Getting over the hump

Many years ago, a seasoned homeschool friend told me about homeschooling humps that everyone hits in November and February and how, instead of making drastic decisions because nothing feels like it's working, there might be sense in waiting it out, giving it a go, and not assuming that something is terribly wrong. I really valued that advice because, like clockwork, I hit those humps. They felt terrible. I felt terrible as a teacher, as a mother, as a person. Moreover, I was not even sure that my kids would not have been better off in school somewhere, under someone else's care. I would be working, plugging in nine to five and be a productive member of the society. And the torture and drudgery would cease. Usually, when I waited just long enough, and reset enough, I would overcome those humps and would go back to star-eyed homeschool devotee, trying to convince others to give it a try.

Around the time that I had my youngest, I hit a major hump. With child number five, I thought I was an old pro at this whole parenting and homeschooling and getting balance thing. I gave it time. I waited. I schemed and arranged. I sent this one to school, these ones to preschool, this one out. I demanded support and cleaning help in the house. I searched for babysitters and nannies. I tried online school. I even tried moving into a different community, hoping that being within walking distance from the park and JCC and other frum homeschoolers will make a difference. Yet the hump kept on not getting smaller. I just could not go over it.

I was desperate.

I was depressed.

I was so miserable that I made a decision to send all the children to school, including the youngest, in the middle of the year just so I could get a reset. I sent them all out, but I did not recapture that feeling of peace that I was after. I breathed, but it was shallow panting.

Then, the following year, I kept my second child home and sent everyone else to school. It was clear by this point that whatever issues my child was having had nothing to do with my educational approach and that he needed homeschooling/unschooling to function. In fact, I started out again in the place of desperation: there was no good school to send him to. It was a year of hell, for many private and personal reasons. I felt like I was still climbing over the hump, out of breath, and miserable.

This year I have two at home. It is not perfect. But it is significantly better. They get along really well. They are content, for the most part. My daughter picked up reading. My son is (finally!) expressing interest in trying out things that he never would have attempted before. I am slowly, slowly rebuilding myself. I do not doubt myself anymore, not today, at least. When the kids are happy, momma is happy. They are also older, can be left at home alone, can work independently. I can get out, take a walk, run errands, make it to appointments on my own.

It only took me good three years, but I think I am getting over this hump.

I am glad that we live at a time with long life expectancy. I can afford the luxury of spending this part of my life on homeschooling, and then still feel like there will be plenty of time to work, develop interests, get involved in projects.

reflections on a trip to Israel

I came back from Israel from Women's Reconnection trip. It was a trip designed for all of us (nebachs) who did not qualify or otherwise were not able to go on JWRP. In a nutshell, it was an amazing trip and I do recommend it to open-minded seekers. Here are some more of my jumbled jet-lagged thoughts before they escape and become not important.

I was the youngest of the group, by a decade at least. However, I had no problem connecting and participating and interacting with other women. I know that we were a self-selecting bunch of those open to new experiences and new connections. I also know that being in the presence of so much wisdom acquired through age and trial and error was humbling. Also, I noticed how many women were divorced or on their second marriages. I wondered how many of them needed this trip at a different, earlier point in their lives. I was grateful to take it now instead of waiting another twenty years to "focus on myself".

The trip and the participants made me feel normal, like I belong, that there is no problem with being myself, feeling what I am feeling, observing what I am observing, learning Torah and practicing the way that I do. There was no sense that there is a need to investigate anyone's kashrut or check anyone's tzitzit. I marveled at that because the trip included a few rebbitzins and I even noted it to them explicitly. We were all just Jewish women, enjoying the hospitality of other Jews.

I got a confirmation that my connection to Hashem is intact. I davened at the Kotel and kever Rachel and at Shiloh, and had no problem pouring my heart out in heartfelt prayer. G-d's presence (shechina) was there, and I could feel approaching it, focusing my thoughts, letting whatever burdened me to flow from my lips. I was not ashamed to cry. I was not limiting my thoughts, wondering if I am asking for too much, or whether it is my place to ask. I am not mad at G-d, or questioning his existence or ability to influence the events. I am mad at the people on the ground, who are committing evil in his name, denying me access to the Divine by their hypocrisy.

I was truly happy and content in Israel. Maybe it had to do with the lack of responsibilities. Maybe it had to do with a distance from my children and being able to be defined by something other than an overwhelmed mother of five. Maybe it's because the caregiving for my extra-needy child was not in my hands. Maybe it was because everything was simpler. Maybe it had to do with being able to move, walk a lot, not have to spend hours sitting in the car driving carpool, driving to activities. Perhaps it had to with having a loosely set schedule, where at any given time there was only one place I was supposed to be and only one thing I was supposed to focus on instead of the constant barrage of preparations and anticipations and things that I forgot to do that I experience in the States. Maybe it was being physically removed from the trauma that is my current shul and rabbi and alleged child molester and no ability to bring this all to light. Maybe it was being surrounded by so many women who simply bearing no ill will towards me.

I am a self-defining introvert, normally hanging back, reserved, not social, not seeking to reach out, needing my own space and craving peace and quiet. In Israel, due to the nature of the trip and the comfortable supportive atmosphere, I found myself seeking the company of others, reaching out, disclosing personal details, volunteering answers, and being "out there". Yet that felt like a very authentic part of me. There were a few times that I did feel overwhelmed and overstimulated, but nowhere near as much as I feel in the States on any given day. I wonder whether I am not just an introvert, but I simply try to minimize draining and cursory interactions so that I do not end up with extra pain.

Finally, as far as the learning aspect of the trip, I felt that the bigger messages of gratitude, recognizing and acknowledging the Divine, being G-d like in my actions, and being vulnerable with our pain and with the pain of others made me feel like I am on the right track. It took me many years and many uncomfortable twists and turns to arrive at the place where I stand but to find the classes that reinforced and deepened those themes was affirming.

From the very first time I went to Israel to this trip (my third), I felt that in Israel there is a continuum of observances and beliefs rather than discrete groupings that are taking place in America. Some of them are way out there, and some of them appear to be most like familiar American divisions, but the unity of the Jewish people somehow trumps over everything. We had a kabbalat Shabbat at the Kotel (my first Shabbat in Jerusalem) and, as we were signing with our small group, we formed a circle. All of a sudden, other women joined in: frum, not frum, in skirts, in pants, with hair covered and not, and even quite a few tourists who I am pretty sure were not Jewish. Somebody was recording the whole spontaneous scene with a cellphone and nobody was waiving for her to stop. A few days before we explored the theme of feeling a touch of the Divine. Joint experiences in the multitude of others came up. At this moment, singing and dancing together, like one person with one voice and one heart, I felt G-d's fingerprint in the world. I am not a mystical person, I am very rational and logical by nature. However, the way that this trip spoke to me was mystical and mysterious. For some reason, this is what I needed to take away.

Erev Yom Kippur thoughts

There is a sunrise every single day. And every single day it feels like a sin if I am not there when the sun is rising, when the sky starts to turn colors, when darkness changes to light, when a new day dawns. I need to see it, to feel it, to experience it, to acknowledge it. I want to spend at least a few sunrises of my life at the shore of a body of water, on a mountain, somewhere where the skyline is not obscured by roofs and trees and the debris of everyday life.

I have a hard time arranging my life in a way where I can voice my needs, have my needs heard, and have my needs met.

I have even harder time with finding like-minded individuals. I am blessed with quite a few friends who have held my hand through fairly major storms, but all of them, without exception, live a very real distance away, so all the hand-holding was done virtually, through phone calls and messages. It is a sin that somehow I cannot manage close and vulnerable relationships without putting a physical distance between us.

I do not know how to atone for these sins.

stress-free Pesach

I discovered the secret to a stress-free Pesach. I have been making Pesach for 15 years, so I had a lot of practice.

Listen, the secret is this:

• Don't be pregnant.
• Don't have a newborn.
• Don't be nursing.
• Don't have a crawling baby.
• Don't have children around who spread Cheerios all over multiple times a day.
• Put your children in school so you have plenty of time to hit multiple stores multiple times in search of out-of-town ingredients like yogurt and butter and parsnips.
• Don't make a bris on Pesach (or right after Pesach).
• Don't make a bar mitzvah on Pesach.
• Have year-round cleaning help.

