23:27.046-07:00BOOM
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>I haven’t written for a while
now.<span> </span>There has been so much happening in
my life, so many changes.<span> </span>And a lot has
been brewing between Husband and me, and as I’ve mentioned in the past, he does
not enjoy sharing his inner most private life with the world, the way I
do.<span> </span>Can’t imagine why.<span> </span>But I experienced something today that I want
to hold on to.<span> </span>No, not hold onto as much
as be with, roll between my hands and feel into…</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>To be frank, I had a shit
day.<span> </span>Bad sleep.<span> </span>Stress rolled onto my shoulders
from yesterday and the day before.<span>
</span>Yearning for the supportive embrace of my husband, but his hands were
holding his share of the stress.<span> </span>I spent
much of my day filling out applications for my children’s schools and financial
aid.<span> </span>These applications eat away at my
soul.<span> </span>(Yes I am being dramatic, but
what’s the point of having your own blog if you can’t be dramatic?)<span> </span>Seriously, I HATE FORMS.<span> </span>They always want a clear, precise
answer.<span> </span>But my life has NO CLEAR PRECISE
ANSWERS.<span> </span>So I am left feeling like a
child, taking a test, unable to understand the instructions, therefore feeling
my failure before I mark an answer.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Meanwhile, I let the kids veg
out on Netflix, because there was no way I could handle forms AND disarm the
angry mob chanting “What can I doooo?” “I’m BORED.”<span> </span>“Mooooooommmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyy.”<span> </span>The guilt over rotting my kids’ brains, and
turning them into shallow culture, media obsessed, instant gratification zombies,
was piled on my already heavy load.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>And to top it all off, I was
living with resentment against the only other human in the house who could
offer me adult conversation, logic, comfort.<span>
</span>Because, in his stress, he doesn’t speak nicely.<span> </span>And I get really hurt, then angry, then
resentful, when someone doesn’t speak nicely to me.<span> </span>And I didn’t care if he was right with
anything that he said, because the way he said it to me hurt my feelings.<span> </span>And yes, I feel like I am 8 years old when I
say my feelings are hurt.<span> </span>And yes, I am
32.<span> </span>And that’s all there is to say about
that.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Meanwhile, I watch a show, to
zombie out my own brain, when I finally finish with the forms.<span> </span>And on the show is a character who seems to
brighten people’s days by being extra nice and cheerful, even when things are tough
for him.<span> </span>I have this thought, ‘I’ll be
extra nice and cheery in this world when my husband starts being nicer to
me.<span> </span>Because then I won’t be so angry and
hurt all the time.’<span> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>BOOM</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Yeah, did you feel that?<span> </span>Because I did.<span> </span>It was like a wall of water hitting me,
knocking me over, washing me over.<span>
</span>Waking me the hell up.<span> </span>Why?<span> </span>Why would I wait to be the person I want to
be?<span> </span>Why would I let someone else decide
who I am?<span> </span>If I were angry with someone,
why would I then give him total control over me?<span> </span>It’s madness.<span>
</span>And I know I’m crazy, but I am NOT that kind of crazy.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>So I made a decision.<span> </span>I filled the tub, put on a bathing suit and
told my two little ones to get in.<span> </span>And I
took a bath with them.<span> </span>Wet, soft, little
bodies, giggling, playing, singing songs, cuddling.<span> </span>Smiling.<span>
</span>I was smiling.<span> </span>I was getting the
comforting touch I craved so much.<span> </span>But
in such a different way.<span> </span>And I felt
their love so strongly, and it filled me in such a deep way.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>All the stresses that were
here yesterday, that I woke up with today, they’re not going anywhere.<span> </span>But maybe I can put them down every now and
then.<span> </span>Stretch my back.<span> </span>And decide in the moment, Who do <i>I</i> want to be right now? </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gratitude…</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>1.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>This experience</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>2.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>The sunsets lately</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>3.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>The blue heron that hung out in our pond yesterday</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>4.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>This blog as my place of contemplation</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>5.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>Fresh summer berries</span></span></div>
tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-46189208667038684512013-12-05T18:52:00.001-08:002013-12-06T08:30:27.153-08:00In My ThirtiesToday I read an article in the New York Times entitled <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/15/fashion/the-challenge-of-making-friends-as-an-adult.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0">"Why Is It Hard to Make Friends Over 30?"</a> which discusses all the reasons why you have currently all but stopped making friends, and you're stuck with the ones you made in high school or college. It lists the three main conditions necessary for the making of BFFs (I'm not kidding, they use "BFF" in the New York Times): proximity; repeated, unplanned interactions; and a setting that
encourages people to let their guard down and confide in each other.<br />
<br />
Which basically means that I'm screwed as I am homeschooling my three kids alone on a farm. But really it brings up something I've been contemplating lately. Once in your thirties, everything takes effort. I mean everything. If before you had a job, now you must work on your career. If before you rented a small apartment, now you're a homemaker with a mortgage. If before you focused on yourself, now all your focus goes to your children and their needs. If before you spent time developing yourself, now you have to carve out time for creativity. If before you davened when you went to shul, now you read board books in the playroom. If before you stayed up nights, some mornings, and on special occasions, afternoons, being intimate with your partner, now you have to choose between shower, book, dishes or marital time. And hanging out with friends? Seriously, who has time to hang out?<br />
<br />
If you want your children to become independent, confident, caring, healthy people, you MUST be a conscientious parent who knows the difference between punishing and giving consequences, who feeds them organic food, who gives them the right circumstances for optimal brain development in the first three years of their life, and compensatory therapeutic activities for how you failed them those first three years. <br />
<br />
If you want a healthy marriage you MUST make time for each other. You MUST put in the work to make room for another ego, another point of view, another set of valid needs. And you must validate those needs. You MUST keep your intimacy going; Never let it slack! That is a one way ticket to divorce-ville. <br />
<br />
If you want friendships, you MUST make time for them. You MUST find somewhat like-minded individuals who's schedules somehow work with yours and who enjoy doing similar recreational activities. You MUST find a way to be vulnerable, but not needy; open, but don't overstep the privacy of your marriage, and if one of you has a lot of money and the other one doesn't, good luck with the awkwardness. MAKE SURE the spouses all get along. After-all, if your friend's husband is a douche, there's only so far you can go. One more thing, nowadays, everyone was raised in a PC society and people take everything personally, so DO NOT offend anyone! But ALWAYS be honest. <br />
<br />
If you want to continue in your self-development, you MUST make time for yourself. If as a child you never learned to play an instrument, make art, dance or do other forms of self expression, then I hope you like to exercise, because that's about the only other thing you can do on your own. (Or you can spend money you don't have on therapy, trying to forgive your parents for never giving you those opportunities for self growth as a child.) <br />
<br />
If by now you haven't found G-d in some form or another, it's TOO LATE in life to go to an ashram in India, a pilgrimage to Mecca, or a birthright trip to Israel. You are too old. You have a mortgage. And your cats won't feed themselves. So, good luck with that one. If you have found G-d, you MUST pray three times a day, but not at work, while cleaning your house, or watching your children at the playground. Also, TAKE YOUR TIME, don't rush through the words. DON'T pray by rote. MAKE it meaningful. Each time. Everyday. Three times a day.<br />
<br />
It's time to focus on your career. You CAN'T work a dead-end job for the rest of your life. Find something that you love. Put in the extra hours, DON'T slack. No one likes a slacker. Start at the bottom and work your way to the top, but make enough to pay your bills and put away money for your kids' college tuition and your retirement and bury some gold in the backyard in case the economy collapses. And DON'T forget, it's not all about money. It's about job satisfaction. <br />
<br />
Oh and MAKE SURE to prioritize. You NEED to live a balanced and meaningful life.<br />
<br />
And this, my friends, is why I NEED to live in a Jewish Intentional Community. I don't think there is any alternative way to balance out all of these components in life. All of the above are MAJOR priorities in my life and I'm not willing to sacrifice ANY of them. But how can I possibly commit myself to so many things? I suppose there is some super efficient or lucky person out there who can work from home, have playdates with their kids' friends who are your friends' kids, get intimate with your spouse while doing the dishes and have extra money for spiritual retreats on the weekends. But I have not met that person, and if I did, I would probably resent them.<br />
<br />
In an intentional community setting I imagine many of these coming together harmoniously. Perhaps I am overly idealistic. But I would rather that, than give up on any of my dreams.<br />
<br />
1. Bedtime without tears tonight<br />
2. My daughter calling automatic toilets 'magic toilets' that you can make wishes on<br />
3. A great article by <a href="http://popchassid.com/baal-teshuvas-rebel-orthodox/">PopChassid</a> that made me feel a little less alone <br />
4. My awesome hubby for being awesome<br />
5. No more fried food now that Chanukah is overtovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-61215286195914338332013-11-21T12:57:00.003-08:002013-11-21T13:03:47.750-08:00Is I Is or Is I Ain't an Observant Jew?<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It feels great to be writing again, and even better to be in dialogue with all of you again. I'm going to post part of a reply someone sent me after my last blog and tell you why I'm posting it. Here it is:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You are unique, and fitting in to a group is not easy. I feel that way often. I should say, I felt that way often. When with Orthodox Jews, I always felt like an impostor, even during the years I covered my hair, arms and legs. When around less observant, I'd get judgmental (read: jealous) about their choices or lifestyle. (It was actually a warning signal to me that I needed to reassess certain religious choices I was making.). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222;">Ok, I totally relate to what she's saying. COMPLETELY. But it brings up so many questions for me. For one, "fitting into a group is not easy." PREACH! It is NOT easy. At least not for me. And so my question here is, to what extent do we need to let go of individualism to live in a functioning community, and to what extant do we need to hold onto our individualism so that we don't lose ourselves to the community. If we are TOTALLY individuals it's hard to see how a community can function when your own needs and freedoms come before the needs of the community. However, I think we can all agree that a community that comes at the cost of of the individual loses what makes the coming together of people so beautiful and meaningful. Not to mention that the foundation would be frail and easily broken, in both cases. There's definitely a balance somewhere in there, but I think each community has their balance somewhere on a spectrum between the two. And I think that's good. There is room in this world for EVERY KIND of community. Example: A hareidi (ultra-frum) community often puts the community first. This leaves little room for individual expression, but holds a certain container that wouldn't exist otherwise. On the other side you have communities where individuals' freedoms come first, but I may not want to raise my kids where there is naked gardening. Extremes, I know. And honestly, naked gardening sounds kind of awesome, but not really. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;">Moving on. "When with Orthodox Jews, I always felt like an impostor." Hells to the yeah. I mean, I was, am, doing it. I dress modestly, I observe basic halacha. It's not that so much as the fact the I don't know that I totally buy into it. So while I don't go swimming on Shabbos, part of me is like, Rabbi dudes, I'm not going to build a raft. I live next to a pond. It's a hot summer day that lasts forever with my kids. WHY CAN'T I GO SWIMMING?! Or this one: I've been with my husband for 15 years. We know ourselves and our limitations. So when I'm a niddah and feeling crazy emotional and yelling at my kids, and just need damn hug from my husband, WHAT THE HELL? I NEED a hug! I'm not going to jump him. I feel like it hurts my relationship to have to distance myself so much for 2 weeks every month. And the whole Kosher thing? I keep it for sure. But in my heart, I don't care if there's a tiny bug in my salad. I think having 4 sets of dishes (meat, dairy, Pesach) is ABSURD and impractical. There's no way they lugged all that cookware through the midbar for 40 years. And 6 hours?! If the problem is that there might be meat in my teeth, how 'bout I floss? Like I said, I keep all this now, but I do it with reservation and some resentment. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;">Next. "</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">When around less observant, I'd get judgmental (read: jealous) about their choices or lifestyle. (It was actually a warning signal to me that I needed to reassess certain religious choices I was making)." So this is a big one for me. When I began my religious journey it was definitely with some hesitancy. But for each mitzvah I took on, I never stepped back. When I saw other's on their journeys live between worlds, (say, keep Shabbos while in Israel, come back to America for a visit and hit the movies Friday night) I got really </span><span style="color: #222222;">judgmental. And here you should <i>definitely</i> read jealous. I would've felt like a hypocrite if <i>I</i> did it, but I resented the fact that I didn't. When I see funky frum Jewish women sometimes uncover their hair, or worse yet, have their hair covered in an awesome tichel wrap, with a flowy shirt and a hot pair of jeans, OH MAN do I get jealous. They look so COOL, and hip and awesome, and I look down at my jean skirt with my sneakers and my muffin top hat that looks so lame, but doesn't slip off like my tichels and this is a ridiculously long run-on sentence, but MAN I feel that burning jealousy. How come they can do it and not be hypocrites, but I can't? </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;">And the second part of that sentence is an even more pressing question for me. "</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">It was actually a warning signal to me that I needed to reassess certain religious choices I was making."</span><span style="color: #222222;"> Here is my question: Do I insulate myself in a world (community) where everyone holds to similar standards so that I am not tempted to veer from observance? In the orthodox world, veering from orthodoxy is well, falling off the path. And it's our choice, who we surround ourselves with, how we spend our time, what we fill our heads with, etc. Just like an addict shouldn't hang out in a crack house, maybe a frum jew shouldn't choose to live somewhere that holds these temptations. And are they just that, temptations? Or is it possible that observancy does not flow with my heartsong? That to be true to myself as I know me, there is space for me to live with a little less restriction and therefor less resentment and jealousy? </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;">I am asking these questions out loud as a process of sharing my thoughts. Maybe you struggle with something similar? Maybe not. I know that I am not really looking for advice. I think this is a personal path and that there is NO RIGHT ANSWER. But if you feel inclined to share your struggles, choices, victories, I would love to hear. I am ALWAYS open to dialogue. Unless it's about what to watch tonight on Netflix. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;">1. Hot apple cider on in a cold November rain (please tell me you just sang that in a nasally voice in your head like I did)</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2. Make your own pizza night!</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3. Beautiful friends that share their journey with me</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">4. My 2 year-old playing peek-a-boo with his bellybutton this morning</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">5. My husband giving me time to write this in the middle of the day</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">6. Waking up before the kids and getting a shower (YES!) </span>tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-49556742043807130082013-11-20T16:58:00.000-08:002013-11-20T17:59:55.378-08:00Guest Post! Thank you Rachel Love Cohen for sharing this with us!<br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">The Jewish Agency for Israel, Hazon (America's largest environmental group), Isabella Freedman Jewish Retreat Center, and Pearlstone Retreat Center joined together this weekend to convene the inaugural conference for a growing national Jewish movement of intentional community building. This speech was given at the first plenary.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">My passion for intentional Jewish community building is likely a result of the social isolation I felt in my early years. I was a child of suburbia. My mother went back to her job when I was six weeks old and I went off to a babysitter each day. My father spent most of his waking hours at work. Both sets of grandparents lived out of town. My sister was five years younger and, in my opinion, an unacceptable playmate. We were minimally affiliated Jews. I went to Hebrew school, but we had no connection with synagogue life. We rarely, if ever, had guests. What if the house wasn’t clean enough? The food tasty enough? We gave cursory waves to the neighbors, offered quick smiles to people we passed in the supermarket, made perfunctory exchanges with gas station attendants and bank clerks. I observed: be pleasant but detached. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">I felt a loneliness and lack of connection that I could not adequately voice to my parents. As I matured, I had windows into other people's lives. Friends whose families took vacations together, my large pack of cousins that all lived in the same distant town, kids that went to one summer camp year after year, families with many children. These groups were building a shared sense of belonging and I felt envious.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="vertical-align: baseline;">When I was fifteen I worked at a small, rural, Jewish day camp. For the first time I felt held and supported through a sense of deeper meaning and connection to community. That fall I joined my synagogue’s youth group, and again, felt the tenderness of intimate communal belonging I had never known but so instinctively craved. As I gently allowed myself to feel relevant and purposeful in these chosen communities, I saw myself defined not just by my own individual qualities, but by who I was in relation to the community. It was a revelation. Who I am is directly linked and impacted by who I am to you and who you are to me</span><span style="font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline;">.