Jessie King Regunberg Jessie King Regunberg
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Saint-Chapelle

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Peach Cobbler

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W is for Weight Gain

W is for Weight Gain

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Q is for Quilts

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ABOUT ME

I’m a history-PhD-turned-stay-at-home-mom of three. When I’m not microwaving Trader Joe’s meals for my kids, breaking up fights and wiping butts, I like to paint and write. I have written several children's books and regularly post very un-children-y musings to my illustrated blog. I work on commission when the project is right and am currently at work on several large projects, including a book of collaged illustrations and a large mosaic mural at a DC-based business. Mostly I spend my days surviving until bedtime and pretending to be a productive adult.

jessie.regunberg.paints
I’ve always loved this colorful doll - another o I’ve always loved this colorful doll - another of my grandmother’s treasures. She tells me she bought him at an antique shop in Chile and he is a dansante doll. Swipe for the original. Isn’t he so wonderful? #vintagedoll #antiquedoll #collector #dansante #digitalart #digitalillustration
Every day is doughnut day at my house! 🍩 @the Every day is doughnut day at my house! 🍩 @theydrawandcook #theydrawtober #theydrawandcook #doughnuts #digitalillustration #digitalart
For her big sister’s birthday a year ago I paint For her big sister’s birthday a year ago I painted a tiny family (doll) portrait for their dollhouse. And it’s about time Baby Girl is represented as well. Happy baby naming to my newest bestie 💕 #gouache #gouachepainting #portrait #portraitpainting #miniature #miniaturepainting #dollhouseminiatures #dollhouse
When my family is together at my grandmother‘s h When my family is together at my grandmother‘s house we always inevitably end up hanging out in the kitchen, eating around the table, surrounded by a lifetime’s worth of blue and white flea market treasures. Some of my happiest memories have taken place in front of this glorious hutch, and I’ve wanted to paint it for a long time. Swipe for a picture of the real thing, and some progress shots of the painting. #gouache #gouachepainting #grandmashouse #blueandwhite #antiques #fleamarket #willowware #blueandwhitechina #hutch #stilllife #stilllifepainting #vintage
Which background works best for these colorful mus Which background works best for these colorful mushrooms? I think I like the first best. Day 12 - #mushrooms - of #theydrawtober @theydrawandcook #digitalart #digitalillustration #procreate
This woman is a goddess. Has ever there been a mus This woman is a goddess. Has ever there been a muse more perfect and intriguing for an artist? Thank you @iris.apfel for continuing to be you and stun the world. What an inspiration. #irisapfelartgame #iris100 #irisapfel #fanartfriday #gouache #gouachepainting #gouacheillustration
Sometimes you just have a sh*t kind of day. Turned Sometimes you just have a sh*t kind of day. Turned this collaged spot from a children’s book dummy I’m working on into this cute(?)/gross(?) animation. And I’m really feeling it today. 💩 #collageart #collage #collageartist #cutpaperart #dog #pooping #childrensbookillustration #childrensillustration #childrensbookillustrator
Les plumes! 🪶🦜🦚🦩 #theydrawandgarden # Les plumes! 🪶🦜🦚🦩 #theydrawandgarden #theydrawtober #feathers #birds #flamingo #peacock #turkey #parrot #bluejay #cardinal #guineafowl #cockatoo @theydrawandgarden
It’s finally here! My new website is up and work It’s finally here! My new website is up and working. And I feel pretty confident adding “coder” to my CV. So happy this project is finished. Swipe for a picture of my amazing grandparents celebrating the website’s launch. My grandma doesn’t like computers, so my grandpa connects his laptop to the TV to keep her up-to-date on the happenings of the family. The website is now a one-stop-shop for my art, blog, shop, and more! Please check it out. Link in bio. #illustrator #artist #websitelaunch #websitedesign #writer
I never liked working out. And by never liked I me I never liked working out. And by never liked I mean that I had all the excuses in the book (and then some!) for the PE teachers in my life. Exercise was too closely linked to weight loss in my mind. But last year a friend turned a switch for me and I started associating my time on the bike or outside running with the way it made me feel: energized, clear-headed, medicated in the best kind of way! @robinnyc makes me realize my power and I look forward to my @onepeloton time every day. Here’s to my 35-week exercise streak! Thank you @mailforjamie and @robinnyc for showing me the light! #peloton #robinarzon #robinswolfpack #digitalillustration #portrait