But the biggest secret is that this year I cannot muster that care or anxiety or drive or whatever it is called that sends me into a frenetic cleaning and panic mode. If it will get done, it will get done. If it won't get done, then it won't. Contrasting to the previous years, I have cried from Pesach stress only once so far (but there is still four more days, so stay tuned, freak-out might be coming). This could care less attitude resulted in me yelling at my teary-eyed daughter who wanted to make meringues with me. Too bad it was way after her bedtime. She refused to go to bed. She stalled. And then she came to tell me how she waited THE WHOLE YEAR to make those meringues. Well, I needed them to be the last thing I made for the night because they need to sit in the oven overnight to dry out. So I callously yelled at her. (The meringues turned out sticky. Midda kneged midda? An opportunity for another batch?)

The truth is, I am suffering from caregiver fatigue. When you spend so much time, so much energy and control yourself so much in order to care for someone, you become callous and snappy to everyone else. Sadly, the nearest and dearest did not notice that I have snapped.

But there were all those years and all those babies. And all those people who expected to be hosted, and doted on. And I did all that, all the while slowly breaking inside.

I have invited company for Yom Tov because I feel like I am the fortunate one, without that baby on the hip this year. I am aware that there are others worse off than I am. But there is also a part of me that does not expect anything great from Pesach anymore. I used to plot and strategize how to engage the kids, what shtick to do, how to make Seder about an educational experience and not about the food or the mumbling of the Hagaddah. This year, it will be same old, same old. Someone will be crying. Someone will be complaining. Someone will be unhappy. The food and the effort will be lost in the less-than-pleasant atmosphere. The fun and the lightness: that will come with Chol Hamoed that my school kids await like the coming of Moshiach. But Pesach proper will grind on.

It would be so much easier if I did not think about all of this. It would be easier if I did not consider all the years of small babies and pregnancies as a cruel joke. I have one March baby and three April babies. Oh, you want more from your Yom Tov experience, do you? Well, what can you expect when the kids are little? But the kids do not stay little forever, and the older kids grow up in the shadow of parents being overwhelmed by the little ones. All they experience is stressed-out Pesach.

My oldest three have taken to skipping out on Shabbos lunch. First I rejoiced: they have peers who invite them out! Then I realized that it is not what they are running to that matters, it is what they are running from. By now, I don't know if I have it within me to stop the tide. I just hope that I have a few more years till the children will skip out on the family Seder.

As for me, I will go back to puttering in the kitchen, moving boxes of dishes, cooking in less-than-ideal conditions and focusing on not crying.

What is wrong with me? (motherhood)

Motherhood.

Oh, we all know what it is. If you are not a mother yourself, than you were certainly born of one, and that gives you ideas of what it's like.

There is media, advice columns, parenting books, classes, your friend, your neighbor, your sibling, children's books, grown-up books. movies, shows. There are message boards, there are coffee venting dates, impromptu gatherings of moms.

You look at it, and you think you know what you are getting yourself into. If I take the right class, buy the right gear, follow the right parenting guru, my child will turn out allright and I will reap a large amount of satisfaction in knowing that I did everything just so.

Bu then reality hits. The baby hates all the gear except for one ratty blanket of unknown provenance. The baby will not eat, will not sleep, will not be soothed no matter what you do. The toddler will not walk on your schedule. The 2 year old will not potty train. The 3 year old thinks naps and rules in general are for wimps. The child gets ahold of scissors and damage ensues. The school age kid gets into fist fights. The preteen sneaks junk food and video games. The girl pouts, the boy sulks. The teen rolls his eyes and pointedly ignores anything leaving your mouth.

And you question everything. And you doubt yourself, but not before you yelled yourself hoarse.

What is missing in our parenting culture is the conversation about the small still voice. It is your voice, the same voice that shed tears of happiness for your child at some point or other. It is the softness of a baby that fell asleep in your arms and you held him just a bit longer than necessary. It is the cuddle of a daughter's body on the couch, snug under the blanket. It is the innocence of a child trying to make something "just for you, mommy". (I just deposited two bouquets of wild flowers in the garbage can because I missed that small still voice moment yesterday when I was presented with them). It is not the glowing all perfect family enjoying breakfast in bed. This still small voice is the genuine feeling, possibly the opposite of Photoshopped perfection. It shuns attention. Since it is so very quiet, it is easy to forget that it is there. But it is that unconditional love for your child, passing quietly through. Remember that when they become teens.

On the other end of the spectrum we also have a gap, but this one occasionally gets a mention. It is the bone-wearing tiredness and numbness of parenting. It is the monotonous soul-sucking repetition that slowly drives one mad and makes one want to bolt outside and scream very loudly. Except that you can't because you are alternating between "Pat the Bunny"and "Clone Wars" for the fiftieth time. This frustration (that has nothing to do with the kids) gets aired out here and there, but it is often coated in "I love them, but can't stand them" wrapper. Unfortunately, those daring to mention these feelings are often mistaken for cold mothers who just buck social conventions, but I'm not like that, am I, because I stayed until midnight baking muffins for my kids, see the photo of how much I love them? Remember that we all experience this frustration.

Motherhood is the constant seesaw from one end of this spectrum to another. As we are swinging through, we wistfully look at those other mothers, the ones who seem to have it all together, who neither feel like the love for their children will bring them to tears, nor that boredom will suffocate them and wonder, what is wrong with us?

Honey, nothing is wrong with you, nothing at all. Even this questioning feeling is normal. And those moms who say that they always knew what they were doing? They don't remember.

Conflict of interest

I signed up for a drawing class with 11 yo. We signed up together because he expressed a rare interest in doing something outside of his comfort zone. I signed up because I have been waiting my whole entire life to take art classes. First it was not for me, then how would I make a living like that, because artists are starving... then I could not afford the supply fee that accompanied art classes in college and then there was no time and no money and no place to take them. And finally, finally I live within a short distance of an art center and they offer a glorious selection of multimedia classes. I took an evening class in acrylics followed by watercolor. It quickly became evident that I need to get the basics of drawing down first. When I was looking at the selection, trying to avoid Friday nights and Saturdays and Sundays, I saw a mid-morning class. I asked 11 yo whether I can leave him at the house to take that class or whether he wanted to take it with me. He wanted to sign up, and I dared not breathe from happiness. I imagined us drawing together, learning side-by-side.

Now, these classes are my outlet, both for creativity and as a chance to experience "flow", get swallowed by an activity, let the time pass unnoticed. I so rarely experience flow that I forget how I need it. Blogging took a hit because with teens I am up and talking and dealing with them late into the evening. If I want to do anything immersive, I need it on the calendar and away from home. I am not aspiring to produce the next work of art, but I am treating this time as a therapy of sorts. And I really, really need it.

Every class comes with a supply list. We printed it out and hit Hobby Lobby. marveling at the materials. 11 yo seemed intrigued. When we attended the first class, everyone was asked to disclose their level of training and what they were planning on getting out of the class. Everyone was older than me by at least a decade. Three people were retired. I think it was a confidence boost to hear that everyone was a beginner. 11 yo jumped in, but I saw that he was not exactly taking all the creative risks that the teacher recommended. Then we sketched at home. He seemed excited to practice what he has learned.

11 yo sketching out of his own free will

The following week I made a mistake of scheduling an early morning appointment with a psychologist for 11 yo. I can probably write a whole angry megilah about childhood mental health professionals who refuse to help you and think it is perfectly fine to tell it to the child's face. It was a total waste of time, accompanied by lowering of self-esteem for 11 yo. That was not exactly the best way to be going into doing something hard and outside of your comfort zone. And now we were late to class, 40 minutes late. I felt that missing that time from a two-and-a-half hour class that is not graded is not a big deal. I told as much to my son, grumbling about all the time we wasted that morning. But he realized that we were late, and not a little bit late, but ridiculously late, and he started asking to go home. Now I used to be super anally punctual. My old self would probably preferred to go home and hide under the covers too. My new chutzpadik self proclaimed that there is more than enough class time to salvage and I am going in. My son refused. I gave him an option to join me at any point, or to hang out in the library next door. He buried himself in a comic book.

This week, my 2 yo has been sick. I called on my MIL to watch her so I could take 11 yo and myself to the class. She came. 11 yo woke up crabby, declared today to be a bad day and notified me that he quit drawing. I kept cursing the psychologist for the damage he did the previous week because this week my child did not attempt sketching. He probably felt that he fell hopelessly behind, despite my assurances that every class could be free-standing. I used all my calm arguments trying to coax 11 yo to come. He flat out refused. No reasons were given except that he quit and he's not coming. I told him that I expect him just to come and sit in on class, not necessarily draw. On that note, staying calm, I told him that I am starting up the car and I will be waiting for him. he said sadly that I will be waiting for a long time.