</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">It took me fifteen years to find that sense of belonging again. I attended five colleges, nine programs in Israel, made Aliya, left Israel, and was a resident of more municipalities in America than I have fingers to count. I dragged first my husband Yishai, and then our kids, around with me to numerous conventional communities, gauging the social climate, measuring, calculating, computing, and assessing all aspects of the prevailing social systems and interpersonal patterns. And over, and over, and over again I was disappointed - sometimes despondent - over the inherent lack of intention and substance. Yet I could not give up my search. I was compelled to address the insistent demand I felt within - to belong to something bigger than myself; to define who I was in the context of something greater than my individual experience alone.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">Despite finding a handful of secular intentional communities that seemed absolutely perfect for our family, when I seriously considered our ultimate life in one of them, I realized a non-Jewish community could not serve our purpose of social sustainability. We would not be able to participate fully or authentically in community life without the aspects that define a Jewish community and resonate so profoundly for us. Regular communal prayer, shared holidays and life cycle events, acknowledgment of Shabbat, awareness and consideration of kashrut, and the collective consciousness of almost four thousand years of shared history are all imperative to me.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">Finally, last year, when a seasonal job was advertised with Teva, the Jewish environmental education program, at the Isabella Freedman Jewish Retreat Center, I knew we had to seize the opportunity. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">Isabella Freedman is first and foremost a retreat center, hosting transformative theme-based Jewish retreats and rentals. But for those lucky enough to find themselves a position there, as staff of the retreat center or Teva, or as participants in the Adamah farming fellowship, it also serves as a Jewish intentional community. It is a short-term, cyclical community in that most people stay seasonally, for three to four months at a time. There are approximately fifty people living and participating on-site at any given time, most of whom are single and between the ages of twenty to thirty. Communal meals provide the setting for powerful relationship-building opportunities.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">Yishai interviewed for the position and was offered the job. We were met with some raised eyebrows and questioning expressions from family and friends. Were we crazy? How would we survive on so little? Where would we live? There was no on-site housing available for families. No Jewish day school for our five year old. No regular synagogue services. Only three other families with children.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">By moving to Isabella Freedman, we have chosen a lifestyle based on ideals. Despite some very real obstacles, we are more content and fulfilled than we ever have been as a family. Our children are growing up in a social environment much larger than we alone can provide. They have many aunts and uncles that love them, teach them, discipline them, and watch over them. The depth and meaning in the relationships that they are creating is palpable, and the single most important reason we live in community. Authentic access to other human beings is sorely lacking in society today.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">We have had to use savings and live frugally, but the rewards have been life-changing. We have opportunities to develop deep, authentic relationships based on shared values such as environmental stewardship, a progressive stance on Judaism regardless of affiliation, Jewish farming, mindfulness and personal improvement, and committment to communal living. The friendships we grow and nurture with members of our community serve to strengthen and enhance our own identities, interests, and independence as individuals, and ultimately, improve our relationships with each other as family members.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">This type of community experience must become available to any Jew that desires it. In order to proliferate the creation of Jewish intentional communities, my husband and I created New Jewish Communities, an internet forum where ideas and views on Jewish intentional community building can be exchanged for the purpose of 1) connecting people with existing, forming, and conceptualized projects of intentional Jewish community; and 2) establishing the first Jewish Ecovillage in America: an intergenerational community of people who are consciously committed to living Jewishly, in the same geographic location, with the intention of becoming more socially, economically and ecologically sustainable</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">There has been much support for the agenda of New Jewish Communities. As a part of a growing global movement for a more sustainable world, these communities will integrate a supportive social environment with a low impact way of life. They will connect Jews through active and deliberate social participation in a vibrant Jewish context. They will strengthen and repair the individual, the family, Judaism and society by developing a system of mutual support that is becoming more difficult to achieve in conventional social systems. In this way, New Jewish Communities will change the face of contemporary Jewish life, and I look forward to being a part of that transformation.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">Rachael Cohen is a big-picture thinker, captivated by social systems and social change. She believes in the process of community building as a means to remedy social disintegration and repair individual well-being. Rachael has a masters degree in macro social work and community practice, as well as a certificate in nonprofit management. She is currently working on relationship-based social change through the internet forum New Jewish Communities, and in Falls Village, CT, both at the Isabella Freedman Jewish Retreat Center and within the local community. Rachael’s full time job is raising two marvelous daughters.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); vertical-align: baseline;">So guys, if you're interested in being part of the Jewish Intentional Communities movement, or just want to know more, join the facebook group <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/mashavecovillages/">https://www.facebook.com/groups/mashavecovillages/</a></span></div>
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tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-65729402532798168642013-11-19T15:42:00.001-08:002013-11-19T15:42:20.288-08:00Longing to Belong
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Hi everybody. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve
written a blog. A while. The main reason being that the last blog I
wrote I couldn’t publish. It was about
the happenings between my husband and me.
And while I was somehow born with the desire to share ridiculous amounts
of personal information with the world while lacking the most basic shame
filter, my husband wasn’t. Therefore,
for the past few months I haven’t written because I didn’t have permission to
write about what was going on with me at the time. And I am really bad at writing about anything
else. In summation, my husband and I are
working VERY hard on our relationship and will continue to do so, and now I am
back because there is more happening in my life than marriage strife. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Here is what’s trending in
the microscopic world of me: I went to
the Jewish Intentional Communities Conference.
I went with my husband and three kids.
And can I just say, I AM NEVER SHARING ONE ROOM WITH MY WHOLE FAMILY FOR
4 DAYS EVER AGAIN! I love them, they’re
great, they don’t smell too bad. But I
am a <i>terrible </i>sleeper and I laid
there every night, all night, fantasizing about throwing my kids off the bed and
tossing their blankies and pillows after them.
See ya suckas! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">There is much to be said
about the conference, the brilliant ideas, the incredible people, the
connections, the talent, the fun. But
this blog is about me and my experiences so I’m going to ignore all that and go
into my experience of being at a conference with 200 people. I went from being excited to nervous to
confident to insecure to extroverted to introverted and back again. When we were broken into smaller groups and
given a topic, I was able to be fully present, confident, opinionated (in a
good way I think), and strong. But walking
into the dining hall with the tables filling up with the various clicks, and my
high school—braces wearing—flat chested—squeaky voiced self, smiled awkwardly
and scanned the room for a friendly, accepting face. It’s a painful regression, but one that seems
to be on complete autopilot. The best I
could manage was to acknowledge it, remind myself that I am ok, and sit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Through the conference we
found that the common theme that united us all was the longing to belong. My friend, Rachel Love Cohen, presented this
idea so eloquently in a panel talk and maybe she’ll give me a copy of her
speech so I could publish it here, because she said it better than I ever
could. But it resonated with us
all. We want to be part of Intentional
Communities because we want to belong to something outside our nuclear family
spheres. We want to contribute and be
needed and have a place and an extended family.
We want to live in connection with others beyond fair weather
friends. And since our world is so
disconnected that half (or for some unfortunates among us, most) of our social
interactions are virtual, we need community life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">That is where we all felt a
commonality. But here it gets more
painful for me. You would think that at
a conference full of Jewish hippie dreamers I would feel right at home. I didn’t.
I felt that I was on the margin, just like I always feel I am on the
margin of any community I’ve ever been a part of. Because I’m not looking for diversity,
plurality, equality. I’m not a
free-spirited hippie who is open to anything.
I am an observant Jew. At least
for now. (My whole journey with Judaism
is ever changing and shifting and I am unsure of exactly where I hold.) And as an observant Jew, an inclusive
community is actually quite exclusive. I
don’t want a community where my children can only eat in certain homes. I don’t want a community where my desire for
basic modesty imposes on your freedom. I
don’t want a community where Shabbos is kept in the shul but not in the
homes. And so, I feel alone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And I guess that is what
scares me. I always feel alone. In a frum community I feel separate because I
don’t know where I hold. Because I
question so much and at times need to take space from halacha to discover my
heart connection with Torah. Or
sometimes I need to say, connection with Torah is not my priority right
now. And it’s really hard to do that in
a traditionally frum community. On the
other hand, it’s hard to say that I want boundaries and rules in a hippie, live
off the earth, community. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Will I ever find a community
of people with whom I feel I truly BELONG?
It is such a painful longing held so deep within me. And of course I could say that as I go deeper
within and create a calm and connected center inside, I may not desire it so
strongly externally. But I’m just not
willing to wait for inner peace before I find MY community of people. I want to go on my journey with them! And be supported as I swerve near and far and
be that community for others on their journeys.
And we can all listen to Journey together, ironically, but not, and cry
out “DON’T STOP BELIEVING… JUST HOLD ON TO THAT FEE-EE-EE-EE-LING.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And by the way, I sounded
awesome in my head as I belted that out in caps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And now for my GoodList:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">1. My husband who
was AMAZINGLY supportive throughout the whole conference</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 2. Connecting with
some incredible people (some I knew previously, some I didn’t) and hopefully maintaining those connections</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> 3. Kosher food I
didn’t have to cook for 4 days… and therefor no dishes!</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> 4. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Eden and
Ben.</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">The two awesome kiddos who became
my kids’ besties</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> 5. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Listening to
hippies belt out some old school Otis Redding around a campfire with guitars
and banjos</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> 6. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Watching my 2
year-old son do alef-bet yoga.</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Freakin’
amazing</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> 7. </span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Being inspired</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-43423833231449091332013-08-15T15:52:00.001-07:002013-08-15T15:58:33.486-07:00Forgetting for the GoodIt's not easy, but every once in a while, when I put on a podcast to keep me company, I pass over the favorite entertainments, <i>This American Life, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, The Moth,</i> and I listen to something that's good for my soul. This time it was a dropbox shiur (lesson) by the incredibly awesome and gevaltic R' Laibish Hundert. <br />
<br />
One of the reasons it is hard to get myself to do this is because I LOVE the escape of mostly mindless podcasts. I get to escape <i>and </i>feel like an intellectual NPR elitist, which is way better than a mindless reality TV watcher. These podcasts take away the repetitive, mundane, mind-numbing pain of doing the same chore over and over again. Like dishes and laundry. Things you <i>have </i>to do, ALL the time, but no one really appreciates. So you don't get a whole lot of validation. And I LOVE validation. When you garden, you get the validation of everyone who eats your food (wow, you grew this? It's so <i>fresh</i>!), plus you get food. And food is ALWAYS validating.<br />
<br />
The other reason it's hard is because I usually feel moved, from deep in my kishkas, to change something about my life when I listen to inspiring Torah lessons. It stirs my soul and and awakens something that I routinely put to sleep with spiritual xanax. Let's face it, sometimes it is just easier to say that I am angry or upset, or in a rest phase with my yiddishkeit. I like to say I'm taking a breather. It's not that I stop following halacha (though I may relax on certain things), it's that I take a break from pushing myself to take on more. Just for a little bit. A chance to ask the questions I need to ask. To let things surface that I had pushed down. A little break to let myself know that it's ok to be where I'm at.<br />
<br />
But then along comes a great shiur, and <i>WHAM!</i> I need to connect to Hashem! Now! I need to learn more Torah and daven and do all the mitzvahs b'simchah! (with joy) NOW! <br />
<br />
It's a little manic. I know. So I go back to self medicating with a Netfilx movie. But right now, in Elul, the King is in the field. Mamesh, He's right here. And if you've been to my house you know my window looks out over the field so He could be standing by the window, looking in, watching me watch my stupid movie and eat the cupcake I hid in the back of the fridge so my kids wouldn't find it. And I can't have that. Because soon it will Rosh HaShana and I will stand before Him and say what? It's been a busy year, sorry I couldn't spend more time with You? And He'll say, Nu? I was watching you watch that movie, Tovah. For those two hours you could've hung out in the field with me. And had your cupcake too! (See, I'm using "field" metaphorically to represent the inner space where my neshama connects to G-d. I'm a writer so I can do that.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, I am not condemning watching movies. Ok, sometimes I get all self righteous and talk about how Hollywood is destroying our lives. But then I need to watch the latest Wes Anderson flick. (I picked something quirky and intellegent so you would think I'm sophisticated, but I couldn't wait to watch <i>Pitch Perfect</i> when it came out and begged my in-laws to let me play it on their on-demand for $4! They let me 'cause they're awesome.) But what I am saying is that it's one thing for me to accept where I'm at with Torah and yiddishkeit, which right now is this weird, love/hate, not so sure, but not unsure place where I allow my conflicted feelings to surface. But it's another thing to avoid the longing because I am starting to accept myself as I am now. Because with longing for <i>more, </i>can come feelings of judgement that there isn't "more." That I am not <i>doing </i>more, <i>connecting</i> more. That <i>I</i> am not <i>more.</i><br />
<br />
So I avoid it.<br />
<br />
But like I said, Rosh HaShana is coming, and it's pretty hard to avoid <i>that</i>. So I need to start my cheshbon hanefesh (accounting of the soul) now. <br />
<br />
But in this shuir, R' Leibish said an amazing thing. He was teaching a Rebbe Nachman teaching, then went to Reb Nosson's Likutei Tefillot on that teaching. (Rebbe Nachman wrote a book of lessons and his main disciple, Reb Nosson, wrote a book of prayers based on each lesson. That in itself is an amazing example of <i>real</i> learning.) And the prayer for this lesson went something like this: Please G-d, as I do <i>this </i>mitzvah, as I say <i>this</i> prayer, let me forgot all my aveirahs (transgressions) and wrong doings and just be in <i>this</i> moment. Let me do this good deed as though I never did a thing wrong in my life.<br />
<br />
Wow. That is soooo powerful on soooo many levels. We all have a past. We all have a list of ways we could've done something better, ways we could be better. But in THIS moment let it be as though I have no past and I am pure and coming to you with a whole heart. Because if we see ourselves as <i>bad</i> how can we pray with goodness? We will be questioning our worthiness. Who am I speak to You? Who am I to help another human. Should I even bother davening today if I haven't all month? Should I try to be nice to my husband when I've been so bitchy lately? Should I really pay attention while making this brocha if I always mumble them?<br />
<br />
YES.<br />
<br />
I should. And for this moment, let it be as though I ALWAYS say my brochas with kavana, pure intention.<br />
<br />
And how much can I extend this lesson to EVERYWHERE in my life? If I try harder to have a more peaceful relationship with my son, let me, in the moments I spend with him, let go of how I see myself as a mother: angry, resentful, impatient. Let me just be here, as the mother I want to be right now. Present, open and loving. So what if I wasn't yesterday. If I see myself as undisciplined and irresponsible, let me in this moment, while I am preparing to take on a new job, forget that and be this person for this moment.<br />
<br />
G-d, as I approach you all month and into the holidays, let me approach you with the intent in my heart right <i>now</i>. Not the history of failed tries to connect. Not the disappointment in myself and disappointment in life that I hold deep within. Let me forget all that just in <i>this </i>minute. I am calling out to You and I am telling You that I <i>do</i> want to connect. Now.<br />
<br />
And if I go back to avoiding these deep longings tomorrow, that won't stop me from trying to be my best today.<br />
<br />
Everybody, the King is the Field. He is here. Ready to connect. If you weren't such a good Jew all year, well for this moment, forget. Be in the beauty of <i>this </i>moment of connection. Let your soul be stirred even if you have a history of burying those stirrings deep. Pray that for this moment you forget the parts of the past that don't serve you. Because in this moment, you are loved by Hashem. Now.<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Torah podcasts. Way to use the evil internet for Good!</li>
<li>The clouds outside</li>
<li>The watermelon dripping off my 2 year old's chin</li>
<li>Recent visits of friends</li>
<li>A <span style="font-size: xx-small;">little <span style="font-size: small;">bit of homeschooling happened</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Learning to make cheese on Sunday!</span></span></li>
