To Have a Sister

TO HAVE A SISTER

In Honor of National Sister's Day, August 1st

"At the wedding, Mushky wept like a baby and danced like a nut."

My relationship with my sister got off to a bad start. As an only girl with five brothers, I had spent months awaiting my mother’s birth, praying for a sister. It was the first pregnancy that I had been cognitive enough to realize my mother was expecting and, let’s just say, my hopes and dreams were no secret. Perhaps if I had a sister, I would have more solid defense when my brothers wanted to wreak havoc on my dolls and it would certainly mean one more female to reckon with when playtime debates were whether to wrestle or play basketball. Never mind the fact that I deeply felt I could use a companion to share the brunt of my mother subjecting me to an overabundance of pink and bows (which totally backfired, by the way).

One Favorite Thing

By Mimi Hecht 
 

One day in school when I was fourteen years old, I chose an alternative to doodling in class, opting instead for the more sophisticated task of transcribing a list of my favorite things. Ten years later, I unearthed the two page list, a revealing time capsule of my adolescent mind. Dated Monday May 24^th, 2000, the list included the following highlights:

Finishing a good book

Taking a nap in the middle of the day

Getting mail

Writing

A perfect hair day

Tichel Uncovered

Tichel Uncovered

A reader asks, "A Lubavitcher wearing a headscarf out of the house?"

By Mimi Hecht

Dear Mrs. Hecht,

Your columns in the Algemeiner Journal English section are a pleasure to read! It's great to see this addition to the paper, with your engaging writing and the fascinating subjects you choose to write about. 

In your column a couple of weeks back, "Wrong Way on the Subway," you mentioned, "With my modest attire and headscarf and my husband's beard and Tzitzis, we are so obviously Jewish."  This made me want to ask you a question which I've wanted to ask many times since I moved to Crown Heights, but I've not had the opportunity to ask it. I hope you will forgive me when you see what the question is. I'm assuming you are a Lubavitcher; the question is moot if you're not. Why did you wear a headscarf on the subway (or anywhere else out of the house), rather than a sheitel? When I was in kallah classes, I was told the custom of Lubavitch women to wear a full sheitel whenever outside the house. But so often I see beautiful younger frum married ladies in Crown Heights who choose to wear a tichel or scarf. Look, the bottom line is that it's none of my business.  Please forgive me for asking what may very well leave you feeling offended, even though it is truly not my intent.  I wish you much success with your writing.  You have so much talent, and I will surely continue to enjoy your column.

Sincerely,

 Mrs. YB

Crown Heights

Dear Mrs. YB,

Thank you for writing and choosing me to ask your question which has been on your mind for some time. The issue you are asking me to address requires I make myself quite vulnerable.As a member of the Chabad community, I have encountered many women and read many articles expanding on the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s view on wearing headscarves in public. By responding to your query, I might be the first scarf-wearing Lubavitcher (yes, I am a Lubavitcher!) to publicize personal feelings about the issue. Nevertheless, I’m choosing to answer you publicly, for I trust that my thoughts also reflect those of a large and growing contingency within Chabad. I imagine you won’t find this a satisfactory “answer” per se, but perhaps it can shed light on how many young Chabad women today relate to the wig-or-scarf question.

Believe it or not, I actually looked forward to wearing a Sheitel (don't ask me why, since I loved my thick auburn curly hair that no wig can replicate). It only took a few tears during the weak of Sheva Brachos for me to realize that this mitzvah was going to be harder than I thought. A year and a half later, and I still feel uncomfortable and unattractive beneath the overpriced European strands we call a wig. I do wear it, and even recently decided to wear it more often. I feel proud that I cover my hair always, even taking on stringencies in my own way. However, quite simply, Chabad’s emphasis on “sheitels-only” is something I personally find impossible to comply with. To always wear a wig when venturing out of the house?  I’ll probably take on a million other resolutions before I commit to this strictly-Chabad custom that is, for me, somewhat unbearable. Unfortunately, I don't have what it takes to endure the "wig only" burden simply because it's a Lubavitch ideal. There, I said it. No matter how true the Rebbe's endorsement - yes, even with the Rebbe's enlightenment on the beauty and modesty of a sheitel – I can’t seem to forfeit the scarf and don a wig every time I appear in public.

I say this knowing that what makes the Lubavitch community so great in many ways is our living up to the Rebbe’s seemingly impossible standards. My hat goes off (metaphorically, of course) to all Lubavitch women who proudly follow the Rebbe's directives to wear a sheitel in public. Surely, they too may find it cumbersome, but they have the commendable self-sacrifice that the Rebbe elaborated on when he spoke about giving up wearing a scarf. I wonder if, someday, I will have this kind of self-sacrifice.

I am not unlike many other Lubavitchers - and indeed anyone who identifies with a strong community - in that I struggle to maintain an adherence to community customs when just the bare-minimum is, for me, hard enough. Add the fact that we don’t have the Rebbe’s physical voice paving the way; the struggle is intensified. You might look at me and make a quick assumption to the opposite, but the truth is that, not too deep beneath my headscarf, I intensely want to connect and adhere to the Rebbe's wisdom. I may enjoy flaunting my individuality and I certainly struggle with gray areas, but if I have any leader - any beacon of truth guiding my growing existence - it is the Lubavitcher Rebbe.  I often wonder what I would be like if I were privileged to have known the Rebbe, to have heard his voice myself. Perhaps I differ strongly from many other Lubavitchers when I say that, though the Rebbe guides me in many ways, I don’t feel his presence so strongly  in my everyday life. I am speechless when someone criticizes another for not being a “good enough” Lubavitcher. Who are we kidding? In my opinion, when you consider the situation today, Lubavitch women who strictly wear wigs deserve all the praise in the world, whereas women who don’t are so easily understood!

But while I may be an awful representation, I do believe that the Rebbe’s wisdom will always be unscathed. He always pointed out the unnerving truth in every matter. About wearing tichels, the Rebbe writes, “a woman is constantly put to the test, whether to cover all her hair, or just part of it.” How did the Rebbe know me so well? How true this is! When I wear my comfortable flower-printed scarves, I tie the knot and push the material back. Indeed, I would look and feel ridiculously old-fashioned were I to use this material to cover my hair in its entirety! Unlike with a wig, when I wear a headscarf I am immediately “put to the test” as to how much I will cover (a trial I probably fail all-too-often). I guess this is just one more thing for me to assess and improve on my journey as a Jewess.   

