feeling of failure

I have this awful feeling that I'm failing at things before I even start them. 

It is scary to admit this because this mindset will surely keep me behind. I know all about fixed mindset vs growth-oriented mindset. I try to encourage this growth in my children. It is also scary because this mindset of failure was reinforced my whole childhood and I subconsciously transferred it onto my oldest. Don't try this, it's no use long-term. Don't do this, it's not your strength. You're considering this?! Why would anyone do it? For some reason I have lower expectations of other children, not really lower, but different, so I give myself that second of breathing space and I am less likely to see whatever they are doing as aggravatingly unproductive. In that second, I manage to reframe their occupation as useful, unschooling, life-skills. I put a positive spin on it, and voila! In the new light, they can grow.

I keep screaming at myself "You are enough! You have done enough! This is good enough!" But deep down, every completed task feels like "Ok and now what? You could be doing so much more. You should be doing so much more. Why are you not doing so much more?"

Every time I think I made progress in this area, the same feeling of not really getting anywhere hits, and I find myself right back where I started.

And that terrifies me, especially as it will be reflected in the mindset of my son.

Only by being gentle with him, will I learn to be gentle with me. Or maybe I have it backwards, and only when I feel myself to be worthy of gentleness will I be able to bestow it abundantly on all my children. I wonder about hereditary low self-esteem, and how often it is demonstrated by pushing the offspring to accomplish what the parents were not able to do while berating the children for not reaching higher, going further, caring deeper.

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parental suffering

Growing up, a common Russian refrain was: wait till you have kids and they will behave towards you like you behave towards me and then you will experience what it is like to be in my shoes. The idea was that parenting required suffering by the parents through the hands of their offspring, but hope was on the horizon, in the guise of those mythical future children who will repay and maybe even make future parental suffering worse.

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I thought about this a whole lot. In some ways, there is no way to shield future parents from the basic forms of children's behavior, including tantrums, crying, screaming, disappointment. But that is not the essence of this parental "curse". It is the idea that suffering will be a measure for measure: just as you made me worry about your rudeness, recklessness, disappointment, so may your kids trouble you. Now, does that necessarily have to come true? I do not wish upon my children to experience some of the extreme emotions they have put me through. I hope that they grow up to be balanced enough adults that they will be able to separate their own reaction from the actions of their children. I do not want to take revenge on my children because no matter what amount of heartache they put me through, who gains from this multi-generational suffering? It is not that the behavior of these grandchildren will change, but the parental response. This change has to start with me. I have already been parenting quite differently at year 14 than I was at year 1 or 3. Some of the shenanigans are the same, but my choice how to react to them is different.

May my dear children not experience dread and shame in their parenting. May they grow up to be resourceful, resilient adults who know how to regulate their emotions and teach this to their own offspring. And may I get to see this.

changes

Slowly but surely, I am entering a new stage of my life. 5 year old transitioned to showers on his own, so I only have one child to wash. 3 yo decided that two days before a major trip is a good time to start potty training in earnest, so soon I will not need to buy diapers by the Costco box.

We are up to consuming 2+ gallons of milk every week. I no longer freeze large shredded cheese bags because we use them up quickly enough. I seem unable to keep enough cereal and bananas and Morningstar chik patties in the house. I have not set a table for a while.

There is no spit-up on my shoulders. I have been rocking dresses for a straight year, enjoying the freedom of not nursing. I loved nursing my children. It went well: everyone made it to at least a year. It was nice and sweet and close and bonding, but I cannot deny that it is over and I do not look back at those five cumulative years of wardrobe manipulation with sadness.

My three oldest could bike anywhere. 5 year old is working hard at keeping up with his training wheels. I have four out of five swimmers. Pool time this summer might even be enjoyable.

There never seem to be enough clean socks. Most socks are wadded up into little black balls, shedding dirt. When I unravel them before their trip to the washing machine, huge heel holes gape at me. The socks are the casualty of the trampoline, of the deck, of the hammock, of active play, of engagement where a cartwheel practice takes precedence over order and appearance.

Life is crazy and good and unpredictable and whirlwind with five kids. It is like being inside a covered water slide: you can fight the current, but it will pull you along through dark and light patches, not caring one whit whether you are ready, whether you are afraid. You might as well surrender, throw your head back, and enjoy the ride.

https://www.greatwolf.com/mason/waterpark-attractions/swim-splash-slide/alberta-falls

My oldest did not stay up for the second Seder, at all.

My daughter, 8yo, stayed up for both sedarim, but we were paid back in an abundantly cranky child. My youngest finished off Yom Tov by throwing up in the car on the way to get that first chametz fix post-Pesach. So good that we are so flexible, such good sports, just came back home, changed the baby, wiped more vomit, stopped at Kroger for packaged bagels instead of piping hot Krispy Kreme...

On Monday, 2 yo stayed home because I do not like spreading stomach yuck to other preschool kids. Thank G-d she napped, but it took me a good half an hour of lying down next to a whirling dervish till she settled down.

On Tuesday, 8 yo broke a pinkie finger playing soccer at recess, so good thing I had pesach matzagna stashed away for dinner that night because we paid an unexpected visit to urgent care. Kids ignored the matzagna, especially 5 yo who yelled his head off that there is nothing yummy to eat and went to sleep without dinner by choice.

Today is my oldest's birthday. He is 14 and I do not feel as optimistic about this whole teen maturation thing. What I do get is a shlep to get Chinese takeout for his birthday dinner while the other boy is at his science nature physics class. Then I get to pick him up, rush him home, quickly dump the groceries and go pick up the rest of the children.

On Monday, when he is in extended drop-off at D&D, I get to go and take my daughter with her broken finger to an orthopedic surgeon to rule out that she needs surgery or cast or anything. Somehow, in the next little while, it does not look like there is a break coming.