<li>Discovering spotify. Life forever changed</li>
</ol>
<br />tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-49276624533154759642013-08-05T17:03:00.000-07:002013-08-05T17:03:16.441-07:00It's Your Fault!Blame. <br />
<br />
Do you feel it? The pit in your stomach? The awfulness of getting stuck with the blame? The <i>neeeeeed </i>to pin the blame on someone? Anyone?!!!<br />
<br />
Here's the way it happened today. Actually, to tell it straight I have to start with yesterday. Yesterday I went to the wedding of one of my most favoritest women in the whole world. It was beautiful, joyful, elegant and wonderful! And I danced my heart out. I love doing that. Especially because the Kallah is my favorite dance partner! <br />
After the wedding, we spent the night at my MIL's with the kiddos. Needless to say, the five of us in one bedroom = not the best night of sleep. Especially when my oldest son comes to bed and repeatedly swallows air then burps it out to entertain himself. (Thank G-d for earplugs!)<br />
<br />
In the morning I drank a small coffee and went to the Tuscano Agency to see about a job. Yup. It's time to make some money. That whole adult reality thing. Ugh. Anyway, we went back to the house to pick up the kids after the meeting. It was here that my true selflessness showed. I didn't drink another coffee. I wanted to. I needed to. But on the trip to Pittsburgh I had to stop and pee twice. Since this drive was going to be even longer, I made the sacrifice and just brought along a cup of ice chips to keep hydrated. Aren't I a saint?<br />
<br />
I don't think people with big healthy bladders will ever understand the true handicap people like me live with everyday. Everything us <i>small bladders</i> do has to be planned around having adequate and frequent access to a restroom. Like the window seat? Too bad, we need the aisle so we don't have to pass our asses in front of you, our seat mates, every time the urge arises. Camping with a bunch of friends sounds fun, right? Wrong! Finding a secluded spot, not too far away, but not too close, is not as easy as you would think. Tickets to the Pittsburgh Speaker Series? Sounds awesome! Not! Once you leave your seat, you can't be readmitted and you miss the whole lecture. So get ready to <i>squeeeeeeeeeeeze</i>!<br />
<br />
And then there are car trips. Windows down, music playing playing, everyone relaxing. Until... You look over at your spouse with that guilty look, hoping he'll smile back and pull over. But instead it's usually, "AGAIN?!" What else can I say but, "Sorry." <br />
<br />
Back to today. Since I am aware of my disability, I took one for the team, shorted myself on coffee, and survived the trip on ice chips. Normally I drive. Everywhere. It's another one of my disabilities: Motion sickness. And I could write another whole blog on how <i>incredibly</i> debilitating that one is! But that's how it goes. I don't feel sick if I drive. But today we were in the truck, which is easier for me to handle. And I was tired. And we had materials in the pickup that really stuck out the back and I didn't feel like maneuvering on the highway with all that. So hubby drove. <br />
<br />
And while hubby drove, kiddos fought. Oh My G-d. It was so F@&%ing ANNOYING! It was nonstop. It was high pitched screaming. It was bickering. It was tattling. It was "MAMA! MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!" Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!<br />
<br />
So between me and hubby trying to talk over the roar of the wind--did I not mention the lack of AC? Yeah, we have to have the windows down or we suffocate with warm car air. But it's a Ford diesel. The thing is a beast. A <b>loud</b> beast. So any conversation comes with a lot of shouting. And a lot of "What?" <br />
<br />
Back to the story again, we were trying to seriously talk about our future. Should we sell the tractor? Should we fix the mowing deck first? Should we sell the truck and get a small non-gas guzzler? Should we focus on getting some money put away before we invest more on the farm? Etc. And meanwhile, between fighting with each other, the kids are crying that they are hungry. Starving. DYING! (They just finished two wholewheat cream cheese sandwiches each.) And when it felt like we should <i>definitely</i> have been home a;ready, we realized we were almost in Ohio. Oops, just passed the state line. We are in <i>OHIO</i>! WTF?! We totally missed our exit. Like, 50 miles ago! <br />
<br />
And the ride is so miserable. And I am so pissed off. And how the hell did we just add an hour and half to a two and a half hour drive?!!!<br />
<br />
IT'S YOUR FAULT! The words are bubbling up inside me from the bottom of my stomach. Pressing against my lips. I have to say it. I <i>neeeeeeeed</i> to say it. Hubby! How the hell did you miss the exit and then not notice that you missed it?! <br />
<br />
Wait, if he missed it, I missed it too. I was right next to him and didn't say a thing. <br />
<br />
Of course we missed it! We were yelling at the kids to STOP FIGHTING ALREADY! It's <i>THEIR</i> fault! Now I have someone to blame. Now I can turn around in my seat and shout at them and tell them how, because they behaved so badly, we just added a freakin' HOUR AND A HALF to our already super long ride! <br />
<br />
But they're kids. And it's not their fault that we missed the exit. <br />
<br />
So who's f@&%ing fault is it?!!!<br />
<br />
In my mind I am desperately searching for someone to blame. Someone. Anyone! G-d! It's Your fault, I think to myself. But I quickly see how ridiculous that line of thought is. And I am left with this pain. This awful, horrid pain. The surrender. It's no one's fault. And without someone to blame, the anger has nowhere to go. It's just there. And it hurts like hell. It brings me to near tears. I keep grasping at blame like a life raft to lift me from my sea of despair. <br />
<br />
Blame is a tool of anger. Anger is a tool of avoidance. I use anger to avoid the pain. Because if I'm angry, it's someone's fault. Even my own. I can be angry at myself. I am all the time. But when you're angry, there is something wrong. Something that can be changed. There is movement. Distraction. When there is nowhere to put the anger, their is stillness. <br />
<br />
The stillness cannot be <i>fixed.</i> It can not be <i>moved</i>. You can't exchange one feeling in the stillness for another. You just have to be with whatever is there. And often, it's pain. <br />
<br />
I won't say that after being with this painful stillness I got out of the car enlightened. Nope. I got out moody, pissed off, and with a bad vulnerability hangover. (Part of the hangover was letting myself be so exposed on the dance floor.) <br />
<br />
But it did leave me with the insight that I am holding a deep, deep reservoir of hurt and pain. One that I will do almost anything to avoid feeling. Such as, watching movie trailers on my phone when I go to the bathroom. Because otherwise I would feel the stillness. Or calling a friend when I do the dishes. Or putting on a podcast when I clean. <br />
<br />
What's below the reservoir? I don't know. It will probably take a lifetime of sitting with it to know. But I would like to try. I don't want to feel like I need to run my whole life. I've never been much of a runner. I'm more of a 'sit on my butt' sort of person. <br />
<br />
So, my resolution for this week is to try to go to the bathroom without any distraction. No books, magazines, or phones. It won't be easy. I use that as an escape from my kids all the time. And an escape from everything else too. But not this week. This week I will be still. On the can. <br />
<br />
Baby steps. <br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>The Wedding!!!</li>
<li>Making it home without killing myself the or the kids</li>
<li>My husband not loosing it on me as I sulked</li>
<li>Seeing my friends at the wedding (I LOVE YOU GUYS SOOOOO FREAKIN' MUCH!)</li>
<li>My Momma's visiting</li>
<li>She brought us dinner tonight</li>
<li>The kindness of my inlaws</li>
</ol>
tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-90087643356747899032013-07-31T16:58:00.001-07:002013-07-31T16:58:09.570-07:00Pizza PartyHey guys, I'm too tired to give a decent blog tonight. It was my son's last soccer game, followed by a pizza party. Since we got the whole kosher thing going, this meant a day of making pizza to bring so he can feel like a part of it all. Now we're home and I have to clean up the pizza mess.<br />
<br />
So in the meantime, I hope you'll take the time to read this article. I thought it was very important for all parents and friends of parents to read. <a href="http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/blogs/andrea-nair-button-pushing/20130728/learning-from-the-loss-of-lisa-gibson-and-her-children">http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/blogs/andrea-nair-button-pushing/20130728/learning-from-the-loss-of-lisa-gibson-and-her-children </a><br />
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I'm copy and pasting it here, because if you are anything like me, you will probably be to lazy to actually click on the link, but will continue to scroll down. So here it is:<br />
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Learning From The Loss Of Lisa Gibson And Her Children</h2>
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GETTING HONEST ABOUT RAISING YOUNG KIDS</h3>
<h4 class="smallest-serif-italic" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #999999; font: italic normal normal 12px/normal Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 19px !important; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
by: <span rel="sioc:has_creator" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a about="/users/andrea-nair" class="username" href="http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/users/andrea-nair" property="foaf:name" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: black; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 12px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" title="View user profile." typeof="sioc:UserAccount" xml:lang="">Andrea Nair</a></span></h4>
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<img alt="" src="http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/Lisa%20Gibson.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-color: initial; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-style: initial; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" typeof="foaf:Image" /></div>
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The unfolding <a href="http://www.thestar.com/news/canada/2013/07/24/police_search_for_winnipeg_mom_after_deaths_of_two_children.html" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #26b9e3; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">story of Lisa Gibson</a>, aged 32, of Winnipeg, MB and the death of her two young children is preoccupying my mind. We cannot assume that this mother drowned her children, as the information is incomplete. But I can hear the judging by others that is likely happening, "What kind of mother would harm her own children?" I'll tell you what kind—a <em style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">normal </em>kind, with an abnormal moment in time.</div>
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Regardless of what happened for those two children, I started thinking about the moments when I was on the verge of snapping. The children in this case, Anna who was eighteen-months, and little Nicholas who was almost three-months-old, were just the ages I found the most difficult. Actually, I'm not sure the word "difficult" really does justice for the intense struggles that can happen with raising young children.</div>
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According to unconfirmed reports, Lisa Gibson was diagnosed and being treated for postpartum depression. As a psychotherapist, I know I would have been diagnosed with the same, but felt I could control and help myself. Those who know me were witness to all the help I needed to feel like my feet were under me.</div>
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A telling day happened when I wrote an article about how to manage a raging, tantruming three-year-old and entitled it, "How To Not Kill Your Three-Year-Old." I asked my son to pose with a growling face, took his picture like that and posted it in the photo banner at the top of the article. I then sent it along to two psychotherapy colleagues to review who both responded with shock, "Andrea, this title and photo are incredibly inappropriate! You need to seek treatment."</div>
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They were right, it was a horrible choice of title and photo, particularly because the week before Elaine Campione, aged 35, had drowned her three-year-old and nineteen-month-old daughters. I didn't see it—I was so blinded by my challenges, I didn't see the inappropriateness. I also didn't hear from those colleagues again. I felt sad wondering if they judged me for this action, rather than reaching out to help me. (That article is now called <em style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Help for TnT: Tantrums 'n' Tears</em> and is part of my eBook called, "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008F0GFOM" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #26b9e3; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Connect With Your Heart, Connect With Your Child</a>.")</div>
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I don't think we do a good job of admitting how brutal parenting young children can be—to ourselves, to our partners, to friends. I remember taking a big breath before saying out loud that I really wasn't enjoying life when my kids were very young. That was hard to do. The vulnerability felt when admitting I found motherhood hard was raw. Our society is so quick to judge others for "bad parenting" that I think too many are quietly crying and hiding behind their happy social media photos. The pictures being posted of Lisa from her Facebook page show the typical young child cuteness in combination with comments from Lisa like, "Man I love this kid."</div>
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When I conduct workshops for young parents, I often hear that moms feel badly for hating the drudgery and challenges of raising little ones. A common phrase said to me is, "I didn't sign up for this," which seems to have an extra edge from the moms who experienced fertility trouble and either worked really hard or spend a great deal of money to have their children.</div>
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Our generation of parents is experiencing new challenges like lack of support, short maternity leaves, and increased pressure for high income. A recent stat from the US states that only four percent of women are pure stay-at-home moms, a similar percentage of moms live close to their parents and siblings (for support), and many families are having babies later in life. More mothers are stretched thinly by going to work or trying to maintain a home business and all the social media required to be visible.</div>
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I hear from older mothers, and have experienced this myself, that the shift from the pre-kid years to the parenting ones can be drastic. The change from wearing professional clothes, sleeping well, spending lots of time with your partner, eating out, going to movies, travelling, and visiting with friends to sleeplessly dropping personal ambition and drive to take care of little people who are more often challenging than fun is very stark.</div>
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What I would like people to take away from Lisa Gibson's tragic story is to understand that behind the cute Facebook pictures and lovely comments is likely an exhausted person bewildered by the sudden life changes and intensity of feelings. Let's just assume any parent with young children needs support—lots of it. Those of us who have older children can adopt a new mother to make sure that mom has an opportunity to be honest about how she is feeling and also offer solutions to whatever can be made better for her.</div>
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To all those reading this who have young children, please know that the ratio of challenging to fun does increasingly move to the fun side as the days pass. It also moves much more quickly to the fun side when parents do what they need to in order to reduce exhaustion. It seems to me that parents who have time to themselves, do not feel pulled in all directions, and are getting enough rest can manage the normal challenges that happen with raising young children. Children aren't the only ones who tantrum more when they are hungry, over-stimulated, or tired!</div>
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I am sending healing wishes to Lisa Gibson's husband, family, friends, and also to the practitioner who was treating her—most of us in the mental health profession have seen clients walk out the door and although evidence indicates that person likely won't harm themself or others, you often wonder...and hope. Sending hugs to you, whoever you are.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; color: #686868; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- See more at: http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/blogs/andrea-nair-button-pushing/20130728/learning-from-the-loss-of-lisa-gibson-and-her-children#sthash.HYung5XM.dpuf</span><br />
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<ol>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tomorrow is crazy hair day (husband's idea)</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Getting connected to the homeschooling network</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Survived soccer season</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Random moments of absurd dancing when Pandora plays my favorite songs</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Pizza</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; line-height: 18px;">As a family, very little arguing today. Good day!</span></span></li>
</ol>
tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-81605228895115824452013-07-29T19:24:00.002-07:002013-07-29T19:36:20.871-07:00You Cannot Buy or Sell BraveryHere's what's going on:<br />
Friday I didn't write a blog because it's nearly impossible to write eruv Shabbos. Too much to do. Plus, I had my dad here. Saturday, I played Boggle until after 12:30am. Awesomeness. I even scored 30 points in one round. ONE ROUND!!! I have now vindicated all my childhood trauma of ALWAYS losing every game I ever played with my family. Except CandyLand. I kicked CandyLand butt!<br />
Sunday night I wrote a blog. A good blog. But I didn't publish it. And here's why. It involved other people. To be more specific it involved my relationship, past and present, to people that I love very much. People that are close to me. People that have NOT given me consent to publish personal information about them all over the internet. <br />
<br />
I can't understand it. Why wouldn't you want every one of your embarrassing, shameful and hilarious character traits posted on the internet, for close friends and strangers to read and judge and laugh at?<br />
<br />
Weird, eh?<br />
<br />
So, I wrote that blog and I didn't publish it. But it's the writing that helps me the most. Mission accomplished. <br />
<br />
And now it's Monday. It's late. And I really do need to get to bed at a decent hour. This will not be my longest or best blog.<br />
<br />
That being said, what should we talk about?<br />
<br />
Here's what I was thinking about today: I was washing my clothes. Outside. In a bucket. With a plunger. As exciting as that sounds, I needed a little something else. I tried listening to NPR's <i>Wait Wait Don't Tell Me</i> on my phone. But I was too far away from our WiFi. After that failure I put a mix tape on the ghetto blaster in the garage. Crappy sound. Good music. Like <i>really</i> good music. I listened to the mix tape that Micah made me when I was 16. It is, by far, the best mix tape I have ever heard. It could be because it is so heavy with memories and nostalgia. Or it could be that it really is the BEST MIX TAPE EVER! It starts out with Fugazi. And right there you know. I mean you just <i>know</i>. Next comes some Tricky and PJ Harvey, old school Blind Melon, Lou Reed...<br />
<br />
I'm listening to this and thinking 'I saw Tricky live. I saw PJ Harvey live. I listened to Fugazi all through high school. I thought that all meant something. I thought all that would be part of the definition of me. And in that definition would be the word <i>cool.' </i><br />
<br />
Why do I care if I'm cool?<br />
<br />
How about pretty? How does my life improve at all by being pretty?<br />
<br />
Fashionable. The very idea seems laughable now. What is the point??!!!! <br />
<br />
When my kids are bugging me every fifteen seconds and I feel like I am going to explode, does it help to be <i>pretty</i>?<br />
<br />