Wild roses, 3 ways @theydrawandgarden #theydrawt Wild roses, 3 ways @theydrawandgarden #theydrawtober #theydrawandgarden #wildroses #digitalart #digitalillustration #floralpainting
Les Pappilons! 🦋 @theydrawandgarden #theydraw Les Pappilons! 🦋 @theydrawandgarden #theydrawandgarden #theydrawtober #butterflies #butterflyillustration
Art time! 🖍❤️ #portrait #linedrawing #daug Art time! 🖍❤️ #portrait #linedrawing #daughter #digitalart #digitalillustration #illustrator #illustration
When your daughter tells you she doesn’t want to When your daughter tells you she doesn’t want to be “just with you,” she wants to stay with her godmother ❤️ @naniberaha #portrait #digitalart #digitalillustration #inkdrawing
And the collection of children-sized mosaic chairs And the collection of children-sized mosaic chairs grows! #mosaicart #mosaic #mosaicartist #blueandwhite #patternonpattern
Remember when these bad boys were more precious th Remember when these bad boys were more precious than gold - and harder to come by? Revisiting some of my #QisforQuarantine paintings. Always loved this one. Who would have thunk that throwing in some brightly-colored stripes in the background could make sanitizing wipes so fun #gouache #gouacheillustration #lysol #covid #pandemic
Nothing says pandemic like a Sukkah decorated with Nothing says pandemic like a Sukkah decorated with masks…I made these masks with my art on them months ago. And they are so cute, but horrible to wear. And every day they sit in our mask bin mocking me. I couldn’t throw them out. But no one wears them…then, suddenly…VOILA! Epiphany. Mask sukkah. #jewishart #jewishartist #sukkot #sukkah #sukkahdecor #pandemicart #maskup
I’m not sure why I love painting furniture so mu I’m not sure why I love painting furniture so much. Hutches and chairs from ‘19 and ‘20 when I started making art again after 15+ years (high school, to be exact) #gouache #gouachepainting #blueandwhite #pattern #patternonpattern #hutch
Working on “digitally remastering” some old fl Working on “digitally remastering” some old floral paintings for my (hopefully) soon-to-come new-and-improved website 🌸🌺🌼 #gouache #gouachepainting #floral #flowers #floralpainting #stilllife
#momming so hard I’m leaning towards the simple #momming so hard I’m leaning towards the simple version with just the shadow. What do you all think? Swipe for other option. #digitalart #digitalillustration #procreateart #motherhood #siblings
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imworriedmytherapisthatesme
Just me, my musings, some sticky notes, and a gian Just me, my musings, some sticky notes, and a giant bowl of phoh trying to turn this tome of Instagram posts into a book 🍜📓📖. You’re welcome for the phoh-toshoot 📸 #imworriedmytherapisthatesme #illustrator #writer
While tidying up my 5-yr-old’s untidy-able room, While tidying up my 5-yr-old’s untidy-able room, I came across a decorated plastic box. I opened it to find dozens of multi-colored flossers, all sorted according to hue. He nonchalantly told me it was his collection. I’d recently been impressed by his interest in & dedication to oral hygiene. I’d even considered spending more time on my own (non-existent) flossing routine so as not to be shown up by my kindergartner. But now I understood. This wasn’t about hygiene. This was about hoarding! A task that I had, indeed, been disciplined about & modeled for my son. “Don’t worry, Mommy. I wash them 1st,” he assured me. And so, the natural order of the universe remains in tact…I’ve been shamed. Terribly. By my dentist. And given my obsessive need to please figures of authority (and yes, obviously a dentist is an authority figure. Don’t tell me those “tools” they use aren’t weapons & that you’re not at your most vulnerable lying there with those greasy plastic sunglasses from the 90s, mouth open, trying not to swallow your own spit, & willing yourself to be cavity free so you can lord it over your husband who thinks his oral hygiene is oh-so-good but who recently had to have his 1st filling.), I’ve been able to think only of how disappointing I am to my dentist. I don’t have a cavity. So honestly, I’m not sure why this story doesn’t end here. I lied to her when she asked if I floss – come on! I have 3 kids! But I never expected her to stop mid-cleaning and announce that there was nothing more she could do until I spent a month flossing every day. So, yes, I’ve been on a strict regime of brushing, flossing, water-picking and mouth-washing. Which, all in, takes about 10 min. Which is 3,650 min/year. Which, I assume though don’t feel like doing the math, is a certain number of DAYS. And am I really going to spend this not-insignificant chunk of my life standing over the sink waiting for the electric toothbrush to signal I can move on to the top row of teeth? You bet! Because nothing is more important than impressing those in power.
