Pajamas for Women for Men Party Tumblr for Kids Clipart For Girls all Day Cartoon Pics Photo Picture: Footed Pajamas For Women Pajamas for Women for Men Party Tumblr for Kids Clipart For Girls all Day Cartoon Pics Photo Pictures

Footed Pajamas For Women Biography

source (google.com.pk)
Footed Pajamas are my new Manolos, not that I’ve ever owned a pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes. But a girl can dream in glam if she so chooses.

I wear Zebra-print Footed pajamas and sit on a bouncy Evolution ball on wheels while I work because I work from home. The ball is good for involuntary core work, plus it wakes me up when it begins to roll out from underneath me when I fall asleep at my computer.

I’ve always loved writing. After an internship at North Shore Magazine, I was hired to write about tractors, post hole diggers, augers, faux Christmas trees and men’s underwear (things every nice Jewish girl knows about) for the Sears Catalog. I also wrote copy for the hearing aid company Beltone electronics. Ironically, I now wear hearing aids, but I didn’t get them from Beltone (mum’s the word!)

I’ve freelanced for many newspapers and magazines for years, and wrote a humorous parenting column for Indy’s Child, but after a while, I didn’t like the way some of my articles in some magazines ended up so over-edited I couldn’t recognize the story I had written in the first place, and became embarrassed by my own bylines.

So, I applied for and was hired to work for the Park District of Highland Park as a kindergarten art teacher. I felt so lucky to work with kids whose maturity level was slightly higher than mine. And I was never happier than when I was asked to be the Mascot for any given event. Put a giant fuzzy head on me that barely fits through a doorway sideways and I come to life!

I don’t believe in coincidences, so I know I met Aaron Freeman and his wife Sharon Rosenzweig for a reason. Here’s the Reader’s Digest version:

I saw a picture on Facebook of my nephew, Joey, with Aaron, Sharon, and a beautiful young woman. (Author's note: Aaron and Sharon are also beautiful, and Joey is drop-dead-gorgeous.) I texted Joey, who competes in natural bodybuilding contests, and asked him what he was doing at THE Aaron Freeman’s house. He responded that he had been training Sharon’s daughter Nina, the beautiful young woman in the picture, for an upcoming competition, and had been invited to Shabbos dinner.

About an hour later, I received a Facebook message from Sharon asking if I was related to Helen Korengold. I replied to Sharon that Helen is my husband’s cousin, and wondered how she knew her because Helen lives in Nicaragua. (Feel free to re-read the last few paragraphs again for clarity. This story took several rewrites, even though I know all the details!)

Long story short: Helen lives in Nicaragua. Sharon spent several months there, met, and became BFF’s with Helen. I invite you to take a moment to absorb that mind-blowing Jewish Geography.

The very gracious Aaron and Sharon invited Richard and me to Shabbos dinner at their house that upcoming Friday. Of course, I said, “yes,” all the while thinking to myself, “What am I going to wear? What should I do with my hair? I would not, could not, in the rain. Not in the dark. Not on a train.” (Sorry. I tend to get a little sidetracked from time to time.)

Aaron’s first question when we met was, “What’s your passion in life?”

I knew my passion in life. I have always wanted to be a writer, even if I only wrote for my own enjoyment. Getting paid to write would be ideal, but these things take time. There’s always been something so romantic to me about being a writer. If I knew how without throwing up, I’d smoke a pipe. I’m sure I could go to a thrift shop and find a perfectly stretched-out, brown, over-sized fisherman’s sweater with nubby buttons and requisite elbow patches to wear over my Footed pajamas when my office gets cold.

As much as I loved working at the park district, I realized I wasn’t living my passion. I loved working with little kids and the people at West Ridge (and had been blogging all along,) but I knew if I really wanted to write, I’d need to concentrate only on that. Anyone who knows me knows I can only concentrate on one thing at a time anyway, and even then, it’s challenging.

So, I left my job and put on my jammies. I hired Ryan Erwin, Founder of Web Design & Internet Marketing Chicago ( Web Design & Internet Marketing Chicago) to design and manage the website of my dreams, and then set up my life so I could be the kind of writer I’ve always dreamed about, loving my unprofessional professionalism.

I have always written humorous stories about family life. Thankfully, my family gives me volumes of topics, purely through its existence, and the way I sort of ricochet through life makes me laugh at myself, so I’m a frequent topic, too.

My friendship with Aaron and Sharon, who are the co-creators of The Comic Torah (TheComicTorah.com) deepened and we became frequent guests for Shabbos dinner, meeting different friends of theirs who were all artsy-fartsy, creative, thoughtful, brilliant, and above all, fun people. I can testify that Sharon makes the best-tasting Challah you’ll ever eat, which I miss now that I’m gluten-free. A shout out to Rose’s Bakery for making a yummy alternative for those of us who shun gluten.

she said, “Why don’t I just draw you? You’re practically a cartoon anyway.” So Sharon, who is an Investigative Cartoonist, among many other things, spent some time at my house with my family taking pictures and sketching ideas. Within a few days, Sharon had drawn a cartoon of us that’s more authentic than we are. My mother tells me every day that I resemble the cartoon me more than the real me.

I have the short-term memory of a flea. When I’m working on a story, I can’t answer the phone, or answer a question one of my family members might fire at me. It never fails that even though I do my best; everyone always ends up becoming upset with ME.

