Devorah's Blog

So often this season is about consumption. It is mind-boggling to me the millions (billions!) of dollars that toy stores and popular toy brands must bring in each holiday season. I was so pleased to read this article about Lego who managed to find a discontinued set of Lego for a young boy who had saved up for 2 years to be able to afford the $100 set. 

by Devorah Katz

May your year be full of crayons. And finger paints. And soccer played on Sunday afternoons on slightly damp fields.

May the chocolate chip cookies always be soft and slightly underbaked.

May your year be full of great moments where you smile that smile where your eyes crinkle up and your slightly vampire-like teeth show.
 

As a parent, I’m always searching for teachable moments. An elderly person who needs to cross the street? No worries. I have just the ten year-old to help you out. Charity to be given? Great. It leads me into a great discussion with my eight year-old. Olympics? Yup. I can spin that too. 

Some years ago, a young visitor brought us a gift. It was an empty notebook. His mother had sent it as a thank you for hosting her son for Shabbat. We’ve gotten our fair share of wine and flowers so I thought why not a notebook – that’s a bit different.

But it came with instructions.
 

Dear Marvel,

I love you. And it’s not because of the Avengers although you did good there – that was a great movie. It is because you truly embody what being a superhero is about...
 

With less than 30 days to my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah, I’ve been watching an interesting phenomenon unfold – that of the RSVP. While we have had 4 brits for our 4 boys and a Simchat Bat when our daughter was born, this is our first “grown up” simcha. As a self-professed “Type A” personality, I have had a Bat Mitzvah notebook for months. It is full of list upon list of things to do. And, for the most part, I’ve been doing them. Caterer, invitations, music, photographer – all things that I can check off my list. And with the invitations out in the mail, I’ve been excited to start tracking those RSVPs. Only, there’s nothing to track because no one has RSVPed (well, that’s not entirely accurate, 5 people have. C’mon people!?!?).

This is a blog I never wanted to write about a little girl I never even knew. Ayelet Galena passed away yesterday at age two. She had been ill for quite some time with a rare bone marrow illness. I know that because, like thousands and thousands of people, I followed her ups and downs on facebook and on her blog.

The minute my 5-year-old put his hearing aids in, my outlook changed. Any sadness or apprehension I felt for him or for me was tossed out the window (I’d like to use a football reference here because I feel like they throw things really really far, but I’m Canadian). I did cry, but it was pure joy. I cried because my kid walked around the audiologist’s office tapping on the walls, the floor and the chairs because suddenly he could hear tapping. And it didn’t end there. He’s tried out snapping his fingers, rubbing his feet on the carpet and whistling. All because he can hear stuff now. Lots of stuff.

This isn’t a push to get you to join Facebook (though if you haven’t yet really what are you waiting for). This is a story about everything that is lovely about ChallahCrumbs. In fact, this might be my love letter to our readers.

I recently (and by recently I mean right at this very minute) traveled all by myself. I said goodbye to my 5 children (2 cried, 1 was stoic, 2 are just waiting for the guilt presents on my return) and to my wonderful, inexplicably patient husband and got on an airplane. In fact, I am still on the airplane as I write.

Today is World Prematurity Day. For me, it is a day of being thankful and grateful for what I have – for great doctors, a great husband, great friends and most importantly for a great great kid.

by Devorah Katz

Rosh HaShana asks us to reflect back on our year. Most days I need to remind myself to brush my teeth so introspection falls somewhere below pairing up the 173 (note the odd number) socks sitting in their very own laundry basket in my laundry room. But as a good Jew, one with a strong sense of Jewish guilt, I decided to give a moment or two to look back on the year and reflect. Here’s what I’ve broken our year down to…

by Devorah Katz

A grandfather's love letter.

by Devorah Katz

Another roll with it parenting moment.

by Devorah Katz

How one mother contends with watching her baby grow up.

A family in Toronto is raising their child genderless. Not a boy. Not a girl. Just a baby.

How I can help Moses in the desert.

Devorah Katz wonders just how competent we are as parents.

The final thing that needs to be done to officially end the holiday: eating pizza.

Certain to encounter a mutiny among her children, I wonder if we can shake up the world of Afikomen presents.

After 33 years of trying, a mother finally gives birth to twins. They may be just a little disappointed that their newborn babies are girls. Really?

Costumes should be about where your child finds joy and wonderment.

Pleased to report that normal is the new awesome.

It's a Day Full of Love. Devorah Katz gives you her wish list.

Parenting Anxiety #137: The Siddur Party.

Tu B'Shvat gently reminds us the importance of unplugging and stepping back.

One very tired mother examines the Family Bed.

How much crazy is too much crazy? A ten-year old's foray into the world of scary.

Tackling the pre-dinner hour with a little help from kind strangers on our facebook fanpage.

I was taught women relax while the candles are burning each Chanukah night. And while I sort of pretend to maybe relax, I completely and totally fail.

With Chanukah fast approaching, I wonder how much giving is too much?

Dreaming about adding one more hour to my day.

While baby boys have a simple entry into the world of Judaism, celebrating baby girls is far from easy.

Four boys on antibiotics is enough to make any mother search for sanity.

Who decides what children remember?

I often joke that my nine year-old son would make a wonderful Christian. He has the confessional part down pat. For as long as I can remember, as soon as he gets home, he dumps his bag and the confessional begins. I, of course, play the part of his priest. I am told who he fought with, how many times he left class, what perceived slights he endured, what he doled out to others...

Welcome to ChallahCrumb's Newest Feature! One mother's attempt to parent with grace, dignity and humor with dishes in the sink, laundry to fold and chauffeuring to be done.