1.You fall asleep in the dentist’s chair even th 1.You fall asleep in the dentist’s chair even though, apparently, you have “severe” gingivitis (because you lost your floss months ago and keep forgetting to replace it so that you can at least pretend to have decent hygiene), a slight phobia of the dentist, and an Apple watch that keeps pinging you and who you are sure must be the nurse at school… 2. You make 5 different dinners every night that no one consumes and have convinced yourself that foods – like hot dogs, deli turkey, and ice cream – that you once believed were “unhealthy” and “impure,” do, in fact, have nutritional value (ice cream is basically milk, right?) and that if at least one of these basic food groups have been eaten you are satisfied with the well-balanced meal. Plus, if all foods must be dipped in ketchup for you not to listen to an entire meal of whining, then so be it. You will happily buy a large bottle of this life-saving condiment every-other-week… 3. Your most frequent form of exercise is wrestling tiny sociopaths into socks/shoes/carseats in a calm enough manner that the neighbors don’t contemplate calling child services on you… 4. Pickles count as vegetables, right? Especially if they are smothered in ketchup… 5. You dream of a day when you might once again poop in private. When a shower is a solo (unless the object of said shower is more sexual than cleanly in nature) activity and you don’t have to feel guilty for taking the extra 3 min. to shave your legs…you know, in the off-chance that you might opt into a partner-sort-of-shower later… #motherhood #parenting #journaling #tellmewithouttellingme #penandink #inkillustration
4 AM: 2-yr-old comes into your bed screaming for y 4 AM: 2-yr-old comes into your bed screaming for yogurt. Bc it’s b-fast time…You spend the next hr & 1/2 explaining that no civilized human eats before the sun rises. 5:36: You relent & let her feast on crackers & yogurt in yr bed. 6:30: You alarm goes off, which your husband doesn’t hear. You are covered in crumbs & your snoring child. You kick husband hoping he understands he must wake up & start the morning. But QUIETLY so as not to upset the monster on your chest. 6:38: Husband stumbles out of bed & creeps around in the dark getting dressed. You try to reach for your 📱 without waking your slumbering child. 6:41: The other kids come racing in. They are yelling about a Lego piece which apparently belongs to both of their sets, and which, if unsuccessfully procured, will undoubtedly ruin their life. 6:41 & 23 secs: 2-yr-old wakes & joins in the Lego battle, though you are 97% sure she thinks the sole purpose of Legos is for sticking in her mouth to torment you. 6:53: Everyone is in the kitchen screaming about b-fast. By the time you manage to pull on some leggings & make it down, the 2-yr-old has already thrown her eggs across the room because she wanted the Batman plate, not the Paw Patrol plate. 6:54: Husband escapes upstairs for his morning sh*t, which somehow never takes less than 15 min. Your kids assault you for their gummy vitamins, which you throw at them while slicing cucumbers (the long way, NOT the round way) for the empty lunch boxes waiting on the counter. 6:56: 7 yr-old pulls out a folder from his backpack and reminds you (informs you for the 1st time) that he has to fill out questions about his family. 6:57: You curse, abandoning lunch prep & settling for the well-rounded meal of cucumbers, applesauce and oreos. 6:58-7:06: You sit with 7-yr-old & attempt not to pull all your hair out while out loud you spell Every. F*cking. Word. 7:07: Husband reemerges from his epic poop & sees the vitamins out on the counter. Panicked, he tells you he already gave them to the kids. You consider calling the pediatrician. Or poison control. But then you see the time and decide that the vitamins are prob more sugar than vit., and what kid has ever OD-ed on sugar?
