reflections on a trip to Israel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conflict of interest

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

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

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

11 yo sketching out of his own free will

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May I, if you please?

"I'll take a quick nap, honey. It will only be 20 minutes."

Guess which gender uttered this statement?

If you guessed female, you are right. What guy ever apologizes for taking a nap? Which guy even asks to take a nap? Guys just go and lie down, and then you find them, sleeping.

Our sweet baby girl made her appearance on Tuesday morning. She is healthy. As with my previous labors, I ended up laboring through the night, after being up and taking care of the kids all day. Luckily, I got a short nap in the afternoon, and a bit of sleep in the hospital bed while being monitored. But overall, I was running on a sleep deficit. This baby slept pretty much the entire first day, and I slept, too. I even joked with my husband how being in a hospital feels like a vacation: all I do is sleep, eat, read, relax. So quiet, and so different from the hectic life at home.

But then those newborn nights started. She was up and up and up. And I was nursing and rocking and walking and bouncing. Changing diapers. Patting the back. Nursing in bed, ignoring the spit-up stains taking over. More yelling, more responding, more taking care of a tiny human.

I have been taking it very easy. My wonderful friends took care of dinners for my family for the next two weeks. I have not been cooking, or cleaning. I firmly adhere to the rule of not driving anywhere for the first week postpartum, not because it is contraindicated, but because it increases the amount of running around and stress. I have been focusing on just nursing and taking care of the baby, spending the rest of the time with 2 yo and 5 yo.

Newborns are exhausting. Not sleeping during the night is also exhausting. So why am I apologizing for taking a much needed afternoon nap? Why am I begging to watch the baby so I can sleep? Why are we, as women, conditioned to justify our actions?

My husband had no problem at all with my nap. He did not issue the permission grudgingly, or indicated in any way that I need to explain myself. So why the apologetic tone?

not a success

I Saw this today on someone's Facebook wall and my first reaction was, Oh yeah!

And then it turned into : what a bunch of baloney.

I was waiting for today, really waiting. Today was supposed to be an appointment with a psychiatrist for 8 yo. This was through a group recommended by another mom whose son also struggles with anxiety. It took us literal months to get this appointment, and lots of phone calls from my husband.

I was anxious about it. Last therapist was not doing much headway, but he was strongly advocating medication (and public school for services). My pediatrician said that they will not prescribe anti-anxiety meds. So we needed a psychiatrist.

Meanwhile, as long as I do not expect anything from 8 yo, things are peachy. However, any expectation is an assault on his freedom, and I am out of patience. I have not been giving up on this child for a long time. I am tired of being told that I just need to spell out conditions and expectations. I am tired of being told that I just need to be firm in my consequences. I am tired of being told that we need a reward system in place. I do not think it is vaccines or sugar or gluten or food coloring.

So a lot was hinging on today. I sat last night and finally faced the intake paperwork, a small mound of it. I gathered whichever documentation necessary. And I lined up a babysitter whom I was willing to play through the nose, just to get to this appointment.

Midday, I got a phone call from my husband that the doctor had a family emergency and the appointment is cancelled. Oh, and since it is at a teaching facility, we might be seen first by a resident, then by a fellow, and then, maybe, by a psychiatrist. He pushed very much for us to be seen by a psychiatrist. Meanwhile, it will have to be rescheduled for mid-November.

This bit of news came on the heels of not one morning meltdown, a meltdown over same old multiplication and "I'm scared!" and all the usual pencil throwing, and time out outside and apologies and then more of the same.

I am tired of all this. I am giving up.

A friend who is being very honest about her bipolar disorder shared how hard it is to have mental issues and for others not to understand, How hard it is to be on meds, and dealing with the fact that meds are needed. I needed to see that bit, to realize that what I have on my hands is not just a brat, or a case of bad parenting, but an honest situation which requires more than I can give,

My 4 yo probably knows more Hebrew words than 8 yo. My 1 yo wants to name the few letters that he recognizes. Both of these kids want to learn and they get to learn, 8 yo is faced with a brick wall of anxiety which suffocates any desire to try, to be challenged, to be open to new possibilities. His anxiety is setting my bar so low for the rest of the family, for the whole day, that I cannot commit to anything getting done. Will we get out of the house? Or will we spend the whole morning managing a tantrum?

So I am not a successful mom. I am giving up on my child, I am giving up on my situation. I dream of a camp, a farm, where kids with anxiety can go and pet goats, have chores, do manual labor, and be left alone to do whatever calms them. I dream of an alternative where there is only 8 yo, and we can pursue only what he wants to do.

