Rejection is redirection; I will MAKE it so.

The day after Passover I started a new job.

I was ecstatic about it, though super wary. My previous job had lasted four months, and aside from my amazing coworkers, had been toxic for me. As has happened previously in my life, I got lucky - they did me a favor and broke up with me. They fired me with literally no good reason.

But from the moment that I received the notice of hearing (how it works here in Israel), I decided to make a change in my life and focus on my improvement.

I immediately signed up for classes on Coursera, started taking lessons on social media, marketing, and confidence on Linkedin, and chose a multiple of podcasts, one of which I have really connected with (20 Minutes with Bronwyn). I focused on Linkedin (more than any other social media) and followed the positive outlook posts and adopted my mantra: "rejection is redirection." 

It wasn't easy. Especially with my depression, anxiety, sleep issues, and four children under eight years old. I even had a day where I absolutely lost my sh*t, had an anxiety/anger attack, and had to hide myself in my room for the rest of the day (and medicate myself).

But I stuck to it, listened to my podcast almost daily, ignored the little voices in my head that tried to put me down, and landed an interview with a reputable company (in the same city). I walked into their office and felt an undercurrent of... calmness. 

I sat with the CEO and he was a soft-spoken leader. I liked him, his approach, and his demeanor. So I took a second interview over Chol HaMoed Passover and was hired that day, a mere week and a half after I was fired by the toxic company.

It took at least a month for me to get used to the calm work environment. To get used to the fact that mistakes are a part of learning and refining your skills. To not fear for my job every time my content manager or CEO called.

And about four weeks after I started my new job, my father's health drastically and rapidly deteriorated. I didn't automatically book a ticket, but instead went in on Sunday to help with production of a podcast. Upon sitting with me, the CEO -without question or hesitation- told me to book my ticket home. So I did.

And my father passed away on my flight home.

The CEO, my content manager, and everyone at the office were incredibly kind. They told me not to worry and they took care of everything while I was gone, while I attended the funeral, while I sat shiva for a week, while I flew back through two layovers, while I recovered over the weekend.

And the CEO sent me constant messages of strength and support and heart. It was unexpected, but reiterated the feeling of family and community that he had told me about at the very first interview. 

I am pleased to see that there still are some people who consider their word as their bond (thank you, Amir).

It was very unlike my last shiva experience (for my beloved mother nine years ago) where I was fired, via email, while I sat in my brother's house (I've had some pretty traumatic work situations).

To get through everything, I have relied upon the base I created eight weeks ago. The base that focuses on my internal strengths, my spirit, my capabilities, and the future. I feel a veneer of calm I never used to have.

I'm not saying that I don't have outbursts of anger. I'm not saying that I don't have anxiety or episodes of depression where I don't want to get out of bed or randomly start crying (like now).

But I'm better than I used to be, and the veneer is thickening. Maybe others don't see it yet, but I do.

I'm a lot more confident at work and in myself. And I am using this as a springboard for everything else: now is my time to work on myself physically (again), on learning how to be better organized (and to pass these skills on to my children), and learn. Just keep learning.

It'll come.

And as I now use as a mantra when calming my two year old...

"It's okay. All is well."

An Adult's Anger - A Kid's Perspective

In life, you go through experiences alone. Honestly and brutally. 

Even if someone is by your side, they're not inside your brain, your feelings, your heart. They don't feel the pain you do. They don't feel your anxiety and fury and sadness from the inside out; they do, however, ride the rocky ocean the wave of emotions is creating.

And it's like dropping a rock into a lake (or exploding a nuclear bomb, depending on the event). The concentric circles of feelings spread and touch everything - both on the surface and beneath. Everything is affected, whether you notice it or not.

The Adult Mind & Anger

As an adult, you try to navigate your own thoughts, reactions, and feelings flaming through your amygdala. It's really fucking difficult and definitely not linear. You may know, intellectually, that it's the right thing or that it had to happen, but honestly? Who cares about the intellectual on the day or day after the event?! You have emotions that are raging, lighting everything on fire, triggering extreme anxiety and physical discomfort within your chest.

Even breathing and meditation doesn't always expel the toxicity and anger, even if it helps a bit. It doesn't help enough though, when you're home with four kids who just want to sit on you. Be near you. Breathe on you. Block any movement of your arms to do anything. Hug you, run away and scream, return and hug you again. Ask for a sandwich, refuse the sandwich, ask for a different sandwich. Eat yours.