Things my kids have said about my body… “Momm Things my kids have said about my body… “Mommy, I love how your boobs hang down and point to the ground” “Eww, Mommy, you smell terrible!” (As 5-yr-old sticks face in my croch “Look, Mommy’s undies are so big I can use them as my suitcase” “Squish. Squish. Squish.” (As 2-yr-old kneads my belly) “Mommy, why do you wear your underwear all the way up to your boobs?” ANSWER: it’s the only way to squeeze this empty baby-sac into my high-waisted leggings. “I love the strips on your belly” (Thanks, I wouldn’t have them without you!) “Mommy, why do you have booboos all over your feet?” It’s called dry feet, MF. And in case you haven’t heard we are in the midst of a global pandemic and I haven’t had a pedicure in years “Mommy, why are your arm pits hairier than Daddy’s?” ANSWER: daddy is a Swedish WASP. Mommy’s a Russian Jew. Who is too lazy to shave. “How come Daddy always wears pants with buttons but you never do?” ANSWER: because of YOU! “No, Mommy! I can’t sit in your lap because of all the prickles” THANKS KIDS FOR KEEPING IT REAL! WHO NEEDS CONFIDENCE ANYWAY? #bodypositive #postpartumbody #postpartum #motherhood #feminist @takebackpostpartum @meg.boggs @kristenanniebell
Well, it’s that time of year again. Time for G-d Well, it’s that time of year again. Time for G-d to judge whether we live or die. If you goyim think Christmas is stressful, and are on your best behavior all year lest you find a lump of coal in your stocking, you should try living with the weight of The Book of Life. Just when you’re over that back-to-school anxiety - when those naked-in-the-hall-can’t-find-your-math-class-didn’t-realize-there-was-a-history-test dreams stop haunting your sleep, it’s time to face your Maker. Time to account for your sins. Take stock of the very worth of your life. This is the beauty of the Jewish High Holy Days. And, let’s be honest, one of the (many) reasons so many of my people find themselves in a lifelong relationship with their therapist. When I was little I was sure I wouldn’t make it to the five thousandth and whatever year it was of Jewish life. Mostly because I stole a Playmobil baby from my best friend’s dollhouse. (This petty theft was followed by my friend’s Mickey Mouse watch, which I then wore in front of her, insisting that it was just a coincidence that I suddenly had the same watch she had misplaced). There was no doubt in my mind that G-d would strike me dead for this. And no amount of apples and honey could convince me there would be anything sweet about the coming new year. #highholidays #jewish #jewishnewyear #roshhashana #yomkippur #bookoflife #jewishguilt #penandink
You know what ppl don’t talk about enough? How i You know what ppl don’t talk about enough? How incredibly painful it is when a corn chip gets lodged up in the roof of your mouth. That sh*t can really ruin a perfectly delicious bag of Doritos – which, by the way, my mother never had at our house but which I discovered in my BF’s pantry and may or may not have been the reason I maintained this friendship for such a long time…it’s a universal but unacknowledged frustration when your phone, which is supposed to recognize your face and open without your having to do anything at all, does not, in fact, know who you are and apparently, like Ron DeSantis, takes a strong stance against masking. Imagine having to work our fingers when all we want to do is check our Twitter. The injustice!...Remember when finding something to watch entailed getting in the car, and spending at least half an hour perusing your choices, and trying to find the strength to NOT get sucked into the 2-for-1 candy deal at Blockbuster? These days I can’t believe the extent of my TV-consumption-laziness. Sometimes the vastness of choices for date night is just so overwhelming that we don’t even attempt to find an exciting new show and instead rely on a tried-but-true classic which for us mid-30-somethings is more often than not some mediocre rom-com. But that’s a good night. Because I can’t tell you how many times our evening plans have been derailed by the mere suggestion that we should use our Amazon Fire stick to sign into Netflix or HULU or Disney+. There is just no movie or show good enough to merit moving our fingers up and down to select the proper letters for the search box. And that’s only IF we remember our sign-in info to begin with. Because truly, how many times can you reset your password before losing your F-ing mind?!...The summer is a challenging time for me. Not only because I hate the heat. But also because I can’t decide what is worse – being blinded by the sun or attempting to tolerate the sweat trickling down my nose from my sunglasses…You know that nauseated feeling caused by one of your kids rolling down the window in the back when you haven’t cracked your window up front? Yeah…me neither…