When I can't figure out what to make for dinner, and I am exhausted and the dishes are piled high in the sink, does it help to be <i>fashionable</i>?<br />
<br />
When I am fighting with my husband, in despair over my life, and broken down, does it help to be thought of as <i>cool</i>?<br />
<br />
I am in no way saying that I am totally over wanting those things for myself. But right now there are very few people involved in my life who even know who Tricky is. Being pretty does not help me mother at all. Being fashionable could unravel a marriage when money is tight. So why? Why do those things even enter my mind? Why can't I just let go?<br />
<br />
I think that most of it is social conditioning. Watching TV and movies. Seeing magazines and being on the internet. It's all there. It's all here. <b>What is important is how others perceive you</b>. Because you can buy and sell things that create an external representation of who you are. There is a market for that. <br />
<br />
What you cannot make money on is wholesome living. You cannot make money on a happy marriage. Or on good mothering. Those things are work. Internal work. Working on compassion, patience, tolerance, boundaries, bravery. You cannot buy or sell bravery. <br />
<br />
And so to the <b>big world</b> it is worthless.<br />
<br />
But if I take a moment out of my day to stop and think...<br />
At first, with my awesome music in the background, I will immediately think of how cool people should think I am for listening to this music. When that automatic thought subsides, it makes room for other thoughts like, Right now my husband is cutting the buckwheat with a scythe, I am washing my laundry in a bucket, the kids are playing quietly, the turkeys and chickens are grazing next to me, the clouds in the sky are making the most wonderful formations, there is a breeze, I am a beloved child of G-d, I am making a corner of this world a better place than when I found it...<br />
<br />
I could go on and on. But the point is, there is so much here, now. And if I let out those thoughts that have taken up way too much room in my head, thoughts of how I am <i>lacking</i>, then I make room for what is <i>here</i>. Sometimes, like today, it was beautiful and peaceful and full of gratitude. Other times it is not as pleasant. And that's ok. Because all of these are the things that begin to make up who I am. Not my musical preference or my clothing or anything else external. It is the quiet thoughts, the strong feelings, the holiness of my soul, that is truly <i>who I am</i>. No definition needed. <br />
<br />
And if those walls of definition come down, I won't have anything that needs to be defended. And that makes room for YOU. <br />
<br />
I have this picture in my head of a room full of people wearing differently shaped cardboard boxes. And they keep bumping into each other. Denting the cardboard. Where one is square, another is pointy, and yet another is absurdly round, and they have to keep adding layers to make sure their insides don't get bent, or lose their shape. But the room is tight and to move, they keep bumping into each other. <br />
<br />
But under those boxes is light. Lot's of light. Different colors and shades of light. And if they stop defending their boxes, they could start to see their own light. And each other's. And when you shine the different lights on each other, Oh! it makes the most beautiful combinations of Light. And no one has to dim their light because more light is just more LIGHT! It's wonderful! <br />
<br />
But no one gets to see the light because they are too worried about someone else's cardboard bumping into theirs. <br />
<br />
Anyway, that's the funny picture that's playing in my head right now. I'd make it into a cartoon if I had any idea how. But I don't. So I write. Good night all you lovely Lights!<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Spending time with my husband today.</li>
<li>Picking wild blueberries, blackberries and mulberries.</li>
<li>My husband made me dinner! Yahoo!!!</li>
<li>My insane hormonal emotion roller coaster slowly coming to an end. For now.</li>
<li>Watching the turkeys graze. There is really almost an exotic feel to it.</li>
<li>BEDTIME FOR MAMA!</li>
</ol>
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<br />tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-90370090761016150952013-07-25T18:23:00.000-07:002013-07-25T18:23:10.778-07:00A Little TLCHey all. <br />
My apologies, but I cannot write a blog tonight. Hubby is not feeling well (got scratched in the eye really bad, oy!) and therefore I am on bedtime duty. Dishes in the sink, shower awaiting, books covering my floors. It's just not happening. I'm giving myself the night off. Maybe you can too!<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Two kids in bed</li>
<li>One on the way</li>
<li>Might just leave the dishes for tomorrow</li>
<li>Knowing when to push (yesterday) and when to rest (NOW!)</li>
</ol>
tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-48888603233118342282013-07-24T18:36:00.000-07:002013-07-24T18:42:28.256-07:00Me and Greta GerwigI'm trying to concentrate on writing this blog, but you know what? My baby is giggling uncontrollably in my husband's arms. My son is crying that he's hungry. Again. My daughter is butt naked and bouncing. It's WAY past bedtime.<br />
<br />
It's like a zoo. But it never closes. And the admission is insanely expensive. And the animals smell REALLY bad. And the zookeeper sleeps in my bed. <br />
<br />
Anyway. I want to be totally honest with you. When the readership is low, (the blog keeps track of how many people view the blog), and the comments are infrequent, I start seriously doubting myself. Worse yet, I doubt my worth. <br />
<br />
It's sort of like when I try to impress a group of strangers. I want to seem cool. Or mysterious. Or above it all. Or totally down to earth. Or unique. Or really nice. It kind of depends on my mood. But in the end, all of the effort that goes into impressing strangers adds what to my life? Diddly squat. That's what. (I actually just googled 'diddly squat.' I had no clue how to spell it.) <br />
<br />
So I'm asking myself, in front of the few of you who are reading this, why I base so much of my value on numbers on a page. 1 comment. 30 page views. I wish being proud of my writing was enough for me. I wish I could say that I never even check. But that would be such a lie. <br />
<br />
I read an interview with Greta Gerwig where she said that when she was younger and doing her homework in front of the picture window, she used to imagine people were watching her and noting how studious she was. <br />
<br />
Oh My G-d! That was ME! I always imagined that people were ALWAYS observing me. Like ALL the time. I thought that when I sang quietly to myself, people were secretly listening in, with some kind of crazy special trinket that allowed them to hear something sung at a whisper. And they were about to tell me that they NEEDED me and my AMAZING voice for their musical movie they were filming. I thought when I spun on the handle bars on our swingset in the yard, that someone was watching and waiting for the moment to tell my parents that they absolutely needed me to join their circus, because I was OBVIOUSLY the most talented trapeze artist EVER! Plus, they had just the sequined outfit for me. <br />
<br />
This obsession of me imagining myself constantly observed had some weird drawbacks. For instance, when I was in middle school, I used to worry that every time I went to the bathroom, there was a boy from my school, hiding in the linen closet and laughing at the fart noises. (This was when I was AT HOME!!!)<br />
<br />
When I was in high school it manifested itself as me being RIDICULOUSLY over self conscious. Every time I did some little movement, like light a cigarette, buckle my seat belt, slip on my shoe, I thought people were watching and judging me based on my performance of these mundane tasks. <br />
<br />
One of the biggest drawbacks to this way of life is that you are constantly disappointed that people don't care about you as much as you always assumed. (In fact, they are probably playing their <i>roles</i>, hoping you're noticing them!) Another drawback is that I am very stuck in my head. Lest I be caught off guard, I am constantly running every moment in my head, like a constant replay, and analyzing it. It can make me sharp and witty at times. But mostly it just takes me out of the moment. <br />
<br />
So when my son is giggling in my husbands arms, instead of just smiling from joy, I think about the fact that it is good that he laughing. 'It is good that he is laughing with his father. It is bonding. It will help him be a joyful person later on. Am I enjoying this moment enough?' Yeah, it becomes insanely annoying. And really intimate moments are made... Awkward. Am I breathing too heavily? Are my eyes rolling back in ecstasy or do I look like I'm having a seizure? <br />
<br />
It doesn't help that I have spent most of my life either with my father or my husband, both of whom are perfectionists and have this way of telling you how you could be something better. They're usually right. But it reenforces the idea that people are watching me and judging me. <br />
<br />
And so tonight I said to my husband, "I don't think I should write the blog tonight. I don't think I've been very interesting lately. People aren't reading it so much." <br />
<br />
But saying it out loud made me feel... stupid. Is the only reason I write this blog to get recognition? And encouragement? <br />
<br />
Well, somedays, yes. It feels really good. <br />
<br />
And the problem is I read the line above and think, 'I will never be cool. I will be forever a needy, insecure, small person who needs to be lifted by others.'<br />
<br />
But again, I listen to the words of judgement. And what am I hearing? That I do enjoy attention. And that has been a part of me since I can remember. I want to stop pretending to be anyone else. I mean, Greta said it, and there was no apology to follow. This is who I am. <br />
<br />
Well, I guess this is who <i>I</i> am. So instead of pretending otherwise, I am making the decision to write the blog tonight. It is my way of recognizing the need to be seen, and saying to this part of me, 'It's okay to want that. And it's okay when you don't get it. But don't stop doing what you love, based on the response. Sing whether or not anyone hears. Sing whether or not anyone likes your voice. Sing because you love to sing. Write because you love to write. <br />
<br />
As a wise old woman once said, "What other people think of you is none of your business."<br />
<br />
But what <i>I</i> think of me makes ALL the difference in the world! And I can choose to love the part of me that seeks attention and recognition. And I can console me when it doesn't come. And I can feel embarrassed that everyone is reading this. And I can post it anyway. <br />
<br />
And finally, I'm going to leave you with this awesome piece that I cut and pasted from a facebook message my brother in law sent me. By the way, he's awesome.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">Once Rebbe Nachman was talking about the greatness and importance of simcha on Shabbat. He saw Rebbe Nosson looking kind of downtrodden and asked him what's going on. Rebbe Nosson kind of shrugged and said, "i feel Frum on Shabbat, but not this kind of simcha." Rebbe Nachman laughed and said, "great, so now you have another reason to not be happy on Shabbat - because you're not happy on Shabbat." It's good to get over ourselves, lighten up sometimes and not be too serious.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">So take it from Rebbe Nachman and Brother Ami. Lighten up, man!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span>
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<ol>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">Hamburgers on the grill</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">Harvesting garlic</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">The sky today. Amazing</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">Noticing absolutely amazing little drops of water and how beautiful they are in the garden</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">Stopping in the town diamond to hear a brass band concert by seniors on the way home from soccer. So fun!</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">Our new turkeys</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">Getting a much needed shower tonight! </span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">Being told I look great today. (In the, you've been working outside all summer and look really healthy, way) Felt good.</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">Finding all different way to be a Spiritual Warrior, like writing this blog</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 17px;">G-d! (Because the list looks so much better with ten things, rather than nine.) And because G-d rocks. </span></li>
</ol>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 17px;">And P.S. This is actually not a coyly written piece trying to get more comments or readers. I just wanted to keep it real and share what I'm thinking about. </span>tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-20575538083753963382013-07-23T17:12:00.001-07:002013-07-23T17:12:29.843-07:00The Little ThingsTODAY! <br />
I barely yelled! I didn't cry! I even smiled a bunch! Yahoooooooo!<br />
<br />
Well, here's the highlight real:<br />
<br />
Passing inspection. (Man did that feel good!) It's been a bumpy road of an apparently very illegal situation. (But not the bad, crack dealing kind.) But apparently I was supposed to have taken care of the title of the car around, I don't know, a year ago maybe? The real question is, how is it that I got pulled over when I visited my sister in Ithaca (again, not the bad kind, like reckless driving or speeding, just talking on my phone after I crossed state lines), and they didn't say anything about my expired registration? Well, not I am a bonafide, responsible car owner. (I am trying to keep a straight face here. So could you be so kind as to not laugh at me?) When I did take the title to the notary to have everything done right, they saw it and started showing it all around the office and laughing. I started laughing too. You know, that way we were laughing together. But I didn't really get the joke.<br />
<br />
Fed the kids some quick snacks and then made myself super fresh, pasture raised (from my neighbor) eggs with salsa and cheese. YUUUUUMMMMMMM!<br />
<br />
Went to a new park a few miles away with my neighbor. Awesome time, chilling out in the shade, feet in the creek, kids playing, catching fish, salamanders, and crawfish. Totally fabulous.<br />
<br />
Did our laundry Amish style! It was actually crazy enjoyable. Outside, three buckets, some soap, water and this big plunger looking thing. The kids even loved it. We hung everything out on the line. I felt super superior to everyone on the planet for being so <i>green</i> and <i>sustainable</i>. I mean, not only was I leaving no carbon footprint, I was working on my biceps! Take that funky co-op, tattooed and pierced, I bring my own personalized bag made of regurgitated, organic kale, hipster hippies!<br />
<br />
Got a bit of weeding done. <br />
<br />
Watched a storm roll in. They actually do that, roll in. It's a moment full of awe. AND I got all my laundry off the line just before the rain fell. HELL YEAH!<br />
<br />
Ate homemade, organic spelt crust pizza with anchovies, onions and garlic from the garden. <br />
<br />
The kids helped clean when we were done and earned orange juice popsicles. I had one too!<br />
<br />
Laundry is put away. Blog is almost done. Dishes to follow. <br />
<br />
And what do I take away from all this?<br />
<br />
A full belly, that's for sure. But also really internalizing the 'it's the little things' lesson that gets taught so often. It really was a day of little things. But they added up to a good day. And if my life is filled with days like these, well, I think I can handle that.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Everything I just mentioned</li>
<li>Papa's coming tomorrow!</li>
<li>Not having to deal with the worst part of the day, which is definitely bedtime (thanks again Hubby!)</li>
<li>It's still light out</li>
</ol>
<br />
<br />tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-51906715054259452072013-07-22T17:23:00.001-07:002013-07-22T17:23:19.192-07:00Moving On. Or Not. So today. Oy today. <br />
<br />
I got in a fight with my son. It was stupid. Here's the back story. I have been having really bad neck pain for a few days. It started on Shabbos. Between yesterday and today I drove something like 300 miles going back and forth to Greensburg, Pittsburgh and back the farm. So instead of doing anything good for myself, I just made it worse. No one's fault. I'm just trying to paint a picture here for you. <br />
<br />
So I try working in the garden, moving my neck around, hoping good ole fashion, keeping moving might do the trick. It didn't. It soooo didn't. I come inside, give the kids popsicles (made from frozen orange juice concentrate, but don't tell them) and say, "Here you go. Please sit in the kitchen, eat these slowly, and don't bother me for 20 minutes while I lay on my hot water bottle."<br />
<br />
For five minutes it works. It really works. The kids are QUIET! I can turn my head slightly without agonizing pain shooting through me! Hooray! <br />
<br />
And then, well I'm sure you can guess. "Mom, Brother got out of his chair." "Mom, Sister is sitting too close to me." "Mom, his feet are almost TOUCHING me!" Until...<br />
<br />
Waaaahhhhhhh Waaaaahhhhh Waaaaaahhhhhh<br />
<br />
That's my daughter. She cries at the drop of a hat. And it's not a whimper. It is a screaming bloody murder, the worst thing in the world is happening right now scream. Seriously. I live in the country, where you don't exactly have next door neighbors, and my neighbor TWO doors down hears my daughter express herself to the fullest. <br />
<br />
What was the crime this time? Who knows. You can't understand a word she says when she is doing her screaming, shouting, crying, gonna make everyone deaf thing. Brother tries to explain. But it becomes all about what she did wrong that provoked him. Uh huh.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I basically tell him that he is the older child. Significantly so. And rather than retaliate, he should distance himself. Duh.<br />
<br />
He gets upset because I'm OBVIOUSLY not getting how NOT at fault he is, and to prove it to me he throws his own mini fit by shouting at me and throwing my laundry around the room. <br />
<br />
All this time I have been laying on my back on my hot water bottle. But I am so mad that I am going to have to bend down and pick all that stuff up that I shout something at him (I really don't know what, but I'm sure it's a disqualifier for Best Mom of the Year). And when he doesn't stop, I do some sort of grab push thing. (What was that about being the bigger person and distancing yourself?) And he ends up on the floor crying and angry. <br />
<br />
I go outside, because I am not ready to apologize. Or if I am I will say something totally unapologetic like, 'I'm sorry I did that, I really shouldn't have... But YOU blah dee blah blahed.'<br />
<br />
And of course he follows me out. So I say something about him setting the worst possible example for his siblings, and how every time he argues with me, or says 'no' to me, they no longer feel they need to listen to me... Oy. Not to put the pressure on my seven year old or anything. Just saying that if the other kids become f@#$ up drop outs (which would take some effort, as we're homeschooling) and end up selling compost on the streets, it'll be all his fault.<br />
<br />
He stormed off and found his dad, who was doing man-dad things outside, like driving the tractor and using a trailer, and I pretended to cool off while I gave the two younger ones dinner.<br />
<br />
Oh what was that about me taking care of my neck? Yeah, no one seemed to remember, least of all me.<br />
<br />
So after dinner, (big boy ate with his dad, ten minutes after the rest of us) I'm checking my email or something equally unproductive and my son comes up to me and says, "Can I give you a hug?"<br />
"Um, I guess."<br />
"Why'd you say that? You ALWAYS say 'yes, of course!'"<br />
"Oh. I guess it's because we were fighting."<br />
"Oh." Said kind of surprised.<br />
<br />
And I realized that he had let go. He was done with that fight. It was over. If not erased, than at least far enough behind that it shouldn't affect our displays of love now. <br />
<br />
So why wasn't <i>I</i> over it? <i>I'm </i>the adult. <i>I'm</i> the mature, evolved one. <i>I'm </i>the one bearing the grudge and not moving on. <br />
And I am embarrassed. <br />
<br />
But you know what? I'm STILL pissed. Because after all this happened, the kids took <i>my </i>hot water bottle out of my room and did G-d knows what to it, and it has a huge leak now. So no relief tonight. Or any night in the near future. <br />
<br />
