Get Updates Each Time I Post a New Blog. It’s That Simple.






A password will be e-mailed to you.

Archive for December, 2011

Every Friday, I will post an oldie but a goodie blog for your enjoyment. To those of you who just started reading The Grownup Girl recently, enjoy the “new” blog! To those of you who have been with me from the start, but have memories like mine, enjoy the “new” blog!

And to those who were with me from the start and who already read this blog and burned it into your memories, word for word, photogenically, I say:

What are you doing wasting your time dilly-dallying on my website? Get out there and find me a book deal!

I bet my mom’s Christmas decorations could beat up your mom’s Christmas decorations.

Every Christmas, my Jewish mother lines her staircases with toddler-size Nutcrackers. Soft Christmas music pipes in through the speakers, Snow white reindeer fight with pinecone candles and holly for position, and a tree the size of the Hulk stands tall, adorned with ornaments spanning four decades.

The ‘decoration’ aspect of Christmas at my mother’s house may be getting a little out of control. Each year there are more and more giant Nutcrackers, more holly, more stockings, more cranberries… and last year, two additional Christmas trees popped up, each decorated, one in front of the guest house and one at the end of the driveway.

Don’t forget, gentle readers, we’re Jewish.

But there are grandkids to impress, by golly! They must be dazzled by candy canes, wowed by exploding stockings that magically fill the night before Christmas, and passionate about leaving Santa the perfect amount of cookies and milk – and his reindeer carrots – so Santa and his crew will have enough stamina to hit the rest of the world’s children before sunup.

Never mind that my kids are… uh… very Jewish. As in, they speak Hebrew with their Israeli dad (my husband, who, by the way, I have trained to absolutely love Christmas, too – to the degree that now, every Christmas, he constantly berates me, telling me I’m too stingy with gifts and we need to get more, more, MORE for everyone!).

My kids go to a (Spiritual, Kabbalah, but still,) Jewish school. They listen to the Torah every Saturday, don’t touch electricity every Shabbat and holiday, eat Kosher, and generally are not accustomed to hearing anything about Christmas or Santa Claus outside of every single cartoon that is played in the months of November and December and… my family.

My son’s friends have ‘set him straight’ a number of times about Santa, but he’s not stupid. Last year, he reasoned to me, “Ima!” (Yep, we’re thatJewish; he calls me the Hebrew word for ‘Mom’) – “I’ve figured out why no one thinks that Santa is real!”

“Really?” I asked, curious where this was going. “Why?”

“Because he’s in Maryland!”

Maryland is where my mother lives.

Where, every Christmastime, the toddler Nutcrackers march up the stairs to take their post opposite the banner, the countless mini Nutcrackers cover any -gasp! – bare spot that doesn’t already boast a Christmas tchotchke, the three Christmas trees live, the sixteen or so stockings hang (2 for their 2 dogs, 1 for each child, spouse, grandchild, stepchild, etc, etc…), the Christmas cards are strung – on a string from the rafters, of course, the carols are sung and played over the sound system, and a snow machine pumps fake snow on top of glittery crystal snowflakes that hang from the ceiling…

Okay, that last part may not be entirely true.

Yet.

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

You didn’t think I was lying, did you?

I have so many other good ones but I’ll just leave you with this:

White reindeer, cranberries, a stocking and a snowy owl. Couldn’t make this stuff up if I worked for Hallmark!

Comments Off

Bring the Kids to Work Day! (AKA Armageddon)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 2:24 PM
Wednesday, December 21, 2011

You know that thing, when you have very little money in your bank account, and the kids are out of school for vacation, and your son’s camp was cancelled due to lack of kids signed up, and your husband FINALLY got a small job that he needs to start immediately, and your job has just gotten crazier than ever, and your part-time nanny has now taken another job & can’t come and no other babysitting options are available?

You know that thing?

Yeah. Me too. It’s a nightmare.

It starts out all great, like, “Gee kids, won’t this be fun to have all 3 of you with me at work?” and they’re all like “YEAH!” because they can think of absolutely nothing more fun that going to that place they are NEVER allowed – that place that takes their mommy day in and day out away from them every weekday, school or no school. Like Fantasy Island: “Mommy’s Work”.

And then reality sets in. They make you an hour late. They arrive and immediately begin going wild, tearing up the place, interrupting your boss during important meetings, and generally causing you to grow about twenty new grey hairs.

