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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!  

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".