Thank you for writing. You have not offended me with your personal inquiry. Rather, you have given me a lot to think about, as well as two very important reminders: Firstly, no matter the method I choose to cover my hair, it must be exactly that: covered. Secondly, the importance of learning and going to the source in order to make stronger decisions as a Jewish woman. As with all things - both community customs and the strict law - I will fail then succeed then fail again. But as long as we can learn, grow and engage in these discussions without judgments, I am in for the ride. May we always have the compassion, wisdom and respect to understand each other in our individual choices and struggles.

Why All The Stress?

By Mimi Hecht

“The very purest form of birth control ever devised.”

These are the words of a researcher summing up the findings of a two year study in which social scientists from the University of California videotaped every waking, at-home moment in the lives of thirty-two dual-earning, multiple-child, middle class American families. Over 1, 540 hours of videotape were studied for researchers to examine and codify interactions – from every hug to every fuss – between parents and their kids. Scientists are calling it “the richest, most detailed, most complete database of middle-class family living in the world.”

After $9 million and endless hours of video-watching, the researchers handed over a discouraging picture of family-life. The families under scrutiny revealed an extremely high-stress lifestyle brimming with multi-tasking, arguing and severe disorganization. Offering a candid look into parents’ many roles, the study showcased parents as at-home teachers, enforcing homework deadlines; as coaches and personal trainers, sorting through piles of equipment; as camp directors, planning play dates and weekend family-time.  Videographers reported being overwhelmed from recording the incessant coordination and problem-solving.

For everyone involved, witnessing today’s average family was dizzying. And that says nothing of what today’s American families are actually experiencing…

For parents reading the findings, it was “the story of my life.” With the unanimous results of this unique study, you can be sure that your dual-income neighbors are just as exhausted and defeated as you are. If you and your spouse both have a job and you have more than one child, you’re undoubtedly mirroring the stressed-out lives observed in this study. Every week, you’re in need of a deep massage, a few-day getaway and, of course, a session with your therapist. You’re not alone, and you’re not insane (but still, keep the therapist).

With an up-close encounter with parenthood revealing such an unappealing bottom line, the researcher quoted above is spot on: Why even have kids?

People who react to the study with fear of becoming a parent or, worse, disdain for having children, are missing the bigger picture. It’s not simply that having kids is stressful and insurmountable in itself. The new American family (represented by this study) is being brought to its knees crying because of our own inventions – namely, the dual-earning family.  Societal and financial pressures are increasingly bringing mothers into the workforce – and this study is great proof that it has brought significant stress and mismanagement into our homes. Researchers observed that that parents’ flexibility in dividing labor only added to household tension. Child-care responsibilities were usually decided on the fly, instead of being pre-ordained, which intensified anxiety and led to significant decay in family functionality. On the contrary, couples with more rigidly defined responsibilities seemed to function with a lesser degree of anxiety. It seems obvious, then, that the health of our families is dependant on parents’ commitment to their traditional, defined responsibilities. But how could that work with two parents in the workforce? As it turns out, the “old fashioned” family we often mock is exactly the role-defined system we need to save us, before all the frantic multi-tasking and corroding borders eat our families alive.

But while women in the workforce was once seen as an exhilarating right and opportunity, today’s parents that want to return to more traditional roles don’t have the luxury to make a decision. Mothers are increasingly holding jobs out of necessity, not desire.

Perhaps the solution to all the at-home drama is a mere recognition of an ideal - simply acknowledging what worked a few decades ago. By recognizing the unique state of our current parental roles, we can begin to re-structure our homes. Only when we match the inside of our families to our current method can we reduce the pile of stress we have created.

Mothers working means two parents are together holding not one, not two but three jobs. But what has changed inside the home? In all these years, what adjustments have we made to match this new structure? For instance, do fathers reserve the right to be tired and on hiatus when they come home if their partner is equally exhausted from work? Should mothers still be spending 27 percent of their time on housework, compared to dad’s 18 percent?

It could be that the Women’s Rights Movement lacked some foresight. With great intentions (and many great results), they didn’t see the repercussions of failing to ensure that their home’s inner-workings adapted with the turning of the tide. In many ways, the damage has been done – but it’s not irreversible. The answer is not to pull every mother from the workforce. What we need is a movement that brings both parents’ efforts into the home in a defined way with clear divisions of labor. Parents must stop acting as if dual-earning families are the way it always was. We need to rework our household arrangement, each family deciding for themselves what they need to alleviate the mounting tension.

A nation of stressful families means a bleak future on every level, not to mention it’s clearly bad PR for having children altogether. And if we don’t create families, what do we have?  Well, quite frankly, a disintegrating population of very busy lives, spinning in meaningless circles that nobody will even be around to remember.

