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Posts Tagged ‘eating’

Down with the Fat Cow

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 9:36 AM
Monday, November 26, 2012


Can I talk to you for a second?

I know, I know – I haven’t written – blogged – for like seventeen years. And I’m telling you, I had my First Blog Back alllll planned. It was gonna reveal why I went dark for so long, and why I’m back now, and so on and so on…

But all that’s now gotta wait till next blog.

Cause right now????

Holy moly.

The other night I got home from a late movie which followed a dinner with friends at the Gordon Ramsey-owned restaurant Fat Cow. You know, that celebrity Hell’s Kitchen 4 Michelin Star chef guy, Gordon Ramsey? Well, here’s a hint:


Yes the Vodka pizza was yummy. But what is up with charging 15 dollars for a pizza and then serving it on a plate that would be dwarfed by my 3 year old’s doll dishes?

And yes the fish and chips was delicious – but also, outrageous – $20 for 2 small pieces of (yes, delicious) fish. Oh right, and about 2 gazillion skinny fries. Speaking of fries -

We ordered fries as an $8 side dish and when about 12 fries came out in a tiny tin pail, I KNEW that place was really shitty. It was like they had taken a pack of MacDonald’s fries, gave us about ½ of the pack and then charged us $8 for it.

But THAT is not even why I’m telling you not to go there. Because – although by the grace of God we had a really sweet, honest, wonderful waitress, Dara… I think seriously they’ve got something on her that forces her to work in that den of Satan’s spawn.

Because this OTHER guy who works there? (Yes, there were more than just 2 employees but the rest were just wussies who hid behind the talking head that was this other guy, Mr. Satan’s Spawn)…

Okay, I already gave it away. This guy was Evil Satan Spawn. In the flesh.

Or he was just a complete asshole.

Either way, it was late – 12:45am – when our movie let out. (Silver Linings Playbook – don’t get me started – the happy ending rocked but come on, this movie is not the best thing since sliced bread) – I was in the 5th floor of the parking garage with my 2 friends who were driving me home (my hubby had gone home after dinner), when the husband-½ of my friends realized he no longer had their car key in his pocket.

We quickly went down to Fat Cow, which was closing, and looked around. ESS (Evil Satan Spawn) and 2 other minions told my friend no key had been found, and my friend went to look in the movie theatre while the wife-½ of my friends and I entered Fat Cow and asked about a missing key.

After some hushed talk, we heard our waitress say that yes, a key had been found and they’d go look for it up in the office because she wasn’t sure where it had been left.

This blog is getting too long (I know, I know, I’m completely out of practice, I suck!) so I’m not going to really get into all the details about how ESS then came back forever later from the office to tell us “there was a key that had been found the day before and it was a rental car key so he’d just take our name, make of our car, and information, and they’d call us if anything turned up” – and then, stunned, how I asked Dara again if a key had been found THAT night and she was like, “yeah, right after you left, under your table, I knew it had to be yours, let me look for it,” and then ESS was like, after I accused him of lying to us about the key and told him we weren’t leaving since we couldn’t leave our car just parked up in the lot and he answered, “well, yeah, that’s why you usually want to take those things with you” in this horribly snarky tone of voice that made me want to strangle him, and I was like WHAT??? And my friend was like, WHAT??? And while he backed off that assholic comment, he  then proceeded to say, “well, we have your information, so you know, tomorrow we can ‘shake some people down’ and if anything turns up we’ll call you” and I was now ready to become an ax murderer and chop this guy up but instead I chose to open up a Pinchas Book (go, Kabbalah) and as SOON as we opened the book Dara came to us with the key that “miraculously” had just been located.

I’m telling you. This place is evil. Except Dara. She’s probably being kept against her will.



Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

PS Something is up and WordPress (my blog platform) isn’t letting me pirate images from the internet anymore. WHAT IS UP WITH THAT!!??? So in the meantime, I have no choice but to resort to creating my own images. Don’t get mad at me, get mad at copyright infringement policing!

PPS Wait… um… maybe I didn’t mean that, quite how I wrote it…

PPPS ARGHHHH I’m just a terrible artist, can’t a sister catch a break??? Here goes nothing:

This is the only kind of Fat Cow that ought to be allowed.

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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.


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.


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.