But I can dream all I want. I can share those pep talks how everything will be ok. I can even revel in the lies that we whisper to each other, to soothe. I can keep on focusing on the positive. But the stark reality is that I am giving up.

first day back to "school"

We took off from doing formal schoolwork over Yom Tov (although 10 yo still managed to review the whole masechet Succah and read a ton of textbooks during that time). I wanted the first day back to be gentle, all the more so since I had a morning dr appointment and I was not sure when we would get back.

making "moshiv haruach" signs

First thing that I wrote down for everyone is to make posters/reminders to add "moshiv haruach" (a special prayer for rain). I spoke a bit about it to 8 yo. The older boys copied the text from their siddurim and I was pleased to see that, for once, 8 yo was fine copying Hebrew and even spent some time decorating his wall hanging. 10 yo went all out, with block letters. I printed out a dot-to-dot umbrella for 4 yo, which contained letters of the alphabet, and a regular umbrella image for 1 yo. For a whole five minutes everyone sat at the table, coloring. I even managed to snap an idyllic picture of how it could be...

Then the boys did mineral testing for my geology class. They described their rocks, tested their hardness and magnetism, checked for reaction with vinegar and finally, smashed them with a hammer to see how they cleave. Finally, they got to try to identify their rocks using guides and Internet. I am not sure how correctly they identified their rocks, but they surely had fun!

testing rocks

checking cleavage/fracture

Tums in vinegar

 4 yo said that she wanted to do her own experiment, so I gave her Tums tablet and told her to drop it into leftover vinegar. She giggled that bubbles appeared and took time shifting it around the container. 1 yo was trying to get in on the action the entire time, snatching rocks and other supplies. It is hard to do any experiments with toddlers around, especially with toddlers who are very interested in grabbing, but not so much in looking. I almost wish he was old enough and patient enough to watch TV, so I could buy some time while he is awake to work with others.

I did some math review with 8 yo. We are in the middle of memorizing multiplication tables, and we are at sixes. We did them before the break, but every time I try to review them, he just totally melts down. I do not have a full plan for how far I am planning to review: only sixes, flashcards for sixes, flashcards for all the tables that he already knows, multiplication worksheets... I am open to getting wherever we get on any given day. Most days, unfortunately, we did not get to even looking on the chart which is prominently hanging on the wall. He just drops to the floor: "I don't know it, I cannot do it!" and that's the end of it. I tried persisting, I tried hanging back, I tried pushing, I tried talking, I tried punishing.

Larry Cohen in "The Opposite of Worry" talks about the edge and how to approach it. My child is over the edge at the mere suggestion, and he is not interested in getting back. He is in free fall, and he does not want to practice calming down techniques. He does not want to be hugged, he does not want to be held. He is not interested in learning how not to end up in free fall.

This is the point where I am finding myself despairing. I do not want medication for this child, but, often, we have no functionality. We are to meet with yet another mental health professional, in hope, yet again, that this whole process will go somewhere. I was told how all Jewish kids have anxiety. I know that I have it, and I see where my other kids have it. It is just not debilitating, same way as someone who likes to wash their hands thoroughly is different from a person suffering from OCD who cannot tolerate hands not washed to some utterly unrealistic standard.

So yesterday, I mentioned those sixes and 8 yo promptly dissolved into a puddle on the floor. I said that he should review them from the chart. 4 yo came with me and we went over that row, with him screaming behind us. Then I told him to go outside and not come back in till he's ready to review them. I offered him his shoes, but he preferred to sit on the door mat, sulking. I went on with my activities.

After 20 minutes, I heard him knocking. (The door is unlocked). I let him in, asking whether he is ready. He said that he does not want to do them. I said, I understand, but are you ready to try? He moseyed on to the chart and reviewed them. Then we reviewed them out loud, together. Then we reviewed them counting backwards. Then I pulled our just flashcards for sixes and we did those. Then, seeing that he really does know them, I said, let's go over the rest of the deck, and when I hit a card that you did not learn yet, you can yell: "I do not know it!" He giggled, but he chose to tell me politely the ones that he did not know.

He knows them all.

He knows all the multiplication tables that we have studied.

Some part of him is not ready to own up to the fact that he knows it all.

I was struck by this week's parsha, Breishit. Adam and Chava ate from the Tree of Knowledge because they wanted instantaneous, magical knowledge of the matters which one normally would acquire through a lot of effort. My son's line is that he just wants to know it already. He wants the tree, and he wants the fruit. Consequences are irrelevant.