I went to the car and sat in there, as promised. The clock was ticking. I'm reading a book on meditation. I have taken yoga. I know about putting yourself in timeout, counting to ten, to a hundred, deciding that it is not that important, not worth the fight, letting go. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe...

But I couldn't. This class was important to ME and I was missing MY class time dealing with my child who declared that he is not coming. I had to psych myself into going, into jumping in, into believing that at the end of eight weeks I will get all the necessary sketching skills under my belt. I had to believe that I am not frustrated suburban housewife dallying in art without any talent and what a waste of time and money anyway! And you are abandoning a sick child!

...I had been so good about not butting heads with 11 yo. I had been flexible, understanding. I dropped a whole lot of academic expectations, just let him be, worked on the relationship, listened to his side, tried to understand what it was like to be him. But now he was at odds with what was best for me. I want so little, and now one thing that was supposed to be purely for me became about HIM.

I stormed back into the house. As promised, he was on the top bunk, hiding in the blankets. I told him firmly that I expect him to come right now! And I do not want to count. And I do not want to punish. And I do not demand much. But he was not coming. I yelled how I hate quitters and people who do not try. He did not respond.

I walked out and drove to my class, late yet again.

Unless you have a difficult child, of the kind of "difficult" where psychologists decide that they will not handle this, you might not understand what day-to-day life feels like. I cannot overpower his will, I cannot punish him, I cannot produce enough consequences to make him do the things that he decides to refuse to do. Moreover, he usually does not have a solid reason why he dug in his heels. I just feel that I made a big mistake with trying to take this class together because this is setting up the ground for a conflict every single week and poisoning one activity that I could have claimed as my own.

on parenting

Hey,

Remember when you thought you had it all figured out? When you were sure that the future is bright? When you knew all the answers, and knew which path to follow? When all you had to do was wait for your life to start?

That seems like a million years ago. The older I get, the older the kids get, the less I feel like I know, or there is less that I know with certainty, that I can dispense as age-old wisdom.

I got the basics because they do not change. We swing in our norms one way and then the other, the parenting magazines and articles will list a brand-new technique, but, chances are, it was already empolyed and we know the results.

The basics are: you cannot hold your children too much. They will always crave your arms, crave your touch, crave a physical knowledge that they matter more than anything else. You cannot spoil them like that. They cannot be too old. The touch with change, the lap will grow smaller as their bodies grow bigger, but it is always needed, like air.

They want to know that they are loved unconditionally, whether they are good or bad, whether their actions are good or bad, whether they make you happy or not, whether everyone approves of what they do, or not. They will try very hard to be unloveable, to break your heart, and then break it again and again, in hopes of proving to themselves that they are not worthy of love. And you, as a parent, will be left to pick up the pieces and tell them that they matter, that you still love them, that you will not give up on them, because it's your job to make them feel whole and worthy of your love.

And then there is time. The children will remember the time that you took from a million more important, more worthy things just to be with them. My kids fondly recall an insane Starbucks Frappucino drive-through run that happened less than half an hour before Shabbos. It was not the most menaingful or stress-free activity, but it was fun and it clearly put them first. I try so hard to make time just to sit on the couch and see what develops. Usually it's books and cuddles, sometimes it's conversations, or games, but I hope they remember the importance of just sitting together without agenda, without productivity, just because they are my kids and I love them and I show that love by spending time with them.

Everything else is so murky. Bedtimes? Discipline? Sibling conflicts? Mess? Nutrition? I don't know if there is one way to do it right, but if there are tears from all involved, it is probably wrong. What was right for this kid does not always translate to that kid.

So I don't think I will ever have this parenting thing figured out. I envy parenting gurus, dispensing advice, like they have walked in my shoes, lived my life, dealt with my kids and their unique circumstances.

So you do you, as you do every day. Throw out the parenting advice and follow your mommy heart.

One Momma to Another

A Wednesday

I am tired. Oh so deeply, essentially tired.

I don't want to whine about how tired I am.

I had a bad night of sleep. 11 yo got braces on his upper teeth and an expander and the pain kicked in in the middle of the night. He marched over at 3 am for a dose of Tylenol.

Not everyone had lunch packed this morning. 13 yo was having a picture day at school, but it was on me to remind him the morning of that he needs to bring a suit on a hanger. 11 yo refused to eat breakfast due to braces and inability to chew his usual morning fare: a bagel. No alternatives would do. He would not think about what to pack for lunch for the homeschool coop classes coming up later in the day. He refused to daven. He refused to go. He refused to do any schoolwork, to listen to any suggestions on how to deal with his teeth, or to offer any of his own. And the whole time I kept coaching myself internally: do not yell, it's his anxiety talking, do not yell, it will make it worse, do not yell...

I packed my lunch. I wiped the kitchen windows. I washed out the recycling bin.

He did get in the car when it was time to leave. He acquiesced to a water bottle, but no food. We listened to iPod in silence during the drive. I felt drained already.

I taught my class. 11 yo is in my class, and he was super jittery the entire time: pacing, touching, blurting things out. I find teaching exciting and draining, even if it's just middle school chemistry to five homeschool kids. My mom called in the middle. We have been taking coop classes on Wednesdays for six years, but she still called when I was teaching.

Then I assisted in another class. 11 yo freaked out about a forgotten password, then he recalled it. I helped paint some rocks. I had lunch. I chatted with other moms, all the while keeping an eye on the clock for the afternoon carpool. 11 yo came over to graze. He had a few crackers. I tried to pretend that it is normal to skip breakfast and lunch, nothing to worry about.

I left at 2 pm. 11 yo seemed agreeable to finding something to eat at home while I would drive carpool. I meekly suggested that he look over his schoolwork and see if he can do anything on his own. I dropped him off and zoomed to preschool to get 2 yo. She was sleeping, and sleepily transferred to her car seat. Then we zoomed onto the highway to get the rest of the kids from their school.

By some sheer miracle (and the existence of people more organized than I) I am part of a carpool where I have to drive only 2-3 times a week instead of 10 times. However, since there are six kids loading into my car, it is never smooth. These ones do not want to sit with those. That one is touching this one. This one is eating. That one is sort of trying to say a bad word while talking about it. These ones are just annoying. That one is loud. And they all have been cooped up in the school building since 8 am and now they are set loose in my car. I used to talk to my kids when we drive places. I used to think they were loud. But this is a whole new level.

But today was not bad. Today they even loaded quickly enough for the carpool lady not to hustle anyone. I had same iPod going and as long as it was playing, they seemed quiet. I checked my messages to see who is dropped off where today. Mind you, it is 4 pm now and I have been driving since 2.

We get home. 13 yo and 7 yo change into their bathing suits for swimming. Years ago, when I just started homeschooling, the boys tried out for a swim team and were not able to swim enough to qualify. Now it is a whole different story. We live a five-minute walk from the JCC. There are no major streets to cross. 13 yo is legally old enough to babysit. But JCC apparently has a rule that he is not old enough to be 7 yo's guardian while she is attending swim practice. They are not just splashing in the pool, they are attending an organized class, but they need to be watched by a legal; guardian. So they cannot walk over there and back on their own, and they cannot be left there unsupervised while they are swimming. I am very upset by this. Have I known this, I probably would not have signed 7 yo up. 13 yo is old enough to get there and back on his own. And I wonder: we keep complaining how kids nowadays are so ill-adapted to independent living, how millennials are such spoiled brats, how they don't know how to be tough. Why do we set up such rules in place that keep kids on a short parental leash for so long? How are large families supposed to manage this? I tried bringing my younger kids to practice, but it is no fun keeping 2 yo for half an hour away from the pool's edge. Besides. she was just in the car for over an hour. All she wants to do is come home, chill and play.

My only solution was to ask 11 yo if he so kindly would not mind watching his two younger siblings at home while I watched his two older siblings at the pool, twice a week. He agreed, but today both younger siblings disagreed. I ended up shoving two older kids out to the door, leaving 11 yo in charge of two screaming kids. If you want to feel mom guilt, do that, especially after spending zero time with the babies the whole day.