A part of you just wants to bury your face in their hair and breathe. Another part of you just doesn't want to be touched. And all you end up doing is flinching, crying, and screaming from rage when some tiny thing goes wrong.

From Adult to Kid

How the hell do you understand all that as a kid? 

Mom is crazy, sad, angry, cranky, snapping at the least offense. To prepare my oldest one for me (I'm a cocktail of issues sometimes: depression, anxiety, ADD), we spoke to him (8yo) so he knows what happened to trigger this. First my husband let him know, and later that afternoon, I felt it was a vital, teachable moment. 

I squatted down to meet his gaze and explained my feelings to him, my frustrations, my anger. I told him that I was treated unfairly because of a person with bad communication skills (the communication thing is a key issue in our family). He was sad for me, asked why the other person hadn't tried to explain better the problem. He and I ended up having an entire conversation about the importance of talking, and the disappointment when some people simply don't have the same values as you.

Amongst a ton of other feelings, I was just sad. And he got that, kept giving me hugs. I told him the whole situation sucked and I was super upset, but I would try again tomorrow.

A New Day - Tomorrow... maybe the next....

I'm feeling a little better tonight, but I had to hide in my room, take some prescribed medicine to help with anxiety, and relax. I listened to my newest communication podcast, which has brought me to a really good place this past week (check out 20 Minutes with Bronwyn), drank some wine, took some Udemy courses.

Hubby had to put the kids to bed, and from the sound of it, they were being challenging. And I could do nothing to help since sometimes it's simply better to stay away when you're a fire-breathing dragon with a short fuse.

So tomorrow, hopefully, I'll feel better. And I'll apologize for losing my shit and explain that adults also have really big feelings, but we have to learn how to react to them and control them instead of the other way around. Many times we succeed, but sometimes we simply fail. And failure is acceptable in life as long we learn from it and don't beat ourselves up about it.

One day, I hope the explanation of my feelings and apologies for bad choices will prevent at least one session with a psychiatrist. And maybe, just maybe, my love and hugs will help, too. 

That's what my tomorrow will be filled with - talking, opening up, and lots and lots of hugs and snuggling, if they let me. I think they will. Kids are pretty resilient - but don't take advantage of that. They're also pretty bright and perceptive. They know you better than you think.

Take that with a grain of salt and a shot of tequila.

Corona and Stridor - Keep Breathing.

Thank goodness we live in a country that has an emergency health system, ambulances, and educated doctors. If you're sensitive to scary kid stories, don't keep reading (though, thank G-d it has a happy ending).

Thirty-six hours later, I'm finally ready to talk about what happened at 2am yesterday.

Yehonatan, my beautiful and amazing boy who is almost six years old, who just 'recovered' from Corona (though is still run down and not quite himself), came into our room and wheezed/coughed twice. He couldn't talk at all. He could barely breathe.

Wide awake, I leapt out of bed, grabbed him and beelined to the freezer. I held him there, having him breathe in the cold air, and kept him calm by talking about a chicken eating ice cream in Australia (but made sure it wasn't funny since he had very little oxygen). I had Ariel call an ambulance immediately.

(brief backstory: I spend time on different Facebook groups to hear parent stories, some for funnies, some for awareness and learning how to be a better parent. Literally, only two days ago, I read something about stridor. I've known about croup, but not the scariness of stridor. Anyhow, one mom said that the most important things to do are to take the child to the freezer, keep them calm, and get medical attention. I didn't necessarily know what Yehonatan was going through, but I figured the first two wouldn't hurt.)

While I held my second son in the cold, trying to keep his body warm, I started having trouble thinking and making sentences for him. Despite trying to remain calm (I am usually the calm before; the hysterics after), I was so worried about him that I had to call Ariel over to hold him while I went and dry-heaved in the bathroom. I returned quickly and held my curly-man there for what felt like an eternity, listening to him wheeze with shallow breaths, waiting for the ambulance to arrive, and trying not to imagine the worst.

They finally arrived, apparently quickly, and Ariel took him down where the EMTs gave him oxygen, took his vitals (oxygen levels were at 100), and headed to Laniado.