This morning, my 4 year old daughter snuggled with me on the couch. She took one look at my belly, full of stretch marks and asked, wistfully: "How did you get all those diamonds?" I choked up, hugged her, and said that those marks came from carrying all those babies in my belly. It stretched and stretched and stretched, to encompass all those that I love.

I remember being surprised when the marks first appeared. I remember being told that I should try to look skinny and not baggy. I remember being surprised that I got more with the next child. I remember being told by my GI, at the end of my treatment, that I might want to do something about them, moving to Houston and swimming pools and all. I also remember making total peace with them. Keeping tzniut (dressing modestly) means that I do not need to expose myself to the world. I do not need to hyperventilate about how I look in bikini.

What I did not realize was that I had a belly crisscrossed with treasure. In my daughter's eyes, I am covered with diamonds.

I hope and pray that 4 yo maintains this outlook, that she will not buy into external beauty peddled by pop culture. I want to bottle up her current attitude and douse her in it when she hits her teen years. I want to shield her from shallow comments on how she looks good, and what she has to do to herself to look good. I want her to FEEL good, because that feeling shows. There is no diet for that, there is no exercise, and there is no guilt.

playing with fire

As we were making havdalah, 7 yo used a lighter to light up the candle. I was watching him and a question from his evaluation popped into my head: did he ever try to set anything on fire? The answer: no, never. I understand the need for this kind of question, as it is an issue of figuring out whether an individual had destructive tendencies, but another part of it struck a different chord: this kid gets to play with fire on a regular basis, in a controlled environment, so even if he has those destructive tendencies, he has a good opportunity to channel them in a positive manner.


A year ago we attended this safety house workshop, where the kids are taught all about what to do in case of a fire, including a smoke simulation and crawling out a window. There, the point hammered time and again was how evil the candles were and how dangerous it is to have one in your house. Moms exchanged knowing glances and talked about the flameless candles. I sat there, quietly stunned. I light candles every Friday night, for Shabbos. The kids watch me light those candles. 3 yo occasionally joins me in lighting her candle. Of course, I keep the candlesticks high up, out of kids' reach. Of course, I do not allow horsing around near open flames. But to say that all candles are so bad and so dangerous? Perhaps we are taking it a bit too far.

When I taught middle school science, one of the experiments required the students to light up a match. I do not even remember why, but it did. Well, I had four sixth-grade boys. Out of four, one (ONE!) was able to light a match successfully. The others demurred, or their hands were shaky, or they did not know what they were doing. Sissies! We are raising up a generation of sissies. No wonder the second these adolescents finally figure out how to light up, they set everything on fire.

7 yo ( and 9 yo) have been interested in fire and matches and candles for a long time. My husband allows them to light up and extinguish a havdalah candle under his supervision. They are not very proficient with matches, but they are good with a long handled lighter. We just finished celebrating Chanukah. On every night, the kids lit up their own menorahs. There is open fire, there is a skill of holding a burning candle so that you can light up the others, there is dripping hot wax, there is quite a bit of a mess. But there is also the beauty of flickering flames, and the pride of lighting up your own menorah. There is singing with the family while watching those candles.

Why would anyone want to set fire after that?

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.

on self-image

This morning, as we were sitting down to daven, 8 yo suddenly told me that he does not like his hair, he feels it does not go well with his face. I said that his curls are beautiful (he's the only one from the kids to have thick, dark curls) and that I wished that I had hair like that. He continued how he does not like his face, it is too thin... I said that he was the cutest kid I ever met and I was so happy that he's mine. He said: "You are just saying that to cheer me up! I don't like to look at my face in the mirror. At that point, I tried to reassure him a bit more, but it was not going anywhere, so we moved on to davening.

This whole exchange pained me. I sort of pride myself on having a healthy body image. I do not count my calories, I am not an exercise freak, and I do not complain about how I look. One of the things I loved about quitting teaching is that I did not have to put on make up every day. I did not have to carefully dress, to look older and authoritative. I could gravitate to clothes which were functional and comfortable. My line for the first year of baby's life: they really don't care what you are wearing, they will spit up all over it anyway!

Tying into this: I am seven months pregnant now, so, obviously, I have a belly. When my mother was looking at our pictures from the canyon, she remarked how the beige jacket sits so well on me, you almost cannot see my bump. Just last night, my mother-in-law offered to take my picture. I demurred (my hair was not covered). She immediately chimed in that she can do just the top, don't worry about the waist.

