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.
Showing posts with label seder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label seder. Show all posts
Friday, April 13, 2018
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
pre-pesach jitters
Pesach is coming.
I don't want to read about fifty gazillion amazing things I can do with matzah.
I don't want to read about twenty desserts that taste like chametz.
I don't want another handy Pesach checklist.
I don't want to read about your panic over dirt in the bottom of your fridge which your OCD will not let you pass over.
I don't want to read about your emergency of a cleaning lady or a babysitter quitting. I definitely do not want to read how stressed you are over having your kids home for a whopping three days.
As we get closer, I do not want to see cute ideas for seder set-up. I don't want to see a charoset bar. Charoset was supposed to symbolize clay, the back-breaking labor of the Jews. There is a good reason why we had to leave Egypt and materialistic slavery behind. I am not planning on slaving over charoset.
I do not want to see your seder set-up unless:
1.I am invited to the said seder.
2. Your kids set the table up, with all the imperfections and cuteness, and you JUST LEFT IT as they set it.
Every year I tell myself not to stress over Pesach, and every year I find myself stressing. I have been in tears just about every night last week. Last night, to top it all off, 2 yo managed to march downstairs, into Pesach kitchen, with a cup full of chametz cereal. We do not allow food downstairs, keeping it chametz-free year-round. We usually keep the gate closed, but I guess it was left open with all the cooking and running back and forth, He used the opportunity. I lost it. I yelled at all the kids to get into the pajamas NOW, and get into bed. I did not tuck anyone in (except for putting 2 yo into his crib). Then I sat on the couch and cried.
Pesach is supposed to be about freedom, and we are supposed to free ourselves from expectations. We are supposed to let go, be ready to shift perspective. Every year I beat myself up for not reading up more about the seder, for not feeling ready to tell the story of Yetziat Mitzraim, for not engaging the kids enough, for stressing too much about food and cleaning, and not enough about what is really important.
Every year I want to make something memorable for the kids, and every year it ends up being a last minute project, not completed because I am out of time and steam. This year, I sat at the computer and typed up a bunch of questions pertaining to the seder. Most of them are open-ended, not halachic, in hope of engaging even my younger kids. I printed them, cut the out, and folded each piece of paper. I' m hoping to place them in the middle of the seder table to spark some discussion. I'm also planning on serving a lot of veggies for karpas, to keep them munching. Finally, I made candied nuts, to be given out to kids for good questions and good answers. That is straight from the Gemara. The wine was supposed to engage the adults, the treats were supposed to engage the children.
Every year I hope it will be different.
Every year I hope to get more learning done with the kids, so that they come to the seder prepared.
Every year it ends up being the same: short of my expectations, stressful, sometimes meaningless.
My boys love Pesach because of their birthdays. They love the season. They love plotting how to steal the afikoman and where to hide it. (We had a memorable hiding spot many years ago behind the garbage can in the bathroom). I doubt they love the stress that I am feeling. I don't want them to remember the stress, I want them to remember the excitement and the joy. I don't want them to remember the food. I don't want them to dread the food, either, but it should not be the focus.
I am still learning how to balance it all: be happy in cooking and cleaning, be learned enough to know what to clean, be relaxed enough so that I am available to the children, and get it all done on time.
If we all had to leave our current materialistic Egypt, would we be able to? Or would we be too attached to the way we always do things to let go?
I don't want to read about fifty gazillion amazing things I can do with matzah.
I don't want to read about twenty desserts that taste like chametz.
I don't want another handy Pesach checklist.
I don't want to read about your panic over dirt in the bottom of your fridge which your OCD will not let you pass over.
I don't want to read about your emergency of a cleaning lady or a babysitter quitting. I definitely do not want to read how stressed you are over having your kids home for a whopping three days.
As we get closer, I do not want to see cute ideas for seder set-up. I don't want to see a charoset bar. Charoset was supposed to symbolize clay, the back-breaking labor of the Jews. There is a good reason why we had to leave Egypt and materialistic slavery behind. I am not planning on slaving over charoset.
I do not want to see your seder set-up unless:
1.I am invited to the said seder.
2. Your kids set the table up, with all the imperfections and cuteness, and you JUST LEFT IT as they set it.
Every year I tell myself not to stress over Pesach, and every year I find myself stressing. I have been in tears just about every night last week. Last night, to top it all off, 2 yo managed to march downstairs, into Pesach kitchen, with a cup full of chametz cereal. We do not allow food downstairs, keeping it chametz-free year-round. We usually keep the gate closed, but I guess it was left open with all the cooking and running back and forth, He used the opportunity. I lost it. I yelled at all the kids to get into the pajamas NOW, and get into bed. I did not tuck anyone in (except for putting 2 yo into his crib). Then I sat on the couch and cried.