My oldest finally rigged a hammock on the pergola, but my youngest uses it as a personal swing when she is home. She is quite possessive of it. I keep envisioning sitting in it, having a cuppa, enjoying the birdies chirping. My fantasy keeps getting rudely interrupted by the reality of many mommy, mommy, mommy, wah!

My youngest will be three at the end of the month. She is not even home for hours at a time. But whatever mojo I thought I would be getting back, whatever hopes and dreams I was supposed to accomplish, whatever schemes and plans were supposed to arise in my mind with the possibility of coming to fruition are lying dormant.

I am tired, bone-weary tired.

I kept wondering why mothers of many children do not write tell-all books. Now I know they do not have much to say except for hold them, love them, throw some food at them, yell some, and keep everyone alive. And somehow it will all pass.

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.

in search of realistic parenting advice

I finally got around to reading "No Drama Discipline" based on a recommendation of a friend. I am reading the book and nodding my head: yes, connection, yes, a behavior is a cry for help, yes, regain composure. Slowly but surely a seed of doubt crawls in: this is all nice and well, but the parent has to always control herself, not to react, act loving, be comforting, suppress the impulse to yell, to release tension, Moreover, all the examples conveniently have only one child that the parent has to connect to at any given time, and somehow that connection happens fast enough not to interfere with the rest of life.


Overall, I have nor found any super new, earth-shattering material (I am about a hundred pages in). I have been applying a lot of the advice in this book in my parenting already: talk to the child, spend a lot of time in his or her world, connect, calm them down, redirect, be present, look at the big picture instead of immediate behavior change. But what the authors of this book (and other similar books) do not mention is how exhausting all of this is, how mentally draining. Now throw in more than one child and you got a situation ripe for a disaster.

My husband is on call the entire weekend. Somehow that very important piece of information slipped my mind, so I invited a friend over for Shabbos. Then I tried inviting other families who have kids in the similar age range to her kids, so all of a sudden, the Shabbos table had to be set for 20. Naturally, that is the very Shabbos that my husband got called up to deliver a baby before lunch even started. So I am madly prepping food, my kids are in shul unsupervised, my baby is running around in pajamas, and I should go over to shul to get those kids and guests. My friend helped and helped. My guests all pitched in. But naturally, this is the Shabbos that my 2 yo will not go down for a nap, I have people gathering downstairs that do not know each other, my daughter is trying to find girl-centric space in a house heavy on the boy side... My sobbing 2 yo just needs her mommy to hold her and rub her back to fall asleep.

But I end up trying to host this lunch, and with everyone helping and being easy-going, it ends up working out.The 2 yo does not end up napping. I am stressed already. I mentally make a note of making a better job scheduling large company when my husband can get called up. But now I host, serve, talk, take a drink of wine.

The guests leave, sweetly taking 7 yo and 4 yo with them. The older boys leave for shul with their friends. It grows quiet. And 2 yo decides it is time for connection. I talk to her, I read to her, I make myself a cup of tea, but I spend more time finding animals in her book than reading my book or drinking. I feed her some sort of dinner.

Everyone comes back for havdalah. My husband rushes out to round in the hospitals. And I am left trying to get everyone to collect laundry and into pajamas and into bed. I need to recharge and I know it, but instead I get a sulky teen and cranky daughter who does not want to go to bed and 4 yo who needs to go and get an ice cube to suck before falling asleep. And can they have computer time? And don't they see the state of the house?!

I wake up in a sour mood, but I try to cheer myself up with a quiet cup of coffee before everyone resurfaces for the day. 4 yo is peeking out from his room and HE wants to cuddle on the couch. so I do (connection, right?) but I miss my chance at a quiet cup because more and more kids wake up and they all want something. And I want boys to go to minyan that is at 8 so I am rushing them to be ready. And I'm trying to make pancakes because I'm hungry and who does not like pancakes? But my kids do not touch them, as my husband comes downstairs, at five to 8, phone pressed to his ear, scheduling a procedure at 9. So I shove the boys out the door to superfast shul while 2 yo makes maple syrup handprints.

And then they are back and everyone ignores my third polite request to please start sorting and folding the clean laundry. I become more direct with 13 yo: either you fold the laundry and I get 2 yo dressed, or vice versa. He picks his sister (aw, sweet!) and I go to the basement to make the guest bed witrh clean linens.

When I come back up, I am greeted by wails from upstairs. 11 yo comes down and pointedly asks me don't I hear what is going on and why am I ignoring her? I go upstairs where I find 2 yo manically trying to remove her diaper while 13 yo is tugging in vain to keep it on. They are both screaming in frustration. I take the baby who sits on me, butt-naked, sobbing and direct the rest of the kids back downstairs to sort and fold laundry. They go. I am connecting with her, but not with them. I see that she has a diaper rash and offer her a quick bath. She is delighted. She takes her time. I holler downstairs for someone to please bring me a towel and a bath mat because they are in that laundry. No response. I do not want to leave the girly alone in the tub, so I holler again.I am informed that those items are still wet in the dryer. I quickly run to get a spare.

By the time the leisurely bath with a calm 2 yo is coming to an end, I am hearing wails of 4 yo from downstairs. He comes up crying that he has way too much to fold and sort and he cannot do it. The truth is that I have been usually doing his laundry for him, so I am sure his siblings just made a large pile and that is overwhelming. Hearing her brother cry, 2 yo starts whining again. I rush to get her dressed before she loses it and come downstairs.

7 yo is exasperated because she has been trying to train her younger brother in the art of clothes folding, but he was having none of that. I pick up crying 4 yo and let him melt into me. Connection, right? Now 2 yo runs over and tries pushing him off, making space for herself. Neither of them is happy. I end up folding clothes for 4 yo that he puts away through tears. 13 yo is sulking, again. 11 yo pipes up how what I am doing is unfair, again. I see a large pile of leftover unsorted socks, again. And I have a few more loads to run.

