Parental Guidance

loved and cried through this movie
so did one of the 10-year old boys who I brought with me
it was a happy-sad and a sad-happy

and it was a pathetic reflection of parenting today
rather, it was a perfect reflection of the pathetic parenting we do today

luckily, i have no movie memory (which means I can see a movie more than once because I won't remember any of the details) which means that i won't spoil anything if you haven't seen it yet

parents work so hard to be perfect parents
competition forces us to examine techniques and trainings and philosophies that would be otherwise irrelevant

we base our success on our children's abilities to achieve
and we define achievement by high test scores, getting into great schools, and being number one on the sports team

we are not the parents our parents were
we are afraid to let our children fail
to watch them move through disappointment
and to provide them the tools they might need to maneuver life 

because we might look weak 

we are experts in a field that most of received no schooling in and no prior training in
we are too vulnerable to talk about our mistakes, to ignore social trends that make no sense, or to just be present in parenting

we worry too much 
that we are not providing enough for our children
that we are making the wrong decisions for our children
that our children will miss out
that they won't find friendship
or a job
or a meaningful path through life

have we?

can we teach them what living is if we are not awakened ourselves?
can we teach them what success is if we attribute its measures to our financial status or how many vacations our family takes?
can we raise them to know what is right in the world if they do not see what is wrong?

Parental Guidance was a good movie. Hopefully, it made us all feel a bit foolish and inspired us to be conscientious in a different way, mindful in an abundant way, and to live according to values that will make a difference.

Rats & Jelly Beans

Cute, right?  Yeah, well - not so much when you find out that this little creature - who visited you in the fall of 2010 - chewed holes through your dishwasher's drain tube (though my slowness to catch up and stupidity may be shining bright right now; I prefer that it was the rat from 2010 and not a more recent visitor).

This hole in the dishwasher drain tube, recently discovered after a two-week attempt to figure out why my floor is rotting and why there has been a pool of water under my sink, has led to bigger and more complex problems.

First of all, the dishwasher was never installed properly in the first place. The dishwasher drain tube was crammed into a spout on the disposal that was too small for the tube. This means that our installers smushed the drain tube and shoved it into the space, meaning that our dishwasher never worked at 100% but was always compromised. Second, the dishwasher itself was glued into place. This made it difficult for the Bosh repairman to slide it out and assess what was wrong.  It also means he will not be able to reinstall it because he would not be able to stand behind that work.

Anyway, my purpose is not to rant about my dishwasher woes (yes, there is much more to tell) but - rather - to relay the enlightenment that can take place even in the midst of household hell. (Don't forget - the dishwasher/leak saga occurred during a period of time where I was hosting an event for over 40 people, where my children came home with lice, and my husband was out of the country).

In the middle of all these wonderful challenges, I had a lightbulb light up over my head.  Literally.  I felt it.  It nudged me.  

And, it said "I don't need to eat jelly beans just because..." My healthy eating habits were put on the back banner when my grandma died, my children came home with lice, I was too busy cooking, fill in the blank.  And, each time something else happened, I moved further and further away from the eater I wanted to be.  It was a gentle knock on the head saying that I really don't have to eat jelly beans or have chocolate or dive into comfort food because these things were happening.  Not only that, I didn't even really want to.  It was merely a habit that I no longer needed, but I had not separated myself from the physical act of the habit yet.

Hmmm... ponder that. 

I knew I would be tested again.  Sure enough, I was.  We had fevers in the house, final days of lice prevention hair washing, and bigger & deeper issues with the sink leaking.  I had not enough time in my days to catch up on the laundry (don't forget, lice means changing sheets every day, covering couches, and putting everything into the dryer for 15 minutes - including backpacks - on a daily basis).  I still have dishes in my garage from the lunch that happened two Saturdays ago (Not proud - but it's true.  The dishes were rinsed, but not washed and - frankly - I forgot about them).

I knew the tests would come.

I was ready.

I prepared.

But, I 'failed'.

And that's ok.

You can't wait for everything to subside.

You can't wait for the right moment.