Pesach is supposed to be about freedom, and we are supposed to free ourselves from expectations. We are supposed to let go, be ready to shift perspective. Every year I beat myself up for not reading up more about the seder, for not feeling ready to tell the story of Yetziat Mitzraim, for not engaging the kids enough, for stressing too much about food and cleaning, and not enough about what is really important.
Every year I want to make something memorable for the kids, and every year it ends up being a last minute project, not completed because I am out of time and steam. This year, I sat at the computer and typed up a bunch of questions pertaining to the seder. Most of them are open-ended, not halachic, in hope of engaging even my younger kids. I printed them, cut the out, and folded each piece of paper. I' m hoping to place them in the middle of the seder table to spark some discussion. I'm also planning on serving a lot of veggies for karpas, to keep them munching. Finally, I made candied nuts, to be given out to kids for good questions and good answers. That is straight from the Gemara. The wine was supposed to engage the adults, the treats were supposed to engage the children.
Every year I hope it will be different.
Every year I hope to get more learning done with the kids, so that they come to the seder prepared.
Every year it ends up being the same: short of my expectations, stressful, sometimes meaningless.
My boys love Pesach because of their birthdays. They love the season. They love plotting how to steal the afikoman and where to hide it. (We had a memorable hiding spot many years ago behind the garbage can in the bathroom). I doubt they love the stress that I am feeling. I don't want them to remember the stress, I want them to remember the excitement and the joy. I don't want them to remember the food. I don't want them to dread the food, either, but it should not be the focus.
I am still learning how to balance it all: be happy in cooking and cleaning, be learned enough to know what to clean, be relaxed enough so that I am available to the children, and get it all done on time.
If we all had to leave our current materialistic Egypt, would we be able to? Or would we be too attached to the way we always do things to let go?
Thursday, March 29, 2012
This is a Pesach plea
A little girl is crying...
A little girl is crying at the seder.
She is hungry. She is not crying because there is no food; she is crying because her Mommy made fancy food to impress the guests and now she has nothing to eat. All she wants is some chicken and potatoes, but instead there are piles and piles of dishes with unpronounceable names.
She has no place to sleep. She is not crying because she has no bed; she is crying because her parents insisted on having a seder out and now she is tired, but her comfortable bed is far away.
Her clothes are no good. She is not crying because her clothes are tattered and old; she is crying because they are super-starched and uncomfortable. The white lacy collar is already crimson-red from grape juice and her mommy gave her an ugly look and shook her head.
She is tired. She is crying because this seder is dragging on too long, and she long ago lost interest, lost her place in the hagaddah, but the host wants to boast next morning that they had the longest nirtzah on the block.
She feels lost. She was trying to ask her Mommy today about the haggadah, but her mommy was too busy solving her friend's potato kugel crisis over the phone, so the girl was waved away.
Maybe she is not at the seder at all, she is crying because she is home with a babysitter while her parents are having adults-only seder, with fancy wine and even fancier conversation. She is not sure what her teacher meant when she said that seder is about kids asking questions. Who is she supposed to ask questions of?
A little girl is crying....
A little girl at risk.
A few years down the road, her parents will be crying because she won't be at the seder at all.
Please make your sedarim so that your kids would WANT to be there.
A little girl is crying at the seder.
She is hungry. She is not crying because there is no food; she is crying because her Mommy made fancy food to impress the guests and now she has nothing to eat. All she wants is some chicken and potatoes, but instead there are piles and piles of dishes with unpronounceable names.
She has no place to sleep. She is not crying because she has no bed; she is crying because her parents insisted on having a seder out and now she is tired, but her comfortable bed is far away.
Her clothes are no good. She is not crying because her clothes are tattered and old; she is crying because they are super-starched and uncomfortable. The white lacy collar is already crimson-red from grape juice and her mommy gave her an ugly look and shook her head.
She is tired. She is crying because this seder is dragging on too long, and she long ago lost interest, lost her place in the hagaddah, but the host wants to boast next morning that they had the longest nirtzah on the block.
She feels lost. She was trying to ask her Mommy today about the haggadah, but her mommy was too busy solving her friend's potato kugel crisis over the phone, so the girl was waved away.
Maybe she is not at the seder at all, she is crying because she is home with a babysitter while her parents are having adults-only seder, with fancy wine and even fancier conversation. She is not sure what her teacher meant when she said that seder is about kids asking questions. Who is she supposed to ask questions of?
A little girl is crying....
A little girl at risk.
A few years down the road, her parents will be crying because she won't be at the seder at all.
Please make your sedarim so that your kids would WANT to be there.
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