The Jewish Woman’s 10 Commandments

The Jewish Woman’s 10 Commandments

By Mimi Hecht

You Are The Master, The One Master, There Shall Be No Other: A legion of rebels will try to test this first commandment, but you must hold firm. If you are not the Lord of your family, no one (I repeat, no one) will rise in your place. You have been chosen to singlehandedly take your home out of exile. Seven Days You Shall Labor; There Shall Be No Rest: Shabbos, a day of rest? Ha! As the “Divine Day” approached, you lived in an apron, commandeered the kids baths and wardrobes, cleaned up after three tornadoes in the kitchen and, on top of it all, said “yes, my pleeeaassure!” to an additional five guests (see the 8th commandment). So if you’re doing less on the seventh day, it’s not because you’re resting. It’s because, in the light of the “peaceful glow” of your Shabbos candles, you’ve officially entered a comatose state.  The Diet Shall Commence Tomorrow: You can’t tackle the battle of the bulge when there’s always a reason – or commandment – to eat. The diet is a real thing for the Jewish woman. But it always starts after Chanukah. No, after Purim.  Errr, after Pesach? There’s no hope. So you’re better off just abiding by this intuitive commandment and always start your diet tomorrow. Except, wait, tomorrow’s Shavuos. And we all know what that means. Thou Shall Have a Multitude Of Number One Priorities: Your husband should always come first. Your kids are of primary importance. You must take care of yourself before anything! Only the Jewish woman can manage making a million things her number one priority. Consider this one of those superpowers that makes you thy home’s infallible master. Thou Shall Honor...Thyself! If you didn’t have this commandment, you’d evaporate into thin air (and then who would feed the kids?!). So do yourself a favor: go get a manicure. Read a book. Run. Far. Away. By honoring yourself, that’s the best thing you can do for your family (hmm, I see a pattern forming). Thou Shall Not Covet Another Mother: This commandment is essential to navigating the terrain of Jewish motherhood. If you’re busy looking at all the other YiddisheMamas” out there, you’re never going to be good enough. There’s always someone else with a bigger dining room table, better behaved children and a much more futuristic stroller (yes, even though yours looks like the spaceship your toddler always wanted). Thou Shall Not Commit Idolatry: Do not place all your cards on your “goya.” Maria will not save you.  Don’t worship or bow to her esteemed maid service. She will drop you in a heartbeat when the Goldbergs down the block offer her few more bucks and a renovated basement to live in. Thou Shall Never Say "No" In Vain: Every Jewish woman has about three “no”s to use in her lifetime. When you get called to host a simcha, cook for a friend who just gave birth, or spearhead the PTA group, you better say “yes” or risk being banished to eternal guilt. Oh, and not just any good ‘ol “yes” – you have to say “my pleeeaaaassure!” If you’re going to use one of your “no”s, it better be because your lying listless in bed. And if this person is calling because someone else is sick and needs a refuah sheleima(complete recovery), even that excuse won’t do. Thou Shall Not Take For Granted: Want to get stoned by your fellow Woman of Valor? Take everything for granted. If you want to survive as a Jewish woman, you’re going to have to add some grateful jargon to your current mix of obscenities and gossip. When you talk about your kids turning your hair white at the ripe age of thirty three, say “Thank G-d.” When you speak of that upcoming simcha (celebration) in the family that’s costing you the price of Pesach shopping times a hundred, say “G-d willing.” And, for the love of G-d, when you’re kvetching about your super-imposing and overbearing mother-in-law, don’t forget to say “Keyn AynHoreh!” Thou Shall Not Break The Rules: If you think you’re entitled to ignore or bend the rules of motherhood every now and then, let this final commandment be a reminder. The second you stop living up to your statutes, someone will call you out. Your husband will say, “Well, that’s the wife’s job” and your kids will yell, “But you’re my mommy!” So before you get ahead of yourself, just know – these reminders are a specially-made version of bolts of lightening. Thou Shall Never Be Fully Prepared: If you’re a Jewish mother, you’re used to surprises – so you can certainly throw one more commandment into the juggle (if not to just prove yourself than anything else). Your life is full, action-packed and bustling with energy. Always expect the unexpected and realize you’ll never be completely ready. If you think you are, you’re lying – and there’s a whole other set of commandments that deals with that!

Mother's Day for the Childless

By Mimi Hecht

The Mother’s Day message is that every mother should be treated, pampered and

 praised for her hard work. But what about the rights of women who have

 tried and tried but are yet to become mothers?

Mother’s Day for the Childless

This Mother’s Day is my first since giving birth to my son and officially joining the world of mommy-hood. Sitting at my laptop, all the emotional flower ads and excited Facebook posts make me feel like I’m at a Mother’s Day brunch, so I don’t feel bad that I’m spending the day trying to meet my column deadline. As a mom-blogger, I know my article has to be a about the importance of today. But with every article, post and “tweet” giving millions of moms a platform, I find the need to use this Mother’s Day to become a voice for the women who aren’t making Mother’s Day’s front page. As the world lauds the importance and fulfillment of motherhood, we are surrounded by the silence of women who pass every prayer-filled day being denied the gift of children. For women who face the anguish of infertility, Mother’s Day is not a festivity, but a lively reminder of a role they so badly want to fill. For them, late April and early May is a hellish season, filled with inescapable banners and fliers in every grocery store, restaurant and mall – all reminding them of what should be or could have been. As heartfelt Mother’s Day poems fill their inboxes and their friends relish in recognizing the joy in being mommies, the childless woman is alone, left only with her imagination and unanswered tears. I can’t help but feel an extra dose of grief on behalf of women in the Orthodox-Jewish community who are experiencing difficulty conceiving. In a society where having large families is praised and it is common for women to show belly-bumps just months after marriage, the childless woman’s ache cannot rest. She is forever forced to confront her insuppressible yearning when spending time with friends who have babies, listening to a Rebbetzin highlight the centricity of creating a family or simply being asked a common question: “How many kids do you have?” Moreover, it is common for her to deal with the tactless comments from other mothers who are insensitive to her plight. From assuming she is taking birth control to comments like “Oh, just enjoy this time without kids,” I have heard mothers make senseless remarks - all to a woman who already feels like a second-class citizen in the Jewish community and, to make matters worse, lives in a world where open conversations on the more complex side of intimacy and childbirth are not-yet fully embraced. The Mother’s Day message is that every mother should be treated, pampered and praised for her hard work. But what about the rights of women who have tried and tried but are yet to become mothers? They spend every day caring for their husbands and homes – living life with a smile despite the fact that everything reminds them of their void. And yet, there are no celebrations, parties, rituals or membership kits for the involuntarily childless couple. On today’s day of flowers and Hallmark cards, it is the responsibility of every Jewish mother to recognize the women who are not celebrating but instead riddled with pain. Our duty is obvious. We cannot for a second take for granted our having children. As long as there are women who must undergo the emotionally and physically taxing life of constant doctor visits and treatments – not leaving any stone unturned in their desire to conceive – then motherhood is not a given. More importantly, we must sensitize our minds and hearts to the women who endure infertility in our all-about-the-baby society. We need to adjust our attitude to recognize the reality of infertility for many women among us. And whenever we can, we must give them a voice. To the woman who struggles with infertility: this Mother’s Day is for you. Not because you have a child, but because, through the experience of your longing, you have a deep understanding of motherhood’s significance that outshines even the greatest mom. There is little that someone can say to provide comfort and friends who are mothers have a limited ability to truly understand your agony. However, just know, we recognize your silence. On this holiday where mothers everywhere are flashing their bright lights, we still see you. mimi@algemeiner.com

LadyMama Column: The Koran Catwalk

By Mimi Hecht

A Burberry inspired burqua walks the runway

In the up-to-the-minute world of fashion, anything that struts down the runway has one chance to do what it absolutely must: catch the eye. The hallmarks of any good designer’s runway show are bright colors, daring shapes and bold prints. But when I saw a televised fashion show recently, the runway indeed showcased all that - but was eye-catching for a whole other reason; all the models were covered from head to toe.