After the pool, faster, faster, let's get home, I know the little ones were storming the pantry before I left. I have not been home since 9 am, so there is no dinner because there was no time for the dinner. But never fear, we are going to eat out tonight at a new Israeli restaurant because that's the best I could come up with. As we are getting in the car to drive that ridiculously short distance home, 11 yo called me to hurry up because 2 yo did not stop crying the entire time I was gone.

I bitterly commented how I need more grown-ups in my life, so I am not leaving an 11 yo in braces pain in charge of two screaming kids. 13 yo wryly commented how he used to be that 11 yo. Yes, kid, we have been making do for years. It is sad when kids have to step up and function as adults.

I am greeted at the doorstep by a teary 2 yo clutching her blankie next to her big brother. 4 yo is freaking out that this new restaurant will not have hot dogs and what he will eat then? The rest of the food is "yucky". It does not take a supersleuth to figure out that he did not nap today, that he's tired, that the last thing he wants is to go out to eat instead of snuggling on the couch with mommy. But there is no dinner, and I am not serving noodles yet again.

The new restaurant was a bright spot. Even my husband made it home on time to come with us. The food was plentiful and good, they had schnitzel for 4 yo, 11 yo was able to chew and get mashed potatoes. The rebbitzen of the community invited us out for Succot lunch. Yay for procrastination! One less meal to plan for!

And then my husband got called up, And then we got home at 7 pm. 7 yo had twenty minutes of nightly reading log. 4 yo went back into full meltdown mode, and I was trying to manage the kids from the couch while half-listening to my daughter read. It is clicking, but it is still slow. Both boys were reading fluently and for pleasure at this age. She still does so little functional reading that I had to point out the kids' section on the menu. I am also thinking how this mandatory reading is not helping move things along, but, being a conscientious student, she dutifully reads every night.

After I finished and tucked in the three youngers, I did two more sections from Hilchot Teshuva with 11 yo. That was the only schoolwork that we did today.

It is 9:30. 11 yo is still up. I packed lunches. I am defrosting chicken for erev yom kippur and for kids to eat on Yom Kippur.

I just want to go and kick back with a book. But most of all, I want to arrive at the nighttime not mindlessly tired.

"What do you do all day?"

Yesterday, at breakfast that is nowadays a blur of cereal bowls, not-yet-packed lunches and 2 yo asking to be fed, as I hastily slurp my pre-driving coffee, a child asked me: "Mom, what are you really good at?" A question like that is the reason I feel like I have been living a midlife crisis even though I am technically too young for one. I retorted: "Keeping you all alive!" while thinking "Oh my gosh, what AM I good at? Obviously nothing visible, otherwise I would not be asked. Corollary: I am good at nothing. What am I doing with my life? What kind of a role model am I to my children?They caught on that it's all a sham. They will never grow up to be productive individuals..."

Before the train of thought went too far, 4 yo piped in: "You are very good at driving!" Yes, I drive. I drive a lot.With kids at three schools, all I do is drive: drop them off and pick them up. Drive to gymnastics. drove to taekwondo. Drive to museums. Drive to the park, to the store, to appointments. Drive to an aquarium out of state. I drive. I AM good at driving.

After agreeing with him, I thought out loud: "I am also getting good at just being. Not doing things, but just being me." That one sailed over their heads and my husband raised his eyebrows, but it's true. This past year has been a steep learning curve in getting good at just being. I can wrap it up in fancy terminology like developing potential, aligning heart, soul and body, self-actualization, transcendental meditation, self-awareness. I can wrap it up in less flattering terms like self-care, laziness, ennui, indulgence. But, essentially, this past year I have hit a brick wall where the question "What do I want?" had to be answered and not dismissed. I started with what I do NOT want. I did not want to multitask. I did not want to carve out time to "get things done" or be superproductive or accomplish amazing feats. I did not want those motivational quotes that passive-aggressively suggest that only if you tried harder and wanted it badly enough, you could do anything. I will not climb Mount Everest. I will not hack my way through jungles. I will not conduct scientific research in Antarctica. Besides, when you are so busy striving to achieve one thing or another, you are by definition not at peace. You get the adrenaline rush of action.You get dopamine load of achievement, finishing that marathon, climbing that mountain, getting that promotion. But the next day, when the hoopla subsides, you face yourself in the mirror and there is no more rush to carry the day. And you are still you. Are you at peace with what you see? Hint: strive and strife are related. Or are you still not enough and you need to prove to the world that you are more than what they see? Moreover, is your harsh inner critic still at it: you are just faking it. If you stop doing all these amazing things, they (whoever they are) will see that you are a fake.

So I have been not doing much.

"What are you doing?" Not much.

I used to judge others harshly for that. I was worried that if I did not judge others first, they would judge me. They would see through me and expose me as a fraud. So better run, keep busy, go places, do things. It is preferred to do things that come with external tangible recognition. Trophies, plaques, diplomas, awards, raises, mementos are all fair game.

But five years of homeschooling changed that. Moreover, the foray into unschooling did more for me than the time we spent poring over the workbooks and curriculum. I had to decide: what do I really need my kids to know so they can function in the world on their own? Not ancient Roman history. Not quadratic equations. The more I thought and the more I observed, the more I smashed my preconceived notions of what kind of education matters. I saw my children just being, and being happy at that. I saw them delight in playing in the creek, or in the sand, or lounging on the couch, or rereading the same book for the fiftieth time. I saw them find alone time and time to ask others to join the game. I saw them pick up objects and craft them. I saw them talk to each other, blurt out things, spontaneously dance, swing babies around, make surprises.

But I saw them just being.

Unfortunately, I had to sacrifice their state of being for my being. I spent the last thirteen years parenting in a very hands-on way. There was a lot to do, and it was never-ending. There was nursing and diapering and blowouts and accidents and hours on the potty and hours of laundry. There were meals to plan, shop for, cook, set up, clean up. There was instructing and cajoling and bickering and imploring and fighting. But there was so much doing. Now that my older ones are 11 and 13, the doing does not end once the younger ones go to bed. They want to do stuff with me.They want to talk to me. They want to show me that latest craze. Oh, odfI am deeply grateful that they share a bit of what makes them tick with me, but that time to BE that could have come with early bedtime is not there for me anymore.

I did not use to feel this way. I think it took five kids and over ten years of this intense doing for me to reach the point where I could not postpone my being any longer. I needed to look in the mirror and truly think about what I see, not just how prudent the image appears to the rest of the world.

The scary part is that I don't know where this journey will take me.Will I get my bearings to homeschool again? Will I utterly disconnect from my kids? Will I pick up a new profession, craft, hobby? Will I spin out of control, lose touch with reality?

On motherhood

Motherhood in a nutshell: Ok, let me fix that.

I didn't break it.
I didn't want it to be broken.
I don't want to be fixing that.
I don't have time or patience or resources to fix that.

But you need me.
So let me fix that.

so hard just to be

New week, new day, drop the kids off at their schools and the time should be yours to relax, right? But your car needs new tires and you know it, you can see how worn the edge is because you didn't pay for alignment or balancing or you didn't have time to get it done and now you are driving on highways daily with a worn-out tire. So you swing by Goodyear where they take one look at your wheels, whistle, and get you onto tire replacement tomorrow morning. And you get a call from your husband that the work on adding a second dishwasher and fixing the laundry room will start in a few hours. You do not want to have a gaping hole where the dishwasher is supposed to go so you go into Home Depot right next door to scoop out the appliances and find out that the soonest they can deliver is on Friday. But it will be free. But now you are staring at these washers and dryers and dishwashers and try to remember what is it that you actually want out of them short of doing their job, not breaking down, and being cheap. And then you remember that your car needs new wiper blades because the rubber is falling off one of them, You find the right kind and decide to be courageous and switch them yourself. But not in Home Depot's parking lot: you do not want to embarrass yourself.

As you get home and pull up a few step-by-step tutorials, you discover that somehow you cannot remove the worn-out blades, no matter how much you search for a clip or pull firmly down. Yet another tutorial directs you to a non-existent clasp. Ok, hubby will need to do it tonight except that he's already annoyed that you didn't shop around for the cheapest tires. But you need them replaced during those four precious hours because you need the car to pick everyone up from their three schools.

To feel productive, you decide to save brown bananas by baking banana muffins. And you fold the laundry that was left on the table. And you hang up shirts and skirts. And you see a despairing amount of mess in every single room. And as you start picking up, you need to go to another room for more hangers or to bring in one more item or you decide that this child will have to do this part later when they come back from school.

