imagesI love you.

I miss you.

I want you.

I’m sorry.

I’m thinking about you…

I hear you, now show me.

Words. All just words. Words on a page, or in a text…or via email. Whatever, they are just words. Which is funny, coming from a writer. You would think words would be just fine in my book. You would think that when a person tells me how he or she is feeling, I would take it for face value, right? I mean, why wouldn’t I? After all, if you say it, you must actually in fact…mean it? But what happens when the words and the actions don’t match up? The words are saying, “You are important” but the actions are saying,”You mean nothing”. What is a girl to do?

Should actions always speak louder than words? 


I’m not a politician.

Or one of those political analyst chicks.

I’m not a lawyer,

I don’t have a poly-sci degree.

Hell, I’m not even much of a writer…

But I am smart enough to know we fucked this one up AMERICA!

We totally and completely fucked this one up. Wow. I woke up this morning expecting to see The Hillz all over my tube. Read all about her on Facebook, and on my cool CNN app. I was crossing my fingers in my sleep… just hoping for the best of the worst. If all y’all read my last blog, then you know my stance on the election. I was clearly not a supporter of either candidate, and moving to Canada has been on my mind since we started this whole debacle. Which so you know, is not the craziest of thougths I guess! Today, one of my most favourite (notice my spelling, please) publications, THE SKIMM, said that I am in good company! I guess people were Googling “Canada” and “citizenship”…So much that last night the Canadian immigration site literally crashed. Ha. Who woulda thunk it? Well ME! I did. I have been packing my Tamakwa duffle bags for days…

We are all completely screwed!

Or are we?




Clean air…

Open skies…

Let’s go back to camp!

Holy shit, I must be out of my mind but I’m going to do it! I’m packing my North Face duffle and heading  west, all y’all! Its time to hit the open road…and get moving. Going to get back to my roots. Ok, maybe not my “roots” exactly. My ROOTS is a cool clothing line outta Toronto. And I’m Jewish from Detroit, I can hardly call a bunk with running water and a toilet “roughing it”…but shit. I consider camping the Red Roof Inn! Not gonna lie, this is going to be interesting, and something worth writing home about. I’m going to a place where no man has gone before, and I’m not kidding. No man has ever gone here. It’s a CAMP for ALL CHICKS!! It’s called CAMPOWERMENT and there are NO men allowed! That’s right, you heard me. NO dicks only chicks. And I’m going in a few weeks, to get my mojo back. To find my she-balls, and learn who’s boss around here. I’m going to come back a lesbian.

No, no….

I’m not going there to flip for the opposite sex,…I’m going there to find myself. To learn how to be empowered, and strong. To find my inner-beast! I need to get my groove back, and start kicking some ass again. I’ve lost some of my spirit lately, and it’s enough!  I need to find ME. The me I used to be, and love.  Time to find Jen again. I know, she’s in there somewhere, and I need to pull her ass out. So, CAMPOWERMENT it is! Go on, laugh. Make fun of me. Then google it, dummies! Find it on Facebook, and be jelly. It’s like the most killer place ever! I get to jump off cliffs, and sing koombaya…and there’s even HAPPY HOUR!! Oh, and a trapeze! And there will be a DJ, and dancing!! And I’m not really sure if they know this, but I will be stealing the microphone. Duh. And then, I’l be in running the show! I will probably be teaching the Wobble, and the Dab. I mean, maybe…they will even ask me to come back and be a counselor next time? OMGGGGGG I’m so excited!! How awesome is this going to be?!

But there are no cell phones.

So, don’t try and call me. I’ll be busy taking care of me. And I won’t be accepting any calls from my family that doesn’t support me anyhoo. Fuck them, for not. I am in this alone, I guess. So this camp-thingy is going to teach me the tools I need to put me first. And second…and well, help me see that it’s okay to care about me. And that if I’m not in a good place, then my kids won’t be! Happy is healthy. And if I need to go away for a weekend retreat to find my happy-place, then so be it! Let’s paint our faces, and do some trust falls, bitches!! Who’s gonna catch me first? I’m all in, ladies…where is the dining hall, and what’s the hot-topic for the campfire tonight? Let’s do this thing! There are also big-time speakers, and famous women that have done amazing things. How cool is that?

Oh, and for the record…I do have support here in Charlotte. Mark, my ex…he supports me. Go figure. And my girlfriends, they rock. They know who they are, no names necessary. And I have some amazing friends in other cities, too. And my boys, don’t even…I will start crying. They are my breath and soul. And every single day, they tell me how proud they are of me…and how they think I’m crazy as a loon. But they wouldn’t pick anyone else for a mom. I’m always wondering what the hell they’re going to tell their wives and kids about me. Can you even imagine? I want to be a fly on that wall, “Oh, my mom? She was the best, but she was bat shit cray. She wrote this blog, and had this VLOG. And we thought she would stop one day, give it up…but she just kept on going. And then, finally…she hit the big-time! And was FAMOUS! And everyone was so proud.”

Ha! From your lips…

I only hope that’s what my boys say about me one day, and I can make them proud. But shit, I don’t have a crystal ball. I can’t predict the future, I can only do what feels right…at this moment. And writing feels good, so I am going to keep on plugging away. I’m hoping that CAMPOWERMENT helps me own my choices a little better; teaches me how to accept my path. That I’m not going to please everyone, and  I just have to stop trying. I can’t make everyone happy in this lifetime, in fact…it’s fucking impossible. Do you think Chelsea Handler, or Sarah Silverman is liked by everyone? Or Amy Schumer’s parents loved everything that came out of her mouth? Shit. I won’t apologize anymore. It’s just who I am, until I decide to quit.