I remember as a teenager poring over my parents' pictures. There is not one picture of my mother pregnant with me. There is one picture of her being pregnant with my sister. My husband does not have any pictures of his mother being pregnant either. Is this a cultural thing? Or do women feel so bad about how they look that they want no trace of their state?

Well, I am proud of my belly. There is a new life growing inside it. What's so embarrassing about that? So I gained some weight; that's normal. I just look, well, pregnant.

After I had my oldest, two weeks' postpartum, I was already being told to wear a girdle and to wrap my belly tightly in a bedsheet, to "preserve my figure". I did not know better, but I discovered pretty quickly that it is uncomfortable to nurse in a girdle. Nursing took prioriry, so I ditched the girdle, and nursed my kid till he was a year. I did not lose pregnancy weight till after he was weaned, and I was left with quite a bit of sagging. After I had my second, the same thing happened, only this time I did not even try the girdle.

I joke that I always look slightly pregnant, but that's just so I have something to show for all these human beings that I produced. My body did its job marvelously: from sustaining and nurturing a baby, to holding on to necessary weight for nursing. One does not have three kids and looks like a teenage twig. What's embarrassing about that?

So here is my message, my dear son: you are who you are. Your body is amazing and there is nothing wrong with it. What counts is not how people perceive and judge you, but how you appear before Hashem. Are you kind? Are you caring? Are you involved in doing G-d's will? Hashem's mirror is softer on the superficiality and appearances, but much harsher on significance.

As for myself, here I am in all my pregnant glory:

choices

8yo's threat of the day: you know what happened to American colonies when they did not have any choices!

The boys had a wonderful sleepover at grandma's house. 2 yo enjoyed being the only child. I took her to the zoo, by herself. She told me which animals she wanted to see and, for once, her wishes were honored. She even bravely patted the goats. In the evening, she kept alternating between asking my husband and I to do things for her: bathe her, carry her to bed, put on pajamas, clip her nails, tuck her in.

In the morning, I ran some errands with her and then picked up the boys. My MIL sent a plate of Russian donuts (sirniki), which made a delicious lunch. After lunch I tried to get boys to do some schoolwork before we had to leave to tae kwon do. That's when the trouble started.

I decided to stick with the blocks approach, so I wrote few things down. 6 yo picked history of China. I read the next chapter from Story of the World. 8 yo came over to listen. We pulled out a map to see where the early Chinese lived: between Yellow and Yangzee rivers. 6 yo identified China on an unmarked map and found approximately the area of the rivers. Then I discovered that the boys stuck a bunch of flags on the map, and on the wrong countries, so now they were resticking them into correct places.

They saw a video on the list, and asked for it. It was this: Yogati veLoMatzati. I thought for a while that they need some reinforcement that hard work always pays off, and it introduces them to a saying from the Gemara at the same time. (And I thank Chabad profusely for producing something so appealing and so important.) They watched it, 8 yo said that it is not making him feel any better, but I saw that it made him think. I am trying to figure out how to download the song so that we can listen to it in the car.

Then I asked boys to pick the next item off their list while I cleaned up the next mess 2 yo made. 8 yo threw a fit. He said that there is nothing on the list he wants to do, why does 6 yo get to do history and he only gets boring things. He will not do anything. I cannot make him. He said he does not have good choices and then used the line about colonies (I do not have to worry whether he knows and understands history!) By this point my patience was running paper-thin. I told both boys to get started on math. 6 yo got his binder and got to work. Overall, I find that they do not find throwing fits at the same time advantageous. One of them wants to remain on mommy's good side, and he decided that it's his turn. 8 yo sulked and kicked and slammed things. I said, very calmly now, that tae kwon do is at 3:30 and if the work is not done by then, we are not going. I also said that if this kind of behavior will continue, he can come, but he will have to sit out.

He calmed down enough to do his work. I went to battle 2 yo down for her nap: she does not like when I leave the room, so no matter how many cuddles I give her, as soon as she senses that I am going, she does a death grip on my neck and starts yelling. I usually have to leave and shut the door. Attachment parents, call the police! She calms down after a few minutes and takes a nap, but it does leave me even more on edge.

I looked more closely at the work that 8yo is struggling with and printed out 1st grade basic addition review. I hope that he will refresh his facts, feel good about completing so many pages, and will be able to continue. There is a dichotomy between how quickly he grasps the concepts and how slowly he commits to memory anything that requires effort. Back to " I tried and I did not succeed..."