It's such a fine line I am walking, when I am always encouraging my kids to share their things, but get mad when they take mine. But COME ON! Look at what they did! ARGH!!!<br />
<br />
I don't think tonight will be a night of letting go, forgiveness or compassion. <br />
<br />
Or maybe I can be a little compassionate on myself. I will allow myself to feel bad. Feel sad. Feel annoyed. And a little pissed. <br />
<br />
And whatever I'm feeling, I will still give my son a BIG hug, an even BIGGER kiss (because he still lets me), and sing to him before bed. <br />
<br />
Because right now, that's what being the ADULT means. <br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Home safe and sound</li>
<li>Staked the tomatoes</li>
<li>Almost bedtime</li>
<li>Almost bedtime</li>
<li>Almost bedtime</li>
</ol>
tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-77594595708266444782013-07-21T18:10:00.001-07:002013-07-21T18:10:07.483-07:00Dear MoonOkay guys.<div>Apparently I have very little to say today, because I just wrote and (thankfully) erased, an entire blog that was a letter to the moon. Yeah. I know, you don't have to say it. </div><div><br></div><div>So instead I'll just give you this:</div><div>Sometimes I am sure, so very sure, that in the end, everything will be ok.</div><div><br></div><div>And sometimes... Sometimes I wonder if I'm naive, or just fooling myself. And it's not going to be ok unless I make some significant changes, kick my ass into gear, and make it ok.</div><div><br></div><div>That's very empowering and VERY scary. </div><div><br></div><div>I don't want to take the easy way out and say they're both true. Maybe they are. Maybe not. But I worry. I worry that I am living my life, walking through brush and sweating my ass off while I use a machete to clear the way. Meanwhile, if I would look ten feet to my left, someone already cleared and paved a path that goes to the same place. </div><div><br></div><div>But does the beaten path take you to the same place? And if it does, when you get there, have you just wasted so much time and burnt yourself out? Or are you stronger and more experienced? </div><div><br></div><div>These are my thoughts for tonight. Good night.</div><div><br></div><div>1. My kids had a GREAT day with my in-laws</div><div>2. I had a day without my kids</div><div>3. Spending special time with a dear and beloved friend</div><div>4. Not losing my temper when my daughter got out of bed for the umpteenth time</div><div>5. The Tchaikovsky for kids CD that kept my kids quiet for almost the whole ride down</div><div>6. Almost bedtime </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-32914098605998134322013-07-20T20:56:00.001-07:002013-07-20T20:56:04.749-07:00My Husband's English AccentIt's been a hard week for me. I keep getting angry at the kids. I keep holding resentments against my husband. I keep getting distracted and then aggravated that I can't get anything done. <div><br></div><div>But today was Shabbos. After keeping Shabbos for a decade I can honestly say that I do it by rote. I don't think much about the deep meanings in the prayers. I don't think about the specialness. I tell my kids about it. I say, "How can you fight today? Today's a day of peace!" But they are just words. </div><div><br></div><div>On top of that is the guilt. Sometimes I can't resist doing something I KNOW is forbidden. I pop zits. I floss even though my gums bleed sometimes. I pull out the yucky lettuce leaves from my salad without always pulling out some good ones too. Sometimes I even purposely get water on the bugs in the bathroom sink so they'll drown. And more.</div><div><br></div><div>To someone non-observant this may sound so silly. Such a nothing to get upset about! I'm not hurting anyone. It's not even like I ran over a cat in the road. (Sympathy to my neighbors who recently lost a cat. IT WASN'T ME, I SWEAR!)</div><div><br></div><div>But to a Baal Teshuva, these can seem like the deadliest of sins. And hating myself for knowingly and compulsively doing them, has only pulled me away from truly experiencing <i>oneg Shabbos</i>, the true JOY of Shabbos.</div><div><br></div><div>So today I'm sitting around with my seven year old. And he asks, all philosophically, as is his way, if I ever wonder if this is all a dream. "Like all of this. Well not all of it. But, like, maybe I'm in my old bed, in our old house in Pittsburgh, and I'm dreaming about this whole farm thing. You know? Do you think it could be, Mom?"</div><div><br></div><div>Sigh. Wishful thinking I guess. </div><div><br></div><div>So I started telling him about how, although I do not believe that any part of this life is an actual dream, I do believe that reality is much different than how we experience it. Kind of like being on a REALLY long car ride. I said, "You know how you and your sister start out ok. But by the end of the driveway you're like, 'how much longer? I'm hungry? I'm bored. What's to eat? Can I listen to my music?' Blah blah blah. And I tell you guys that's it's ok to be bored, and it may take a little while, and you may even get hungry, but that's ok, because we're not driving just to drive, we're going somewhere and you'll have all those things when we get there.</div><div><br></div><div>"So, I think our lives are kind of like that. We think we need super yummy food, and big, fun houses, and lots of toys. But this is just the drive. When Mashiach comes, and we live in Olam HaBa (translation: when the Messiah comes and we live in the World to Come) we'll be there, and we'll have what we were really yearning for this whole time."</div><div><br></div><div>Yeah, a bit lofty, but seven year olds can be pretty lofty people. </div><div><br></div><div>That all got me thinking about how Shabbos is supposed to be a taste of Olam HaBa, and by keeping the laws of Shabbos, we're getting a glimpse into that wondrous future. </div><div><br></div><div>So, what I have to look forward to is uncontrollable urges to pop zits, and self hate when I give in?! No thanks. Stop the car. I'd rather get out right here, than get to THAT destination. </div><div><br></div><div>But as you know, I've also been in a questioning phase. A scary, lonely, doubt filled phase. And in this phase I ask myself now, Do I need to hate myself for breaking Shabbos. Can I instead pray that I feel such a strong connection to Shabbos that the very idea of breaking Shabbos is abhorrent to me? And if my prayer isn't answered right away, can I be little bit, dare I say, loving and compassionate to my flawed self? And recognize that I am a work in progress?</div><div><br></div><div>So all these thoughts are flying around in my head, sometimes bumping into each other. Sometimes getting a little crazy and making little offspring thoughts and they are young and wild and unafraid, and I don't even know what these belligerent youths will do next without some strong guidance. </div><div><br></div><div>But the next thing you know, my husband gets up from his nap. And apparently it is time for our tea party. This is what my family did when I was in NY with my sister last Shabbos. And this week I was invited to join them.</div><div><br></div><div>A bottle of sparkling apple cider was poured into the tiny, ceramic teapot. Each little plate had some berries, chocolate chips, and some sprinkles left over from my two year old's birthday party. Next some mini chocolate sundrops go into the teeny tiny sugar bowl. And finally some more apple cider goes into the little cream bowl. </div><div><br></div><div>"What kind of tea are we having?" asks my husband in the worst English accent I have ever heard. </div><div>"Orange!"</div><div>"Chocolate!"</div><div>"Moose Bumps!" (???)</div><div>These are just some of the suggested flavors. And they were all combined in different ways. </div><div>"Some sugar?" asks my husband. And the kids gleefully add drops of these tiny, colored chocolate bits to their sparking cider. </div><div><br></div><div>It was beyond disgusting. And amazing. And every two minutes I had to stop myself from intervening and saying, don't you think that's enough chocolate sprinkles? </div><div><br></div><div>The kids were HAPPY. I was HAPPY. I was really HAPPY. We were all getting along. There was nothing that HAD to be done at that time, at that table, other than enjoy the bounty of sugar and laughs in front of us. </div><div><br></div><div>When it was all over, the bottle of cider emptied to its last drop, the kids were ready to do something with all their newfound energy. Going outside wasn't an option as it was still storming pretty hard. So we played Guesstures. All of us. There weren't any actually rules and no one kept score. But man, was it a blast! </div><div><br></div><div>For one of my clues I got the word <i>crazy. </i>I often feel like, in my family, that with everyone's large personalities and tempers, someone has to always remain slightly in control. And that someone has to be me. Not to mention that the idea of being totally out of control scares the %#*& out of me. </div><div><br></div><div>But when I saw that word, I smiled and let it rip. I jumped around. I made</div><div>Faces. I hooped and hollered and swung my head all around and just went nutso.</div><div><br></div><div>It fet SO good.</div><div><br></div><div>And right then I KNEW. I knew that this, that all of this, was what Shabbos was. It was tea parties with too much sugar and terrible English accents. It meant games and silliness and laughter. It meant letting go.</div><div><br></div><div>Next week, as I am full on in weekday mode, I know that I won't quite remember the full joy I felt today. But that's ok. Because I'll remember that I felt joy. And I'll know that next Shabbos will mean a different kind of joy. Because next Shabbos we'll all be different. Because I can't replicate a moment. But I can let go of one, and make room for whatever is next on this long road trip called life. </div><div><br></div><div>Did you see that? Did you see the metaphor come back and bring the blog full circle? That was great!</div><div><br></div><div>1. Moments of today</div><div>2. My husband's English accent</div><div>3. My husband trying to get the kids to box step after the tea party</div><div>4. Philosophical seven year olds. </div>tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-23941020323964145072013-07-18T17:26:00.001-07:002013-07-18T17:26:41.330-07:00Pretending to be an Adult--or--At Least There's Always Ice CreamLet me tell you about today. Today was a bad day. I know I'm supposed to be all positive and use nonjudgmental words, like 'today was a day that had potential to be better.' But let's face it. Today sucked.<div><br></div><div>It started out ok. The alarm at 7 was... Um... Let's call it unpleasant. But that's just morning for ya. Since my kids often wake up 7:45 or 8ish, my plan was to get up, make some coffee (that miracle juice that keeps me from being a homicidal maniac), and go to my neighbors, where I will be milking one of her goats. </div><div><br></div><div>So I made my coffee, got my keys, and the next thing I know, all three kids are out of their room and asking me for breakfast. Ok, not the end of the world. I make them breakfast, wake my sleeping husband to tell him I'm going now, and he says, "Going where?"</div><div>"Whaddaya mean? I told you I was going to start milking the goat tomorrow."</div><div>"No you didn't."</div><div>"Yeah, I did."</div><div><br></div><div>Well, we still don't know who was right. I'm pretty sure that I remember things more accurately than hubby, but he remembers more things than I do. Quality over quantity if you ask me.</div><div><br></div><div>Anyway, off I went. When I got there I thought it would be an in and out sort of thing. This goat had a baby over 9 months ago and we assumed that her milk had weaned out mostly, so it would be a while before we got a full milking from her. I'll save you from all the details, but there was a lot of kicking, spraying and scooting away. And there was a WHOLE lot of milk! The whole ordeal took much longer than I expected. So when I got home more than an hour later, I came home to a very angry and annoyed husband. Not too mention wild children and a broken library tape. </div><div><br></div><div>Remember how I mentioned how much I ABHORE confrontation? So instead of just confronting my husband, telling him that I knew he didn't want to be on kid duty so he could go work, and that I should've brought them with me, but I really didn't think my actions deserved such a severe angry outburst from him as I was trying to get wholesome milk for our family, not just goofing off, getting coffee and a pedicure; instead of all that, I got resentful and hurt and angry. But it was my usual passive aggressive anger that doesn't accomplish anything other than slowly poison me from the inside.</div><div><br></div><div>And once I feel at odds with my husband, and therefore unsupported in my day, everything always falls apart. I wish it wasn't true. I wish I could say, 'whatever, it's not my problem if he's pissed.' But I am not there yet. </div><div><br></div><div>So onward and upward with my day. I had a 10AM appointment to get my car inspected. I was pretty proud of the fact too. After all, not only do responsible adults get their cars inspected, they make appointments to do it. </div><div><br></div><div>And I was so on top of things, that the day before I went to the library and got two little playaway players. These are these magical tiny screens, the size of an iPhone, that play videos. Not long ones, because that would make me an apathetic, lazy mom who lets her children zombie out. No, these play lots of short videos, like PBS's Sid the Science Kid. In total, if you play all the short videos, it's about the length if a movie. But whatever.</div><div><br></div><div>So we get to the garage. ON TIME. I am doing this adult thing like a master! The really nice guy at the desk said hi to me. He said, "Hi Tovah." He knew my name because I made an appointment. I wasn't one of those irresponsible people that drive into the first garage they see on the last day of the month. </div><div><br></div><div>"So I'll just need your proof of insurance and your registration and we'll be all set." Hmmm, okay. I smile like, 'Yeah, of course that's what you need, I knew that.' And I go back to the car and take out every scrap of paper from the glove compartment. After a few minutes, he comes out and helps me rifle through everything. Like I said, really nice guy.</div><div><br></div><div>So we find all kinds of useless and expired things, which he suggests I throw out when I get home, and in the end come up with an up to date proof of insurance. Nailed it!</div><div><br></div><div>"Ok, we just need that registration form now." </div><div>Me, slightly panicked, "Yeah, totally. My husband probably took care of it and I forgot to put it in the car. Let me call him."</div><div><br></div><div>But two seconds later we realized that there was no point, as the really nice man pointed out to me that the registration sticker on my license plate expired in April. Of 2012.</div><div><br></div><div>Uh, right. What do I do now? </div><div><br></div><div>He told me that he would normally just go ahead and do the inspection and I could deal with the registration stuff when I went home, but he just looked at my last inspection sticker and it seems that I am registered in a different county. That means he can't help me out. And did I realize that my last inspection sticker expired in March?</div><div><br></div><div>Okay, so what now? Go home and register online, he says. The stickers will come in a couple days and he'll take care of me then. He said it all so apologetically. Like, "I'm really sorry, I really wish I could help. Really, if there was anything I could do." Poor guy. I felt like telling him, "It's okay, I'll be alright. I'm used to changing my sheets almost never and eating cereal for dinner. This is nothing!" But I was worried he might call social services, as by this time my kids were climbing all over his riding mower outside and screaming about how hungry they were. They can be SO dramatic!</div><div><br></div><div>I decided that I wasn't going to go through all the trouble of buckling my kids into their seats and packing a huge purse of entertainment and snacks for nothing! So I drove to the photo licensing center. Because, well because my driver's license expired in May. In June, all responsible like, I went the the photo licensing center to renew. They were closed. On a Tuesday! So I used my handy iPhone to find another local place. It was the notary. I went and filled out the paperwork. When I asked if they were ready to take my picture, they told me that that's not how it works. ???</div><div><br></div><div>They said that I have to get my paperwork at the notary. And then on Thursday or Friday I had to go to the photo licensing center (I'm getting so tired of typing that whole title, let's call it the PLC), and finish the process there. </div><div><br></div><div>I was more than a little pissed. I had actually put on MAKEUP that day for that picture! Do you know how rare that is?! So now, a little over a month later, I was taking my kids, sans makeup, to the PLC. It was Thursday! </div><div><br></div><div>I get them all out of the car, walk through heat waves wafting off the parking lot concrete, and get to the door.</div><div><br></div><div>Are you ready for it?</div><div><br></div><div>I packed the BIG purse so I could have snacks and entertainment. My paperwork was in my LITTLE purse that I use EVERY OTHER DAY!!!</div><div><br></div><div>And so, that adventure was over. Lots of well intentioned, responsible thinking got me ABSOLUTELY NOWHERE!</div><div><br></div><div>When we get home I realize the massive mess my home has become when I read an email saying an old friend from Colorado might stop by. I ask my kids to help me pick up. I beg them. I yell at them. I threaten them. In the end I do it alone and in the process make my kids feel that they are horrible little people, so then I actually feel like a horrible little person. So then I stop being a compassionate mother. Because when I can't feel compassion for myself, I don't have any to spare on anyone else. </div><div><br></div><div>In the end, the friend couldn't make it. </div><div><br></div><div>Yup. I heard you all sigh for me. Thanks.</div><div><br></div><div>So after dinner we all had ice cream. Ice cream is a way of giving myself compassion AND earning instant Awesome Mama points. </div><div><br></div><div>So perhaps what I lack in responsibility, I make up for with creativity and justifications. And really, creative people are WAY more fun to hang out with than those responsible types anyway! (Note the justification reference above.)</div><div><br></div><div>1. Kombu, kale, halibut soup for dinner</div><div>2. Mediterranean Mint ice cream for desert</div><div>3. Having food to be thankful for when nothing else comes to mind</div><div><br></div>tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-58103587643923607762013-07-17T18:41:00.001-07:002013-07-17T18:41:30.417-07:00Doesn't Everybody Pick Their noses in the Car?A while back I was driving back to the farm after a day in Pittsburgh. It was just around sunset and I had an hour and fortyfive minute drive ahead of me. When I left Pitt it was hot and muggy. The kind of day where you crank up the AC and some cheesy summer music. <div><br></div><div>About an hour into the ride I felt uncomfortable and tried to make myself forget about it by singing even more off key to All Eighties Rock All Night Long. Yes I'm that girl in the car who picks her nose and sings loudly and arm dances in awkward ways. My hope is that I'll only drive by you once. That spares me the embarrassment of seeing you twice and you recognizing me as the girl who picks her nose, sings loudly and arm dances.</div><div><br></div><div>It took at least another 15 or 20 minutes before I realized that the reason I was uncomfortable was because it was night time, the air had cooled, and with the AC blasting, I was freezing.</div><div><br></div><div>At first when I realized this I called myself an idiot. Unfortunately that was my go to for so long that it has become my automatic response. But when I let that go, I was able to really take something away from the whole, pretty inconsequential, ordeal.</div><div><br></div><div>Get ready for some pretty awesome metaphorical life lessons!</div><div><br></div><div>While I am not in control of the weather outside, I do control my AC. But if I don't stop to notice the changing weather, I don't adjust the temperature. And I get cold. </div><div><br></div><div>Are you with me?</div><div><br></div><div>Sometimes life is a certain way, and we adjust ourselves accordingly. But do we always take note of how life has changed? When I was a teenager I wanted to be beautiful, sexy, desirable. For one, society told me that that's what I needed. But beyond that was a deep, primitive need to find a mate. It starts with our first periods. That biological drive.