Jewish Girls Don’t Camp: Part II
It was the longest night of our lives when my family tried to survive our first sleepover camping trip inside a tent and in the middle of the woods. Even my eyeballs were cold, if that’s possible, and we all were tired, dirty, grumpy, and miserable as we laid on top of a deflated air mattress that covered the rocky dirt like a cheap tablecloth. I guess it was about 5 a.m. because the birds started to chirp, and the sun was still half-asleep when I realized that my family was not cut out for camping after all.
My realization was confirmed when my daughter Sari told me that she felt sick and started to cough. Instinctively, I grabbed the nearest plastic grocery bag and held it in front of her. Only then did I realize how many s’mores she actually devoured the night before. Continue reading
Jewish Girls Don’t Camp: Part I
As if the Jews didn’t suffer enough for the last several thousand years, I volunteered my family for our first real camping trip through my son’s Boy Scout program at school. My intentions were, in part, a well-meaning attempt to dispel the old adage that Jewish girls don’t camp.
Despite protests from my husband Scott, who is more comfortable with a computer than a compass, and ridicule from my mother, who hassled me, “What, are you crazy?†I was determined to take advantage of this perfect opportunity to bond with my children in the great outdoors.
Since many aspects of Judaism intertwine the importance of being one with Mother Nature— Tu B’Shevat, the celebration of trees, for example—I wanted to make this camping adventure a religious experience. So did Scott, who prayed everyday that I would change my mind. I convinced myself that we all could benefit from a change of scenery, and surely we could survive 24 hours in the woods. After all, we were surrounded by a pack of den leaders, and every one of them knew how to utilize those mysterious gadgets hidden inside a pocketknife. As a devoted scout mom, I figured the least I could do was sacrifice the comforts of home for one day so that my son could earn more arrow points.
Little did I know that our outdoor overnight would make Camp Sabra seem more like Club Med. Continue reading
A Mother’s Day Salute
In honor of Mother’s Day, I dedicate this week’s column to all mothers who have accepted their job of raising children without really knowing what they were getting into. Even if we knew ahead of time that motherhood meant giving up a good night’s sleep for years to come, chances are we still wouldn’t think twice about it.
All moms are working moms. In fact, we define multi-tasking—just look at a typical day planner crammed with school functions, room mom meetings, activities, sports, doctor appointments, birthday parties, grocery lists, babysitter phone numbers, and plenty of scratch-outs that signify anything can change at any given moment. We don’t get paid, but the experience makes us rich. We never retire, but the vacation time makes it all worthwhile. Continue reading
Introduction to “Mishegas of Motherhood”: A Labor of Love Debuts
When I was in journalism school in the mid 80s and learned how to squeeze who-what-when-where-why-and how into one lead sentence, I had the privilege of meeting the late Erma Bombeck. Actually, I didn’t meet the best humorist writer personally, but I yelled a question to her from the back row of a packed lecture hall. I raised my hand high in the air and yelled out, “How do you deal with writer’s block?†Obviously, she had been asked this question many times before. Right on cue, she says, “Writer’s block is like North Dakota. It doesn’t exist.†Then she breaks up the burst of laughter with: “Well, has anyone ever seen North Dakota?â€
Now I get what she means. As a Jewish parent of two young children (my son Jack just turned 11 and my daughter Sari is 7 going on 17), I always have something to write about, and I always have a prayer to turn to. Continue reading