The Toolbox

One concept in Jewish thought that I always liked is written about beautifully in the book Woman to Woman (which is based on a series of lectures by Rebbetzin Esther Greenberg).  Basically, the idea goes like this: if you were a construction worker with some kind with an intelligent foreman for a boss, you could show up at work one day and, based entirely on what is in your toolbox and where you are, figure out what you are meant to do that day at work.  Of course, we are the worker and Gd is the foreman.  Our gifts and passions are within our toolbox and our life's circumstances are the setting.  


Ok, now that I've butchered that I can move on.  


I was recently fortunate to spend a Shabbos meal with some NYU students, including a woman who recently graduated from the same theater program I went to.  We discussed our shared feelings of conflict over being theater artists who had become passionate about our Judaism.  We came to term our Torah learning a "wakening of the sleeping giant."  Inconvenient, but ultimately not something one can ignore.  There's a giant in the room.  An awake one.  That changes the situation.


So here we are, albeit still in two somewhat different places, trying to figure out this delicate balance between our creative gifts and passions and the indescribable beauty of Torah and a Torah lifestyle.  


And I think it is starting to be time to check out that back burner which has been caring for my artistic soul for the last two years while I've explored a new part of myself.  


While I am happy with the choices I've made and certainly wouldn't take anything back, I am inarguably in a different place than I ever expected to be.  


Mentsch tracht, Gott lacht. (Yiddish proverb- Man plans and Gd laughs.)


Forget the Orthodox Jewish bit (if you can fit that pink elephant into the corner for a moment, thank you).  How about the married bit?  The imminently arriving BABY bit?  The--dare I say it--living in SUBURBAN NEW JERSEY bit?


This was not the plan.  And I'd spent a good decade crafting this plan.  And I spent much of the last two years trying to craft a NEW fabulous plan that would make this all fit neatly together.  Way to learn the lesson, self.


And yet, I wouldn't change a thing.  No, this is not the route to my Oscar.  Nor are we buying our one-way tickets to Israel any time soon.  How unglamorous of us.


On the other hand, I am currently engaged in the single most creative act known to mankind.  THIS SECOND.  And this one. 


It's time to accept that this is not the workplace I anticipated.  The needs of the world I live in now are not the needs I thought I would one day fill.  What I have to offer will not be received the way I had planned out.  Nu?  It's taken me two years to come to terms with this?  I've been observing this phenomenon for all this time without swallowing that pill (which ultimately I don't think is even such a bad pill to swallow!).


It's time to look into the toolbox, get a good lay of the land, and start building.

Thoughts on Pregnancy or... Birth Control For The Weak-Hearted or... Things I'd Post On Facebook But I Think You'd Judge Me

1. I was under the mistaken impression that an unborn child couldn't keep you up all night.
In reality, I feel like this:

All the time.

2.  It used to seem logical that if you were exhausted at 9 PM, you could probably go to bed.
In reality, exhaustion at 9 PM is really just your body playing a cruel trick because really, right before you fall asleep, you'll bounce back and be full of energy until about 3 AM at which point you've read enough about the Salmonella crisis to finally peel your eyelids off your hairline and consider nodding off.  Oh, and that Camomile tea (which I haven't been able to sleep one night without) will make sure that you're up again around 5 AM.  And wired.  Because who can sleep after three nightmares in a row about a missing nursery and nowhere to put the baby?  (Why THIS bothers me is a bit confusing... we know we won't have a nursery so it's a moot point.  Wouldn't my brain be more entertained with anxiety over birth or car seats?)

3.  If a pregnant woman's appetite is supposed to be justified by the phrase "eating for two," I'm taking it upon myself to release this PSA to all expecting women.  Sometimes baby invites thirty friends over for a dinner party, and you'll be expected to feed them all.  NOW.  Gd help anyone who gets in your way.

4.  I was also certain until recently that the baby could not get a hold of bricks and Leggos until after the actual birth.  But, having reviewed human anatomy and finding nothing that could possibly be so hard and stabby as what's sticking out of my tummy, I'm convinced that somebody's providing toys to baby.  And I'm thinking of suing.