6yo asked to take a nap, he complained that he is tired. I tucked him in. He popped out fifteen minutes later: "Mommy, I have a Torah question: what if the people did not understand what Noach was saying and that's why they did not get on the ark?" Quiet and solitude produce deep thoughts.

He was happy to finish his work (reviewing Lama). He speedily read and translated one page, crumpled about doing the second, agreed to do it only if he reads everything first and translates later, speedily read the second and translated it without asking for help. We finished 12th chapter. He seems to remember his reading and vocabulary. I am hoping that this is a confidence-builder here.

8 yo finished math and started on journaling; more dinosaurs and prehistoric creature facts. He said that he got to the second chapter. I stopped him to do spelling and chumash. He said he hates them both. Then he showed me how he spelled "were" correctly in his journal, I mentioned again "I tried, and I succeeded" and he said he likes spelling. He liked spelling even more after he got all his review words right. Then he did not like spelling so much when some of the new words came out wrong. The emotions change like clouds in the sky.

Then we tried squeezing in Chumash before tae kwon do and that was a complete disaster. He did not remember the words from last time, then he turned accusatory, that I am making him do all this hard work. Ugh... the fun things parents farm out to teachers.

We barely made it to tae kwon do. 6 yo decided to sit out today, and I was so frazzled that I did not pursue the reasons why. 8 yo did great, got another notch on his belt, for achieving kicks, and was shining like a new penny. When we got back, he completed the chumash, unloaded the dishwasher, and went to play Pokemon cards with his brother.

Looking at the day now, with hindsight, I think the boys probably did not get enough sleep and that's the reason behind crankiness/sleepiness. Kick myself for the umpteenth time: no productive school takes place on such days. I made a bad choice trying to pursue my new theory, and 8 yo made a bad choice by not listening to me. Nobody won.

lots of exercise

Today was bowling and swimming lessons. We are signed up for kids bowl free, a program which allows your kids bowl two games every day at a participating bowling center for free. You pay for the shoe rental, but the games are covered. This year, I got a parent pass add-on, so I can also bowl.

I decided on the spur of the moment to take them bowling. This time, it was bumpers all the way. Surprisingly,  2yo bowled the second highest score on our first game, with 4 spares! Way to go, girl! She was using that little contraption which allows balls to slide down the lane, but one of my sons was using that, too, and he did not have the same success rate. What I liked the most about bowling was the good-natured sportsmanship the boys were exhibiting, even though it was competitive: high-fiving each other on the spares, cheering on, wishing good luck. They were not as nice towards me... but that's because I was in the lead. The second game, however turned around. I scored one measly spare the whole game, while all the kids got at least one spare. 8 yo won that one.

Today was also the first day of swimming lessons. We took them last year, but, for some reason, they placed the boys together and that was the undoing of 6 yo, he refused to swim, was scared to lie down on his back, and spent a few sessions kicking and screaming on the sidelines. This year, i made sure they were in different groups, as they should, since they have different skill levels. It was also 8 yo secret dream to be able to make a swim team. The boys were excited to get into their swimming suits, but even more so for their new Costco goggles. I got a 3-pack and they spent weeks obsessing over who will get which pair. When I opened it up, it turned out that one pair was too big, so they made do with the other two.

They boys joined their groups and I observed 6 yo enthusiastically jump right in, ask for extra practice turns and be in good spirits in general. 8 yo worked on the kickboard. I sat in the baby pool with 2 yo, who wandered around. I will try to remember to bring some water toys next time, which is tomorrow.

I was also surprised to see that whole families were coming in, both parents with the kids. This was 4:15, still standard work day. I kept thinking to myself, what kind of work/schedule do they have that they have the luxury to attend kids' swim lessons together? I am so used to doing everything alone.

When the lesson was over and I successfully extracted all three kids from the pool and got them home, there was the laundry dilemma: do I wash the bathing suits and towels? Hang them to dry? DO I wash the   kids? rinse them? Use shampoo? I have two weeks of everyday lessons and I need to work out  a plan to keep my sanity.

What do you do?

on having a voice

For those who are wondering, we have not dropped off the face of the Earth, but went to visit my mother and grandmother in Toronto. By "we", I mean my three kids and I. There were many reasons for this trip: to visit, vacation, my grandmother's 94th birthday, my sister coming over with a guy to whom she got engaged... Mazal Tov!

One of the things I did not anticipate happening is losing my voice while being here.  By now, I am used to regular blogging and communicating as I am: a wife, a mother, a homeschooler, a teacher, a member of the community. Being with my family somehow sapped that. I wonder whether it had to do with communicating as a daughter, sister, another helping hand arranging things behind the scenes...

