That Time I Got Pregnant and Forgot to Mention It

Is anyone still here? I haven’t been, so I don’t know if anyone else is still hanging around. Have you ever noticed how when you start doing something you dive right in and then gradually do it less and less and then when you stop doing something it happens slowly at first and then all at once? Or is it just me?

It started when I decided to expand Fashionably Frum into a full website towards the end of a calm summer, just as I dove into the busiest, fullest semester I’ve ever had. I’ve never been known for my excellent timing. I’m always surprised when I discover that I’ve triedto extend myself beyond my capabilities, I’m shocked when I realize I’ve failed and I’m always frustrated with myself for doing it…again. 

After I got a 71% on my Jewish History midterm — an anomalous grade for me— my husband staged an intervention. We agreed that it might help if I stopped writing blog posts during that class  and actually, you know, paid attention? This decision was fabulous for my GPA and less than fabulous for Fashionably Frum, because now I had no other time to blog. I was preoccupied with taking seven highly involved classes, making dinners and lunches, working out every day, and having regular, Statistics homework-induced panic attacks, wherein I questioned the sanity of my decision to take seven tough classes in one semester. I no longer question the sanity of this decision — I’m certain it was insane. 

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Modest Monday: The Modest Problem

This week's piece is published in my school's paper, The YU Observer. Read a sneak peak below and then check it out the full piece!

In the wrong hands, the beautiful laws of modest attire become a means of objectification by placing an inappropriate emphasis on the female body and narrowing our valuation and evaluation of Jewish women to the dimensions of our skirts, our tights (or lack thereof) and the lengths of our sheitels. But can the dimensions of my skirt encompass the dimensions of my soul? That's not my modesty. I refuse to think that's what God meant by this mitzvah.
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What's Cooking: Shabbos Menu

We have a running joke that my mom doesn't need to bother making a main course on Friday night: everyone's full after her delicious gefilte fish, dips and chicken soup. But every week, without fail, she makes a full meal that has us all licking our plates and our guests begging for recipes. 

The first Shabbos I made with my husband after we got married, I went all out even though it was just the two of us. I probably didn't actually make that much but it felt like I did, because a) it was my first time cooking shabbos and b) we didn't make it past the soup course. 

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The Girl with Her Nose in a Book

I've loved books since my parents read them to me as a baby. Caps for SaleLove You Forever, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. I loved them all. Stories with Mummy made bedtime special. Abba would sit at the library with me for hours, surrounded by the elusive smell coming off of more picture books than we could ever read. 

Skip ahead a few years to kindergarten. I was not among the ranks of early readers in my peer group. I still loved being read to, it was an irreplaceable form of quality time, and I saw no need to read on my own.

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