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm happy to say I have found one. A mate. Let's just call him my husband. It's sounds much more romantic. So now that I have a husband who is deeply committed to me, and we have born three insanely awesome and annoying and sweet and crazy, little offspring, the need to be sexy, beautiful, desirable, is no longer the priority. </div><div><br></div><div>Now I'm not saying that from here on out I plan on letting myself go, wear sweats all day and never shower (tempting as that sounds). I hope to stay adequately fit, and shower at least once a week. And I only wear sweats in the winter, when no one is really sexy, because there's nothing sexy about being really freakin cold. But what I am saying is that my husband has told me he finds me most attractive as I am... Unshaven, unplucked, make-up free and dressed like a farm chick. So why do I still feel the need to 'look good' when I go out? And by look good I mean: look more like what I see on a magazine, less like what I see in the mirror. I do not need anyone else to find me desirable. I am desired. The weather has changed and it's time to adjust my inner temp.</div><div><br></div><div>Did you see what I did there? Did you get the metaphor? This is why I'm a writer!</div><div><br></div><div>So many other outside temps have changed. I no longer need to be cool. I no longer need to be validated by an alpha male. (Not that I don't love you, Dad!) I can handle so much more than I ever could before. I don't need to be anxious any time any responsibility falls on me. I have three kids. Responsibility is my middle name! Or maybe more like an initial added to the end of my name. Or like a nickname used ironically by loved ones. Whatever, that's not the point. The point is that I don't need to be anxious. </div><div><br></div><div>I know there are so many ways that I am still adjusting myself to circumstances that no longer exist. But I think that if I pay a little more attention when I find I am trying to distract myself, I will notice that I can turn down that AC, roll down the window, and arm dance like a master!</div><div><br></div><div>1. Watching the joy on my son's face when he plays soccer</div><div>2. That my other son pooped in his potty this morning before I even got out of bed</div><div>3. Talking to my Yopa on the phone</div><div>4. Going to milk a goat in the morning. Yay!</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-60116941668053402072013-07-16T18:49:00.001-07:002013-07-16T18:49:30.032-07:00Do Unto OthersThe Rabbi's tell us the reason the Temple was destroyed is because of baseless hatred. Not sins we were committing against G-d. It wasn't a kitchen without two sinks. It wasn't hair with two tefachs showing. It wasn't even tearing up the toilet paper on Shabbos. Nope, it was the way we were treating each other.<div><br></div><div>And yet, part of what was so confusing for me, when living in a religious community, was that the emphasis of halacha (religious law) seemed to be on how kosher our kitchens were, how tznious we dressed, how strictly we kept Shabbos. </div><div><br></div><div>I am not condemning my community. I think this is found in most orthodox communities. And I'm not condemning the orthodox world, because I believe that it is a beautiful thing to hold yourself to a higher standard.</div><div><br></div><div>But what I don't understand is how, knowing that Hashem flooded the world because we were mean to EACH OTHER, knowing that the Temple was destroyed because we were mean to EACH OTHER, knowing that Rabbi Hillel summed up the entire Torah with 'Don't do unto others as you wouldn't have done to yourself' (meaning: don't be mean to EACH OTHER), we aren't a nation of people SOLELY devoted to being GOOD to each other. </div><div><br></div><div>I have contemplated this more since moving out to the middle of nowhere. As I unravel from the pressure of being part of a community I can start to look at which areas of my devotion were like an outfit I wore to be accepted and deemed 'religious enough,' and which ones truly emanated from my desire to observe the commandments and serve G-d. </div><div><br></div><div>Honestly, it's been over a year and its still so hard for me to have clarity. For one thing, it's TERRIFYING! It feels so safe to be wrapped in a cocoon of doing what's right. When you do right, you are right. When you are right you are good. You are enough. You are worthy. Not to mention that you are, at the very least, doing better than THEM. </div><div><br></div><div>Secondly, you are part of a group. And that feels SOOO good. Because you can't be wrong if you are doing what EVERYBODY else is doing. You have a Rabbi helping you make life decisions, guiding you. You have events and meals and social gatherings. In no way do I put those things down. I think we would all be so much better off if we felt part of a community. If we had guidance and connection and regular social interaction.</div><div><br></div><div>But the problem for me, is that I never really felt like a was a part of the community. Any community. And I can't tell you how deeply I long to feel a part of something.</div><div><br></div><div>For instance, since I am a Baal Teshuva (someone who is not raised in an observant household and takes on the commandments), things that are very normal for others (such as wearing skirts and covering their hair once married) felt incredibly uncomfortable and tedious for me. You would have been hard pressed to find me in anything other than jeans, in my earlier life, and I really don't enjoy giving myself occasional headaches by always having something on my head.</div><div><br></div><div>When I was struggling with this and much, much more, my Rabbi of the time advised me to go ahead and put on a pair of jeans if that's what I needed to feel more comfortable and less resentment. The other commandments have less flexibility, so here was a good place for me to take some space. Feeling relieved, I went to a friend's house wearing jeans and visited with her and some women. No one mentioned anything to me, and I figured no one really cared. I mean, why would they? I'm a sit on the ground and play in the dirt kind of girl, jeans really are the more modest of my options.</div><div><br></div><div>But later, as I was talking to that friend, she mentioned that as soon as I left, questions such as, 'since when does Tovah wear jeans?' arose. </div><div><br></div><div>I can't say I was that surprised or dismayed. I mean, nothing bad about me was said. But our religion teaches that nothing that could possibly, in any way, be interpreted as negative, ever be said about anyone else. The law is called Loshon HaRa, and it means evil tongue. Loshon HaRa is likened to murder, as once it has been said and heard, it cannot be unsaid, unheard. And so, while I was having a slight crisis of faith, others wanted to know how long I had been dressing immodestly. And they were breaking Halacha by asking. </div><div><br></div><div>I am not condemning their actions. Why would I? I have spoken more Loshon HaRa than I would ever care to admit. But my point is, why in that instance, am I the 'less religious' one?</div><div><br></div><div>And this goes on and on... If I eat organic, and therefore have a greater chance of accidentally eating a bug, am I less religious for being less Kosher? Or, since caring for your body is also a commandment, am I being more religious? And my REAL question is: Do I have to define my level of observance? Do I have to be put on a scale where my leniencies and stringencies are weighed, and the outcome defines me?</div><div><br></div><div>What if I am ALWAYS changing, growing, questioning and moving through life? What if one year I work really hard on my davening, but not my Torah study? What if for a period I practice daily acts of kindness towards others, compassion and empathy, but I eat out vegetarian? Am I more or less religious? Do I have a place on the ladder? </div><div><br></div><div>Though I have not had the courage to really challenge the way I have practiced Judaism, I wonder what will happen if I do? Will I be rejected from the community at large? Will my inner work in finding my true connection to Torah and G-d hold any weight?</div><div><br></div><div>The reason I go into all this today, Tisha B'Av, the day the Temple was destroyed because of hatred between men, is because I want to practice living more compassionately. And it begins with myself. I want to forgive myself for being so challenged, and not always rising. I want to love myself as the Jew I am now, imperfect an struggling. And just as I believe that giving others the benefit of the doubt is of the highest importance, so too I would like to give myself the benefit of the doubt. </div><div><br></div><div>This plays out in large and small ways. Like when I borrowed my step father-in-law's 5 speed and kept stalling. I called myself an idiot. I should be better. After all, I drove across the country in an old VW bus (another blog for another time), why can't I just get past this damn stop sign. When I returned the car, my mother-in-law told me that she too has a difficult time driving that car. It wasn't me. </div><div><br></div><div>Another small example is when I tried endlessly to navigate my son's soccer team website and could not find any of the information I needed. I ended up privately emailing the coach and feeling like an incompetent idiot. At the first practice I was talking to some other mothers, and the website came up. 'So hard to navigate, I couldn't find a thing!' is what they said. </div><div><br></div><div>Those are small examples. The larger ones are how badly I doubt myself at every turn. How I let other's fear call into question my parenting. How I feel inadequate every time I get anxiety over driving somewhere new, or don't sleep if I know I need to be up for something, and I tell myself that all this makes me an insufficient person.</div><div><br></div><div>Perhaps I could give myself the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps I could let myself be strong in some areas an hopelessly inadequate and weak in others. Because that's the way G-d made me. And He believed in me and my worth, so who am I to question it?! In fact who am I, to let other's doubts about me, question G-d?</div><div><br></div><div>I'm not saying I wasn't created with room for improvement, but I certainly don't give birth to my babies and then feel disappointed when I see that they can't walk, talk or do algebra. Life is a process. And G-d willing, I have a looooong way to go.</div><div><br></div><div>So I believe that if I want to be a Jew dedicated to Torah, compassion for people, starting with myself, is a beautiful place to start. And though I started this particular journey over 10 years ago, I feel this is just the beginning...</div><div><br></div><div>1. My brave husband who accompanies me on my journey</div><div>2. The way my children make me laugh, even when I feel like crying</div><div>3. Harvested radishes (even though I don't really like them, I am excited to harves them!)</div><div>4. Entering a time of simcha and deep reflection</div><div>5. Closing my eyes and still feeling my brand new niece rest in my arms</div><div><br></div>tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-38006158964859767692013-07-15T19:35:00.001-07:002013-07-15T19:35:32.012-07:00A Day of MourningIt's Tisha B'Av. The day we collectively mourn the destruction of the Temple. But I don't understand collective mourning. Because telling me to sit on the floor and not eat, makes me focus on back pain and hunger, not my sadness. <div><br></div><div>I don't feel sadness when Eicha (the book of Lamentations) is read. I don't understand the words. The melody does not reach me as other melodies do. </div><div><br></div><div>I don't know how to meditate deeply on what it means to be without the Temple when I am caring for my three young children. </div><div><br></div><div>I am not trying to question the Rabbi's. I am not trying to challenge the status quo. I am trying to figure out where my place is. Why am I so resentful every year when Tisha B'Av comes? </div><div><br></div><div>It's not the fasting. I fast on Yom Kippur and feel no resentment. It's not the other restrictions. It's that it feels so wrong to be instructed on how and when and what to feel. </div><div><br></div><div>Today you shall be sad.</div><div><br></div><div>But I am sad so many days. When I feel discord and hatred between Jews, I mourn. When I see humans acting without humanity, I mourn. When I face the world I am passing along to my children, I mourn.</div><div><br></div><div>So how am I to make myself feel those things on one day? My feelings come organically. They are not manufactured. </div><div><br></div><div>Again, I am not asking for a rewrite of Jewish law. I am saying that I don't feel in harmony with it. </div><div><br></div><div>So for tonight's blog I leave you and myself in discomfort. I have no conclusions. Only the feeling of not standing on solid ground. And perhaps today, the day when the Temple crumbled, that is exactly where I need to be.</div><div><br></div><div>1. The gray unknown, where questions don't need answers</div><div>2. The courage to be there</div><div>3. Picking wild blueberries an mulberries with the kids</div><div>4. The sun will rise tomorrow</div>tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-48975525617952668602013-07-14T17:47:00.000-07:002013-07-14T18:14:39.018-07:00Wow. Just wow.It's been an exciting, miraculous, exhausting and incredible weekend. But before I tell you about it, I must warn you: the cord on my computer is broken and I am typing this on my husband's phone. So get ready for a shortened, messy blog.<br>
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On Thursday morning I got a call from my sister. Her back hurts and her stomach feels tight. She thinks her labor has begun. The arrangement is for me to hop in the car when she tells me she is in labor so I can be her doula. We live 4 1/2 hours apart. I tell my husband. 'Make sure it's really labor.' <br>
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In our family we tend to have looooong labors. So I agreed. I did some gardening, fed the kids lunch, put the little one down for a nap, and went to the store with my daughter. I thought it might be nice to get a little time together before I took off for who knows how long.<br>
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As we get in the car, my daughter starts crying for me to put her music on. I don't have the CD she wants and even if I did, I am REALLY not in the mood. I actually HATE most children's music. It seems to me that it should be possible to sing about dinasours, mitzvahs, and wheels without high pitched voices and fake laughter. Are they TRYING to be as annoying as possible?!<br>
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Anyway, she started doing her shrieky, whiny, crying thing. Which just made me mad. Here I was trying to have sweet Mama Daughter time and she was ruining it. When I finally yelled at her, the crying stopped. Then she asked me to open her window. I drive a minivan. The middle windows do NOT open. 'So try mama.' 'It's not possible.' 'Yeah, but try.' 'No honey, it just can't happen.' 'But mama, you need to try. Press a button.' 'There is no button.' 'Find a button and try it.' 'THERE'S NO BUTTON! THE WINDOW DOESN'T OPEN!' 'But try.' Aaaaaaahhhhhhh! On and on and on it went.<br>
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When we finally got to the store and I loaded the cart with frozen food my husband could easily make, without any kitchen knowledge, we started the drive home. By this point she had taken her shoes off and thrown them down three different isles, grabbed at stuff and made me irritable beyond belief. Not because what she was doing was anything other than what a three year old does, but because I wasn't getting a chance to be the sweet, fun, caring mother I imagined myself to be. Where was my sweet memories making moment? She was ruining this for me!<br>
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Fast forward and I am racing to NY to be with my sister. An hour away I get a call that she is on her way to the hospital and I should meet her there.<br>
No. Uh-uh. That wasn't the plan. That wasn't my plan. I was supposed to be the amazing sister doula who got her through a natural childbirth. And once she's in the hospital, I won't be able to do my thing. <div><br></div><div> I knew, I knew this wasn't about me. I knew that my hopes and plans had nothing to do with my sister and her birth. But it was still so hard to let go of the beautiful picture I construed in my head of us, together, rocking, moaning, pacing, birthing. </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); "><br></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); ">I won't go into the specifics of the birth, because they are not mine to share. But I can tell you that it was SO beautiful. My sister was a warrior. She was strength, determination, and raw beauty. And I was privileged and blessed to be a part of it. I did not have the co-star role I had imagined for myself. I did not get to prove to anyone how great I was. I was simply there witnessing greatness. It was amazing and humbling. And in the end I enjoyed the best gift of all, which was a full Shabbos in the hospital. Just me, sister and perfect little niece. I held her. I rocked her. I changed her little meconium poops. And I loved them. </span><div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">But I didn't sleep. And I didn't have adrenalin and oxytocin coursing through me. It was not my baby. It was not my birth. I am not used to being on the sideline. I didn't realize how much I actually enjoy being in the center. It's not the prettiest realization. Just as I saw that I was an impatient, annoyed mother in the car, rather than the sweet, loving one I envisioned, so am I not the humble, support I thought I was. </span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">I'm not sure exactly what it all means, except that I would like to be more aware of my vision of myself and how much it actually compares to the reality of me. Not so I can judge myself and think badly of myself, but just so I can know myself a little better. And perhaps if I have a less grandiose picture of myself, I can have more compassion and acceptance of everyone else. </span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I will finish this blog because it really sucks typing on the phone and I am exhausted and want to be with my husband. But I will end it like this:</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Mazel Tov Sister!!! </span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">1. My niece</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">2. My beautiful adorable incredible baby niece!!!</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">3. Being invited to be a part of such an amazing experience</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">4. MY NIECE!!!</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469);">5. My husband for being MY support and letting me be there.<br></span>
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<br></div></div>tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-53050696523222668102013-07-10T17:16:00.002-07:002013-07-10T17:54:43.974-07:00NOT Fine, Thank YouI'm feeling the pressure. Hubby said that he will put the kids to bed every night for a month if I use the time to write a blog. I can't miss an opportunity to avoid mama duties. Nor can I NOT write a blog, since I'm always complaining that I want to write, but I can't find the time. So all excuses are gone and it's writing time. I'm assuming that if I write 30 blogs in 30 days (except for a few nights when I go visit my sis) that a bunch of it will be crap, but some gems will hopefully emerge. So sit tight, and let's all get through this together!<br />
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Life has been... challenging. There has been good. There has been great. There has been horrific. And mostly, there's challenge. Why? Because I have three kids who drive me absolutely insane! And I have a husband, and we drive each other insane. And there's always sh*t that needs to be done. And people everywhere are hurting. Badly. And life is hard. Glennon Melton (my most favoritest blogger and person I haven't met yet) says We Can Do Hard. We can. But it's not easy.<br />
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So in this life, with all it's challenges, hardships, beautiful moments, heartbreaks, I have seen my choices, read my self help books, and decided I want to be a Whole Hearted person. That's what Brene Brown calls a person who embraces all aspects of life and chooses to be vulnerable, rather than hardening yourself. It's a lot more than that too, but that's what resonates with me most. It's about seeing yourself and everyone around you as worthy of love. That doesn't mean throwing your heart on the chopping board to be butchered by anyone out there. It just means embracing it all. It means being a Truth Teller. I would like to be a Truth Teller. <br />
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So in that vain, today the check out girl, at the amish store down the road, asked me how I was doing, as she checked out my groceries. It was your ordinary, 'Hi, how are you doing today?' But hey, I'm trying to live as a Truth Teller, so I said, 'Well, I'm here. And that's saying something. It's not much of an accomplishment to some. But right now it's all I've got. And it's good enough.' <br />