Sometimes in the evening when I’m struggling to Sometimes in the evening when I’m struggling to bathe my children – which in my house entails wrestling, screaming, crying and endless (often unsuccessful) reminders that, no, we never drink the dirty bath water, and, yes, I am indeed sure that the only place we poop is the potty – I wish we lived at the turn of the 17th century when many people believed baths were dangerous, not cleansing, and should be avoided at all costs. Sure, maybe the science was a little hazy. In my experience, water doesn’t open my pores enough to let disease in (save for the rare bath-induced UTI). And, if it did, boy would I have clear, glowing skin. But the idea that all one needs to do to achieve acceptable standards of hygiene is to change their undershirt, in my opinion, would be the smart way to clean children. These people had too many kids to spend their days pleading with them to bathe. And maybe, for this, they deserve our respect…Before germ theory (c. 1900), people had many ideas about the agents of disease. In early modern Europe, “miasma,” or the concept that sickness was caused from bad smells, was a leading explanation. And before you scoff, if you’ve ever had the pleasure of needing to relieve yourself in a port-a-potty, you, too may have arrived at such a theory. It just makes good, smelly sense…During the Black Plague, doctors invented these terrifying-looking beak masks to help fight the drink that they were sure spread death. They would stuff sweet-smelling spices in the beak of these masks, protecting them from the foul and dangerous buboes of their patients. I can’t 100% decide whether to be grateful our own pandemic masks don’t look like this, or envious,as I smell my own breath, of their innovative genius. #historyfacts #plaguedoctor #pandemic #imworriedmytherapisthatesme
What do flying squirrels and elevators have in com What do flying squirrels and elevators have in common, you ask? Well I’ll tell you…they both cause quotidien tears and meltdowns in my house. I can’t even begin to try to make sense of the what and why of my children’s fights. Some things I get: like even if Mommy is the only one allowed to USE the tv remote, I do understand WHY it is so vitally important to be the child who gets to hold said remote. It’s that illusion of power that is so damn addictive. And it makes sense why the order in which sunscreen is applied can make or break one’s morning: it’s objectively better to get that sh*t out of the way so that you can tease your brother by messing up his magnatile creation while he suffers the slathering suffocation of maternal sun protection. But why are the flying squirrel pajamas so much better than the space/farm/Minecraft pj’s? As my middle kid found out the hard way - they do NOT, in fact, allow you to fly. And why, oh why, doesn’t Amazon sell them anymore? I would sadly spend all our money on flying squirrel pj’s if it would cut down on the whining. And screaming. And hitting. But I will give this to them: the inside elevator buttons ARE clearly superior to the outside ones.
🔈Thank you to everyone for your support and enc 🔈Thank you to everyone for your support and encouragement. Your likes/follows/comments. I can’t believe I’m Worried My Therapist Hates Me has over 6k followers. Wow. Humbled and grateful. If you like my posts, please do tell your friends and spread the word. The more followers I get the closer I am to turning these neurotic musings into something (hopefully, maybe one day? 🤞🤞) published. #imworriedmytherapisthatesme #penandink #penandinkdrawing #journaling #journal
I’ve never won anything in my life. But that’s I’ve never won anything in my life. But that’s only because best grade on an English essay counts for squat. There was the time I *thought* I had won an all-expense paid cruise, but that turned out to be a scam, and is also probably the reason I’ve gotten about a million fake calls every day for the last decade. Like everyone else, we’ve been watching the Olympics (or whatever highlights we can find on YouTube because we’re millennials, and, like, what’s cable?). It’s truly amazing what these athletes can do with their bodies. And given that there are people like THAT in the world, it’s no shock that I don’t win things sitting around and doodling all day. So imagine my surprise when I received a text from my mother: “found your trophies!” The tiny image that appeared on my watch was really impressive. For a fleeting moment I was rewriting my self-narrative – I guess I had just forgotten the award-winning athletic prowess of my youth. But upon enlargement a different memory was triggered: cheerleading at camp with all my tiny, thin friends. And the award ceremony, which had been repressed safely away in some dusty box in my brain, where I was handed this giant, sparkling trophy, with the words “BEST EFFORT” etched clear as day at the base. My mom’s follow-up text: “Don’t worry! If they gave trophies for art and personality, you would win!” And true that, mommy…I really peaked in 5th grade. Mr. S had a point board that showcased all the high-scoring students from years gone-by. I, of course, was determined to earn my glory with a spot at the top. You got points for all sorts of things (including – and, yes, I won this – smallest handwriting). But you also earned points by reading books and doing book reports. And so, I pulled my first all-nighter when I was 12, when I stayed up reading Catherine Called Birdy. I could not for the life of me tell you what this book was about. But I can proudly report that I am still, to this day, at the top of that point board.