So when 7 yo decides to open the blinds a few minutes later, she yanks on the cord a little bit harder than usual and the whole molding falls down, with the blind still attached. And it is Sunday right before New Year's day. And there is a large nail protruding. and a nice gash in the wall, And I lose it and yell all the frustration and all the connection that I have been giving away without getting anything for myself, without getting a break, without time to recharge, to even read about what is supposed to happen after all the connection. And I yell a little bit harder than the situation calls for. And I break all the connections that I have been building. 7 yo runs away from me, screaming. Two younger ones disappear.A few minutes later I get a hand-delivered note saying that she is sorry and I can do with her whatever I want. Poor child, one minute your mother is a saint and the next she is a raving lunatic. I sit next to her, I pick her up and hold her and tell her that I am sorry for yelling at her. I just did not want a broken wall.

And I do not get to finish because her friends come and pick her up and she leaves through tears.

I am looking for a parenting book where a parent is not a pushover, an only adult for most of the situations, and there are multiple children to deal with at all times. Because I have all the tools, but I do not have the circumstances that allow me to apply them successfully and healthfully.

Disclaimer: as I was typing this late at night, 13 repeatedly interrupted me to read yet another panel of the comics that he founde funny (his bid for connection) and I repeatedly asked him to stop so I could focus.

working on not yelling

After facing the reality of how devastating yelling is to some of my kids, I have consciously cut down on yelling. (I have written about yelling before, but then I slipped, things got crazy again. I am human and imperfect and that was the emotional release shortcut.) It has been very very hard to control myself even when anger seemed justified, even when punishment seemed warranted, even when yelling was a primal scream of despair. One of the consequences of not losing it and not yelling has been how that child has reduced his tone of voice. Because the overall volume has been much lower, he modulated his voice to speak more quietly. His overall tone is so quiet that I often have a hard time hearing what he's saying, so I end up raising my voice to ask him again to speak up...

It seems that I have been the primary source of noise with my children because now I experience other people's elevation of tone or yelling as a physical slap. Probably didn't help that I was belted as a kid, so the body remembers drawing into a panic state because that kind of escalation by another adult would be followed with hitting. Oh no, no childhood abuse, just "I was spanked as a child and I have turned out alright, respectful and all." But now that the gut reaction of recoiling and protecting myself is activated, I am experiencing precisely what my children must have been experiencing all the years and times that I have raised my voice at them in frustration and anger.

And it hurts.

Because I spend so much of my day and emotional energy on controlling myself, I am drained by the evening time, when the rest of the children get concentrated mommy while trying to kick, back, let go, get comfortable and wind down. I have so little emotional reserve left that I end up losing it, either externally or internally. Sometime between 4 and 9 pm, despair sets in, the sort of despair that one experiences while pacing with a baby who just would not sleep. I am drowning while trying to rescue others.

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

screen at mealtime

"Mom, you're on your phone again. If you can be on your screen, then we will all bring ours to the table."

Guilty as charged. I looked up and saw them all. They don't even all own screens, but the message stung. Yet I said, "Look at you guys. Two of you are again sitting with your knees higher than the level of the table, one of you is continuously screaming how dinner is yucky. Is the baby falling asleep in that puddle of soup she made on her high chair? And one of you has his elbows in my personal space. Until you produce better company, is it any wonder that I want to get lost in my screen?"

Yes, I've actually said that. Not my proudest parenting moment, and it might backfire spectacularly when they will start bringing their own screens to mask parental droning. But for the moment, they were quiet.

Dinners have been a mess lately. By lately, I mean for many years.If I do not start up a meaningful conversation and constantly direct it, most of the dinner ends up being filled up with talk about Pokemon, some latest cartoon, bizarre sounds, and taunts. Throw in a 4-year-old who preemptively starts screeching that dinner is yucky, and a baby who does artistic food splatters, and there is nothing to look forward to. I don't think I've had a civilized dinner, somewhere where you have to use proper manners in a very long time. When we were in Israel, my husband and I wandered into this street square where they served fine cuisine. It was a true French restaurant, where one could order gourmet food while the music played on the stage in the background. But my husband wasn't hungry, so he really didn't want to sit down and eat. I ordered dessert and a glass of wine, pretending that I am having a fancier meal than I am. But I was not dressed up since we were just planning to go walking on our last night of stay. I was wearing a hoodie. My husband was busy setting up the live stream of the musical performance on his phone while I was slowly sipping my wine with my creme brulee. It was a chance for a formal meal, according to the rules of the etiquette but it did not happen.

A friend shared this gem with me today. Somehow, she always seems to know what will resonate with me, and for that, I am grateful. My husband is not home tonight. I will be giving my mirror image another pep talk right after the shower but before I collapse. Until I will be able to be treated to a proper meal time with proper manners, what's a little technology to get through the night?

The plan for next year

I know it's the end of May. I know that most people have decided long ago what they will be doing with their kids the following school year. But that is not how we roll. We roll with agony, with false starts, with negotiations, with doubts. As of Friday, I finally know what we are doing.

Call it hashgacha pratit, call it prayer, call it coincidence, but a spot opened up for my 2 yo at the same school that my oldest is attending. We did not even apply, let alone get on the waiting list. We just spoke to the financial office to see what it would cost us to enroll all four children in one school. We got our answer, but then there was no spot for her because we started the conversation so late. So we did not even apply. I spoke to the director of their current preschool about next year and was told that since 4 yo will be in pre-K, it would have to be five days a week program, less he misses something important in his preparation for kindergarten, Insert giant eye roll here from an unschooly mom. Then we got into the financial side and for some reason, even though I had all the papers ready to sign, the same financial organization was not sharing our file with the preschool. It dragged on for almost two weeks till I got an unexpected phone call that they are expanding 2 yo class at the other school, the same financial package as before, are we committing? One school, one calendar, one schedule for pick up and drop off, one location? Are you kidding: we are committing. And this commitment gave me just the right push to decide that 11 yo, my second son, will be homeschooled next year.

