(There are a lot of links below. Please, spend some time reading, especially the ones further down )
December 16th was the day my dear friend, Cindy Feldman - of blessed memory - was born. She pursued life with the passion of someone who knew why she was placed in the world. You can 'meet' her here: Cindy's Curls
December 16, 2012 was the day my grandmother, Fritzi Polovin - obm - died at 98 years old. (98 Is Great) We weren't exactly done with her, but she was ready to move on. This year, I'll be serving cottage cheese pancakes, chocolate chip cookies, and maybe even venturing to I-Hop for a meal (her very famous and favorites).
December 16, 2013 - The funeral for Superman Sam z"l will be held at Shalom Memorial in Arlington Heights - the same place where my grandmother was 'laid to rest'. Sam had leukemia. I didn't know him. I don't know his mom. I discovered her blog "This Messy Life" and followed it - because her writing is beautiful. She is able to use her words to make you feel life. It was from that blog that I discovered her "Superman Sam" blog and her family's war against Leukemia.
And, I started praying and hoping. I realize, again, that I have no idea what she or the rest of her family and friends are feeling right now. But Superman Sam's mom writes so powerfully and honestly that you feel like you are a part of her world. Her thoughts and questions, sorrow and bewilderment, hope and strength penetrate to your soul and give you a sense… just a sense.
She writes and you feel.
You become a part of Sam's life.
Praying for his miracle.
Devastation.
***
We all have our favorite charitable organizations - ones that war against illnesses we wish didn't exist. Illnesses we hope to eliminate from this world.
We even have our favorite cancer-fighting movement.
I support Cycle for Survival. This foundation was started by my brother's childhood friend, Dave Linn, and his wife Jennifer Goodman-Linn. She fought sarcoma for seven years. They started Cycle for Survival to raise money that goes directly to research for orphan cancers (making up 50% of cancer diagnoses), including pediatric cancer.
This year, Scottsdale is hosting a satellite location. Please come ride with us on January 12th beginning at 9:00 am at the JCC on Scottsdale and Sweetwater. You can sign up here on the team I'll be riding with:
Team Linn
You get in a workout, and we raise money for cancer research.
My friend, Joy Solon Weber, introduced me to the Pablove Foundation. Pablove is a non-profit raising money for pediatric cancer. Joy's husband, Adam, rides with the Pablove Foundation from the Bay to LA and has already completed the ride this year, but we can still help him reach his fundraising goal : Donate to Adam's Ride
Just before Thanksgiving in 2010, my dear friend's niece - Lindsey Eyles - battle against sarcoma ended. I support CureSearch in memory of Lindsey and in the hopes that children (and adults) will no longer have to go through what the Eyles family went through and continues to go through every day since Lindsey's death.
On March 31, 2014 - 36 Rabbis will be "Shaving for the Brave". The brave is Superman Sam, and these rabbis are part of the St. Baldrick's Foundation efforts to eradicate childhood cancer by putting on low-cost events in order to give larger sums of money to research and prevention efforts.
On March 4, 2014 - you can participate with Coaches Against Cancer at the Sports Authority in Arizona Mills. You can shave your head, volunteer, or just donate.
December 16th will stand out boldly from the rest of the year for the rest of my life. This world is broken, and we are charged with the task of fixing it.
Even a dollar will take us closer to finding a cure and eradicating cancer.
I have also been touched by the work of :
Peach's Neet Feet - From Our Heart to Your Sole
and
Miles 2 Give
December 15, 2013
October 29, 2013
Oxygen
Moms, why don't we speak to each other more often? Not about who is struggling in school or who made the soccer team or how busy our days are. But, about mothering things.
Like children pushing our buttons. And the mommy moments we wish didn't happen (but are relieved to hear that our mommy friends also had). Or the limits our children push us to - really push us to.
The things that make us say "I suck at this". "I can't take another day" or "What did I get myself into?"
It was so nice to speak with a friend today and learn that we are living with the same children. The one who can't get up in the morning, takes a lot of prodding... a lot, needs to be reminded to
'get going' while in the shower, 'get out' and 'you have one more minute - last time I'm telling you'.
The child who shrieks - at least once a day. Well, really - once in the morning and once in the evening. And, we've learned that the shriek does not symbolize anything real so we call from another room: "You're fine. Do you want an ice pack? Come and get it."
We both have the child with a bit (ok, a lot) of anxiety. Maneuvering through life is difficult. Watching that pushes our buttons. We can only handle observing panic in our children for so long or so many times a day. And, then it's time for them to go live in someone else's house.
But, then we realize we should be a different mother. The one who knows their child so well and knows what he or she needs and can actually give it to them without consulting a therapist. Or at least we should be the mother who is patient and understanding and supportive. The one with the magic key to turn off the panic and instill calm.
There is the child who is starting to sass and observe our stupidity and is not afraid to let us know it. They are establishing their independence but they are babies. They are lost but they know where they want to go. Their attitudes sometimes smack us across the face in an unexpected burst.
We also both have the child who brings sweetness to every moment. Who makes us think that parenthood could be easy and calm and delightful - all the time.
My friend and I, we acknowledged how essential it is for mothers to nurture themselves in order to be a better person for their children. The oxygen mask - put it on first, before you put it on your children if, G-d forbid, there is an emergency on the plane. I told the flight attendant that I always put myself first. I hope he knows I was joking. Then again, I hope he recognized what a great mom I am to put myself first.
Like children pushing our buttons. And the mommy moments we wish didn't happen (but are relieved to hear that our mommy friends also had). Or the limits our children push us to - really push us to.
The things that make us say "I suck at this". "I can't take another day" or "What did I get myself into?"
It was so nice to speak with a friend today and learn that we are living with the same children. The one who can't get up in the morning, takes a lot of prodding... a lot, needs to be reminded to
'get going' while in the shower, 'get out' and 'you have one more minute - last time I'm telling you'.
The child who shrieks - at least once a day. Well, really - once in the morning and once in the evening. And, we've learned that the shriek does not symbolize anything real so we call from another room: "You're fine. Do you want an ice pack? Come and get it."
We both have the child with a bit (ok, a lot) of anxiety. Maneuvering through life is difficult. Watching that pushes our buttons. We can only handle observing panic in our children for so long or so many times a day. And, then it's time for them to go live in someone else's house.
But, then we realize we should be a different mother. The one who knows their child so well and knows what he or she needs and can actually give it to them without consulting a therapist. Or at least we should be the mother who is patient and understanding and supportive. The one with the magic key to turn off the panic and instill calm.
There is the child who is starting to sass and observe our stupidity and is not afraid to let us know it. They are establishing their independence but they are babies. They are lost but they know where they want to go. Their attitudes sometimes smack us across the face in an unexpected burst.
We also both have the child who brings sweetness to every moment. Who makes us think that parenthood could be easy and calm and delightful - all the time.
My friend and I, we acknowledged how essential it is for mothers to nurture themselves in order to be a better person for their children. The oxygen mask - put it on first, before you put it on your children if, G-d forbid, there is an emergency on the plane. I told the flight attendant that I always put myself first. I hope he knows I was joking. Then again, I hope he recognized what a great mom I am to put myself first.
October 24, 2013
Hard is the New Hard
I've been watching you young mommies lately - with a bit of envy and a bit of horrifying flashback. I remember trying to get out the door with little ones in tow, having to make sure they were safely latched into their seats - because they cannot do it themselves, loading up the double stroller and finding ways to get through small, tight spaces, taking 45-minutes to load up for a five minute errand.
I remember missed naps, forced naps, driving to sleep naps (I can tell you where all the horse properties are in my neck of the woods and which horses are usually visible by a child peering out the window from his car seat). I remember meals that took hours (because massive clean up - and, perhaps, a bath was involved). I remember strategic planning on how to get to music classes while still preserving nap time and figuring out when I could get a bite to eat, or do the laundry or the dishes, or have a minute to sit down...
I remember thinking "I can't do this", "I need a break", and "my kids are driving me crazy". I enjoyed the moment but looked toward the future. I noticed moms with her four teenagers walking alongside her. I listened to the evolving conversations. I marveled at little children who had grown up big.
And, now I've learned. Hard is the new hard. I'm not sure which stage of children is easier and which stage is harder. I'm not sure it matters.
Putting my children in the car? That's easier. They can do it themselves - all of them - most of the time. Putting them to bed for the night? Uh, still hard. I have to try and stay awake long enough to see the oldest to bed. I have to make sure another one stops reading and turns off his light before he tumbles into bed. I still have to read to them (thankfully) and sing (sh'ma) before bed. And, yes, there are still struggles to get them to calm down and get into bed. Bedtime is often prolonged longer than I'd like. Children still come into my room with scary thoughts, I can't sleep, or I'm hungry issues. In fact, there is one in my bed right now. Oh - make that two.
And, now they have independence streaking through their little veins. They know more than me (and - if it's homework we're talking about - they do know more than me). Their personalities spend time each day working to get along with their siblings (that's the nice way of saying that the silly little tantrums of toddler-hood do not disappear - they evolve). Life is still a pinball machine and I continue to bounce between the four balls that someone put in my machine.
Motherhood is still non-stop. It continues to keep me up at night. There is still no privacy in the bathroom. The house is messier than ever (I know toddler-moms, you can't believe it!). And first-time listening appears to be a life-long feat.
I still run around, trying to manage the schedules of four under-scheduled children. We have our days where we go from one thing to the next. I went from trying to stay out and about until bedtime (especially on the nights when David was not home) to setting the clocks ahead so we can all go to sleep early.
There are many statements that are repeated on a daily basis: "Turn it off", "Pick up your clothes", "Empty your lunch boxes", "You need to use shampoo when you wash your hair", "Clear your spot".... I could go on.... and on..... and on.
Yep - hard is the new hard when it comes to motherhood. But, it's a good hard.
I remember missed naps, forced naps, driving to sleep naps (I can tell you where all the horse properties are in my neck of the woods and which horses are usually visible by a child peering out the window from his car seat). I remember meals that took hours (because massive clean up - and, perhaps, a bath was involved). I remember strategic planning on how to get to music classes while still preserving nap time and figuring out when I could get a bite to eat, or do the laundry or the dishes, or have a minute to sit down...
I remember thinking "I can't do this", "I need a break", and "my kids are driving me crazy". I enjoyed the moment but looked toward the future. I noticed moms with her four teenagers walking alongside her. I listened to the evolving conversations. I marveled at little children who had grown up big.
And, now I've learned. Hard is the new hard. I'm not sure which stage of children is easier and which stage is harder. I'm not sure it matters.
Putting my children in the car? That's easier. They can do it themselves - all of them - most of the time. Putting them to bed for the night? Uh, still hard. I have to try and stay awake long enough to see the oldest to bed. I have to make sure another one stops reading and turns off his light before he tumbles into bed. I still have to read to them (thankfully) and sing (sh'ma) before bed. And, yes, there are still struggles to get them to calm down and get into bed. Bedtime is often prolonged longer than I'd like. Children still come into my room with scary thoughts, I can't sleep, or I'm hungry issues. In fact, there is one in my bed right now. Oh - make that two.
And, now they have independence streaking through their little veins. They know more than me (and - if it's homework we're talking about - they do know more than me). Their personalities spend time each day working to get along with their siblings (that's the nice way of saying that the silly little tantrums of toddler-hood do not disappear - they evolve). Life is still a pinball machine and I continue to bounce between the four balls that someone put in my machine.
Motherhood is still non-stop. It continues to keep me up at night. There is still no privacy in the bathroom. The house is messier than ever (I know toddler-moms, you can't believe it!). And first-time listening appears to be a life-long feat.
I still run around, trying to manage the schedules of four under-scheduled children. We have our days where we go from one thing to the next. I went from trying to stay out and about until bedtime (especially on the nights when David was not home) to setting the clocks ahead so we can all go to sleep early.