You can't wait for life to slow down.

It's not going to.

You have to start now.

You have to do it in the midst of the chaos.

You have to do it while anticipating the next thing that will throw you off course.

"The time is now, the place is here. Stay in the present. You can do nothing to change the past, and the future will never come exactly as you plan or hope for." (Dan Millman)

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Lessons from lice adventures

I have the luxury of having been able to clear my calendar so that I could - literally - lather, rinse, repeat my children's hair for several days required.  I also have the luxury of being able to clear my calendar so that I can strip, load, heat, repeat.  Strip the beds, load them in the dryer, heat them up, put them back on the beds. Strip the couches (that are covered in extra sheets), load them in the dryer, heat them up, put them back on.  Attack the piles of coats (whether they've been worn or not), towels and bathroom rugs, and any clothes that have been worn since our lice diagnosis.

Combatting lice is a time-consuming process.  In an already crazy week, this could have been the thing that pushed me over the age.  And, if my consumption of jelly beans is telling, then - perhaps - it has pushed me over the edge. For ten minutes, I think I was over the edge - but I brought myself back and I've managed to stay on the right side of that edge.

I have these voices ringing my head.  (Don't worry - they are not exactly outside and they are not exactly inside- I am neither schizophrenic nor dissociative). The voices are memories or thoughts or inspirations reminding me that things can be much worse.  And, that - truly - I am thankful this is merely a inconvenience - a gross inconvenience, but just an inconvenience.

"I do not pray for a lighter load, but for a stronger back."  - Phillips Brooks

45 minutes to lather everyone up

30 minutes to sit there (while they're sitting I'm burning sheets and pillows, remaking beds, gathering backpacks and towels that did not make it to the burn pile....)

1.5 hours to rinse everyone off

repeat tomorrow

"Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn't learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn't die; so let us all be thankful."    -   Buddha

Hosting Guests + Husband Away + Leak in Kitchen + Mold + No Dishwasher + Stress + Lice = Of Course

I'm not sure this post needs any words.  If you are a mom, you'll be able to relate without me going any further.

It all started when we had this brainstorm to host a Tu B'Shvat Seder for  The Learning Shuk.  We posted it on our Facebook page, and it began to grow and grow and grow.  We were expecting 68 people at our last count.  It was also supposed to be cold and rainy on the day of the gathering.

After we decided to have this Learning Shuk gathering at the Pinkus household, David Pinkus had to schedule a trip out of the country.  He would not be present at this gathering, but that was ok - we carried on.  David - if you don't already know - travels during the work week and spends his time in Boulder, returning to us for the weekend.  We've been managing with these weekly trips, but the trip to Uruguay meant that he would miss one of those weekends and be gone longer than is typical.

On Thursday, we began to cook for the upcoming gathering.  I reached under my sink to grab some additional dish towels, and they were sopping wet.  Oh, great!  A leak!  We will carry on.  I put some buckets under the sink, made some calls, and went on with the day.  My plumber told me to refrain from using the dishwasher to see if that was the cause of the leak.  So, I did.

On Friday, the entire base of the cabinet was a pool of water.  It's worse, I thought.  It's not the dishwasher, I thought. Oh, great! I'm not stressed yet.  I'm really not.  With a few helpers in the kitchen and people dropping off tables and chairs - my biggest concern was that there would not be enough food.  But, even that could not get to me.  Too bad if we run out of cholent or only half the people get to eat black bean hummus wraps.  There will be something for everyone.  It will be fine.

The plumber cannot come until Monday, but he gave me the name of someone else.  That guy told me to call him in three hours if no one else came to look at it.  Jason - from across the street and who built my kitchen - came by to look at it.  But it wasn't dripping when he came by (murphy's law).  I began to think the rain was driving my leak.  As soon as he left, it began to rain again and the leak came back.

I decided not to call him because there was really nothing he could do at this point anyway.  I wasn't going to stop using my sink.  I had already stopped using my dishwasher.  And, I wasn't going to let him start popping holes in my wall before my company came on Saturday.  So, we carried on.