So here it is, everyone – a list! For any of you who may, at some time in the future, think to yourself, “I could bring my kids to work with me today. What’s the big deal?”

Save this list, dear readers. Save it, treasure it, and burn it into your eyeballs before it’s too late.

REASONS WHY NOT TO BRING YOUR KIDS TO WORK:

1. They will all suddenly be ravenous. You will need to supply a steady stream of food, into their mouths, and then pick up the crumbs after them because they will leave trails that would make Hansel and Gretel proud.

2. They will all simultaneously need to go Number Two. That’s right – the baby will poop her diapers and just as you wrap your head around dealing with that, your son will run screaming to the bathroom and not know how to lock the door.

3. They will draw for 5 minutes, 10 minutes tops, then spend 30 minutes bothering everyone in the office trying to “give them presents and cards.”

4. They will use the pillows you took from the company couches for them to sit on your floor – for a pillow fight. While you are in a meeting with your boss.

5. They will need you to break up a fight while you are with your boss on an important conference call.

6. Your husband will SAY he will pick them up in 30 minutes, but it will really take him almost 2 hours to arrive. You will sweat so much during this time that your shirt under the arms will change colors.

7. Your attempt to quiet them down will be horribly thwarted when you realize you recently replaced all the kids shows on your iPhone with the entire season 7 of Grey’s Anatomy. It will take an hour to download their top choice, Barbie’s Christmas Movie (by this point you could care less that they are Jewish – it could be Jesus Christ’s Christmas Movie and you’d be grateful for the distraction), but by the time it downloads, your husband will arrive to pick them up anyway, so now you’ve just wasted $14.95 on the download AND dashed their little Barbie Christmas-watching hopes.

8. Your daughter will steal honey from your desk that you warned her not to touch, then secretly eat it around the corner. You will pretend not to notice, grateful for the 1.5 minutes of quiet.

9. Your son will steal a little perfume sample, lie about stealing it, then lie about lying about stealing it. You will have to yell at him to try and convince him “lying and stealing are wrong…” AGAIN.

10. Your office will look like a kindergarten exploded inside it when they leave. And you will be relieved.

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

They look so innocent when they are sleeping. Deceptive little Buggers, aren't they?!

And then I Fell off the Wagon

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 4:09 PM
Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Remember the good ole days, surfing in the Pacific, Flying on the Trapeze, and –oh yeah, swearing off desserts and alcohol for 40 days?

Me neither.

It was all wiped from my memory last week, as I drove away from Trader Joe’s with three different desserts on the seat next to me – mini chocolate cheesecakes, dark chocolate pretzels, and shortbread chocolate cookies. Each box opened, each dessert shoveled into my mouth as rapidly as I could manage while keeping the other hand on the steering wheel.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

I still don’t really drink alcohol, because – quite simply – I can’t drink alcohol without throwing up or feeling completely shitty the next day, or both. So I get my ‘alcoholic’ sugar the next best way – or the old fashioned way, via ‘actual sugar’ sugar.

Like last night, when it was “my husband’s birthday,” (there’s always an excuse for an addict to get her fix, isn’t there?) and I ate a cupcake. Or two.

Or the day before, when I had chocolate cake and flan because my guests brought it over for lunch. Or the night before that, when I had a slice of disgusting chocolate non-dairy cake because my child was eating it and it looked good, and I couldn’t reconcile the disgusting taste in my mouth with how yummy it looked, until I had already eaten the whole thing.

Pathetic.

I haven’t gone back to my days of ‘chocolate every day,’ but I’m close. I keep thinking I’ll go off desserts again in January – isn’t that what everyone does? New Year’s Resolutions, yada, yada, yada. The truth is… it feels like I don’t want to miss out on all the delicious baked goods of this holiday season, but in my heart of hearts, I know what it REALLY is –

I don’t want to miss out on stuffing my feelings of anxiety (financial, career, life) back into a dark corner while I wait for things to go a little more “my way.”

And a very merry Christmas to you, too!

Sigh…

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Evil. Pure, unadulterated, delicious, mouth-watering, chocolate-y, creamy, evil.

Liquid Courage

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 11:47 AM
Monday, December 19, 2011

Altering one’s consciousness. Loosening up. Drinking alcohol. Let’s call a spade a spade: It’s easier to be free, to ‘vibe’ with people, to show your funny/sexy/sassy/groovy side… when drunk.

