Kally's Blog

My kids had their winter break last month. We spent the week with out of town family -museums, bowling, sledding, cousins, grandparents and an extravagant amount of ice cream made it a wonderful week. But I have to say, the highlight of the trip was the introduction of my family to Angry Birds.

There is often talk in my town about passing a law banning the use of cellphones in cars. I am both a proponent of this law and an unrepentant hypocrite for talking while driving without the use of a hands-free device.

But I happen to think that this is an example of soft legislation that will do little to make the roads safer. If government officials are serious about protecting drivers and passengers, they should make it illegal to operate a vehicle which contains children.
 

Like many a proud preschool mama, I receive backpacks full of exquisite art projects on a weekly basis. The mediums range from finger paint on construction paper to colored shaving cream on tin foil; and the subject matter spans ‘my family’ to ‘the dead raccoon I saw on Highway 80’.

I recently came across a long forgotten gift card for a children’s store and I decided to use it to buy some things for my kids. Although I have been a mother for 8 years, buying children’s clothes is a new endeavor for me. My Bubbe was the shopper in the family. Apparently that is a recessive trait, or a gene that skips two generations, as my mother, my sister and I are not blessed with her patience and skill.

Imagine that you’re feeling particularly worn down by consecutive nights of child-interrupted sleep and mornings of strapping unwilling children into car-seats. An older, more experienced parent notices that you are not your adorable, chipper self, and inquires as to your well-being. You explain in between yawns that you are being terrorized by your toddler and abused by your infant. But instead of a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, you are greeted with a smug and superior 'Oh, little children little problems, big children big problems. That’s nothing compared to what I am going through….'

Out of nowhere my boys have entered a most wonderful phase where they can play together for significant amounts of time without fighting or gravely injuring each other. Don’t be overly impressed, ‘significant’ can mean 3 minutes, which is sometimes all I need to read an email, change my clothes, or hide in the closet and eat chocolate like a crazy person who will be damned if she has to share.

I am the type to make New Year’s Resolutions. I once heard that it is a good idea to make a resolution during the Jewish New Year in September, and then use the secular New Year in January as a check in point to monitor your progress. But this becomes a study in depression as I am also not the type to keep a New Year’s resolution. I have never lost 10 pounds without having a newborn to show for it, I have never grown 5 inches, and I have never developed more patience for whining children despite my repeated attempts at exposure therapy.

My daughter has taken to waking up at 5 AM. 5 is a great hour for people that like to seize the day. I am more of an anti-seizure gal. I prefer to greet the day once it has had time to brush its teeth, have its coffee, and check its email.

I caught a clip of Barbara Walters interviewing Barack Obama in which she asked him what superpower he would choose if he could have only one. He answered that he had discussed this question with one of his daughters and they had agreed that flying would be pretty cool. Without getting political, I happen to think that ‘flying’ shows a lack of imagination on behalf of our Commander-in-chief.

There is so much to love about Chanukah. The continuous celebratory atmosphere, the way the candles look reflected back at us through our big living room window, the expression of joy and power on my kids’ faces as they get their first taste of pyromania. I love that it is 8 nights long, and while I recognize that there are historical and esoteric reasons for the length of the holiday, I take it as tacit acknowledgement from on High that sometimes it takes 8 nights to get it right- the candles, the singing, the dreidle, the latkes, the spirituality, minus the fighting over whose Chanukiyah is taller or whose dreidle could fit farther up whose nose.

My husband went on a quick business trip last week. I hate it when he goes away. I miss having another rational human being in the house. Sometimes my favorite thing about him is that he is older than 8. But the upside to his being gone is the sense of power I develop at being able to run my household entirely on my own. I can get everyone up, dressed, fed, out, cleaned, carpooled, entertained, comforted, etc. all by myself. And even though single parenting makes for hectic times, I always feel supremely capable and accomplished by the end of the day.

Sometimes I give my daughter a cracker for getting in the car. It’s an activity that she does not particularly enjoy which we have to do several times a day, and I find that if I sweeten the deal with a saltine she is a much more pleasant passenger. Say what you will about bribing children, munching is preferable background noise to shrieking.