He had an OK year at school. He adjusted to the schedule, the workload, the homework. But he did not adjust to bullying that was taking place and that both he and I tried to address with the administration. He was utterly lost in gemara because that's what happens when you take a child who is still struggling to read Hebrew, throw him with condescending boys who had a few years of gemara (8th graders), switch a rebbe in the middle of the year and give him tests where he aces one and fails the next. "I hate gemara." Brilliant, just what I wanted the school to do to you and your approach to learning.

I have taken him to yet another psychologist and we collected yet another diagnosis and another set of suggested accommodations. Funny how they all sounded like what I did back in the day when I homeschooled him: no time pressured work, minimize written output, don't make him write long answers where a short one would suffice, offer typing or voice dictation instead of writing, keep environment distraction-free and quiet, give him extra time on tasks and tests... I wanted to meet with the principal and discuss the accommodations, but he was more interested in getting us to sign the tuition contract. Then he was more interested in discussing his standardized scores. My child who has anxiety had to take three MAP tests this year just so they would confirm what I already knew from IOWAs: he reads and comprehends on a high school level and is a level ahead in math. The principal was arguing that this shows how the school is helping him flourish. I was thinking of the same child cowering in the kitchen corner that morning, fully dressed in his uniform, crying how he does not like school... He has been begging to go back to homeschooling the whole year but I was not sure whether I have it in me.

Thank you, G-d, for everything turning out just as it should. Apparently, coming full circle is putting my typical kids into school and keeping my different child at home. Now please just give me strength, passion, and patience to pull this off and to keep on meeting his needs.

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.

I am tired

My G-d, I'm tired.

So, so essentially, weary in my bones .

My soul is tired. My whole being is tired.

We've moved into the neighborhood that we did not consider initially because it would require a long commute to the dayschool and my husband did not want me to have to drive the kids, so he chose to commute to his hospital instead. We moved into the other neighborhood to "fit in", be like everybody else, send our child to the most acceptable school, get him friends. We all know how well that turned out: we did not fit in. The friends that my son made (and that we made) either moved to other places or made aliyah. I chose to homeschool because once the social aspect was not there, the academics and intellectual stimulation were not there as a given. And once we were pegged as "different", we did not have much to lose by homeschooling anyway.

But that was a long time ago, before many job switches by my husband, before two more babies, before realizing that my second child is not outgrowing his fits, before drowning in noise and mess, before understanding that homeschooling is a lonely business. I thought my immediate family will rally, once they see what wonderful schedule we have, what the boys achieve, which opportunities open up to us. Flatly, I did not get that. There are no bumper stickers with "student of the month" in homeschool, nor are there tangible report cards, shiny trophies and diplomas. You don't hang "my children fight less than expected" on a wall. The grandparents are less than enthusiastic about my efforts. I thought what they thoguht would not matter to me, but it does.

And then there were those two babies. That means that the past four years have been consumed by nursing and naps and whining and meeting the needs of small people. My personal dreams became the size of pinpricks, and once they were so small, it was easy to lose them altogether. Not only my dreams were gone, but so were the dreams of my older kids. There is nobody to take them to a movie, a baseball game, an outdoor rope course except for the parents. But the parents are juggling small people and jobs and naps and height restrictions and financial costs of so many mouths to feed.

There is shabbos, relentlessly coming every week and every week I need to come up with a plan to make it. There is yom tov and dread that it brings: I never measure up to some standard of happiness and contentment that is blaring from all the lovely children's books. "Levivot kol ima tachin" Every mother makes latkes. That line from a Chanukah song used to bring tears to my eyes, as I resolved to make latkes, knowing that it is undertaking too much, and then I would be stressed and baby would be underfoot and dirty food processor would be in the sink as I would be yelling like crazy for kids to stay away from the hot oil...

There is my husband's call schedule. There are those phone calls that require him to drop everything and go save a life.

I tried. I tried doing it all: be a good mother, be involved, be a homemaker, be a teacher, eat healthy, provide learning opportunities, respect children's needs, be nice to grandparents. I tried nursing. I tried making my own baby food. I tried baking bread. I tried online course in graphics for my mental stimulation. I tried online school for 12 yo so he has peers and a rebbe. I tried engaging him in chumash. I tried buying lots of seforim and art supplies and strewing them around. I tried seeking out classes for kids: at the library, the zoo, through homeschool networks, through word of mouth.

I tried a lot.

I tried suppressing my introvert tendencies and staying calm amidst a very loud and hectic household. I tried being present for all of my kids, finding a way to connect with each one when I much rather go and seek quiet.

Somewhere along this path, my whole essence was broken. This is not the first time that it happened. The first time was when I was being treated for Hep C and the medications changed not only my personality and brain, but my whole approach to life. But that was external, and it was a matter of survival, and there were no other options. This time, I did not have to take the hard path. This time, it was not a matter of life and death. I chose to do things the hard way. I chose to educate the children at home.

All that I know is that I am very tired.

Kids get away

If you have not been hiding under a rock, you have heard about the unfortunate incident at the Cincinnati zoo where a 4-year-old boy made his way into the gorilla enclosure, fell 15 feet and was tossed and displayed by a large silverback gorilla that had to be shot and killed. The story has layers: the child supposedly taunted his mom before making his break, other people were trying to stop him, the silverback seemed protective at first, the female gorillas left the exhibit but the male wouldn't, the crowd went frantic, the child was being flung around by the male.

And the chorus of haters immediately surfaced:

• mom must have been negligent
• she should have been watching the child/holding on to him the entire time
• she should have jumped in and saved him from the gorillas
• the gorilla should have been lured away with treats
• the gorilla should have been tranquilized
• ten minutes of response time is much too long
• parents should be sued by the zoo
• parents should sue the zoo
• gorillas don't belong in zoos
• the enclosure should have been higher

I am feeling sick to my stomach. Sometimes really horrible things happen, and there is nobody to blame. Sometimes it might be someone's fault, but what have been gained by pointing fingers? 