On the other hand, drinking can be messy, throw up-y, dependency-forming, relationship-hurting, and hangover-inducing… and I see no room for any of these items in my current adult life.

No big deal, right?

And yet… I dare you to go try standup comedy without a little liquid courage.

I did it.

Twice.

Yes, gentle readers – readers, whom I sure would have laughed harder than the collection of corpses (to be specific: corpses who became animated for 3 minutes each, to grace the stage & tell horrifically misogynistic and unfunny jokes) did the other night at the Comedy Store (yup. I got up again) – I have now done a grand total of 6 minutes of what could loosely be defined as “standup comedy.”

In that I was standing up in front of a crowd and attempting to make them laugh.

Without alcohol.

It actually is as terrible as it sounds.

Terrible, and terrifying. And stupid. And not fun.

Why in the world do I want to keep trying this?

My jokes aren’t that funny (YET – I’m working on it, ya know?!) – but in front of THESE crowds – these Hollywood-y, comic-y-er than me, obsessed with sex and body parts and way raunchier-than me crowds – my poor little jokes don’t have a chance. The MC at the Comedy Store was harsh – he asked me if this was my first time ever doing standup, said he was going to “ream her, except I looked into her eyes and now I’m in love,” and then he announced the comic who went up after me as “The first comic of the night.”

Gee, thanks.

I’m not saying he was altogether wrong. After all, it WAS almost my first time ever (it was my second). I was nervous again, I hadn’t rehearsed my opening jokes and they were kind of long and not so funny.

On the other hand… NO ONE (with the possible exception of the MC) was remotely funny either. Not the seasoned comics, not the guy who worked at the Comedy Store and supposedly just got back from touring with Pauly Shore, not the guy who opened the night whose name was “Sperm Douglas” (talk about a sign; I should have walked out right then and there), and not the drunk kid who went on after Sperm & before me –a kid who was heckled so obnoxiously that the MC shouted at the drunk kid to stand up for himself, then kicked the heckler out.

So I guess you could say I was in good company. Or, to be more accurate, terrible company.

Which begs the question… why am I doing this again?

I think I’ll go have a chocolate cupcake. Which is as close as I get to alcohol sugar these days. Sigh…

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Didn't drink before making a fool of myself in front of a hostile audience; DID have a drink here at our company's holiday shindig. Go figure..

Comments Off

Flashback Friday! (GDS, Yes!)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 1:43 PM
Friday, December 16, 2011

Flashback Friday!

Every Friday, I will post an oldie but a goodie blog for your enjoyment. To those of you who just started reading The Grownup Girl recently, enjoy the “new” blog! To those of you who have been with me from the start, but have memories like mine, enjoy the “new” blog!

And to those who were with me from the start and who already read this blog and burned it into your memories, word for word, photogenically, I say:

What are you doing wasting your time dilly-dallying on my website? Get out there and find me a book deal!

If you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – GDS, Yes! The BLOG

I went to such a cool high school. Georgetown Day School in Washington, DC. We had a smoking lounge. We called our teachers by their first names. We were encouraged and pushed to think, to voice our thoughts, to be creative, and to get involved… in everything, from good causes (Amnesty International was one of many I remember volunteering for) to sports (I broke my fingers about 5 times as girls soccer team goalie) to theater (we had a black Audrey & 3 white Ronettes for Little Shop of Horrors), to WHATEVER.

Our mascot? The grasshopper. I’m not kidding. But think about it: no school could get away with that unless it was super cool, you know what I mean? Years after I graduated, I actually found & bought a GDS t-shirt with the grasshopper logo at Urban Outfitters. Go figure.

Recently, an article I wrote for the GDS school paper, the Augur Bit (don’t ask me what that means, I have no clue), surfaced on Facebook. It’s dated November 17, 1989, which means I was 17 years old and still named Shana Susman. (It’s so weird how, in the 22 years since then, I’ve only aged 10 yrs!! I love modern science. And bad math.)

Reading through the article, I found that I had as much fun back then writing for public consumption as I do now. So for today’s GrownUpGirl treat, all you GrownUpGirl fans (you know who you are, aunt Nina & that weirdo whose comments I keep spamming but she still won’t leave me alone): here it is… my first published article!!

Not sure what ol’ Bob is up to, or what Neil is doing these days. But believe it or not, Andy Rapaport recently jammed with his old Kingface buddies, according to his Facebook status – over at somebody’s ungodly ancient birthday fete.

