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Ordering takeout when your husband is a chef

So the restaurant opened this week. The build up for this moment has been a year in the making. Over a year actually. From the moment we signed on to it, every sacrifice, every extra night Zvi worked, every morning he left at the crack of dawn in the last 14 months, was in preparation for this new chapter.

I told Zvi this morning, just before he left at 8:30am for another full day at the restaurant where he’ll be home at some point late in the night when we’re all sound asleep, that I feel like I supported him so much to get to this point and now that we’re here, I find myself alone in the evenings ordering takeout, dipping sushi into soy sauce, thinking of a time when he was always around at night. Missing him. Missing us.

What the heck was I thinking telling him to conquer his dreams, telling him I’ve got this. Telling him you’ve got this. Telling him the kids won’t remember this blip in time. Here I am on day 3 of what I know is going to be an insane couple of months, wanting to walk back on all the promises I made to him and to myself that I can handle it.

He listened, as he always does, and then said “Okay, I’ll quit.” Not the partnership, but the day job that he’s taken on as the restaurant manager. And let me tell you, opening a restaurant is no easy feat. The amount of moving parts - the staff hirings, the food orders, the kitchen staff, the physical space, your head can literally explode. Any time we’re together he’s making lists upon lists, sending voice notes (in Hebrew, which never gets old), keeping track of 100 whatsapp groups, taking calls. It’s a feat, and a half.

But we both know he’s not quitting that role, that no decision gets made in high stress times, and that despite both of us feeling like we can’t, we in fact can and we will. Sometimes the brain just needs a little space for the I can’ts, for the sake of mental relief. Like if you say it out loud - I quit, we quit, you realize it’s not actually what you want, not right now anyway.

And then we completely switch gears and say okay, so for the next two years we are going to hustle. Work hard, play hard. Grind until we’re 35 and then see, and then assess.Two years seems right. And suddenly we’re pumped and we tell each other yes, we’ve got this, we’ll do this, we’ll accomplish what we want. And when the hard moments come up, we’ll just remind each other that we’re in THE 2 YEAR GRIND!! Then we start chanting like we’re a football team, pumping our fists in the air, 2 year grind, 2 year grind. Okay we may have lost our minds a little. But still, it helps.

And this, this back and forth rollercoaster of emotions, double edge sword stage of life that we’re in - having small children while simultaneously trying to build careers - it all feels like one gigantic contradiction. On the one hand, you don't want to miss a thing with your little ones because you quickly discover that the ‘kids grow up so fast’ cliche is, in fact, not a cliche at all.

On the other hand, you want to succeed, make a good living, give your children a good life and at the most basic, pay your bills. You also want to do something you’re passionate about, proud of, want your children to look up to…But I’ve come to realize, there’s just no way to make it all happen nicely, packaged beautifully and wrapped up in a bow. Being present with your children as much you want and working as hard as you can, cannot coexist. This stage of life is hard. Period.

And so there will be tears, there will be the “I QUITs”, the missed bedtimes, the treasured weekends, the mini vacations, the sweet memories in between that you hope they hold on to, because you sure as heck will. The Good Tired from a day at the beach together, the Hard Tired from a long day of work or a difficult bedtime. There will be chaos and then some.

But I’ve got this, you’ve got this, we all got this. We can and we will - until we can’t and we won’t - until we can again.

Vent over.

Till next time,


Accepting takeout recommendations since I forgot how to cook. Thanks.

The soft opening night when we brought the little ones to the new restaurant.

We were excited. They were exhausted.


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