And my heart goes out to that mom in the spotlight.

I have written before about parents who claim that their children would never do that. I am impressed by the amount of parents who are confident that they are fully aware of all their children's whereabouts at all times. So in the spirit of honesty and vulnerability, I will share my stories of children getting away.

My second child, 10 yo, was always a runner. Since he learned how to walk, he didn't walk, he ran. Once I took him and his brother to the zoo. He was still 3, so I brought a stroller for him, where he sat most of the time. At that zoo, the primate area was a giant loop, with one entrance/exit and exhibits off to the sides. The boys kept asking me to pick them up so they could see the monkeys. I must have been lifting them up and down for a while, alternating. At some point, they went ahead and I was catching up, with a stroller. I didn't even have texting on the phone, so no, I was not doing anything else, just following after the boys. It was getting close to lunchtime and I had to teach right after, so I was anxious to leave the area, feed them, and head back. I turned the corner and my oldest, 5 at the time, was there, but no sight of 3-year-old. I assumed he walked ahead, after all, this is a loop, so he must be at the next exhibit. I am following them, I am hoisting them up, he must have gone ahead to the orangutans where he can see without being picked up. I drag my oldest along, but 3 year old is not to be found. I come to the exit and freak out: now he could have gone into the rest of the zoo, or back into the exhibit, or I somehow missed him. I knew he was a runner, so I was staying right there, close behind, with him in the stroller. Where is he? I drag 5 year old back with me, looking closely. He protests, he cannot see any animals like this. I circle back the entire exhibit and fully panic now. He must have exited and gone into the zoo. And he's three. And I have no idea where to look for him. And I have to teach soon. What am I going to tell the school, that I am late because I lost a child at the zoo?!

Waves of gut-wrenching panic sweep over me. I find a zookeeper and tell him that I am missing a child. I remember what he was wearing (back in the day I used to get my boys dressed in bright orange or red shirts, because I knew one is a runner). He pages the rest of the zookeepers and tells them to scan for a small boy. Meanwhile, he wants to head back to the primates where we started, to look again. 

I have no pride left, just a tense ball of nerves. I am dragging my other child who is complaining and complaining. As we enter the loop yet again. the keeper gets the page that my son was found. It was wintertime during school hours, the zoo was not busy. He was spotted sitting at the table not far from the cafe area. I ran, stroller and dragged 5 year old in my wake. The boy is sitting there, unperturbed. "I was waiting to have lunch, mommy".

At least we did not make the evening news. At least he was not curious to see what the orangutan was having for lunch.

I asked him about that incident now and he did not remember it. But it still quickens my pulse just to think of it.

And another time, when we were in Costco and he and his younger sisters got away and hid in the canoes. I also looked and looked, this time for two kids. Again, swallow your pride, ask for assistance. But Costco does not do loudspeaker announcements, so I get to die again, as each associate is paged separately. My son did remember that incident. He said that the canoes looked cool and he just wanted to see what the inside of one was like, and then they crawled inside and hid not to be kidnapped...

And multiple times, in stores, when I turned around and he was gone...

It is different with my other kids.  If they get lost, it is because they got separated. They will stand there, they will not escape. My current3-year-oldd does not wander off. But I am not bold enough to declare that it will never happen because I am so vigilant.

So let's drop finger-pointing and posturing, and share your stories of kids who got away. It does not make you a bad parent, it makes you an honest one.

living with Eeyore

In the past I have seen this being shared:

People love it, because it validates feelings. It makes them feel good about someone out there, who knows how to love. Usually, people who love it are not the ones living with Eeyore.

Let me tell you what it's like living with a child with anxiety.

Today we ended up in a crisis mode. I had just the boys, we went to taekwondo, the schedule was written in advance (no unexpected surprises), and I wanted to get chumash done while the baby was napping. I asked 9 yo to go first. He sat on the couch, pulled out his chumash, my chumash, opened to the right spot, read the pesukim that we did yesterday, and did not remember a whole bunch of words. Since this was the second time around, and I mildly suggested that he write them down yesterday, I insisted that the write them down today and I will even tell him what they mean.

He got the paper, wrote down one word, I gave him the translation, he stumbled over the next word, I told him that he should know it, and he got teary-eyed. "I cannot do chumash. I will never be able to do chumash. I just want to know it. I should not be alive. I do not belong in this family. I do not want to live." Not the first time, not the last. I calmly said that I'm very glad that he's alive, I love having him in the family, and I'm sorry that chumash is giving him such hard time. It was almost lunchtime, so when he ranted that he's hungry, I said that we'll have lunch first. While I was warming up his noodles, 11 yo came in. 9 yo was still sad, still raving. They spoke and I overheard 11 yo telling his brother that since he's already alive, he might as well enjoy it. 

Then 11 yo came to me. He actually told me that he's upset. He was worried that his brother is suicidal and sad over not being able to do schoolwork. There were tears in his eyes. The boy was sick with worry. He told me that he can't eat his lunch, his stomach being in knots.  9 yo calmed down, and was eating. And the baby woke up and I was nursing her. I told my older son that we are cancelling all the schoolwork for today, and if we get to chumash, so be it, and if we don't, it will be OK. I told him that 9 yo calmed down, and I don't think he's planning on killing himself. I also told him the secret: often, in order to make others feel better, we take on some of their emotions, so we end up feeling sad ourselves. His talk with his brother helped his brother, but brought him down.

Afterwards, I thought about all of this. Anxiety is invisible. Anxiety is something that is easy to dismiss, especially by those who have never experienced it. Even with my child having a diagnosis, I get " oh, but we are all anxious" thing. I have set up 9 yo's life where we can skirt over the issues that cause anxiety. I modify and flex, not to protect him, but to allow him to deal with issues obliquely. Despite all of this, once in a while, anxiety grips this child. When it is here, it grabs hold of the entire family, sucking us all in.