One by one, Turkish models catwalked their way down the runway donning hijibs and burquas, the head-covering and long-dressed attire worn by religious Muslim women. It was the most modest fashion show I have ever seen, but, surprisingly, also the most cutting edge. Each outfit that took to the stage sported prints and embellishments fit for Prada, each look avant-garde enough for Yves Saint Laurent.

I was surprised that such fashion-forward Muslim attire actually had a market, and, considering Islam’s notorious pride in averting modern Western culture, I found the runway somewhat amusing. But then I saw it everywhere I looked. They’re often called ‘haute-couture hijabs” and they’re showing up all over the European, Australian and even American runways. As it turns out, top-fashion modest-wear for Islamic women is not an extremely fashion-forward move, but in fact a reflection of the budding desire in the average 21^st century religious Muslim woman to keep up with modern clothing trends.

The growing fashion movement spearheaded by Islam’s youth is offending and alarming many traditional Muslims, who view it as a step in the wrong direction. Many Muslims – from scholars to shop owners – are protesting the new fashions, saying that, although the clothing covers the body, the patterns and designs are too showy to be considered modest. The meaning behind the Koran’s stipulated dress code, they argue, is to detract attention from females. And in the words of one anonymous Turkish clothing-store owner, “How can a hijab be modest if it’s bright pink?” Fashion-conscious hijab wearers are responding that – in the words of the editor of WeLoveHijab.com - “It’s important to show that Muslim women can dress modestly and stylishly at the same time.” The site, for example, showcases all sorts of modest fashion finds and nominates a stylish hijab wearer - a “haute hijabi” - every week. A commenter on the site echoes the sentiments of its many followers by saying “May Allah bless you for taking the initiative to find a way to bring together a woman’s love for fashion and the proper guidelines for Islamic attire.” Indeed, increasingly popular “haute hijabi” sites are proving that that ability to maintain style is a serious incentive for Islam’s women to either keep up - or take on - the tradition.  

For the first time in my life, I relate to the Islamic women’s plight. As a Jewess, the story sounds all too familiar. I have dealt with this essential “modesty vs. style” conundrum ever since I was sixteen and bought a red dress. My father then told me a line I would hear for many years to come: “You can be covering all the right parts and still be untznius (immodest).” But because I was insistent on expressing myself fully and maintaining my style, I was going to find every way to be fashionable while adhering to the Jewish dress-code. Whether it was loud colors or an eye-catching style, I walked the grey-line until the present day. Like many other Jewish women, I take pride in proving that modesty stipulations need not result in drab or “ancient” clothing.

But, if I were to be honest, the difference between me and today’s Islamic women is that my desire to be stylish often leads me to bend the rules. While my Jewish role models are women who adhere strictly to our modesty guidelines while staying on the forefront of style, I myself am often not strong enough to walk that line (or, in this case, runway). While I certainly try my best, it’s not unseen for me to sacrifice the law and nature of Tzniut all for a high-fashion piece of clothing.

This is where I am inspired by the emergent group of stylish Muslim women. The Islamic fashionista seems to be battling this conundrum with incredible commitment. She asks not “How can I make something stylish, modest?” but “How can I make something modest…stylish?” There is a difference. They are not choosing or favoring fashion, they are integrating it. In doing so, Muslim women are adapting to the world with sincere conviction to their faith’s principles – something I cannot say for myself or many of my Jewish girlfriends.

While Jewish women following all the rules in style may be a norm and there are plenty Muslim women who forego the Hijab all together, the resurgence of Islam women proudly following the Muslim dress-code is undeniably because burquas and hijabs are finding a place in fashion. Through their perseverance and confidence in walking the Koran catwalk, Islam’s modern-day women are ensuring that their tradition of modesty carries on for a long time to come.

To all the Islamic traditionalists who fear their women are “letting go” and forfeiting sacred traditions, I say this: Fashion is making modesty enjoyable for your young women. In a decade, when printed and adorned Islamic attire for women will be the uncontested norm, every Muslim will know that it was fashion that saved the hijab.

mimi@algemeiner.com

A Lesson from Zaidy and Nona

By Mimi Hecht

It’s barely two days into my month-long stay back home in Seattle and my father is crying. His hand presses my seven-month old son’s cheek against his face, his eyes brimming with fresh tears. In a soft and serious voice he looks at me, but seems to ask himself, “What am I going to do when he goes?” Once again, I feel that jabbing pain from facing the reality that I raise my son on the opposite coast as my parents. But seeing so clearly how attached my father is to my son, watching the connection they have built, forces me to respond with a smile. I remind my father that we have so much time this trip and we will undoubtedly make it worthwhile. Indeed, I was bustling with excitement to be afforded the precious opportunity to spend time back at home with my child and give Zaidy and Nona the chance to bond with their first grandson.

As soon as my husband and I touched down in Seattle, my two parents became that village they say is essential to raising a child. They wholeheartedly assumed the parental role and providing everything essential to my child’s physical and emotional wellbeing. My mother had decked the house with tons of toys, an entire cupboard of baby food and so much baby paraphernalia that I almost thought she herself was pregnant. I thanked her profusely, but quickly learned she did none of this for me per se. Her baby was home.

At first I was blown away by my parent’s helpful hands. They insisted on taking the baby while I slept or worked, and when I was done they’d give an enthusiastic report on their time together - a program of feedings, diaper changes and, in my father’s case, a detailed tour of the house. It was heartwarming, but also a little strange. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the idea that my parents – who raised seven children and are now enjoying a more restful period of their life – could so naturally and joyfully slip into parenting-gear, something that demands so much energy and focus.