The girls told me I did not have enough dessert.  I went to Smart and Final to buy more desserts.  A sheet cake, a pound cake, and some cookies - all with high fructose corn syrup.  So, we may not have enough food to eat for lunch, but we would have enough dessert.  Tick tock.  Shabbos is coming soon.

It's not the same without David.  It's not the same when I don't cook anything extraordinary for Shabbat (no way I was going to cook another meal).  It's not the same when it begins to rain for twelve hours straight and you realize the meal the next day will have to be inside.  No worries - not yet.  Really.

After dinner and after children went to sleep, I continued on.  I set out plates and silverware and cups (forgot to put out the napkins).  I put out the serving dishes that we would be using the next day.  I swept the floor and did what I could.  In the morning, with my friendly neighborhood helper, we finished getting ready.  The tables and chairs were arranged.  The Tu B'Shvat seder foods were placed on the table.  The grape juice was poured and the salad dressing mixed.  The avocados were chopped, the ice buckets filled, and the food on the buffet table when people arrived.

Now, it is three days later.  I just finished the last set of dishes - or, so I thought.  Until I walked into the garage and saw the dirty dishes we had stashed in the garage to get them out of the way.  Ooops!  I may be saving those for David to wash.  He gets home Thursday night.

Michael, the Locator, came by on Monday.  That was the day that Isaac was home from school.  He had a slight fever.  Michael discovered that when we turn on the dishwasher, a pool of water forms under the dishwasher.  Not good.  And, we didn't even get through the whole cycle.  Imagine how much water is usually under there.  One full cycle - at least - per day.  The water.  Sitting there.  The mold.

Now, I need to call the mold guys.  And then the drywall guys because the back wall of the sink cabinet has crumbled to pieces.  While Michael was looking for the leak, he said he to drill some holes in the wall.  But, he didn't have to drill - the wall was so wet, it crumbled in his hands.  And, then we need to rebuild the cabinet because the floor of the cabinet is rotted away.  And moldy, I'm sure.  And, then we have to call the floor guys to come and repair the floor because the floor has been rotting for quite some time now - as I was repeatedly told there was no leak to be found.

But, that was the middle of Monday.  I decided my children and I were going to relax after school - maybe watch a movie and do homework while we were watching.  We (all) needed to relax and take it easy.  And, then the phone rang.

It was Nurse King from school.  "Oh no", I said - as I say every time she calls.  "Oh, yes", she said, which she usually doesn't say.  Ellie was sent to the office because she was scratching her head a lot.  She has  lice, Nurse King told me.  LICE?  I've been through lice before.  I know it's not the end of the world, but I also know that it is tedious and gross and time consuming... and that was my breaking point.

I'm stressed.  I can't breathe.  My head is spinning.  I went to school.  I got my children.  I made them sit in the middle of the satillo tile (luckily, the family room was still empty from Saturday).  They sat there while I sat there and tried to compose myself.  First, I told my neighbor whose daughter had been with Ellie the day before.  Then, I went to get the Lice Shampoo.  Then, I called the lice lady.  They charge a pretty penny, and I'm pretty sure I can be a lice lady myself - but I knew I did not have the time, the stamina, or the sanity to get through shampooing and checking and combing and ridding the house of lice.

And, so I called her.  And then I started stripping the sheets, vacuuming the mattresses and remaking the beds.  I shampooed my children, still making them sit on the satillo tile, while they munched on pizza for dinner while watching TV and forgetting about homework.  No one was going to school the next day.

After 30 minutes or so, I began to rinse each of them, get them in pajamas, and put them to bed.  Then, I stripped the sheets from my bed, vacuumed the couches (which means took off all the pillows - vacuumed underneath, vacuumed both sides of the pillows and cushions) and covered them with sheets.  I started washing the bed sheets that I had taken off their beds.  I emailed everyone who had been at my house over the weekend.  I cancelled the following day's activities and meetings and then I went to sleep, trying to forget what was going on.