Anxiety is cyclical, so it is hard for me to see what causes it and whether the moods improve on their own, or due to some intervention that we do. Some time periods are particularly bad, others are so amazing, that it is easy to forget that this child has anxiety.

But this is what living with Eeyore is like: you know he will bring you down, even though you love him. And then, when your own mood it down, when your energy has been sucked out, you worry: what if this requires medication? What if you need to pursue therapy? What if he's really that depressed and will attempt that suicide that he mentions?

I do not want to share a mental health awareness ribbon. I do not want to share a deep thought about acceptance of all mental disorders. I want a pediatric mental health hotline, where a worried mother can call in and get checklist of what constitutes a real threat, and what is just talk. I want a hotline where a mother can call in and get a relief person showing up to her house to diffuse the situation (I know, they used to be called grandmothers, or aunts, or friends, but this is 21st century America). I want a safe space where we can all go to breathe and get my child evaluated. I do not want to take him to adult psych ER. 

I do not want to live with Eeyore and be a martyr.

taking up taekwondo

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I always considered myself to be more of a yoga person, in need of relaxation, deep breathing, stress relief, but lately I have been realizing that I need to be strong. I wanted physical expenditure of energy, a good workout, a confidence builder. So I decided to take up taekwondo together with the boys.

I have been going for the past two weeks, taking the same mid-morning class that the boys are attending. When the boys started, the standard talk was: "From now on, it's "Yes, sir!" Is that clear?" When I signed up, I was told that Motrin and hot baths will be my best friend. The instructor was not kidding: my muscles are sore. What looks so easy for the boys is a challenge to me. All those moves, kicks and blocks that I saw them do take a lot of strength.

On Thursday, I was placed into no-touch sparring for the first time: three kicks from me, three from the opponent. My opponent, a higher belt, after watching me sort of lift my legs: "Do you know any other kicks?" It felt weird kicking towards someone that I feel neutral about, almost impolite. But I mustered some strength and went on with the exercise.

As we were coming of class, 11 yo told me; "Mom you looked like you were flying during sparring!" I scanned his face for traces of irony. Was he making fun of me? Was he referring to the time when the drill was shuffle-step across the dojang and I tripped over my own feet and fell?

"Clumsy"
"Uncoordinated"

My mother's voice follows me. I was born a preemie, back when they did not do much for preemies, did not expect much. She was told to expect difficulties coordinating movements. She made sure that I knew my limits.

A flashback to my grad school. I am working on fruit flies. I am injecting fruit fly eggs with DNA. It is a super-precise and delicate work. I am able to do it. I am clearly coordinated enough.

In my son's eyes, I am flying there on the mat, in the dojang, a fearless mommy sparring alongside. In a few years he might not be so kind towards me.

In "All Joy and No Fun" Jennifer Senior writes:

The most productive, generative adults see their children as their superegos. Their kids hover over them and guide all of their moral choices. If these adults falter of behave ignobly, they know their kids will see; the same is true if they do well. They are exquisitely aware of themselves as role models.They know they are being watched.

This isn't how everyone thinks. Roughly one hundred years ago, Freud observed that many people spend their time reenacting the dramas of their pasts, seeking the approval of ghosts. They think of their parents as their superegos, the imaginary judges they've constantly got to please. But this is not true of the adults who are most concerned about leaving a lasting legacy. In their eyes, "the evaluator shouldn't be the past generation," says (researcher) McAdams. "It should be the next." They are freed up to invent their own lives, knowing that won't be governed by the norms of a previous generation. They want their children to be their final judges.

I need new vocabulary for a mommy who is taking taekwondo.

"Strong"
"Powerful"
"Fearless"
"Persistent"
"Flying"

And, a nod to Brene Brown,

"Badass"

2 year old goes to camp

2 yo is going to a backyard camp. This camp is run by a woman who has a playgroup in her house during the year for 2 year olds. I don't know how many years of experience she has, but she is a seasoned teacher, highly recommended in our neighborhood.

The first day of camp I did not do a good drop off. I scheduled to drop off 2 yo last, after his siblings, but, by that point, the baby was screaming hysterically, wanting to nurse, and I was running late. So I marched my little boy into a noisy room full of kids, dragging his bag of diapers and his backpack with lunch. The Morah (teacher) asked me the usual questions: what do you call him? And does he know any kids in the room? I quickly glanced around, did not see any familiar faces, told her that I have a crying baby waiting, and ran. Not a very good introduction to the new place, I am afraid, especially since we have not been to the house before.

When it was time to pick him up, I came on time, hoping to smooth out whatever did not go right in the morning. The Morah told me that he napped, and he did great. Then she asked me: does he go to school anywhere? I said: no. (She knows I homeschool). She expressed surprise and started telling me how he listened, was very comfortable, and played with the other kids. I said that he is with his older siblings all day long, playing and interacting, so he is used to it.

I did not make much of this, except for thanking G-d for an easy transition. I also chalked up some of this to flattery.

Yesterday, again, the Morah asked me whether I am sure he is not in any program. "He is such a sweet kid, so happy, so easy, just lies down for his nap without crying, talks, plays." I chuckled: does she think that I am hiding some great socialization program from her? Then I assured her that he is home with me, but we do get together with other homeschoolers and he does go to babysitting in shul on Shabbos.

I thought about it. This woman has seen many 2 year olds, and my child is not the easiest toddler on the block. I guess, when she gets 2 year olds who have not been to "school", they have hard time separating from their mothers or interacting with children who are not part of their family, so she expected a similar situation with my son. Also, there is this image of homeschool kids being isolated in their home, unhappy and unsocialized. I wonder whether we broke another stereotype here.

How did we get here? How is this child able to go into this intense situation, which could be anxiety-provoking, yet he is fine and happy?