They were unstoppable. When my mother went on a walk, she insisted on taking the stroller. Every time she wanted to hold the baby for “just a second” he would suddenly be enjoying a treat outside his strict seven-month old diet or be undressed and splashing in the bath. When my father had some free moments, he whisked the baby away to play him music and tell him stories. One morning I woke up to find him giving the baby breakfast, both still in pajamas.

And then there was the time I heard the baby upstairs and, after following his chuckles and scanning the floor for his roly-poly crawling polkas, I also found my father on all fours. Yes, my father was having a crawling play session with my toddler. “Sorry for interrupting,” was all I could say. It was official; my parents needed to have another baby. But when I suggested that to my mother she laughed and reminded herself of the task of raising teenagers. I couldn’t help but think to myself, just one more reason to treasure these poop-filled, tear-soaked and sleep-deprived days of baby-raising.

You always wonder what it was like for your parents to raise little kids. How did they talk to you? How did they feed you? What activities and moments really made them smile? Up until now, I have only heard the memories, being left to imagine my folks as youthful parents. But now, having brought my child home, I have been given an inside view into my parents’ joy-filled days raising children. My mother always told me that caring for us as babies was the best time of her life. But she doesn’t have to say it. I see the same delight every moment she’s with my son…and the lesson is indispensable.

I now know what grandparents are for. They’re not there to share a burden. They don’t exist to spoil your kids. And while it’s always accepted, their primary role is not to dispense advice. Their purpose is more in-between the lines. Seeing a couple who are no longer raising little ones enthusiastically kick into gear and embrace the responsibilities of parenthood when they have absolutely no obligation – and seeing them do it with the elation of a lottery winner – well, that’s just something you can’t ignore. So here’s to the best Zaidy and Nona. Thank you for teaching me to approach parenthood with zest and joy. Thank you for reminding me that, years from now when I am beyond my childbearing years, I will look back at this time and wish it hadn’t passed so quickly.

Mimi@algemeiner.com

LadyMama Column: Matza Moms

Matzah Moms

By Mimi Hecht

Until recent years, the most common broken-record complaint heard from mothers was that husbands didn’t help out enough. And no matter how many diapers he changed and aprons he donned, helpful husbands never scored enough points to hold up against the ocean of chores and both mentally and physically challenging tasks that fell under mom’s role. The collective mother body had pretty much raised its broom in conclusion that no man can do a job quite as quick, thorough or gladly as a woman. Over the last few decades, however, the dish-washing gloves have switched hands. With droves of women entering the workforce and leaving their children behind, the roles of husband and wife, father and mother are being redefined. And with the shifting responsibilities producing a more equalized involvement in childcare and household chores, women’s notion that men just aren’t good enough is being put to the test. New research from the University of Texas finds that moms with super helpful hubbies experience a sense of incompetence. Close to 80 dual-earner couples, all parents of toddlers, were interviewed about self-esteem as it relates to their so called “parenting proficiency.” When asked about their perception of their spouse’s involvement, the result on the side of moms was surprising. After toiling to solicit daddy’s help, and now finally conquering his involvement like no other generation, today’s working moms are reporting a low self esteem that they admit is directly related to watching their husbands fit into the maternal role with ease and confidence. Study results showed that the more time husbands spend with the children, the lower their wife’s sense of self-worth. After all this time being convinced we had the special touch, it turns out that daddy is much better than second-best. And it hurts. Amazingly enough, our increasingly egalitarian world has not washed away women’s deep self-expectation to be the starring role in parenting. When our spouse goes above and beyond to help – and is good at it – it’s somewhat of a smack in the face. Has our motherly ego gotten the best of us? Has all our knowledge about “mother’s intuition” and the mother-child bond inflated our sense of worth as it pertains to our role as parents? Can we still believe in the uniqueness of what we offer our families without being threatened…by our own husbands? As it turns out, our swollen sense of self has left us feeling small. We built up our proficiency so far as to believe that no one else – not even our children’s father – can take our place in any way. When he does, we crumble. Meanwhile, this whole time, we thought it was only the men in our lives who needed some ego-deflating. It seems the overly-proud mother has a lesson to learn from Passover. The unleavened bread that is the holiday highlight warns us not to bloat our sense of self. To be truly free, we must get rid of all the self pride that is weighing us down. Feeling threatened by our husbands’ proficiency at childrearing and homemaking reveals something very un-motherly – jealousy. And, anyways, if we’re so good at what we do, why does a helpful husband make us feel useless? No one can truly take a mothers place, and both parents have something unique to offer. But we ladies need to realize that, even with all our motherly prowess, we are somewhat indispensable. That is, with a wonderful husband of course. So let’s accept our spouse’s help. Let’s let him thrive in the role we thought we owned. If it damages our self-esteem, that might not be such a bad thing after all. mimi@algemeiner.com