And there is no peace.

And you remember to text someone for a name and number of a pediatric psychologist. And you leave a message with a lady who washes sheitels. And you pick up a few more items. And you wait for the construction guy to come.

And then it's lunchtime and you are trying to read "Smart But Scattered" about improving executive function to help your oldest stay organized, but you can't focus yourself. You know that your executive function is misfiring which is why you cannot get anything done in an orderly manner.

And suddenly it is 1, and you will need to go and pick up the younger ones in twenty minutes, and you still didn't make time to relax, to heal your brain. You look around and find that none of the rooms inspire you to sit down and relax. You sink into a couch, pick a five-minute meditation from Insight Timer and close your eyes. You breathe, you relax, but at the end you peek because you are nervous that it won't signal when the five minutes are up and you will be late picking up the younger ones.

As you drive out, it is starting to drizzle. The annoying old wiper swings across the glass. 3 yo starts whining that he dropped something. Baby flings off her shoes and you hear them drop on the car's floor. Baby falls asleep, 3 yo asks for yogurt despite having had lunch in school. You refuse to mix in chocolate chips and he refuses to eat it and cries and sulks off for his nap.

And you have half an hour before you will have to get everyone up and drive to pick up the older kids. The construction guy is still not here.

I made space for myself to be,
But I have trouble being in it.

dreaming

OMG what is that? My baby has been napping for the past hour and the older kids were entertaining themselves (except for one tushie that needed to be wiped). I was not rushing to do chumash with 12 year old, I was not hustling anyone to do schoolwork or finish something or other that is hard to do with an active toddler. (The chicken in Moana is clearly modelled after a toddler: same freak outs, same ridiculous repetitive behaviors.) And all of sudden I find myself finally calling a handyman to install the blinds before too many neighbors diplomatically suggest that we do it for our own good. And I'm making lasagna noodle roll-ups with tuna and spinach, using up leftovers. And I'm getting on IKEA home planner to figure out how to fit in a few more kitchen cabinets while thinking that maybe I should look into design or architecture classes. Is there a market for 40-year-old architects? And I finally threaded the washed 3 year old's car seat after a too-close encounter with raspberry jelly. The wipes did not cut it, so it had to be washed. Pesach came early, and I did it. And I'm thinking what else can I do with the kids around their 3 pm dentist appointment: drop off DVDs at the library because there is a branch not far from the office, stop by Aldi, run to IKEA to replace a vital screw that $%#$& movers did not put into the bunk bed? I did not realize that 10 yo telling me about his fear of the whole thing crashing down was not based on overreaction, but on solid engineering reality that a certain amount of supports is needed for the top bunk.

And I finished two books this past week: "Hillbilly Elegy" and "Run" by Ann Patchett. I cannot recall what was the last impactful book that I read before these two.

My time is slowly coming back to me. My time can also be snatched at any minute by a baby awakening from her nap, spilling pasta all over the floor, dumping cups of water, just screaming to be held. My time is also carved from the hours previously spent homeschooling. There is a misconception that unschooling means not doing anything with the kids, so why are the moms complaining that they are so busy? However, when you unschool, you are still in the picture, still available to answer questions, help with projects, do research, drop everything to read, etc. I am not currently unschooling. I am letting the older kids marinate in their own juices while I go and do my own thing. It is not clear-cut, as 10 yo, after this morning marinade, came to inform me that he and his two older siblings are about to produce Illiad , but a Wild West version. Ok, kids, I can write this down as an educational activity. I can boast about it: hey, my kids know enough about both to synthesize their own mashup. But I cannot call it unschooling, as I am refusing to participate more than a spectator.

Am I too high-strung to even unschool? Am I too controlling? Too worried about the outcome? Do I have too few resources, too few other adults who can spell me for a bit as the adult on duty? I don't know if I failed my kids by sending them to school, failed the ideals of homeschooling, failed myself. I do know that we, as a family, are ready for a new chapter. 12 yo is starting in a week and he is eager to have friends, hang out with friends, do things with friends, be in a class with friends. 10 yo came to terms with his new school reality. 6 yo is happy to have her girls back. And I am grateful for renewed energy and renewed ability to dream. I do wish so badly that my dreams involved homeschooling, spend long intense periods of time with the people that I birthed, educating them, learning alongside them. Right now, that is my fantasy. Right now, I need my space. I wish I did not have to carve time out for myself. I wish there would not be implied violence to time, but a peaceful flow.

not following the rules

I've sent my baby girl to school. (I have been working on a blog post about sending kids to school, but it does not seem to get materialized). She has been going for a week. This is my six-year-old, my ideal homeschool candidate, the child whom I've been dreaming about homeschooling because she was easy, eager to learn, eager to please. There was just one big hole in my plan: she wanted to be with other girls her age more than anything else. And she had this perfect dream about school. So I've sent her.

Since sending her, I have been driving her and her brother every morning and picking them up every afternoon. It is December, so most other parents have worked out their carpool routine months ago. First I had 10 year old in one carpool, then, when we moved, a friend found another parent who drove for me. But she only had one spot, so with two kids in school, all of a sudden I had to be driving. But I still have two small ones at home, two kids who take naps and do not need to wake up at 6 am to do this drop-off and pick up.

On Friday, I asked 10 year old time and again what time is early dismissal and he confidently assured me that it is at 2:30. I got a phone call while I was driving at 2:15 that the dismissal was at 2 and the teachers need to get home to get ready for shabbos. I felt horrible and very embarrassed. I even offered for my kids to sit on the bench in front of the school, as I was on my way, but I could not make traffic move any faster. Today, Monday morning, I hustled and hustled everyone to get out the door at 7:20 so I would have plenty of time to drop off 10 yo at shul for his minyan with the classmates and then get 6 yo to her school. I ended up dropping off 10 yo at 7:45. It was freezing. I told him to go inside, not stay in the cold for 15 minutes. Then I drove my daughter. I got her to school at 7:54 and hustled her out the car. As I watched her walk to school, alone, I sighed about this little first grader. Then she pulled on the door. Locked. She banged. Locked. Teachers were walking inside, bustling, getting ready. I saw them. She saw them. She pulled and banged. And I remembered an e-mail from months ago asking parents not to drop off kids before 8, as the teachers needed to get ready for their day. I sort of ignored it at the time, as I was not the one driving in the morning. So there we were, my little kid standing in the cold, knocking, and adults whom she was supposed to be trusting, asserting their rights to five minutes of quiet before the kids entered. I realized that other parents sat in their cars in the parking lot, keeping their kids warm. I just did not notice it before, being so excited to get her somewhere on time and even early. (Till fairly recently, she did not know the definition of early, as were always late).

And then the tears came. Homeschooling was not going smoothly for her because I do not have a gaggle of girls her age up my sleeve. She was not reading and I had little time to read to her. We were butting heads. It was easier to send her to school. But now I have a kid who has to get up and get dressed and have breakfast and put up her hair and run to the car in the morning to be left in the cold banging on the doors of her school. She is a fairly early riser, but she likes to chill, lounge in her pajamas, snuggle on the couch, have a good morning story. She likes to have her breakfast late. I traded one set of things that are not working for another.

I am not blaming the school for their policy. I am blaming myself for not remembering what that policy was. With so many kids doing so many different things, it is very hard to remember every single detail. It was easier to keep them at home, minimize those external rules and regulations to abide by, but it was not working. So now we will be "those" parents", the ones who are chronically late, and chronically bending the rules.

On Minimalism

Most likely you have heard about Marie Kondo's book, "The Magic of Tidying Up". Perhaps you have heard about the Mimimalists and their movement of living with less stuff. A friend of mine (actually, a few friends) have done KonMari on their house and have shared their journey publicly. I have been intrigued enough to snatch tidbits of this lifestyle here and there. Ah, the promise of simplifying your life, living with fewer possessions, managing less stuff and having more time for what matters... who would not like that? Who would not want clean, sparse space as one is drowning in laundry and toys strewn all over the floor and books plopped open on the couch?

I looked into it. I have listened to a few podcasts. I have read a few articles. I was on fire internally.

But...

