Articles by Chana Weisberg

Ever since that day, good and bad, joy and sorrow, euphoria and pain became intermingled in every aspect of our experience

Late at night. A dark, cold night. "Mommy," a voice calls softy, anxiously, "Mommy, I'm scared..."

How often do we let out our greatest frustrations on the very people whom we care most about? A sign of love and trust, perhaps, but hurtful, nonetheless, to those closest to us

Imagine that with the mere touch of a button, we had full control of our psyche and personality…

When those queasy feelings rise in me as I undertake a new challenge, I silently repeat to myself my 2-year-old's mantra of self do it! and picture her satisfied pride after she has mastered her task

We don't see the connection between events in our lives. We view others as separate from ourselves. The past is a "memory" and there is no concept or vision of a future. Just like my 2-year-old daughter...

"She constantly criticizes me . Nothing I do for her is ever good enough. She has no respect for me and no gratitude for all that I provide for her. Where is the trust and loyalty she pledged when we married?"

What is it about a baby that is so charismatic? Why do we not only tolerate a baby's disregard for social norms and her invasion of our personal space -- but even enjoy it?

Isn't all this "investment in the project" getting out of hand? Isn't it time you relinquished your perfectionism and allowed yourself the enjoyment of the fruits of your creation?

"Mommy, when is Shira finally coming home?" Yisroel whined for the fifth time that hour. "Why did you let her go away for s-u-c-h a long, long time?" After all, to his three-year-old self, a whole day was an eternity

Today marks the first day of school. I wave goodbye as my last and youngest child rushes from the front porch to his waiting carpool, and gently close the front door...

Had each of the twenty-five of us totally lost our adult sanity? Were we enacting some kind of play or drama scene, or perhaps we were engaged in a psychology experiment?

The clock on my dashboard showed 12:50 pm. My youngest son usually arrives home from school shortly after one o'clock, so I would have ample time before he rushed through the front door, and even some extra minutes to spare

We can discuss the rational merits of my argument until we're both blue in the face. But even more important is to understand why we are in this discussion to begin with

Finally I had no pressures, no anxiety, no chores or responsibilities, no phone calls or people pulling me in every which direction. So why was my mind blank?

I pointed to a short-cut. "Why don't you steer the car that way?" Twisting the joystick, he showed me: "See, it doesn't let me go off track"

Men love toys. So, it was no surprise to me when my husband returned home one day with the latest gadget, claiming it was vital for the enhancement of the quality of our life

The jacket was the right size, just my color, had a designer label, and was reduced to a price you just couldn't resist...

Finding life's solutions is a lot like 10th grade math. You need to: a) take it one step at a time; b) isolate the "unknown variable"; c) be big enough to ask Mommy for help

My son raised his small hands and placed his stubby fingers right in front of his eyes. "See," he announced. "My hand blocks the sun"

Load after load of whites and darks. Heavily soiled and lightly soiled. Delicate wear and regular cycle. Do You watch the constant motion and wonder at the necessity of the repetition?

Shira turned, as if struck by a new idea, only to get sidetracked by the subtlest sound of shifting legs on the wooden floor. She leaped at Naomi and both laughed aloud, reunited

A child's feelings of failure, the crumbling of a little girl's self-image, are not worth the gain of the skill. Every mother knows this. And that's when I wonder about You, G-d...

The doctor and a team of nurses surround the laboring woman. One wipes her furrowed brow with a damp cloth. Another grasps her clenched fist. Anticipation fills the sterile, white room

Every life has one: the power-that-be who guards the mandate of the publication, decides which articles will see the light of day, and suggests/insists on the changes to be made in the content and wording

I did not want to be myself. I did not want to become independent. I wanted to remain enfolded in your warmth, listening to the comforting rhythmic beating of your heart...