LadyMama Column: The Malady of a Maid

The Malady of a Maid

By Mimi Hecht

After living in our two-bedroom Brooklyn apartment for almost eight months, my husband and I finally decided to hire a cleaning lady. I love to clean and have been efficiently up-keeping our pad, but with our usually vibrant trio ravaged by a cold virus and the baby starting to move all over the hardwood, we decided it was high time to do some floor-to-ceiling scrubbing. You know, the kind of cleaning that I just refuse to do. My prince-of-a-husband made the suggestion and I tried to convince him our apartment was fine. But when he mentioned a few hard-hit areas of our home, I knew I had to succumb. We made the call. The cleaning lady would come tomorrow. I got excited. But that night, I tossed and turned. My nerves were pulsating like the night before a math exam. It hadn’t occurred to me that my house was completely unprepared for someone to tackle its mess. If Clara was going to come work her magic on my house, I had to be ready! If my apartment wasn’t anywhere near clean – how could I hire a cleaning lady? You see, this is the cleaning lady conundrum. You have to clean your own home before you invite someone in to clean it for you. Suddenly, it made sense to me why, growing up, my mother would tell us kids, “Make sure you clean your room! The maid is coming!” I used to think my mother didn’t understand what acleaning lady was. And suffice to say, having to make my bed and clear my room in anticipation of Rosario’s visit really took the thrill out of the whole thing. So here I was, the night before my cleaning appointment, considering canceling Clara the cleaning lady because my crib wasn’t clean for her to come clean it (read that three times, it’s absurd!). Only after making a mental list of chores to do before her arrival did I sleep soundly. I woke up pumped to get the house ready and sparkling for Clara’s grand entrance. I didn’t want Clara to spend time on dishes, and they were completely cluttering the kitchen. So I washed dishes. I couldn’t imagine her picking up our dirty tissues. So I swept. I needed to make room for her to dust. So I cleared countertops. The obvious irrationality was masked by my discomfort in making a stranger clean up for me and a dose of embarrassment at how tragically messy my house had become. If someone would have peeked through my window and watched me flying around the house anxiously cleaning and organizing, they would have thought I was expecting the Queen of England. But when Clara arrived, it was anything but English. I felt a pain in my heart, a deep regret for slacking off in Spanish 101. I tried to apologize that my house wasn’t ready. For emphasis, let me say that in another way: I said sorry to a cleaning lady that my house wasn’t clean! She didn’t understand; perhaps because I was being preposterous, but probably because the language barrier. But as it turns out, our method of communication was far deeper. Together - yes together - we entered a trance-like cleaning collaboration. She went straight to work with a broom and rag in my room while I danced around her clearing that which I considered out of her jurisdiction. With her expertise - and my mental insanity - the house was spotless in three hours. In the end, I realize I paid a maid to get me to clean. With Clara’s silent (aka, non-English speaking) companionship, I raced, sweated, danced, whistled and organized my way into a fresh, sparkling apartment. When I offered Clara a glass of water, I nearly gulped it down myself. Yes, she did clean. But I did way too much for having hired her. And it’s my issue. I wonder if other women just entering a relationship with their own Rosario, Clara or Maria have the same oxymoronic (and mostly moronic) need to clean in anticipation of their hired help. Is it my guilt at not wanting to get down and dirty to scrub? Or is it my empathy for a woman that cleans for a living? As women, are we all entitled to a cleaning lady? If yes, what is her role, what is ours? All I know is there was something deeply uncomfortable about hiring Clara. But while “Mimi the Maid” does have a ring to it, I can never again be my home's sole cleaner and Clara will be coming again this week. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go get ready.

Is it Okay to be Fat?

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By Mimi Hecht

First Lady Michelle Obama has a strong stance on a weighty American issue. Last week, ABC’s Nightline “Face-Off” debate series aired its fifth installment which dealt with one simple and seemingly straightforward question: Is it okay to be fat? On one side was Crystal Renn, a plus-size model who once starved herself to be thin to meet industry standards; and Mirianne Kirby, self proclaimed “fat activist” who is outspoken against the stigma associated with being "fat.” On the other side, Meme Roth, president of National Action Against Obesity and Kim Bensen, author of "Finally Thin,” who lost 200 pounds after years of struggling with obesity. I watched the show not because I was curious about the answer but because I was completely dumbfounded as to how there could possibly be a question. What were a bunch of mature adults doing taking up space on television to discuss whether it’s okay to be overweight? Obviously the question was rhetorical! The eye-opener came when Kirby explained that, though she is hundreds of pounds overweight, she considers herself healthy. “This is just the way my body settled,” she explained. With completely confidence she repeatedly announced, “You can absolutely be fat and healthy.” The other debaters didn’t bother to pry into the details of Kirby’s diet or health; they just argued in horror. But amazingly enough, Kirby’s sentiments found an overwhelming response of agreement on ABC’s site as well as various online blogs. While I thought the question was preposterous, it turns out that many Americans still think its “okay” to be fat. While anti-obesity activist Roth explained that people will justify anything to protect themselves, Kirby represented an enormous (pun intended) group of people that completely ignore the overwhelming evidence and warnings that being overweight is a surefire road to major physical and mental health issues. I myself can probably be considered overweight. Especially post-baby, I have some stubborn lingering pounds that I am completely willing to admit may have an adverse affect on my health. If you call me fat, I won’t say “okay.” I know the answer on the scale should call me into action. And I’m nowhere near obese! Why do my few pounds cause me concern and there are obese Americans who call themselves healthy? I can’t help but wonder, who will clear this up and make it known that being fat is most certainly and unequivocally a serious health concern? I worry, how will America ever tackle its obesity crisis…if we can’t agree it’s a crisis? Houston, We Have a Problem Enter the Presidential Task Force. Just two short weeks ago, the First Lady Michelle Obama launched her “Let’s Move” campaign to strategically fight childhood obesity. The national goal to create a healthier America is founded on four pillars: to give parents the support they need, provide healthier food in schools, encourage kids to be more physically active, and make healthy, affordable food available in every part of our country. To aid in the ambitious mission, President Obama signed a Presidential Memorandum creating the first ever Task Force on Childhood Obesity. At first, people praised the First Lady for undertaking such a seemingly non-political cause and instead choosing to tackle an issue that could bring America together in the fight towards a healthier country. But when the details emerged, so did the critics. “Let’s Move” initiatives that include removing junk food from school vending machines and raising prices for fatty foods have people crying that, albeit with good intentions, the government intervention is overstepping boundaries. But with a national health crisis threatening future generations, do we really have time to debate? While many American’s justify a body that results from too much fast-food and too little exercise, the First Lady is exactly what we need – a high profile, influential leader (a mom!) to set the record straight. Michelle Obama is bold enough to label the problem and use the “F” word with honesty: fat is bad. While Nightline’s debate revealed a portion of society that thinks obesity and health can go together, the First Lady wants everyone to know it isnot okay to be fat. With “Let’s Move” garnering attention in schools everywhere, we can be sure that our children won’t grow up thinking being overweight is a non-issue. The First Lady’s explicit stance – and her stance alone - may just save us. We can argue the details of her plan, but Michelle Obama is taking the very vital first step in attacking obesity: knowing there is a problem. mimi@algemeiner.com

LadyMama Column: My Blackberry Baby

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How many parents can say they successfully captured their child’s very first smile on camera? How many mothers wish they would have had their camera within reach when their child looked them in their eyes and revealed that first toothless grin?

I never had to make that wish or feel such regret. Thanks to an inseparable relationship with my Blackberry – a multimedia amusement park also known as a smartphone - I will forever have a picture of my son’s very first shining smile. As with every other attempt to capture the perfect shot, I was holding up my Blackberry camera and making funny sounds to get his attention when he broke out in his first charming smile. I went mad with joy and immediately sent the photo to my husband.