There are also doctor appointments, veterinarian appointments, and the occasional gas leak demanding I leave my cocoon, after which I find it difficult to pick up where I left off; or even find where I left off.

Richard, my husband of 27 years, who has become accustomed to my “writing frenzies,” which, are not unlike my dogs’ “puppy crazies” (fits of unrestrained energy causing them to run in circles, leap up and down the stairs, finishing off with a crescendo of fur slamming into and then on top of me), feels the need to say “hi” every time he passes by.

He’s not home often, so it’s awfully nice of him to acknowledge my presence, but he knows how easily distracted I am, and that the slightest interruption of an idea in my brain can act like a domino on my entire thought process, destroying branches of nano-ideas that were attached to the first idea.

Richard has always known I have the attention span of an amoeba. He knows if I don’t corral my thoughts immediately I might never be able to retrieve them. He also knows those ideas pop into my head whenever they please, sort of like a roulette ball that stops whenever it feels like it.

He became so immune to the years of me bouncing out of bed or rummaging through my nightstand for a pad of paper and a pen at 3:00 A.M. that, even though we don’t have a Memory Foam mattress, he remained completely undisturbed.

Now that I charge an iPhone on my nightstand, I can easily reach over to enter an idea or seven into the notes app, which is ideal for someone whose ideas float in one ear, hang around for a breath or two, and then sail along out the other ear. In theory, entering information into my phone should not interrupt Richard’s delta wave sleep cycles, but because I have a bad habit of falling asleep after hunting and pecking my thoughts into my iPhone, the phone tends to drop from my hand onto the floor waking us both up.

Sometimes I feel lonely working from home, so I head to the library. But after setting up my computer and settling in for an afternoon of writing, I become acutely aware of the lack of sound to the point that it becomes creepy. Maybe there’s sound and I don’t hear it; but it still creeps me out. So I pack up all my stuff again and head to a nearby coffee house where I remove my hearing aids in an attempt to ignore the still very audible cries for a “NON-FAT, SKIM LATTE, NO FOAM, WITH TWO SWEET’N LOW’S AND JUST A HINT OF ORGANIC MADAGASCAR CINNAMON, EXTRA HOT!” And, no, I don’t wear my Footed pajamas to Starbucks. I want to, but I don’t. I do have a smidge of self-respect. Sometimes.

For the most part, I’m happy sitting on my bouncy ball, or sometimes on my blue Papasan chair, with my door open, facing the windows that can now safely be cracked open without the threat of an unannounced hailstorm, with Phoebe Buffay Korengold on her dog bed, and the puppy, Dr. Rajesh “Raj” Ramayan Koothrappali Korengold, Astrophysicist, on his dog bed sleeping, or playing with a toy. All is usually peaceful until I realize that Raj is chewing on an electrical cord and I have to reconfigure my outlet situation before he explodes.

Sometimes Phoebe and Raj try to catch a squirrel by jumping up against the windows in my office in a fruitless effort to reach the window boxes just outside, bark at dogs being walked by, bark at golfers on the course across the street, or sometimes bark at an occasional leaf that floats by. I love hearing the birds welcoming the beginning of spring, endless pots of coffee and tea, and the few M&Ms I discover hiding in the bottom of the bag in the pantry.

But inevitably the phone rings, and even if I don’t answer, I can easily get thrown off course. The doorbell rings, UPS delivers a package, kids stop by to sell bars of World’s Finest Chocolate to raise money for the HPHS football team. Now that is something I like to support, so I’ll take a break and buy an entire case because, even though my kids are out of high school, I think it’s important for me to have that much chocolate at my disposal.

On days when the words won’t flow, I require pure silence, which is hard to find. I like the “white noise” of my air filter, and nothing is cozier on a cold, snowy, or rainy day than popping in my Radiant Fireplace 2 DVD (shot in high definition!) of a crackling fireplace. I have the choice of natural sounds, soothing music, or sounds and music. I am a purist so I always choose natural sounds, but sometimes even that stymies creative thoughts.

In order to create a truly silent space, I thought of a variation of what Richard does when he and one of his business partners at work need to meet privately; they step into one of the conference rooms and close the door. Someone in their office referred to the conference room as the “Cone of Shush,” meaning to call it “The Cone of Silence” from the television show Get Smart.

I tried to imagine fashioning a soundproof plastic device that had the capacity to descend from the ceiling, and ensconce my head when needed, but I really don’t have the mental capacity to figure out what would be needed to build one, nor do I have the time to put one together. Maybe Raj could figure it out.

Then I realized I already have a Cone of Shush. Because Richard is and always has been “Mr. Safety First,” he has purchased several of those bright orange “caution” cones you see while driving in a construction zone. We use them mostly to alert guests that our walkway might be icy, as if they wouldn’t figure that out on their own.

When I need time and freedom to think, I just put one of those orange cones in my doorway alerting my family that now is not a good time to ask me questions, or tell me I have a phone call. If the dogs need to go outside, or dinner needs to be made, I am not available. I have asked them all to, “Just respect The Cone.” And they do.

Just because my work wardrobe is a bit uncustomary doesn’t mean I’m not working. In fact, I propose that those of us who work from home declare that whatever we choose to wear is just the right amount of unprofessional professionalism. I know it works for me, and that’s all that matters.

Footed Pajamas For Women Pajamas for Women for Men Party Tumblr for Kids Clipart For Girls all Day Cartoon Pics Photo Pictures