It is easy to notice that most minimalists are single. There are married couples, and there are families who are minimalists for sure, but most ardent proponents of the lifestyle are single adults, somewhere in their twenties-thirties. I always said, I'll read Kondo's book that she writes once she has a few children. Life with children is messy and unpredictable. Outings with children depend not on packing the minimal amount, but on being prepared for the unexpected. I have five, and I have diaper bag packing on autopilot. I do not carry spurious stuff but what often saves the day (adds value to my life) is having that emergency pack of crackers in the bottom of my purse when we are out longer than expected. It is having an extra diaper for the baby and the 3 year old when he decides that he's too busy to go to the bathroom. It adds value to my life knowing that I have a ten pack of underwear at home for him, so I do not have to make the judgment call of whether to scrape poop off his underwear because he does not have enough pairs. Added value is having a pack of wipes both in the bag and in the car, so if we go out for ice cream (something that we do not do often, maybe a few times per year), I can wipe all those messy sticky faces. Brusters next to us does not have a bathroom, so washing off is not an option. I find myself happier having a large plastic bag in the trunk of the car that contains a complete change of clothes for each child. We can go wading, they can get messy, life can happen, and I do not have to think whether I want to allow them to participate in it.

We are going away for Shabbos. Since the older boys are at a sleep away camp, it is just three younger kids, my husband and I. I am not anxious about packing because I am not planning on packing elaborately. Yet I keep thinking about Minimalists soundtrack song:

Every little thing that you need,
Every little thing
That is powering your greed,
Oh I bet you'll be fine
Without it.

Yeah, beautiful. I do not need to bring my sheitel. I do not need to bring clothes on hangers and worry about garment bag. But I do know that having a spare outfit for Shabbos will save the day if one of my lovely children will get me dirty (or I do it to myself). I have gone away for Shabbos packing minimally, and then had one child spit up so much that by motzei shabbos I did not have a single piece of clothing that was not obviously stained and stinky. I knew the hosts well enough to borrow a spare skirt and do an emergency load of laundry. That is not the case this time.

Dear minimalists, have you ever gone away and forgot a child's favorite blankie or lovey? Have you ever had a child who could not fall asleep and tried singing to him the lullaby of how it's the greed and the child will be just fine? I have been actively discouraging my children to form attachments to bulky irreplaceable objects, to material possessions, yet, somehow, quite a few of them did. Have you ever had a child walk around like a zombie singing "I want my paci" song and thought, gee whiz, it would have been easier to pack it? I am packing few things for the baby, but I am planning on bringing a small floor heater. She sleeps better with the white noise from the fan. I did not want her to be attached to it, but in a small house with many active and loud children, it added value to my life to run this device and get a well-rested baby. We have gone away before and forgot to bring it, or chose not to bring it. It was not pretty. She was NOT FINE without it.

I have gone to my in-laws for a couple hours on Sunday. I forgot to bring diapers. Let me tell you, running to the closest grocery store when you discover that the baby pooped and there is not a single diaper anywhere in the diaper bag or the car makes you wonder how this is better than having a stack of diapers, "just in case".

We are hoping to move, so we are packing. I have gone and pared down clothes for 3 year old. He had boys' old clothes coupled with hand-me-downs coupled with grandma's gifts. I was able to sort it all by size and put away quite a bit. No child needs more than a week's worth of clothes. However, at his current age, when he can go through three pairs of pants per day, not having to do laundry daily adds value to my life. Not worrying whether he will run out of shorts is better than having just three pairs on rotation. Same goes for my baby's clothes. She dislikes bibs and she wants to self-feed. Frequently, I have to change her clothes after every meal. She likes to crawl around and scootch on her behind. It kills the pants that she wears. I much rather have plenty of outfits on hand and change her as necessary rather than be constantly doing laundry.

I have thought about minimalism and realized that it is a movement of being able to let go of material things because you firmly know that you will always be able to get them if need be. This can only be achieved if you have secutiry knowing that you have the finances, and that the items are easily obtainable. Growing up in Russia, where new purchases of clothing, furniture, etc, were few and far in between, and the opportunity to buy came up unexpectedly and did not even necessarly fit your needs left me with a residual worry. Our parents were minimalists, but not by choice. They were forced into the minimalist lifestyle by the system. As soon as they found themselves on American soil, their need to buy as they see fit went into overdrive. And I have it, too. Couple that with my entry into the States on a student visa and with only a suitcase worth of possessions (and no clear finances to buy more), and it becomes clear that I have hard time letting go of objects that come into my domain. Yet I am weighed with all the junk that comes with running a household full of kids of different ages. I want to declutter, I want to have those simple, clean lines, I want my house to be a Montessori classroom where every object has a purpose and a place, and gets used and put away. So I am seesawing between the need to have extra and having just bare minimum. Both of these bring me peace of mind.

I am hoping that in this new house I will have space to create my personal minimalistic space while leaving large swatches of household in kid-friendy zone of excess.

Have you encountered minimalist resouces that are family-friendly? I would love links to books, blogs and articles that address how to lead a meaningful life with less while having more people in your life.

P.S. The Minimalists mention decluttering people in your life who do not add value. Kids add very little value when they are little. In the language of "All Joy and No Fun," they are economically useless and emotionally priceless. I wonder whether minimalists shun marriages and childrearing for this exact reason.

It could always be worse?

Yesterday my 3 yo woke up wet. He is potty-training, and he did not get the full hang of it yet. So I washed him, stripped his bed, washed his sheets, and sent him off to school. In the afternoon, when I picked him up, he had a bag of laundry: he had a major accident, his teacher ended up throwing away his underwear, and I had another load of laundry to do. I did it.

Yesterday was a bath night, so I washed the baby while my helpful 6 yo washed her brother.

This morning, he woke up wet again, only today it was when the baby was strapped in her high chair for breakfast. I had to decide: wash him and let her scream? Or get him dressed as he is, and feed the baby? I chose to get him dressed: that would be his third bath in 24 hours. But then the baby refused to eat. And then she had diarrhea. And another bout. And she threw up after her nap, all over her crib, all over her hair. So I had to wash her caked-in hair, and run another load of laundry. And then I had to decide: take 10 yo to his violin lesson? For various reasons the lesson did not happen in the last two weeks, and I did not want him to miss yet another make-up session. And do I go to park day afterward, so boys get to see their friends? Or do I declare baby to be sick, and not take them? But then I still have to pick up 3 yo and 6 yo from school in the afternoon, so I will have to take thebaby out again. And they are having a bake sale at school, so there is no carpool, and the kids will not be taken out to the cars.

So I watch the baby, and she seems fine. I quickly throw some lunch together for the boys, tell them that if their sister appears to be sick, we are leaving early, and go.

She is fine during the lesson, she is slightly cranky during park day. I buy her juice boxes while 10 yo is at his lesson, hoping to get fluids into her. She drinks the juice box, but spends more time chewing the box and the straw.

We drive to pick up the younger ones. She falls asleep. We are listening to this course on the History of the Bible, and it is talking about Babylonian and Roman captivity. Historically, it is corroborated that Jews fought bravely and held out till the point of starvation. And today is Yom Hazikaron.

10 yo sweetly offers to stay in the car with his asleep sister as long as I get him a treat from the bake sale, but the baby wakes up as soon as we park. I bring everyone inside and get them all treats. 3 yo is sporting a different pair of shorts than the ones I put on him in the morning. "An accident?" I ask his teacher. "A small one," she replies. The baby throws the piece of cookie that I offer her on the ground. I get comments from teachers that they did not know that I had older kids. Nod and smile, finish up the cookies, throw the plates in the garbage, buckle up and drive home.

As we are driving, 10 yo announces that he is sure that his sister's diaper needs to be changed. I wonder whether 3 yo's laundry smells, or whether it is the baby again. But I am falling asleep, so I need a drive-through coffee. The kids grumble how I am not rushing home to change the baby's diaper. I am feeling guilty as is. Where did she get this stomach upset? Is it the bathwater that she started drinking? Or the floor that she is licking? Or my slippers that she keeps on chewing? Or something else?

I get home and tell the kids to unload as many things from the car as they can. The baby's diaper has leaked, so I rush with her to the bathroom, trying to contain the mess. I change her, wash her, scream for someone to bring me a tub to put in her soiled clothes. I nurse her and feel guilty for taking her out today.

Later, I have to return to the car to get all the water bottles that were left behind. The unmistakable stench warmed up by the sun hits me: she must have leaked all over her car seat. I have to uninstall it to remove the cover. And there are the inaccessible cheerios that i did not vacuum up before Pesach because i could not get to them. Or are these post-Pesach Cheerios? She has been eating for the past week.