When I was home alone, I sat down on the couch, put my head between my legs and breathed slowly. My fingertips and toes were tingling and I felt nauseated. To distract myself and try to get oxygen back into my own system, I called my brother and asked him to just talk to me, which he kindly and lovingly did.

It didn't take long for my husband and son to arrive at Laniado, where they gave him an inhalation treatment, took more vitals, and declared stridor as the culprit. Below is a picture of him on his treatment (when he still couldn't talk).

The doctor said that it likely was caused by an allergen of some type and that it usually comes on FAST - there's nothing that you can really do to prevent it. I don't think it's a long shot to say that Corona didn't help in this situation at all. Needless to say, we will be taking our son to see an allergist so that we can cover all our bases with him. Below is a picture of him after his treatment, but before he could really talk again.

In case you are unfamiliar with stridor (like I had been)... "Stridor is usually diagnosed based on health history and a physical exam. The child may need a hospital stay and emergency surgery, depending on how severe the stridor is. If left untreated, stridor can block the child's airway. This can be life-threatening or even cause death."

The medical staff at Laniado took care of Yehonatan and released within about ninety minutes and he was home, sleeping in my bed by 3:30am (can't say the same for me). Since then, he's been on two inhalation treatments daily and steroids. He's now able to talk and breathe, which is no small matter. 

I am incredibly grateful to Yehonatan for knowing that something was wrong and for coming into our room. I am incredibly grateful for whomever the mom was who spoke about stridor and gave advice. I am incredibly grateful to Ariel Woolf for calling MADA and going with our son to the hospital. I am incredibly grateful to MADA and Laniado for taking care of my boy and saving his life. I am grateful to my brother for listening and caring for me while I tried very hard not to freak out.

This is probably one of the scariest things I have ever experienced in my life (including the time Yehonatan choked on gnocchi). To see my son, to HEAR my son struggling to breathe, and not truly being able to do anything about it - it makes you feel so impotent. I keep hearing a sentence in my head: This could have turned out very differently... but it didn't.

But it could have.

So I'm sharing this with you. Make sure your kids know that if they feel anything wrong in their body, they need to tell their parents. It doesn't matter if we're sleeping and it's two in the morning. Make sure you know what to do for stridor or wheezing.  Obviously, breathing is not something to play around with (even more so if your child has/had Corona). I'm only now starting to feel better about it though thinking about it again triggers my anxiety. As of this evening, our Yehonatan is feeling better, but not quite enough to go to school. Hopefully the new week will bring us all good health. Good health and an iced coffee with vanilla ice cream (what we both decided on the other morning).  

Good health to all and may you never go through anything like this.

This Week's Reason for Rockets

The other night, our siren went off, indicating that there were incoming rockets to Netanya, where we live. My first response, on my way to the kids' room, was an expletive. The rockets were coming in from Gaza, a good 98 kilometers south of here (or almost 61 miles). It's approximately the same distance from Detroit to Toledo, Ohio, if that helps at all.

 

We're actually pretty far from Gaza, comparatively. Tel Aviv gets more rockets than we do, so, all in all, we're relatively safe. However, that doesn't make me feel any better about rushing my kids to the safe room after they're all sleeping, nor does it make me feel any more secure about the situation. Nor does it make me happy about the fact that there's now no school, no parks, and no beaches. We're officially being forced to be shut-ins.

So why the 'sudden' rise in violence from Arabs (not Israeli Arabs, mind you)? I'm referring to the "Palestinians," the ones stuck in Gaza, living under the wonderful (I use that term ironically) auspices of the affirmed terrorist group, Hamas, and, more officially, the 'do-nothing-but-steal' Palestinian Authority. 

There is a reason for the violence against innocent Israeli civilians. There's always a [claimed] reason... this time, that there are Arabs allegedly being illegally evicted from their homes in Sheikh Jarrah by allegedly racist Jews.

The short version of the truth is that it's basically a landlord-tenant issue, something I'm very familiar with as an attorney. Here, the Arabs, who had been long-time tenants of Jewish landlords, were either illegally squatting or overstaying as tenants (unlawfully remaining in the property past the end of their lease term) and the Jewish landlords had decided they wanted the tenants out. The Jews took the Arab tenants to court to get their rights enforced and won at every level. Period. That's it. No drama necessary. In most "normal" countries, this would have been the end of it. But in Israel, when something provides an excuse for violence, many times, the Palestinian Arabs will take it.