Part of it is the personality. He is an outgoing boy, who is not shy or reserved, but he is not an exuberant extrovert. Part of it is the birth order: when you are the fourth, you are used to having many loud people around you. You have to speak up your mind to get things. You are used to running with the pack. Part of it is homeschooling, and hanging for many hours with kids of all different ages. We go to different places and I am not always on his tail, closely supervising every single step. Other mothers have watched my kid, brought him to me, gave him snacks, so he is used to having different people take care of his needs.

And part of it is parenting. Being the fourth child, 2 yo gets a good mix of parents who are too tired to micromanage, yet who know that an extra hug, or pick up, or snuggle will not spoil a child. He is secure asking for comfort, so he can go into the world and explore.

To be honest, I have a huge moral conflict with sending out a 2 year old to camp (or to school) for such a long day and for so many weeks. There is a part of me which strongly feels that the reason I have a happy, secure child is due to him being at home, close to his mommy, and that is where he belongs. Now I am upsetting this delicate balance. Now I will have to adjust to the reality that I cannot provide him with what he enjoys, like water play or messy projects, without turning into a disaster manager, losing my cool, and yelling. Yes, I have to accept the reality that I am THAT parent, that mom who is sending out her 2 year old because it is just too hard for me.

On the plus side, it is only for a year. I keep telling myself that we are taking life on year at a time, and we can always stop, assess, and change our circumstances as necessary.

How do I do all this?

Five kids.

Homeschooling.

Running a household.

Getting out of the house.

How do I do this?

The truth is, I don't do it all. I don't do it all well. I do not have the magic bullet for making it all work out. I am not super-organized. I am not calm and all happy. I am not getting a lot of schoolwork done. My house is a mess. The meals are haphazard. The kids are marginally dressed. They are not all happy, either.

I hate the whole supermom cliche. I have these kids, so I have to take care of them. I have to feed them, so I have to plan meals, shop and cook. Sure, they help out, and sometimes go above and beyond. But sometimes they want to be left alone, engrossed in a book or a game, and not surface till the food is ready on the table.

They need to be washed, so the older ones wash the 2 year old and cajole him to put a diaper on. 11 yo watches our baby so I can wash 5 yo's hair. But I much rather wait for my husband to come home and wash 5 yo and 2 yo properly. Often he gets held up at work, and then we scramble.

The kids need to get out of the house, which is more of a challenge now that we are on a break from taekwondo. The park does not hold the same appeal. The other day they preferred to sit in the shade and read their library books rather than play. Actually, it is more complicated than that. The boys chose to read, 5 yo ran around with friends, and 2 yo kept climbing to the highest point of the play structure and refusing to go down a long tube slide, so I had to keep on sending one of the kids to help him down. Oh, and the baby wanted to nurse. One mom remarked: these outings never go as planned. I thought, I did not expect it to go smoothly, this is what I expected it to be.

We are doing daily chumash and Rosetta Stone. We finished Vaera with 11 yo. Somehow, it went by very fast. He is not so into it, which is a shame, since this is exciting stuff: makkos. I'm using Chumash with English translation of Rashi, and I scramble every day. I feel unprepared, and he senses it. However, I'm sticking with it, hoping that it makes an impression. He was building Paro's palace in Minecraft the other day, and then he unleashed makkos. I'm not so sure how it all worked out, but he had fun.

I am doing Chumash with 9 yo, too. For most of the year, I left it up to my husband, but then we picked it up again. We are in the middle of Chayei Sorah. He is able to do Rashi at this point. I have a strong suspicion that he is dyslexic, but it will be hard to prove, since his English reading and comprehension are excellent. He has easier time reading Rashi than regular Hebrew. He keeps reading the words backwards, reading wrong nekudot, switching nekudot and letters around, etc. I wonder what would have happened if I waited to introduce Hebrew letters till he showed interest instead of pushing them when he was 5. I was nervous, and he was the only child of homeschool age and aren't all kindergarten children supposed to at least recognize aleph-beit? Strangely, I am not concerned about these things for my daughter. She is 5, and she might or might not know all her Hebrew letters. She is definitely not reading in English, despite knowing all her letters and even writing quite a bit. But I am not pushing, and I am not worrying. 

I often joke that I will get homeschooling (and parenting) down to a science by the fourth and fifth kid. In a way, it's a blessing that there are so many of them, and I get to learn from my mistakes and get it right down the road. 

No, I do not do it all. I have no desire to do it all, either. Right now, we just need to survive.

the day the tooth fairy didn't come

We looked at the last dayschool, and, the more I looked, the more I just wanted homeschooling to work out, badly.

Now I get asked by other parents, who have seen us at the open houses: what do we think? They are usually impressed by something a teacher said, or the computers in the classroom, or the studious kids, or some other glossy thing a school can put on to "sell" itself. I still feel that homeschooling, following the kids' lead, teaching to each child's strengths, is much better than any school, no matter how professional.

But then we have one of those days... like the day that tooth fairy forgot to visit. In her defense, the whole loose tooth drama was taking place on Sunday, with each one of the kids taking turns giving advice and wiggling a stubborn tooth. When it was finally out, late on Monday night, right at teeth brushing time, and I was literally falling on my face after getting up at 6 am, it was not on my radar. It was not a first tooth, and they are too old to believe in tooth fairy anyway, right? Besides, our tooth fairy is cheap, only 25 cents per tooth, but she does leave little sweet notes.


This morning, as I stumbled out of bed (10 yo got 1 yo out of his crib), I was greeted by a sulking boy who was very clearly upset that a tooth fairy did not visit. And my insides fell. "I looked all over; I even checked on the floor, but there was no note! Did she forget?"

What's even worse, as the day progressed, from bad to worse, in case you are wondering, I again totally forgot. Only at tuck-in time, when he rearranged his pillow, and the Ziploc bag with the tooth, was I reminded again of this huge disappointment.

