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.

camp leading to great expectations

Yesterday was the first day of camp.

All four older kids are going, the boys to one camp, 5 yo to girls' camp and 2 yo to a backyard camp.

I had great plans for this day. I had great plans for what to do while I only have one child at home instead of five.

I dropped everyone off, with baby crying hysterically during the drop off of 2 yo. I got home and nursed her, then put her to nap in 2 yo's room. I organized some things in my closet: moved my husband's clothes to the spot where he can get them without moving the pack-n-play, and finally switched out maternity tops.

Then the baby woke up.
Nursed her again, changed her diaper.

Made lasagna for dinner, had lunch.

Then the baby woke up.
Nursed her, changed her.

Loaded her into the stroller, went to the local Judaica store for a bar mitzvah gift and to Whole Foods for three items which are cheaper there than anywhere else. Spoke to my sister on the way back.

Opened up my laptop to blog.

Then the baby woke up.
Nursed her, got covered in spit-up, changed her and my clothes.

Got in the car for the afternoon carpool.

When we got home, she fell asleep. I stuck lasagna in the oven, read to 2 yo, directed everyone to hang up their bathing suits and towels. I almost told kids to go watch something, but they asked first.

Then the baby woke up.
I nursed her, got kids to set the table, served dinner.

Opened up my laptop for the second time, but did not get around to blogging before the baby was ready to nurse yet again.

By the end of the day, I was utterly exhausted. I also felt deflated: I had all these ideas and plans for the day, with kids being out of the house, and, in the end, it did not feel like anything got done.

This morning, I realized that I will have to adjust my expectations yet again. The baby requires just as much work as my other kids combined at this point. I still have a child at home who needs to be tended, and tended in a more hands-on manner. Each day I hope to do one thing for the house, one thing for the family and one thing for me (hey, this is my "staycation"!) Anything that gets done in addition to these is a bonus. Besides, my great plans often seem great before I get started on them, but when I am done, I feel like I did not accomplish much.

It is amazing how really nothing have changed, yet changing the perspective and approach made a huge difference. I feel much calmer today than I did yesterday. I did not find a cure for cancer or trained for a marathon. My house is not cleaner or more organized. But I have come up with a concrete way to measure accomplishments and to say: enough! I am doing enough.

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.

on mortality

My grandmother passed away on Monday.

She was 96 years old. She lived on three continents. She raised two children and had six great grandchildren. She survived World War II. She worked as a neonatologist when the survival rates for preemies were dismal. She raised us when my parents had to work. She was always in the kitchen, cooking, or fretting about food. She had recipes which said to "add enough flour for the dough to take it in," and "knead until the texture feels right". She cooked by feel, and she fed from her heart. She spoke up her mind, and it was not PC. She had wonderful stories of studying for exams at a cemetery across the street because her dorm room was too noisy. She was super emotional, drawing people into her emotionality and getting them to feel what she was experiencing.

In her last years, when dementia kicked in, and then slowly her body deteriorated further and further, it was clear where things were going. I was honest with my kids about her condition, but since we do not live near, they did not see her recently. When I told them that she passed away, I had all three older ones run off crying in different rooms. I was unprepared for such an emotional reaction. One child told me that he wished I did not say anything about her passing, ever. Another said that he wishes someone else would die in her place. A third was just crying because everyone else was crying. 2 yo came to sit with us, unsure of what just happened. One boy wanted to go to the funeral. I had to inform him that we will not be going, as I cannot fly with a 3 week old baby. My daughter suggested driving, and I had to tell her that I'm not driving with a 3 week old baby, either.

When we hear about a late term miscarriage, we are sad. When we hear of a child dying young, we are sad. We are sad for the potential that never happened, for the parental hopes and dreams that are crushed.

When we hear of a young adult, we are sad. That person was just starting to live, spreading the wings. They had the whole life in front of them, and are no more.

When we hear of a someone dying in the prime of their life, we are sad. When we hear of someone dying in their middle age, we are sad. There is family to consider, spouses and children, elderly parents.

But even when we hear of someone dying in the deep old age, we are still sad. There are no friends attending the funeral, there are no age mates to reminisce about the deceased. There is comfortable existence of someone who was always there, but now that lull is gone.

We are greedy. We all want to live forever, to save the contemplation of death for another day. We all want all those we know, all those close to us, to be switched for someone else. When death does come, we all want to "do something", so that we can focus on the rituals and avoid thinking about mortality. So we arrange meals, drop off food, help with household tasks.

We are, and then we are no more.

I have been a nervous wreck right before my grandmother passed away. Maybe it was a spiritual connection getting severed, maybe it was the stress of hearing how things are deteriorating and being unable to do anything. Maybe it is being hormonal after the birth of my daughter. The newborn is named after my grandfather. Maybe it is feeling that by naming my daughter after my grandmother's husband I unleashed the memory train. He will not be forgotten; he will live on, so she can go.

With five kids, I have a new worry. It might sound delusional, but in not such distant past, not every child made it to adulthood. Many did not live to have offspring. When you have one or two children, you have the luxury of assuming that this is it; the odds have been beaten, the statistics are in your favor. We in the west believe in 100% baby, 100% of the time. With five kids, the statistical odds of everything being just dandy change. It is plain impossible that nobody will end up in an accident, or be perfect, or just simply be OK. Somebody will have a problem, Somebody will get hurt.

These are not pleasant thoughts. These are not the thoughts that I want to focus on. Yet now, helplessly sitting miles away from a funeral that has to happen because everyone's time to die comes sooner or later, I am flooded with this feeling of time marching on, and life unfolding.

May we know no suffering.

May we experience only simchas (joyous events).

May my grandmother's neshama have an aliyah.

patience

Today is Mother's Day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

closing time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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