There is a Happiness Maximum in my family. This means that at any given moment the available happiness is divided, often unequally, amongst the six of us. The parameters of the equation make it all but impossible for each of us to be feeling entirely happy at the same time. This explains the Bad Mood Principle which accounts for the fact that no matter how much fun we are having, one person will always be flirting with, if not entirely subsumed by, a bad mood.

My baby is almost one and a half. She is my only daughter, and I feel an allegiance to her in this house full of boys. I am torn between wanting her to stay small and wishing she would hurry up and get big so we can start having some real fun (no disrespect, ring-around-the-rosie). I have elaborate daydreams of afternoons spent leisurely window shopping together with cups of hot chocolate, and girls’ nights out where we see movies in which there is no blood or dead bodies. These fantasies make it imperative that she grow up to be someone who I really like to be with; someone who is talented, freethinking, kind, enthusiastic, and intelligent. So as we go about our day I often check her progress against this weighty list.

My skirt came back from the dry cleaner with a tag on it. It read ‘This garment is stained. Attempts to remove the stains have been unsuccessful, and further stain removal attempts could cause lasting damage to the garment’.

There are flyers posted all over my community announcing an adult education lecture entitled Growing Good Kids: A Jewish Approach. This interests me from the get-go. I would like to grow good kids. I tried to grow good tomatoes last spring and it did not go as planned. It’s a good thing that my children can verbally express their need for hydration.

At the pediatrician’s office the other day I saw the following sign:
Children spell love… T-I-M-E. – Dr. Anthony P. Witham.

At first glance, this is a lovely, meaningful quote that makes us want to snuggle up with our children for hours on end. But when the snugglefest is over we have to ask ourselves a serious question. Why can’t our children spell?

Kally Kislowicz

It is not the three days of yomtov that hassle me, but rather the days preceding them. Trying to cook while yelling at children is hard work, and not enough awards are given out to people who do it as efficiently and effectively as I do. (I have trademarked my best move - the one handed pulling something out of the oven while holding the baby and creatively devising threats as to what will happen to the next paper airplane that flies through my kitchen. It is a thing of beauty.)

By Kally Kislowicz

There is a special blessing for parents to give their children on the eve of Yom Kippur. It is a beautiful bracha, one in which we ask that our children be granted all the things we could ever hope for them. My husband and I were lucky enough to get to say it four times this past Friday. It is a longer version of the traditional Friday night blessing. A much longer version, actually.
There was a lot to be done in the waning pre-Yom Kippur minutes. The table was being cleared, leather shoes were being removed, teeth were being brushed, candles were being arranged, timers set, etc. And amidst all of this we decided it was a good time to give a multi- paragraph blessing to each kid.

By Kally Kislowicz

It is well known that the High Holidays are often referred to as the Days of Awe. A less common, though equally fitting name for this solemn time is ‘the Days of Playing Candyland and Spreading Cream Cheese on Crackers (Because Shul is Very Long)’. And that more or less sums up the heights of spirituality that I reached over Rosh Hashana.

by Kally Kislowicz

I have become a soccer mom. On Sundays I pull up in my minivan carrying my lawn chair, mini-cooler full of snacks, and upbeat attitude. I am thoroughly enjoying my weather permitting stint as a cliché.

by Kally Kislowicz

Having children who can shower on their own is a most fabulous parenting milestone. But much like I imagine it will be when I one day hand over the car keys, handing over the sponge and liquid soap was not without its glitches.

by Kally Kislowicz

I took my son to the library last week. He was absentmindedly putting every book he picked up in our basket and I was very focused on secretly vetoing and replacing 85% of his choices. We made a great team. Suddenly my non-reading, preschool aged child stopped and held up a book saying ‘Look at this one, doesn’t it look great?’ I looked over to see him holding a very colorful book entitled Everything Your Child Needs to Know About Sex.

by Kally Kislowicz

After being blessed with 3 boys (and by blessed I mean besieged), we finally welcomed a baby girl into our family a little more than a year ago. After boy #3 was born, I made my peace with being a boy family. Save the times when I walked wistfully by the baby girls’ section in Target, I was quite content with the number of Y chromosomes in our home.

by Kally Kislowicz

I am happy to report that this summer worked out really well. I had some kids in day camp and some at home with me, and there were times when I actually believed that each child was getting exactly what he/she needed.