There are many statements that are repeated on a daily basis: "Turn it off", "Pick up your clothes", "Empty your lunch boxes", "You need to use shampoo when you wash your hair", "Clear your spot".... I could go on.... and on..... and on.
Yep - hard is the new hard when it comes to motherhood. But, it's a good hard.
September 19, 2013
On The Edge
“And God said come to the edge." "I can't. I’m afraid." "Come to the edge." "I can't. I’ll fall" "Come to the edge." I went to the edge and God pushed me…….and I flew.”
― Guillaume Apollinaire
Life can change. Tomorrow. A day filled with instants. And, in one of those instants, life can change.
I'm going to the edge tomorrow and I know I may be a different person by the end of the day then I am now. I've been to the edge before. Had my toes on the line. But I've never gone over. Always been afforded the blessing of turning around. Of thanking G-d that my world would remain the same as it had been.
I'm pretty sure thats how it will be tomorrow - because that's how it always is - but that's what everyone thinks - before they go over. I sure don't feel any wings sprouting. And, even if I remain on my side of the edge, I think of all those who are being pushed over. The world changes every day and most of us don't know it. Most of us never have to spread our wings. Most of us don't have to soar after being pushed down.
Fear taunts us and plays with us and wastes our time. I can sit and dwell or I can go eat cookies.... with my Grommet cookie spoon.
I need one of these.
September 18, 2013
Lazy Mama
Even in a mother's laziness, there is no rest. As the holiday of Sukkot fast approaches, I find myself contemplating my most favorite theme of this harvest holiday. Going back to basics. Sukkot, to me, is almost an extension of Shabbat - Shabbat one step deeper. Not only do we turn off all that keeps us attached to the physical world (our cell phones, computers, ovens, cars, etc.) - but we leave our homes and enter the simplicity of living in a booth. It doesn't matter how extravagant our decorations nor how sparkly our lights, we all sit in the sukkah with three walls and a ceiling of skach that allows us to view the stars when we look up.
Sukkot beckons us to focus on the things in life that hold the utmost importance. It is our faith and our tradition that propel us to shake the lulav and the etrog - an action that holds no meaning whatsoever outside of this holiday. We spend time with friends and family, sharing meals and engaged in discussions about the gifts our ancestors left us with and how we can continue to make the world a better place for those who will come after us.
We return to basics. We overflow with gratitude for the roof over our heads, for the food we have to eat, for the family and community that surround us. We don't have to spend our days running errands, cleaning up after children (ok - maybe we do ), making phone calls, arranging for house repairs....
We slow down. We pay attention. We realize how many extras we have.
I feel like I have been in a sukkah for the past month (though I've been without the mosquitos that seem to be inhabiting our sukkah this year). I have been inside - my house and my mind - and I have not ventured out too often. I have done only what I have had to do and have avoided being in my car, having long conversations, standing for too long, sitting much at all, and all the little extras that typically inhabit a mom's life.
I have "chosen" to be a lazy mom for the past month. And, still, I find that my days are jam packed. The hours still disappear before I am ready for them to go. I don't know how I do it - when I'm doing it all.
I am looking forward to shutting down the email and ignoring the Facebook because - you see - in my 'laziness', I have acquired a habit of looking and checking every time I am icing my leg and my back. It's better than a dose of motrin and helps to take my mind off the pain that has consumed me. And, perhaps, what keeps me so busy in my laziness.
The world continues to spin.
The years repeat themselves.
The holidays always bring something new to our attention.
When we live with open eyes, we see the cycles, the paradoxes, the constant movement.
When we sit still, it all becomes present before us.
And, now, I must go guide my children as they hang the last of the sukkah decorations.
Sukkot beckons us to focus on the things in life that hold the utmost importance. It is our faith and our tradition that propel us to shake the lulav and the etrog - an action that holds no meaning whatsoever outside of this holiday. We spend time with friends and family, sharing meals and engaged in discussions about the gifts our ancestors left us with and how we can continue to make the world a better place for those who will come after us.
We return to basics. We overflow with gratitude for the roof over our heads, for the food we have to eat, for the family and community that surround us. We don't have to spend our days running errands, cleaning up after children (ok - maybe we do ), making phone calls, arranging for house repairs....
We slow down. We pay attention. We realize how many extras we have.
I feel like I have been in a sukkah for the past month (though I've been without the mosquitos that seem to be inhabiting our sukkah this year). I have been inside - my house and my mind - and I have not ventured out too often. I have done only what I have had to do and have avoided being in my car, having long conversations, standing for too long, sitting much at all, and all the little extras that typically inhabit a mom's life.
I have "chosen" to be a lazy mom for the past month. And, still, I find that my days are jam packed. The hours still disappear before I am ready for them to go. I don't know how I do it - when I'm doing it all.
I am looking forward to shutting down the email and ignoring the Facebook because - you see - in my 'laziness', I have acquired a habit of looking and checking every time I am icing my leg and my back. It's better than a dose of motrin and helps to take my mind off the pain that has consumed me. And, perhaps, what keeps me so busy in my laziness.
The world continues to spin.
The years repeat themselves.
The holidays always bring something new to our attention.
When we live with open eyes, we see the cycles, the paradoxes, the constant movement.
When we sit still, it all becomes present before us.
And, now, I must go guide my children as they hang the last of the sukkah decorations.
September 10, 2013
An Accounting of My Life
It's that time of year. But, for me, it's that time of life. Time to take an accounting, time to look inside. Time to release. Time to move forward. Time to recreate and redefine. Time to reclaim my Self.
I have a lot going on. My 'a lot going on is not more or less than your a lot going on' (that's the nature of life today) but my lot has accumulated and knocked me down.
Back pain. Sciatic nerve pain. Immobilizing and demoralizing pain. For many days, in the past four weeks, I have done absolutely nothing. Other days, I have done only what I absolutely had to do.
Pain is a roadblock to life, and my admiration for friends living with chronic pain is more immense than ever before. Most of the time, I can think of little else than the pain coursing through my leg and back. I stopped seeking relief because there is none. Pain impacts my ability to fulfill my responsibilities, my desire for conversation, and my hope.
There is just no space for those things right now.
My body yells for me to pay attention to life, and - in the distance - I hear the sound of the shofar calling. It is that time of year again.
Time to look at yourself fully and deeply, to look at those things we - consciously or subconsciously - tucked away. Fears that haunt us. Anger that lingers. Stress that simmers.
This is a stressful world and, more than ever, we need to be mindful about managing stress. We have had some difficult years. Things that rip you open, make you vulnerable and raw, and make you rethink things.
The question "Who am I?" is stressful when you've been a stay at home mom for twelve years. Even when your passion has been helping mothers recreate and redefine themselves throughout motherhood. Even when you've been so on top of it yourself. You realize, you've forgotten to pay attention to some of the pieces.
"Who can I be?"is a looming question with endless possibilities but no answer.
"I'm not good enough." screams loudly when you are trapped on your back. Your children get to watch a bit more TV; they eat cereal for dinner; you're not really sure what they are working on in school. You forget to put the tooth fairy money under the pillow for four days.
Self-doubt motivates us to propel forward. Negative self-talk can be converted to positive change.
Back Pain, I know you are here to protect me from having to move forward in life. You are the roadblock to fear because I can't think of anything else when you are here.
I am going to get up now ... and walk across the room without pain, without cinching.... I am going to resume living.
I have a lot going on. My 'a lot going on is not more or less than your a lot going on' (that's the nature of life today) but my lot has accumulated and knocked me down.
Back pain. Sciatic nerve pain. Immobilizing and demoralizing pain. For many days, in the past four weeks, I have done absolutely nothing. Other days, I have done only what I absolutely had to do.
Pain is a roadblock to life, and my admiration for friends living with chronic pain is more immense than ever before. Most of the time, I can think of little else than the pain coursing through my leg and back. I stopped seeking relief because there is none. Pain impacts my ability to fulfill my responsibilities, my desire for conversation, and my hope.
There is just no space for those things right now.
My body yells for me to pay attention to life, and - in the distance - I hear the sound of the shofar calling. It is that time of year again.
Time to look at yourself fully and deeply, to look at those things we - consciously or subconsciously - tucked away. Fears that haunt us. Anger that lingers. Stress that simmers.
This is a stressful world and, more than ever, we need to be mindful about managing stress. We have had some difficult years. Things that rip you open, make you vulnerable and raw, and make you rethink things.
The question "Who am I?" is stressful when you've been a stay at home mom for twelve years. Even when your passion has been helping mothers recreate and redefine themselves throughout motherhood. Even when you've been so on top of it yourself. You realize, you've forgotten to pay attention to some of the pieces.
"Who can I be?"is a looming question with endless possibilities but no answer.
"I'm not good enough." screams loudly when you are trapped on your back. Your children get to watch a bit more TV; they eat cereal for dinner; you're not really sure what they are working on in school. You forget to put the tooth fairy money under the pillow for four days.
Self-doubt motivates us to propel forward. Negative self-talk can be converted to positive change.
Back Pain, I know you are here to protect me from having to move forward in life. You are the roadblock to fear because I can't think of anything else when you are here.
I am going to get up now ... and walk across the room without pain, without cinching.... I am going to resume living.
August 9, 2013
My Husband, My Hero
(long - but that's life)
My children are great! When mom's down for the count, they step up to the plate... and over to the computer. And they can take care of themselves all day.... while playing with their friends on Minecraft.
In between building structures and warring against bad guys, they tell me "Mom, you better go to the doctor.", "Mom, are you ok?", "Do you need anything?" I really am proud. I see self-sufficiency, compassion, and even that question moms love to hear: "what can I do for you, mom?"
They've not seen mom in so much pain, there are tears in her eyes. (None of them were at any of my childbirths, and Aaron - the only one who came into the world drug free - doesn't remember a thing).
We moms jest that when we fall sick or wake up with a bad back, it is our body's way of telling us to slow down - that we need a rest.
Why would this rest need to take place the day before school starts? I had the whole summer to rest, and my body decides that Meet Your Teacher is the perfect day to stop working.
And, when I say stop working, I really mean stop working. Sciatic pain that feels like a metal bear trap - you know the ones with all those sharp teeth? - is clenching my leg. And, unlike other bouts of sciatica, there is no release from the trap. There is no position that brings relief from the pain. It won't stop.
I told David it is worse than when I gave birth to Aaron. He says there is a magic potion given to mothers after childbirth so that they do not remember how painful it was. I tell him I remember, and this is worse. Aaron's birth lasted six minutes from the time we arrived on the labor and delivery floor in the hospital. Sciatica is lasting much longer, making it unbearable.
And, there's no take home prize.
In the mist of pain, I took Ilan to middle school orientation where we hopped from class to class, mimicking the rhythm of his schedule. I can't believe the passion and creativity and dedication to students that these teachers have. The highlights? The Civil War re-enactment. The 12-foot catapult that shoots pumpkins into the air. And the pre-engineering class where they are told to let the girls enter the classroom first and select a seat on the couches first.
The next day, we go to visit our teachers at our beloved Sandpiper Elementary. I am amazed but not shocked that the new teachers fit in perfectly to the specially unique distinction that our Sandpiper teachers have. It's as though they've always been here.
I'm one of the PTO representatives, and we are there early to welcome our new kindergarten students - several of whom were at my house the week prior for a kindergarten playdate. We also stay late to welcome the new families who have older children, and I don't know how I made it. But, I did. Because it's Sandpiper.
And, then David arrived home - late Wednesday night - so he could see his children off on their first day of school.
We managed day one together. He went off to middle school with Ilan and then came back to help the rest get off to school. He loaded my car with the Boo Hoo Breakfast goodies (that I picked up from Einstein's at 5:30am) and helped me set up.