Now, the note is written, the quarter is taped up, and I'm just making sure that he is asleep before tiptoeing in and carrying out my parental responsibility. It is not the reality of tooth fairy that we are playing out here; it is the reality of love and care.

He still wants hugs, but now, instead of accosting someone, he sweetly asks. My 1 yo caught on, and is often trailing me, arms open: "Hug?" I scoop him up and hug him. Sometimes, that's all he needs; sometimes, he wants to be held.

5 yo wants to snuggle with me on the couch, just about every morning. 8 yo asked for a special cuddle time in my bed. They all need me, and my touch, and my love.

A homeschooling friend was talking about sibling rivalry, and she brought up a concept of scarcity vs. abundance. If there is enough parental love to go around, kids do not need to fight over it. If the parent is drained, and is rationing the affections, kids are more likely to squabble over them by climbing over each other.

I am drained, and I start every day feeling drained. It will not get better with this new baby. I am aware of how I'm withdrawing myself, trying to save some space which is just mine, and is not constantly violated. It is hard to be affectionate and giving in time of scarcity. It is hard to remember those gestures of love and care when there is no reservoir to draw from.

My mother almost prided herself on how she didn't "baby" us, but there was a clear indication for us doing things for her to show affection. I'm starting to get worried, as I am seeing 8 yo taking on too much of a burden: "I'm trying to make life easier for you, mommy. I'm trying to take care of myself, to make it easier for you." I know that as much as he has pure motivations, this is just a matter of having same anxiety come out. I keep reassuring him that he does not need to worry so much, that he is doing enough, that I will take care of myself, but I see that he does not believe me.

So despite me desire to make it all "work out", I probably need to send some of them to school next year. We all need to regroup.

tracking every step

I got a pedometer. I didn't get it to lose weight. There, I've said it: I am happy with my weight. I do not need to lose some extra pounds. I do not want to be five pounds slimmer. I am quite happy with where I am now.

I got a pedometer because I was curious how much physical activity I do get in during the course of a regular day. The vestiges of my lab researcher remain and they want to track such things through cold hard facts. So I wore the pedometer yesterday, and I was wearing it this morning.

4 yo: "Mommy, what's that watch?"
"It's not a watch, it's a pedometer."
"What is it for?"
"It helps me count how many steps I take during the day."
"Why do you need to know?"

Ooh, a hard one.

WHY do I need to know how many steps I take in a day? Does it matter how many steps I take during the day? Or does it matter more WHERE am I going while taking all these steps? Does it matter more WHAT I do while taking all these steps?

So here is goes: I do not work out. I would like to exercise, and I spend a certain amount of time and energy beating myself up for not exercising, for not being more healthy. I do not do those sit-ups to tone flabby tummy. But I spend a lot of my energy running after 1 yo. I work out while chasing him on the playground from one slide opening to another. I get down on the floor to play with him and to read. I do laundry, I cook and clean, I haul Costco loot and Home Depot pebbles for 10 yo's zen garden. I tie trampoline nets. I lift 4 yo.

Obviously, I take a lot of steps in my day. From the cold hard facts of the pedometer, I get to that 10,000 steps without making any additional effort to walk. But I would like to think that spending those steps in a family setting, with my kids, putting them into my household is going to pay off in a much larger way than jogging alone down the street or pounding the treadmill.

I'm going to ditch the pedometer. Thank you, dear daughter, for asking such an important question.

babies can wait

A friend invited us over to swim with her family. I have never taken all four kids swimming, so I was a bit nervous, especially since the boys like to go deep, and 4 yo does not know how to swim. I figured that I will bring a stroller for 1 yo and strap him in as need be.

When we got to the pool, the boys took off, 4 yo stayed close to the side and I tried entering the water holding 1 yo. He did not like it. He screamed and tried scrambling to the top of my head. He did not want to be in the water. I waited a bit and tried again. No such luck; this child was adamant about not being immersed, not even sitting next to me on a shallow step. He climbed out and sat outside the pool.

A flashback: many years ago, when my oldest was one, we were also invited to a pool, and he also refused to get into the water. I spent an hour trying to get him in, and he just would not do it. I was so frustrated, sitting next to him on the edge and unable to submerge in the pool, to swim. I waited and waited, coaxed and coaxed, but nothing came out of it. I was frustrated to the point of tears: here is a chance to be in the pool, and you are not taking it!

Many years have passed. 10 yo got over whatever fear or discomfort he had. He swims, dives and enjoys himself. My other kids did not pause before entering water, so I forgot that a pool could be something novel and potentially scary. 1 yo reminded me that each kid is different, and he is in no mood to get in there and get wet.

Myself, being older and wiser, I did not push him. I sat him down on the edge, next to the shallow entry steps. I sat nearby in the water. 4 yo was taking turns with her friend practicing kicking and swimming. My friend kindly took her out into water and brought her back, so I could just sit next to the baby and watch him.

After some time, he reached with his hands and splashed a bit. Then he took a long water gun and swung it back and forth in the water, all the while safely sitting on the side. Then he reached in with one foot. Finally, I saw him turn around and try to climb into the pool. At this point I tried holding him on my lap while sitting in the water, but he clambered back out. He was doing this on his terms, not mine, and he did not need my assistance.

After another little while, he turned around again and again climbed slowly onto a shallow step. He stood there for a minute, and then decided to sit down in the water. After that, somehow he got comfortable and now I really had to watch him, as he was interested in going deeper. I was able to take him into water with me.

All of this process took over an hour. I do not know what he was thinking, or why he had to take that long to get into the water. What I do know is that there was no need to rush him to "just do it already."

How often at the park I see parents pushing their kids to just do this swing (and the child is screaming in fear), or go down this slide, or just ride their bike. I have the urge to walk over and tell them that the kids will do all these fun things one day, when they are ready, but this day might not be today.

I wonder if the same holds true for 8 yo's writing: maybe one day he will be able to sit down and write, but that day will not be on my schedule.