The lice lady was here this morning for a bit over four hours.  She checked and picked through everyone's hair.  Before she left, she shampooed everyone.  While she was here, I quarantined the playroom for two weeks.  I removed the sheets from the night before and the pillows and put them in the dryer for fifteen minutes.  I started doing the loads of laundry that required washing.  I bagged all brushes, hair supplies, and combs and put them in baggies in the freezer.  I called school.  I washed every coat, car seat, towel, and bath mat and I'm not done yet.  (I still have the dirty dishes in the garage too.)

After 30 minutes, I rinsed each of them (again).  Rinsing is a long process - it takes a long time to get the lice goo out.  I've overcome my moments of stress and immobilization.  I am doing the next thing and then the next thing and then the next thing.  There is a lot to do - for seven days, there is a lot to do to ensure that the lice do not return, that there are not any eggs left behind - waiting to hatch.  Diligence is essential to proper and effective lice removal.

It's not over yet.  There is so much more to tell.  But this is way too long and I feel better already.  So, this has served its purpose.  Go ahead and laugh at me.  And when your children get lice, give me a call.  I know exactly what to do.

in the eye of the storm

"One of the seven characteristics of a wise person is that he responds to first things first and to last things later"  - Pirkei Avot 5:10

Menuchat HaNefesh. On Tuesday afternoons, right up until the bell, I have the distinct pleasure of learning Mussar with Rabbi Elana Kanter.  Mussar is the practice of Jewish character development.  Each week, we examine another middah or character trait.  This week, it was menuchat hanefesh or equanimity.

That term - menuchat chanefesh - stirs a memory within me, as it was the phrase I chose when studying Middot at a Wexner Heritage Program learning session with Rabbi Elka Abrahamson.  Menuchat HaNefesh - it was my chosen trait.  The one that I wanted to work on the most at that time in my life - probably at this time in my life too, probably always.  We were told to pick a trait to focus on and to pick a phrase that would mean something to us as we continued to work on that trait.

Calmness of the soul.  Who wouldn't pick that?  An easy phrase to repeat over and over, in moments of storm when we were trying to stay connected with calm and in moments of peace when we recall our efforts to arrive at this place.

Today, as we sat and learned about calmness - which is not the action of extracting all tumultuous things from your life but, rather, facing those tumultuous events with even stride - I could not help but think of the rapidly approaching 3 o'clock hour when all four of my children would return home from school.

I knew that even with the promise and hope of calmness in my heart, the after school hours are chaotic, unrhythmic, and - often - troublesome.  It is difficult to manage assistance with multiple homework assignments, squeezing in the Judaics for which I have chosen to homeschool this year, and to complete chores and dinner preparedness in the few short hours we have before we need to start showers and bedtime (and did I mention play time?  It is really important to me that my children have let down time and time to unwind and play).

The swirl begins around me and I try to summon the words of wisdom that seem so easy when you're sitting in a room filled with magical women, nodding their heads, and sharing their perceptions.  Stay in the eye of the storm, like a surfer riding a surfboard....

I imagine tree pose from yoga and the voice of the yoga teacher, talking about how easy, calm, and still the pose looks.  But inside?  The muscles, the determination, and the focus do not display themselves on the peaceful face of the person striking the pose.  Can I do this amidst children beckoning me for help, water boiling on the stove, and one last email I realize I didn't send.

Watching  - and listening - to the swirl around me, I try not to react.  How shall I be involved with out reacting?  How shall I calm the loudest of the chaos which is that stirred within me?  How will we get it all done without me panicking at the time, ensuring order in the actions of my children, or entering a state of denial and ignoring everything we 'have to do'.

If I get up from the homework table, my children follow suit and soon I hear them in the other room - wrestling and giggling and, then, yelling at each other.  This is what I want, isn't it?  For them to unwind?  But, what about their homework?  It has to get done.  And, it's better to get done in the daylight hours than in the moments before bedtime when it becomes a panic to squeeze all remaining necessities into the day.