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I'm sure a 'Finethanksandhowareyou?' was expected. Well, she looked at me at first and kind of nervously laughed. But then her face dropped and she started to tell me, in a really long run on sentence, about how 'yesterday I said goodbye to my boyfriend, he left for the army, he's going for training, it's so he can get to college, but he'll be gone a few months, and I know he has to go, and I tried not to make it hard for him, I didn't want to cry in front of him, but it was so hard, and the second he turned to go I started bawling, but I didn't want him to see, but I think he did, and I feel so bad, and I didn't want to come in to work today, it just keeps hitting me, you know, I don't know when it will come, but then it hits me and I just want to cry, you know?'<br />
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And there it was. We were not finethankyou. The world is mostly NOT finethankyou. In fact, is anyone REALLY finethankyou? Don't we all have so much that we are dealing with? We're either sleepless and exhausted from kids and family or heartbroken from longing for a family, or lost without direction in life, or struggling really hard with this whole marriage thing that is supposed to be the support that gets us through the hard stuff, but, more often than not, IS the hard stuff... We are not fine. I am not fine. <br />
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But sometimes we need the invitation to say it. Check out girl was just waiting for an opening to take off her finethankyou mask and let her heart spill out a little. It's messy. But at least you can breathe easier with the mask off. And if there's anything I want this blog to be, it's a place where we can take our masks off. Breathe in the full and messy air of each other's lives. Often I get messaged privately after a blog, with many of you sharing things that relate to what I write. I love that you share it with me. It feels like a really special gift. But I wonder what would happen if we all shared it with each other? (But if you're not ready, please continue to share with me privately!) If we all got a little messy together? Like those cheesy scenes in the movies where they are baking cupcakes or some other unmessy food and then a bit flour here, a cracked egg there... Next thing you know, perfect goes out the window and every counter, floor and person is covered. But they are laughing, and sometimes crying too, because laughing and crying are both from an open heart, and you feel so good watching them BREATHE without their masks. <br />
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COME ON GUYS! LET'S GET MESSY, TAKE OFF OUR MASKS, AND BREATHE!<br />
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Here's why I'm not finethankyou:<br />
<br />
My kids drive me nuts. So nuts that I wonder if I really love them the way a mother is <i>supposed</i> to. Now I know that whenever the words <i>suppose to</i> or <i>should</i> show up, that there is a non-truth, usually based in fear, showing up again. And I don't like to talk about the fear of not loving enough because I think people will say that I've taken too much on. I shouldn't be homeschooling. I shouldn't be homesteading. Obviously it's more than I can handle. But when I let go of what I think love LOOKS like, what good mothers LOOK like, my fear ebbs, and I can feel love. It's just under a whole lot of immaturity, impatience, exhaustion and anger. And those are parts of myself that I am continually working through. And what better teachers than my own children?<br />
<br />
My husband and I fight. A lot. What this looks like is me being passive aggressive and him pulling away or getting angry. It's painful. It's beyond painful. At times I wonder why the hell G-d put us together. <br />
At other times I see that, if we stay present and don't give in to fear, the potential between us reaches beyond the stars. But it will take a LOT of courage. A lot of strength. A lot of pain. And a lot of growth. <br />
And a lot of letting go. I need to let go of the idea of romance. I like the picture of husband and wife slow dancing after a long and hard day with the kids. I like the idea of husband watching me while I sleep. I like the idea of being treated like the most valuable, special, rare thing in the world. <br />
This is not my reality. But if I let go of that and see what is in front of me, I will see:<br />
My husband taking care of bedtime for the next month because he believes in my writing=romance.<br />
My husband still desiring me after 15 years of being together=beauty.<br />
My husband working his ass off day after day to provide for me=valuing me.<br />
<br />
All this doesn't take away my longing for all the other stuff, but it is important for me to step back and see what I have. I have a lot. And amazingly, my heart seems to be big enough to hold gratitude, longing, hurt and pain, together, in one messy hug. But only when it's open.<br />
<br />
Am I messy enough for you yet? Are you ready to get your feet wet? <br />
<br />
And for all of you who keep telling me that I am brave for putting this out there... It's a kind of brave. But only one kind. The kind that comes easy to me. I wish I were more brave in my marriage. I wish I were more brave in person. I would do anything to eradicate my nervous laugh. I wish I wasn't so embarrassed about how unclean my home is when I have visitors. And I wish I didn't tell people with messy homes how much more messy mine is, to try to make us all feel better. I wish I didn't pretend that I'm all about 'just keeping the kids alive, hahaha' when really I am trying SO hard to raise them in a conscious way, with healthy food, wholesome influences, non-electric and plastic entertainment and NO DISNEY PRINCESSES. And I want to say all that without saying that I am a better mother than you are. As Glennon said, "that mother was feeding her child an avocado AT me!" (That's how she felt when she was feeding her messy children a bunch of crap food at the mall, and she thought the crunchy granola mom was feeding her child an avocado brought from home AT her.) No, I want to be proud of my small accomplishments, without doing them AT anyone. But I don't have the confidence or bravery yet. So I laugh about how neglectful I am and at how half-hazardly I do everything. <br />
<br />
So you see, there are different kinds of bravery. And writing on the internet is my kind. So is moving out into the middle of nowhere and trying like hell to give my children a holistic, wholesome, G-d centered life. <br />
<br />
But telling my husband that I am not OK with him leaving his dirty dish in the sink? Nope, not my kind of bravery. Yet. Confrontation scares the crap out of me. I get physically ill when I think about any kind of confrontation. When I had to tell our live-in that it wasn't really working out, I had to run to the bathroom 5 times in one hour before I got up the nerve to do it. Yes. Confrontation gives me diarrhea. Is there anything else you would like to know about me?<br />
<br />
What I'm trying to say (and I'm probably over sharing while saying it) is that if you want to try to be THIS kind of brave, go ahead and share your messy here. On this blog. It's welcome. Because we are ALL messy. And we are all NOT finethankyou, sometimes. And the more we can share with each other, the more we can take off those masks, the more it makes it OK to be NOT finethankyou. It's a gift we can give each other. <br />
<br />
And here, on the GoodList, we can share some of our Not So Good List. Because it's hard to feel the Good and appreciate the Good when we are stuffing the Not So Good behind our masks. So now that you know some of my Not So Good list, here is tonight's Good List:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>The opportunity to write more</li>
<li>My upcoming visit to my sister</li>
<li>Finally made a dinner all the family enjoyed (borsht and baked potatoes. who knew?)</li>
<li>15 minutes of peace during storytime at the library</li>
<li>I DON'T HAVE TO DO BEDTIME TONIGHT! I LOVE YOU HONEY!</li>
<li>The way my kids' room smells like breath and sweat when they are all asleep and I sneak in there</li>
</ol>
tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-50432412510238795712013-07-01T18:55:00.001-07:002013-07-01T19:16:56.811-07:00Permission to LoveIt's been awhile. I'm feeling rusty, exhausted and desperate to see my thoughts in words rather than ideas floating around my head. I get a lot of clarity from writing. Like I'm free to stop thinking the same thoughts over and over and have permission to move on to the next revelation waiting in the wings. <br />
<br />
So here's what's been floating around:<br />
Acceptance. Permission. Love. Judgement. Forgiveness. G-d.<br />
<br />
Last night I finished reading Glennon Doyle Melton's book, <i>Carry On, Warrior</i>, and it tore my heart wide open. In a good way. I think. A small breakdown of the book is this: I messed up a lot. G-d loved me then, my family loved me then, I didn't know it. I woke up, worked hard to remove my armor and open my heart, and now I see the love that was always there and now I can love myself, and now I can love you, too. <br />
<br />
She is still flawed. She is still imperfect. She is still loved. And she still loves. And for some reason it hurts to write that. To write that out there is someone who gives herself permission to be loved as she is. I think G-d gives us that permission every minute of every day, but I don't give that permission to myself. <br />
<br />
Some of the reason dates back to my childhood. I somehow formed the idea that to be loved in my family, to really be worthy of unconditional, nonjudgmental love, I can't be a fuck-up. I don't know why. Because I'm sure that if I asked my family, they would tell me they have always loved me unconditionally. So I'm not sure when or why I developed that idea. Part of it is the condescension in our tone when we speak of each other. Mom has been so spacey... Dad's been so arrogant... Sister's been such a procrastinator... Sister needs to prioritize. I hear these things, I say these things. So I guess I assumed they were all being said of me. I am impulsive. I am stubborn. I am naive. I am arrogant. I make bad, thoughtless decisions and look where they've gotten me! I don't know if this has been said of me, but I hear it in my head nonetheless.<br />
<br />
Some of it is from being a teenager. Always feeling just enough on the outskirts of a social circle to not feel truly accepted as I was by my peers. Some of it is from my husband. I believe he is the hardest on himself, but it rolls over to those he loves. He sees the strength in people and wants so badly for them to actualize their potential, that he misses the amazing experience of caring for them and being vulnerable with someone in their weak places. Weak places are not bad. We are not bad for being weak. Because weaknesses tend to have the richest soil just waiting to be planted. <br />
<br />
Some of it is how I interpreted my religion. If you know me, or read my blog, you know I am an observant Jew. I don't like the label, but it makes it easier to understand me if you have a context, so there it is. Being thus, I sometimes feel that when I strive to connect more deeply to G-d, to ask more of G-d, there is a not so still, small voice that tells me, 'who are you to ask more when you give so little? Do you pray every day? Do you follow the commandments as you should? Do you have faith? People more pious than you ask for less... so try to give before you ask.' <br />
<br />
I don't believe that is the voice of G-d in my head. I don't even know if that is the voice of orthodox Judaism. But just as I hear judgements in my head in my family's voice, I hear them in the voice of orthodox Judaism. <br />
<br />
But when I hear G-d, I hear love. I hear acceptance. I hear, 'Child, stop worrying about which sponge you used to wash that dish and tell me more about the broken pieces of your heart.' And that voice feels real to me. But what if people learn that I am more concerned with feeling G-d's love for me as I am now, than I am with keeping His law? What if I could love G-d deeper if I didn't have to worry about just how much hair and skin is showing, or how many minutes past shkiya I did my bedika. Does G-d count minutes? Does G-d count mitzvahs? Does G-d really weigh our sins with our merits? Does living life bravely, with vulnerability, count on a scale? Wouldn't one ounce of pure love, leaked out of an broken heart, outweigh the unkosher food, and the missed fasts, and the short sleeved t-shirts? Am I blasphemous for asking the questions? <br />
<br />
And what it all comes down to is this: Can I give myself permission? Because my family is not going to write me an invitation. My community will not send flyers proclaiming their full acceptance of me. My husband may not have enough self love to love my flaws. G-d's messages can too easily be ignored. So again I need to ask myself, Tovah, do you give yourself permission to love yourself? Right now? As you are? <br />
<br />
Friends, I need to explain that even typing the question turns my stomach and knots it tight. I think: I am not good enough. I need too much from the people around me. I don't give back enough. I am weak. I lack common sense. I am not very intelligent. Filling out any kind of form scares me. I am scared all the time. I am a pretend adult. I don't love my children enough. I don't love anyone enough. I am not enough. <br />
<br />
I am a flawed, broken human. <br />
<br />
Yes.<br />
<br />
And...<br />
<br />
Am I worthy of love?<br />
<br />
Yes. <br />
<br />
Am I G-d's child?<br />
<br />
Yes. <br />
<br />
Does G-d love me?<br />
<br />
Yes.<br />
<br />
Can I feel that right now?<br />
<br />
In breaths. In heart beats. In moments.<br />
<br />
Can I love myself?<br />
<br />
In breaths. In heart beats. In moments.<br />
<br />
And for now, that is enough. <br />
<br />
I give myself permission to love the broken, flawed child that I am. <br />
<br />
And for what it's worth, I give you permission too. <br />
<br />
1. My mother visiting and helping and being my mommy<br />
<br />
2. My awesome neighbors who entertain my kids and keep them happy and occupied!<br />
<br />
3. My hubby doing the laundry<br />
<br />
4. My hubby being my hubby<br />
<br />
5. Baby occasionally actually making it to the potty before he poops<br />
<br />
6. A forgiving carpet<br />
<br />
7. Inspired writingstovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-27814027279655859462013-04-29T18:15:00.001-07:002013-04-29T18:16:13.970-07:00Getting to Know You. And the Leibster Award!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">An amazing and inspiring blogger friend passed on to me a Leibster Award! </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">Thanks Caitlyn of <a href="http://thejoyofcaitlin.com/">http://thejoyofcaitlin.com</a>/ </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">This is an award given by bloggers to bloggers, all with less than 200 followers. I definitely qualified! As honored as I am, the rules are that if you receive this prestigious award, you must then pass it on to eleven more bloggers. Kind of a blogger chain letter that makes everyone feel good. The problem is that I don't really read blogs. Kind of hypocritical to want you all to read my blog, but not make the effort to read other's. But I write this blog because it's my therapy. And I'm a bit of an over-sharer. And I like talking about myself. And if I have time to read, it will probably be The Small Farming Journal, or The Beekeeper's Bible, or anything written by Joel Salatin. Or it will be Angelina Ballerina. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">So I have decided to pass on the award but accept the questions, because I think they're fun. And when I'm done I would like to try something. I would like to ask YOU questions! I'll make up some questions and number them. Then, in the comments section, put down the question number (or numbers) you're answering and answer away! No judgement people. I'm not looking for the wittiest or hippest answer, just an honest one. It's time for me to indulge myself a little less by going off on one of my tangents and learn about YOU! I've seen from my stats that people in Germany, Mexico, UK, Australia, United Arab Emirates and more have all visited my page. I want to meet YOU. And all you Americans, Canadians and Israelis... Speak up! You have a voice and I want to hear it. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">But without further ado, I will now answer the questions that were put to me. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">1. Where on earth do you feel the most yourself?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"> It's not a place so much as anywhere where my family is. I feel disoriented if I haven't seen my children for 24 hours. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">2. What is your favorite quality in a friend?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"> It's definitely security. The more they are secure in who they are, the less I feel I have to be anyone but me. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">3. Best sandwich you ever ate.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"> When I was pregnant I used to eat a fried egg with two strips of soy bacon inside two berry buckwheat waffles smothered in cream cheese. It's probably not the most high class, or best sandwich I ever ate, but it seemed like it at the time. (And I ate it almost every morning!)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">4. Window or aisle?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"> Window!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">5. Favorite mistake.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"> So easy. Getting pregnant the third time. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">6. What is your dream date night?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"> Oh man. I don't know the last time I went out on a date. At this point I imagine it would be something like not having to cook one night. But honestly, a dream date right now would be more about not having to worry about anything for one night so I could really just put my focus on connecting to my husband, without all the noise.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">7. What did you want to be when you grew up? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"> A marine biologist. A zookeeper. A vet. Anything that had to do with animals.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">8. What do you want to be when you grow up? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"> Wise.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">9. Best advice ever given to you.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"> Judge others favorably. It completely changes your entire outlook and how you approach life, and even helps with self judgement and forgiveness. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">10. Worst advice ever given to you.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"> "Listen to me..." Anything that started with someone else knowing what's best for me, it generally didn't help at all.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">11. Best advice you can give.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"> You are ok. Who you are. What you are. YOU. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">Okay, that was fun! Thanks Caitlyn!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">Now, it's my turn to ask YOU questions. Please take the time to answer AT LEAST one question. And if you want, (totally up to you) tell us where you're from.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">1. What is your favorite season?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">2. What makes you laugh the hardest? (like maybe you pee a little)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">3. What noises can you hear right now?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">3a. What do you see when you look away from the screen and over your left shoulder?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">4. What do you feel when you make eye contact?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">5. What age in your life would you relive?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">6. At what age, if any, did you feel you were actually an adult?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">7. What drives you in life to keep going when it's hard?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">8. Who has most inspired you?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">9. What is one thing you have always wanted to do, but were too afraid to?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">10. Most intimate moment.