Thankfully (?), even Ellie shooed us away from waiting with her until the bell rang. Independent. (Embarrassed already?) Whatever - I'm going to celebrate it.
It allowed me to go to the Boo Hoo Breakfast and get ready for our new and kindergarten parents to join us. What a great event (!) for new families! By the end, I was done and gratefully accepted help to put everything away. That was it for me - the rest of the day I was in bed.
Second day of school - I woke early to get ready before I had to wake my children. I walked to the shower and crumbled in pain. In walks my hero who put me back in bed and took over for the morning - filling lunch boxes, serving breakfast, dealing with clothing crises, and prodding children into the shower.
Ilan leaves for the bus, and I get up to check things out. There sits the bagel David made for Ilan's lunch. David is now on a work phone call for the next hour, so I grab Isaac and head to middle school (my apologies to Ilan who never saw me, but his friends did - and I was not the picture of motherhood you want your middle school friends to see). Isaac kept asking me why I was squeezing his hand so hard.
Lunch delivered, home we went. David delivered the other children to school and then took me to "get fixed". I spent the rest of the day in bed, sleeping for most of it. Thank you, my hero. I could not have made it through this day without you.... What's that I smell? Oh, yeah. He's also making Shabbat dinner and the cholent for tomorrow.
My children are great! When mom's down for the count, they step up to the plate... and over to the computer. And they can take care of themselves all day.... while playing with their friends on Minecraft.
In between building structures and warring against bad guys, they tell me "Mom, you better go to the doctor.", "Mom, are you ok?", "Do you need anything?" I really am proud. I see self-sufficiency, compassion, and even that question moms love to hear: "what can I do for you, mom?"
They've not seen mom in so much pain, there are tears in her eyes. (None of them were at any of my childbirths, and Aaron - the only one who came into the world drug free - doesn't remember a thing).
We moms jest that when we fall sick or wake up with a bad back, it is our body's way of telling us to slow down - that we need a rest.
Why would this rest need to take place the day before school starts? I had the whole summer to rest, and my body decides that Meet Your Teacher is the perfect day to stop working.
And, when I say stop working, I really mean stop working. Sciatic pain that feels like a metal bear trap - you know the ones with all those sharp teeth? - is clenching my leg. And, unlike other bouts of sciatica, there is no release from the trap. There is no position that brings relief from the pain. It won't stop.
I told David it is worse than when I gave birth to Aaron. He says there is a magic potion given to mothers after childbirth so that they do not remember how painful it was. I tell him I remember, and this is worse. Aaron's birth lasted six minutes from the time we arrived on the labor and delivery floor in the hospital. Sciatica is lasting much longer, making it unbearable.
And, there's no take home prize.
In the mist of pain, I took Ilan to middle school orientation where we hopped from class to class, mimicking the rhythm of his schedule. I can't believe the passion and creativity and dedication to students that these teachers have. The highlights? The Civil War re-enactment. The 12-foot catapult that shoots pumpkins into the air. And the pre-engineering class where they are told to let the girls enter the classroom first and select a seat on the couches first.
The next day, we go to visit our teachers at our beloved Sandpiper Elementary. I am amazed but not shocked that the new teachers fit in perfectly to the specially unique distinction that our Sandpiper teachers have. It's as though they've always been here.
I'm one of the PTO representatives, and we are there early to welcome our new kindergarten students - several of whom were at my house the week prior for a kindergarten playdate. We also stay late to welcome the new families who have older children, and I don't know how I made it. But, I did. Because it's Sandpiper.
And, then David arrived home - late Wednesday night - so he could see his children off on their first day of school.
We managed day one together. He went off to middle school with Ilan and then came back to help the rest get off to school. He loaded my car with the Boo Hoo Breakfast goodies (that I picked up from Einstein's at 5:30am) and helped me set up.
Thankfully (?), even Ellie shooed us away from waiting with her until the bell rang. Independent. (Embarrassed already?) Whatever - I'm going to celebrate it.
It allowed me to go to the Boo Hoo Breakfast and get ready for our new and kindergarten parents to join us. What a great event (!) for new families! By the end, I was done and gratefully accepted help to put everything away. That was it for me - the rest of the day I was in bed.
Second day of school - I woke early to get ready before I had to wake my children. I walked to the shower and crumbled in pain. In walks my hero who put me back in bed and took over for the morning - filling lunch boxes, serving breakfast, dealing with clothing crises, and prodding children into the shower.
Ilan leaves for the bus, and I get up to check things out. There sits the bagel David made for Ilan's lunch. David is now on a work phone call for the next hour, so I grab Isaac and head to middle school (my apologies to Ilan who never saw me, but his friends did - and I was not the picture of motherhood you want your middle school friends to see). Isaac kept asking me why I was squeezing his hand so hard.
Lunch delivered, home we went. David delivered the other children to school and then took me to "get fixed". I spent the rest of the day in bed, sleeping for most of it. Thank you, my hero. I could not have made it through this day without you.... What's that I smell? Oh, yeah. He's also making Shabbat dinner and the cholent for tomorrow.
July 28, 2013
Lemonade Jello & Club Penguin
Thoughts of my grandma's lemonade jello just began simmering on my tongue. My love affair with her lemonade jello began long before I knew what was in jello and before I started keeping kosher. This was not your ordinary lemonade jello. It was creamy and lemony, of course. The consistency was not anything like jello and you could slurp it into your mouth as though you were drinking a thick milkshake from a straw and let it melt, spreading itself across your entire tongue, sinking into each and every taste bud.
Sometimes, it hits me from out of the blue. My grandmother is no longer with us. I reach for the phone or look in the mailbox when a holiday or birthday is drawing near. And there is just emptiness.
When my grandmother passed away, I wanted her dining room table. Did I need it? No. Did I have room for it? No. But, I wanted it. Because the memories - no matter how distant and undetailed they are in my mind - are of sentimental, happy, family moments. And, I don't want to let that go or fade away.
Sometimes, it hits me from out of the blue. My grandmother is no longer with us. I reach for the phone or look in the mailbox when a holiday or birthday is drawing near. And there is just emptiness.
With my grandfather "getting old" now (he is 99, after all), I think of all the conversations I would like to have with my grandmother - of blessed memory - (paternal side) and my grandfather (maternal side), the last relatives I have from that generation. I want to speak with their 60-year old selves, their 40-year old selves, and their young selves - to hear about life, what was important to them, and what kept them going.
My grandfather's age gnaws at me in the sense that I only get quick doses of him - on the phone or even in person. Up 'til now, in person meant a quick trip to his apartment... Quick because he is a pack rat and there is not much space to sit... or stand, for that matter... He keeps it hot despite the fact the he wears sweaters and scarfs all year round.... He has stacks and stacks of papers all over the place because he is a busy man with a lot to do and a book to write... because his life should be recorded.
Or a meal at a restaurant... which is not really a quick trip because he takes soooo long to eat - longer than my third born son who is also a slow eater and carefully puts his food into his mouth and takes 45 minutes to eat a bagel (David timed him). His teeth frequently fall out when dining out (according to the rest of my family) and being the I-can't-watch-other-people-brush-their-teeth kind of phobic, it makes for a meal filled with anxiety and anticipation. I apologize if I choose the seat farthest away from you, Pops. And, if you are offended, I could not help Grandma Fritzi with her dentures during the last days that I saw her either.
As I came to record these words that were fluttering in my mind, the littles (Isaac and Ellie) were both playing on Club Penguin. They play on my mom's account (yes, BunnyP), and they were so proud of the igloo they had just redecorated.
I can relate, I thought. As soon as I came home from living in a one-bedroom (ok - two, if you count the office where all four of our children sleep when we are there... and yes, it is a more than adequate space!), I started clearing out all the stuff from our house. For several reasons: first and probably foremost, I'm trying to make more space for Ilan and Aaron who recently started sharing a room and who haven't yet been able to put all their stuff into their room. So, I'm trying to clear some additional closets for them. Second and most importantly (that is better than foremost), I realized I do not need all this stuff we have in the house. I do not want any clutter, and I am doing away with it. Little by little.
I can relate, I thought. As soon as I came home from living in a one-bedroom (ok - two, if you count the office where all four of our children sleep when we are there... and yes, it is a more than adequate space!), I started clearing out all the stuff from our house. For several reasons: first and probably foremost, I'm trying to make more space for Ilan and Aaron who recently started sharing a room and who haven't yet been able to put all their stuff into their room. So, I'm trying to clear some additional closets for them. Second and most importantly (that is better than foremost), I realized I do not need all this stuff we have in the house. I do not want any clutter, and I am doing away with it. Little by little.
Just like my mom. Who is clearing out the 'stuff' from her house because she doesn't want her children to have to deal with it when "she is gone". So - we're all doing a lot of clearing and cleaning and cleansing.
But, I have these things - these things I inherited from my grandmother. And, they take up space. Space I am dedicated to giving to them. Like the mezuzot on my doorposts, each time I see my grandmother's things - I am reminded of her and what she means to me. I have some things that my grandfather brought back to her from his business trips throughout the years. I have her dish that she served me cottage pancakes on when I was young and when I was old. I have her serving pieces that I paid little attention to as I grew up in front of her but that mean so much to me now.
As we adorn our igloos and our (AZ) homes, I think it is important to keep those things that bring back the flavor of lemonade jello.... even though they take up space.
July 23, 2013
An Ode to Pops
My grandfather turned 99 on July 1st of this year. He moved from "98 is great" to "99 is mighty fine". His mother - Nanny Kate - was in my life through a good part of my teens. She was 96 - for several years. His father - Poppy Ira - was also in my life and around long enough that I have memories to hold on to. That is the maternal side of the family.
My dad's mom, my Grandma Fritzi (obm), passed away on December 16th, 2012. She was 98 ("98 is great. 98 takes you to Heaven's gate). She was alive until the day she died (if you know what I mean). Her motto was "the older I get, the better I was", but we all knew that wasn't true. She passed away before she got "too old". That's how she wanted it.
It's in my blood - these long years of life. While everyone else is going through their mid-life crisis, I am still only one-third of the way done with mine. ;)
My grandfather went to the ER earlier this week. He told the doctors he was a retired Supreme Court Judge. He was a judge (and he was appointed to the Cook County Circuit Court in 1983) ; he was a naval officer who served in World War II; and he was a member of the (Illinois) State Legislature. He has good stories.
My grandmother reached toward death with her mental capacities intact. My grandfather, however, is losing it. The last time we visited on the phone, my grandfather told me he had been a doctor in the Navy - simply because they did not have one handy and he had to step in for the job. He explained how he read a text book in order to perform surgery on another officer. And he did it perfectly. And they all thought he was fabulous.
He told me he was shot while on the ship and was awarded a purple heart ribbon. I think he was awarded a purple heart ribbon for his service (at the age of 97 and probably because he asked for it), but I was told he was struck by a hose on the ship and that is why he had to leave the service. He told my mom he had a knee replacement, and he was so convincing - she began to believe him - doubting her own ability to remember. This was two days ago.
My grandfather is "physically strong", whatever that means at 98. But, his mind is fading. His mother had a faded mind too, but it was so worn away that she didn't remember anything - so it was easy. My grandfather is struggling between knowing and confusion - and it makes him grumpy, difficult, and unhappy.
No one wants a loved one to be in that space. No one wants to watch their parent have to take care of their own parent through that space. And no one - well, some people, don't enjoy being apart from their family when their family needs them.
My dad's mom, my Grandma Fritzi (obm), passed away on December 16th, 2012. She was 98 ("98 is great. 98 takes you to Heaven's gate). She was alive until the day she died (if you know what I mean). Her motto was "the older I get, the better I was", but we all knew that wasn't true. She passed away before she got "too old". That's how she wanted it.