It is an eternal internal struggle, and a motherhood rhythm I am constantly contemplating, tweaking, and reinventing.  It is a paradox of sorts - the answer is yes and no at the same time.  The answer becomes the process.  The cultivation of calmness brings ease with chaos.  From the soul to the mind and back again.  Recreating our afternoon structure, in search of the routine that flows peacefully, will - ultimately - bring me peace of mind.  And peace of mind will make the need for order in the afternoon obsolete.

"Peace of mind is one of the greatest pleasures a person can have; lack of peace of mind can make one's life constant torture."  - Rabbi Simcha Zissel

Winter & Jackets - Are They Necessary?

I choose not to beat myself up.
I choose to learn from my mistakes.
I hate when my mistakes involve my children.

Watch the unfolding of something so simple swirl into something beyond your control.
A simple thing.
The weather.
An announcement from the principal yesterday that the weather was getting cold and to - please - bring the appropriate attire.
My children came home from school yesterday announcing that they had to bring their jackets to school today.

And, when today came, one of them could not find his jacket.
But, the story is a bit longer than that.

This child takes a long time to get ready in the morning, needs a lot of prodding, and requires some reminders to look at the time on the clock.  This morning was no different.

The time edged closer to the first bell.  I was already driving another child to school and waited two minutes for the last one to finish getting ready - telling him that he should brush his teeth first and put his shoes on in the car.  That way, if he was late - he would not also make his sister late (professional time strategist here). 

We get into the car, and he soon realizes that he does not have his sweatshirt (hardly an appropriate winter jacket) in his backpack.  He has to go home and get it.  I even offer to go home and get it and bring it to him so he doesn't have to be late for school.  He turns down my generous offer.

I drop off the sister and head back home (30-second drive).  He goes into the house and I'm waiting... and waiting... and waiting.  I know what is going to happen.  He comes out and whimpers that he cannot find his sweatshirt.  He left it in his backpack.  It's not there.  He cannot find it in the house.

I tell him that his gray fleece is hanging on the hook, and he may get that jacket.  He looks at me like I just told him to go to school naked.  He goes back into the house.  I wait.... and wait... and wait.  He comes back out without the sweatshirt and without the jacket.  He gets in the car.

I say, "So, you are choosing to go to school without a jacket when your principal told you yesterday that it was going to be cold and you need to dress appropriately?  You are choosing to do this instead of bringing the fleece jacket hanging on the hook right inside the door?"

The child answers, "Yes."

Here is the moment.  I make a comment about how 'stupid' (I did not use that word; my word was probably worse) that was and about how the inability to be flexible was going to cause him to stay in at recess.  I told him to make sure he stayed inside at recess, even if no one noticed his missing jacket.

I dropped him off without a word and started to pull away - I realized he was late.  I rolled down my window and called him back to the car.  "I have to take you to the front entrance," I said, "the gates are locked.  You are late."

So, he got in the car and we pulled around to the front.  I walked him inside and watched him get his tardy slip.  
"Good-bye mom.  I love you, mom."

Daggers.  He loves me?  After that bad-mommy moment?  He still loves me?  Have I taught him well?  To love through anger and pain?  Is he trying to confirm that I still love him - through my anger?  Whatever the reason, I love him too.

And, as I come to the end of highlighting my own turmoil, I have learned that there has been another school shooting.  I have paused from writing to read and - though it didn't get as far as Sandy Hook - it rips me apart. The pain, anger, and hurt within that can cause a child to commit such a horrendous act.  The failure of society to make it difficult for a child to follow through with such a thought.  The fear, despair, and anguish in the Taft High School community.

I'm thinking I'll take my child out of school and have lunch with him today.

"98 is great; 98 takes you to Heaven's gate"

Unlike other relatives who I’ve had the blessing to watch grow old, my grandmother never grew old…. until the very end. At that point, I was praying for her to die.  Because that is what she wanted.  Because death would bring relief.  Because she was ready. 

And, I guess, because I didn’t really think she would.  I thought she’d be around for at least a handful of years – because that’s how she was. And she didn’t seem near death, just patiently waiting for it – until the end.

The end brought her to the hospital.  She had an obstructed bowel, among other things. The doctors could not believe that she had withstood that pain for so long. But my grandmother had a high tolerance for pain. 

