What Can I Do for You?

We like to ask, “What can I do for you?”

Frequently the answer is, “Nothing… but thanks for asking.”

How can this be? If I am sick or lonely or sad, and you ask what I need, shouldn’t I speak up?

A hug.

A gallon of milk.

A basket of laundry, clean and folded.

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We answer, “Nothing, thank you,” because we don’t know what we need, or what we need is too much, or we can’t imagine how we would ask for the thing we need.

You didn’t even ask what I need, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I need something big. Continue reading

On Parenting and Pronouns

If you spend any time with me at all, I will talk about my children. I will tell you about Josh’s latest cooking adventures, about Sammy’s internship and about Miriam’s plans to move to California.

And I will correct your pronouns.

My oldest is non-binary – neither male nor female – despite appearances, name and everything you think you know about them.

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We have learned to refer to them with the pronouns they, them and their, which, I will admit, makes for some awkward sentences, but the underlying issue is one of identity. As a parent and ally, I can learn to live with (and eventually even let go of) this discomfort. For my child, being mis-gendered (or mistaken for the wrong gender) is a daily occurrence, and it hurts.

Continue reading

When Your Congregation Isn’t As Inclusive as You Thought

I recently was asked to write an article for Keshet, a national organization that works for full LGBTQ equality and inclusion in Jewish life. The request came as a result of my last blog article about “coming out” as the parent of a non-binary, queer adult child.

You can read the Keshet piece here.

While I draw from my own experience, the Keshet article is not meant to imply that anyone in my wonderful synagogue has done anything wrong or dismissed requests for more inclusive language, programming, etc. I have not made such requests. Change begins with awareness, and I’m doing my part to promote that awareness. Frankly, if we ask many of our teens and young adults, they will say they are somewhat uncomfortable or disinterested in religious institutions for a variety of reasons. That’s normal. Then they come back or find a good fit elsewhere. And we learn too. Continue reading

I Am the Parent of a Non-Binary Child

The essay I have been looking for either hasn’t been written, hasn’t been published, or is hidden beyond my search engine’s reach. I have been composing it in my head for months, but now I can write the first draft, because Friday my child came out to the world. image-they

The essay I’m not done writing is about becoming the parent of a queer, non-binary, young adult child. I say becoming because until my eldest came out, I told myself I had a daughter. Now I am getting used to the idea of having a non-binary child. And while that distinction may seem merely a clumsy trick of the English language, the implications run deep. More on that another time.

My husband and I are experiencing something that is both utterly unique and increasingly common. Here’s a peek into the types of conversations I’ve had during the last year with well-meaning relatives and friends. Continue reading

Mixed Berry Pie

Yesterday I attended the most beautiful funeral. My cousin Minda died Saturday, and the rest of this week has been a blur.

Did I mention that we’re celebrating her niece’s bat mitzvah this weekend, and that there will be 70 people at my house Saturday night in her honor? The occasion was moved to a synagogue here in Detroit from Southern California a few months ago because Marcia, the bat mitzvah’s mom, knew her sister would likely be too ill to travel, and might even die. Continue reading

New Year’s Resolution

Let’s not pretend any of this has been easy.

I am not going to write the “This is not normal” blog or the “What the hell is happening to our country?” blog or the “Let’s band together against tyranny” blog. I am only going to say this: Other than escaping from burning buildings, nothing good ever happens when we act out of fear.

I have told my children that many times. And I am afraid. Very afraid. Am I as afraid as those workers who don’t have the luxury of worrying about my reproductive rights because they’re too busy figuring out how to feed their children? Am I as afraid as the people who thought they lived in a Christian country? I can’t be sure. I only know I Related imagehave never felt this scared to be an American. Continue reading

Five Paragraphs: Unloved and Unnecessary

Mine may be the only dinner table in America where family members engage in heated discussions about both Monty Python and the five paragraph essay on a regular basis. Monty Python? Lots of people have something to say about that. But the essay? Yeah, that’s my family.

Even my sixth grader, who has only written a single five paragraph essay, back in fifth grade, has an opinion on the matter, having heard high school siblings (and me) rail against it for years.

What’s my problem? Let me lay it out for you.

Continue reading

Friday Poem: January 1

January 1https://i0.wp.com/i1.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/553/757/bce.png

I would post this
with a photo of a kitten
in a party hat: Happy New Year

to my friends who celebrate
My version of Happy                                     
Joyful                           Merry                            

to my friends who celebrate, and to those
who don’t, ignore this post, ignore
this message, this meme. My children

are schooling me in memes
over dinner, and I’m sort of getting it –
like existentialism or containment

high school terms I grasped well enough
to pass the tests, but which I couldn’t define
even then

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Here are things I know –
repeatable, shorthand:
Your hand on my back at 2 am

when I cannot sleep…
The Purple Fiddle coffee mug
drying on the sill…

Half a pot of steel cut oats…
Snow, light as feathers
beyond the bow window

Chef Josh

Yesterday Josh asked for a mini fridge of his own so he can age meats in the basement. This is what you get when you give your sixth grader Kenji Lopez-Alt’s The Food Lab for Chanukah.

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So far my boy has made mac and cheese (gluey), a French omelet (delicious, but requires some work on technique) and buttermilk pancakes (heavenly.) He flips through the giant book over breakfast, recites tidbits while I make dinner, and has explained in great detail the best way to boil an egg. He is also intent on scoring some copper pots as soon as he can afford them (bar mitzvah money, perhaps?)

I love to cook, and thanks to Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything, have learned to make most of my favorites without a recipe. I remember reading from my mom’s vast cookbook collection over bowls of cereal and grilled cheese sandwiches at the kitchen table all through middle school and high school – The Enchanted Broccoli Forest, Maida Heater’s Chocolate Desserts, and Still Fiddling in the Kitchen, a fundraiser for the National Council of Jewish Women. I once spent months copying every recipe from her collection of recipe cards and mimeograph sheets onto pastel 3 x 5’s, then filing them by category. It made a great, labor-intensive birthday gift.

FullSizeRenderMy mom handed me a paper bag of mini jello molds yesterday – a little something for Josh to play around with. She found them in the basement with some old suitcases and other useless things. We are going to fill them with water and make fancy ice shapes for a punch bowl tomorrow night.

Right now, Josh is in the kitchen with my sister making banana pancakes. The house smells like butter.

Soup

 

Portobello-Mushroom-Barley-Soup

Jeannette: Mushroom Barley

I can hardly
keep my eyes open
the day she brings soup
in a jar — recycled; no obligation.
The baby is crying. I nurse her
over that first bowl.

Wendy: Butternut Squash

The house
is fragrant with onions
and cinnamon. I scoop
roasted flesh
from its shell, puree it
with vegetable stock. This
is the soup I will bring
when your new baby arrives.

Sandra: Matzo Ball

Thigh bones disintegrate
between my fingers
like you taught me —
pressure cooked to a pulp,
chicken concentrate
steaming up the windows. Strain it
then heat again Friday afternoon.
Add carrot slices,
matzo balls, bits of chicken.

Ellen: Split Pea

All I want
is soup for my freezer.
A gift
from my sister.