(…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…)



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! (The Key to Dieting – Those 3 Little Words)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 11:35 AM
Friday, August 3, 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) – The Key To Dieting – the BLOG

Without reservation, I can tell you the quickest and surest way to get me started on a strict diet that I will adhere to no matter what temptations cross my path is for me to hear those magical three little words uttered when I least expect them. Each time it has happened – that is, each time the phrase was uttered to me and subsequently my new diet launched like a racehorse after a shotgun is fired – it came from the mouth of a small child – like a message sent directly to me from an earthly angel. You know what I mean, those big, wondering eyes look up at you with excitement and curiosity, and then without any of the adulterated filters that will come later in life, they blurt:

“Are you pregnant?”

What a nightmare. I can tell you right now, ye who have never been pregnant (don’t need to tell you moms – you grownupgirls already know what I’m saying) – the measure of joy, of being able to tell others that the reason your stomach is enormously fat is because there is a new precious soul growing snugly within, only just barely rivals the amount of anger and fury one experiences, when others suspect your enormous stomach must be the result of a pregnancy because HEAVEN FORBID someone’s stomach looks that bloated and or ginormous without a living, soon-to-be breathing soul taking up space from within.

It’s happened several times to me with adults, too – that is, a clueless adult will ask me how many months I am or some such bullshit, and I have to break it to them that I’m not pregnant, just fat, apparently, thank you very much. As recently as this morning, I attended a bris ceremony, and as I sat down at a packed table to eat my brunch, a man I’ve seen around but don’t know well stood up. “Please,” he offered, as if I needed his chair as well as mine to sit down. “I’m fine,” I smiled back at him. “No worries.”

“It’s okay,” he beamed, continuing up and away from our table. “Anyway, you are eating for two!”

It took me a good second or two to process what he meant. Lucky for him, he had departed by then. If you, dear reader, would like to avoid this & other faux pas, please refer back to my earlier blog where I break down a whole list of Do’s and Don’ts.

But for some reason, it’s when the children start to chime in – maybe it’s their innocence, and my subsequent inability to blame them in my head for being pigheaded, rude and obviously blind – that I suddenly wake up to the fact that if I don’t start and stick to a diet RIGHT NOW, my stomach will go from looking mildly swollen (or “newly pregnant”) to downright round and balloon-like (“5-6 months along”), at which point my hips, butt and face will start to fill in too.

The first time a child graciously helped me start a new diet was about six months ago. Looking straight into my belly (the height her head came to), my neighbor’s eight year old asked sweetly, “Are you pregnant?” Two weeks later my husband and I started the Suzanne Somers Diet, and four months later, I was a lean, mean (just kidding – I’m really nice), dieting machine.

Then I fell off the wagon. Or more accurately, I just felt like, ‘my body looks pretty great now, so why don’t I eat that piece of pizza/cake/cookie/brownie/plate of pasta/you fill in the blank_____ right now since it looks so good/smells so good and I’m really hungry/tired but want to stay up late/I’m bored/I’m with friends who are eating/I’m alone?’

I went from dieting six days a week and cheating once a week (okay, twice), to eating whatever I wanted six days a week and sticking to my diet once a week. I also took a new job three months ago, so with that my gym attendance deflated from the robust 4-5 times a week it had been prior, to the current 1-2 times a week. I had gotten so slim, so in shape that it really didn’t matter, the food, the gym; it didn’t seem to be affecting me at all… until…

“Mommy, you look like you have a baby in your tummy!” were the exact words my four year old exclaimed to me today. Her words tinged, I might add, with the slightest bit of hope and fear, due to the fact that she’s often asked for a little brother but is not quite sure whether it would be exactly the party she hopes it will be if it does happen…

Lucky for you, baby, there is no such life-changing occasion about to present itself in your life (i.e., a new sibling). There is however, a new life-changing event taking place in mine…

Diet starts tomorrow.


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Pregnant? Or just REALLY full?

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Flashback Friday! (Food For Thought, Part 1)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 11:06 AM
Friday, June 8, 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) – Food For Thought Part ONE – the BLOG

There’s dieting, binge eating, picky eating, healthy eating and gorging… and now, gentle readers, I have coined a new phrase you may all feel free to use: Redemptive Eating.

I don’t mean eating to prove the worth of one’s soul, though that sounds good, too. I’m talking about eating something satisfying and delicious to REDEEM the nightmare piece of crap disguised as food that you ate prior, and now feel sick about.

Por ejemplo: last week, in a rush to “save money and eat healthy,” I sautéed some pre-packaged tuna steaks. Popped one in a Tupperware, and took it to work with me, with a red pepper. Perfect!

Except… it was disgusting.

Not bad fish or anything, thank GOD… but I over cooked it a little, and this fish already being of the non-fresh Trader Joe’s variety, was none too helped by my overcooking.

I ate almost half until finally giving up. For the next two hours, I was caught in a dilemma: do I now go out and spend money on a second lunch? I wasn’t even really hungry anymore. BUT that last food I ate, the tuna? We all know where the phrase “left a terrible taste in my mouth” comes from, right? And you, who read my last blog, you know I like happy endings, right? (If you didn’t read it, go take a sec, read it now. I’ll wait. Really, go ahead. Enjoy.)

So – I almost made the mistake of ordering an omelet, again. Had it the day prior AND the day before that. A girl can only eat so many eggs. What I really wanted to order was the Ahi tuna salad. (From Blu Jam, on Melrose, they are fantastic.) But it was so expensive! And… you know, I just ate half a tuna already!

In the end, I took a chance, and sprung for the Ahi salad.

Friends, you are reading the blog of one happy customer. Salad was divine. Tuna was perfect. The whole meal? Redemptive.

Redeemed my overcooked Trader Joe’s sorry excuse for a piece of tuna, that is.

Made me think about other times I’ve indulged in redemptive eating – like when a meal is so gross you just have to finish it with a huge latte, or thick piece of chocolate cake.

Anyone else get what I’m saying here?


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

This salad probably wouldn't trigger a massive chocolate attack. Probably.

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posted by BatSheva Vaknin 11:05 AM
Monday, May 21, 2012

I’m tired this morning. And a little crazy.

But you went to sleep last night at 10pm! I know you are thinking. How in the world can you feel tired?

Okay, so you schlepped kids around all day yesterday, attended a pool party in the heat, cleaned the house and went to a barmitzvah party in the night.

Okay, so you drank a really strong vodka drink (after you promised yourself you wouldn’t drink, hello?!) and you ate about four pieces of cake (kids, can you say, sugar crash?) and you woke up at five AM this morning.

So what?

Wait… did you say FIVE? AM???

Ahhhh… now, we’re getting somewhere.

Was it a child who woke you up? Pee pee in the bed, perhaps? A nightmare, like the other morning when Esther woke up telling you “the car floated away and then I got in the car and it came back!” – ?


Gentle readers, I woke up at 5am this morning, and 5am about 4 days out of last week, and about 4 days the week before, and so on, because this week marks my fifth week.

Of Insanity.


SEAN T!!!!! WHAT’S UP?!!!!

DIG!!! DEEPER!!!!!

Sorry. I think I’ve been brainwashed.

But yes, I’m waking up at 5 a handful of days each week, and most other days I’m fitting it in before lunch, and when I say “it” I mean 45 minutes give or take of the hardest ‘boot camp’ style cardio workout I’ve ever done.

About three weeks into it, I realized I needed to change my diet too, or else all these washboard abs I’m surely creating will never see the light of day from beneath the “is there a baby in your tummy?” fat on my stomach.

Thanks, kids. Thanks a lot.

So I’m kicking sugar and alcohol for a while, too, except for a once-in-a-while cheat day, of which this past entire weekend  melded together and became just that – a Big Fat Cheat Weekend.

So I’m tired. But I’m pushing through.

Dig Deeper!


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

I'm telling you guys, SOMEWHERE under my belly fat, my abs SO look like that.

Cold Case (adilla)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 10:43 AM
Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Many of you know about the “cooking dynamic” that exists in my household. That is, my husband is an amazing cook – a veritable rice whisperer – and I, dear readers… am not. An amazing cook. Whatsoever.

Most days, my husband is able to either cook for our family, or I am able to re-heat something he cooked for our family a day or two prior. But SOME days, as you can imagine… we’re on our own, me and the kids. And the food I cook.

Sorry, I meant the food I “cook.”

Because some days, we just have hot dog popsicles – no cooking required! I think I could give Jessica Seinfeld a run for her money – who needs broccoli baked into meatballs when you can take a cold (pre-cooked) hot dog out of its packaging and hand it to your kids, encouraging them to “eat up! Hot dog popsicles for everyone!”

I admit, my son doesn’t like them cold, so I will usually go to the lengths to “cook” it for him – AKA, dropping it into a long coffee mug, filling the mug with automatic boiling water from our kitchen sink filter, let sit for 5-10 minutes, and… voila! A “hot” hot dog.

Another one of my favorite meals that I’ve distilled down to a no-cook dinner are “cold cases” or cold quesadillas. Don’t get me wrong, my kids do love a hot quesadilla – and it’s really not too hard for me to “cook” a couple slices of cheese atop a store-bought quesadilla, fold the thing over, then serve. But perhaps my children have unconsciously picked up that their mother does not love cooking – (Could it be from those times when I have unceremoniously announced, “I HATE TO COOK!”? God only knows…) – and therefore more often than not, they just ask for a ‘cold case’ instead of a hot one.

So that’s what I give them: A couple slabs of pre-sliced cheddar, rolled into a cold tortilla, and… voila! A delicious cold case, ready-to-order.

But what about greens, you may ask? My husband makes one of the most delicious green salads you will ever taste. And while I do make a decent Israeli salad (tomatoes & cucumbers), who has time for all that chopping? I prefer giving my children cucumbers “au natural.” No, you are not wrong – I give them a whole cucumber, and the little buggers are smart! They know to bite off each end and spit the ends into the trash before eating the cucumber entire.

On days when I feel the children absolutely MUST eat something hot? I generally stick to one of three reliable standbys: 1) Deep fried Fish Sticks, 2) Deep fried Chicken Nuggets, and 3) “Soupy and Rice” whereby I take a scoop of their father’s rice cooked the day before and add it to a steaming hot bowl filled with powdered soup mix & filtered boiling water.

Hey? Where are you going? Weren’t you and your child going to stay for supper???


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Who says Mama can't cook? Hot dogs for everyone!

Flashback Friday! (Nobody Walks in L.A.)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 12:14 PM
Friday, January 27, 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) – Nobody Walks in LA – the BLOG

So I was walking down the street the other day and bumped into a friend who was walking the opposite direction…

Cack cack cack cack cack! (my bad imitation of someone laughing)

Just kidding. We ran into each other at the Starbucks 6 blocks from my house.

From whence I had driven, of course.

It’s not that NO one walks in LA. Obviously, some people do walk… mostly, to their cars from their house or from their cars into their place of work. Or to the bus stop, for those who can’t afford a car. Or… on 3rd Street Promenade, the blocked off street of Santa Monica where cars aren’t allowed to drive. Or, Hollywood Blvd. If you’re a tourist, a drug addict, a hooker, a Scientologist or some guy who likes to dress up like the Hulk.

You know what no one in LA also doesn’t do? (Work that double negative out in your head. I’ll give you a second.) No one stays up late. Correction: people stay up late here. But if they do, they are in their own houses, or their friend’s house.

Bars close here at 2am. On a WEEKEND. That’s the same time bars close in New Haven, CT, and they don’t even sell alcohol there on a Sunday. In (mostly) boring DC where I grew up at least bars stayed open until 3 on weekends, which always seemed super early in comparison to its nearby and much cooler cousin, New York. When I first moved out to LA I was sure this glamorous town full of party-hopping celebrities and rock stars would be a totally happening scene, all night long. But the town is eerily quiet, come 2:30am.

Move closer to my neighborhood, which is Beverly Hills-ish, and it’s downright spooky at that hour. Tumbleweeds are practically blowing down the streets. We went out Saturday night and tried to get a latte after hours. After getting turned away from two different ‘hip’ places (no, not because we were in jeans – because those places had already closed by midnight) – we finally had to make the choice between Nic’s which is actually one bar that I like in Beverly Hills, and a random café across the street, which we wound up choosing because it was more casual and we didn’t feel like drinking.

That café? Was the Twilight Zone.

The waiter cracked bad joke after bad joke, continued jabbering on about himself way after his expiration date, and the one dish he and the owner swore up and down was the place’s best – the cannoli – was disgusting and we sent it back. Everything we ordered – the coffee, the “croissants,” and the desserts – were either barely edible or not edible at all (the cannoli). Every other person inside the place was about 20-25 years younger than us, which is crazy because who lets their 3 year old toddler out that late without a chaperone?

The worst part is that I’m sure I’ll go there again & again, now that I’ve discovered it. Why? They’re open until 4am. I’d like to patronize them just to help them stay in business, just so that at least there continues to be SOMEPLACE other than iHop open after 2am in my neighborhood. So, everyone who lives in or around Beverly Hills: Go patronize that café that’s open across from Nic’s. Yeah, the one with the fire.