Let's start from the beginning of this case. In the city of Jerusalem, the capital of the legitimate and recognized country of Israel, there's an upscale Arab neighborhood named Sheikh Jarrah, about a mile north of the Old City of Jerusalem. And before you get all excited that Sheikh Jarrah is in some broken down area where Arabs live in squalor amongst the rats, here's a nice description of the area:

A quiet, affluent district, Alshaykh Jarah is known for the American Colony, a stately Ottoman palace turned hotel with lush gardens and shops selling books and antiques. The area is also home to consulates, the late-19th-century St. George’s Cathedral, and archaeological sites including the Tomb of Simeon the Just, said to hold the remains of the priest. Upscale bars and Middle Eastern eateries dot the neighborhood.

Some of the land and property is owned by Jews (it is an Israeli country). Legally, the rights of the owners and the tenants was determined both centuries and decades ago, respectively. We're talking 19th century (1800s, to be clear) and the 1950s....

Why is it an issue now? Honestly? Because the Palestinian Arabs are frustrated and angry. To be honest, this is what oftentimes happens in landlord-tenant disputes. I suppose I can't blame them for being upset that their tenancy is over, but it happens. The landlord doesn't renew the lease because you're a lousy tenant or because he wants more money or because he doesn't approve of your behavior or because he wants to renovate or who cares. It's his/her legal right. Here it appears that some Arab leases naturally expired, some leases were violated by the tenants, and others are just illegal squatters with no legal rights whatsoever.

Regardless, being pissed off doesn't give you any new legal rights. 

But let's play the 'what if' game. What if the judicial system of the Ottoman Empire and British Mandate law and Israeli law were all wrong? What if the tenants have the right to continue to live in Jerusalem? Does that give Hamas and all the anti-Israel crowd the right to fire hundreds and thousands of rockets into a neighboring country against innocent civilians who had nothing to do with a landlord-tenant issue and who have likely never even heard of this neighborhood? Does that give pro-Palestinian and anti-Israel people the right to proactively threaten, "in support," to murder Jewish people in New York simply because they're Jewish (yes, this is happening)?

By the way, in case someone makes a claim that this is a violation of international law, it couldn't be further from the truth.  

Fact: International law does not forbid Jews to live in areas of Israel that the media likes to refer to as the "Occupied Palestinian Territories."

Fact: International law does not forbid individual Jews from owning property in the "Occupied Palestinian Territories."

Fact: International law does not require, much less permit, ethnically based denial of the legal rights of property owners.

In other words, Israel, the country, cannot deny individual Jewish landowners their legal rights, even if other Israeli laws are wrong. This has nothing, zero, zilch, bagel to do with allegedly illegal settlement activity.

So now you know why they're firing rockets at us. 

It's an excuse. Nothing but an excuse to murder Jewish children and Jewish adults.

THE RAINBOW BABY AFTER THE STORM

THE BIRTH - JUNE 17, 2020

 

On a beautiful Tuesday night in June (at 39 weeks + 1 day), as I was putting the kids to bed, I realized that I hadn't felt a lot of movement from the baby that day. So after the adorable little monsters finally passed out, I went to my hubby, Ariel (for whom I had just bought entrecote steaks, a variety of mushrooms and truffle olive oil for a delicious sauce, and sweet potatoes for his birthday dinner). I sat on the edge of the bed and told him my concerns. He sat up and asked if I needed to go to the hospital and I, a person who dislikes going to get checked out, immediately said yes. So we left.

We ended up at Laniado Hospital in Netanya after stopping briefly at Urgent Care (I don't know what we were thinking, but they sent us immediately to the proper place) where they ran all sorts of tests. Rainbow  gave the doctor some trouble at first, but after being poked and pushed around a few times, eventually passed all the tests. Despite this, I was still nervous because baby was usually a strong kicker and today was more than worrisome.

After hubby and I sat downstairs for thirty minutes counting kicks, we returned to the doctor. An additional one had joined in the shift; she reviewed my file again, realized my history with blood clots (2010), and notified me (kindly) that hospital policy, what with my medical history and "advanced" age, was to induce at 39 weeks.