She grew old in the hospital.  She looked weathered, but still sweet.  She looked tired and ready for something else.  Her fiery determination was put toward dying and not toward living.  She couldn’t understand why she wasn’t dying.

She thought if she moved from the hospital to a nursing home, death would come more quickly.  After all, her sister had died shortly after moving to a nursing home.  We told her that wasn’t the reason to go to a nursing home.  Not all people die soon after arriving there.

She wanted to know if she could die while sitting in her chair watching TV.  She was told it was certainly possible.  She wanted to know if she could die from starving herself.  She didn’t have much of an appetite before going into the hospital, and she was having more trouble eating once she was there.

My grandma was ready to return to her parents, my grandfather, and her siblings who had all died before her.  She had had a complete life.  She had used up her life and wasn’t prepared to put more effort into it.  That is why I prayed for her death (only I called it relief in my prayers).

And, now I realize – more than ever – I didn’t want her to die.  I had her best interest at heart, but not my own.  I did not want her to suffer.  I did not want to see her struggle as her physical body “failed” (her level of physical failure was still much better than most people her age) while her mind still flourished.  She was sharp as can be up until the end – remembering birthdays, memories, and details.

I still have conversations I’d like to have with her.  I still have things to learn from her.  I’m still wondering about my grandma’s life when she was a young mother, a middle aged mother, my grandmother in the early years.

I hold my grandmother in the highest regard.  The meanest thing I ever heard her say was “Lisa-la, you look like you put on a little weight.”  I knew I had to take better care of myself if my grandma was pointing that out to me.

Everyone loved her – loved her beyond.  Beyond an innate familial love.  Her love penetrated deep, and she didn’t have to do much to let you know it.  My grandma was an observer.  She received joy from sitting back and watching her children, her grandchildren, and her great grandchildren be together.

She baked with love.  The walls of her home resonated with love.  And the love remains now that she is gone.  My mom said my grandma saved everything.  My parents found the booklet from junior high graduation.  I found an autograph book that was from my grandma’s elementary years.  There are pictures – pictures of everyone in our family.  There were seven siblings in my grandma’s family.  There are pictures of everyone and their children and their grandchildren….

I don’t think she necessarily spent her time rummaging through her pictures and memorable keepsakes, but they sat in drawers – brimming with love and pride.  In fact, next to all the pictures of grandma’s family that were forever on the refrigerator were a picture of “pride and joy” (the cleaning supplies) because that is what her family meant to her.

My grandma passed away on December 16, 2012 – the same day that my friend, Cindy, was born. Cindy – my friend who passed away much too early in life.  And, that’s really all I can say about that right now.

I saw my grandma before she was buried.  I’m not sure if I was “supposed to” or not.  I didn’t ask.  I wanted to see her.  She looked happy.  She looked like the grandma that I remembered – not the one in the hospital (who, really, compared to most sick, grumpy old people – was not far from her old self and was hardly grumpy… but she still wasn’t her old self, and she was a bit grumpy – as far as my grandma is concerned).  I was glad to have that last vision of my grandma – a vision of content.

Along with my brothers and sisters and cousins, I carried my grandmother – like I had carried my friend, Cindy – to the next phase of life. That’s when it sinks a little deeper – and with Cindy – a lot deeper.  Too deep.  We knew we were helping my grandma to fulfill her last wish.  The last time I had seen her, I told her I would keep her in my prayers.  She said, “Don’t pray for me.”, and I knew what she meant.  “I’ll pray for your wishes to be granted, Grandma,” I had told her.  And, so I did.

The world has changed again.  And, I know every day, somewhere – the world is changing and we are not aware of it.  But, when it hits close to home – you become aware.  And, whether you want to or not, you begin a process of contemplation, analyzing, and peacemaking.  You find your way and your place in the world again.  You begin to look forward again.  You start to live again.  As my grandma always said, “Yesterday is history.  Tomorrow is a mystery.  Today is a gift.  That’s why they call it the present.”