I know I usually poke fun at situations. I try to I know I usually poke fun at situations. I try to make you chuckle. But I’m just too angry right now. Sketching as I wait in the car to pick up my kids from camp, watching all the children running around in their masks. I’m grieving the loss of normalcy very hard right now. And I’m so angry at the selfishness and ignorance of those who have hindered our progress. I can’t stop feeling angry. I want to be able to run a simple errand with my kids to the grocery store without worrying about their safety. I want to take them to explore the wonderful museums and culture of our city. I want them to travel and see the beauty of the world. We were so close.
Regular temperature checks are not a new pandemic Regular temperature checks are not a new pandemic phenomenon for me. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you people are finally catching up to my hygiene/germ standards. For some reason my mother had sent me away to college with an old-fashioned thermometer – one of those delicate glass tubes that may or may not be filled with poison. So when said thermometer inevitably cracked and spilled on our dorm floor during our routine temp check (how lucky was I to be placed with a fellow hypochondriac?), we panicked and called the health center. The next thing we knew, a team of mercury-busters, dressed in full-on hazmat suits (BTW – where might I get one of these for my flight next month?), were ordering the entire dorm to evacuate, and using their fancy beeping machines to search the whole building for the deadly poison. Which they never found. But an entire dorm of students were forced to find other lodging for the night. And my roommates and I were forced to pretend we didn’t notice the angry glares thrown our way for the rest of the year…I got home last week and my 2-year-old  was scratching her head – incessantly. So naturally, before I had even removed my shoes I had googled and contacted the “lice lady,” because if ever there was a job to outsource, this sh*t was it. I spent the rest of the evening frantically bribing my daughter to hold still so I could obsessively comb through her hair. Nothing. But she continued to scratch. And I continued to freak the F out. At 2 AM it dawned on me: I had used conditioner on her curls for the first time the night before. With a sigh of relief I fell asleep for a peaceful 4 hours. In the morning all the kids went to camp as planned. So I was surprised midday when I got a call from the boys’ camp nurse: “Hi Jessie…so, your boys were telling people their sister has lice?” Oh lord. “So we did a lice check on all the campers and things will resume as normal.” Those little f*ckers. Whoever said that you should never tell children to lie clearly lived a life free of tiny pests – or the fear of tiny pests. #penandink #penandinkdrawing #journal #journaling
SOUND ON! Thought I’d make this little flip-thro SOUND ON! Thought I’d make this little flip-through video to celebrate my 75th post - 3 sketchbooks-worth of neuroses! What embarrassing secrets should I spill next? Anything you’re dying to know?? #journaling #journal #penandinkdrawing #penandink #imworriedmytherapisthatesme #flipthrough #illustrator @jessie.regunberg.paints
“Baking is a science, Jessie! It’s chemistry.” I heard my mother reprimanding my every time I pull out my mixer. “What are you doing? You can’t use your finger to flatten the flour. You must use a straight edge. Be precise.” And she wonders why I detest all domestic activities in the kitchen? God forbid I learned to enjoy myself during baking projects. Or didn’t space the cookie dough PRECISELY 2 inches apart on the baking sheet. God knows what would happen if my muffins aren’t uniformly scooped into the cups and bake at slightly differentiated speeds. And to be honest, it took me 30+ years to realize that butter + sugar is delicious – slightly browned or under-baked. It doesn’t matter. It will still make you fat. And taste like happiness…I no longer prepare food with my mother – I’ve realized enjoying HER perfect food is much more satisfying than striving – but never achieving – that kind of culinary perfection myself. And also – everything she makes just tastes better. Even toast and butter. For years I chalked this up to the phenomenon that whatever energy one puts into a food, the less delicious it tastes. But then I watched my mother make me a PB+J sandwich – for 10 min. Because the peanut butter had to be perfectly smooth. And even. And cover every millimeter of bread right up to the crust. The jelly, too, obviously. And don’t even get me started on the ration of PB to J. And of course, eating this sandwich is more enjoyable than those which I make, using the same knife that’s been sitting out on the cutting board overnight. Because, watermelon can’t be that unsanitary, right? And might add a lovely, surprising flavor to my sammy. And getting that spread all the way to the edges? Forget it! I barely have the time to even glob it on the bread before I have to duck out of the way of the macaroni and cheese my daughter just flung at me because I cut her apples the wrong way. So yeah – my mom’s PB+J tastes a lot better.