My husband and I went into the hallway to discuss it and I tried really hard to calm down. I wasn't quite ready to have this rainbow baby. But why not? I had, essentially, been pregnant for over a year and childbirth was going to happen in the next week regardless - now or three days from now. Thinking now, I wonder whether the stress of my previous pregnancy, the choice to terminate, and worrying about the new pregnancy really took a toll on my mental health (of course it did).

Logically, and since it was likely a matter of a week anyway, I knew that staying at Laniado and being induced was the best idea (Ariel definitely helped convince me by explaining that I'd be home by Shabbat), so I sucked it up after a few tears and hugs and we agreed to stay.

At midnight, they gave me the little magic pill to start labor (cytotek) and I started practicing my hypnobirthing breathing. We watched some television, slept a little, and relaxed until about 5:40am, at which time I got up. Blood started dripping onto the floor; I called the nurses. As soon as they saw the floor, they instructed me to get back in bed, contacted the doctors, and wheeled me immediately to the delivery room.

At the beginning, I had a younger nurse attending, but I started having trouble progressing consistently. This might have been due to the fact that I was experiencing a terribly sharp pain in my lower right hip (it had started a few days previously) and thought I might have appendicitis as well. Additionally, I had just been diagnosed with a UTI and was on antibiotics. With all these complications, I was still trying my calming breaths, but they were not helping as much as usual.

The doctors and nurses kept coming in and quietly suggesting an epidural, but I kept saying no. My other births had been so easy and quick that I felt like this should be no different. But, unfortunately, it was.

Due to the lack of constant progression, the pain, and the seemingly endless blood clots passing during labor, my medical caretakers said that I might have to go into surgery - obviously, something I didn't want. Despite this, they prepped me by shaving me and having Ariel take off my jewelry. They even debated how to take out my cartilage piercings.

 

Even so, an additional, more experienced, nurse (Avigail) came in and gently asked me again if I wanted an epidural. Clearly, she could see how much difficulty and pain I was in. 

 

This time, I didn't automatically reject it. 

 

This time, I paused. 

 

This time, I thought seriously and asked myself, At what point will I accept help for me and for my baby? 

 

So I asked whether it would lengthen the delivery. Sometimes, Avigail admitted, but sometimes it removes the pain and discomfort enough for us to give birth. And thus, around 9:30am, I relented. Also, the nurse went on, if you have to go into surgery, it'll be an advantage because it will prepare you for that as well. Though if I continue to progress, she said, I could avoid it.

 

Immediately, they sent the doctor to get it done. In turn, he sent my husband out for twenty minutes and quickly got to work. Once it took effect (I even laid on my right side to help), my left leg became numb and immovable, but the pressure and the shooting pain on my right side also FINALLY dissipated - what blessed relief! Avigail then came back in, gave me a catheter, massaged my belly and assisted me in releasing my urine (my bladder had been blocking the path for the baby). I feel like she may have even hoisted herself on my bed to do so - though that might be my faulty memory.

 

After all this, the younger nurse stepped out so I could relax, but my guardian angel/nurse knew what would happen and stayed in the room. She was right. Not long afterwards, I felt pressure and within twenty minutes - with my urge to push and hands-on help from both the nurse and my husband - my baby girl finally emerged at 10:38am.

 

 

A few moments later, I birthed my placenta and that's when the nurses saw how shredded it was, that it had been detaching from my uterine wall. Together, Avigail and the younger nurse patted it dry, examining it closely to make sure it was complete. They were astounded that it hadn't pulled off completely. So was I; I've seen other healthy placentas. This wasn't one.

 

Placental abruption can be extremely dangerous for both baby and mother and it was the reason I had been having such terrible pains on my right side for days. It was also why I had been bleeding during labor.

 

Weeks later, when I went for my checkup with my gynecologist, he was astounded that I ended up with a natural labor/birth. I say it was because of Avigail, who SINGLE-HANDEDLY saved me from surgery, delivered me a healthy baby, and kept me alive.

 

THE ANNIVERSARY - AUGUST 14, 2020

One year ago today, my husband and I went to Hadera to terminate our pregnancy. Today, my rainbow baby, Liora Keshet (the light of G-d is mine; rainbow) is eight weeks old. 