Thank Gd for new shoes, new makeup, (so at least I don't look quite as bad as I feel) and a hubby who's learned very quickly that when I stop using full sentences, he's going to be in charge of dishes that night.

And when I never managed a full sentence in the first place, we'll be ordering pizza.

Where did I leave my keyboard?

In case you were wondering, Pregnancy Brain for sure exists.  I've had three really terrible run-ins with my new identity as a forgetful mom-to-be but (I kid you not) can only remember two of them.

My case began gradually.  I found myself walking around the apartment much more looking for things.  Every once and a while I do something silly (even before I was pregnant) like look for my glasses while they're on or ask my friend on the phone why I can never find my phone.  I think I get that from my father, the classic absent minded professor.  So it wasn't so much new levels of forgetfulness, just increased frequency.

But then I graduated.

The first (and therefore most unnerving) situation came up when I was serving Omri juice for breakfast.  I opened the fridge, took out the bottle of juice, went to the cupboard, took out a glass.... and the bottle of juice was gone.  It was like a maniacal magician was playing tricks on me.  So I tried to think of what brilliant place I had thought of to leave the juice while I got the glass... did I put the juice back in the fridge?  Is it on the counter somewhere?  Maybe I put it on top of the microwave for some reason?  I started wandering the whole apartment--the dining room table?  The fridge?  Again the fridge?  Maybe further back in the fridge?  ...the FREEZER?

Ok, if you already figured it out, just don't tell me.

I had neatly replaced the glass with the bottle of juice.  No logic.  No, a bottle of Naked juice will not last long in my cupboard.  It took me a good five minutes to find the sucker.  I spent the rest of the day scared of myself.

But if I had only known what was in store for me I would have seen the many advantages of that mistake.  It was only within our small one-bedroom apartment, so how many places could I possibly need to check?  Much more critically... it was PRIVATE.

Not yesterday.  Oh, no.

Yesterday, on my way to my milestone halfway-through-pregnancy super ultrasound (healthy, albeit hyperactive baby growing nicely!) I was Miss Efficiency and decided to return our Redbox movie from the night before (Did You Hear About the Morgans?  Nothing spectacular, but what we needed.).  So I took our Redbox movie, went to the movie rental machine, and returned it.  The only problem was, it was the BLOCKBUSTER movie rental machine.  So I watched as the machine courteously reported that "No Media Was Detected" and then promptly switched to "Out of Order."

I stared at the machine.  I was mortified.  I was also multi-tasking (big no-no if you ask my mom)--ironically, by being on the phone... with my mom.  And then the yetzer hara reared it's ugly head and I fully embraced his excuses.  "This is way too embarrassing, you can't do this, it probably happens all the time, you'll deal with it later but you'll be late for your appointment.  Just leave."

I left.

Which, of course, just makes it all the more awkward and embarrassing.  Y"h did NOT have my back.

So I spent the very long ultrasound appointment planning my attack and imagining all the old gnarly Dollar Store employees screaming at me for ruining their business and breaking their machine and demanding I buy them a new one.

Luckily, the managers are actually chilled-out twenty somethings.  Who, quite frankly, laughed in my face (as politely as one can laugh in someone's face when not laughing is just not an option) when I told them what I'd done.  I gave them my name and number, reported the Out of Order machine to Blockbuster (India), and went home.  A few hours later I get a call from the next on-duty manager.

"Hi, is this Kayla?"
"Yes."
"This is Somethingorother from Dollar Saver."
"Oh, hi..."  (I hadn't really heard him.)
"Yeah, I have your (barely suppressed giggle) Redbox DVD."
"Ohhh.  Yes.  Yup.  Ok.  I'll be in shortly.  Thank you sooooo much."
(Outright laughter.)  "Yeah, ok, see you then."

When I went in, I found Mr. Somethingorother, asked him if he worked there, and then identified myself as "the ditz with the Redbox DVD."  He actually finished that sentence for me.

Then he told me it was his opinion that "they make it a Big Red Box for a reason."  In as friendly a way as possible.

I guess it's as good a time as any to really understand what they meant in theater school when they said to "check your ego at the door."  This is a whole new level.

All I have to say is, thank Gd this baby will be attached to my body for another many months so I don't have to worry about misplacing it.