It’s strange to think that there was a time when It’s strange to think that there was a time when only the wealthiest owned a mirror, or an object meant to reflect one’s image. Mirrors are ancient tools - yet the thin piece of glass with a layer of reflective metal behind it that we think of as a mirror is a relatively recent invention. And it’s only in the last century that owning a mirror became commonplace among the masses. This meant, of course, that for the most part, humans throughout history were only able to view their person in its entirety on occasion. What has this done to our society? How have we changed as our reflections greet us (one might say bombard us) everywhere we turn?…the 1st glass mirrors (only owned by the very rich) were not flat, like those we are used to today. They were rounded, much like the circular mirrors in parking lots and alleys that allow us to see oncoming traffic. Which means that people’s reflections were much distorted, like the eery clown mirrors in amusement parks. Perhaps this distortion explains Mr. Arnolfini, in my opinion, one of the creepiest looking subjects in all of art history. What else could explain this man’s deliberate and goofy look? His pallor and giant hat? Perhaps when he looked in his small rounded mirror his hat appeared normal-sized, his long, skinny nose petite and pleasing. Maybe his eyebrows seemed thicker in that mirror, compelling him to pluck himself bald. It’s no coincidence that these mirrors became popular at the same time as the emergence of the portrait when self-obsession became de rigueur…I recently gave my 2-yr-old daughter a hand mirror so she could examine her nether-regions. Thank you 2nd-wave feminists for the inspiration. She was shocked and delighted - I was a bit concerned we’d have a vaginally-related Greek tragedy on our hands. Narcissus’ reflection had nothing on this tiny twat.
Before the Industrial Revolution and the creation Before the Industrial Revolution and the creation of better forms of artificial light, people had to make the most of the natural light. Which meant in bed by sunset. When I try to explain to my husband that my body simply is not strong enough to resist nature and therefore I cannot possibly help with bath and bedtime since I must be asleep by 7, he simply scoffs. History-denier!...Sometimes as I lie awake at night, eating handfuls of melatonin gummies and resisting the urge to smother my husband for breathing too loudly, it helps me to remember one of the most important things I learned in my history PhD program: that back in the day, people slept in 2 distinct windows – 1st and 2nd sleep – which were divided by an hour or so of awake, active time in the middle of the night. So, though delicious, all those gummies are just fighting my natural circadian rhythms….Some French medical manuals recommended that couples wishing to conceive children have sex during this between time. After they were well-rested from their 1st sleep. Oh the French! If my husband ever dared attempt this deed at 3AM, he would never get in my granny moo-moo again!...You’ve probably heard of the “witching hour.” But did you know it was born out of this period between 1st and 2nd sleep? Since liturgical prayers stopped at night it was believed that demons had an easier time roaming free. Plus, since it was darker – and let’s face it, spookier – witches would have more freedom to do whatever it was that they did. And despite the Catholic Church banning activities between 3-4 AM in 1535, how could those naughty demons and witches be trusted? FOOTNOTE: Roger Ekirch, At Night’s Close: Night in Times Past (2001)
Friday nights are date nights. For us, with 3 kids Friday nights are date nights. For us, with 3 kids under 6, during a pandemic, this means we order a giant platter of sushi and eat it in front of whatever show Netflix has been telling us to watch all week. Sometimes I eat a magic gummy when the kids are in the bath and it hits me at the perfect time, usually as I start sorting out our sushi platter. Yet, I can’t figure out if this helps with my sushi OCD or amplifies it. You see, sushi, though one of my favorite foods, is riddled with complications. First and foremost, of course, is the fact that I start feeling sad about its impending disappearance as soon as I pop that 1st salty, smushy morsel in my mouth. This is a problem I seem to have with food in general – the idea that this most wonderous experience of eating must come to an end often overshadows the simple joy of the eating itself. I think this is a very Jewish phenomenon – sort of like the breaking-of-the-glass at a wedding: lest we not forget the suffering! But with sushi the mourning is heightened since there is such a finite number of pieces. With each delicious bite, you are one step closer to losing it all. So, I find myself counting down as I eat, periodically glancing over at my husband’s plate to make sure he’ll still have pieces left to donate to my sushi fund when I am done…And then there’s the matter of sushi-piece-preparation. Not only must I go in a certain order – never would I have 2 of the same kind in a row – but each piece deserves the perfect ratio of ginger and soy sauce, which means there is a rather stressful estimation that ensues to ensure each piece receives the right amount of flavor. In the end, I am so utterly exhausted by all the sushi-induced anxiety that I have no energy left for the bedroom portion of date night.