 

I still worry a bit that the shredded placenta might have injured her somehow, though she seems fine. Neither do I have any proof nor would I find out for a couple months or years anyway. Chances are she's fine and right now I am sitting here, typing, with her laying on my chest, sleeping peacefully. 

Liora was a light from the very beginning, smiling from the start (from day 2!). Even the nurses noticed and made funny comments about what she was dreaming. My rainbow baby laughs in her sleep about whatever wonderful things babies dream of and, occasionally, she makes these weird breathing laughing snorts that are so loud, they can wake us up. She has hair, unlike her brothers and sister, and she's my other chocolate baby (I create two flavors, vanilla being the other).

And Liora is likely my last. The pregnancy was challenging and the birth even more so. And now that there's been a placental abruption, it's more likely to happen again, especially due to my age. I am 42 years old (a "geriatric" mother) and I'm both sad and relieved that I won't have to go through all of this again. 

Because of that, Ariel and I decided to get a professional photo shoot with our little miracle. I had been following a particular photographer since my previous little girl was born and chose her to capture an image that reflected how we felt. We chatted, I told her our story, and this was her take on it - a beautiful and touching result.

 

With Liora, I now have two beautiful boys and two gorgeous girls who light up my life. I am very lucky and very blessed to have them, healthy and happy, even on the days they drive me nuts. 

 

All the same, I started lighting an extra candle on Friday nights - a little one for Nugget, our lost baby, who will never be forgotten and will always be loved. The baby may not be with us on this earth, but he/she is keeping good company with my mom and Ariel's grandparents in heaven. The baby will forever be a part of our Woolf family - the family that was completed with a light from above, our little Liora Keshet.

Shades of Beige

As of the end of this month, I'm an ex-pat American living in Israel for the last five years and I'm really really upset at the state of my 'motherland.' I have no words for the disgust I've been feeling when I read about the experiences of my good friends throughout their lives and how it's been an uphill battle for them each step of the way. I worry for them and for their children and how they'll be viewed, treated, and spoken to simply because of the increased melanin in their skin and the kink in their hair.

A protective pigment in skin. THAT is what bothers and offends way too many people. A pigment. A shade. A color.

Ignorant people treat others poorly because of a COLOR. That's literally one of the stupidest things I have ever heard of in my life and I'm a mother to three small children.

I'm sitting here in front of my laptop, distracted and disturbed. This morning, my 6yo son had a fantastic conversation with my good friend, a brilliant man who does robotics engineering for NASA. I have never seen my son so engaged, so thrilled to be speaking with someone about space, robots, and designing rockets. He started drawing the shuttles and robots at 6:30am and didn't stop until we had to leave for Gan. At the same time, my friend was very excited to be speaking with him and looking at his pictures, especially because those drawings were cheering him up from the desolation of discrimination he has been inundated with.

This friend, this man, who is bright, resourceful, kind, caring, sweet, and polite has been at the receiving end of both direct and indirect discrimination for a long while. Why? Because he's got more melanin than other people. His family has fought it (non-violently) for three generations and he's getting tired of the fight. Can I blame him? Absolutely not. And he worries about his adorable little son who might have to grow up in the same warped world that he did.

Certain aspects of my country, my old home, are embarrassing me. And I won't sit here and say that my new country is perfect - it isn't. It's depressing as hell accepting reality when the most I can currently do about it is teach my children (and others, to the best of my ability) that we are all worthy of respect and love. That behavior, character, and choices dictate our opinions of others, not color.

Do you really want to judge someone?? Take a look at their actions - their CHOICES.

It's 2020 and, on days like today, I feel like almost nothing has changed and I'm practically in tears.

It is each person's responsibility to understand that human beings are all the same species. We are all the same organs, tissues, and bones on the inside. There's no difference. None.

It is each parent's duty to teach their children what my 4yo knows... that everyone is simply a different shade of beige, peach, or brown. How lovely it is that people come in a variety of shapes and sizes! One can never be bored when there's so many physical differences to admire from person to person!

I want to help make the world a better place, not just for my blond, wavy haired son who loves science, or my strong and physical caramel colored son with curls, or my intense blond, green eyed daughter... but also for my friend's sweet cocoa colored son with big brown eyes and my friend's new, chubby chocolate colored daughter. My mixed-race friend with light eyes who rocks in a band and helps others with loss deserves the same respect as I do, as does my kind, darker friend with beautiful natural hair who balances mortgage brokering and modeling.