It's in my blood - these long years of life. While everyone else is going through their mid-life crisis, I am still only one-third of the way done with mine. ;)
My grandfather went to the ER earlier this week. He told the doctors he was a retired Supreme Court Judge. He was a judge (and he was appointed to the Cook County Circuit Court in 1983) ; he was a naval officer who served in World War II; and he was a member of the (Illinois) State Legislature. He has good stories.
My grandmother reached toward death with her mental capacities intact. My grandfather, however, is losing it. The last time we visited on the phone, my grandfather told me he had been a doctor in the Navy - simply because they did not have one handy and he had to step in for the job. He explained how he read a text book in order to perform surgery on another officer. And he did it perfectly. And they all thought he was fabulous.
He told me he was shot while on the ship and was awarded a purple heart ribbon. I think he was awarded a purple heart ribbon for his service (at the age of 97 and probably because he asked for it), but I was told he was struck by a hose on the ship and that is why he had to leave the service. He told my mom he had a knee replacement, and he was so convincing - she began to believe him - doubting her own ability to remember. This was two days ago.
My grandfather is "physically strong", whatever that means at 98. But, his mind is fading. His mother had a faded mind too, but it was so worn away that she didn't remember anything - so it was easy. My grandfather is struggling between knowing and confusion - and it makes him grumpy, difficult, and unhappy.
No one wants a loved one to be in that space. No one wants to watch their parent have to take care of their own parent through that space. And no one - well, some people, don't enjoy being apart from their family when their family needs them.
July 11, 2013
If You Were Wondering
Recently, there have been a lot of articles written on the topic of summer camp. Many of them stress the benefits of camp - the independence, the great adventures and experiences, and the community that a child who attends camp becomes a part of.
There are just as many articles being released about the negative aspects of summer camp. Look at all that family time that disappears when children are gone for 8-weeks of the summer. The fully packed days at overnight camp are quite reminiscent of the over scheduled lives we create for our children during the school year. Camp is not for everyone...
How do you know if overnight camp is not for you (or yours)?
I can't really answer that (well, I can - but that's much more than I want to write right now). And, truthfully, mom's intuition - as always - will provide your best answer. Other than that, there really is no absolute way to determine whether or not your child will have a successful experience at camp.
If I had any doubts about whether Aaron belonged at camp or not - I guess my answer came today. Since we are in Boulder for the summer, I am trying to take advantage of it. We head out for a hike every morning, exploring various Boulder and nearby Boulder trails.
Since Aaron has returned from camp, he has been under the weather with a terrible cough and has stayed home. This morning, I had him come along. I had chosen a simple hike, along a creek, with no climbing.
It was a lovely trail - a big buggy (why did I leave the bug spray on the counter?) and many, long patches of unshaded area (Boulder is reaching the 90's and the sun is quite strong, even for those of us used to the desert heat) - but the sounds of the rushing creek kept us company and the trail wound through beautiful forest with the snow covered mountains in the distance. There were some good pictures along this trail!
I was walking ahead at one point, and - suddenly - the blood piercing scream that only Aaron can deliver came through the trees. He came around the corner, screaming and waving his arms. It looked like he was swimming frantically away from a group of sharks (and, perhaps, in his mind - he was).
Aaron found the perfect walking stick - until he picked it up and discovered it was home to hundreds of beetle-like bugs. That's why he was screaming. That's why he dropped his pack in the middle of the trail. And, that is why he continued to whimper for several minutes after I told him "It's over. You are ok."
So, maybe camp focused on outdoor adventures is not really his kind of thing. In the meantime, we'll keep hiking and camping and molding so that it becomes his thing.
There are just as many articles being released about the negative aspects of summer camp. Look at all that family time that disappears when children are gone for 8-weeks of the summer. The fully packed days at overnight camp are quite reminiscent of the over scheduled lives we create for our children during the school year. Camp is not for everyone...
How do you know if overnight camp is not for you (or yours)?
I can't really answer that (well, I can - but that's much more than I want to write right now). And, truthfully, mom's intuition - as always - will provide your best answer. Other than that, there really is no absolute way to determine whether or not your child will have a successful experience at camp.
If I had any doubts about whether Aaron belonged at camp or not - I guess my answer came today. Since we are in Boulder for the summer, I am trying to take advantage of it. We head out for a hike every morning, exploring various Boulder and nearby Boulder trails.
Since Aaron has returned from camp, he has been under the weather with a terrible cough and has stayed home. This morning, I had him come along. I had chosen a simple hike, along a creek, with no climbing.
It was a lovely trail - a big buggy (why did I leave the bug spray on the counter?) and many, long patches of unshaded area (Boulder is reaching the 90's and the sun is quite strong, even for those of us used to the desert heat) - but the sounds of the rushing creek kept us company and the trail wound through beautiful forest with the snow covered mountains in the distance. There were some good pictures along this trail!
I was walking ahead at one point, and - suddenly - the blood piercing scream that only Aaron can deliver came through the trees. He came around the corner, screaming and waving his arms. It looked like he was swimming frantically away from a group of sharks (and, perhaps, in his mind - he was).
Aaron found the perfect walking stick - until he picked it up and discovered it was home to hundreds of beetle-like bugs. That's why he was screaming. That's why he dropped his pack in the middle of the trail. And, that is why he continued to whimper for several minutes after I told him "It's over. You are ok."
So, maybe camp focused on outdoor adventures is not really his kind of thing. In the meantime, we'll keep hiking and camping and molding so that it becomes his thing.
July 9, 2013
The Aftermath
One might think that the resolution would bring an element of peace. Certainly, there are things to ponder and improvements to make, but one would think that a calm might set in now that an ending has come.
Since Aaron's arrival back with the family, I find myself in the midst of extreme anxiety. It did not subside when the summons was fulfilled. The relief I expected now that my son was no longer anxious and in despair did not arrive.
Aaron's entry back into family was smooth.... and overwhelming... for us. He talked non-stop from Sedalia to Colorado Springs and back to Boulder. That's a nine hour journey (we stopped at the zoo in Colorado Springs). We learned so much about Ramah in the Rockies (it sounds like such an amazing place - when is family camp?!?) and the boys in his bunk (I know where they live, whether or not they are home schooled, if they've been to Ramah - Rockies before), and the food that was served (we heard that was the worst part about camp, but - according to Aaron - it was one of the best parts - especially that blueberry cake like stuff they served).
I had to remind myself that this was a relieved child that we had picked up, and his relief was almost instantaneous. He was back with his family where he felt safe. And everything came rushing out.
If I pause to view this whole situation from Aaron's perspective, I imagine this is what he might say:
Dear Mom & Dad:
I know you are disappointed that I was not able to enjoy myself at camp. I know this because you told me, and I listen to what you say. I know you understand how hard it is for me to be away from you, how difficult it is to face new things without the security and safety of my family nearby for support.
There were sooo many new things at camp. They did not know that I like to lay in bed for awhile before starting my day, that I need that time to adjust to another day beginning. I wasn't able to tell them that because, well, I didn't really know that that is what I do either.
There were so many new faces at camp. And some old faces, but I haven't seen those old faces in so long. And some of the people in my cabin have so much energy, and they are loud. And it overcomes me and paralyzes me. It might be normal, but it's not me and it's a lot for me to take in.
There were so many new things to try at camp. And each of those new things - no matter how excited I was about them - was terrifying. It takes so much energy to try something new, and it drains me. There was no time to rest between trying new things. It's such a busy day, non-stop, and that's hard for someone like me who needs time to recharge and who gets drained from outwardly social activities. You and dad should be able to relate to that. I think I got a piece of introversion from both of you, so I guess that means I have 2.3654 times more introverted energy than both of you have.
I like routine. You know I do. I like to know what to expect. I'm not sure you properly prepared me for what camp was like. I know you tried your best, and you did do so many good things - like taking me to Gabi's house to hear about camp and to ask him any questions I had (you asked all the questions I was thinking of but was afraid to ask - the silly ones - like where do you shower?).
I heard you say that we should have gone up early, and we should have created a map. That would have helped. You know I like to know a space before I enter it. Familiar spaces are easier to enter. And, now that I'm thinking about it, it might have been nice to meet my counselors before camp started. I know that's not usual and most kids are happy to meet their counselors when they get off the bus, but - for me - I would like to meet them beforehand.
I know that you recognize how much courage it took for me to tell you I wanted to go, and I know you are proud of me. I know you know how hard it was the night before I left and started crying and telling you I didn't want to go. But, I got on that bus and I know that made you happy.
I listened to what you told me and I tried everything I could. I tried to like it. I gave it a chance. I hope you know that I did. But my anxiety was like a roadblock and I couldn't break through it.
(I have to tell you, mom and dad, that since I've been back - I've gone to the bathroom more times than I did while I was at camp - which was none at all - and my throat has been hurting and I'm under the weather. All of that could definitely have had an impact on my experience at camp.)
I know I told my counselors that I hated everything and I hated that place, but I know you know that it had an impact - a positive impact - on me because I can't stop talking about it. And I remember how to cook hash browns outside, and I remember how to tie a knot with a rope, and I'm still trying new foods now that I am back with you.
Sure, there were things that could have been done differently. And, maybe if we do them in the future (not next year, mom) - they will help me adjust better to camp. But, I don't want you to regret picking me up or get mad at camp for not doing more to help me enjoy myself.
Now that I am back with you, I can see what my nervousness did to me. It was paralyzing; I couldn't move. I couldn't feel joy. I just felt empty and like I needed you. Thank you for understanding me and for accepting me for who I am, mom and dad. That's what I needed most of all.
Since Aaron's arrival back with the family, I find myself in the midst of extreme anxiety. It did not subside when the summons was fulfilled. The relief I expected now that my son was no longer anxious and in despair did not arrive.
Aaron's entry back into family was smooth.... and overwhelming... for us. He talked non-stop from Sedalia to Colorado Springs and back to Boulder. That's a nine hour journey (we stopped at the zoo in Colorado Springs). We learned so much about Ramah in the Rockies (it sounds like such an amazing place - when is family camp?!?) and the boys in his bunk (I know where they live, whether or not they are home schooled, if they've been to Ramah - Rockies before), and the food that was served (we heard that was the worst part about camp, but - according to Aaron - it was one of the best parts - especially that blueberry cake like stuff they served).
I had to remind myself that this was a relieved child that we had picked up, and his relief was almost instantaneous. He was back with his family where he felt safe. And everything came rushing out.
If I pause to view this whole situation from Aaron's perspective, I imagine this is what he might say:
Dear Mom & Dad:
I know you are disappointed that I was not able to enjoy myself at camp. I know this because you told me, and I listen to what you say. I know you understand how hard it is for me to be away from you, how difficult it is to face new things without the security and safety of my family nearby for support.
There were sooo many new things at camp. They did not know that I like to lay in bed for awhile before starting my day, that I need that time to adjust to another day beginning. I wasn't able to tell them that because, well, I didn't really know that that is what I do either.
There were so many new faces at camp. And some old faces, but I haven't seen those old faces in so long. And some of the people in my cabin have so much energy, and they are loud. And it overcomes me and paralyzes me. It might be normal, but it's not me and it's a lot for me to take in.
There were so many new things to try at camp. And each of those new things - no matter how excited I was about them - was terrifying. It takes so much energy to try something new, and it drains me. There was no time to rest between trying new things. It's such a busy day, non-stop, and that's hard for someone like me who needs time to recharge and who gets drained from outwardly social activities. You and dad should be able to relate to that. I think I got a piece of introversion from both of you, so I guess that means I have 2.3654 times more introverted energy than both of you have.
I like routine. You know I do. I like to know what to expect. I'm not sure you properly prepared me for what camp was like. I know you tried your best, and you did do so many good things - like taking me to Gabi's house to hear about camp and to ask him any questions I had (you asked all the questions I was thinking of but was afraid to ask - the silly ones - like where do you shower?).
