The saddest book currently for sale at your friendly neighborhood bookstore is called 940 Saturdays.
Fine, that may have been an exaggeration (have you READ Sarah’s Key??), but the premise of this book, a journal, is that when you have a kid, you have 940 Saturdays before that kid turns 18, and YOU NEED TO WRITE ABOUT THEM BEFORE THEY GO AWAY. Eighteen years is a huge chunk of time, but putting a number on it — a number that silently ticks away while you’re busy living life — is enough to give me hives. We’re already down to like 914 Saturdays over here, and what do we have to show for it? A giggly baby with rolls for days and 2,000 pictures on my phone? IT’S NOT ENOUGH. How will I remember?
I’m half joking, but the book’s point is well taken. I’ve been trying to write more often — it’s been a goal of mine every new year, every Jewish new year, every fiscal new year (I like to use any opportunity I can find for a fresh start) every birthday, every month, every week — and jotting down what happened each weekend seems like a good place to start.
1. LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU || 2. “You can sleep when you’re dead, dad.” || 3. Sometimes you need a late night snack, sometimes that late night snack is 1/4th of a loaf of challah || 4. I don’t want to tell you how many selfies I took of Dalia and myself this weekend, but this is one of them.
1 | We brought Dalia to Shabbat services Saturday morning. As a kid, I hated going to services. As a young adult, the day I realized I didn’t have to go to services if I didn’t want to felt very important — if that moment in my life had been in a movie, I would have been standing on top of a building with the city swirling around me with possibility. As an adult, some of my best memories of childhood are falling asleep on the way home from Friday night services and getting carried inside in my fancy dress and shoes. And as a parent, bringing my baby to the once a month “tot Shabbat services” is kind of the highlight of my month. IT’S THE CIRCLE OF LIFE.
2 | Y and I went out for a drink Sunday night and accidentally stumbled upon an EDM festival (translation: electronic dance music), which we were way overdressed for (i.e. I was wearing bottoms, which were clearly optional). Don’t be jealous, but we saw Datsik.
Yeah, I don’t know who that is either. But I did have a gin, lemon, and lavender cocktail. I don’t know why lavender in drinks is so popular these days but I hope it never goes away.
3 | Saturday night, Y and his mom were making dinner and I ran to Ikea to buy the tray to Dalia’s high chair (sometimes high chairs and their trays are sold separately and you don’t realize until you put the high chair together — thanks, Ikea.) Can I just give you one piece of advice? NEVER GO TO IKEA ON A SATURDAY NIGHT. The lines snake back into the warehouse and you might find yourself behind a family of eleven who are buying the entire Hemnes collection and all you need is a $5 high chair tray.
4 | I get obnoxiously giddy about this time of year, when fall is almost close enough to touch, winter is far enough away that it seems romantic and cozy, and your football team could still make it to the national championship.
1 | Scones and Gravy. That’s a thing. It might sound like a downgrade from biscuits and gravy, but it absolutely isn’t. Get it at Harriet Brasserie. Sit on the patio and laugh at the people waiting in line next door to get into Tilia.
2 | Schnitzel made by Y’s mom, who was in town visiting. I have this vivid memory of eating these, defrosted, in Y’s rat and roach infested apartment when we were in college. He really knew how to woo a girl.
3 | Matzah ball soup from Cecil’s deli. It was so necessary on a gloomy Sunday.
4 | Impromptu challah French toast for some French toast connoisseurs: toddlers. It was my first time making French toast, and I think they approved.
Reading Sick in the Head, Judd Apatow. I’m borrowing it from the library right now, but I’m planning to buy this one and highlight the crap out of it. / Listening to a lot of Beach House this weekend.