Category: Mom Life

The Good Mom

UPDATED 9/19 – Because it’s really hard to write a decent blog post about being a good mom on my iPad. Also, that wine I was drinking didn’t help. What does it mean to be a good mom? That’s easy to define...

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Going Off The Script

    I have a ton of things to do before I send my daughter back to school tomorrow. So why did I spend my weekend driving up and down the Central Valley? It started back in April, when we celebrated Megan’s...

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Baby Steps

“You don’t have to do that,” my daughter said with an annoyed tone of voice. I pretended not to know what she was talking about, but she could not help but see me stretch my right foot forward, as if putting on...

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Seventeen

Friending the Rabbi

The “Shtupper-ware Party”

Now, I’ve always heard that the San Fernando Valley is the pornography capital of the world, and I’ve been vaguely aware that people I meet through school and kids’ activities might be a part of that. I didn’t expect it at my friend’s sales party.

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What happens in the Olive Garden Stays in the Olive Garden

This is one of a series of old blog posts I’m re-publishing in honor of my 9/10’s of a decade writing SoCal Mom. This was first published in December 2005.

Each December, our PTA holds its last meeting of the year in conjunction with a holiday dinner. Sometimes it’s held at a member’s home – but last night, it was a no-host affair at the Northridge Olive Garden.

I imagine that the restaurant employee who booked our reservation for an elementary school PTA, pictured a nice, sedate gathering of teachers and mothers enjoying a nice holiday meal together.

That picture would be wrong. At least this year.

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After Newtown: Holding Them Close

Friday was a minimum day at my daughter’s school, as she wrapped a week of finals before the annual holiday break. I usually bitch and moan about having to quit work at 12:00 to drive to school and get her, but not this time. By then, I knew what had happened in Newtown, and I could not wait to see my kid and hold her close — which has been my inclination whenever the nation has been touched by tragedy.

It is what I did after Columbine, when she was just a toddler, and what I did in 1999, when white supremacist Buford Furrow shot women and children at the Jewish Community Center a couple of miles from our home (after we got the hell out of the neighborhood while the police were conducting a manhunt). It was how I handled my shock and disbelief after the fall of the World Trade Center her second week of kindergarten. I hugged my daughter after each and every report I heard of a child who was abducted… or harmed… or killed. I held her close and I wondered if there was any way to ensure that she would always be safe.

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Christmas Time for the Jews

Each December, we meet our friends Debbie and Tim for dinner at Rosti, followed by a trip to Tapia Brothers to get our Christmas trees. We’ve got 10 years of photos of our girls frolicking around the big prop tractor and real live farm animals. It is a holiday tradition for our mixed-religion nuclear family living in a city without anyone else to rely on.

I used to try to delay the Christmas decorations until Chanukah had come and gone, except during those years when the two December holidays overlap, in which case, it is impossible — or those years when we spend Christmas with my husband’s family in Wales, in which case I lobby not to put up decorations at all, because we’re not home to enjoy them. (I usually lose that fight, but I try.)

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