If I hadn't physically described anyone in this blog article, no one would even know what shade of beige/brown each individual was. And it wouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter.

It's days like today I'm glad I'm not living in the United States (and it's upsetting for me to say that). And it's days like today where I need to say something because perhaps, there's a small chance, that something can be done to fix the long ingrained problem that we have as Americans. I say WE because Americans are supposed to stand as a team. We are all different. We come from 50 different states and different territories. We have different cultures, different accents, different backgrounds, etc. But we're supposed to stand up for each other. If one of us is offended or hurt, we should all be offended and hurt. That's the true 'American way.'

Right now, our family is broken, our path has been overgrown with weeds and cracked concrete.

And I don't know what I can do about it.

*Illustration by Sarah Harvey

Life during Corona: Weeks 3 and 4 (Passover)

Are we actually getting accustomed to this?? 

I had read somewhere that this Italian lady said that it takes until day 15 to "get used to" being on lock-down. I have to say that she is sorta right. We kinda found a little bit of a rhythm - not a great one since it depends on the day, the moods of the kids, our moods, etc (hence, why I said "sorta" and "kinda"). That's life with corona, I guess (nothing is normal).

So this week (week 3), I put up hammocks for the kids (6yo, 4yo, and 2yo) under our dining room table, which they all absolutely loved. The little one had to keep getting a bit of help to climb in, but by the end of the second day, she could do it independently. I have also been seeing a greater relationship blossom between the kids, especially between my oldest and youngest, and an improvement in the positive interactions between the 4yo and 2yo. It's a real joy to see and I don't think we would have gotten there as quickly without corona.

That being said, we've definitely had our moments (read: days) when the kids were constantly at each other's throats, crying over every little thing, needing hugs all the time, and requiring alone time with a parent to keep them apart. So, ya know, that's fun.

Also this week, we treated ourselves to ordered food (we celebrated eight years of engagement on April 2nd). Hubby enjoyed it because he got to hear a stranger's voice and we both enjoyed it because we didn't have to prepare it! And I've realized that the kids are a lot easier to deal with when they're learning different and new things. This week and next week's agenda: COOKING. I found a great video series that we all love called Mind over Munch and we've already watched a bunch of them (which is great because they get intrigued by cooking, constantly want to help, and they learn about nutrition!).

I did find that I was much more tired this week. I'm not sure if it's because of my pregnancy, because we're kinda lazing around the apartment all day (ehem, all week), or maybe a combination of the two, but those naps are getting mandatory and longer.

We ended the week with a huge cleaning fest for Passover. I sat on the couch and instructed each of them (I make a great supervisor). Each child had their own job and they were treated with some kinder bueno chocolates that had to be eaten prior to Passover anyway.

Week 4 was a little ... rougher, I think. Over the course of week 3, hubby had a horrendous headache on his right side, and on Saturday, his face became paralyzed on his right side. He was worried about a stroke (I had previously worried about an aneurysm), but once I saw the paralysis, I had such a sense of relief. My mom had experienced the same thing, called Bell's Palsy (apparently triggered by either a virus or stress - take a wild guess which one it was). He went to urgent care after sundown, was diagnosed with it and given antivirals and steroids. It should start improving in about three weeks (and max out at six months). How fun to have additional medical issues during Coronacation.

We also had plans to go to Efrat for the holiday, but, clearly, that was out of the question. So instead, we prepared our very first seder. Munchkin went to bed pretty early, but not the boys. They asked some great questions which brought us a lot of nachas (pride). It's too bad we couldn't share it with the grandparents, but, if nothing else, it'll be unforgettable!

 

I finished week 4 with a breakdown. A legit, losing my mind attitude that made my husband kick me onto the balcony where I bawled my eyes out for a solid fifteen minutes and barely held it together for the remainder of the day. I suppose it was bound to happen what with everything going on (my depression/anxiety, 29 weeks of pregnancy, corona), but hubby said that, from now on, I have to do something for myself on our balcony (ALONE) daily. We'll see what I can manage. I have been listening to meditation music at night, but I need more. Much more.