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">11. Most embarrassing moment.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">12. What do you fear people will think of you?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">13. What do you hope people will think of you?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">14. What do you think G-d (Divine, Great Spirit, Whatever name you have) thinks about you?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">15. Song that makes you smile every time you hear it.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">16. Child's name you love, but wouldn't name your child.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">17. One to three words that describe your feelings about being alive.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">18. Who do you most want to meet (alive or dead).</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">19. Does life surprise, bore, excite, bewilder, inspire or depress you?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">20. One thing in your life you would do differently if you had a redo.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">21. Do we each have soul mates? Or do we make them?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">22. Is the world getting better or worse?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">23. Favorite part of your body.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">24. What is one thing you would change about humanity?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">25. If you could put out your message to a lot of people, what would it be?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">26. What holds you back from doing what you want to be doing in life?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">27. What is something that makes you special?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">28. What is something you are thankful for right now?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">29. What do you want to be able to say on your deathbed?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">30. If you could teleport, where would you go?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">31. Do you let shame stop you?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">32. What motivates you?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">33. What is the recipe for happiness?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">34. What is wisdom?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">35. Where are you sitting as you're reading this?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">36. What's on your feet right now?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">37. If you could walk into the kitchen and find anything there to eat, what would it be?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">38. What is attractive in others?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">39. Are you ok?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">40. Can we, as your GoodList Community, help you in anyway, right now?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Okay folks! Pick one, two, ten or all forty and let us get to know you!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">And here's my Good List for the night:</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">1. My cold isn't too bad</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">2. The chicks are finally out of my bathtub and I took a bath last night</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">3. Cheesy spinach quinoa for dinner</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">4. 2 out of 3 kids in bed</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">5. TONIGHT'S MY HEBREW BIRTHDAY!!!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">6. I'm 31 and that's OK</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">7. Getting the Leibster award!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4a4a49; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">8. Knowing you're all out there</span></span>tovahkind.facebook.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176007960070702234noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1656622958566905843.post-62986183815683145702013-04-25T19:54:00.001-07:002013-04-25T19:54:18.801-07:00Am I a Gas Whore?Hi. My name is Tovah. I am a Jewish, holistic, natural mothering, teaching, farming, earth loving, humanity connecting pioneer. And I am leasing my land to a large gas corporation.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I gave you some space to inhale sharply, feel your feelings of shock, repugnance and horror, and to judge me harshly. Go ahead, let it out. <br />
<br />
When you're finished, please continue reading.<br />
<br />
The decision to lease was at once horribly difficult, conflicting and a no-brainer. <br />
<br />
But how, you ask, can you come from generations of hardcore leftist liberals and call yourself a sustainable farmer and STILL sell your soul for a dollar sign? <br />
<br />
Well, more than once my father has joked about leaving me out of his will due to a difference of political leanings, so consider this my insurance. <br />
<br />
On a more serious note, this is a big deal. I do believe in making this world a better place when I leave it than it is now. I do believe that we are going in the wrong direction with our modern day progression. If you asked me what it would take to save the world from itself, I would give you a very simple answer: Go back to community, go back to the earth. What does this look like? Small farming communities. Why? Because it solves world hunger, depression, wealth distribution and greed. I could go on about why that is, but this article isn't really about that. It's about gas.<br />
<br />
We hear the words, fracking, gas, oil, and we think, corporate greed, environmental damage, pollution. And it's all true. And yet, this is the world we live in. <br />
<br />
But surely to be a part of it, to accept their money, is like whoring your soul. You are condoning what they do.<br />
And to that I say, So are you. <br />
Let me explain: The world runs on fossil fuels. Whether it be dirty coal, imported oil or native natural gas, we all use it. You can ride your bike, use cloth bags and be vegan, but you are still using products made from fossil fuels everyday. Here are some examples from the website <a href="http://oilandgasinfo.ca/oil-gas-you/products-made-from-oil-and-gas">http://oilandgasinfo.ca/oil-gas-you/products-made-from-oil-and-gas</a><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Eye glasses</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Flip flops</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Gore-Tex™</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Panty hose</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Polar fleece</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Raincoats</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Rubber boots</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Runners</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Shoe polish</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Shoes </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Sunglasses</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Umbrellas</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Velcro™</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Vinyl</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Zippers</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px; font-family: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Bathtubs<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Brushes<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Combs<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Contact lenses<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Curlers<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Dentures<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Deodorant<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Hair colour<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Hearing aids<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Lip balm<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Lipstick<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Mascara<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Moisturizer</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px; font-family: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Nail polish<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Perfume<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Petroleum jelly (Vasoline®)<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Plungers<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Rubbing alcohol<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Shampoo<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Shaving cream<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Shower curtains and stalls<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Soap<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Toilet seats<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Toothbrushes<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Toothpaste<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Vitamin capsules</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px; font-family: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Cables<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Camcorders<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Cameras<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Clock radios<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Computers<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />DVD and CD cases<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />DVDs and players<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />GPS devices<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Headphones<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Keyboards<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Monitors<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />MP3 players</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px; font-family: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">PDAs<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Phones<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Power bars<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Printers<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Projectors<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Scanners<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Speakers<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Toner cartridges<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />TVs<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Two-way radios<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Video games<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Waterproof cases</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px; font-family: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Lunch Boxes<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Measuring cups<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Mops<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Pillows<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Plastic containers<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Plastic pipes<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Plastic wrap<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Polystyrene (Styrofoam™)<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Pop and juice bottles<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Sandwich bags<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Synthetic fibres<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Teflon®<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Upholstery<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Utensils<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Venetian blinds<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Wax<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Window cleaner<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Wiring insulation</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px; font-family: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Anaesthetics<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Antihistamine<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Antiseptics<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Artificial limbs<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Aspirin™<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Bandages<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Bedpans<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Catheters<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Cortisone<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Disinfectants<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Gloves</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px; font-family: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Heart valves<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />IV bags<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Medicines<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Oxygen masks<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Pill bottles<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Safety seals<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Surgical and lab equipment<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Syringes<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Tools<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Trays<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Tubes</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px; font-family: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Artificial turf<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Basketballs<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Bicycle tires<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Bike seats<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Boxing gloves<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Buoys<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Face masks<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Fishing line<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Fishing lures<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Fishing rods<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Footballs<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Golf bags<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Gym mats<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Handlebar grips<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Helmets<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Hockey pucks</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px; font-family: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Inner tubes<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Knee, shin, elbow and shoulder pads<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Life jackets<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Skateboards<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Skates<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Ski jackets<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Sleeping bags<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Snowboards<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Soccer balls<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Speed boats<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Tennis balls<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Tennis racquets<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Tents<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Water skis<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Windsurfers</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px; font-family: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Okay, obviously this list could go on forever, but I am trying to make a point. Am I condoning evil gas corporations by leasing my land, anymore than you are by using their products everyday? If you're answer is still yes, than let's continue.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Fracking happens. Could I protest it? Sure, but where would that get me? Most of my county is already signing up to lease their land, happy that they will maybe, just maybe get to pay off their mortgage and not have to wait until they are 85 to retire from farming. Another interesting point: Law of capture. Look it up. But basically it is the law that whatever was captured on your land, whether or not is originated from your land, if it is feral in nature, belongs to you. Simplified, this means that if a deer is on your land, even if it came through your neighbors, if you catch it, it is yours. (Providing it's hunting season and you have your permit, of course. Something that is taken quite seriously out here.) What it means for gas is that if they put a well anywhere within 2000 acres of you and drill down, then spread out 5000 feet below the surface and take gas that runs under your land, well, it was captured on your neighbors land and they don't have to pay you a dime. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But still, once you take their money, you're telling them you're fine with the rape of American land! </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Well, I could not take their money, and they'll rape it anyway, but better to be a rape victim than a whore, right?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Sorry to be so vulgar, but these were the questions I was asking myself. Does it just boil down to 'Everyone has a price?'</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But there is yet more that needed to be considered. If we didn't sign a lease we would have no say in what happened. By working with a lawyer who represents the majority of landowners signing leases, we actually have bargaining leverage. We can insist on certain water conservation procedures and land reparation. We can have a say in which company buys up the leases, one with maybe a more moral operation (I do believe such a thing exists, even among evil corporate empires) and a smaller accident rate. We can ask for better compensation. But only as a large group of landowners. By ourselves we are powerless. And against the human desire for more money, especially amidst poor, rural farmers, we are equally powerless. But when it comes to these mega-corporate giants, if we, the farmers, ask for $3,500 an acre for a signing bonus and %18 royalties (the gas companies have been known to offer $10 an acre and little royalties), the corporations may lose $10,000,000, but stand to gain billions. They can do the math. Again, alone we are powerless. In a group we have choices. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When Hilary Clinton was running against Obama, something Obama supporters liked to bring up was that Ms. Clinton was on the board of Wal-Mart. Yeah, sure that looks bad. But when asked about it, Ms. Clinton explained that the only reason she joined was to help sway the corporation to act in a more moral way. That makes sense. There are two ways to change something: grassroots or within the system. I believe I am doing both.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I am going into the system, in my own small way, to hopefully have some kind of influence on how it runs. At least in my small part of the world. And as a consumer I am working the grassroots end of things. I am very conscience of what I consume. One of the reasons I became a farmer (besides the fact that I love dirt) is because it was the only way I could see to become a true environmentalist. I want to produce and share my food locally. That way I can grow sustainably and actually make the land I own healthier and richer than when I bought it. I can influence others to eat local, organic, non-gmo foods by offering them mine. And educating them. And letting them be a part of the whole experience of what they eat. I can reduce carbon emissions by not having my food shipped to me from halfway across the world. Anything you buy in a store took more fossil fuel than you can imagine to get there. And I don't drive to work! As consumers we have more power than any corporation in the world. Corporations exist because we support them. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So if you still feel I am a hypocrite for leasing my land, then I suggest you go out and build an off the grid, energy independent homestead where you produce %100 of everything you consume, and saddle up to get to work. Or perhaps we can all stop judging each other and do our best to make the best choices we can. Because sometimes, (as my wise father told me) there aren't any right choices. There are just better and worse ones. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Choose wisely. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Today I am grateful for SPRING!</span></span><br />
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