“...and I get my ya-ya’s at IKEA” - Chandler “...and I get my ya-ya’s at IKEA” - Chandler Bing Have you ever driven to an IKEA simply to dine in the wonderfully-decorated cafeteria? Yeah…me neither…BUT if I HAD, it was only because this food utopia was just 15 min out of the way of where we were going anyway. And the meatballs are really THAT good. And, I don’t get the appeal of Chick-fil-A. So hey – I won’t judge your conservative (any-day-but-Sunday) chicken sandwich smothered in that weird orange sauce, and you don’t judge me my IKEA meals!...IKEA is a magical land where you can want everything and afford almost all of it. And the best news is – it may not fit into the trunk of your car, but it will certainly all fit into your blue, magic bag. AND you’ll get your workout in trying to navigate your kickass cargo cart around corners to properly follow the arrows on the floor in the warehouse. Where you will also realize that yes, your home does need faux AND real house plants and that the Swedish meatballs you enjoyed several hours ago will no longer suffice, but that’s ok because the cheapest, most delicious soft serve is just on the other side of this confusingly long checkout line…Does anything feel more hopeful and exciting than pulling off the highway to be greeted by the majesty of the billowing red, yellow and blue flags? Who doesn’t quietly pledge allegiance to the IKEA flag as you search for parking in the epically sprawling lot?...Once I read an article about a man who was arrested for putting down fake arrow decals on the floor of IKEA. Which is one of my favorite crimes I’ve ever heard of…If you’ve never gotten lost in the labyrinth of IKEA and realized you were late to pick up your kid, then you have never really suffered…Mary Poppins-esque bag: $.99 and you have luggage to last a lifetime. @ikeausa @ikea #ikea
I ❤️NYC. I consider myself a Native Upper West I ❤️NYC. I consider myself a Native Upper West Side Jew, even though I was born in Chicago & have never really lived there. But my grandparents have an apt there (it is a tiny 1st flr, beautifully decorated cave where light goes to die) so I’ve spent enough time in the city to know I preferred the bagels at Zabars over H&H & that the doors on the 1 at 72nd open on the other side of the car. BUT – & this is a big but – I realized this past weekend while visiting the city that I could never truly live in Manhattan, for one pretty important reason: I receive way too many packages. I’m pretty sure that 1.) the other tenants in my building would ban together to kick me out after about a month’s worth of Amazon deliveries, and 2.) it’s not as if it’s affordable to live in an apartment with its own private elevator – so how would I lug all my packages up my walk-up multiple times a day? & once in my apt, where would all the things Amazon tells me I need to purchase go? & then there’s the whole issue of the recycling rules – there is no way I could sustain all the fines I’m sure I would accrue as a result of sheer recycling volume and my disability following directions and reading fine print. It is for this reason, though a “native” NY-er, I will never live there…I know this isn’t the most PC thing, but I must admit that the pandemic has done wonders for the subway system. I know the riders must return to support the infrastructure. But right now the empty cars are the subway I’ve always fantasized about. One where you always get a seat, where it is not unlikely to see staff wiping down surfaces with Clorox, and where you NEVER witness someone sneeze into their hand and then grab the rail in front of you. And, let’s be honest, don’t we all hope masks continue to be required on public transport? Think about all that sickly hot breath that will not stifle you this summer – only your own… See blog (link in bio) for feelings about Penn Station
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