I heard you say that we should have gone up early, and we should have created a map. That would have helped. You know I like to know a space before I enter it. Familiar spaces are easier to enter. And, now that I'm thinking about it, it might have been nice to meet my counselors before camp started. I know that's not usual and most kids are happy to meet their counselors when they get off the bus, but - for me - I would like to meet them beforehand.
I know that you recognize how much courage it took for me to tell you I wanted to go, and I know you are proud of me. I know you know how hard it was the night before I left and started crying and telling you I didn't want to go. But, I got on that bus and I know that made you happy.
I listened to what you told me and I tried everything I could. I tried to like it. I gave it a chance. I hope you know that I did. But my anxiety was like a roadblock and I couldn't break through it.
(I have to tell you, mom and dad, that since I've been back - I've gone to the bathroom more times than I did while I was at camp - which was none at all - and my throat has been hurting and I'm under the weather. All of that could definitely have had an impact on my experience at camp.)
I know I told my counselors that I hated everything and I hated that place, but I know you know that it had an impact - a positive impact - on me because I can't stop talking about it. And I remember how to cook hash browns outside, and I remember how to tie a knot with a rope, and I'm still trying new foods now that I am back with you.
Sure, there were things that could have been done differently. And, maybe if we do them in the future (not next year, mom) - they will help me adjust better to camp. But, I don't want you to regret picking me up or get mad at camp for not doing more to help me enjoy myself.
Now that I am back with you, I can see what my nervousness did to me. It was paralyzing; I couldn't move. I couldn't feel joy. I just felt empty and like I needed you. Thank you for understanding me and for accepting me for who I am, mom and dad. That's what I needed most of all.
July 7, 2013
The Summons
Shabbat is so peaceful and hopeful. With no disruptions coming in from camp, it feels like everything is hunky dory and that we won't be seeing either of our boys until July 15th.
I'm already winding down for the night and my cell phone lights up. Another call. We weren't supposed to hear from them until Sunday morning.
Let's see - after the email of Aaron being on the porch, we had another phone call with camp. Ilan had seen Aaron and was able to get him to go for dinner. It was a BBQ so campers could sit with and eat with whomever they wanted. Perfect.
Camp had already told Ilan that he was a great big brother. He frequently asked how Aaron was doing, and it's obvious he is sensitive to Aaron's feelings. He was told how wonderful it is that he wants to help, that camp and his parents were working together, and that neither of us wanted his time at camp to be tainted by his brother.
But, he saw Aaron on the porch and took him to the BBQ. He told the Director for Camp Care (DOCC) that Aaron may go to Capture the Flag later that night but he would probably not play.
We were encouraged by upcoming Shabbat. DOCC told us that many children "turn around" on Shabbat. Given, Aaron was a bit extreme but they were willing to see how Shabbat worked for Aaron.
It didn't.
The last call we received was the Summons. Aaron was up and down during Shabbat. When it looked like he was having fun and someone commented on it, he'd reply - "I'm faking it because my parents said I had to."
DOCC said he thinks it's time to come get Aaron.
So, I am off to Sedalia this morning and thankful that David commutes to Boulder for work so that I am "close by".
To Aaron:
I am disappointed that you were not able to experience fun at camp, but I also know how much courage it took for you to even get there.
I am proud of you for trying and am eager to help you acquire the tools that would allow you to stay at camp (even if you never go back to camp, you still need the tools).
I am grateful - as you should be - for Ilan's compassion and for the Ramah Outdoor Adventure staff who tirelessly, enthusiastically, and skillfully tried to help you ease into camp.
I know you have told them that you did not enjoy anything at all (you told us you liked the food the first time we talked to you which, from what we've heard, is commonly a camper's least favorite part about camp). I want you to think about the book that you, Ilan and I were working on. The part we left off on was the assessment of how we look at the world. Do you look at the world with the eyes of a pessimist? Or do you look through the world with the eyes of an optimist?
It is a skill we (you, me, and Ilan) are working on to improve in our lives. But, I am sure there is something that you can say to your counselors, to the Director of Camp Care, and to the others who tried to help you about what you liked at camp.
To ROA staff - Aaron's counselors, Zach, Miki, anyone else who "tried to get in"
There is so much that I could say to you write now. I first want to express my admiration, my appreciation, and my awe with the way you tried to help Aaron acclimate to camp life.
From the beginning, I have been aware of how this might take away from other campers, from your schedules, and from your energy!
We had great hopes for Aaron - who told us on his own (no coercing involved) to sign him up for camp. But, we should have hesitated for a moment because we know our son.
He has difficult times through transitions. He is an introvert. It takes him awhile to settle in. He is stubborn. He is an anxious child. He hasn't even really enjoyed sports (or wore shorts - he used to wear jeans every single day - even in the hot, Arizona summer) until this year.
He has come so far and that is what we were focused on. That is where we placed our hopes for his summer.
Thank you all so much for your efforts, for the time you devoted to him, and for the encouragement you gave him.
Aaron and Ilan's younger siblings are more like Ilan, so please don't freak out if you see the name "Pinkus" on your camp rosters in future years!
July 4, 2013
The Call
During the preschool years, I was one of those dump and go parents. I knew I had to take him in, connect him to a teacher so he would not be able to run after me, and quickly escape out the front door. This was the daily routine, and it worked for us. I never got "the call" in preschool.
I got the call in kindergarten from a nervous and uncertain teacher: "Leeesaaaa? Aaron is sitting in the corner with his head between his knees and won't participate with the rest of the class." I received many of these calls: "Leesaaa? He's in the corner again." Don't even ask why the teacher wasn't able to handle it and why I had to be involved. Don't worry - school administration soon was.
I got the call in first grade. Aaron went "inside" and wouldn't respond after the class was asked to write about their family and whether they were the oldest, middle, or youngest child in their families. According to Aaron, he was "none of the above". His teacher tried to help him see that he was still in the middle even though a fourth child was added to our family, but he would have none of that. Perhaps that was the moment he decided to hate his sister - she who took away his identity as the middle son. Hmmm.
I got the call in third grade. Given, we started at a new school and entered an environment where we knew no one. I should have expected the call. I merely anticipated a difficult adjustment. Indeed, Aaron was under the desk and wouldn't go to his classes or respond to his teacher. The principal and I became best friends fast.
Today, the call came from camp. It had been quite a journey already and - if you know Aaron - you know the courage he had already displayed. We took him to the camp orientation with the intention of sending Ilan and hoping that Aaron would like it enough that we could nudge him and push him and maybe talk him into it... for next year. That was my goal, but my hope was much greater. So, when we came out of that orientation and he said, "That sounds really cool, but I'd be really nervous.", we danced with joy. I'd bring it up every few days and, finally, he said, "I think you and dad should just sign me up and not tell me about it and stop talking about it."
So, we did. And he was excited. A bit nervous, but excited. Until the night before when he started crying and saying he didn't want to go. He woke the next morning with the same resistance but - miraculously - he overcame it. He still talked about being nervous but got in the car to go from Boulder to Denver. He gave us tight hugs, but he walked on the bus willingly and stood up to wave good-bye as the bus pulled away for the two-hour drive to Sedalia, Colorado.
Thursday, mid-morning, "the call" came again from Ramah Outdoor Adventure - "the happiest place on earth". Aaron is refusing to get out of bed and participate in... well, anything. He has been staying on the periphery and - today - has just decided he's done. He's saying he is homesick and wants to be picked up.
The plan of action was to try and get him out of bed for lunch and to touch base after that by phone or email. He did get out of bed because they had a camp fire drill and he had to. He sat at lunch with one of the camp staff and talked with her awhile after that. He said he would do afternoon activities if he talked with us.
The call we were expecting between 12:30 and 1:00 came around 2:30 (with me checking my email every five minutes during those hours). Aaron wanted to come home. He hated camp because he didn't want to be away from his family. I asked if he was missing Ellie but only David and I got that joke. Aaron continued to wail about wanting to come home and, please, to come get him. We said everything we were supposed to say - that we know it's hard, that other boys are homesick too, that there are so many great activities he hasn't tried yet, that he can't tell us he doesn't like camp if he hasn't given it a good shot - and staying in bed, refusing to participate is not a good shot.
He left the room so we could talk to the two, patient, phenomenal, we owe them staff members. We are concerned how it will impact other campers. We are sad, disappointed but not surprised at Aaron. We know it could go either way - that if we give him a few days, he'll come out and play.... or, if he's decided not to enjoy camp - he will NOT enjoy camp.
We hung up and they would pass our good-bye on to Aaron. We'll keep in touch.
The email we just received said that Aaron did not do an afternoon activity. He has chosen to lay on the porch of the office cabin and do nothing.
The Director of Campus Care told us he knows what it's like to see that the camp is calling, so he tries to email instead when possible. :) He, too, knows about "the call".
I got the call in kindergarten from a nervous and uncertain teacher: "Leeesaaaa? Aaron is sitting in the corner with his head between his knees and won't participate with the rest of the class." I received many of these calls: "Leesaaa? He's in the corner again." Don't even ask why the teacher wasn't able to handle it and why I had to be involved. Don't worry - school administration soon was.
I got the call in first grade. Aaron went "inside" and wouldn't respond after the class was asked to write about their family and whether they were the oldest, middle, or youngest child in their families. According to Aaron, he was "none of the above". His teacher tried to help him see that he was still in the middle even though a fourth child was added to our family, but he would have none of that. Perhaps that was the moment he decided to hate his sister - she who took away his identity as the middle son. Hmmm.
I got the call in third grade. Given, we started at a new school and entered an environment where we knew no one. I should have expected the call. I merely anticipated a difficult adjustment. Indeed, Aaron was under the desk and wouldn't go to his classes or respond to his teacher. The principal and I became best friends fast.
Today, the call came from camp. It had been quite a journey already and - if you know Aaron - you know the courage he had already displayed. We took him to the camp orientation with the intention of sending Ilan and hoping that Aaron would like it enough that we could nudge him and push him and maybe talk him into it... for next year. That was my goal, but my hope was much greater. So, when we came out of that orientation and he said, "That sounds really cool, but I'd be really nervous.", we danced with joy. I'd bring it up every few days and, finally, he said, "I think you and dad should just sign me up and not tell me about it and stop talking about it."
So, we did. And he was excited. A bit nervous, but excited. Until the night before when he started crying and saying he didn't want to go. He woke the next morning with the same resistance but - miraculously - he overcame it. He still talked about being nervous but got in the car to go from Boulder to Denver. He gave us tight hugs, but he walked on the bus willingly and stood up to wave good-bye as the bus pulled away for the two-hour drive to Sedalia, Colorado.
Thursday, mid-morning, "the call" came again from Ramah Outdoor Adventure - "the happiest place on earth". Aaron is refusing to get out of bed and participate in... well, anything. He has been staying on the periphery and - today - has just decided he's done. He's saying he is homesick and wants to be picked up.
The plan of action was to try and get him out of bed for lunch and to touch base after that by phone or email. He did get out of bed because they had a camp fire drill and he had to. He sat at lunch with one of the camp staff and talked with her awhile after that. He said he would do afternoon activities if he talked with us.
The call we were expecting between 12:30 and 1:00 came around 2:30 (with me checking my email every five minutes during those hours). Aaron wanted to come home. He hated camp because he didn't want to be away from his family. I asked if he was missing Ellie but only David and I got that joke. Aaron continued to wail about wanting to come home and, please, to come get him. We said everything we were supposed to say - that we know it's hard, that other boys are homesick too, that there are so many great activities he hasn't tried yet, that he can't tell us he doesn't like camp if he hasn't given it a good shot - and staying in bed, refusing to participate is not a good shot.
He left the room so we could talk to the two, patient, phenomenal, we owe them staff members. We are concerned how it will impact other campers. We are sad, disappointed but not surprised at Aaron. We know it could go either way - that if we give him a few days, he'll come out and play.... or, if he's decided not to enjoy camp - he will NOT enjoy camp.