Oh, there was a lot going on on this trip. There were a lot of emotions, and a lot to write about. There is a lot to process. There is an offhand comment made by  8 yo which will cause me to reevaluate the way I homeschool. But, somehow, I do not feel like I have a voice to blog with.

I wonder whether it happens to all of us: we go and hang out with our parents and siblings and, suddenly, the well-established roles take over: the oldest, the youngest, the overfunctioner, the baby, the strong one, the weak one, the decision-maker. All the years of our adult life, all the roles that we spent time establishing and crafting go out the window. I also wonder whether some people are able to transcend these roles and bring to the table their adult selves. I also wonder whether separation from immediate family is crucial to finding that internal voice and whether adults living at home never get a chance to form their own voice, independent of the family dynamic.

I might need to back up a bit and explain that I left home at the age of 13, when I moved half-way across the world, from Moldova (look it up!) to Richmond, VA, to go to highschool. This was in the days before internet, before e-mail, and before Skype. This was in the days when airmail took 2 weeks, if the letter did not get lost, and long-distance rates were so prohibitive, that I spoke to my parents twice a month for 5 minutes each. In short, I was on my own, crafting my own voice, without constant looking back over my shoulder to see what my parents would say. That's why I have very little pity on college-age kids bringing home laundry on the weekends and texting mom between classes.

But right now, being home, is being thrown back to being 13, voiceless and assuming whichever functions I always assumed. While it is comforting to be taken care of, it is unsettling to be pushed into the same box I always occupied.

I want my voice back!

When life gives you lemons...

Striking a pose like the clay figure in the back

The day  started with 8 yo complaining that his stomach hurts and then throwing up. Of course, this had to happen on a day when coop was taking a field trip to the local museum to look at Ancient Egypt artifacts. However, afterwards, he totally rallied, ate quite a breakfast and was bouncing on the bed after completing Rosetta Stone. So we went to the museum.

There is a problem when your kids keeps arguing with the docent about the displays. I am used to that in science museums, but this is a first in a history/art setting. I wished he would talk less and listen more, but this is my bias. I was brought up with the attitude that an older person has more knowledge, so you shut up and listen. He has guts? ego? self-confidence to think otherwise and to express his opinions and knowledge.

I brought a baby carrier for the toddler, I learned my lesson from chasing an overtired kid in Museum of Natural History. Only I'm not sure whether I gained anything, as most of the time it was "Pick me up! Put me on your back! I want down! Carry me!" However, even she enjoyed looking at Greek statues and wondering where the heads and arms went. Then we entered Central America and there were pots with feet. There she also looked for missing heads. Bottom line, the boys enjoyed the trip and I got suckered into buying everyone a scarab in the gift shop, although I milked it, making 8 yo calculate how much money I spent on those three scarabs.

Watching tree cutting

On the 7 minute car ride back. the scarabs were relating their journey to each other in squeaky voices: "I'm glad to be out of that basket. This street looks familiar. Remember coming here on a truck?" I decided to make this into a creative writing assignment when we come home.

When we got home, the neighbors were having a tree cut down. There was a man, 30 feet up a tree with spikes on his boots and a chainsaw. They boys camped out in the backyard to watch. They even asked for picnic lunch, so that they would not miss any action.

I assumed that would be the end of schoolwork for today, but they came in when the tree people went for lunch.

8 yo did spelling. He filled in more dates on his timeline and marked off Egyptian epochs ( his idea). He did Lashon HaTorah and then we did Chumash. I talked it up into a mystery saying that he already dealt with the same story in Lech Lecha, and the end was the same, but the details were different. We did first four pesukim of perek Chav. He translated two pesukim without any help. We discussed that Avimelech got a nevuah but paroh didn't. However, what he was most interested in was the map of where Avraham traveled. His Chumash has one in the back. I found it interesting to see where Tzoar was: it is surrounded on one side by mountains and on the other side by the Dead Sea. No wonder Lot's daughters felt that there are no people left in the world.

6 yo wrote a short song about his scarab and did Lama without much drama.


In the afternoon, we picked up some friends, watered our plants. They kids played outside. Then everyone made pizza for dinner. Ice cream for dessert, then group benching. Even 2 yo can do the first paragraph now and she tries to say brachot before eating. Some drumming before baths, some element watching before bed. Book reading. Discovering that 8 yo threw up in bed instead of toilet this morning. Unexpected laundry.

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade!