just perfect

The baby is nursing round the clock and I never have a break.
The baby is too sleepy to nurse and I have to wake him up and make him mad just to latch on.
The baby cries and cries and it's driving me insane.
The baby poops in the middle of feedings and I have to change him and then he poops at the end and leaks out and I have to change him again.
There is no time to get anything done.
I have no "me" time.

Life with a newborn has its challenges. Yet when my 8 yo was asked what does he think about his new brother, he said: "He's perfect, just perfect!" Not that he keeps mom busy all the time, that he cries, that all the attention is focused on the baby and not me, not that I have to walk around quieter now and not drum when I want, but that he's perfect.

Last night, as I was up nursing yet again, I thought more about my son's reply. What if instead complaining about all the challenges that come with a small baby in the house, we treat him (and the challenges) as perfect?

The baby is nursing round the clock? He's building up milk supply, so that later nursings will be quicker and he will sleep for a longer stretch.

The baby is too sleepy to nurse? Nobody gave him nursing lessons and he has to learn on his own. He cannot have things explained to him, yet he's learning. I can be a patient teacher.

The baby cries and cries? He's voicing a need, and learning to communicate. I need to tune in.

The baby poops constantly? Thank G-d his intestines are working and he can digest, so he can grow.

There is no time to get anything done? With my first, very early on, I realized that everything done for a baby is chesed (kindness). All of those hours spent visiting the sick, bringing dinner to a neighbor, helping someone else? Lucky me! I can spend them on my very own child, taking care of his needs!

No "me" time. The other day I was taking the baby out for a walk. The big kids were at a sleepover with grandma. I hadn't done this since my oldest was the baby. I remember feeling then that a good mommy takes her kid out for a walk. I remember worrying whether he will continue sleeping once I get home so I can do something by myself. I remember worrying how long the nursings are taking, and whether there will be a break. This time, just walking on a beautiful morning, birds chirping, and being left alone with my own thoughts felt like "me" time. Sitting on a couch nursing and reading a magazine is definitely "me" time. It is all a matter of perspective.

I am so lucky that G-d blessed us with this perfect baby.

telling it like it is

I belong to a homeschooling online group. One of the mothers recently opened up to the group about how miserable she feels homeschooling her kids. There was an outpouring of support, ideas and suggestions. While there were a few voices mildly telling her that maybe this is not the best situation, overall, there was encouragement to continue.

I sensed a lot of emotion and anguish in the original comment. It seemed to go beyond "I am having a really bad day". It seemed more along the lines of "Why are my kids not doing what I expect them to do, and what I think all the other kids are doing?", which was equated with the mother doing something wrong. I got thinking about that one, and here are a few of my musings on the topic.

One caveat, though: I will be honest. You might not like this, because it is not feel-good topic. You might think less of me as a parent or teacher or a person, but it is important for it to be out there.

It starts with us, people, and more specifically, women, to be conditioned to outside positive reinforcement. I am only doing a good job if someone whom I deem superior to me acknowledge that I am doing a good job. I only consider it to be a good job if it is quantifiable and measurable, and worthy of recognition. If there is no positive feedback, then it does not count. If there is no financial gain, nothing of substance occured. Moreover, even if I tried and think I did a good job, if a person of authority says that it is not good, it MUST be not good. In homeschooling, a lot of learning takes place in a casual environment. A lot of it is incremental. My kid did not throw a tantrum about unloading a dishwasher! My kid proceeded with an assignment without whining! My kid asked a really good question to which I had no answer! And all these moments happened privately. Hopefully, I will remember to share them with my husband. Maybe I will remember to post them here. Possibly they will resurface as an anecdote later on. But to local day school teacher, inquiring how your kids are doing and whether you started on mishnayot/long division/persuasive writing, these little moments do not mean much. So you do not get that pat on the back. Same goes for family members, who were probably not homeschooled and are judging the kids by their own standards. This constant lack of positive reinforcement can wear people down. I find that sometimes it is nice to be doing my own thing and not interact too much with others. Then I am not stuck in "while we are doing X, they moved on to Y".

Secondly, there is bombardment of educational opportunities which are not taken. When the child is in school, someone else decides to use this curriculum instead of that, go on these field trips instead of those, and enrich the classroom in this specific way. When you are at home, your inbox is constantly buzzing with offers of yet another amazing book/curriculum/educational opportunity/online game/etc. Then you talk to others, and hear how this kid is doing this extracurricular, and that kid is doing that, and, all of a sudden, you worry that you did not pick enough activities for your kids. For most homeschoolers I know, money becomes an issue very quickly, so soon not only you are feeling bad for depriving your kid, you also feel bad for not having a fortune.

Another huge factor is the little lies we, homeschoolers, perpetuate. You read some descriptions and picture this: it is early morning, all the kids are dressed and had breakfast of organic nutritious food, cleaned up, davened, and are sitting down quietly working in their books while the mother is walking around, checking their work.  The toddlers are playing with blocks, the newborn is sleeping, there is laundry churning and a nutritious dinner is simmering in the crockpot. Not an object is out of place, and there are gentle sun rays illuminating the whole scene of serenity and pure joy of learning...

Why don't we tell it like it is? Why don't we write: today I had to wake two kids because we had to be somewhere at 9 am, and they refused to get breakfast. I was accused of being mean for making them get dressed, they sulked while we we out, said that the whole day is going down the drain and I yelled at them, and then the toddler cracked a whole jar of tomato sauce while one of kids tackled another. Meanwhile the wonderful activity that I prepared the night before did not hold anyone's interest. One kid called it stupid and another simply walked away. Next thing I know, it is 4:30, the toddler is eating leftover breakfast and I have no idea what to serve for dinner. And the voice in my head says: if they were in school, they would have learned so much more today and I would have had time to make dinner. Bad mommy! Bad!

Then your mother calls and tells you that you are being too sensitive and impatient. Then your husband comes home, after you somehow wrested everyone in bed and asks what you did all day and why the living room looks like a war zone and did you mail that letter?

Then you lose it and yell and cry. Maybe at the kid who is still up. Maybe at your mother. Maybe at your husband. And then you feel that you will get into a car and drive somewhere, anywhere, just to get away. This very much looks like a failure from all sides: the kids were not taught, the house was not maintained, the shalom bait was not preserved... and then some well-meaning individual will tell you that you need to make time for yourself, and that's why you are losing your sanity.

It's probably raining, too, and even if you wanted to take time for yourself, where are you going to go? Do your nails at 9:30 pm? Go to a bar? Find a 24-hour grocery store and walk up and down the aisles to buy something, anything, just to be distracted?

So, my homeschooling sistas, while being positive is wonderful, we are doing a disservice to each other by withholding a truth instead of telling it like it is. Next time you write about this great craft idea, write EXACTLY how it went with your kids. Write down if there was another adult entertaining the younger ones while you worked with the olders. Write about that housekeeper that whisks a baby away at the sign of fussiness and makes the house spotless. Write down about your husband coming home early so you do not have to worry about serving dinner, clean-up, bath time and bedtime. Write down about the squabbles that kids get into, whether with you, or with each other. Write down about generous family members underwriting house cleaners, camps, extracurriculars and supplies. Write down how you ignored one kid to finish your craft project.

Tell it like it is.

And tell about those small triumphs, like the hour when nobody yelled. Others will appreciate it.

change is hard

I am rounding up our academic year here, and this is a reflection of my current being.

I want to be a better parent, a better mother, a better role model. I have an idea of where I would like myself to be, which personality traits to shine and which to control. I know I need to yell less. I need to stress less. I need to plan less and go with the flow. I need to relax more and stop pressuring myself and the kids. I need to let go of my anal nature and embrace laid-back sides of me.

I know all of this, but change is hard.

Before I expect my kids to change their behaviors, and there are plenty of those, I need to remember how hard it is for me to change.

I need a game plan for myself.

I tell kids not to yell, but I slip into yelling. In order for my yelling to be effective, it needs to be used sparingly, only for emergencies and truly dire situations.

I know that one of my kids is very good at mirroring and magnifying emotions around him. I need to provide positive emotions to mirror.

I know unschooling works, yet, at the back of my mind, there is a nagging thought: what if they will never master this or that? What if they are behind? What if they will grow up lazy and stupid and you will only have yourself to blame? So I plan and spring my plans on them. They recoil and resist, I get wound up, and at the end, everyone loses.

The more I look around, the more I see that what is considered "education" is just a facade. Real learning happens all the time, only it is not easily classifiable. Real learning happens when you do not want it to happen, like when you lose it, and you are too tired to do whatever it is the kids asked you to do, or you minimize their request because, it is not important. Not important to whom? It might mean the world to them.

I clearly remember the day I learned the word "egotist". My father was supposed to take me to work with him, but, for whichever reason, it did not happen. I was quite upset, because it was important for me to go with him. My mother tried reasoning and explaining that I am behaving egotistically, thinking only about myself. Well, I was! Now, in addition to being upset, I was also behaving badly.

People do swearing jars. I think I need a whole collection: yelling jar, OCD jar, pressuring jar...

As for kids: we have been doing a bit of schoolwork here and there, but all real learning has been through unschooling. Like my 2 year old learning the letters off my T-shirts and then calling them out in books, or counting the eggs while baking muffins, in English and in Hebrew.Or 6 yo asking who is Elvis, and when I explain, exclaiming that Elvisosaurus is that dinosaur with a crest and 8 yo reminding me of Hound dog on my iPod. Or 8 yo talking about terrible clef and quark cheese being made up of quarks, of course. Or 8 year old asking me what's 12 times 4, because he wants to know how many more weeks till his birthday, and then figuring out that it's the same as 6 times 8, only he does not know that one, either, so then he added up two twelves, and then added the sum. Or 8 yo asking to do Rashis, because he's excited about them. We were ion the middle of Hagar and Ishmael story. I asked him what he thought about Hagar leaving Ishmael under a bush so she does not see him die. I asked if he would do the same, he said, yes. Then I gave him the following scenario: he breaks an arm and cries and I do not come over because I do not want to see his pain. His lip quivered and he said he does not want to talk about this any more. In fact, the next day he refused to answer anything about that pasuk, too painful. I keep forgetting how sensitive he is under all that tough big boy facade.

I need to pull back and cut my ambitions.

Change is hard.

the perfect boy

The perfect boy would wake up on his own, put his pajamas in the laundry and quickly get dressed in matching outfit showing all that he's a perfect boy.
The real boys sometimes have to be awaken and sometimes wake up the entire house much too early. They lounge in their pajamas, and, when they finally take them off, the pjs end up anywhere but in the designated areas. They need to be repeatedly nudged to get dressed, and their attire screams: I picked it out myself!

The perfect boy would get his bowl, spoon and cup and sit down at the table to a quiet nutritious breakfast, low in sugar and high in protein, vitamins, fiber and all those other brain-boosting things.
The real boys take multiple trips to get their breakfast items. They make poor food choices. They spill. They take too much. They sit with their legs on the chairs. They talk and talk and talk. They forget to make brachot. They do not want to bentch.

The perfect boy would immediately get his siddur, enthusiastically open to Mode Ani and daven with such kavana that anyone could take his picture and post it as the davener of the day. He would want to daven more and more.
The real boys do not want to daven. They much rather read/play/do nothing. They cannot find siddurim. They have to be pushed and prodded and encouraged with davening treats. They do not want to add to their davening. Their photos would belong in gymnastics catalog or marching band. They will fight over being a chazzan and then try to daven less.

The perfect boy woud know where all the school supplies are and would dive straight into his lessons. He would finish then promptly and neatly. Of course, there would be no mistakes. He would eagerly takcle unfamiliar material.
The real boys cannot find their pencils. Once they find them, thei drop them, roll them, lose them. They do not want to do things that are hard. They need to be reminded again and again and again to stay on task. They make mistakes and get frustrated. They vent their anger. They do not do their best. Sometimes they do not do good enough either. Heck, sometimes they do not do at all.

The perfect boy would be unfailingly polite, even-toned and mild-mannered.
The real boys are too busy with themselves to notice that manners are required.

The perfect boy would never make a mess.
The real boys do not notice the mess they make.

The perfect boy would never disappoint.
The real boys are constantly told how they disappoint. They do not measure up. They are too loud, too rude, too inattentive, too impulsive, too lazy.

The perfect boy would never dig in a sand box--he would not want to get sand all over his clothes. The perfect boy would read only at designated times, lest his parents have some other activity planned. The perfect boy sounds boring.

And the perfect boy sounds too much like a girl.

I have real boys. Instead of trying to make them perfect, I am trying to keep it real.

some general musings

I think the real reason people are afraid to homeschool is that all influences in child's life become family-centered. You cannot blame teachers, morahs, babysitters, friends, bullies, etc for the way the child turns out. YOU, as a parent, are solely responsible for that. It is true even if your child is not homeschooled, but then it is easier to blame problems and lack of success on others. When the child is with you, day in and day out, you just see yourself and all your character traits reflected back.

Our local dayschool printed a letter from the principal, reinforcing that while school provides academics, the middos ( positive character traits) come from home. Schools do not teach kids to behave, parents do. Now, the thought of that sometimes leaves me so overwhelmed, that I want to hide under the covers and not see the light of the day. I am really afraid of irreparably screwing up my kids. But, on the other hand, this is a real opportunity to work on yourself. Your kids will learn not only from your nice moments, but also from the moments when you are short-tempered; when everything is falling apart; when you lose it. I think there is a lot to be said for learning how to lose it consciously. Say to yourself: I am losing it; this situation is infuriating, but what do I want my child to take away from it?

This "working on yourself" brings me to another issue which I keep observing in myself, as well as in others. Where do your energies flow? When kids are tiny babies, all energies naturally flow to maintain them: to feed them, to change them, to get them to sleep. Once they are not so tiny, all of a sudden you find yourself with surplus of energy. (For me it happens around the time the youngest is two). What are you doing with it? Do you place it into making your house spotless and your kids prisoners of only one "messy" area? Do you place it into Shabbos meals to stun others, while your kids would happily eat chicken and potatoes? Do you feel that now you need to find a job, so that you have approval of others while the little people who look up to you are now forced to look up to someone else? Do you find a new fad to follow, which will take your energy and then you will be too busy and tired to read a book to your kids before they go to sleep? Or will you take that energy and use it towards your family's needs, whether it means playing a board game, taking your kids to ride bikes, reading umpteenth book for the umpteenth time, or answering your child's question in a thought-out manner.

I am not for people martyring themselves for the sake of the children, but I am against accidental parenting.