We hung up and they would pass our good-bye on to Aaron. We'll keep in touch.
The email we just received said that Aaron did not do an afternoon activity. He has chosen to lay on the porch of the office cabin and do nothing.
The Director of Campus Care told us he knows what it's like to see that the camp is calling, so he tries to email instead when possible. :) He, too, knows about "the call".
Mr & Mrs Bickerton are here!
It started shortly after we pulled out of the parking lot at the Hebrew Educational Alliance, the pick-up spot for Ramah Outdoor Adventure. We waved good-bye to the bus carrying Ilan and Aaron to their magical destination, and headed off with just our "littles" (our affectionate term for Isaac and Ellie).
A commotion in the back seat caused me to turn around and - lo and behold - the Bickertons had arrived. Isaac and Ellie are like an old married couple. When left alone with no other brothers to buffer them, they nitpick each other non-stop. Not the typical sibling rivalry bickering - the we've been married for nearly a lifetime and you are driving me nuts kind of bickering.
It's going to be a fun, two weeks.
As we are pulling away from the Denver drop off:
"Ellie, can you give me the water? Mom, Ellie's not giving me the water."
Ellie: "You told us we couldn't reach over into the other one's space."
"Ellie, just give me the water." (ok, perhaps a bit sibling-ish)
After they had both crawled into our bed in the morning:
"Ellie - you do not lay in the bed that way. Move your knees."
"Isaac, yes I DO sleep like this."
"Ellie - ugggghhhhh!"
Ellie telling Isaac how we went hiking with cousin Anna while he was gone and it started to rain so we went to get ice cream.
Isaac: "Why would you go for ice cream when it's raining? It's already cold."
Sharing the crackers on a hike. Isaac is hungry; Ellie wants to save them.
"I'm starving, Ellie. You can't just tell me not to eat."
(substitute Helen for Ellie and you'll picture your grandma and grandpa after 60 years of marriage)
Then they instituted the rule:
"You can only take one cracker at a time."
"We shouldn't finish them all now."
"Yeah. We might get a stomach ache or something."
And, then there is the love between the Bickertons.
Mr Bickerton had an upset stomach the other night, and Mrs Bickerton stopped eating the special crackers we bought at the store so that he wouldn't feel bad. "I won't eat this since you can't have any."
All the way to the zoo, the Bickertons were writing notes complimenting each other and helping each other with their spelling.
A commotion in the back seat caused me to turn around and - lo and behold - the Bickertons had arrived. Isaac and Ellie are like an old married couple. When left alone with no other brothers to buffer them, they nitpick each other non-stop. Not the typical sibling rivalry bickering - the we've been married for nearly a lifetime and you are driving me nuts kind of bickering.
It's going to be a fun, two weeks.
As we are pulling away from the Denver drop off:
"Ellie, can you give me the water? Mom, Ellie's not giving me the water."
Ellie: "You told us we couldn't reach over into the other one's space."
"Ellie, just give me the water." (ok, perhaps a bit sibling-ish)
After they had both crawled into our bed in the morning:
"Ellie - you do not lay in the bed that way. Move your knees."
"Isaac, yes I DO sleep like this."
"Ellie - ugggghhhhh!"
Ellie telling Isaac how we went hiking with cousin Anna while he was gone and it started to rain so we went to get ice cream.
Isaac: "Why would you go for ice cream when it's raining? It's already cold."
Sharing the crackers on a hike. Isaac is hungry; Ellie wants to save them.
"I'm starving, Ellie. You can't just tell me not to eat."
(substitute Helen for Ellie and you'll picture your grandma and grandpa after 60 years of marriage)
Then they instituted the rule:
"You can only take one cracker at a time."
"We shouldn't finish them all now."
"Yeah. We might get a stomach ache or something."
And, then there is the love between the Bickertons.
Mr Bickerton had an upset stomach the other night, and Mrs Bickerton stopped eating the special crackers we bought at the store so that he wouldn't feel bad. "I won't eat this since you can't have any."
All the way to the zoo, the Bickertons were writing notes complimenting each other and helping each other with their spelling.
July 3, 2013
The Boy Who Hates His Sister
He treats her like her girl-cooties are contagious. He won't sit next to her at the dinner table or partner up with her in siblings against siblings games. The day I think they are finally going to become friends had arrived.
We are going to the amusement park, and she likes to ride the roller coasters that their oldest brother won't touch with ten-foot pole. He won't have to ride alone anymore. But, no, even the thrill connection is not enough to form a bond between them.
Is she an easy target for his pre-adolescent anxiety? First time at overnight camp is coming up right around the corner. Sandwiched between two boys, is the girl thing too much for him to handle? Is her growing brilliance a threat to the "brains" in the family?
Her ability to push his buttons, touch his weak spots, and toy with his emotions triggers unnecessary arguments, rage, and hatred. We watch patiently waiting for this phase to pass and love to blossom - or at least tolerance.
But he continues to get up when she sits down on the couch, won't accept the special gem she has selected to send him off to camp with, and won't go on one last ride at the amusement park if he has to ride with her.
We'll continue to be patient. We will continue the conversations and try to make him understand and care about the feelings his actions elicit in his sister. We will even demand that his behavior changes and follow through on consequences for choosing evil. We will reward small steps that show he is trying to make a change. We will protect him when her claws are extended.
What will it take to make the boy like his sister? We may have to wait until 2020 when he's in 11th grade and she's in 7th grade, and he wants to date one of her friends. More like 2023 - at the earliest.
When the boy who hates his sister began to cry the night before he was to leave for two weeks of overnight camp, I tried to use the sister thing to help him out. "Think about it," I said, "You'll have two weeks away from your annoying sister. It will be great." For some reason, he didn't think that was great and continued to cry through the night and for several hours the next morning.
As we were saying good bye at the camp drop off site, the boy who hates his sister was tightly clinging to his dad and me. He gave us great hugs that said "I hope I survive this. I don't know if I can be without you for so long." He turned to the brother staying behind and gave him a loving, deep hug.
I asked if he wanted to high-five his sister, and he turned and walked on the bus.
We are going to the amusement park, and she likes to ride the roller coasters that their oldest brother won't touch with ten-foot pole. He won't have to ride alone anymore. But, no, even the thrill connection is not enough to form a bond between them.
Is she an easy target for his pre-adolescent anxiety? First time at overnight camp is coming up right around the corner. Sandwiched between two boys, is the girl thing too much for him to handle? Is her growing brilliance a threat to the "brains" in the family?
Her ability to push his buttons, touch his weak spots, and toy with his emotions triggers unnecessary arguments, rage, and hatred. We watch patiently waiting for this phase to pass and love to blossom - or at least tolerance.
But he continues to get up when she sits down on the couch, won't accept the special gem she has selected to send him off to camp with, and won't go on one last ride at the amusement park if he has to ride with her.
We'll continue to be patient. We will continue the conversations and try to make him understand and care about the feelings his actions elicit in his sister. We will even demand that his behavior changes and follow through on consequences for choosing evil. We will reward small steps that show he is trying to make a change. We will protect him when her claws are extended.
What will it take to make the boy like his sister? We may have to wait until 2020 when he's in 11th grade and she's in 7th grade, and he wants to date one of her friends. More like 2023 - at the earliest.
When the boy who hates his sister began to cry the night before he was to leave for two weeks of overnight camp, I tried to use the sister thing to help him out. "Think about it," I said, "You'll have two weeks away from your annoying sister. It will be great." For some reason, he didn't think that was great and continued to cry through the night and for several hours the next morning.
As we were saying good bye at the camp drop off site, the boy who hates his sister was tightly clinging to his dad and me. He gave us great hugs that said "I hope I survive this. I don't know if I can be without you for so long." He turned to the brother staying behind and gave him a loving, deep hug.
I asked if he wanted to high-five his sister, and he turned and walked on the bus.
June 29, 2013
Hollywood and Vine
It all started on the ferris wheel at Elitch Gardens in Denver, Colorado. My first mistake was going to the amusement park without David, oh fearless one who will ride whatever ride child wants to go on. My second mistake was merely hoping that Ellie, otherwise known as "legs", would be too short to ride most of the roller coasters without actually checking to see whether or not this was true.
As we are going up in the ferris wheel (over 100 feet tall), I am smiling for my son who has declared himself "afraid of heights". Same son, oldest son, has not - until recently - enjoyed the thrill of the roller coaster and this has led me to the promise that I will go on all rides that he chooses not to go on and that thrill-seeker son wants to go on.
Note that daughter would happily go on any of the whirling, twirling, dropping roller coasters with thrill-seeking brother. However, same brother chooses not to engage in a relationship with said sister. So, it's on me.
We go up; the panic settles in. I have visions of my the large, metal cage plummeting to the ground. I do not let go of the bars, inappropriately feeling safer if I have something to hold on to.
It can happen, I think. Everything eventually crumbles. Nothing lasts forever. Bridges collapse. Foundations crack. The things we once thought were unimaginable have seeped into reality. It can happen, and I can be the one. I know this because I have seen the impossible turn possible and if it can happen to "them", it can happen to me.
Too many friends whose children are battling or have battled cancer. Too many young parents who die before they see their children into adulthood or even to preschool graduation. Too many times, the impossible becomes reality when "that can never happen to me" taps you on the back when you least expect it and the horror left for TV shows or movies enters our lives.
So, I imagine what I will do when the slowly and slightly rocking cage comes loose and my children and I tumble toward the Earth. I finish the story with a miraculous survival and the world settling into "all is good" again.
When the man opens the cage to let us out, I let him know that I am too old to ride the ferris wheel and that I'm in big trouble since this is the first ride of the day.
I spent the rest of the day twirling and whirling and spinning upside down. Ellie was able to go on most of the rides, and Ilan braved the coasters with newfound enthusiasm. When neither of them could or would ride on the ride, I put on my grin and got in line with Aaron.
We shook, we spun, we hung upside down. I was dizzy, nauseated, and kept thinking "This is the last ride I can go on. I can't possibly do one more." I lured them away from spinning rides with the temptation of a slushy, and my day was over.
I survived the Hollywood and Vine, a ride that spins faster and faster like no other octopus ride I had been on before. I want the t-shirt!
As we are going up in the ferris wheel (over 100 feet tall), I am smiling for my son who has declared himself "afraid of heights". Same son, oldest son, has not - until recently - enjoyed the thrill of the roller coaster and this has led me to the promise that I will go on all rides that he chooses not to go on and that thrill-seeker son wants to go on.
Note that daughter would happily go on any of the whirling, twirling, dropping roller coasters with thrill-seeking brother. However, same brother chooses not to engage in a relationship with said sister. So, it's on me.
We go up; the panic settles in. I have visions of my the large, metal cage plummeting to the ground. I do not let go of the bars, inappropriately feeling safer if I have something to hold on to.
It can happen, I think. Everything eventually crumbles. Nothing lasts forever. Bridges collapse. Foundations crack. The things we once thought were unimaginable have seeped into reality. It can happen, and I can be the one. I know this because I have seen the impossible turn possible and if it can happen to "them", it can happen to me.
Too many friends whose children are battling or have battled cancer. Too many young parents who die before they see their children into adulthood or even to preschool graduation. Too many times, the impossible becomes reality when "that can never happen to me" taps you on the back when you least expect it and the horror left for TV shows or movies enters our lives.
So, I imagine what I will do when the slowly and slightly rocking cage comes loose and my children and I tumble toward the Earth. I finish the story with a miraculous survival and the world settling into "all is good" again.
When the man opens the cage to let us out, I let him know that I am too old to ride the ferris wheel and that I'm in big trouble since this is the first ride of the day.