Yes, it could be worse. Somebody could be in a hospital. Somebody could be much sicker. But here is the deal: when it gets much worse, people get mobilized. People make meal trains. People offer to watch kids. Family steps up. Who will step up so I can strip the car seat? Take a child to a violin lesson? Watch the baby so I can take 3 yo to the bathroom yet another time? My boys have been great, but they are kids.

So do not say "it could always be worse". It does not help.

on being present

During the past legal holiday, we visited a nursing home. My friend posted that she would like to visit, as a חסד (kindness), but her kids are out of town, can someone with cute babies come with her? My husband was on call anyway, and I wanted to give my kids this experience, so I agreed to go.

This is so not my thing: going and making small talk with strangers while making sure that my kids are not too wild or loud. My insides clench at the thought. I don't know what to say, I don't know how to say it, and I'm afraid to offend.

Still, I went. I talked it up to the kids, trying my best to make it sound good and exciting: you can sing for the residents, you can do taekwondo presentation, it will be fun. The nursing home itself was brand-new, more like a fancy hotel. We went into the memory care unit, a fancy way to describe a place for those who no longer can orient themselves. The coordinator pulled out games: bowling, balloons and badminton rackets, balls. The kids busied themselves with the equipment. They tossed the balls to each other and to the residents, whacked at those balloons and were noisily happy. 11 yo played a game of "keep it up" with one of the ladies, solicitously tossing the balloon within her reach. He continued for good five minutes, patiently retrieving the balloon when it wandered off..

5 yo asked for a drink of water. We had to go around a corner, to the dining area to get her one. Over there, an old man was sitting in front of his breakfast tray. He looked at us, and something in his eyes looked like he wanted to connect. I had plenty of reasons not to do so: the rest of my kids were not within my line of sight, the residents who wanted interaction were in another room, the drinking that my daughter wanted was done. Yet I said something or other to this man, and he started talking. The words were tumbling out, with urgency. I sat down at his table, looking straight at him, nodding. He had a message, and he was trying to tell it to me. Israel, kibbutz, scientist daughter, millions of books, wise men, military: it was all there in the story, Yet I could not catch all the words that he said, and the details (who, when, where) were all missing. The story was circular, clearly without an end. My daughter left; I stayed, rationalizing that there are enough adults watching my kids. I consciously willed myself to stay and do nothing productive at this time. I stayed for a bit, and when my kids entered the space again, I excused myself.

As we were loading in the car, 11 yo angrily said that these residents do not need us: they have all these fancy activities. I explained how these people specifically need us. Our visit brought a certain positive experience to them, even if they won't be able to remember who came and what happened. They will remember the joy of interaction.

---------------------------

For the past three days, 5 yo has been sick. She has fever and feels overall miserable. She lounges on the couch and calls for me to sit with her. She wants me to cuddle. She does not want me to read books to her, she does not want me to get her drinks, or do anything else, she just wants me to sit next to her. It is excruciatingly painful for me. I want to do something to make her feel better. I don't want just to sit, I want to move, to fix, to tidy up, to do something with her or for her. I feel trapped, bored and lonely. I want to check my phone and arrange things. She complains about my phone. I try to just sit, but I can't.

In our lives, we are constantly told to be efficient, be quick, get things done, accomplish something, have a tangible measure of achievement. Sitting next to my sick daughter does not produce anything. Sitting to an old rambling man with dementia does not achieve anything. Yet both of these idle activities generate a sense of well-being in the recipient.

I am quite good at doing fun things with my kids. I am not quite good at simply being with them.

When errands turn into pleasant outings

You have one child, and you worry and you fret. You fret about getting out of the house, nursing in public, crying baby, having enough diapers, not getting enough sleep, baby not sleeping.

Then you have two kids, and now you fret about coordinating naps, or one child running off, or being split into two directions. You fret about going out in public and not being able to control them, or having enough snacks, or using the restroom.

Then, somewhere, around three kids, magic happens. You still fret and feel overwhelmed, but you fret much less. You probably have a handle on nursing in public, you know which establishments have the cleanest bathrooms and are kid-friendly, and you have emergency diaper stash in the car. You gave up on coordinating nap schedules and accepted sleep deprivation as a trade-off to spend time with these little people.

It is the second day of the winter break for 5 yo and 2 yo, and, I have to confess, I'm loving it. I love no afternoon carpool. I love having them all home. I love having all the kids hang out together, separate into playmates as they see fit. I love that 2 year old is entertaining the baby. I love that 9 yo and 5 yo are playing their games. I love that we are all going to places together.

Today could have been insane. The boys had their taekwondo in the morning, I was testing right after their class, and then we were taking the car for an overdue oil change. I could not attend the class, since I had all the younger kids with me, but it turned out to be fine. Both 5 yo and 2 yo packed their backpacks with toys and books of their selection. 5 yo stayed in the dojang and watched the boys. 2 yo stayed right outside the door, watching the practice, getting drinks from the water fountain and being quiet. The baby was the hardest: she did not nap in the car on the way over, and I needed her to be happy for my test, as I was relying on 11 year old to watch her. She was fussy, but I was able to nurse her to sleep and leave her in the car seat.

I fretted about not stretching before being tested. I knew the material, but my body was not warmed up. However, the test went well (and I have to thank the teacher, who is a parent himself, for keeping it short and sweet). 11 yo watched the baby and played Hangman with 5 yo. 9 yo watched 2 yo. He was impressed with my board breaking, on the first try.

Then we all changed into regular clothes and drove over to drop off the car for the oil change. Since it was a fast day, even though none of us were fasting, I did not want to take kids to Starbucks for hot cocoa, and I did not want to get them treats. However, we did have an hour to kill. When I unloaded the kids, they lined up around one of the car bays: I forgot how exciting it is to see the car go up and see the underbelly. Once they realized that our car is not getting hoisted up any time soon, they asked me what we are doing for an hour. I suggested going to a nearby square, but they spotted the library first. "Ooh, can we go?" One of the boys was sad that he did not have his library card with him. This is not the branch that we usually go to, so it was even more exciting. I said that we can stay inside as long as the baby doesn't fuss, and then we discussed why the library is expected to be a quiet place. When  we got inside, the boys disappeared into the stacks. 5 yo found some puzzles, 2 yo found a book and asked me to read. The baby squirmed, so I sent her crawling. We stayed inside, with me reading to the younger ones for about 20 minutes, when the baby's level of noise started getting louder and louder. It was time to leave.

When we came out, I told the kids that we can break into the only snack I brought: a half-eaten bottle of peanuts topped off with almonds, craisins and dried apricots. We walked over to the square, where there were benches and space to run around. 11 yo protectively held 2 yo's hand when we crossed the streets. 9 yo pushed the stroller. The kids looked around at the shops and the restaurants and commented on their names and food options. In the square, 11 yo sat on the bench, while the younger ones ran around, playing tag, and climbing on the sculpture. I took the baby out and held her in my lap. It was warm, it was nice, the kids were taking turns grabbing snack from the bottle and strictly enforcing fairness. 

I thought to myself: how lucky I am to reach a point where an oil change is a welcome break from our routine. It was such a good outing. I did not fret about the snacks, I already changed 2 yo at taekwondo, so I did not fret about the diaper. and we would get home, when we would get home, and they will either nap, or not. The older kids will either eat lunch, or not. And none of it matters.

What matters is that we are all here, right now, together. What matters is that I am not overwhelmed by my five kids. What matters is that I am enjoying them, in a pure way where parents get nachat not because of what kids do, but just from having them.

What it takes...

My kids are in camp this week, and I got an e-mail with a waiver for my daughter's field trip.

Here is what it takes to print out a waiver:

1. Get onto the desktop the night before the trip. Discover that it is again bugged up with extensions. Curse the day you allowed kids on Tanky/Minecraft. Start task manager to remove the extensions so you can get into e-mail.

2. Find the correct e-mail. Find the attached form which opens in some funny format that you can'r print directly.

3. Download the form.

4.Turn the printer on, so it can start warming up and getting to the print screen.

5. Discover that the printer USB cable is not connected. (The wireless printing ceased working a long time ago. Why? It's a mystery) Plug it in.

6. Select print and see that the computer claims that the printer is offline.

7.Watch as the printer is completely turned off, despite making reassuring noises earlier. All button pressing leads to nothing. Somehow the printer is no longer plugged into the power strip, which is laying tantalizingly out of reach behind the file cabinet.

