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