I spent the rest of the day twirling and whirling and spinning upside down. Ellie was able to go on most of the rides, and Ilan braved the coasters with newfound enthusiasm. When neither of them could or would ride on the ride, I put on my grin and got in line with Aaron.
We shook, we spun, we hung upside down. I was dizzy, nauseated, and kept thinking "This is the last ride I can go on. I can't possibly do one more." I lured them away from spinning rides with the temptation of a slushy, and my day was over.
I survived the Hollywood and Vine, a ride that spins faster and faster like no other octopus ride I had been on before. I want the t-shirt!
June 4, 2013
I don't push delete
I knew it was coming. I was watching for it for days. Anticipated what it would feel like this year. Pushed it out of my mind until the day actually arrived.
And the day came - and almost passed. Until a phone call reminded me that it was May 28th. I'm surprised I didn't already know, that I wasn't on top of it. After all, the day is shared with my niece's birthday. We called her that morning to wish her a happy birthday.
It was a busy day - one of those days where it is one thing to the next - and there isn't time to breathe. But that's no excuse. I'm not sure it's a good thing I didn't think and dwell all day or if I'm more sorry that I didn't have a carved out piece of time to sit and think and dwell. I need some of that.
But children were tugging on my last bits of patience and, suddenly, it was late afternoon.
I was excited to see a voice mail message from a friend. I listened and my heart fell. That was the day. The day that Cindy left us.
This is how it happened four years ago. The same friend finally reached me late in the afternoon. I remember screaming - crying - needing to get through the phone and be with people who knew what a loss to the world this was.
And people feel like that every day. Afterwards, they walk down the street shocked that people are just going about their day as though the world was the same as it always was. It's not. And it never will be.
I called Peter (Cindy's husband), and I see your cell phone number above his. I used to call your number accidentally when I was calling Peter after you died. And he'd say in his thick Slovakian accent, "Lisa, do you know this is Cindy's phone?" This time, I called Peter's phone, and your voice is still on his message. It's still bubbly and happy and full of life. It still rings with the pure joy that you were.
It makes me happy for about a millisecond.
And then I think of your beautiful daughters, your husband, your family and your friends.
How lucky we were to know even if it was such a short time.
Truly blessed to know you and to call you mom, wife, daughter, sister, friend....
I don't delete you -
not from my cell phone,
not from my memory
And the day came - and almost passed. Until a phone call reminded me that it was May 28th. I'm surprised I didn't already know, that I wasn't on top of it. After all, the day is shared with my niece's birthday. We called her that morning to wish her a happy birthday.
It was a busy day - one of those days where it is one thing to the next - and there isn't time to breathe. But that's no excuse. I'm not sure it's a good thing I didn't think and dwell all day or if I'm more sorry that I didn't have a carved out piece of time to sit and think and dwell. I need some of that.
But children were tugging on my last bits of patience and, suddenly, it was late afternoon.
I was excited to see a voice mail message from a friend. I listened and my heart fell. That was the day. The day that Cindy left us.
This is how it happened four years ago. The same friend finally reached me late in the afternoon. I remember screaming - crying - needing to get through the phone and be with people who knew what a loss to the world this was.
And people feel like that every day. Afterwards, they walk down the street shocked that people are just going about their day as though the world was the same as it always was. It's not. And it never will be.
I called Peter (Cindy's husband), and I see your cell phone number above his. I used to call your number accidentally when I was calling Peter after you died. And he'd say in his thick Slovakian accent, "Lisa, do you know this is Cindy's phone?" This time, I called Peter's phone, and your voice is still on his message. It's still bubbly and happy and full of life. It still rings with the pure joy that you were.
It makes me happy for about a millisecond.
And then I think of your beautiful daughters, your husband, your family and your friends.
How lucky we were to know even if it was such a short time.
Truly blessed to know you and to call you mom, wife, daughter, sister, friend....
I don't delete you -
not from my cell phone,
not from my memory
May 8, 2013
life with children is a pinball machine
What would the life of a mom look like with self-regulating children? Not the self-direction that involves helping oneself to a handful of pretzels five minutes after you've announced that dinner will be served in fifteen minutes.
The autonomy I am talking about involves hanging up wet towels after a shower or
understanding that "ten more minutes" means ten more minutes and then the computers are turned off.
I'm talking about children who grasp the morning routine some time before their 18th birthday or
who understand that taking a shower involves soap and who do not get upset when they have to shower again after "forgetting" to use soap.
The independence that I pine for involves a child who knows how to use the napkins in his lunchbox (can anyone else's children use the same - paper - napkin for the entire school year?) or
who doesn't tell me that the show is almost over when it's 6:35 and, clearly, the show has only been on for five minutes.
Is it my memory or the fact that I have four children that inhibits my ability to keep order in my house? Usually, when people say "I don't know how you do it - I can hardly manage with two, or one", my reaction is - we all have the same struggles. We're all busy moms. I just have more pinballs in my pinball machine.
Lately, I am beginning to question that theory. Can I really fall back on: "Yeah. I have four and my life is harder."? Is that why I cannot get my children to make sure their wet towels are off the carpet, the toilets are flushed, all cabinets are closed, and all drawers pushed shut?
Is the fact that I have four children the reason why I cannot ensure that all my children have brushed their teeth or had breakfast before we leave the house in the morning?
Is this why I need to rely on charts and checking off completed items and an award system? And is the fact that those charts never work for very long a sign of my impending failure to establish order.... again?
Does anyone else "forget" what their children are "supposed to do" before they leave the house or go to sleep at night and, therefore, think they are on schedule until the children are gone or asleep and all of the things that didn't get done are realized? The little things that drive you batty are the things that don't get done - like picking up your pair of socks from the family room floor, putting your homework in your backpack instead of leaving it on the table. The things that reflect the values you are trying to instill in your children - responsibility, contribution, a clean house! The things that they could easily do and yet they don't... and life would be SO much easier and smoother if they did.... right?
Did I forget to pick up my second grader at his classroom because I have four children? Does the doctor's office think I'm nuts because I always hesitate before announcing the year of my child's birth - or do they understand that this is typical behavior of a mom with four children? (Is that why they always then ask me if I am the mom?)
By the way, did I mention that my son just made me dinner so I could write this down?
The autonomy I am talking about involves hanging up wet towels after a shower or
understanding that "ten more minutes" means ten more minutes and then the computers are turned off.
I'm talking about children who grasp the morning routine some time before their 18th birthday or
who understand that taking a shower involves soap and who do not get upset when they have to shower again after "forgetting" to use soap.
The independence that I pine for involves a child who knows how to use the napkins in his lunchbox (can anyone else's children use the same - paper - napkin for the entire school year?) or
who doesn't tell me that the show is almost over when it's 6:35 and, clearly, the show has only been on for five minutes.
Is it my memory or the fact that I have four children that inhibits my ability to keep order in my house? Usually, when people say "I don't know how you do it - I can hardly manage with two, or one", my reaction is - we all have the same struggles. We're all busy moms. I just have more pinballs in my pinball machine.
Lately, I am beginning to question that theory. Can I really fall back on: "Yeah. I have four and my life is harder."? Is that why I cannot get my children to make sure their wet towels are off the carpet, the toilets are flushed, all cabinets are closed, and all drawers pushed shut?
Is the fact that I have four children the reason why I cannot ensure that all my children have brushed their teeth or had breakfast before we leave the house in the morning?
Is this why I need to rely on charts and checking off completed items and an award system? And is the fact that those charts never work for very long a sign of my impending failure to establish order.... again?
Does anyone else "forget" what their children are "supposed to do" before they leave the house or go to sleep at night and, therefore, think they are on schedule until the children are gone or asleep and all of the things that didn't get done are realized? The little things that drive you batty are the things that don't get done - like picking up your pair of socks from the family room floor, putting your homework in your backpack instead of leaving it on the table. The things that reflect the values you are trying to instill in your children - responsibility, contribution, a clean house! The things that they could easily do and yet they don't... and life would be SO much easier and smoother if they did.... right?
Did I forget to pick up my second grader at his classroom because I have four children? Does the doctor's office think I'm nuts because I always hesitate before announcing the year of my child's birth - or do they understand that this is typical behavior of a mom with four children? (Is that why they always then ask me if I am the mom?)
By the way, did I mention that my son just made me dinner so I could write this down?
May 6, 2013
In An Instant
I thought my life was going to change. I had the slightest
glimmer of what it was going to look like, and I was prepared for it. I remember – and I have been witness to –
what it was like for my brother, my SIL, and my nephew – even my niece. That
glimpse penetrated deeper as I thought my reality was going to be similar.
I understood on a level I have not understood before and, yet – more than ever – I know that I am not able to comprehend. We all know – or at least we all say – that you cannot understand the life of another without first standing in their shoes. Even the most empathetic of us cannot possibly know what another’s experience is.
This year, JDRF has a special fundraiser to honor the mothers who care for children with type 1diabetes. 100% of the funds collected will go directly to research. My brother and my nephew wrote letters honoring my SIL, Melissa.
I understood on a level I have not understood before and, yet – more than ever – I know that I am not able to comprehend. We all know – or at least we all say – that you cannot understand the life of another without first standing in their shoes. Even the most empathetic of us cannot possibly know what another’s experience is.
I have always known this – that even when my heart burns
with pain and anguish upon hearing the struggles of others – that I haven’t the
slightest idea of what it feels like.
Though I am burdened by depression when I hear sirens because all I can
think about is that someone’s life has just changed – though my heart weighs heavy
– I know that, really, I’m only at the edge.
Today, I am enlightened to how eagerly I should be counting
my blessings, how joyously I should sing and how loudly I should express my
gratitude.
This morning, I woke up thinking “We couldn’t possibly both
be diagnosed with diabetes today. That
just can’t happen, can it? Well, of
course it can. We could be the ones that
this happens to.”
I was waiting for my yearly A1C blood test results. Since
the birth of Ellie, when I had gestational diabetes, I have had my blood sugars
tested. A few years ago, I crossed over
the line that separates “normal” from pre-diabetic. Last year, my sugars had reached a level
where – if I increased by the same amount this year – I would be defined as
diabetic.
I took the test on Friday.
My results were to be delivered on Monday.
Over the weekend, I was called to pick up Aaron from a
friend’s house. His throat was hurting
and I was told he had guzzled a lot of water since he had been there. Those words vibrated in my heart. I had been paying attention to Aaron’s water
intake over the past few days. He was drinking water NON-STOP.
I knew this to be one of the signs of diabetes and could
pinpoint several other known symptoms. Was it coincidental or was something going on?
This morning (Monday), I filled his 24-oz water bottle four
times before we even arrived at the doctor at 9:00am. That does not count the two times I filled it
during the night.
Yesterday (Sunday), we visited urgent care to get Aaron’s
throat checked out. I asked them to check his blood sugars, and we discovered
that they were elevated. After a urine
test showed sugar in his urine, we left the urgent care with orders for an
A1C blood test. He did not have strep.
I was prepared for my life to change - anticipating what might unfold in the coming weeks.
Aaron is fine. He
does not have diabetes. My A1C came back
lower than it was last year.
My heart remains heavy. I know Melissa (and Matthew and Billy) would have stepped in and given me all the answers, support, and advice that I needed. I know how grateful I am to have been knowledgeable about what Aaron’s symptoms could mean and to pay attention to early signs. I know how darn lucky I am that his symptoms were, in actuality, coincidental symptoms.
My heart remains heavy. I know Melissa (and Matthew and Billy) would have stepped in and given me all the answers, support, and advice that I needed. I know how grateful I am to have been knowledgeable about what Aaron’s symptoms could mean and to pay attention to early signs. I know how darn lucky I am that his symptoms were, in actuality, coincidental symptoms.
I have not stepped into her shoes (Melissa’s feet are much
smaller than mine) and – thankfully – I’ll remain naïve about living a diabetic
life or helping a diabetic child to live his.
