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Archive for September, 2012

Flashback Friday! (Seasons of Love)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 11:45 AM
Friday, September 14, 2012

Every Friday, I 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 memory, 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) – Seasons of LOVE – the BLOG

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes… How do you measure, Measure a year? – RENT (the musical)

You know the other night, I got to thinking… just exactly how many minutes of my life have I thus far spent in my children’s room, trying to get them to go to sleep? (I’m sure I don’t even need to say that this thought struck me as I was passing the ½ hour mark doing just that.)

To answer my question, I left my little one crying (the two bigger ones having mercifully fallen asleep already), and went to my desk. Took out the calculator, a pen, a stickie note (neon pink, if you must know – I KNOW they are overpriced, but who can put a price on things that make you that happy?), and got to work.

I reasoned that with 3 kids, the oldest turning seven this summer, I have probably spent ON AVERAGE about a half hour every night putting them to sleep. Yes, I know we have babysitters some nights, but then again, there are some nights they take hours to put to bed. So it evens out.

Here’s what I came up with:

30 (minutes) x 365 (days) x 7 (years – my oldest son & how long I’ve been doing this) = 76,650 minutes.

For those non-human calculators among you, that equals Fifty three days plus some change.

FIFTY THREE DAYS. OF SITTING IN A DARK ROOM, READING STORIES, PATTING BUTTS, SHUSHING BABIES, QUASHING THE MINI-REBELLIONS…

53 whole days!!!

Lord have mercy. I’m the kind of person who likes to maximize the use of my waking hours. I like to DO things, and to be of use. It could be argued that I’m happiest when I’m busiest (though I’ll hotly deny this if any of you leak this information to my husband – you know he’ll turn around & use it on me when it’s his turn to do dishes/put kids to bed).

Yes, it’s true, my husband does help – very often – to put our kids to bed. On average, I would guess he does it 2-3 times a week. Let’s be generous and say it’s 3 times a week. That still means I’ve spent the equivalent of ONE FULL MONTH putting kids to sleep.

Wait–! I didn’t even factor in the time it takes EACH DAY to get a baby down for his/her nap!

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes…

Cx/o,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

I know they look peaceful, but guaranteed it took her like 2 hrs to get that little sucker to sleep!

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Clean That Plate!

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 4:20 PM
Tuesday, September 11, 2012

At a lovely restaurant the other night with friends, I was the only one who ordered (and ate) dessert – chocolate lava cake. I don’t really like alcohol, so for me, as I’ve mentioned in past blogs, chocolate is my last remaining substance-intake-related sin.

If you can even call chocolate a substance

I prefer “baked love.”

Anyhow, as I was eating my baked love-AHEM-!-chocolate cake, my friend outed her husband. She told us that the reason he wasn’t partaking was because the night before, he had over-indulged in the dessert at a friend’s dinner party, and since that dessert was particularly disgusting, he had eaten platefuls upon platefuls of it until he felt physically sick – a condition that lasted until that morning.

Uhhhhh… excuse me, did I hear that right?

It was disgusting… so he ate it nonstop.

?

Apparently, yes. My friend explained to us that her husband was so eager to make people feel good (at least when it comes to their cooking), he always ate way more than he would normally when he was offered something he didn’t like, just so the person would never suspect that he didn’t like it and get offended or feel disappointed.

Iiiinteresting.

Actually, I can relate, because, while I don’t generally go to the lengths of making myself physically sick in order to ensure my host is happy, I do understand the desire to make a host/server/cook feel appreciated.

But THEN… it came out that in this case – the case of my friend’s husband, eating platefuls of the gross dessert –  the host never even saw him eat the dessert! So he literally had no reason to keep shoveling it in his mouth.

Except…

I still get it.

Because for me, when I eat something gross, I find I must “top it off” with something delicious. The worst part is that usually, I have eaten most if not all of the gross food/dessert (though maybe not platefuls of it), in the hopes that SOMEHOW it will start tasting yummier the more bites I take.

I mean, come on, it LOOKS delicious!!!

You know what I mean? So finally, when my body revolts and my stomach inflates like a hot air balloon, and a sour liquid starts to erupt in the back of my throat, I realize that I SHOULD actually just stop eating. Period.

But… I find that in the same way I only like a movie with a happy ending, I also only like a MEAL with a happy ending. So, no matter how many calories I already consumed, and no matter how tight my jeans feel across my belly, if I ate something yucky, I feel I MUST go immediately to the closest Urth Caffe and order at least one warm chocolate chip cookie.

Stat!

(…or whatever close substitute I can get to, if I can’t get to Urth. Which is dangerous, because if I eat another dessert that ALSO tastes gross, I’ll feel even worse and yet STILL need to find that final happy ending bite…)

c/xo,

 

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

See if THAT tasted bad, I'd be so disappointed, I would first eat the whole thing just to be SURE... and THEN I'd have to have some ice cream at the end of it just to leave me with a good taste in my mouth. Excuse me, I need to go barf now.

Flashback Friday! (No Pain, No Gain)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 11:36 AM
Friday, September 7, 2012

Every Friday, I 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 memory, 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) – No Pain No Gain – the BLOG

I should have bought stock in Excedrin – I was onto Excedrin from around age 10 (years before the rest of the world – including Excedrin itself if you go by when they started running their migraine headache ads – discovered that Excedrin is THE only decent medical solution for a pounding migraine). Later, though, in my 20’s and early 30’s, Advil was my painkiller of choice. I loved those yummy little auburn pills, and they generally kicked the headache away, though occasionally I admit I had to take up to four at a time sometimes to really get the job done.