[Editor's note: I'm now FB Friends with Neil who is a pretty impressive reporter in DC, and Andy R who, along with STILL jamming with Kingface, is now a Hot Buttered Rum kingpin. Still no sightings of Bob.]

And Heaven Kaley – I mean Kevin Haley – is a rising star here in Los Angeles where he just joined the mimetastic Rock band E*Lux.

[Editor's note: Heaven also just had a baby boy and nearly incited a Facebook riot over his decision to circumcise the kid.]

Long live Cheap Dates everywhere! And GDS grownupgirls & guys everywhere…

c/xo

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

My boyfriends, Matt and Trey

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 2:14 PM
Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Well, obviously, not really. But a girl can dream. It’s not so much their “Comedy Gods” status that make Matt Stone and Trey Parker so desirable, though that doesn’t hurt either. I wanted to see Book of Mormon as much as anyone when I was in NYC. But on the other hand, I didn’t want to sell my children to come up with the ticket price.

But… for the couple of hours I spent a few weeks ago in the hallowed halls of the South Park studio (or “Casa Bonita,” as they inexplicably call it), I did indulge in a fantasy of sorts. NO, not sexual. Height-ual. Matt and Trey, you see, are both super tall. Both of them! And get this – so are (again, inexplicably) almost all the other (also cute, I might add) guys who work there with them.

For a girl (me) who’s always looked over everyone’s heads even when I wear flats, it was awe-inspiring to be in the midst of such unadulterated height. I mean talent. I mean height. I mean talent.

Don’t make me choose!

Usually, we have to choose. As young girls, we fall in love with the Tom Cruises and the Princes and the Marky Marks of the world. And then our hearts are shattered into a million tall pieces when we meet these celebrity titans in person and realize they stand only an inch or so above a five year old boy.

Devastating.

Even my friend Arthur who directed the South Park documentary 6 Days to Air towered above me. (He was the reason I was allowed to even breath the Matt & Trey airspace – I was interviewing Arthur for a riveting piece that was published here if you really want to know.) So, don’t judge me for feeling just a little like I wanted to camp out and stalk and altogether never leave Casa Bonita. It was fun to be the short girl, if just for a few hours. Oh, and it was amazing to watch them create South Park, too.

Screw you guys, I’m going home. (Excuse the language – that was Cartman, not me.)

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Even in dresses, these cats are long tall drinks of water. Thirsty, anyone?

It’s a sign!

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 11:51 AM
Tuesday, December 13, 2011

The very first time I attempted to do standup comedy, at The Improv, I wasn’t even allowed to grace the open mic for 3 minutes. Apparently, there are just too many comics and too few time slots, and my name didn’t ring any bells for whoever chooses the lucky performers.

The second time I attempted it, at The Comedy Store, I got there a half hour before the show, as instructed by their website, and waited a half hour in the freezing cold before I found out that I should have gotten there an HOUR AND A HALF before the show in order to sign up. In other words, I missed the signup. In other words, I would not be doing standup, yet again.

The third time I attempted it, again at The Comedy Store, I got there super duper early, signed up, and waited. I had been told by a regular that I’d probably get up since I was new. Yeah… that didn’t happen. Snubbed again.

The fourth time I tried, at The Improv again, my name… was put on the list! I got up! But… while I didn’t exactly bomb… I wasn’t exactly hilarious either.

I’m paying for babysitters I can’t afford so my husband can come with me these first few times. (Other comics can be slimy. And I’m tough but I feel much better with Aharon there. Plus he can film it so I can see what I did wrong/right.) I’m leaving my children without their mommy during prime parenting hours, so I can give this a shot. And so far, in the four days I paid for a sitter and left my kids for a collective period of seven hours, I did a grand total of three minutes of nervous comedy in front of a sparse crowd of fellow-comics.

I remember when I did my first open mic as a singer. It was at the now-defunct Highland Grounds. I was one of the lucky, “chosen ones” to get on the list. I did one song. It went great, and I was asked afterwards to come back and do a 20 minute set for the owner, from which he hired me to start doing 1 hour shows every month. I used those shows to get other promoters, as well as shows at different venues, and thus launched my singer/songwriter career.

At the Highland Grounds 20 minute audition performance, Kenneth Brian “Babyface” Edmonds watched my set. BABYFACE! One of the biggest music producers ever. He smiled as he watched.