But I’m also moved – and not simply because it’s my brother, not
because it’s my sister in law, not because it’s my nephew (and, believe me – those are powerful
reasons!!) – because I know a little bit more…. just a little bit.
This year, JDRF has a special fundraiser to honor the mothers who care for children with type 1diabetes. 100% of the funds collected will go directly to research. My brother and my nephew wrote letters honoring my SIL, Melissa.
When my nephew became
Bar Mitzvah, I talked with him about the gift I wanted to give him. I wanted to donate to JDRF in his honor, but
I also wanted to give him some of the money for his bank account. I solicited his input on how to distribute
the money. Matthew told me to give it to
JDRF – that they needed it more than he did.
Then he said, “No, actually, I need JDRF to have it.”
Someday, we will have a cure for diabetes. I want to be a part of that.
May 5, 2013
In moments of my greatest strength, I am able to see my most lamentable weaknesses.
When those things you despise most about yourself stare you in the eye, the best you can do is embrace them - wrap your arms around them. Take them in tenderly with hope for learning, growth, and - perhaps - change.
A contradictory proposition to - both - treat tenderly and want to be rid of a part of yourSelf.
They must often change, who would be constant in happiness or wisdom. ~Confucius
Change does not occur in an instant. Unless you've won the lottery. Or been diagnosed with diabetes. Or lost your job.
Most of those changes - the instantaneous ones - are not the ones we'd welcome to our lives.
"They always say time changes things but you actually have to change them yourself."
Change doesn't occur in a vacuum. You can "do it" by yourself, but you still have to consider those around you and you still have to participate in life.
Sharing it
and
saying it
are half the battle
The load becomes lighter when you share it with others - even if it's only with words.
Habits are time consuming. Time consuming to change. But possible. Very possible.
It is our free will that allows us to choose to be something different than we are. We have the freedom to recreate and redefine ourselves.
The birds are molting. If only man could molt also - his mind once a year its errors, his heart once a year its useless passions.
When those things you despise most about yourself stare you in the eye, the best you can do is embrace them - wrap your arms around them. Take them in tenderly with hope for learning, growth, and - perhaps - change.
A contradictory proposition to - both - treat tenderly and want to be rid of a part of yourSelf.
They must often change, who would be constant in happiness or wisdom. ~Confucius
Change does not occur in an instant. Unless you've won the lottery. Or been diagnosed with diabetes. Or lost your job.
Most of those changes - the instantaneous ones - are not the ones we'd welcome to our lives.
"They always say time changes things but you actually have to change them yourself."
-Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol
Change doesn't occur in a vacuum. You can "do it" by yourself, but you still have to consider those around you and you still have to participate in life.
Sharing it
and
saying it
are half the battle
The load becomes lighter when you share it with others - even if it's only with words.
Habits are time consuming. Time consuming to change. But possible. Very possible.
It is our free will that allows us to choose to be something different than we are. We have the freedom to recreate and redefine ourselves.
The birds are molting. If only man could molt also - his mind once a year its errors, his heart once a year its useless passions.
- James Allen
April 25, 2013
A,B,C's
Ilan becomes Bar Mitzvah at the end of March, 2014. We recently read the Torah portion he will be reading. It's called Tazria (not a double portion next year due to the leap year), and it is a difficult parsha - both in leining (reading) and in the complexity of its content.
Many commentaries focus on Lashon Hora - or evil speech - rather than the spiritual impurity that sends an individual apart from his or her community. A spiritual impurity that was often - and incorrectly - referred to as leprosy. Tzaraat, as this infliction is known, is a physical ill-showing due to the sin of speech.
Whatever my son chooses to speak about one year from now, I have decided that we will spend a good deal of time within the next year reading commentaries on this parsha and learning about speech and communication.
Tonight, we read one short commentary to kick our learning off. It is a commentary that shares lessons for parents to teach their children each week, and this lesson - of course - was lashon hora. We talked about how it is easier to be mean to people in your family than it is to be mean to your neighbor. We talked about how painful and damaging words can be. And we decided that if we started to learn and to talk about speech, that it would help us to have fewer moments of negative speech in our home.
At that point, Aaron noticed a book that I had brought in with me. It is Martin Seligman's The Optimistic Child. Both boys became excited by this (which surprised me) and wanted to know more. I said this was a book that I thought was related to Ilan's Torah portion and to good speech because if we were optimistic people - felt good about ourselves and had good tools for dealing with conflict and other bad things - then we would also be more prone to use good speech instead of bad speech, lashon hora, or evil tongue.
So, we delved into the book and learned about the ABC's. A is adversity, the problem that triggers a belief. B is the belief - the self talk - that occurs due to the problem or situation. C is the consequence of those beliefs - the way you feel because of how you talk to yourself about the problem.
We went through several situations (I kept saying 'last one' and they kept saying 'nooooo. can't we do more?'). For example, when your best friend doesn't pick you first to be on his team - you always pick him to be on your team. What is it that you say to yourself when this happens? Do you say "My friend doesn't like me anymore"? Do you think, "I'm such a loser - even my best friend is not picking me."? Do you say, "That's ok that he didn't pick me first. It might be fun to be on different teams for once." or "I know my best friend was talking about making the new kid feel welcome. I'm glad he remembered to pick him to be on his team." The "C" - the feelings - will be different depending on the talk you give yourself.
Situation after situation, we learned that by altering the way we speak to ourselves, we also change the way we feel.
My boys didn't want to stop, and they are eager to do more. My hope is that by the time we get close to Ilan's bar mitzvah next year, he will have a good idea of what he wants to speak about. My greater hope is that everyone in our family will learn to communicate more kindly, bringing us even closer and making us even stronger.... and optimistic.
Many commentaries focus on Lashon Hora - or evil speech - rather than the spiritual impurity that sends an individual apart from his or her community. A spiritual impurity that was often - and incorrectly - referred to as leprosy. Tzaraat, as this infliction is known, is a physical ill-showing due to the sin of speech.
Whatever my son chooses to speak about one year from now, I have decided that we will spend a good deal of time within the next year reading commentaries on this parsha and learning about speech and communication.
Tonight, we read one short commentary to kick our learning off. It is a commentary that shares lessons for parents to teach their children each week, and this lesson - of course - was lashon hora. We talked about how it is easier to be mean to people in your family than it is to be mean to your neighbor. We talked about how painful and damaging words can be. And we decided that if we started to learn and to talk about speech, that it would help us to have fewer moments of negative speech in our home.
At that point, Aaron noticed a book that I had brought in with me. It is Martin Seligman's The Optimistic Child. Both boys became excited by this (which surprised me) and wanted to know more. I said this was a book that I thought was related to Ilan's Torah portion and to good speech because if we were optimistic people - felt good about ourselves and had good tools for dealing with conflict and other bad things - then we would also be more prone to use good speech instead of bad speech, lashon hora, or evil tongue.
So, we delved into the book and learned about the ABC's. A is adversity, the problem that triggers a belief. B is the belief - the self talk - that occurs due to the problem or situation. C is the consequence of those beliefs - the way you feel because of how you talk to yourself about the problem.
We went through several situations (I kept saying 'last one' and they kept saying 'nooooo. can't we do more?'). For example, when your best friend doesn't pick you first to be on his team - you always pick him to be on your team. What is it that you say to yourself when this happens? Do you say "My friend doesn't like me anymore"? Do you think, "I'm such a loser - even my best friend is not picking me."? Do you say, "That's ok that he didn't pick me first. It might be fun to be on different teams for once." or "I know my best friend was talking about making the new kid feel welcome. I'm glad he remembered to pick him to be on his team." The "C" - the feelings - will be different depending on the talk you give yourself.
Situation after situation, we learned that by altering the way we speak to ourselves, we also change the way we feel.
My boys didn't want to stop, and they are eager to do more. My hope is that by the time we get close to Ilan's bar mitzvah next year, he will have a good idea of what he wants to speak about. My greater hope is that everyone in our family will learn to communicate more kindly, bringing us even closer and making us even stronger.... and optimistic.
April 21, 2013
Cashews and Dates
Cashews and dates, when soaked, can be transformed into tasteful and magical delicacies.
Mine provided me with a sense of purpose when I saw that I had way too many in my refrigerator drawer. I soaked them - for almost too long - and then realized I better do something with them.
So, I looked for recipes requiring soaked cashews and I made cashew hummus and curried cashew cream cheese. I liked the cream cheese so much that I used up the rest of my soaking cashews and made more cream cheese.
I made several of my favorite soaked date recipes - peanut butter cups, chocolate frosting (I thought my children might like but it didn't turn out to be frosting, so I froze it in balls and made cookies - vegan, gluten free and sugar free), and raw 'chocolate chip cookie dough'.
Purpose. In this case, something to take me away from the things-to-do that are bogging me down, sucking my energy, and keeping me way too busy.
I contemplate purpose frequently. I think about my life purpose, and I think even more intensely about the purpose of life.
Especially when there is pain, tragedy, and deep deep sorrow.
"Look for the helpers", Mr Roger told us. Put more good in the world so we can wipe away the bad. Peace not war. Keep moving forward. When you fall, get back up.
These are all wise and helpful sentiments. And we should. And we do. But those who are directly touched by tragedy, loss, and devastation - it's not so easy for them. There is much to do before they can begin to put good back into the world. Grief and healing are permanent, and the world is an eternally changed space.
Devastation and tragedy are not overcome with purpose. Tragedy thwarts purpose. Finding comfort within purpose is inconceivable.
And, yet, we must "put one foot in front of the other" and find a way to bring good back into our lives and into the world. We must find new ways to live from a place we never thought we'd have to consider. We have to find a way to be in a world that is forever changed.
And while those of us not directly impacted by the loss, or the tragedy, or the utter devastation begin to move forward and do good and help where we can - we are not forgetting you. We are continuing to remember you - each and every day. And we pray for your strength and your healing as you continue to wage the battle before you.
May we all continue to take what we have - even if it's just cashews and dates - and transform it into something good.
Mine provided me with a sense of purpose when I saw that I had way too many in my refrigerator drawer. I soaked them - for almost too long - and then realized I better do something with them.
So, I looked for recipes requiring soaked cashews and I made cashew hummus and curried cashew cream cheese. I liked the cream cheese so much that I used up the rest of my soaking cashews and made more cream cheese.
I made several of my favorite soaked date recipes - peanut butter cups, chocolate frosting (I thought my children might like but it didn't turn out to be frosting, so I froze it in balls and made cookies - vegan, gluten free and sugar free), and raw 'chocolate chip cookie dough'.
Purpose. In this case, something to take me away from the things-to-do that are bogging me down, sucking my energy, and keeping me way too busy.
I contemplate purpose frequently. I think about my life purpose, and I think even more intensely about the purpose of life.
Especially when there is pain, tragedy, and deep deep sorrow.
"Look for the helpers", Mr Roger told us. Put more good in the world so we can wipe away the bad. Peace not war. Keep moving forward. When you fall, get back up.
These are all wise and helpful sentiments. And we should. And we do. But those who are directly touched by tragedy, loss, and devastation - it's not so easy for them. There is much to do before they can begin to put good back into the world. Grief and healing are permanent, and the world is an eternally changed space.
Devastation and tragedy are not overcome with purpose. Tragedy thwarts purpose. Finding comfort within purpose is inconceivable.
And, yet, we must "put one foot in front of the other" and find a way to bring good back into our lives and into the world. We must find new ways to live from a place we never thought we'd have to consider. We have to find a way to be in a world that is forever changed.
And while those of us not directly impacted by the loss, or the tragedy, or the utter devastation begin to move forward and do good and help where we can - we are not forgetting you. We are continuing to remember you - each and every day. And we pray for your strength and your healing as you continue to wage the battle before you.
May we all continue to take what we have - even if it's just cashews and dates - and transform it into something good.
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