I’m not sure what caused me to stop taking painkillers for headaches recently. Perhaps I was tired of being jealous of my girlfriend who never takes any drugs for any pain, and decided to let her inspire me instead. Perhaps it was the comprehension of what it means to give birth to three babies without a drop of pain medicine – could a headache really be as painful as the giant head of a human forcing its way out of your vagina? No. It could not. (Sorry for that visual, guys, & sorry girls who aren’t moms yet.) (And – yo, High five, other moms!)

And yet…

My excuse for giving birth without painkillers had more to do with the baby’s health than my own – I liked the idea of keeping my baby drug-free for at least the first few days or weeks of its life. When it comes to my own body, it is not exactly a temple – I do have the occasional drink and over-indulge in desserts here and there, but I do eat pretty healthy, I don’t drink soda, and don’t do any drugs or heavy drinking like I may or may not have done in my teens and twenties. (Thank GOD we didn’t have YouTube and cameras everywhere back then. People may “remember,” but no one can prove I was anything less than a saint!)

But if not a temple, I do treat my body like something I’d like to keep around as long as possible, and in decent shape while I’m at it. So I eat healthfully, I drink tons of water, I exercise, and I don’t smoke or do drugs or drink more than a glass or so of wine a week.

So where does the Advil fit in? It doesn’t. I think years of listening to my homeopathic doctor has worn me down – I now believe him when he tells me Advil is hurting my body more in the long run than it is helping it in the short run. (For anyone who read my last blogyou know I didn’t bother to read up about it, so his word really is all I have to go on…)

One week ago, I found myself in the throes of a pretty obnoxious headache. Pounding head, rigid neck muscles… after a few hours, it grew worse and worse… until I was finally nauseous and ready to vomit. I lay on our couch, useless to my husband and my kids, and I tried to remember how much worse it must have been, giving birth. (Couldn’t remember, BTW – it’s true what they say about forgetting how it feels. Obvi – how else could women get suckered into having more than one child?)

Then – the most amazing thing happened. It went away.

First it was a ‘start and stop’ kind of a thing, where I’d think it was leaving me, only for it to return with a vengeance a few moments later. But finally, it was complete gone. And then I DID remember something about giving birth without drugs: that surreal moment after it’s done, and the baby is out. You feel more lucid and alive than ever before in your life. You survived! You made it! The endorphins kick in and you feel like ten million bucks. (Until the breastfeeding starts, and the lack of sleep overtakes you and makes you feel like a zombie, but we won’t burst that bubble just yet.)

This past weekend I lived through a mild flu/severe cold (who the hell can tell the difference?) without taking anything except for homeopathic remedies. (It actually may be time to buy stock in Oscillococcinum, that stuff is GOLD.) I’m still a little stuffy, but I made it through the worst of the storm and I was drug-free as the clouds lifted and the aches finally cleared. Modern medicine is fantastic. But as grateful as I am for all its bounty, I find myself even more thankful for my ever-stronger willpower that has afforded me a rare taste of that “light at the end of a tunnel” health I now relish.

Here’s to hoping it lasts…

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Hang in there, little guy! It'll be over soon, I promise!

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Smackdown

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 11:28 AM
Wednesday, September 5, 2012

The following is a re-enactment of BatSheva Vaknin’s high-heeled shoes smackdown that she observed the other night as she tried to decide which pair to wear.

It is possible I animated all these voices out loud as I tried to make my decision…

 

COOL GLADIATOR-STYLE HEELS: You know you want me. We’re so cool we look good with everything.

STUART WEITZMAN SNAKESKINS WITH WICKER-LIKE HEELS: Awww, so sweet that they think ‘looking good with everything’ is an asset. B, have you SEEN how hot we are?

BROWN PLATFORMS FROM THE 90’s: Dude. We will kick all y’all’s ASSES. BatSheva. Hello? Vintage, funky, comfy, and we’re in great shape. Is there really a decision to be made here?

SNAKESKINS: Bring it on, brownies!

BROWN PLATFORMS FROM THE 90’s: You really want some of this? Yeah??

GLADIATOR HEELS: (to the brown platforms) hahhahahahahaha! SERIOUSLY??? Yo, the 90’s called, they want their heels back.

90’s PLATFORMS: You are going DOWN.

90’s Platforms knock the gladiator heels to the ground.

GLADIATOR HEELS: Help! We’ve been hit!

GOLD MARYJANE HEELS: (whisper) BatSheva. Do you really need this drama? We’re beautiful AND we’re comfortable.

GLADIATORS: (from the floor) Don’t listen to them! It’s sweltering outside, inside those golden leather tombstones your feet will melt! MELT!!!!

CLOMP, CLOMP, CLOMP, CLOMP.

From seemingly out of nowhere, a pair of smokin’ hot yellow leather sandals perched on wooden platform heels enter the arena, towering over all who gaze in their direction.

YELLOW LEATHERS: Somebody needed a pair of killer heels for tonight?

Silence. BatSheva picks up the yellow leathers from the floor and puts them on.

YELLOW LEATHERS: (as the others stare in shock, and a single tear falls down the side of the gladiators) Get used to it, suckers.

Yellow Leathers give the others “the finger” as they allow themselves to be triumphantly clomped out of the room….

 

…It is also possible I’m due for a psychiatric evaluation.

c/xo,

 

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Suck it, losers.

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