That first smile was exactly the cliché I was told it would be – a slice of heaven. It was big and bright, with a twinkle in his eye, and gave me warm-fuzzies all over.

I have only one regret. I saw it through a screen.

I fell victim to the Blackberry craze just one month after I gave birth (a labor present of sorts). I immediately felt the joy in having a gadget that would allow me to capture pictures, videos and voice notes and instantly share them. My parents live on the West Coast and I wouldn’t tolerate them missing even one moment of their first grandchild’s life.

Month’s later and a tour through my Blackberry photo and video library showcases a unique collection of original works. “Morning Poop Kisses,” “Nakey Hug” “Sleeping with One Eye Open,” and “Sneeze Cough Smile” are actual titles of just a few of the hundreds of snapshots and clips to forever remember my baby’s many moments. With his every move (poops, laughs and even sneezes) recorded on my little device, there’s practically nothing left to witness! But thankfully, he is ever-changing and always entering unknown territory, leaving endless opportunities to record more original masterpieces. And when I do, it takes two seconds to – directly from my phone – e-mail the family, upload to Facebook, Twitter and my blog.

There’s no other way to put it. Thanks to my Blackberry, I have become my child’s own paparazzi. My right hand is always ready – like a cowboy and his holster – to record every share-worthy baby minute (Did you know that the stroller cup-holder fits a Blackberry perfectly?). But while many people complain of “Blackberry Thumb” – a sprain-like sensation from typing too much on their handheld – my problem is worse. And if things don’t change soon, I threaten the wellbeing of my family.

Admittedly, I often feel like I am observing my son through a screen - my Blackberry Baby. And the moments don’t seem to be as valuable as they once were. When I flip through my mobile photos to show a friend, it’s like nothing is precious. Oh, that picture? Eh, I have better. Ya, he’s smiling in that one…but look at this one! I wonder, if I accidentally pressed something and deleted all the files that are slowing down my phone…what would I have left? Do all my child’s adorable moments exist as strongly in my mind as they do on my Blackberry?

The benefit of having a media-miracle to aid in sharing my son’s life is obvious. Thanks to my Blackberry, my parents feel like they’re with me every step of the way. Recently, when I sent my mother a picture of the baby finally attempting to crawl, I got an immediate reply text: “Put socks on him! It’s cold!”

But with the advantages of being able to share every second comes the risk of watching my son’s life hurriedly pass on a screen. What would have happened had I not viewed my son’s first smile through a screen and quickly e-mailed it to every one? I probably would have saturated in the magical moment, let it linger just a little longer. It would have always been a distinctive event in both our lives. But instead, it’s only a picture. Yes, only a picture. It may be worth a thousand words, but it can never take the place of the indispensable mother and child moment I missed.

The other day, about fifteen minutes after putting my exhausted son down for a nap, I was typing on my computer when I heard him giggling uncontrollably. Before I went to his room, I quickly tried to locate my Blackberry so I could video him laughing. I then realized that the adorable giggling was, in fact, my ringtone. I forgot that, earlier in the day, I had recorded his giggles and set it as my default ringer. Wow, I thought to myself, I am completely hopeless.

As hard as it will be to reverse six months of constantly stalking my child with my Blackberry, I am ready to change. I have missed too many moments trying not to miss them. I can’t record my toddler’s every move if it carries the risk of distancing me from the involvement so necessary to his development, and our vital bond. To every mother who feels she might be raising a Blackberry Baby, my advice is simple: Put down your Blackberry. You don’t want to miss a thing.

LadyMama Column: Head over Heels

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Suri Cruise, the three-year-old daughter of celebrities Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise, has been attracting media attention ever since spotted wearing high heels during casual outings with her mother. While shoe lines carrying all styles of heels and platforms for little girls have sprouted up over the past few years, there’s nothing like a celebrity to push a fad over the edge. Fashion-forward mothers are now scrambling for the perfect heels for their tiny tots, considering them a welcome addition to their daughters’ “cute” and “girly” wardrobe.

But many parents are divided as to whether the added inches are appropriate for their little ones, complaining that heels should be strictly "mommies only." The concern: that heels are forcing our already-quick-to-age children to follow trends and play a part that is years – no, centuries – beyond their age.

But what is so age-inappropriate about little girls wearing heels? Why has Suri’s wardrobe decision incited such controversy? What really irks parents who find the style out of line?

A lot is lost when we force kids to be ultra-conscious of the way they use exteriors to communicate their gender. Being calculated in their dress and mannerisms is something young kids are definably not about, and for good reason. The less they are concerned with their image, the more unbridled their expression will be, ensuring they have the self confidence to better tackle a peer-pressure world that is already making too many decisions for them. For little girls in particular, something as seemingly insignificant as a pair of heels can make all the difference.

Any honest woman knows the power of a good pair of Louboutins. By nature, heels are a tool for getting noticed and communicating womanliness. A successful heel will elongate and slim our appearance and force an altered stance that accentuates our womanliness. The added height puts us on a pedestal that promotes our feelings of confidence and power. A woman slips on her heels and is immediately highlighting all the right features and loudly pronouncing her femaleness. In her song “High Heels,” singer Keri Hilson says it best: “I hate high heels/love how they look/hate how they feel… Starting to think I shouldn't have worn these shoes/What's the price we pay/For looking this way.”

This is exactly the reason little girls get a kick out of trying on mommy’s heels, and not her sneakers or slippers. They inspire a uniquely feminine persona that does not fit in any other shoe. Little girls know that mommy wears heels when she wants to look extra pretty. They know that mommy walks a little differently with those added inches. They know that, in her heels, mommy is more womanly. When they play dress-up and gallivant around the house in mommy’s pointy-toed pumps, they are mimicking their mother’s character when she wears heels – a character they intrinsically know they must grow into. Mommy’s little girl understands she can’t wear heels simply by virtue of being born a female. Rather, it’s a right to be earned.

In other words, our daughters’ feminine self is a work in progress. So what happens when a young girl who is still developing and defining her girlhood starts to wear the confidence and womanliness of heels? We can label it “cute” and “girly” – but at what expense? How does a young girl defining herself understand that wearing heels is feminine, but doesn’t make you feminine?

Today, even the youngest minds are impressed with American culture’s idea of what makes a woman, leaving little room for young girls to build their own identity. Mothers who feel they are nurturing their daughter by allowing them to be “just like mommy” should put their heads over heels. By entitling our little girls to womanly privileges, we’re meddling in the vital process they need to nurture their girlhood and naturally segue into womanhood. Until our daughters actually have true self-awareness and femininity within, let’s keep heels in the dress-up box and encourage what has been truly “girly” until now – unabashed expression, charming innocence….and a good pair of Mary Janes.

10 Untruths about Motherhood

Read the first article of my new column, "LadyMama," in the Algemeiner Journal!

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LADYMAMA

10 Untruths about Motherhood

By Mimi Hecht


When I was expecting my son, the list of opinions, warnings and all around announcements offered by other mothers grew almost as quick as my belly. Spoken as if rules from The Bible itself, these mother-musings floated in my mind as my due date approached. But now, almost six months after the birth of my son, I am here to set the record straight.

1.     “Diapers will be the end of you.” I wasn’t exactly exuberant about what I anticipated to be the constant chore of changing diapers, but all that changed after the first poop taught me something about the nature of love. Yes. Love. It’s the only way to explain why changing a wet or soiled diaper can be so completely satisfying. I have anxiously awaited poops, sung lyrically-advanced songs once they have arrived and admittedly went fishing to examine the contents of diapers my husband changed. Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. If you’re not a mother yet, it’s going to happen to you, too. As it turns out, “Pampers” and “Luvs” are quite the appropriate names.
2.     “Say goodbye to your sleep.” If only! The truth of the matter is, I sleep way more than I need to these days. The little bit of sleep I lose because of the baby’s sleep pattern has thrown me into a nonsensical and desperate sleep-or-die mind-set. I grip to the heels of sleep with the strength of ten pubescent teenagers. As soon as my child hits the hay, do not stand in my way. I make a beeline for my bed like a magnet. Come morning, and – just ask my husband – I snarl at any attempt to let light in before I absolutely have to wake. It’s actually embarrassing. Say goodbye to sleep? I wish I could.
3.     “Being a mother makes you selfless.” When people say that, it just makes me feel like an awful person. How come this hasn’t happened to me? Am I the only one that yaps away on the phone when my child wants to play or uses Babies R Us gift cards to buy myself something?  Sometimes motherhood just comes to highlight how truly selfish we actually can be. And the truth is; we do enough for our children to not feel completely guilty about that.
4.     “It’s hard to get out of the house.” When I imagined leaving the house with my baby, I pictured load-carrying donkeys and caravans. I was worried that the need to drag tons of baby paraphernalia would be an easy incentive to live indoors. But in reality, I’m not carrying more things, just different things. I’ve ditched my perfume for Purell hand sanitizer and lipstick for Desitin. And besides, gallivanting around with a baby has its perks – like a stroller basket to dump shopping bags (and those of your friends, of course) and a magnificent distraction during awkward run-ins with friends you haven’t seen since the commencement of your post-partum hibernation.
5.     “Your body will turn to mush.” There’s a saying that when you see Jewish women dancing at a wedding, they’re all peeing. The thought of such loss of body-control was depressing beyond words, but I was already pregnant and couldn’t turn back. But it’s not true that your body becomes one big sagging sloth after having a baby. My body jumps out of bed with the force of a lion when my baby cries and I do these stretching lunges when he reaches for a choking hazard.  In other words, do not be concerned; you’re baby will reveal the Olympic-medal-winning gymnast within you.
6.     “Don’t listen to your mother.” I realized this was nonsense when the hospital’s lactation consultant tried to convince me that breastfeeding was au natural, and my mother was the only one to make me feel normal for screaming bloody murder. Yes, every mother has to develop her own rhythm, but the more you try to sync yours with your mother, the easier this is all going to be. She may have no idea what a Bugaboo or BabyBoon is and every time she says “we mothers” it might make you cringe, but she did raise you, and the sooner you admit she did an okay job, the better off everyone will be.
7.     “You will never shower again.” I tried not to get too close to the person who told me this. I knew she was exaggerating, but still. I remember thinking, as if a baby can really get in the way of the important task of tending to your personal hygiene. A few months later and I myself was mistaking Herbal Essence for some sort of tea (for all the mothers reading this - it’s a shampoo! Go shower!). Quite often, I would give the baby a bath and say, “We’re all clean!” But this does not do the truth justice. Mothers do shower, just not whenever we please or as often as we’d like. But our showers post-baby are nothing to compare altogether. A mother’s venture under the unfamiliar waterfall is a true clean-a-thons in which she actually removes dirt (aka, baby residue of all kinds). What used to be habit is now an entirely necessary, fulfilling and somewhat messianic experience. Think of this as quantity versus quality.
8.     “It’s the most rewarding thing you’ll ever do.” Anyone who says this has obviously never spent hours cleaning and organizing their entire house only to sit down afterwards and admire their work while drinking an ice coffee. Yes, tending to the needs of a newborn brings with it a truly larger-than-life fulfillment, but things like rescuing the lives of women and children in Darfur might rate just a little higher. And for what its worth, you can still be a great mother and absolutely love motherhood while admitting that there are other things you’d find more gratifying.
9.     “Your relationship with your husband will suffer.” Since having a baby, my husband and I have seen more sunrises (even though we often have no choice) and work as a team like never before (so what if it’s while tending to a spit-up catastrophe?). And if I can be completely cheesy, nothing waters your love for your husband like the sight of him going completely gaga over the baby. And when he goes that extra mile to lend a helping hand, it’s far more meaningful than a candlelit dinner. Yes, I do realize that makes me sound like I could use a lesson on romance, but it’s true – after you have a baby, there’s only more love to go around.
10.    “Motherhood comes naturally.” This was proven wrong right at the beginning – with the epidural. I don’t care if you’re Eve herself; motherhood is not a natural experience. It’s a work in progress. Sure, we have strong doses of intuition and motherly instincts, but we often feel completely out of our wits - and that is perfectly natural.

Every mother is guilty of projecting her experiences on to soon-to-be-moms. But any pregnant woman reading this should prepare to be surprised as she maneuvers her way through the maze of motherhood. The best thing a new mother can do is expect to discover the mom within, all by her motherly self.