8. Move the file cabinet, plug in the printer, turn it on.

9. The preview for the file will not load.

10. The printer claims that it is out of paper, despite a stack of paper in the tray. As you pull out the papers to stack them up better, Cuisenaire rods will fall out from the paper slot.

11. Reinsert the paper, and find yet another rod inside. Pick up the printer and shake it out.

12. Save the file as an image.

13. Watch the printer spew out five pages of ads for the lemonade stand that the kids ran last week. Mentally remind yourself to check document queue next time.

14. Husband comes in, wondering what's the matter. Bite his head off over not working computer, printer and darn freaking kids. Watch husband back up, while encouraging you to blog and TAKE YOUR TIME.

patience

Today is Mother's Day.

Today my husband is on two calls: one during the day and another overnight.

No, we did not celebrate with breakfast in bed. Yes, he got the baby changed and dressed so I could finish my breakfast at the kitchen table.

No, I did not get a bouquet of flowers. Yes, I got a bunch of weeds hand-picked by my daughter.

No, I did not get picture-perfect brunch. Yes, I got cupcakes made from scratch by 9 yo. I also complained on Friday how I'm falling on my face and chocolate would be a nice pick-me-up. My hubby pulled out a box of Godiva truffles. He anticipated what I would have liked, but he decided not to wait till Sunday to hand them over.

On Shabbos, he was also on call, and there was no childcare in our shul. My husband took three older kids to shul with him. 2 yo was in pieces about being left behind. I kept telling him how we will go to shul later, once the baby wakes up. We walked, while I pushed the stroller with the carseat. 2 yo stopped to examine every rock, every flower, every leaf, every bird. The walk that normally takes twenty minutes took us an hour. I was starting to get impatient, but I bit my tongue. This is his exploration opportunity. How often do we take walks at the pace of a 2 year old? How often do we literally smell every single rose bush? How often do we pause to acknowledge the ants? I was patient with him, especially since he walked and did not complain that his stroller is occupied by the baby.

(I was not so patient once we rounded the corner to the shul only to be greeted by my exiting family. We missed everything, and now we had to turn around and head back home. I left 2 yo in care of my husband and rushed back, trying to get home before the baby would wake up).

I was patient today when 9 yo was searching for an activity to do with me, special for Mother's day. He wanted to do a hike; just the two of us. I demurred, since I'm tied to the baby and my husband can be called up anytime. He settled on cupcake making. I sighed internally: I know how these baking things go; they are all nice and dandy until there is a spill and then the baby wakes up, and you are either rushing, or putting everything on hold. But I decided to be calm and patient about it. 9 yo really did everything himself (with some assistance from his sister). He got out the ingredients and the mixer, halved the recipe, measured and mixed. He ran out of patience when it was time to fill up small muffin cups. I was rewarded with cupcakes.

What motherhood taught me is patience. The baby will fall asleep eventually, the children will sleep through the night eventually, they will walk and talk eventually, they will say "please" and "thank you" eventually, and they will learn to read and write eventually. It just takes time. I used to worry and freak out a whole lot more about a whole lot of things. Having all these tiny human beings around allowed me to focus on what is important.

To all moms out there, no matter how young or how old: I wish you the gift of patience.

closing time

On Friday I took both boys for their annual check-up. I had to beg the pediatrician to fit us in between their actual birthdays and before this baby, as they do not schedule three appointments at the same time. 11 yo needed shots, so the insurance would not cover a visit before his actual birthday. I ended up taking them on Friday afternoon.

Between my dear friend and my MIL, I did not have to bring all four kids with me, so I assumed the appointment will be a piece of cake. The pediatrician is located not far from the taekwondo studio, so maybe we would even make it to a Friday afternoon class, in the spirit of trying to get in as many classes before the baby as possible. I told boys to pack up their uniforms and gear and load up.

When we were being taken in by a nurse, 11 yo asked right off the bat whether there are any shots in store. He was told that there are going to be two, and he took that info in stride. Then 9 yo timidly inquired whether he is getting any shots. He was reassured that there will be none, and he visibly exhaled. Then, as the nurse was finishing inputting their measurements, she said how 9 yo will need a finger stick to measure his cholesterol, but it is not a big deal.

It turned out to be a big deal. For a child with anxiety, being told something new like this was a big deal. He immediately kicked into full panic mode: crying, screaming, begging not to be pricked, asking why he deserves this, etc. It took three nurses to hold him down to get that prick. By this point, 11 yo was starting to lose his cool, so be stepped out. I was trying to talk to 9 yo, and I even asked the nurses to back off, to give him on minute to decide which hand will get pricked, but he was too far gone. I remained calm for as long as I could, but when he started trying to kick the nurses, I firmly said that he cannot do that. Meanwhile, the nurses invoked: "Don't upset your pregnant momma" mantra which I really wished they didn't. At the end, he was left sniffling and screaming, huddling on a chair, waiting for a doctor.

11 yo hopped onto an exam table, and mumbled something about losing his resolve to stay calm for his shots. He tried lightening the mood in the room by clowning around a bit. The rest of the appointment was unremarkable, and 9 yo cooperated with the doctor just fine. Then those shots came. By the time the nurse told 11 yo to relax and stuck him, he went into hysterical giggling: "It didn't hurt! It didn't hurt!" He was laughing, but there were tears in his eyes. Clearly, he had had enough emotions and they were spilling out.

When we checked out, there were only ten minutes left till taekwondo, so I asked boys whether they wanted to rush it. Both of them shook their heads "no", so we hit the ice cream store instead. Ever since the kids were vey little, I promised ice cream for those doctor appointments which involved shots. It was a nice way to end a possible nerve-wrecking outing, and it left a taste of something sweet. I did not promise such a treat to boys apriori, but, after what we've all been through, it seemed fitting.

It was raining, and it has been raining for the whole week. The ice cream place is outdoors, but they have a small canopy. Everyone ordered a scoop, and we stood there, silently eating our cones and looking out into the rain.

It was the zen moment of the day. 9 yo finally relaxed. 11 yo was rendered speechless, just savoring his cone and standing there. I was thinking of what my life would be like if I only had to take care of a 9 yo and 11 yo, instead of catering to much smaller creatures. I was enjoying this moment of knowing that everyone near me is relaxed, content and thankful for the treat (both boys thanked me, easing into gratitude).

The speaker above us pumped in "Closing Time" by Semisonic. How fitting: I have heard this song numerous times, but never paid very close attention to the words, assuming it is all about being kicked out of a bar. Recently, I have seen a little tidbit floating around, saying that the song is really about impending parenthood, and the ambivalent feelings that come with it. Now I was really listening.

I am in my last weeks pregnancy, yet I feel strangely unsettled. I can't put a finger on it: what is that project, that nesting activity that I need to complete in order to feel ready and prepared for this baby? It is not a matter of finding a trusting practitioner, or getting labor support. It is not a matter of a doula. It is not a matter of getting baby things set up. I have all of that in place, or close enough. It is a hang-up in my brain, keeping me from being ready.

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

As we were looking into the rain, my two older boys and I, I had this strong feeling how this might be the last Shabbos that I am having with just four kids. This baby is a new life, a new beginning, yet, it is also an end of an era. It is the end of "four kid" stage. It might sound funny to those who have one or two kids: does it really make any difference whether there are four kids or five? Isn't four already in the slightly crazy, big family category? Besides, the youngest is only two, so this "four kid" stage only lasted for a short while. Yet, in my head, four was within some grander logical scheme, and five is beyond that. Five is a whole next step. Five is where I cannot keep them all at home. Five is where we do not fit into any sedan, no matter how we contort ourselves. Five does not fit around a standard table. Five is this new area, which does not fold into itself neatly. It is a prime number, it is a star.

"Every new beginning come from some other beginning's end."

My last surviving grandmother is on her last breath. My mother is with her, and it is also an end of an era. It's the end of my grandparents, it is the end of my kids being blessed with having seen their great grandmother. We visited her in the summer, but she has long joined the dementia world of endless summer, or endless dark, so it was not a coherent visit.It was a long good-bye, drawn out over many moons, many years. Now, as a great grandchild is about to take a first breath, a generation is taking its last. The interplay of grief/relief/joy, the end juxtaposed with a beginning.

We finished our ice creams and came home to the usual hustle and bustle of a four kid household in preparation for Shabbos. "You don't have to go, but you can't stay here."