I was sure it was all a “sign” – the fact that I got chosen immediately to be in the open mic, the fact that Babyface watched me sing, and the fact that I was immediately asked to come back  to do more.

But when I look back on my singing “career” – a career in which I never made any money or had any real success – I realize I was looking at the wrong indicators.

For example, Babyface’s presence during my set wasn’t the sign. The fact that he didn’t offer me a record deal once my set was done… THAT was the sign.

Not sure how these first standup attempts measure up – should I take it as a SIGN that I wasn’t booed or heckled or ‘silenced’ offstage? Is it a SIGN that it took me four tries to get up on stage? Is it a SIGN that I did get one good laugh?

Or should I stop looking for signs and just keep one foot in front of the other?

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Don't get too excited if he watches you perform. Just saying.

Stand UP!

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 12:26 PM
Monday, December 12, 2011

What’s a girl gotta do to get some laughs around here? Wait – don’t answer that. Allow me. A girl must – if she wants her laughs to be heard, specifically, by a non-paying audience of sketchy and possibly mentally unbalanced comics – a girl must stand in line for hours, put her name on a list or in a hat, and then NOT get picked to go up that night and do her 3 minute routine.

Let me back up.

A few weeks ago, my husband proposed that I try standup comedy. He knows I am a writer & performer, that I love to stand up in front of a crowd, that I love to make people laugh, and that I love to listen to comics perform, live or on TV.

I love my husband. So supportive! I had thought about it a while ago, but immediately negged the idea when i realized it would mean I would be out at night trolling for laughs while he would be stuck caring for our 3 kids (or else we’d have to pay a fortune in baby sitters and possibly therapists, down the line). But with his support… nay, his blessing… I decided to go for it.

I pulled some material from various blogs I’ve written and amped it up a little for live, in-person, public consumption. I practiced a few times in front of some friends to work out the material. Then I went to my first open mic!

…And didn’t get picked to go up.

Turns out, if you want to do 3 minutes of material for an open mic at The Improv or The Comedy Store, you have to arrive hours early, wait forever to see if your name gets put on the list, and brave gross overtures by drunk & stoned “comics” even with your husband by your side, and then – most likely – NOT get picked to go up.

Honestly, I have too much going on in my life to waste hours like that! Kids, work, husband… but something in me (that Leo that craves an audience??) wouldn’t give up.

And on my 4th try – yes my FOURTH – I got up.

It was at The Improv, on Melrose. Famous place, but at 5pm on a Tuesday, the only other audience besides the comics is… no one.

Turns out, that didn’t prevent me from being a bundle of raw nerve. Mostly, I was thrown off by the lights – I had completely not expected to be blinded by the stage lights & had rehearsed with the idea that I’d be able to see and connect with the audience.

Excuses, excuses.

Still… I was SHOCKED to learn, once I trembled my way offstage, that I had, in fact, NOT bombed! Aharon assured me that I didn’t even seem nervous at all (?????!!!!) – though he didn’t get some of my jokes, which I’m sure is because I was nervous & therefor my delivery & timing were a little off (couldn’t have been the joke, right? LOL).

You can be the judge… because Aharon video-taped it! So here it is, my first ever foray into Standup Comedy. Here’s to hoping I get another chance before too many other comic losers hit on me and/or I lose my momentum.

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Flashback Friday! (Up All Night)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 12:45 PM
Friday, December 9, 2011

Flashback Friday!

Every Friday, I will post an oldie but a goodie blog for your enjoyment. To those of you who just started reading The Grownup Girl recently, enjoy the “new” blog! To those of you who have been with me from the start, but have memories like mine, enjoy the “new” blog!

And to those who were with me from the start and who already read this blog and burned it into your memories, word for word, photogenically, I say:

What are you doing wasting your time dilly-dallying on my website? Get out there and find me a book deal!

If you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – Up All Night

Sister, sister, please let me hold him. I wanna make him stay up all night, here we go! All night long!

Can you name that song?

Boyfriend from camp around age 14 introduced me to that song. And now, it’s stuck in my head, on a loop.

Because I’m wired.

I doubt I’ll be up all night tonight – it’s only 11:13pm, so I’ll finish this blog, watch one TV show or so, do my before-bed routine, then sleep… and with luck (translation: no children waking me up all night), I’ll get a good 5 hours or so before it’s up time again.

I don’t like to go to sleep at night. I would rather watch TV, surf the computer, or write emails. Or blogs. Sometimes I’ll go to the gym late, though that means I need to shower when I get home, unwind (TV), which pushes bedtime even later. Or do errands – I mean I do have 3 kids after all, & a full time job. Who has the time during the day? Yes, I’m that weird girl who hits Trader Joe’s at 9:55 pm (5 minutes before closing) and then gets to Target by 10:20 to do a good half an hour of shopping there before closing.

The funny thing is, I love to take naps. If I’m tired, on a weekend day, my favorite thing in the world (short of sleeping in, in the morning, which I haven’t been able to do ONCE since I was preggers with my 7 yr old, so you do the math on that one), is to fall into a cozy, comfy, warm, enveloping sleep. Ahhhhh.

But at night? Hell to the no. Especially once everyone goes to sleep. It’s finally ME time. Veg time. Relax time. It’s not such a big deal, but usually I push the envelope throughout the week so much that once a week or so I crash when putting the kids to bed around 8 and sleep the whole night through. [Editor's note: or I get sick. Like I did last week. :( ]

At least I don’t actually have insomnia anymore – almost never, unless I take something caffeinated too close to bedtime. My whole childhood I suffered from terrible bouts of insomnia. I spent many nights from as early an age as I can remember (not that I remember much, see “Memory Loss” blog for details) awake to hear the first birds chirping, the first light rising, and finally, finally, the long-awaited awakening of whatever family member happened to get up first. Mom, usually.

By then, I’d be spent, exhausted, a pale ghost. I’d finally fall asleep and then wake up late, if I could. Then the cycle would start again.

By college, I was partying like crazy. (What was I doing? Use your imagination. Yes, that is what I was doing. Yes, that too. Yes. Seriously. Yup. Yes, at Yale, believe me, nerds know how to party, too.) I was partying like it was 1999, and that just made my insomnia go into an even higher octane gear (if there is such a thing??) and I would go sometimes days or even one week without really sleeping at all.

It only took me another seven years, give or take, before I got help, and helped myself, and broke that pattern.

But that’s another story.

You know what? All this writing is starting to make me sleepy.

c/xo

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

My actual bloodshot, exhausted eye. Live from Los Angeles. Don't be a hater.

Comments Off

Where’s the Baby?

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 12:11 PM
Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Ah, the joys of having a 3rd child. You already know what to expect. You already know what not to worry about. You already have two other young ones available to help out, if only just to amuse baby #3 so she won’t scream bloody murder while you cut her little fingernails.

People with two children ask me all the time, How do you do it with three?

The answer is – easy! Piece of cake! It’s basically the same as having two. I mean, you’re already feeding, clothing, caring for two. What’s one more?

Our #3 is particularly easy. She’s got a great personality, gets along with everyone, basically never cries, rarely complains, and she is tall enough and mature enough to hold her own.

She’s tough too; my seven year old son is more afraid of the evil Dr. Nigel from Spy Kids than she is.

The other thing about having three kids is you are forced to rely on the kindness of strangers. As in, when my daughter was not yet 2 years old, and wandered outside onto the sidewalk without us realizing she was gone… until a stranger brought her back to our front door and asked us if she was ours.

True story.

Then… it happened again.

Within the space of one hour.

Whoops.

Before you go reporting me to the authorities, I want to reassure you that it hasn’t happened once since that day! If we learned anything from that day it was this: always lock our front gate. Plus – to be perfectly honest – she basically grew out of running away. Now she’s pretty good at sticking close by.

I never thought I’d be that parent. You know – that parent… who loses her child. Twice in one morning. But, I mean, since they literally now outnumber us (me and my husband), we can’t be expected to keep track of all three at the same time now, can we?

It is the worst feeling in the world to lose track of a child. It is also a very odd feeling to realize you’ve forgotten entirely that you even have a 3rd child. For example, my family often eats Friday night dinner at The Kabbalah Centre. Our kids feel so comfortable there, running in and out, that I’m often consumed with not losing the visual of my two older and sometimes trouble-making kids. Until suddenly it hits me: I have no idea where my youngest is. I have forgotten about her entirely.

Usually I turn, panicked, to my husband and blame him: Shit! What about Esther? Where the f*** is she??

That kind of thing happens quite often with the 3rd kid.

Like I said… piece of cake.

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Look at that cutie. You'd be surprised how slippery they are, though.

Comments Off
The Grown Up Girl is proudly powered by WordPress

Entries (RSS) and Comments (RSS).