Hell, next time, I may even walk there.


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

The walk-in Vodka Bar @ Nic's in Beverly Hills. AKA where we SHOULD have gone.

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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.


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!



Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

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

French Fries and Nachos

posted by Sheva 11:53 AM
Monday, November 14, 2011


That’s how I felt after sharing a recent meal with my 2 older kids – popcorn, giant pretzels, French fries with ketchup and Nachos with disgusting and yet delicious microwave cheese.

Well, to be fair, “ugh” may have been how I felt after – and during – the meal, but I also felt kind of like, “yum!”

Because – duh – I was eating popcorn, pretzels, French fries and Nachos. With microwave dip. The only thing missing was a pizza. And candy… though earlier I had already baked – and eaten – two slices of a Halloween cake “for the kids.”

Gentle readers, I’m sure you are shouting at your screen right now, “SHEVA!! What the f*** happened to you?? You were my inspiration! You had gone completely off deserts and alcohol… and now this??

Or perhaps you were just innocently reading the blog until you got to that last profanity/asterisks-laced paragraph and have now decided I’m too vulgar for your refined taste?

Either way… you would be right.

I fell off the wagon, big time. AND I have a potty mouth. Sometimes.

And yet…

I felt hopeful the following day, in a ‘I hit rock bottom yesterday so there’s nowhere to go but up’ kind of a way. I even turned down Snickers in our office the next morning (it was the official Halloween holiday on Monday; the carbo-fest with my kids was just the warm-up), and I went to the gym later that night.

The verdict?

I’m human.


…And apparently, while I have a blessedly rapid metabolism (thanks, Mom!), I also have a blessedly sensitive system that immediately gonks me on the head (metaphorically speaking – it’s more like, bloats my stomach up to high heaven) that helps remind me to keep whatever goes into my mouth on the healthier side of life.

So… here starts my next 40 days… I am not swearing off desserts or alcohol completely, BUT – no more binges.



Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Goth Girl and The Boxer. I think it's time for Mommy to get a phone camera with a flash.

Goth Girl. Posing, and being all.... "goth." BTW, thanks, kids TV show Phineas and Ferb, for teaching my 5 year old about "Goth Girls."

I'm gonna knock you out! Mama says, knock you out!

Wishing on a Star

posted by Sheva 12:40 PM
Monday, September 26, 2011

You know that rap song –?

I wish I was a little bit taller, I wish I was a ball-er, I wish I had a girl who looked good I would call her…

Well, I’ve written my own version & it goes like this:

I wish I really liked to wash dishes, I wish I fed fishes, I wish I liked to prep and cook food that’s delicious..

I am So. Not. A homemaker.

This would not be a problem if I didn’t have THREE KIDS AND A HUSBAND!

For a few years, I bought my way out of this dilemma with a full-time nanny who cleaned the house top to bottom every day, bathed & fed the kids every day, and who made me food when I asked her to. That, combined with the habit of eating out (lunches, take-out for dinner) many times a week with my husband, solved all our problems!


Then we realized we weren’t millionaires. That hurt, let me tell you.

The first couple of weeks without full time help? Never ending cleaning. NEVER. ENDING. How in the world do single mothers do it? was all I could think as I asked my husband for the zillionth time to help and he – THANK GOD! – dove right in.

On the other hand, it felt good to actually take ownership, for the first time, over my house, my children, my life.

My husband is a great cook, but he doesn’t really have the time or the inclination to plan ahead (timing, shopping, preparing) to do it more than a few times a week. He does amazing things around the house & with the kids, but – bottom line – I’m the one responsible for making sure we are all fed, clothed, bathed & living a bacteria-free environment.

And I feel, to put it mildly, ill-equipped.

We once had four fish. Not cats, not dogs – FISH! And they all died. Thanks to my “care.”


Meanwhile, Hubby has managed to keep Sparkle and Rainbow, the fish who dwell in our outside fountain, alive, along with our amazing vegetable garden, tomato plants, and everything else outside. It does get a little awkward when friends come over and compliment me on my yard & garden. My garden? I just live here!

Then there are those occasional new guests who come over to lunch on Shabbat, complimenting me profusely, thinking I have prepared the ten different dishes set out before them.

Hee hee. Not quite.


BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

My hubby: He can bring home the (Kosher veggie) bacon, fry it up in a pan, and still make it to the set of the HGTV reality show Professional Grade.

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