So, in three weeks, I’m headed out west to Malibu, California. To “detox from the digital world” and laugh, and have some fun. And hang out with lots of other women that feel just like me. I will refocus, and maybe find some new connections, and make some new friends. I so need this. I only have one person to thank, and she knows who she is…and she totally gets it. I love my soul-sister, and writing partner-in-crime...The Medicated Mommy. Go read her stuff, she’s pretty talented in her own right. And it’s not easy putting your shit out there, trust me. CAMPOWERMENT, here I come. I wonder if they have any clue what’s in store for them? The Truth Hurvitz, is a whole lot to handle, don’tcha think? ;)

xo j


imagesI am crushed.

I can’t take it.

I can’t breathe.

I feel sick.

Omg…I think I need meds.

Jonah just announced he is NOT trying out for basketball.

What? You’re not upset? You don’t think it’s a big deal? I am fucking LOSING MY SHIT OVER HERE! Jonah came to us, Me and Mark, like months ago…and he said he wasn’t going to play. We totally ignored him. I thought, he is just bullshitting. He clearly is looking for some attention; he just needs a little extra Mommy-time. Yes, that’s it. (Can you feel frenetic pace of my typing?) So I ignored his crap, and I took him for Ben & Jerry’s. Isn’t that what every Jewish mother does when shit goes down? WE feed our emotions. Fuck. I tried to push down the “I don’t want to play basketball” with a big, fat scoop of Phish Food. What? I suck, I know. I fucking suck. But I wanted so badly to ignore it. And feed it away.

But it wasn’t happening.

Jonah came to ME two weeks ago.

“Mom, I need to talk to you.” And I knew it. I knew by the look on his face, and the slump in his shoulders…he was going to do it. My 5’11” fourteen-year old, was going to rip my heart out of my chest…and tell me. I braced myself. I swallowed hard and said, “Hey baby, what’s up?”And then I burst into tears. CRAP! I did. I’m the worst mom EVER! He was so shocked, he literally stepped back! I grabbed him so tightly and buried my head in his shoulder. I said, “Jonah. I know, you don’t want to play basketball, right?” He patted my head, and said sarcastically,”Well, Mom. I can see you’re going to take this well. But, no…I’m not. I just don’t think it’s my thing. I love basketball, but I don’t love playing anymore. I don’t want to let you down, but I hope you’re okay?”

Ok. Omg. OK? Was he trying to kill me? Did he not remember the 10 years of therapy we went through to get him where he is today? For those of you who are just joining us, Jonah has Asperger’s. And way back when…the doctor’s told me, that he might not ever play a team sport. So when Jonah made the PDS Basketball team last year, I was never so proud. Wait, strike that. HE was never so proud. It was the best day of our lives. His life? Shit. I thought it was. I thought he was thrilled to be playing.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry, and shout…and yell!!

WAS IT OK? No, it was not okay…he is an awesome player! And he needs to be a part of a team. What will he do everyday after school, the guys need him! And won’t he miss wearing the uniform? And what if the coach is upset? I mean, I loved being the Team Mom. Didn’t he love that basketball-shaped cake I bought for the team party? Was it too orange? That was it, the frosting was too fucking orange. Maybe I was too annoying, after all I was that crazy mom…screaming in the stands. But it was like “our thing”. I was shaking, and trying not to cry. I looked at Jonah…and I checked myself. I took a long pause…

Breathe, Jennifer. Look at the tattoo on your ankle, and just breathe.

This is not your journey to take; it’s his. And yes, it is okay. This is not about YOU. He needs to make his own decisions, even if this one may not be the right one. He might be making a huge mistake, right? But it’s his mistake to make. And there is always next year…if he wants to try out again. Some parents may feel differently. They may force their kids to keep playing a sport they have committed to, or they are so damn good at. But why? Who is actually winning? If they don’t love playing, why make them play? Isn’t that what it’s all about…having fun? It was simple.

I looked up at him, and held his face. The face that looked exactly like it did when he was two. Only bigger. And harder to reach. And I said, “Yes, J. It is okay. This is your life, and your journey. And I will be fine with this, eventually.” Then he said,”Cool, Dad already said it was fine. We talked about it last weekend.” And he turned and left the kitchen, but not before slapping the top of the doorjamb and shouting “our house”. A little ritual he does every single time he enters, and exits the room. I was so mad, I texted Mark. WTF? He already talked to him? Thanks for the head’s up! I shook my head, and smiled. Then I chuckled to myself. Figures.

So, I guess I have to get over it. I only stayed in bed for a few days, I’m fine now. Tryouts are next week, and Jonah won’t be there…big whoop! But guess what? ZAC is going to be on that court! And so help me Goddess, I will have a kid playing hoops this season, or my name isn’t TEAM MOMMA! What, you don’t get this obsessed over your kids shit? Well, Jonah is doing track in the spring. So, tomorrow we start our training for Track and Field. I’m actually having an Olympic-size track put in my backyard. Hmmm. How do you think Harris Teeter will do at making a javelin-shaped cake? ;)

xo j